since if you–”
“Wormholes?” Amanda asked.
Paul waved his hand. “Later. Sone thought that by constructing a space ship capable of traveling at close to light speed, and that according to the principles of the special theory of relativity time moves slower for objects traveling at light speed, you can travel in time, and–”
“Paul?” Amanda asked.
“Yeah?”
“Bore me. What’s a wormhole?”
He looked up at her face. She looked…it wasn’t her features, which he’d always found fascinating, or even her figure, which she’d kept, it was her…interest. She really wanted to know about wormholes. Nothing attracted Paul to people like seeing a spark of vitality in them, a natural curiosity, a love of learning simply for the sake of learning. Like Grace. And Peter.
“Wormholes are basically shortcuts in space and time,” deVere said. “Look at it like this.” He looked around and picked up a parts list from one of the boxes. He removed a pen from his pocket and drew a time line across it, marking “1950” and “2026” on opposite ends.
“We’ve come from here,” he said, putting his finger on 1950, “to here.” He rested his finger on 2026.
“And you’re saying we can go backwards?” she asked, brushing his leg with hers as she moved closer.
“Not backwards, exactly,” deVere said. He put his finger on 2026, almost on the right-hand edge of the list, and picked up the other end, curling it over his hand until 1950 hovered above 2026.
“We take a short cut.” He bounced his finger up and down between the two ends of the paper, between 1950 and 2026. “Space is curved, remember?”
“Einstein,” Amanda said, nodding. “You taught me that in Ithaca .”
“Exactly. A wormhole is like a short, narrow tunnel between different parts and times of the universe. If this piece of paper is the universe, and the universe is curved, then the idea is instead of trying to go across the surface of time, we simply drop through a hole.” He laid the paper flat on Amanda’s skirt.
“How do you know where the wormhole is?” Amanda asked.
“That’s half the problem,” deVere said. “Wormholes aren’t static, they don’t always exist. Lewis would have to explain the math, but the real problem is that matter has to have a negative energy density relative to a light beam to pass through one of these things. It’s called exotic matter, because nobody knows of any sort of matter that can do that right now.”
“Except…you guys?”
“Lewis’ math showed that evaporating black holes implied the existence of this exotic matter. Our discovery of SU44 confirmed it. But if the wormhole focuses, which it does on ordinary matter, the field’s strength grows and destroys the wormhole. If it’s exotic matter, however, the wormhole won’t focus and will stay stable long enough for the matter to pass through. It’s like a tunnel that will try to crush anyone it notices trying to pass through, but if it finds it can’t crush somebody it lets that person pass through.”
“Wow. You guys aren’t fooling around. How do you know where you’ll end up?”
“Think of it as a garden hose. One end is fixed at the faucet. But you can turn the other end anywhere you want. On the lawn, the hedges, or the rose bushes.”
“But the water in the hose doesn’t decide where it goes.”
“That’s true,” he said. “But imagine if the water points the hose nozzle before the spigot’s turned on.”
“You guys can do that?”
DeVere smiled. “We already have.”
“You’ve turned yourselves into exotic matter?”
“Not quite. Lewis identified a wormhole that connected the Accelechron in our lab with a spot under the Concord Bridge a little over one year ago. We set a chronometer to zero, started it ticking, and sent it back in a canister. I drove out and recovered it. The chronometer showed it had been there over a year.”
“So, it can be done. How do you come back? Or do you?” Amanda asked, becoming
“Wormholes?” Amanda asked.
Paul waved his hand. “Later. Sone thought that by constructing a space ship capable of traveling at close to light speed, and that according to the principles of the special theory of relativity time moves slower for objects traveling at light speed, you can travel in time, and–”
“Paul?” Amanda asked.
“Yeah?”
“Bore me. What’s a wormhole?”
He looked up at her face. She looked…it wasn’t her features, which he’d always found fascinating, or even her figure, which she’d kept, it was her…interest. She really wanted to know about wormholes. Nothing attracted Paul to people like seeing a spark of vitality in them, a natural curiosity, a love of learning simply for the sake of learning. Like Grace. And Peter.
“Wormholes are basically shortcuts in space and time,” deVere said. “Look at it like this.” He looked around and picked up a parts list from one of the boxes. He removed a pen from his pocket and drew a time line across it, marking “1950” and “2026” on opposite ends.
“We’ve come from here,” he said, putting his finger on 1950, “to here.” He rested his finger on 2026.
“And you’re saying we can go backwards?” she asked, brushing his leg with hers as she moved closer.
“Not backwards, exactly,” deVere said. He put his finger on 2026, almost on the right-hand edge of the list, and picked up the other end, curling it over his hand until 1950 hovered above 2026.
“We take a short cut.” He bounced his finger up and down between the two ends of the paper, between 1950 and 2026. “Space is curved, remember?”
“Einstein,” Amanda said, nodding. “You taught me that in Ithaca .”
“Exactly. A wormhole is like a short, narrow tunnel between different parts and times of the universe. If this piece of paper is the universe, and the universe is curved, then the idea is instead of trying to go across the surface of time, we simply drop through a hole.” He laid the paper flat on Amanda’s skirt.
“How do you know where the wormhole is?” Amanda asked.
“That’s half the problem,” deVere said. “Wormholes aren’t static, they don’t always exist. Lewis would have to explain the math, but the real problem is that matter has to have a negative energy density relative to a light beam to pass through one of these things. It’s called exotic matter, because nobody knows of any sort of matter that can do that right now.”
“Except…you guys?”
“Lewis’ math showed that evaporating black holes implied the existence of this exotic matter. Our discovery of SU44 confirmed it. But if the wormhole focuses, which it does on ordinary matter, the field’s strength grows and destroys the wormhole. If it’s exotic matter, however, the wormhole won’t focus and will stay stable long enough for the matter to pass through. It’s like a tunnel that will try to crush anyone it notices trying to pass through, but if it finds it can’t crush somebody it lets that person pass through.”
“Wow. You guys aren’t fooling around. How do you know where you’ll end up?”
“Think of it as a garden hose. One end is fixed at the faucet. But you can turn the other end anywhere you want. On the lawn, the hedges, or the rose bushes.”
“But the water in the hose doesn’t decide where it goes.”
“That’s true,” he said. “But imagine if the water points the hose nozzle before the spigot’s turned on.”
“You guys can do that?”
DeVere smiled. “We already have.”
“You’ve turned yourselves into exotic matter?”
“Not quite. Lewis identified a wormhole that connected the Accelechron in our lab with a spot under the Concord Bridge a little over one year ago. We set a chronometer to zero, started it ticking, and sent it back in a canister. I drove out and recovered it. The chronometer showed it had been there over a year.”
“So, it can be done. How do you come back? Or do you?” Amanda asked, becoming
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