Simon's meeting with the three physicists lasted an hour, during which they essentially agreed on a large-scale particle collider project with an estimated investment of tens of billions of dollars.
The specific costs would need to be calculated once the design was finalized. However, preliminary estimates suggested around $30 billion, spread over 15 to 20 years. This wouldn't require a lump-sum payment, averaging out to a maximum of $2 billion per year—a drop in the bucket for Simon.
The original SSC project, with its 22.5-kilometer circumference, saw its costs balloon from $4 billion to $11 billion and ultimately fail due to excessive political interference. Too many stakeholders wanted a piece of what was then the world's largest scientific and engineering project, much like the notoriously bloated U.S. defense procurement system.
This time, including the recently revived ITER project, Simon would seek federal support where possible but insisted on maintaining absolute control over the Westeros system. If anyone tried to insert their own interests to leech off the project, Simon would rather forgo the support. If Washington refused to provide adequate support or even set up obstacles, Simon wouldn't hesitate to move the collider project to Europe.
From Simon's current vantage point, his perspective on many issues transcended national boundaries, focusing instead on the advancement of humanity as a whole.
Thus, while political factors couldn't be entirely ignored when deciding where to build these large-scale scientific projects, they weren't the decisive factor. The key was whether the project itself could genuinely drive human technological progress.
After bidding farewell to the three physicists on the small plaza in front of the Shell Villa, Simon watched their car drive away. As he was about to turn back to the villa, Janet, who was holding his arm, gestured toward the estate's artificial lake. Spotting a small figure sitting on a bench by the lake, Simon signaled to Aideen and the others to go about their business while he and Janet strolled over.
"Should we bring Melbourne back now? School's already started," Simon asked.
After Veronica helped Simon complete the financial audit of the Westeros system, she left just as summer break began. The old man said he missed his grandson, so he took Melbourne back to Australia.
Janet snorted. "Dad's mad at you. He says Melbourne will stay in Melbourne from now on, even change his last name to Johnston and cut ties with you."
Simon's refusal to publicly acknowledge his identity and adopt the Johnston family name was the old man's biggest grievance. Otherwise, the Johnston family would now be the most illustrious family on the planet, bar none. Additionally, the old man was also upset about Simon's recent addition of several children to the family. Simon hadn't gone out of his way to hide this, and the old man, who kept a close eye on their affairs, couldn't have missed it.
Simon wasn't too concerned about the old man keeping Melbourne in Melbourne. His only worry was that the child might be spoiled by Veronica.
Hearing Janet's words, Simon simply put on a mock-fearful expression and feigned curiosity. "What about your mother-son relationship?"
"Of course, it'll stay the same," Janet said with a smile, knowing Simon wasn't too bothered. She leaned closer to him and added, "Actually, I'm more interested in life sciences."
Simon understood her intent. Due to their age difference, Janet was more fearful of aging than Simon—not the aging itself, but the fact that she would grow old before him. "You're in charge of this area, so spend as much as you want. It doesn't matter."
"The Solvay Project is too slow, like those girls you're raising in Europe and Latin America who haven't grown up yet. I don't have time to wait. I'm having them draft a targeted training program, collaborating with top universities worldwide to select the best 10,000 students and provide them with full scholarships to switch to life sciences-related fields. Additionally, I'm planning to establish life science research institutes around the world," Janet explained, then frowned slightly, troubled. "But I've realized that some of the most critical research is limited by legal and ethical constraints."
Direct human research often runs into legal or ethical issues.
A prime example is the controversy surrounding embryonic stem cells.
This is almost an insurmountable obstacle.
Even if some research doesn't involve living subjects or harm humans directly—like embryonic stem cells—it's still banned by laws in some countries because, to some, any research involving humans is sacrilegious. However, if we can only use mice or monkeys and not conduct research directly on humans, we'll never unlock the secrets of human life itself.
Simon thought for a moment and said, "Leave the political aspects to Joseph and his team. The politicians in Washington hold conservative views mainly to avoid offending conservative Christian voters. We don't need federal funding, so we can conduct our own research. Washington will turn a blind eye. Additionally, we can set up more labs in countries with less stringent legal restrictions. In short, it's not a big issue. You need to understand that the higher up the pyramid people are, the more they want to live longer."
Janet nodded, then glanced at Simon's expression. "Do you think I'm going crazy because of this?"
Simon looked back at her. "What do you think?"
Janet tilted her head and smiled again. "I think if you ever go crazy, you'll be way worse than me."
Simon became slightly more serious. "I just think that sometimes, for the human race to survive, we have to set aside many irrelevant moral or legal considerations and focus on survival itself. Because, not to mention the entire universe, even on this planet, humans may consider themselves masters, but in reality, we're as insignificant as ants. Earth has existed for 4.6 billion years, while human civilization is only a few thousand years old. To call ourselves masters is laughable. To survive, we must utilize every resource available to us."
Janet listened intently, then asked curiously, "What resources?"
"Everything," Simon said. "But from the perspective of survival itself, you've probably seen some arguments that human genes are actually degenerating. If this continues, in a few million years, even without any disasters, the human race will naturally disappear. And this planet has an enormous gene pool that we can utilize. But now, topics like this are taboo to many."
Janet blinked, her expression a mix of apprehension and inexplicable excitement. "Are you saying… humans and animals?"
Simon chuckled and bumped his head against Janet's. "What are you thinking? I mean, on a microscopic level, any genes on this planet that we can use, we should try to utilize. I've told you before that our lifespan is fundamentally determined by genes. It's like building materials—different materials and structures result in vastly different lifespans. Genes are the basic building blocks of life. Since we have access to such a vast gene pool, for the sake of human survival and even evolution, we should make use of it, rather than being constrained by so-called bioethics."
Janet nodded seriously, then suddenly said, "Then, if one day I grow a horn on my head, will you still love me?"
"No."
Janet grabbed Simon's arm and started biting it, muttering, "You little jerk."
Simon let Janet gnaw on his arm, smiling. "If you grow a horn on your head, it would only mean you misused genes you shouldn't have. I support the idea of humans utilizing the Earth's gene pool, but that doesn't mean we can use it recklessly. A scientific and rigorous approach is still necessary."
As they approached their daughter by the lake, Janet released Simon's arm and said, "Actually, I think many people probably share your views, especially scientists."
"How so?"
Janet explained, "Haven't you noticed how many scientists are advocating for the protection of Earth's biodiversity? Some even more explicitly call for the protection of Earth's genetic diversity. If they didn't share similar ideas to yours, why would they promote this? I don't think they're just pure environmentalists."
Simon thought about it and nodded in agreement.
They arrived at the artificial lake on the northwest side of the estate.
Under the watchful eyes of two maids, Seattle, sitting on a bench by the lake, was playing with a toy she had recently become fascinated with: paper airplanes.
Beside her was a 30-centimeter cube storage box filled with paper airplanes. About four or five meters in front of the bench, on a small dock extending into the lake, was another identical storage box, which already contained several paper airplanes.
Although she must have noticed her parents approaching, the little girl remained focused, meticulously handling the paper airplane in her hands.
Simon and Janet didn't disturb her, stopping to watch patiently.
The little girl weighed the paper airplane in her hand, then gently tossed it into the air as if testing something. After a moment, she raised the airplane, seemed to gauge something, and then threw it. In the gentle autumn breeze by the seaside villa, the paper airplane, folded from a sheet of A5 paper, traced a wobbly S-shaped flight path before landing precisely in the storage box on the dock.
Even though they had seen this many times before, Simon and Janet still looked on in amazement as the paper airplane landed perfectly in the box.
Noticing that their daughter was about to continue without acknowledging their presence, Janet pulled Simon forward. She picked up the storage box filled with paper airplanes, placed it on her lap, and sat down next to Seattle, smiling warmly. "Sweetie, tell Mommy, how do you do it?"
Simon sat down on the other side of their daughter. Seeing that Seattle was still silently playing with another paper airplane, he spoke in a stern tone, "Don't ignore your mother, or I'll have to punish you."
The little girl paused, finally showing a hint of distress.
She couldn't disobey her father—he would actually punish her.
Not physical punishment, of course.
But she had experienced it before. When her father got angry, he would make her do things that a normal child would do.
Like little Nick or the other toddlers.
The thought alone terrified her.
So she quickly surrendered, turning to Janet and speaking in a formal tone, "Good morning, Mommy."
Seattle was Jennifer's daughter, but Janet, dissatisfied with her two "clumsy" sons, insisted that Seattle was her child. She even made the little girl call her "Mommy," and over time, it became a habit. Now, Seattle called both Jennifers "Mommy," unlike Melbourne, who referred to the female assistant as "Auntie Jenny."
As for Janet's earlier question, the little girl naturally ignored it.
She couldn't really explain it.
Seattle felt that if she were to articulate the complex physics formulas and chaotic theory calculations swirling in her mind, not only would her mother likely not understand, but her father might also make her act like a child again.
Seeing Simon sternly warn their daughter, Janet wasn't pleased. She glared at him, then hugged the little girl and comforted her affectionately, ignoring Simon. She enthusiastically said, "Come on, Mommy will play with you."
Janet picked up a paper airplane and gestured for her daughter to go first.
Seattle continued naturally.
Since all the paper airplanes were freshly folded, she didn't have the habit of using the same one twice—it was too boring. So she had to test each one. She weighed the paper airplane in her hand, tossed it lightly to confirm its center of gravity, tilted her head to gauge the wind speed and temperature, and finally observed the environment between the bench and the storage box on the dock. Then she raised the airplane and threw it.
This time, the paper airplane traced a C-shaped flight path and, without a doubt, landed precisely in the storage box, which Seattle had estimated to be 493 centimeters away.
"Wow."
Janet marveled, though she had already invited experts to analyze her daughter's abilities. A professor from the University of California, who specialized in aerodynamics, had watched Seattle achieve 30 consecutive successful throws and could only exclaim that it was impossible, insisting it defied science.
Dr. Malcolm, the chaos theorist from Jurassic Park, once demonstrated that a drop of water flowing down the back of a hand, influenced by countless subtle factors, could never follow the exact same path as another drop.
This is chaos.
Chaos isn't unpredictable—it's just incredibly difficult to predict. A prime example is weather forecasting. Because it involves so many factors and human computational resources are limited, meteorology, which began in the 16th century, still can't accurately predict the weather.
And here was a little girl, not even four years old yet, achieving a small miracle of chaotic prediction using nothing but her mind.
It was a small miracle, indeed.
If these paper airplanes were taken to a professional lab, with specialized equipment designed to test their physical structure, the environment, and even create specific external conditions—along with a precise launching mechanism—scientists might be able to achieve the same result through complex calculations.
But, as the USC professor had admitted, such a setup, including the corresponding experiments, would require a budget of hundreds of millions of dollars.
Unless someone was crazy enough to do it.
And it was indeed a miracle.
Because Seattle's paper airplane game not only involved complex calculations but also required an extraordinary perception of her surroundings and precise control of her own body.
Without any of these elements, it would be impossible to land the paper airplanes in the box.
When Janet had asked the professor why her daughter could do this, the professor, still in a state of disbelief, speculated that the little girl simply enjoyed the pleasure derived from such complex mental activities, much like how ordinary children enjoyed playing with ordinary toys.
The professor had even asked to study Seattle, but of course, Janet refused. He had signed a confidentiality agreement and left disappointed after receiving a payment.
By the artificial lake at Dume Point Estate.
The last dozen or so paper airplanes in the storage box were split between mother and daughter. The little girl was fully immersed in her game, achieving seven consecutive successful throws. Janet, who had managed to grab two more paper airplanes than her daughter, failed all nine of her attempts. Frustrated, she turned to Simon and insisted that they roast one of the ducks their son kept in the lake for lunch.
The pair of wild ducks Melbourne had raised had now become a flock. Aside from Jack and Emma, the favorites, many of the others had been secretly eaten by the unscrupulous mother.
Simon could only agree.
Janet called over a maid to catch a duck—Jack and Emma were off-limits, but the others were fair game. It was autumn, after all, and the ducks were plump.
Then she turned back to her daughter and started discussing.
"What's so fun about paper airplanes? Let's study some life sciences instead. First, let's make Mommy live to 1,000 years old. Daddy's so mean, 900 years will do for him. Blah blah blah."
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