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“Except for once,” Ed pipes up from his blackboard scribblings.
“Yes. Well. Best forget that one, Ed,” Dr. M cautions.
“Come on. We’ll show you our work. It’s snack time anyway,” Dr. O says. She leads us upstairs to a nice comfy game room complete with big-ass TV and sectional sofa.
“What we’re about to show you is a record of all our work here at Putopia,” Dr. T explains. “The Infinity Collider, String Theory, Superstring Theory, M-Theory …”
“Y-theory, Z-theory, Double-Z-Theory …,” Dr. M adds.
Dr. O chimes in. “Subatomic particles, partner particles, gravitrons, maybetrons, perhapsatrons …”
“The Theory of Everything …”
“The Theory of Nothing …”
“The Theory of Somewhere in Between …”
“What we’re working on now is a supplement to the Theory of Everything,” Dr. T explains. “The Theory of Everything Plus a Little Bit More.”
“Because who doesn’t want a little more?” Dr. O asks. “Okay, Ed—start ’er up.”
The room darkens and a video burbles to life on the TV. A younger-looking Dr. M waves to the camera nervously and places an orange tabby with a purple collar inside the chamber of an earlier model of the Infinity Collider, which is half the size of the current one and not nearly as elaborate. “In you go, Schrödinger,” he says to the cat. “May you find a dimension where the mice are plentiful and the tuna fresh.”
Schrödinger’s meowing protests are cut short by the closing of the door. Then there’s a hum, and then a flash, and when the door is opened again, Schrödinger is lying inside the chamber, motionless.
“He was a good kitty,” Dr. T says with a sniffle.
The clips jump around in a very disjointed history of Putopia—scientists in their younger days, mapping out equations on a blackboard. A photo of them in a band at a dance, the banner spelling out the name THE MIGHTY MIGHTY BOSONS. A soccer game in full swing. A progression of those weird macaroni toys, each one different from the last.
“What are those things?” I ask.
“Calabi Yau manifold,” Dr. O says, like it’s as basic as toast or socks.
“Right. I knew that,” Gonzo says. He rolls his eyes at me.
Dr. M bounces the model from hand to hand. “They’re geometrical models that represent the many curled-up dimensions of space we’re not even aware of yet.” He shrugs. “It’s a math thing.”
The movie plays for another minute. I notice that there are a lot of scientists in the beginning, not so many in the later shots.
“What happened to everybody else?”
Dr. T’s expression is flat. “We lost our funding. More money for tanks and missiles, less for finding God particles.”
“Ah—there’s eternity in a kiss!”
I whip my head back to the screen. “Wait! Pause it!” I shout. The image freezes on an Asian man with surprised eyes. I point excitedly at the screen. “That’s Dr. X! Do you know him? Is he here?”
The scientists shift uncomfortably.
“He was once,” Dr. O says quietly.
My heart sinks. I’d hoped we’d finally found him. “Well, do you know where he went? Please, it’s superimportant that I find him.”
“No one’s seen or heard from him since …” Dr. A trails off.
“Since?” I prompt.
The scientists exchange glances. Dr. T pulls a worn photo out from a bookshelf—Dr. X beside a smiling, freckle-faced woman. It’s the photo I saw on his desk when I did the Internet search for the fire giants and accidentally found Dr. X instead.
