Филип Керр - The Second Angel

Another window appeared, this one quoting Einstein’s famous remark to the effect that God does not play dice with the universe and explaining that this was Einstein’s negative reaction to quantum theory. [106] Quantum theory. A theory in physics which refutes relativity by stating that an observer can influence reality and that events do occur randomly — an argument with which Einstein disagreed.

Rimmer held his head. ‘Albert. You’re a bloody genius.’

‘So people are always telling me, much to my irritation.’

‘My God, I don’t believe it. You’ve found the number.’

‘Numbers are nothing, my friend. Equations are the thing. Better than women. Better than diamonds. Better than just about anything else I can think of. Equations are forever.’

Another window with a quotation about equations.

‘Sure, Albert,’ laughed Rimmer. ‘Anything you say. My God, this is terrific. Where on earth did you find it?’

‘I didn’t find it on Earth at all.’

‘Of course,’ breathed Rimmer. ‘He’s on the Moon.’

‘Yes, but only just.’

‘How’s that?’

‘Well,’ chuckled Einstein, ‘there’s not much gravity on the Moon.’

Yet another window explaining how Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity had described the force of gravity and the large-scale structure of the universe.

Rimmer smiled slimly. ‘Is that an example of the famous German sense of humor?’ he asked.

Einstein shrugged apologetically and, returning the pipe to his mouth, set about relighting it.

‘Exactly where on the Moon did you find this number, Albert.’

‘At the Hotel Galileo, on Tranquillity Base.’

Another window to say who Galileo was.

‘The Galileo, huh? Nice. Dallas always did like to go first class.’

‘He should have acknowledged the work of Kepler.’

‘Who should?’

Another window to say who Kepler was.

‘Galileo, of course. It always surprises me that so many scientists should be so vain.’

‘On the subject of personas, acknowledged or otherwise, did our winning number have a name?’

‘Nicolas Bourbaki,’ said Einstein.

This time the window appearing on-screen told Rimmer something that he was actually interested to know: that the name Nicolas Bourbaki had been a collective nom de plume for a group of early-twentieth-century mathematicians including Szolem Mandelbrojt.

Rimmer started to get dressed.

‘Are you going somewhere?’

‘I’m going to get my old job back,’ explained Rimmer. ‘And after that I’m going to the Moon.’

This time a window with some astroliner flight times and prices.

‘Does the Moon only exist when you look at it?’ asked Einstein.

‘I wouldn’t say so.’

‘That’s my objection to quantum mechanics.’ Einstein’s large nose wrinkled with disgust. ‘These people reduce science to a series of captions. Schrodinger’s cat. Heisenberg’s uncertainty. Pah! It all implies that the world is created simply by our perception of it. Nonsense.’

‘I’d love to stay and talk about this, Albert. But frankly I haven’t got the time. Oh, you’d better book me on the next available flight. To the Moon. Assuming it’s still there. It was the last time I looked.’

‘There’s only coach left, I’m afraid,’ said Einstein, after a momentary pause. ‘It’s the centennial of the first Moon landing.’

‘Okay, coach’ll have to do. And thanks for your help, Albert. You can turn off now.’

‘May I give you a small piece of advice?’

Prior to shutting down, it was customary in 45.1 for the operating persona to utter some appropriate quotation — something he or she had said while living — so as to enhance the user’s impression of having interacted with some great figure from history.

Rimmer snorted with contempt. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Be my guest, you old bastard.’

Einstein pointed at the pair of malodorous socks Rimmer had collected from the floor.

‘Socks are a waste of money. When I was young, I found out that the big toe always ends up making a hole in a sock.’

‘Didn’t you think you might just cut your bloody toenails more often?’ asked Rimmer.

‘Well, anyway, I stopped wearing socks.’

‘I guess it all depends on whether you’re a body at rest or a body in motion,’ said Rimmer. ‘But thank you, Albert. That was most enlightening.’

Rimmer finished dressing and was still amused at the fashion tip he had taken from a facsimile of Albert Einstein — so that was what space and time were all about: Given enough time, your toe would make a space in your sock. He went out of the apartment.

Almost as soon as he was settled into his suite, Prevezer began working on the silicon surrogate world that Dallas was planning to use as a laboratory in which they would test the viability of his plan.

Modeling this particular Simworld was a highly complex process, an individually tailored job, and one on which Prevezer had been working long before leaving Earth. A number of reasons had obliged him to finish making his model on the Moon. There was the press of time: Dallas wanted to take advantage of the relative anonymity that was afforded by the large number of tourists on the Moon for the centennial, and he wanted to carry out the robbery at some time during the fourteen days of lunar ‘daylight.’ But from Prevezer’s point of view, what was more important was that Dallas wanted the simulation to take place in the authentic conditions of the Moon’s one-sixth gravity, which was something the laws of physics did not permit back on Earth. Gravity, or the lack of it, was not something that could be rendered artificially.

Prevezer was one of the best model-makers in the business. He preferred the term ‘Simworld’ to the more archaic ‘virtual reality’ that was characterized by a much older and cruder wraparound technology — its three hundred and sixty-degree headtracker helmets, datagloves, cyber-exoskeletons, dildonics, pneumatic pressure feedback systems, and cartoony terrain projectors. Prevezer worked at a much more fundamental and sophisticated level, using several electro-neuroneedles that he attached acupuncturally to the cerebral cortex, to create a synthetic experience indistinguishable from reality itself.

Prevezer had a low opinion of reality, with its fat-free ice cream, sugar-free sweeteners, alcohol-free whiskey, synthetic blood, fake fur, and Motion Parallaxes. Prevezer found none of these simulations particularly convincing. To him, the artificial Simworlds he created were more real than the real thing. For instance, where else but a Simworld could anyone but the very rich make love on a fur rug in front of a blazing log fire? — one of his most popular surrogate creations. Or drive a vintage Ferrari F87? Or massacre a village full of peasants? — another surprisingly popular choice. Reality was greatly overrated, and even at its best it was no longer something that people could simply assume to be there.

Most of Prevezer’s customers were simply people in search of a cheap thrill, individuals in an impersonal world looking for a brief moment of empowerment as they became the gods of their own mathematical wonderlands. Quite a few were sick, people in the active Three Moon phase of the virus, who wanted to spend their last few hours on Earth enjoying what in life had been denied them: the sensation of good health in some demi-paradise — a tropical island or the peak of some breathtaking mountain — and in the company of a few good friends. Using EUPHORIA, a general-purpose simulation program of his own devising, it was easy enough to build this kind of standard model. He’d even modeled luxury lunar hotels, although he now realized his rendering of the Galileo had fallen way short of the mark. This was the first time he had been exposed to a reality that exceeded his own expectations. Of course, you had to be as rich as Dallas and his pure-blood kind to afford it. Few people from Prevezer’s background ever got a taste of this style of living, even in a simulated, artificial world. It was almost enough to make him think he’d not been alive at all these past few years — just pretending to be alive. He had joined Dallas’s team because he too wanted to be rich and healthy, but it was not until he had reached TB and checked into the Galileo that he’d properly appreciated what either of those two concepts really meant.