Ponter and Tukana did so. “As you may remember, Mr. Boddit,” said Donaldson, walking behind them, “the Sudbury Neutrino Observatory is located sixty-eight hundred feet below the ground, and is maintained in clean-room conditions, to prevent the introduction of any dust or other contaminants that might affect the detector equipment.”

Ponter looked back briefly at Donaldson but continued to walk.

“Well,” continued Donaldson, “we have beefed up the facilities even more, on the chance that you or others of your kind might return. I’m afraid you’re going to have to be quarantined here until we’re sure it’s safe to let you up to the surface.”

“Not again!” said Ponter. “We can prove that we are free of contamination.”

“That’s not my judgment call to make, sir,” said Donaldson. “But the people who can make it are on their way here even as we speak.”

Mary Vaughan was bent over a microscope when the door to her lab at the Synergy Group burst open. “Mary!”

She looked up, and saw Louise Benoît standing in the doorway. “Yes?”

“Ponter is back!”

Mary’s heart started pounding. “Really?”

“Yes! I just heard it on the radio. The portal between the universes has reopened at SNO, and Ponter and another Neanderthal have come over to our side.”

Mary got up and looked at Louise. “Fancy a drive to Sudbury?”

Louise smiled, as if she’d expected such an offer. “There’s no point. The Neanderthals are being quarantined down in the SNO facility; there’s no way we could get down to see them.”

“Oh,” said Mary. She tried not to sound disappointed.

“But they’re coming to New York City to speak at the UN once they’re released.”

“Really? How far is that from here?”

“I don’t know. Five or six hundred kilometers, I suppose. Closer than it is from here to Sudbury, anyway.”

“I’ve been meaning to try to get down to see The Producers …” said Mary, with a grin. But the grin soon faded. “Still, I probably won’t be able to get to see Ponter there, either. He’ll be tied up with all sorts of diplomatic stuff.”

But Louise’s tone was upbeat. “You’re forgetting who you’re working for, Mary. Our man Jock seems to have keys to open just about any door. Tell him you need to go down and collect some DNA samples from the Neanderthal accompanying Ponter.”

Mary’s smile returned. At that moment, she liked Louise very much indeed.

“Ponter Boddit, my man!”

Reuben Montego entered the two-room quarantine chamber, and held out a clenched fist. Ponter touched his own knuckles against Reuben’s. “Reuben!” he declared, saying the name for himself. Then, Hak picking up on his behalf: “It is so good to see you again, my friend.”

Ponter turned to Tukana and spoke quickly in the Neanderthal tongue. “Reuben’s the physician here at the Creighton Mine. He’s the one who first treated me when I almost drowned upon arriving here, and it was at his house that Mare Vaughan, Lou Benoît, and I were originally quarantined.” Then, turning to Reuben, and with Hak once again translating: “Friend Reuben, this is Ambassador Tukana Prat.”

Reuben smiled broadly—for a Gliksin—and executed a gallant bow. “Madam Ambassador,” he said. “Welcome!”

“Thank you,” said Tukana, via her own Companion implant, which had been upgraded to match Hak’s capabilities. “I am delighted to be in this world.” She looked around the small, austere room. “Although I was hoping to see more of it.”

Reuben nodded. “We’re working on that. We’ve got experts on the way from the Laboratory Centre for Disease Control in Ottawa, and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta. I understand you used some kind of laser-sterilization device. That’s a new one on us, and our experts will have to be satisfied that it really works.”

“Of course,” said Ambassador Prat. “Although we look forward to establishing equitable trade with your world, we understand that this technology is one we must freely reveal. Your experts are welcome to travel over to our side of the portal and examine the equipment. The equipment’s designer, Dapbur Kajak, is on hand, and she will gladly explain its principles and subject it to any tests you require.”

“Excellent,” said Reuben. “Then we should get this all straightened away quite quickly.”

Ponter waited until he was sure Reuben had finished with this topic, then he said, speaking for himself, “Where is Mare?”

Reuben smiled as if he’d anticipated the question. “She got hired up by some U.S. think tank. She’s in Rochester, New York, now.”

Ponter frowned. He’d hoped Mare would be here in Sudbury, but there was no reason for her to dally after Ponter had left. Her home, after all, hadn’t been in this city. “How have you been, Reuben?” asked Ponter. It was a Gliksin peculiarity to constantly inquire after another’s health, but Ponter knew it was the expected pleasantry.

“Me?” said Reuben. “I’ve been fine. I’ve had my fifteen minutes of fame, and frankly am glad it’s over.”

“Fifteen minutes?” repeated Tukana.

Reuben laughed. “An artist here once said that in the future, everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes.”

“Ah,” said Ponter. “What sort of artist?”

Reuben was clearly trying to suppress a grin. “Um, well, he was best known for painting pictures of soup cans.”

“It sounds,” said Ponter, “as though fifteen minutes might have been more than his fair share.”

Reuben laughed again. “I’ve missed you, my friend.”

A team from the LCDC arrived, followed shortly by one from the CDC. One woman from each organization became the first members of Homo sapiens sapiens to travel to the Neanderthal universe. Periodically, one or the other would stick her head through the end of the tunnel and ask for some equipment to be passed through to the other side.

Ponter tried to wait patiently, but it was frustrating. A whole alien world awaited them! Both he and Tukana had already given multiple samples of blood and tissues, as well as undergoing complete physical examinations by Reuben.

Despite the quarantine, Ponter and Tukana were not without visitors. The first nonmedical one was a pale Gliksin woman with short brown hair and small round glasses. “Hello,” she said, with what Ponter recognized from his time with Lou Benoît as a French-Canadian accent, “My name is Hélène Gagné. I’m with Canada’s Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade.”

Tukana stepped forward. “Ambassador Tukana Prat, representing the High Gray Council of—well, of Earth.” She nodded at Ponter. “My associate, Scholar—and Envoy—Ponter Boddit.”

“Greetings,” said Hélène. “Delighted to meet you both. Envoy Boddit, we promise things will go a little more smoothly than on your last visit.”

Ponter smiled. “Thank you.”

“Before we proceed further, Madam Ambassador, I’d like to ask you a question. I understand the geography of your world and this one are the same, correct?”

Tukana Prat nodded.

“All right,” said Hélène. She was carrying a small briefcase. She opened it, and removed a simple world map that showed only landforms but no borders. “Can you show me where you were born?”

Tukana Prat took the map, glanced at it, and pointed at a spot on the west coast of North America. Hélène handed her a felt-tipped marker, its cap removed. “Can you mark the spot—as precisely as possible, please?”

Tukana looked surprised at the request, but did so, putting a red dot on the northern tip of Vancouver Island. “Thank you,” said Hélène. “Now, will you sign next to that spot?”

“Sign?”

“Umm, you know, write out your name.”

Tukana Prat did so, drawing a series of angular symbols.

Hélène removed a notary’s seal from the briefcase and embossed the map, then added her own signature and date. “All right, that’s what we were hoping would be the case. You were born in Canada.”