Warning! I enjoy conventions, seminars, and short courses so much that I dream about them, and sometimes I dream about examples that I did not attend. Once in a while I dream about ones that no one has held -- yet.
A great deal of the possible enjoyment depends on who you attend with. My constant companion for affairs of this sort is an older woman of very solid reputation and accomplishment in industry. Sometimes she is chairman of the board of a large small manufacturing company, at other times the COB of a smallish large manufacturing company. She is poised, almost invariably cheerful, and, most important of all, seems to have no trouble allowing for my own shortcomings.
Enough about who I go with! I want to tell you about the recent meeting of a convention I have attended with her several times. This particular meeting was preceded by a flood of communications promising exciting developments in the biological as well as other sensory fields. Because we attend this one whenever it turns out to be convenient, we planned to attend.
The flood did not stop, it was just replaced by packets, one for each of us, the size of a Sunday newspaper but twice as heavy, loaded with presentations in every medium available to us, but not in any we don't have, a measure of the efficiency of their DIDD (Demographics in Detail Desk).
We motored, arriving at the campus of one of those large state universities so new that they are only entitled to be called after part of the state they serve, and so ambitious that their convention center outshines all but the greatest. As we turned down the live oak lined drive, a flashing sign asked us to check our car display. We did so, and were informed that, as promised in our preparatory material, our vehicle, our luggage, and our registration would be handled automatically. However, the car system almost immediately warned us that we would soon have to take control. No sweat; a good driver is always ready to take control when warned. It beats being run onto a run-out hill by the road system.
Following instructions on the display, we entered a short and rapidly moving queue of cars and arrived at a multiple fork, only one branch of which seemed to have a green light, although the cars ahead of us had all taken others.
We were asked to stop, leave the car in autopark, and place our luggage in a little freight elevator. How reception knew that we could handle our own luggage is another gold star sticker for their DIDD. The bidet temperature each of us likes is probably in their data bank. We were informed that we had been identified by photograph and were enrolled, and that our car or luggage would be available at designated areas on request. The luggage rose, the car moved off by itself, with a little help from cleats which rose up behind the front wheels, and elevators took us to a moving sidewalk.
I suppose we had some comment to make on how handy all this was, but I don't remember if we did. It is funny how fast you can get used to good treatment. Meg, my companion, waved at one of the displays lining the walkway. "I must be sure to spend some time with the bird people. We have air problems that involve a haze that seems to be neither toxic nor irritating. I want to hear what their birds can do".
"Of course we shall," I said. "I will find that one of the most interesting presentations. Perhaps the moth people can help. Loading the coolants or lubricants with their 'pheroclues' could help identify the parts of the process producing the haze.
"I suppose the word, 'pheroclue', is meant to recall to us the pheromones that moths track in such incredibly small quantities", she replied.
"Yes, the moths have been bio-engineered to seek concentration gradients of practical compounds; one, or at most a few closely related molecules, per strain of moth.
"The birds, on the other hand, or wing, can detect, and can be trained to explore, magnetic fields. The old practice of using canaries for breathability was hard on the birds; the air had to get bad enough to kill them. The modern miniature gas chromatograph is more sensitive."
"Yes, the gas chromatograph people claim the ability to help me with another problem. My goal is to keep solvent concentrations so far below both toxic and comfort levels that occasions when these levels are exceeded are few and far between."
Although the moving sidewalk beneath us and the others around us seemed sturdy and climate controlled, they were obviously not permanent, for the ground beneath was marked off as various playing fields, and we were separated from the sky above by a thin, transparent film.
The stream of humanity on the walkway was becoming denser as the people from other receiving stations joined it, but beginning to split up as various destinations branched off. One of the first was for the people who had not been identified automatically, to get them linked up with their hotels, luggage, and vehicles. Below us, although the convention had just started, a counter stream existed, and was also splitting in various directions. Both streams contained a scattering of students, wearing distinctive caps in the school colors These young people served as guides for people who were not fluent in one of the eight languages used at the intersections.
Our preliminary material had described their function. They carried a flagpole with a stack of signs on them, a five sided sign for each of the non-standard languages they understood. Some had stacks with several similar-looking alphabets, indicating familiarity with a family of languages, perhaps students in the language school. Most had just one or two, probably students from those countries. Many were in colorful national costume. The moving walkway was quiet enough for conversation, and at a fork, we stepped onto the gradually slowing material that separated the paths, where a young man in lederhosen, easily walking against the stream, carried one of the signs. Too busy minding our feet across the varying velocities, we had not taken a good look at the language he provided. We arrived just as he spoke a few words into a telephone and started for the right hand fork. As he picked up speed, we joined him, as it was the direction we had intended to take before we spotted him. His sign said "Romansh", and Meg asked him, "Pardon my curiosity, but have any Romansh speakers called on you to help them?"
When he answered, "No not yet", she replied, "I didn't think there lived a Swiss who doesn't understand two or three of the main languages."
The young man nodded. "Apparently there doesn't. They want someone to climb up into the decorations, and decided that I was the one best dressed for the job."
At a direction-reversing fork he left us, calling over his shoulder, "And I didn't think there was a Yank who'd ever even heard of my language. I'll see you later!."
As our swift but stately progress brought us to the exhibition hall, the closest exhibitors we wanted to talk to were the mollusk people. The Zebra Mussel, carefully studied in attempts to control it, had spun off some useful mutations. Almost every type of pollutant that still remained a problem had its counter-variety of Zebra mussel ready to betray it with duration and concentration information. Our interest was for a provable clean bill of health in our factory effluents. A young lady who looked better prepared for a New Year's party than a technical discussion introduced us to several strains that would serve the purpose, especially if they were all used. We could have met many more that were not as well recommended, but which she thought would be fun just to meet, but we begged off by agreeing to try her favorite if their technical people thought we could be helped.
Since it was a little easier getting a question in when we met a technician, we asked for an explanation of how the mussels recorded both duration and concentration of pollutant. "Some of the colors in the shell are deposited as part of the mussels' diurnal cycles," she was glad to explain. "The pollutant the creature is sensitive to produces shell of an entirely different color. A date is inserted into the shell for each shipment by a few days on an artificial light program."
Before leaving the mollusk people we stopped briefly at the snail exhibit. Land snails that recorded their opinion of air quality with colored bands, over periods as long as three years, were beautiful and wonderful, but nobody was riding Meg's company about air quality at the moment. We paused only briefly. So much to see, lots more people to talk to.
The way on led first to the gas chromatographs, where it still took several micrograms of most materials for a result to be construed as legal evidence, but the size of the machines had been reduced ten fold in the last couple of years. They could now be constructed as a one-shot, duration controlled device, in the imprint of a nickel. The battery and the contacts for the readout device were the largest components. Not much impressed by mere miniaturization, we trundled on.
The way on led to the turn-off for the moths, a huge dome in the center of the exhibition hall. Built a little like an igloo, access was through a large, dimly lit tunnel, with a curtain of air at each end. In the middle of the tunnel was a white cloud of graceful Luna Moths which parted as we approached and closed after us as we passed.
"How do you do that?" we asked. "We thought your "Pheroclue" materials were much too expensive to mount an exhibit like that."
The nice old lady we recognized immediately as the owner of the business smiled and nodded. "Welcome! They are, indeed. Those moths are the wild strain, beating up stream against a very dilute release of the natural pheromone. Part of our research effort began with a synthesis of the natural material. Not all our production turns out to be engineered to seek special compounds and the real thing weeds them right out of the product. We now have five strains, each of which seeks a 'Pheroclue' of its own. The one that is most suitable chemically is introduced into a large percentage of all the illicit drugs that enter this country, or any other. Can't tell you how we do it, but some folks think we load parasites of the poppy and coca plants with the material, or that we have people in the laboratories where the drugs are prepared."
I remarked, "It must create a real sinking feeling to have one of those gorgeous creatures finger you for drug possession."
"Indeed, it must, she replied. "We also have a suitable compound for inclusion with ammonium nitrate, and are working on one for plastic explosives"
"Could I obtain some of the pheromone that works with the wild strain? It would be fun to release some on a summer evening and be visited by moths."
"Even if you could afford it, it would not be available to you. Our only real control of the effects of our work on the wild population is to confine releases to areas outside the range of the moth. This is one of the main reasons that we are working with as many species as we do and species from as many different parts of the world."
"Are your other moths as beautiful as the Luna Moths?" I asked.
She smiled sweetly and replied, "No, none of the others are nearly as impressive, but some of them are able to follow lower concentration plumes of natural pheromone, and we find that the ability can survive gene engineering. if we are lucky, or persistent. We also try for larger antennas, and greater strength, while we are at it."
"What if some of these special forms escape into the wild?"
"Engineered forms don't have real niches waiting for them, and so far, our constructs have not been able to reproduce without assistance. It becomes something of a problem when one gender develops an overpowering interest in something that has nothing to do with reproduction."
"What do you mean?"
"Simply that the ability for one sex to be located by the other no longer exists."
"Of course. Well, then, you must feel reasonably safe in your experimentation. People hollering "Frankenstein" can be comforted by the facts of the matter."
"Not always, but certainly, the reality is very obviously on our side in such discussions. Are there realities facing you where our technology could supply answers?"
"Yes, if you can imagine your moths flying around a manufacturing plant, and putting an accusing finger on a machine, we do." She lifted a small device from her belt, aimed it at us briefly, and handed it to Meg. "Our Mr. Moore now has your registration data, and will ask you a few questions, mainly to arrange a video conference with our people most able to help you."
Meg conferred briefly with "Our Mr. Moore", and with a cordial farewell, we resumed our tour of the conference. Meg's paper was scheduled to be delivered in about an hour, so we hailed one of the student translators, who checked on where she was to appear and directed us to the studio. By the time we arrived, people were appearing on several of the large screens covering one end of the studio, seating themselves or standing in small groups, apparently chatting. Sound from the various small auditoriums was not turned on, and no one at the auditoriums was looking at us.
"Would you like our make-up technician?" asked the engineer, holding out her his hand for Meg's presentation disk.
"No, just a few minutes at the dressing room mirror", Meg answered, handing over the diskette.
"One chair or two at the desk?"
"Two, please. I may have Bill take some of the questions."
"One minute. Please sit down at the desk. Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated." Meg glanced at the camera and smiled. On the teleprompter screen, in the same line of sight as the camera, an image of the Master of Ceremonies appeared and briefly introduced Meg. As he faded out, he was followed by the text of her "paper". As she greeted her audiences, greetings came back through the audio connections we were wearing in our ears, and smiles and waves from the screens on the opposite wall of the studio. Her subject was "Temperature Monitoring through Precision Hue Sensing on Pipes and Ducts". Many of the attenders, in addition to watching and listening to Meg as she talked and presented her graphics on the large screen, were also wired into one of the seven other major languages on ear pieces like the one we were wearing.
Recent advances in temperature-sensitive paint and measurement of slight changes of hue had resulted in plans to simplify the monitoring of a wide variety of materials, both for temperature control and as a measure of flow. There were many interruptions, for some of which we had to ask that our ear pieces be put on one of the other seven languages. At times it would get quite technical, but we had done our homework, and things like controlling the hue of the light used to illuminate the paint, and the effect of various optical fiber materials on percent transmission as a function of length and color were answered with appropriate charts or figures. On several occasions, though, representatives of our suppliers were consulted on line and given the floor when needed.
At last, the job was finished. We had benefitted as much as any of our listeners. Some very canny questions had given us food for thought, and a few questions had revealed interest that we had not been expecting. In addition, each questioner expected to be identified by the cameras, and the names and titles would be part of the record. We thanked the studio staff, who told us keep the ear pieces, since they would run down in a week, inexpensively made for occasions like this.
The presentation, "Timing of Impacts for Better Grain Flow", was only 20 minutes away, so we headed for the nearest auditorium, a small lecture hall with about fifty seats. As we left the studio, we stopped at a window where we ordered BLT's and Jamocha shakes. An ID camera swung into line and flashed.
"Well, it looks as though there will be a charge for refreshments this time. It was nice while it lasted." We left the name of the lecture hall at the window, and by the time we had found it, the lunch was waiting for us, boxed and tagged with Meg's name. She had been chosen from the image captured by the camera because she was the one that was talking.
We picked up our lunches and ate while we sat through interminable pictures, charts, tables, explanations, and apologies for lack of explanations. A few badly put questions were handled with a definite lack of enthusiasm, so we settled for ordering a copy, just to be safe. The lack of excitement made us realize that our day was getting on, so we headed out to the walkway.
A fork was labeled "Automobiles", and further on, one said "Hotels". When we took it, we were scanned and returned to the main walkway. At each fork after that, a scanner checked us and sent a narrow green beam from the appropriate direction. We were very soon at a shuttle bus that quickly left, calling the names of the passengers who should get off as we stopped at several hotels, and scanning those who boarded. When it was our turn to debark, we were greeted by a bellhop who led us past a scanner, which pronounced our names and room number for him so that he could take us to our room.
A shower and a nap would restore the feeling of adventure. The hotel we like has showers that furnish isotonic saline, slightly hard, or absolutely soft water. Their autofront will identify us and flash a list of fellow guests who would like to hear from us. It will then and hand us each a key and, unless we turn it off, flash the color of the arrows that will take us to our suite. From a suite, at this hotel, the guest can select any other suite or business in the hotel and get colored arrows that will last a reasonable time. The DIDD knows if you are color blind, use a power chair, or if you are forgetful or blind. "Forgetful" is hotel politesse for "fighting short-term memory failure". Usually available are volunteers who will lead a child or blind person, or help someone remember a destination. At this particular hotel, volunteers have coffee at any time, a modest meal four times a day, text-only mail in limited quantities, all in a fairly comfortable lounge.
Tomorrow would bring more presentations.