Sunfall

by Jim Al-Khalili

  Marc grinned at his friend, whose hair, following the removal of his visor, was in a state of dishevelment impressive even by his high standards. ‘I fucking knew it,’ he said, clenching his fist and punching the air. ‘Then we’re all set, right? We can’t take this any further without carrying out full simulations. And we’re going to need help with that.’ Qiang grinned back and nodded enthusiastically. He looked tired, with dark bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep, but his eyes were shining with an inner fire.

  Marc rubbed his chin, feeling the three days’ growth of beard. ‘I don’t suppose you could do a coffee run, could you?’ he asked. ‘I feel I need a shave and a shower before I do anything else.’

  Qiang smiled. ‘Yeah, OK.’ He headed for the door.

  ‘And close the door carefully behind you. Last time it slammed, and the breeze blew a couple of pages off the bed.’

  Qiang grinned and nodded slowly. When he’d gone, Marc stared down at the mass of paperwork spread out on his bed and tried to summon the energy to move to the bathroom. This was a rewarding kind of exhaustion, though, the type that followed a long and sustained period of creativity, just like the old days, when nothing got in the way of his research once he was on to something big. He’d tried hard not to allow himself the luxury of believing their plan might actually work, but now he couldn’t help but think of Evie again. Maybe this would give her back a future she probably wouldn’t otherwise have.

  But if he were truly honest with himself, Marc would have to admit that these past three days hadn’t really been about saving the world, or even saving his daughter – but rather more selfish motives. This had always been where he felt happiest: waist-deep in mathematics. And once he was ‘in the zone’ the outside world faded away, leaving just him and his equations. He was in an abstract, enchanted world, rich with symbols and beautiful in its logic. The creativity he experienced at such times was not so different from that of a sculptor, poet or musician, and his sense of achievement no less than that of an explorer or mountaineer.

  He began to gather the sheets of paper carefully together. I really need to number these pages, or I’ll regret it. He thought about what he and Qiang had achieved. Strangely, the particle physics aspects, which he knew best, were the easy part. What was tricky was figuring out how to set the whole thing up: there would need to be a suite of dark-matter accelerators, all producing beams of neutralinos and firing them straight down into the ground from different locations around the globe. The mathematical problem was twofold: what was the minimum number needed and where should they be located?

  Of course, whatever the answer, it would make the project stupendously expensive. Several new particle accelerators would have to be built from scratch, and ridiculously quickly. The sheer audacity of the plan made it sound crazy.

  He knew the physics would work, and he knew it wouldn’t take long to convince other scientists of its feasibility. The more pressing issue was whether there was the political will to do it, and to have it up and running in a matter of months.

  For some reason, an image from his childhood obsession with Star Trek floated into his consciousness as he pictured the Starship Enterprise with her shields up. If they weakened, it would leave her exposed to a Klingon attack. Now, the Earth was the Enterprise with her shields down and the Sun was the Klingon ship waiting to strike.

  Once he’d finished stacking the papers neatly on the desk, he headed for the bathroom. Staring into the mirror, it occurred to him that they needed an appropriate acronym – something the politicians and media could latch on to. After all, every great scientific project, space mission, telescope or particle accelerator had to have a name. But he felt too tired for any more creativity just now. He finished shaving and jumped in the shower, welcoming the sensation of the hot water as it washed away his aches and tiredness, only half thinking about a name for their project.

  Qiang had calculated that eight different neutralino accelerators would be needed, spread across the globe, all firing their beams into the centre of the planet to deliver enough energy to set off a seismic shock wave that would kick-start the flow of the molten core. However, Marc could think of only three laboratories that could currently do that job: CERN in Switzerland, Fermilab in the US and J-PARC in Japan. Their locations were ideal, but it was almost inconceivable to think that five new accelerators could be built, in under a year. And yet it was even more inconceivable to think that humanity wouldn’t come together to try.

  As he stepped out of the shower it finally hit him. He ran naked and dripping to the desk and found a pen and scrap of paper. That was it. They would call it the Odin Project.

  Marc had read a lot of Germanic and Norse mythology and his favourite deity had always been the god Odin who, with his staff and broad hat, reminded Marc of Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings. And Odin, the god of death, knowledge and healing, was the perfect choice for an experiment that, through physics knowledge, could heal the planet and pull it back from the brink of death.

  He scribbled down a list of relevant words beginning with each of the four letters and quickly came up with a winning combination: The O.D.I.N. Project would stand for Octangular Directional Ignition with Neutralinos. It was perfect.

  He then scampered back to the bathroom to finish drying himself off. He didn’t want to give his young friend a scare.

  The one thing that Marc had only privately contemplated, and suspected Qiang had too, was the possibility that the project would go ahead, but still fail. Because there would be no second chance. For example, what happened if any one of the eight neutralino beams misfired or missed the central collision point thousands of kilometres deep within the Earth’s core, even by a single millimetre? The eight beams had to come together, each from a different direction, and meet simultaneously at precisely the same point to create a burst of pure energy that would be directed around the molten core. But without this careful balancing act from their combined momentum, a shock wave would instead be sent outward towards the planet’s surface. It would be like firing a bullet up at a glass roof: the Earth’s crust would be shattered, bringing about the end of most life on the planet far more efficiently than the dying field could do.

  The question is whether the rest of the world can be persuaded that this is a risk we have to take.

  Dressed and feeling half human again, he decided to look up Sarah Maitlin while he waited for Qiang to get back. He sat down on the bed and activated his AR. It took him just a few seconds to locate her, and he sent a brief message.

  Dr Maitlin, my name is Marc Bruckner, a particle physicist. I apologize for getting in touch with you out of the blue and hope you don’t dismiss me as a nutter. Please check my academic credentials. I have strong reservations about the MPD project, and suspect you might do too, although of course I have nothing to base this on. But, there may be another solution. I think you may currently be in New York, as am I, and I wondered if you might agree to a brief meeting. Please contact me as a matter of some urgency so I can tell you a little more.

  Best wishes, Professor Marc Bruckner.

  As soon as he’d sent the message he lay back on his bed and closed his eyes.

  He was awoken from sleep by his wristpad pinging. He tapped it and Sarah Maitlin’s face appeared. He sat bolt upright and self-consciously rubbed his eyes. How long had he been asleep? And where was Qiang?

  ‘Professor Bruckner, hello. You wanted to talk to me,’ Sarah said in her British accent. He noticed she had activated surround block to ensure that all he saw was her face and not where she was. She looked distracted and sombre.

  ‘Ah, Dr Maitlin. Thank you for getting back to me. I appreciate that this is all a little unconventional, but then we live in, um, interesting times.’

  Sarah didn’t answer, so he decided this wasn’t the time for pleasantries or small talk and ploughed ahead. He hadn’t rehearsed what to say and realized he needed to tread carefully, both because he didn’t want to scare her off and because h
e didn’t know who else might be listening in.

  ‘My colleague Professor Qiang Lee and I have a scientific proposal to put to you. We feel that your research field, your public profile and your position in the UN all mean you’re the ideal person to make things happen.’

  ‘I see. Of course, firstly, let me say I know of your work, Professor Bruckner, so I’m satisfied you’re genuine, despite your recent personal problems.’

  So, she had checked up on him and clearly wasn’t going to be pulling any punches. But then her voice softened a little. ‘In fact, I attended a talk you gave on dark matter when I was a grad student in Cambridge about fifteen years ago.’

  Way to go to make me feel old. ‘Wow, OK, so—’ He tried to recall what the occasion might have been but gave up.

  ‘Sarah, if I may, listen, I don’t want to say any more at the moment. Is it possible to meet with you in person to discuss this matter? And, yes, I know how this must sound.’

  There was a pause. Then, ‘OK, but give me something to go on first.’

  ‘Well, we – that is, Qiang Lee and I – think that—’ Even as he searched for the words to say, he realized how ludicrous it all sounded. ‘Look, I really would prefer it if you heard the details from both of us.’ Then he added, ‘Let’s just say you can’t afford not to hear us out.’

  In his mind, Marc heard her say, Oh, but I most certainly can, Professor Bruckner, but she didn’t. Maybe it was something in his voice she had picked up, or maybe she just sensed his desperation, because her face grew larger on the screen as she lifted her wristpad closer to it and at the same time dropped her voice a little – an interesting conspiratorial gesture, although quite pointless if anyone was indeed listening in. Then she said, ‘There’s a diner on the corner of Madison and East Twenty-Seventh. They do great pancakes. It’ll be busy, so I can guarantee anonymity and privacy. How about tomorrow morning at eight?’

  ‘Sounds perfect. See you tomorrow … And thank you.’ Marc resisted the temptation to say anything else.

  Her face disappeared from the screen.

  Two minutes later, there was a knock on the door and he opened it to Qiang, who was holding two large paper cups of coffee.

  ‘Ah, the wanderer returns,’ he said. ‘You took your time.’

  ‘Sorry, I couldn’t find anything open. It seems that with all the unrest of the past few days, a lot of the shops haven’t reopened yet.’

  Marc seized one of the cups from his friend and took a deep sip. It tasted wonderful, despite being only lukewarm. He wondered whether the place Sarah had suggested they meet tomorrow would also be closed. Then he realized he’d have to break the news to Qiang that he’d gone ahead and set up the meeting without consulting his friend. He decided to stall.

  ‘So, the “Odin” Project. Whaddaya think?’

  Qiang shot him a puzzled look.

  ‘That’s what we’re going to call it,’ said Marc, taking a second sip of coffee and wandering back to his bed. ‘Oh, and we get to discuss it with Sarah Maitlin over breakfast tomorrow morning.’

  27

  Tuesday, 19 February – New York

  Qiang Lee appeared less enthusiastic than his older colleague about talking openly to Sarah. Maybe he was just naturally shy. At first, she thought it might be because he had reservations about their audacious plan, but soon realized he was just uneasy about trusting her. And why should he? She’d had to learn herself not to trust anyone these days.

  Marc Bruckner, on the other hand, was far more candid. ‘I know how this sounds,’ he said after they had ordered breakfast. ‘A stupid plot from an old Hollywood disaster movie. But we really believe it can work.’

  ‘Firstly, why me?’ she asked, recalling the number of times she had asked that question over the past few weeks: of the world’s media obsessed with hearing her views, of the British government, of Aguda when she had been recruited onto the UN committee, of Shireen who had singled her out with the revelations about the dying field … How lovely that people seemed so naturally drawn to her. ‘Why not go further up the chain of command to people who can actually make things happen?’

  Qiang grunted, but Marc was clear about his motives. ‘Look, you’re a physicist too, so we felt—’ He gave Qiang a quick sideways glance. ‘—I felt that you would at least see it as feasible in principle. Plus, of course, we think the magnetic pulse plan is useless – even if successful, it’s nothing more than a temporary measure, and we can’t just sit around waiting for the planet to die. If we do nothing, the Earth will end up a dead planet like Mars. But, hey, I’m not telling you anything you don’t know.’

  Sarah didn’t reply. She pondered how she had so quickly morphed from innocent ingénue to influential figure in world politics. What was it that people saw in her that made her the target of such attention, and trust?

  They were sitting at a table not far from the one she’d shared with Aguda ten days earlier, but the diner was much quieter this morning. In fact, she’d noticed far fewer people out on the streets these past few days; the civil unrest – which had been particularly bad in New York – triggered by the satellite data revelations, and further exacerbated by the ensuing political uncertainty and turmoil, meant that many people were either anxious about leaving the safety of their homes or simply too dispirited to go to work. Trouble had erupted hard on the heels of her leaked conversation with Aguda and their subsequent network appearance, and had got so bad in various parts of the city that the National Guard had had to be called in.

  Marc began to give her the full sales pitch and seemed unashamed to do so, waxing lyrical about high-energy beams of dark-matter particles produced by accelerators around the globe, E=mc2, seismic waves and liquid metal cores.

  Sarah listened as they described the Odin Project. No one in the world knew more about dark matter than Bruckner and Lee – hell, they were still in the running for the Nobel Prize – but the idea of firing beams of high-energy particles into the Earth’s core made the MPD proposal sound almost reasonable. This plan was nothing short of crazy. And when had the ability to do world-class research ruled out the possibility of pushing a crackpot theory later in life? There were plenty of examples of geniuses going off the rails …

  Having read the stories of Marc’s broken marriage and his long struggle with depression, she was quite surprised by his disarming charm and openness. But it was clear that behind the breezy façade lay a complex character that he kept carefully locked away. And yet, there was something in his eyes that made her want to believe him – a fiery zeal that he couldn’t quite hide. He was good-looking, in a rough-round-the-edges way, as though he couldn’t be bothered to put in the effort any more. She tried to work out how old he must be – probably mid-forties. She also knew he had a teenage daughter and wondered what part she played in stoking his desire to make this plan work.

  In the end, what persuaded her to take their idea seriously wasn’t so much the science – that was for others to assess – but the fact that she knew better than Marc how ineffectual the MPD project really was. She had seen the negative results from the simulations of the space-based MPD produced by the murdered German computer scientist.

  So she promised to take their proposal, with her own endorsement for what that was worth, to Peter Hogan and the committee, in the hope that they would agree for Marc and Qiang to give a more formal presentation at the UN.

  ‘But please don’t get your hopes up. They could well dismiss it out of hand as being too outlandish, too risky and too expensive to take seriously.’

  Qiang leaned forward, slamming his fist on the table. ‘But how could they not listen to us? What’s the point of worrying about cost, if the world is coming to an end?’ Marc rested his hand on the younger man’s shoulder to calm him. But Sarah understood his frustration.

  ‘Look, I didn’t say they won’t listen, just that you have to prepare yourselves for disappointment.’

  ‘We have other options, you know,’ said Qiang. ‘It may b
e that the Chinese government is more receptive than your UN committee.’

  Sarah shrugged. ‘Possibly. But just remember that the current international stance is that the MPD project is still the only official solution, whether space-based or terrestrial.’

  But for how much longer, she wondered. Would there come a time when the MPD option was shelved for good and Marc and Qiang’s Odin Project would be seriously considered?

  28

  Wednesday, 13 March – Rio de Janeiro

  Sarah had been woken up by her two cats – one scratching at the open bedroom door, knowing this would eventually prompt a response from her, and the other purring loudly in her ear as it curled up on the pillow between her head and the back wall.

  No, it’s too early, you little rascals. Leave me alone.

  She pushed the cat off the bed and lay staring up at the ceiling, letting her vision swim into focus. It had been over three weeks since she had first met with Marc and Qiang in New York and there still hadn’t been any progress in getting their plan heard by the right people. It had been extremely frustrating. Although other scientists had acknowledged that it was theoretically feasible, most governments simply didn’t have the appetite to switch from the MPD plan to what Peter Hogan had referred to as science fiction.

  She promised Marc that she would keep pushing for it but she had been needed back in Rio to monitor and gather data on the latest, unusually high, solar activity. She had left Shireen to stay on in her New York apartment. The FBI were still watching the young Iranian closely, but it seemed unnecessary for Sarah to act as a full-time chaperone. Now, back in her own apartment, she at least felt a semblance of familiar routine returning to her life after the past anything-but-routine weeks. But the deep-seated sense of dread and impending catastrophe never left her. If anything, it was worse now, invading her dreams most nights. On several occasions she had woken up in a sweat from a nightmare of a dystopian post-apocalyptic world, helpless to do anything about saving humanity. She had found herself talking to her parents more regularly too, with each of them hiding their anxiety and keeping up the pretence of normality.