Sunfall

by Jim Al-Khalili

  Marc sighed. ‘Just open the door, Maher. What other choice do we have?’

  Haydar must have sensed something in his voice, because he turned and punched a multiple-digit number into a keypad by the door, and it clicked open. Marc pushed past him.

  And he was running – running through a narrow alleyway that zigzagged between concrete shielding walls that towered like smooth white cliffs metres above him. He could feel the air getting colder. It was beginning to hurt his chest, so he tried to take shorter breaths. It occurred to him that he hadn’t got around to calling Evie. Damn it. She’d be so cross with him. And now he was letting her down again. He thought about Sarah and Qiang. He didn’t think they could see him from the control room. Just as well. He knew he had to do this. It was the only way. The Odin Project was his greatest achievement and he wasn’t prepared for it to fail now. Not when they were so close. The earlier panic and stress seemed to fall away. He had a job to do.

  He emerged in the large open chamber. Above him rose the array of giant magnets, their superconducting coils humming a deep monotonous tone that he could feel in his bones. Ahead, at the very centre of the hall, was the quadrupole magnet itself, suspended above the borehole down which the dark-matter beam would travel to the Earth’s core. If it could.

  As he hurried towards it, he was stopped in his tracks by a sound that reverberated around the dome. It was the Mind, and it sounded like the voice of God.

  Marc Bruckner. You should not be here. I cannot allow you to compromise the run.

  Even though he had been expecting it, and knew it was nothing more than a synthetic voice generated by an artificial intelligence, it still filled him with awe. Yet he couldn’t allow it to distract him. As he ran, he shouted out, ‘Listen to me. I have been speaking with Shireen Darvish. The swarm you destroyed has already compromised the run. The shutter on the quadrupole magnet is closed.’

  This cannot be so. My diagnostics would have alerted me.

  He stopped briefly. The cold felt like sandpaper on the back of his throat. Where was the entrance to the central chamber? He looked up. ‘The shutter sensor was destroyed by the swarm. You can’t rely on what it’s telling you. You must be able to check a different way. I mean, you’re a fucking Mind.’

  The cold was seeping through to his core and every breath he took in was like a sharp knife in his chest.

  There was the briefest of pauses before the Mind responded.

  You are correct. The shutter is closed. I am unable to open it.

  ‘Then abort the run. Now.’

  I can do that. But there is a risk.

  ‘Oh, my God. Why?’

  It is T-minus one hundred and twenty seconds. All three accelerators now have their proton-beam energies ramped up. The only way to abort now is to close six of the other seven shutters too and block the beams.

  Marc tried to understand what he was hearing, but the cold seemed to be seeping into his brain, slowing it down. Why six shutters? Why not all seven? Yes, because they could afford to have one beam pass through, because it would simply carry on uninterrupted through the Earth and out the other side.

  The Mind was still talking.

  I have just communicated with the other Minds and determined that there is a non-negligible probability that one or more of them will not comply with my decision to close their shutters. They estimate there is a twenty per cent probability that the swarm has compromised me too and therefore cannot trust that I am being truthful.

  If three or more Minds do not close their shutters, it will lead to catastrophic failure of the Project. I calculate a 42.32 per cent probability for this outcome.

  He’d heard enough. What’s the point of entrusting so much to artificial intelligences if they are just as bloody unreasonable as humans? If he left now the Mind would order the other shutters to be closed. A forty-two per cent chance of disaster was too high. Too terrible to contemplate.

  Fuck it. So, this was it, then. He’d have to do it manually.

  Hoping that the Mind would understand what he was about to do, Marc Bruckner ran towards the quadrupole casing, searching for the way in. He was shivering uncontrollably now, and his breath came out in great white plumes. There! A gap between two three-metre-high metal towers packed with electronic instruments. He squeezed in between them and there it was. The magnet sat inside its chamber, large enough for a man to fit inside when not operational but it was now under high vacuum.

  And the shutter was somewhere inside.

  The small porthole in the side wall of the chamber had frosted over, which meant he couldn’t see inside.

  How much time did he have left? His AR contacts had frozen and were useless now. He knew it couldn’t be very long.

  Everything was covered in a white frost. At first, he didn’t know where to start, but then, as though the gods were finally taking pity on him, he spotted a lever. A good old-fashioned lever. The edge of a metal panel was just visible through the frost beneath it. Using his sleeve to wipe the panel clear, he saw what he was looking for. Bold red letters declared: SHUTTER MANUAL OVERRIDE.

  Of course, something as important as a beam shutter would always have a mechanical lever for an operator to control during construction and testing. He grabbed hold of the metal bar with both hands. The searing pain of the cold metal scalding his palms and fingers shot up his arms. He tried to pull the lever downwards, but it wouldn’t move. He realized that his hands had now frozen to the lever too. He felt himself smile. He wasn’t quite sure why but a strange thought ran through his head. I am one with my experiment. I am now physically part of the Odin Project. He knew he was becoming weaker – his breathing shallower. Was hypothermia setting in? Probably. He thought of Evie. He could see her. She was admonishing him for taking such a stupid risk. But Evie, and Sarah and Qiang and everyone else he’d ever known, wouldn’t be around anyway to know that he’d tried. And with that realization came a renewed sense of urgency.

  He leaned his entire weight on the lever and, without warning, it swivelled downwards.

  Had he done it? Had he made it in time?

  He managed somehow to pull his hands from the lever, ripping away layers of skin but feeling nothing. A voice from somewhere deep in his mind was telling him it wasn’t such a great idea to hang around here. But he was feeling so sleepy now. And it didn’t seem nearly as cold any more. The Mind – the other one – was saying something too, but he was no longer listening.

  His vision was blurring and he tried to rub his eyes with his ruined hands. As his lungs began to freeze, his shallow breath was no longer creating a white fog in front of his face. His mind felt heavy and slow. He tried to recall what he was doing here. Then from deep within his barely conscious self, he remembered. He’d done it. He’d cleared the path to the Earth’s core. Come on through, little neutralinos. I’ve opened the gate for you. The thought gave him the beginnings of a smile on his frozen lips just as he felt a mild tingling sensation followed by a sour taste in his mouth. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

  He had a brief moment of clarity. He had made it in time after all. The pulse of dark matter had just passed through Mag-8 and was on its way down to the core, leaving in its wake a burst of high-energy x-rays, and good ol’ Marc Bruckner had just received a lethal fifty Sievert dose, equivalent to several thousand CT scans all at once.

  His legs gave way beneath him and he slowly folded to the ground. The lyrics of an old song came into his head: Que será, será. He began to hum tunelessly.

  I’m so sorry, Evie. I love you so much.

  And then … nothing.

  46

  Tuesday, 17 September – 15:47, Mag-8, Amman

  Everyone was running. As soon as Ignition had taken place, the Mind had raised the temperature inside the Mag-8 and ended the Lockdown. Sarah reached Marc a few paces ahead of Qiang. Maher Haydar, the Mag-8 chief engineer, had been alongside her, going on and on about how Professor Bruckner had saved the world. But Sarah didn’t need to b
e told what had happened. All she knew was that Marc had been inside during Ignition.

  She pushed aside two paramedic bots that had arrived at the scene quickest and dropped down beside Marc’s prone figure. She lifted his head gently off the ground and cradled it in her lap.

  His eyelids slowly opened and he looked up at her. ‘Sarah? Sorry, I can’t see very well,’ he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

  She didn’t know what to say and couldn’t stop the tears rolling down her cheeks.

  ‘The shutter was closed, Sarah. I had to open it.’ His voice was so faint now, she had to bend down to hear him.

  ‘I know it was. You did a very brave thing. Very stupid, but brave.’ She didn’t need to tell him that he’d just received a fatal dose of radiation.

  His breathing was shallow now and he was shivering uncontrollably. She looked down at his ravaged hands. The skin hung off them in long red shreds. As she stroked his head, she could feel the cold seeping from him.

  ‘Sarah, have you heard from the other facilities? Did they all work?’

  ‘I guess we’ll know soon enough.’ She smiled down at him. If any of the eight beams had failed or missed the central collision spot, a seismic wave could come up anywhere on the Earth’s surface, but satellites would tell them instantly if it did. Maybe this was the time for loved ones to hold each other tight as they awaited their fate. All she could do now was to sit with Marc and cradle him in her arms, talk to him. Reassure him.

  Marc smiled back weakly. ‘I expect they’ll put up statues of us in years to come. Make sure mine is huge, won’t you?’

  Sarah laughed shakily through her tears. ‘I’m sure it will be. It has to match your ego, after all.’

  She felt she should keep talking to him but wasn’t sure he was still listening. He seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness.

  Only vaguely aware of the minutes passing by, she tried to care about whether the Project had been successful or not, but found she couldn’t. If they’d failed then everything would be over in a few minutes anyway. It was right that she and Marc were together at the end.

  It was then that Sarah became aware of a growing and palpable sense of elation and relief around her. People had started clapping and cheering. Dared she hope that the Odin Project had worked? It certainly sounded as if it hadn’t failed – not in the way Peter Hogan had planned. She leaned closer to the man she realized she loved. ‘Hey, Professor Marc Bruckner. You did it. We did it. I have a feeling it will work, too.’

  Marc’s eyes fluttered briefly. ‘Ah, I hope so … Make sure Qiang gets most of the credit … He was always the smarter one, you know. And if it doesn’t work … blame Qiang. It was his stupid idea.’ He let out a breath and closed his eyes. His shivering had stopped.

  She thought he’d lost consciousness again, but he now whispered so quietly she could barely hear him: ‘And Sarah … um, thank you. Thank you … for making me … the man I never … I never knew I could be.’

  They were his last words.

  47

  Friday, 22 November – Southsea, England

  Sarah’s feet crunched on the shingle as she walked. The Southsea beach was deserted, which she found surprising considering what a beautiful day it was on the English south coast. There was a chill in the air and she was glad of her thick jacket, but the sun was bright and the sky a clear blue. She looked out to sea; across the Solent, the Isle of Wight seemed a lot closer than usual. Often, she could barely make out its tree-lined hills through the mist and sea fog. Today, its waterfront buildings glittered as their windows reflected the afternoon sun.

  The days were getting a little easier now, even though her sense of loss was still so palpable. Wasn’t it strange that Marc had now been gone for longer than the length of time she’d loved him when he was alive? She’d wondered whether her feelings for him had been magnified by the extraordinary circumstances in which they’d found themselves – not only because so much responsibility had rested on their shoulders, but because of a sense that they might have so little time together. That last bit at least had been true. She’d wondered too how much what she felt now was guilt – that she and the world had survived thanks to him – or gratitude for his selfless act.

  No, this gaping emptiness inside her was real.

  But yes, it was getting easier. Now, she did all her crying as she walked along Southsea beach. Marc used to hum one particular tune all the time. It drove her mad: a song by his favourite band, the Killers, called ‘Mr Brightside’. So, every day, she walked along the beach, playing ‘Mr Brightside’ as loudly as she could, over and over again. And the tears would flow freely. Her parents had of course been supportive, but she still preferred to spend most of her time alone, even away from the beach, unable to share in the feelings of hope that so many people desperately clung to.

  Two months had passed since Ignition, and the world was getting used to the reality that it still had to deal with the same old problems facing humanity, even if the immediate threat from the Purifiers had now receded. Although there had been plenty of false dawns, with many people claiming they had detected a strengthening in the magnetic field, the official line maintained that these were just isolated remnants that had been there before Ignition. A dying magnetic field wouldn’t fail uniformly around the globe – there would be pockets of it that survived for longer.

  The fact was, no one had a clue how a planet-sized defibrillator – essentially what the Odin Project had been – might work in reality; how long it would take for the energy from the dark-matter collision to turn the chaotic, turbulent eddies of the molten iron and nickel core into a regular flow that would kick-start and sustain a magnetic field again. But there was undoubtedly a general hope that the darkest days just might be over.

  Sarah left the beach and climbed up to the footpath that skirted around the sea-facing battlements of Southsea Castle. The sixteenth-century artillery fort built for Henry VIII offered a stark reminder of permanence and nostalgia. She still recalled long summer days playing here with her brother, racing him to be the first to climb up and sit astride one of its huge, now ornamental, cannons outside the gates.

  For a few weeks after Ignition she’d just felt numb. Returning to England, she had tried, mostly successfully, to avoid the media circus. After her testimony in court and her recorded conversation with Hogan had been released, she had insisted on being left alone, hiding away from the spotlight. Many were desperate for her to tell her story, so she felt grateful that there were people around her to shield her from the frenzy.

  The hardest thing she’d had to do was travel to New York to meet Evie and Charlotte. At Evie’s request, they’d met in Bryant Park. She had wanted to know every detail about what her father had done, and why it had to be him.

  It had felt awkward initially with Charlotte being there too and Sarah was grateful to her when she said she would leave them alone for a while. They had sat together on a park bench and talked. After a while, the words dried up, so they sat and held hands in silence.

  She’d met up with Qiang on that trip too. He’d been giving evidence to the UN before his return to China. He said he was being hailed as a national hero back home even though there was no indication at all that the Project had succeeded in its mission.

  She hadn’t heard from Shireen for a few weeks now, but the young woman continued to impress her with her maturity. Despite all the media attention and the lucrative job offers, all the Iranian cyb had wanted to do was to get back home to her parents and to finish her studies.

  Now, over the last couple of weeks, the number of reports of a strengthening field had seemed to be growing. Sarah had ignored them all. She could, if she’d wanted, have very easily checked the overall status of the magnetosphere from the hundreds of measurements and simulations being carried out. But that wasn’t the way she wanted to do this.

  Every day for the past six weeks, come rain or shine, she had come out for her walk along the seafront. And every d
ay she would stop at the same spot, at the base of Southsea Castle below the black and white striped lighthouse, and take out the little compass that had been a gift from her grandfather. He had given it to her when she was eight. They had stood in this very spot, and he’d shown her how its needle always pointed due north, away from the water, past the lighthouse and across the Common, towards the city of Portsmouth.

  Today, she stopped as usual and reached into her pocket. She had taken to going through the motions so absent-mindedly these days that the mere act of holding the compass flat on the palm of her hand had in itself become a ritual. She would watch the needle spin around aimlessly for a few seconds and then place it back in her pocket, never truly allowing herself to believe. Today, however, something about the little instrument from a long-forgotten era dragged her gaze back down to it. She twisted and wobbled it between her thumb and forefinger. The needle no longer moved around freely beneath its glass casing. Instead it behaved in a way it hadn’t done for a long time. It remained resolutely fixed. But now it pointed across the Solent – not due north as it used to, but due south. The Earth’s magnetic field had flipped, and it had recovered sufficient strength to grip and align the tiny magnetic needle.

  The Killers played in her ears. Destiny was calling to Mr Brightside to open up his eager eyes.

  She felt the familiar warm tears rolling down her cheeks. But this time they weren’t just tears of sadness. She looked out to sea, then back at the compass, afraid that, like a holographic projection, it might just fade away.

  The needle was holding firm. And it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

  Technical Note on Dark Matter

  The central premise of the odin project rests on the behaviour of dark matter. But how accurate is this scientifically? Well, let me make a couple of things clear. Firstly, dark matter is real. It is what holds galaxies together. In fact, there is five times more dark matter in the universe than normal matter. The problem is that, as of the time of writing in December 2018, we still don’t know what dark matter is made of. Whatever its constituent particles are, they are nothing we currently know of. Physicists refer to it as ‘non-baryonic matter’. We know dark matter feels the force of gravity but not the electromagnetic force (which is what allows it to pass through normal matter as though it weren’t there). The second point is that it is indeed the case that one of the potential candidates for dark matter is called the neutralino, a hypothetical particle predicted by a still speculative theory called Supersymmetry. My concern in using the neutralino in Sunfall was that it would either be discovered before the book came out or, even worse, ruled out entirely by some new experimental result; and that another particle would be discovered to be what dark matter is really made of. But, so far, so good. Neutralinos are still in the running.