“Our world is a complex place,” said Mary, as if that excused the fact that people were starving.

“So I have seen,” said Ponter. “We have only one species of humanity, although there were more in the past. But you seem to have three or four.”

Mary shook her head slightly. “What?” she said.

“The different types of human. You are obviously of one species, and Reuben is of another. And the male who helped rescue me, he seemed perhaps to be of a third species.”

Mary smiled. “Those aren’t different species. There’s only one species of humanity here, too: Homo sapiens.”

“You can all breed with each other?” asked Ponter.

“Yes,” said Mary.

“And the offspring are fertile?”

“Yes.”

Ponter frowned. “You are the geneticist,” he said, “not I, but … but … if they can all breed with each other, then why the diversity? Would not over time all humans end up looking similar, a mixture of all the possible traits?”

Mary exhaled noisily. She hadn’t quite expected to get into that particular mess so soon. “Well, umm, in the past—not today, you understand, but …” She swallowed. “Well, not as much today, but in the past, people of one race”—a different bleep; a recognized word that couldn’t be translated in this context—“people of one skin color didn’t have much to do with people of another color.”

“Why?” said Ponter. A simple question, so simple, really …

Mary lifted her shoulders slightly. “Well, the coloration differences arose originally because populations were geographically isolated. But after that … after that, limited interaction occurred due to ignorance, stupidity, hatred.”

“Hatred,” repeated Ponter.

“Yes, sad to say.” She shrugged a little. “There is much in my species’ past that I’m not proud of.”

Ponter was quiet for a long moment. “I have,” he said at last, “wondered about this world of yours. I was surprised when I saw the images of skulls at the hospital. I have seen such skulls, but on my world they are known only from our fossil record. It startled me to see flesh on what to this point I had only known as bone.”

He paused again, looking at Mary as if still disconcerted by her appearance. She shifted slightly in her chair.

“We knew nothing of your skin color,” said Ponter, “or the color of your hair. The”—bleep; Hak also bleeped as a placeholder when a word was omitted because the English equivalent wasn’t yet in the Companion’s vocabulary—“of my world would be astonished to learn of the variety.”

Mary smiled. “Well, it’s not all natural,” she said. “I mean, my hair isn’t really this color.”

Ponter looked astonished. “What color is it really?”

“Kind of a mousy brown.”

“Why did you alter it?”

Mary shrugged a little. “Self-expression, and—well, I said it was brown, but, actually, it has a fair bit of gray in it. I—many people, actually—dislike gray hair.”

“The hair of my kind turns gray as we age.”

“That’s what happens to us, too; nobody is born with gray hair.”

Ponter frowned again. “In my language, the term for one who has, knowledge that comes with experience and for the color hair turns is the same: ‘Gray.’ I cannot imagine someone wanting to hide that color.”

Mary shrugged once more. “We do a lot of things that don’t make sense.”

“That much is clearly true,” said Ponter. He paused, as if considering whether to go on. “We have often wondered what became of your people … on our world, that is. Forgive me; I do not wish to sound”—bleep–“but you must know that your brains are smaller than ours.”

Mary nodded. “About 10 percent smaller, on average, if I remember correctly.”

“And you seemed physically weaker. Judging by attachment scars on your bones, your kind was believed to have had only half our muscle mass.”

“I’d say that’s about right,” said Mary, nodding.

“And,” continued Ponter, “you have spoken of your inability to get along, even with others of your own kind.”

Mary nodded again.

“There is some archeological evidence for this among your kind on my world, too,” said Ponter. “A popular theory is that you wiped each other out … what with being not all that intelligent, you see …” Ponter lowered his head. “I am sorry; again, I do not mean to upset you.”

“That’s all right,” said Mary.

“I am sure there is a better explanation,” said Ponter. “We knew so little about you.”

“In a way,” said Mary, “the knowledge that it could have gone another way—that we didn’t necessarily have to end up surviving—is probably all to the good. It will remind my people of how precious life really is.”

“This is not obvious to them?” asked Ponter, eyes wide in astonishment.

Chapter 31

Adikor finally left the Council chamber, walking slowly and sadly out the door. This was all madness—madness! He’d lost Ponter, and, as if that weren’t devastating enough, now he would have to face a full tribunal. Whatever confidence he’d once had in the judicial system—an entity of which he’d only been vaguely aware to this point—had been shattered. How could an innocent, grieving person be hounded so?

Adikor headed down a long corridor, its walls lined with square portraits of great adjudicators of the past, men and women who had developed the principles of modern law. Had this—this travesty–really been what they’d had in mind? He continued along, not paying much attention to the other people he occasionally passed … until a flash of orange caught his eye.

Bolbay, still wearing the color of the accuser, down at the end of the corridor. She’d tarried in the Council building, perhaps to avoid Exhibitionists, and was now making her own way outside.

Before he’d really given it any thought, Adikor found himself running down the corridor toward her, the moss carpet cushioning his footfalls. Just as she stepped out through the door at the end, exiting into the afternoon sun, he caught up with her. “Daklar!”

Daklar Bolbay turned, startled. “Adikor!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide. She raised her voice. “Whoever is monitoring Adikor Huld for his judicial scrutiny, pay attention! He is now confronting me, his accuser!”

Adikor shook his head slowly. “I’m not here to harm you.”

“I have seen,” said Bolbay, “that your deeds do not always match your intentions.”

“That was years ago,” said Adikor, deliberately using the noun that most emphasized the length of time. “I’d never hit anyone before that, and I’ve never hit anyone since.”

“But you did do it then,” said Bolbay. “You lost your temper. You lashed out. You tried to kill.”

“No! No, I never wanted to hurt Ponter.”

“It’s inappropriate for us to be speaking,” said Bolbay. “You must excuse me.” She turned.

Adikor’s hand reached out, grabbing hold of Bolbay’s shoulder. “No, wait!”

Her face showed panic as it swung back to look at him, but she quickly changed her expression, staring meaningfully at his hand. Adikor removed it. “Please,” he said. “Please, just tell me why. Why are you going after me with such … such vindictiveness? In all the time we’ve known each other, I’ve never wronged you. You must know that I loved Ponter, and that he loved me. He wouldn’t possibly want you to pursue me like this.”

“Don’t play the innocent with me,” said Bolbay.

“But I am innocent! Why are you doing this?”

She simply shook her head, turned around, and began walking away.

“Why?” Adikor called after her. “Why?”

“Maybe we can talk about your people,” Mary said to Ponter. “Until now, we’ve only had Neanderthal fossils to study. There’s been a lot of debate over various things, like, well, for instance, what your prominent browridges are for.”