Pacing up and down the stage between the orchestra pit and the lecterns was Abraham Frey, who wore a bronze helmet that had a voice enhancer projecting from its right side, leaving his hands free to perform their characteristic gestures. At that moment, he was introducing Wells’s opponent, listing his many achievements over a long life devoted to the service of Knowledge. Inundated by this torrent of information, Wells was able to make out the words “Knowledge Church College,” in Oxford, where his rival had given his celebrated lectures in mathematics and physics, and where Wells himself had studied. There, conversing between its ancient walls and strolling across its verdant meadows, the two men had forged an inspiring teacher-pupil relationship, and although Wells had finally chosen biology over physics, they had continued to meet regularly, incapable of renouncing a friendship they had both deemed fruitful enough to pursue. No one could have imagined that, in years to come, fate would make rivals of them. While in private this was a source of amusement to them, it in no way diminished the ferocity with which each defended his position during the many debates they had engaged in prior to the one taking place that evening, in which the Church would decide which of their projects was most likely to save the world.
“And now, Your Majesty, Your Eminence, leaders of the Church of Knowledge, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the distinguished physicist and mathematician Charles Lutwidge Dodgson.”
Followers of Wells’s rival broke into loud cheers as their idol’s name was announced. The tiny door to his dressing room opened, and an elderly gentlemen of about sixty emerged, waving to the public as he approached his lectern, just as Wells had done moments before. He was tall and thin, his white hair meticulously groomed, and his face possessed the languid beauty of a weary archangel. As he watched him, Wells couldn’t help feeling a sense of compassion. Clearly, Charles Dodgson would have preferred to be spending that magnificent, golden evening on one of his habitual boating excursions along the Thames rather than arguing with his former pupil about how best to save the world, yet neither man could shirk his responsibilities. They greeted each other with a stiff nod, and each stood quietly at his lectern, waiting for the moderator to begin. Frey called for silence, stroking the flank of the air with his hand.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he exclaimed in the baritone voice for which he was famous. “As we all know, our beloved universe is dying. And it has been for millions of years. Ever since the universe burst forth amidst a blazing cataclysm, it has been expanding at breakneck speed, but it has also been cooling. And that same cooling process that once nurtured life will eventually snuff it out.” He paused, plunging his hands into his jacket pockets, and started pacing up and down the stage, staring at the ground, like a man on a stroll daydreaming. “Subject to the three laws of thermodynamics,” he went on, “the galaxies are flying apart. Everything is aging. Wearing out. The end of the world is near. Stars will burn out, magic holes evaporate, temperatures will descend to absolute zero. And we humans, incapable of continuing our work in this frozen landscape . . . will become extinct.”
Frey gave a woeful sigh and began to shake his head silently, drawing out the suspense, until at last he exclaimed, almost in anger: “But we aren’t plants, or helpless creatures that must resign themselves to a tragic destiny. We are Mankind! And having assimilated this terrible discovery, Mankind began to wonder whether there wasn’t a way of surviving the inevitable, even the death of the universe itself. And the answer, ladies and gentlemen, was yes! But this does not mean we should challenge chaos like a suicidal warrior, defying Nature . . . and God. No, such a display of bravado would be absurd. It would be enough . . . to flee, to emigrate to another universe. Is that possible? Can we leave this condemned universe for another, more hospitable one and begin once again? And if so, how? Formulas have been scrawled on the blackboards of all the world’s laboratories in an attempt to find out. But perhaps our salvation depends on one of the two exceptional minds here with us today.”
Wells contemplated the audience, who were loudly applauding the moderator’s speech. Placards and banners waved about like buffeted trees. Everyone there had been born into a world under sentence of death, and although they might not be around to experience the end Frey had so starkly depicted, the so-called Day of Chaos, they knew that their grandchildren or great-grandchildren would. All estimates now spoke in terms of a few generations, because the cooling of the universe was happening more quickly than had first been predicted. And was this the legacy they wanted to leave their descendants, a frozen universe where life was impossible? No, of course not. God had thrown down the glove, and Man had picked it up. The first thing Wells’s mother had told him when he was old enough to understand was that everything he could see (which at that moment was the backyard of their house in Bromley, but also the sky and the trees peeping out from behind the wall) would be destroyed, because the Creator hadn’t made the world to last forever, although he had been kind enough to give man a short enough life span so that he could have the illusion that it would. Like most young men and women of his generation, Wells had devoured countless books in his compulsive pursuit of Knowledge, spurred on by a romantic ambition to save the world. Could there be a more noble achievement? And perhaps, that very evening, what had once been a child’s naïve dream would become reality, for Wells was the leading proponent of one of the two most important theories about how to save humanity.
According to the lots they had drawn, the chairman invited Dodgson to open the debate. Before speaking, he took a sip of water. His old professor had never been one of those ruddy types brimming with energy and enthusiasm, but Wells could see how old age had blurred his features, giving him an air of painful fragility. He looked incapable of frightening a mouse. Finally, Dodgson balanced his glass on the lectern, gave the usual formalities, and launched into his speech:
“Since receiving the dreadful news that everything we love is destined to die, a single question has been floating in the air: Is it possible for us to engage the powers of science and flee this lost world for another? I say yes, dear audience, it most emphatically is. And I am here this evening to tell you how.”
Dodgson was talking in a calm voice in order not to set off his stammer, doubtless on the advice of his speech therapist. That would render his discourse a little subdued, Wells reflected, whilst he himself could deliver his speech unhampered, thus endowing it with that theatrical vehemence that so easily roused the masses. Wells let the old man continue, waiting for the most opportune moment to interrupt him.
“As many of you know, on the evening when, in this very auditorium, following a memorable debate, it was established that the universe was dying, I was busy trying to find ways of injecting methane into Mars’s atmosphere. My intention was to produce an artificial greenhouse effect on the red planet, raising its temperature and melting its surface to create lakes and rivers in preparation for a first human colony, so that if a meteorite struck Earth or we experienced another ice age we would have somewhere safe to go. Needless to say, the news about the end of the world changed the course of my research, and even my life. I forgot all about Mars, which was doomed like the rest of the universe, and, along with every conscientious scientist, I devoted myself to investigating ways of emigrating to a younger universe whose fate was not hanging in the balance. Ever since the illustrious Newton enlightened our minds”—at this the audience thundered “Hurrah for Newton!”—“we have all known that ours isn’t the only universe, but, as countless studies and experiments have shown, it is simply another bubble in the ocean of infinity. Any law or equation that contradicts this truth is doomed to failure and humiliation. Equally, we know that in this eternal ocean, bubbles are continually created and destroyed. Whilst this may bode ill for those of us who find ourselves in a dying bubble, it also provides a glimmer of hope, for as I speak, myriad universes are being born. And somewhere waiting for us out there is a luminous new world, the ideal place for an exiled civilization to build a new home. B
ut how will we get there? How will we achieve what would undoubtedly be the greatest escape of all time? It is very simple: through the traditional method of opening a tunnel, something with which even the most ignorant convict is familiar. As I have discussed in my numerous articles, the universe is riddled with magic holes that possess an infinite gravitational force that sucks in anything around them. Is it not possible that these holes exist for a reason? Perhaps they are simply the Creator’s subtle way of telling us how to free ourselves from his own snare. But what lies behind these holes? There are many theories, an infinite number, if you’ll pardon the pun. But I am convinced that at the center of each is a tunnel connecting to another identical hole in another universe. Unfortunately, we have no way of traveling to any of those holes, because they are too far away from our planet, and their environment is too unstable. But that needn’t be a problem, for what I propose to do is create a magic hole artificially in my laboratory. I am certain that in a controlled environment . . .”
“But, my dear Charles, your hole would be too small,” Wells interrupted him at last. “I can’t see the whole of humanity passing through it one by one. Even the Creator would lose patience. Besides, I can’t speak for the audience, but personally I have no wish to be devoured, by a magic hole or anything else. You know as well as I do that the sheer force of gravity would make mincemeat of us. We would be sucked into its center and crushed to death.” He paused for dramatic effect before adding with a mocking air, “In fact, the only use for your hole would be to dispose of the evidence of a crime.”
Wells’s quip, which he had rehearsed a hundred times in front of a mirror, elicited the predictable laughter from the audience. Charles, however, was unfazed.
“Oh, have no fear, George. None of that would happen if the hole was spinning, because the centripetal force would cancel out the gravitational force. So that anyone going into it, far from being crushed to death, would be sucked into a neighboring universe. It would be a small matter of balancing the two forces to prevent the hole from fracturing. And once I achieved that, naturally there would be no need for the whole of humanity to pass through it. We would simply send ahead a few automatons, with the genetic information of every person on the planet codified in their memories. Once they reached the Other Side, they would construct a laboratory and implant the aforementioned data into living cells, thus replicating the whole of humanity.”
“By the Atlantic Codex!” Wells feigned astonishment, although he was well acquainted with Charles’s theory. “All I can say is I hope those puppets don’t make a mess of things and we all come out with frogs’ heads . . .”
A fresh round of laughter reached them from the audience, and Wells noticed Charles beginning to twitch nervously.
“Tha-Tha-That way the whole of humanity could pass through an opening the size of a ra-ra-rabbit hole,” he attempted to explain.
“Yes, yes, only first you must create it, my friend.” Wells assumed a weary air. “But tell me, isn’t this all rather complicated? Wouldn’t it be better if each of us were able to leap across to that universe for himself?”
“By all means, George, go ahead. Leap into another universe and bring me back a glass of water; mine’s empty,” Charles parried.
“I’d like nothing more than to quench your thirst, Charles. However, I fear that for the moment I am unable to oblige. In order to leap into another universe I need a grant from the Budgetary Commission.”
“So, what you are saying is that today you can’t take that leap, but tomorrow you can?” Charles inquired with a wry smile.
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying,” Wells replied cautiously.
“Then I fear you are bound to fail, my dear George, for there is no ‘tomorrow,’ only ‘today.’ ”
The audience howled with laughter. Wells cursed himself for having walked straight into it but was undeterred.
“What I mean is I will succeed the day the Budgetary Commission awards me a grant.” He pronounced the words slowly, after making sure he wasn’t leaving himself open to any more of Charles’s retorts. “For as you know, I am busy developing a miracle serum, a virus I have called ‘cronotemia’ in tribute to past experiments, when men from our Age of Enlightenment believed we could travel in time. Once injected, the virus will mix with our blood and the hormones secreted by our brain, producing a genetic mutation that will enable us to reach the other universe without the need to be taken apart and reassembled on the Other Side. I am on the brink of perfecting the virus, of finding a stable solution that will reconfigure almost imperceptibly the molecular structure of our brains, allowing us to see what was hitherto invisible. As our learned audience doubtless already knows, all matter originates from the birth of our universe, and the atoms that make up our bodies are connected to other atoms on the far side of the cosmos. And if a particle floating around at the far side of the universe can communicate with us, then perhaps we can peer into that abyss, see what is behind it, and leap. Whether we like it or not, we are joined to those other worlds by an invisible umbilical cord. All we have to do is find the way to switch that connection from an atomic level to our macroscopic reality.”
The debate went on for the remainder of the allotted hour amid witty asides, abrupt or barbed comments designed to ridicule or bamboozle the opponent, and even a few outbursts from Dodgson, who became increasingly flustered as he realized his ex-pupil was starting to win over the audience. In contrast, the biologist kept his cool throughout, smiling to himself as his rival became more and more excitable and his stammer began to render his speech almost unintelligible. Finally, just before the debate concluded, Wells uttered his much-rehearsed closing statement.
“A pinprick, a mere pinprick, of my serum is enough to make us superhuman, supernatural beings capable of living in any dimension. Trust in my project, Your Majesties, allow me to transform you into gods, and let us leave my dear opponent playing with his rabbit holes.”
Charles was about to reply but was stopped short by the bell. The debate was over. The voice enhancers retracted into the lecterns, and Frey’s voice could be heard celebrating their thrilling contest and inviting the Church of Knowledge to deliver its verdict. The orchestra struck up another evocative tune and the clerics conferred in whispers among the audience, but Cardinal Tucker immediately rose to her feet with the aid of her staff, and silence descended once more upon the auditorium.
“Having heard the two applicants for the Save Mankind Project Grant,” she announced in her faltering voice, “we have come to the following decision: notwithstanding Professor Dodgson’s celebrated wisdom, we believe that the task of saving us all must rest in the hands of the promising biologist Herbert George Wells, to whom I hereby extend my congratulations. May Knowledge guide your path, Mr. Wells. Chaos is inevitable!”
Wells felt his head spin as the theater exploded into triumphant roars on hearing the verdict. Hundreds of pennants bearing the Star of Chaos danced about like waves in a stormy ocean. He raised his hands, into which the fate of humankind had now been entrusted, saluting the excited audience, which immediately began chanting his name to loud cheers. He saw Jane and his team applauding and embracing one another in the box of honor, while Charles’s wife remained in her chair, hands folded in her lap, oblivious to the surrounding uproar. Her eyes were fixed on her husband, who had lowered his head in defeat. Wells would have liked to comfort him, but the gesture would have been tasteless. Frey signaled to Wells, who walked over to him and allowed the chairman to raise his right arm as the audience cried out his name. Above the clamor, only Wells could hear Charles muttering angrily behind him:
“Eppur si muove.”
Wells chose to ignore the reference to Galileo and instead gave a beaming smile, basking in the adulation of his supporters, who had started to descend from the rows of seats. A group of young girls climbed onto the stage and asked him to autograph their science textbooks. He did so with pleasure as he located Jane amid the crowd gathering to congra
tulate him in front of the stage and gave her a conspiratorial smile. Wells did not see Charles turn from his lectern and walk toward the dressing room door, nor did he notice the huge man who intercepted him before he was able to slip away. He was too busy drinking in his success. Charles could say what he liked, but Wells was the one who whose task it was to save mankind. That was what had been decided.
It took Wells eight months to hit on the magic potion that would enable the human race to flee to a neighboring universe without the need to dig any tunnels. Eight months, during which he and Jane and the rest of the team worked day and night, practically camping out in the state-of-the-art laboratory they had set up with the Commission’s money. When at long last they thought they had synthesized the virus, Wells asked Jane to fetch Newton, the Border Collie they had acquired three months before. Wells had decided they should give a dog the honor of leading mankind’s intended exodus rather than a rat, a guinea pig, or a monkey, for whilst the intelligence of the latter was more celebrated, everyone knew that dogs had the most developed homing instinct of any species and could find their way back even over great distances. So, if the leap was successful, there was a slight possibility the dog might follow its own scent and leap in the other direction, and if that happened, they would be able to study any unforeseen side effects of the virus, as well as the physical toll it might take on the animal. Jane had regarded as less than scientific her husband’s belief in the popular idea of canine loyalty, but when she first saw the puppy cavorting in the shop window, with its eager little eyes and an adorable heart-shaped white patch on its forehead, any doubts she had melted away. And so, little Newton arrived at the Wells’s house, with the mission of vanishing into thin air a few months later, although before that happened nothing prevented him from being simply a pet.
The Map of Chaos Page 2
