Science of Discworld

EAT HOT NAPHTHA, EVIL DOG!

THE ROCKS FELL GENTLY TOGETHER AGAIN, and to the annoyance of the Archchancellor they moved in curved lines while doing so.

'Well, I think we've proved that a giant turtle made of stone isn't going to work,' said the Senior Wrangler, sighing.

'For the tenth time,' sighed the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

'I told you we'd need chelonium,' said Archchancellor Ridcully.

Early attempts spun gently a little way away. Small balls, big balls ... Some of them even had a mantle of gases, pouring out of the clumsy aggregations of ice and rock. It was as if the new uni­verse had some basic idea of what it ought to be, but it couldn't quite manage to get a grip.

After all, the Archchancellor pointed out, once people had something to stand on they'd need something to breathe, wouldn't they? Atmospheres seemed to turn up on cue. But they were dread­ful things, full of stuff not even a troll would suck.

In the absence of gods, he declared, and a series of simple tests had found no trace of deitygen, it was up to men to get it right.

The High Energy Magic building was getting crowded now. Even the student wizards were taking an interest, and usually they weren't even seen during daylight. The Project promised to offer even greater attractions than staying up all night playing with HEX and eating herring and banana pizza.

More desks had been moved in. The Project was in an expand­ing circle of instruments and devices, because it appeared that every wizard apart from, possibly, the Professor of Eldritch Lacemaking, had decided he was working on something that would benefit immensely from access to the Project. There was certainly room. While the Project was indeed about a foot wide, the space inside seemed to be getting bigger by the second. A universe offers lots of space, after all.

And while ignorant laymen objected to magical experiments that were by no means dangerous, there being less than one chance in five of making a serious breach in the fabric of reality, there was no one in there to object to anything.

There were, of course, accidents ...

'Will you two stop shouting!' yelled the Senior Wrangler. Two student wizards were arguing vehemently, or at least repeatedly stating their point of view in a loud voice, which suffices for argu­ment most of the time.

'I'd spent ages putting together a small icy ball and he sent that wretched great rock smack into it, sir.'

'I wasn't trying to!' said the other student. The Senior Wrangler stared at him, trying to remember his name. As a general rule, he avoided getting to know the students, since he felt they were a tedious interruption to the proper running of college life.

'What were you trying to do, then ... boy?' he said.

'Er ... I was trying to hit the big ball of gas, sir. But it just sort of swung around it, sir.'

The Senior Wrangler looked around. The Dean was not present. Then he looked into the Project.

'Oh, I see. That one. Quite pretty. All those stripes. Who built that?'

A student raised his hand.

'Ah, yes ... you,' said the Senior Wrangler. 'Good stripes. Well done. What's it made of?'

'I just dragged a lot of ice together, sir. But it got hot.'

'Really? Ice gets hot in a ball?'

In a big ball, sir.'

'Have you told Mister Stibbons? He likes to know that sort of thing.'

'Yes, sir.'

The Senior Wrangler turned to the other student.

'And why were you throwing rocks at his big ball of gas?'

'Er ... because you score ten for hitting it, sir.'

The Senior Wrangler looked owlishly at the students. It all became clear. He'd wandered into the HEM one night when he couldn't sleep and a mob of students had been hunched over the keyboards of HEX and shouting things like 'I've got the battering ram! Hah, eat hot naphtha, evil dog!' Doing that sort of thing in a whole new universe seemed ... well, impolite.

On the other hand, the Senior Wrangler shared with some of his colleagues an unformed thought that pushing back the boundaries of knowledge was not quite ... well, polite. Boundaries were there for a reason.

'Are you meaning to tell me,' he said, 'that faced with the multi­tudinous possibilies of the infinity that is the Project you are using it to play some sort of game?'

'Er ... yes, sir'

'Oh.' The Senior Wrangler looked closely at the big ball of gas. A number of small rocks were already spinning slowly around it. 'Well, then ... can I have a go?'