G -1 Page 22

  “He’s pretty cool, your Gramps,” Jen states, “and he seems to have some pretty good ideas. Let’s finish setting up.”

  She gets busy hooking up wires while I mount the camera on its stand and position it to focus on the mid-way point of the tower. “Is that about right?” I ask her.

  “Looks good for now,” she confirms, as she plugs the power transformers in.

  “Last time, you thought you might want to try alternating current.”

  “Yeah, but the more I thought about it, the less I thought it would work. The field between the two sets of windings, in order to hold the gray bits in place, has to have constant polarity. If we were to use alternating, I’m afraid we’d lose the containment in the field.”

  “Oh,” I say. “I guess that makes sense. So you don’t think the pulsing of the bits has anything to do with their charge?”

  “It probably does, but I’m willing to bet that the pulsing is the result of gravitational waves and won’t be affected by any charge we try to influence the bits with.”

  “Makes sense, I guess,” I say again, wondering once more where she gets her ideas. “You know, you’re pretty smart for a waitress.”

  She looks up at me and smiles understandingly at my attempt to make a joke. “Actually,” she says, while starting to check the polarity of the coils, “that job gets so boring at times, I’m actually able to think about some of these things. That’s where the idea for the coils first came to me.

  “I had just served a meal to some old guys. They were playing checkers on the side with one of those old magnetic checkerboards, and one of the guys had moved his piece to the other end and said ‘King me’. When the second guy went to put another piece on top, it slid off because he had it upside down. They thought it was kind of funny but I stopped what I was doing and stared at it for what seemed like a long time, my mind analyzing that little stack that had just slid apart, and then it hit me about creating the magnetic field.”

  I look at her. She has quit talking and isn’t moving, almost trancelike in recalling the moment. She looks up, suddenly coming back to the present. “As soon as I finished serving those guys, I went back to the waitress station and started drawing out the rough draft of what I showed you last week. It only took a minute. Now I wonder, if I hadn’t been at work, if those guys hadn’t come in for lunch and started playing checkers, or if Wendy had shown up on time…”

  “Wait,” I interrupt, “Wendy?”

  “Yeah. The other waitress. She comes in just before the lunch crowd, but that day she was late. If she’d have been on time, I probably wouldn’t have been waiting on those guys.”

  “Weird,” I whisper.

  “Yeah,” she agrees, “all those things came together at that moment in time to result in what we’re doing here today.”

  “Maybe,” I respond skeptically, “maybe not. You might have had the idea at some other point, too.”

  “Yeah, but we’ll never know, will we? Once history has been written and that moment in time has passed, it’s done and what was revealed, may or may not present itself again. At least not in that place or to that person. I sometimes get ideas for poems in the middle of the night,” she confesses. “I can never remember them in the morning when I get up. The moment is gone.”

  “That used to happen to me with song ideas back in junior high.”

  “Well it’s the same thing. Inspiration can hit at any moment. If you don’t respond, it may be lost forever. Maybe it’s not so important with song ideas, but with science, I just don’t think you can let an idea slip away. Sometimes I like to think there’s a pool of ideas just swimming around out there, in the greater consciousness of the universe, and that sometimes an idea will dip down and pass through a human brain. If it gets captured and developed, it drops out of circulation. If not, it continues its cycle until it’s finally discovered.”

  She is starting to freak me out a little bit. “Well, I still think you would have figured it out anyway.”

  “Maybe. But when?” She looks at me and I can’t answer. She is probably right in the basic premise though; if you get an idea, write it down, because that moment in time is quickly over. “I think we’re ready for some bits,” she finally says.

  I reach into the drawer where I keep the envelopes. After the day of the raid, Gramps had helped me haul a ladder in to retrieve the envelope from the ceiling. He also suggested I split the bits into at least two groups. With fewer bits in each, the envelopes weren’t heavy enough to float away anymore. “Watch this, Jen.” I toss one envelope into the air like I’m tossing a ball to catch. The envelope flips gently up towards the ceiling, maybe six feet over our heads.

  “Tyler!” Jen shouts with some alarm.

  “Wait,” I suggest, holding up a finger. The envelope slows its ascent and begins lazily returning to Earth, like a helium balloon that no longer needs a string to keep it from escaping.

  “That reminds me,” Jen comments, assured that the bits are coming down, “I brought a scale along to put the tower on to check buoyancy.” She grabs the scale, quickly putting the tower on it. “Looks like eight pounds ten and a half ounces.”

  The bits firmly in hand, I acknowledge her observation. “I’ll write that down.”

  “Now we’re ready,” she states emphatically. “You know, we should keep a checklist for pre- and post- procedures.”

  “I’ve been keeping some notes in a journal, not just of what we’ve been doing, but of the whole thing.”

  “You’re such a good assistant,” she compliments jokingly.

  “You’re such a good idea man… uh, girl,” I counter. “So are we going to do this?”

  “It’s about time we do. Computer camera on, focused and recording?”

  “Check,” I say, clicking the ‘Record’ button on the software. “Transformers on minimum power?”

  “Check. Funnel in place and secure?”

  “Check,” I reply, moving the funnel into place and securing it.

  “We are ‘Go’ for release.”

  With that, I open the flap on the envelope to release some gray bits up into the tower’s magnetic field. As before, they stop in the middle where the gravitational field is voided by the two sets of opposing coils.

  “Wow!” Jen exclaims softly. “The clarity of that camera is incredible.”

  I stop pouring, hoping the majority of bits have left the envelope. I close the flap, just in case they haven’t, and look up at the monitor. “Gramps said the resolution on this camera is 2160 progressive, with a 10, 100 and 1000 magnifying capability. I’ve set it to 1000 already.”

  What I see is amazing! Like the first time you see those programs on deep-sea life or pictures of objects in deep space. This seems a combination of the two. The glow of the bits is life-like, undulating with the rhythm of gravity, bobbing like too many balls in a swimming pool. They are arranging themselves in a single layer, bouncing off one another, though they never appear to actually touch. The pulse can easily be seen now, light-blue bands encircling each bit, proceeding from the blue top to the grey bottom of each individual bit. It is a kaleidoscope of activity.

  “Tyler! Look!” Jen draws my attention away from the computer monitor. She is pointing at the scale.

  “Seven pounds, twelve ounces. That’s fourteen ounces lighter,” I quickly calculate.

  “And one-half,” she corrects. “Write that down.”

  “What voltage are we at?” I want to know.

  “Umm... Both transformers are set at .5 millivolts.”

  I write the numbers down. “That’s not very much.”

  “It’s an interesting balancing act. I’ve thought about the ‘G’ forces needed for getting objects off of the Earth. To defeat gravity, it takes a lot of thrust per pound...”

  “To reach escape velocity,” I interject, trying to sound like I have something to contribute.

  “That’s right,” she continues. “But we don’t have to do that. All we have to do is d
efeat gravity by a scale of one. It wouldn’t matter how fast we do it. As long as we’re moving upwards, we’re accomplishing the goal.”

  “What do you think would happen at higher altitudes?” I ask.

  “I think,” she starts analyzing, “since gravity gets weaker further away from an object like Earth, the bits would capture fewer gravitons. But since an object at higher altitude would be less attracted to the Earth…” she stops mid-thought. “I suppose it would balance out.”

  “So the simplest expression of our goal would be to maintain one measure less of gravity.”

  “Yeah. If you measure gravity in ‘G’ forces, I guess it would be ‘G’ minus 1.”

  I write it down; ‘Goal ---> ‘G’ -1’. Then I draw a line to it with the comment ‘Jen’s idea’. “That looks pretty cool,” I whisper as I look again at my writing.

  “What?”

  “Wait a minute. I want to draw it a little bigger.”

  G -1

  “Now look,” I say, holding up my notebook.

  “Hmm. I like it,” she comments. “That might be a good name for our spaceship if we ever get it built.” She continues looking at it for a few seconds. “But it’s not scientifically correct.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, if you’re traveling negative g-force, you’re actually moving downwards and our craft will be moving upwards.” I must look confused. “C’mon, you remember; a non-accelerating object, like us just standing here, experiences 1 G. If we accelerate upward, the g-force goes up; if we move downward, it goes down. G minus 1 would therefore be moving down.”

  “Okay, okay,” I agree. “But that’s for describing acceleration, right? We’re not accelerating; we’re defeating gravity. It’s never been documented scientifically, I don’t think, so we get to name it.”

  “What?” she asks in disbelief.

  “Why not? We’re the first to actually be dealing with this.”

  “As far as you know.”

  “And if we expose it to the world first, it’s our label that should be used. I say we should notate gravity in the general way, with a capital ‘G’.” I look at her, pleased with my conclusion.

  “So capital ‘G’ minus 1 would float?” she asks comically, amused with my simple scientific analysis.

  “Correct!” I exclaim.

  “Well, I guess that will have to do for now,” she concedes.

  “So what’s next?” I ask.

  “It looks like there’s still space in the field, and I’m curious about its capacity. How many more bits are in that second envelope?”

  “Probably fewer than the first one. It descends quicker.”

  “Can we convert more?”

  “Yeah. I still have some Hy-Gen nanotubes left from the first conversion. And the converting bottle is right over here.” I immediately retrieve it from behind the computer monitor.

  “Great! Now I want to weigh the tubes before we convert them this time so we can get an idea of that measure as well.”

  “Right,” I say as she carefully lifts the coil tower off the scale. “How did you want to do that?”

  “When I grabbed the food scale to check weights, I also grabbed a set of measuring spoons. Measure a few out and let’s see what we get.”

  For some reason, all of this measuring and weighing is starting to annoy me, but I know it’s the right thing to do. It’s proper scientific method, and we have to have a standard for future conversions and knowing how many ounces of bits it will take to lift anything will be useful information. I try not to let my impatience show as she gets her spoons while I get the black bits envelope out of the drawer.

  “How many should we start with?” she asks.

  “I think we did about a teaspoon the first time.”

  Singling out the measuring teaspoon, she puts the empty spoon on the scale. “Point twelve,” she says. Then she holds the spoon towards me so I can pour some black bits into it. Placing the spoon on the scale once more, she announces, “Two point eight ounces.” I write down the weights.

  “Wait a minute Jen. I think we should record the conversion.” I turn the mini cam stand around, grab the mouse and click on the icon to zoom out. Quickly Jen comes into view, holding the spoon at the mouth of the conversion bottle. “Aaannnddd, action!” That gets a grin out of her but she quickly puts her science face back on to continue.

  “What we have here is one teaspoon of black bits.” She begins to pour the bits into the bottle. “These are the nanotubes that have been harvested from the used plates removed from the hydrogen generation units here at the Williams lab.”

  “No!” I cry, panicking. “Don’t mention names. If this recording ever fell into the wrong hands, we don’t need anything more to incriminate us.”

  She grins at my sudden paranoia. “I think it’s too late for that, Ty.” Then she grabs the mini cam stand and spins it to face me. “Ladies and gentlemen, meet my partner in crime who, in fact, was one of the two instigators of this covert operation; Tyler Williams. Take a bow, Ty.”

  My panic passes. We are already in over our heads. “How long can they throw kids in jail for?” I ask glumly.

  “Oh... they can make us totally disappear if they want to,” she mocks, eyes opening wide.

  “Never mind,” I reply solemnly before turning the stand towards her again. “Continue.”

  “Okay. As I started to say, what we have here is one teaspoon of black bits.” She holds the bottle up. “What we’ve discovered so far, is that if we combine the black and the gray bits together in a confined space, then cause them to collide, a transformation occurs resulting with the conveyance of properties of the gray bits to the black bits.”

  “And the reason for measuring the bits, Miss Hawley?”

  “Ah yes, good question. We’re trying to establish a measure of black bit mass which, after conversion, will yield the degree of gray bit lift.” I smile at her and flash a thumbs up. “May I have the gray bit envelope, Mr. Williams?”

  “Of course you may.” I tilt the envelope upside down, open the flap and hand it to her. “And what about the mass of the gray bits, Miss Hawley?” I question for the recording.

  “We only need a few gray bits to begin the conversion. Their mass is inconsequential at this juncture.” I think I detect a slight annoyance in her voice, but she ignores me, quietly whispering, “This is the tricky part. Ty, maybe you could zoom the camera in on this and let me know how many bits come out. They’re kind of hard to see.”

  I click ‘Zoom’ on the software and redirect the camera to the mouth of the envelope. The paper fibers are huge. “Ready Jen.” She begins tapping the envelope. “Nothing yet,” I report. “Wait. There’s five, eight, maybe twelve now.” She stops tapping. I take the envelope from her, close the flap and put it back in the desk.

  “All righty then. This is the fun part,” she narrates, as soon as I’ve refocused the camera on the bottle that she has capped and placed horizontally in the palm of her hand. “Watch carefully.”

  She spins the bottle causing the bits to collide and the conversions to begin. In the monitor, I can see little blue flashes as the gravity defying properties are transferred. I can hear the pops and hope the camera’s small microphone is able to record them as well. Though we have seen conversions before, it is still an amazing process to watch. After about a dozen turns, the activity slows and the bottle glows.

  “The other envelope please, Tyler.”

  Directing the camera toward the bottom of the bottle, I count the unconverted bits. “Five leftovers,” I say with a smile. I hand her the envelope into which she lets the new initiates float.

  “Now we’ll see the effect.” She places the column of coils back on the scale. Just then, it occurs to me that I am the assistant! And it doesn’t bother me. I enjoy watching her. She is thorough, efficient with her movements, and focused on what she is doing. And though I’m a little attracted by her looks, watching her work and learning how she thinks, tri
ggers an appreciation, or perhaps affection, that I haven’t been aware of until now. I smile.

  “What?” she queries, choosing that moment to glance over at me.

  I blush. “Nothing.” Then a second later, “I just hope you know how good you are at this stuff.”

  She stops and looks directly at me. I think she might be a little embarrassed, but she absorbs the comment with a smile saying, “Well, duh!” and then quickly finishes her setup. “Refocus between the sets of coils, please.”

  I redirect the camera, viewing the activity in the column. Just like before, the bits are still bouncing and pulsing. “Still at seven pounds twelve ounces?” I ask.

  She glances at the scale. “Yep.” Then she turns away to double-check the transformers. After a silent moment she is ready to go again. “Ready?” she asks.

  “I guess. Release the new bits and let’s see what happens.”

  “I’ve been doing everything,” she responds, handing me the envelope with the new gray bits. “Why don’t you do it this time.”

  For a second it sounds like an order, but then I realize she’s just trying to be fair. “Thanks Jen.” I take the envelope and we change positions. “Keep an eye on the monitor and let me know what’s happening.”

  “Okay.”

  I slowly begin to release bits at the bottom of the column. The light blue glow they emit as a group, gives only a small indication of how many are actually being added to the column.

  “Whoa,” Jen cries. I stop. “It’s getting pretty crowded in there. Let them settle out for a minute.”

  I look up at the monitor. It’s like watching a bubble floating on water; the blue tint of the bits, the new bits rising up to join the group within the force field, causing the group to undulate up and down, and push out to the outer ring of the field. “Geez! That’s so cool!” I mutter to myself.

  “We’re down an ounce.”

  “What’s that?” I slowly respond, mesmerized by the activity on the monitor. The bits are starting to look like a picture of a nebula or galaxy, without the spiraling arms.