The Science of Discworld IV Judgement Da

ONE



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GREAT BIG THING





Every university must have, sooner or later, a big or, more preferably, a Great Big Thing. According to Ponder Stibbons, head of Inadvisably Applied Magic at Unseen University, it was, he said, practically a law of nature; and it couldn’t be too big, and it had to be a thing, and definitely not a small one.

The senior wizards, eyeing the chocolate biscuits on the tray brought in by the tea lady, listened with as much attention as could be expected from wizards momentarily afflicted with chocolate starvation. Ponder’s carefully written and argued speech pointed out that studious research throughout Library-space, or L-space as it is colloquially known, revealed that not to have a Great Big Thing would be a pitiful thing; and the lack of such a thing, indeed, in the academic universe, would make the university they were sitting in right now the butt of jokes and sardonic jibes by people who would be ashamed to be called their fellow academics – said jibes being all the more painful because academics know what sardonic actually means.

And when Mister Stibbons finished his last well-tuned argument, Mustrum Ridcully, the Archchancellor, put his hand heavily on the last disputed chocolate biscuit and said, ‘Well now, Ponder, if I know you, and I most certainly do know you, then you never put in front of me a problem without having a proposed solution somewhere up your sleeve.’ Ridcully’s eyes narrowed a little as he continued, ‘Indeed, Mister Stibbons, it would be very unlike you not already to have a Great Big Candidate. Am I not right?’

Ponder didn’t bother to blush, but simply said, ‘Well, sir, I do know that we in the HEMfn1 do think that there are many puzzles presented to us by the universe that we really need to solve. As they say, sir: what you don’t know can kill you! Ha-ha.’

Ponder was pleased with coming up with that remark; he knew his Archchancellor – who had the instincts of a fighter, and a bare-knuckle fighter at that – and so he moved in with, ‘I’m thinking of the fact that we simply don’t know why there is a third slood derivative, which in theory means that at the birth of the universe, in that very first nanosecond, the universe actually began to travel backwards in time. According to Von Flamer’s experiment, that means that we appear to be coming and going at the same time! Ha-ha!’

‘Yes, well, I can quite believe that,’ said Ridcully glumly, looking at his fellows; and because he was the Archchancellor, after all, he added, ‘Wasn’t there something about a cat that was alive and dead at the same time?’

Ponder was always ready for this sort of thing and he said, ‘Yes, sir, but it was only a hypothetical cat, sir, as it turned out – nothing to get pet-owners all upset about – and may I add that the elastic string theory turned out to be just one more unproven hypothesis, as did the bubble theory of interconnecting horizons.’

‘Really.’ Ridcully sighed. ‘What a shame. I rather liked that one. Oh well, I trust that in its short life it gave some theoretical scientists a living, and so happily its little life wasn’t wasted. You know, Mister Stibbons, over the years you have often discoursed with me about the various theories, hypotheses, concepts and conjectures in the world of natural science. You know what? I just wonder, I really do wonder, whether the universe – being of course by its very nature, dynamic, and possibly in some curious sense sapient – may now perhaps be trying to escape from your incessant prying, and is possibly driving you into even greater feats of intellect. The little tease!’

There was a pause from the assembled wizards, and for a moment the face of Ponder Stibbons appeared to be made of polished bronze; then he said, ‘What an amazing deduction, Archchancellor. I applaud you! Everybody knows that Unseen University will rise to meet any challenge; with your permission, sir, I will set to work on a budget right now. The Roundworld project was only a beginning. Now, with the … Challenger Project, we will explore the fundamental basis of magic in our world!’

He ran to the High Energy Magic building so fast that his progress metamorphosed into a hurtle, which in ballistic terms is exactly the opposite of a turtle and extremely more streamlined.

And that was six years ago …

Today, Lord Vetinari, tyrant of Ankh-Morpork, glanced up at the Great Big Thing which appeared to be doing nothing but humming to itself. It hovered in the air, appearing and disappearing, and in Vetinari’s opinion looking somewhat smug, a feat indeed for something that had no face.

It was, in fact, a rather amorphous blob that seemed to twist magical equations with arcane symbols and squiggles that clearly meant something to those who knew about such things. The Patrician was not, on his own admission, a lover of technical things that spun and, indeed, hummed. Nor of unidentifiable squiggles. He saw them as things with which you couldn’t negotiate, or argue; you couldn’t hang them either, or even creatively torture them. Of course, the dictum noblesse oblige came to the rescue as always – although those who knew Havelock Vetinari well knew that he sometimes wasn’t all that obliging.

On this occasion Lord Vetinari was being introduced to excitable and occasionally spotty young wizards in white robes – though still of course in pointy hats – who made a great fuss about large conglomerations of mindless and humming machinery behind the blob. Nevertheless, he did his best to look enthusiastic, and managed to drum up some conversation with Mustrum Ridcully, the Arch-chancellor, who it seemed was just as much in the dark as himself; and he congratulated Ridcully because it was clearly the thing to do, whatever the thing did.

‘I’m sure you must be very proud, Archchancellor. It’s extremely good, clearly a triumph, most certainly!’

Ridcully chuckled and said, ‘Bravo! Thank you so much, Have-lock, and do you know what? Some people said that if we turned the experiment on it would bring the world to an end! Can you imagine that? Us! The psychic protectors of the city, and indeed of the world throughout history!’

Lord Vetinari took an almost imperceptible step back and carefully enquired, ‘And precisely when was it that you did turn it on, may I ask? It seems to be humming along quite adequately at the moment.’

‘As a matter of fact, Havelock, the humming is going to end very shortly. The noise you are hearing is coming from a swarm of bees in the garden over there, and the Bursar hasn’t had enough time to instruct them to get back to work. In fact, we were hoping that you would do the honours after lunch, if it is all right by you, of course?’

The expression on the face of Lord Havelock Vetinari was, for a moment, a picture: and it was a picture painted by a very modern artist, one who had been smoking something generally considered to turn the brain to cheese.

But noblesse oblige was a crushing imperative even for a tyrant, especially one who valued his self-esteem, and therefore, two hours later, a well-fed Lord Vetinari stood in front of the huge humming thing, feeling rather concerned. He made a small oration on the need for mankind to further its knowledge of the universe.

‘While it is still there,’ he added, looking very pointedly at Ridcully.

Then, after posing for the iconographer’s lenses, he looked at the big red button on its stand in front of him and thought, I wonder if there is any truth in the rumours that this could end the world? Well, it’s too late now to protest, and it would be quite remiss for me to draw back at this point. He brightened up and thought, If indeed it’s me who blows up the known world, then it might just be good for my image anyway.

He pressed the button to the kind of applause people make when they understand that something important has happened while at the same time having no idea what they are really cheering. After checking, Vetinari turned to the Archchancellor and said, ‘It would seem, Mustrum, that I have not destroyed the universe, which is something of a comfort. Is anything else supposed to happen?’

The Archchancellor slapped him on the back and said, ‘Don’t fret, Havelock: the Challenger Project was started up yesterday evening by Mister Stibbons over a cup of tea, just to make certain that it would start; and seeing that it was warmed up, he left it on. This of course in no way demeans your part in the ceremony, I promise you. The formality of the significant opening is at the heart of the whole business, which I am proud to say has all gone swimmingly!’

And that was six minutes ago …

fn1 High Energy Magic department.