Charmed Particles by Chrissy Kolaya Page B

like after a collision.”
    On his screen, the young technician pulled up an image of a collision event, the paths of the particles outlined against a black background, arcing and spiraling off by way of announcing their existence.
    Rose thought of how the paths of the particles, inked out against the dark background looked like chrysanthemums, like the explosions she and Randolph had watched blooming against a dark sky during the fireworks festivals of Japan.
    â€œWhat we will do next,” Abhijat continued, “if you please, is to visit the experiment hall. Please, I think this you will find most exciting. So with your permission, we will head in this direction.” He led the snaking line of students back through the atrium to a nearby building, the docent trotting along at the back of the group to help herd the strays. “On the way,” Abhijat continued, “we will pass a very interesting part of our facility, the neutron therapy department. Here, with experimental medical treatments connected to our work, we are treating patients with very serious conditions.” He gestured at the building as they passed and crowded together at the door of their destination. “Now in the experiment hall, I must ask you please not to touch anything. We must all keep our curious fingers to ourselves.”
    Inside, silver canisters of liquid nitrogen stood along the walls surrounded by strange machinery, and Rose thought it seemed more like being inside a factory than anything else. How, she wondered, did one connect the delicate image of the particle paths she had just seen, so like a flower, to this noisy, hissing, chuffing room?
    â€œMy colleagues you see working here are experimental physicists,” Abhijat continued, his voice raised over the hum of the machines. “They work with the equipment we will see today, conducting experiments and gathering data.”
    Abhijat did not share this opinion with the students, but he had always felt that there was something ugly about all that tinkering, all that machinery. He privately felt that a good idea ought to be able to be sorted out in his head, on paper, or on the crowded chalkboard in his office. He thought of it as an untidy business—building and operating these accelerators. But it was a necessary business, he knew. For without this machinery, what were his theories, the argument went, but elegant ideas, grand guesses at the shape of the world?
    â€œI, on the other hand, am a theoretical physicist,” he continued. “We concern ourselves mainly with the philosophy and mathematics behind the physical world as it exists around us. If you will permit me a little joke, to quote Sir Arthur Eddington, ‘I hope it will not shock experimental physicists too much if I say that we do not accept their observations unless they are confirmed by theory.’”
    Here Abhijat waited what seemed to him a rather long time for the group’s laughter. Finding it not forthcoming, he plowed onward.
    â€œYes, well, now we shall return to the education center, where I will be happy to take your questions.”
    The group approached the education center and gathered on the part of the lawn that had been neatly mowed, around which sprang up the tall, native prairie grasses now blowing in the warm breeze.
    â€œSo, please, have you any questions for me or for our colleague Mary Ann from the Education Department?” Abhijat asked, indicating the docent who now stood beside him. She had been surprised at how well Abhijat had been able to tailor his explanations to the age group.
    But by now the allure of the warm spring day had begun to take hold of the children. The circle of students had already begun to fray out at the edges, a group of boys running circles around a large, outdoor sculpture of a Möbius strip.
    â€œWell, then, hearing no questions, I thank you very much, young ladies and gentlemen, for your interest and attention.”