Page 144 - Psychoceramics and the Test of Fire

The Quantum Reticulator

alternate “universe” would see a different combination on the screen.
The reticulator would then draw those signals, as registered in his
brain, back together in the future, forced by the metamaterials’
physics of prismatic wave mechanics to return to a common
destination. But he would then be able to recite as many of those
combinations as he could recall; having tested his short-term
memory, he was confident he could come up with at least a dozen,
more than enough to confute the probabilities of chance—and only
the testers would be able to verify his results against the unique saved
set of five thousand combinations.
That was the plan.
Gibbons had one shot at this: the cost of the reticulator and the
power generators had exhausted his expense money. But he was
confident it would work correctly—that is, according to his theory—
the first time. The committee scrupulously arranged the setting
according to his specifications, confirming that fakery would be
impossible under the stringent conditions he had set, and that the
algorithmic software and computer link to his equipment were ready
to go. Gibbons sat at right angles to the half-dozen scientists and
forensics experts composing his panel of interrogators; the screen
was set so that both parties could easily view the projected code.
After checking his helmet and input leads he signaled the laptop
operator to begin.
It was all over in a matter of seconds. The selected string of data
flashed on the screen, long enough for anyone present to jot down.
Then it faded, and the results came tumbling out of Gibbons’ mouth.
The entire session was recorded by several cameras, enabling the
committee to compare his impressions with the saved file in the
Randolph computer. This sequence of audio and video became an
online sensation after it was leaked a few days later. But at the time all
eyes in that room were trained on the man in the helmet. His eyes
were bulging and glassy. He threw off the reticulator as if it were the
headband of an electric chair, indifferent to its fate as it smashed
against a wall. And the numbers and letters kept pouring out of his
mouth, a torrent interrupted only for an instant between each set of
six characters. He had uttered about two dozen of them when he
suddenly pitched forward out of his chair, screaming.
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