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Chapter
22
It was
still dark outside when David Lutman awoke to a rather animated
discussion going on between Deanne and Carl Pickover from the
kitchen.
‘So
how the hell can we blast particles in a machine that keeps breaking
down?’
‘I
don’t know, but if that’s not the way, there must be another.’
‘There’s
no way we’ll get in there anyway…’
Lutman
quickly put on his clothes and found Pickover and Deanne sitting on
opposite sides of a kitchen table. Although it had already been lain
out for breakfast, much of what was there was smothered by copious
sheets of paper.
‘Good
morning,’ he said sarcastically. ‘So. Why didn’t you wake me?’
Deanne
sighed. ‘Sorry darling,’ she said apologetically, ‘but I was
awake at five and couldn’t get back to sleep. I went to the
bathroom, and discovered our friend here still up and looking at all
these sheets of paper.’
‘I
didn’t get much sleep either,’ Pickover added unnecessarily.
‘Well…
from what I could hear from you pair,’ quipped Lutman, ‘it sounds
like there might be a problem with our problem! Want to tell me about
it?’
‘I
don’t think you’ll be able to help us,’ said Pickover snidely.
‘Why
not?’ snapped Deanne.
‘Well,
I don’t really think he…’
‘He’s
not exactly that unfamiliar with the subject, Professor,’ Deanne
shot back. ‘Besides, he’s my fiancé, and I’m not keeping
anything from him. He is the key to all of this we’ve been
discussing.’
‘Okay
Doc. You’re the boss.’
‘Thank
you.’
Although
she and Pickover had spent much of the early morning discussing it,
Deanne decided to explain once again to Pickover – primarily for
Lutman’s benefit – how it might be feasible to enter a
stabilized, swirling black hole. The start of a tunnel. Carl Pickover
added keenly that it was also called an ‘Einstein-Rosen bridge’.
If only to prove that he did know something about what they were
talking about, Lutman added that it was also called a wormhole. At
least he was thankful he had listened to Deanne back at the
restaurant on the way to Phoenix.
Deanne
once more emphasized the point that these wormholes only existed at a
quantum level, and that countless numbers existed within their space
and at any one time. They would open and close in milliseconds or, as
she was keen to clarify, about one
10-million-trillion-trillion-trillionth of a second. If they were
able to see these wormholes at a quantum scale it would be like
looking at a massive sponge. ‘And if it were possible to grab one
of these wormholes within this ‘spacetime foam’, and hold it
open,’ she enthused, ‘one could travel through it to another time
or, as the theorists believe, an alternative or parallel universe.
They may even be the solution to interstellar travel.’
‘Assuming
the good doctor’s correct about being able to grab the correct
wormholes,’ said Pickover enthusiastically.
‘Yeah,
okay, we discussed that,’ replied Deanne dismissively.
‘And
if that’s the case,’ Pickover continued, ‘I can begin designing
something that can grab one of these quantum-sized wormholes. I just
need to discover what the best way of going about it is.’
‘One
of our main problems among the many thousands of others we’re going
to encounter,’ continued Deanne, ‘is power. We need the supply of
an entire power plant to do that.’
‘You’re
telling me. And the only other tiny problem,’ added Pickover, ‘is
having the necessary technology to detect these wormholes.’
‘Okay,
right,’ said Lutman, trying his best to seem knowledgeable, but was
slowly getting increasingly lost, ‘so what does that entail?’
‘We
need a very large particle accelerator,’ said Deanne
matter-of-factly. ‘We need one to try and get hold of a particular
particle.’
Lutman
glared at them. They stared back, both silent. But after a few
seconds, both of them could not help but crack into grins. He felt
certain they were winding him up. ‘And?’ he said impatiently.
‘Do
you take in what she just said?’ smiled Pickover.
‘Ah.’
Now he understood. ‘I take it one just can’t go down to the local
shop to get one of these things. And what exactly is a particle
accelerator for my benefit?’
‘It’s
a machine that can move electrically-charged particles at high speeds
by using magnets,’ Deanne replied. ‘It’s basically a large
tunnel that’s a perfect circle. There’s a chrome tube about three
feet in diameter that lines it, inside which particles are
accelerated in opposite directions so they can then smash into each
other.’
‘Sounds
interesting but I don’t really understand… er, don’t you have
one of those things housed in one of the blocks at your labs?’
Lutman asked Deanne.
‘Er,
no,’ she answered, ‘one of those things would not fit into any of
those buildings.’
‘It’s
has to be a big bastard,’ Pickover added, ‘and there’s only one
such machine that will be the size we want, and it’s out of action.
Again. No idea yet when it’s due back in operation. Another
eighteen months, they reckon.’
‘So
how big,’ said Lutman slowly, ‘is… this thing?’
‘27
kilometers long,’ said Pickover matter-of-factly.
Lutman
looked at Pickover, expecting another grin that told him it was
another wind-up. But this time, Pickover’s remained serious.
He
turned to Deanne. ‘He’s not joking… is he?’
‘He
isn’t,’ said Deanne, ‘but we do agree that there is a slim
chance that with the help of this accelerator, we might be able to
get something to keep a wormhole open and with only the fraction of
the power needed.’
‘Okay…
I think,’ said Lutman uncertainly, ‘and how does this particle,
which you hope to get from a bloody great big tube that isn’t even
working and won’t be for another year, fit into all this?’
‘Ah
yes, hereby lies another problem,’ said Pickover.
‘It’s
a particle that hasn’t yet been discovered,’ said Deanne.
‘Or
even proved to exist,’ added Pickover. ‘The one thing that might
give us the remotest chance of discovering one is from our
27-kilometer machine.’
‘Really?’
said Lutman sarcastically, ‘well, that’s buggered things up then,
hasn’t it!’
‘Yeah,
and to bugger it up even more, as you so eloquently put it, when it
gets working again there’s a whole queue of jobs waiting for it.
We’ve no chance of just going in and saying, hi
guys, can we just borrow your particle accelerator for a few minutes?
We’d be eternally grateful.’
‘Would
you like some more bad news?’ said Deanne, almost breaking into a
grin. She could not help thinking how ridiculous, far-fetched and
impossible everything was that they were discussing.
‘Is
it worth it?’
‘Well,
I’m going to tell you anyway,’ Pickover continued. ‘We can’t
exactly build our time machine in a bedroom. At best we’ll either
to have to build it at one of the labs at my old university or
somehow convince the guys at the California Institute of technology
to lend us a lab.’
‘Could
you do that?’ asked Deanne.
‘Before
you came along,’ he replied, ‘if I’d’ve proposed such a
project to the powers that be, there at both places, I’m sure
they’d’ve kicked me out before I could say ‘machine’, after
having said ‘time’. Now, you, a nice, pretty, intelligent young
physicist, I estimate that our chances will increase astronomically
from no hope at all to the minisculest of chances. I might just
survive the discussion by the end of the word ‘machine’. Then
I’ll get booted out. That’s another two seconds we’ve gained in
any negotiation.’
‘Yeah,
right,’ said Lutman unhelpfully.
‘And
even then, definitely not at the Institute,’ Pickover added.
‘I
can tell you’re trying to make me happier.’
‘Anyway,’
Pickover continued, ‘That’s still the least of our problems.’
‘Oh
really?’ Lutman
was now starting to believe there was really little further point of
the discussion with so many obstacles to overcome. And more. But he
kept these thoughts to himself. He had seen the evidence. It
had been done.
‘Aside
from not having an extremely high-powered particle accelerator, and a
particle whose existence has yet to be proved,’ began Pickover,
‘we’ve still one crucial element of the equation to solve.
Assuming we’re successful in grabbing a wormhole, and in turn
successful in opening it, how do we know where it’ll lead us? Is it
at all possible to predict where one’s going? If we can, will we be
able to select the right wormhole to go to a specific destination and
time? Or for that matter would we know whether we’re going to end
up in a parallel universe or some distant part of the galaxy?’
‘As
I already told you,’ Deanne added with a hint of impatience, ‘my
calculations showed which were the easiest wormholes to grab and keep
stable. And it’s those ones specifically for traveling through
time.’
‘Oh
come on,’ scoffed Pickover, ‘how can you possible know that?
There’s absolutely no way you can know that!’
‘I
didn’t until last week.’
‘And
what makes you absolutely sure?’
‘Carl,
I just know.
Trust me. After all, you seem absolutely confident about the
likelihood of getting tachyons!’
Lutman
quickly cut in. ‘Well, I believe everything’s possible,’ he
said confidently. ‘My only concern is just how we can do it after
all you pair’ve been saying. But I’ve every confidence in you
two. You, perhaps even with me, will find a way.’
‘Oh
yeah,’ smiled Pickover, ‘and what makes you
so sure?’
Lutman
turned to Deanne. ‘Have you told him yet?’
‘Told
me what?’ said Pickover suddenly. ‘What’ve I missed?’
‘No
I haven’t,’ Deanne sighed, ‘so I suppose you should tell him,
rather than me. Maybe there’s something else in your story I’ve
missed, some other missing clue, perhaps.’
‘Story?’
asked Pickover incredulously, ‘do you mind telling me what’s
going on?’
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