Why Sci-Fi?

 As part of the Sci-Fi debate, as started on the Today programme on BBC Radio 4 and as the "Out of This World" exhibition opens at the British Library, I thought I'd reprint this article I wrote earlier this year for the Cypruswell website.

"I love Sci-Fi, reading it and writing it. Being a child of the nineteen fifties I suppose that isn’t unexpected. Sci-Fi was the standard school boy interest in those days and the very first story I had published was a story about the after effects of nuclear war in the school magazine.
The whole point about science fiction is that it provides the ultimate “what if?” literary and intellectual playground. “How would the world look if this or that scientific theory was a reality?” In science fiction one could examine the consequences of various scientific or technological discoveries. For instance Science fiction writers were examining the possible effects of global warming (and cooling) long before it became an issue with the general public. All the possible horrors of space travel, dystopian futures, alien contacts, robots gone mad, computers taking over the world, global conflict have been explored. The crucial thing is that the great works of Sci-fi explore the relationship between those possibilities and human individuals. Philip K. Dick (possibly the greatest of all sci-fi writers – certainly the architype) centred his stories on the little guy struggling against greater technologies and forces. “Blade Runner” was a great film but the original novel by Dick – “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?” was greater because the hero was an ordinary put upon man rather than a Hollywood superman.

The only rule for good Science Fiction, if there should be any rules at all, is that it should only posit one technological or scientific elaboration at a time. We may have faster than light travel in a story but everything else should be as we would observe it in the real world. Apart from the faster than light gizmo the science should be accurate and so should the humanity and psychology of the characters. We should be able to understand the motivations of the characters even if they are being held captive by green and purple creatures on the planet Zaargg. I mean, how would you react in those circumstances?
Fifty years ago when I was reading Sci-Fi for the first time, the year 2000 was, literally, the far distant future. So the “what if?” in my stories is the “what if the year 2000 was as we imagined it then?” I’m exploring that idea in the series of stories about ‘Jimmy –the Boy from the year 2000’ on my blogsite. As the lurid book jackets might have said back then: This week! A thrilling new two-parter titled “Quantum Entanglement”. Read and enjoy!! You will never be the same again!!!"

Are we Living in a Sci-Fi World?

The Today Programme on BBC Radio seemed to rubbish the capacity of Sci-Fi to predict the future.  It seemed to imply that while it could tell a good yarn, the things it predicts are marginal and most never have, or could have, come true.  However, that's not the point of Sci-Fi.  Its really about the world now as we live in it and the fantasy elements are meant to throw this into perspective.  The debate centres around whether technological advances that first occurred in Science Fiction and then happened in reality were cause or effect. Did scientists see things that were described in fiction and then go on to puzzle out how to make them, or does Sci-Fi offer some real prediction about how the future will shape itself.  We will probably never know unless we could invent a time machine and go back to experiment with the past and see how things work out.....  Now there's a story.

Quantum Entanglement (2) The next instalment of the story of the Boy from the Year 2000

The next day Jimmy was back in his garden waiting to see if his entangled pair would turn up again and, sure enough, about three o’clock, there he was. Running cross the lawn beside him.

“Wait.” Called Jimmy.  But as soon as they got to the fence it, or he, disappeared.

Jimmy pondered for a little while and then thought what Mr. Smith had told him.  If they were both part of an entangled pair, then it stood to reason that their quantum states must be exactly similar.  Jimmy also remembered what Mr Smith had told him about Schroedinger’s cat some weeks before.  It was impossible to know two things about a quantum state at once.  You could know where it was or you could know its momentum, but not both together. That must be true for both parts of an entangled pair.  Jimmy could only be sure he would know where his pair would be if he stopped running.  

So Jimmy started running up and down the lawn at full tilt hoping to capture his entangled pair but after half an hour he was exhausted.  Jimmy’s mother opened the window.  “If you keep running up and down like that, you’ll wear the grass away.” She smiled as she said that because she knew that their genetically modified Evvagreen grass would never wear out.  Sometimes she secretly wished for the days before the year 2000 when things were simpler and grass grew if you watered it and mowing it was something you had to do as a simple pleasure.  “Would you like an afternoon pill?”  She asked.  “Its a glass of milk and a biscuit.  Its blue.”

“No thank you” said Jimmy.  He was keen to get back to his experiment.  And a glass of milk and a biscuit never seemed very attractive when it was in pill form.

It was a full fifteen minutes later that the boy appeared again.  Half way across the lawn, Jimmy stopped dead.  The boy stopped dead beside him.

“I know where you are.”  Said Jimmy firmly.  As if it was some sort of binding spell.

“Eh?”  said the boy.

“I’m in my garden.  So you must be,too.”

The boy was looking puzzled.

“You’re an entanglement.”  Said Jimmy by way of explanation.

“What?” said the boy.

“You’re my entangled pair.”

“You’re nuts, you are.” Said the boy.  “I ain’t a tangly nuffing.” And then after a pause he went on: “My name’s Bobby.”

“So what are you doing here, then?” said Jimmy.  He was feeling very proud that he knew what was going on.

“I was running up and down.  Minding my own business when, whoosh, here I am.  Wherever this is.  You’ve kidnapped me, ain’t yer?”

“No, no.  Not at all.  You see, some bad people have entangled us at the quantum level and we’re the same.  We do the same things at the same time.”   Then Jimmy ran out of explanation because he didn’t really understand any more than that himself.

“Rubbish.” Said the boy.  “You’ve kidnapped me and I’ll have the law on you.”

Jimmy felt his bottom lip trembling again.  This wasn’t the way it was meant to come out.

“Well, maybe not the law.  We don’t exactly go in for that sort of thing.  But my Dad’s a big bloke.  He’s a bruiser.  He’d sort you out.”

Jimmy had no wish to be sorted out.  He wished he hadn’t embarked on this experiment now.  Science was about hover cars and rocket ships, not about fierce boys with bruisers for dads.

“It’s all right.” The boy said.  “Don’t fret.  I don’t need my dad to fight my battles.  My name’s Bobby.”

“I’m Jimmy.”  Said Jimmy.

There was something not quite right about the boy.  Jimmy suddenly realised his hair was not smoothed down and neatly parted the way most boys were but stood up on end in a sort of tangle like a gooseberry bush, his face and hands clearly hadn’t seen an auto-scrub for some time and what’s more, he wasn’t wearing a silver suit.  Jimmy began to think that the entanglement theory may not be right.  Unless, of course that was how Jimmy looked himself.  “I think you may be an entanglement.” Said Jimmy. 

Not me, mate” said the boy “I’m just Unhappy” said the boy grinning broadly and showing his stained, uneven teeth.

“You don’t look unhappy.” Said Jimmy puzzled.

“No not unhappy,” replied Bobby grinning even more broadly.  “But Unhappy.  You know the name the governments cooked up for the like of us.”

“You?  You’re a...”

“’Sright.  I’m a dissident.”

“You mean a terrorist?”

“Right again, me old cock.  I am a terrorist.    Bobby the Terrorist.”

“Crumbs.” Said Jimmy in awe. “I’ve never met a terrorist before.”  And then he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Well, I’ll be on my way then.  Cheers, mate.” Said Bobby.

“Er, wait a minute” called Jimmy as Bobby turned to go.

“ ’Urry up.   Me tea’s on the table.   We got pizza and chips tonight and I ain’t gonna let it get cold.”

“Umm.  What do terrorists do?”  asked Jimmy.

“You know. We sort of... terrorise people.  Ain’t you ’eard?”

“How do you do that?”

Bobby came up very close to Jimmy so that he could smell his bad breath and put his face next to his.   “Boo” he said.  Jimmy jumped. 

“Boo?” Said Jimmy.

“Yep. Boo.” Replied Bobby.

“Right, I see.”

“OK, then toodle oo, old chap.”

“It’s not very terrorising.”

“Boo.  Boo hoo.  Boo hoo.  That’s why they say we’re unhappy.”

“Toodle oo.”  Said Jimmy after a moment’s thought.  But Bobby was already gone.

(Note from author:  There may have to be a third part to see what happens to Jimmy and Bobby later.  Please tell me if you're enjoying this series.)

Bones of the Land

We live among the bones of the land

Between the place where the sea has slashed

Sabre sharp through the turf

Revealing the soft chalky white flesh beneath

And where the surf has scratched and scoured at the soil

To show the naked bones of the very under-rock

And we cower among the ribs

Huddling for warmth against the scalpel wind

Among the Liver and the lights

Just as a hunter on the frozen tundra

Will slaughter her horse and, slashing its stomach,

Force her blooddrenched soul into its guts

Into the warmth for succour.

And yet, when the year and the wind turns

The skeleton dries in the sun and wind

And we can make such pretty things

Carving pieces of bone for trinkets.

The Mary Anning Play - another chapter

After the first go at the 25 minute monologue we've also decided that we should aim a version for 9 to 12 year olds in school.  This is fine by me because I have written a lot for this age group in the past and I find it very enjoyable. At this age most kids are very receptive of ideas and like to be spoken to as adults so its important not to dilute or speak down too much.  I find the trick is to shorten sections so that the audience can concentrate hard until you give them a bit of breathing space to catch up.   I expect that we will be working  mostly in schools or educational areas and, frankly, these are not ideal theatre spaces.  Kids will be sat on the floor in a lot of places so its important to keep things moving forward briskly with  some sort of wriggle opportunities.

But, all in all, the piece requires exactly the same attention to character and situation that I would give to the full length play or the monologue aimed at adults.

Since the last time I posted we have visited Mary's stamping ground in Lyme Regis and followed her footsteps along the clayey, clingy beach and under the dark forbidding cliffs.  So I have a much richer sense of place and the character.

Last time I told you about "Chasing" where I'm chasing out details to enrich the piece.  Well, now I'm going through a process I call "combing" where I kep returning to the script from the beginning and combing out some of the tangles and finding hidden pieces of character that I have buried in either intentionally or unconsciously.  That leads me on to another process of reinforcing and amplifying character traits within the dialogue (or monologue as in this case).  I call this "grooming" and its where the character begins to gain real solidity and depth.

Rewriting the monologue for children has enabled me to develop all three of these processes so much that I can actually hear Mary's voice each time I read through.  Oh yes,  its a play.  Its meant to be performed so each time I go through I read it out loud.  The voice has to be right when spoken so I'm spending most of my time chattering way to myself.  Goodness only knows what the neighbours think.

Doollee Database of Plays

I have just finished uploading the detailsof most of my plays onto the Doollee database. This heroic undertaking aims to be "the free online guide to modern playwrights and theatre plays which have been written, adapted or translated, into English since the production of Look Back in Anger in 1956. doollee.com contains information on 38,219 Playwrights and 127,610 of their Plays"

Jobbing playwrights like me tend to be a bit careless with the records of their work so its been a good exercise  scrabbling though my shelves and cardboard boxes looking for copies that might otherwise have gone out with the recycling. So far I've got details of about twenty plays of all types that have been commissioned and performed since I started writing but, alas, not all of them are complete and, while I may have production details, very little of the actual script remains. 
This year I'm going to make an effort to reconstruct some of these scripts because, who knows, somebody may want them in the future. Apparently, the database is a worldwide resource and is consulted by companies and academics across the globe. So if you've got an old box of your scripts that have been performed in England in the last fifty years its a good idea to get them on the Doollee database to complete the picture if nothing else.

Click on the title at the top for the link to Doollee

Where does Language come from

I'm always interested in ideas about language, where it comes from and how  it operates.  Click on the link at the top of this post to see some interesting new ideas.

Just a Minute

I have always been fascinated by the way people talk to each other.  In playwriting we call it dialogue, in everyday parlance it is conversation. It is the broken, halted and halting, lame, repetitive jumble of words that tries to convey some meaning between individuals.  As a playwright it is my stock in trade and, despite many hours sitting on buses and in cafes trying to capture its essence, I have never come near to being able to reproducing dialogue in its true sense.  What is wonderful is that most dialogue exchanges make no sense at all when recorded.  Sense and syntax become so jumbled, vocabulary so wretched and torn that trying to find a way of describing it for others to follow is a nonsense.  From these entirely non-scientific observations I have distilled my laws of dialogue: 1) Nobody says what they mean.   Dialoguers circumlocute, they prevaricate, they even lie.  In fact they lie most of the time “How are you feeling today?”  “Not so bad” is a lie we have heard every day.  It means “I’d really love to tell you how bad I feel and how i would like your sympathy but I don’t know whee to start and anyway you are not really interested I can tell.”  2) Dialoguers seldom listen to each other.  Each exchange is a series of statements about oneself.  “Yes I know.  I had the same thing myself.  Well worse, actually”.  3)Nobody talks in straight lines.  The idea of a reasoned argument is laughable.  In a dialogue one makes a series of statements about oneself (See 2) which come under the general heading of the topic being discussed.  This inevitably leads on to 4) Dialoguers can change points of view in a single sentence so that they appear to be holding two utterly contradictory points of view at the same time.   In rhetoric we could say they are advancing a “On the one hand.... on the other hand....”  sort of argument.  But that is not true.  They are just saying and believing completely different and random things. 5) Most dialogue is filled up with nonsense words, phrases and sounds.  I believe linguists call these “phatic exchanges” in which it is the exchange not the meaning which is important. “How’s it going?” is phatic.  But then we get into Malinowski and Sociolinguistics so we’ll step away from that pretty smartly.6) Repetition is mandatory.  Mostly because dialoguers have forgotten what they were saying 2 minutes ago and this is the real idea that is playing in their head cinema, not that stuff you are waffling on about.

In fact, think about the rules of “Just a Minute” in which the contestants have to speak for 60 seconds on a topic without deviation, hesitation or repetition and you have the reverse of the exact rules for actual dialogue.

In March of 1944, Nicholas Alkemade was the tail gunner in a British Lancaster bomber on a night mission to Berlin when his plane was attacked by German fighters. When the captain ordered the crew to bail out, Alkemade looked back into the plane and discovered that his parachute was in flames. He chose to jump without a parachute rather than to stay in the burning plane. He fell 18,000 feet, landing in trees, underbrush, and drifted snow. He twisted his knee and had some cuts, but was otherwise all right.



Suddenly all is quiet

All the noise has stopped and I am falling

Falling

And now I know the time of my death.

I have 100 seconds left

And I will be smashed into the soft black Dutch earth.

At 18,000 feet

That’s three and half miles to you

It will take me a full minute and a half

Falling falling.

The air rushing by my leather flying cap

Whistles and roars

But now I am at peace

In a world at war

Knowing that I am falling

Falling towards the earth.

I have chosen this course

I have chosen to die by jumping

My parachute a mass of flames

So I launched myself

Past the jagged metal

Fighting hard against

The groaning spars.

The trail of fuel flame

Lighting the night sky in a streamer of glory descending

How many times over the past months

Have I done the calculation

As have all the beery boys in the mess

In that time when we are walking back

In grim fraternity when the alcohol leaves only a bitter taste.

And now I am alone

With only the stars for company

As in some Suffolk lane trailing the others home

Turning and rolling I spread my arms

Like an angel

Like an eagle

Like the son of man upon the coss.

How long have I been falling

Falling

How long

In No more than thirty seconds

The ground wil rise to meet me

Like a soft dark lover coming out of the darkness

Of a hidden doorway to embrace me with

I have lived with death all around me

But never thought I’d experience

The time of dying so clearly,

So brightly,

Falling through the winter night sky.

For a moment I am buoyed by the air

But I know that I am accelerating

Second by second until I reach terminal velocity

Of around 125 miles an hour

And the ground embraces me.

In the mess we always said it would be better to jump

Than to go down in a burning coffin

The flames scorching and scouring with pain

Here there is no pain

Just apprehension at approaching oblivion

I am the only man

Apart from the one facing the firing squad

Or with a noose around his neck

Who knows the exact moment

When he will reach the great darkness and whatever lies beyond.

And lying in the snow, in the now

Wrenched with exquisite pain

But, by some miracle, living,

Still

Alive

To face the sort of death

That other men look forward to

And never know the time of its coming.

Oxfordshire Theatre Company and Forest Forge cuts

I was devastated to hear about 100% cuts in funding to Oxfordshire Theatre Company and Forest Forge. These two companies represent a vital part of cultural life in the South.  The cuts seem to be wretched and arbitrary and will leave a big gap that will not be filled by any other means.  We all lose. Oxfordshire Theatre Company I have a particular regard for as I was fortunate enough to be the first Artistic Director of Oxfordshire Touring Theatre Company as it was then known throughout the 1980s.  Both of these companies have maintained and developed theire artistic standards whilst doing the vital job of bringing theatre to people and communities who would otherwise have no access to live performance.  They must not disappear.  All of those who have had associations with these companies should contact them now and see if there is any support that can be giving to keep the wheels rolling past 2012.
Meanwhile, our best regards to all those who are currently part of these companies and good luck for the future, whatever it may hold.

Hyperbolics

As I writer with a penchant for a sort of sub sci-fi genre that uses snippets of information from real science as a jumping off point for a world just like our own but not quite, I love reading New Scientist.  It contains as much weird stuff as you could hope for.  Today an artist who tries to explore the idea of Hyperbolic shapes.  An April Fool?  I sincerely hope not.

And the rest, as they say,.....

I love those random events and decisions that pepper our lives. Those unintended and unexpected consequences of decisions that are made on the spur of the moment  or as a result of sudden twists of circumstance.  Here are three of my favourites from the recording studio 1) Raphael Ravenscroft  booked to play a tiny part on the Gerry Rafferty “Baker Street” session tries out the guitar part on the out of tune saxophone that he fetches from the car.  2) Session musicians are paid by the number of instruments they play so Herbie Flowers needing to get an extra few quid doubles his electric bass with string bass on Lou Reed’s “Walk on the Wild Side” 3) Al Kooper realises his guitar playing is not as good as Mike Bloomfield , so slips unnoticed into the studio to play the hammond organ but, as he is not a natural organ player, he follows the rest of the musicians a semiquaver behind  in an effort to keep up with the chords the others were playing.  They are recording “Like a Rolling Stone” with Bob Dylan

Listen to these tracks again and marvel at the power of serendipity

100 words is all you need

How many words do you need to communicate with other people?  And what would your list of 100 include?  The article here gives the 100 most commonly used words in the English language but, of course, that doesn't mean they are the ones you need most.  I would have thought there ought to be a fair sprinkling of nouns - for that would have to include "tea" coffee" "computer" "phone" "car" or "bus".  There would have to be "sea" "rain" "cold" "sun" and something to do with money like "pound" (or "dollar" or "Euro") and "card".  States of mind: ""miserable" "happy" "sad" or could I do those with mime?  And I would need some numbers, too.  In fact, if I could mime one to ten with my fingers, I would still need enough of those, say twenty and so on to make up the list.  And then there are those things you need to be able to understand on the phone when trying to get through to the call centre "press" "key" "hash" and "star" and probably "Could I speak to your supervisor?"  What about shopping "Have you got this in a larger size?" and "will you give me a discount because these are weeks past their sell-by date?"  There' that's my 100 already.  But wait a minute, can I find room for "friends" "Facebook" and Blog"

Writing for Radio

However experienced you are in a subject, you can always learn something new.  Here is a link to a BBC scriptwriting site. Even if its fairly basic it still manages to crystallise many of the routines that we need to keep in mind when writing.

The Mary Anning Play - update

Well, I've achieved the first goal which is to deliver a 25 minute monologue based on the play to Jane McKell at AsOne theatre Co. I've entitled this "Mary Anning's Fossil Depot". Jane rang me on Saturday to say that she liked it so I feel fairly satisfied.  But this is only a draft.  I've asked Jane to pick the bits she likes from what I've done and I'll amplify these and drop out bits that may not suit.  There is still a lot of information that needs to go in but the crucial thing is that I have got the character of Mary Anning (as I see her) pretty well established and I can now use her in various situations. Once the character has reached this stage the writer begins to realise what the issues are that surround her.  The fact that her work was largely unrecognised in her lifetime because of her class and sex will inform her character and what she does but this is a better approach than to start with the issues as many inexperienceds writers do and then try and make the character a mouthpiece for them.  It is also important when dealing with these sort of issues that a twenty-first century writer doesn't distort the actuality of the situations with his or her own sensibilities.  For instance, Mary Anning was putting a pretty hefty spoke in the wheel of religion at that time because her work was disproving the accepted biblical interpretation of history.  On the other hand, Mary herself was a staunch supporter of her church, first as a Congregationalist and later as an Anglican.  We must accept that Mary was able to square this circle and not impose some sort of later ideology on her thinking.

Best-ever quantum measurement breaks Heisenberg limit - physics-math - 23 March 2011 - New Scientist

Best-ever quantum measurement breaks Heisenberg limit - physics-math - 23 March 2011 - New Scientist

How the play is progressing

I’ve extended Mary’s monologue to about three pages.  Now I find that little phrases and sentences are becoming significant and are starting to emerge as needing little scenes and extra characters of their own.  This is a process that I call “Chasing”.   I’m chasing these details out of the undergrowth, ferreting out the titbits that will make up the drama and the piece.  A play is different from a simple narrative or monologue in that the writer must show how the character acts within different circumstances.  We need to look for events that will demonstrate the characters and their interaction rather than just describing them.  Eventually the monologue will disappear as the information it contains is subsumed into dialogue and action.

The little dialogue interplays are taking on a life of their own.  I love writing dialogue.  As the conversations develop we learn more about the characters and their relative status and stand point.  Of course, at the moment, I am still gathering material about the characters.  I don’t even know who or what the other characters will be.  But I am beginning to find what other types of character I am going to need in order to show up my central character.  At the same time, the shape of the narrative is becoming clear.  We talk about narrative arc and character arc.  Basically, that just means how the situation will change and how the characters will develop from beginning to end.  For me, the narrative arc, the story, will come after I’ve discovered something more about the characters.  Once I’ve got that I can then place them in a landscape.

I've also just been given a little target to meet.  The monologue, which will be the first incarnation of the piece, will need to be about twenty-five minutes long.  Good.  Now for a lot more research into the actual events and circumstances of mary Anning's life that will provide the framework of the narrative.

Quantum Entanglement (1) another story about The Boy From the year 2000

For no particular reason except that he was bored, Jimmy was running across the lawn. These days, although he had everything he wanted, he sometimes just felt like running.  In the year 2000 there was not a lot of need to run anywhere.  Hover cars got you everywhere even right to the top of hills.  In the big centres and buildings there were escalators, lifts and moving walkways.  Air tubes shot people from building to building. Now Jimmy was hot and somehow his silver suit wasn’t keeping him as cool as he would have liked in the sunshine.  As he was running he suddenly became aware of another boy running beside him.  But before Jimmy could say anything he disappeared.  For a moment Jimmy wondered who it was and then he wondered where he had come from and, more puzzling, where he had gone.  He knew it wasn’t his friend Tommy because Tommy wasn’t allowed out on a Thursday as he had to do special lessons at home with his father.  And besides Tommy’s hair was dark brown and this boy’s hair was a sort of reddish fair.  “Rather like my own.  I think.” Thought Jimmy to himself.  He went and examined the gate.  It was closed and the latch was firmly in place.  “I would have heard it squeak as it always does.” He thought.  Then he went and looked at the fence which was made of high plasti-lap panels.  It had been newly painted by his mother last weekend using her old insta spray-gun but there was no sign of any gaps or marks where someone could have clambered through or over. 

That afternoon, the boy appeared and disappeared again.  And again.  Each time Jimmy tried to engage him in conversation.  He wasn’t afraid, just curious as to who this could be.  But the sudden appearance and disappearances puzzled him. He looked over the garden fence to see if Tommy was playing in his garden and, sure enough, there was his friend.  “He must have finished his lessons early.” Thought Jimmy and called out but, at that moment, Tommy disappeared.  Not in a puff of smoke but he just seemed to disappear before his eyes just as the other boy in his own garden had done.

Jimmy rang the Smith’s bell and within a few moments the door opened.  The most disturbing thing about Mrs. Smith was the way in which some parts of her emerged through the doorway quite a time before the rest of her.  “Hello Jimmy.”  She said.  “How nice of you to come and see me.  You are such a nice boy.  Not like some of the rough boys that live in this street.”  

“Umm” said Jimmy.  For some reason he could never think of the right thing to say and, besides he didn’t know any of the rough boys that Mrs. Smith might be talking about.  The boys that kept appearing and disappearing didn’t seem particularly rough to him.

“You are growing up. Quite like your father.  And where is he today?  On the golf links again?”  purred Mrs Smith.   “I know all about him and his golf.  He and I have had the pleasure of playing a round from time to time.  He has very strong arms and a long, long drive.  And so will yours be very soon.  If you practise”

“I... I ... don’t like golf.” Said Jimmy wondering why he was stuttering.

“Never mind, I’m sure we can find another sort of sport to interest you.”

“Ah,well.  I expect you’ve come to see Tommy, haven’t you?  Nobody comes to see little old me.”  She pouted.

“Who’s that?”  Jimmy heard someone say.  It was Mr.  Smith.

“It’s that lovely big boy Jimmy Brown.” She breathed.  “He’s come to see Tommy.”

“Tommy’s busy at the moment” shouted Mr Smith, “But send him in all the same.”

Jimmy was fascinated by Mrs. Smith’s little pink tongue that peeped out between he lips when she smiled.  “Come in Jimmy.” She said and stood back just enough so that Jimmy had to brush up against her as he went through to the front room.

“Heelo, Youngun.”  Chuckled Mr Smith tapping his pipe in his hands.  “Tommy won’t be a minute.  Just finishing up some calculus I’ve given him to do.”

“Umm.” Said Jimmy beginning to recover his voice.   “It’s you...  I mean... could you help me...”

“Hello?  In trouble again.  You young rapsacllions are always up to some mischief or other.”

Jimmy spent the next few minutes explaining what he had seen.

“Ah, I think you’ve come to the right place.” Said Mr. Smith and his voice was suddenly grave.

“is it a clone?” asked Jimmy.

“Why no,” chuckled Mr Smith.  You see a clone is an exact copy of  someone but it is constructed at the cellular level.  A clone is a copy in the way that an identical twin is.  You know, like the twins, Amelia and Margaret who live down the street.”

Jimmy felt himself colouring again.  He didn’t like to think about big girls like Amelia and Margaret. 

“They are, in fact, clones who have identical cellular make up.  But, of course, as you know they can still be individuals.  One likes to wear pink and the other likes to wear, well, a different shade of pink.  They grow up differently because minute differences in the environment they live in sets them on entirely different paths as they grow. You don’t have an unknown twin brother, do you?  Of course you don’t.  No, what you saw was an exact copy of yourself and of Tommy.   This Jimmy is, to all intents and purposes, you.  And I think I know it might have occurred.”

“Gosh an identical copy.  Would he be able to talk and think like me?  I’d love to have him as a chum.  There aren’t many people who understand how I think.”

“Oh yes.  You and he would have exactly the same thoughts at exactly the same time because all the neurons in your brains would be firing in exactly the same sequence.”

“Gosh I’d really like to talk to him. I’ve always wanted a brother.”

“Obviously you can only exist at a distance because you both cannot occupy the same place at the same time.   There comes a time when one or other of you must disappear.”

“Would we annhialate each other in a great explosion?  Are these other boys made of anti-matter?” asked Jimmy wide-eyed.

“Why no.” Smiled Mr. Smith, “But well done on thinking about anti-matter as a possibility.  If you were to meet a boy made of anti-matter then you would indeed come to a very sticky end.  But that is very unlikely in our current universe as there isn’t enough anti-matter to make a growing boy like you.  But it might happen one day, I suppose.  If the scientists like me keep creating anti-matter particles in our synchrotrons.  But not yet.  Not for a week or two anyway.”  And he laughed heartily although Jimmy couldn’t see much to laugh about.

“Look, I’ll level with you” said Mr. Smith tamping his pipe and returning to his more serious demeanour.  “If you remember a little while ago I told you about some  well... Unhappy People.  People who are unhappy about the way most of us live our comfortable lives.  The thing is, they want what we’ve got without.... “ For once Mr. Smith seemed to be struggling for an explanation.

“Without playing the game.” Breathed Mrs. Smith from the doorway.

“Bravo.  I couldn’t have put it better myself” winked Mr. Smith.

“You see, down at the Government labs we’ve been playing with quantum particles in our synchrotron.  What we’ve found is that if you make a collision between two atoms, the quantum particles that fly off will behave exactly as if each of them knew what the other one was doing.  We can get particles to be exactly the same as each other so that even at a distance if one changes its state then the other does the same.   Even if they’re miles apart.  We call it quantum entanglement.  Are you following me?”

“Yes, I think so. Quantum particles can behave as if they were exactly the same as each other.”

“Bravo.  You’re on the ball.  But what I’m going to tell you know is tip top secret.  Do you understand?”

“Yes.  I won’t breathe a word.”

“Excellent. Because if you did I might have to have you kidnapped and shut up for a very long time.”

Jimmy felt his bottom lip begin to tremble.  “If you’d rather not tell me....”

“No, no.  You’re an intelligent lad.  I know I, and the government, can trust you.”  And then Mr Smith’s voice dropped to just above a whisper. “Just last week it was discovered that some Unhappy People living outside our dome had stolen a synchrotron from some other facility and were doing their own experiments in entanglement.   I think that they may have moved faster than us and they’ve succeeded in entangling a bunch of atoms at a distance.  I think, for some reason, you’ve become a victim of entanglement and you and Tommy have exact quantum doubles.”

 (Part 2 to follow)