FSF, July-August 2010

by Spilogale Authors

  Today we make superconducting wires to carry electricity without loss. These wires are used in underground transmission lines connecting power plants in Detroit and also to make the magnetic fields that steer the electron beams in the accelerator at CERN, the European Organization for Nuclear Research. (CERN suffered tremendous damage when one connector in the superconducting circuit warmed up enough to become non-superconducting. A small city's worth of energy was suddenly deposited into a piece of metal, and the resulting heat vaporized a cubic meter of the accelerator.)

  * * * *

  Super-Cool Superfluids

  There are other strange properties that appear at low temperatures. Cool liquid helium to 2.17 K and it becomes a superfluid, a fluid that can flow without viscosity.

  Take an empty beaker and lower it into a normal fluid like water. As long as you keep the top of the beaker above the top of the water, the beaker will remain empty.

  Lower the beaker into superfluid helium and the helium liquid will flow up and over the rim of the beaker filling the inside of the beaker to the same level as the outside.

  How can this happen? The water and the superfluid helium wet the beaker and rise up making a meniscus. Look closely at the place where water meets the inside of a glass and see this for yourself.

  The meniscus forms because the fluid sticks to the glass. It stops rising because the fluid sticks to itself. Water, which sticks to itself very well, doesn't rise very far. But superfluids, which flow without sticking to themselves, just keep rising, crawl over the lip of the glass, and down the other side.

  These superfluids are also called “quantum fluids.” At these low temperatures, the rules of quantum mechanics dictate behavior at macroscopic scales. Superfluids can flow freely through infinitesimal holes, move around a closed loop forever, and climb up the walls of their containers.

  * * * *

  Absolutely The End

  Pat and Paul both prefer the excitement of the super cool (and the super hot, which we might deal with in another column) to the bland sameness of even temperature at the Heat Death of the Universe. But we are aware that the Heat Death of the Universe is inevitable. We are also aware that thermometers (unlike thermos bottles and cozy blankets) actually contribute to the Heat Death of the Universe.

  The zeroth law of thermodynamics (yes, really—the zeroth law) says that the temperatures of two objects in contact with each other for a long enough time will be the same. When you touch a thermometer to an object, heat flows from whichever one is warmer to whichever one is colder until they are both the same. Then you can read the thermometer to find out the temperature of both.

  Of course, you have changed the temperature of the thing you are measuring—however slightly. And you've helped spread heat around a little more evenly, bringing Heat Death just a little closer.

  Even the simple act of measurement can change the universe.

  The Exploratorium is San Francisco's museum of science, art, and human perception—where science and science fiction meet. Paul Doherty works there. Pat Murphy used to work there, but now she works at Klutz (www.klutz.com), a publisher of how-to books for kids. To learn more about Pat Murphy's writing, visit her web site at www.brazenhussies.net/Murphy. For more on Paul Doherty's work and his latest adventures, visit www.exo.net/~pauld.

  * * * *

  Sidebar: Experiment: Hot Hands

  Here's an experiment that demonstrates that the human body isn't very good at judging temperature by touch.

  Gather a group of ten or so friends. Have each person shake hands with everyone else. Some people's hands will be hotter and some will be colder. Work together to form a line with the person with the hottest hands on one end and the person with the coldest on the other.

  Have the people with the coldest and hottest hands walk down the line shaking hands with everyone. As they approach the end farthest from where they started, people will be amazed by how hot or cold their hands feel. When they shake hands with the person at the center of the line, the hot-handed person will think the center person has cold hands while the cold-handed person will think the center person has warm hands.

  If you happen to be at a party, you might want to try this at the start and again at the end of the party. Alcohol consumption dilates capillaries, leading to warmer hands, while smoking constricts capillaries, leading to colder hands. By the end of the party, people's places in the line may change with their vice of choice.

  * * * *

  "The time machine works! Now I have to plus it in, and go right back."

  * * * *

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Short Story: INTRODUCTION TO JOYOUS COOKING, 200TH ANNIVERSARY EDITION by Heather Lindsley

  Heather Lindsley moved from Seattle to London about three years ago, but she says this story is her first directly influenced by living in the United Kingdom. Those influences are the culinary lunacy of Heston Blumenthal's television series Feasts, some excellent conversations at Eastercon (the British National Science Fiction Convention), and, of course, room temperature beer. She recommends all three highly.

  When the widow Edna T. Leidecker wrote the first slim volume of Joyous Cooking in 1932, she could not have guessed that her self-published effort to transcend personal tragedy and the First Great Depression would still be invaluable to home cooks two hundred years later. In retrospect, however, its enduring success is no surprise. By offering advice for managing food rations in the 1944 edition, recommending decontamination techniques in 2056, and illustrating the best way to skin a squirrel (1932-1987, 2022-2075, and the current edition), Joyous Cooking has evolved to meet the needs of its readers and so has become a fixture in homes, hearts, and minds. With over seventy million subscriptions accessed via mPlant and nearly one hundred fifty million copies sold in more archaic formats, Joyous Cooking has remained the cook's first—and sometimes only—guide for generations. The history of cooking reflects the history of human culture, and in a world where so much cultural continuity has been lost, Joyous Cooking stands as a proud exception.

  Like culture, cooking has never been without controversy, whether in matters of seasoning or the use of endangered ingredients. While the bloody actions of the short-lived extremist group Taste First! in 2015 briefly raised both the profile and consequences of indiscriminate salting, the longest-running controversy in the history of Joyous Cooking concerns Turtle Soup. Green Sea Turtle Soup, which first appeared in the 1952 edition, remained in the 1977 edition, the same year its main ingredient was added to the endangered species list. The recipe was removed from the 1996 edition after protest, but returned in 2005 using non-threatened freshwater species, only to be challenged in subsequent editions as one after another turtle species was consumed to extinction. The soup's controversy did not end with the turtles, and the 2022 edition's popular Soy-Lentil Green™ Mock Turtle Soup recipe raises troubling ethical questions even now.

  These days, of course, a drop in the population, lab-regenerated plant and animal species, and the conversion of sports stadia to terraced garden allotments make it easier to find fresh ingredients. While most of the pill- and paste-based recipes of the mid twenty-first century were removed in the 2082 edition, they were replaced by a hodge-podge gleaned from the remnants of the Third Wiki War. These reflected decades of stagnant culinary activity and offered difficult-to-follow recipes like Chicken-Fried —Steak— —Chicken— —Squirrel— —Steak— Chicken. Thus, we've restored many of the recipes from earlier editions, including Apple Pie, Tabbouleh, Chile Relleno, Zong Zi, and even a variant on Turtle Soup featuring green algae and an early twenty-first century formula for industrial-strength artificial turtle flavoring.

  With this edition, Joyous Cooking extends the boundaries of its time-honored commitment to global cuisine and introduces a few favorites from our new neighbors, the Gak-Glorians. Mouth- and proboscis-watering dishes like Ca'ow, Sha'ep, and Ma'an are accompanied by helpful notes about Gak-Glorian culture (Ma'an, for example, is tr
aditionally served only on holidays). These recipes have been translated into local ingredients: if you can find pears and beef jerky, you can cook Gak-Glorian. We've also added a special appendix listing all known Gak-Glorian biochemical and psychosexual responses to various Earth foods, an obvious necessity for anyone planning an interspecies dinner party.

  This edition also recognizes diversity with an expanded section on regional cooking, acknowledging that several members of the global community can now achieve delicious slow roasts simply by leaving food outside. Space station dwellers will find the addition of home vacuum packing and absolute zero freezing techniques particularly useful when the hydroponics bay produces the inevitable bumper crop of zucchini.

  And while we have tried to avoid exotic ingredients and gadget-intensive recipes, we've continued the Joyous Cooking custom of embracing beneficial developments in technology. With this edition, the countertop teleporter joins the pressure cooker, microwave, and nanoblender as a standard appliance in the home kitchen. We've accommodated this exciting newcomer by updating the preparation of classics like Stuffed Peppers, Deviled Eggs, and Turducken, while also introducing dramatic variations like Amalgamated Nachos and Pineapple Inside-out Cake.

  Nevertheless, the full and lasting impact of commercial teleportation on cuisine and culture must be left to future editions of Joyous Cooking. The military-inspired haute cuisine craze for teleporting food directly into the stomach is already passing out of vogue, as the novelty has proven to be no match for even the virtual sensory experience of fine dining, let alone the real thing. Whether the fledgling “faster food” industry faces a similar fate remains uncertain, especially while the range of equipment available to civilians limits home delivery to a one-mile radius. We have noted the appetizer recipes that best accommodate main course targeting pellets for cooks interested in the technique, though we doubt it will become commonplace in the home. It can never truly replace the joy of eating.

  —Gwen Leidecker Tilman Alvarez Pax & Kal XI Gak-Glor

  Editors, Joyous Cooking, 200th Anniversary Edition

  October 7th, 2132

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Novelet: THE PRECEDENT by Sean McMullen

  Sean McMullen recently adapted a 1958 play called The Matriarchy of Renok by the pioneer Australian SF author Norma Hemming. It's slated for performance at the World SF Convention in Melbourne this September. He says it is quite a classic space opera.

  "The Precedent” found its inspiration one evening when a documentary about global warming was followed by another about war trials and then capped off by the movie The Seventh Seal. As you might expect for a story with such roots, this story is not about to rival Epidapheles for silliness; a little sobriety makes for a good finale for this issue, yes?

  Even when the climate crime is so serious that death is not punishment enough, one still gets an audit. We were being taken to a mine in the desert to be audited, and a third of the tippers who had begun the journey had already died. Their bodies had been staked out by the roadside to desiccate. We pulled wagons that were loaded with our water and food, wagons that were SUVs stripped of their engines, doors, and seats. No fuel resources could be consumed on our journey.

  There was no clear pattern to the deaths in our grisly and geriatric column. Some fat tippers died within the first ten miles, but others just got thinner and survived. I was quite fit to begin with, so I was better prepared than most. Red sand made the ground look red hot, and magnified my unending thirst. The surface of the road was appalling, but nobody tried to repair it. A good road would make it easier for us, and we were meant to be stressed. If some of us died, so much the better.

  In the Midsouth Consolidation, they practiced desiccation. Once dead, the tippers were flayed open and left to dry in the sun. When there was only bone and dried flesh left, their remains were brought to the mines and buried. Thus the carbon of the guilty was returned to the Earth, rather than stressing the atmosphere.

  * * * *

  At nightfall we stopped where we were, shuffled to the roadside, and fell asleep. Each night I had the same visitor. He was just a denser patch of darkness in the gloom with a pale oval for a face, yet his voice was perfectly clear.

  "So you survived to the mine,” he said.

  "Not there yet,” I replied, sitting up.

  "You arrive tomorrow. The odds favor you."

  "You talk as if this is good."

  "What is wrong with being alive?"

  "It's 2035 and vengeance is upon us, is that good? We tippers were born before the Millennium Year, and so are guilty until pardoned. Is that good? I was born in 1955, so I'm guilty. For me, that's bad."

  "You could plead guilty, then appeal for a merciful death."

  "I intend to beat the audit."

  "The Audit of Midsouth has a perfect record for tipper convictions."

  "I'm used to standing alone."

  * * * *

  Those of us who reached the mine had to camp in a vast holding ground of red sand, awaiting our turn to be audited. Some had been there a long time. These were the borderlines, those tippers who had difficult audits and were holding up the executions. Every execution meant a lessening of the burden on the ecosphere, so large numbers were important. Meantime the borderlines were assigned to service, where they did the flaying, the desiccation, and the dropping of bodies down the mine shaft.

  The miners were too guilty to die. They were lowered into the mine, there to live out what remained of their lives dragging corpses away from the drop shaft and packing them into the abandoned tunnels. Miners first class had no light, their only food was what they could gnaw from the corpses, and they had to drink the artesian water that seeped into the tunnels. It was a poor alternative to death.

  Because those pending audit were already considered guilty, we were made to assist with disposals after executions. This began the day we arrived. Hot, parched, weary, and coated with red dust, we simply dropped our harnesses and joined the execution parade. The first convicted man was my age, and I was eighty. The executioner had been chosen by ballot from the pool of wardens. She was about twenty, and was lean and muscular. Her recreation was probably fitness, which was very climatically correct.

  "What's your charges?” asked an older borderline as we shuffled along.

  "Squandering and display,” I replied mechanically.

  "Yeah? Me, I got greed. The audit went for death, second class, but I got adjourned. Name's Chaz."

  "I'm Jason, my audit's tomorrow."

  The wardens did not care if we tippers talked among ourselves. What we said was no longer important to anyone but us. The condemned man was walking with his hands tied behind his back. He turned as he heard us.

  "I got denial, squandering, and greed,” he announced proudly. “Death second class on all three."

  "What was your line?” I asked.

  "Morels."

  "As in the mushrooms?"

  "Yeah, and I was good, too. Hunted them for a living, back in the States. I just loved the wilderness. Used to teach folk the tricks, like how to get ‘eyes on’ in snow and burned pine forest, then to look for the ‘pop-out’ effect. That's when the morels suddenly start jumping out at you."

  I was to hear that sort of spiel depressingly often in the fortnight to come. Tippers often tried to leave a little of their art or passion to those who might survive them. How to tune a motor, ways to score in a nightclub, tricks to beat the trend in a share market, or even the art of arranging Christmas lights. But there were no more gasoline motors, nightclubs and share markets had ceased to exist, and proof that you had ever displayed Christmas lights would get you death, second class.

  "How does a mushroom hunter get denial, squandering, and greed?” asked Chaz.

  "I drove an SUV to reach the best spots."

  Denial, because he said he loved the wilderness yet drove an SUV. Squandering merely because he drove an SUV. Greed, because he took from nature without giving back. De
ath, death, and death. Having spoken, he looked more relaxed, perhaps because he had left something of himself in our memories. Shepherded by the executioner, he walked out onto the tipping plank. The gallows were built of timber even though the old mine site was littered with steel pipes and beams. That was climatic symbolism. The Auditor General stood waiting.

  "James Francis Harrington, you have been found guilty of denial, squandering, and greed,” she declared. “For this you are sentenced to death by merciful means. As you did take from the Earth, so now you must give what remains to you back to the Earth. This by my tally, the Twenty-Fifth day of March, 2035. Wardens, reclaim his carbon."

  The executioner arranged the noose to snap Harrington's neck as he stood on the tipping plank. This was a length of pinewood that extended out over the drop. The other end was held down by a pile of coal. Now a procession of wardens filed past. Each took a lump of coal from the pile. The plank began to teeter. I counted fifteen seconds of teetering, during which Harrington's dignity and composure fled. He began to scream as the tipping point approached; he pissed his pants to try to lighten himself and gain a few more moments of life.

  Relentlessly the hands removed coal from the pile, as relentlessly as coal had once been dug out of the Earth and burned. Abruptly the tipping point was reached, and a shower of coal catapulted over Harrington as he fell. The gallows creaked. The wardens applauded.

  "Now that was a great piece of work,” said Chaz. “Harrington didn't want to give the scream of repentance, but they got it out of him."

  A long line of condemned tippers was waiting as we took the body down. A woman began to shriek and struggle. She was next. Her executioner was a youth of about seventeen, and he looked nervous. Nervous about killing someone, or nervous about screwing up? The wardens collected the coal and piled it back onto the tipping plank.

  The executions went on for a long time. The lumps of coal became coated with red sand, so that they seemed to glow hot. I was made to brush them, to keep the symbolism clear.