Read Online To Say Nothing of the Dog by Connie Willis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Connie Willis
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physicists don’t believe incongruities are possible. Except for Fujisaki.”
“Fujisaki thinks they’re possible? What’s his theory?”
“He has two theories. One is that they’re not incongruities, that there are objects and events in the continuum that are nonsignificant.”
“How is that possible? In a chaotic system, every event is linked to every other.”
“Yes, but the system’s nonlinear,” T.J. said, looking at the papers, “with feedback and feedforward loops, redundancies and interference, so the effect of some objects and events is multiplied enormously, and in others it’s cancelled out.”
“And a parachronistic incongruity is an object whose removal has no effect?”
T.J. grinned. “Right. Like the air historians bring back in their lungs or, he looked at me, “the soot. Its removal doesn’t cause any repercussions in the system.”
“In which case the object shouldn’t be returned to its temporal location?” Mr. Dunworthy asked.
“In which case it probably can’t be returned,” T.J. said. “The continuum wouldn’t allow it. Unless it was nonsignificant in its returned state, too. Unfortunately, this sort of incongruity’s pretty much limited to air and soot. Anything larger has a significant effect.”
Even penwipers, I thought, leaning my head against the wall. I had bought an orange one shaped like a pumpkin at the Autumn Choir Festival and Salvage Drive and then forgotten it, and when I tried to come back, the net wouldn’t open. I wondered drowsily how it had come to open for the fan.
“What about living things?” Mr. Dunworthy asked.
“Harmless bacteria, possibly, but nothing else. The effect of life-forms on the continuum is exponentially greater than for inanimate objects, and exponentially greater again for intelligent life-forms because of the complexity of interactions they’re capable of. And of course nothing that could have an effect on the present or future. No viruses or microbes.”
Mr. Dunworthy cut him off. “What’s Fujisaki’s other theory?”
“His second theory is that there are incongruities, but that the continuum has built-in defenses that counteract them.”
“Slippage,” Mr. Dunworthy said.
T.J. nodded. “The mechanism of slippage prevents nearly all potential incongruities by removing the time traveller from the area of potential danger. Fujisaki’s theory is that the amount of slippage is limited, and that an incongruity occurs when the slippage can’t increase radically enough to prevent the parachronism.”
“What happens then?”
“Theoretically it could alter the course of history, or, if it were severe enough, destroy the universe, but there are safeguards in the modern net to prevent that. As soon as the danger of incongruities was realized, the net was modified to automatically shut down whenever the slippage reaches dangerous levels. And Fujisaki says that if an incongruity did occur, which it can’t, there are other lines of defense that would correct the incongruity and would manifest themselves as,” he read from the paper, “radically increased slippage in an area surrounding the incongruity, an increase in coincidental events—”
Mr. Dunworthy turned to me. “Did you experience any coincidences in Coventry?”
“No,” I said.
“What about your jumble sales?”
“No,” I said, thinking how nice it would have been if I had experienced one, if, strolling between the coconut shy and the plum-cake raffle, I had run bang into the bishop’s bird stump.
Mr. Dunworthy turned back to T.J. “What else?”
“Increased slippage in the peripheral temporal areas.”
“How large an area?”
He bit his lip. “Fujisaki says most incongruities are corrected within fifty years, but this is all theoretical.”
“What else?”
“If it were really serious, a breakdown in the net,” T.J. said.
“What sort of breakdown?”
He frowned. “Failure of the net to open. Malfunction in destination. But
“Fujisaki thinks they’re possible? What’s his theory?”
“He has two theories. One is that they’re not incongruities, that there are objects and events in the continuum that are nonsignificant.”
“How is that possible? In a chaotic system, every event is linked to every other.”
“Yes, but the system’s nonlinear,” T.J. said, looking at the papers, “with feedback and feedforward loops, redundancies and interference, so the effect of some objects and events is multiplied enormously, and in others it’s cancelled out.”
“And a parachronistic incongruity is an object whose removal has no effect?”
T.J. grinned. “Right. Like the air historians bring back in their lungs or, he looked at me, “the soot. Its removal doesn’t cause any repercussions in the system.”
“In which case the object shouldn’t be returned to its temporal location?” Mr. Dunworthy asked.
“In which case it probably can’t be returned,” T.J. said. “The continuum wouldn’t allow it. Unless it was nonsignificant in its returned state, too. Unfortunately, this sort of incongruity’s pretty much limited to air and soot. Anything larger has a significant effect.”
Even penwipers, I thought, leaning my head against the wall. I had bought an orange one shaped like a pumpkin at the Autumn Choir Festival and Salvage Drive and then forgotten it, and when I tried to come back, the net wouldn’t open. I wondered drowsily how it had come to open for the fan.
“What about living things?” Mr. Dunworthy asked.
“Harmless bacteria, possibly, but nothing else. The effect of life-forms on the continuum is exponentially greater than for inanimate objects, and exponentially greater again for intelligent life-forms because of the complexity of interactions they’re capable of. And of course nothing that could have an effect on the present or future. No viruses or microbes.”
Mr. Dunworthy cut him off. “What’s Fujisaki’s other theory?”
“His second theory is that there are incongruities, but that the continuum has built-in defenses that counteract them.”
“Slippage,” Mr. Dunworthy said.
T.J. nodded. “The mechanism of slippage prevents nearly all potential incongruities by removing the time traveller from the area of potential danger. Fujisaki’s theory is that the amount of slippage is limited, and that an incongruity occurs when the slippage can’t increase radically enough to prevent the parachronism.”
“What happens then?”
“Theoretically it could alter the course of history, or, if it were severe enough, destroy the universe, but there are safeguards in the modern net to prevent that. As soon as the danger of incongruities was realized, the net was modified to automatically shut down whenever the slippage reaches dangerous levels. And Fujisaki says that if an incongruity did occur, which it can’t, there are other lines of defense that would correct the incongruity and would manifest themselves as,” he read from the paper, “radically increased slippage in an area surrounding the incongruity, an increase in coincidental events—”
Mr. Dunworthy turned to me. “Did you experience any coincidences in Coventry?”
“No,” I said.
“What about your jumble sales?”
“No,” I said, thinking how nice it would have been if I had experienced one, if, strolling between the coconut shy and the plum-cake raffle, I had run bang into the bishop’s bird stump.
Mr. Dunworthy turned back to T.J. “What else?”
“Increased slippage in the peripheral temporal areas.”
“How large an area?”
He bit his lip. “Fujisaki says most incongruities are corrected within fifty years, but this is all theoretical.”
“What else?”
“If it were really serious, a breakdown in the net,” T.J. said.
“What sort of breakdown?”
He frowned. “Failure of the net to open. Malfunction in destination. But
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