“My contribution is chemistry,” said Lurt. “Now. But it was not my first choice. I wanted to write stories, to create fiction.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But I failed at it. There was no audience for my tales, no positive response to my work. And so I had to make a different contribution; I had an aptitude for mathematics and science, and so I became a chemist. But I do not regret having tried and failed at writing fiction. Of course, I would have preferred to succeed, but on my deathbed I knew I would be more sad if I had never tried, had never tested to see if I might succeed at it, than I would be had I tried and failed. So I did try—and I did fail. But I am happy for the knowledge that I made the attempt.” Lurt paused. “Obviously, you will be happiest if your relationship with Ponter works out. But will you be happier on your deathbed, friend Mare, to know that you tried and failed to have a long-term relationship with Ponter than that you never tried at all?”

Mary considered this. They walked on in silence for several minutes. Finally, Mary said, “I need to try,” she said. “I would hate myself if I didn’t at least try.”

“Then,” said Lurt, “your path is clear.”

It was still one more day until Two became One, but Ponter and Mary had rendezvoused at the Alibi Archive Pavilion. Ponter had led her into the south wing, and they were now standing in front of a wall full of little compartments, each containing a reconstituted granite cube about the size of a volleyball. Mary had learned to read Neanderthal numerals. The particular cube Ponter was holding his Companion up to was number 16,321. It was identified in no other way, but, like all the other cubes, it had a blue light glowing in the center of one side.

Mary shook her head in wonder. “Your whole life is recorded in there?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Ponter.

“Everything?”

“Well, everything except my work down in the quantum-computing facility—the signals from my Companion couldn’t penetrate the thousand armspans of rock overhead. Oh, and my entire first trip to your world is missing, too.”

“But not the second trip?”

“No, that was uploaded starting as soon as the alibi archives reacquired Hak’s signal—when we emerged from the mine. An entire record of that trip is stored here.”

Mary wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. She certainly wasn’t the stereotype of the good Catholic girl, but there was now one hell of a porno film in there…

“Amazing,” said Mary. Lilly, Kevin, and Frank back at the Synergy Group would kill to be standing right here. She looked again at the reconstituted granite block. “Can you edit the stored memories?”

“Why would you want to do that?” asked Ponter. But then he looked away. “Sorry. Stupid question.”

Mary shook her head. Despite what they’d come to research, Mary hadn’t been contemplating the rape. “Actually,” she said, “I was just thinking about my first marriage.”

Suddenly she felt her cheeks go flush. She’d never before referred to it as her first marriage. “Anyway,” she said, “let’s get on with it.”

Ponter nodded and led them to the front desk, where he spoke to an elderly woman. “I’d like to access my own archive, please.”

“Ident?” said the woman. Ponter waved his forearm over a scanning plate on the desktop. The woman looked at a square monitor screen. “Ponter Boddit?” she said. “I thought you were dead.”

“Funny,” said Ponter. “Funny woman.”

The female grinned. “Come with me.” She led the way back to Ponter’s alibi cube. Ponter held Hak up to the blue light. “I, Ponter Boddit, wish to access my own alibi archive for reasons of personal curiosity. Timestamp.”

The light turned yellow.

The elderly woman then held up her Companion. “I, Mabla Dabdalb, Keeper of Alibis, hereby certify that Ponter Boddit’s identity has been confirmed in my presence. Timestamp.” The light turned red, and a tone sounded.

“All set,” said Dabdalb. “You can use room seven.”

“Thank you,” said Ponter. “Healthy day.”

“And to you,” said the woman as she scurried back to her desk.

Ponter led the way to the viewing room, and Mary followed. For the first time, she really understood what Ponter must have felt like in her world. She could feel every eye in this vast place trained on her, gawking. She tried not to look flustered.

Ponter entered the room, which had a small yellow wall-mounted console and two of those saddle-shaped chairs the Neanderthals liked, presumably because of their wide hips. He moved over to the control panel and started pulling out the buds that operated the unit. Mary peered over his shoulder. “How come you don’t use buttons?” asked Mary.

“Buttons?” repeated Ponter.

“You know, those mechanical switches that you press in.”

“Oh. We do in some applications. But not many. If someone trips and falls, they can accidentally press buttons with their hand. Control buds must be pulled out; we consider them safer.”

Mary had a brief thought of a Star Trek episode in which Spock, of all people, accidentally pushed some buttons while hauling himself to his feet, alerting the Romulans to the Enterprise ’s presence. “Makes sense,” she said.

Ponter continued to pull out buds. “All right,” he said at last. “Here it is.”

To Mary’s astonishment, a large transparent sphere appeared in the middle of the room, floating freely. It split into smaller and smaller spheres, each tinted a slightly different color. The subdividing continued until Mary realized she was seeing a three-dimensional image of the interrogation room at the police station back in Toronto. There was Detective Hobbes, with his back to them, speaking to somebody. And there was Mary herself, looking chunkier than she liked, and Ponter. Ponter’s hand snaked out, grabbing the file folder Hobbes had left on the table and quickly leafing through it. The images of the pages within went by too fast for Mary to see, but Ponter returned to the beginning, then played everything back slowly. To Mary’s astonishment, there was no motion blur at all; she could easily read the pages as they flipped by, although she had to cock her head at an odd angle to do so.

“Well?” said Ponter.

“Just a sec…” said Mary, looking for anything she didn’t already know. “No, nothing there. Can you advance to the next page, please? There! Hold it. Okay, let’s see…”

Suddenly Mary felt a churning in her gut. “Oh my God,” she said. “Oh my God.”

“What is it?” asked Ponter.

Mary staggered backward. She bumped up against a saddle seat, and used it to support herself. “The other victim,” said Mary…

“Yes? Yes?”

“It was Qaiser Remtulla.”

“Who?”

“My boss. My friend. The head of the genetics department at York.”

“I am sorry,” said Ponter.

Mary closed her eyes. “So am I,” she said. “If I’d only…”

“Mare,” said Ponter, placing a hand on her arm, “the past is done. There is nothing you can do about it. But there may be something you can do about the future.”

She looked up but said nothing.

“Read the rest of the report. There may be useful information.”

Mary took a moment to compose herself, then returned to the hologram and read on, despite the stinging in her eyes, until—

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Yes, yes!”

“What is it?”

“The Toronto Police,” Mary said. “They have physical evidence from the attack on Qaiser. A complete rape kit.” She paused. “Maybe they will catch the bastard after all.”

But Ponter frowned. “Enforcer Hobbes seemed doubtful.”

“I know, but…” Mary sighed. “No, you’re probably right.” She was quiet for a time. “I don’t know how I’ll ever manage to face Qaiser again.”

Mary hadn’t intended to bring up the issue of going home—really she hadn’t. But if she were to see Qaiser again, she’d have to go back, and so now there it was, out in the air, floating between them.