Chris frowned. “Parallel processing is what?”
“You hook several computers together and divide the job up among them, so it gets done faster. A big parallel-processing computer would have sixteen thousand processors hooked together. For a really big one, thirty-two thousand processors. We have thirty-two billion processors hooked together.”
“Billion?” Chris said.
Stern leaned forward. “That’s impossible. Even if you tried to make one . . .” He stared at the roof of the car, calculating. “Say, allow one inch between motherboards . . . that makes a stack . . . uh . . . two thousand six hundred . . . that makes a stack half a mile high. Even reconfigured into a cube, it’d be a huge building. You’d never build it. You’d never cool it. And it’d never work anyway, because the processors would end up too far apart.”
Gordon sat and smiled. He was looking at Stern, waiting.
“The only possible way to do that much processing,” Stern said, “would be to use the quantum characteristics of individual electrons. But then you’d be talking about a quantum computer. And no one’s ever made one.”
Gordon just smiled.
“Have they?” Stern said.
:
“Let me explain what David is talking about,” Gordon said to the others. “Ordinary computers make calculations using two electron states, which are designated one and zero. That’s how all computers work, by pushing around ones and zeros. But twenty years ago, Richard Feynman suggested it might be possible to make an extremely powerful computer using all thirty-two quantum states of an electron. Many laboratories are now trying to build these quantum computers. Their advantage is unimaginably great power—so great that you can indeed describe and compress a three-dimensional living object into an electron stream. Exactly like a fax. You can then transmit the electron stream through a quantum foam wormhole and reconstruct it in another universe. And that’s what we do. It’s not quantum teleportation. It’s not particle entanglement. It’s direct transmission to another universe.”
:
The group was silent, staring at him. The Land Cruiser came into a clearing. They saw a number of two-story buildings, brick and glass. They looked surprisingly ordinary. This could be any one of those small industrial parks found on the outskirts of many American cities. Marek said, “This is ITC?”
“We like to keep a low profile,” Gordon said. “Actually, we chose this spot because there is an old mine here. Good mines are getting hard to find now. So many physics projects require them.”
Off to one side, working in the glare of floodlights, several men were getting ready to launch a weather balloon. The balloon was six feet in diameter, pale white. As they watched, it moved swiftly up into the sky, a small instrument bundle hanging beneath. Marek said, “What’s that about?”
“We monitor the cloud cover every hour, especially when it’s stormy. It’s an ongoing research project, to see if the weather is the cause of any interference.”
“Interference with what?” Marek asked.
The car pulled up in front of the largest building. A security guard opened the door. “Welcome to ITC,” he said with a big smile. “Mr. Doniger is waiting for you.”
Doniger walked quickly down the hallway with Gordon. Kramer followed behind. As he walked, Doniger scanned a sheet of paper that listed everybody’s names and backgrounds. “How do they look, John?”
“Better than I expected. They’re in good physical shape. They know the area. They know the time period.”
“And how much persuading will they need?”
“I think they’re ready. You just have to be careful talking about the risks.”
“Are you suggesting I should be less than entirely honest?” Doniger said.
“Just be careful how you put it,” Gordon said. “They’re very bright.”
“Are they? Well, let’s have a look.”
And he threw the door open.
:
Kate and the others had been left alone in a plain, bare conference room—scratched Formica table, folding chairs all around. On one side was a large markerboard with formulas scrawled on it. The formulas were so long that they ran the entire width of the board. It was completely mysterious to her. She was about to ask Stern what the formulas were for, when Robert Doniger swept into the room.
Kate was surprised by how young he was. He didn’t look much older than they were, especially dressed in sneakers, jeans and a Quicksilver T-shirt. Even late at night, he seemed full of energy, going around the table quickly, shaking hands with each of them, addressing them by name. “Kate,” he said, smiling at her. “Good to meet you. I’ve read your preliminary study on the chapel. It’s very impressive.”
Surprised, she managed to say, “Thank you,” but Doniger had already moved on.
“And Chris. It’s nice to see you again. I like the computer-simulation approach to that mill bridge; I think it will pay off.”
Chris had time only to nod before Doniger was saying, “And David Stern. We haven’t met. But I gather you’re also a physicist, as I am.”
“That’s right. . ..”
“Welcome aboard. And André. Not getting any shorter! Your paper on the tournaments of Edward I certainly set Monsieur Contamine straight. Good work. So: please, all of you, please sit down.”
They sat, and Doniger moved to the head of the table.
“I will get right to the point,” Doniger said. “I need your help. And I will tell you why. For the last ten years, my company has been developing a revolutionary new technology. It is not a technology of war. Nor is it a commercial technology, to be sold for profit. On the contrary, it is an entirely benign and peaceful technology that will provide a great benefit to mankind. A great benefit. But I need your help.”
:
“Consider for a moment,” Doniger continued, “how unevenly technology has impacted the various fields of knowledge in the twentieth century. Physics employs the most advanced technology—including accelerator rings many miles in diameter. The same with chemistry and biology. A hundred years ago, Faraday and Maxwell had tiny private labs. Darwin worked with a notebook and a microscope. But today, no important scientific discovery could be made with such simple tools. The sciences are utterly dependent on advanced technology. But what about the humanities? During this same time, what has happened to them?”
Doniger paused, rhetorically. “The answer is, nothing. There has been no significant technology. The scholar of literature or history works exactly as his predecessors did a hundred years before. Oh, there have been some minor changes in authentication of documents, and the use of CD-ROMs, and so forth. But the basic, day-to-day work of the scholar is exactly the same.”
He looked at each of them in turn. “So we have an inequity. The fields of human knowledge are unbalanced. Medieval scholars are proud that in the twentieth century their views have undergone a revolution. But physics has undergone three revolutions in the same century. A hundred years ago, physicists argued about the age of the universe and the source of the sun’s energy. No one on earth knew the answers. Today, every schoolchild knows. Today, we have seen the length and breadth of the universe, we understand it from the level of galaxies to the level of subatomic particles. We have learned so much that we can speak in detail about what happened during the first few minutes of the birth of the exploding universe. Can medieval scholars match this advance within their own field? In a word, no. Why not? Because no new technology assists them. No one has ever developed a new technology for the benefit of historians—until now.”
:
A masterful performance, Gordon thought. One of Doniger’s best—charming, energetic, even excessive at moments. Yet the fact was, Doniger had just given them an exciting explanation for the project—without ever revealing its true purpose. Without ever telling them what was really going on.
“But I told you I needed your help. And I do.”
Doniger’s mood changed. He spoke slowly now, somber, c
oncerned. “You know that Professor Johnston came here to see us because he thought we were withholding information. And in a way, we were. We did have certain information that we hadn’t shared, because we couldn’t explain how we got it.”
And, Gordon thought, because Kramer screwed up.
“Professor Johnston pushed us,” Doniger was saying. “I’m sure you know his way. He even threatened to go to the press. Finally we showed him the technology we are about to show you. And he was excited—just as you will be. But he insisted on going back, to see for himself.”
Doniger paused. “We didn’t want him to go. Again, he threatened. In the end, we had no choice but to let him go. That was three days ago. He is still back there. He asked you for help, in a message he knew you would find. You know that site and time better than anyone else in the world. You have to go back and get him. You are his only chance.”
:
“What exactly happened to him after he went back?” Marek said.
“We don’t know,” Doniger said. “But he broke the rules.”
“Rules?”
“You have to understand that this technology is still very new. We’ve been cautious about how we use it. We have been sending observers back for about two years now—using exmarines, trained military people. But of course they are not historians, and we have kept them on a tight leash.”
“Meaning what?”
“We haven’t ever let our observers enter the world back there. We haven’t allowed anyone to stay longer than an hour. And we haven’t allowed anyone to go more than fifty yards from the machine. Nobody has ever just left the machine behind and gone off into the world.”
“But the Professor did?” Marek said.
“He must have, yes.”
“And we’ll have to, too, if we’re going to find him. We’ll have to enter the world.”
“Yes,” Doniger said.
“And you’re saying we’re the first people ever to do this? The first people ever to step into the world?”
“Yes. You, and the Professor before you.”
Silence.
Suddenly, Marek broke into a broad grin. “Terrific,” he said. “I can’t wait!”
But the others said nothing. They looked uneasy, edgy.
Stern said, “About this guy they found in the desert. . ..”
“Joe Traub,” Doniger said. “He was one of our best scientists.”
“What was he doing in the desert?”
“Apparently, he drove there. They found his car. But we don’t know why he went.”
Stern said, “Supposedly, he was all messed up, there was something about his fingers. . ..”
“That wasn’t in the autopsy report,” Doniger said. “He died of a heart attack.”
“Then his death had nothing to do with your technology?”
“Nothing at all,” Doniger said.
:
There was another silence. Chris shifted in his chair. “In layman’s terms—how safe is this technology?”
“Safer than driving your car,” Doniger said without hesitation. “You will be thoroughly briefed, and we’ll send you back with our experienced observers. The trip will last a maximum of two hours. You’ll just go back and get him.”
Chris Hughes drummed his fingers on the table. Kate bit her lip. Nobody spoke.
“Look, this is all voluntary,” Doniger said. “It’s entirely up to you whether you go or not. But the Professor has asked for your help. And I don’t think you would let him down.”
“Why don’t you just send the observers?” Stern said.
“Because they don’t know enough, David. As you’re aware, it’s an entirely different world back there. You have the advantage of your knowledge. You know the site, and you know the time, in detail. You know languages and customs.”
“But our knowledge is academic,” Chris said.
“Not anymore,” Doniger said.
:
The group filed out of the room, heading off with Gordon to see the machines. Doniger watched them go, then turned as Kramer entered the room. She had been watching everything on the closed-circuit television.
“What do you think, Diane?” Doniger said. “Will they go?”
“Yeah. They’ll go.”
“Can they pull it off?”
Kramer paused. “I’d say it’s fifty-fifty.”
They walked down a broad concrete ramp, large enough for a truck to drive down. At the bottom was a pair of heavy steel doors. Marek saw a half-dozen security cameras mounted in different locations around the ramp. The cameras turned, following them as they walked down to the doors. At the bottom of the ramp, Gordon looked up at the security cameras, and waited.
The doors opened.
Gordon led them through into a small room beyond. The steel doors clanged shut behind them. Gordon went forward to an inner set of doors, again waited.
Marek said, “You can’t open them yourself?”
“No.”
“Why? They don’t trust you?”
“They don’t trust anybody,” Gordon said. “Believe me, nobody gets in here unless we intend for them to get in.”
The doors opened.
They walked into an industrial-looking metal cage. The air was cold, faintly musty. The doors closed behind them. With a whir, the cage began to descend.
Marek saw that they were standing in an elevator.
“We’re going down a thousand feet,” Gordon said. “Be patient.”
:
The elevator stopped and the doors opened. They walked down a long concrete tunnel, their footsteps echoing. Gordon said, “This is the control and maintenance level. The actual machines are another five hundred feet below us.”
They came to a pair of heavy doors that were dark blue and transparent. At first, Marek thought they were made of extremely thick glass. But as the doors slid open on a motorized track, he saw slight movement beneath the surface. “Water,” Gordon said. “We use a lot of water shielding here. Quantum technology is very sensitive to random outside influences—cosmic rays, spurious electronic fields, all of that. That’s why we’re down here in the first place.”
Up ahead, they saw what appeared to be the doors to an ordinary laboratory hallway. Passing through another set of glass doors, they entered a hallway painted antiseptic white, with doors opening off on either side. The first door on the left said PREPACK. The second, FIELD PREP. And further down the hallway, they saw a sign marked simply TRANSIT.
Gordon rubbed his hands together. He said, “Let’s get right to the packing.”
:
The room was small and reminded Marek of a hospital laboratory; it made him uneasy. In the center of the room stood a vertical tube, about seven feet high and five feet in diameter. It was hinged open. Inside were dull strips. Marek said, “A suntanning machine?”
“Actually, it’s an advanced resonance imager. Basically it’s a high-powered MRI. But you’ll find it’s good practice for the machine itself. Perhaps you should go first, Dr. Marek.”
“Go in there?” Marek pointed to the tube. Seen up close, it looked more like a white coffin.
“Just remove your clothes and step inside. It’s exactly like an MRI—you won’t feel anything at all. The entire process takes about a minute. We’ll be next door.”
They went through a side door with a small window, into another room. Marek couldn’t see what was in there. The door clanged shut.
He saw a chair in the corner. He went over and took his clothes off, then walked into the scanner. There was the click of an intercom and he heard Gordon say, “Dr. Marek, if you will look at your feet.”
Marek looked down at his feet.
“You see the circle on the floor? Please make sure your feet are entirely within that circle.” Marek shifted his position. “Thank you, that’s fine. The door will close now.”
With a mechanical hum, the hinged door swung shut. Marek heard a hiss as it sealed. He said, “Airtight?”
&nbs
p; “Yes, it has to be. You may feel some cold air coming in now. We’ll give you added oxygen while we calibrate. You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”
“I wasn’t, until now.” Marek was looking around at the interior. The dull strips, he now saw, were plastic-covered openings. Behind the plastic he saw lights, small whirring machines. The air became noticeably cooler.
“We’re calibrating now,” Gordon said. “Try not to move.”
Suddenly, the individual strips around him began to rotate, the machines clicking. The strips spun faster and faster, then suddenly jerked to a stop.
“That’s good. Feel all right?”
“It’s like being inside a pepper mill,” Marek said.
Gordon laughed. “Calibration is completed. The rest is dependent on exact timing, so the sequence is automatic. Just follow the instructions as you hear them. Okay?”
“Okay.”
A click. Marek was alone.
A recorded voice said, “The scan sequence has begun. We are turning on lasers. Look straight ahead. And do not look up.”
Instantly, the interior of the tube was a bright, glowing blue. The air itself seemed to be glowing.
“Lasers are polarizing the xenon gas, which is now being pumped into the compartment. Five seconds.”
Marek thought, Xenon gas?
The bright blue color all around him increased in intensity. He looked down at his hand and could hardly see it for the shimmering air.
“We have reached xenon concentration. Now we will ask you to take a deep breath.”
Marek thought, Take a deep breath? Of xenon?
“Hold your position without moving for thirty seconds. Ready? Stand still—eyes open—deep breath—hold it. . .. Now!”
The strips suddenly began to spin wildly, then one by one, each strip started to jerk back and forth, almost as if it were looking, and sometimes had to go back for a second look. Each strip seemed to be moving individually. Marek had the uncanny sense of being examined by hundreds of eyes.
The recorded voice said, “Very still, please. Twenty seconds remaining.”
All around him, the strips hummed and whirred. And then suddenly, they all stopped. Several seconds of silence. The machinery clicked. Now the strips began to move forward and back, as well as laterally.