“I read that Wigner and DeWitt believed that,” said Dexter.
Roger nodded. “They did, indeed.”
Olivia spoke up. “It’s never appropriate to hit your child.”
“What?” Roger swiveled to look at her. “I don’t. Never have.”
“In another universe, you do.”
“Sorry,” said Roger, not sure for whom he was apologizing.
“No. I’m sorry,” said Olivia with a contrite smile. “I sort of assumed that you and your alter ego used the same methods of discipline. I guess I was trying to chastise your other self.”
Roger chuckled and pointed at the Cat Room. “I think you would have had to do it in there.”
“Speaking of in there,” said Dexter. “Aren’t we going to run the experiment again, today?”
“Right,” said Roger, firmly. “We’ll run it again, now.” He glowered at Bron. “You’ll cooperate. Yes?”
Bron nodded. “Yes,” he said, weakly. “But…but we didn’t practice.”
“Okay, okay.” Roger, suddenly impatient to just run the experiment, let out a sigh. “We’ll practice, first. And this time we’ll do it with a cat.” He turned to his grad student. “Dex, a cat, please.”
“You’re sure it’ll work, now?” said Olivia.
“Am I sure? Strewth, mate. I’m a quantum physicist.” Again, Roger chuckled. “I’m not certain about anything.” He pointed to a wall poster. “Dexter put that up last week.”
Blessed are the uncertain, for maybe they shall see Heisenberg!
Olivia looked away at the sign. Her face registered incomprehension.
Dexter looked sheepish.
There came a flash of lightning, and the lights flickered.
“Nothing to worry about,” said Roger. “Happens all the time.” As he said it, there came the sound of heavy rain.
Dexter threw a quick glance to the window, then fetched a cat and handed it to Roger.
“Okay, Bron,” — Roger accepted the cat and nodded a thank you — “let’s go!” Roger and Bron entered the Cat Room. As Roger moved to close the door, a second peal of thunder came, this time reverberating through the lab — and the lights went out.
Still holding the cat, Roger opened the door fully and looked out, hesitating on the raised threshold of the Cat Room. The battery-driven lighting from its interior cast black silhouettes of him and the cat against the laboratory floor made grey by the storm-cloud darkened illumination from the windows.
“Now that we’re off the power grid,” said Dexter, softly against the darkness, “we have yet another degree of isolation from the rest of the world.”
Roger didn’t know if he should join the others in the lab or retreat to the fully-functional and illuminated cat room.
Dexter seemed to read his mind. “I expect the power to come on within a minute or so. You might as well go ahead with Brat’s practice session.”
“I agree,” said Olivia. “I’m very eager for another trial run.”
Roger nodded. “Dex,” he said, “How long will it take to restart the scanner once we get power again?”
“Just a couple of minutes.”
“Okay. Fine. See you soon.” Roger turned and entered the Cat Room.
Inside, Roger gingerly checked if the door lock was disengaged. It was fine. He placed the cat in the cat-drop cage, then turned to Bron. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” Bron pulled out his water pistol and aimed it at the cat. “Pow!”
“Not now,” said Roger. He guided Bron to the control console.
“Okay. Like last time, pushing this button fires the photon gun.” He lifted Bron’s hand by the wrist — the hand not brandishing the water pistol, and placed it on the console. “Now push the button, please.”
Bron did so and the LED above the button went green.
Roger pointed to it. “All right, what does green mean?”
Bron shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Roger tried not to shout. “It means don’t paint the cat! Push it again.”
Bron looked up at his father. “Is it true that whenever I push this button, I’m creating a new universe?”
“So they say.”
“Wow. Then I can create a real lot of universes. Ping! Here comes another one.” He pushed the button.
The LED shone red.
“And what does this mean?”
“Um…that I should paint the cat?”
Roger raised a fist. “Yes! Now let’s practice it some more.”
“Why only in here?” Bron pointed his water pistol at the door. “I mean, why can’t I create universes out there?”
“Our universe is kept from splitting by continuous measurements.”
Bron wrinkled his nose. “Huh.”
“Out there,” said Roger, gesturing toward the door, “everything is in some way connected to something else. But we’re in a sealed box, unconnected to out there. So here, we can create universes. Push the button, please.” I’m almost beginning to believe this, myself.
“Okay, okay.”
Roger imposed a dozen or so repeats of the button pushing and interpretations, and then said, “All right. I think that’s enough.”
“I’ll say, it’s enough.”
Roger went to the door and turned the knob. “Oh, not again.”
“What’s the matter?”
Roger forced a smile, not wanting to upset Bron. “I’m afraid we’re locked in again. But don’t worry. I’m sure Dexter will notice soon, and will let us out.”
“I’m not worried,” said Bron.
Roger didn’t believe him, and to keep him from panicking as had happened the last time, he had Bron go back and practice some more. Grumbling is better than panicking.
After many minutes of practice, Bron said, calmly, “It’s taking Dexter a long time.”
“Yes, it is.” Roger had tried to keep his voice even, but he was growing impatient — and a little concerned, concerned mainly by the fact that Bron, who hated the idea of being locked in a room, didn’t seem concerned. Especially since he was scared out of his mind the last time. Kids are strange. Olivia was right; kids are not completely bound to our world. Roger glanced at the cat in the cage. And neither are cats.
Bron, now almost by reflex, pushed the button, and the LED glowed red.
“Can I paint the cat, now?” Bron pleaded.
“No.”
“Why not?” said Bron. “We can do the experiment ourselves.”
Roger shook his head. “It’s not an experiment unless we can learn something from it. We’ll have to CAT scan the cat.” For emphasis, he pointed to the cat cage where the cat was struggling to break free. “We might as well let him out.”
“Great!” Bron went and freed the cat.
The cat meowed, loudly, and ran madly around the room, stopping finally at the door.
“I wonder how he knows it’s a door,” said Bron watching the cat pawing at the entrance.
Roger, staring more at the door than at the cat, gave an ‘I don’t know’ shrug.
“I’m bored,” said Bron. “I’m going to count floor tiles.”
Roger, boredom mixing with concern, watched him count.
“That’s funny,” said Bron, at length. “I got one seventy two this time. Wonder where I messed up.”
The cat meowed more loudly while again pawing at the door.
Just then, the lock clicked.
Roger rushed to the door to open it, but before he could get there, the door itself opened, revealing Dexter, framed by bright, fluorescent lighting.
Roger squinted against the light. Clearly the power failure had been fixed. He let out a breath. Despite himself, he felt a sense of relief. The cat though, ran not out the door but further into the Cat Room, stopping under the control console.
“Ah,” said Dexter, throwing open the door full wide, “I thought you might be in there.”
Roger, puzzled by the comment, canted his head.
As Dexter steppe
d aside, Bron and Roger left the Cat Room for the expanse of the laboratory.
But Roger’s head remained canted in puzzlement; Things looked different, somehow. And Olivia wasn’t there.
“Oh,” said Dexter, “You’re wondering why I’m here.” Dexter explained that the stipend committee meeting had been canceled because of the snow storm.
“What meeting?” said Roger, with narrowed eyes.
“The Stipend Committee. I told you about it.”
“You did?” And what snow storm? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw snow on the window sill. Something’s very wrong here.
Dexter nodded, then turned his attention to Bron. “Hi, Bart,” he said, cheerfully. “Think you can handle the experiment now?”
Bart? Roger jerked his head to look wide-eyed at Bron. Here he’s called Bart…and he’s okay with that. Roger stiffled a breath. HE did it. HIS mind determined this universe.
“Hi, Dexxy. Yeah. I can handle it.”
Roger wondered if perhaps he should see Olivia, professionally.
As he wondered, Roger saw a black cat saunter out of the Cat Room. His mind overflowing with a kaleidoscopic welter of superimposed images, Roger watched idly as the white cat padded to the laboratory’s far window, then leaped to the window sill and looked out onto the world — its black fur stark against the pristine snow.
After a few seconds, his mind having partially cleared, Roger ran to the window, scooped up the cat and shouted to Bron. “Quick. Back into the experiment room.”
“Are you going to hit me again?”
Roger braked to a stop. “Am I going to what? No. Of course not. Get into the room!”
“Why?”
“Don’t argue. Go into the room.”
Roger, at a run, backtracked the trail of steadily fading black paw-prints toward the Cat Room. Then, still holding the cat, he bundled Bron into the room.
“Why?” said Bron, again, this time louder.
“To count floor tiles.”
“I’ve done that.”
“You’ll count them again and again.”
“Huh?”
“Until you get one hundred seventy six.”
“Huh,” Bron repeated.
Roger pulled the door closed. He heard the lock snap.
Roger dropped the cat and slumped back against the door. The Cat Room felt now like a refuge.
“What’s going on,” said Bron, his voice an accusation.
“Dexter, out there,” said Bron. “He called you Bart.”
Bron wrinkled his nose. “No he didn’t.”
“Please, Bron,” said Roger recognizing his pleading tone but unable to do anything about it, “humor me and count the tiles.”
“Four game modules?”
Despite himself, Roger laughed. “Yes. Deal.” It’s the same Bron — my Bron.
Bron got to his knees and began counting. It was a slow process.
Roger, watching, retreated again to his physics. “If only I could justify the Compton Frequency,” he said softly. You might think about the space Wiener-process flip rate being different from the time rate.
“What?” said Bron, looking up.
“Just physics mumbling. Ignore me.”
Roger nodded. “And if the time rate were much longer than the space rate, that could generate something like an oscillation.” Yes. I think we’ve got something.
Again, Bron looked up, but only briefly before continuing his counting.
Roger lost himself in his work until Bron said, “That’s funny. This time I counted one seventy three.” He sounded genuinely puzzled.
“Count them again.”
“Yeah, I think.....” Bron sounded as if he were talking to himself. “I think I will.”
He did, and came up with a still different number of tiles.
Over time, Roger, preoccupied with quantum theory, lost track of the number of Bron’s counts.
“The ratio of the rates is a function of the mass. Yes?” Roger slapped a hand over his fist. “This must be it.” Yes. You’re right. I’m sure we’ve got it. And I think it will generate a value for the Planck mass.
Roger blew out a big breath and smiled. He’d been working on the problem practically forever. “Roses are red,” he said under his breath. Violets are blue.
“One seventy six,” Bron proclaimed.
“What? Great!” Roger jumped to the door. The lock clicked as he reached it. He pushed and the door opened. The lights were still off in the lab, and there was the sound of rain.
Roger felt the cat brush against a pant leg as it ran into the darkness.
He saw Dexter starting after it.
“Dex,” Roger called out. “Forget the cat. Come here, please.”
Dexter padded over. “Yes?”
Roger pointed to Bron who’d come out of the Cat Room and had hopped down to the lab floor. “Dexter, what’s his name?”
“Excuse me?”
“What’s his name?” Roger insisted, “his full name.”
Dexter, looking puzzled, said, “You mean Brat? It’s Bron,…uh Rattray I think, Arth — ”
“Good, wonderful. Thank you.”
“Roger, what’s wrong?” came Olivia’s voice.
“Oh, I am so glad to see you,” said Roger.
“Why now, especially?” She seemed truly puzzled. “Did something happen in there I should know about?”
Roger made the snap decision not to tell them about the other universe. They’d think he was crazy. Instead, he said. “Great news. I’ve solved the main problem with my theory.”
“Hey,” said Dexter. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. And as they say, two heads are better than one.”
Dexter wrinkled his nose in clear puzzlement.
Olivia narrowed her eyes and said, softly, “Why do you say that?”
“Yeah. Why did I say that?” said Roger with a chuckle. Because it’s true.
With a hum, the lights in the lab came back on.
“Power!” said Dexter. He glanced at Olivia and then Roger. “Ready for another experiment run?”
“No!” said Roger, almost at a shout. Then, feeling sheepish, he said, “I’d like to wait until I get the cat-drop mechanism working. Then we can run the experiment properly.”
Dexter and Olivia stared at him, expectantly.
Roger merely smiled. I’ll tell them the details later, when I’ve figured them out myself. Right now, they’d probably think I’m crazy.
Under her professional smile, Dr. Van Staaten suppressed a sigh. It had been an unproductive session with her young patient. He scarcely paid attention and his mind wandered and raced like a motor boat with a broken rudder. It was not a good way to start the year.
She stood and ushered the boy out of the treatment room with its baby-blue walls that she found so depressing. “We’ll send you back to the play-room for a while, Bron — while I have coffee and a chat with your father.”
Afterword
Why, I’ve long wondered, does quantum mechanics work the way it does.
Although it is a remarkably reliable schema for describing phenomena in the small, quantum mechanics (QM) has conceptual problems; e.g. How can ‘entanglement’ send information faster than light (and without violating relativity)? How can it be that the wave function Ψ (psi) can instantaneously collapse? In what medium does Ψ travel? What is Ψ? What explains superposition? What is happening in the two-slit experiment? Can the two-slit experiment (at least in theory) be performed with macroscopic masses? Is ‘The Cat’ alive or dead? — As a theoretical physicist, this is the sand box in which I play.
In the above, I’ve given prominence to the ‘two-slit experiment’ since Richard Feynman said that “all of QM can be understood by understanding the two-slit experiment.” But then he added, “But unfortunately, no one understands the 2-slit experiment.” To be fair, he also said he didn’t know if there really was a problem with QM — but if there was, it was a big one.
T
he problems surrounding QM center on the Schrödinger Equation (the master equation of QM) for a “particle,”
defining Ψ which encapsulates everything that can be known about the particle. [V(x) is a potential, akin to potential energy, and ℏ is Planck’s constant divided by 2π.] The square of Ψ is the probability of finding the particle at a particular point in space and time. But what exactly is Ψ? There are two main schools of thought:
1 - The Copenhagen Interpretation (of Niels Bohr) and the related MultiWorld Interpretation [1], MWI, (of Hugh Everett). In the Copenhagen view, Ψ is the particle. The particle doesn’t have a trajectory: i.e. its momentum and position do not exist simultaneously. Ψ collapses to a point (instantly, throughout space and time) when the particle is measured. Copenhagen is the dominant paradigm for QM. Most of us quantum theorists have ‘grown up’ with it. But recent work on ‘weak measurements’[2] has thrown Copenhagen into doubt by strongly implying that quantum particles do actually have trajectories.
The MWI is the same as Copenhagen except there is no wave function collapse upon measurement. Instead, all possible measurement results occur — but each in a separate universe. That is to say that any quantum measurement (that can have multiple values) creates one or more universes. A number of good theorists believe this. But Feynman called it “nonsense.” [Even though I used MWI in my story, I nonetheless agree with Feynman that it is nonsense — as well as a profligate waste of universes.]
2 - The Ghost-wave/Hidden Variable Interpretation [3] (of Count Louis de Broglie and David Bohm), the Stochastic Mechanics [4] (of Edward Nelson), and the Indeterminate Granular Space-time Mechanics [5, 6] (of C. Frederick [me]).
In the de Broglie-Bohm Interpretation, Ψ is, as de Broglie says, ‘the ghost wave that guides the particle’ (but what that wave is is not explained). Particles do have trajectories, determined by ‘hidden variables’. The mathematician, John Bell, though, showed that for that to be possible, the theory must be ‘non-local’ [7] i.e. things can effect other things through space and time instantaneously (violating Einstein’s prohibition of things going faster than light).
Nelson’s Stochastic Mechanics attempts to explain QM via quantum fluctuations, in particular, an aether undergoing Brownian Motion [8].
Science Fiction by Scientists: An Anthology of Short Stories (Science and Fiction) Page 21