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Authors: H.F. Saint
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Absolutely. We’re just heading down there now. I know. No time.” He looked up at us as he replaced the receiver. “We have to be getting down to the conference room. It’s time to begin. We should talk afterwards. Money is the whole key,” he said, looking at Anne.
He led us across his office and out through a door into an interior corridor. Next to that door was another, slightly ajar, and I saw that it opened into a lavatory. I wanted rather badly to use it, but decided not to give up on my interview now. I would hate to have to begin again with this man several hours later.
As we marched down the corridor he continued excitedly, “Now, we really don’t have any time to look at this, but I just want to show you the laboratory. Unfortunately, in the format of a press conference I can’t really explain in a meaningful way what we’re doing here, but I just want you to see this. In this kind of thing you have to gear your remarks to a lay audience and it’s difficult to go into some things. Fortunately, I’ve done a certain amount of lecturing to students with no real scientific grounding at all — ‘History and Philosophy of Science’ and that kind of thing — and I flatter myself that I manage to convey at least a sense of the underlying conceptual substance, but—”
“That reminds me,” I said. “I meant to ask you if you might have your current work written up so that—”
“Well, that’s the problem,” he said quickly, and a troubled expression crossed his face. We had stopped halfway down the corridor, in front of a heavy metal door, and he was pulling out a large key ring. “I had expected by now to have this in publishable — not to say published — form. I shouldn’t, strictly speaking, be making a public announcement at this point — before publication, I mean. But,” and his eyes darted about, “we need funding. That’s the key.” He had paused thoughtfully with his hand on the door, and now he observed with apparent surprise the key that he had inserted in the lock.
“A rough draft would be fine,” I persisted. “We’re all extremely interested in what you’re accomplishing here. I don’t think most people appreciate the significance of what you’re trying to do.” I wondered whether I would ever find out, even in general terms, what in fact he was trying to do.
“No one understands what I’m trying to do,” he echoed enthusiastically. “Not even the people I work with. It’s amazing.”
He pushed open the heavy door, and we stepped into the laboratory. The laboratory was certainly amazing. It was a large warehouselike area with a double-height ceiling which must have represented more than half the building’s volume, and although it had evidently been extensively cleaned up for the day’s events, it retained an appearance of thorough chaos. There were tables everywhere. Tables with desk-top computers; tables with machine tools, with circuit boards, with plumbing. The center of the room was filled with a massive metal ring ten feet across. Through it and around it were coiled further tubes and wires, and around them yet other wires and tubes, which finally spilled out into the rest of the room, connecting to a dozen inexplicable projects on various tables.
When I was a child, computers were referred to as “electronic brains.” This would be the intestines.
“Jesus,” I said.
“I wanted to show you this,” Wachs said, oblivious in his enthusiasm. He led us over to a table where an extraordinarily thin, ascetic-looking man wearing a jacket and tie and running shoes was staring at a computer display filled with a grid of continually changing numbers. He did not acknowledge our presence.
“I don’t know if it’s obvious to you what’s going on here,” said Wachs jubilantly, “but right now, at this moment, a magnetic field is being generated — an enhanced magnetic field, EMF , we call it. You could say that an EMF is to a normal magnetic field
He led us across his office and out through a door into an interior corridor. Next to that door was another, slightly ajar, and I saw that it opened into a lavatory. I wanted rather badly to use it, but decided not to give up on my interview now. I would hate to have to begin again with this man several hours later.
As we marched down the corridor he continued excitedly, “Now, we really don’t have any time to look at this, but I just want to show you the laboratory. Unfortunately, in the format of a press conference I can’t really explain in a meaningful way what we’re doing here, but I just want you to see this. In this kind of thing you have to gear your remarks to a lay audience and it’s difficult to go into some things. Fortunately, I’ve done a certain amount of lecturing to students with no real scientific grounding at all — ‘History and Philosophy of Science’ and that kind of thing — and I flatter myself that I manage to convey at least a sense of the underlying conceptual substance, but—”
“That reminds me,” I said. “I meant to ask you if you might have your current work written up so that—”
“Well, that’s the problem,” he said quickly, and a troubled expression crossed his face. We had stopped halfway down the corridor, in front of a heavy metal door, and he was pulling out a large key ring. “I had expected by now to have this in publishable — not to say published — form. I shouldn’t, strictly speaking, be making a public announcement at this point — before publication, I mean. But,” and his eyes darted about, “we need funding. That’s the key.” He had paused thoughtfully with his hand on the door, and now he observed with apparent surprise the key that he had inserted in the lock.
“A rough draft would be fine,” I persisted. “We’re all extremely interested in what you’re accomplishing here. I don’t think most people appreciate the significance of what you’re trying to do.” I wondered whether I would ever find out, even in general terms, what in fact he was trying to do.
“No one understands what I’m trying to do,” he echoed enthusiastically. “Not even the people I work with. It’s amazing.”
He pushed open the heavy door, and we stepped into the laboratory. The laboratory was certainly amazing. It was a large warehouselike area with a double-height ceiling which must have represented more than half the building’s volume, and although it had evidently been extensively cleaned up for the day’s events, it retained an appearance of thorough chaos. There were tables everywhere. Tables with desk-top computers; tables with machine tools, with circuit boards, with plumbing. The center of the room was filled with a massive metal ring ten feet across. Through it and around it were coiled further tubes and wires, and around them yet other wires and tubes, which finally spilled out into the rest of the room, connecting to a dozen inexplicable projects on various tables.
When I was a child, computers were referred to as “electronic brains.” This would be the intestines.
“Jesus,” I said.
“I wanted to show you this,” Wachs said, oblivious in his enthusiasm. He led us over to a table where an extraordinarily thin, ascetic-looking man wearing a jacket and tie and running shoes was staring at a computer display filled with a grid of continually changing numbers. He did not acknowledge our presence.
“I don’t know if it’s obvious to you what’s going on here,” said Wachs jubilantly, “but right now, at this moment, a magnetic field is being generated — an enhanced magnetic field, EMF , we call it. You could say that an EMF is to a normal magnetic field
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