(no subject)
"So," said Aunt Agatha, one ever-so-carefully-plucked eyebrow raised. "Your mother tells me you're a scientist, Gordon?"
Family reunions. Ugh. The single greatest failure of his 'no talking if talking could result in someone taking it the wrong way' policy was the family reunion, and the single person at any given family reunion most likely to induce policy failure was Aunt Agatha.
"I don't think I heard you, dear."
You most certainly didn't, because there was nothing to hear, Gordon thought; but his mother was looking daggers at him from the other side of the room, so he dipped his head. "Yes ma'am."
"Hmm." Aunt Agatha fixed him with a long, searching look. "What sort of science? Barbara wasn't entirely clear, and- well, there's science and then there's science, if you take my meaning. Please don't tell me it's sociology or something like that."
"What's wrong with sociology?"
"Well, not to disparage anyone, Gordon, but it is sort of anthropology for people who don't want to leave their air conditioners behind, isn't it?" Aunt Agatha picked up a glass full of something fizzy and pinkish. "I would expect better of you than that. You always did have a knack for mathematics. Was it at least chemistry? There's a respectable future in chemistry."
"Physics," Gordon said grudgingly. "Theoretical physics."
"Ah!" Aunt Agatha brightened visibly. "There we are. E equals MC squared, things like that?"
Oh, God, if he had to explain quantum theory to his family he'd never hear the end of it; it was hard enough getting past the initial misconceptions and barrage of basic conceptual questions with the students. . . "Something like that," he murmured.
"'Something'? What, then, exactly? I think I'd really like to hear about this," Aunt Agatha said. "Come on, now. What are you up to, where are you doing it? Tell, tell."
Maybe if I close my eyes and count to ten she'll go away, he thought, but it didn't work. Aunt Agatha was still there, fading reddish hair pulled back just enough to give the impression that her forehead was a little too tight for its own good, eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Well," he said slowly, "have you ever heard of quantum teleportation?"
"I don't believe so, dear, " said Aunt Agatha. "It sounds complicated."
Gordon restrained the urge to roll his eyes by reminding himself that it was complicated- and anyway, at least she wasn't making a Scotty joke. "It has to do with transferring the characteristics of subatomic particles at speeds greater than the speed of light-"
Aunt Agatha shook her head. "But that's not what you're really working on out there, is it," she said. It wasn't a question, and the look she directed at him as she sipped her drink was too penetrating to be merely query.
". . . no."
"Well? Let's have it, Gordon. I'm waiting."
Gordon glanced around him, but there wasn't a Freeman or a Mroz in sight who seemed willing or likely to draw her off. And she was still eyeballing him when he looked back. "Well, macro-scale teleportation-"
He hesitated; she nodded. "Go on," she said.
"Well, the possibility exists of not just being able to transfer quantum characteristics, but actually transport macro-scale objects- solid matter- from one location to another through a type of wormhole bridge in space and time-"
Aunt Agatha's lips thinned. "Gordon," she said firmly, "don't lie to me. What are you doing really?"
"I don't understand," said Gordon, blinking. "I'm telling you the truth."
"It's not just a possibility, is it," Aunt Agatha said.
". . . no."
"That's what I thought. It's happened quite often already, hasn't it?"
Gordon hesitated, but she was still looking at him; he nodded.
"Mmm. And it's had quite a few consequences, hasn't it? There hasn't been a miracle of science yet that hasn't gone from a blessing to a curse somewhere along the way."
". . . yes."
Agatha nodded, and set her glass down on a nearby end table. "You're all the way up to your eyes in the consequences now, I'd be willing to bet. Why don't you tell your Aunt Agatha exactly what's going on?"
"I. . ." He spread his hands helplessly. "I can't. . ."
"Gordon," said Aunt Agatha, "you know I won't go away until you've said it. Take a good, deep breath and spit it all out and who knows? Maybe you'll feel better when you're done. Or would you rather I fill in the blanks by myself?"
He opened his mouth. The words wouldn't come.
"Oh, all right. If that's the way it's going to be." She sniffed, a fussy little gesture. "The experiment happened. The experiment went wrong. The whole world paid the price for it. And then came the really unforeseen consequences. Since you couldn't clean up your own mess, you're cleaning up everyone else's. And the reason you can't tell me about it is because you don't want to admit that you're better at that than you ever were at science. Don't give me that look, Gordon, you know perfectly well that you were thinking it. There's nothing wrong with doing what you're good at, especially when you're very good at it-"
"I'm supposed to be a scientist!" Gordon burst out. "Not a-a-"
"Gordon, look at my hands." Aunt Agatha spread her arms as wide as physically possible. "Do you see them? That's how far apart 'supposed to' and 'are' tend to be in the real world. I know you were a scientist, dear, and I'm sure you were very good at it- but what you are now is what you're really needed to be, and I'd suggest you concentrate on that instead of holding on to old dreams. Maybe you'll see them again someday, but right now? I really don't think that's in the cards."
Gordon's shoulders sagged; he slid one gauntleted hand up under his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn it, he hated it when she was right.
"Now. Tell your Aunt Agatha what you're doing."
"I'm currently crawling through a maze of mud, wire fences, and wrecked cars that'd give a World War I veteran trench flashbacks, fighting off alien-controlled half-corpses that used to be people, the parasites that'd like nothing more than to do the same thing to me and everyone I care about, and soldiers who've been turned into cyborgs by an alien empire that wants to make humans as a whole into their slave army, so that I can take out what amounts to a fortified machine gun nest and break the enemy lines."
"There now." Aunt Agatha smiled and reached up to pat his cheek. "Was that so hard? You should really try being honest with yourself more often, Gordon. I think you'd find it therapeutic."
He stared at her.
"Oh, and you're bleeding rather badly. I'd suggest patching yourself up as soon as possible- and getting some food down your throat. It's really not a good sign when you start hallucinating in the middle of a battlefield, even if it does only last a moment."
Gordon shuddered, and opened his eyes for real.
Family reunions. Ugh. The single greatest failure of his 'no talking if talking could result in someone taking it the wrong way' policy was the family reunion, and the single person at any given family reunion most likely to induce policy failure was Aunt Agatha.
"I don't think I heard you, dear."
You most certainly didn't, because there was nothing to hear, Gordon thought; but his mother was looking daggers at him from the other side of the room, so he dipped his head. "Yes ma'am."
"Hmm." Aunt Agatha fixed him with a long, searching look. "What sort of science? Barbara wasn't entirely clear, and- well, there's science and then there's science, if you take my meaning. Please don't tell me it's sociology or something like that."
"What's wrong with sociology?"
"Well, not to disparage anyone, Gordon, but it is sort of anthropology for people who don't want to leave their air conditioners behind, isn't it?" Aunt Agatha picked up a glass full of something fizzy and pinkish. "I would expect better of you than that. You always did have a knack for mathematics. Was it at least chemistry? There's a respectable future in chemistry."
"Physics," Gordon said grudgingly. "Theoretical physics."
"Ah!" Aunt Agatha brightened visibly. "There we are. E equals MC squared, things like that?"
Oh, God, if he had to explain quantum theory to his family he'd never hear the end of it; it was hard enough getting past the initial misconceptions and barrage of basic conceptual questions with the students. . . "Something like that," he murmured.
"'Something'? What, then, exactly? I think I'd really like to hear about this," Aunt Agatha said. "Come on, now. What are you up to, where are you doing it? Tell, tell."
Maybe if I close my eyes and count to ten she'll go away, he thought, but it didn't work. Aunt Agatha was still there, fading reddish hair pulled back just enough to give the impression that her forehead was a little too tight for its own good, eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Well," he said slowly, "have you ever heard of quantum teleportation?"
"I don't believe so, dear, " said Aunt Agatha. "It sounds complicated."
Gordon restrained the urge to roll his eyes by reminding himself that it was complicated- and anyway, at least she wasn't making a Scotty joke. "It has to do with transferring the characteristics of subatomic particles at speeds greater than the speed of light-"
Aunt Agatha shook her head. "But that's not what you're really working on out there, is it," she said. It wasn't a question, and the look she directed at him as she sipped her drink was too penetrating to be merely query.
". . . no."
"Well? Let's have it, Gordon. I'm waiting."
Gordon glanced around him, but there wasn't a Freeman or a Mroz in sight who seemed willing or likely to draw her off. And she was still eyeballing him when he looked back. "Well, macro-scale teleportation-"
He hesitated; she nodded. "Go on," she said.
"Well, the possibility exists of not just being able to transfer quantum characteristics, but actually transport macro-scale objects- solid matter- from one location to another through a type of wormhole bridge in space and time-"
Aunt Agatha's lips thinned. "Gordon," she said firmly, "don't lie to me. What are you doing really?"
"I don't understand," said Gordon, blinking. "I'm telling you the truth."
"It's not just a possibility, is it," Aunt Agatha said.
". . . no."
"That's what I thought. It's happened quite often already, hasn't it?"
Gordon hesitated, but she was still looking at him; he nodded.
"Mmm. And it's had quite a few consequences, hasn't it? There hasn't been a miracle of science yet that hasn't gone from a blessing to a curse somewhere along the way."
". . . yes."
Agatha nodded, and set her glass down on a nearby end table. "You're all the way up to your eyes in the consequences now, I'd be willing to bet. Why don't you tell your Aunt Agatha exactly what's going on?"
"I. . ." He spread his hands helplessly. "I can't. . ."
"Gordon," said Aunt Agatha, "you know I won't go away until you've said it. Take a good, deep breath and spit it all out and who knows? Maybe you'll feel better when you're done. Or would you rather I fill in the blanks by myself?"
He opened his mouth. The words wouldn't come.
"Oh, all right. If that's the way it's going to be." She sniffed, a fussy little gesture. "The experiment happened. The experiment went wrong. The whole world paid the price for it. And then came the really unforeseen consequences. Since you couldn't clean up your own mess, you're cleaning up everyone else's. And the reason you can't tell me about it is because you don't want to admit that you're better at that than you ever were at science. Don't give me that look, Gordon, you know perfectly well that you were thinking it. There's nothing wrong with doing what you're good at, especially when you're very good at it-"
"I'm supposed to be a scientist!" Gordon burst out. "Not a-a-"
"Gordon, look at my hands." Aunt Agatha spread her arms as wide as physically possible. "Do you see them? That's how far apart 'supposed to' and 'are' tend to be in the real world. I know you were a scientist, dear, and I'm sure you were very good at it- but what you are now is what you're really needed to be, and I'd suggest you concentrate on that instead of holding on to old dreams. Maybe you'll see them again someday, but right now? I really don't think that's in the cards."
Gordon's shoulders sagged; he slid one gauntleted hand up under his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn it, he hated it when she was right.
"Now. Tell your Aunt Agatha what you're doing."
"I'm currently crawling through a maze of mud, wire fences, and wrecked cars that'd give a World War I veteran trench flashbacks, fighting off alien-controlled half-corpses that used to be people, the parasites that'd like nothing more than to do the same thing to me and everyone I care about, and soldiers who've been turned into cyborgs by an alien empire that wants to make humans as a whole into their slave army, so that I can take out what amounts to a fortified machine gun nest and break the enemy lines."
"There now." Aunt Agatha smiled and reached up to pat his cheek. "Was that so hard? You should really try being honest with yourself more often, Gordon. I think you'd find it therapeutic."
He stared at her.
"Oh, and you're bleeding rather badly. I'd suggest patching yourself up as soon as possible- and getting some food down your throat. It's really not a good sign when you start hallucinating in the middle of a battlefield, even if it does only last a moment."
Gordon shuddered, and opened his eyes for real.