I'm obsessed by time. If I had a time machine I'd visit Marilyn Monroe in her prime or drop in on Galileo as he turned his telescope to the heavens. Perhaps I'd even travel to the end of the universe to find out how our whole cosmic story ends.I've previously mentioned that my employers have a long and unfortunate history of choosing admin staff with little or no knowledge of Star Trek. We've recently hired a new employee to fill one of the positions in question - I offered to prepare some basic Star Trek questions for the interview process, simple things like: "What is the name of Data's brother?", but I was quietly reassured that the HR people could take care of that sort of thing themselves.
- Stephen Hawking, How to Build A Time Machine
So far, I haven't really had a chance to test the hiring team's due diligence in this critical area, although I've been reassured that I shouldn't worry. However, a recent encounter with Diana, our new co-worker, has made me a bit concerned about how things will work out in the long run.
Coming back from lunch with my fellow employee Wendy* last week, we bumped into the new hire wandering down the street with what appeared to be a bagged lunch clutched in one hand. Wendy politely recommended a nearby park with a nice view of the mountains and dock gantry cranes and so on as a pleasant spot to eat. I added that I had found a time machine there a few months ago as well, which I felt added a certain je ne sais quoi to the park's credentials.
Diana considered this for a moment, and then asked, "What year does it go to?"
Mildly affronted, I replied, "What year does it go to? All of them! How do you think this works? 'Excuse me, does this time machine go to the Battle of Hastings?' "Sorry, no, miss, this is the Number 12 Time Machine, I only go to the French Revolution. You want the Number 8 Time Machine at the stop across the street.' "
At this point Wendy intervened and explained that further explanation of my mania could be found on my ongoing eight-year old science fiction blog**, which concluded with Diana pointing at me and happily exclaiming, "AH, YOU'RE A GREAT BIG NERD!!!!!"
Well, yes...was there a question in there?
But, honestly...what year does my time machine go to? It's time PORTALS that only go to one date, what do they teach people in school these days?
Seriously though, from Wells' eponymous Time Machine through almost 120 years of time chairs, time ships, time projectors, time highways, time tunnels, police boxes, DeLoreans and phone booths, I am at a loss to think of a single example of a mechanical time travel device which is dedicated to a single temporal destination. I open this up to my readership - any examples of single-stop time mechanisms come to mind?
- Sid
* There is some mild irony here in that Wendy, to whom I offered the Star Trek interview questions, is one of the people who experienced Jean-Luc Picard fail at the reception window. She has since been promoted, which would seem to indicate that the company doesn't place the same focus on this that I do.
**The blog thing really does take all of the guesswork out of it for people, perhaps I should have t-shirts made or get cards printed or something.
**The blog thing really does take all of the guesswork out of it for people, perhaps I should have t-shirts made or get cards printed or something.
This isn't a sci fi novel, more of a happy ending chick-flick comedy romance, but I'm fond of the movie "Kate and Leopold" with Meg Ryan (before her face became frozen and plasticized) and Hugh Jackman (pre Wolverine fame). There is a spot on a bridge in NYC where for a limited period a "rip" in the fabric of time is open for those wishing to jump back a couple hundred years to the same place. You come and go via the same bridge while the window is open, with the risk of being stuck in the wrong century is you miss the jump. Single destination time and place - does that count as an answer to your question?
ReplyDeleteI've always enjoyed the fabric metaphor for time and/or space - rips, bends, folds, etc., with the inevitable consequence that if you rip, fold, bend or tear fabric too many times, it falls apart - unfortunate for a tablecloth, catastrophic for time and space.
ReplyDeleteThat aside, the rip in time from Kate and Leopold is exactly the sort of time portal that I referred to earlier in the posting, which tend to be single-destination in nature. What I'm curious about are time machines with only one option, pieces of technology: the temporal equivalent of a car that will only drive you to the grocery store and back.
- Sid