The Science of Discworld Revised Edition

exploded, sir,’ said Ponder.
    ‘All right, then, how long would the project take to set up?’ said Ridcully.
    ‘Months,’ said the Dean firmly.
    ‘We’ve got about ten seconds to the next discharge, sir,’ said Ponder. ‘Only … now the balls have gone it will simply earth itself …’
    ‘Ah. Oh. Really? Well, then …’ Ridcully looked around at his fellow wizards as the wall began to shake again. ‘It’s been nice knowing you. Some of you. One or two of you, anyway …’
    The whine of increasing magic rose in pitch.
    The Dean cleared his throat.
    ‘I’d just like to say, Mustrum,’ he began.
    ‘Yes, old friend?’
    ‘I’d just like to say … I think I’d have made a much better Archchancellor than you.’
    The whine stopped. The silence twanged. The wizards held their breath.
    Something went ‘ping’.
    A globe about a foot across hung in the air between the faculty. It looked like glass, or the sheen of a pearl without the pearl itself.
    From the squash court next door there was, instead of the wild roar of disorganized thaums, the steady thrum-thrum of purpose.
    ‘What the heck is
that
?’ said Ridcully, as the wizards unfolded themselves.
    H EX rattled. Ponder picked up the piece of paper.
    ‘Well, according to this, it’s the Roundworld Project,’ he said. ‘And it’s absorbing all the energy from the thaumic pile.’
    The Dean brushed some dust off his robe.
    ‘Nonsense,’ he said. ‘Takes months. Anyway, how could that machine possibly know the spells?’
    ‘Mr Turnipseed did copy in a lot of the grimoires last year,’ said Ponder. ‘It’s vital that H EX knows basic spell structure, you see …’
    The Senior Wrangler peered irritably at the sphere.
    ‘Is this all it is?’ he said. ‘Doesn’t seem much for all that effort.’
    There was a frightening moment as the Dean walked up to the sphere and his nose, enormously magnified, appeared in it.
    ‘Old Archchancellor Bewdley devised it,’ he said. ‘Everyone said it was impossible …’
    ‘Mr Stibbons?’ said Ridcully.
    ‘Yes, sir?’
    ‘Are we in danger of blowing up at the moment?’
    ‘I don’t think so, sir. The … project is sucking up everything.’
    ‘Shouldn’t it be glowing, then? Or something? What’s in there?’
    H EX wrote: +++ Nothing +++
    ‘All that magic’s going into empty space?’
    +++ Empty Space Is Not Nothing, Archchancellor. There Is Not Even Empty Space Inside The Project. There Is No Time For It To Be Empty In +++
    ‘What’s it got in it, then?’
    +++ I Am Checking +++, H EX wrote patiently.
    ‘Look, I can stick my hand right in it,’ said the Dean.
    The wizards watched in horror. The Dean’s fingers were visible, darkly , within the sphere, outlined in thousands of tiny sparkling lights.
    ‘That was a really very foolish thing you just did,’ said Ridcully. ‘How did you know it wasn’t dangerous?’
    ‘I didn’t,’ said the Dean cheerfully. ‘It feels … cool. And rather chilly. Prickly, in a funny sort of way.’
    H EX rattled. Ponder walked back and looked down at the paper.
    ‘It almost feels
sticky
when I move my fingers,’ said the Dean.
    ‘Er … Dean?’ said Ponder, stepping back carefully. ‘I think it would be a really good idea if you pulled your hand out very, very carefully and really very soon.’
    ‘That’s odd, it’s beginning to tingle –’
    ‘Right now, Dean! Right now!’
    For once, the urgency in Ponder’s voice got through the Dean’s cosmic self-confidence. He turned to argue with Ponder Stibbons just a moment before a white spark appeared in the centre of the sphere and began to expand rapidly.
    The sphere flickered.
    ‘Anyone know what caused that?’ said the Senior Wrangler, his face bathed in the growing light of the Project.
    ‘I
think
,’ said Ponder slowly, holding up H EX ’s write-out, ‘it was Time and Space starting to happen.’
    In H EX ’s careful writing, the words said: +++ In The Absence Of Duration And Dimension, There Must Be
Potentiality. +++
    And the wizards looked upon the universe that was growing within the little sphere and spake amongst themselves, saying, ‘It’s rather a small one, don’t you think? Is it dinner time yet?’
    Later on, the wizards wondered if the new universe might have been different if the Dean had waggled his fingers in a different way. Perhaps, within it, matter might have naturally formed itself into, say, garden furniture, or one giant nine-dimensional flower a