Wan squeaked, his voice rising higher because it smarted so. “This is not a class.”
“Oh, well,” said the Dead Man gloomily, “all right. Point-five degrees is the angular diameter of both the sun and the Moon as seen from Earth. Gosh! How strange that they should be the same, but also how useful, because it is partly because of this coincidence that Earth has eclipses. Minus-forty degrees is the temperature which is the same in both Fahrenheit and Celsius scales. Gosh. Two thousand twenty-five is the sum of the cubes of the integers, one cubed plus two cubed plus three cubed and so on up to nine cubed, all added together. It is also the square of their sum. Gosh. Ten to the thirty-ninth is a measure of the weakness of the gravitational force as compared with the electromagnetic. It is also the age of the universe expressed as a dimensionless number. It is also the square root of the number of particles in the observable universe, that is, that part of the universe relative to Earth in which Hubble’s constant is less than point-five. Also-well, never mind, but gosh! Gosh, gosh, gosh. On these goshes P.A.M. Dirac constructed his Large Numbers Hypothesis, from which he deduced that the force of gravity must be weakening as the age of the universe increased. Now, there is a gosh for you!”
“You left out one thirty-seven,” the boy accused.
The Dead Man cackled. “Good for you, Wan! I wanted to see if you were listening. One thirty-seven is Eddington’s fine structure constant, of course, and turns up over and over in nuclear physics. But it is more than that. Suppose you take the inverse, that is one over one thirty-seven, and express it as a decimal. The first three digits are Double Ought Seven, James Bond’s identification as a killer. There is the lethality of the universe for you! The first eight digits are Clarke’s Palindrome, point oh seven two nine nine two seven oh. There is its symmetry. Deadly, and two-faced, that is the fine structure constant! Or,” he mused, “perhaps I should say, there is its inverse. Which would imply that the universe itself is the inverse of that? Namely kind and uneven? Help me, Wan. I am not sure how to interpret this symbol.”
“Oh, cancel, cancel,” said Wan angrily. “Cancel and out.” He was feeling irritable and shaky, as well as more ill than he had ever been, even when the Dead Men had given him shots. “He goes on like that,” he apologized to the others. “That’s why I don’t usually speak to him from here.”
“He doesn’t look well,” said Lurvy worriedly to her husband, and then to Wan, “Do you feel all right?” He shook his head, because he did not know how to answer.
Paul said, “You ought to rest. But-what did you mean, ‘from here.’ Where is, uh, Tiny Jim?”
“Oh, he is in the main station,” said Wan weakly, sneezing.
“You mean-“ Paul swallowed hard. “But you said it was forty-five days away by ship. That must be a very long way.”
The old man, Payter, cried: “Radio? Are you talking to him by radio? Faster-than-light radio?”
Wan shrugged. Paul had been right; he needed to rest, and there was the couch, which had always been the exact proper place to make him feel good and rested.
“Tell me, boy!” shouted the old man. “If you have a working FU radio- The bonus-“
“I am very tired,” said Wan hoarsely. “I must sleep.” He felt himself falling. He evaded their clutching arms, dove between them and plunged into the couch, its comforting webbing closing around him.
4 Robin Broadhead, Inc.
Essie and I were water-skiing on the Tappan Sea when my neck radio buzzed to tell me that a stranger had turned up on the Food Factory. I ordered the boat to turn immediately and take us back to the long stretch of waterfront property owned by Robin Broadhead, Inc. before I told Essie what it was. “A boy, Robin?” she shouted over the noise of the hydrogen motor and the wind. “Where in hell a boy
“Oh, well,” said the Dead Man gloomily, “all right. Point-five degrees is the angular diameter of both the sun and the Moon as seen from Earth. Gosh! How strange that they should be the same, but also how useful, because it is partly because of this coincidence that Earth has eclipses. Minus-forty degrees is the temperature which is the same in both Fahrenheit and Celsius scales. Gosh. Two thousand twenty-five is the sum of the cubes of the integers, one cubed plus two cubed plus three cubed and so on up to nine cubed, all added together. It is also the square of their sum. Gosh. Ten to the thirty-ninth is a measure of the weakness of the gravitational force as compared with the electromagnetic. It is also the age of the universe expressed as a dimensionless number. It is also the square root of the number of particles in the observable universe, that is, that part of the universe relative to Earth in which Hubble’s constant is less than point-five. Also-well, never mind, but gosh! Gosh, gosh, gosh. On these goshes P.A.M. Dirac constructed his Large Numbers Hypothesis, from which he deduced that the force of gravity must be weakening as the age of the universe increased. Now, there is a gosh for you!”
“You left out one thirty-seven,” the boy accused.
The Dead Man cackled. “Good for you, Wan! I wanted to see if you were listening. One thirty-seven is Eddington’s fine structure constant, of course, and turns up over and over in nuclear physics. But it is more than that. Suppose you take the inverse, that is one over one thirty-seven, and express it as a decimal. The first three digits are Double Ought Seven, James Bond’s identification as a killer. There is the lethality of the universe for you! The first eight digits are Clarke’s Palindrome, point oh seven two nine nine two seven oh. There is its symmetry. Deadly, and two-faced, that is the fine structure constant! Or,” he mused, “perhaps I should say, there is its inverse. Which would imply that the universe itself is the inverse of that? Namely kind and uneven? Help me, Wan. I am not sure how to interpret this symbol.”
“Oh, cancel, cancel,” said Wan angrily. “Cancel and out.” He was feeling irritable and shaky, as well as more ill than he had ever been, even when the Dead Men had given him shots. “He goes on like that,” he apologized to the others. “That’s why I don’t usually speak to him from here.”
“He doesn’t look well,” said Lurvy worriedly to her husband, and then to Wan, “Do you feel all right?” He shook his head, because he did not know how to answer.
Paul said, “You ought to rest. But-what did you mean, ‘from here.’ Where is, uh, Tiny Jim?”
“Oh, he is in the main station,” said Wan weakly, sneezing.
“You mean-“ Paul swallowed hard. “But you said it was forty-five days away by ship. That must be a very long way.”
The old man, Payter, cried: “Radio? Are you talking to him by radio? Faster-than-light radio?”
Wan shrugged. Paul had been right; he needed to rest, and there was the couch, which had always been the exact proper place to make him feel good and rested.
“Tell me, boy!” shouted the old man. “If you have a working FU radio- The bonus-“
“I am very tired,” said Wan hoarsely. “I must sleep.” He felt himself falling. He evaded their clutching arms, dove between them and plunged into the couch, its comforting webbing closing around him.
4 Robin Broadhead, Inc.
Essie and I were water-skiing on the Tappan Sea when my neck radio buzzed to tell me that a stranger had turned up on the Food Factory. I ordered the boat to turn immediately and take us back to the long stretch of waterfront property owned by Robin Broadhead, Inc. before I told Essie what it was. “A boy, Robin?” she shouted over the noise of the hydrogen motor and the wind. “Where in hell a boy
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