[The SSC] will revolutionize the computer industry, the medical community, and transform our industrial and technological base. Economic opportunities never anticipated will arise, scientific advancements never predicted will proceed, and educational worlds never explored will emerge. Even if the original scientific goals are not completely met, the knowledge gained will completely change our lives.
— SENATOR DAVID BOREN (D.-OKLAHOMA)
The only thing colliding in the land under Texas will be taxpayer dollars.
— CONGRESSMAN DENNIS ECKART (D.-OMO)
February 15,1993
[There is] no reason why we have to find the Higgs boson by the turn of the century.
— DR. JOHN H. GIBBONS, CLINTON PRESIDENTIAL SCIENCE ADVISOR, JUSTIFYING CLINTON’S STRETCHOUT AND COST BOOST OF THE SSC PROJECT.
October 13, 1993
We’re going to whip their ass.
— CONGRESSMAN SHERWOOD BOEHLERT (R.-NEW YORK) COMMENTING ON HIS PLANNED FLOOR FIGHT IN THE HOUSE TO KILL THE SSC PROJECT.
49
ROGER FELL INTO DARKNESS, EMBRACING HIS PLASTIC-wrapped backpack as he fell. As his back hit the water, there was a tremendous splash beside him. Some of the concrete floor must have come along with them, he thought. A great wave of water washed over him, thrusting him sideways, sucking him deep.
The Gulf water felt bathtub-warm and tasted salty. His head and back hit the sandy bottom hard, but he was able to right himself and push upward toward the surface. When his head broke the water’s surface, he was pleased to find that his plastic-wrapped pack had enough buoyancy to support him. He coughed, then shouted hoarsely for George. There was no answer.
Roger looked around. Moonlight sparkled on the water and lights of the shoreline were visible in the distance. He attempted to stand, extended his feet downward, but the water was too deep, and his head went under. Sneezing water, he removed his water-heavy shoes and socks, shoved the socks in his jeans pockets, tied the shoelaces together, and hung his shoes around his neck. Then, embracing the pack, he began to kick in the direction of the shore. After about ten minutes of kicking, he tested the depth again. This time he could stand on the bottom. He dragged his legs through the water toward the shore. A large wave broke over him, knocking him down, but he righted himself and continued.
Finally Roger staggered out of the water and sat down on an inverted plastic bucket that someone had left on the beach. A full moon was overhead, and the moonlight gleamed across the water. He undressed, wrung the salty water from his clothes, and put them back on. He was a bit cold, but it was not too bad because the air was fairly warm. “George!” he called again. “Where are you?”
To his left he heard a call in the distance. In the moonlight he could see George walking toward him down the beach.
“Well, I see you managed to stay afloat, Roger,” George said. “I’m glad the Makers didn’t place their Bridgehead any higher. I hit the water pretty hard.”
“As did I,” said Roger, removing the plastic cover and shouldering his backpack. “Time travel, so far, has been an unpleasant soggy business.”
The stilt house they had rented seventeen years in the future was not there. In its place was only a weedy lot bearing a BEACHFRONT PROPERTY FOR SALE sign. Roger found 3 yellowed newspaper in the tall weeds. He was able to read it fairly well in the bright moonlight. The masthead said HOUSTON CHRONICLE, FRIDAY, JANUARY 30, 1987. He laughed aloud, for a small article in the lower left-hand corner of the front page bore the headline REAGAN ANNOUNCES SUPER COLLIDER. He could barely make out the text. It said the machine would cost $4.4 billion and be completed in 1996. He showed it to George.
“Ah yes,” said George, “it all comes back. Reagan’s Department of Energy got the project started with an amazingly low cost estimate that left out inflation and the cost of the detectors. The damn thing actually cost eight billion dollars and wasn’t up and running until 2003. Congress was rather unpleasant about that.”
They walked eastward on the beach toward the lights of Galveston and came to an impromptu picnic table made from a battered sheet of sun-bleached plywood.
“Wait a bit,” said Roger. “I think we should stop here and do an inventory. I suggest we put all our possessions on this table and see what we’ve brought with us.”
It was an interesting collection. There were two Bridge detectors, useless as detectors but fully functional as cutting lasers. George’s Swiss Army knife with the toothpick missing showed dark red in the moonlight. Two key rings held keys that would not fit any existing locks, and George’s had a car door lock remote control that would not be manufactured for another ten years. The eight credit cards and chip cards all had issue and expiration dates in the twenty-first century. There was $423 in U.S. currency, all signed by a Treasury Secretary who had not yet been appointed and bearing series marks of printings starting with the year 2000. There were various coins, most with dates of issue later than 1987. Roger’s British passport had been issued in 2002 and his INS green card was dated 2004. George’s Washington State driver’s license with picture ID had an issue date of 2003 and an expiration date of 2008, sealed with a hologram. There were two personal cellphones that no longer functioned and two digital databank wristwatches that, on close inspection, were clear anachronisms. Roger’s backpack contained the most glaring anachronism of all, his personal high performance lapstation containing several terabytes of stored programs and holo-ROM books and data that included the level-one download from the Makers.
“Some of this stuff is grounds for arrest on charges of counterfeiting or fraud,” said George. “The money looks like high-quality counterfeiting that somehow got the dates wrong. And the credit cards are just as bad.”
“The question,” said Roger, “is what to keep.”
George returned the knife and cutting laser to his pocket, put his watch back on, and looked at his driver’s license. “I think I’ll keep this,” he said.
“Okay,” Roger shrugged, “and I must keep my lapstation, too. It’s not a crime to possess a computer that nobody is making yet, even if it’s the most powerful computer presently on the planet.” He used his hand to dig a hole in the beach sand. He placed the currency, key rings, postdated coins, credit cards and chip cards, passport, green card, cellphones, and a few other items into the depression. George added his SSC key card. Roger fanned the cutting laser over the objects. The blaze sparkled colorfully for a time, then quickly subsided to a pile of glowing slag. Roger kicked sand over the hole, feeling depressed. It seemed that he had systematically erased all of the important events of his life, leaving himself an empty vessel with no past and no future.
In silence they walked along the beach for a while. “We need funds,” said Roger finally. “That’s the key to everything else. Otherwise we’re beach bums. Perhaps we could use the laser to cut open a vending machine to get some money. Or perhaps get currency from an automatic teller machine.”
“We’re not that desperate,” said George. “At least, not yet. Besides, we’d do unnecessary damage and probably trigger an automatic alarm that would end us up in jail. With no way of identifying ourselves or explaining our existence here, we might just stay in jail permanently.”