Arthur Clarke - The Light of Other Days

David stood. “Perhaps we have said enough.”

Hiram’s anger dissipated immediately. “No. Wait. I’m sorry. You’re right. I didn’t drag you all the way over here to fight with you. Sit down and hear me out. Please.”

David remained on his feet. “What do you want of me?”

Hiram sat back and studied him. “I want you to build a bigger wormhole for me.”

“How much bigger?”

Hiram took a breath. “Big enough to look through.”

There was a long silence.

David sat down, shaking his head. “That’s -”

“Impossible? I know. But let me tell you anyhow.” Hiram got up and walked around the cluttered cafeteria, gesturing as he talked, animated, excited. “Suppose I could immediately open up a wormhole from my newsroom in Seattle direct to this story event in Cairo — and suppose that wormhole was wide enough to transmit pictures from the event — I could feed images from anywhere in the world straight into the network, with virtually no delay. Right? Think about it. I could fire my stringers and remote crews, reducing my costs to a fraction. I could even set up some kind of automated search facility, continually keeping watch through short-lived wormholes, waiting for the next story to break, wherever and whenever. There’s really no limit.”

Bobby smiled weakly. “Dad, they’d never scoop you again.”

“Bloody right.” Hiram turned to David. “ That’s the dream. Now tell me why it’s impossible.”

David frowned. “It’s hard to know where to start. Right now you can establish metastable DataPipes between two fixed points. That’s a considerable achievement in itself. But you need a massive piece of machinery at each end to anchor each wormhole mouth. Correct? Now you want to open up a stable wormhole mouth at the remote end, at your news story’s location, without the benefit of any kind of anchor.”

“Correct.”

“Well, that’s the first thing that’s impossible, as I’m sure your technical people have been telling you.”

“So they have. What else?”

“You want to use these wormholes to transmit visible light photons. Now, quantum-foam wormholes come in at the Planck-Wheeler length, which is ten-to-minus-thirty-five metres. You’ve managed to expand them up through twenty orders of magnitude to make them big enough to pass gamma-ray photons. Very high frequency, very short wavelength.”

“Yeah. We use the gamma rays to carry digitized data streams, which…”

“But the wavelength of your gamma rays is around a million times smaller than visible-light wavelengths. The mouths of your second-generation wormholes would have to be around a micron across at least.” David eyed his father. “I take it you’ve had your engineers trying to achieve exactly that. And it doesn’t work.”

Hiram sighed. “We’ve actually managed to pump in enough Casimir energy to rip open wormholes that wide. But you get some kind of feedback effect which causes the damn things to collapse.”

David nodded. “They call it Wheeler instability. Wormholes aren’t naturally stable. A wormhole mouth’s gravity pulls in photons, accelerates them to high energy, and that energized radiation bombards the throat and causes it to pinch off. It’s the effect you have to counter with Casimir-effect negative energy, to keep open even the smallest wormholes.”

Hiram walked to the window of the little cafeteria. Beyond, David could see the hulking form of the detector complex at the heart of the facility. “I have some good minds here. But these people are experimentalists. All they can do is trap and measure what happens when it all goes wrong. What we need is to beef up the theory, to go beyond the state of the art. Which is where you come in.” He turned. “David, I want you to take a sabbatical from Oxford and come work with me on this.” Hiram put his arm around David’s shoulders; his flesh was strong and warm, its pressure overpowering. “Think of how this could turn out. Maybe you’ll pick up the Nobel Prize in Physics, while simultaneously I’ll eat up ENO and those other yapping dogs who run at my heels. Father and son together. Sons . What do you think?”

David was aware of Bobby’s eyes on him. “I guess -”

Hiram clapped his hands together. “I knew you’d say yes.”

“I haven’t, yet.”

“Okay, okay. But you will. I sense it. You know, it’s just terrific when long-term plans pay off.”

David felt cold. “ What long-term plans?”

Talking fast and eagerly, Hiram said, “If you were going to work in physics, I was keen for you to stay in Europe. I researched the field. You majored in mathematics — correct? Then you took your doctorate in a department of applied math and theoretical physics.”

“At Cambridge, yes. Hawking’s department -”

“That’s a typical European route. As a result you’re well versed in up-to-date math. It’s a difference of culture, Americans have led the world in practical physics, but they use math that dates back to World War Two. So if you’re looking for a theoretical breakthrough, don’t ask anyone trained in America.”

“And here I am,” said David coldly. “With my convenient European education.”

Bobby said slowly, “Dad, are you telling us you arranged things so that David got a European physics education, just on the off chance that he’d be useful to you? And all without his knowledge?”

Hiram stood straight. “Not just useful to me. More useful to himself. More useful to the world. More liable to achieve success.” He looked from one to the other of his sons, and placed his hands on their heads, as if blessing them. “Everything I’ve done has been in your best interest. Don’t you see that yet?”

David looked into Bobby’s eyes. Bobby’s gaze slid away, his expression unreadable.

Extracted from “Wormwood: When Mountains Melt,” by Katherine Manzoni, published by Shiva Press, New York, 2033; also available as Internet floater dataset:

…We face great challenges as a species if we are to survive the next few centuries. It has become clear that the effects of climate change will be much worse than imagined a few decades ago: indeed, predictions of those effects from, say, the 1980s now look foolishly optimistic. We know now that the rapid warming of the last couple of centuries has caused a series of metastable natural systems around the planet to flip to new states. From beneath the thawing permafrost of Siberia, billions of tonnes of methane and other greenhouse gases are already being released. Warming ocean waters are destabilizing more huge methane reservoirs around the continental shelves. Northern Europe is entering a period of extreme cold because of the shutdown of the Gulf Stream. New atmospheric modes — permanent storms — seem to be emerging over the oceans and the great landmasses. The death of the tropical forests is dumping vast amounts of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere. The slow melting of the West Antarctic ice sheet seems to be releasing pressure on an archipelago of sunken islands beneath, and volcanic activity is likely, which will in turn lead to a catastrophic additional melting of the sheet. The rise in sea levels is now forecast to be much higher than was imagined a few decades ago. And so on. All of these changes are interlinked. It may be that the spell of climatic stability which the Earth has enjoyed for thousands of years — a stability which allowed human civilization to emerge in the first place — is now coming to an end, perhaps because of our own actions. The worst case is that we are heading for some irreversible climatic breakdown, for example a runaway greenhouse, which would kill us all. But all these problems pale in comparison to what will befall us if the body now known as the Wormwood should impact the Earth — although it is a chill coincidence that the Russian for “Wormwood” is “Chernobyl”…