"Damn, damn, damn," swore Professor Ng. He was slouched in one of the lab's office chairs, glaring at the screen which had apparently offended his sensibilities.
"Problem?" I asked, largely out of sheer boredom.
The professor hesitated, then replied, "No offence, but I really don't think you'd understand."
"Well, I find it helps to explain a problem to someone who doesn't understand," I pointed out. "It forces you to break it down and work out what it is you're really trying to do."
There was another pause.
"What are you trying to do?" I asked.
"It's a tachyon event visualiser." The professor threw the phrase at me with an air of bored superiority, like I'd asked for a bullet and he was passing it to me down the barrel of a gun just to amuse himself.
"Oh, I hope that's what it sounds like," I replied sincerely. This clearly caught the professor somewhat off guard.
"Why, what does it sound like?" he asked.
"Well, as a lay person," I replied, "It sounds like something that would use time particles to produce an image of some event in ... the past? Well, that's what I'm hoping. You could be using some other, more technical meaning of the word 'event.' Like, how a tachyon forms, or ..."
"No, no, you're ... pretty close," Ng interjected. "I mean, that's functionally what we're doing. Tachyons aren't exactly ... but sure. Visualising past events. How did -? I mean..."
"I've watched enough Star Trek to know what a tachyon is," I explained. "And the other words ... are, well, are English."
"Hmm," grunted Ng. It was a fairly upbeat grunt. Despite himself, he seemed a little impressed - or amused at himself, for forgetting that most of his secret magic phrase was perfectly explicable.
"So, what's the problem?" I continued.
"Now, that is technical," he said, warmly. "Broadly speaking, it's a question of noise. We have superluminal particles - let's call them tachyons - arriving in our collector from all points in local space-time, pretty much constantly, with no way of filtering it down to a single moment. Look, we can even work out the points of origin for some of the particles, Harv knocked up a Feinberg interpreter," he added, waking up one of the monitors. Sure enough, one of the windows was scrolling a list of dates and places. October 9, 1322. April 7, 1804. June 23, 1243.
"It's pretty crude," Ng admitted, "But it shows the thing's working." Both of us were now idly watching the dates slide past.
January 6, 1666.
"So it's like a radio tuned into all the channels at once?" I asked.
September 14, 1586.
"...Basically," the professor agreed, hesitantly. He looked like he wanted to correct me, but was holding back out of politeness.
November 16, 1977.
"What we need is some way to ... boost," he continued, apparently forcing himself to use my analogy, "... one of the ... signals..."
December 25, 1946.
And, suddenly...
"Problem?" I asked, largely out of sheer boredom.
The professor hesitated, then replied, "No offence, but I really don't think you'd understand."
"Well, I find it helps to explain a problem to someone who doesn't understand," I pointed out. "It forces you to break it down and work out what it is you're really trying to do."
There was another pause.
"What are you trying to do?" I asked.
"It's a tachyon event visualiser." The professor threw the phrase at me with an air of bored superiority, like I'd asked for a bullet and he was passing it to me down the barrel of a gun just to amuse himself.
"Oh, I hope that's what it sounds like," I replied sincerely. This clearly caught the professor somewhat off guard.
"Why, what does it sound like?" he asked.
"Well, as a lay person," I replied, "It sounds like something that would use time particles to produce an image of some event in ... the past? Well, that's what I'm hoping. You could be using some other, more technical meaning of the word 'event.' Like, how a tachyon forms, or ..."
"No, no, you're ... pretty close," Ng interjected. "I mean, that's functionally what we're doing. Tachyons aren't exactly ... but sure. Visualising past events. How did -? I mean..."
"I've watched enough Star Trek to know what a tachyon is," I explained. "And the other words ... are, well, are English."
"Hmm," grunted Ng. It was a fairly upbeat grunt. Despite himself, he seemed a little impressed - or amused at himself, for forgetting that most of his secret magic phrase was perfectly explicable.
"So, what's the problem?" I continued.
"Now, that is technical," he said, warmly. "Broadly speaking, it's a question of noise. We have superluminal particles - let's call them tachyons - arriving in our collector from all points in local space-time, pretty much constantly, with no way of filtering it down to a single moment. Look, we can even work out the points of origin for some of the particles, Harv knocked up a Feinberg interpreter," he added, waking up one of the monitors. Sure enough, one of the windows was scrolling a list of dates and places. October 9, 1322. April 7, 1804. June 23, 1243.
"It's pretty crude," Ng admitted, "But it shows the thing's working." Both of us were now idly watching the dates slide past.
January 6, 1666.
"So it's like a radio tuned into all the channels at once?" I asked.
September 14, 1586.
"...Basically," the professor agreed, hesitantly. He looked like he wanted to correct me, but was holding back out of politeness.
November 16, 1977.
"What we need is some way to ... boost," he continued, apparently forcing himself to use my analogy, "... one of the ... signals..."
December 25, 1946.
And, suddenly...
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