Okay, so, wow. Wow. The reason why we can see Tara that far into the future is quantum entanglement? Well, it’s only a theory. It’s going to take study. A lot of study. I could maybe rough out some equations. Maybe Ll * I = TD, where TD is temporal distance, I is the importance of the event, and L is love. Lower case l is human love and uppercase L is Cu’enashti love. L is a constant, and l is a variable.
Is there a correlation between the kinds of particles? Like do nultrons only affect electrons, or photons or what? Do they affect spin? The effect would have to take place out of ordinary four-dimensional spacetime. It might cause some of the strings to uncurl. Or maybe there’s another dimension of time in operation. Some of the universes we’ve discovered have two dimensional time, which is weird. It’s like you can go backwards or up. So everything seems to move towards its source, unless you move at a right angle to it. But that gets you nowhere. We don’t use those universes for travel because you always end up back where you started. Piotyr Levanoski in 3438 thought of the brilliant idea of using those universes so that we could visit the past. It didn’t work out so good, though. It would be like trying to walk an entirely straight line in our three-dimensional universe. It’s only possible in theory. In practice, you’ll wobble. You’ll wobble more if you’re drunk. Levanoski wasn’t drunk – at least I don’t think so, but I wasn’t there, so I guess I can’t definitively say – but he must’ve wobbled, and that meant that even though he went back into the past, he also went a little in a dimension that doesn’t exist in our universe, and so he ended up nowhere. At least that’s what we think, since he was never found. Kind of put a chill on that research.
I’m going to have to brush up on my Harrison-Lu beta algebra, and get up to speed on the latest developments in Möbius-brane theory.
“This is even more boring than the timeline,” says the Floatfish.
People always say that about math, and it’s just because they don’t understand the beauty of it. Besides, I don’t think whether or not I’m boring is relevant. We’re not being judged on our amusement value.
Hurley clears his throat. Actually, it seems that we are. I’m guessing that’s one of the reasons the Floatfish were spared.
Oh.
Okay.
I can’t really sing, like Evan or Tommy or the Jacks. Maybe I could tell jokes?
Why did Schrödinger’s cat cross the road?
You won’t know until you open the box.
Well, I thought it was hilarious.
Hmmm. I have an observation to make. I wear glasses because it makes me look more intellectual. It’s not like I really need glasses or anything. I mean, since I and I is emanating these bodies, why not make them in perfect condition? Besides, it’s not like anyone needs glasses. Eyework was pretty much perfected fourteen centuries ago. It’s easy.
It’s not like I’m the only guy who wears glasses for effect. Edom St. John did it too. But Clive threw away the glasses. Clive can’t be bothered with style. Me, I’ve worked long and hard on perfecting the art of sliding them back up my nose with one finger. Girls think it’s sexy.
But that isn’t what I wanted to talk about. I started with the premise that glasses can be used to look more intellectual because I was going somewhere with it. Here’s what I’ve noticed: all the really groundbreaking math-physics guys from old Europa have got umlauts. I think it makes them look more intellectual too. So from now on, I’m spelling my name with an umlaut. Cüinn.
The most effective way to make yourself seem more intellectual, says Lorcan, would be to forgo language entirely and communicate completely in mathematic symbols. Because 99% of what you say is complete compost.
I don’t know, says Tommy. Wouldn’t that change the pronunciation? It wouldn’t be Kwin anymore; it would be, I don’t know, Cu-ehn? Cur-ihn? I can’t even say it.
Why don’t you talk about Tara? says Ailann. He’s good at changing the subject. Besides, it’s a great idea. It’s impossible to say anything stupid about Tara.
But you’re gonna give it a go, says Cillian.
No, it’s conceptually impossible. Just put the word “Tara” into any sentence. It glows. It overwhelms every other word in the sentence with its radiance. Let’s try it: The liner was late because Tara’s engine was malfunctioning. The square root of Tara is four. The early bird catches the Tara.
Whoa, says Cillian. That’s amazing.
“Amazingly ridiculous,” says the Floatfish. “You all realize that you have a blind spot the size of the horseshoe nebula?”
Tara’s engine malfunctioning is kind of hot, says Tommy.
I’d never considered it before, says Dermot, but you can substitute Tara into almost any proverb and get a statement of profound truth. The best things in life are Tara. The early avion catches the Tara. Tara is better than beauty. Tara is the best policy. Tara is the best medicine. Life is just a bowl of Tara. Live and let Tara. Tara makes the worlds go round. Tara makes right. Tara is the mother of invention. No pain, no Tara. Nothing succeeds like Tara.
Those would look great on little embroidered thingies to hang on the wall, I suggest. Can anyone here sew?
I’d just use alchemy, says Patrick.
But if we wanted them mass-produced, says Owen, they’d be easy enough to fabricate with a textile-print rig. I’d just have to program the design.
“If it were up to me,” says the fish, “I would’ve erased you hours ago. But it isn’t up to me.”
I’m starting to get exasperated with you, says Ailann. We’re trying to let the SongLuminants see how we operate. And yes, it is non-linear and to the external observer, absurd. It may seem inefficient. But it is remarkably effective. Humans subsume their differences into one dominant personality, and then many times the alternative voices get ignored. The end result is that creative thinking is diminished.
It’s a matter of design, says Dermot. Human lifespans are short, so they have to be designed for efficiency. Nau’gsh lifespans are indeterminate, so we have time to meander. We’re designed to come up with the best solution, not the most obvious one.
The SongLuminants agree, says Hurley. They’re prepared to spend however long it takes.
Well, says Ailann, it’s reassuring that they won’t rush to judgment, but we have to think of Tara.
“Like you ever think of anything else,” says Phhhhhhhhhhhhhnnnv.
I don’t get what’s so wrong about that, I say. Haven’t you ever loved anyone?
“No,” says the fish.
But you’re social animals, aren’t you? asks Tarlach. Surely you have some kind of group bonding?
“Not at all. We stick together for safety. But if one is attacked, the others will use the distraction to get away. It only makes sense. Why should more endanger themselves because one is misfortunate?”
If it were up to me, says Cillian, I would’ve pan-fried you hours ago. But it isn’t up to me.
“I thought I’d explained that sentimentality or lack thereof plays no part in this. The Houl are a venerable species that reproduces completely asexually. They see no need for socializing at all. And yet because each contains the memory of every Houl that existed in its line of ancestry, going back to the original Ur-Houl, they have made remarkable technical accomplishments. Instead of sharing with their contemporaries, they inherit wisdom from their ancestors. Does this make them any less worthy?”
How is understanding even possible, says Evan, when two species lack the concept of each other’s core values?
“Understanding is overrated. Only a social species would care about understanding.”
I think I get it. You don’t really need understanding. You just need mutual respect.
That was a laser light show, says Hurley. You really hit on something there.