“Even between those who are bonded, no?”

Bandra nodded.

“Then why not?”

“Because of our children! ” snapped Bandra. “Because of Hapnar and Dranna.”

“What about them?” asked Mary. “Will Harb go after them, too? Was—was he an abusive father?”

“You see!” crowed Bandra. “You understand nothing.”

“Then make me understand, Bandra. Make me understand, or I will go to the adjudicator myself.”

“What is it to you?” asked Bandra.

Mary was taken aback by the question. Surely it was every woman’s business. Surely…

And then it hit her, like a meteor crashing from above. She hadn’t reported her own rape, and her department head, Qaiser Remtulla, had gone on to be Cornelius Ruskin’s next victim. She wanted to make up for that somehow, wanted to never again feel guilty about letting a crime against a woman go unreported.

“I’m just trying to help,” said Mary. “I care about you.”

“If you care, you will forget you ever saw me like this.”

“But—”

“You must promise! You must promise me.”

“But why, Bandra? You can’t let this go on.”

“I have to let this go on!” She clenched her massive fists and closed her eyes. “I have to let this go on.”

“Why? For God’s sake, Bandra…”

“It has nothing to do with your silly God,” said Bandra. “It has to do with reality.”

“What reality?”

Bandra looked away again, took a deep breath, then let it out. “The reality of our laws,” she said at last.

“What do you mean? Won’t they punish him for something like this?”

“Oh, yes,” said Bandra bitterly. “Yes, indeed.”

“Well, then?”

“Do you know what the punishment will be?” asked Bandra. “You are involved with Ponter Boddit. What punishment was threatened against his man-mate Adikor when Adikor was falsely accused of murdering Ponter?”

“They would have sterilized Adikor,” said Mary. “But Adikor didn’t deserve that, because he didn’t do anything. But Harb—”

“Do you think I care what happens to him?” said Bandra. “But they won’t just sterilize Harb. Violence can’t be tolerated in the gene pool. They will also sterilize everyone who shares fifty percent of his genetic material.”

“Oh, Christ,” said Mary softly. “Your daughters…”

“Exactly! Generation 149 will be conceived soon. My Hapnar will conceive her second child then, and my Dranna will conceive her first. But if I report Harb’s behavior…”

Mary felt like she’d been hit in the stomach. If Bandra reported Harb’s behavior, her daughters would be sterilized, as, she supposed, would any siblings Harb had, and his parents, if they were still alive…although she supposed Harb’s mother might be spared, since she was presumably postmenopausal. “I didn’t think Neanderthal men were like that,” she said softly. “I am so sorry, Bandra.”

Bandra lifted her massive shoulders a bit. “I’ve carried this burden for a long time. I’m used to it. And…”

“Yes?”

“And I thought it was over. He hadn’t hit me since my woman-mate left. But…”

“They never stop,” said Mary. “Not for good.” She could taste acid at the back of her throat. “There must be something you can do.” She paused, then: “Surely you can defend yourself. Surely that is legal. You could…”

“What?”

Mary looked at the moss-covered floor. “A Neanderthal can kill another Neanderthal with one well-placed punch.”

“Yes, indeed!” said Bandra. “Yes, indeed. So you see, he must love me—for if he did not, I would be dead.”

“Hitting is no way to show love,” said Mary, “but hitting back—hard—may be your only choice.”

“I can’t do that,” said Bandra. “If the decision was taken that I hadn’t needed to kill him, a violence judgment would be brought against me, and again my daughters would suffer, for they share half my genes as well.”

“A goddamned catch-22,” said Mary. She looked at Bandra. “Do you know that phrase?”

Bandra nodded. “A situation with no way out. But you’re wrong, Mare. There is a way out. Eventually I, or Harb, will die. Until then…” She lifted her hands, unclenched her fists, and turned her palms up in a gesture of futility.

“But why don’t you just divorce him, or whatever you call it here? That’s supposed to be easy.”

“The legalities of what you call divorce are easy, but people still gossip, they still wonder. If I were to dissolve my union with Harb, people would question me and him about it. The truth might come out, and again my daughters would be at risk of sterilization.” She shook her head. “No, no, this way is better.”

Mary opened her arms and took Bandra into them, holding her, stroking her silver and orange hair.

This has to be absolutely galling for him, thought Ponter Boddit, who was enjoying every beat of Councilor Bedros’s discomfort.

After all, it was Bedros who had ordered him and Ambassador Tukana Prat to return from Mare’s version of Earth as a prelude to shutting down the interuniversal portal. But not only had Ponter refused to return, Tukana Prat had convinced ten eminent Neanderthals—including Lonwis Trob—to cross over to the other reality.

And now Bedros had to greet the Gliksin contingent from that world. Ponter had been on hand down in the quantum-computing chamber as the delegates came through; it wouldn’t do if the closest thing the fractious Gliksins had to a world leader was cut in two by the portal flickering closed as he was walking down the Derkers tube.

Bedros hadn’t gone down into the depths of the Debral nickel mine today. Instead, he’d waited up on the surface for the amanuensis-high-warrior and the other United Nations officials to come up.

Which was what they had just done. It had taken two trips in the circular mineshaft elevator to get them all topside, but now they were here. Four silver-clad Exhibitionists were on hand as well, letting the public watch what was unfolding. The dark-skinned United Nations leader had come out of the elevator house first, followed by Ponter, then three men and two women with lighter skin, and then Jock Krieger, the tallest member of the group.

“Welcome to Jantar,” said Bedros. He’d obviously instructed his Companion not to translate the Barast name for their planet. For their part, the seven Gliksins had no Companions, not even temporary strap-on units. Apparently, there had been much debate about this, but that same bizarre “diplomatic immunity” Ponter had encountered before had led to them being exempted from having everything they said and did recorded at the alibi archives. Actually, if Ponter understood matters correctly, Jock really wasn’t entitled to this special treatment, but nonetheless he also wasn’t wearing a Companion.

“It is with great hopes for the future that we welcome you here,” continued Bedros. Ponter fought hard to suppress a smirk; Bedros had had to be coached by Tukana Prat—the ambassador who had flouted his authority—in what constituted an appropriate speech by Gliksin standards. He went on for what seemed like daytenths, and the amanuensis-high-warrior responded in kind.

Jock Krieger must have been a Barast at heart, thought Ponter. While the other Gliksins seemed to be enjoying the pomp, he was clearly ignoring it, looking around at the trees and hills, at every bird that flew by, at the blue sky overhead.

Finally, the speechmaking was over. Ponter sidled up to Jock, who was wearing a long beige coat tied at the waist by a beige sash, leather gloves, and a brimmed cap; the Gliksin contingent had waited down in the mine while their clothes were decontaminated. “Well, what do you think of our world?”

Jock shook his head slowly back and forth, and his voice was full of wonder. “It’s beautiful …”