The entire text of Startup is here
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Startup
Ziemia - kula u nogiHugo Steinhaus
Epilogue
It is a sunny July day in London and Lyd is heading downtown running around huge piles of snow.
"They should really clean it up, each year they leave more and more snow laying around as if they thought that it will melt all by itself!" she murmurs to herself irritated.
She arrives at the British Museum barely on time for a virtual tour. Lyd is running the show today and she sits in a darkened office in front of a large monitor. She reboots the computer and slowly the logo of Windows 17 comes to view. The router lights are blinking slowly.
"Sorry for the delay - network problems," she announces to all 30 participants, maximum that the technology allows.
"Put on your goggles, and lets get going," she says with some trepidation. But this is a good day and a flickering 3d rendition of the museum opens up for the students.
They start moving through the rooms and Lyd comments on some items: Rosetta stone, mummies, and few other artifacts of colonial overreach. Lyd likes to bring up some unusual findings and she points at the spidery fork with a short handle.
"According to the legend," she says, "this item - a head scratcher - played important role in the history of mathematics."
Students are intrigued and they stop briefly. "What is mathematics?" someone asks.
"Oh my, mathematics is an old science that we needed before the Flat," answers Lyd "they called it poetry of the Universe." "It was good for handling abstraction," she adds. "But we got rid of it a while ago."
"And what about the head-scratcher?" a question comes from behind. "Head-scratcher was a fad in the pharaohs' time, very popular. An inspiring idea, one might say," she glances at her watch and they move on to the paintings, her true interest.
Euc and Proc
It is late summer and it is very hot. Euc and Proc are hanging out in a tavern in downtown Cairo. They are chewing on frogs and locust and sipping flat beer occasionally glancing at the pyramids lurking in the distance. Sadly, Egyptian plagues did a real damage to gourmet dining in the area and it has been years since they feasted on vertebrates.
"Fuck this locust," mutters Proc exasperated with undercooked insects.
"Ease up, my dear, there is nothing to gain by being pissed," this is how Euc is trying to be constructive, "what were we talking about?"
"Geometry," Proc answers spitting bits of chitin. "Ah, geometry," says Euc, "where exactly are we with this stuff?"
Proc takes a giant gulp of beer and gets more enthusiastic. "I am thinking of developing a system of dealing with shapes and areas in a step by step fashion." She scratches her belly and continues "It is really cool stuff."
"But," she continues "you will have to write it all up." Her face darkens as this reminds her that she never learned how to read and even when this is all done there will be not much trace of her contribution.
"Write it up?" mumbles Euc, "what do you mean?"
"For fuck's sake, when it is ready, you will write it up! How complicated is this?" Proc pushes away the frogs.
"Two Blue Niles!" she roars into the dark insides of the tavern. Ever since the Jews escaped, the business is slow but beer is suddenly abundant.
Head Scratcher
Euc and Proc are sipping beer in downtown Alexandria and playing with the pair of head scratchers that they just got from a street salesman.
"Look at these idiotic toys. Everybody seems to want one these days," says Proc thoughtfully. She starts scratching her inner thigh, "Hmmm, it feels good."
"You are supposed to scratch your head," Euc says glancing at her.
"Yeah, right," Proc applies the device to the top of her head and starts rubbing it methodically.
"I think the same might happen to my geometry system," she announces out of blue, "given time and the right marketing."
"What can happen? You mean that we can sell it?" asks Euc incredulously.
"You can sell it, I cannot even sell my ass," Proc snaps angrily.
"Oh, I think you can," says Euc and gives her a smoldering look, "but how do you sell an idea?"
"My geometry is not a fucking idea," Proc suddenly gets irritated, "it is a method. No, it is The Method, and I just used it for geometry because more people would be interested. But this is a way of thinking that could be applied to anything."
"Ok, ok," Euc tries to calm her down, "so what do I do?"
Proc looks straight at him, "You just write it all up, and give it to anyone who is interested for free."
"Hm," Euc who is actually a good salesman ponders aloud, "and how long do I keep doing it until it sells?"
Proc thinks for a moment, "Hard to say, it could actually be hundreds of years."
"What?!" screams Euc, "hundreds of years?"
"Could be thousands in fact," says Proc, "it is a slow burner."
"With a head scratcher you get instant gratification," she explains, "but to buy into a new way of thinking takes a lot longer."
"But I will be dead before it even takes a root!" moans Euc.
"Can't you be more fucking sensitive?" snarls Proc, "you will be the most famous mathematician in history, while I will be forgotten in 20 years."
"Does it bother you?" asks Euc.
"No," answers Proc, "but every time I say something I feel a man putting words in my mouth."
"So what?" answers Euc looking lovingly at her, "every time I write something I feel a woman putting thoughts in my head."
"Oh, some attitude you have," Proc pretends to be offended.
"Anyway," Euc sounds serious for once, "why bother with all this math at all?"
"Because it is fucking important!" Proc clams up, drinks her beer and sulks in silence.
Suspicion
"Math is worthless!" declares Sas to the Program Commanders sipping after-lunch coffee. "Totally worthless," he repeats and eyeballs potential dissenters. Slowly Program Commanders perk up unsure where this is going. After all Sas is heading the Mathematics Unit of the Government Science Agency and this sounds so subversive.
"Yeah, worthless," Mek agrees avoiding confrontation.
"Do you have anything specific in your mind?" asks Uce incensed by such comments.
Of course the problem is that Sas is quite ignorant of any kind of mathematics and it is not easy to fight his prejudices with facts. Yet he stands his ground and expands glaring at Uce, "Nothing is going on. It feels like people hide good stuff in the drawer and feed us rubbish."
In spite of the confrontational tone of the whole exchange, this is a remark that has a ring of truth to it. For years, Program Commanders were combing the grant reports for nuggets - important and noteworthy accomplishments. This was a slow and dreadful slog, and the procedure was abandoned recently.
"Is it possible that there are no more nuggets?" someone whispers.
"Well, if this is so, it is time to find out what is going on!" concludes Sas and signals that it is time to return to work.
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