“Medical applications? Oh, yes.” Punjab smiled tightly. “This is a proof-of-principle experiment, Dr. Bretti. We have much larger plans for your antimatter.”
Bretti glanced around the bay area. “Well, use it sparingly. I’m not sure when you’ll be getting the rest.”
Punjab scowled at him. “You are not in a position to dictate terms, Dr. Bretti. Come. You must show us how to extract the antimatter.”
Bretti followed the chief scientist back down the metal stairs to the high bay floor. Whining sounds of a machine shop came from a door at the base of the stairs. He smelled hot metal, lubricants, capacitor oils- refreshing after the nauseating smells of sardine-packed humanity. Technicians dressed in blue lab coats and orange or green pants milled around diagnostic units set in cement-block cubbyholes. Weirdly out of place, two guards with rifles sauntered along a catwalk, high above the floor.
Bretti peered at one of the capacitor boxes for Experiment 322, reading the manufacturer’s mark on the side. “Maxwell capacitors? This all seems pretty standard for a high-capacitor lab.” He glanced at the guards patrolling overhead. “Mr. Chandrawalia emphasized the need for secrecy. Why?”
Dr. Punjab studied Bretti for a moment. While the rest of his staff remained in the background, he brushed back his beard and spoke in slow, carefully measured tones.
“Mr. Chandrawalia explained to you the, ah, commercial applications of what we intend to do here? Manufacture artificial medical isotopes to sell on the world market?”
“Of course,” said Bretti. “It would take years to get permission to do that at Fermilab-if they ever allowed it in the first place. The accelerator is a research tool, and if some congressman ever found out that we were pouring millions of dollars into underwriting India ’s latest commercial activity, he’d have a fit. But we’re in
“We have our own reasons for operating the way we do, Dr. Bretti. There are other countries, notably Pakistan, who would do anything to ruin things for us. There is intense competition for a niche in this, ah…
Bretti shrugged. India ’s preoccupation with Pakistan was similar to the U.S. and the ex-Soviet Union during the Cold War. But, whatever motivated a country wasn’t his business. As long as he got his money, he didn’t care. If they wanted guards around, they could keep them.
Punjab nodded toward Bretti’s Penning trap, still in its shipping container. “Please, we are anxious to begin our experiments. Tell us about your increase in p-bar production, how you enhance your beam. This is accomplished by a resonance change in the cross-section, is it not? Where did you get the gamma ray laser to do this? And you need to show us how to extract the antimatter from the salt trap, as well.”
Bretti quickly stifled his uneasiness. He had brought only a simple Penning trap, a normal, low-density magnetic bottle. Why did they keep harping on the crystal-lattice trap? It was a fairly standard design, one pioneered by stuffy old Nels Piter-but, boy, did Piter crow about his accomplishment again and again, until the Nobel committee had noticed him this year. But then, Bretti knew people like Piter rarely produced more than one important discovery in their lives… if that.
Of course, if Bretti himself had to stay on the run all his life, lying low, he wouldn’t have an opportunity to do much better.
He quickly ran a hand through his dark goatee. “First off, I’ll need a 110-volt line to take over from the batteries.” Bretti opened the lid of the shipping container and rummaged through the packing material to expose the cylindrical device. A blue-turbaned man brought over an extension cord, and Bretti connected the trap. Dr. Punjab’s staff stood in a semicircle around him, some quietly scribbling in black lab notebooks.
Bretti stepped back. Dr. Punjab leaned forward to inspect the device and frowned. “This is not a crystal-lattice trap!” He looked up, scowling. “Do you take me for a fool? This magnetic bottle cannot hold nearly enough antimatter for what we need!”
Baffled, Bretti shrugged. “What difference does it make? I’ve got some p-bars, and that’s what you want. Enough for you to get started. This trap holds about ten to the fifth particles-”
Dr. Punjab bellowed, “We need
“Calm down, would you?” Bretti glanced around, and the men seemed to step closer to him, closing in, threatening. The armed guards on the catwalk above paused and stared down at him. “Look, we had an explosion. An accident happened at the Tevatron. The beam fluctuated and my full crystal-lattice trap dumped its entire load of p-bars. This magnetic bottle holds the most antimatter I could divert from an unenhanced beam in a single day. I had to get out of there, fast!”
“We paid you in advance, Dr. Bretti. We expect you to meet your obligations.”
Bretti nervously wet his lips. “You gave me a down payment, and I’m giving you a down payment. I have until next month to deliver the p-bars, per our agreement. I had to come to India… early. Things happened back at Chicago, and since I had these particles in storage, I thought I could get a jump on things and deliver some of them now, allow you to start your experiments with a little amount, just as you wanted.”
“We have no time for this nonsense.” Punjab angrily dismissed him with a wave. “Go home, Dr. Bretti. I will ask Mr. Chandrawalia to use another source to get our antimatter, and you can forfeit the rest of your payment.”
Bretti’s heart pounded with panic. So much for remaining here, for requesting asylum, for going to ground in Bangalore. If he even mentioned his crime, about being on the run, Punjab would probably truss him up and deliver him directly to the authorities.
“No, wait! I can do it. Really, I can. I already have another working crystal-lattice trap installed in one of the substations. The Tevatron is running almost nonstop now, and with Dumenco’s beam enhancements I can get you a milligram of p-bars in a few days.” He looked wildly from side to side, seeking support from anyone on Dr. Punjab’s staff. They all looked at him skeptically.
He continued to jabber. “Look, I’ve gone through a dry-run this time. The production cross section has increased and I’ve diverted antimatter from the enhanced beam. I proved I can safely transport p-bars in a diplomatic pouch. It’ll be easy to bring you the rest of them. I can be back next week. Two at the most.”
Dr. Punjab stared at him, tight-lipped, considering. Bretti knew they had him over a barrel. A squat technician stepped over to Punjab and whispered rapidly in a foreign language. Surprised, Punjab asked a question in the same language. The squat man strode to a telephone by the wall, dialed a number, and waited for a moment before speaking.
Bretti shifted his weight from foot to foot during the exchange, antsy, but he forced himself to keep quiet. Inside, he felt furious with Dumenco. The old scientist was responsible for getting Bretti into this whole mess by botching his work, somehow causing the beam-dump accident that resulted in the power shutdown, and causing the failure of the antimatter-loaded crystal-lattice trap.
Finally, the technician got off the telephone and reported back. Dr. Punjab nodded stiffly, then turned to Bretti. He seemed to force the words, as if having great difficulty keeping his temper in check.
“It is… unfortunate that you did not tell us from the beginning that you did not bring all the antimatter. But you are right: You have shown that it is possible to divert the p-bars and transport them here. Now, you will return to Chicago immediately and bring us back what you have promised.”
He motioned with his head and two younger staff members stepped forward. “My colleagues will escort you back to the airport. The Concord leaves New Delhi in six hours.” He pressed his lips together and stared at Bretti for a moment. “Do not fail us again. Mr. Chandrawalia will go to great lengths to ensure that the money he has already paid you is not wasted. He will meet with you again to make sure you understand.”
Bretti swallowed, knowing that he had just been, reluctantly, given a second chance. He tried to look grateful. “I’ll be back in a week. I promise.”
But as he turned to go, he didn’t know what he dreaded more-returning to Chicago and the manhunt arrayed for him, or coming back and being stuck here for the rest of his life.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
