Chrissy Kolaya - Charmed Particles

“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.

BY TUESDAY 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.

The prairie burn was an annual event. Conducted by the Lab’s grounds crew and supervised by the Lab fire department, it was something the Lab had done every year, a way to rejuvenate the land, to allow the growth of new vegetation, clearing the way for fresh shoots of native prairie grasses through the ash. But this year, amid all of the clamor over the super collider, it had collectively slipped the minds of nearly all of the citizens of Nicolet.

Abhijat walked to his car and began his short, winding drive home. In his rearview mirror, the smoke and heat rose up from the grasses as they turned to clouds of ash, reaching up into the evening sky and obscuring the Research Tower. At the entrance to the Lab were the usual protesters, but now they seemed angrier, louder, and Abhijat could hear them from inside his car as he passed by more slowly than usual.

“You think you can burn us out? We won’t be intimidated by your scare tactics.”

Abhijat drove home in silence, realizing as he did so that the prairie burn had been — this year — poorly timed.

TRAVELING THROUGHOUT SOUTHERN ASIA THAT FALL, RANDOLPH had collected a thoughtful assortment of gifts for Lily and Rose, which he looked forward to presenting to them upon his next sojourn in the States. Through Lily’s letters, he had been kept abreast of the gathering storm the super collider had become for the citizens of Nicolet, and for his wife and daughter as well.

Randolph’s final stop on the journey would be the Andaman Islands, where he had arranged to live among the inhabitants of a small fishing village for several weeks in a hut on the beach.

In a small cardboard jewelry box, swaddled in cotton, Randolph had sent Lily the tiny corpse of a deathwatch beetle, and a note, describing to her how the small creatures bored into dead wood, and from there sent their mating calls, a repetitive tapping sound, out into the night.

Randolph had fallen asleep soundly, a well-earned rest after a busy day working alongside the fishermen, learning their techniques for constructing and repairing the nets they used to gather the fish that had sustained their people for generations. Before bed, he’d read Lily’s most recent letter, chronicling the state of the town as the public hearing loomed, and Rose’s most recent letter, chronicling the state of Lily’s application to the new Science and Math Academy.

He woke to the sound of shouting. The sun had just begun to rise, and when he peered out the entrance of his shelter, he was astonished to see that the ocean had receded miles and miles from shore, revealing wrinkled wet sand as far as the eye could see, as though someone had pulled a plug and the great sea had simply drained away.

All around him, there was the sound of commotion, and when Randolph turned back to the village to make sense of it, he found the fishermen and their families frantically loading children and prized possessions onto rickety bikes, some of them already hurrying inland toward the swell of land where the mountains began.

OUTSIDE THE HIGH SCHOOL, PROTESTERS AND SUPPORTERS HAD gathered with signs and posters, shouting at one another and at the Department of Energy representatives as they made their way inside. As Sarala and Abhijat passed through the crowd, Sarala noted the presence of police officers near the entrance, arms crossed over their chests, watching for signs of unrest.

Most of the crowd carried signs and wore T-shirts reading NO SSC IN NICOLET or BUILD YOUR EXPERIMENT ELSEWHERE, but there were a small number of supporters there as well, some of whom Abhijat recognized from the Lab and greeted with a nod as he and Sarala passed through the crowd. Among the opponents, Sarala recognized a number of their neighbors and some of the women from the Mary Kay party. She kept her head down, avoiding eye contact, but just as they were almost to the door, she caught sight of Carol, who broke away from the group of protesters and took her hand.

“Sarala, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I know you’re in a difficult place here, but I feel like I have to take a stand on this.”

“I understand,” Sarala said. She smiled warmly at her friend. Indeed, over the last few months she had begun to wonder whether, were she not married to Abhijat, she would be standing with Carol and the rest of their neighbors.

Carol embraced her. “We’re still friends,” she said, her words somewhere between a statement and a question.

“Of course.” Sarala gave Carol’s hand a squeeze and hurried to catch up to Abhijat, who stood at the door, holding it open for her.