long-lived teams clustered around their detectors.
Not true of her, though; she was a loner and knew it.
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Among the particle theorists the highest status attached to the field
theorists who developed new models to bring more order to the particle zoo.
Below them came the even more mathematical types, whose work often seemed
abstruse and not intuitive, to her; it lacked the Right Stuff of gut-sure
physics. Below them came the phenomenologists, which merely meant those who
tried to fit existing theory to the bewildering thicket of experimenters'
data. Max was of that tribe, as nearly as she could gather.
Experimenters usually avoided theorists and vice versa. "Theorists believe
anything on graph paper" was a common putdown. If an experiment's data
contradicted an existing theory, usually experimenters thought that probably
something was wrong with the experiment.
Theorists would think the error lay in the theory. But only if left in their
own groups; put members of both tribes in the same room and they would act as
if the reverse were true.
There were odd little tribal patterns, too; experimenters' daughters en
married theorists, for example. Nobody could explain this, but nobody thought
it remarkable, either.
She shook her head, glanced again at the sphere, and turned off the lab
lights. Max was a waste of time, she was suddenly sure of it.
She went back to her office in the gathering gray twilight. The telephone was
ringing as she fidgeted open the sticky lock on her door. It was Dave Rucker
from Brookhaven. She glanced at her wristwatch;
nearly 9 P.M. there.
"Alicia, Hugh Alcott wanted me to make this call." Tight, controlled, no
preliminaries. "His review panel just finished. It's pretty late here, but I
wanted to get to you about a serious problem. Hugh's panel thinks you took
something important out of the accident area."
"Sure, just broken--"
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"No, more than that. I've looked at the tapes and I have to say I
agree with him. There was something in that magnet assembly, wasn't there?"
"Uh, well, yes. We're studying it. I don't really think it was the cause--"
"That's for Hugh's guys to decide."
"I thought it was just an interesting piece of debris."
"Debris? A ball?"
"What else could it be?"
"That's for Hugh to decide."
"Look, Dave, I have to admit you're right--the thing is odd. When
I took it, I had no idea how odd." That much at least was quite true.
"Even more reason why--"
"I figure we won't understand why the pipe blew, or why the uranium counts
started dropping off, without understanding this thing first."
"Exactly why we want it here."
"We're right in the middle of extensive studies to--"
"Whatever it is, it's Laboratory-owned. Alicia, I can't block for you on
this."
She thought furiously. Counterpunch. "How about my data?"
"What?"
"Remember? The uranium data must be partially processed by now. I want to see
it."
"I'm not sure it's done."
"Then make sure."
"Stick to the point. The rules, our contract, they make it clear.
Whatever that object is, it's Lab property."
"I'm afraid we can't give it up right now, Dave. I'll be happy to confer with
you guys--"
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"The hell with that. I can't let you walk off with--"
"The Core Element is UCI property, and this thing was smack in the middle of
the wreckage."
"That doesn't matter a damn. It's vital to figuring out--"
"Can't we compromise on this? I'll share data--"
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GREGORY BENFORD ·
"You aren't on an equal footing here, Alicia. There's the earlier violation of
the safety review procedures."
She bit her lip. "Okay, maybe I forgot to fill in all the paperwork."
"It's a lot worse than that. Hugh says your calculations, the numerical
simulation of radioactive decay products, the charts--it's all bogus."
First rule: admit nothing. "That's his view. Look, even a back of the envelope [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]