"What are you doing, Dad?"
"Proving that we live in a holographic universe."
"Oh."
Timothy had little interest in such things. He was a builder. An action man. All his father ever did was look through microscopes and see things that weren't there.
"I've almost reached the construction plane -- the level where reality itself is built."
Timothy karate-chopped invisible foes, pausing only to chomp down a baloney sandwich for fuel.
"When I get there," his father said, "I will be revealing a new truth to the world."
Timothy went back to work upon his space fortress made of plastic building bricks. Later there might be an alien invasion.
"Once the door is opened, it can never be closed," his father said. Half the lab was toys. The other half, inventions. But neither father nor son could say which was which.
"Come and see our collective imagination at work."
Timothy leaned over the microscope. The viewfinder showed dimensions so small they may as well have been make-believe.
"That's just it, Tim. That's what they are. Make-believe."
Somewhere between them a connection began to form. Both father and son ignored it.
"I found a particle that responds to thought. I've named it a thoughtron."
He only had the one father, Timothy did. And no mother. An only child. And a workaholic dad.
"This particle does what you tell it to do. But only if you don't concentrate too deeply upon it. Imagining too hard is like saying you don't really believe."
Timothy had a ladder that he would climb, right there in the lab. The ladder didn't lead anywhere. This never stopped him. Maybe his father was like that. Research for its own sake. He kept talking about things that weren't real.
"The Omega Level is the place where these particles exist. Only here can the true power of human consciousness be employed. Only here can willpower be displayed."
Norris Xavier Freeman would never be a famous man. But he might make a half-decent father, Timothy imagined, if only he would start trying....
"Dad, it's my birthday."
"Dad, it's the opening day of baseball season."
"Dad, it's Christmas Eve."
"Time and space possess only the meaning that we assign to them. We are the ones creating our own reality...."
Timothy decided one day that a baseball bat would accomplish more in the lab than his father ever had. He raised it, first, to demolish the under-dimensional microscope, cutting them off from the holographic universe and its theories.
But the blow never fell.
Even at thirteen, Timothy realized it was useless to fight against the person that someone truly was, inside. His father strode back into the lab, oblivious to the destruction that had almost just occurred.
"Showing the effect of willpower upon the fundamental designing forces of the universe will, I believe, at last prove my theory."
Timothy went back to his karate chops and building bricks, off in one corner of the lab.
"What are you doing, Dad?"
"Proving that we live in a holographic universe."
"Oh."
"Proving that we live in a holographic universe."
"Oh."
Timothy had little interest in such things. He was a builder. An action man. All his father ever did was look through microscopes and see things that weren't there.
"I've almost reached the construction plane -- the level where reality itself is built."
Timothy karate-chopped invisible foes, pausing only to chomp down a baloney sandwich for fuel.
"When I get there," his father said, "I will be revealing a new truth to the world."
Timothy went back to work upon his space fortress made of plastic building bricks. Later there might be an alien invasion.
"Once the door is opened, it can never be closed," his father said. Half the lab was toys. The other half, inventions. But neither father nor son could say which was which.
"Come and see our collective imagination at work."
Timothy leaned over the microscope. The viewfinder showed dimensions so small they may as well have been make-believe.
"That's just it, Tim. That's what they are. Make-believe."
Somewhere between them a connection began to form. Both father and son ignored it.
"I found a particle that responds to thought. I've named it a thoughtron."
He only had the one father, Timothy did. And no mother. An only child. And a workaholic dad.
"This particle does what you tell it to do. But only if you don't concentrate too deeply upon it. Imagining too hard is like saying you don't really believe."
Timothy had a ladder that he would climb, right there in the lab. The ladder didn't lead anywhere. This never stopped him. Maybe his father was like that. Research for its own sake. He kept talking about things that weren't real.
"The Omega Level is the place where these particles exist. Only here can the true power of human consciousness be employed. Only here can willpower be displayed."
Norris Xavier Freeman would never be a famous man. But he might make a half-decent father, Timothy imagined, if only he would start trying....
"Dad, it's my birthday."
"Dad, it's the opening day of baseball season."
"Dad, it's Christmas Eve."
"Time and space possess only the meaning that we assign to them. We are the ones creating our own reality...."
Timothy decided one day that a baseball bat would accomplish more in the lab than his father ever had. He raised it, first, to demolish the under-dimensional microscope, cutting them off from the holographic universe and its theories.
But the blow never fell.
Even at thirteen, Timothy realized it was useless to fight against the person that someone truly was, inside. His father strode back into the lab, oblivious to the destruction that had almost just occurred.
"Showing the effect of willpower upon the fundamental designing forces of the universe will, I believe, at last prove my theory."
Timothy went back to his karate chops and building bricks, off in one corner of the lab.
"What are you doing, Dad?"
"Proving that we live in a holographic universe."
"Oh."
