May 10th, 2081
On May 1st, at the age of 99, Prof. Dr. Svitlana Mayboroda unveiled her groundbreaking "Theory of Everything."
Brenda, upon reviewing the summary of the paper, isolated herself in her laboratory. The room, cluttered with scattered papers and various scientific paraphernalia, reflected the chaos and brilliance of a mind at work. The soft hum of machinery and the occasional beep of her equipment punctuated the silence. Anyone daring to disturb her would need divine intervention as she diligently analyzed Mayboroda's work. Mayboroda's breakthrough involved an innovative application of the Landsbury formulas, a process she described as "connecting the dots." This entailed a reinterpretation of gravity as an emergent force—one that operates below the quantum level—positioning it as the unifying force in quantum mechanics. Her theory introduces the concept of the "Eververse," proposing that all quantum phenomena stem from just two fundamental elements: torque and spin. This minimalistic approach altered existing formulas slightly yet profoundly.
Entire paradigms, once as dominant as string theory, dark energy, and dark matter, were extinguished. In the same transformative way that Landsbury's Laws of Gravity previously dismantled numerous scientific careers, Mayboroda's theory reshaped the landscape of physics, rendering once-celebrated theories obsolete.
The mathematics underpinning her theory is intricate, weaving together ten dimensions—eight spatial, one temporal, and one observational—a concept so complex it's believed only a handful of individuals worldwide fully grasp its implications.
Brenda was irked by her inability to fully grasp the theory—she couldn't make that leap in understanding how consciousness could be a dimension.
"Nina," Brenda called out, her voice resonating in the high-tech clutter of her laboratory. The device before her was more than it seemed—a relic of the past ingeniously repurposed into a cutting-edge digital assistant. It was no ordinary piece of technology; it served as a simple transmitter to StarLink, directly connecting to Perfectland's VLLM:MMDS(AI). This advanced system, linked to the massive data storage facilities buried in the icy heart of Iceland, represented the pinnacle of digital innovation.
In the brief moment following Brenda's command, Nina sprang to life, her internal mechanisms whirring silently. The system decoded Brenda's words, analyzing not just the content but the nuances of her tone, the context of her previous commands, and her unique personal matrix. With astonishing speed and precision, it sifted through terabytes of data, formulating its next action in response to Brenda's needs.
"Yes, Brenda?" Nina's voice emanated from the device, a beacon of artificial intelligence nestled among the analog clutter.
"Could you contact Pooka and see if she's willing to assist me? Oh, and I wouldn't mind a sandwich," Brenda requested, her voice echoing slightly in the spacious, dimly lit laboratory.
"Do you want Pooka to bring you a sandwich, or should I order one for you?"
"Hint at it to Pooka as a suggestion, not a directive."
The red ring of Nina's interface dimmed, signaling the end of the request. Brenda's focus returned to the papers sprawled before her, her pen dancing between notes and deletions. Mayboroda, who had taught at ETH Zurich during Brenda's tenure there, had been her professor for a class. Brenda marveled at the scientist's decision to forego the path to immortality, pondering the myriad of offers Mayboroda must have declined. With such a brilliant mind, it seemed a waste not to extend her intellectual journey indefinitely.
Caught in her reflections, Brenda realized her own delay in pursuing immortality had been a mix of selfishness and procrastination. "Next chance I get," she mused with a chuckle, imagining a break from her relentless pursuit of understanding.
Some time later, Pooka entered Brenda's workspace, her attire striking a peculiar balance between a hotel waitress and a pole dancer—a conservative choice for her. The laboratory's ambient light reflected softly off her unconventional outfit, creating a stark contrast against the backdrop of high-tech equipment and ancient relics serving as furniture.
Around her neck, Pooka wore a unique necklace—a marble-sized wire cage containing a small piece of amber. This wasn't just an ordinary piece of jewelry; the amber was infused with a scent so delightful, so uniquely hers, it served as her signature perfume. The design cleverly drew the eye to her bust, an effect she not only accepted but encouraged, adding another layer to her already intriguing persona.
Ignoring the chairs scattered around the laboratory, she opted to sit directly at Brenda's feet. A large plastic sheeting, spread out to protect the floor from the frequent scrapings of Brenda's office chair, now served a dual purpose, shielding her from the cool, polished concrete beneath. As she settled, the warm, earthy aroma of her amber-infused scent wafted towards Brenda, subtly blending with the room's eclectic mix of odors.
"Have you looked into the Theory of Everything?" Brenda asked, her focus still pinned to the sprawling notes and equations in front of her, the question punctuating the silence that the subtle intrusion of Pooka's scent had momentarily dispelled.
"Like anyone else is doing anything but. It's all the buzz—everyone's calling it the TOE. Need me to round everyone up?" Pooka's voice was lighthearted, matching the casual yet purposeful ambiance of their workspace.
"Not to boast, but if there's anyone who can crack this, it's us," Brenda said, a hint of pride in her voice.
Pooka laughed softly, an absentminded giggle, as she traced a finger along the beads of sweat on her cleavage. "Boast? Hardly," she remarked with a playful tone. "But I appreciate being counted among the 'us'."
As she continued speaking, Pooka handed Brenda a bowl of sauerkraut and red pepper salad, not missing a beat. "I've barely scratched the surface with the math, but I've grasped the concept of the Planck pixel—a fundamental unit made up of three torque units arranged in a square, with spin units at each corner. I understand how they're supposed to move, yet it feels like an abstraction, no more tangible than the traditional depiction of an atom as a cluster of closely packed spheres with electrons orbiting them. The real essence lies within the mathematics, most of which remains a mystery to me. For now, I'm focusing on deciphering the interactions between spinning torque and its effect on the fabric of reality. As you're well aware, the scale we're dealing with is unimaginably small."
"Rotates... torque units rotate, spin units spin," Brenda clarified, ready to bridge the gap in Pooka's understanding. "I can assist you with the physics of it. However, the concept of consciousness as a quantifiable entity baffles me. It suggests that belief can solidify reality until a stronger conviction shatters it. That's not mathematics; it's philosophy, and certainly not the scientific variety. It sounds more like new-age mysticism than empirical science," Brenda remarked, her tone inadvertently betraying her generational stance, a stark reminder of the interplay between belief and knowledge in the quest for understanding.
"Whether you think you can, or you think you can't—you're right," Pooka quoted, her voice carrying a hint of amusement.
"Buddha? Yoda?" Brenda teased, hoping to provoke a playful response.
Pooka's laughter, deep and sultry, filled the room—a sound that had disarmed many. Without missing a beat, she replied, "Henry Ford."
"But can you truly endorse a subjective reality, even at a mathematical level? 2 + 2 equals 4; it doesn't become 5, no matter how fervently I believe otherwise." Brenda attempted to keep the conversation light, but an undercurrent of urgency tinged her voice. Absentmindedly, she straightened the cuffs of her white lab coat.
"I was raised a Buddhist, a Thai Buddhist, to be precise. So, the idea that belief can fundamentally alter reality isn't as alien to me as it might be to you," Pooka stated, her voice steady and sure.
"But..." Brenda began, only to be cut off.
"You can believe in Schrödinger's cat, where reality doesn't coalesce until it's observed. This is merely an extension of that principle," Pooka interjected.
"But those are thought experiments: analogies," Brenda countered, her skepticism palpable.
"Yet, the double-slit experiment is said to be perfectly explained by the Theory of Everything. Observation collapses the field, locking reality into place. And although I know you prefer not to read ahead until you've fully grasped the current concepts, looking ahead suggests we're trying to understand a single 'now.' This 'now' can influence adjacent moments, both forward and backward in time. To me, this offers a mechanism by which observation shapes reality. I just haven't mastered the mathematics behind it yet."
"That's because you jumped ahead," Brenda teased, a hint of mockery in her tone, "I've got enough to wrestle with right here. By the way, the Sauerkraut-Paprika salad was excellent. I needed the iron boost."
"Do you think we should bring Richard into this conversation?" Pooka inquired, her tone hinting at more than mere professional interest.
"Really? You believe a talking monkey will be of help?" Brenda couldn't resist a jab.
"Don’t be harsh. He sees the world differently, and even if he can’t grasp the math, he might pose the right questions," Pooka defended, her patience evident.
"And why haven’t you just gone ahead and slept with him?" Brenda’s question was abrupt, a challenge thrown into the space between them.
Pooka, typically unflappable, showed a rare flash of shock. "I would never trespass in your domain," she declared, her usual calm replaced by an uncharacteristic intensity.
"Pookie, we're immortal—forever. How long do you think monogamy can last?" Brenda’s voice softened, probing the boundaries of their eternal dilemma.
"So, you really wouldn’t mind?" Pooka quickly backtracked, "Forget I asked. I don’t want to know," she added, raising a finger in a half-hearted warning.
"Well, I suppose having him around wouldn’t slow us down too much. And you can keep admiring him from afar," Brenda teased, clearly relishing the discomfort she’d stirred.
"I'm sorry I lost my temper," Pooka began, her voice softer than before.
"How come your losing your temper is milder than my regular days?" Brenda teased, trying to lighten the mood.
Pooka weighed her responses carefully, her mind dancing through a variety of playful retorts. Each was tempered, made milder, yet she hesitated, ultimately deciding against voicing them. With Brenda, the waters of humor and critique were often too murky to navigate confidently. Past experiences had taught her that Brenda's reactions to even the lightest forms of criticism were unpredictable, especially at times like now, when she felt any degree of inadequacy. Opting for caution, Pooka chose to steer the conversation away from potential shoals, bypassing the matter entirely.
"Let me finish. In Thai culture, being with a friend’s mate behind their back is considered a grave sin. I am not a butterfly," Pooka explained, her sincerity clear.
"Pookie, I’ve known you well enough by now. Despite how some might judge you by your appearance, I’ve always seen you as someone who values commitment. You’re a serial monogamist, and quite proudly so. But if you ever had feelings for Richard, it wouldn’t be something you’d do behind my back. Until I decide to become immortal, I think he deserves someone of his own physical age from time to time. And who better than a friend I trust?" Brenda's words were measured, reflecting a blend of understanding and practicality.
"This whole conversation is making me uncomfortable. It’s usually the other way around with us," Pooka managed a giggle, finding an odd comfort in the reversal of their usual roles.