The lights in Lab Wing B went out. Yeonhui lifted her hands from the console and looked up at the ceiling. The emergency lights came on. Three seconds later. Red light stained the walls. Yeonhui checked the console's power indicator. It was dark. The console beside it was dark too. Every piece of electronic equipment in the lab had died at once. Yeonhui pulled her personal terminal from her pocket. The screen wouldn't come on. She shook it. No response. She set the terminal down and looked at the isolation chamber at the center of the lab. Blue light was leaking from the chamber's observation window. It hadn't been there 3 hours ago. The color of the light was unlike the fluorescent tubes. It was a deep, cold blue.
The particle accelerator Europa-3 floated in Jupiter's orbit. Its design harnessed Jupiter's magnetic field as shielding energy. A circular acceleration ring 4.7 kilometers long. At its center sat the experiment block. Crew of 7. The nearest crewed facility was Europa Base. A round trip of 46 hours. For 14 months now, Yeonhui had been running magnetic-monopole synthesis experiments on this accelerator. The magnetic monopole. Split a magnet and it always grows two poles again—a particle that breaks that law and exists as a single pole on its own. It had been predicted in theory for over 120 years, but no one had ever made one. Three hours ago, in Yeonhui's 287th collision experiment, the detector's signal had changed. A single-pole magnetic-field signal. Yeonhui checked the signal three times. It was not an error. She sat in her chair and stared at the screen for 2 minutes. Her hands were shaking.
Yeonhui walked up to the isolation chamber. The blue light from the observation window lit her face. Inside the chamber was the specimen—a titanium vessel holding the debris generated in the collision experiment. The surface of the vessel had changed. Three hours ago it had been silver-gray. Now black patterns had spread across its surface. The patterns were regular. They radiated outward from the center of the vessel in concentric circles. The spacing of the circles was uniform. The air around the vessel was trembling faintly. It was the phenomenon of the magnetic field aligning the fine particles suspended in the air.
Yeonhui laid a hand against the outer wall of the isolation chamber. The metal, which should have been cold, was lukewarm. She felt a faint tremor in her palm. It wasn't a tremor. It was a pull. The sensation of her palm sticking to the chamber wall. Yeonhui took her hand away. It took effort to take it away. There was resistance, like prying iron off a magnet. She tried once more. Pressing her palm down and lifting it, down and lifting it. The resistance grew stronger each time. Yeonhui looked at her palm. Fine metal dust clung to it. It had flaked off from the surface of the chamber's outer wall. The wall was corroding. It wasn't corroding. It was reorganizing. Under the influence of the magnetic monopole, the arrangement of the metal atoms was forming a new structure.
Yeonhui looked for a recording device for the experiment. All the electronic equipment was dead. She found a pencil and paper and began to record. Estimated time 14:40. Single-pole magnetic-field diffusion confirmed in the specimen vessel inside the isolation chamber. Magnetic reorganization progressing out to the chamber's outer wall. Total shutdown of all electronic equipment in Lab Wing B. Presumed cause: the single-pole magnetic field emitted by the magnetic-monopole material is irreversibly reorganizing the magnetic structure of the surrounding metal. The secondary magnetic field generated by the reorganized metal is destroying the semiconductor elements in the electronic equipment.
Yeonhui folded the paper, put it in her pocket, and stepped out into the corridor. The floor of the corridor running from Wing B to Wing A was cold. Wing A's lights were alive. It was 70 meters from the isolation chamber. That meant the range of the magnetic reorganization was under 70 meters. Yeonhui went to Wing A's communication panel. The panel worked. She opened the shipwide channel.
"This is Yeonhui. Total power failure in Wing B. Abnormal magnetic-field diffusion spreading from the isolation chamber. All hands report to Wing A."
Three minutes later the engineer Dohyeon arrived in Wing A. He had run. He was out of breath.
"What's going on?"
"It looks like a magnetic monopole was created in specimen 287."
The color drained from Dohyeon's face. Under the corridor's emergency lights, his lips looked gray.
"You succeeded at the synthesis?"
"If you can call it success. The specimen is eating the isolation chamber."
Dohyeon followed her to the end of the Wing B corridor. He stopped at the boundary between Wing A and Wing B. Black patterns had appeared on the corridor wall on the Wing B side. The concentric pattern that had begun in the isolation chamber had spread to the wall. Dohyeon reached out to touch it. Yeonhui grabbed his wrist.
"Don't touch it."
Yeonhui showed him her palm. The metal dust was still clinging to it.
"If you make contact, the magnetic field interferes with your nerves. When I touched the chamber wall earlier, my fingers wouldn't obey me for about a second."
Dohyeon lowered his hand. The two of them stood 2 meters back from the boundary and watched the black pattern spread. The edges of the pattern were moving faintly. As if it were alive.
Yeonhui switched on the data terminal in Wing A. Wing B's sensors were dead, but Wing A's sensors were measuring the magnetic-field strength at the boundary with Wing B. Numbers appeared on the screen. Yeonhui's eyes narrowed. The magnetic-field strength at the boundary was 40 percent higher than 3 hours ago. The range of the magnetic reorganization was expanding. Yeonhui calculated the rate of diffusion. About 4.2 meters per hour. At that rate it would take 17 hours to reach Wing A. When Wing A's electronic equipment died, the life-support system would stop. Oxygen generation, temperature regulation, communication. All of it would stop.
Dohyeon looked at the screen and spoke. "Can't we detach the isolation chamber? Cut the whole chamber off the accelerator and vent it into space." Yeonhui shook her head. "The chamber's outer wall has already reorganized. The bolts won't come loose. Just like at 36 hertz." Yeonhui stopped. She thought of another way. "Can we throw the accelerator itself out of orbit? Drop all of Europa-3 into Jupiter." Dohyeon looked at her. A bloodstain from a nosebleed had spread across her shirt. "All 4.7 kilometers of it?"
"We crash it into Jupiter's atmosphere. I don't know how the monopole matter will react with the hydrogen there, but at least it disappears from the sphere of human civilization." Dohyeon was silent for a moment. "The deorbit thrust is in the Wing C engine module. To fire it, you have to go to Wing C. But—" Dohyeon broke off. "Wing C is on the far side of Wing B. You'd have to pass through Wing B."
From the Wing A communications panel, Yeonhui sent a message to Earth Control. The Jupiter-to-Earth transmission delay was 38 minutes one way. "Europa-3, researcher Yeonhui. Probable synthesis of a magnetic monopole in collision experiment 287. Magnetic reorganization phenomenon spreading into the facility interior. Wing B electronics fully offline. Diffusion rate 4.2 meters per hour. Estimated 17 hours to reach Wing A. Requesting response instructions. Requesting confirmation on whether to transmit synthesis data." Yeonhui pressed send and looked at the screen. The synthesis data. The parameters of collision experiment 287, the energy level, the collision angle, the detector signal. With this data, Earth could reproduce the monopole. And being able to reproduce it meant being able to control it—and also being able to fail at controlling it.
76 minutes later, Control replied. "Europa-3, Control. Transmit synthesis data immediately. Prepare facility evacuation procedures. Escape module is located in Wing D. Complete evacuation before the magnetic reorganization reaches Wing D. Execute deorbit only as a last resort. Data transmission is the top priority." Yeonhui looked at the screen. Data transmission is the top priority. She sat down in the chair and looked up at the ceiling. Wing A's lights were shining white. There was no telling how long Wing A's lights would stay alive either.
Yeonhui pulled the chair close, sat, and opened the synthesis data file. Numbers and graphs spread across the screen. Collision energy: 1,247 teraelectronvolts. Collision angle: 17.3 degrees. Target material composition ratio. Magnetic-shielding pattern. Time distribution of the detector signal. This data was enough. An accelerator on Earth could reproduce the same conditions. Earth's accelerators were larger than Europa-3. At higher energies, they could make monopoles in far greater quantity. And on Earth there were no isolation chambers—there were cities.
Dohyeon came over. "Are you sending the data?" Yeonhui looked at him. "Control told us to send it."
"Is Control here?" Yeonhui didn't answer. Dohyeon looked at the screen. "If we send this, Earth will reproduce it. And if they reproduce it, will they be able to control it?" Yeonhui said, "Are we controlling it?" Dohyeon shut his mouth.
Yeonhui rose from the chair and walked to the Wing B boundary. On the wall of the boundary surface, the black pattern had spread more than 2 meters since 3 hours ago. The air was different. There was a faint metallic smell. The taste of molten iron rose to the tip of her tongue. Yeonhui stopped 1 meter from the boundary. She raised her right hand. She tried flexing her fingers. Normal. She took half a step forward. Her fingers trembled faintly. This was the distance at which the magnetic field began to interfere with nerve conduction. She clenched and unclenched her fingers. There was a lag. It felt as if the signal from her brain to her fingers arrived 0.3 seconds late. Yeonhui stepped back two paces. Her fingers returned to normal.
To reach Wing C, she had to pass straight through Wing B. Wing B was 120 meters long. She would have to pass near the isolation chamber, where the magnetic reorganization was worst. There was no telling whether her body would move properly through the stretch where the nerve interference was strong. Yeonhui asked Dohyeon, "What about operating the Wing C engine module remotely?" Dohyeon shook his head. "It's manual ignition. You have to physically turn the valve. It wasn't designed for an unmanned crash in the first place—it's for orbital corrections." Yeonhui looked at him. "To turn the valve, your fingers have to move." Dohyeon looked at her. A bloodstain from a nosebleed had spread across her shirt. "Near the isolation chamber, your fingers might not move." Yeonhui nodded.
Yeonhui went back to Wing A and stood before the communications panel. The data transmission file was open on the screen. The cursor was blinking over the send button. The blinking felt like a pulse. Yeonhui did not press the button. Instead she looked at the file's key parameter. Collision angle: 17.3 degrees. Change this one number and reproduction became impossible. 17.3 to 17.8. A difference of 0.5 degrees. Earth's scientists would fail to reproduce it. After failing again and again, they would conclude that the magnetic monopole was nothing but a theoretical prediction. Yeonhui's name would vanish from history. Experiment 287 would be recorded as an equipment error. The monopole would return to the realm of theory.
Yeonhui put her hands on the keyboard. 17.3. The cursor sat over the number. Her fingers wouldn't move. It wasn't magnetic interference. It was her own will that had stopped. It had been 12 years. Yeonhui lifted her hands from the keyboard. She leaned back against the chair. The ceiling light came into view. For 12 years she had worked for this moment. 7 years of graduate school, 2 years waiting for the Europa-3 assignment, 14 months aboard the accelerator. Yeonhui's entire career was contained in this number.
Dohyeon was standing beside her.
"There's no time."
Yeonhui looked at him.
"The oxygen in the Ra-block escape module?"
"72 hours for 4 people. It'll take a rescue ship at least 8 days to reach us from Jupiter orbit."
"8 days, and the oxygen—"
"Won't be enough."
Yeonhui looked at the screen. If she transmitted the data, mission control would dispatch a rescue ship immediately. Without the data, the incentive to send one would weaken. Europa-3 was already a contaminated facility. Without the data, crashing the accelerator became the more rational choice. Control could even issue the crash command remotely — with Yeonhui and the crew still inside.
Yeonhui closed the data file. She did not transmit it. Dohyeon looked at her. A smear of dried nosebleed had spread across the front of her shirt. Yeonhui said,
"I'm going to the Da-block."
Dohyeon's face hardened.
"You'd have to pass through the Na-block."
"I know."
"Right past the isolation chamber."
"I know."
Yeonhui opened the emergency toolbox mounted on the corridor wall. There was a pipe wrench inside. 2.3 kilograms. Steel, not aluminum. She lifted it. The weight settled into her hand. With this she could turn the valves. Even if her fingers wouldn't move, she could turn them as long as her wrist still worked.
Yeonhui crossed the boundary into the Na-block. When she took the first step, she felt a faint pull under the soles of her feet. The metal reinforcement in her shoe soles was trying to cling to the floor. She lifted her foot and set the next one down. 10 meters. The black patterns on the walls stretched out to either side. They climbed all the way to the ceiling. The red glow of the emergency lights lit them up. 20 meters. Her fingers began to tremble. The index finger of her right hand, gripping the wrench, twitched faintly. She tightened her hold on the wrench. 30 meters. Her left hand stopped obeying. She told it to make a fist, but the fingers stayed splayed open. She ignored the left hand and kept walking. 40 meters. The isolation chamber came into view.
The blue light spilling from the chamber's observation window stained the corridor. Its intensity had grown stronger than 3 hours ago. The metal floor panels in the corridor had warped. Panels that had once lain flat were now bulging faintly upward. As the magnetic reorganization altered the crystal structure of the metal, its volume changed. Yeonhui walked on, treading over the raised panels. 50 meters. Right alongside the isolation chamber. The spasms in her right hand worsened. The wrench threatened to slip from her grip. The steel wrench was being dragged toward the floor. She clenched her teeth and held on — not with her fingers, but with the muscles of her wrist. 60 meters. Both legs grew heavy. It was less like walking than like dragging herself forward. The metal reinforcement scraped along the floor. 70 meters. She passed the chamber. The blue light receded behind her. The trembling in her fingers eased. 80 meters. Her left hand moved again. Clenched into a fist, opened. Slowly, but it moved.
By the time she reached the end of the Na-block, Yeonhui's shirt was soaked through with sweat to her back. Her breathing was ragged. It had taken 14 minutes to walk 120 meters — a distance that normally took 2. She opened the door to the Da-block. Its lights were alive. The engine module was at the far end. Yeonhui walked the corridor. The walls of the Da-block were clean. No black patterns. Not yet. She stopped before the module's control panel. The panel wasn't electronic. It was mechanical. Three valves for manual ignition and a lever to set the heading. Open the valves in sequence and thrust would build; set the heading with the lever and the orbit would shift. Yeonhui pushed the heading lever toward Jupiter. The lever was heavy. She had to push with both hands. It caught against its latch. Locked, aimed at Jupiter.
Yeonhui fitted the pipe wrench to valve 1. She turned it. The valve opened. The sound of fuel flowing carried through the piping. A low droning traveled along the wall. Valve 2. She fitted the wrench and turned. It opened. Valve 3. The ignition valve. Open this one and the engine would fire, and Europa-3 would begin its fall toward Jupiter's atmosphere. Yeonhui fitted the wrench to valve 3 and stopped.
The data was in the Ga-block. The data she hadn't transmitted. If the accelerator fell into Jupiter, the data would vanish with it. The data proving the existence of the magnetic monopole. The answer to a question 120 years old in physics. The numbers that held Yeonhui's 12 years. All of it, sinking into Jupiter's hydrogen atmosphere. Never to be made again. Building an accelerator on the scale of Europa-3 takes 20 years. Yeonhui might be alive by then, or she might not.
Yeonhui set the wrench down. She left the Da-block and walked back through the Na-block. As she passed before the isolation chamber, her right hand spasmed again. Her left foot stuck to the floor and wouldn't come free for 2 seconds. She clenched her teeth and pulled it loose. She reached the Ga-block. She sat down before the data terminal. She opened the synthetic data file. Collision angle 17.3 degrees. Yeonhui looked at the number. She laid her fingers on the keyboard. She deleted 17.3 and entered 17.8. She saved the file. She pressed the transmit button. The falsified data flew toward Earth. It would arrive in 38 minutes.
Yeonhui rose from her chair and walked to Section B for the third time. This time she walked fast. At the isolation chamber her whole right arm convulsed. She nearly dropped the wrench. Her left knee wouldn't bend, so she dragged herself the last 3 steps. She wanted to brace a hand against the corridor wall, but she was afraid her hand would stick to it, and didn't. By the time she reached Section C, blood was running from her nose. The magnetic field had reached the capillaries in her nasal cavity. Yeonhui wiped her nose on her sleeve and stood before the engine module. She fit the wrench to valve 3. She turned it. The valve opened. The floor shook. The walls trembled. The engine had ignited. The vibration climbed up through the soles of her feet. Europa-3 began to slip out of its orbit. Jupiter's gravity began to pull the accelerator down.
Yeonhui came out of Section C and went to Section D. The escape module was there. Dohyeon and the other 5 crew were already inside. Yeonhui climbed in. She sealed the hatch. The sound of metal meshing rang out.
"The data?"
Dohyeon asked. Yeonhui said,
"I sent it."
Dohyeon looked at her. A nosebleed had bloomed across the front of Yeonhui's shirt.
"Then they can reproduce it on Earth."
Yeonhui buckled her seatbelt.
"I changed the collision angle. 17.3 to 17.8. They won't be able to reproduce it."
Dohyeon's mouth opened, then closed. The module separated from Europa-3. A small jolt carried through the seats.
The module drifted hundreds of meters off Europa-3. Through the observation window she could see the accelerator. All 4.7 kilometers of it were falling toward Jupiter. Jupiter's banded atmosphere filled the window. Whorls of brown and white. A blue glow was seeping from Europa-3's experiment wing. Light thrown off by the magnetic-monopole material. The accelerator grazed the upper reaches of Jupiter's atmosphere. Yeonhui pressed her forehead to the window and watched. The accelerator's outer hull went red with atmospheric friction. Blue light and red light burned together. Europa-3 disappeared into Jupiter's clouds. The last thing she saw was a blue point of light from the observation window of the Section B isolation chamber. The point dwindled, then the clouds swallowed it. 12 years of data vanished with them. Yeonhui lifted her forehead from the window. A greasy print stayed on the glass. Beyond the smudge, Jupiter's clouds went on churning.
Dohyeon spoke from beside her.
"They said the rescue ship takes 8 days. We have 72 hours of oxygen."
Yeonhui settled back and looked at the ceiling.
"Once mission control has the data, they'll send a rescue ship. They won't know it was doctored. Not within 8 days, at least."
Dohyeon looked at her. A nosebleed had bloomed across the front of Yeonhui's shirt.
"And when they find out after 8 days?"
Yeonhui didn't answer. The oxygen readout hung glowing on the module wall. 72 hours. Split among 7 people, it was really less. 42 hours. Yeonhui wiped the number from her mind. She pulled her eyes off the oxygen display and looked at the observation window. Jupiter's atmosphere churned beyond the glass. Where Europa-3 had been there was no trace at all. The index finger of Yeonhui's right hand trembled, faintly. Whether it was the lingering pull of the magnetic field or just fatigue, she couldn't tell. She clenched the fingers and spread them. They moved. Slowly, but they moved.
