By comparison, the remaining surgery—inserting the two cochlear implants—was minor, or so it seemed, although that might have just been a consequence of Mary being unable to see that part of the operation.

At last, it was all done. Mary’s arm had been wiped clean of blood, the protective film had been removed from the Companion’s faceplate, and the cochlear implants had had their output balanced and tuned.

“All right,” said the surgeon, reaching down to Mary’s forearm and pulling out a small beadlike control bud, one of six, each a different color. “Here you go.”

“Hello, Mary,” said a synthesized voice. It sounded as though it were coming from the middle of her head, exactly between her ears. The voice was Neanderthaloid—deep, resonant, probably female—but it managed the ee phoneme in Mary’s name perfectly; clearly, that problem had been addressed and solved.

“Hello,” said Mary. “Um, what should I call you?”

“Whatever you wish.”

Mary frowned, then: “How about Christine?” Christine was Mary’s sister’s name.

“That’s fine,” said the voice in her head. “Of course, if you change your mind, you’re free to rename me as often as you like.”

“Okay,” said Mary, then: “Say, did you say ‘that’s’ and ‘you’re’?”

“Yes.”

Mary made an impressed face. “So you can use contractions! Ponter’s Companion can’t.”

“It wasn’t a difficult programming issue,” said Christine, “once the underlying concept was grasped.”

Mary was startled by a tap on her shoulder. She’d blanked out the exterior world while talking with the Companion; she wondered if she had tilted her head the way Neanderthals routinely did—whether that was something that happened naturally, or was a learned behavior, a courtesy to let others know that you were momentarily preoccupied.

“So,” said the surgeon, smiling down at Mary, who was still seated in the operating chair. “I take it your Companion is working?” For the first time, Mary heard a translation the way Ponter did—not through an external earpiece, but as words flowering full-blown in her head. The Companion was a good mimic; although the English words were emphasized at bizarre points—as if William Shatner were saying them—they were presented in a voice much like the surgeon’s own.

“Yes, indeed,” said Mary—and as soon as she’d finished, her Companion’s external speaker announced what Mary recognized as the Neanderthal equivalent: “Ka pan ka. ”

“All right, then,” said the woman, still smiling. “That’s it.”

“Is my Companion transmitting to my alibi archive?”

“Yes,” replied the surgeon, and “I am,” said Christine in her own voice after translating the surgeon’s “Ka. ”

Mary got out of the chair, thanked the surgeon and her colleague, and headed on her way. When she came to the medical facility’s lobby, she saw four male Neanderthals, each of which seemed to have a broken arm or leg. One was dressed in the silver of an Exhibitionist. Mary figured such a person wouldn’t be offended by questions, so she walked up to him and said, “What happened?”

“To us?” asked the Exhibitionist. “Just the usual: hunting injuries.”

Mary thought of Erik Trinkaus and his observation that ancient Neanderthals often had injuries similar to those of rodeo riders. “What were you hunting?”

“Moose,” said the Exhibitionist.

Mary was disappointed that it wasn’t something more exotic. “Is it worth it?” she asked. “The injuries I mean?”

The Exhibitionist shrugged. “Getting to eat moose is. There’s only so much passenger pigeon and buffalo you can take.”

“Well,” said Mary, “I hope they get you all fixed up quickly.”

“Oh, they will,” said the Exhibitionist with a smile.

Mary said goodbye and left the hospital, going out into the late-afternoon sun; she’d probably given the Exhibitionist’s audience quite a treat.

And then it hit her: she’d just entered a room that contained four males she’d never met, and rather than being terrified, as she would have been back on her world even after learning the identity of her rapist, she hadn’t felt any apprehension. Indeed, she’d brazenly walked over to one of the men and struck up a conversation.

She looked down in wonder at her forearm, at her Companion, at Christine. The notion that everyone’s activities were being recorded hadn’t seemed real until her own permanent Companion had been made part of her. But now she understood how liberating it was. Here, she was safe. Oh, there might still be lots of people of ill will around her, but they would never try anything…because they could never get away with anything.

Mary could have had Christine call for a travel cube to take her back to Lurt’s house, but it was a lovely fall day, and so she decided to walk. And, for the first time on this world, she found herself easily meeting the eyes of other Neanderthals, as though they were her small-town neighbors, as though she belonged, as though she were home.

Mary was exhausted from the surgery, and when she arrived at Lurt’s house, she simply went to sleep, having a long nap on the recessed square filled with cushions that served as her bed. She didn’t wake until Lurt got home from her lab two daytenths later.

“See!” said Mary, showing off her new Companion.

Almost all Companions looked the same, but Lurt evidently detected that Mary wanted a compliment. “It’s lovely,” she said.

“Isn’t it, though?” said Mary. “But it’s not an it; it’s a she. Her name is Christine.”

“Hello,” said the synthesized voice from Christine’s speaker.

“Christine,” said Mary, “this is Scholar Lurt Fradlo. She is the woman-mate of Scholar Adikor Huld, who is the man-mate of my…” Mary halted, looking for the correct word, then, with a shrug, continued: “…of my boyfriend, Scholar—and Envoy—Ponter Boddit.”

“Healthy day, Scholar Fradlo,” said Christine.

“Healthy day,” replied Lurt. “You may call me Lurt.”

“Thank you,” said the Companion.

Lurt took a deep breath, apparently inhaling scents. “Ginrald is not home yet,” she said. Ginrald was Lurt’s woman-mate.

“No,” said Mary. “Nor is Dab or Karatal.” Dab was Lurt’s young son by Adikor Huld; Karatal was Ginrald’s young daughter by her own man-mate.

Lurt nodded. “Good. Then perhaps we can talk. There is a circumstance we must resolve.”

“Yes?”

But then Lurt remained silent, apparently reluctant to go on.

“Have I done something wrong?” asked Mary. “Have I offended you somehow?” She knew being in this world would be fraught with cultural difficulties, but she’d tried hard to follow Lurt’s lead in everything.

“No, no,” said Lurt. “Nothing like that.” She gestured for Mary to have a seat in the circular living area. Mary moved to the couch, and Lurt straddled a nearby saddle-seat. “It’s simply a question of your living arrangements.”

Mary nodded. Of course. “I’ve overstayed my welcome,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Lurt raised a large hand, palm out. “Please don’t misunderstand. I enjoyed your company on your previous visit greatly. But my home is already crowded. Granted, Dab will leave us in a couple of tenmonths to go live with Ponter and Adikor, but…”

Mary nodded. “But that’s in a couple of tenmonths.”

“Exactly,” said Lurt. “If you’re to spend much time in this world, you must have your own home.”

Mary frowned. “I have no idea how to do that. And I’ll have to talk to Ponter. It’s one thing to have his account debited for my incidentals, but if I’m going to buy a house—”