Fighting Gravity (7 page)

If I’d been bored before, now I was bored and depressed. It only worsened when my second display came around and, just like the first, he gave it thoughtful, in-depth examination, and moved on. The disappointment, as irrational as it was, was overwhelming. I wanted the whole thing to be over, but the morning dragged on.

So I didn’t even notice when, near midday, the emperor came to my third display, the Dawes Laser. I was startled out of my self-pity by a voice at my side.

“Mr. Dawes?”

I jumped, whirling around to find one of the uniformed men who had been in the emperor’s train standing beside me.

“Yyyyyes,” I stammered.

“His Excellence asks if you would join him.”

My heart stopped beating. I couldn’t breathe. “OK,” I squeaked, and followed.

The man stopped short of the emperor and waited for a pause in the conversation. “Your Excellence, Mr. Jacob Dawes.”

The emperor turned to me and blinked. “Mr. Dawes?” he asked, looking at me, his brow creased in doubt. “Mr. Jacob Dawes of the Dawes Laser?”

I was too overawed to be angry, the way I usually was when people expressed disbelief that my work was actually mine. “Yes, Your Excellence.”

A sudden smile lit his face and he chuckled. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Dawes. I should be the last person to judge someone based on their age, shouldn’t I?”

I wasn’t sure if agreeing or disagreeing with that was the right way to go, so I said nothing. That seemed to be fine.

“I am surprised, though, Mr. Dawes, because I have seen this laser in action. It was installed in one of our most important refineries. The head of the facility went on and on about what an exciting thing it was, all the wonderful improvements it would mean. He was quite overcome.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “But that was several years ago. You would have been much younger.”

“I was eight,” I answered, finding my courage again in the easy flow of his conversation. Several long seconds passed. “Your Excellence!” I added.

He smiled and waved his hand as if to dismiss the lapse.

“Eight,” he mused. “But it wasn’t just the invention of a new device, was it? There was a new theorem as well?”

“Yes, Your Excellence. The Dawes Theory of Stimulated Emissions.”

He studied me for a moment. “Well,” he said. “Tell me about this.” He gestured toward the display.

So I moved closer and took him through the process from the original idea through the completion of the work, just as I would have in a formal presentation.

“What it means, Excellence,” I concluded, “is that we can make laser devices out of more abundant and more versatile materials, so the same quality beam can be produced by a much smaller instrument. This not only improves efficiency and accuracy, it means laser technology can be implemented in areas it couldn’t before, because of size limitations.”

He nodded, still examining the display.

He surprised me. He was as he was rumored to be, not only interested in the sciences but well versed for a layman. He asked good questions and understood the answers. But there was also something so unpretentious about him, I almost felt like he was trying to put me at ease. That thought made me wary.

He turned to me and smiled. “I think I’ve already seen your name on one or two displays today, Mr. Dawes. Will there be any more?”

“Yes, Excellence. There are two more.”

The look of surprise was brief and well controlled. He laughed. “Well then, I want you to join my retinue. When we come to your other two displays, we can discuss them.”

I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to hoot in triumph or throw up.

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8

At lunchtime we assembled as
usual and stood in silence, waiting for the emperor—it was probably the first time the dining room had been so quiet. It wasn’t long before he entered the room with everyone else who was important enough to sit at the head table for the emperor’s visit.

They took their places and the emperor deferred the blessing to Director Kagawa. He intoned the traditional phrases to which we chorused “May the emperor live forever,” before we sat down. I watched the emperor to see how he would respond. He didn’t. He acted as if nothing had been said about him at all. I didn’t like that. I felt like he should have said thank you or something. It was reassuring to have some of my unflattering preconceived notions about people in high positions confirmed.

The lunch that was served outshone any meal I’d ever had. Wine was served at the head table, though it was only lunchtime. The emperor was given wine even though I—the other fifteen year old in the room—never got so much as a sniff of an alcoholic beverage. Not with permission, that is.

When lunch concluded we all stood in place as the emperor left the room and then we followed him back into the great hall. Everyone else went to re-form their rows but I hovered near the emperor’s servants. One of them indicated that I should join the director and the heads of departments. I did, but hung back as much as possible.

Though I felt awkward and conspicuous, at least the afternoon wasn’t boring. I was close enough to hear everything now. The emperor studied each display. He asked questions about each one—interesting, thoughtful questions on every subject. And while it was obvious he was more educated about some disciplines than others, he knew enough about all of them to be able to carry on an intelligent conversation.

About mid-afternoon we came to my fourth display. As soon as he read the name on it he gestured for me and I approached, bowing again just to be safe.

“Your Excellence.” He nodded in acknowledgement.

“Tell me about this, Mr. Dawes,” he said, gesturing toward the display.

So I did. As before, he asked questions. I got caught up in the science itself and found myself standing level with him. He either didn’t notice or didn’t mind, but I tried to slide back without drawing attention to my movement. After a couple more questions he thanked me and moved on.

Near the end of the exhibit he came to my last display. We stood side by side as I presented, explained, and answered his questions. We hadn’t been at it long and he was just starting another question when the dinner bell rang. There were still two more displays to go.

“This has been very interesting Mr. Dawes, and I have more questions for you. You can sit by me at dinner to continue this discussion.”

I gaped, but he was already moving on. I shuffled through the next two displays in terrified shock.
I
was going to sit at the head table with the emperor? It was one thing to present my work to him within the exhibit, and quite another to face the prospect of spending an hour right beside him. What would I say? What was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to
not
do? I was trembling by the time I followed them toward the dining room.

The servant behind me indicated I was to follow the emperor when he went into a lounge just outside the dining hall. I looked back for Chuck and Kirti. Their expressions begged for an answer. I just shrugged.

In the lounge there were goblets of wine and hors d’oeuvres sitting out and the room was filled with fresh flowers. The emperor took at seat and began to talk with the man who had been walking with him throughout.

Unlike most of the emperor’s attendants, functionaries, servants and guards, this man was not wearing some version of a uniform. He did have the Imperial crest embroidered on the sleeve of his jacket, and I guessed that he was some high ranking administrator.

I slid closer to a servant and asked who the man was. He called him Lord Sifer, the emperor’s Head Minister, and told me that he was the man with the most authority in the palace after the emperor. He looked stern and uncompromising. I decided I was afraid of him.

Entering the dining hall with the emperor was a very strange experience. I was already nervous, and the room full of eyes on me was almost a physical weight. I’d stood before this exact group on more than one occasion presenting my work, but this was different. Then there had been pride of accomplishment, and confidence in what I had done, and if anyone was going to resent or judge me, it would be for something I had done by choice and through hard work.

But now, the jealousy on the faces of many in the crowd felt like a force all its own. I hadn’t asked for this and, as once-in-a-lifetime an experience as it was, I would have been happy sitting in the back of the room between Kirti and Chuck. But I followed, because that was what I was supposed to do, and tried to ignore all the eyes on me.

I was led to the seat at the immediate right of the emperor and my mouth went dry. The servant just nodded reassurance, so I stood behind the chair. What else could I do? Director Kagawa, who had been sitting on the emperor’s right during lunch, was now at
my
right. I looked over at him, taking pleasure, at least, in having moved him down a notch. He didn’t look at me, but stood and offered the blessing.

I couldn’t say the last words. Standing by the man himself, it felt ridiculous on the one hand, and frightening on the other. The emperor didn’t seem to notice that anyone in the room had just wished him eternal life, let alone that I had not.

We sat, and the emperor turned to Lord Sifer on his left and continued the conversation they’d been having in the lounge. It gave me time to get my bearings. The food was brought for us and servants came along pouring wine. My goblet was filled like everyone else’s. I looked over at Director Kagawa who gave me a stern, admonishing look. I grinned at him and sipped the wine. I’m sure it was a very fine vintage but it didn’t taste very good to me. I didn’t see what all the fuss was about.

I had just taken a large bite when the emperor turned to me and asked a question. I coughed, trying to clear my mouth in a hurry, but he seemed content to wait. We chatted for several minutes and I watched him to figure out how I should be combining eating and talking with a concern for manners that wasn’t a priority among teenaged boys at the lower tables.

The emperor drew Director Kagawa into the conversation without talking over me, but I was freed from the obligation of talking and ate in silence. I tried more of the wine, hoping it would improve with time. That probably wasn’t the most intelligent thing to do while sitting beside the emperor, not knowing my tolerance for alcohol.

After a while, and another conversation with Lord Sifer, the emperor turned back to me. “So Mr. Dawes, how do you come up with all these marvelous discoveries of yours?”

I shrugged. “They just come to me. The Stimulated Emissions theory came to me in math class from something we’d been studying in physics. The Intermolecular Force theorems were from one of those half-dreams you have when you’re not quite awake yet. And I’ve been getting ideas from listening to my friend Kirti play.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“She’s a pianist. And we like to hang out in the practice halls. She’ll play whatever occurs to her at the time, and I’ll watch the interactions of different forces or systems in the music and sometimes it gives me ideas.”

“What do you mean, you watch them in the music?”

No one had asked me that before. Then again, I’d never tried to explain this to anyone else. It just…was. But you don’t just tell the emperor “I dunno” and move on.

“Well, when I close my eyes, the music is like a paintbrush that’s creating pictures from the notes and harmonies. Listening to the music is like watching the interactions of things you can’t see otherwise. It’s different than clinical observation. It’s more…fanciful I guess.”

He kept watching me, considering, in a way that made me want to squirm. “That’s one of the most interesting things I think I’ve ever heard, Mr. Dawes. Do you see this sort of thing often?”

“All the time. But not all the things I see make any sense, once I really think about them.”

“Hmm,” he replied. “Well, I’d like to try this for myself. We’ll have your friend Kirti play for us.”

He made a small gesture and two of the servants moved away. I stared at him in shock. Now I was very nervous in a different way. This would be a shock for Kirti.

It wasn’t long before several servants were wheeling a piano into the room and setting it up in front of the head table. The room rang with whispers and the sound of people turning around to see what was going on. A servant approached from the back of the room, leading Kirti, whose face had gone white. She stopped in front of the table and offered a shaky bow and a tremulous, “Your Excellence.”

“Ms. Sachar, would you play for us, please? Mr. Dawes tells me that your playing is the inspiration for some of his extraordinary insights, and I would like to be inspired myself.”

If possible, Kirti went whiter. “Of course, Your Excellence. What would you like me to play?”

“Mr. Dawes says that he’s inspired when you’re not playing from a score. I’d like you to play like that for me.”

“Yes, Your Excellence,” she said in a whisper. She sat on the bench. I could see that her hands, as she held them over the keys, trembled.

Her music at first was soft, hesitant. Not the playing, but the intended music. It was easy to see it was a reflection of how she felt.

And before long I was watching a calm, soothing spring rain. Soon the music changed and I was right up among the turgid, angry clouds of an approaching storm. My mind ran away with the fascinating processes clashing in the heart of those clouds.

The music climbed and I was above the cloudbank and still rising until I broke free of the planet’s gravity and was out in the void itself. I sighed. This was one of my favorite places to be. All I knew, all that was familiar and ordinary on the ground, was new and full of possibilities here. I watched, floating carefree, as the great forces of the universe gamboled in their never-ending play. Opposing forces kissed and spun away only to come back together again in the dance.

The music thundered and the dancers stumbled, wobbling to right themselves. I watched as powerful forces gave way to weaker ones, particles of almost no mass at all displaced planetary bodies, and a delicate pattern of neutrino radiation—silver-white strands of celestial silk—overlaid it all.