And then the clouds parted and a single ray of sun blinded Alec’s eyes. He shook cobwebs out of his head. Just two words lingered on in his mind. Home Planet. These two words had meant a great deal to him once. It also was a place of dreams, of imagination. Was it real? Ever?
A place where all things were possible. Like here. At least, for as long as you suspended your disbelief. Even for a short while. Here––time stood still...
Time, time itself, at Machu Picchu, was by far the greatest enigma. Perhaps Alec’s work would one day help to solve some of its mystery.
By noon, in a state half way between shock and euphoria, the two physicists were riding back to the heliport at Aguas Calientes. The bus was fighting a losing battle with a deeply sun-tanned ten-year-old, who greeted them at every corner with a resonant gooood-byyyye...
The boy ran straight down, while the bus descended in a continuous zigzag. Finally, the lad boarded the bus for a few soles’ reward.
“I bet he’s a futurre champion. Prrobably overr long distance, but could be a thrree-thousand-meterr steeplechaserr,” the Professor commented expertly. He gave the boy five times the expected amount. Dr. McBride enjoyed shocking people. Particularly youngsters. And the look in the boy’s eyes was his generosity’s ample reward.
They only just made it to the heliport on time. The rotors were already spinning, the noise deafening. As they climbed aboard, the helicopter rose straight up, then leaned to one side to show them, deep down, the thin, wiggly line of the Urubamba, snaking its way through the canyon.
All too soon they were at the Alejandro Velasco Astete International Airport. They had to rush again. Here, all arrivals and departures had to take place in the morning. In the afternoon, the climatic conditions made landing and takeoff too difficult. The two physicists made it by the skin of their teeth.
They were ushered into an airplane virtually without any formalities. Perhaps they already knew the professor? The seats on board weren’t numbered and there was plenty of room. The professor got some papers out to look over, while Alec, with sleepy eyes, tried to organize his thoughts.
What would he remember about Machu Picchu? A lot less than he would like. The whirlwind the Professor had injected into his life was more than he could take in his stride. His brain was working overtime. Last night’s dreams had repeatedly placed him in absurd situations, all concerned with his forthcoming lectures. Once he’d woken up during the night finding it hard to breathe. He’d dreamt he was delivering a lecture from the inside of his listeners. He reverberated inside their heads, pulsated in their veins, controlled their micro-voltaic synapses. Only around two in the morning had he escaped into a deep, dreamless slumber. He’d woken up stiff but strangely elated.
On waking, he remembered that he hadn’t given the professor any money, nor had he spent any of his own.
“Des, how much do I owe you?”
“In round figures about three dollars. It may not sound like much but a Peruvian can get a good pizza for such money and have enough left over to feed the rest of his family for a week.”
“The hotel, Des. The dinner. I owe you…?”
“It has been taken care of. Don’t forget to mention Machu Picchu in your lecture. That’s the only way we can write it off.”
The usual twinkle was dancing in the Professor’s eyes from early morning, but the rolled r’s were missing. He seemed more exited about Alec’s forthcoming lecture than Alec was himself. If only that were possible.
The flight was uneventful. A taxi deposited them at the Sheraton, in the centre of old Lima. There was no time for sightseeing. Alec had with him all the papers for the lecture he was hoping to give one day, but now that the moment was at hand, he was counting on the Professor to polish them up. They spent the afternoon in the Professor’s room, bent over closely typed sheets, selecting the material suitable for Alec’s maiden discourse. It was not a question of what to talk about. Alec had enough material for about three weeks of a continuous yammer. The problem was to maintain a scientific approach, while making it acceptable to the general public. A feat a lot more difficult than it seemed.
Finally they decided to keep the lecture short and rely on questions from the audience to make up the missing parts. If they didn’t ask, that meant they weren’t interested. If necessary, Alec could always fall back on the many different slants that the original arguments of Einstein, Podolsky and Rosen had generated over the years.
By seven o’clock, they both felt tired. Alec proposed a walk in the Old City to clear his head. Dr. McBride declined. He still had some of his own work to do—a fact he failed to mention, as he had given Alec’s problems priority. He felt responsible for Alec’s success. He also cared for him—a lot.
Alec intended of going for a stroll in the park adjoining the hotel, just to get away from his papers. Once outside, he changed his mind and walked instead to the Parque Universitario. He wanted to picture, smell, to ‘case the joint’, where tomorrow his fate might well be sealed. Perhaps not sealed, but either launched or relegated to an ‘also-ran’.
“Which is exactly where I am right now,” he mused, smiling at his somber thoughts. Then, as he walked on, he briefly examined his present life. “On the other hand, it’s not such a bad place to be...” he muttered under his breath.
On the other hand...
Later, in his own room, Alec dialed his home number. Suzy was not in. He left a message:
“I love you. Have great news. Love you. See you in about a week. Love you.” And he put down the receiver.
The lecture was scheduled to take place at noon, to enable the general public to attend during their siesta. The actual dissertation would take less than an hour; the questions would take as long as they took. Since Alec already knew the way to the Sala de Conferencias, they both walked. It was only some months later that Alec learned that Dr. McBride had been a regular visiting lecturer in the very same hall some years ago. When Alec finally learned about it, it went a long way to explain the reception that Dr. Desmond McBride received when he stepped on the stage to introduce Dr. Alexander Baldwin. The applause was thunderous. No wonder. At least four of the past and present Professors of physics at the University of Lima came from his personal roster. Dr. McBride was as famous here as Alec was unknown. Nevertheless, when finally Alexander Baldwin did face the audience, the polite, if not over-enthusiastic, applause was long enough to help him calm his nerves. A little.
And then there was absolute silence.
“Distinguished...”
There followed a litany of titles, given him by the Professor, which belonged to distinguished people who, Alec was certain, were in attendance only because Dr. McBride was present. Finally Alec concluded the list with:
“…Señores, Señoras,” here he looked up, then left and right, and added: “Señoritas”, which generated one or two giggles. “The Incas in Machu Picchu, as well as in a number of other famous places, managed to erect stones with a greater precision than our present-day architects and masons. They had knowledge that continues to baffle our best archeological minds. The information is lost. I think that’s a pity. A great pity.
And yet, we are said to have entered the so-called ‘Information Age’.
Perhaps this is why I’ve decided to concern myself with the nature of information. Not specific bits, or quanta, but with its basic structure. I am not talking about computers, which provide mechanical storage of data, but with the essence of information itself.
I wish to stress this point.
I am not concerned with the nature of atoms or subatomic particles but with information that the atoms and the subatomic particles carry. This has to do both with the continuity of information, with its primary characteristics, and with its basic structure. Historically, we tend to associate information with our mind, brain at best. I propose that information, in its purest form, lies at the crossroads between the Quantum and the Continuous universes and their structures. All matter can be reproduced,
but only if the information is available.
Last year, I was privileged to have the opportunity of visiting a very unique laboratory in Waxahachie, Texas, in, ah... the United States of America. (A slight giggle from the back row). As you know, everything that comes from Texas must be big. This holds true, of course to the supercollider, affectionately known as the SSC or the Superconducting Super Collider. The SSC is designed to operate at about 40 TeV, which, for our friends who have forsaken their siestas to hear this, T stands for tera or trillion, and eV, for electron volts. The reason this is of some considerable consequence is that as the energy goes up, the size of the particle goes down. Ultimately, the infinitely large would interact with the infinitely small. Something doesn’t work with this equation.
A sort of poetic justice, or karmic balance.”
Alec glanced at Dr. McBride. The Professor was leaning back, a blissful smile on his perfectly relaxed face. Or—he could have been sleeping.
“The SSC at Waxahachie can generate enough energy to recreate conditions extant in the first millionth of a second after the Big Bang. What has not been taken into consideration is that, as in the EPR apparent paradox, the subatomic particles carry information. Whatever information was disseminated at the time of the big bang must be, by inverse logic, available today. The problem to resolve is how to recover it.
And this takes us to the heart of the matter.”
Alec went on for another half-hour or so. The auditorium was filled with such an incredible silence that, on a later occasion, he swore he could hear his own heart beat. Finally his lecture was over. He arranged his papers, squared them, and looked over his audience. No one stirred. The silence continued.
“Are there any questions?” he asked, his voice somewhat shaky from the long-sustained tension.
More silence.
Then a hand went up. A young lady rose, blushing.
“I am Carla Rodrigues, physics, second year. Are you suggesting, Doctor Baldwin, that we can expect time travel to be possible in the near future?”
There was a stir in the audience.
“No, Miss Rodrigues. What I am saying is that information does not appear to be bound by the considerations of space or time.”
“So information can travel through time?”
“It does already.”
“How do you mean, Doctor Baldwin?”
“You might have heard Doctor Baltimore refer to viruses as little more than information.”
Dr. Baltimore was not only the past president of Caltech, he was a Nobel Laureate who was endowed with an enormous knack for explaining the complex in terms that ordinary mortals could understand. Alec, who made a point of attending lectures on many subjects outside his own discipline, admired him greatly.
“He argues that viruses pass on information through time with the greatest of ease. Don’t you agree?” Alec was playing with the student.
“That is not quite what you have in mind, is it, Doctor?” Miss Rodrigues persisted.
“Quite true. I would prefer to say that information is here and there, so to speak, already...”
This time there was a considerable stir. A wave of heads were looking at the girl, then again at Alec. A number of hands went up and then were withdrawn, as though the questions weren’t quite right.
“Sir, Sir...” a young man at the back of the hall was waving his arms. Alec didn’t recall ever being called ‘Sir’. Certainly not in public. He actually blushed.
“Yes, the young man with the waving arms,” he tried to cover his embarrassment.
“But if you can send info through time, then you can recreate the object specified at different....” The young man lost his line of thought.
“I think we are jumping ahead of ourselves here. There is a difference between photons responding to information over distance in zero time, and making a lamp out of them. But your question is valid. If there is matter and energy available, then, given information, we can expect to be able to...”
“To do anything!” the young man blurted. Then he sunk into his chair as low as he could.
“I think we must distinguish...”
Just for an instant there Alec felt a pang of anger. He wasn’t even sure why. Could it be at himself for some failure to develop his own theory still further? He shrugged and followed his mentor.
Dr. McBride got up and slowly made his way to the podium. Alec was grateful. He forgot that some four years ago he was as enthusiastic as the young man who had just disappeared from his view. This was beginning to sound like a Sci-Fi convention. As the professor mounted the stage, silence returned to the hall.
“I am sure we are all grateful to Dr. Baldwin for sharing with us his unique view of the Information Theory. I am equally as sure that you’ll allow him to have lunch as neither he nor I have had anything to eat since seven this morning.”
After a momentary silence, the auditorium resounded with long, spontaneous applause. Alec had stirred the imagination not only of youngsters, but also of people who had heretofore been stuck in a rut. He showed them that there is yet a further horizon for which they can aim.
And there was.
They ate in the academic dining room. Alec was seated between Dr. Juan Wiseman, the Dean of the Department of Physics, and Dr. McBride. They didn’t talk much about physics. They enjoyed the food and the wine. Alec listened as his seniors exchange ideas on every subject under the sun, and some a lot further away. The so-called establishment couldn’t have been as stagnant as Professor McBride had suggested. And then Alec recalled that Dr. Wiseman was one of Desmond’s earliest successes. Only in those days he was known as John Wiseman.
At three they walked back to their hotel. Rather than going to their respective rooms, Desmond took his young colleague directly to the lobby bar.
“Two large Glenfidish, one lump, no soda,” he ordered. As the man delivered the two crystal glasses, the professor raised his to his lips. Before taking a sip, he mumbled over the rim: “Now that wasn’t too bad, was it lad. Cheerrs to you. Cheerrs and congrratulations.” And he emptied his glass in a single gulp.
Alec, still drowsy from emotions generated by the intensity of recent events did exactly the same. Then he leaned back. The Scotch was what the doctor ordered. After a little while, his heart resumed the normal, steady rhythm.
“Aye, Desmond my dearr frriend. Perrhaps it wasn’t as bad as all that,” he said, waving to the waiter for another round. This time just singles.
“Arre you taking the Mickey out of me, laddie?”
“I wouldn’t darre, Sirrr.”
“Aye, I guess you wouldn’t at that.”
When the drinks came, Alec raised his glass to the professor.
“Thank you, Sir. You are a true friend, Des. A true friend, indeed.” And he emptied the glass again. The professor smiled and took a tiny sip. He was old enough to know when to stop.
“Better go easy on that, lad. You’ve three more lectures to go.”
And suddenly Alec felt very tired. Until this moment he seemed to have been coasting, at times galloping, on emotions alone. Now, the flights, the crazy taxi ride, the helicopter followed by the train with its acrid smoke, the emotional visit to Machu Picchu, and finally the large auditorium of people hanging on his every word, all this and more, was suddenly too much. And on the top of all that, his unexpected appointment as the post-doc research scientist to the top brain in the business of theoretical physics was more than his young emotions could take.
“I guess you’re right, Professor. If you don’t mind I’ll turn in.”
He excused himself and almost staggered back to his room. He intended to call Suzy and tell her all about it. All about everything. But when he got to his room, he walked to his bed, sat on it, and leaned back just for a moment. Just for a few seconds....
He woke up at three a.m. Although the hotel was in the very center of town, he was surrounded by absolute silence. And then his mind saw distant peeks shrouded in circular clouds, l
ike puffs of smoke from some gigantic cigars. And he knew that he was, once again, on the Home Planet.
Only he was quite alone. He missed Sandra. He suddenly released that he’d ignored her, ignored the memory of her, for some time. Even here, on the Home Planet, he seemed to remain a hard-nosed scientist. Yet, this was his reality. Here, or anywhere, he was the creator. And today he was just too tired. Or maybe too many of his dreams had been already realized? Back there, on the dear old planet Earth. He closed his eyes and slept on until a none-too-gentle knock on the door brought him back to earth.
“The bathroom is free, lad.”
And that’s exactly how Alec felt. He finally felt rested and free. But mostly just wonderfully free. He remembered a phrase he’d heard somewhere: Just live. He repeated the two words as though they formed some secret mantra.
“Just live!” he repeated. And then he called almost as an afterthought: “Coming, Des. Give me five minutes.”
“Thought you’d neverr come. I knocked on y’rr doorr a dozen times,” the Professor said digging into dos huevos rancheros. How did you sleep anyway, lad?”
“Like a log would be quite an inadequate metaphor. More like a ton of bricks fell on me.”
“Aye,” Desmond looked at him over the cup of black coffee. “But you do look a lot better, m’lad. A lot betterr.”
Alec did feel a lot better, except for one thing. Over the last few days, he’d noticed an increasing stiffness of his joints. Not enough to really slow him down, but enough to be aware of them virtually all the time. A sort of dull, nagging pain. At first he thought it was due to his extensive travelling in relatively cramped positions. But now he was beginning to wonder. I’ll have to see a doctor when I get home, he thought. Right now, he was too busy to give his bones any more thought.
Alexander: [Alexander Trilogy Book Two] Page 6
