Charmed Particles (31 page)

“If they want this thing so badly,” one man said, “let them build it under their own houses.”

There were questions that revealed the depth of the fear many in the audience felt about the prospect of the collider: “Will the men in the area become sterile?” “In the event of a war, would this be the first place to be bombed?” one woman asked, and Sarala could sense Abhijat, beside her, beginning to stiffen in frustration.

Randolph had returned to the shelter to gather his things, but as he did so, he heard the villagers' swift walking turn to running, and Randolph—whose years of exploration had taught him nothing if not to trust the locals—took what he had in his arms and began to run, too, his eyes scouring the terrain ahead, searching for higher ground.

As the morning progressed, officials and scientists from state agencies presented reports on floodplain mitigation, well impacts, potential increases in construction traffic, and the viability of deep tunneling through area geological formations. In an attempt to make sense of and bring order to what felt to her like an unfocused, meandering presentation of information and emotion, Lily had divided her yellow legal pad into separate sections and she took careful notes, placing them under the appropriate heading.

Under
Local Real Estate Values
she first noted the reports indicating that there was no evidence whatsoever that the collider would have any negative impact on local real estate values, but crossed it out a moment later when the next speaker's reports claimed exactly the opposite. Her notes on
Contamination of the Water Supply
became equally muddled, each assurance, each report cancelled out by another. She crossed out what she had written and instead wrote “uncertain.” Under
Environmental Concerns
she'd listed the remarks of the director of the State Environmental Protection Agency, who noted that the Lab's efforts to return the land to its original prairie had resulted in “significant improvements to the habitats of many native species of plants and animals.”

As the hands on her watch neared ten o'clock, the moderator leaned toward the microphone before him. “We will now take a short recess and will commence again in fifteen minutes.”

During the recess, the audience members relocated to the school's cafeteria, where they sat at the long lunch tables drinking coffee, having again self-segregated into groups of supporters and opponents. The recess had coincided with the high school's passing period, and students, the majority of whom had decided not to attend the hearings, moved around the edges of the cafeteria slowly, regarding the adults with curiosity.

After waiting out the long line for the women's restroom, Rose approached the table where Lily sat with the Mitals and Dr. Cardiff. “Good morning, Dr. Mital, Mrs. Mital,” she said. She stood behind Lily and placed her hands lightly on her daughter's shoulders. Lily looked down at the table and did not acknowledge her mother.

“Madame Alderperson.” Abhijat nodded stiffly.

Sarala smiled at Rose as warmly as she could, having noted the coolness in Abhijat's voice and that Lily had yet to make eye contact with her mother. “Mrs. Winchester, allow me to introduce my husband's colleague, Dr. Gerald Cardiff.”

“Very pleased to meet you,” Dr. Cardiff said, taking Rose's hand in his. His smile, Sarala noted, was also warm, and she felt relieved on Rose's behalf.

“Likewise,” Rose said. “And thank you both,” she said, turning back toward Sarala and Abhijat, “for looking after my daughter today. I imagine she feels like a bit of an orphan during this hearing.” She ran her hand over Lily's back, but Lily continued her project of conducting a careful study of the mock wood grain of the table.

Back in the auditorium, the audience again took their seats, the officials returning to their places at the long table on the stage.

Looking around the auditorium from her seat on the supporters' side, Meena felt like she could sense the fear and anger in the room. Fear of the super collider on the part of the protesters. Fear of the protesters on the part of the scientists, who had begun to worry over what would become of the Lab if the super collider wasn't built. And on both sides, anger that the other side wouldn't listen to reason. It was a room in which everyone was afraid of everyone else. Meena turned back to face the stage. She had never seen adults like this.

The moderator called the audience back to order. “We will now reconvene today's hearing on the matter of the Super Collider.”

As Meena watched, she kept a different kind of inventory than the one growing on Lily's legal pad. Instead, as the speakers resumed, exchanging places at the podium, one after another, Meena noted the speakers who made sound, well-reasoned points:

“Before you scoff at the questions we ask here today,” one woman urged, “take a moment to remember how many times during the past fifty years our government has asked us to trust its decisions. They say they have our best interests at heart, yet twenty years from now, when the true effects are known, all they will say is, ‘We're sorry. We didn't know.' People who believe this will be safe because the federal government says so are being naïve. Those of us who oppose this project are not a lynch mob. We are mothers and fathers, grandparents, homeowners, farmers, and businesspeople who want to protect our homes, our community, our children, and our wildlife.”

One supporter, who introduced himself as a technician at the Lab, pointed out that “this project is not, as many of the opposition would have you believe, ‘welfare for the overeducated' or ‘a toy for scientists.' It is a project deserving of our intellectual curiosity and attention.”

At the other end of the spectrum, Meena noted, were the speakers whose words caused one side of the audience or the other to erupt:

“According to these maps they're showing us, this thing is going to run right underneath my daughter's school,” one man said. “Now, what about electromagnetic fields? One study I read about found that children living near power lines have more than their fair share of leukemia. And this is going to be located under a school? No one in their right mind could approve such a thing!”

Another speaker, her voice full of anger, insisted, “You people can put as many charts and pages of information as you want in front of us, but it will never take away our fear of living above this experiment. We will not be turned into the next Three Mile Island or Chernobyl. You officials tell us this is safe, but so were the others, until they blew up!”

And then, following these, Meena noticed, were the frustrated, exasperated responses:

“There have been absolutely no incidents in which a collider has blown up,” one of the Lab scientists responded, his voice loud and angry. “This is simply fear-mongering at its worst. What a picture we must present to our government officials here today—a bunch of uninformed yokels who, they will probably decide, don't deserve the honor and distinction of such a facility.”

One speaker, temper already flaring, began, “I'm tired of hearing from you people at the Lab, who tell us we ought to sacrifice ourselves and our homes for the good of science. You think we ought to listen to you just because you have a bunch of fancy degrees. Well, I might not be a college professor, but I know horseshit when I see it, and as far as I'm concerned, you scientists can all go to hell.” As he spoke, there was a growing crescendo of applause from the opposition side of the auditorium.

Randolph's and the villagers' running was no match for the wall of water that rushed in on them.

One moment he was running, heart pounding against his chest. The next he was lifted off his feet—buoyed up, swept past trees, houses, buildings, faster than his own feet could have carried him, and all around, the bobbing heads and limbs and panicked cries of others who had been swept up along with him. He looked frantically for something to grab hold of as the water rushed through the village, carrying him along with it.

Back and forth, one after another, supporters and opponents of the collider took their places at the podium. As Sarala listened, she could sense the disconnect between the careful scientific communication the supporters—especially those from the Lab—felt they needed to use, and the desire on the part of the opponents for guarantees, for absolute assurances about the safety of operating such a facility. The scientists had been trained not to think in such terms. For them, a probability of 99.9 percent was a good answer, she knew, a reasonable indication of safety, but the opponents were tortured over what that 0.1 percent chance might mean for themselves and their families. Beyond their fundamental disagreement on the issue, Sarala thought, the two groups just didn't know how to talk to one another.