Einstein's Bridge

by Cramer, John

  “You should call me Alice, Whitey. Ma’am sounds like my grandmother. I wonder how the physicists and engineers at the SSC like it,” she said.

  “Not very damn much,” said Whitey. “They complain a lot. But then, they don’t have no votin’ unit, Miss Alice, so it don’t matter.”

  Alice thought about that while she made notes.

  “As for the dancin’,” Whitey continued, “there’s the Gaslight Inn up toward Dallas, but there’s mostly just kids there, and anyhow the music’s too damn loud. Maybe you’d like P.J.’s better.”

  “P.J.’s? What’s that?” asked Alice.

  “It’s a little private club, what you might call a waterin’ spot,” said Whitey. “It’s in a kind’a trailer near the north end of the ring, over by Palmer. P. J. is the lady that runs it. She’s got a juke box and places where you can sit indoors or outdoors and have an ice cold beer, and there’s a little dance floor, too. The local folks like it, and some of the SSC people go there, too. Has what you might call ‘local color’. There’s lots of little beer joints like it all over the county, but I kind’a like P.J.’s best. It really jumps on Friday and Saturday nights. They’s a few fights, now and then, but they don’t amount to much.”

  “That sounds interesting,” said Alice noncommittally, wondering how many trucks were found in ditches near P.J.’s on Sunday morning. “Perhaps I’ll try it sometime.”

  Whitey looked at her inquiringly, his eyebrows raised.

  “Sometime when I’m not so busy,” she added. She was quiet for a while as she wrote rapid notes. Then she turned to a fresh page in her notebook. “Whitey, when they were first building the SSC, there were some news stories about the problems with imported fire ants. Are they still a problem?”

  “Hope ta’ tell ya they are,” said Whitey. “Those damn little bugs are the ruination of Texas. Get into ever’thang. When my Daddy was in the oil bidness, he had no end of trouble with them damn fire ants. He’d set up to drill a well and bring in his trailer and equipment. If he put the trailer over a fire ant mound, the things ‘ud start chewin into the trailer insulation, then they’d get into the wiring and the plumbing. The next thing you know, you’d wake up with fire ants in the damn bed with you.”

  “Can’t you spray them or something?” asked Alice.

  “They sell lots of sprays around here, there’s long shelves full of ‘em at the stores, but they just don’t do much to fire ants,” Whitey answered. “I think they’re protected by the EPA or somethin. When Daddy was drillin’ a well, ever once in a while he’d drive down to Mexico and buy some insecticides down there that would kill the damn things. Was against some damn law, but it sure as hell killed the fire ants.”

  “Can’t the Texas Government do something?” asked Alice. “With all the genetic engineering and biotechnology, I would have thought they could deal with a few ants.”

  “The Texas Department of Agriculture has sure tried,” said Whitey. “Still tryin’, I guess. They got them bug scientists over at Texas A&M University to raise some fire ants of their own, and they fixed those boy-ants to make ‘em, you know, impotent?”

  “You mean sterile,” said Alice, suppressing a smile.

  “Yes’m, sterile, I guess. Anyhow, they turned thousands of ‘em loose when the fire ant queens was supposed to be, you know, a-swarmin’.” He grinned. “But it didn’t do no good. Guess they couldn’t fool them queens with impotent boy-ants. There’s as many fire ants as ever.”

  Alice scribbled in her notebook. “Do they ever get into the equipment at the SSC?” she asked.

  “Well, they sometimes get into our wirin’ in the surface buildings. Lot’sa relays and contactors and transformers have burned up because of the damn fire ants. Keeps me busy fixin’ ‘em. Now the SSC has a whole crew of bug experts that goes around in special bug-proof suits, spraying ‘em and digging ‘em outa the ground.

  “But the big ring is way down under the ground, two or three hundred feet down there, and them ants don’t like to dig down that far. Oh, sometimes they crawl down a conduit pipe or something, but it don’t amount to much. Never caused any real problems down in the ring tunnels.”

  Alice nodded. “Thanks, Whitey,” she said. “I have to go do some unpacking now. I really appreciate the information. Hope I’ll see you again soon.” She gave him a big smile.

  Tonight after dinner, she decided, she was going to write another scene for F as in Fire Ants before going to sleep. She looked back at Whitey and smiled as she climbed her porch steps. He’s going to make a very good character for the book, she thought.

  CHAPTER 3.2

  All is Ready

  TUNNEL Maker drew the data stream into his sensorium and examined the pattern of its time fluctuations with anticipation . The detections of ultra-high energy concentration in the neighboring Bubble had reappeared five rotations ago, then stopped again. There seemed to be a pattern to the recent stops and starts. If the pattern held, the ultra-high energy concentrations should start again soon.

  He was excited at the prospect of making his first Bridge. Three orbits ago he had been designated Creator of Bridges. Now, at last, he could practice the craft that was the basis of his current assignment.

  Tunnel Maker examined the long chain of energy storage receptacles that stretched off into the distance in the station bay. They were vessels for storing antimatter, essentially pure energy. The receptacles assigned for his use had been steadily filling with antimatter for half a dozen rotations. He noted with satisfaction that they were nearly at maximum capacity.

  The Bridge-making apparatus occupied most of the next station bay, a massive engineering work of energy-flow channels, field generators, and particle directors. Carefully Tunnel Maker activated the diagnostic network. The neural diagnostic nodes indicated no problems. He initiated a dynamic test procedure to verify the status of the device, but he had no real doubts. All was ready for the next occurrence of a trigger.

  The third station bay contained the tools that he and some collaborating Individuals would use after the microscopic Bridge had been created. The initial aperture of the Bridge, the Bridgehead, would be only a few atomic diameters, just sufficient for manipulation with a beam of coherent light or a stream of charged particles.

  Light was preferred because massive particles significantly altered the energy balance between the two Bridgeheads, the station end gaining energy with each passing particle and the Bridgehead in the other Bubble losing a corresponding energy. This could build up to the point instability, when it became necessary to annihilate or create dark matter at the Bridgeheads to redress the energy balance. The same effect occurred when light passed through the Bridge, but the size of the effect was much smaller. He practiced with the coherent light manipulator, Writing the assembly of a simple nanomachine from the molecules of the station wall, then Reading it to verify the accuracy of the process.

  Satisfied now, and with a rising sense of excitement, Tunnel Maker touched the central neural node, activating the trigger mechanism that would initiate the complex Bridge-making process.

  Extrapolations of the periodic structures found in recent recordings from the new Bubble indicated that a concentration of energy sufficient for a Bridge trigger might be expected to resume in one or two rotations. It was now only a matter of time. Feeling simultaneously proud and impatient, Tunnel Maker set himself to wait for a trigger.

  CHAPTER 3.3

  West Campus

  ALICE followed the “Visitor Information” signs dotting the SSC West Campus, finally parking her car near the entrance of a low building with a geometrical roof. She recognized it as one of the “architectural statement” variety, although she could not quite make out what the statement was supposed to say. She wondered if the convoluted roof was water-tight in a good Texas rainstorm. In her experience there was a good correlat
ion between architectural masterpieces and leaky roofs. As she stepped out of her air-conditioned car, the wall of Central Texas heat hit her like a physical blow. She was feeling a bit nervous and hoped she wouldn’t start to sweat.

  She walked through the wide door marked “SSC Administrative Offices” and up to the broad counter. The air conditioning felt wonderful. A woman behind one of the desks rose and walked over. She was tall and thin, pretty in a sharp-featured way, with dark eyes and long wavy black hair. She wore a low-cut white blouse with a necklace that featured several crystals of different colors with a central double-fish astrological symbol as a pendant. “May I help you?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Alice. She held out her press credentials. “I’m Alice Lang. I’m a journalist with Search magazine. I have a 1 PM appointment with Dr. Roy Schwitters, the SSC Director.”

  “Oh, of course,” the woman said. “I’m Belinda. Welcome to the Super Collider.” She smiled. “I’m very sorry, Ms. Lang, but Dr. Schwitters’ schedule has slipped a bit today. He’s still busy with Dr. Wang right now. Perhaps I could arrange for you to talk to somebody else.”

  Just then, a tall woman with gray hair done in a bun entered the building.

  “Oh, Dr. Troy,” Belinda called.

  The woman turned and walked to the counter..

  “Dr. Troy, I’d like you to meet Alice Lang,“ Belinda said. “She’s a reporter from Search magazine, and she’s here to do a story on the Collider.” She turned to Alice. “And Alice, this is Dr. Edwina Troy. She’s the SSC Deputy Director for Operations. She headed the group that designed the SSC and now her group runs it.”

  They smiled and shook hands.

  “Do you have time to talk to me now, Dr. Troy?” Alice asked.

  “Call me Edwina,” said the other woman. “I’d be delighted to talk to you about our accelerator. I could tell you some good stories about how we designed and built it. But I’m afraid this isn’t a good time. I have to get ready for a presentation.”

  Alice made an appointment to interview her the following day, and Edwina left.

  “She’s a very nice person,” said Belinda. “Too bad she couldn’t talk now. I’ll try to find someone else.” She took some papers from a plastic rack on the counter. “You need to do a little paperwork, so we can get you the proper access cards for the experimental areas and you can visit the experiments and interview the scientists. It’s not a big thing, but to keep the Washington crowd happy you’ll have to provide us with some background information and sign a few release forms. Then we’ll get you your SSC press credentials, your access cards, and your radiation badge.”

  “I’ll need a radiation badge?” Alice asked. She wasn’t sure she liked the implications of that.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Belinda said, smiling. “You won’t be exposed to any radiation made by the Collider. Nobody is, because it’s turned off whenever we go near it. But everyone who enters an area where there might be the possibility of increased radiation is required by federal regulations to carry a radiation badge. It’s just a sensible precaution. To get access to the places where the physicists work, you’ll need a radiation badge like the ones they carry. OK?”

  Alice nodded, still feeling a bit apprehensive.

  Belinda’s “little paperwork,” as it turned out, consumed the better part of half an hour. Alice was just finishing the last form when a man-like machine rolled up to the counter. It was about the height and size of a man’s torso, a rectangular box with rounded corners, apparently propelled on cleated rubber tank-treads. Atop the contraption was a curved full-color image of a man’s face and head. The head glowed with an eerie light, like a television screen that had been transformed into a head. The head was that of a rather good looking man with blonde hair, a darker blonde beard streaked with gray, and ruddy cheeks. The man’s eyes looked unnaturally bright and sparkling, as if concealed lights were illuminating them.

  “Hi, Belinda” said the machine.

  Alice watched the machine suspiciously. Was this some kind of joke they played on visitors?

  “Hello, George,” Belinda replied. “Where are you? Seattle?”

  “No,” the machine said. “I’m just over at LEM. This is finals week at the University of Washington, but I gave my students a take-home final last week and got away early. My grades are all turned in, so I’m here for the Summer.”

  Belinda turned. “Alice, I’d like you to meet Professor George Griffin.” She seemed amused by Alice’s bewilderment. “George, this is Alice Lang. She’s a reporter with Search magazine, and she’s just arrived here. She’s doing a story about the laboratory.”

  Alice wondered if she should offer to shake hands with the machine, then noticed that it didn’t have any hands.

  There was a whirring sound as the head swiveled in her direction. It smiled. “I’m delighted to meet you, Alice,” it said in a rich baritone voice. “Have you ever interacted with a remote before?”

  “N-no,” she replied, feeling unsure of what to do. “Are you some kind of ..., of robot?”

  Belinda and the machine laughed. Then the face of the machine looked embarrassed. “I apologize for laughing, Alice. No, I’m not a robot. I’m a human being of male persuasion who is presently sitting in a recliner a few miles away, conducting my business at the SSC office using telepresence. This machine is a telepresence remote that belongs to the laboratory.”

  At the mention of the word ‘telepresence’, Alice smiled. That was a newsworthy detail that she could use in her Search story, and maybe in the novel too. She looked with new interest at the little machine.

  “It allows me to go about the Administration Building and talk to people,” George said, “just as if I were physically present here. Rolling into an SSC functionary’s office and demanding some action works better than a phone call or a fax, I’ve found. Present company excluded, of course. Even over the telephone I can sweet-talk Belinda into almost anything.”

  Belinda laughed and threw a wad of paper at the machine.

  “Uh, you can see using closed-circuit TV?” Alice asked.

  “Not exactly,” the machine said, “although TV cameras are involved. I see you in full color and three dimensions and hear you in stereo, just as if I were standing in the room with you, and when my head turns, my camera eyes and microphone ears turn also. In fact, I have a better illusion of presence than you do because the remote I’m using is a cheap model. It doesn’t provide a very good representation of me as a real person. But as far as I’m concerned, I’m standing right in front of you.” The head pivoted with a whirr, looking her up and down.

  Alice noticed that a pair of camera lenses, spaced about as far apart as human eyes, were mounted on the head unit and moved with it.

  “Uh, George,” Belinda broke in, “would you perhaps have time to show Ms. Lang the LEM experimental area? She’s just arrived, and she needs to be shown around. She has an appointment with Dr. Schwitters, but he’s tied up in an emergency meeting with Dr. Wang.”

  “Indeed,” said George, “a meeting from which I very much appreciate being absent.” The face smiled. “Jake has gone off on another of his personal crusades. He’s mounting an attack on some imagined beam degradation that he thinks is coming from the SDC.” The head swiveled in Alice’s direction.

  Alice looked interested. “What’s SDC? Sounds like a designer drug.” she said.

  George laughed again. “SDC stands for Solenoidal Detector Collaboration. It’s one of the many acronyms used around here, acronyms that you’ll have to get used to. SDC is one of two half-billion dollar experiments presently going on at the laboratory. The other experiment is LEM, the one I’m working on.”

  “Are the experiments nearby?” she asked.

  “Some of the smaller experiments are not far from where you’re standing, in the West Campus of the ring,” G
eorge said. “Their buildings are part of the SSC campus, just a short walk from here. But the two big detectors are both located off at the East Campus. That’s on the far side of Waxahachie, about a twenty minute drive from here. What would you like to see first? Do you want to see LEM right now?”

  Alice looked at her watch. It was almost 1:30. This looked like a good opportunity, so she might as well go for it. She considered how she could work this telepresence thing into her novel. “Sure, if you have the time,” she said.

  “OK. I have a couple of hours before I have anything scheduled.” George’s headscreen swiveled toward Belinda. “Tell Roy that Ms. Lang will return around 4. Jake should be finished chewing on his leg by then.

  “And before I forget, what I came here about was a little project for you, Belinda. KIRO-TV in Seattle wants to do a news spot for tomorrow’s 7 o’clock news about how people in the University of Washington’s particle physics and microgravity biology groups are using telepresence remotes at the SSC and on the Space Station. I think they’re looking for a contrast between the science done at Department of Energy projects and at NASA projects. I almost feel sorry for NASA. They always make the DOE look good by comparison.”

  Alice looked at George’s expression and opened her note pad. “Telepresence: DOE vs. NASA, KIRO-TV/Seattle, Conflict!” she wrote.

  “One of my biology colleagues and I went over to their studio and did an interview last Thursday,” George continued. “Now they want background. Could you find some stock clips of the SDC and LEM experiments and put them on the satellite feed? Preferably clips showing some mix of the University of Washington people and remotes swarming over one of the LEM sub-systems. They’d like to have it sometime tomorrow morning, Seattle time. Noon at the latest. OK?”