"interactions."
"They had to spend a lot of time getting the hole this smooth." Ian crumbled the edge of the pit in with the heel of his engineer's boot.
There was another "pop" and Ian's scream must have been heard in Sault Sainte Marie.
"The 'pops' seem to be happening at eight-minute, forty-second intervals," Hasenpfeffer noted.
Ian would have fallen into the hole, except that I happened to be right there and a lot bigger than most people. I managed to get a hand on his belt and carried him over to the lawn. Across the arch of his boot there was a quarter-inch wide stripe where the leather and rubber were puffed out and dirty. Ian had stopped screaming and started swearing, so I figured that it wasn't too serious.
When I got his boot and sock off, I saw that his right foot had the same quarter inch stripe, only now it was black and purple, as well as puffed out and dirty. Nothing seemed to be broken or cut, but I got out my canteen and first-aid kit. I washed and bandaged the guy's foot, just for form's sake.
Ian still wasn't all that coherent. The only anesthetic I had was a forty-ounce bottle of Jim Beam that I'd bought along with a carton of Pall Malls at the tax-free shop at the Canadian border, and he was a teetotaler. I got the bottle out of my saddle bags anyway.
"Come on, amigo. It's a good pain killer."
"You know I never touch the stuff, Tom."
"Hey, this is purely medicinal." I took a drink to demonstrate its virtues.
"I'll pass, Tom."
"But Ian, my boy, this is the true ancient panacea, historically proven to cure cancer, ease childbirth and improve virility in your old age."
"Crawl off and die a lonely death, Tom."
"Why, this elixir is so beneficial that were you cleaved from head to knave, I would only have to fit the two halves precisely together, and then by placing only the smallest of drops on your sadly mutilated tongue . . ."
"God Dammit!" He grabbed the bottle. "If it'll shut you and Don Quixote up . . ."
My purposes accomplished, I wandered back to Hasenpfeffer.
"I think Ian'll be all right," I said. "How's the hole?"
"Filling in. The time between 'pops' is decreasing, logarithmically I think. It is down to eight minutes, twelve seconds. Do you think that you could retrieve some samples of the debris without injuring yourself?"
"Well, I can try," I said.
"The next pop is due in about a minute."
I got an old, dry stick from the garden and held it next to the edge of the polished stone work, keeping my hand well away from it. The pop came on schedule and this time it was accompanied by a minor explosion coming from the bottom of the hole. Startled, I jumped back, but kept hold of the stick. Looking at it, I had a wafer of polished stone—the kind you see in lapidary shops—stuck through the end of my stick. I mean, the stick just went in one side and out the other, without the stone having a hole in it.
"I should have warned you about the explosion," Hasenpfeffer said. "What have you got there?"
"Well, it looks like we've got a good stone-cutting technique," I said.
"We might have a great deal more than that. Tell me, how far was it from the stone to where this wafer appeared?"
"Oh, about an inch and a quarter."
"About three centimeters. Excellent. That confirms my theory," Hasenpfeffer said.
"Enlighten me."
"This wafer is just under a half centimeter thick. We have observed six pops since we arrived, and the debris at the bottom of the hole indicated that a pop occurred before we got here."
"So?"
"So seven times less than a half equals about three."
Maybe in psychology they use a different kind of arithmetic than we use in electronics, but I don't think that I'd want Hasenpfeffer to design a circuit for me.
"Yeah?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Hasenpfeffer said. "The material that once occupied a spherical volume of space went someplace else and now it's returning to its original position in small pieces."
"Uh huh," I said. "Where did it go when it wasn't here?"
"How should
"They had to spend a lot of time getting the hole this smooth." Ian crumbled the edge of the pit in with the heel of his engineer's boot.
There was another "pop" and Ian's scream must have been heard in Sault Sainte Marie.
"The 'pops' seem to be happening at eight-minute, forty-second intervals," Hasenpfeffer noted.
Ian would have fallen into the hole, except that I happened to be right there and a lot bigger than most people. I managed to get a hand on his belt and carried him over to the lawn. Across the arch of his boot there was a quarter-inch wide stripe where the leather and rubber were puffed out and dirty. Ian had stopped screaming and started swearing, so I figured that it wasn't too serious.
When I got his boot and sock off, I saw that his right foot had the same quarter inch stripe, only now it was black and purple, as well as puffed out and dirty. Nothing seemed to be broken or cut, but I got out my canteen and first-aid kit. I washed and bandaged the guy's foot, just for form's sake.
Ian still wasn't all that coherent. The only anesthetic I had was a forty-ounce bottle of Jim Beam that I'd bought along with a carton of Pall Malls at the tax-free shop at the Canadian border, and he was a teetotaler. I got the bottle out of my saddle bags anyway.
"Come on, amigo. It's a good pain killer."
"You know I never touch the stuff, Tom."
"Hey, this is purely medicinal." I took a drink to demonstrate its virtues.
"I'll pass, Tom."
"But Ian, my boy, this is the true ancient panacea, historically proven to cure cancer, ease childbirth and improve virility in your old age."
"Crawl off and die a lonely death, Tom."
"Why, this elixir is so beneficial that were you cleaved from head to knave, I would only have to fit the two halves precisely together, and then by placing only the smallest of drops on your sadly mutilated tongue . . ."
"God Dammit!" He grabbed the bottle. "If it'll shut you and Don Quixote up . . ."
My purposes accomplished, I wandered back to Hasenpfeffer.
"I think Ian'll be all right," I said. "How's the hole?"
"Filling in. The time between 'pops' is decreasing, logarithmically I think. It is down to eight minutes, twelve seconds. Do you think that you could retrieve some samples of the debris without injuring yourself?"
"Well, I can try," I said.
"The next pop is due in about a minute."
I got an old, dry stick from the garden and held it next to the edge of the polished stone work, keeping my hand well away from it. The pop came on schedule and this time it was accompanied by a minor explosion coming from the bottom of the hole. Startled, I jumped back, but kept hold of the stick. Looking at it, I had a wafer of polished stone—the kind you see in lapidary shops—stuck through the end of my stick. I mean, the stick just went in one side and out the other, without the stone having a hole in it.
"I should have warned you about the explosion," Hasenpfeffer said. "What have you got there?"
"Well, it looks like we've got a good stone-cutting technique," I said.
"We might have a great deal more than that. Tell me, how far was it from the stone to where this wafer appeared?"
"Oh, about an inch and a quarter."
"About three centimeters. Excellent. That confirms my theory," Hasenpfeffer said.
"Enlighten me."
"This wafer is just under a half centimeter thick. We have observed six pops since we arrived, and the debris at the bottom of the hole indicated that a pop occurred before we got here."
"So?"
"So seven times less than a half equals about three."
Maybe in psychology they use a different kind of arithmetic than we use in electronics, but I don't think that I'd want Hasenpfeffer to design a circuit for me.
"Yeah?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Hasenpfeffer said. "The material that once occupied a spherical volume of space went someplace else and now it's returning to its original position in small pieces."
"Uh huh," I said. "Where did it go when it wasn't here?"
"How should
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