Broken Symmetry

2. Spin Down

Roy Schwitters looked out over the site of the latest explosion. With his handkerchief, he mopped his bald head and rubbed the perspiration out of his beard. The hot Sun beat down on him and Sheriff Kingsley, making Roy wish he could return to his air-conditioned office at Harvard. The flat grassland, which stretched all around for many miles, had been torn up in this one spot. Dirt and metal fragments mixed together, scattered about in a nearly perfect circle, twenty meters in diameter.

Roy studied the area for a few minutes. He walked around the circumference of the debris, occasionally squatting down to pick up a piece of metal or a handful of sand. When he finished, he brushed off his pants, positioned himself so the Sun shone behind him, and turned towards Kingsley.

“You’re right,” he said. He spoke, as always, in a soft unaccented tenor monotone. “It does look like there was an explosion inside the old SSC tunnel.”

“That’s what we figured when we found the first four holes, but we weren’t quite sure,” said Sheriff Kingsley. “Jack Levinson’s story confirmed it.”

“I see only one problem,” Roy said. “There’s nothing we did that would cause explosions to emanate from the tunnel. We never even had a chance to run one beam.” He gazed wistfully around him.

“We know,” said Kingsley, “but this was the fifth explosion, and they’ve all only happened around the ring where you scientists were going to do your experiments. That’s why I called you, Dr. Schwitters; frankly, I was a little surprised that you were willing to come back, after all that happened. But I am grateful.”

Roy winced at the memories triggered by the sheriffs comments, but he let them pass. “Yes, I’m willing to come back, anytime. I’ve already told you that it can’t be the Supercollider doing this; we never even had a chance to turn the accelerator on.”

He walked around the debris again, and said, “Perhaps someone is setting off bombs, but I can’t think of any rationale for blowing up the tunnel. The project’s been long dead for these past ten years; it’s not like anyone should want to sabotage it now. You’ve probably just got some nut whose hobbies include blowing up outmoded scientific equipment. Maybe another Unabomber. I can’t help you there.”

“Begging your pardon,” Kingsley said, “but aren’t you forgetting something? Forensics tells us that they can’t find any remnants of a bomb. No chemicals, no timer, nothing. And the explosions are definitely originating from inside the tunnel.”

“So?”

“Well, I don’t pretend to be a physicist or anything like that, but I grew up here in Waxahachie and I remember all the hoopla when we got the SSC. I wasn’t always happy about it, but I stayed interested, and kept reading up about it, even after they decided not to use the facility for anything else, like they were saying they would. One thing I remember very well was that they sealed off the tunnel after Congress killed it. So how does this mad bomber set up his bombs?”

Roy thought a moment. “He probably found a hole somewhere and crawled in.”

“You mean he goes inside? We did a thorough drive around the main ring after the first explosion. Besides the holes that were actually caused by explosions—all of which we resealed immediately—there aren’t any other openings. So even if he’s as hardy as I am, Dr. Schwitters, I ask you again—how does he get inside?”

Roy had absolutely no idea what to say. He regarded the sheriff for a moment, then, without saying a word, he walked back to the car.