Free Hominids by Robert J. Sawyer Page B

Ponter Boddit.”
    “What?” said Adikor, looking up. “You’re joking.”
    “No, I’m not.”
    “But Daklar is—was—Klast’s woman-mate. She’s known me for ages.”
    “Nonetheless,” said the man. “Please show me your wrist so that I can confirm that the appropriate documents have been transferred.”
    Adikor, stunned, did just that. The man merely glanced at the display—it said “Bolbay charging Huld, transfer complete”—then he looked back at Adikor. “There will be a dooslarm basadlarm ”—an old phrase that literally meant “asking small before asking large”—“to determine if you should face a full tribunal for this crime.”
    “There’s been no crime!” said Adikor, fury growing within him. “Ponter is missing. He may be dead—I grant you that—but if so, it was an accident.”
    The man ignored him. “You are free to choose any one person to speak on your behalf. The dooslarm basadlarm has been scheduled for tomorrow morning.”
    “Tomorrow!” Adikor felt his fist clenching. “That’s ridiculous!”
    “Justice postponed is no justice at all,” said the man as he walked away.

Chapter 10
    Mary needed coffee. She rolled out of her single bed, made her way to the kitchen, and set the coffeemaker to its task. She then stepped into the living room and pushed the play button on her answering machine, an old, reliable silver-and-black Panasonic that made loud clunkings when it started and stopped rewinding its tape.
    “Four new messages,” announced the cold, emotionless male voice, and then they began to play.
    “Howdy, Sis, it’s Christine. I just have to tell you about this new guy I’m seeing—I met him at work. Yeah, I know, I know, you always say never get involved with anyone at the office, but, really, he is so cute, and so nice, and so funny. Honest to God, Sis, he’s a real find!”
    A real find , thought Mary. Good grief, another real find.
    The mechanical voice again: “Friday, 9:04 P.M.” That was just after six Sacramento time; Christine must have called as soon as she’d gotten home from the office.
    “Hey, Mary, it’s Rose. Haven’t seen you for ages. Let’s do lunch, eh? Don’t they have a Blueberry Hill up at York? I’ll come up there, and we’ll go—they closed the one near me. Anyway, I guess you’re out right now—hope you’re having a great time, whatever you’re doing. Give me a call.”
    The machine’s voice: “Friday, 9:33 P.M.”
    Christ, thought Mary. Good Christ. That would have been precisely when … when …
    She closed her eyes.
    And then the next message played: “Professor Vaughan?” said a voice with a Jamaican accent. “Is this the home of Professor Mary Vaughan, the geneticist? I’m sorry if it isn’t—and I hate to be calling so late; I tried the York campus, on the off chance that you were still there, but only got your voice mail. I had directory assistance give me the numbers for every M. Vaughan in Richmond Hill—that’s where an article I found about you on the Web said you live.” Mary’s outgoing message said only, “This is Mary,” but the caller had presumably been buoyed by that. “Anyway—God, I hope I don’t get cut off here—look, my name is Reuben Montego, and I’m an M.D.; the camp doctor up at Inco’s Creighton Mine in Sudbury. I don’t know if you’ve seen the news reports on this yet, but we’ve found a …” He paused, and Mary wondered why; he’d been burbling to this point. “Well, look, if you haven’t seen the reports, let’s just say we’ve found what we believe to be a Neanderthal specimen in, ah, remarkable condition.”
    Mary shook her head. There were no Neanderthal fossils from anywhere in North America; the guy must have some old Native Canadian material …
    “Anyway, I did a Web search on ‘Neanderthal’ and ‘DNA,’ and your name kept coming up. Can you—”
    Beep. The guy had indeed exceeded the maximum message length.
    “Friday, 10:20 P.M.,” reported