Of course not! The Primal Light, as any light, must have expanded just as you say. But. . . the universe?
‘At the same speed!’ said Harry. ‘And it still is expanding at that speed.’
Explain. And make it good.
‘Before the light there was nothing, no universe.’
Agreed.
‘Does anything travel faster than light?’
No – yes! We can, but only in the Möbius Continuum. And I suppose thought is likewise instantaneous.
‘Now think!’ said Harry. The Primal Light is still travelling outwards, expanding on all frontiers at a constant speed of 186,000 miles per second. Tell me: does anything lie beyond those frontiers? And I do mean any thing?’
Of course not, because in the physical universe nothing travels faster than light.
‘Exactly! Wherefore light defines the extent – the size -of the universe! That’s why I called it the universe of light. A formula:
aU = rU
c
Do you disagree?’
Möbius had looked at the thing scrawled on the screen of Harry’s mind. The age of the universe is equal to its radius divided by the speed of light. And after a moment, but very quietly now: Yes, I agree.
‘Hah!’ said Harry. ‘It’s hard to get a decent argument going these days. Everyone cries uncle.’
Möbius had been angry. He had never seen Harry like this before. Certainly the Necroscope’s instinctive maths was a wonderful thing, an awesome talent in its own right, but where was Harry’s humility? What on earth had got into him? Perhaps Möbius should let him continue to expound and then try to pick holes, bring him down a peg or two.
And time? And the multiverses?
But Harry had been ready for him: ‘The space-time universe – which has the same size and age as any and all of the parallels – is cone-shaped, the point of the cone being the Big Bang/Primal Light where time began, and the base being its current boundary or diameter. Is that feasible, logical?’
Desperately seeking errors, still Möbius had been unable to discover them. Yes, he was obliged to answer, eventually. Feasible, logical, but not necessarily correct.
‘Grant me feasible,’ said Harry. ‘And then tell me: what lies outside the cone?’
Nothing, since the universe is contained within it.
‘Wrong! The parallels are cone-shaped, too, born at the same time and expanding from the same source!’
Möbius had pictured it. But . . . then each cone is in contact with a number of other cones. Is there evidence of this?
‘Black holes,’ said Harry at once, ‘which juggle with matter and so perform a necessary balancing act. They suck matter out of universes which are too heavy, into universes which are too light. White holes are, of course, the other ends of the black holes. In space-time such holes are the lines of contact between cones, but in space they are simply – ‘ (a shrug,) ‘ – holes.’
Möbius was tired, but: Cones are circular in cross-section, he’d argued. Put three together and you get a triangular shape between them.
And Harry had nodded his agreement. ‘Grey holes. There’s one at the bottom of the Perchorsk ravine, and another up an underground river in Romania.’
And so he’d made his point and won his argument, if there had been one to win in the first place. For the fact was he’d only argued for the sake of it and neither knew nor cared if he was right or wrong.
But Möbius had cared, because he didn’t know if Harry was right or wrong either . . .
Another time, the Necroscope had talked to Pythagoras. Again his principal reason for going to see him was to convey his thanks (the great Greek mystic and mathematician had been of some assistance in his quest for numeracy), but again the visit had ended in argument.
Harry had thought to find the Greek’s grave at Metapontum, or if not there then at Crotona in southern Italy. But all he found was a follower or two until, by pure chance, he stumbled upon the forgotten, 2,480-year-old tomb of a member of the Pythagorean Brotherhood on the Island of Chios. There was no marker; it was a stony, ochre place where goats ate thistles not fifty yards from a rocky shore looking north on the Aegean.