scientist, would that help?’
'Of course, but most scientists are far too busy to be bothered,' laughed Mike.
'Well, I have a client, a physicist at London University, who is always saying writers can't get the science right. Would you like me to give him a call and see if he is interested?’
'Certainly.'
'Any time suit you?’
'Yes, my time's my own.'
'Good, I'll give him a call. I'll be back in a moment.'
Nice woman, thought Mike as the rubbers massaged deeply into his back. He began to feel a little giddy, almost as if he'd been out in the sun for too long.
'Did you get hold of your client?' said Mike, raising himself on one arm, as the woman reappeared.
'Yes, he said he'd be at the physics department, just behind the Royal College of Music, all morning on the sixth,' she said shyly.
'Day after tomorrow, that sounds fine. I'll be sure to go along. Whom shall I ask for?' said Mike getting off the couch, and going into the cubicle.
'Professor Smitt.'
'Right. And thank you very much,' said Mike, coming from behind the screen.
The sixth dawned another beautiful day, and as Mike walked down Albany Street looking for a taxi, he wondered whether Cornwall would be a nice place to continue his ideas for the television programme. Then there was always a possibility that this Professor chap might suggest something useful.
Mike took a taxi to the Royal College of Music. He walked round the block to the back of a complex of buildings and eventually spotted a sign saying, 'Engineering Department.'
'Excuse me,' said Mike to the doorman, 'is there a physics department here?’
'No.' The man said slowly, 'no, not that I know of.'
'Thank you,' Mike said, turning to look elsewhere.
'They might be able to help you in the Engineering Department,' the doorman said calling after him, 'along the corridor, first door on the right.'
'Thank you,' called Mike to the man.
He pushed the door to the lab open shivering for an instant in the sudden cool. The large laboratory was filled with the usual apparatus, electrical wiring, heating equipment and scientific hardware dotted around on various benches.
'Can I help you?' came a pleasant voice from the lab.
'Yes,' said Mike, walking in the direction of the sound, 'I'm looking for Professor Smitt.'
'Hang on, he was around here a few minutes ago,' said the fresh-faced young man.
'Thank you.'
'Mr Jerome?' said a tall, thin man coming from the direction of an office. 'Yes.'
'Smitt, Professor Smitt,' said the man, smiling and holding out his hand.
'I thought I might have got the wrong building,' said Mike, shaking hands.
'No, no, I was expecting you. Colleen Winston tells me you're an author.'
'That's right, Professor.'
'You make a living at it?' asked the man, smiling.
'Yes. The first years can be rough though.'
'I'm sure that's true, as it must be in many creative fields,' said the Professor with a fatherly smile. 'Well, not to waste any time,' he continued briskly, 'I think it would be simpler if I told you the idea. I had in mind, then you can tell me what you think. Let's go into my office.' He turned to look intently at his visitor. 'You know Einstein had a theory called "The Time Dilation", or just simply, "Time Dilation". Now it occurred to me that one might use this idea in a story.'
'Rather like H. G. Wells, you mean?'
'Well, the device would be different from Wells's Time Machine. You see, if we were to travel away from this planet at the speed of light, we would age very little in comparison with the people left here on earth.'
'I see, so if I were shot away in my high-speed rocket and returned in, say, five years Earth time, people here would be five years older, but I might be only a few minutes older?'
'Yes, but please remember, there is one very important point in telling time stories, and that is it is not possible to go backwards in time.'
'So I've heard, but never understood why,' said Mike.
'For the moment, let us say that, as far as physics is
'Of course, but most scientists are far too busy to be bothered,' laughed Mike.
'Well, I have a client, a physicist at London University, who is always saying writers can't get the science right. Would you like me to give him a call and see if he is interested?’
'Certainly.'
'Any time suit you?’
'Yes, my time's my own.'
'Good, I'll give him a call. I'll be back in a moment.'
Nice woman, thought Mike as the rubbers massaged deeply into his back. He began to feel a little giddy, almost as if he'd been out in the sun for too long.
'Did you get hold of your client?' said Mike, raising himself on one arm, as the woman reappeared.
'Yes, he said he'd be at the physics department, just behind the Royal College of Music, all morning on the sixth,' she said shyly.
'Day after tomorrow, that sounds fine. I'll be sure to go along. Whom shall I ask for?' said Mike getting off the couch, and going into the cubicle.
'Professor Smitt.'
'Right. And thank you very much,' said Mike, coming from behind the screen.
The sixth dawned another beautiful day, and as Mike walked down Albany Street looking for a taxi, he wondered whether Cornwall would be a nice place to continue his ideas for the television programme. Then there was always a possibility that this Professor chap might suggest something useful.
Mike took a taxi to the Royal College of Music. He walked round the block to the back of a complex of buildings and eventually spotted a sign saying, 'Engineering Department.'
'Excuse me,' said Mike to the doorman, 'is there a physics department here?’
'No.' The man said slowly, 'no, not that I know of.'
'Thank you,' Mike said, turning to look elsewhere.
'They might be able to help you in the Engineering Department,' the doorman said calling after him, 'along the corridor, first door on the right.'
'Thank you,' called Mike to the man.
He pushed the door to the lab open shivering for an instant in the sudden cool. The large laboratory was filled with the usual apparatus, electrical wiring, heating equipment and scientific hardware dotted around on various benches.
'Can I help you?' came a pleasant voice from the lab.
'Yes,' said Mike, walking in the direction of the sound, 'I'm looking for Professor Smitt.'
'Hang on, he was around here a few minutes ago,' said the fresh-faced young man.
'Thank you.'
'Mr Jerome?' said a tall, thin man coming from the direction of an office. 'Yes.'
'Smitt, Professor Smitt,' said the man, smiling and holding out his hand.
'I thought I might have got the wrong building,' said Mike, shaking hands.
'No, no, I was expecting you. Colleen Winston tells me you're an author.'
'That's right, Professor.'
'You make a living at it?' asked the man, smiling.
'Yes. The first years can be rough though.'
'I'm sure that's true, as it must be in many creative fields,' said the Professor with a fatherly smile. 'Well, not to waste any time,' he continued briskly, 'I think it would be simpler if I told you the idea. I had in mind, then you can tell me what you think. Let's go into my office.' He turned to look intently at his visitor. 'You know Einstein had a theory called "The Time Dilation", or just simply, "Time Dilation". Now it occurred to me that one might use this idea in a story.'
'Rather like H. G. Wells, you mean?'
'Well, the device would be different from Wells's Time Machine. You see, if we were to travel away from this planet at the speed of light, we would age very little in comparison with the people left here on earth.'
'I see, so if I were shot away in my high-speed rocket and returned in, say, five years Earth time, people here would be five years older, but I might be only a few minutes older?'
'Yes, but please remember, there is one very important point in telling time stories, and that is it is not possible to go backwards in time.'
'So I've heard, but never understood why,' said Mike.
'For the moment, let us say that, as far as physics is
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