by Paul Anlee
Larry flipped the RAF generator back into ACTIVE mode, and the small blue sphere instantly reappeared. Okay, so if the first time did change the objective reality of the universe, I don’t think I’d see the sphere anymore–he reasoned. I wish I understood the theory better. Greg and Kathy never seemed overly concerned about effects outside the RAF. I’ll just have to trust their judgment. I can’t follow the math, but they seem to have a handle on what they’re doing. Now let’s verify what this microverse is doing.
The procedure was simple. A laser interferometer sat inside the vacuum of a large jar, ready to measure the speed of light. He would direct a beam of light through the jar, from one side to the other. The beam would be split inside and half of it would travel through the microverse, while the other half traveled a parallel path alongside the sphere, without contacting it. If Darian’s theories were correct, the speed of light passing through the microverse would be different from that of the beam passing beside it.
He could test if the predictions were right by looking at the interference patterns when the two beams of light were brought back together just inside the far edge of the jar.
Larry called up the interferometer analysis program and pushed START. As the device scanned through its pre-programmed movements, changing the relative path lengths of the split beam, he watched data pour in and get averaged in real time: 332,905.000, 332,872.604, 332,892.735, 332,888.501, 332,889.545. The last number held steady over the remaining test time.
Did it work? Larry calculated what the speed of light would have to be inside the microverse to net out at the new number. This time he whistled out loud; the light inside the microverse traveled at 3.76 times its normal speed in the universe.
Could that be right? Was he seeing actual measurable change?
He redid the calculations. The answer was the same.
Wow. He had no idea what to do with that.
He switched the machine out of ACTIVE mode, stood back, and paced the floor. This was astonishing. They’d done it. They’d actually done it! All of Darian’s calculations, Greg’s confirmations, Kathy’s engineering, and Larry’s courage had created a tiny universe in which the laws of nature were different from the universe they lived in.
He needed to plan his next move. But not right now; his brain was buzzing with excitement.
Moving as quickly as he could, he erased all records of the test and the resulting data. He sat and thought, just for a minute, and then began tweaking the system so that, from that point onward, it would appear to be functioning correctly but not deliver the desired results. There would be no more blue microverses without his explicit permission, nothing unless he was signed on as the user. He needed to keep this to himself a little longer.
23
The first official live test of the RAF generator took place on an unusually cold December day. Like many scientific experiments, it didn’t go exactly as planned.
Burnaby Mountain pierced the clouds, steadfast and solitary except for the distant snow-capped peak of Mount Baker, a hundred klicks southeast: two ancient sentinels guarding a mystical land. Bright sunshine bathed the former’s peak and bounced off the frozen rain that glazed every outdoor surface, causing staff and students to squint and slip.
Below the campus, falling away like a regal cape, thick clouds adorned the base of the mountain and blanketed the surrounding city. The clouds extended from the Pacific shoreline some twenty kilometers west, and all the way past Langley, an hour’s drive to the east.
Darian loved the way winter days on the mountain sometimes started out like sunny California and ended up like dreary London, as the mist rose from the city below and engulfed them in sound-muffling, uniform grey.
He was happy to be easing back into work. He’d popped into the lab for a few short visits during the week. His doctor was adamant that he not overdo it. “Define overdo,” he’d replied, with good humored defiance.
Darian’s work and the fresh mountain air took his mind off the pain, and off the events surrounding the shooting. The would-be assassin had been arrested but wasn’t giving up any information about his motive or possible associates. It was possible Darian wasn’t out of danger yet. The guy may have been painted as a fanatical loner by the press, but Darian doubted he was acting on his own initiative. He had no proof of this, but he’d noted too many surreptitious glances and other oddities in the audience to be convinced otherwise.
Following a restless night, Darian had overslept. The throbbing pain in his rebuilt clavicle and surrounding soft tissue nagged at him day and night, making it difficult to sleep or concentrate. When he finally woke up, he called ahead to his group to let them know he’d be arriving an hour late. That was a rare event and especially surprising today, given the excitement in the lab. His colleagues were anxious to get started. They were already there, waiting on his arrival to begin.
Darian got dressed and hurried along the short distance from his UniverCity apartment. As he crossed the walkway, he gently tossed a handful of sunflower seeds to the chickadees scrabbling between the conifers for seeds and bugs. Sorry, guys, no time to visit today. Before entering the parking area, he took a quick look along the fringe of the wilderness park surrounding campus in the hopes of catching a glimpse of feeding deer. Not today.
He bypassed his regular java stop and went straight to the Physics wing to collect Dr. Wong for the demonstration. As Department Head, William Wong was well aware of the gravitas of Darian’s research. He’d tried to talk Darian into displaying the work before a larger audience than would normally be welcome in the lab. Wong had all but pleaded, but the young scientist would not capitulate.
Darian eschewed any form of publicity around the live test, and would permit Dr. Wong, and nobody else, to attend the team’s test. “This is science, not theater,” he said, brushing off other university dignitaries equally brusquely.
In truth, he wished he felt half as confident as others portrayed him. Despite all of his team’s meticulous theoretical calculations, he was still concerned about what might happen during this first test. After all, it wasn’t every day one created an entirely new universe, however tiny. He and Greg were fairly sure there would be no leakage of altered physical laws into the universe outside their generated field. Still, there was some residual uncertainty in the equations. Kathy and Larry both expressed complete confidence in the readiness of the RAF generator.
Darian entered the hallway leading to his basement lab and saw a small group of grad students and postdoctoral fellows gathered at the observation window. He frowned but decided their presence would be a tolerable addition. A small audience could come in handy as objective witnesses to the lab’s success.
The group broke into applause as they saw him approaching. These were the best of the best in Pacifica, perhaps on the continent, and their acknowledgment of their intellectual hero made even the likes of Darian Leigh feel honored.
Greg, Kathy and Larry watched from inside the lab. The vacuum chamber was already evacuated, the RAF hardware was powered up, and the control software was loaded. “Everything’s ready!” Kathy mouthed as she signed an eager thumbs-up.
Darian noticed that Larry avoided eye contact. Is he ashamed at being relegated to a lesser role on the team, or angry?—Darian wondered. Either way, it can’t be helped. He chose his path. I offered him the dendy lattice virus and he refused. For crying out loud, his name will get equal billing on the first few papers that came out of the research. What more does he want?
In truth, it didn’t matter. Today, Darian refused to get involved in office politics and co-workers’ hurt feelings.
“Thank you,” Darian said to the small gathering. He couldn’t resist feeling the importance of the moment. “Thanks for coming to witness the first live test of the RAF generator. You all know our Department Chair, Dr. Wong.”
“Don’t worry—I’m not speaking today,” the Chair assured them. “I’m just here to watch, like the rest of you. Dr. Leigh, please
continue.”
“Thank you, Dr. Wong. I would like to take this opportunity to say that, even though this is a very rudimentary beginning, I hope it will deepen our understanding of the basic forces that determine why our universe is the way it is. I’d also like to add that this work could not have been done in such a short period of time without the extraordinary dedication and focused determination of my team members, Dr. Girikanshayam Mahajani, Dr. Katherine Liang, and Dr. Valeriy Rusalov, whom you see there, waiting in the lab.
“Greg, Kathy, and Larry have worked intensely over the past few months to bring this research, this vision, to life. They’ve been integral in developing the theory and the implementation model we will use to test that theory. Thank you, all, for your contributions.” He directed this acknowledgment toward the three scientists in the lab, and the bystanders applauded politely, impatient for the show to start.
“Okay,” Darian said as the applause died down, “it’s time to play.” He ushered Dr. Wong into the lab and closed the door behind them. Those left behind jostled two-deep for the best views at the observation window.
Kathy took a seat at the control console. Greg took his position immediately behind her, one hand resting possessively on her shoulder. Larry stood off to one side, monitoring the laser interferometer.
Dr. Wong stood well back, picking a spot just inside the door. Amused at the man’s trepidation, Darian handed him a pair of goggles. He wished he had not been quite so quick to oppose the Chair’s request to notify the university press; one good picture for the history books would have been nice. Then he noticed all the smartphones through the viewing window and laughed at himself. One thing this test would not lack was adequate recordings for posterity.
Kathy’s position at the control console was mostly for show. There was no real need for anyone to be there. Darian’s internal lattice called up the IP address for the computer. He could have operated the whole test from his apartment or even from his hospital bed if that had been required.
Apparently, even I am not immune to a little theater. He took a deep breath and motioned to Larry to activate the laser. Those inside the lab donned their protective goggles, and Larry flipped the switch. They gave the equipment a few seconds to stabilize.
Darian signaled Kathy to turn the RAF generator to ACTIVE. The small gallery pressed forward in anticipation as Kathy pressed the button.
Nothing happened. The interferometer readings didn’t waver; the speed of light held steady at 299,792.458 meters per second. The device scanned through its preprogrammed changes in the path length. Nothing.
Kathy pushed the ACTIVE button off, and back on. Still nothing. She automatically checked the connecting cables to ensure they were all secure and exactly where they belonged. Nothing.
The audience in the corridor groaned as one, and started to speculate amongst themselves as to the cause of the failure.
Darian pinched his upper lip, closed his eyes, and exhaled noisily, releasing months of tension. He counted to three billion on his lattice and tried to remain calm. It was better than screaming.
What could have gone wrong? Everyone’s focus would be on him to provide an explanation. He opened his eyes and smiled sheepishly at the gathering.
“As usual, nature is the ultimate arbiter of Truth,” Darian said to his associates. To the observers outside the window, he merely shrugged, eliciting uncomfortable laughter from both inside and outside the lab.
“Okay. Larry and Kathy, start by going over the hardware and software. Make sure everything is working properly.”
“But we’ve already tested every line of code and every transistor in this thing,” protested Kathy, “It works!” She looked at Larry for confirmation. He shrugged sheepishly as if to say, “You heard the boss.”
“I’m not saying you missed something. I just want to eliminate the device itself as a potential problem. While you’re doing that, Greg and I will subject the theory to more rigorous simulations to see if we’ve overlooked anything. I know this is hard, but let’s assume that nature isn’t lying to us, that we must have missed something.”
Darian asked Dr. Wong to open the door to the hallway so he could address the disappointed observers outside the lab. As he opened his mouth to speak, he caught sight of Larry’s reflection in the window. That’s odd. He doesn’t look particularly rattled. Rather unconcerned, given the circumstances. Not what I would have expected. He wondered if he had perceived it correctly.
“I’m sorry, folks. This didn’t work out as we’d hoped. We’ll try again once we figure out what went wrong. Thanks, again, for dropping by. Clearly, we have some work to do.”
With the party atmosphere gone, the bystanders filtered away and went back to their work.
“Keep me posted on any progress,” said Dr. Wong, without making eye contact. There was no point hanging around; his presence would only hinder them. “Let me know if I can help with anything,” he offered. The lab door clicked shut behind him before anyone could have responded, and he disappeared down the hallway, leaving no trace he’d ever been in the lab.
Darian felt chastised, the proverbial goose who should have laid the golden egg but didn’t. We should’ve kept this test a secret; it would have been easy enough to run again for the press. That’ll be the last time I do something like that.
Failure was an entirely new experience for the young scientist. He wasn’t used to his research and tests not working out as he’d expected, and he was determined to never let that happen in public again.
“Okay, guys. We’ve all got things to do. Let’s get to it.”
24
“Cut it out! Now you’re making me nervous,” Dr. Pratt chided.
Larry made a conscious effort to quit checking everyone in the café. It wasn’t very likely anyone had been watching him and Dr. Pratt. It wasn’t likely anyone was trying to figure out why they’d been meeting and what they might be discussing. It wasn’t likely anyone would care even if they did know. But not likely didn’t mean impossible.
The weather had improved a lot in the three weeks since Christmas. The two men passed by the busy patio tables at Bojangles Café, just off the Yaletown seawall, and opted for a quiet corner inside by the window where they could enjoy the sunshine and a modicum of privacy.
Larry took the seat facing the door. He didn’t care if someone from the university recognized him, but he wanted to spot them first. He had concocted a decent cover story about how he and Pratt had just happened to run into each other along the seawall. And, having crossed paths before, it would be perfectly natural for Pratt to want to catch up with the team’s progress on the research he had unintentionally inspired. Wouldn’t it?
Nevertheless, these meetings always made Larry nervous. I am definitely not cut out to be a spy, not even an academic one. What if somebody sees us and starts asking questions? What if Darian, or Kathy and Greg wander in?
He willed his eyes to stop flitting nervously about the room. The calming sight of the boats moored at the Quayside Marina across the road made a soothing diversion. He leaned back in his chair and tried to look casual.
Pratt rewarded him with a grateful smile and lifted his latte to his lips. “That’s better. Thank you."
Outside, the lively False Creek promenade was speckled with people enjoying the unexpected break in the endless, dreary rain of Vancouver winter. Year round, rain or shine, a steady trickle of the fitness-minded individuals jogged or strolled along the scenic walkway that wound over twenty kilometers alongside Kitsilano Beach, the shores of False Creek, the perimeter of Stanley Park, and all the way back to Coal Harbour. It was doable in the rain but, in the sunshine, it was spectacular.
He and Pratt had been meeting every two or three weeks since mid-November, always picking a different café and a different excuse for “running into each other.” They hadn’t touched base since Christmas break. There wasn’t any need; Pratt was well aware of Darian’s failed test. The story of the dismal outcome had
spread throughout the university community within a day.
A good many people were genuinely disappointed by the young genius’ failure. To those familiar with his role in developing virtual reality entertainment lattices, he was a science rock star. Darian’s early technological achievements were reason enough to follow his forays into cosmology and theoretical physics, even though very few had more than a superficial understanding of his research.
There were, however, an equal number of individuals who felt vindicated by the failure of the experiment and, in particular, by his personal failure. This included several prominent senior academics who felt the budding star had detracted from the attention they had worked their whole careers to earn and which, in their humble opinions, they more properly deserved. Righteous smiles were exchanged between some of the less charitable university elite. Some could hardly restrain their glee.
Pratt was ambivalent about the whole thing. He hadn’t enjoyed being on the receiving end of the young scientist’s ruthless logic, but it would be unseemly to cheer a fellow academic’s failure, even one in the physical sciences. It was enough that Dr. Leigh’s arrogance had led him to humiliation, a fitting comeuppance. The two disagreed on methodologies and on most of their premises, but that didn’t mean the scientist’s intent was necessarily evil. Above all, he was a fellow seeker of Truth, and a highly dedicated one. Pratt respected that.
Then again, perhaps I’m not completely objective on this topic. After all, Dr. Leigh did publicly credit me with inspiring him to his present research. I need to take my lead from Reverend LaMontagne. He sees these things more clearly, and he’s made it clear he harbors no doubt or illusion about the abominable goal of these investigations. Pratt resolved to be less generous with Darian Leigh in the future.