Gravitys Angel | Page 5

you can convince him."
"Thanks," I said. He looked at me like he tasted something sour. I owed
him one, and one thing was sure: He'd collect when and where he
wanted.

"You really like this thing, don't you?" Carol Hendrix asked as she
reached up to touch one of the Invisible Bicycle's clear polystyrene
tires. It hung from rubber-covered hooks just inside my front door.
"Yeah," I said. "I got it in Germany. It's just plastic, but there's
something wonderful about it-almost the Platonic idea of a bicycle.
There's one in the Museum of Modern Art." Hanging above her head, it
seemed to glow in the soft light given off by baby spots. "I usually ride
it to think."
"What do we do now?" she asked. She wasn't interested in my toy.
"We get Dickie Boy over here," I said. "If we can. I'll call him."
"New physics," I told Dickie Boy on the phone. "Nothing you've ever
seen."
"Bullshit," he said.
"No bullshit. Wrong physics, maybe--that's what we want you to help
with, find out if we're missing something tricky."
"Or something obvious." He had no respect for anyone's ability on The
Thing but his own.
"I don't think so. I think we've got a whole set of tracks here like
nothing you've ever seen."
"I've got the Meson Group on my schedule."
"I know. Diehl said I could borrow you today."
"Where do you want me?"
"Come over to my house." No way I wanted anyone looking over our
shoulders.
Dickie Boy had made his name as a post-doc at Fermilab where Diehl
had recruited him when the SSC was nothing but a stack of plans, an

empty tunnel, and mounds of heaped dirt. He hadn't been brought on
for his good looks: He stood just over six feet tall and weighed maybe a
hundred and thirty pounds; his dull, brown hair was tied into
dreadlocks; he had a long, thin nose and close-set eyes and usually
seemed slightly dirty. However, in his brief time at Texlab he had
already made legendary forays on The Thing--the last, a tricky
sequence of pion studies, lasted nearly seventy-two hours, during
which time Dickie Boy had worked through several shifts of physicists
and finished by asking the group leader if he needed anything more.
Carol had heard about Dickie Boy, but she had her own reputation, and
so when they said hello and looked each other over, I could almost hear
the wheels turning, the question being posed, "Are you as good as they
say?"
We went to the terminal, and Carol ran the Monte Carlos as Dickie
Boy-sat almost squirming with impatience to have at what she was
doing. When she got out of the chair, he almost leapt into it and said,
"You two go somewhere else, okay? The other room's all right; just
leave me alone."
"I need to do some work at the office," I told Carol. "What about you?"
"Yeah," she said. "I should check my mail at the lab, see who's angry
that I'm gone. You got another terminal with a modem?"
"In the bedroom," I said. "I'll see you two later."
At HBET I found a line of people waiting for me to talk about or
approve their experimental arrangements, and so I spent the afternoon
there, amid the chaos of getting the SSC ready for its first full-energy
runs, scheduled for just a month away.
Carol and Dickie Boy were seated next to one another when I returned,
with another variation on her Monte Carlos on the screen in front of
them. "What's up?" I said, and Dickie Boy said, "This is fantastic."
Carol was smiling.

"Think we can take it to Thursday Group?" I asked.
"Tough audience," Dickie Boy said.
"Is it the one that counts?" Carol asked.
"Yes, it is," I said. "If we can convince them, they'll go up against Diehl
or anyone else."
"Let's do it, then," she said.
"Can you do a presentation?" I asked. "Good talk, good pictures?"
"Yes," she said. "I've been getting ready to do it."
"Fine," I said. "I'll call Allenson and ask if I can take over the agenda. I
don't think anyone's got anything hot working."
Bad haircuts, cheap clothes, and an attitude--that's the way I once heard
a gathering of theoretical physicists described. They--we--consider
ourselves aristocrats of the mind, working in the deepest and most
challenging science there is. Getting there first with good ideas, that's
the only thing that counts--under all circumstances, that was the
unspoken credo.
The whole group showed up that night. The living room of Allenson's
house was shabby and comfortable, with couches, chairs, and large
pillows enough to hold the sixteen of us: thirteen regulars and me,
Carol, and Dickie Boy. Eight Caucasians and five Orientals, three
Chinese