The director’s secretary informed them that the director was unavailable. And she would not reveal where he was at the moment. No amount of pleading and arguing from Alex and Katerina resulted in the director becoming less unavailable.
Alex checked his watch. “Come on, Katerina. Let’s get out of here.”
They stormed out of the office. On a door across the hall, Alex saw the sign,
Michael Decker
Deputy Director
“Maybe he can do something,” said Alex.
“Let’s hope,” said Katerina.
They walked in to confront Deputy Director Decker. Alex was prepared for a fight but he didn’t get one. Decker was relaxed and casual, not even wearing a tie. Apparently, he did not have a secretary.
After Alex explained who they were and why they were there, Katerina showed Decker the data.
Alex, painfully aware of the passage of time, waited impatiently as Decker unhurriedly perused Katerina’s folder.
“I’m not sure that I believe these data,” said Decker.
Alex suppressed a grimace. Damn.
“But I think they justify shutting down the Tevetron while the LHC is live,” Decker continued, “until we can do a thorough analysis.”
Great!
“But unfortunately, I don’t have the authority. The Director will have to approve.”
Damn!
“The director’s not in his office,” said Katerina. “And his secretary wouldn’t tell us where he is.”
Decker scowled. “He’s probably in his not-to-disturb hideaway deep in the Tevatron facility.” He leaned in over his computer keyboard. “But I’d say this is important enough to disturb him—via videoconference.”
The computer monitor came live with the image of a man sitting at his desk. And he seemed angry. Alex couldn’t help noticing the man’s dilated pupils and sweat-glistening forehead.
Decker explained the situation and, without waiting for a response, aimed the camera at Katerina and Alex and had them give the details. As they laid out the arguments, the director fidgeted, almost as if afflicted with a neurological condition.
“You’re sure all this is going to happen?” said the director when they’d finished.
“No. We’re not sure,” said Katerina, “not even half sure. But the risk is there.”
“A very theoretical risk, I assume.” The director crossed his hands on his desk. “I am sorry, but I can’t justify bringing down the Tevatron on such… theoretical grounds.”
“We’re sitting on an extension of the New Madrid fault,” said Alex, hoping his voice would imply an urgency that Katerina’s did not. “There could well be another quake right here—this time a big one.”
“Again,” said the director, imperiously, “are you sure?”
“Well, no.” Alex paused. “But I know what a Richter nine earthquake can do.”
“If it happens.”
Alex blew out a breath. “With the Tevatron up and running, especially with the two-Tev upgrade and with the LHC above seven—”
“The LHC,” said the director, scornfully. “If we had just one-tenth their funding, we could replace our magnets with lutetium-doped units and be almost at their power.” He uttered a laugh without humor. “If by some miracle we did have some damage from this quake of yours, then, damn it, we’d take the insurance money and we would buy those magnets.”
“Please,” said Alex. “This could be a real danger to the world.” He glanced at his watch. “And we are almost out of time.”
The director gave a mirthless smile. “When you first came here, only last month,”—the director straightened one finger and pointed it at Alex—”weren’t you the one who applied Rapid-Grow in a circle on the grass above the accelerator ring?”
“I didn’t know anyone knew about that.”
“Well,” said the director, “what’s the joke this time?”
“This is no joke,” said Alex, weakly, the wind now out of his sails.
“We can show,” said Katerina, “that the earthquakes correlate strongly with the Tevatron and LHC running.”
“But you can’t say it’s causal, can you?” said the director. “Correlation doesn’t mean causation.”
“In this case, though,” said Katerina, “it’s very suggestive.”
The director looked away. “Some thought the first atomic bomb test might ignite the atmosphere.”
“Meaning?” said Alex, impatiently.
“Meaning…” The director swiveled sharply, directing his gaze at Alex. “I’m not ordering the Tevatron shut down on the recommendation of a postdoc.” The director tapped his desk with a balled fist. “I’d be laughed out of my director’s appointment if I did.”
Katerina made calming motions with her hands. “Look. The idea was to close down the Tevatron when the LHC came online. And it has. So why not shut it down now?”
“Not a chance. We’ve got funding to the end of the year.”
Alex saw the director move his hand forward, and then the screen went black. “As the saying goes,” said Alex under his breath, “there but for the grace of God goes God.”
“You noticed,” said Decker, his eyes also on the now blank screen. He turned his attention to Alex and Katerina. “Can’t promise anything,”—he stood, bringing the meeting to a close—”but I’ll see what I can do.”
“There’s not much time,” said Katerina.
“I know.”
Takeo glanced up from his chess set as Alex and Katerina came back into the cafeteria. It looked as if he’d been playing a game with himself.
Alex threw himself down into a chair.
“It appears the director did not agree with the proposal,” said Takeo.
“Closed-minded idiot.”
Katerina sat. “I wonder,” she said, distantly. “Once the earthquake starts, is there any way to stop it?”
Takeo stroked his chin. After a moment, he said, “If the Tevatron were shut down, the Earth should re-seal and the quake should stop.”
“Then I’m going to try to turn off the Tevatron myself.” Alex sprang to his feet. “Before the LHC powers up.”
Katerina appeared startled. “But the deputy director said he’d—”
“We can’t rely on that,” said Alex.
“Injudicious,” said Takeo. “One would not be able to gain entry to the Tevatron.”
“We’ll see.” Alex spun around, but before he’d taken two steps away, Takeo cleared his throat. Alex stopped, looked around, and saw Takeo beckoning him with his forefinger. Alex walked back to the table. “Yes?”
“How much time would there be between your dog’s howl and the possible earthquake?”
“About ten minutes.”
“So long?” said Takeo.
“The Earth reacts slowly.” Alex wanted to get on with it but was curious what Takeo had in mind.
“Might not a better plan be to wait near the Tevatron and wait for the dog to howl? And only then to attempt a shut-down?”
“You’ll come with me?”
Takeo shook his head. “Regrettably not.”
Alex narrowed his eyes.
“Should the dog howl, go to the D-zero entrance,” said Takeo. “If entry is possible, and one goes inside, there is a wooden door about twenty meters in—on the left.” Takeo spoke softly. “The door opens to a corridor leading to a room where there once was an experiment. Inside is an inner room where a beam from the accelerator impacted geological samples. The beam no longer goes to that room. The room is empty now. All equipment has been removed. Go there.”
“Why? What good is it if there’s nothing running there anymore?”
“Ah. Although the equipment has been removed, the inner room is still there.” Takeo leaned forward. “And so is the emergency dead-button inside that room.” He leaned further toward Alex. “Push that button,” he said at a whisper, “and the Tevatron will immediately shut down.”