“Well, that’s clear enough,” I said. “It’s been obvious that I’ve been splitting off new Histories right, left and center since the moment the Time Machine was first switched on. Dangerous indeed!”
“Yes. And as the machine, and its successors, delve ever deeper into the past, so the Multiplicity generated tends towards infinity, and the divergence of the new copies of History grows wider.”
“But,” I said, a little frustrated, “coming back to the matter at hand — what is the purpose of this table? Is it just a trick? — Why have the Constructors given it to us? What are they trying to tell us?”
“I do not know,” he said. “Not yet. It is difficult… The Information Sea is wide, and there are many factions among the Constructors. Information is not offered freely to me — do you understand? — I have to pick up what I can, make the best understanding of it, and so build up an interpretation that way…
I think there is a faction of them who have some scheme — an immense Project whose outlines I can barely make out.”
“What is the nature of this Project?”
Nebogipfel said for answer, “Look: we know that there are many — perhaps an infinite number — of Histories emerging from each event. Imagine yourself, in two such neighboring Histories, separated by — let us say — the details of the rebound of your billiard ball. Now: could those two copies of you communicate with each other?”
I thought about that. “We have discussed this before. I don’t see how. A Time Machine would take me up and down a single History branch. If I’d gone back to change the rebound of the ball, then I would expect to travel forward and observe a difference, because, it seems, if the machine causes a bifurcation, it then tends to follow the newly generated History. No,” I said confidently. “The two versions of me could not communicate.”
“Not even if I allow you any conceivable machine, or measuring device?”
“No. There would be two copies of any such device — each as disconnected from its twin as I was.”
“Very well. That is a reasonable, and defensible, position. It is based on an implicit assumption that twin Histories, after their split, do not affect each other in any way. Technically speaking, you are assuming that Quantum-Mechanical Operators are linear… But,” and now that note of excitement returned to his voice, “it turns out there may be a way to talk to the other History — if, on some fundamental level, the universe and its twin do remain entangled. If there is the smallest amount of Nonlinearity in the Quantum Operators — almost too small to detect—”
“Then such communication would be possible?”
“I have seen it done… in the Sea, I mean… the Constructors have managed it, but only on the smallest of experimental scales.”
Nebogipfel described to me what he called an “Everett phonograph” — “after the twentieth-century scientist, of your History, who first dreamed up the idea. Of course the Constructors have another label — but it is not easily rendered into English.”
The Nonlinearities of which Nebogipfel spoke worked at the most subtle of levels.
“You must imagine that you perform a measurement — perhaps of the spin of an atom.” He described a “Nonlinear” interaction between an atom’s spin and its magnetic field. “The universe splits in two, of course, depending on the experiment’s outcome. Then, after the experiment, you allow the atom to pass through your Nonlinear field. This is the anomalous Quantum Operator I mentioned. Then — it turns out you can arrange affairs so that your action in one History depends on a decision taken in the second History…”
He went into a great deal of detail about this, involving the technicalities of what he called a “Stem-Gerlach device,” but I let this wash past me; my concern was to grasp the central point.
“So,” I interrupted him, “is it possible? Are you telling me that the Constructors have invented such inter-History communication devices? Is our table one such?” I began to feel excitement at the thought. All this chatter of billiard balls and spinning atoms was all very well; but if I could talk, by some Everett phonograph, to my selves in other Histories — perhaps to my home in Richmond in 1891…
But Nebogipfel was to disappoint me. “No,” he said. “Not yet. The table utilizes the Nonlinear effect, but only to — ah — to highlight particular Histories. At least some selection, some control, over the processes is displayed, but… The effects are so small, you see. And the Nonlinearities are suppressed by time evolution.”
“Yes,” I said with impatience, “but what is your guess? By placing this table here, is our Constructor trying to tell us that all this stuff — Nonlinearity, and communication between Histories — that it’s all important to us?”
“Perhaps,” Nebogipfel said. “But it is certainly important to him.”
[7]
The Mechanical Heirs of Man
Nebogipfel reconstructed something of the history of Humanity, across fifty million years. Much of this picture was tentative, he warned me — an edifice of speculation, founded on the few unambiguous facts he had been able to retrieve from the Information Sea.
There had probably been several waves of star colonization by man and his descendants, said Nebogipfel. During our journey through time in the car, we had seen the launch of one generation of such ships, from the Orbital City.
“It is not difficult to build an interstellar craft,” he said, “if one is patient. I imagine your 1944 friends in the Palaeocene could have devised such a vessel a mere century or two after we left them. One would need a propulsion unit, of course — a chemical, ion or laser rocket; or perhaps a solar sail of the type we have observed. And there are strategies to use the resources of the solar system to escape from the sun. You could, for instance, swing past Jupiter, and use that planet’s bulk to hurl your star-ship in towards the sun. With a boost at perihelion, you could very easily reach solar escape velocity.”
“And then one would be free of the solar system?”
“At the other end a reverse of the process, the exploitation of the gravity wells of stars and planets, would be necessary, to settle into the new system. It might take ten, a hundred thousand years to complete such a journey, so great are the gulfs between the stars…”
“A thousand centuries? But who could survive so long? What ship — the supply question alone—”
“You miss the point,” he said. “One would not send humans. The ship would be an automaton. A machine, with manipulative skills, and intelligence at least equivalent to a human’s. The task of the machine would be to exploit the resources of the destination stellar system — using planets, comets, asteroids, dust, whatever it could find — to construct a colony.”
“Your ’automatons,’ “ I remarked, “sound rather like our friends, the Universal Constructors.”
He did not reply.
“I can see the use of sending a machine to gather information. But other than that — what is the point? What is the meaning of a colony without humans?”
“But such a machine could construct anything, given the resources and sufficient time,” the Morlock said. “With cell synthesis and artificial womb technology, it could even construct humans, to inhabit the new colony. Do you see?”