Charmed Particles (29 page)

Abhijat spent the night awake long into the small hours, worrying. As the date of the hearing approached, he'd found it increasingly difficult to sleep, focused on the idea that the hearing would be where the matter of his legacy was decided. Where it would either be held out to him or snatched away.

Sarala and Meena had long since gone to bed, and the house hummed with silence. He found himself searching the living room bookshelves in hopes of finding a text that might—what? he chided himself. Offer some guess about how things might turn out, about what decision would be made? Provide some prophecy about how this mess with the collider would all turn out?

He ran his fingers along the spines of the books, stopping at the copy of de Toqueville's
Democracy in America
he had purchased for Sarala so many years ago. He pulled at it, tugging it gently from the other books and letting it fall open, heavy in his palm.

He flipped backward to the book's table of contents, his eyes wandering over the chapters he remembered from his own reading. He turned, expectantly, to Book 1, Chapter 10: “Why the Americans Are More Addicted to Practical than to Theoretical Science.” But he found no solace in it, no explanation of the situation in which the town and the Lab now found themselves, no suggestions about how one might resolve this impasse. Leafing through the book's pages, though, what he did find was the inscription he had made inside the book when he had given it to Sarala so many years before. There, on the dark blue paper of the flyleaf, was his inscription. He ran his finger over his own handwriting.

For my beautiful and beloved wife—

It felt as though he had discovered the private, secret correspondence of two strangers.

Abhijat sat at his desk, his lamp glowing out into the otherwise dark house. He realized how very little he knew about Sarala's interests anymore, how infrequently he asked her about her world. It had been a habit so easy to slip into—busy with work, busy with Meena—that he'd hardly noticed how long it had been since they'd had a proper conversation, one that did not involve Meena's schedule, her school-work, or, he realized, the situation at the Lab.

Upstairs, Sarala had fallen asleep. Abhijat turned off the television and watched as she shifted under the comforter in sleep.

In the morning, Abhijat watched Sarala for signs that her irritation at his comment had blown over. But she was quiet, and even as she prepared breakfast and packed Meena's lunch, she avoided looking at him.

Meena noticed this too, the strange silence of the kitchen. She watched a small frown of concern bloom on father's forehead, his face bent low over his breakfast.

Sarala went out to the driveway to collect the newspaper. She hadn't yet talked with Abhijat about her plan. She thought it would be best to wait until after the matter of the collider was decided. Even then, though, she wasn't sure it was something he was ready to hear.

After arriving at the Lab and giving Dr. Cardiff what he hoped was enough time to settle in for the day, Abhijat knocked gently on the open door of his friend's office. Though Dr. Cardiff always kept his door open and welcomed his colleagues to drop in, Abhijat maintained the careful protocol of knocking first.

“Come in, come in,” Dr. Cardiff called, still looking down at the papers on his desk as Abhijat entered. “Have a seat, old friend.” Dr. Cardiff indicated one of the two chairs that sat opposite his desk.

Dr. Cardiff's office looked out into the atrium of the Research Tower, and Abhijat looked down at the small people making their way across the lobby. Across the atrium, he could see into the other offices, his colleagues in profile at their desks or standing to chalk out an equation on the slate walls. Dr. Cardiff followed his gaze.

“It's an inspiring view,” he said, and waited for Abhijat to speak.

“Gerald,” Abhijat began. He took a seat in the chair Dr. Cardiff had indicated. Abhijat's hands began to beat a nervous staccato in his lap. “In your opinion, if I may ask, what do you believe will happen to the Lab, to us, if the collider does not go forward?”

Dr. Cardiff took a breath, rolling away from his desk and settling more comfortably into his chair. “Well,” he said, “they may consider building it somewhere else in the U.S.”

Abhijat nodded. He had already considered this possibility.

“But I think it's far more likely,” here Dr. Cardiff took a deep breath, “that it, or something like it, would be built in another country. It may mean the end of this country's dominance at truly high energy levels.”

Abhijat thought for a moment about this. If the Lab were no longer the preeminent facility, then, in terms of his career advancement, it would set him back to stay. He wondered whether Sarala and Meena would agree to a move. Early on, he thought, Sarala could perhaps have been more easily convinced, but now? “And where would you go, Dr. Cardiff, in that event?” he asked.

Dr. Cardiff smiled at his friend, imagining something of the thoughts Abhijat must be turning over in his mind. “Oh, I imagine I'll stay right here. At my age, being at the top facility no longer seems as imperative as it once did.”

The phrase “at my age” struck Abhijat. He and Dr. Cardiff were contemporaries. Abhijat had not yet begun to feel old, to feel like the sort of man who might use this expression “at my age,” the sort of scientist who might imagine the endpoint of his career as not very far away. But, he realized, this was, in fact, precisely what he was.

“I see.” Abhijat thought for a moment. “Thank you,” he said, rising and making his way quickly toward the doorway, “for sharing your thoughts.”

“Of course,” Dr. Cardiff said. Then, gently, “Try not to worry too much about this, Abhijat. Really, at this point, it's quite out of our hands.”

“Yes,” Abhijat agreed softly. “Yes, I think you are right.”

Dr. Cardiff did not tell Abhijat that he had begun to think it was unlikely they would prevail. That it seemed to him doubtful that the collider would be built in Nicolet or, indeed, anywhere in the U.S.

CHAPTER 18

Prairie Burn

The gladdest moment in human life is the departure upon a distant journey into unknown lands
.

—R
ICHARD
B
URTON

B
Y
T
UESDAY
MORNING
,
MOST OF
THE
TOWN
WAS
BUZZING
ABOUT
the public hearing, which would begin at 8 a.m. the following day. And with the event looming, the tension had begun to rise among the town's residents. Many of them, unaccustomed to public speaking, were now poring over their notes, spending long nights at their kitchen tables deciding what would best fit into their allotted five-minute time slot, what would be most effective, what they might say to sway the decision in one direction or another.

At the Lab, Abhijat spent most of the afternoon in a meeting in a conference room that looked out over the atrium; with a lull in the conversation, he could hear the quiet hum of the Research Tower's central air. It was only when he returned to his own office, caught the smell of it creeping into the building, and looked out over the prairie that he saw it.

The orange flames had spread quickly through the dry prairie grasses, sending up a cloud of smoke that rose slowly into the air. From his office on the nineteenth floor, Abhijat watched the glow from the grass now ablaze and looked out over the flame-red prairie.

From town, Sarala smelled the smoke. It reminded her of the campfires around which reenactors arranged their tents during Heritage Village's annual Revolutionary War Days.

She stepped out onto the porch. From far off, billowing gray clouds of smoke rose up from the grounds of the Lab.

As she turned to go back inside, she noticed a flyer that had been rolled up and tucked between the front door and the screen. She pulled it out and unrolled it.

“Don't forget to join us tomorrow at the public hearing. This is your last chance to protect your homes and families. Bring your friends. Wear your T-shirts and buttons. Arrive early—our opponents will!”

The phone at the emergency response dispatch unit had already begun to ring off the hook.