"It's like each one of those circles is a size level. The first level is human level, then you shrink on down to the atomic level, the little circle around the hole. Next you get up to the level of the big universe when you hit the equator—the circle around the outside of the doughnut."
"What about that other human-sized level on the bottom of the do-nut?" Mick asked suddenly, "what about that?"
"Well, that is a difficulty with the doughnut model," Vernor admitted. "I feel that the doughnut model must be discarded at this point. The model's usefulness is simply to show that it's conceivable to have continued shrinkage turning into expansion. It might be better now to just draw a clock-face and call 12: human level, 2: cellular level, 5: sub-atomic, 7: galactic, 10: planetary, and back to 12: human level . . . " His voice trailed off.
"What happens at 6, Vernor?" Turner asked with an edge to his voice. "You got us into this and I'm not sure you know what the fuck you're talking about."
They sat in silence for a few minutes. What would the transition from the smallest monadic level to the largest universal level be like? Would it actually work?
Finally Vernor spoke, "I don't know, Mick. I guess I never thought it would actually get to the point where my theories had something to do with saving my personal ass." He sighed. "We might as well go further down."
Chapter 12: Real Compared to What?
Vernor seated himself at the control panel and turned on the power. He'd taken a dump outside the ship, too, and before long the two turds were like misshapen twin planets beneath an unimaginably distant celestial sphere. The floor material continued to develop new complexities of structure; as they shrank, new peaks and mounds of the plastic rose around them.
Vernor stared at an outcropping near them. A few minutes ago, the edges of the formation had begun to vibrate, and now the whole thing was to be alive with color and motion . . . like a pile of flickering snakes. He slowed the rate of shrinkage to enjoy the spectacle.
They were now small enough to actually see the long chain-like molecules which composed the plastic floor of Professor Kurtowski's laboratory. The molecules were continually writhing and twisting, now joining together, now splitting in two.
It was hard to believe that the molecules were not alive. One in particular caught Vernor's attention. It was viciously attacking its fellows, seizing them by the middle and then snapping itself backwards to break them in half. It hesitated in its rhythmic task of destruction and seemed to be feeling for something in the air—like a caterpillar looking for its next leaf. Now it was moving towards them. Could it be after the scale-ship? Impossible, a molecule had no mind, but yet . . . perhaps their charge, polarization, or field pattern was capable of triggering a tropism.
The lighting had become spotty and varicolored. They were so small that the corpuscular nature of light was evident. When Vernor looked at the molecular landscape, he did not see by a uniform illumination . . . instead it looked rather like a badly turned Hollowcast.
"Why does it look so funny?" Mick asked. "Is it nighttime already?"
" That question I can answer," Vernor replied. "For us to see something, a photon has to come from it to us. Now, any given atom in one of those molecules will bounce or shoot a photon in our direction only occasionally. And any given photon has only one fixed wavelength."
"I dig," Turner replied. "The flickering is because we're small enough to actually notice the different positions that the photons come from, and it's colored because each photon is a flash of just one color—" His voice changed suddenly, " Look at that fucker!"
The molecule which had caught Vernor's attention before was quite close now. Turner's outburst was prompted by the fact that this molecule had reared back and struck at them like a rattlesnake. Again, they were safe from
"What about that other human-sized level on the bottom of the do-nut?" Mick asked suddenly, "what about that?"
"Well, that is a difficulty with the doughnut model," Vernor admitted. "I feel that the doughnut model must be discarded at this point. The model's usefulness is simply to show that it's conceivable to have continued shrinkage turning into expansion. It might be better now to just draw a clock-face and call 12: human level, 2: cellular level, 5: sub-atomic, 7: galactic, 10: planetary, and back to 12: human level . . . " His voice trailed off.
"What happens at 6, Vernor?" Turner asked with an edge to his voice. "You got us into this and I'm not sure you know what the fuck you're talking about."
They sat in silence for a few minutes. What would the transition from the smallest monadic level to the largest universal level be like? Would it actually work?
Finally Vernor spoke, "I don't know, Mick. I guess I never thought it would actually get to the point where my theories had something to do with saving my personal ass." He sighed. "We might as well go further down."
Chapter 12: Real Compared to What?
Vernor seated himself at the control panel and turned on the power. He'd taken a dump outside the ship, too, and before long the two turds were like misshapen twin planets beneath an unimaginably distant celestial sphere. The floor material continued to develop new complexities of structure; as they shrank, new peaks and mounds of the plastic rose around them.
Vernor stared at an outcropping near them. A few minutes ago, the edges of the formation had begun to vibrate, and now the whole thing was to be alive with color and motion . . . like a pile of flickering snakes. He slowed the rate of shrinkage to enjoy the spectacle.
They were now small enough to actually see the long chain-like molecules which composed the plastic floor of Professor Kurtowski's laboratory. The molecules were continually writhing and twisting, now joining together, now splitting in two.
It was hard to believe that the molecules were not alive. One in particular caught Vernor's attention. It was viciously attacking its fellows, seizing them by the middle and then snapping itself backwards to break them in half. It hesitated in its rhythmic task of destruction and seemed to be feeling for something in the air—like a caterpillar looking for its next leaf. Now it was moving towards them. Could it be after the scale-ship? Impossible, a molecule had no mind, but yet . . . perhaps their charge, polarization, or field pattern was capable of triggering a tropism.
The lighting had become spotty and varicolored. They were so small that the corpuscular nature of light was evident. When Vernor looked at the molecular landscape, he did not see by a uniform illumination . . . instead it looked rather like a badly turned Hollowcast.
"Why does it look so funny?" Mick asked. "Is it nighttime already?"
" That question I can answer," Vernor replied. "For us to see something, a photon has to come from it to us. Now, any given atom in one of those molecules will bounce or shoot a photon in our direction only occasionally. And any given photon has only one fixed wavelength."
"I dig," Turner replied. "The flickering is because we're small enough to actually notice the different positions that the photons come from, and it's colored because each photon is a flash of just one color—" His voice changed suddenly, " Look at that fucker!"
The molecule which had caught Vernor's attention before was quite close now. Turner's outburst was prompted by the fact that this molecule had reared back and struck at them like a rattlesnake. Again, they were safe from
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