The Scientific Method (a Wandering Koala tale) Sample
"There is no adequate defense, except stupidity against a new idea." –Percy W. Bridgman, U. S. physicist, Nobel Prize 1946
The city had tried to stop it from being built when they first saw the blueprints for the Talmage Science Center. Oh, they were all onboard when the museum was first proposed—not only would it be a significant monument the city fathers could point to when boasting about how cultured and sophisticated they were, but it would also be a huge tourist attraction bringing millions of dollars into the city's economy.
Every time the mayor or one of the city councilmen made an appearance, you could be guaranteed of a sales pitch on the new museum. They even went on the local news several times to try and sell the idea to the taxpayers, because the blessed improvement would require a small increase in the city's ongoing extortion scheme they politely referred to as taxes.
Everything seemed to be going along splendidly: the taxpayers seemed happy, and City Hall seemed happy.
Then the mayor actually looked at the building's designs.
It wasn't that the architect had tried to hide anything. He'd been to the mayor's office several times to personally show him a copy of the plans. But the mayor had only made a cursory glance of them.
Then, one day, while shaking hands and kissing babies in the park, a young lad of twelve asked the mayor what the new museum would look like. You see, his parents had given him a chemistry set the Christmas before and that set had lit a fire of excitement for science in his little, 12-year-old heart. He wanted to know if there would be a wing in the museum devoted to chemistry. The mayor, not wanting to look foolish for not knowing—nor wanting to disappoint the son of two voters—answered the only way he could, "Why, of course there will be. I couldn't imagine it being built any other way. In fact, every branch of science will have a wing devoted to it."
"Please, sir," the boy asked, "what will it look like?"
"Look like? You mean the wing of the museum?"
"Not the wing, sir, the museum."
"Why, it'll look like ... um ... it'll be ... ." The mayor was stumped. What would it look like? Why hadn't anyone shown him the plans? He was the mayor—the big cheese—after all. Maybe they had forgotten to commission designs for it; it wouldn't be the first time.
He told the boy it would be a magnificent structure rivaling the architecture of New York, Chicago, and Rome put together.
When he finally did see the plans, it didn't appear to be a structure that would rival those great metropolitan areas. In fact, he doubted it would even rival the structures in his own city.
"It's a dome." That's all he could say about it. "It's a dome with four stubbly legs. Why is it dome? Is that really the best you could come up with? I could have designed that myself."
"It's the most utilitarian design," the architect explained.
The mayor blinked his eyes.
"This design produces the maximum volume for the minimum surface area."
Another blink.
"That means you get the most building for the least amount of money," the mayor's aid translated.
The mayor nodded slowly.
"Plus," the architect continued, "it allows maximum flexibility in creating the displays, because there are no permanent walls to deal with."
The mayor went back to blinking.
"It'll be a lot easier and much cheaper to make major changes in displays," the aid again translated.
Since the plans had already been drawn up and somehow signed by the mayor himself, and commissioning new plans would delay the project enough to make them miss their promised opening day, the mayor decided to concede.
So things went along smoothly and on schedule. At least until the museum building committee brought up the issue of what they were going to call the thing.
The mayor had come up with an idea he was sure the committee would approve—not just approve, but applaud for its brilliance.
"The Einstein Science Museum," the mayor stated proudly, sticking out his chest.
The committee members sat there quietly.
One of them finally ventured the courage to ask, "And, can I ask, why do you propose we name it after Einstein? He had nothing to do with this city?"
"Why, to add prestige and clout to our museum," the mayor explained. "By attaching Einstein's name to it, everyone will know it is the premiere science museum in all the world."
The committee members looked around at each other. Who was going to be the first one to speak up this time?
Finally, the head of the committee worked up the courage. "Um, Mayor Granger, we were thinking of naming the museum after someone a little more ... local; someone with a few more ties to this city."
The mayor looked stunned. That wasn't the response he was expecting. But he smiled diplomatically and asked, "Who were you thinking of?" During the pause, an idea jumped into his head. His eyes grew bright as he realized, "Are you talking about me? Were you thinking of naming the museum after me?" He wiped a tear from his eye. "I'm so honored. I never even considered myself, but I am the one who championed it, and what greater way is there to say thank you. Oh, I'm so choked up. You'd rather name the museum after me than Einstein. I'm just a simple civil servant trying to do what he can for the city he loves. I hardly think I'm worthy, but if you all think otherwise ... ."
The committee members looked at each other again.
"Um, Mayor Granger, we were actually thinking of someone with more of a scientific background."
"Oh. I see." He bowed his head and turned away.
"Don't get us wrong," one of the ladies on the committee jumped in, "you certainly deserve to have your name on a building considering everything you've done for this city in your three long years of service. We were just thinking that using a local scientist's name would be ... expected and, uh ... appropriate."
"Of course," the mayor wiped a sniffle from his nose. "A local scientist. That's the way to go. Yep, it is. Sooo, who were you considering? Have there even been any scientists to come out of Rodo Viaria?"
"There are, actually, several, and we've chosen one." The committee chairman pulled out a photo. "Dr. Gerald R. Talmage. He was born on a farm not far from here, went to the University of Rodo Viaria, and made several important discoveries."
"Gerald Talmage? That doesn't sound familiar. Are you sure he's famous?"
"He's very well known and respected in his field."
"That wouldn't be a potato field, would it? Ha, ha, a potato field. Get it? Because he grew up on a farm?"
The committee gave him his obligatory laugh before moving on.
Eventually the museum was completed on schedule—and under budget—and opened to the public. They named it the Talmage Science Center and have welcomed over 250,000 visitors thru its doors.
Tonight, it welcomed a very special guest.
Kyle stood in front of one of the sets of stone steps leading up to the main doors separated from the other by a small, tiered garden. He pulled out his compass. The needle spun, then stopped abruptly pointing straight ahead. He pocketed the compass, then made his way up the two flights of stairs. He noticed what a beautiful reflection the sunset made on the glass walls of the main entrance. It must create some really stunning lighting inside, he thought. He opened the door, walked inside, and saw that he was right. The white interior walls picked up the purple to orange gradient perfectly. Whoever designed this building was a true genius. He knew just what white walls and a glass entrance would do.
Kyle walked up to one of the reception desks. Eight of them were lined up perpendicular to the entrance with a turnstile between each. A lady—who obviously enjoyed her meals—sat behind the nearest counter.
Kyle waited a moment for her to great him, or at least acknowledge his existence. She turned a page in her book. Very well then. He took out his money and laid it on the counter. She finished reading the page, inserted her bookmark, closed the book, and set it down on the counter before picking up the money, ringing up the transaction, and handing Kyle his ticket.
He smiled, then headed thru the turnstile.
Only it wouldn't turn.
He tried it again.
Nothing.
He signed, then turned toward the well-fed female. Without looking up from her book, she pointed to a sign sitting on the far edge of the counter that read: Absolutely No Backpacks! He took his pack off and handed it to her. Then he went thru the turnstile.
Once inside, he looked around. This museum certainly has some impressive displays. To his right he saw the botanical gardens in its own, glassed-off section. To the left he noticed the Hall of Animals filled with stuffed specimens. But it was what lay straight ahead that caught his attention: the Space Display! He walked towards it mesmerized—he loved space. At the front was a row of vertical slabs, each with a meticulously painted model of a planet in our solar system on top and a plaque with the name and vital statistics on the side.
"Pretty impressive display, isn't it." From just hearing the voice, Kyle could guess what the speaker must look like. He turned around and saw he was right. A 5'8, out-of-shape security guard with a half-tucked shirt sauntered over to him. The guard adjusted his belt buckle with both hands. "That there is scale model of this here solar system. Each planet is in scale both in size and distance from the sun. If you look there," he pointed to the far wall, "you'll see a picture of the Sun. Then there is Mercury, then Venus, then Earth, then Mars, then Jupiter here," he patted the display. "Then we got Saturn, then Uranus, then Neptune, then Pluto clear over there.
"A while back a buncha hoity-toity scientist types came in making a big fuss over us still calling Pluto a planet. Apparently a group of them over in Europe voted to demote it. Anyway, they got all huffy and puffy when the director refused to change the display. And he shouldn't change it. Why, Pluto's been a planet as long as I've been alive. A buncha braniacs can't just go and change that."
The guard took a second to catch his breath. He looked up Kyle. "You know, yer sure a quiet fellow. What's wrong? Woke up and the cat had your tongue. Fwa, ha, ha, ha!" He slapped his knee.
Kyle pointed to his mouth and shook his head 'no'.
The guard scratched his head. "So, you're deaf?" He cupped his hands around his mouth. "YOU CAN'T HEAR NOTHING I'M SAYING!"
Kyle put his hands over his ears and pulled back. He looked up at the guard a little annoyed. He pointed to one ear, then nodded his head 'yes'.
"Oh, so you can hear, just not speak. You're one of them muties, ain'tcha. Well that's just too bad."
A well dressed lady with a fur draped over her shoulders was standing nearby, eavesdropping on their conversation.
She turned around and rushed over, her arms stretched out wide."Oh, you poor, poor, handicapped dear. You are so brave, coming out to the museum all by yourself to join the rest of us in the outside world instead of staying cooped up inside your little room where you feel safe like I know you want to."
She embraced him rather tightly. He didn't like that.
"Oh, you are a hero, an inspiration to us all. You should be given a medal of bravery." She squeezed him again. "I envy you. I wish I were handicapped."
Oh you are, thought Kyle. You most certainly are.
"May I have your attention please," a voice crackled over the aging PA system. "The museum will be closing in ten minutes. Please begin moving towards the exits. Thank you for your cooperation."
Several people started to leave the museum. They passed three people entering. At least they looked like people under their green lab coats slit up to the waist; thick, dark goggles; and heavy armored boots.
They walked past the weighty woman still reading her tawdry romance novel.
"Didn't you hear the announcement?" the large lady barked. "The museum is closing for the night. You'll have to wait and come back tomorrow."
They forced their way thru the turnstiles.
"Hey! You three! Come back here! You can't just go in there. You see this badge?" she pointed to a flimsy, laminated picture pasted on colored paper pinned to her chest. "This badge means you have to do whatever I say. Get back here! SECURITY! SECURITY!"
A five-foot toothpick in a uniform two sizes too big for him stood in their path. He held up one hand. "Ok, you there, just, just stop right there, see. We don't want no trouble now do we."
They swatted him aside like a cardboard cutout. They continued toward the solar system display.
"Get behind me," the large guard said to Kyle and the rich woman. "I'll protect you."
The security guard stared up into one of their faces. "Who are you? With those coats and goggles, you look like a bunch of mad scientists, or one of their corny lab assistants."
The Lab Assistant took what looked like a grip from his side. He stretched out his arm, and the grip telescoped out into a staff, revealing a blade on each end. He whirled the blade around twice, stopping it millimeters from the guard's throat.
His pants darkened in front.
"Now, now boys," the guard stuck his hands up, "no need to get rough. Let's try and settle this like calm, rational adults."
Kyle pushed himself away from the well dressed lady who had been holding him behind her. "Wait!" she called. "Come back here! What are you doing? You'll get yourself hurt!"
Kyle walked up to the first Lab Assistant and jerked his blade away from the guard's neck. The Lab Assistant tried to pull his staff free, but Kyle held on tight. The other two saw this and moved to help their comrade. Kyle side kicked one and sent a roundhouse kick flying at the other. The first one used the distraction to free his blade. He lunged straight at Kyle who turned just in time to see the blade come straight towards his face!
Kyle turned to the side so the blade only brushed his nose and stabbed Jupiter instead of him.
The other two were on their feet again and coming straight for Kyle. They each pulled a test tube from their belts and flung them at him. He didn't know what they did, but he knew better than to stick around and see close up. He back flipped out of the way as the vials hit the ground and exploded with enough force to crack the marble floor.
Kyle moved further back into the deserted planetary room hoping to draw their attention away from the bystanders. It worked; they followed.
More vials came his way. He dodged each one in an impressive display of gymnastics worthy of an Olympic gold medalist. He reached into a hidden pocket of his hooded sweatshirt and pulled out a couple blades of his own. A few flicks of the wrist and his assailants found themselves cut through their thick lab coats. Now it was personal.
Kyle ran towards the center display and, using an asteroid as a stepping stone, propelled himself onto Saturn. He ran up the steep incline of the tilted rings and still managed to throw a few more blades at his pursuers. They returned the gesture with more exploding test tubes, one of which severed a cable holding Saturn in orbit. The ring tipped forward dropping Kyle onto a moon (it looked like Titan, but he was a little preoccupied and didn't get a very good look). More blades and more exploding vials. One of the Lab Assistants managed to hit the cable holding the moon.
Kyle landed on his feet and looked up to see a charging blade again barreling straight for him. This time he fell back, grabbed the staff with his hands and the attacker with his foot in the stomach, and flipped him over into the fallen satellite. The other two wasted no time attacking. Kyle held them off with the stolen staff while looking for a way to end this fight. He noticed Saturn was ready to fall, so he helped it along with the stolen blade. It landed on the first Lab Assistant just as he made it onto his feet.
Kyle ran up the broken planet, then leapt onto one of the suspended asteroids. Exploding test tubes marked his trail up as he leapt from asteroid to asteroid avoiding the blasts. He grabbed a nearby comet and used it to change directions. He made a perfect three point landing just in front of the wrecked display.
A rumbling nearby caught his attention. He turned to see an angry Lab Assistant burst through the rings of Saturn.
The gluttonous security guard and the wealthy widow had been so horrified at the scene and scared for the poor, defenseless handicap's safety, that they hadn't bothered going for help. Now they were completely absorbed in the action. You hear the sky is falling a lot, but you rarely get to see it happen. They were suspicious of Kyle's 'handicap'. How could a person who couldn't speak take on three monsters like that? It made no sense to either of them.
They continued to watch the battle from their front row seats until it was over. Too bad there wasn't any popcorn.
* * * * *
The Dean had just settled into bed to watch a late show when the phone call came. His initial reaction was to be annoyed at someone bothering him at this time of night, but then his intellect kicked in, and he realized only a select few had this number. If one of them were calling, it must be important.
"Hello?"
"I have some bad news, sir. The Lab Assistants have failed."
"Failed? What are you talking about? They were engineered to never fail, and never have."
"I'm afraid there was a new variable in this equation we didn't account for, sir—an incredibly radical one."
The Dean muted the TV. "What variable?"
"It's hard to say. The reports we're getting can't be right."
"What are they saying?"
"Apparently some handicapped boy was in the museum at the time of the attack and single-handedly took out all of the Lab Assistants."
"Mr. Ulong, it is nearly 11:00 at night. I'm in my bed watching my favorite program getting ready to sleep. I am in no mood for jokes."
"I'm being serious, sir. That's what the witnesses are reporting."
"Were you able to get the Lab Assistants out of there before the police arrived?"
"Yes. The supposedly 'handicapped' boy disappeared right after the attack, and everyone left in the museum was scrambling around looking for him; it was the perfect distraction."
"Are there any photos of the interloper?"
"I've pulled the surveillance footage, but they really skimped on the security: the image is so blurry and grainy it could be anything."
"Why do people bother putting in security that isn't any good?!"
"I couldn't tell you, sir."
The Dean rubbed his head in his hand.
"Sir?"
"Thank you, Mr. Ulong. That will be all."
"Yes, sir. Sleep well, sir."
He hung up the phone. Why was it so hard to remove Pluto from the solar system? Where did this unhealthy attachment to such a worthless piece of rock come from? And how did this 'handicapped' boy fit into all of this? The Dean turned off the television and laid there in the dark thinking. He never did get to sleep.
©2009 Jeff Thomason
