The Goldilocks Effect

By Michael Mendoza

Goldilocks entered the three bears’ home to find the porridge either too hot, too cold, or just right. The Goldilocks Effect refers to the fact that the physical laws that govern the cosmos are just right. The smallest changes could threaten the fabric of existence. A physicist, Eric Carlyle, disappears. Carlyle’s lab assistant enlists the aid of Daniel Filby, a washed-up philosophy professor who is Carlyle’s closest friend, to find the missing scientist. Filby discovers Carlyle has invented a machine for traveling through time and space and wrote the secret to time travel between the lines of Filby’s book, The Goldilocks Effect. A crooked FBI agent and a European thug want Carlyle’s notes. The European uses the machine to change the past, creating a universe-ending paradox. To solve the mystery of his missing friend and save the world, Filby must use the device, restore balance to the universe, and find Carlyle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781665505604

Michael Mendoza

Michael Mendoza taught philosophy and history for fifteen years and now teaches for Liberty University Online. He is the author of Glorious Reality of War, a Civil War historical fiction.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

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What was that noise? The Girl from Ipanema?

The tune seemed to be getting closer as I struggled to wake up. My cell phone still had the annoying ringtone my ex-wife programmed into it. I would have changed it long ago, but I couldn’t figure out how.

Tall and tan and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking.

I reached for my cell phone on the coffee table, my hand pushing through the debris searching for the source of that irritating tune. I heard a pizza box fall to the floor.

Hullo. I half opened my eyes as I clasped the phone to my ear.

Hello. Is this Daniel Filby?

Uh, yeah,

Danny Boy. The overly cheerful voice of my best friend Eric Carlyle jogged me to full consciousness. Hey buddy, I’ll be at your place in five minutes. It’s time to dust yourself off and get going, or you’ll make us both late. You know my motto.

Yeah, I know, I muttered, dragging myself to an upright position on the sofa.

When you wake up, get up. And when you get up, get going!

I’m up. I’m up already.

Yeah, I’ll bet you slept on the sofa, and you’re lying there in a puddle of your drool.

I wiped off my cheek as I sat up on the edge of my sofa, then rubbed my forehead. He was right, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.

Slap some water on that dour mug and change your clothes. You probably haven’t changed since Friday, aye buddy?

Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you when you get here. I hung up.

Eric was only half-right. I was sitting there in my underwear but still wore the same long-sleeved white shirt from Friday. I rummaged through the empty beer bottles and marijuana blunts on the coffee table, hoping to find something to help get me going.

Hair of the dog, I whispered. I scanned the room looking for my pants but decided to take Eric’s advice, so I jumped in the shower. I forgot how long it took for the hot water to reach my apartment. The cold water stung, taking my breath away, and jolted me awake. It finally turned warm, then hot, lulling me back into a soporiferous state. I wanted to crawl back onto the sofa and disappear into blissful unconsciousness.

Dragging myself from the shower, I wiped the steam off the mirror and stared at my three-day-old beard and unkempt hair. How did I get so messed up? I studied the figure looking back at me for new wrinkles. The gray in my hair used to make me look distinguished. Now I just looked old and worn out.

Ring, ring.

I didn’t know why Eric bothered to ring the doorbell. He never waited for me to let him in.

Hey, Danny boy, he called out.

I slipped from the bathroom into the bedroom and dressed as quickly as my hangover allowed.

Let’s get outta here, I said. Your students are waiting for your pearls of wisdom.

Eric was two inches shorter than I am and weighs ten pounds more. We were the same age, so why did he look so much younger?

Come on in and make yourself at home, I yelled. I grabbed a comb and started working on the tangles.

Good God, man. Eric entered my bedroom and got his first glimpse of me tugging on my matted hair. You’re a wreck. Why did you put on the same clothes you had on Friday? You haven’t changed all weekend, have you? The least you can do is put your sport coat on. It makes you look more like a college professor and less like a derelict.

I grabbed the coat and took one last look at myself as I passed the dresser mirror. I shook my head in disapproval and shrugged at my reflection. I heard that the average man gets an image of himself when he is seventeen and keeps that image throughout his life. I must not have been average because the seventeen-year-old inside me could hardly recognize the worn-out old guy staring back at me. The corduroy coat might distract from the bags under my eyes, but it could not take the focus off my snarled hair.

Oh, well, let’s go, I said reluctantly.

Eric and I had been friends since high school. He was my roommate in college, and after I spent two misguided years in seminary trying to please God, we both ended up at the same graduate school in San Diego. Of course, Eric was working on his first Ph.D. at the time. I had to start from scratch to get my M.A. and then work on a Ph.D. What was I thinking? There aren’t many career options for a guy who studied metaphysics or 20th century existentialism. In my whole life, I’ve never once seen philosopher wanted in the classifieds.

Eric was a smartly dressed, clean-shaven man with short curly hair. His face was chubby and without a wrinkle. I always told him his skin was stretched too tight to wrinkle, but the truth is that he just looked younger, healthier. Oh well, it wasn’t the years. It was the mileage that made me look so run down – the last few years had been tough.

Hey Danny boy, Eric said. I’ve got a new one for you. Do you want to hear it?

I smiled, feeling my mood become more convivial.

No, I’m not interested. We liked to play this game. I’d protest, and he’d ignore me completely and tell me his latest shaggy dog story anyway.

Okay, this scientist went to a conference, see. And he had to wait outside his hotel every day for a taxi to take him to the convention center.

Yeah, so what? I pretended to be disinterested.

Give me a minute, Eric held up his hand. So, this scientist is waiting for his taxi, and he sees a poor old woman panhandling on the sidewalk. You know the kind I’m talking about. She was dressed in tattered clothes and wore gloves with the fingers cut out. Well, he felt compassion for the plight of the bag lady. He walked up to her and took her by the hand.

It felt a bit weird when Eric grabbed my hand and opened it palm up.

I always knew you wanted to hold hands with me. I winked.

Nah, it’s not like that, buddy, he said. It’s part of the story. You’ll see. So, where was I?

He took the old lady by the hand. I couldn’t help myself. I was intrigued.

Oh yeah, so the scientist took her hand, puts a one-dollar bill in it, and folds her hand around it.

Eric mimicked the movement with my hand and gently patted it.

"Then the scientist smiled at her and simply said, ‘Cheer up!’"

I don’t get it. I shrugged. I thought we were late. Let’s get out of here.

Okay, okay, I’ll tell you the rest when we get to the car.

Hey Eric, you wanna take my car this time? I shut the door behind us, and we headed for the apartment’s parking lot.

Are you kidding? I wouldn’t be caught dead in that beat-up old Pinto. Didn’t you only pay four hundred dollars for that piece of junk back when we were in grad school?

Hey, don’t dis my car, I said. It’s not a piece of junk. It’s a classic. One of these days, I’m gonna restore it. Then it will be worth something. You’ll see. And besides, it’s about the only thing Sheila left me in the divorce.

Man, that thing wasn’t worth anything in 1979, Eric said. Even if you restored it, what would it be worth, two thousand dollars?

Eric pointed to his brand-new Mercedes SLS AMG GT Roadster. Now, this is a car that’s worth something. Yeah, baby!

I felt like I was putting on a metallic Big Bird suit as I opened the door. I moved the heavy metal box at my feet.

What’s in the box, Eric? It weighs a ton.

It’s my silver dollars.

I couldn’t imagine him needing money enough to sell his coin collection. He was always so proud of them. He boasted about the fact that they don’t make coins out of silver anymore.

You’re not going to sell them. Are you?

Don’t worry, Danny. I’ll put them to good use.

Okay, I said. I glanced in the back seat. Hey, what’s in the footlocker?

Uh, it’s just some equipment for the lab. Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy my new Mercedes with a handcrafted AMG 6.3-liter V-8 and a 7-speed AMG SPEEDSHIFT DCT dual-clutch transaxle.

He sure was proud of his sportscar.

Eric probably had no idea what any of that stuff meant. He was brilliant in the lab, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t even know how to adjust the seats. Fortunately, these seats were self-adjusting.

Don’t, I said. But it was too late.

He reached over and turned on some music. At least it was Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. I never knew what kind of music he’d be in the mood for. Sometimes he’d favor that poor imitation of music that so many people listen to these days. I gave out a sigh of relief.

Then he cranked up the volume and ruined what otherwise would be soothing classical music. My head pounded.

Check this out, He shouted. 1000-watt Bang & Olufsen, BeoSound System. This car is a chick magnet!

Chick magnet? I reached over to turn the music down. I reeled from the noise and a weekend of excess. You haven’t had a date in two years.

I’ve been busy. He blocked my hand. Nobody touches the tunes but me.

I shook my head and said, To paraphrase Erasmus, sometimes you have to play the fool to get a date. In your case, you gotta get out of the lab more often. The only time I even get to see you is when we drive to the university together – and when we have an occasional lunch.

Eric was unusually cheerful, like a teenager who just got his first car. I couldn’t remember the last time he was this excited.

Yeah, I’ll get around to dating. And when I do, stand back and watch.

Okay, I believe you.

He’d been wholly preoccupied ever since he went to the conference in Switzerland back in 2012. Eric worked all day in the university research lab, and then he went home and worked there as well. We used to hang out after school, but lately, he burrows himself away every night and every weekend like a medieval anchorite. He told me he picked me up because he’s concerned about me, but maybe I was his only access to the outside world. He needed me as much as I needed him. At any rate, I was glad my old friend’s work was going to be successful.

Eric returned to his anecdote. So, the next day, this scientist goes down to the street to wait for his taxi again.

I hoped he had forgotten all about his story by now. But I was not that fortunate.

Yeah, then what? I halfheartedly played along.

And guess who’s on the street waiting for him? The old lady. Eric smiled.

He was winding up for the pitch, so I braced myself.

"She sees the scientist and starts walking toward him. Right away, he’s thinking, Oh no. I’ve started something, and now she’s going to want money every day."

Yeah? I couldn’t believe he drew me into his dumb story.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she grabbed the scientist’s hand, put a twenty-dollar bill in it, and folded his palm. Then, guess what she said.

I don’t know. What?

"She said, ‘Cheer Up paid twenty to one!’ Get it? Cheer Up paid twenty to one. Eric laughed at his own story. She took it to the racetrack! Ha, ha, ha. Get it?"

I chuckled as well. Was it because the joke was funny, or was I laughing at Eric, who seemed so amused with himself? It didn’t matter. By the time we reached the campus, I felt much better and was almost ready to face another day of lectures.

Hey, Danny boy, Eric pulled into the campus parking lot. I have something vital to tell you right after we have lunch.

What is it?

It’s a meal people have around noon.

Ha, ha, I walked right into that joke. No more stories today, Eric.

No, seriously, I have something very important to talk to you about. He looked both ways and leaned in like he was about to share a secret. He pointed to the footlocker in the back seat. I’m on to something huge. My machine works, and it’s about to pay off. Huge!

So, what’s the machine? And what’s in that footlocker?

I’ll tell you all about it this afternoon. He waved it off as if it was nothing. You’re my best friend, and you’ve gotta admit you’ve been pretty messed up the last couple of years. But if my experiment works, everything will be different. You’ll see.

Okay, sure, I said grudgingly.

Eric was a good friend, but he tended to exaggerate.

I’ll see you for lunch, right?

You can buy since your experiment’s gonna make you so rich, I said.

"Remember, Cheer Up paid twenty to one."

Eric dropped me off and drove toward his lab, shouting, "Cheer Up paid twenty to one."

CHAPTER TWO

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The philosophy department was on the seventh and eighth floor of the humanities and social sciences building. My office was in the basement. Dim flickering lights in the hallway and pale green painted cinder block walls gave the place a prison feel. The elevator to the basement hadn’t worked since I started teaching fifteen years ago. I trudged down the steps into what I called the dungeon.

Guess what Schrödinger’s cat dragged in, Blaine Pullman said. It’s Daniel Filby.

Pullman was the chair of the philosophy department and self-appointed hall monitor for the building. I don’t know what aggravated me more. Was it that his pretty-boy face looked like a Renaissance sculptor had chiseled it? Or that he always wore the same outfit every day? He dressed in a black turtleneck and gray tweed sport coat. Just how many turtlenecks did he own, anyway? Blaine sported a goatee and peered at me through his black rim glasses. I think he loved the 1950s beatnik look. The sight of him opened old wounds.

Yeah, Blaine. I’ve never heard that one before. My sarcasm was wasted on him – no sense of humor. And there wasn’t an original idea in his head. He couldn’t even find his own wife. I couldn’t help taking a verbal poke at him. How do you like sleeping with my wife?

Danny, I don’t want to get into this again. He waved me off with both hands. Sheila is not your wife anymore. It’s not appropriate for us to talk about this at work. Don’t you have a class to teach in five minutes?

"Oh no, let’s get into this again. How do you like sleeping with my ex-wife?"

All right, I’ll try to explain it to you one more time. He sighed like he was doing me a favor. When Sheila caught you in that intimate teacher-student conference at Barfly Lounge, she needed someone to talk to.

Sure, and you were right there, weren’t you, Blaine? Saying his name left a bad taste in my mouth. I felt my upper lip tighten, and my hand form a fist.

Okay, okay, don’t get riled up. Blaine tried to change the subject. "Listen, Danny. I’m going to have a meeting with The Philosophy Journal staff tomorrow afternoon. If you have a submission, bring it by my office before noon."

I shook my head in frustration. Blaine knew I hadn’t written anything since Sheila left me. Was he just saying that to get at me? Besides, he knew how much I hated hallway tasking. I always told my students that if they asked me for something in the hallway, I would forget we ever spoke the moment I turned to leave. Students asked me for extensions on the homework or a new copy of the syllabus. I’d say sure but disregard it immediately. That’s what I did with Blaine. I turned and walked toward my office, whistling The Girl from Ipanema. I hated that song, but I couldn’t get it out of my head.

By eleven-thirty, I had almost finished with my second class of the day. Since I hadn’t eaten breakfast, my mind kept drifting to the old cliché; I’m so hungry, my stomach thought my throat had been cut. I could almost taste the chicken enchilada at the Rock Bottom. Most of my students took my introductory survey class because they thought it was an easy way to fulfill their humanities elective for their degree. They could care less about philosophy.

Every semester some wide-eyed student would tell me, It’s philosophy, so there aren’t any wrong answers.

I had a pat response to their naiveté. Just wait until you see the mid-term. Then you’ll see just how many wrong answers there are.

It had been that way ever since I began teaching. Eric once quipped that there are three kinds of universities in America. You can tell when you’re at a liberal university because when the teacher comes in and says, Good morning class, the students run to the window to see if it’s so. And you can tell when you’re in a conservative university because the teacher will enter the classroom and say, Good morning class, and the students write it down word for word just like the teacher said it. But at our university, the students respond to the greeting by asking, Is that gonna be on the test?

However, in my morning class, there seemed to be a handful of young minds that were unusually sharp, more curious, and skeptical. This class was my favorite because they enjoyed a lively debate. I reached into my coat pocket and retrieved my glasses. The older I get, the more necessary they become. I hated wearing bifocals. They made me feel so old.

Tell me about Leibnitz. I looked around the room to see who I could draw into a discussion.

A student’s eyes lit up, Yeah, he’s the guy that gave us the integral rule in calculus.

Yes, I said. That leads me to repeat what I’ve been saying all along in this term. Mathematics is a branch of philosophy, along with everything else you will study at this university. For example, what does this mean? I wrote the formula ʃ f (x) dX on the chalkboard. That’s right, an old-fashioned blackboard. I even bought my own chalk. Philosophy was not high on the university’s budgetary priority.

Another student came to life, It’s a simple integral used to demonstrate the Leibniz rule.

No, it means absolutely nothing. I felt like a conductor warming up his orchestra for a symphony. They were getting in tune. Those symbols are meaningless until we, as humans, give them meaning. So, mathematics is merely applying meaning to symbols that represent some philosophical concept we invented. My point is that Leibnitz was more than just a mathematician.

Oh, you’re talking about his understanding that the universe is made up of tiny particles. Uh, what are they called? Monads? Rachel asked. She was a beautiful woman who always sat in the front row. She was a little older than my usual first-year student. I’d guess her age to be about thirty years old. There was a time when my first thought would have been how I could get her into bed. Don’t get me wrong, Rachel’s wavy red hair still drew my attention. But in her case, what attracted me first was how bright she was and how much she enjoyed discussing philosophical ideas. How about that? There sat a good-looking woman with a beautiful mind. If I were only twenty years younger, she’d be the perfect woman for me.

Of course, years ago, before I was married, many attractive young students were perfect for me. They looked at me as an icon of knowledge. I was more energetic in those days and had all the answers. But after a few dates, they’d see the real me. We would argue. I’d get slapped, and that would be the end of that until the next attractive girl came along.

That’s right, I responded to her answer with a smile. I couldn’t keep my eyes from lingering for a moment. She returned my gaze by batting her beautiful green eyes. Remember the atomists of ancient Greek philosophy? They believed everything is made up of particles that can be divided over and over again until you come to a particle that is so small… I waited for the class’s response.

How small was it, Dr. Filby? They responded in unison.

I loved a hip classroom.

They believed you would eventually come to a particle so small it could not be divided again, I said. Thus, we get the name, atom, which means, not dividable – irreducible. Leibniz, however, theorized that any particle that has extension in space can be split. Therefore, if a particle is so small that it cannot be cut in half, it must not take up any space at all.

So, what are you saying, Professor Filby? Rachel’s curiosity delighted me. Are you saying that the universe is made up of nothing?

I’m not saying anything. I’m telling you what Leibniz theorized.

I get it, another student said. Descartes believed that the substance of the universe was mind and matter. Spinoza believed the only substance was Matter, which he deified as a God. And Leibniz held that the only substance was Mind.

"Yes, that’s Mind, not minds, but Mind with a capital M standing for the universal nous," I said.

But wouldn’t that make him an empiricist rather than a rationalist? Rachel asked. "He sounds more like Berkeley’s concept that reality is perception."

Well, Leibniz might have paved the way for empiricism. Even the student I called Back Row Baxter added his two cents. Tom Baxter always sat in the back, leaning his chair against the wall.

But think of the implications for physics. I raised both my hands into the air to bring the concert to a crescendo. Leibniz’s views laid the foundation for quantum physics – that there are some particles that move so fast they don’t take up any space at all. If the particle slowed down, it could be in two places at once.

I see. And if two particles were moving toward the same spot, there may be a moment when both occupy the same space. Rachel looked up at me.

A satisfying finale to my intellectual concerto.

I mused about this group of philosophical neophytes while I hastily stuffed my laptop and books into my briefcase. It was hard to believe they weren’t also packing up to sprint out of here at the top of the hour.

That’s all for today, class, I sighed.

The only time I felt alive these days was in front of this classroom filled with animated students and not just sitting there staring like deer caught in the headlights waiting for the grade. Most of my students reminded me of the old rhyme.

The gum-chewing student and the cud-chewing cow

Are somewhat alike, yet different somehow.

I think I know what the difference is now.

It’s the intelligent look on the face of the cow.

These young people were different because they sought wisdom. Philosophy is, after all, the love of wisdom.

Knock, knock. Eric’s voice startled me. He nudged the open door and stepped in my classroom. If matter doesn’t exist, can we say that time doesn’t exist as well?

Ladies and gentlemen. I pointed toward the door. This is Dr. Eric Carlyle. He’s a blithering genius in the field of molecular biology and nuclear physics. If you want to know more about quantum physics, he’s your guy. He is so bright…

How bright is he? The class interrupted in unison.

He is so bright that his father calls him son. That got a little chuckle from the class and from Eric.

Seriously, Dr. Carlyle is such a brilliant scientist that he was invited to CERN in Switzerland in 2012 to study the Higgs boson or God particle.

Well, it wasn’t that big a deal. Eric waved off my compliment. They had 10,000 scientists there, and I was just a tiny part of the project.

And on that note, we have to wrap it up today. I have a lunch appointment with Dr. Carlyle.

The students put away their electronic tablets so fast I almost didn’t have time to remind them of their next assignment.

Remember, tomorrow we talk about Spinoza’s determinism as it relates to his ethics, and your papers are due in two weeks, I raised my voice above the din.

Students swarmed for the door. Just like that, they were gone. Everyone except Rachel had disappeared. I didn’t mind that she always had a question or two after class. Talking to her delighted me.

Dr. Filby, Rachel said. What do you think about the idea that time does not exist? If it doesn’t exist, why can’t we just back it up or move it forward?

I’d like to think it doesn’t exist. I shrugged and pointed to my face. That way, I could stay young forever. I smiled my best Cheshire cat smile.

Too late. Eric winked. Danny, you’ve already crossed that bridge.

Rachel, perhaps we should ask Dr. Carlyle. I enjoyed putting Eric on the spot. Humm, Dr. Carlyle, what do you think? Does time exist?

At our age, life is like a roll of toilet paper, Eric said in his usual cheery voice. The closer you get to the end, the faster it goes. He always laughed at his own jokes.

I rolled my eyes. Then Eric got serious for a moment.

Without time, nothing could move, he said. Time, space, energy, and matter are all necessary elements to motion. Then Eric tried to be funny. So, without time, we would be late for everything.

Rachel chuckled and looked back at me. How could she find that amusing?

So, do you think we can travel in time? Rachel couldn’t let it go. The topic really intrigued her. She looked back at Eric.

"Okay, let me get serious. Are you guys familiar with The Time Machine by H.G. Wells? He looked at Rachel and then at me. The main narrator explains that time is