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Authors: H.F. Saint
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as a laser is to normal light waves. Of course, that’s only a metaphor,” he added in a tone indicating that he did not hold metaphors in much esteem.
“Wait,” he said, turning to the man at the computer. “Put up the primary matrix so they can see exactly what’s happening.” The man gave Wachs a brief skeptical look and punched a key. All the numbers changed at once. “You see? To put it in the crudest possible layman’s terms, the momenta of the particle spins and orbits are constituting a field which is continuously altering the internal structure of those very particles and yielding a net gain in energy sufficient to maintain the field itself. Of course that’s quite misleading,” he added glumly. “It’s probably simpler, really, not to think of it as matter or energy at all, but just as equations.” Wachs waved his hand expansively to indicate that he was talking about the mass of equipment in the middle of the room.
The man at the computer punched a key, and the screen filled with percent signs.
“Fuck,” said the man.
“Wait a minute,” said Anne. There was a glint in her eye. “Do you mean to say that you’re generating atomic energy right here in this room — fission or fusion, or whatever you call it?”
The man at the computer pushed more keys, and the screen went blank.
“Well, you wouldn’t really want to characterize it as fission or fusion— although you could describe it as subatomic decay — or even generation, I suppose. Continuous change would—”
“But whatever it is is actually going on right there,” she insisted, “in that… device?” She pointed sternly at the intestinal mass of tubes and wires.
“Yes. That’s it. It’s extraordinary, isn’t it? Right there. Well, actually, a lot of what you’re looking at isn’t really involved. Some of that equipment is related to work we were doing on magnetic containment. Quite a lot of it could be removed, actually.”
As a practical matter, it was hard to imagine how anything could be removed.
“That’s fascinating,” Anne said, smiling. Wachs in his innocence probably imagined it was a friendly smile, but Anne thought she was on to something. “Could you tell me what safeguards you have against radiation leakage or a nuclear mishap?”
She had a point, in a way: there didn’t seem to be any kind of shielding around the equipment. People like Wachs are apt to get caught up in the intellectual delights of whatever problem they are working on and lose track of things like not enough heat in the room, or lethal radiation.
“There’s no more radiation here than you would encounter around an average radio transmitter,” he reassured her.
I wondered briefly what an “average” radio transmitter might be like, and whether it would meet my standards for personal hygiene, but I doubted that there was really anything to worry about. Wachs and his employees all seemed healthy enough. I was more interested in finding out what they were doing and whether it might be of some value.
“What I want to understand,” I said, “is about the quantity of heat or light or whatever it is being emitted by this process, relative to—”
“Electricity,” he said. “It’s generating electricity directly.” He was almost dancing up and down with excitement. “No one will believe this.” For some reason, that thought seemed to please him enormously. “Even with this equipment here, we can bring the process to a stable level where it generates as much energy as it consumes. It’s actually driving itself now. The only exogenous energy is what powers the control system. Except for that, it could run itself virtually forever.”
Right there. I should have paid more attention. I knew that someone was about to shut off power to the building, or at least to give it what used to be called the old college try. And this man was telling me that he had some loopy subatomic process roaring away, which sustained itself but
“Wait,” he said, turning to the man at the computer. “Put up the primary matrix so they can see exactly what’s happening.” The man gave Wachs a brief skeptical look and punched a key. All the numbers changed at once. “You see? To put it in the crudest possible layman’s terms, the momenta of the particle spins and orbits are constituting a field which is continuously altering the internal structure of those very particles and yielding a net gain in energy sufficient to maintain the field itself. Of course that’s quite misleading,” he added glumly. “It’s probably simpler, really, not to think of it as matter or energy at all, but just as equations.” Wachs waved his hand expansively to indicate that he was talking about the mass of equipment in the middle of the room.
The man at the computer punched a key, and the screen filled with percent signs.
“Fuck,” said the man.
“Wait a minute,” said Anne. There was a glint in her eye. “Do you mean to say that you’re generating atomic energy right here in this room — fission or fusion, or whatever you call it?”
The man at the computer pushed more keys, and the screen went blank.
“Well, you wouldn’t really want to characterize it as fission or fusion— although you could describe it as subatomic decay — or even generation, I suppose. Continuous change would—”
“But whatever it is is actually going on right there,” she insisted, “in that… device?” She pointed sternly at the intestinal mass of tubes and wires.
“Yes. That’s it. It’s extraordinary, isn’t it? Right there. Well, actually, a lot of what you’re looking at isn’t really involved. Some of that equipment is related to work we were doing on magnetic containment. Quite a lot of it could be removed, actually.”
As a practical matter, it was hard to imagine how anything could be removed.
“That’s fascinating,” Anne said, smiling. Wachs in his innocence probably imagined it was a friendly smile, but Anne thought she was on to something. “Could you tell me what safeguards you have against radiation leakage or a nuclear mishap?”
She had a point, in a way: there didn’t seem to be any kind of shielding around the equipment. People like Wachs are apt to get caught up in the intellectual delights of whatever problem they are working on and lose track of things like not enough heat in the room, or lethal radiation.
“There’s no more radiation here than you would encounter around an average radio transmitter,” he reassured her.
I wondered briefly what an “average” radio transmitter might be like, and whether it would meet my standards for personal hygiene, but I doubted that there was really anything to worry about. Wachs and his employees all seemed healthy enough. I was more interested in finding out what they were doing and whether it might be of some value.
“What I want to understand,” I said, “is about the quantity of heat or light or whatever it is being emitted by this process, relative to—”
“Electricity,” he said. “It’s generating electricity directly.” He was almost dancing up and down with excitement. “No one will believe this.” For some reason, that thought seemed to please him enormously. “Even with this equipment here, we can bring the process to a stable level where it generates as much energy as it consumes. It’s actually driving itself now. The only exogenous energy is what powers the control system. Except for that, it could run itself virtually forever.”
Right there. I should have paid more attention. I knew that someone was about to shut off power to the building, or at least to give it what used to be called the old college try. And this man was telling me that he had some loopy subatomic process roaring away, which sustained itself but
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