“I was born in Podnilak,” said Tukana.

“Yes, yes, but that’s in what corresponds to Canada—to Vancouver Island, British Columbia, to be precise—on this world. That makes you, by all established law, a Canadian. And we already know that Envoy Boddit was born near Sudbury, Ontario. So, if you and Envoy Boddit don’t object, the first thing we’re going to do after you leave quarantine is bestow Canadian citizenship on the two of you.”

“Why?” asked Tukana Prat.

But before Hélène could answer, Ponter spoke up. “This matter was raised during my first trip. One requires documents to travel between nations on this version of Earth. The most important one”—he paused, while Hak reminded him of the name—“is a passport, and you cannot have a passport without a citizenship.”

“That’s right,” said Hélène. “We took a fair bit of heat from other governments, particularly the U.S., when you were last here because you were kept entirely in Canada. Well, once you’re released from here, we’ll take you to Ottawa—that’s Canada’s capital—where you will be made citizens under Section 5, Paragraph 4, of the Canadian Citizenship Act, which lets the minister grant citizenship to anyone in extraordinary circumstances. Don’t worry: it won’t affect your ability to remain citizens of whatever jurisdiction is appropriate in your world; Canada has always recognized dual citizenship. But when you travel outside of Canada, you will be registered as Canadian diplomats, and therefore afforded full diplomatic immunity and courtesy. That will let us cut through all sorts of red tape until formal relations are opened between each of our nations and your world.”

“Each of your nations?” said Tukana. “We have a unified worldwide government now. Do you not have the same thing?”

Hélène shook her head. “No. We have something called the ‘United Nations’—we’ll be taking you to the UN headquarters right after you have a state dinner with our prime minister in Ottawa. But it isn’t a world government; it’s just a forum in which individual national governments can discuss matters of mutual concern. As time goes on, your government will have to be formally recognized by each of the nations that compose the UN.”

“And how many of those are there?” asked Tukana.

Ponter smiled. “You are not going to believe this,” he said.

“There are currently a hundred and ninety-one member states,” said Hélène. “So you see, it will take years for your government to negotiate treaties and so forth with each of those nations. But Canada, of course, already has treaties with all of them, so by becoming Canadian diplomats, at least in name, you can travel to any of these countries and speak with their government leaders.”

Tukana looked baffled. “I am sure that is all as it should be.”

“It is.”

“Great,” said Ponter. “When do we get out of here?”

“Soon, I hope,” said Hélène. “I can’t leave the SNO chamber myself now, until the two of you are cleared. But the doctors seem impressed by what they’ve seen of your decontamination technology.”

That news delighted Ponter, since it sounded like they’d be released shortly—he’d spent almost all of his last trip to Canada quarantined, after all, and didn’t look forward to more of the same, especially deep underground.

That afternoon, Tukana retired to the second of the two rooms in the quarantine suite. Like many people of her generation, she seemed to enjoy a nap. Ponter busied himself practicing his English with Hak’s help until Reuben Montego returned, accompanied by a short, hairy, beige male Gliksin, his appearance quite a contrast to Reuben’s dark skin and completely shaved head. “Hey, Ponter,” said Reuben. “This is Arnold Moore, a geologist.”

“Hello,” said Ponter.

Arnold extended his hand, which Ponter took. “Dr. Boddit,” he said, “it’s a real pleasure to meet you. A real pleasure!”

Boredom had taken its toll; Ponter could not resist a little sarcasm. “Are you sure it is safe to touch me?”

But the comment was lost on Arnold. “Oh, I’ve been wanting to come down from the first moment I heard you were here! This is an absolute treat. An absolute treat!”

Ponter smiled wanly. “Thank you,” he said.

“Please,” said Arnold, indicating the chair Ponter had risen from. “Please sit down.”

Ponter did so, and Arnold turned around another chair and straddled it, with his arms crossed on top of the chair’s upright part, which was now in front of him. Ponter felt his eyebrow going up; that looked like a more comfortable way to sit. He got up again and rotated his own chair, sitting on it in a similar fashion. It wasn’t as nice as a proper saddle-seat, but this posture certainly was an improvement.

Reuben excused himself and headed off to confer with the immunologists who were crawling all over the facility.

“I have a question to ask you,” said Arnold.

Ponter nodded for him to continue.

“We’ve noted something unusual happening to this version of Earth,” said the geologist, “and I was wondering if you could tell me if the same thing is happening on your version?”

“What?”

“Well, the aurora borealis—and the aurora australis, too—have been acting up.”

Ponter was quite surprised. “No, nothing like that is currently occurring. In fact, I saw the night lights last evening; they were perfectly normal.”

Arnold looked disappointed. “We were hoping you guys would have some insight. Our best guess is that Earth’s magnetic field is collapsing, and the poles are perhaps going to reverse.”

Ponter raised his eyebrow again, rolling it up his browridge. “When was the last time something like that happened here?”

“I’m not sure off the top of my head. Many thousands of years ago.”

“There have been no field collapses since?”

“No.”

“Fascinating. We had one—Hak?”

“Six years ago,” said Hak, through his external speaker.

“You mean it ended six years ago?”

“Yes.”

“But it must have started centuries earlier.”

Ponter shook his head. “It started twenty-five years ago.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Arnold, eyes wide. “Your entire field collapse took just—what?—nineteen years?”

“That is correct,” said Ponter. “Up until twenty-five years ago, the magnetic field was at its normal strength. Then it collapsed; the planet did not have any appreciable magnetic field for the next nineteen years. And then, six years ago, the field popped back up.”

“‘Popped up’?” repeated Arnold, astonished. “No, you must be joking.”

“When I joke,” said Ponter, “I strive to be much funnier.”

“But…but…we’ve always believed the magnetic field would take hundreds, and probably thousands, of years to collapse.”

“Why?”

“Well, you know, because of the size of the Earth.”

“The sun’s magnetic field reverses every hundred and forty months or so—every eleven years—and the sun is about a million times the size of Earth.”

“Yes, but…”

“I do not mean to sound grayer than you,” said Ponter. “We knew very little about field collapses, too, until we actually experienced one happening. Some of our geologists were astonished by the rapidity, as well.”

“Geomagnetic collapse and reestablishment in less than two decades,” said Arnold. “Incredible.”

“It was an interesting time to do physics,” said Ponter. “Our people learned a great deal about the—the process by which the field…you must have a word for it?”

Arnold nodded. “The geodynamo.”

Ponter frowned; another ee phoneme. But he let Hak take care of supplying it as needed; it was only proper names that Ponter had his Companion repeat exactly as he spoke them. “Yes. We learned much about the geodynamo.”

“We’d love to hear what you know,” said Arnold.

Ponter was glad that Tukana was asleep; he’d probably given away too much information already. But this concept of trading data—it upset the scientist in him. All data should be freely exchanged. Still, he decided to shift the topic slightly. “Is Inco worried that the demand for nickel will abate during the period of collapse?” Nickel was widely used in compasses on both versions of Earth—and the deposit here in Sudbury was one of the world’s largest.