“Indeed,” Balzac responded after a pause, the information thus assimilated.
XII
The next three days of astro camp passed by like the first — a concatenation of lectures from nine to five in the domed lecture theater resembling a planetarium. Topics were presented by their respective enthusiast, covering many observed and theorized phenomena.
From black holes:
“I wished they’d just call it a black sphere,” Balzac said to Zimmerman after a lecture on black holes; decidedly, the two-dimensional nomenclature was irresistibly misleading when one had to imagine a singularity in three-dimensional space. “I’ll pass on your request to the IAU,” Perry quipped with a good-natured smile. “Please do,” drily retorted Balzac; “For if they can turn Pluto into a common rock, then I’m sure changing the name of a phenomenon we can’t even see shouldn’t pose much of a problem.”
To faster-than-light:
“So one way to travel back in time is by moving faster than the speed of light,” Balzac reflected, turning to Zimmerman with a dubious Vulcan eyebrow raising. “According to special relativity, a tachyon could theoretically do that,” Perry allowed, nodding wisely. “And how do tachyons differ from normal particles? I didn’t quite follow the math,” Balzac freely admitted; for as far as he was concerned, stupid-but-willing-to-question was better than silent-and- staying-ignorant. “Think of it as two speed ranges that share the same barrier which is the speed of a photon,” Perry explained; “Below the line you have a normal particle requiring an infinite amount of energy to accelerate to light speed. While above you have a faster-than-light particle that needs an infinite amount of energy to decelerate to the speed of light.”
“Indeed,” said Balzac, arriving at an understanding; “Assuming they’re out there, I wonder how we could detect them. In Star Trek Voyager, tachyon particles were always present where there were temporal distortions,” he recollected, “Speaking of which, are black holes temporal distortions?”
To multiple cosmologies:
“The universe has multiple histories?” Balzac whispered to Zimmerman in the middle of another lecture. “In theory, yes,” Perry quietly replied back without removing his gaze from the lesson, adding: “Applying the path integral formulation concept to cosmology tells us that our present universe evolved from one of many possible pathways, or histories, with varying probabilities.”
Nonetheless, despite the speakers’ sparkling eyes and encouraging nods, Bouchard found most talks hard to follow; the slides seemed to flicker by like a phantasmagoria on a wall, and one theory sufficed to sedate him more than two Valiums could hope to affect. Thus, come Thursday afternoon, space in all its glorious resplendence appeared to him larger and more confusing than it ever did before.
“I’m mentally exhausted,” Balzac commented, as he and Perry walked down Daley Road towards their respective residential halls. It was a little after five; the sun completing its projectile descent, and their surrounds cooling down like water freezing into ice. “If it’s any consolation,” Perry chimed in, “I’m not sure I got that last lecture either.” Bouchard considered this comment; then in the manner of his idol, Seven of Nine, replied: “Is that an observation or a condescension?”
“Um, the former,” said Perry, looking a little bit surprised. “In that case he was probably teaching it wrongly,” Balzac replied in a decided manner; for, as far as concerned Bouchard, Perry Zimmerman’s intelligence was above doubt. “Anyway,” Balzac continued, slapping Zimmerman’s humility to the side, “The only thing I learnt today is that Karl Schwarzschild derived his solutions to the Einstein field equations in the trenches when not being fired upon by the enemy. Actually,” he added, pausing, a frown developing, “I’m not sure I understand that either.”
“He was definitely an interesting guy,” Perry agreed, nodding to that effect. “Speaking of Karl,” said Balzac familiarly; “What are tensors anyway?” and he turned to Zimmerman with a questioning look. “They’re just vectors,” was Perry’s simple reply. Bouchard raised an eyebrow. “If scalars are zero rank tensors,” Perry continued, knowing the import of that raised eyebrow — the advent to a flood of questions if not sealed properly with prompt explanations; “and vectors are first rank tensors. Then a second rank tensor is just a vector where all its components are vectors.”
“So,” said Balzac, hesitantly; “Tensors are like what? Super vectors?” Zimmerman appeared amused by this conclusion; “That’s one way of putting it,” he confirmed, wisely amused. Bouchard sighed.
“Did you know that a jellyfish is actually a colony of tiny organisms?” the latter moved on to a more agreeable topic. “Yeah,” was Perry’s casual reply. “That’s nice,” said Balzac dismissively; “I only found out recently, and so I did some searches on Scopus and read a few journal articles that quickly brought me up to speed on the matter. For example, I now know that jellyfish are at least ninety-five percent water. And contrary to popular belief, they do age. In the sense that the cloning process wears them down after a couple of years, and as a result they start to produce less healthy polyps. But at its prime,” he added, now near excitation, “the oral arms of a jellyfish are a good source of protein, and their bell caps are rich in minerals such as sodium and chlorine. Both body parts are valued in Chinese cuisine you may be interested to know, where the bells are sliced into salads and the arms are served cold with a dipping sauce.”
Some dozen steps later they parted.
XIII
“Dear Soka,
How do you do? Fine weather in Tokyo? Everything here is all-right; except for the inclemency which has me warming up to the idea of climate change. Honestly, how bad could an increase of two to three Celsius actually be? Of course, come summer I will be asking for an ice age.
Presently, Helena Hall is as empty as Hogwarts must have been during the Christmas break. The shared bathrooms are private for a change, and the communal kitchen is always clean. If my life followed the events in War and Peace, then this period is Peace.
The first half of astronomy camp concluded this afternoon; four days of lectures upon lectures communicated in a language I am foreign to. Fortunately, I had Perry Zimmerman as my translator. He is patient and explanatory. With him it is like talking to you. Actually, I think you two would make a stable diatomic molecule.
Speaking of pairs, there are two personalities in our astronomy group that have made an impression. The first is a mature-age second year student, Maxine; whose theatrical wit could find a career in stand-up or opera. The second is a first year Korean from Brisbane, Minho whose confrontational English gives me reason to believe that his English teacher was a German. If the latter person sounds familiar, it is probably because you have met him at one of those barbeques the faculty is so fond of holding for its Advanced Science students, exclusively.
The second half of astronomy camp will be spent at Coonabara Observatory. We leave tomorrow morning. The journey thereto is an eight-hour drive — just knowing it makes me bored. Nevertheless, I am looking forward to touring the insides of the many optical telescopes on site; for they should be far easier on the eyes and ears than the past four days of theory.
These evenings I have been reading essays by Voltaire. He is a singular man with the genius of multiple men. He writes about politics, philosophy, literature, society, and the works of Isaac Newton in a witty and page-turning way. Voltaire is no Einstein to be sure — he is a da Vinci! I am a fan.
That is all for now.
Your Friend,
Balzac”
XIV
At fifteen minutes to eight o’clock on Friday morning, Bouchard arrived with his travelling bag at the carpark attached to the asteroid-grey building of the Research School of Astronomy and Astrophysics before departure time. Said car park was empty, save for an obvious white van. Upon reaching the vehicle, the door opened for him and a gust of warm air escaped from within. He climbed in, greeted his fellow inmates with a clumsy smile and ensconced
himself in the first seat near the sliding door; his bag was helpfully passed on to the back of the van, where a neat stack was beginning to form. A few minutes later, Zimmerman sat beside him across from the aisle.
The day was bright sunny day without the warmth. Empty paddocks and waves of wheat made up the passing scenery. Sarah drove on without appearing to need a map, a feat that told of her many journeys to the Coonabara Ranges. The road took them past a few towns along the way, most boasting at least one international fast food chain, its yellow neon sign glaring “Like the Eye of Sauron in Lord of the Rings,” observed Balzac to Perry, who understood such comments. Suffice it to say here, seeing the greasy joints effaced the apple pie charm Bouchard associated with country life.
Maxine provided comedy relief throughout the otherwise tedious trip. At one point she called for science jokes; many persons willingly satisfied her request. Little chuckles quickly moved to uncontrollable giggles, and soon to full out laughing fits. And though Bouchard’s voice could not be heard among the general hilarity, he did, however, listen in on the verbal orgy with polite interest.
“Perry,” said Balzac, turning from the window back into the van. “Yeah?” he returned, welcoming the distraction; at this point they were five hours into the trip. “What’s Planck’s Law again?” Balzac asked, recalling a lesson on Tuesday. “Planck’s Law?” Perry repeated, retrieving the information; “The lower the temperature of a black-body, the lower the average frequency of its emissions,” he said, as quick as a calculator. “So a black-body at almost zero kelvin would emit practically zero infrared radiation right?” Balzac reflected, an idea gestating in his mind, the gears of which were grinding away loudly enough to intrigue Zimmerman. “Pretty much,” Perry confirmed, looking at Bouchard curiously; “What are you thinking?” his expression seemed to ask. “I see,” Balzac returned, as if realizing something for the first time, after a long period of ignorance; “so that’s why we can’t detect black holes using infrared cameras.”
XV
The van reached the summit of Coonabara around four in the afternoon, cruising to a stop in front of a white house. “This used to be where the astronomers stayed back in the sixties,” Sarah explained, when they were all out of the vehicle and standing before the petite manor; “But since they built newer accommodations further up the road, closer to the telescopes, it’s been kept as a guest house.”
“Looks like a bed and breakfast,” someone commented. “Or a haunted mansion,” chimed in Maxine, adopting a conspiratorial tone. “Haunted?” replied Sarah with a serious smile; “Only if you count the rats.” This remark gave Bouchard pause. It was as if someone had cast a freezing spell on him. In fact the entire group turned to look at Sarah, nonplussed. The latter was grinning. “I’m joking,” she said with a dismissive wave. A few laughed the shock off, however the prodigy of cleanliness remained cursed.
Through the vestibule one by one they trickled into the drawing-room, forming a pool at its center; no one sat. The room was tall, carpeted, and arranged around a hearth. “Due to the limited number of bedrooms,” said Sarah, “you guys are going to have to pair up.” Bouchard became rigid, his fears materialized. Reluctantly, he turned to Perry — the second best choice after solitude. “There are four bedrooms on the second floor and one on the first,” Sarah explained once the five pairs had been formed. “Where are you staying?” Maxine asked, more curious than concerned. “At the main quarters up the road,” was the simple reply. “Is it nice?” Minho asked bluntly, turning his thick head of hair to Sarah. “Not really,” the latter replied drily, her signature smile arising; “All the money went into building the telescopes.”
While Bouchard appraised the advantages and limitations of each room individually, Zimmerman followed behind with a husband’s acquiescence. “No,” said Balzac, his head poking into the second room. Two noes later Goldilocks found her porridge. “This one is acceptable,” said he, casting a sweeping glance at the piano nobile of the petite manor; spacious, two beds, matching couches, and an en-suite bathroom. Though a few other pairs came by to inspect the place, no one challenged Bouchard’s claim — had they, he would have shot them a Medusa’s gaze.
“Perry,” Bouchard called, striding out of the bathroom with a beaming smile, “the floors are warm!” Perhaps a simple luxury taken for granted in the villas of Lake Geneva, but for a boy acclimatized to the Mediterranean climate of Perth and sultry noon of Chiang Mai, floor heating technology was impressive. “Come try walking on it,” he urged in earnest. Amused and grinning Zimmerman followed his friend, whose child-like curiosity was always contagious.
As astronomical observations began earlier in the evening during winter months, Sarah called everyone down to the drawing-room and told them that the kitchen would be serving dinner soon. So saying, she led the group out the house and up the road, a shepherdess herding her flock to greener pastures. The main lodge was a one story, elongated complex. “Do all the astronomers live here?” Annika asked, a young lady with gorgeous blonde hair. Sarah shook her head, her ponytail shaking with the motion. “Only the visiting astronomers stay here,” the latter explained; “full-time staff live in a nearby town. I’m told they’re treated like rock stars down there.” Maxine chuckled, her curly hair bouncing like springs. Sarah climbed a few steps and opened the door, holding it for the rest to go in.
“Can I sleep here tonight?” said Maxine, the smell of a hot meal from the adjoining kitchen perfuming the refectory. Sarah shook her head fondly, last to enter, and invited them to sit down at the long table in the center. “People should start arriving soon,” she said, consulting her watch. Sure enough a few minutes after her prediction, men and women of varying ages, but all dressed in the latest hiking fashion, began to emerge through the door.
Sarah introduced them to the newcomers with quick personal introductions and their purpose for being here. In return, the scientist would give his or her reason for being here too; and once the job descriptions had been explained, the forenamed would make some little remark apparently humorous. Thus the younglings did not remain shy for long; their eccentricities found allies in these men of science. “Nerd culture never ceases to amaze me,” thought Balzac Bouchard, studying his peers interacting with their older counterparts in a sociable setting. Henceforth, the ambience within the mess hall evolved from small talk to talking loud.
“Free food!” Maxine exclaimed, the first in line from their group. “I’m bloody hungry,” came the blunt remark imparted by Minho. Bouchard, in fifth place, surveyed the buffet table with calculating interest: bread rolls, corn on the cob, roasted chicken, salad, and a tray of brownies wrapped in plastic. “I guess they want us to eat our vegetables first,” he observed to Zimmerman, six of ten. Their serves high, one by one the young ones returned to their table with plates of joy.
XVI
The schedule for Friday night, according to Sarah’s verbal agenda, included visiting two telescopes in action. “And by extension,” thought Balzac, “observe the astronomers in their natural habitats.” To optimize this viewing experience, the group was to dissolve into two coteries. Headed by Sarah, Bouchard’s school included Perry, Minho, Maxine, and Annika.
“Coonabara Observatory has a few telescopes,” Sarah narrated, leading them up the road and leaving the creature comforts of the barracks behind; “the telescopes belong to various international institutes, but are collectively managed by the ANU’s Research School of Astronomy and Astrophysics. We’ll be visiting two tonight and another two tomorrow night. The sky is clear so we might see a few things,” she added, appraising the heavens.
Some dark distance later, they approached what appeared to be a two-story building with a domed garret loftily perched on top — protruding from its flat roof like a zit on a patch of skin. “This is the second oldest telescope,” Sarah explained, as they climbed the slope towards the darkly lit mansion; “it was built in the late forties, and is mainly used for spectroscopic measurements.”
> At the door, their leader pressed a buzzer. Her call was replied a minute or so later, the door swinging open to reveal a be-spectacled man in his mid-thirties. He introduced himself as Karl. “Karl here,” said Sarah, as they filed within, “has quite an interesting background, don’t you Karl?” The latter smiled good-naturedly. “Let’s see, you were born in Germany,” Sarah began with a serious smile; “Grew up in Italy. But your mother-tongue is Spanish. Am I missing anything?” Maxine whistled in appreciation. “I think you covered it,” Karl chuckled humbly, his accent original.
To reach the second floor where Karl presided over his dominion, a spiral staircase had to be ascended; the first in Bouchard’s experience. The control station was a desk bearing multiple monitors displaying on each four images of stars in black and white. Karl began an explanation about his research, to which Bouchard only half listened; the contents of the room were distracting. “It is only observable in the southern hemisphere,” Karl explained. Bouchard smelt what must have been a cup of cold coffee. “I am interested in young stars in particular,” was said in the background. Bouchard’s eyes travelled afar. “By looking at the emission spectrum I can deduce the chemical composition...”
“Indeed,” Balzac thought to himself with high amusement; “This must be the highest paying night job in the world.”
Soon after, led by Karl, the group clambered up a narrow stairwell and through a trap door in the ceiling to emerge within the domed garret outlined before when they were climbing up the slope. “It’s like a bird cage,” Annika commented, standing at its center. “A bird cage?” Karl repeated, glancing around as if seeing it for the first time.
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