"Attanasio, A A - Radix 02 - In Other Worlds 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Attanasio A.A)

gets bluehot if the temperature increases. The higher
frequencies of blue require more energy-which was news in the
nineteenth century. Greater energy for shorter wavelengthsl
Not what common sense had learned from sound and water
waves, which need more energy the longer they are. The now
classic formula that predicts this phenomenon is E = hF where
h = Planck's constant:
Since frequency is the inverse of time, the formula can be
written this way: E x T = Constant (h). Energy, as everybody
knows, equals mc2, mass times the speed of light squared.
What, after all, is the speed of light but a length of space
covered in a period of time. So, h actually equals Mass times
Length2/Time. ML2/T is called angular momentum.
What is it? Basically, it's linear momentum times the
radius around which it spins, MIA x L = ML2/T, like a rock in
a sling. The amazing thing is that this
angular momentum, alias Planck's constant, can hold any
amount of energy at all! Like the skater who spins faster by
pulling in his arms, the frequency of a photon increases as its
radius, in this case wavelength, decreases. Fantastically, there is
no limit to this increase of energy, either. The smaller the
photon, the more energy it containsl
Somehow, Carl turned into light. And that light did not
wholly irradiate away. If it had, a large part of Manhattan would
have been vaporized. Instead, the photons that made up Carl
increased in energy and shrank. The energy flux was so great
that Carl's body of light shrank smaller than the fine structure
of spacetime itself--and he fell through the fabric of our reality
into the seething superspace of quantal-tunnels, spume, and
foam-perhaps to expand again in another universe. This is the
ghost hole theory. A saner phrase than Nothing. But really, it's
just as senseless.

I'm writing a science fiction novel. Shards of Time. It's
about Carl, of course, and the ghost hole that swallowed him.
Just now it's seeming that's all there is between me anti insanity-
this fabulous story of a man who turns into light, a man whose
fate I'd always taken for granted. Why are stories so long? The
text is already there, in the true history of accidents that brought
Carl and me together and then separated us. If I can just write it
before -my funds dry up, I may be able to sell it 'and not have
to move. I don't want to move-: There's been enough erasure
lately. I've barely the stamina left to imagine the lies that can
carry the ideas coming at me. The moment goes everywhere at
once. Unfortunately, the muscle of my memory is numb, and
my line of concentration has been wavering. I must rest.
Actually, I must restructure myself inside out. Perhaps I'll fast.

That's one way to restructure and save money at the same time.
Caitlin Sweeney came to see me . The old lady was