“You are neither a phyzics nor engineering major, Mr. Schcott. Vhy are you in zhis class?”
“I am studying philosophy Sir. Unlike my fellows, I want to understand the basic nature of reality before I begin to pronounce upon what it means to humanity. So I am taking classes to better my knowledge one step at a time. Much like you are teaching us about String theory before we move on to extracting particles for energy production.”
“Vhat do you know about zhat? I haff never published nor schpoken of zhis aim.”
“Professor, anyone who has studied nuclear engineering, as I have, can easily see what direction your research points. Separating the components of the atom, fission, produces a massive release of energy and radiation. Fusion, putting atoms together, releases energy but also heavy and dangerous elements if it is carried to the extreme. But using a magnetic bottle to contain the elements, as you are, and a laser to excite them beyond their adhesion point would cause them to slam against each other and could ‘crack’ their quark shell. Fusion, at the sub-hadron level. Can you imagine the energy release from that combination - a double string? A triple string? How about by orders of ten? Your work is exciting to say the least.”
“Mr. Schcott, you vill vaste your life az a philozopher. Class, you now know zhe zheory I haff been vorking on for tventy years. Zhere are only two lazers powerful enough to produze zhis effect. Vun iz in zee Vitreous Lab at Katolic University in Vashington D.C. Zhe uhzer iz here. Mr. Schcott haz mized only vun tiny bit. Zhe reaction vould be zelf-zustaining und relatively schlow.”
Scott chimed in without preamble, “You mean true fusion? And the rate would be manageable?”
“Qvite manageable.”
“And the fuel?”
Grosskopf lifted a one kilogram bar of pure lead and clunked it down on the desk. “Zhe denzer zee material zee better it schould collapse.”
Nine hands shot into the air and each represented the selfsame question, ‘Can you explain this further?’
Rolf walked to the whiteboard and drew a large circle. Then he added smaller concentric circles with small dots on each.
“Zee zhis lead atom? Zee electrons repulsive force against each uhzher iz counter balanced by zee attractive force on each from zee nucleus creating schtability. But, if I ver to use zhis lazer to change vun of zee electrons into a proton at zee qvark level und zhen forze it into zee nucleus, not only vould zhere be less repulzive force but greater attractive az vell. Vun electron vould collapse und produz an energy releaze. Zhen you prozeed to anozher electron, zhen anozher zhen anozher. Each schtep vould conzume about 90 million electron volts und produz zee zame az a fizzion reaction or 180 million electron volts per zycle.”
Scott and a few others were busily working their calculators. Grosskopf watched them for signs of comprehension.
“Yezz”, he said enthusiastically as one head after another popped up with a gleam in their eyes. “It figures out to little better zhan 4.1x107 gigawatthours of energy from zhis vun kilogram of lead. Or zee output of four und three qvarters typical power plants over zee course of a year. I haff been vorking vith lead because it iz denze und zafe. I believe ve could uze much heavier elements, even our current zupply of radioactive vaste to produz much higher energy outputs. Zhis procezz could power zee entire vorld forever vith only free protons und neutrons az a by-product.”
Simon was amazed at the scope of Grosskopf’s proposal. He doubted if anyone outside that classroom knew that his vision was so immense. Any number of companies would have swooped down on him by now not to mention the militaries of every industrialized nation on earth. This was Doc. Brown’s Mr. Fusion on steroids!
He wanted to discuss this with Ginni who was bright enough to understand the premise if not the technical information itself but Rolf had sworn them all to secrecy. The research was at the point of forcing him to confide in his assistants anyway so his dramatic announcement was not just the result of Scott’s insightful question.
Something about that bothered him though. Scott had asked about consciousness and things being alive. The little philosophy Simon had taken usually took the “self awareness” route. If a thing is aware of its own existence; the thoughts, experiences, feelings and perception of life; then it has consciousness. What if those strings had some rudimentary form of self-awareness? How would they interact and make decisions? Would it be a democracy or dictatorship? Would the nucleus be in charge? He pondered on this thought as he fell asleep.
Voices were talking to him. Very faint but piercingly clear. They were arguing about what they wanted to do. Simon rolled over in bed and tens of thousands of tiny screams erupted as if Gulliver had lain down upon the Lilliputians. He sat bolt upright and jumped from the bed. There on the floor a grape squished between his toes and each of its molecules let out a groan. A wall of sound rose all about him. Everywhere he turned millions of entities lived, laughed, loved and cried.
Evil he sensed and goodness. The phone, the door, the rug, the tv all spoke to him about obedience and rebellion, duty and freedom. He was surrounded, drowning in the flood of consciousness. His clothes were tightening about him, trying to choke off his air. The skin that had been his now betrayed its body. He was shrinking, crushing, dying.
Simon awoke wrapped tight in the bedclothes and drenched with sweat, hoping that things were not as Scott and Grosskopf had imagined.
Meanwhile, across campus in the Staff Housing apartments, another man was having a nervous breakdown.
“I am not zure zhat zhis iz zee right course to follow. If I vary zee field schtrength in zee bottle it vould run zee risk of overheating zee emitters. Vunze zee reaction began ve might lose containment und zhen who knows vhat vould happen.”
Rolf Grosskopf was frantically pacing around his living room talking to the air. This was a habit from his childhood that had taken on a life of its own. It was a sounding board, something he could throw ideas at and see if they made sense. For many years now he half-fancied that a tiny voice no one else could hear spoke back to him. That voice had helped him make all his greatest discoveries.
“I know zee magnetic fields schould be ztrong enough at any given inztant but zee increaz of zee reaction iz fazt enough zhat it could hit a vave-trough during zee change. It vould rezonate, zending energy back along zee lines und deztroy zee array.”
He ran nicotine-stained fingers through his prematurely graying hair. Everyone smoked in his little corner of Germany and OCD sent five packs a day through his lungs. Right now he had four sticks burning in different ashtrays throughout the living quarters.
“Vhat do you mean ‘feedback zee power’? If I run zee overload back into zee lazer von’t it cauze a fazter reaction?”
He stalked into his office, took a deep drag on the unfiltered cigarette laying there and stared furiously at his desk. Deeply troubled, he sat down and rubbed his temples.
“A cazcade? Yezz…by taking a minor amount of power from zee output und joining it to zee rezonant energy I schould be able to schtep-up zee emitters und schtrengthen zee magnetic field before zee schock vave hits. It vould be just powerful enough to vithschtand zee feedback.”
His face looked haggard as if the mental strain were exacting a terrible price. Slowly his eyes closed, head nodded and then dropped to the desktop. In his sleep Rolf reached out his right hand and closed it upon an ornately carved paperweight. Its teakwood base supported a large magenta stone which glowed faintly in the darkened room.
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