Still Life&;#063;

I'm not mad. I go to the pub, I watch TV, I don't get to the cinema
as often as I'd like, I moan about noisy young kids and the state of
the country. I change my vague stance on Europe every month, I can't
cook very well. I talk about the weather a lot, and even have been
known to wear a cricket sweater. I'm just your average, middle-aged,
middle-class bloke. Not that I'd ever admit that, of course.

I do, however, wear a full-length, white lab coat. And I do spend my
working hours in a laboratory: although I seem to deal with paperwork
more than test-tubes these days. Yes, I'm a scientist. But I'm most
definitely not mad. They say that if you question your own sanity, then
it is a good sign of a sound mind. That is not my field, though, so
don't take my word for it.

Anyway, I dither.

I may not be mad, but the man I am following down this starkly over-lit
corridor I am not so certain about. He is a good friend of mine - Peter
is his name.

But I am ahead of myself, I see. I haven't started with the basics - it
would seem I do hold some traits of The Scientist.

*

It all began just over a month ago, I believe, when I was taking my
usual break in my lab sessions to grab a bite to eat in the canteen. I
was nibbling away at my sandwich, contemplating the intricacies of ham
and cheese, when Peter sat down opposite me and promptly delved into
his own lunch.

Somehow, I do not recall how, we ended up embarking upon one of those
theoretical conversations certain people have a tendency to indulge in
every-so-often.

"What if," put Peter, "I invented a faster-than-light spacecraft? On
its maiden voyage, looking out of the portholes, what would we see? We
would be travelling faster than light, so what would we actually be
able to see?"

"Can't say I've ever thought about that one, Peter," I replied: again,
this wasn't exactly my field of research. As usual, however, it
appeared that Peter had put considerable thought into the matter prior
to raising it -

"Well, as we are travelling faster, we would catch up with old light,
surely? In which case, to us, time outside the ship would appear to be
going backwards...we would see the entire universe playing itself out
in reverse - the Earth rotating the wrong way! Just imagine it! And
then, as we slow down again, time would slow down, halt momentarily,
then continue forwards as normal. Can you imagine it!"

I chewed on my food, then looked up.

"What about light that was still travelling towards you?"

Peter looked perplexed for a moment. He stared blankly at the far wall,
then admitted he had not considered that. We progressed to discuss
various other equally unlikely scenarios, before I raised the fateful
topic - of which I had no idea would ultimately cause such
difficulty.

"Take mirrors," I cryptically began. "Just ordinary mirrors. Now, we
think they are reflections of light, yes? Well, what if they are
actually just windows - portals - into another universe, one which
mirrors and parallels our own, perfectly?"

Peter shook his head. "An interesting idea, granted. But flawed - if
such was the case, we should be able to cross into the other universe
somehow. But we can't get through the glass of the mirror without
smashing it, as which point the image is lost."

"Ah yes," I replied with fervour, "but what if it isn't really the
glass you are touching when you press your fingers to the mirror? What
if it is actually your reflection's own fingers? He would be pressing
with exactly equal pressure, at exactly the same point and time, so you
would not be able to pass through."

"What if you did something different to what your reflection did,
then?"

"Well, theoretically you could then pass through the mirror. But I've
always found my reflection quite accurate to myself." I smiled. Peter
grinned. We departed to our separate projects.

*

I thought nothing more on the matter, but a week later Peter revealed
his desire to write a paper on the idea. I tried to dissuade him - it
was the stuff of pseudo-scientists, those hacks who spend most of their
time seriously debating whether the Starship Enterprise would defeat an
Imperial Star Destroyer in combat. I've always considered that sort of
study a terrible waste of talent - the Enterprise would clearly not
stand a chance. It is not worth further consideration.

Nevertheless, Peter continued to investigate my fleeting, dreamlike
notion.

*

A few days later, I again saw Peter, this time standing by a vending
machine outside the main building. The sky was darkening as the cloud
were thickening, and the bright day was rapidly turning dreary.

"Peter! Made contact with the other side yet?"

He turned to face me, somewhat taken by surprise. "Oh, no, not yet. I'm
doing my best, though. Some very interesting theories have cropped up
out of this. Say we did manage to break the reflection - cause both
sides of the mirror to act differently? It would mean that everybody
would have a doppelganger - a real, living breathing clone, who would
think identically as yourself! Yet, gradually, as time passed, things
would slowly alter. Different partners would result in different
offspring. We'd perhaps be the only generation to fully appreciate the
wonders of a parallel world...fifty years down the line, everybody
would look different. Our time would go down in history like myth!
Legend! Can you imagine it? Great Scott, can you imagine it?"

I stared directly at him. "Peter, have you gone mad? You just said
'great Scott'. Are you going to bleach your hair and grow it long and
fluffy next?"

"What? No! I'm making great progress here. It is all in the mind. Do
not ridicule me, Stephen, do not!"

I didn't see or hear from him again for another two weeks. I heard
stories from people that worked in his department, overheard whispered
stories in the canteen. Jokes were thought up, labels of 'mad scientist
within' attached to Peter's lab door. He became an object of
ridicule.

Tales abounded of Peter staying in the building all night. The night
watchmen related witnessing him with his fingers and face pressed up
against the surface of a mirror. I even started to believe some of the
less ridiculous claims.

*

This evening, I was just unlocking my car, one of the many identical
vehicles in the staff parking lot, when a hand fell on my shoulder. I
started and turned around. It was Peter. He was still dressed in his
lab coat, and his hair was dishevelled. A rough and uneven stubble
covered much of his face and his eyes were wide and glowing, despite
his evident fatigue.

"Peter!" I exclaimed. "How are you? I haven't seen you for days." I
looked into his eyes. There was a strange glee in them, a spark of
godhood. "What is it?"

A sudden movement, and Peter was holding aloft a small, battered and
old Rubik's cube. "I did it!" he cried.

I glanced at the cube. "No, there's still a blue square out of
place."

Peter looked confused, then smiled, and rapidly withdrew the puzzle
from my sight. "No! Not that! Not this!" He revealed the cube again,
and held it just in front of my face. "This, this doesn't belong here!
This doesn't belong in this world! This universe!" He looked at me with
great sincerity, and then revealed to me, in deep and portentous tones:
"This doesn't belong here."

"Peter, have you been getting enough sleep?"

"Listen to me! This cube is not my own. Well, it is, but it is not
mine! I succeeded in exchanging my own with my own - my reflection's, I
mean!"

"Excuse me?"

"This cube was passed through the mirror, that's what I mean! It was
passed through and dropped onto the carpet, and I did the same, towards
the opposite edge of the mirror. It was perfect vertical symmetry, we
both passed them through, dropped them, then picked them up at exactly
the same time!"

I said nothing to this. Nothing obvious came to my mind - it wasn't a
situation in which I was used to being. I did, however, want to get in
my car and drive away, quickly.

"I see you don't believe me. No matter. I will show you. Come with me."
With that, Peter clutched at my wrist and dragged me, objecting feebly,
towards the building. I looked around me for help, but could only see
the rain beginning to fall. As we entered the building, lightning
flashed and thunder reverberated about the green, landscaped hills. It
was all very appropriate.

*

And now here I am, being led down this corridor towards Peter's lab,
seemingly by a madman. My main desire is to resist Peter's grasp and
return to my car, but he is too agitated: I don't know how he would
react. So I go with him still...

We are now outside his laboratory, and he has turned towards me. "I can
see in your eyes you do not believe me," he laments. "Soon I will prove
to you that I have broken through. Will you come with me...?" He swings
open the metal door to reveal the darkened room within.

"Very well," I reply. I stare once more into his eyes, but see only my
own reflection in them. I follow him inside. Positioned precisely in
the centre of the room is a large, rectangular mirror. Peter rushes up
to it and kneels down before it.

"The method is not scientific, Stephen. It is religious. One must
believe that he can break the synergy of the reflection. It is through
force of mind that this can be achieved."

I nod in hearty agreement, and position myself so that I can easily see
Peter at the mirror, as well as his quite normal reflection in it,
whilst still being strategically near to the door, should a hasty
escape by required.

Peter has now raised his left hand in front of the mirror. His
reflection is so far being very well behaved, and is doing nothing out
of the ordinary.

"In a moment," announces my apparently unstable colleague and friend,
"I will move my left hand left, and my reflection will move his right
hand left, consequently breaking the illusion of reflection and
enabling us to make contact, and pass over into each others' universes.
It is a matter of faith, understanding and self-control. Anybody can do
it, you just have to believe that you can. Try it sometime!"

*

I stare. His left hand moves, and I am not sure that I believe what is
happening before me...