"Why 'intervals,' not distances?"
"Physicist jargon. Sorry. An interval is like a distance, but in spacetime. Which is space plus time. It's really just Pythagoras' theorem." He took a yellow legal note- pad and began to scribble. "Suppose you go downtown and walk a few blocks east, a few blocks north- Then you can figure the distance you traveled like this." He held up the pad:
(distance) squared == (east) squared + (north) squared
"You walked around a right-angled triangle. The square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of—"
"I know that much."
"But we physicists think about space and time as a single entity, with time as a fourth coordinate, in addi- tion to the three of space." He wrote on his pad once more:
(interval) squared = (time separation) squared - (space separation) squared
"This is called the metric for a Minkowski spacetime. And—"
"How can you talk about a separation in time in the same breath as a separation in spaced You measure time in minutes, but space in kilometers."
David nodded approvingly. "Good question. You have to use units in which time and space are made equiva- lent." He studied Bobby, evidently searching for under- standing. "Let's just say that if you measure time in minutes, and space in light-minutes, it works out fine."
"But there's something else^fishy here. Why is this a minus sign rather than a plus?"
David rubbed his fleshy nose. "A map of spacetime doesn't work quite like a map of downtown Seattle. The metric is designed so that the path of a photon—a par- ticle traveling at the speed of light—is a null interval. The interval is zero, because the space and time terms cancel out."
"This is relativity. Something to do with time dilation, and rulers contracting, and—"
"Yes." David patted Bobby's shoulder. "Exactly that. This metric is invariant under the Lorentz transformation -.. Never mind. The point is, Bobby, this is the kind of equation I have to use when I work in a relativistic uni- verse, and certainly if I'm trying to build a wormhole that reaches out to Saturn and beyond."
Bobby mused over the simple, handwritten equation.
With his own emotional whirlwind still churning around him, he felt a cold logic coursing through him, numbers and equations and images evolving, as if he was suffer- ing from some kind of intellectual synaesthesia. He said slowly, "David, you're telling me that distances in space and time arc somehow equivalent. Right? Your worm- holes span intervals of spacetime rather than simply dis- tances. And that means that if you do succeed in stabilizing a wormhole big enough to reach Saturn, across eighty light-minutes—"
"Yes?"
'Then it could reach across eighty minutes. I mean, across time." He stared at David. "Am I being really dumb?"
David sat in silence for long seconds.
'"Good God," he said slowly. "I didn't even consider the possibility, I've been configuring the wormhole to span a spacelike interval, without even thinking about it" Feverishly, "he began to tap at his SoftScreen. "I can reconfigure it from right here. If I restrict the spacelike interval to a couple of meters, then the rest of the worm- hole span is forced to become timelike...."
"What would mat mean? David?"
A buzzer rang, painfully loudly, and the Search En- gine spoke. "Hiram would like to see you, Bobby."
Bobby glanced at David, flooded with sudden, absurd fear.
David nodded curtly, already absorbed in the new di- rection of his work. "I'll call you later, Bobby. This could be significant. Very significant"
There was no reason to stay. Bobby walked away into the darkness of the Wormworks.
Hiram paced around his downtown office, visibly angry, fists clenched. Kate was sitting at Hiram's big confer- ence table, looking small, cowed.
Bobby hesitated at the door, for a few breaths physi- cally unable to force himself into the room, so strong were the emotions churning here. But Kate was looking at him—forcing a smile, in fact.
He walked into the room. He reached the security of ^ a seat, on the opposite side of the table from Kate. Bobby quailed, unable to speak. Hiram glared at him. "You let me down, you little shit."
; Kate snapped, "For Christ's sake, Hiram—" ; "You keep out of this." Hiram thumped the tabletop, and a SoftScreen in the plastic surface lit up before Bobby. It started to run fragments of a news story: im- ages of Bobby, a younger Hiram, a girl—pretty, timid- looking, dressed in colorless, drab, outdated fashions— and a picture of the same woman two decades later, intelligent, tired, handsome. The Earth News Online logo was imprinted on each image.
"They found her, Bobby," Hiram said. "Thanks to you. Because you couldn't keep your bloody mouth shut, could you?" 5 "Found who?" "Your mother."
Kate was working the SoftScreen before her, scrolling j quickly through the information, "Heather Mays. Is that her name? She married again. She has a daughter—you have a half-sister, Bobby."
: Hiram's voice was a snarl. "Keep out of this, you : manipulative bitch. Without you none of this would have happened." ". Bobby, striving for control, said, "None of whatT
"Your implant would have stayed doing what it was doing. Keeping you steady and happy. Christ, I wish somebody had put a thing like that in my head when I was your age. Would have saved me a hell of a lot of trouble. And you wouldn't have shot off your mouth in front of Dan Schirra." "Schirra? From ENO?" "Except he didn't call tiimself that, when he met you last week. What did he do, get you drunk and maudlin, blubbing about your evil father, your long-lost mother?"
"I remember," Bobby said. "He calls himself Mervyn. Mervyn Costa. I've known him a long time."
"Of course you have. He's been cultivating you, on behalf of ENO, to get to me. You didn't know who he was, but you kept your reserve—before, when you had the implant to help you keep a clear head. And now this. If's open season on Hiram Patterson. And it's all your bloody fault, Manzoni."
Kate was still scrolling through the news piece and its hyperlinks. "/ didn't screw and dump this woman two decades ago." She tapped at her SoflScreen, and an area of the table before Hiram lit up. "Schirra has corrobo- rative evidence. Look."
Bobby looked over his father's shoulder. The ' Screen showed Hiram sitting at a table—this table, Bobby re- alized with aJolt, this room—and he was working his way through a mound of papers, amending and signing. The image was grainy, unsteady, but clear enough. Hiram came to a particular document, shook his head as if in disgust, and hastily signed it, turning it facedown on a pile to his right.
After that the image reran in slo-mo, and the view- point zoomed in on the document. After some focusing and image enhancement, it was possible to read some of the text.
"You see?" Kate said. "Hiram, they caught you sign- ing an update of the payoff agreement you made with Heather more than twenty years ago."
Hiram looked at Bobby, almost pleading. "It was over long ago. We came to a settlement. I helped her develop her career. She makes documentary features. She's been successful."
"She was a brood mare, Bobby," Kate said coldly. "He's kept up his payments to keep her quiet- And to make sure she never tried to get near to you."
Hiram prowled around the room, hammering at the walls, glaring at the ceiling. "I have this suite swept three times a day. How did they get those images? Those in- competent arseholes in Building Security have screwed up again."
"Come on, Hiram," Kate said evenly, evidently en- joying herself. "Think about it. There's no way ENO could bug your headquarters. Any more than you could bug theirs."
"But I wouldn't need to bug them," Hiram said slowly- "I have the WormCam . .. Oh."
"Well done." Kate grinned. "You figured it out. ENO must have a WormCam as well. It's the only way they could have achieved this scoop. You lost your monop- oly, Hiram. And the first thing they did with their WormCam was turn it on you." She threw back her head and laughed out loud.
"My God." Bobby said. "What a disaster."
"Oh, garbage," she snapped. "Come on,
Bobby. Pretty soon the whole world will know the WormCam exists; it won't be possible to keep a lid on it any longer. It has to be a good thing if the WormCam is prized out of the hands of this sick duopoly, the fe'deral government and Hiram Patterson, for God's sake."
Hiram said coldly, "If Earth News have WormCam technology, it's obvious who gave it to them."
Kate looked puzzled. "Are you implying that /—"
"Who else?"
"I'm a journalist," Kate flared. "I'm no spy. The hell with you, Hiram. It's obvious what happened. ENO just figured out that you must have found a way to adapt your wormholes as remote viewers. With that basic in- sight they duplicated your researches. It wouldn't be hard; most of the information is in the public domain. Hiram, your hold on the WormCam was always fragile. It only took one person to figure it out independently."
But Hiram didn't seem to be hearing her. "I forgave you, took you in. You took my money. You betrayed my trust. You damaged my son's mind and poisoned him against me."
Kate stood and faced Hiram. "If you really believe that, you're more twisted than I thought you were."
The Search Engine called softly, "Excuse me, Hiram. Michael Mavens is here, asking to see you. Special Agent Mavens of—"
'Tell him to wait."
"I'm afraid that isn't an option, Hiram. And I have a call from David. He says it's urgent."
Bobby looked from one face to the other, frightened, bewildered, as his life came to pieces around him.
Mavens took a seat and opened a briefcase.
Hiram snapped, "What do you want, Mavens? I didn't expect to see you again. I thought the deal we signed was comprehensive."
"I thought so too, Mr. Patterson." Mavens looked gen- uinely disappointed. "But the problem is, you didn't stick to it. OurWorld as a corporation. One employee specifically. And tha^s why I'm here. When I heard this case had turned up, I asked if I could become involved. I suppose I have a special interest."
Hiram said heavily, "What case?"
Mavens picked up what looked like a charge sheet from his briefcase. "The bottom line is that a charge of trade-secret misappropriation, under the 1996 Economic Espionage Act, has been brought against OurWorld: by IBM, specifically by the director of their Thomas J. Wat- son research laboratory. Mr. Patterson, we believe the WormCam has been used to gain illegal access to IBM proprietary research results. Something called a synaesthesi a-suppression software suite, associated with virtual-reality technology." He looked up- "Does that make sense?"
Hiram looked at Bobby.
Bobby sat transfixed, overwhelmed by conflicting emotions, with no real idea how he should react, what he should say.
Kate said, "You have a suspect, don't you. Special Agent?"
The FBI man eyed her steadily, sadly. "I think you already know the answer to that question, Ms. Manzoni."
Kate appeared confused.
Bobby snapped, "You mean Kate? That's ridiculous."
Hiram thumped a fist into a palm. "I knew it. I knew she was trouble. But I didn't think she'd go this far."
Mavens sighed. "I'm afraid there's a very clear evi- dentiary trail leading to you, Ms. Manzoni."
Kate flared. "If it's there, it was planted."
Mavens said, "You'll be placed under arrest. I hope there won't be any trouble. If you'll sit quietly, the Search Engine will read you your rights."
Kate looked startled as a voice—inaudible to the rest of tfiem—began to sound in her ears.
Hiram was at Bobby's side. 'Take it easy, son. We'll get through mis shit together. What were you trying to do, Manzoni? Find another wav^to get to Bobby? Is that what it was all about?" Hiram's face was a grim mask, empty of emotion: there was no trace of anger, pity, relief—or triumph.
And the door was flung open. David stood there, grin- ning, his bearlike bulk filling the frame; he held a rolled- up SoftScreen in one hand. "I did it," he said. "By God, I did it.... What's happening here?"
Mavens said, "Doctor Curzon, it may be better if—"
"It doesn't matter. Whatever you're doing, it doesn't matter. Not compared to this." He spread his SoftScreen on the tabletop. "As soon as I got it I came straight here. Look at this."
The SoftScreen showed what looked superficially like a rainbow, reduced to black and white and gray, uneven bands of light that arced, distorted, across a black back- ground.
"Of course it's somewhat grainy," David said. "But still, this picture is equivalent to the quality of images returned by NASA's first flyby probes back in the 1970s."
"That's Saturn," Mavens said, wondering. "The planet Saturn."
"Yes. We're looking at the rings." David grinned. "I established a WormCam viewpoint all of a billion and a half kilometers away- Quite a thing, isn't it? If you look closely you can even see a couple of the moons, here in the plane of the rings."
Hiram laughed out loud and hugged David's bulk. "My God, that's bloody terrific.'*
"Yes. Yes, it is. But that's not important. Not any- more."
"Not important^ Are you kidding?"
Feverishly David began to tap at his SoftScreen; the image of Saturn's rings dissolved. "I can reconfigure it from here. It's as easy as that. It was Bobby who gave me the clue. I Just hadn't thought out of the box as he did. If I restrict the spacelike interval to a couple of meters, then the rest of the wonnhole span becomes timelike...."
Bobby leaned forward to see. The 'Screen now showed an equally grainy image of a much more mun- dane scene. Bobby recognized it immediately: it was Da- vid's work cubicle in the Wormworks. David was sitting mere, his back to the viewpoint, and Bobby was standing at his side, looking over his shoulder.
"As easily as that," David said again, his voice small, awed. "Of course we'll have to run repeatable trials, properly timed—"
Hiram said, "That's just the Wormworks. So what?"
"You don't understand. This new wormhole has the same, umm, length as the other."
"The one that reached to Saturn."
"Yes. But instead of spanning eighty light-minutes—"
Mavens finished it for him. "I get it. This wonnhole spans eighty minutes."
"Yes," David said. "Eighty minutes into the past. Look, Father. You're seeing me and Bobby, just before you summoned him away."
Hiram's mouth had dropped open.
Bobby felt as if the world was swimming around him, changing, configuring into some strange, unknowable pattern, as if another chip in his head had been switched off. He looked at Kate, who seemed diminished, terri- fied, lost in shock.
But Hiram, his troubles dismissed, grasped the impli- cations immediately. He glared into the air. "I wonder how many of them are watching us right now?"
Mavens said, "Who?"
"In the future. Don't you see? If he's right this is a turning point in history, this moment, right here and right now, the invention of this, this past viewer. Probably the air around us is fizzing with WormCam viewpoints, sent back by future historians. Biographers. Hagiographers." He lifted up his head and bared his teeth. "Are you watching me? Are you? Do you remember my name? I'm Hiram Patterson! Hah! See what I did, you arse- holes'"
And in the corridors of the future, innumerable watchers met his challenging gaze.
THE EYES OF GOD
History ... is indeed little more than a chronicle of the crimes, follies and misfortunes of mankind.
—Edward Gibbon (1737-1794)
WALLS OF GLASS
Kate was in remand, waiting for her trial. It was tak- ing a while to come to court, as it was a complex case—and Hiram's lawyers had argued, in confidence through the FBI, that her trial should be delayed anyhow while the new past-viewing capabilities of WormCam technology stabilized.
In fact, such had been the wide publicity surrounding Kate's case that the ruling was being taken as a prece- dent. Even before its past-viewing possibilities were widely understood, the WormQam was expected to have an immediate impact on almost all contested criminal cases. Many major trials ha
d been delayed or paused awaiting new evidence, and in general only minor and uncontested cases were being processed through the courts.
For a long dme to come, whatever the outcome of the case, Kate wouldn't be going anywhere. So Bobby decided to go find his mother.
Heather Mays lived in a place called Thomas City, close to the Utah-Arizona state line. Bobby flew into Cedar City and drove from there. At Thomas, he stopped the car a few blocks short of Heather's home and walked.
A police car silently cruised by, and a beefy male cop peered out at Bobby. The cop's face was a broad, hostile moon, scarred by the pits of multiple basal-cell carci- nomas. But his glare softened with recognition. Bobby could read his lips: Good day, Mr. Pcttterson.
Arthur C Clarke - Light Of Other Days Page 13
