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‘Are you Dr. Michael Zhang?’
The little man didn’t answer. Francesco Romani waited, trying to control his impatience. Michael was deeply engrossed in one of the three large computer screens on the desk before him, where a counter was ticking once a second across a box labelled EVENT COUNT: 225, 220, 218.
Michael’s short stubby fingers pushed his mouse over the desktop and he clicked a button labelled STOP RUN. The counter fell to zero.
Francesco tried again. ‘Excuse me, Dr. Zhang–’
‘I’m busy,’ Michael sang in falsetto like a mother pestered by her least-favourite child as he changed a box labelled RUN TYPE from Commissioning to Calibration.
‘But surely you could spare me a couple of minutes?’ Francesco let his impatience resonate in his voice. ‘This is very important.’
‘So’s this.’ Michael clicked a button labelled START RUN. The counter began ticking again: 223, 227, 224. They both watched it for a few seconds then, apparently satisfied, Michael’s balding head turned and his heavy-lidded eyes fell upon Francesco’s prominent stomach. They paused as if examining the weave of his dark blue Italian suit, then moved slowly up the deep chest to the Director General’s frowning face. Recognition flashed into Michael’s coffee-coloured eyes and he scrambled to his feet, his face cooling from cream to milk. ‘Oh, excuse me, Professor Romani. I did not realise it was you.’
Francesco held out a hand, looked down on him, forced a smile. ‘So pleased to meet you, Dr. Zhang.’ Michael Zhang’s tiny hand trembled in his. ‘I understand the Muon Spectrometer is on line now?’ A chair groaned as Romani sank into it.
Michael looked at him with a puzzled expression as he sat beside him. ‘Yes, Professor. I…we have just started calibrating it.’
Francesco frowned again and looked round as if searching for the others who made up the ‘we’, then stared at the little Chinaman.
‘The rest of my team will be back soon,’ Michael said hurriedly. ‘They’ve just gone for breakfast. I’m sure they won’t be long.’ He glanced at the screen.
‘No no, it is you I want to speak to,’ Francesco said, following his gaze. Numbers still ticked across the EVENT COUNT box: 219, 221, 234. ‘Am I right in thinking you are of Irish nationality?’
Michael’s face turned towards him, turning paler still. ‘I can explain about that, Professor Romani. I was planning to renew my work permit next week–’
‘Work permit? No, that is of no interest to me, Dr. Zhang. Talk to our Human Resource Office about that. Look, I have a little favour to ask you. I am looking for an Irish scientist and you are the only one I can find. As you know, we don’t have many in CERN since Ireland is not yet a member state.’
‘But I’m not really Irish,’ Michael said. ‘The only Irish things about me are my forename, my place of birth and my passport. The rest of me is pure Chinese. Why do you need an Irish scientist specifically?’
‘Do you know the new Irish Ambassador to the United Nations in Geneva?’
‘No, I’m sorry. I don’t have much time for politics.’
‘That doesn’t matter.’ Francesco leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘I have invited her Excellency Brigit Fitzpatrick to visit CERN this morning and watch the first run of the LHC this season. I am very keen for Ireland to become a member, as I am sure you are also. Am I right?’
Michael shrugged. ‘I really don’t care. I’ve never had any affection for the land of my birth.’
‘Oh come come, Dr Zhang. You work in Cambridge now, don’t you? If Ireland was a member you could work for one of the Irish universities. You might even be able to lead your own particle physics department.’
Michael hesitated. ‘To be honest I don’t really think I would go back to Ireland even if the country did join. My future is in Cambridge and here in CERN.’ Michael checked the screen once more and his eyes widened.
His expression was so comical Francesco couldn’t resist looking too.
227, 12987, 2656, 2843
‘That looks odd,’ he said. Michael didn’t answer. ‘Glad I’m out of all this technical stuff now,’ Francesco went on. ‘When you get to my age you’re better suited to administration.’ Michael kept staring at the screen, his skin paling. ‘So the reason I wanted to see you, Michael, is that I would deem it a great personal favour if you could just speak to Madame Fitzpatrick…’ He could tell Michael wasn’t listening. ‘…if you could spare me five minutes to explain to her the benefits of Ireland becoming a member from a scientist’s point of view.’ I’m wasting my breath. Michael’s eyes and mind were fixed on the counter.
Francesco saw a few more numbers tick by, 2743, 2687, 2712, before a computer generated voice began to echo around the Control Room: ‘Level Zero Alarm. Data Storage System Overflow.’ Then it repeated itself in French.
Gasps of disappointment filled the ATLAS Control Room from the many visitors crowding around the resident scientists’ desks. Oh God, this is all I need, Francesco thought. Michael’s going to be busy for the next few hours. ‘So would you talk to her for me?’ he said.
‘What? Oh, very well, Professor Romani.’ Michael was opening a Mercator window. Francesco could hardly hear him above the noise. People were calling across the room to each other, trying to work out what had gone wrong. Did Michael say ‘very well’ or ‘go to hell?’
‘So you will speak to her?’
Michael nodded.
‘Excellent, Dr. Zhang. Thank you very much. I will bring her over here later on this morning. Will you be here about ten-thirty?’
‘Yes,’ Michael said absently and began rapidly typing commands.
Francesco stood up and walked towards the door past the translucent blue window that ran the length of the long narrow room. The hubbub was dying down now but there were signs of anxiety on the faces of the dozen scientists and engineers sitting at their wide curving desks. Dozens more scientists were crowding around them, leaning over their shoulders. Francesco assumed these were visitors. It happened every spring on the first run. They came to make sure that their part of the detector worked perfectly, stayed for a few days, then went back to their laboratories to start analysing the data.
A man in his mid thirties was standing holding the door open, looking back down the room as if trying to decide whether to go or stay. Francesco recognised him but could not remember his name. There were thousands of people working in CERN. He glanced at the man’s badge.
Danny Kissov.
ATLAS Run Co-ordinator.
This was lucky, meeting the shift leader. Always best to let these people know when a VIP is expected. ‘Ah, Danny,’ Francesco said, pausing in the doorway. ‘I will be bringing the Irish Ambassador over later in the morning, if that’s all right with you.’
Danny Kissov looked at him with sunken, dark-shadowed eyes. ‘Oh yes, Professor Romani, I’m sure that will be fine. I won’t be here myself. Seline’s just taken over the shift.’ He nodded down the room. Francesco glanced back at the hard-faced woman sitting at a central desk. Half a dozen visitors were bending over her, pointing at her screens, all talking at once. Her long black hair flicked out as her head moved rapidly from screen to screen. A look of panic was growing in her eyes.
‘I wonder if she’ll have sorted this problem out by the time the Ambassador arrives?’ Francesco said. ‘It won’t look good if she sees the place in uproar. Do you know what the problem is?’
Danny shrugged. ‘It could be anything. I’ve never seen a Data Storage System Overflow error before but you never know what problems we’re going to hit on the first run after the winter shut-down.’
‘Of course. But I understand that all the sub-detectors are running now, so it sounds like you did a good job last night. Well done!’ Always best to encourage and reward the staff, especially if it didn’t cost anything.
‘Thank you Professor, although it looks like we’ve got a bit more work to do. I was just wondering whether to go back and help Seline or go and find Maria. I’m a bit worried about her.’
Maria? Francesco looked at his name badge again. Of course. Maria Kissov. I heard she married a member of staff a couple of months ago. So this is the chap. Lucky fellow. ‘Worried?’ he said. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘I’m not sure. She went to the antenatal clinic this morning. I couldn’t go with her because I had to supervise the start-up shift. Seline hasn’t got enough experience to do it and José Rodriguez has the vomits that are going around. She was supposed to phone me at nine when she came out, but she didn’t call and I can’t get an answer on her mobile. She was due to open the Globe at nine-thirty and it’s–’ he glanced at his watch ‘nine-forty-one now. You’re not going past the Globe are you, Professor?’
‘Yes, I’m going back to Reception to meet the Ambassador. She’s due to arrive in a few minutes.’
‘Could you see if Maria’s in the Globe and ask her to phone me?’
‘Of course.’ Francesco smiled at him grimly. ‘I’m glad you warned me about this. I’m planning to take the Ambassador into the Globe. If it had been locked she would not have got a very good impression of us. I’ll check it on my way past and if it’s locked I’ll take the key and open it myself.’
‘Thank you very much. I’ll stay here and make sure Seline can handle this problem. It’s the first shift she’s ever run. I appreciate your help with this, Professor Romani.’
‘That’s no problem at all. I’m very fond of Maria. I hope everything is okay with the baby.’ He patted Danny on the back and walked past him down a short corridor. In the ATLAS Observation Room he just managed to avoid an unwanted conversation with one of CERN’s suppliers in a garish yellow shirt who obviously wanted to rustle up some more trade. Francesco escaped into the spring sunshine and paused to light a cigarette, admiring the huge wooden Globe of Innovation reflecting in the glass frontage of the ATLAS Control Building and thinking about this overflow problem.
He was not an ATLAS expert but he knew that the Storage System was designed to hold data coming out of the ATLAS detector. The event count he had seen on Michael’s screen had started in the low 200s. Then Michael changed the run type and soon afterwards there had been a data spike of around 12,000. Could these two things be connected? Francesco did not know. He could think of only two possible causes for a data spike.
One was that some sort of new particle had appeared in the detector. That was the whole purpose of ATLAS, to create hitherto undiscovered particles. A new particle could easily account for the 12,000 reading. If this was the case it would be a wonderful thing to show to the Ambassador. ‘Look, Your Excellency,’ he could imagine himself telling her. ‘ATLAS has found yet another new particle, and the Irish scientist Michael Zhang was the first one to see it!’ Then he frowned. A single particle could have caused a 12,000 event spike, but it should have been a transient effect. The data flow should have returned rapidly to its earlier level. But it hadn’t. Instead it had settled at around 2,000. What kind of particle could cause the data flow to stay high after the spike? This seemed impossible. Francesco sadly dismissed the idea of a new particle.
The other possibility was that this was a fault, either with one of the sub-detectors inside ATLAS or with the software that processed and stored the data they produced. The whole system was incredibly complex, and this was the first run of the season. The scientists always changed things during the winter shut-down, and it was easy for somebody to make a mistake. An error was the most likely cause of this residual 2,000 data level. It must have been this high level, ten times higher than normal, which had overwhelmed the Data Storage System.
Francesco threw away his cigarette and walked down the car park that fronted the building, feeling happier now he understood enough about the problem to explain it to Ambassador Fitzpatrick, and show her it was not serious. It was just what you would expect on the first run of the season. He entered the ATLAS Walkway. Sunlight permeated through the plastic arch curving overhead. Nobody was playing on any of the expensive new interactive exhibits. The Walkway was obviously not yet open. He hurried down the winding tunnel, his short legs pumping, his heavy stomach wobbling. When he emerged from the tunnel he checked the Globe’s back door. Locked. He went round to the front but that door was locked too, a small crowd of visitors waiting patiently on the drive. Maria obviously had not yet returned from the clinic.
He crossed the Route de Meyrin which sliced the Globe and ATLAS buildings off from the main CERN site. Ahead of him an elegant woman in a red trouser suit was just walking up the steps of the Reception building. Even from the rear she was unmistakable. The Irish Ambassador had arrived.
