He realized it now.

Just basically making an ass of himself. He’d left the party in a huff.

“Perhaps you’re right,” said Cornelius. “In any event, what’s that old prayer? ‘God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.’ ” He paused. “In this case, I do know the difference.”

“I’m sorry, Cornelius,” said Qaiser.

“And so, I should leave.” Take my balls and go home, he thought—but, of course, he couldn’t do that anymore.

“Most universities have similar affirmative-action programs, you know. Where would you go?”

“Private industry, maybe. I love to teach, but…”

Qaiser nodded. “Biotech is superhot, right now. Lots of job openings, and…”

“And since biotech is mostly an industry of start-ups, no historical imbalances to correct,” said Cornelius, his tone even.

“Say,” said Qaiser, “you know what you should do? Go to the Synergy Group!”

“What’s that?”

“It’s the U.S.-government think tank devoted to Neanderthal studies. They’re the group that hired Mary Vaughan away.”

Cornelius was about to dismiss the notion—working with Mary now would be as difficult as working with Qaiser—but Qaiser continued: “I heard they offered Mary a hundred and fifty grand U.S.”

Cornelius felt his jaw dropping. That was—Christ, that was close to a quarter of a million dollars a year Canadian. It was indeed the kind of money a guy like him, with a Ph.D. from Oxford, should be pulling down!

Still…“I don’t want to muscle in on Mary’s turf,” he said.

“Oh, you wouldn’t be doing that,” said Qaiser. “In fact, I hear she’s left Synergy. Daria Klein had an e-mail from her a while ago. She’s apparently gone native—moved permanently over to the Neanderthal world.”

“Permanently?”

Qaiser nodded. “That’s what I heard.”

Cornelius frowned. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to apply there, then…”

“Absolutely!” said Qaiser, apparently eager to do something for Cornelius. “Look, let me write you a letter of reference. I bet they’ll need another DNA expert there to replace Mary. Your graduate work was at Oxford’s Ancient Biomolecules Centre, right? You’d be a perfect fit.”

Cornelius considered. He’d done what he’d done in the first place because of frustration over his stalled career. It would be a nice bit of closure to have that ultimately lead to him getting the kind of job he deserved. “Thank you, Qaiser,” he said, smiling at her. “Thank you very much.”

It was time for Mary to get the codon writer to Jock, so that he could take it back to…

Well, to where?

Mary had laughed when she’d seen Councilor Bedros on the Voyeur referring to the Barast world as “Jantar.” There was no single name for the version of Earth that Mary called home. “Earth” was just the English term; it was called different things in other languages. Terra was the word in Latin and many of its descendants. The French—and the French-Canadians—called it Terre. In Esperanto, it was Tero. The Greek term—Gaea —was popular among environmentalists. Russians called it Zemlja; the Swedes Jorden. In Hebrew it was Eretz; in Arabic, Ard; in Farsi, Zamin; in Mandarin, Diqiu; and in Japanese, Chikyuu. The most beautiful of the lot, thought Mary, was the Tahitian, Vuravura. Ponter simply called it “Mare’s world,” but Mary doubted that was going to catch on in general use.

In any event, Mary now had to get the codon writer to Jock so that he could take it safely back to…to Gliksinia.

Gliksinia? No, too harsh. How about Sapientia? Or—

The travel cube Mary had called for arrived, and she clambered into one of the two rear seats. “The Debral nickel mine,” said Mary.

The driver gave her a cool look. “Going home?”

“Not me,” said Mary. “But somebody else is.”

Mary’s heart leaped when she caught sight of Ponter, part of the group returning from Donakat Island. But she had promised herself she would behave like a proper native of this world, and not run into his arms. After all, Two were not One!

Still, when no one else was looking, she blew him a kiss, and he smiled broadly back at her.

But it wasn’t him she’d really come to see. It was Jock Krieger. Mary sidled up to him, carrying her long wrapped package under her arm. “Beware of Gliksins bearing gifts!” she said.

“Mary!” exclaimed Jock.

Mary motioned for Jock to move out of earshot of the others. A silver-clad Exhibitionist tried to follow them, but Mary turned around and glared at him until he scuttled away.

“So,” said Mary, “what do you think of this world?”

“It’s astonishing,” said Jock. “I knew in an intellectual sort of way that we’d screwed up our environment, but until I saw all this…” He gestured at the countryside. “It’s like finding Eden.”

Mary laughed. “Isn’t it, though? Too bad it’s already occupied, eh?”

“It is indeed,” said Jock. “Are you going to come back home with us, or do you want to spend some more time in the garden?”

“Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stay a few more days.” She tried not to smile. “I’ve been making…great progress.” She presented the package. “But I do have something I want you to take back.”

“What is it?”

Mary looked left and right, then checked over her shoulder. She then looked down, just to make sure that Jock hadn’t been forced to strap on a Companion. “It’s a codon writer—a Barast DNA synthesizer.”

“Why do you need me to take it back? Why don’t you just bring it yourself when you come?”

Mary lowered her voice. “This is banned technology. I’m not really supposed to have it—no one is. But it’s the most amazing thing. I’ve written up some notes for you about it; they’re included in the package.”

Jock lifted his eyebrows up toward his pompadour, clearly impressed. “Banned technology? I knew I was doing the right thing when I hired you…”

Suddenly Mary was awake. It took her a moment to orient herself in the darkness, to figure out where she was.

A large, warm form was sleeping quietly next to her. Ponter?

No, no. Not yet, not tonight. It was Bandra; Mary had been sharing Bandra’s bed these last few nights.

Mary glanced at the ceiling. Neanderthal digits were gently glowing there, specifying the time. Mary was good at deciphering them when wide awake, but her vision was blurry right now, and it took her a few seconds—a few beats —to remember that she had to read them from right to left, and that a circle was the symbol for five, not zero. It was the middle of daytenth nine; a little after 3:00A.M.

There was no point leaping out of bed, even though that’s what she felt like doing. And it had nothing to do with the fact that she was sleeping next to another woman; indeed, she was surprised how easy it had been to get used to that. But the thought that had forced her awake was still in her head, burning brightly.

Occasionally she’d awoken in the middle of the night with brilliant thoughts before, only to fall back asleep and have them completely gone by morning. Indeed, many years ago she’d briefly fancied herself a poet—she and Colm had met at one of his poetry readings—and she’d kept a pad at her bedside, along with a small book-light, so that she could make notes without disturbing him. But she’d given that up soon enough, since the notes had turned out, when reviewed in the morning, to be mostly gibberish.