The door swung open, revealing Jock Krieger, tall, thin, with a gray pompadour that always made Mary think of Ronald Reagan. She wasn’t alone in that; Jock’s secret nickname among the same people who called Louise “LL” was “the Gipper.” Mary supposed they had a name for her, too, but she’d yet to overhear it.

“Hi, Mary,” said Jock in his deep, rough voice. “Do you have a moment?”

Mary blew out air. “I’ve got lots of them,” she said.

Jock nodded. “That’s what I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” He came in and helped himself to a chair. “You’ve finished the work I hired you to do here: find an infallible method for distinguishing a Neanderthal from one of us.” Indeed she had—and it had turned out to be pig-simple: Homo sapiens had twenty-three pairs of chromosomes, while Homo neanderthalensis had twenty-four.

Mary felt her pulse accelerating. She’d known this dream job, with its hefty consulting fee, was too good to last. “A victim of my own genius,” she said, trying to make a joke of it. “But, you know, I can’t go back to York University—not this academic year. A couple of sessional instructors”—one of whom is an absolute bloody monster —“have taken over my course work.”

Jock raised a hand. “Oh, I don’t want you to go back to York. But I do want you to leave here. Ponter’s heading home soon, isn’t he?”

Mary nodded. “He only came over to attend some meetings at the UN, and, of course, to bring Lonwis up here to Rochester.”

“Well, why don’t you accompany him when he goes back? The Neanderthals are being very generous about sharing what they know about genetics and biotechnology, but there’s always more to learn. I’d like you to make an extended trip to the Neanderthal world—maybe a month—and learn as much as you can about their biotechnology.”

Mary felt her heart pounding with excitement. “I’d love to do that.”

“Good. I’m not sure what you’ll do about living arrangements over there, but…”