ATTACK OF THE MUONS!

Dr. Mark Hildenbrand beamed as the world’s largest superconducting magnet rolled out of the laboratory’s special warehouse on a custom flatbed truck. He had spent the last 12 years building the 50-foot diameter magnet weighing 15 tons with Dr. Kabir Patel, and dozens of other scientists. Now it was ready to help search for muons, the dark matter of the universe—super sub-atomic particles theorized to exist in their own dimension.

The flying saucer-shaped magnet, shrouded in blue plastic, eased past Dr. Hildenbrand. The projected route went from the Brookhaven Lab in Long Island to the Fermi Lab in Illinois, via barge after it left New York.

The Scientists

Dr. Hildenbrand clapped Dr. Kabir Patel on the shoulder. “This is a big moment for us, Kabir.” As far as he could remember, he wanted to be an astrophysicist, to explore the unseen, to stare into the cosmos. While other kids played board games, hopscotch, and tag, he calculated the trajectory of baseballs and assembled his own telescope. Born of a mechanical engineer father and mathematician mother, his parents didn’t go to church; they worshipped science and prayed at the altar of hypothesis testing and conclusions drawn from measurable results. It was not unusual to find a calculator on the table next to the silverware, and his mother or father saying: “Let’s check that.”

Kabir, who’s head only came to Dr. Hildenbrand’s shoulder said, “This is so gratifying.” Kabir adjusted his glasses on his face and scanned a sheet with transportation protocols. “Mark, did you ever have any doubts?”

“Doubts? No. I knew it would take time.” He and Kabir scribbled on whiteboards, ran computer simulations, bantered back and forth questioning assumptions, and haggled with co-workers and contractors for over a decade. The two of them did not care what god you worshipped, the color of your skin, or your continent of origin. They were hunters of the biggest game of all: Truth.

The passion and intensity for the project fused Kabir and Dr. Hildenbrand together. And not just at work; they grilled burgers side-by-side on the Fourth of July, and watched the Mets lose from their nosebleed seats while they gobbled ball park hot dogs. On family vacations to the Maine coast, their wives chided them: “Boys, put away the laptops and come to dinner.”

They followed the truck, moving at a crawling pace with its delicate cargo. “Sure, there was head-scratching and stumbles. Isn’t that what makes it all the more rewarding?” Dr. Hildenbrand said.

On The Road

The trailered magnet moved at night along pre-designated roads with little to no traffic. Doctors Hildenbrand and Patel followed behind the truck in a camper van, and a car with two of the lab’s security staff rode in front. A camera-laden drone hovered 3,000 feet overhead while the magnet traveled, providing an extra measure of security. It docked and recharged during the day on the camper roof.

The first night, they rotated sleeping and driving in two-hour shifts. Dr. Hildenbrand glanced back in the rear-view mirror and heard the burr of Kabir’s snoring. Their first “campsite” was a Walmart parking lot with a space big enough for the magnet. They’d wait for the coming night before moving again.

Dr. Hildenbrand put the van in ‘Park’ and Kabir startled in his berth at the back of the rented camper van. “Are we here yet?”

Both Dr. Hildenbrand and Kabir were groggy from working the “night shift.” They’d try to sleep until late afternoon, have dinner, and start driving behind the magnet again.

“I’m going to make instant oatmeal and coffee—decaf. Want some?” Hildenbrand asked.

Kabir adjusted his sleep mask. “I hate oatmeal. Didn’t we pass a Dunkin’ Donuts a while ago?”

“That was five miles back.” Hildenbrand snapped on the tiny burner and set the pot of cold water on it. He went outside as the sun burned off the morning dew. Each day Dr. Hildenbrand squinted at the sun and questions raced around his head like electrons circling a nucleus. Light, energy, and heat poured from the immense orb—just one sun radiating in an endless universe. There were secrets out there, and he wanted to not simply ponder them, but understand their flow and rhythm.

Kabir was the same. He’d often stop in mid-conversation: “Wait, I need to get this down before I forget it.” He’d sprint to his computer or the whiteboard and either type furiously or scribble in his scrawl until his hands caught up with his brain. He’d return, not missing a beat in the conversation.

“We’ll get donuts for tomorrow morning. We deserve a treat,” said Dr. Hildenbrand. “In the meantime, I’ll slice a banana and toss blueberries in the oatmeal.”

“I can live with that,” Kabir said. He pulled his phone out. “Look, Google Maps shows a Dunkin’ Donuts on tonight’s route. I’m officially marking it for a stop.”

Dr. Hildenbrand and Kabir descended into a deep slumber after breakfast. A loud rapping on the camper door awakened Dr. Hildenbrand.

“Sir, I’m sorry to wake you but we have guests you’ll want to meet,” Don, one of the security guards, said.

Dr. Hildenbrand stumbled to the door, his sleep mask propped on his head. “This better be good, Don. Who is it?”

“Sir, it’s the press. Apparently, you and Dr. Patel are celebrities.”

“Whaa—?”

Don pointed to the WKBA van where the crew prepped a camera and a man in a sport jacket had his brown, wavy hair brushed by an assistant. “They want to interview you and Dr. Patel. The magnet is big news.”

Dr. Hildenbrand looked over his shoulder at Kabir, snoring and curled up in a fetal position. “Let Dr. Patel sleep—he needs it. I’ll handle this.” He ran fingers through his shock of gray hair, splashed cold water on his face, and tucked a shirt tail in. Dr. Hildenbrand had given many media briefings over the years but none in a Walmart parking lot at 1:30 p.m. after a night with little sleep.

“I understand you have some questions,” Dr. Hildenbrand said as he approached the WKBA van.

“Glad you could speak with us. I’m Bob McKenzie, from WKBA.” He shook Dr. Hildenbrand’s hand. “We’re getting calls from the public about the magnet and are doing a feature on it. These muons are fascinating them.”

Dr. Hildenbrand wasn’t a big consumer of TV news but recognized Bob’s name, and knew he did segments on pet rescues to car accidents on the Long Island Expressway. This wasn’t exactly the Smithsonian channel. He’d keep it short and simple.

Bob maneuvered Dr. Hildenbrand in front of the magnet and corralled his cameraman. “Are we ready to roll?”

The camera man nodded.

“I’m here with Dr. Mark Hildenbrand to talk about a potential breakthrough in physics. Dr. Hildenbrand, can you tell us what exactly muons are and why the scientific community is so excited about this discovery?

“First, a muon is an unstable subatomic particle like an electron, but with a mass around 200 times greater,” Dr. Hildebrand said. “In our experiments using this magnet, the muons did something unusual that doesn’t match our models.” Dr. Hildenbrand paused a moment, making sure Bob caught up. “Something’s going on—we just don’t know what it is, but it may push us toward a new paradigm at how we look at the universe.”

Bob, like most reporters, looked for the funny angle. “That sounds really heavy.”

"The thing is," Dr. Hildenbrand continued, "Muons are omnipresent but their energy dissipates in 2.2 milliseconds. We have to recreate muons in a lab to get all our sophisticated measurements.

Bob held out his arm. "Are you telling me my arm is surrounded by those little buggers?"

"You're exactly right," Dr. Hildenbrand said. "When cosmic rays made from energized particles slam into atoms in the Earth’s atmosphere, muons are created. They travel at close to the speed of light, blasting the Earth from all angles.”

“So, when I’m at Coney Island, my tan comes from muons?”

Dr. Hildenbrand needed to turn this interview around. He was a scientist, not a stand-up comic. The lack of sleep wore on him, and he was afraid he’d get cranky on camera so he took control. “Bob, you asked me earlier about why the scientific community was so excited about muons. Muons are never alone; an assemblage of other particles constantly surround them, popping and fizzing out of existence in a micro-second. We think muons may lead us to ‘dark matter,’ a mysterious force in the universe. As an astrophysicist, this is big news.”

“There you have it,” Bob said. “The world may soon have a better understanding of these muons and force us to rethink the laws of nature.”

Dr. Hildenbrand grimaced at what he thought the TV audience might grasp from the interview. It was a hazard of the job, distilling complex concepts for the general public. The challenge was to balance not sounding too geeky or too condescending.

Off-camera, Bob sidled up to Dr. Hildenbrand, “If I didn’t know better, you might think the magnet looks like a spaceship and muons were aliens from another planet.”

“I never really thought of things that way,” Dr. Hildenbrand said. “Probably because I’ve spent the bulk of my life trying to visualize something that is unseen. It’s a weird way to look at the world.” Dr. Hildenbrand had viewed the earth differently since the day he was born. While others considered the darkest reaches of outer space as a lonely, forlorn environment, Dr. Hildenbrand knew the dark patch of sky teemed with particles, each of them crowded by other particles and controlled by strange energy forces. “I like to focus on the twinkle of stars, not the menace of aliens portrayed by movies.”

Bob shook Dr. Hildenbrand’s hand. “Thank you for your time. If you want to watch this, check out the 6 p.m. news. The public will eat this up.”

The last thing Dr. Hildenbrand desired was to watch this interview. He craved sleep and the vision of Kabir curled up on the bunk grew in appeal. The WKBA van sped away and he re-entered the camper van.

A second night passed with the magnet slowly making its way down the highway. Darkened leafy suburbs, boarded-up strip malls, used car lots, and neon-signed massage parlors slipped by as the magnet’s motorcade wended along under the dull glow of streetlights. Faint orange rays of dawn appeared and Dr. Hildenbrand’s journey for the night drew to a close. The campsite for the day was a Costco parking lot. The truck parked the magnet at a far corner of the lot, and Dr. Hildenbrand put the van in “Park” so Kabir could make a cup of decaf he could dunk his donuts in. A sprinkling of confectioner’s sugar circled Kabir’s mouth from a jelly donut he’d wolfed down.

The Mob

The Starbucks coffee dissolved in hot water when Kabir said, “What’s that?” A steadily growing crescendo of gunning engines echoed down the street followed by a cavalcade of flag-bearing pickup trucks and cars. They circled the magnet, van, and security car several times until they were surrounded. The cloud of dust dissipated, revealing trucks holding hundreds of people. Dozens of them were dressed in camo or daubed in warlike face paint. Several held up “Q Sent Me” signs or wore red MAGA hats and sported Jesus t-shirts.

Dr. Hildenbrand and Kabir looked out the windshield in disbelief.

“Are we at the wrong Costco?” Kabir asked. “Is there some weird sale going on?”

“No, this is the right one,” Dr. Hildenbrand replied. “Maybe they’re at the wrong Costco.”

As Dr. Hildenbrand and Kabir looked on, Don, the security guard approached several members of the group, including one tall guy clad in body armor who seemed to be in charge. The conversation became heated and Don gestured to the magnet and then at them. A man in the group wearing an old army jacket pointed a Taser and Don writhed on the ground, his body spasming from two electrodes imbedded in him.

“Holy cow!” Kabir yelled. “They can’t do that.”

“We’ve got to see what these people want,” Dr. Hildenbrand said.

Two other men pounced on Don and zip-tied his hands and feet as he lay prone.

The other security guard, Carlos, a retired New York City cop, drew his gun. Before he knew it, 50 pistols and high-powered assault rifles were trained on him.

“Do the smart thing and put the gun down,” the leader shouted.

Carlos set his gun at his feet. Two other men raced from the crowd; one grabbed the gun, and the other pushed Carlos to his knees before billy-clubbing him to the ground.

Dr. Hildenbrand opened the camper door.

“Don’t go out there—these people are merciless,” Kabir warned.

“Call 9-1-1,” Dr. Hildenbrand said as he backed away from the door. His mind raced, processing the occurrences of the last 30 seconds, trying to make sense of it.

Two of the leader’s henchmen jerked Don to his feet and Dr. Hildenbrand saw him gesturing in the direction of the camper van. Don was frog-marched to the front of the camper door.

“This can’t be good,” said Kabir, who was giving the Costco’s address to the 9-1-1 operator.

“Dr. Hildenbrand, these guys want to speak with you,” said Don. A pistol barrel angled an inch from Don’s head.

“I’m going out,” Dr. Hildenbrand said. He had never considered himself particularly brave although he had spoken up passionately about his theories running against the scientific grain at the Solvay Conference for physicist’s.

“I’m going with you,” Kabir slid his cell phone into his pocket.

“We’re coming out,” Dr. Hildenbrand said from behind the camper door. “Don’t shoot.”

They stepped from the camper, aware of the guns pointed their way.

“Hands up,” the leader bellowed. He wore a tag above his breast pocket with one name: “TRon.” A golden “Q” was embroidered above it. TRon pointed to a man sporting dark glasses and a mohawk. “Frisk ‘em.”

The search produced Kabir’s cell phone.

TRon extended a tattooed hand. “Give it here.”

“Hey, I need that,” Kabir said. He stepped forward to grab it back.

“Not anymore.” TRon dropped the phone on the asphalt and ground his boot heel into the phone, leaving it in pieces. “One more step, raghead, and the Asian invasion is over.” The gun barrel pressed against the soft flesh of Kabir’s left nostril.

“Technically, I am Asian, but more specifically, I am proudly a United States citizen originally from the Indian state of Rajasthan.”

“Shut the fuck up.” TRon ordered. “Who’s in charge here?”

Dr. Hildenbrand touched Kabir on the forearm, a signal indicating Kabir needed to remain silent or this would get much worse. Technically, he was the project manager, but he and Kabir ran the project together in true collaboration. In this instance, he thought it wiser to shield Kabir from any further potential abuse and assume full responsibility. “I am.”

Kabir, sensing the ploy, quietly took a step back.

“Good, now we’re getting somewhere,” TRon said.

“What can I do for you? Dr. Hildenbrand asked. He looked at Don with one Taser dart sticking out of his back, and Carlos, bloodied and kneeling between two men. “I don’t want anyone else hurt.”

“Everyone will be fine if you cooperate.” TRon waved the gun toward the magnet. “We want the Muons.”

“What?” Dr. Hildenbrand and Kabir said in unison.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” TRon said. “We know aliens are in that spaceship.”

A man barked, “We’re not stupid. Let’s go get ‘em!”

“There’s a serious mistake,” Dr. Hildenbrand said. He was a man of science, facts stacked like a ziggurat and confirmed through experiments until they formed a coherent theory. The gaps in TRon’s thinking were beyond his comprehension. An uneasy feeling crept in; had Bob from WKBA jokingly referenced the sub-atomic particle muons as invader-from-space Muons? It seemed implausible, yet here he was, staring into TRon’s crazed asphalt-dark eyes and inhaling his caffeinated breath.

“Mr. TRon, muons aren’t space aliens, they’re sub-atomic particles traveling at hypersonic speed.” Dr. Hildenbrand knew the whole concept was beyond most people’s understanding—this wasn’t the stuff of normal office potluck or cocktail party conversation. He doubted TRon would get it, but he had to try. “You can’t see them, touch them, or smell them.”

TRon: “You believe that crazy shit?”

Dr. Hildenbrand: “I do. It’s all I believe.”

Kabir: “Me too.”

TRon shifted his gaze to Kabir and his eyebrows knotted.

One of TRon’s men tapped a baton in his palm, anticipating the next clubbing victim. Dr. Hildenbrand didn’t like the way he eyed Kabir and he gently squeezed Kabir’s bicep to quiet him again.

“You have one more chance to turn over the Muons.” TRon turned to several men in the crowd who had surged toward Dr. Hildenbrand and Kabir. “I’m giving them 30 seconds to give us the Muons. Surround the spaceship and if they don’t, we’ll go in and get them.”

Men ringed the magnet in a cordon of human bodies. A dozen readied their firearms.

In his wildest dreams, he never envisioned anything as deranged as this. If indeed space aliens arrived someday, he would feel greater kinship with them than this crowd. All he knew was that years of work could vaporize if they had their way. His head throbbed and his shirt hung damp from perspiration as he frantically thought of a way to stall for time before the police arrived. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you where the Muons are but nobody else can get hurt—and you have to leave the magnet untouched.”

“Now we’re talking,” TRon said.

“They’re back at the warehouse where the magnet—I mean spaceship—came from.” Dr. Hillebrand glanced at Kabir. I’m winging it now. “We’ve got them locked up in a special high-tech cell for analysis.”

“Where at? We’re gonna waste those fuckers before they get us.”

“We can take you there, just leave the spaceship alone,” Dr. Hildenbrand said.

Dr. Hildenbrand’s watched TRon study his features for a long moment before squinting.

“You’re bullshitting me,” TRon said.

A man near TRon wearing a U.S flag durag shouted, “It’s a diversion!”

“I’m thinking the same thing,” TRon tapped his temple. “I may not have a highfalutin’ science degree but my BS-detector is the best.”

Dr. Hildenbrand couldn’t show it, but he slumped inwardly, his intestines and colon growling. He was running out of options: he’d tried logic and science, bluffing, and none of it worked. What do these people really want?

TRon addressed his troops: “We’re going in and getting the Muons. I’m gonna count to three and Group 1 on the left will open fire on the spaceship.” He spoke into a mic attached to his lapel, “Groups 2, 3, and 4 back off. I don’t want any casualties from friendly fire.” TRon gestured for the groups to move away. “If the Muons attack, it’s each man for himself.”

Dr. Hildenbrand watched in horror as 20 men raised their rifles to their shoulders. A single bullet piercing the magnet would render its precision machining useless and irreparable.

“One,” said TRon.

The metallic sound of 20 safeties clicking ‘off’ rung in Dr. Hildenbrand’s ears.

“Two.” Groups 2, 3, and 4, knelt down away from the flanks of the magnet, guns at the ready.

“Thr—”

“Nooooooo!” Kabir screamed. He dashed to the magnet, spreading his arms to shield it as Group 1 unleashed a volley. Kabir’s body jerked, blood spattered the blue plastic and gaping holes opened up in the material while shards of aluminum flew through the air. Crimson patches blossomed on Kabir’s limp body as a pool of red spread across the pavement.

Dr. Hildenbrand covered his mouth, unable to speak, before dropping to his knees crying out, “It’s a fucking magnet! You shot a magnet and Kabir, you idiots.” A baton smashed his forehead and searing pain entered his brain. He lay sprawled face up, the smell of sweat, blood, and motor oil on the pavement filling his nostrils. Kabir, his trusted partner, gunned down in a collective bout of stupidity. Tears mingled with blood seeping from a pulsating wound.

While others had looked upwards and saw only the stars and planets, Dr. Hildenbrand glimpsed the grand order of the universe, a timeless expanse of invisible laws and properties. All his life he had tried to bring light to the world, and now all he saw was darkness. He never felt so alone. With blood oozing into one eye, he stared upward into the void, and prayed for more intelligent life up there. Even though the sun burned brightly, and muons flooded his face, there was no warmth.

Police sirens screamed in the distance, but it was already too late.

Originally from the suburbs of New Jersey, Ken Post worked for the Forest Service in Alaska for 40 years. He writes short stories during the long, dark winters. Ken’s fiction has previously appeared in Cirque, Red Fez, Poor Yorick, Woven Tale Press, and Kansas City Voices. Two of his stories have been nominated for Pushcart Prizes. His short story collection, “Greyhound Cowboy and Other Stories,” is forthcoming from Cornerstone Press.