Orbit 5 - [Anthology] Read online

  “And remember this wasn’t the Olympic Games,” Zinner was protesting. “It was only a lousy little dual meet.”

  “There is only one explanation,” Alyson said.

  “I’d like to hear it.”

  “The track men today are better than we were forty years ago.”

  “That I will not admit,” said Zinner. “There’s something funny going on.”

  “But how can you deny it?” Alyson demanded. “Back in the twenties anybody who could break ten seconds in the hundred was a whiz. The world’s record for the mile was four-ten-four. Now every high school’s got some kid who can break ten seconds. They run the mile under four minutes every month. Might as well swallow your pride, old man. We just naturally weren’t so good.”

  “Why should track athletes be any better today?” Zinner asked.

  Alyson considered.

  “Well, I don’t know exactly,” he said. “The human race is improving—”

  “Like hell it is!”

  “Vitamins.”

  “You get all the vitamins you need at the dinner table.”

  “Superior training methods...weight lifting...”

  “You know perfectly well hoisting a barbell wouldn’t help a bit running the mile. And look at the fight game. Boxers aren’t any better.”

  Alyson reviewed the dismal situation in the heavyweight division. “All right then, how do you explain that hundred today?”

  “It wasn’t a hundred.”

  They had halted by the lily pond where sophomores used to throw recalcitrant freshmen before the student council adopted more enlightened methods of indoctrination.

  “You mean it was rigged? It wasn’t a full hundred yards?”

  “Oh, it was a full hundred yards all right. Only the hundred yards of today are not the hundred yards of yesterday.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Because space is not the same. It’s shrunk.”

  Zinner paused to allow time for this statement to exert its full effect.

  “The solar system is passing through a region in which space has undergone a shrinkage of approximately ten per cent. The assumption of such a coefficient of contractility satisfactorily accounts for all the observed phenomena.”

  “Next time why don’t you get a tape and measure the hundred?”

  “Waste of time. Tape measure’s shrunk too.”

  A chill wind from Los Angeles was blowing over the campus, rattling the eucalyptus leaves and bending the yellow calendulas.

  “You really believe that?” Alyson asked.

  Zinner did not flinch. “Such is my considered opinion.”

  “This is much too big a subject for discussion here by the lily pond,” Alyson said. “Only in front of my fireplace over a long drink can we do it proper justice.”

  “A very long drink,” Zinner added. “To make up for the shrinkage over the last forty years.”

  * * * *

  The close friendship between the two was remarkable, for aside from their mutual interest in track, they had little in common. (Although there were some on the faculty who maintained that the less you had to do with the members of your own department, the better you got along with them.) Zinner had once held the school record in the hundred of 9.8 seconds, an achievement which he cherished in the same way that a child clings to an old doll. Some years ago with the approach of his fiftieth birthday, he had seriously considered having himself timed in a hundred. He even went so far as to come home one evening with a new pair of sprint shoes under his arm, raising strong doubts in his wife’s mind concerning his sanity. Only when the family physician, after listening to his heart and taking his blood pressure, had shaken his head and reached for his prescription pad, did he reluctantly give it up. And so the sprint shoes had gone to join Those Things That Are Definitely In the Past, another melancholy reminder of man’s transitory existence on this planet.

  Why Zinner looked back with such nostalgia on his track career was puzzling, when he had so many other things going for him. He was the world’s undisputed authority on the planet Pluto. His value for the size of that distant object,

  Diameter Pluto = 0.518 x Earth

  = 6610 km

  = 4110 mi

  had been officially accepted by the International Astronomical Union as the best available. There was no second choice.

  This figure was the result of pouncing upon Pluto whenever its path chanced to fall across some star. Considering the millions of faint stars revealed by a large telescope, it might seem that the planet would have difficulty missing them. On the contrary, observable occultations of a star behind the disk of Pluto were exceedingly rare events. Most years there were none at all. One occultation was really good. And if there were two, it was like hitting the jackpot. Much of Zinner’s success could be attributed to the photometric technique he had developed for measuring the light intensity of star and planet during such close encounters.

  Alyson had come to Tech from Michigan where he had run a respectable mile. Unlike Zinner, however, his chief concern had been to get under the wire on the thesis for his Ph.D. degree—John Donne: His Middle Period. Once through with John Donne he could take this job at Tech and get married. He accomplished both. It was an arrangement that had proven perhaps more satisfactory than stimulating.

  * * * *

  The following week the track team went to San Diego, so there was nothing doing in the Rose Bowl that Saturday. It had been agreed that Alyson was to pick Zinner up at five sharp, drive home for cocktails and dinner with their wives, leaving them ample time to make the curtain at the Music Center by 8:30. But on this occasion Alyson, a stickler for punctuality, was late by half an hour. He arrived at Zinner’s office badly out of breath from hurrying up the stairs, only to find the astronomer in his shirtsleeves, completely oblivious of the clock.

  “Got pinched on the way over,” Alyson explained. “Cops followed me. Had to take it easy.”

  Zinner was all sympathy. “Too bad.”

  “Wasn’t my fault. Claimed I was doing fifty in a thirty-mile zone.”

  “Why don’t you come clean and admit you’re guilty as hell?”

  “I’ll swear I wasn’t doing over forty.”

  “That’s what they all say.”

  “Said they checked my speed by radar.”

  “That’s the trouble with science today. Always finding some damn practical use for it.”

  Having disposed of that subject, Zinner returned to the books and papers scattered over his desk.

  “Spent the afternoon collecting data on the velocity of light. Turned out to be quite a job.”

  “Look, Zin, this is no time to be fooling with the velocity of light,” Alyson said. “The girls’ll be worried—”

  “Let ‘em worry. Probably haven’t got their faces on yet.”

  He picked up one of the sheets, holding it so Alyson could see.

  “Fizeau made the first modern determination of the velocity of light in 1849, 315,300 kilometers per second. Then everybody took a shot at it. I’ve rounded up all the principal measures to date except Barker’s at Johns Hopkins, which hasn’t come out yet. Cast your eye down this column of figures and tell me how they strike you.”

  “How would I know? When my field is the English metaphysical poets—”

  “I don’t care whether your field is metaphysical poetry or ancient Etruscan pornography. Just tell me how they hit you.”

  Alyson dutifully examined the figures.

  “Well, I’d say the velocity of light takes a slump every now and then.”

  “Right! Notice they follow a well-defined pattern. The velocity drops, levels out, then drops again.” He rubbed his hands. “Now I’m convinced we’re due for an increase

  “Please, Zin, do we have to settle it tonight?”

  “No, it’ll wait.” He rose reluctantly. “Just following up something occurred to me after the track meet.”

  “What’s the velocity of light got to do with
a track meet?”

  “Nothing, probably. Still, time...distance...light, all tied up together, you know.”

  “I know we’re going to catch it from our wives if we don’t get a move on. Now get your coat and flash some speed in the direction of home.”

  * * * *

  Zinner caught the English professor a few days later as he was coming down the steps of the cafeteria. He wasted no time in polite chitchat.

  “Seen the new JOSA?”

  “The new which?”

  “Journal of the Optical Society of America—-what else?”

  “Didn’t know the Optical Society of America had a journal.”

  “It’s got Barker’s new value for the velocity of light. Know what he gets?”

  Alyson raised a restraining hand. “Now don’t tell me. Let me guess.”

  “He gets a weighted mean of 329,542.4 kilometers per second with a probable error of 0.2. It breaks the record for a new high.”

  “Please convey my heartiest congratulations.”

  “Best part is it fits right in with my track-meet hypothesis!”

  “Don’t tell me we’re back on that again.”

  “This new value looks high,” Zinner said, letting his voice fall. “Only it’s not really high.”

  “Ah! I suspected there was something underhanded—

  “Measuring the speed of a light beam is not so different from timing a man in a race,” Zinner hurried on. “Galileo was the first to try it. Here—you be Galileo.” He seized Alyson and backed him up against the wall. “I’m his assistant over here somewhere. We’ve both got lanterns. Galileo uncovers his lantern. Soon as I see his lantern I uncovermy lantern. Galileo measures the time for the round trip. Say it’s 300,000 kilometers per second.” [In his classic experiment Galileo made no attempt to measure the time. He relates that he was unable to determine with certainty whether the appearance of the opposite light was instantaneous or not, but states that “if not instantaneous it was extraordinarily rapid.” (Dialogues Concerning the Two New Sciences by Galileo Galelei, I, 1638.)]

  He paused for dramatic emphasis.

  “ ‘Hmmmm. Looks kind of low,’ Galileo says. I’ll give it another try.’ He doesn’t know I’d gotten tired and started back home. Since we’re closer now he gets 301,000 kilometers per second. ‘The velocity of light has increased,’ he announces. But, no, it wasn’t that the speed of light increased—it was the distance that decreased

  Alyson had been showing signs of distress.

  “D’you suppose I could be Galileo some other time? I’m already late for my seminar on Pope and his contemporaries.”

  Zinner stared in undisguised amazement.

  “Are you fellows still muddling around with those old dopes? Honestly—”

  “Some of those old dopes said some things that are very cogent to our present situation,” Alyson informed him coldly.

  Zinner continued staring after the man of letters until he was out of sight within the decrepit old Humanities Building.

  * * * *

  When Alyson returned from his seminar late that afternoon he found Zinner with his feet on his desk, thumbing through a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice.

  “This gal Jane Austen sure turned out some red-hot stuff,” he commented, with a shake of his head.

  “Was that what you came all the way over here to tell me?”

  Zinner laid Jane Austen aside.

  “Al, old man, I’ve decided you need a change.”

  “Thoughtful of you.”

  “You need to get away from this poisonous atmosphere down here laden with coal-tar products ... all this corruption and sordid lust.”

  “Corruption and lust always seemed like rather fascinating subjects for investigation.”

  Zinner shifted his feet to the floor.

  “Seriously, how would you like to spend some nights on the mountain with me? I’ve got a big observation coming up. Pluto’s going to occult a fifteenth-magnitude star. Nearly central this time.”

  The offer was tempting. Several times before he had kept the astronomer company while working at the big reflector, and had always enjoyed the experience. It was a welcome change from the routine of classwork. And as it happened, his wife was away, so there would be no conflict on the home front.

  “What’s more, not only is this the best occultation in years,” said Zinner, “but it furnishes me with a splendid opportunity to test my shrinking solar system hypothesis.”

  It was Alyson’s turn to stare with a wild surmise.

  “First it was the hundred-yard dash in the Rose Bowl. Next it was the velocity of light. Now you’ve got us out to Pluto.”

  Zinner smiled with goodnatured tolerance.

  “Living here as you do in the cloistered shelter of the Humanities, immersed in Jane Austen and her contemporaries, I dare say this sudden excursion to Pluto comes as a bit of shock. Actually it is a natural step, following logically upon the others.”

  He hesitated as if uncertain how to proceed.

  “Pluto’s the outermost planet but don’t think I can’t find it. I’ve got that little old planet nailed down tight. [Zinner was justified in referring to Pluto as a “little” planet. His work on the perturbations arising from the close approach of Uranus to Pluto late in 1967, yielded for the mass of Pluto the value 0.089 x Earth. This gives 3.54 gm/cnv for the density of the planet, replacing the former ridiculous value of 50 gm/cm3.] The prediction of an occultation involves a correction for ‘light time,’ the time light takes to travel from Pluto to Earth. Planetary aberration’s another name for it. Light time for the sun is about eight minutes. For Jupiter at opposition about thirty-five minutes. But for Pluto the light time’s around three hundred minutes—five hours.

  “I’m assuming the solar system has shrunk by ten per cent. The distance from Pluto to Earth is then shorter by ten per cent. So the light time is correspondingly shorter. Which means the occultation should come early by about thirty minutes, an amount not easy to ignore.”

  “Well, that sounds reasonable,” Alyson agreed. “Even I can understand it.”

  Zinner gave him a curious look.

  “You know what would really cinch this thing? Some observations taken right here on the planet Earth.”

  “What kind of observations?”

  “Observations of velocity in a race.”

  “Shouldn’t think that would be difficult,” said Alyson. “You’ve got the time...you know the distance . . .”

  “But that’s just what we don’t know,” Zimmer said. “Is the distance a hundred yards? Or is it only ninety yards? The tape measure won’t tell. We need a very special kind of velocities—Doppler velocities. Velocities derived from displacements of spectrum lines to the red or violet, the way we measure line-of-sight velocities in stars. We don’t need a tape or stop watch for these measures. All we need is a photograph of the star’s spectrum.”

  Alyson didn’t seem to understand.

  “Then why not pretend your boys are stars? You set up your spectroscope down the track...measure their violet shift...and voila!”

  “Wouldn’t work. Lines in stellar spectra originate in glowing gases. Stars shine because they glow. A track star may shine but he never glows.”

  “Hang a lantern around their necks.”

  “Afraid that wouldn’t work either,” Zinner said.

  They were silent for several minutes pondering this unhappy state of affairs. Finally Zinner got to his feet.

  “Well, how about it? Coming?”

  Alyson hesitated.

  “Only thing ... I was planning to run over to L.A....pay that traffic fine.”

  “Thought you intended fighting that all the way to the supreme court?”

  Alyson threw up his hands.

  “What can you do? It’s your word against the police. They’ve got their radar—”

  “RADAR!”

  It is doubtful if the wordradar has ever been uttered with such vehemence since the U.S.
Navy invented the acronym in 1942. Zinner seized Alyson by the hand and began pumping it up and down.

  “My boy, that was no mere traffic violation. That was Fate in the form of a Los Angeles police officer intervening in behalf of Science. Is it possible that you fail to realize the enormous significance of that pinch? If radar can measure the velocity of that old car of yours, radar can also measure the velocity of a runner on the cinder path.”