understand.”
“Umm . . . y’know. If c is the mathematical constant for the speed of light, then something travelling slower than light-speed is . . .”
“Oh, right. Of course.” Benford shook his head. “Sorry. Just a little distracted.” He nodded toward the children cavorting nearby. “You were saying . . . ?”
“Right . . . well, if no one has seen a UFO that’s the reasonable size of a starship, and if we reject the notion that mother ships are lurking nearby . . . because, y’know, any backyard astronomer with a decent telescope would be able to spot them. . . then we have to discard the idea that they’re from space.”
“As most scientists already do.” Benford used his fork to play with his salad. “Have you read Philip Klass’s work? He’s been debunking UFO sightings for a long time.”
“And I don’t argue with any of it.” Murphy chuckled. “Believe me, I’m not a UFO buff of any sort. I think Klass is on the right track. If you ask me, ninety-nine percent of UFO sightings are a crock. If they’re not hoaxes or optical illusions, then they’re cloud formations, airplanes, meteors, hot-air balloons . . . anything but spaceships.”
“And the remaining one percent?”
Murphy picked up a couple of fries, daubed them in the tiny cup of ketchup. “The remaining one percent is the stuff no one’s been able to adequately explain, or at least without stretching things . . . swamp gas, Venus, all that. That doesn’t mean there aren’t reasonable explanations. We just haven’t learned what they are yet.”
“Which brings us to time machines.”
“Sort of.” Murphy shrugged. “I’m just playing the ‘whatif’ game. Time travel may not be a reasonable explanation, but it certainly is a rational one. I mean, realistically speaking, an operational time machine would have to perform much like a spacecraft. First, it would have to open a quantum wormhole, and the only place you can safely do that is outside the atmosphere. Second, it would have to be capable of atmospheric flight. A saucer-shaped vehicle could do this. And third, a time traveler would probably want to be secretive, which accounts for why no flying saucers have landed on the White House lawn.”
“Sounds like a reasonable line of thought.”
“I kind of think so. Maybe it’s baloney . . . but like I said, I was just conducting a thought experiment.” Realizing that he was hungry, he picked up his cheeseburger. “Hey, apropos of nothing, but . . . if I sent you my copy of Heart of the Comet, would you sign it for me?”
“Sure, I’d be happy to.”
“That’d be great.” Murphy lifted the cheeseburger’s bun to make sure that there wasn’t a pickle hidden beneath it. “Maybe someday I can get Brin to sign it, too.”
“Who?”
“David Brin.” Murphy peered at him, but Benford’s expression remained neutral. “Your collaborator. The guy who cowrote . . .”
“Oh, yeah. Right.” Benford grinned sheepishly. “David, of course.” He shook his head. “Sorry. It’s been a long weekend.” He plunged his fork back into his salad. “It’s an interesting theory, but not entirely original. I’ve seen some New Age books that postulate much the same idea.”
“So have I. One guy even went so far as to claim that Einstein was a time traveller. But that’s not where I’m coming from. In fact, I don’t even believe this myself . . .”
“You don’t?” Benford looked up. “But you made a pretty good case, and you supported it with known physics. The idea that wormholes, if they could be artificially created, could serve as gateways through time as well as through space . . . that was very convincing.”
“Thanks, but I was only reiterating things Hawking and Thorne have said. You’re familiar with their work, of course.” Benford gave a noncommittal nod. “Really, I was just doing the same thing that science fiction writers do . . . throwing out
“Umm . . . y’know. If c is the mathematical constant for the speed of light, then something travelling slower than light-speed is . . .”
“Oh, right. Of course.” Benford shook his head. “Sorry. Just a little distracted.” He nodded toward the children cavorting nearby. “You were saying . . . ?”
“Right . . . well, if no one has seen a UFO that’s the reasonable size of a starship, and if we reject the notion that mother ships are lurking nearby . . . because, y’know, any backyard astronomer with a decent telescope would be able to spot them. . . then we have to discard the idea that they’re from space.”
“As most scientists already do.” Benford used his fork to play with his salad. “Have you read Philip Klass’s work? He’s been debunking UFO sightings for a long time.”
“And I don’t argue with any of it.” Murphy chuckled. “Believe me, I’m not a UFO buff of any sort. I think Klass is on the right track. If you ask me, ninety-nine percent of UFO sightings are a crock. If they’re not hoaxes or optical illusions, then they’re cloud formations, airplanes, meteors, hot-air balloons . . . anything but spaceships.”
“And the remaining one percent?”
Murphy picked up a couple of fries, daubed them in the tiny cup of ketchup. “The remaining one percent is the stuff no one’s been able to adequately explain, or at least without stretching things . . . swamp gas, Venus, all that. That doesn’t mean there aren’t reasonable explanations. We just haven’t learned what they are yet.”
“Which brings us to time machines.”
“Sort of.” Murphy shrugged. “I’m just playing the ‘whatif’ game. Time travel may not be a reasonable explanation, but it certainly is a rational one. I mean, realistically speaking, an operational time machine would have to perform much like a spacecraft. First, it would have to open a quantum wormhole, and the only place you can safely do that is outside the atmosphere. Second, it would have to be capable of atmospheric flight. A saucer-shaped vehicle could do this. And third, a time traveler would probably want to be secretive, which accounts for why no flying saucers have landed on the White House lawn.”
“Sounds like a reasonable line of thought.”
“I kind of think so. Maybe it’s baloney . . . but like I said, I was just conducting a thought experiment.” Realizing that he was hungry, he picked up his cheeseburger. “Hey, apropos of nothing, but . . . if I sent you my copy of Heart of the Comet, would you sign it for me?”
“Sure, I’d be happy to.”
“That’d be great.” Murphy lifted the cheeseburger’s bun to make sure that there wasn’t a pickle hidden beneath it. “Maybe someday I can get Brin to sign it, too.”
“Who?”
“David Brin.” Murphy peered at him, but Benford’s expression remained neutral. “Your collaborator. The guy who cowrote . . .”
“Oh, yeah. Right.” Benford grinned sheepishly. “David, of course.” He shook his head. “Sorry. It’s been a long weekend.” He plunged his fork back into his salad. “It’s an interesting theory, but not entirely original. I’ve seen some New Age books that postulate much the same idea.”
“So have I. One guy even went so far as to claim that Einstein was a time traveller. But that’s not where I’m coming from. In fact, I don’t even believe this myself . . .”
“You don’t?” Benford looked up. “But you made a pretty good case, and you supported it with known physics. The idea that wormholes, if they could be artificially created, could serve as gateways through time as well as through space . . . that was very convincing.”
“Thanks, but I was only reiterating things Hawking and Thorne have said. You’re familiar with their work, of course.” Benford gave a noncommittal nod. “Really, I was just doing the same thing that science fiction writers do . . . throwing out
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