One Second
Per Second
S. D. UNWIN
Copyright © 2021 by S. D. Unwin
All rights reserved
ISBN-13: 979-8715378941
For Heather, Stephen and Gareth
ONE
I swerve a tumbleweed the size of a Mini Cooper. They just come at you one after another, one with another. It’s not possible to dodge them all so some you just have to take head-on, let them roll over you and make them a problem for the guy behind. Growing up I couldn’t wait to get out of this place. And now I’m back. Physics was my ticket out. In a way, I left town with the circus because many of my heroes, the men and women who had ignited my love of science, now seem quite clownish in hindsight. Even my greatest hero, Albert Einstein, had been wrong in so many important ways–ways that have shriveled my confidence in any understanding of things. Time is the fourth dimension. Nothing travels faster than the speed of light. All the profound insights that put my dear Albert at the top of the physics heap now turn out to be BS. And though physics got me out of this place, it also brought me back.
I show my pass at the site gate, drive across five miles of southeastern Washington state desert then park in the TMA lot. That’s the Time Management Agency. Clever name. They figured that if the agency’s name was ever mentioned indiscreetly then it’d be assumed its mission is work efficiency. You know: how to plan your day or politely end a Zoom call. The TMA Building stands center among half a dozen smaller structures. Not a lot of architectural detail was lavished on these buildings that look like trailers grown up without supervision. More metal than glass or brick, and usually shrouded in a shimmer of brutal desert heat.
I brace myself. I had left at least three arguments on simmer last night and will be required to pick them up where I had left off. I just had to decide in which order I’d take them on. Argument 1: I say it’s better to reverse Protocols #1 and #2 because that’d accelerate Phase A outcomes. On reflection, I was wrong. I’ll save that one until last because my being wrong makes my opponent no less of an asshole. Argument #2: This one relates to an arcane point of quantum field theory and about which only I and my opponent care. Finally, Argument #3: I cannot remember what it was but I was animated and rude. Someone will remind me.
Kasper Asmus. Is he really going to be my first conversation of the day? Kasper has the mantle of most arrogant little shit on campus, and he’s up against some pretty stiff competition.
“Did you read my paper?” he asks as a good morning.
“No, sorry, not yet,” I reply looking toward the kitchen where coffee will be found. His incredulity is unconcealed. “That it?” I ask, noticing the stapled sheets in his hand. “Let me look now.” That’ll peeve him–me taking just a cursory glance outside the snack room when I was supposed to dedicate a full evening to it. I read. “What is this?” He stares at me, then swivels to look.
“What do you mean?”
“This notation. What is it?” He sees the problem and smiles smugly.
“That’s my block mathematical notation,” he says.
“Is it? I see. You’ve developed your own notation.”
“Yes, it’s better–succinct.” I don’t look up.
“So I don’t only have to understand your idea, but have to learn your invented notation first?” No answer, so I look at him. He’s satisfyingly discomfited. “Did you consider cuneiform?” He stares stupidly. “You know, instead of English. That’d really slow us up.” I put the paper back into his hand and walk toward the coffee.
I don’t know why I have to be like this. He’s a young guy full of ideas yet I get satisfaction in beating him down. Was I always this way? He’s brilliant and maybe his new notation will be universal in ten years, but I just can’t get past not liking him. I should be nurturing him. Am I the asshole? Isaac Newton was an asshole–jealous, suspicious, conniving. Maybe it goes with the territory. Like I’m in Newton’s territory. But then Einstein was a nice guy, wasn’t he? No, I can’t be an asshole. No asshole worries about being an asshole.
The hot, black coffee hits the spot and I navigate cubicles toward the control room. No one nurtures anyone here. Why is that? And it only seems to get worse. Is it to do with everyone being very smart? Maybe it does go with the territory. Before I came to TMA I’d worked in friendly, collegial environments where everyone was respected and had a voice–everyone was valued and contributed through civil discourse and compromise. And in those places I would have been hard-pressed to find a single first-rate mind. If true, it’s a depressing correlation.
I enter the control room and see Jenn is in the Big Chair. Half a dozen others are scattered around consoles and facing a wall screen displaying a projection of the Earth’s surface. Maybe two dozen red lights pinpoint locations on the map with a caption below each: University of Maryland, College Park; Delphi Pharmaceuticals, Edinburgh UK; University of Mumbai, India ...
“Quiet night?” I ask Jenn.
“Not especially,” she replies.
“Correlations?” I ask.
“No,” she says. That’s always a relief. It means the incidents are probably not a concerted effort and are no more than random events across the globe.
A green light illuminates in South Korea. “Yonsei University. Twelve seconds per second”. That’s a moderate forward rate, but I’ve come to understand that time is fragile and what seems like a small time acceleration can be catastrophic with the potential for lives lost, futures vanished, and civilizations buried before they see the light of day. It’s unfathomable to me that nature puts no safeguards in place to prevent this sort
