Einstein’s Napkin

Einstein’s Last Theory of Relativity changed the universe. Commonly referred to as the Mastery of Relativity, his series of simple equations demonstrated how mankind could, through this new understanding of the universe, control the very essence of time and space itself.

The advancements that followed the new theory were astounding. Within a few generations intergalactic travel had been mastered. Time travel soon followed (unless someone was cheating) and within a few generations the Mastery of Relativity had led to just that – the ability to cross parallel universes, to visit alternative realities.

Preventing the rise of Hitler became a possibility, and very quickly a reality. Likewise the rise of Stalin and Pol Pot, and once these had been removed in every possible universe, by reality-stepping assassin Mel Droit, lesser criminals and villains were removed, most notoriously of all the evil Mel Droit, who had sprung to the top of everyone’s hate list by killing the same three young children in every parallel world. His defence was that the children would grow up to be evil killers, but as they never did there was no way of proving his claim and he was discreetly removed from history.

Perfection. That was where mankind was headed. Good ideas were shared across realities, a free trade in everything from science, economics, politics and culture – most notably the universal dominance of industrial folk music – all made possible by a meta reality with no barriers.

And it all started there, in the Pretty City Café, where, after an exhausting week-long Conference of Scientific Conferences, Einstein had scribbled his series of equations on the back of a napkin, before collapsing asleep.

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Julie Sinclair had been waitressing for over twenty years. It was a pretty city job, at least I think that’s what she said. It got her out of the house and gave her an independent income that paid for her to go out with the girls every other Saturday and to study a correspondence course in Greek Philosophy, a subject she had stumbled across by chance as a teenager, when the (closet homosexual) boy she had a crush on confessed that he was only interested in a platonic friendship.

The work was tiring, repetitive and thankless, but she enjoyed chatting with both regulars and strangers, she liked the tips and the diversity of views and fashions she encountered. She once surprised a Professor of Philosophy with her knowledge of Zeno and the strength of her coffee.

She recognised Einstein, of course, how could she fail to? He was already the most famous scientist in the world, possibly the most famous man in the world, with ‘that’ hair and 'that' moustache, not to mention ‘that’ theory of relativity.

He’d ordered the ‘See it, Fry it’, the café’s specialty, a plate of seventeen different fried foods, ranging from the traditional sausage, egg and bacon, to the more exotic asparagus, aubergine and a unique fried fruit concoction.

Einstein had ravaged the contents of the plate like a man who’d not eaten properly for a week, like a great scientist who’d been prevented from enjoying every conference buffet because there was another Professor, President, Prince or Pope desperate to talk with him.

After the feast, he’d relaxed and she could see from his face the sudden flurry of ideas rushing through his mind, a Eureka moment as witnessed from the other side of the café.

And she’d seen him writing frantically, until she was called away to satisfy man’s unrelenting desire for coffee and blueberry pancakes.

xxx

The mathematics rushed through Einstein’s mind, the very nature of physics seemed to change as he scribbled and connected his ideas.

Every single thing he thought he’d understood about science was wrong, or at least totally inadequate. He had found the connection, the Master Equation, the mathematical link connecting the whole metaverse. The stars, the galaxies, the whole of reality was at the mercy of the careless scribble on the Pretty City Café napkin.

And then, exhausted by a week of constant attention, a fry up the extent of which defied physics as we know it, and a moment of scientific inspiration the like of which he hadn’t experienced in more than thirty years, he collapsed asleep on his seat, job done, life’s work finally topped with the ultimate fried cherry surprise.

xxx

“You stand accused of the destruction of mankind’s greatest discovery, and consequently of every subsequent invention and advance, the loss of billions of lives that would otherwise have been saved by medical advancements based on the theory, plus the loss of trillions upon trillions of dollars in wealth. There is no aspect of civilised life that hasn’t been harmed by your catastrophic actions.

You, and you alone, are responsible for the continuance of imperfection.”

xxx

The trial of Julie Sinclair was the biggest in history, in the whole of meta reality, bigger even that the trial of Mel Droit, the brutal and merciless killer of little Ade Hitler and young Joey Stalin.

 

For Sinclair’s crime was far worst – it was incomprehensible. She had destroyed Einstein’s greatest work.

Einstein had woken up to find his napkin removed and along with it all memory of what he had written. His great mind fumbled with the ideas, the fundamental equations, but the inspiration had gone. As had the napkin.

xxx

In her lifetime Julie Sinclair had cleared away a total of 793,276 plates, cups, trays, knives, forks and spoons. She had helped remove a dead rat, three drunken dwarves and a Philosophy Professor’s doubts about the meaning of Zeno’s paradox.

She had fed and watered two generations, and in return she received only the minimum wage, modest tips and occasional sexual attention, both wanted and unwanted.

Yes she had cleared away a napkin. To be precise, she had cleared away 691,323 napkins, along with newspapers, tissues, random bits of paper and even a T-shirt, that had on occasion been used for napkin-like-purposes.

Cleaning tables was what Julie did. It was not a crime. It was all part of the very fabric of the universe. Even in the perfect post-napkin world tables did not clear themselves. The Julie Sinclairs of the metaverse are as central to the fabric of space time as well, whatever Einstein wrote on that napkin.

Thus rests the case for the defence.

xxx

The napkin lay on the table, unaware that the scribbling upon it will change the universe, that it is consequently the most important napkin in human history.

Had it known its importance, it might have protested as it was cleared away from its place on the table and tossed carelessly into a stench-filled bag of greasy remnants. “No,” it might have cried, “You are making a big mistake, for I am the King of Napkins, let me be.”

But the napkin said nothing, and, disturbed by the loud fart from one of her regulars, Julie failed to see that the napkin had been written on, as she tidied away the great sleeping scientist’s plate.

xxx

Realities crumble when Einstein’s napkin is destroyed. That is all you need to know. Corrected and perfected realities collapse back into themselves, until all that is left is imperfect, a void of unmastered relativity.

Soon the loss of the napkin will be felt not just in this reality, in this universe, but in every reality, in every universe.

It is, if you like, Napkingeddon.

xxx

When realities crumble, stories too lose their clarity and perfection.

So bear with me.

xxx

The verdict.

Guilty, of course. It would hardly have been worth having the trial if she was going to be found innocent.

As for the punishment, there is only one punishment possible for the destruction of Einstein’s napkin.

xxx

In the Pretty City Café Einstein sleeps.

Julie Sinclair smiles at his peaceful form, glad that her life has been blessed by his visit. Suddenly she hears a bang, like a gunshot. She turns to see Matt and Nev in hysterics. The reality hits her simultaneously in nose and brain.

“My god, was that a fart?” she says, her last words, before collapsing in a fit of giggles.

In the hilarity of the moment, she doesn’t notice the man enter the café, has no knowledge of either the gun raised and pointed nor the bullet, obeying physics both Newtonian and Einsteinian, as it travels through the air, through the skull, through the brain.

The problem of Julie Sinclair has been removed from history.

xxx

The napkin lies on the table, covered in scribbled genius. But the genius ink is soon smudged and smothered, the very fabric of the napkin will soon be lost, it is covered, smothered, wetted and ruined in a pool of brains and blood.

It is retained briefly by police for forensic value before it is finally destroyed.

Any knowledge it may once have contained has long gone, ironically it was brains that did for Einstein’s last equation.

Einstein’s lost equation.