Authors: Anne McCaffrey
Peter laughed. “I though the biggest mystery was how psychic powers worked at all.”
Professor Gadriel threw up a dismissive hand. “That problem was solved long ago.
Mon Dieu
, what Teacher program have you been using? You have heard of Heisenberg, correct? And Schrodinger? You understand quantum mechanics, don’t you?”
Peter found himself nodding decisively to all three questions. “I certainly do, Professor. At least I thought I did. I did pretty well on Teacher
exams in physics, and general applications of quantum mechanics and string theory. But I’m afraid I don’t precisely appreciate what quantum mechanics has to do with telekinetics.”
“You do not? But I though that everyone knew—” the professor broke off and slapped his forehead in disgust. “Ah, idiot! I cannot
believe
—”
“Professor, I’m very sorry to have distressed you. Maybe I should let you get back to your work,” Peter said, dismayed at the professor’s temper.
“No, not you—me!” The professor slapped his forehead again for good measure. “Perhaps you haven’t had time lately to read the technical journals from CERN.” When Peter shook his head, unwilling to admit that he didn’t have time to read any technical journals, just manifest lists of where to send what, Gadriel nodded his head sympathetically. “Then you did not know that we, here at CERN, now know how telekinetics and all the psi powers work.”
“You do?” Peter was shocked. “That is excellent news. With that knowledge we should be able to build gestalt generators to take us to the stars!”
“Ah, but it is not so easy, Mr. Reidinger,” the professor said sadly. “Knowing how psi powers work is the easy part; making them work better—that is very difficult.”
“How do they work, Professor?”
“Our psychic powers utilize the quantum mechanical effects of an observer on a macroscopic scale,” the professor said simply. Peter looked confused. “You know that in the realm of quantum mechanics, simply observing a particle changes its state, correct? Professor Heisenberg embodied this in his Uncertainty Principle.”
“Yes,” Peter replied. “The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle states that with subatomic particles it is not possible to observe its state without the energy used to make the observation causing a change in that state—if you shine a light on an electron, it will either change its speed or its orbit.”
“Correct,” the professor said. “The effect of the observer is more profound, even. In the case of Schrodinger—and his poor unfortunate imaginary cat—an observer is
required
before an observation can be made.”
“Like Schrodinger’s cat—no one can know if the cat is dead or alive without actually opening the airtight box and looking,” Peter agreed.
“Exactly,” the professor replied entusiastically. “And we Talented people are very special observers. While nothing can be said to have happened
without an observer, we, with our Talents, can make things happen the way we want them.”
“So I teleport objects by
wanting
them to be where they need to go.”
“Very good. But I would have said, we move objects by
observing
them to be in their new location,” the professor corrected, nodding furiously.
“And telepathy?” Peter asked.
“Telepathy is even easier. It is purely a quantum-mechanical effect,” the professor said. “Telepaths think they are talking with someone, and that someone hears them—neural stimulation at the quantum mechanical level.”
Peter’s face lit up with understanding as he absorbed the professor’s explanation. “Our Talents work because we
want
them to!”
“Exactly.”
“And the gestalt generators?”
“They increase our ability to realize quantum-mechanical effects on a greater scale, as well as handling any specific energy concerns.”
Peter frowned. “That doesn’t explain why I get better results with some generators than others.”
“To understand that, I would need to see your telemetry—some measurements,” the professor replied.
Peter grinned. “I understand that you’ve been looking into this, and we have collected quite a lot of telemetry from our work up here on Padrugoi. I can download it to you now.”
The professor glanced at his watch. “For you, Peter, I will make time to analyze the data. Let me clear my schedule while you commence the download.”
Fifteen minutes later, Peter and Professor Gadriel were elbow-deep in their accumulated data.
“I see what you mean here, Peter, about the various loads,” Professor Gadriel agreed, highlighting one section of a graph. “It certainly looks like everyone goes through a period of adjustment when they first join into gestalt with a generator.”
“What I’ve been trying to understand, Professor, is why I can’t get a correlation between graphs for different generators,” Peter said.
“Please, Peter, it would be easier for me if you called me Tomas,” Professor Gadriel said, smiling. “We are friends now,
non?
”
Peter swallowed. Professor Gadriel was easily twenty years his
senior—but his ready smile was infectious. “Very well, Prof—Tomas. But if you look here,” and Peter brought up multiple graphs in the lower window, “there seems to be no correlation. And without correlation—”
“We are missing something,” Tomas interrupted. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Some piece of data is not in our picture. Let’s look at the data for General Greene.”
“Very well,” Peter agreed, rapidly graphing that data and displaying the results.
“Ha! I see something,” Tomas said. He pointed to the graphs. “Look how much longer it takes General Greene to come into gestalt with these generators. Always he takes longer.” Tomas tapped rapidly on his keyboard. “Here are my traces from my older gestalt circuitry. I am quicker, even than you,” he noted. “Now why is that?”
“Some of these installations are newer than others,” Peter noted. Quickly he ran up graphs of gestalt against installation date.
“Hmm, the correlation is not exact,” Tomas said. He frowned thoughtfully, then brightened. “But some of these would have received newer circuitry. Where are the records?” His fingers flew over his keyboard again. “Ah, here. Let’s see now.” Peter’s graph was rearranged on the screen. “Hmm, still not quite a perfect fit.”
“Would all the newer circuitry be the same?” Peter asked.
Tomas shook his head. “No, almost every circuit is custom-built, an experiment. I’ve been working with smaller circuit paths, aiming for higher efficiencies. Your Padrugoi equipment is three or four generations old. And some of these other installations—pah!” He waved a dismissive hand. “Why, this one in Australia is ancient.”
Peter groaned. “I got a headache every time I used it.”
Tomas shot him a startled look. “Really? Headaches. This is something else we must consider. I recall a headache once, way back …” His voice faded away. “No, I cannot remember. Let me consult my notes.” Again his fingers tapped on his keyboard. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of silliness I am willing to record, Peter,” Tomas said, shaking his head. “By the way, I am recording our work together now—is that a problem? I should have mentioned it earlier, but most of my colleagues already know my penchant for recording everything.”
Peter shook his head. “No, sir. In fact, it makes quite a lot of sense.”
Tomas grinned. “Good, I am glad you agree. I get someone else to deal
with the words that the silly speech-to-text software still can’t handle. Mostly, it’s very good. But not as good as a—” His voice trailed off. “Ah, here it is. Yes, I had some trouble with your Australian generators, too. But my charts … Hmm. I was still faster than you are General Greene, with those machines.”
“Perhaps you are more powerful or—”
“Nonsense! I know my limitations,” Tomas cut him off. “There is no time for false modesty or bragging. We are dealing with science, Peter. There’s a reason—probably a good one—why it is easier for me to form a gestalt than you.” Realization dawned in Professor Gadriel’s eyes. “Of course! I designed the circuitry and tested it. Why would I bother to give myself a headache when I could avoid it? Hmm, somehow the circuitry works best for me …” Tomas’s words trailed away as he lapsed into thought once more.
“Maybe you tuned it—” Peter began.
“Voilà!” Tomas shouted. “Or perhaps I should say, eureka! You are right, Peter. I most certainly did tune those circuits. How was I to know that I had tuned them best for me?”
“Would that explain the different times to achieve gestalt?” Peter asked.
Tomas shrugged. “Perhaps. Or the headaches. I would imagine that both are aspects of how well a particular telekinetic is in tune with the gestalt circuitry—but I imagine that some telekinetics are better at entering into gestalt than others, no matter how well the circuitry is tuned. We shall have to experiment.”
“Great,” Peter said. “When do we start?”
Tomas threw up his hands. “Peter, you are unquenchable. We have been at this now for—
zut alors!
—seven hours, and you want to start running experiments?”
Peter looked abashed. “Sorry, Professor, it’s just that—”
“I know, my young friend, youth has no patience,” Tomas said. “But I will need some time to think this over and build new circuitry.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter once again felt obliged to apologize.
“You should not be!” Professor Gadriel responded hotly. “We have made great strides this day, you and I. When we are done … who knows? But now I must report this to my superiors—I will need to draw a lot of new equipment.” When Peter made to speak again, Tomas cut him off. “Do
not worry—I shall have no problem getting it. Let me have some time to sort things through—I shall contact you again as soon as I have more.”
Peter caught Johnny showering, too excited to wait a single minute in sharing that incredible conversation and its rewards for them.
Well, one thing’s sure, Gadriel’s not all wet the way I am right now
.
Sorry, Johnny
.
He caught Johnny’s tolerant sigh.
Don’t be. I’d heard something about Gadriel before our interesting trip to First Base, but I didn’t actually connect quantum mechanics with what we do. Didn’t anyone think to tell us?
There’s some sort of Murphy’s Law, isn’t there, that says that the people who do the work are the last ones to know?
If there isn’t, there should be. Okay, you recorded, too, didn’t you? Send it to my workstation and I’ll review it. And let’s not tell Dirk right now. We should see if it works for us, and then organize a new contract
.
Is that all you ever think of, contracts?
Peter was both amused and irritated by the general’s practicality. Being able to work more efficiently shouldn’t be translated into more credit. Or should it, especially if it benefited the Center, as well as the kinetics involved?
And don’t tell Rhyssa just yet
, Johnny added.
I don’t want to get her hopes up until we’re sure Gadriel’s right
.
Peter grumbled but obeyed. And had another diversion for his spare time when he wasn’t porting shipments to First Base. Commander de Aruya had forwarded his MRI readings and Peter’s incredible neoneurogenesis to Mountainside Hospital.
N
euro-specialist Finn Marksein wanted very much to examine Peter Reidinger in person and arranged to come immediately to Padrugoi for this purpose. A man in his early thirties, with a face that looked much younger than his years and experience, he had a confident and optimistic manner. His field of concentration was spinal injuries, including bypass operations that provided limited mobility. Although Peter sensed that Markstein was highly skeptical that the source of the miraculous neurogenesis was an eleven-year-old girl, Dr. Markstein did not argue the point, murmuring about gift horses. Markstein discussed Peter’s case with Commander de Aruya and on video-link with Martin McNulty. The station
physiotherapist, Mike Malaj, was briefed to restore Peter’s body to full working condition. He had to gradually gain strength and resilience to perform gross motor movements. As Ceara had suggested, the fine-motor skills would take longer. Finn Markstein was willing to advance the opinion that full recovery from the paralysis was possible, with dedicated hard work on Peter’s part. A hydrotherapy tank was already part of the sick bay’s equipment, and Peter was scheduled to spend a good deal of time in it between ’portations and the exercise facility.
“You’re not really in bad shape, Pete,” Mike told him on the second day. “Smart of you to keep working out on the Reeve Board. I won’t kid you though. It’s going to be rough at times. I gotta work you hard. Nothing personal, you realize.”
Though intellectually Peter did realize that, it was hard not to think that Mike was a despot, putting him through strenuous exercises, demanding more and more at each session. If Sue, his original therapist, had seemed strict, she was a pussycat in comparison to Mike.
“Gotta get those quadriceps moving.” Mike used a litany of those muscles in a sort of chant as he worked Peter through his body: arms, chest, abdomen, pelvis, back, and legs. “
Think
into the tissue of pectoralis major. And don’t forget the minor. Let’s get these arms working—deltoid, biceps, triceps, the flexors. Your belly, sir, and its latissimus dorsi, the rectus abdominus. Your good ol’ gluteus maximus, medius, and minimus. Get ’em working. Make your muscles remember what they once did. Quadriceps, rectus femoris. They will remember, you know, if you
make
them. You’re a psychic. Make your mind work for you.”
“I was,” Peter gasped, sweating to move inches when a half hour before he had ’ported hundredweights to the Moon, “doing just fine that way. This is different.”
And, oh, how different it was! It almost defeated him. Sternly he reminded himself that getting rid of that damned appliance would be worth an ocean of sweat. Markstein reassured him that the diversion could be reversed and he would be able to control his bodily functions. That was an ambition devoutly to be realized. The operation had been done to him—without him realizing what it meant—after the consultants regretfully announced that his paralysis was incurable.