Today we're revisiting Sberychev. That's not actually the last post I'd made about him, but it is a post where Marc talked about Sir Phillip and I got curious as to whether you'd seen him around at all recently? (And any updates on Mr. Wriggles would be enjoyed as well). Plus I rather like Marc's writing on that post :)
The eye of the storm Students learned -- the hard way -- to be respectful of Professor Sberychev's office hours. Entering his office outside them invariably dropped the hapless student into some random location around the city, often with a forty minute travel time back to campus, and the University administration kindly pointed out that that was impossible and scheduled psychiatric counselling for the student. Alert students came to detect the faint purple haze around the edges of the door that indicated it wasn't safe to go in, and the truly talented students wore Cherenkov radiation detectors and wouldn't go within thirty metres of the office when they started beeping. All the detectors in the building started beeping at 15:15 exactly on Tuesday afternoon, which rather surprised Sberychev as he was delivering a lecture on how to construct non-measurable atlases over Radon varifolds without the use of fat Cantor functions at the time. He set the chalk (which wrote appallingly badly on the whiteboards that had replaced all the blackboards, but the University administration had discovered that chalk was cheaper than whiteboard markers) down and frowned at his graduate students, who were tapping their detectors nervously. "It's genuine," said Alexei, frowning. He was heavy-set, with dark hair that fringed over his eyes and made him look like he should be a KGB-bodyguard. "Were you... ah... planning a practical demonstration, boss?" "No," said Sberychev. He tapped his fingers on the desk in front of him, while the students waited. He could feel the weight of their expectations in that other place, distorting the probabilistic geometry. He closed his eyes and casually let his mind slide aside into the place that he'd discovered while imprisoned in the quantum realm. The atlas appeared in his mind's eye like a map drawn in glowing purple ink on a wine-dark background. There was a faint smell of cloves, and his nose itched. The quantum prison appeared in the atlas as a dark blob, far enough away that he was sure it was currently on another continent. Much closer though was an annular roiling mass that looked like a cloud of wire-wool dropped onto the map. It surrounded his current location. He opened his eyes. His students were still watching him; at the back of the room Lissajous was hauling a pair of steel-toe-capped boots out of his rucksack. "We appear to be in the eye of the storm," said Sberychev. Though what has caused this storm and why... I don't know. Nor do I know what exactly will happen when the storm converges. Lissajous finished putting his boots on. "Ready," he said. As Sberychev smiled someone knocked on the classroom door. Without waiting for an answer, they opened the door and the entire class of students cringed reflexively. Sberychev opened his mouth, inhaling deeply ready for the stream of invective, and then was silent. The class looked up, puzzled. "Snake?" sadi Sberychev mildly. "How did you get in here?" "How did I get here, you mean," said Snake. "I wish I knew. But I was told to give you this." He held out a folded sheet of paper. "A ransom note," said Sberychev, after reading it.
The Eye of the Storm I could feel the build up, slowly, over a matter of months, a decision put off, put off until... dark clouds and the crackling lightning of energy swirled all around me, like a pack of wolves closing in for the kill... I knew the time was fast approaching for the decision to become finalised. Two paths lay ahead... one towards peace, the other just spelled out crash and burn! I saw the signs (I’d seen them in others) - they, too, were crashing in, swirling like random pieces of furniture collected by a tornado. It was getting dangerous. I covered my head, not wanting to look, but look, I did. I needed to know. Which way? Which way? I was in the centre - the eye of the storm - hovering momentarily like a dragonfly does, delicately poised on the brink. I watched those etheric wolves getting closer. I woke up, I knew what had to be. I stopped. That took all the energy out of the storm. It vanished, like waking up from a dream. It was gone, but I remain, afresh, renewed. The path ahead would be “peace”, for I have chosen.
Retirement should be a time of peace and tranquility, when all your work is done.
Greg - no sightings of Sir Phillip last year, though I heard a pheasant(s?) a couple of times. Mr Wriggles can go to hell and stay there.
Ah, it is very good to have another visit with Sberychev, as I'd rather forgotten about him, sadly. A lot of great details here, and the reappearance of Snake at the end is nicely done. Between the ransom note and the encircling storm... I hope to hear more from him soon :)
Dragonfly - I was not expecting retirement to be the issue at hand here, so nicely done with leading me astray. The metaphor works very well and I love all the details and imagery you've included.
3 comments:
Today we're revisiting Sberychev. That's not actually the last post I'd made about him, but it is a post where Marc talked about Sir Phillip and I got curious as to whether you'd seen him around at all recently? (And any updates on Mr. Wriggles would be enjoyed as well). Plus I rather like Marc's writing on that post :)
The eye of the storm
Students learned -- the hard way -- to be respectful of Professor Sberychev's office hours. Entering his office outside them invariably dropped the hapless student into some random location around the city, often with a forty minute travel time back to campus, and the University administration kindly pointed out that that was impossible and scheduled psychiatric counselling for the student. Alert students came to detect the faint purple haze around the edges of the door that indicated it wasn't safe to go in, and the truly talented students wore Cherenkov radiation detectors and wouldn't go within thirty metres of the office when they started beeping.
All the detectors in the building started beeping at 15:15 exactly on Tuesday afternoon, which rather surprised Sberychev as he was delivering a lecture on how to construct non-measurable atlases over Radon varifolds without the use of fat Cantor functions at the time. He set the chalk (which wrote appallingly badly on the whiteboards that had replaced all the blackboards, but the University administration had discovered that chalk was cheaper than whiteboard markers) down and frowned at his graduate students, who were tapping their detectors nervously.
"It's genuine," said Alexei, frowning. He was heavy-set, with dark hair that fringed over his eyes and made him look like he should be a KGB-bodyguard. "Were you... ah... planning a practical demonstration, boss?"
"No," said Sberychev. He tapped his fingers on the desk in front of him, while the students waited. He could feel the weight of their expectations in that other place, distorting the probabilistic geometry. He closed his eyes and casually let his mind slide aside into the place that he'd discovered while imprisoned in the quantum realm. The atlas appeared in his mind's eye like a map drawn in glowing purple ink on a wine-dark background. There was a faint smell of cloves, and his nose itched. The quantum prison appeared in the atlas as a dark blob, far enough away that he was sure it was currently on another continent. Much closer though was an annular roiling mass that looked like a cloud of wire-wool dropped onto the map. It surrounded his current location.
He opened his eyes. His students were still watching him; at the back of the room Lissajous was hauling a pair of steel-toe-capped boots out of his rucksack.
"We appear to be in the eye of the storm," said Sberychev. Though what has caused this storm and why... I don't know. Nor do I know what exactly will happen when the storm converges.
Lissajous finished putting his boots on. "Ready," he said.
As Sberychev smiled someone knocked on the classroom door. Without waiting for an answer, they opened the door and the entire class of students cringed reflexively. Sberychev opened his mouth, inhaling deeply ready for the stream of invective, and then was silent. The class looked up, puzzled.
"Snake?" sadi Sberychev mildly. "How did you get in here?"
"How did I get here, you mean," said Snake. "I wish I knew. But I was told to give you this." He held out a folded sheet of paper.
"A ransom note," said Sberychev, after reading it.
The Eye of the Storm
I could feel the build up, slowly, over a matter of months, a decision put off, put off until... dark clouds and the crackling lightning of energy swirled all around me, like a pack of wolves closing in for the kill... I knew the time was fast approaching for the decision to become finalised. Two paths lay ahead... one towards peace, the other just spelled out crash and burn! I saw the signs (I’d seen them in others) - they, too, were crashing in, swirling like random pieces of furniture collected by a tornado. It was getting dangerous. I covered my head, not wanting to look, but look, I did. I needed to know.
Which way? Which way?
I was in the centre - the eye of the storm - hovering momentarily like a dragonfly does, delicately poised on the brink. I watched those etheric wolves getting closer. I woke up, I knew what had to be.
I stopped.
That took all the energy out of the storm.
It vanished, like waking up from a dream.
It was gone, but I remain, afresh, renewed.
The path ahead would be “peace”, for I have chosen.
Retirement should be a time of peace and tranquility, when all your work is done.
Greg - no sightings of Sir Phillip last year, though I heard a pheasant(s?) a couple of times. Mr Wriggles can go to hell and stay there.
Ah, it is very good to have another visit with Sberychev, as I'd rather forgotten about him, sadly. A lot of great details here, and the reappearance of Snake at the end is nicely done. Between the ransom note and the encircling storm... I hope to hear more from him soon :)
Dragonfly - I was not expecting retirement to be the issue at hand here, so nicely done with leading me astray. The metaphor works very well and I love all the details and imagery you've included.
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