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I'm in! I'll always remember my first time.
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Jun 4, 2015 13:52
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| # ¿ Apr 25, 2024 03:30 |
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God Doesn't Play Chess 1150 Words Barton sipped his coffee and considered the chessboard. Above him, on a flickering video screen, Isaac Newton studied a mirror reflection of the same board. "The standing wager, I assume," said Newton. "I don't see why not," Barton said. It was only the third time they had played, somehow Barton had managed to win both of their previous matches. He did, however, have the slight suspicion Newton had been toying with him. "What time is it where you are," Newton said as he laid a finger on a pawn. Barton glanced at his version of the board, "You know I can't tell you that." That was rule number one, a Chinese Wall in place between past and present. Information could come forward, it couldn't go back. That was the one and only rule that governed every interaction with the past. It could not, under any circumstances, be broken. Newton slid the pawn forward, his finger stayed on it, "You are such a follower of rules." "Don't make me tell you how you die," Barton said. Newton released the pawn, the move completed, "Are we rethinking our little bet?" Interference scattered across the video connection, Barton groaned and began to fiddle with a few of the quantum stability dials. The main gauges wobbled back and forth before they steadied back into green and the interference disappeared. It cost billions of dollars, and used a measurable percentage of the British power grid, but maintaining a chromatic-quantum-transdimensional connection really was as easy as spinning the radio dial. Barton moved quickly, "Queen to King's Rook Five," he said. Newton on his end made the change to Barton's Queen. Voice went both ways, video was a one way affair. "Aggressive," Newton said. On the screen Isaac settled back into his large leather chair, outside the field of view a fire crackled and Barton could just barely make out the faint sound of bells. That would be St. Pauls, he thought. He was listening to the heart of London across two hundred years. The bells tolled one. "Getting late in the evening for you," Barton said. "I have an experiment I am waiting on," Newton said. "Alchemy?" Barton asked. "No, should I cast some of my attention in that direction?" Barton laughed and disguised it poorly, "I wouldn't." "Might I ask a question?" "I'll answer if I can," Barton said. "You know what day it is here, yes?" "Of course," Barton said, "The system wouldn't work otherwise." Newton's fingers were drumming on his board, "Then you know what I did today?" "I don't, actually. By all our accounts it was an unremarkable day," Barton lied. "How disappointing," said Newton. A few hours ago, give or take, Newton had been playing with a prism and on a whim set it up on his window. The light had refracted through the small glass and projected a perfect spectrum onto his bedroom wall. An idle experiment by a genius and science suddenly could explain color. It was a revolutionary leap forward. Barton kept this to himself. Newton reached just outside of the viewing area and lifted a goblet of wine into the frame, one of the history's great men looked tired, almost feeble, with bags under his eyes and sunken cheeks. You could see the bones flexing in his small hands. There was no brilliant light in his eyes, no spark of genius; he just seemedunwashed. He always looked like that, as though he never slept or bathed. Barton wasn't sure what he had been expecting, a visage of marble illuminated by rays of cosmic light? Newton made his move. Barton reacted instinctively, shuffling his queen, "Alice to Queen's 8th." Newton looked down at his board, frowning, "A reference to something?" Barton bit his tongue, "Er, yes, a book." "Ah," Newton said, "Not written yet, I assume?" "No." "Would I like it?" "I don't think that will matter." Newton moved a bishop, "I have to say, it's a little disappointing to discover I don't live forever." Barton laughed, Newton heard and smiled in response. With a confident gesture Newton deployed a pawn. Barton sat up in his chair, eyes narrowed on the screen. It was an opening, a bumbling mistake that seemed too obvious. It had to be a trap. Variations on a dozen different strategies scrolled through Barton's mind; he had to entertain the idea of being caught in the gambit, without letting it sink his chances. The silence seemed to register with Newton, he was smiling in the general direction of the feed. Barton heard a soft knocking on Newton's end. "Come in," said Newton. A young servant shuffled into the room, he was carrying a glass decanter in his hands. "Pardon the interruption, sir," the servant said, "I just wanted to check and see if you wanted more wine. Or perhaps a bit to eat? I could have Miss Anderson whip something up." Newton kept his eyes towards Barton, as if he were daring Barton to speak. What would the poor servant think when a voice came booming out of nothing, perhaps that his master was communing with demons, or that in his genius Newton regularly spoke in private with Gods? It wouldn't hurt the timeline, servants were neither trusted nor remembered. "No, I ate this morning, thank you, David. I believe I am fine for this evening. You may retire," said Newton. Barton watched the servant bow politely and back out of the room. The door closed gently. "It is your move," Newton glanced at an hourglass on his desk, "And I do believe your time is up." "Er, Bishop to King's Rook Four," Barton said. "Well played!" Barton clapped his hands together, the trap had been evaded, and he had countered with an even better one. And then he saw how terrible a mistake he had made. The game unraveled quickly. It only took three more moves and Barton realized he was done. He put up a meager defense, knowing the game was lost but doing his best to make it last a move or two longer. It was all over before Newton had even finished his wine. On his side Barton was staring at the board, he reached out and tipped his King over. In the small room its fall echoed loudly. "I believe I am ready for my winnings now, my friend," Newton said. Barton was chewing on his tongue, "drat." "Now now. Don't be a spoiled loser! You walked away the victor in both our previous matches." "Just remember, please, it's only for fun," Barton said. Besides, Barton told himself, two hundred years of essential scientific knowledge separated Newton from the prize they had wagered. He was sure it would amount to no more than an enigma to torture Newton; Really, what is the worst that could happen? "Fine. God drat it fine," Barton said, "Energy is equal... Lines of static rippled on the view, Barton could see Newton was writing. "...to mass times..." Heavy interference danced across the screen. "...the speed of light squared." The bells of St. Paul's were ringing again.
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Jun 8, 2015 05:14
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In! 
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Jun 9, 2015 17:26
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