The God Particle

by Daniel Danser

  ‘My father was a scientist and so was my grandfather. You could say it runs in the family.’

  ‘What did they specialise in?’ Tom was now intrigued.

  ‘Sub-atomic particles.’

  ‘That’s a coincidence, that’s my…’ Tom didn’t finish his sentence. He stopped dead in his tracks, mouth open, in the middle of the airport concourse. Ajay carried on walking and had managed to cover thirty feet by the time Tom realised that he was being left behind and was attracting quizzical glances from his fellow travellers. He sprinted to catch up with Ajay.

  ‘What did you say your surname was?’ Tom asked, grabbing Ajay’s arm to slow him down.

  ‘Bose.’

  ‘Have you heard of a man called Satyendra Bose?’ Tom probed.

  ‘Yes, he was my grandfather,’ Ajay responded matter-of-factly.

  Tom could hardly contain his excitement. Within his field, Satyendra Nath Bose was regarded, by many, as one of the founding fathers of particle physics. At the age of 30, Bose was instrumental in a key statistical discovery. He’d sent a paper to Albert Einstein describing a statistical model that led to the discovery of what would later be called the ‘Bose-Einstein condensate phenomenon’. The paper described the two fundamental classes of sub-atomic particles – bosons, which he named after himself, and fermions, after the Italian physicist Enrico Fermi. Peter Higgs continued the research in the 1960s, using the theories set down by his predecessors, and purported the existence of a specific boson that would explain the very existence of the Universe. Simply put, without Bose there would be no Higgs, without Higgs there would be no God Particle, and without the God Particle there would be no Universe.

  Bose never received the recognition that he deserved by his peers. Whilst several Nobel prizes were awarded to research relating to the concepts of the boson, Bose himself was never honoured. In 1954, some thirty years after his ground-breaking paper was published, the Indian government finally acquiesced by conferring Bose with the Padma Vibhushan, the highest possible civilian commendation.

  Tom had studied Bose’s model as an undergraduate and, to him, there was little doubt that the man was a genius. He idolised him, as a football fan would his favourite player. And here he was, in the middle of an airport, having his bags carried by his grandson.

  ‘Did you know your grandfather well?’ he asked Ajay, who had found a trolley and was loading the suitcases onto it.

  ‘No, unfortunately he died before I was born,’ replied Ajay. ‘But my father used to tell me stories about him all the time.’

  ‘Please Ajay, you must tell me all about him,’ said Tom. ‘What was he like?’

  ‘But I have to get you back to CERN, or they will be worried about where you are,’ Ajay said nervously.

  Tom checked his watch. It was 8.15 am. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll cover it off,’ Tom said, trying to reassure him. ‘I’ll just tell them that I got delayed going through customs.’

  ‘Okay, you’re the boss,’ Ajay responded, with a smile.

  ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’

  They found a coffee shop in the airport and, for the next two hours, Ajay recounted the stories his father had told him about his grandfather. Tom was enthralled, asking the odd question here and there to elicit more details about a particular incident. However, he was quite happy to sit back and listen to Ajay’s monologue, whilst sipping his cappuccino.

  ‘…and that was the second time my father had the pleasure of meeting Mr Einstein…’ Ajay was in mid-flow when Tom’s cell phone rang.

  ‘Sorry, Ajay, I have to take this call,’ Tom announced apologetically.

  ‘Tom? It’s Frederick Volker. Is everything alright? We were expecting you hours ago.’ The paternal voice sounded concerned.

  ‘Frederick! Good to hear from you. Yes, yes, everything’s fine,’ replied Tom. ‘Just a spot of bother with some duty free purchases, but it’s all sorted now and we’re on our way.’ He gave Ajay a conspiratorial wink.

  ‘Okay, we’ll see you shortly,’ said Volker ending the call.

  ‘I think I’ve played enough truant for one day,’ Tom said, getting up from the table. ‘But you must promise me that you’ll finish your stories when we get back to CERN.’

  ***

  It was a short drive from the airport to CERN, and Ajay had just enough time to finish the episode about when his father had met Albert Einstein for the second time. All too soon they arrived at the security entrance of the complex. Ajay showed his ID card to the man in the hut and the barrier rose to allow them through.

  Tom had googled ‘CERN’ to gather as much information as he could about the organisation before his arrival, but what the websites failed to portray was the sheer size of the campus, sprawling off into the distance, where it seemed to meet the base of the Jura mountains. The buildings were mainly utilitarian in their design and reminded Tom of his own university’s campus - function before form. He could see that the architects had at least tried to establish a pleasant environment to work in, by spreading the buildings out and creating ‘green spaces’ in between, which were laid mainly to lawn. Trees seemed to have been randomly planted in clumps or in rows around car parks in an effort to break up the concrete monotony.

  He could see a giant dome in the distance, like a half-buried golf ball, which he recognised from his Internet research as the Globe of Science and Innovation, a visitor centre, frequented mainly by schools and visiting dignitaries. Next to that was a private runway with a single corrugated steel hangar built adjacent to it. He knew that everything above ground was only the tip of the iceberg. The real work went on three hundred feet below ground where the Collider was buried; this was not just for aesthetic and financial reasons (it would have been so much more costly to tear up the Franco-Swiss countryside and implant an ugly grey tunnel over its farms), but also because the Earth provides the greatest radioactive shielding.

  They drove to the facility’s main reception building, a six-storey-high concrete and glass structure, which housed the control centre and ancillary offices.

  As they stepped out of the car, Tom noticed a bronze statue incongruously erected outside the entrance to the building. Its intricate detail and delicate features were at odds with its modern minimalist surroundings and would have been more at home in a museum or temple, rather than a research facility. The six-foot high statue depicted a semi-naked dancer of Asian origin, wearing an ornamental headdress and encircled by a ring of flames. He had four arms, two of which held objects, flames in one hand and an hourglass in the other. He posed with his left leg elegantly raised, balancing on what appeared to be a prostrate dwarf holding a cobra.

  ‘That is Shiva Nataraja, Lord of the Dance,’ Ajay volunteered, noticing Tom’s frown.

  The explanation did nothing to relieve Tom’s expression.

  Ajay tried again. ‘It’s a Hindu god.’

  Tom’s frown deepened. ‘But why is it here?’

  ‘It was a gift from my government.’ Ajay hoped this would be enough to satisfy Tom’s curiosity.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Tom, not really seeing at all, but sensing that he wouldn’t get much more information out of Ajay. He therefore made a mental note to ask Frederick more about its significance as he walked past it and through the revolving doors into the building.

  Frederick was waiting in reception to greet him; he had obviously been informed of Tom’s arrival by the security guard.

  ‘Tom, you made it at last! Welcome to CERN.’ Frederick shook Tom’s hand, warmly. ‘I trust Ajay has been looking after you?’

  ‘Yes, he’s been quite entertaining,’ replied Tom, directing his comments at Ajay with a smile.

  ‘Good! Ajay, could you please take Professor Halligan’s bags to his room in the accommodation block. Thank you,’ Frederick said to Ajay, dismissing him. ‘Come, let me introduce you to the rest of the team. They’re dying to meet you.’ Frederick put his arm around Tom’s shoulders and guided him through the frosted glass doors at the end
of the reception area.

  ‘What’s the story with Ajay?’ Tom asked, as he was being escorted down a long, white, sterile corridor.

  ‘You could say that Ajay is my ward,’ Frederick explained. ‘I promised his father, before he died, that I would look after him and make sure he would come to no harm. He’s a simple soul, not academically bright, unlike his father and grandfather.’

  ‘Yes, Ajay did mention that he was Satyendra Bose’s grandson.’

  Frederick laughed, but not unkindly.

  ‘Yes, unfortunately, he didn’t inherit his grandfather’s scientific genes. Ajay’s father was one of my closest friends; we worked together, for years, on a number of projects. One day, there was a tragic accident - Ajay must have been seven or eight at the time. The equipment we were working with malfunctioned, causing a massive radiation leak. I had just stepped out of the lab to get a coffee, otherwise we would both have received a fatal dose. By the time we had got our radiation suits on and were able to go back into the lab, it was too late for Ajay’s father. We managed to get him into the decontamination chamber but he died on the way to hospital. Ajay’s mother had died in childbirth and his father was an only child, so really I was the closest thing he had to a relative.’

  By now they had reached the far end of the corridor. Frederick had paused to finish his story, before swiping his security card to open another set of frosted glass doors.

  It was a hive of activity in the control room; technicians were monitoring a bank of 46-inch LED screens that covered an entire wall of the large, rectangular room. Each monitor displayed a different graph or scrolling set of figures highlighted in either green or red. It reminded Tom of the images he’d seen as a child of the NASA control centre during the lunar landings, except this was much more high-tech. The room itself was divided into four by semi-circular work stations or islets, each housing five consoles and each one being operated by an individual specialist.

  ‘As you can see, we are in the middle of testing the alignment of the proton beams,’ Frederick explained.

  ‘How many people work at the facility?’ Tom queried.

  ‘We employ over two and a half thousand full-time and fifteen hundred part-time staff across the entire complex.’

  Tom let out a low whistle.

  ‘It may sound a lot, but you have to take into consideration that we are totally self-sufficient, we have our own hospital and fire brigade on site. We grow most of our own produce, farm our own meat and dairy products, purify our own water and even generate our own electricity. We are, for all intents and purposes, a small town unified by a single goal. And you, Tom, are its new Mayor.’

  The gravity of his new position struck home.

  ‘When you put it like that, it’s quite…’ Tom paused, searching for the right word.

  ‘An honour?’ Frederick offered.

  ‘Daunting, I was going to say.’

  Frederick gave a genial laugh. ‘Let me introduce you to your deputy Mayor.’

  They went over to a small syndicate of people huddled around a conference table in the centre of the room.

  ‘Apologies if I’m interrupting, but I’d like to introduce you to Tom Halligan, our new Director General,’ Frederick announced to the group, resting a hand on Tom’s shoulder.

  The gathering turned to face Tom in unison.

  ‘And this is Dr Deiter Weiss,’ Frederick pointed out the man in the middle of the huddle. ‘If there’s anything you need to know about the facility, Deiter’s your man.’

  Tom put out his hand to shake Deiter’s. There was a brief pause and, for a split second, Tom had the uncomfortable feeling that Deiter was just going to leave Tom with his hand suspended in the air. But then he moved forward and grasped the outstretched hand in a vice-like grip.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to be working with you, Professor Halligan.’ Deiter’s face was impassive, but Tom could sense the insincerity in his voice.

  ‘The pleasure is all mine,’ Tom countered, emphasising the word ‘pleasure’. Did he spot a flicker of annoyance cross Deiter’s face? The two pugilists parted, retreating to the safety of their own corners.

  ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me,’ continued Frederick, ‘I’ll leave you in Deiter’s capable care to get you acquainted with the rest of the team. I shall pick you up at eight and I’ll take you to my most favourite restaurant in Geneva.’ With that, Frederick left the control room.

  There was an awkward silence. Frederick had left a void in the room that Tom felt compelled to fill.

  ‘So, how are the tests going?’ Tom directed his question at Deiter. Again, a pregnant pause, a second too long, like a bad comedian misjudging his timing when delivering the punchline.

  ‘We have initiated the alignment sequence and everything seems to be working perfectly.’ The voice breaking the silence didn’t come from Deiter, but from an attractive, auburn-haired woman standing just to the left of him.

  Tom turned to face the person who had saved him from an embarrassing situation. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Serena Mayer.’ This time, it was she who volunteered her hand first and Tom shook it gently. As he looked at her, he couldn’t help but notice her brilliant green eyes, almost feline.

  ‘And what is your speciality, Miss Mayer?’

  ‘Please call me Serena. I am the Director of Statistical Analysis.’ She spoke with an accent Tom had difficulty identifying.

  The group started to disband and drift back to their workstations, leaving Deiter as her chaperone.

  ‘Perhaps, when I’ve settled in, we could go over the figures from today’s test?’ Tom enquired.

  She glanced furtively at Deiter.

  ‘I can provide you with all the information you require,’ Deiter interjected.

  ‘I’d prefer to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth,’ Tom replied, emphatically.

  ‘As you wish,’ Deiter conceded.

  ‘I’ll catch up with you later then,’ Tom said, turning his attention back to Serena. She nodded and left the two men to sort out their differences.

  CHAPTER 6

  By late afternoon, the jetlag had kicked in and Tom’s head was pounding. He had taken a couple of paracetamol earlier, but they had done little to ease the pain behind his eyes. He excused himself from the meeting that he had been invited to attend and made his way to his accommodation.

  The apartment was in keeping with the minimalist ethos that seemed to underlie the architect’s vision of a research facility. The beige walls and fawn carpet reminded him of an inexpensive hotel room. The living room had been appointed with the bare minimum amount of furniture required to make its occupant feel comfortable, but not at home.

  A large, square, orange sofa dominated the room, with a small, imitation wood table and chair tucked into one of the corners. A laptop computer sat on top of it, its screen open with the words, ‘Welcome to CERN, Professor Halligan’ scrolling across the monitor in luminous green writing. The opposite corner was filled by a TV, CD player and telephone on a matching imitation wood unit.

  The kitchen, with its patio doors leading out onto a quadrangle, was functional and had been equipped with all the necessary appliances, cutlery and crockery. The ‘theme’ continued into the bedroom and consisted of a double bed, dressing table, wardrobe with full-length mirror and two bedside cabinets on which stood nightlights. The en-suite bathroom was just that.

  Ajay had deposited his suitcases on the bed and had left a note on top of one of them, which read, ‘I am in room 454, please come when you want me to finish the stories’. Putting the note in his pocket, Tom moved the suitcases onto the floor and lay down on the bed. As much as he wanted to, he was far too tired to listen to Ajay’s narrative.

  ***

  The distant sound of buzzing seemed to grow louder and louder. At first, Tom couldn’t work out what it was or where he was, as he groggily opened his eyes and saw the unfamiliar furniture. Then his brain caught up and he realised he must have fallen asleep. The b
uzzer rang again, longer this time. His brain told him it was the door bell and he must answer it in order to silence the noise, but his body was having difficulty actioning the request. It rang again. He managed to swing his legs off the bed and stand up, shakily. This time there was a knock followed by a familiar voice.

  ‘Tom, are you in there?’ It was Frederick.

  ‘Coming!’ Tom managed to reply, his brain and body finally working as one.

  He opened the door to see a concerned face.

  ‘This is the second time today that I thought I’d lost you,’ Frederick smiled.

  ‘Sorry, I must have dozed off. What time is it?’

  ‘A quarter past eight. I’ve booked a table for us at nine, so you’ve got enough time to have a shower, if you want.’

  ‘Thanks, I will.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll come back for you in half an hour. I need to have a word with Deiter, anyway.’ Frederick closed the door behind him.

  Tom studied his face in the bathroom mirror; he was looking all of his 36 years. Despite his nap, and having slept on the plane, he was pale and dark circles had appeared under his eyes. He stripped off and let the steaming hot shower revive him.

  Frederick, as punctual as ever, rang the doorbell just as Tom finished dressing. Noticing what Frederick had on earlier, Tom had chosen to wear dark trousers with a Dolce & Gabbana blazer and matching tie, mentally tipping his hat to his brother’s impeccable dress sense.

  ‘Much better, my dear boy,’ said Frederick, and made a show of inspecting him.

  ‘Thanks, I feel almost human again,’ Tom replied.

  ‘Good, because the restaurant I’m taking you to only caters for humans. Although there are other restaurants I know that are less particular, if you prefer?’

  ‘It’s your call,’ replied Tom laughing. ‘I’m in your hands.’

  They were driven the short distance into the centre of Geneva in the back of Frederick’s Mercedes. His driver, Louis, seemed to know all the short-cuts to avoid any traffic hold-ups and they arrived at the entrance to the Hotel d’Angleterre in less than fifteen minutes.