Stomachs thusly warmed with dessert — steaming apple crumble, a welcome treat on a Saturday forecasted to be very cold — the students soon set off to make good on their respective engagements. Bouchard’s school drifted off towards the telescope helmed by the famous Dr. Macnamara; an observational astronomer who won himself a reputation by identifying many of the solar system’s most flamboyant comets. “Dr. Macnamara was Eric’s supervisor,” Sarah noted to the group, as they waited in front of a small rectangular bunker whence the professor emeritus presided.
When the door flew open, Bouchard saw hair before he saw Dr. Macnamara — an Einstein puff. “Enter! enter!” said an old man with a kind countenance and smiling eyes, enthusiastically motioning for them to step in. The office was small and cluttered with the fingerprints of professorship. “Sit, sit,” he insisted, making more seating room by pushing things away on a spare table. Then rubbing his hands together like one does when anticipating a succulent pig, he said: “Now, what can I do for you?” His guests eyed each other uncertainly; this was going to be interesting.
At one point while deep in answering a smart question from Perry, the phone rang. Dr. Macnamara shuffled over to answer it. Meanwhile, Bouchard turned to Zimmerman; “So are tailless comets common?” he asked. “I think they’re quite rare actually,” said Perry; “most comets in our solar system have ice on them, hence the tails.”
“I’ll be back Sarah,” said Dr. Macnamara suddenly, setting down the receiver; “Josh asked me to record a movie for him on the tele. It starts in half an hour!” So saying he grabbed his keys and made an exit. “Just like that?” Minho commented drily. “He’s known to be a bit, unpredictable,” Sarah decided, not sure what to make of this event either; “However if he’s driving all the way back home,” and she checked her watch with a frown, “then he’ll probably won’t be back anytime soon.” Ten eyebrows were raised. “Surely Dr. Macnamara isn’t driving all the way down town just to record a movie on TV?” Annika spoke for them all. Sarah only smiled seriously in response to this; your guess is as good as mine, it said. “He is not unlike,” Balzac reflected in amusement as the events transpired; “the Ingenious Gentleman of La Mancha galloping on his dying steed to save a misrepresented damsel in distress.”
Suffice it to say here, by the time the other group came over for their turn with the famous but absent Dr. Macnamara, the good knight had not yet returned from his quest. “Just imagine his expression when he comes back and sees a different set of faces in his office!” Maxine mused, chuckling at the prospect; which, sadly, she was not to be part of.
As the group walked over to its next engagement, the main conversation revolved around the point of creation. And though Bouchard did not understand the astrophysics behind it all, he could however appreciate its philosophical significance.
“General relativity assumes that inflation occurred due to quantum fluctuations at the Big Bang singularity,” Perry explained; “resulting in the appearance of energetic particles in empty space, an event which is possible because of the Heisenberg uncertainty principle.”
“Yeah, and before the Big Bang there was nothing, not even time,” Minho interjected, matter-of-fact; cosmology being a topic of great interest to him. “The laws of physics didn’t exist either,” Maxine joined in, not one to be left out.
“What about the quantum correction model?” Annika asked Perry, inviting him to finish explaining the differences. “The quantum correction model predicts no singularity,” said the latter. “I.e. no bang,” Minho interjected again. “Yes,” Perry agreed, not offended by these interruptions; “the concept surmises that the universe didn’t have a beginning and is also unlikely to end in a big crunch.”
“But I thought the cosmic microwave background proved the Big Bang theory,” Maxine returned, citing the discovery of heat waves believed to be remnants of the divine explosion. “It does to an extent,” Sarah allowed, weighing in on the discussion; “However if we’re being entirely honest here, the Big Bang theory only accurately describes events after the initial singularity, not at or before the point itself. The math gets a bit fuzzy as time approaches zero. That’s why the quantum correction model hasn’t been thrown out the window yet.”
XXI
Anon, the group stopped in front of their last telescope for the night, and perhaps the final telescope for astro camp itself. The building was irregularly shaped: a cubic barn about four, five stories tall with a slanting roof. A general pause ensued whilst all eyes inspected this alien structure. “It’s not your typical design,” Sarah confirmed, sensing the general confusion through the dark; “But that’s not the coolest part,” she added with a playful grin, “see there.” Bouchard followed her pointing finger, trying to discern what it was she meant. “It’s sitting on a disk,” Minho observed with his usual bluntness. “Yep,” said Sarah, nodding; “the platform rotates the telescope as it tracks an object in the sky.” Maxine whistled appreciatively. “That whole thing?” Balzac thought, speechless.
“It was built during the early eighties,” Sarah narrated, matter of fact; “As you can imagine, pretty futuristic for its time. Today the telescope time is mainly given to postgrads collecting data for their theses. So I suppose you could say it’s been turned into a sort of training facility.” The young ones looked hopeful. “What’s the telescope’s diameter?” Perry asked, his expression contemplative. “Two point five,” was the answer; “modest by today’s standards.”
A marked hatchway allowed outsiders within, and through this portal they entered the edifice. Sarah entered last and closed the door shut behind her. All was darkness. “Well this is just awkward,” said Maxine flatly. “Any source of light can potentially ruin your results,” came Sarah’s voice from somewhere, “so the darker it is around your telescope the better. Only the control room is light-proof, sort of. Now,” she said, switching to a more commanding tone, “there’s a stairway that leads to the control room. But you need to be really careful climbing it.” So saying, she made her way to the front of the group to find this ladder.
One hand gripping the cold rail while the other pinched the jacket of the person in front of them, they slowly made their way up the stairs. “A caterpillar train climbing a cave wall,” Balzac analogized to himself, his feet landing uncertainly on the next step. Who knew the life of an astronomer could be so much to the advantage of Hades; one misstep or a wrong turn, and you could find yourself drinking from the Lethe. As if reading what was on all the young minds, Sarah confirmed: “There’s been a few accidents. But mainly broken hips and a few bruises, that sort of injury. Nothing serious.” From her tone, she could have been talking about getting a paper cut while working in a paper mill. “That’s. Nice?” Minho remarked, in front of Bouchard. “Sarah doesn’t wear hiking attire for show,” Balzac observed, inwardly.
The Moirai sisters must have been in an indulgent mood this darkling eventide, for the train arrived at its terminus corporeally intact. There was a general sigh in the air as Sarah opened a door at the top and ushered them within. “This must be the red light district,” Maxine cracked up, causing everyone to laugh; for the small closet-like room they had just entered was dimly lit by a single red light bulb. “Decontamination chamber,” Sarah corrected with a serious smile; “Need to let your eyes readjust to light before we enter the control room.” The party stood still for a moment, Sarah timing their acclimation.
Through the adjacent door they finally arrived at the promised land. This room was slightly warmer than outside. “Thank the Borg,” thought Balzac. A grey-haired woman came up to greet them. She was the principal controller. “Hanah’s been here since the beginning,” said Sarah, introducing them to the grande dame.
The control room could have passed for Karl’s office were it not for the large operating station at the side, complete with antique monitors, buttons and joysticks. “It’s like a video arcade,” Perry commented with a boyish grin. Hanah chuckled good-naturedly, as a grandmother does at
her grandson’s jokes. “Of course,” said she, in a wistful manner; “these days it’s just a few clicks on the computer.” So saying she shook the mouse, waking the computer up from its power nap, and dropped into her chair. “Saturn should be visible tonight,” was the suggestion.
Shortly after clicking in a few commands, the building began to shake. Balzac spun in confused surprise; “What the Borg?” thought he. Everyone else, apart from the seniors of course, appeared equally as unprepared as Bouchard was for this turn of events. Perry and Minho each muttered a startled “whoa” while Maxine shared some choice words. Annika held onto the station for support. The structure was making its famed rotation.
When all came to a standstill, Hanah furiously inputted some more commands and voila! a mini Saturn appeared on the screen, rings and all; albeit in black and white. “Aww, no color?” said Minho, disappointed. “Sorry,” Hanah replied, smiling regretfully; “The photos you see on posters have all been photoshopped.” For some reason this revelation — that of a thing pizzazzerized to appeal to a wider audience — made Bouchard think of raisins covered in chocolate; decidedly the only tolerable way to eat mummified grapes.
Some minutes later, when the novelty of mini Saturn began showing signs of decline, Sarah consulted Hanah, asking: “Is it ok if I take them up top?” The latter thought this a great idea and so readily consented. “Up top?” Maxine voiced with renewed interest, her eyes rolling to the ceiling.
Being perfect gentlemen, the ladies were allowed to go first. In the meantime, Hanah invited the three remaining males of the species to settle themselves in the lounge corner; made up of threadbare sofas, a used coffee table and near it, a kitchenette whence midnight stimulants could be prepared. For entertainment Hanah opened up a conversation, which, to Bouchard’s disadvantage, progressed from easy to technical rather fast. But so as not to appear disengaged and thus offend their hostess, he listened in on the wise exchange with a caveman’s wonder. This went on for more than fifteen minutes.
XXII
They all heard the comedienne before they saw her burst through the door. Minho thought out loud; “Finally!” said he in an exaggeratedly exasperated voice. The boys walked over to join Sarah.
The door opened out onto a railed balcony. “Oh Borg,” thought Balzac, as he emerged into darkness, the July breeze splashing over his face like a bucket of iced water. “We’ll stand here for a few seconds,” Sarah commanded; “so our eyes get a chance to adjust.” A dozen foggy breaths later the four began to slowly make their way up the stairs, eyes partially blind and hands gripping the icy balustrade with appropriate concern for tomorrow. “This is bloody dangerous,” Minho decided out loud.
When he reached the top, Bouchard could just make out a railed bridge spanning across the summit of the slanting roof. They shuffled over to its center. “We’ll stop here,” said Sarah: her command was obeyed immediately; “and hold onto the rails. It’s windy.” She did not have to tell them twice. Looking down from the bridge, Bouchard could just make out the silhouette of a telescope poking out slightly from the roof’s aperture. “It’s like looking into the eye of a Cyclops,” Balzac said to no one in particular. “Um, Balzac?” Perry whispered beside him. “What is it?” returned the other, still trying to make out the giant black eye below; “Do you see something?” There was a momentary pause. “Try looking up,” came the suggestion. Bouchard did; and his jaw dropped. The Milky Way in all its sinewy resplendence and sparkling excessiveness appeared to him like a vomit of diamonds on a carpet of infinite darkness.
XXIII
Silence reigned for some time over the four humans standing atop the barn-shaped observatory out in the Coonabara Ranges, the sheer awesomeness of space and infinity overloading their sensoria beyond comparison with any past experience. “Bloody hell,” Minho gasped at last, first to break the silence. “Pretty much,” chimed in an equally awed Perry. “To be sure,” said Balzac, gazing fixedly at the spectacle with fanatical worship, as if beholding a vision of Venus stepping out of her shell. Sarah smiled at the youths’ short but loaded responses; she agreed with them all.
“Ready to go back?” Sarah asked after another five minutes had elapsed. “So soon?!” Balzac returned, reluctant to move from the view despite feeling like his blood was congealing from within. “Well,” said Sarah uncertainly, there was a schedule to follow on the one hand; “A few more minutes then,” was her final offer. This extension appeased him for the moment.
XXIV
The five disciples dropped off at the guest house, Sarah proceeded on to the barracks and there prepared to call it a night; for tomorrow promised to be another long drive back to Canberra. Her recruits on the other hand joined their fellow comrades in the living-room, whence another soirée was extemporized. Biscuits and tea were provided, courtesy of the Coonabara Observatory kitchen.
Naturally, Madame la Comedienne was the lady of her household; as involved as Madame Geoffrin of the rue Saint-Honoré when presiding over her famous dinners on Wednesdays, whence the intelligentsia of Europe flocked over to her salon to make love to philosophy, and she, its head mistress, directed their thoughts as a hypnotist influences the minds of others with mesmerism, or drew out their opinions as a surgeon-in-charge extracts a tumor from the brain. All this is to say that Maxine ensured conversations flowed in surplus, that everyone was included and amply teased.
“How did Dr. Macnamara react when he saw you guys?” she asked the other group at large. “He didn’t,” was one answer. “As in slowly,” another chimed in. “It took him a few seconds to realize we weren’t you guys,” said a third. All present chuckled in great good humor at this scene.
“I’ve finally gotten around to watching The Big Bang Theory,” Maxine informed her circle later on; “It’s hilarious!” Nobody objected. “Sheldon is such a character,” chimed in a second year with curly brown hair, from the other Coonabara group. “Actually,” Maxine thought aloud, turning to address Bouchard with wide eyes; “You remind me of Sheldon Cooper!”
“Yeahhh,” Minho protracted the word, as if it all made sense now. “That’s kind of true,” Annika agreed, seeing Bouchard in a new light. Perry smiled knowingly. Meanwhile those from the other Coonabara group, who had not been around Bouchard long enough to draw such comparisons, observed the string of revelations and its victim with curious interests.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Balzac responded with perfect aristocratic innocence. “Wait, really?” Minho interjected, not picking up on the sarcasm. “Oh, Minho,” Maxine dramatically sighed in acquiescence. The party went on past one.
“Perry?” Balzac called from his bed, where he had tucked himself like in a cocoon; “Do you think we’ll find an exoplanet with life on it during our lifetime?” This was a question Zimmerman had himself on occasion pondered, thus he had a ready answer; “The Kepler telescope has already found exoplanets in the habitable zone,” he allowed, “and that’s just from looking at a relatively small patch in the night sky. So yeah, I guess the odds are in our favor. However unless we can actually send a satellite over there to confirm its existence, we’ll never be a hundred percent sure.” There was no response.
“Do you ever feel like you were born in the wrong century?” Balzac asked, after an interval had elapsed; the image of stars sprayed across the night sky still fresh in his mind. There was something melancholic in the way he asked that question. “Is that how you feel?” Perry asked, his tone gentle, wise and sympathetic. “Sometimes,” the other admitted with a grave sigh; “I don’t know. Maybe Star Trek has corrupted me.”
XXV
Come Sunday morning Sarah and her ten followers departed Coonabara Observatory in their white van; most sitting in the same spots as when they arrived. Minho, who had a passion for all things soccer, started a conversation with Perry on the topic. “You watching the game next week?” he asked enthusiastically. Bouchard filtered out everything after this prelude; he did not watch sports, nor did he enjoy playing
them.
Two hours into the road trip, and not able to figure out a problem by himself, Bouchard required Zimmerman’s genius. “Perry,” Balzac called, engaging his friend; “So we know that light gets trapped in black holes. But what happens to the light once it’s inside?” he asked with a gravity that immediately put the other in a frame of mind to answer. “Hmm,” Perry murmured, frowning wisely; “There are probably some weird time effects that might affect the light’s behavior,” he mused to himself, “and I’m pretty sure that light doesn’t just pool at the center. Because light is always in motion. So it probably gets converted into another form of energy.” Here Bouchard ventured a guess: “Heat energy?”
“It’s likely,” Perry allowed, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “So does that mean it’s hot inside black holes?” Balzac asked with interested concern. “I’d imagine it’d be pretty hot near the center,” Perry supposed, nodding. “But no heat escapes,” Balzac chimed in, “or else we would have been able to detect them using infrared cameras.” A pause. “How is it that the heat cannot escape?” Balzac resumed. Zimmerman appeared to consider this for a moment. “Heat is transmitted through collisions between particles,” he recollected, “but since no particles can escape the gravitational field of a black hole, the heat remains trapped. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if there is some weird state of matter at the center. Things should behave very strangely there.”
Later that afternoon the van and its occupants entered a large town. “We’ll stop to have dinner here,” Sarah spoke up from the driver’s seat, shaking up her passengers from their drowsy languor; “there’s a burger place here that’s really good. I always stop on my way back to Canberra.” Minho perked up; “I’m bloody starving!” said he in his usual manner. “Typical,” Maxine observed, shaking her head fondly. “What?” returned Minho, a guilty smile on his lips.
A Vomit of Diamonds Page 6