The Probability Machine
“It’s really quite simple. The feed from the sensors is used to calculate the probabilities of the next scene,
in effect allowing us to view the future.”
Longren had a way of preaching like an academic whenever he explained anything. He did have several graduate degrees in mathematics, physics and statistical mechanics─something he was known to point out with the slightest provocation. His six foot frame towered over Mansfield Crebbs, a science reporter from the Dade Daily, who was unfortunate enough to be assigned a filler story, a simple piece to take up the space between the real news and sports. The physical contrast between the two underscored a deep social divide─Longren was tall and erect, and entirely bald with a prominent aquiline nose, while Mansfield slouched in his chair, sporting an Orphan Annie bright red mop of hair, and a pug of a face.
“So, umm, what you’re saying is that you can dial in any time and see what’s going to happen then?” asked
Mansfield.
Longren sighed. “There are limits. As I pointed out earlier, the math and physics behind these calculations are bound by the laws of probability and grossly affected by chaos. If the event being monitored is relatively straightforward like… let’s say, a bouncing ball,then the system will predict its location for a lengthy period of time, since it would be unlikely that anything would interfere with the ball’s trajectory.
“But that’s a pretty easy trick…a bouncing ball. We know what it will do without all this mumbo jumbo.” Mansfield swept his arm in an arc encompassing the towering arrays of cables, cameras and computer equipment, all of which were connected to the single monitor standing before them.
Longren’s eyes rolled up in an aborted attempt to control his temper.
“Mr. Crebbs, the process is quite a bit more complicated. The bouncing ball example is something I use to explain the concept to people like you.”
People like me?
Longren tried to smile when he saw Mansfield straighten up, but what came across was nothing more than a disparaging sneer.
Pompous asshole. Five years and he doesn’t even remember me… and I was even one of his better students.
“Oh, please, don’t take umbrage at my statement. Even those that profess to be physicists will have some
difficulty with the theory.”
Umbrage?
Mansfield settled back in his chair. Doctor Longren Fist was one of the most highly regarded scientists in the
field of physical computation, a sub-genre of physics devoted to event prediction. When he was assigned to get a story at the Manhattan Institute of Fine Sciences, he thought that snagging an interview with their best scientist would be a good idea, a decision which he immediately began regretting after discovering it was to be with the great Dr. Longren Fist.
“Ok, ok. Maybe you could demonstrate the equipment and then explain what we’re seeing.”
Mansfield whispered to himself, “Maybe then my simple little brain can keep up with your exalted highness, no
umbrage intended.”
Longren’s left eyebrow rose slightly. He moved closer to the mechanical contraption behind the monitor. Clamps suspended two balls about three feet over a transparent container on the floor.
“You will notice that several cameras are directed at these two high-density rubber balls in what we could refer to as the prediction zone. There will be no audio; for that you’ll have to wait for version 2.0.”
Longren smiled to himself, proud of this cerebral witticism. He absent-mindedly buttoned his lab coat with one hand and flipped a switch with the other. The monitor came alive with a crackling hum. From where he sat, Mansfield could see both the actual scene and as it was displayed on the flat-panel.
“The balls will be released sometime within the next few minutes. The precise time of release is determined
by a random number generator within the apparatus. They will land in the container, bounce into each other, and will eventually come to rest.”
That much I can figure out for myself.
“So, what’s the monitor for? The picture looks the same there as it does in your…zone.”
“Does it?”
Mansfield eyed both scenes, in the zone and on the display, but could see no difference between the two. About
a minute later something rather odd happened. One of the balls displayed on the monitor dropped, but the actual ball suspended over the container hesitated a moment before falling. Mansfield’s eyes darted back and forth between the zone and the images on the monitor. The ball bouncing in the container seemed to move through the same trajectories as the one on the screen, but lagged slightly behind it. The second ball dropped, and once again the screen image ran slightly ahead of the ball bouncing in the zone. It was like looking at a replay of the event, but the replay was happening in real time, and in the container, not the monitor.
When the balls rolled to a stop, Mansfield rubbed his chin.
“What just happened? Were you running a tape ahead of the action?”
Longren shook his head.
“Not at all. What you saw on the screen was a computer-rendered high resolution display of the event as it was
going to occur in the prediction zone. My system was set to show you what was most likely to happen exactly one second into the future.”
“One second into the future?”
Mansfield began feeling like he was back in class, asking dumb questions, all the while trying to ignore the
snickering from his esteemed classmates.
I might be slow to catch on, but this is damn cool.
Mansfield rubbed his chin harder. “How are you doing this?”
Longren sighed once again, purposely exaggerating the movement of his shoulders to underscore his
irritation.
“The equipment in this room includes a number of cameras and detectors designed to measure all manner of
energy fluctuations and movement in and around us, as well as forces outside this room which may affect events within.”
Longren made a show of pointing at the walls. “There are literally thousands of detectors mounted on these three walls which feed my computers billions of bits of data each and every microsecond. My probability programs analyze all
this data in real time and, using the immutable laws of physics, provide a prediction of what will happen next…at least, of what will happen within the prediction zone.”
Mansfield whisked out a memo pad from his windbreaker and jotted down as much as he could understand, or
remember, while Longren plodded on. After a few hastily scribbled lines, he raised his pen hand, pausing Longren’s monotone homily.
“Excuse me, Dr. Fist. I think I understand the way a computer can predict the trajectory of a bouncing ball, but
how did it figure out when the ball would be released? It did do that, right?”
Longren was annoyed at the interruption, but inwardly pleased at Mansfield’s insight.
“Aha. That’s an astute observation, Mr. Crebbs. My system did indeed predict the time of release…actually to within a twentieth of a second.”
Seeing Mansfield’s open mouth begging for more detail, Longren happily continued his sermon.
As I was saying, my system includes a host of sensors which detect electromagnetic as well as physical movement, even at a microscopic scale. The random number generator within the mechanical ball contraption had to obey the laws of physics. Since its behavior was being electronically observed, the outcome was fully predictable. Again, what you saw on the screen was an image of the objects in the prediction zone as they would look one second into the future.”
The room was silent except for Mansfield jotting down a few last words. Straightening up in the hard-backed wooden chair, he looked up at Longren.
“Wow. So even a random number generator’s output can be predicted?”
Mansfield saw a gleam in the man’s eyes as he answered, “Actually…there’s really no such thing. Mathematicians more accurately refer to such numbers as pseudo. Their generation depends on formulae. Point of fact is that nothing is truly random in nature, and once my sensors detected the mathematical equation being used, prediction followed.”
“You keep referring to your system…do you have a name for this thing, something that I could use in the
story?”
Longren gazed at the instruments, wires, cables and panels, and then turned back to Mansfield. “I suppose you could call it an event predicting system based on outcome probabilities.”
“That’s a mouthful…how about something like… Predictor…or even better, Probability Machine?”
Longren’s mouth curled down at the corners. “Perhaps that would work better for the popular press, where hype
and exaggeration appeal to the masses.”
“Probability Machine it is.” Mansfield smiled up at Longren.“So getting back to what just happened─that’s one second…and into the future?”
“Correct.”
“Can your monitor display an event farther out? Like a few more seconds, maybe minutes or even hours
ahead?”
“Mr. Crebbs, do you know anything of chaos theory?”
You clearly don’t remember me, or my term paper.
“Chaos? Like in pandemonium?”
Longren sucked in a deep breath before replying.
Is that steam coming out of his ears?
“Not quite. I am referring to the intrinsic inability of predicting anything with absolute accuracy due to a
fundamental uncertainty in the way matter behaves in this world.”
Mansfield feigned a few troubled creases across his forehead. “Let me explain it another way. No matter how carefully we measure things, the uncertainty in that measurement leads to a small error. This error will propagate. The net effect is that the accuracy of predictions falls off with time. Of course, there are rare exceptions when clarity is maintained, which means that the probabilities are high and uncertainty low.”
“So, exactly how far out does the Probability Machine here work? I mean…how far into
the future can it see?”
An almost imperceptible tic scooted across Longren’s face.
“That depends on the complexity of the observation. So, for a couple of balls, that’s a simple system and the accuracy of measurement is high. In such a case, seeing into the future, as you refer to it, is relatively easy.”
Longren moved closer to a large black panel mounted on the wall and pointed to a dial with a LCD display above
it.
“Right now, my system is set to calculate a one second prediction. I could easily set the prediction much
farther out, for example, 5 or 10 seconds and it would work just as well.”
Longren turned the dial and the display read 10 seconds. Mansfield peeked at the monitor and saw the balls just
as they were in the prediction zone. However, the image appeared to have acquired a slight fuzziness.
“And when I set the display farther out, let’s say to one minute, what do you see now?”
The walls seemed to hum as the image on the monitor blurred, making the objects nearly indistinct. At times the
balls appeared to be in more than one place, with faint shadows moving in and out of view.
“What is that? There’re more balls and something’s moving around in there.”
"You are seeing what possibilities occur at one minute into the future. At this distance, or time frame, the computational power required to determine the location of each object in the container is enormous, and the power drain is huge…actually, it exceeds that available to me at this institution. Since the uncertainty in prediction
becomes significant, the system extrapolates and the display captures a number of potential future scenes at the same time.”
Longren turned the dial back down to zero, and the walls quieted.
“So, if you had more compute power, you could see even farther out?”
“Yes and no. The cpu power would allow us to calculate more probability functions and get a better view, but as I
mentioned before, chaos is unavoidable. At some point, especially with a complex scene, the image will blur out because it simply cannot be calculated accurately.”
Longren’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the incoming caller id.
“Excuse me a moment. I need to take this call. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Longren walked out of the laboratory and disappeared into a side office farther along the hallway. The lab door swung shut with a whimper.
Mansfield tried soaking in all the details of Longren’s system, the Probability Machine. He stood up to take a closer look at the black panel. After checking through the window of the lab door to assure himself that the hallway was empty, he turned the dial until the display read one second and positioned himself between the plexiglass container in the zone and the monitor. He reached out with his left hand and craned backwards to see the screen. Sure enough, the monitor showed his hand entering the zone just before it actually did. The effect was so disorienting that he nearly fell into the container. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and his palms became dewy. He tried it once again, with the same uncanny effect.
Damn. Was that weird or what? Maybe I can fake out this thing?
He pretended to move his hand into the zone, but instead, jerked it back. Nothing showed up on the monitor. He
tried the maneuver several more times. Each time nothing changed on the screen. He sat back down on the chair, pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow.
There was no fooling it. Or was there?
His eyes roamed over the room, humbly acknowledging the presence of all the sophisticated wall sensors, and he shuddered at the very creepy ability of their tethered computers.
There was no sign of Longren in the hallway. He trotted over to the wall panel and cranked the dial to 10 seconds and repositioned himself between the zone and the monitor.
What if I just think about putting my hand out? I could convince myself I’ll do it, and the sensors will be fooled and display my hand…and then what happens if I don’t stick it out? Longren’s Probability Machine will have failed. That pompous clown will choke on his own words. That’ll be a real sweet ending to my piece.
He sat and stared at the cameras and the monitor which continued to display the motionless balls. He concentrated
all his thoughts, puckering up his lips, holding his breath and gradually turning his face a striking beet red. Nothing happened. No matter how hard he concentrated, clearly picturing the image of his hand entering the zone, nothing
stirred on the monitor.
He was about to give up when the image of a hand flashed across the screen. It was there for brief moment only.
Mansfield sat perfectly still.
Damn. It worked! This is going to be really interesting. I just need to sit here and not move a muscle until 10 seconds tick by.
Mansfield counted to himself.
One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three…
And then a peculiar thing happened. He began feeling an urge to get up.
…one thousand four, one thousand five…
The muscles in his legs began to shudder. His hands, which had been clenching the chair’s armrests, started
sliding back and forth.
…one thousand six, one thousand seven…
His legs began jumping, kicking out. Sweat-drenched palms lost their tenuous purchase, and both hands twitched.
His body shook and the chair seemed to move on its own, scraping along floor tiles, inching toward the cameras in the zone. His arms and legs jerked Mansfield as if he were a pathetic little marionette with an untalented, brutish child tugging at invisible strings.
…one thousand and nine…
The chair caught a tile edge and teetered, spilling Mansfield into the zone. He held out his hand in a vain attempt to avoid the fall.
…one thousand and ten.
Too late.
A few more seconds ticked by and Mansfield shook his head. Control was returning to his arms and legs, and the shaking died down. Control over his movements was returning. He raised the chair and dragged it back to its original location in front of the monitor screen. He angled himself into the seat and stared at the monitor’s image of the two balls. They just sat there, silent witnesses to the maelstrom he endured.
Mansfield had epilepsy─a mild form, usually lasting for a few seconds. The fits occurred rarely. Today was
Mansfield’s lucky day.
Goddamn. Longren’s Probability Machine could even predict my seizures.
Voices in the hallway.
The dial! I’ve got to reset the dial.
Mansfield leaped out of the chair and ran over to the wall. He gave the dial a whirl. The walls began to thrum. Computer banks mounted in arrays along them came alive with the sound of surging fans. Relays switched, hard drives purred and LEDs blinked. Several panels twinkled, accompanied by a disquieting assortment of beeps.
What just happened?
Mansfield glanced around the room, caught sight of the wall clock, and then focused on the
dial and its display.
Five minutes! Shit!
As he reached for the dial to turn it the other way, his eyes caught a movement on the monitor screen, and he
froze.
The figures of two men locked in an embrace bobbed across the screen. Although the images were blurred, he could
see that one was tall and bald, and wearing a white lab coat. The other was short, and red-headed, and wore a windbreaker.
It’s me and Longren! …Are we fighting?
Mansfield’s chin sagged and his mouth opened. The images swerved by, fading in and out as they moved across the screen. The two figures disappeared for a moment, after which his image floated into view, standing still and alone. The image of Longren came up behind holding something silver and red.
Mansfield heard footfalls reaching the lab door. His hand reached for the dial. There was only time for a last peek before turning it down. The images were distorted even more, but as Mansfield concentrated on the scene, they sprang back into focus. Longren held a knife streaked with blood and then he thrust it forward into Mansfield’s chest.
My God! My God!
Longren slid down and out of view. The image of Mansfield stared directly into the camera, shaking its head, slowly,
side to side. The mouth moved, as if trying to warn the viewer.
The viewer…that would be me! I’m trying to say something!
A second later, the image dropped away. The lab door squealed open and Mansfield flicked the dial to zero.
The electric thrumming ceased immediately.
“Mr. Crebbs. Is there anything else I can help you with?” asked Longren while eyeing the laboratory.
Mansfield slipped his pencil behind an ear, trying to look casual, and moved away from the wall panel.
Somehow, something is going to happen in the next five minutes that will set this maniac off and it’ll be curtains for
me.
“Eh…I think I’ve got enough information for the article, Dr. Fist. I’ll be on my way now.”
Longren sniffed the air. A sharp ozone odor bit at his nose.
“Just a moment, what were you doing at the panel?”
Before Mansfield could make up a reasonably good lie, Longren was standing next to him scanning the instruments
along the wall, paying particular attention to a small paper roll recorder.
“Mr. Crebbs. What exactly did you do here?”
Mansfield cringed as Longren reached into his lab coat pocket. His hand emerged with a pair of spectacles. He
held them a few inches before his eyes and bent slightly to get a closer look at the paper printout, all the while blocking Mansfield’s path to the door.
He’s doing that on purpose.
“I was just looking, Dr. Fist. Now, if you will move out of the way, I’ll be leaving.”
Fist turned to Mansfield. His face was as grey concrete, his mouth drawn into a thin and trembling line.
“Mr. Crebbs, you turned that dial up, didn’t you?”
Shit.
“I...I may have turned it a little…”
Longren’s eyes squinted and his voice gained an octave.
“A little? The recorder indicates that a significant power drain just occurred…large enough to cause
permanent damage to my system.”
Longren moved toward Mansfield, causing him to hop backwards.
He’s coming after me.
“Look at this mess! Two of my Ventura’s have crashed!”
What the hell is a Ventura?
Longren turned from the wall and with hands on hips marched toward Mansfield, backing him up with every step.
Mansfield raised his arms in a futile attempt to calm Longren.
“Now, now, Dr. Fist. I’m sure that whatever broke can be fixed. I swear I didn’t do anything.”
“The sensors do not lie. You ignorant bastard! You had the audacity to fool with instrumentation beyond your
understanding! You stupid, stupid cretin!”
Mansfield bumped into the adjacent wall with his back. He had nowhere to go except toward the prediction
zone.
Damn. He’s coming unhinged.
Inside Mansfield’s head Big Ben was tick-tocking away; gears were grinding and the hands kept moving─each second
inexorably drawing him nearer to the end. His end.
…tick-tock…
Mansfield panicked and pushed out at Longren.
“Get away from me you friggin jerk! I’m getting out of here.”
Longren stumbled, but quickly regained his balance.
“How dare you! You fool, you destroyed my machine. What took years to build you destroyed in seconds. You
will pay for this!”
The only way out was to step through the prediction zone, around the cameras and monitor screen. Mansfield
lunged for the zone. Longren followed close behind, and as Mansfield reached the monitor, Longren snatched his windbreaker, catching hold long enough to turn Mansfield around.
…tick-tock…
“Get away from me! Let me go! You don’t understand! Let me go!”
Longren grabbed at Mansfield’s shoulders.
“I’ve got to get out of here!”
The two blundered into one of the cameras and tumbled to the floor. Longren managed to get both arms around
Mansfield and held on.
…tick-tock…
Mansfield tried getting up, but it was no use. The taller Longren had him wrapped tightly. They rolled across
the floor. Flailing legs upended the ball container and apparatus. Mansfield writhed, trying to release himself from Longren’s grip. He freed one arm and pushed the floor. They turned over as one, and for a moment he was on his back.
He felt a piercing pain in his hip, and then remembered.
My back pocket. My pen knife. In my back pocket.
With his loose hand for purchase, he pushed off again, reached back and pulled out the knife.
I just need to get loose, just need to get out of here. Time is running out.
“Let go of me!”
Mansfield flipped open the knife and waved it over Longren’s contorted face.
“Let go, or I’ll kill you!”
Just let go of me, you bastard and I’ll run the hell out of here.
“Don’t be a bigger fool than you already are, Crebbs! You’re not going anywhere. You’ll pay for what you’ve done!”
…tick-tock…
Big Ben was about to toll.
Longren gave a sudden and violent twist, flinging the pair into another roll. Mansfield heard a squeak,
much like the lab door opening, except it came from beneath him. Something warm poured out on his hand─the hand that held his penknife. Longren’s eyes stared ahead and spittle dripped out of his half-opened mouth. His arms loosened and fell to the side. Mansfield raised himself on his knees and saw the knife protruding from Longren’s chest.
My God. Jesus Christ. I didn’t do that! He wouldn’t let go. He just wouldn’t let go.
Mansfield stood up, trembling. He was in the middle of the prediction zone.
The damn machine made a mistake! I beat the damn thing!
He looked up at the lab clock.
Has it been five minutes?
Almost as in answer, somewhere deep inside Mansfield’s head, the tick-tocking went on, grinding, churning up each second. Big Ben’s face twisted into a clown’s moronic smile and it whispered …Not yet.
Mansfield shook his head to clear it. He thought about the story he would make up for the authorities.
Longren had lost his mind and attacked me. I was just defending myself.
He turned to take a last look at the body, and instead, found Longren’s hulking form looming over him. The lab
coat was still buttoned, but now an enormous dark red blotch covered its front. The knife entered Mansfield’s chest dead center. Longren released the blade and slumped to the floor. Big Ben started tolling─a distant and fading peal.
My knife.
The laboratory lights dimmed as Mansfield’s world began to shrink. His eyes caught a blinking red glow. One of
the zone cameras, just feet away.
I have to warn him…me.
He looked down at his chest, at the odd fixture protruding from its middle. Blood oozed from its edges, running
down his shirt front, staining his jacket, soaking his pants. Only moments remained before he would be curled up alongside Longren. He stumbled toward the camera. His words were no more than short, raspy snorts.
“Listen to me…It’s your knife…Get rid of it…”
As Mansfield descended into a darkening void, he heard Longren’s voice replying, arrogant and mocking, “You’ll have to wait for version 2.0.”
End
in effect allowing us to view the future.”
Longren had a way of preaching like an academic whenever he explained anything. He did have several graduate degrees in mathematics, physics and statistical mechanics─something he was known to point out with the slightest provocation. His six foot frame towered over Mansfield Crebbs, a science reporter from the Dade Daily, who was unfortunate enough to be assigned a filler story, a simple piece to take up the space between the real news and sports. The physical contrast between the two underscored a deep social divide─Longren was tall and erect, and entirely bald with a prominent aquiline nose, while Mansfield slouched in his chair, sporting an Orphan Annie bright red mop of hair, and a pug of a face.
“So, umm, what you’re saying is that you can dial in any time and see what’s going to happen then?” asked
Mansfield.
Longren sighed. “There are limits. As I pointed out earlier, the math and physics behind these calculations are bound by the laws of probability and grossly affected by chaos. If the event being monitored is relatively straightforward like… let’s say, a bouncing ball,then the system will predict its location for a lengthy period of time, since it would be unlikely that anything would interfere with the ball’s trajectory.
“But that’s a pretty easy trick…a bouncing ball. We know what it will do without all this mumbo jumbo.” Mansfield swept his arm in an arc encompassing the towering arrays of cables, cameras and computer equipment, all of which were connected to the single monitor standing before them.
Longren’s eyes rolled up in an aborted attempt to control his temper.
“Mr. Crebbs, the process is quite a bit more complicated. The bouncing ball example is something I use to explain the concept to people like you.”
People like me?
Longren tried to smile when he saw Mansfield straighten up, but what came across was nothing more than a disparaging sneer.
Pompous asshole. Five years and he doesn’t even remember me… and I was even one of his better students.
“Oh, please, don’t take umbrage at my statement. Even those that profess to be physicists will have some
difficulty with the theory.”
Umbrage?
Mansfield settled back in his chair. Doctor Longren Fist was one of the most highly regarded scientists in the
field of physical computation, a sub-genre of physics devoted to event prediction. When he was assigned to get a story at the Manhattan Institute of Fine Sciences, he thought that snagging an interview with their best scientist would be a good idea, a decision which he immediately began regretting after discovering it was to be with the great Dr. Longren Fist.
“Ok, ok. Maybe you could demonstrate the equipment and then explain what we’re seeing.”
Mansfield whispered to himself, “Maybe then my simple little brain can keep up with your exalted highness, no
umbrage intended.”
Longren’s left eyebrow rose slightly. He moved closer to the mechanical contraption behind the monitor. Clamps suspended two balls about three feet over a transparent container on the floor.
“You will notice that several cameras are directed at these two high-density rubber balls in what we could refer to as the prediction zone. There will be no audio; for that you’ll have to wait for version 2.0.”
Longren smiled to himself, proud of this cerebral witticism. He absent-mindedly buttoned his lab coat with one hand and flipped a switch with the other. The monitor came alive with a crackling hum. From where he sat, Mansfield could see both the actual scene and as it was displayed on the flat-panel.
“The balls will be released sometime within the next few minutes. The precise time of release is determined
by a random number generator within the apparatus. They will land in the container, bounce into each other, and will eventually come to rest.”
That much I can figure out for myself.
“So, what’s the monitor for? The picture looks the same there as it does in your…zone.”
“Does it?”
Mansfield eyed both scenes, in the zone and on the display, but could see no difference between the two. About
a minute later something rather odd happened. One of the balls displayed on the monitor dropped, but the actual ball suspended over the container hesitated a moment before falling. Mansfield’s eyes darted back and forth between the zone and the images on the monitor. The ball bouncing in the container seemed to move through the same trajectories as the one on the screen, but lagged slightly behind it. The second ball dropped, and once again the screen image ran slightly ahead of the ball bouncing in the zone. It was like looking at a replay of the event, but the replay was happening in real time, and in the container, not the monitor.
When the balls rolled to a stop, Mansfield rubbed his chin.
“What just happened? Were you running a tape ahead of the action?”
Longren shook his head.
“Not at all. What you saw on the screen was a computer-rendered high resolution display of the event as it was
going to occur in the prediction zone. My system was set to show you what was most likely to happen exactly one second into the future.”
“One second into the future?”
Mansfield began feeling like he was back in class, asking dumb questions, all the while trying to ignore the
snickering from his esteemed classmates.
I might be slow to catch on, but this is damn cool.
Mansfield rubbed his chin harder. “How are you doing this?”
Longren sighed once again, purposely exaggerating the movement of his shoulders to underscore his
irritation.
“The equipment in this room includes a number of cameras and detectors designed to measure all manner of
energy fluctuations and movement in and around us, as well as forces outside this room which may affect events within.”
Longren made a show of pointing at the walls. “There are literally thousands of detectors mounted on these three walls which feed my computers billions of bits of data each and every microsecond. My probability programs analyze all
this data in real time and, using the immutable laws of physics, provide a prediction of what will happen next…at least, of what will happen within the prediction zone.”
Mansfield whisked out a memo pad from his windbreaker and jotted down as much as he could understand, or
remember, while Longren plodded on. After a few hastily scribbled lines, he raised his pen hand, pausing Longren’s monotone homily.
“Excuse me, Dr. Fist. I think I understand the way a computer can predict the trajectory of a bouncing ball, but
how did it figure out when the ball would be released? It did do that, right?”
Longren was annoyed at the interruption, but inwardly pleased at Mansfield’s insight.
“Aha. That’s an astute observation, Mr. Crebbs. My system did indeed predict the time of release…actually to within a twentieth of a second.”
Seeing Mansfield’s open mouth begging for more detail, Longren happily continued his sermon.
As I was saying, my system includes a host of sensors which detect electromagnetic as well as physical movement, even at a microscopic scale. The random number generator within the mechanical ball contraption had to obey the laws of physics. Since its behavior was being electronically observed, the outcome was fully predictable. Again, what you saw on the screen was an image of the objects in the prediction zone as they would look one second into the future.”
The room was silent except for Mansfield jotting down a few last words. Straightening up in the hard-backed wooden chair, he looked up at Longren.
“Wow. So even a random number generator’s output can be predicted?”
Mansfield saw a gleam in the man’s eyes as he answered, “Actually…there’s really no such thing. Mathematicians more accurately refer to such numbers as pseudo. Their generation depends on formulae. Point of fact is that nothing is truly random in nature, and once my sensors detected the mathematical equation being used, prediction followed.”
“You keep referring to your system…do you have a name for this thing, something that I could use in the
story?”
Longren gazed at the instruments, wires, cables and panels, and then turned back to Mansfield. “I suppose you could call it an event predicting system based on outcome probabilities.”
“That’s a mouthful…how about something like… Predictor…or even better, Probability Machine?”
Longren’s mouth curled down at the corners. “Perhaps that would work better for the popular press, where hype
and exaggeration appeal to the masses.”
“Probability Machine it is.” Mansfield smiled up at Longren.“So getting back to what just happened─that’s one second…and into the future?”
“Correct.”
“Can your monitor display an event farther out? Like a few more seconds, maybe minutes or even hours
ahead?”
“Mr. Crebbs, do you know anything of chaos theory?”
You clearly don’t remember me, or my term paper.
“Chaos? Like in pandemonium?”
Longren sucked in a deep breath before replying.
Is that steam coming out of his ears?
“Not quite. I am referring to the intrinsic inability of predicting anything with absolute accuracy due to a
fundamental uncertainty in the way matter behaves in this world.”
Mansfield feigned a few troubled creases across his forehead. “Let me explain it another way. No matter how carefully we measure things, the uncertainty in that measurement leads to a small error. This error will propagate. The net effect is that the accuracy of predictions falls off with time. Of course, there are rare exceptions when clarity is maintained, which means that the probabilities are high and uncertainty low.”
“So, exactly how far out does the Probability Machine here work? I mean…how far into
the future can it see?”
An almost imperceptible tic scooted across Longren’s face.
“That depends on the complexity of the observation. So, for a couple of balls, that’s a simple system and the accuracy of measurement is high. In such a case, seeing into the future, as you refer to it, is relatively easy.”
Longren moved closer to a large black panel mounted on the wall and pointed to a dial with a LCD display above
it.
“Right now, my system is set to calculate a one second prediction. I could easily set the prediction much
farther out, for example, 5 or 10 seconds and it would work just as well.”
Longren turned the dial and the display read 10 seconds. Mansfield peeked at the monitor and saw the balls just
as they were in the prediction zone. However, the image appeared to have acquired a slight fuzziness.
“And when I set the display farther out, let’s say to one minute, what do you see now?”
The walls seemed to hum as the image on the monitor blurred, making the objects nearly indistinct. At times the
balls appeared to be in more than one place, with faint shadows moving in and out of view.
“What is that? There’re more balls and something’s moving around in there.”
"You are seeing what possibilities occur at one minute into the future. At this distance, or time frame, the computational power required to determine the location of each object in the container is enormous, and the power drain is huge…actually, it exceeds that available to me at this institution. Since the uncertainty in prediction
becomes significant, the system extrapolates and the display captures a number of potential future scenes at the same time.”
Longren turned the dial back down to zero, and the walls quieted.
“So, if you had more compute power, you could see even farther out?”
“Yes and no. The cpu power would allow us to calculate more probability functions and get a better view, but as I
mentioned before, chaos is unavoidable. At some point, especially with a complex scene, the image will blur out because it simply cannot be calculated accurately.”
Longren’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the incoming caller id.
“Excuse me a moment. I need to take this call. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Longren walked out of the laboratory and disappeared into a side office farther along the hallway. The lab door swung shut with a whimper.
Mansfield tried soaking in all the details of Longren’s system, the Probability Machine. He stood up to take a closer look at the black panel. After checking through the window of the lab door to assure himself that the hallway was empty, he turned the dial until the display read one second and positioned himself between the plexiglass container in the zone and the monitor. He reached out with his left hand and craned backwards to see the screen. Sure enough, the monitor showed his hand entering the zone just before it actually did. The effect was so disorienting that he nearly fell into the container. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and his palms became dewy. He tried it once again, with the same uncanny effect.
Damn. Was that weird or what? Maybe I can fake out this thing?
He pretended to move his hand into the zone, but instead, jerked it back. Nothing showed up on the monitor. He
tried the maneuver several more times. Each time nothing changed on the screen. He sat back down on the chair, pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow.
There was no fooling it. Or was there?
His eyes roamed over the room, humbly acknowledging the presence of all the sophisticated wall sensors, and he shuddered at the very creepy ability of their tethered computers.
There was no sign of Longren in the hallway. He trotted over to the wall panel and cranked the dial to 10 seconds and repositioned himself between the zone and the monitor.
What if I just think about putting my hand out? I could convince myself I’ll do it, and the sensors will be fooled and display my hand…and then what happens if I don’t stick it out? Longren’s Probability Machine will have failed. That pompous clown will choke on his own words. That’ll be a real sweet ending to my piece.
He sat and stared at the cameras and the monitor which continued to display the motionless balls. He concentrated
all his thoughts, puckering up his lips, holding his breath and gradually turning his face a striking beet red. Nothing happened. No matter how hard he concentrated, clearly picturing the image of his hand entering the zone, nothing
stirred on the monitor.
He was about to give up when the image of a hand flashed across the screen. It was there for brief moment only.
Mansfield sat perfectly still.
Damn. It worked! This is going to be really interesting. I just need to sit here and not move a muscle until 10 seconds tick by.
Mansfield counted to himself.
One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three…
And then a peculiar thing happened. He began feeling an urge to get up.
…one thousand four, one thousand five…
The muscles in his legs began to shudder. His hands, which had been clenching the chair’s armrests, started
sliding back and forth.
…one thousand six, one thousand seven…
His legs began jumping, kicking out. Sweat-drenched palms lost their tenuous purchase, and both hands twitched.
His body shook and the chair seemed to move on its own, scraping along floor tiles, inching toward the cameras in the zone. His arms and legs jerked Mansfield as if he were a pathetic little marionette with an untalented, brutish child tugging at invisible strings.
…one thousand and nine…
The chair caught a tile edge and teetered, spilling Mansfield into the zone. He held out his hand in a vain attempt to avoid the fall.
…one thousand and ten.
Too late.
A few more seconds ticked by and Mansfield shook his head. Control was returning to his arms and legs, and the shaking died down. Control over his movements was returning. He raised the chair and dragged it back to its original location in front of the monitor screen. He angled himself into the seat and stared at the monitor’s image of the two balls. They just sat there, silent witnesses to the maelstrom he endured.
Mansfield had epilepsy─a mild form, usually lasting for a few seconds. The fits occurred rarely. Today was
Mansfield’s lucky day.
Goddamn. Longren’s Probability Machine could even predict my seizures.
Voices in the hallway.
The dial! I’ve got to reset the dial.
Mansfield leaped out of the chair and ran over to the wall. He gave the dial a whirl. The walls began to thrum. Computer banks mounted in arrays along them came alive with the sound of surging fans. Relays switched, hard drives purred and LEDs blinked. Several panels twinkled, accompanied by a disquieting assortment of beeps.
What just happened?
Mansfield glanced around the room, caught sight of the wall clock, and then focused on the
dial and its display.
Five minutes! Shit!
As he reached for the dial to turn it the other way, his eyes caught a movement on the monitor screen, and he
froze.
The figures of two men locked in an embrace bobbed across the screen. Although the images were blurred, he could
see that one was tall and bald, and wearing a white lab coat. The other was short, and red-headed, and wore a windbreaker.
It’s me and Longren! …Are we fighting?
Mansfield’s chin sagged and his mouth opened. The images swerved by, fading in and out as they moved across the screen. The two figures disappeared for a moment, after which his image floated into view, standing still and alone. The image of Longren came up behind holding something silver and red.
Mansfield heard footfalls reaching the lab door. His hand reached for the dial. There was only time for a last peek before turning it down. The images were distorted even more, but as Mansfield concentrated on the scene, they sprang back into focus. Longren held a knife streaked with blood and then he thrust it forward into Mansfield’s chest.
My God! My God!
Longren slid down and out of view. The image of Mansfield stared directly into the camera, shaking its head, slowly,
side to side. The mouth moved, as if trying to warn the viewer.
The viewer…that would be me! I’m trying to say something!
A second later, the image dropped away. The lab door squealed open and Mansfield flicked the dial to zero.
The electric thrumming ceased immediately.
“Mr. Crebbs. Is there anything else I can help you with?” asked Longren while eyeing the laboratory.
Mansfield slipped his pencil behind an ear, trying to look casual, and moved away from the wall panel.
Somehow, something is going to happen in the next five minutes that will set this maniac off and it’ll be curtains for
me.
“Eh…I think I’ve got enough information for the article, Dr. Fist. I’ll be on my way now.”
Longren sniffed the air. A sharp ozone odor bit at his nose.
“Just a moment, what were you doing at the panel?”
Before Mansfield could make up a reasonably good lie, Longren was standing next to him scanning the instruments
along the wall, paying particular attention to a small paper roll recorder.
“Mr. Crebbs. What exactly did you do here?”
Mansfield cringed as Longren reached into his lab coat pocket. His hand emerged with a pair of spectacles. He
held them a few inches before his eyes and bent slightly to get a closer look at the paper printout, all the while blocking Mansfield’s path to the door.
He’s doing that on purpose.
“I was just looking, Dr. Fist. Now, if you will move out of the way, I’ll be leaving.”
Fist turned to Mansfield. His face was as grey concrete, his mouth drawn into a thin and trembling line.
“Mr. Crebbs, you turned that dial up, didn’t you?”
Shit.
“I...I may have turned it a little…”
Longren’s eyes squinted and his voice gained an octave.
“A little? The recorder indicates that a significant power drain just occurred…large enough to cause
permanent damage to my system.”
Longren moved toward Mansfield, causing him to hop backwards.
He’s coming after me.
“Look at this mess! Two of my Ventura’s have crashed!”
What the hell is a Ventura?
Longren turned from the wall and with hands on hips marched toward Mansfield, backing him up with every step.
Mansfield raised his arms in a futile attempt to calm Longren.
“Now, now, Dr. Fist. I’m sure that whatever broke can be fixed. I swear I didn’t do anything.”
“The sensors do not lie. You ignorant bastard! You had the audacity to fool with instrumentation beyond your
understanding! You stupid, stupid cretin!”
Mansfield bumped into the adjacent wall with his back. He had nowhere to go except toward the prediction
zone.
Damn. He’s coming unhinged.
Inside Mansfield’s head Big Ben was tick-tocking away; gears were grinding and the hands kept moving─each second
inexorably drawing him nearer to the end. His end.
…tick-tock…
Mansfield panicked and pushed out at Longren.
“Get away from me you friggin jerk! I’m getting out of here.”
Longren stumbled, but quickly regained his balance.
“How dare you! You fool, you destroyed my machine. What took years to build you destroyed in seconds. You
will pay for this!”
The only way out was to step through the prediction zone, around the cameras and monitor screen. Mansfield
lunged for the zone. Longren followed close behind, and as Mansfield reached the monitor, Longren snatched his windbreaker, catching hold long enough to turn Mansfield around.
…tick-tock…
“Get away from me! Let me go! You don’t understand! Let me go!”
Longren grabbed at Mansfield’s shoulders.
“I’ve got to get out of here!”
The two blundered into one of the cameras and tumbled to the floor. Longren managed to get both arms around
Mansfield and held on.
…tick-tock…
Mansfield tried getting up, but it was no use. The taller Longren had him wrapped tightly. They rolled across
the floor. Flailing legs upended the ball container and apparatus. Mansfield writhed, trying to release himself from Longren’s grip. He freed one arm and pushed the floor. They turned over as one, and for a moment he was on his back.
He felt a piercing pain in his hip, and then remembered.
My back pocket. My pen knife. In my back pocket.
With his loose hand for purchase, he pushed off again, reached back and pulled out the knife.
I just need to get loose, just need to get out of here. Time is running out.
“Let go of me!”
Mansfield flipped open the knife and waved it over Longren’s contorted face.
“Let go, or I’ll kill you!”
Just let go of me, you bastard and I’ll run the hell out of here.
“Don’t be a bigger fool than you already are, Crebbs! You’re not going anywhere. You’ll pay for what you’ve done!”
…tick-tock…
Big Ben was about to toll.
Longren gave a sudden and violent twist, flinging the pair into another roll. Mansfield heard a squeak,
much like the lab door opening, except it came from beneath him. Something warm poured out on his hand─the hand that held his penknife. Longren’s eyes stared ahead and spittle dripped out of his half-opened mouth. His arms loosened and fell to the side. Mansfield raised himself on his knees and saw the knife protruding from Longren’s chest.
My God. Jesus Christ. I didn’t do that! He wouldn’t let go. He just wouldn’t let go.
Mansfield stood up, trembling. He was in the middle of the prediction zone.
The damn machine made a mistake! I beat the damn thing!
He looked up at the lab clock.
Has it been five minutes?
Almost as in answer, somewhere deep inside Mansfield’s head, the tick-tocking went on, grinding, churning up each second. Big Ben’s face twisted into a clown’s moronic smile and it whispered …Not yet.
Mansfield shook his head to clear it. He thought about the story he would make up for the authorities.
Longren had lost his mind and attacked me. I was just defending myself.
He turned to take a last look at the body, and instead, found Longren’s hulking form looming over him. The lab
coat was still buttoned, but now an enormous dark red blotch covered its front. The knife entered Mansfield’s chest dead center. Longren released the blade and slumped to the floor. Big Ben started tolling─a distant and fading peal.
My knife.
The laboratory lights dimmed as Mansfield’s world began to shrink. His eyes caught a blinking red glow. One of
the zone cameras, just feet away.
I have to warn him…me.
He looked down at his chest, at the odd fixture protruding from its middle. Blood oozed from its edges, running
down his shirt front, staining his jacket, soaking his pants. Only moments remained before he would be curled up alongside Longren. He stumbled toward the camera. His words were no more than short, raspy snorts.
“Listen to me…It’s your knife…Get rid of it…”
As Mansfield descended into a darkening void, he heard Longren’s voice replying, arrogant and mocking, “You’ll have to wait for version 2.0.”
End