Day 1 (Prologue)

The Coincidence Machine

by Roger Ostrander

(begin run 16383)

Prologue

You couldn't fail to build a disappointment machine.

That, Professor Malachai VonCannon decided, had been his downfall. That insight he'd had while walking in the rain to his car: he had of course forgotten his umbrella, and was thoroughly soaked by the time he'd reached his spot. He'd been looking forward to the heater and, via it, becoming a great deal more dry. So when he cranked the starter and the car failed to respond at all he'd been, well, disappointed. The car was, to him at this moment, a disappointment machine. That's when it came to him. A machine built to induce disappointment. He couldn't fail to build it, after all, because even if it was never completed it would still have carried out its purpose, i.e. disappointment. It was revolutionary and not just a little bit insane of him to even consider it. But what if it worked? He'd have invented an entirely different sort of machine, a machine that worked on contradictory principles (after all, he thought, who could build a machine that worked even if you failed to build it?). He had to do it.

He hadn't paid a great deal of attention to the important question, 'What if it worked'. That was exactly the issue, as it turned out, exactly the turning point of his career. It had worked, all right, it had worked too well. What the good professor had failed to realize was that building a disappointment machine was not only self-fulfilling, it was also ultimately futile. The better you built your disappointment machine, the more it disappointed not only you, but those in charge of funding you.

It had been a disaster. No scientific journals would publish the results, no respectable committees would even discuss it - perhaps most embarrassing, he could not even seem to attract research assistants any longer. If it hadn't been for the immobile machine, he would have likely given up altogether.

The concept was simple enough and, like its spiritual predecessor, completely at odds with itself - a machine that did not move at all, and thus could be used to propel other objects at high speeds. The machine wasn't moving, but the rest of the universe was. In theory it required virtually no energy and if done correctly would even provide energy, but experiments had never gone that far. Professor VonCannon had worked on the theory himself, vetted everything himself and, since no respectable outsider would even speak to him, tested everything himself. He'd even figured out the proper time of day and year for activation to prevent the machine from, say, slamming into the Earth's crust at extremely high speeds. So nobody was more surprised than him when he activated the machine and it vanished entirely.

A despondent Professor VonCannon was on the verge of resigning, but rather fatalistically published his research into the machine anyway. He was unsurprised at the initial response, which consisted mainly of jeers and calls for his dismissal. The surprise came a short time later when more cool-headed and rational scientists looked at the math behind the theory and found it strangely sound. The reason the machine vanished, it was determined, was because it was not only anchored in space, but time as well. The fact that nobody - not even the professor himself - seemed able to replicate this feat went unremarked. The professor had moved on to his next big machine, and nobody else was able to understand enough of his logic to be able to perform the experiment again. It didn't seem to matter, though, because if the professor's logic was true then it was possible to create a portal through time, using just such an immobile machine as an anchor. You couldn't travel back any farther than the anchor had been made, but it was astonishing just the same.

He'd gotten back his credibility. Journals clamored over each other to publish his works, reprints of his earlier discredited research into disappointment were in high demand, and research student applications flooded his inbox. There seemed to be nothing else to do at that point but build the time machine he'd theorized could be done.

So he had, and once again everything crumbled around him.

For one thing, he was the only person who knew he'd done it. You couldn't see the wormhole he'd created, because it was only the size of a few atoms and if he didn't keep it in a specially prepared isolation device at all time it would evaporate. So he'd made a machine that, to everyone else, just seemed to be outputting random data.

There was a wormhole, he knew. It was transmitting data, probably from some point in the future, he knew. The machine he'd built to enclose it (the time machine, as he'd dubbed it) was picking up this data and outputting it. The data just seemed entirely random. Everyone else doubted the existence of the wormhole entirely, given that nobody could reproduce the experiment that allegedly created it. As before, the professor's credibility vanished, his colleagues deserted him for the most part and his students went back to other research that had a higher likelihood of attracting grant money.

That wouldn't have ended his career, if the time machine didn't seem bent on burning down the university [(0x0001) Both the professor's work and the professor himself were incompatible with academia. These changes were necessary to ensure his working in an independent environment] . Ever since its construction there had been random power fluctuations everywhere on campus, in some cases disabling such university systems as the on-campus power plant, fire suppression and its backups, and most distressingly to the students, the campus Internet connection. They began at the precise moment of wormhole creation, and were persisting despite everything Professor VonCannon did to try to shield the machine.

Rather than take the disruptions as evidence that a wormhole was in their midst, as the Professor insisted, his colleagues had advanced the alternate and to everyone else more plausible theory that VonCannon was insane, and his machine was purposely drawing bizarre amounts of energy, in turn causing these problems. It was this that had earned him an invitation to the office of Doctor James Caster, Dean of Engineering, and begun the entire train of thought about his downfall.

Caster held a thick sheaf of used printer paper and gestured at Professor VonCannon with it. ``Do you know what this is?'' he asked seriously.

Malachai shrugged. ``Aren't you going to ask me to sit down?''

``It's all the complaints I've received about you.'' Caster continued, ignoring the professor's question.

Professor VonCannon decided that ignoring the other person's statements was a two-way street. ``Because when people call their colleagues into their office to give them a stern lecture and/or a firing, usually the first thing they say is 'would you sit down'.''

Dr. Caster glared. ``This is a serious matter, Mal.''

VonCannon sat. Doctor Caster had been one of the few members of the faculty who had argued against sacking him the first time he'd made a machine that appeared defective to all observers. VonCannon's later celebrity had been what propelled Caster into the position of Dean to begin with, and James knew it. That Malachai's staunchest supporter seemed at the end of his tether was poor news indeed.

VonCannon's seating seemed to calm the dean down somewhat. The latter sighed. ``This is just the hardcopy, letters that people bothered to mail in.'' he said. ``You don't even want to know what my e-mail looks like.''

``I have some idea'' Malachai replied. He'd long ago set up a program to filter out the large volume of negative publicity he'd attracted.

Dr. Caster was quiet for a time. He put the paper down on his desk and sighed nearly silently. Finally, he spoke. ``The Board of Trustees called me in yesterday.''

There was no good response to that. Professor VonCannon had achieved tenure years before any of the insane machine ideas had come to him, and even during his initial hard times because of the Disappointment machine, he'd never been told his job was in danger. Hopefully he was misinerpreting what Caster was saying.

``Really?'' was the most noncommital thing he could think of.

Dr. Caster's hesitation in continuing told VonCannon everything he needed to know. James pressed on regardless. ``It is their view that your behavior is... unstable. They see your experiments as dangerous in the extreme, and putting the entire campus at risk.''

``You know that's not the case.'' Malachai shot back before he could stop himself.

``Do I?'' Caster's response was equally quick; it was clear he'd been asking himself the question for some time. ``I have only your word for it that this machine of yours really does what you claim it does. Now I know you, Malachai. I spoke up for you when nobody else would. Only this time, there's real danger.''

``Ah, that's it.'' Professor VonCannon was a great deal angrier than his tone was letting on. ``You have my back when it's harmless to do so. 'Let him stay, he has some funny ideas but he is harmless', is that it?''

James' brow furrowed. ``Yes.'' he said bluntly. ``As far as the board is concerned, funny ideas are harmless. Fires, on the other hand, electrical problems, that's what's harmful. When I say the board called me yesterday, I mean they called me at home, at 8:00 in the evening, for an emergency meeting. There was a fire in one of the dormatories; if one of the students hadn't been near a fire extinguisher when he saw it, there wouldn't be a Simmons Hall anymore. This is the first time that the fire suppression systems going down has resulted in an actual fire, but both the board and I fear that it won't be the last.''

Malachai managed to look even more frustrated than the dean. ``This is my fault how, exactly? You're allegedly a man of science, James, but you're behaving like the skittish public. You have no proof that it's my machine causing these disruptions! Have you spoken to your colleagues in the physics and astronomy departments? Perhaps if you had you'd know that we're at the solar maximum? Disturbances are to be expected.''

Caster leaned forward. ``Then shut it down.'' he said simply. ``If solar activity is to blame for our malfunctions, then they will continue and I myself will sign the paperwork funding your machine.''

Professor VonCannon had, in truth, had that very same idea much earlier on. He shook his head. ``I've already given thought to closing the wormhole'', he said, as though his wormhole were fact and not very much in dispute, ``and it wouldn't be difficult. Any significant interruption in the flow of power to containment would allow its energy to dissipate, after all. No, the problem becomes that I have already recorded what information I could decipher from the rift. If I close the wormhole, it cannot be reopened. Another one can be created, certainly, but it would not be linked to this one. It stands to reason, then, since this is a hole through time - not space - that I cannot close it before I transmit the information I have already received.''

James looked at VonCannon askew. ``So what you're saying is that, in order for us to preserve the time-space continuum, we have to keep you employed.''

``Not at all.'' the last thing Malachai needed at this point was rumor going around that he'd threatened to hold Causality hostage. ``Simply that I can't safely shut down the wormhole yet.'' He took a deep breath. This was his last hope at salvaging his work... ``It could be moved.''

Dr. Caster considered this. ``You said that any interruption in power could destabilize it.'' his expression didn't indicate one way or the other whether he believed that the wormhole even existed, ``How do you propose it be moved? And where to?''

Inwardly, Professor VonCannon breathed a sigh of relief. His work would be safe. ``The machine itself has a built-in uninterruptible power supply; I didn't want minor electricity issues to destabilize reality, after all. It can go without external power for weeks at a time. As for where it should be moved to, I own some property in the city in the industrial district. I am certain such an area would be more able to deal with a machine whose power demands are as... unique as mine.''

``You've been thinking of this.'' Caster's voice wasn't an accusation, but it had a slight edge to it.

``The writing did seem to be on the wall.'' VonCannon admitted. ``I simply want to continue my work.''

Dr. Caster shook his head. ``I'm sorry - you can keep the machine running as long as it's effect on the campus has been mitigated, I know how much it means to you, but the board insists that all research into it cease. They seem to think that further damage might be done.''

Professor VonCannon took out a sheet of paper and put it on James' desk, smoothing out the folds. ``If you sign the paperwork to get my machine moved downtown, I'll sign this paper and you can bring it to your board.''

Caster looked at the sheet. ``Are you sure?''

``I want to continue my work.''

James nodded. ``All right. You've got my blessing.''

Without another word, VonCannon signed his resignation letter. In actuality, it was a letter he'd drafted back when the Disappointment machine had been created. He'd simply changed the date. This move, he knew, had been coming for a long time.

---

Next

NaNoWriMo 2007

I debated for a while about blogging this year's novel. It was different, I told myself. I'd probably have to go back and add parts. It all had to add up just right, and if I changed one thing I'd have to change a bunch of other things, which would be a lot of blog editing work.

Then I told myself, self, to hell with the problems. I can write a freaking novel in a month. I might as well blog it.

Here goes....