Humans Page 9

  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.”

  “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 itended 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 ne
xt 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; anotheree 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.

  “What? Hmm, I hadn’t even thought about that,” said Arnold.

  Ponter was confused. “Reuben said you were a geologist...?”

  “Yes, I am,” said Arnold, “but I don’t work for Inco. I’m with Environment Canada. I flew here from Ottawa as soon as word came that contact with your world had been reestablished.”

  “Ah,” said Ponter, still not understanding.

  “My job is protecting the environment,” said Arnold.

  “Is that noteveryone’s job?” asked Ponter, being, he knew, a bit disingenuous.

  But again the subtlety was lost on Arnold. “Yes, indeed,” he said. “Yes, indeed. But I wanted to find out what your people might know about environmental effects associated with magnetic-field collapses. I was hoping you might have some data from the fossil record-but to have complete studies of a recent collapse! That’s fabulous.”

  “There were no appreciable environmental effects,” said Ponter. “Some migratory birds were confused, but that was about it.”

  “I suppose they would be, at that,” said Arnold. “How did they adapt?”

  “The affected birds have a powerfully magnetic substance in their brains...”

  “Magnetite,” supplied Arnold. “Lodestone. Three iron atoms and four oxygens.”

  “Yes,” said Ponter. “Other kinds of birds navigate by the stars, and some individuals of the species that use brain magnetite for determining direction turned out to be able to use the stars, too. It is ever the way in nature: variation within a population provides vigor when the environment changes, and most crucial capabilities have a backup system.”

  “Fascinating,” said Arnold. “Fascinating. Tell me, though: how did you originally determine that Earth’s magnetic field does, in fact, periodically reverse? That’s a fairly new insight for us.”

  “The alternation of the planet’s magnetic-field polarity is recorded at meteor-impact sites.”

  “It is?” said Arnold, his one long eyebrow-how refreshing to see someone who looked normal, at least in that regard!-rising up his forehead.

  “Yes,” said Ponter. “When an iron-nickel meteor slams into the Earth, the impact aligns the meteor’s magnetic field.”

  Arnold frowned. “I suppose it would, at that. Just like hitting an iron bar with a hammer and turning it into a magnet.”

  “Exactly,” said Ponter. “But if you did not learn of this from meteorites, how did your people come to know that Earth’s magnetic field periodically reverses?”

  “Sea-floor spreading,” replied Arnold.

  “What?” said Ponter

  “Do you know about plate tectonics?” asked Arnold. “You know, continental drift?”

  “The continents drift?” said Ponter, making his face agog. But then he held up a hand. “No, that time Iwas making a joke. Yes, my people know this. After all, the coastlines of Ranilass and Podlar clearly once were attached to each other.”

  “You must mean South America and Africa,” said Arnold, nodding. He smiled ruefully. “Yes, you’d think it would be blindingly obvious to everyone, but it took decades for our people to accept the notion.”

  “Why?”

  Arnold spread his arms. “You’re a scientist; surely you understand. The old guard thought they knew how the world worked, and they weren’t about to give up their theories. As with so many paradigm shifts, it wasn’t really a case of convincing anyone to change their minds. Rather, it was waiting for the previous generation to pass on.”

  Ponter tried to conceal his astonishment. What an extraordinary approach to science these Gliksins had!

  “In any event,” continued Arnold, “we ultimately found proof for continental drift. At the middle of the oceans there are places where magma wells up from the mantle, forming new rock.”

  “We surmised such things must exist,” said Ponter. “After all, since there are places where old rock is pushed down-“

  “Subduction zones,” supplied Arnold.

  “As you say,” said Ponter. “If there are places where old rocks go down, we knew there must be places where new rock comes up, although, of course, we have never seen them.”

  “We’ve taken core samples from them,” said Arnold.

  Ponter’s face went honestly agog this time. “In the middle of the oceans?”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Arnold, clearly glad for once that his side was coming out ahead. “And if you look at rocks on both sides of the rifts from which magma is welling up, you see symmetrical patterns of magnetism-normal on either side of the rift, reversed equal distances to the left and right of the rift, normal again on either side but farther out, and so on.”

  “Impressive,” said Ponter.

  “We have our moments,” said Arnold. He grinned, and was clearly inviting Ponter to do the same.

  “Sorry?” said Ponter.

  “It’s a pun; a play on words. You know: ‘magnetic moment’-the product of the distance between a magnet’s poles and the strength of either pole.”

  “Ah,” said Ponter. This Gliksin obsession with word play...he would never understand it.

  Arnold looked disappointed. “Anyway,” he said, “I’m surprised that your magnetic field collapsed before ours did. I mean, I understand the Benoît model: that this universe split from your universe forty thousand years ago, at the dawn of consciousness. Fine. But I can’t see how anything your people or mine might have done in the last four hundred centuries could have possibly affected the geodynamo.”

  “Itis puzzling,” agreed Ponter.

  Arnold clambered off his chair and rose to his feet. “Still, because of it, you’ve been able to satisfy my particular concern better than I would have thought possible.”

  Ponter nodded. “I am glad. You should indeed-how would you phrase it?-you should sail effortlessly through the period of magnetic-field collapse.” He blinked. “After all, we certainly did.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Mary tried to concentrate on her work, but her thoughts kept turning to Ponter-not surprisingly, she supposed, since Ponter’s DNA was precisely what she was working on.


  Mary cringed every time she read a popular article that tried to explain why mitochondrial DNA is only inherited from the maternal line. The explanation usually given was that only the heads of sperm penetrate eggs, and only the midsections and tails of sperm contain mitochondria. But although it was true that mitochondria were indeed deployed that way in sperm, it wasn’t true that only the head made it into the ovum. Microscopy and DNA analyses both proved that mtDNA from the sperm’s midsection does end up in fertilized mammalian eggs. The truth was no one knew why the paternal mitochondrial DNA isn’t incorporated into the zygote the way maternal mitochondrial DNA is; for some reason it just disappears, and the explanation that it had never gotten in there in the first place was nice and pat, but absolutely not true.

  Still, since there were thousands of mitochondria in each cell, and only one nucleus, it was much easier to recover mitochondrial rather than nuclear DNA from ancient specimens. No nuclear DNA had ever been extracted from any of the Neanderthal fossils known from Mary’s Earth, and so Mary had been concentrating on studying Ponter’s mitochondrial DNA, comparing and contrasting it with Gliksin mtDNA. But there didn’t seem to be any one sequence she could point to that was present in Ponter and the known fossil Neanderthal mitochondrial DNA, but in none of the Gliksins, or vice versa.

  And so Mary at last turned her attention to Ponter’s nuclear DNA. She’d thought it would be even more difficult to find a difference there, and indeed, despite much searching, she hadn’t found any sequence of nucleotides that was reliably different between Neanderthals andHomo sapiens sapiens; all her primers matched strings on DNA from both kinds of humans.

  Bored and frustrated, waiting for Ponter to be released from quarantine, waiting to renew their friendship, Mary decided to make a karyotype of Neanderthal DNA. That meant culturing some of Ponter’s cells to the point where they were about to divide (since that’s the only time that chromosomes become visible), then exposing them to colchicine to immobilize the chromosomes at that stage. Once that was done, Mary stained the cells-the word “chromosomes,” after all, meant “colored bodies,” referring to their tendency to easily pick up dye. She then sorted the chromosomes in descending order of size, which was the usual sequence for numbering them. Ponter was male, and so had both an X and a Y chromosome, and, just as in a male of Mary’s kind, the Y was only about one-third the size of the X.