Mary found Bandra’s home much more comfortable than Lurt’s, even though it wasn’t any bigger. For one thing, the furniture was more to Mary’s taste. And for another, it turned out that Bandra was both a bird-watcher and a wonderful artist: she had covered the wooden interior walls and ceilings with Audubon-quality paintings of local birds, including, of course, passenger pigeons. Mary loved birds herself: that had been why she’d been working on passenger-pigeon DNA back at York while her grad student, Daria, had had the seemingly more sexy assignment of recovering genetic material from an Egyptian mummy.

Mary found it strange to come home before Bandra did—and even stranger just to walk in the front door. But, of course, Neanderthals didn’t lock their homes; they didn’t have to.

Bandra had a household robot—many Barasts did. It was a spindly, insectlike being. It regarded Mary with blue mechanical eyes—not unlike those Lonwis had—but went puttering along, cleaning and dusting.

Although Mary knew she couldn’t see Ponter until Two next became One, there was no reason she couldn’t call him—her shiny new Companion could connect to his Companion, or any other, without difficulty.

And so Mary made herself comfortable—lying down on the couch in Bandra’s living room, staring up at the beautiful mural on the ceiling—and had Christine call up Hak.

“Hi, sweetie,” she said—which was even worse than “honey” as far as being an endearment that couldn’t be reproduced by Ponter, but all he would have heard was the translation Christine provided.

“Mare!” Ponter’s voice was full of excitement. “How good to hear from you!”

“I miss you,” Mary said. She felt like she was eighteen again, talking to her boyfriend Donny from her bedroom at her parents’ house.

“I miss you, too.”

“Where are you?”

“I am taking Pabo for a walk. We can both use the exercise.”

“Is Adikor with you?”

“No, he’s at home. So, what’s new?”

It was astonishing after all this time to hear Ponter using contractions—which led to Mary starting by telling him all about the installation of her permanent Companion. She went on to talk about moving into Bandra’s house, and then: “Lurt said something very intriguing. She said there’s a banned device that could help us have a child.”

“Really?” said Ponter. “What is it?”

“She said it was the invention of someone named Vissan Lennet.”

“Oh!” said Ponter. “I recall her now; I saw it on my Voyeur. She removed her Companion, and went to live in the wilderness. Some sort of conflict with the High Grays over an invention.”

“Exactly!” said Mary. “She’d invented a device called a codon writer that could produce any DNA strings one might want—which is exactly what we need in order to have a baby. Lurt thinks Vissan probably still has her prototype.”

“Perhaps so,” said Ponter. “But if she does—excuse me. Good dog! Good dog! Here, there you go! Fetch! Fetch! Sorry, I was saying, if it does exist, it’s still banned.”

“That’s right,” said Mary. “In this world. But if we took it back to my world…”

“That’s brilliant!” said Ponter. “But how do we get it?”

“I figure we find Vissan and simply ask her for it. What have we got to lose?”

“And how do we find her? She doesn’t have a Companion.”

“Well, Lurt said she used to live in a town called Kraldak. Do you know where that is?”

“Sure. It’s just north of Lake Duranlan —Lake Erie. Kraldak is about where Detroit is in your world.”

“Well, if she’s living in the wilderness, she can’t have gone too far from there, can she?”

“I suppose. She certainly couldn’t use any form of transit without a Companion.”

“And Lurt said she’s probably built a cabin.”

“That makes sense.”

“So we could search satellite photos for a new cabin—one that isn’t on maps that are more than four months old.”

“You’re forgetting where you are, my love,” said Ponter. “Barasts have no satellites.”

“Right. Damn. What about aerial reconnaissance? You know—pictures taken from airplanes?”

“No airplanes, either—although we’ve got helicopters.”

“Well, would there be any helicopter surveys done since she left?”

“How long ago was that again?”

“Lurt said about four months.”

“Well, then, yes, sure. Forest fires are a problem in summer, of course—both those caused by lightning and by human error. Aerial photographs are taken to track them.”

“Can we access them?”

“Hak?”

Hak’s voice came into Mary’s head. “I am accessing them, even as we speak,” the Companion said. “According to the alibi archives, Vissan Lennet’s Companion went off-line on 148/101/17, and there have been three aerial surveys of Kraldak and environs since then. But although a cabin might be easily visible in winter, when the deciduous trees have lost their leaves, spotting such a thing through the summertime canopy will be difficult.”

“But you’ll try?” asked Mary.

“Of course.”

“It’s probably pointless, though,” said Mary with a sigh. “Surely others have tried to track her down, if what Lurt said about Vissan’s codon writer is true.”

“Why?”

“Well, you know: sterilized individuals, looking to circumvent the sanction that had been imposed on them.”

“Perhaps,” replied Ponter, “but it’s not been that long since Vissan chose to leave society, and there are not that many sterilized people. And, after all, no one on this world is looking to conceive prior to next summer, so—”

“Excuse me,” said Hak. “I have found it.”

“What?” said Mary.

“The cabin—or, at least, a cabin that is not on any of the older maps. It is approximately thirty-five kilometers due west of Kraldak.” Hak translated the Neanderthal units for Mary, although Ponter had probably heard something like “70,000 armspans” through his cochlear implants.

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Mary. “Ponter, we have to go see her!”

“Certainly,” he said.

“Can you go tomorrow?”

Ponter’s voice was heavy. “Mare…”

“What? Oh, I know. I know, Two are not One but…”

“Yes?”

Mary sighed. “No, you’re right. Well, then, can we go when Two are next One?”

“Of course, my love. We can do whatever you want then.”

“All right,” said Mary. “It’s a date.”

Bandra and Mary seemed very simpatico—a word Bandra relished using. They both liked to spend quiet evenings at home, and although they had an endless array of scientific things to discuss, they also touched on more personal matters.

It reminded Mary of her first days with Ponter, quarantined at Reuben Montego’s house. Sharing opinions and ideas with Bandra was intellectually and emotionally stimulating, and the female Neanderthal had a wonderfully warm way about her, kind and funny.

Still, as they sat in the living room of Bandra’s house, the topics sometimes got, if not heated, at least quite pointed.

“You know,” said Bandra, sitting at the opposite end of a couch from Mary, “this excessive desire for privacy must be fueled by your religions. At first I thought it was just because certain appealing behaviors were forbidden, and so people required privacy to indulge in them. And, doubtless, that’s part of it. But, now that you’ve told me about your multiplicity of belief systems, it seems that even just wanting to practice a minority belief required privacy. Early practitioners of your system, Christianity, hid their meetings from others, isn’t that so?”

“That’s true,” said Mary. “In fact, our most important holy day is Christmas, commemorating the annual anniversary of Jesus’ birth. We celebrate it on December 25—in winter—but Jesus was born in the spring. We know that because the Bible says it happened when the shepherds watched over their flocks by night, which only happens in the spring, when new lambs are born.” Mary smiled. “Hey, you guys are like that: you like to give birth in the spring, too.”