Tales From The Europa Synchotron

"Most people believe that the hottest place in the solar system is the center of the Sun. Most people are wrong."

"Some people believe that the hottest place in the solar system is inside one of thousands of metal donuts, scattered across the surfaces of every colonized body. Those people are wrong, too, but getting closer."

"In actuality, the hottest place in the solar system located around forty meters behind me, inside that big black box, in roughly ten minutes."

That was it. Her introduction was over. No turning back now. She glanced down, shuffled her notes, then looked back up.

"Here at the Europa Synchotron, we can generate temperatures orders of magnitude greater than anywhere else in the galaxy- hotter than Venus, hotter than Sol, hotter then even a fusion reactor.

"Every new particle collider can boast that it is the fastest ever built, and this certainly isn't an exception. It's estimated that the particles we send around it will have even more kinetic energy than the highest-energy particle ever detected from Earth. Imagine an electron with the potential of a baseball- that should give you a good idea of what we're dealing with.

"Now imagine two infinitesimally small pinpricks of pure energy smashing together, instantly coming to a complete standstill. Think of all that power, all the force, dissipating in an instant. It has to go somewhere. Some of the energy is lost as heat, and that's why, in any collider, temperatures in excess of anywhere else observed can be found. What we're interested in, however, is the other energy; specifically, the particles that are emitted from the collisions.

"Of course, we're not just doing this for fun. By examining energy patterns and any particles emitted, we aim to study the interactions of high-energy particles with oscillating magnetic fields, as well as investigating the Greisin-Zatsepin-Kuzmin limit, which is the theoretical upper bound for magnitude of energy that cosmic rays can possess.

"Before we fire up the particle beam for the first time, I have some thanks to make. Firstly, to-"

There was a knock on Lisa's door. She tensed, hastily put down her notes and shuffled over to the door. "Who is it?"

"Just me."

Lisa relaxed slightly, and opened the door. A short-haired man in a black suit stood behind it. "They've been calling you for about twenty minutes now."

"Really? How was I supposed to know?"

The man sighed. "There's an intercom in your room, Liz."

"I turned it off. It was distracting me. I'm trying to practice my speech."

"Are you sure you're still okay to do it?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Will, I'm fine. It's just… so much is riding on the thing actually working, you know? Like, I go up and say all this shit about progress, and science, and then we flip the switch and nothing happens. What then? I know we've tested it, and it's worked, but if it doesn't perform now they're going to think it's all just been a multi-trillion-dollar waste of money, and they'll all turn on me, and-"

Suddenly she was shouting. "I can't take it! Why do they have to open the collider to the fucking press after we've only run the basic tests? I'll be the one they string up if something goes wrong!"

Wilson, unperturbed by this outburst, put his arm around the scientist. "Look." Lisa raised her head. Through the viewing panel in the side of the corridor, she could just about make out the primary detector, the APOLLO detector. Named for the pioneering steps into space taken two centuries ago, Lisa had been on the council that had decided on it.

"You see that?" continued Will, "It's a black box. It's a big, black, opaque box. You can't see inside it. Even if you could, you wouldn't be able to see the leptons moving around."

"What's your point?"

"They won't instantly know whether or not the experiment was a success. If something does go wrong, you can let me handle it. I've been in media relations for years, and you don't survive long in this business if you can't handle a bombshell or two."

"Are you serious? They'll tear you to shreds!"

"Well, that's my job. You handle the science, and leave the rest to me."

Lisa felt her heart rate returning to normal. "Will… thank you."

"No problem. That's what I'm here for. Now, if you're done practicing, follow me, and don't forget your notes."

Tara I. Spiegel, a Level 3 Data Analyst, hadn't slept in over twenty-three hours. The only reason for her continued functioning was the proximity of the coffee machine to her desk, and over the course of the day she had consumed no fewer than twenty cups of the drink. Immensely long shifts were par for the course, however, with her record being a thirty-five-hour stint following the arrival of a 25GB file regarding inscriptions found on eight lunar monoliths. Such was the way in the SCP Foundation Xenolinguistics Department.

These absurdly long hours were Tara's own invention as, paradoxically, she found herself able to function far more efficiently when sleep-deprived. Xenolinguistics was radically different to normal linguistics, and demanded thinking that was far more creative. The sort of thinking that tended to produce the best results was that of someone who was open to thoughts that, to the average person, would appear ludicrous.

She was staring at an image of a cow when an email arrived. Closing the eight tabs she had open, pulled up her client and glanced at the subject line.

"New Samples - 3426"

She groaned. SCP-3426 was turning out to be particularly taxing on the department, not to mention her peace of mind. Every few days they'd get another packet, written in a completely different language, and then the game was on to crack the code. When they inevitably did, they'd get a pat on the head from the project leaders, before being handed a new set of data. This had been going on for well over a month, and most of the stuff they were getting was completely mundane: lists of items, long pages of meaningless words, incoherent ramblings. And to top it all off, as soon as they found anything vaguely interesting, it was removed from their list of tasks and replaced by more of the same repetitive shit. She'd even been given some sort of special clearance - 4/3426 - though she suspected it was just an attempt to make her feel more appreciated. Whatever it meant, it hadn't worked.

Internally, though, she was smiling. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, but there was nothing quite like the feeling of finally cracking that problem you'd been wrestling with for days. It was like solving a crossword with none of the clues.

She opened the files, and was greeted by a folder containing images of a brand-new alien script. Her first trick would be to identify which of those pictures contained useful information, and which didn't. Then, it was time to transcribe the symbols, keeping an eye out for recurring groups or patterns. Having done all that, the hard part was finding the initial chink in the armor; a concept or signature that mirrored something familiar. It was the Xeno part of Xenolinguistics that made it especially hard to tackle. Alien languages rarely directly shared features with human languages, with even the base elements such as grammar, syntax and script each being a separate enigma in and of itself.

Without an incredibly large base of samples from which to work, it would be impossible to classify anything that remotely resembled a unified structure at all, which was why Tara had two thousand unique images of the planet's script (which was to be dubbed 3426-14-LEX) to play with. She spent six whole hours trawling through the images, sorting them, until finally she had everything in order. Mercifully, the language appeared to consist of only thirty-three graphemes, with each grapheme fitting into one of three cases that Tara provisionally dubbed Harry, Ron and Hermione. These names would never leave her notes; by the time she forwarded it to anybody else, they'd no doubt be called something like sequence, intermediary and conclusive.

Having transcribed the ninety-nine glyphs, Tara glanced up at the clock on her desk. 18:09. She had time.

Leaning back on her chair, she ran her eye over a collage of twelve images that had struck her weary mind as being particularly intriguing. This was the most pivotal moment in the process: finding the chink. In nearly every single language prior, her foothold had arrived in the shape of some pattern that her conscious mind had ignored; her subconscious was churning away at the possibilities, trying to find something that fit.

An hour passed. Then two.

Midway through the third hour, she went to get more coffee. As she stood by the machine, waiting for the excruciatingly slow release of more black nectar, an image floated to the top of her brain: an image not among those she had considered 'important'. It had been one line of script, scored into the side of a building. Too short to be of any major significance. And yet… there was something about that image that bothered her.

Once her coffee was ready, she walked back to her desk and pulled up the image. Eight words, none of which were unique. What was it about this image that was so intriguing?

Her eyes scanned the photo, looking for something out of place, but nothing leapt out. More out of boredom than curiosity, she opened some image editing software and played around with the image settings. As she increased the contrast, something miraculous happened: seven faint new words appeared, roughly a foot higher than the visible line.

Tara's breath caught in her throat. These seven words were almost identical to the eight visible words, but the sixth and seventh were in the wrong order.

Several thoughts occurred to her at once. Seemingly the most likely explanation for this erasure was that the inscriber had made a mistake with the word order; the reason she hadn't seen it before was that the inscription had been filled in with a material almost identical to that of the rest of the wall; it must have been fairly recent, as the slight discoloration implied that the filler hadn't been properly weathered. And if this was a mistake, then *this was her foothold*.

The language was positional.

This was big news. In some languages, nouns would have different endings (to be strict, different declensions) depending on their function in the sentence. This meant that precise word order could be sacrificed while meaning was conserved. However, English was an example of a language that used a positional system, where the position of a word in a sentence gave it its meaning. "The boy loved the cat" was vastly different to "cat loved the the boy".

Tara pulled up another image, this time of a page densely packed with glyphs. Examining the words, she noticed something else that was interesting. Assuming the language was positional made sense, as there appeared to be very little variation in how the words were spelt depending on their location in the sentence.

From there, the language began to unfold. Context was everything when it came to slot words into categories, and it was likely that 90% of the words in the samples would remain a mystery. Not that it mattered - her priority was to work on translating anything that struck her as interesting. Although if it got *too* interesting she was to share her results with her superior and move on.

She continued to work until her vision began to literally swim. At that point, she knocked back a soporific and slept at her desk.

Lisa rode a wave of adrenaline through the doors into the collider observation room, exuding confidence from every pore; this was her domain now. "Alright, team! Checks?"

A bespectacled man named Tobias glanced up from a clipboard. "All done, and nothing to report, but I know you're going to want me to go through them all anyway for your peace of mind."

"You know me too well. Systems?"

"All online and operating flawlessly."







"Coffee? Can someone get me a coffee please? I've come straight from the media and I haven't had time to pick anything up. I need to wash the taste of bad science from my mouth."

A technician stood up. "I'll get it. Don't wait up." As he marched through the swing doors, Lisa sat down in her chair and surveyed the twelve monitors scattered across her workstation.

"Okay, lads and lasses, let's make history." She leaned forward and turned on the PA system. "Fire up the synchotron ring."

Before construction had begun, a few of the more geeky scientists had put forward a petition to install several floor-mounted levers, such as those used on antique railway systems back on Earth to change slidings. Their proposal had been denied by the funding board, but Lisa couldn't help but feel a slight sense of anticlimax as Tobias flipped an unmarked black switch and over one hundred thousand kilometers of supercooled graphene nano-solenoids suddenly began resonating simultaneously to generate the strongest magnetic field ever produced on an extraterrestrial body. Something so inherently cool deserved fanfare of some kind.

"Hotter than the center of the sun," Tobias murmured to Lisa. "Nice."

"I mean, it's true of every collider," she murmured back, "but I couldn't think of a better way to start my speech."

Around the ring, in several other stations, an identical procedure was carried out. On the giant display just above the observation window, lights turned from off, to red, to green, until a verdant strip told everyone that a total of five hundred and twelve thousand kilometers of tubing was now active. It was safe to move on to the next stage.

Lisa spoke again into the microphone: "Particle beam." Somewhere, roughly fifty kilometers away on the other side of the ring, a physicist flipped another switch. A beam of unstable elementary particles called muons entered the synchotron ring. The magnets forced the muons around and around the ring upwards of twelve thousand times a second, until finally their brief, relativistic lives came to an end inside the APOLLO detector.

Julian, a software diagnostic engineer and data analyst, called across the silent room: "We're getting the first data now."

This was the big moment. Had everything worked? Had the muons collided correctly? Had all of that money been put to good use?

A bang echoed through the room, and everyone jumped. All heads turned to face the door, where the hapless technician bearing Lisa's coffee was standing sheepishly. He tiptoed across to where she was sat, and placed it down beside her.

After a short pause, Julian continued: "The readings are aligning with similar previous observations, within the margins of error."

The room breathed a massive sigh of relief. People high-fived, laughed, and hugged each other. It was all an act, of course; outside the doors, inside the press reception chamber, this very visual confirmation that the experiment had succeeded would be being lapped up. Nothing like a party to keep the masses satisfied.

Lisa sipped her coffee while the other occupants of the room chatted excitedly to one another, huddling around their terminals to examine the information. After a few minutes had passed, she leaned forward and spoke into the intercom: "Alright, shut her down. Let's give it a quarter of an hour before we try our next experiment." One by one, the green lights winked out, leaving the collider in its dormant state. This was standard; they didn't want to overuse the detector on its first day of operation.

The data they were collecting had been collected hundreds of times before, by thousands of other scientists, which was why it made such a good first public test. The very first test had been even more simple: lead-ion collisions, which could be traced all the way back to CERN's Large Hadron Collider.

As she surveyed the room, watching everybody mingling and amiably conversing about the not unexpected results, one person caught her eye. Julian was staring intensely at his screen as though struggling to rationalize something he was seeing. She walked over to him. "What's the problem?"

He traced his finger across a distinctive arch in one of several scatter plots. "This is tracking energy levels of collision emissions. Our current theory predicts a normal curve scaled against entrance momentum, but that's not what happens. Look here," and here he jabbed his finger against the screen at a slight gap at the very top of the bell curve. "This shouldn't exist. There's no reason why a particle would suddenly do this. Must be equipment failure."

"Hmm." Lisa stared at the dip. "Could be some kind of spontaneous decay, don't you think? Emission further down the synchotron? Maybe that particular energy lasts a microsecond less long than others-"

"No, no, because there would still be something, some residual energy from a slow-moving muon. This is my point - there's nothing here. From our point of view, this particle has disappeared. It isn't where it ought to be."

"Is there any way the data might have been filtered out?"

"Well," said Julian, "There is one thing. So much data is generated by each collision that we can't get all of it. We make a valiant effort, but ultimately we need to cherry-pick the best nought point nought one per cent of it to show to the baying masses. It could be that… no, never mind."

"What? What?"

"Nothing, really. Forget I said anything."

"Just tell me, I won't laugh."

"Really, it's nothing."

"Julian, I swear to God, tell me now, before I pull your lungs up through your throat."

By now, the chatter in the room had faded slightly, and people were beginning to glance over at them. Julian realized that this was not a battle he could win.

"Jesus, alright… the detector wouldn't have picked it up if the particle's momentum was negative."

"Negative? You mean if it was moving backwards?"

Julian sighed. "Yes, if the highest-energy particles suddenly reversed direction but retained their kinetic energy, then hypothetically they might not have been registered, but how would the velocity of a particle suddenly change sign? Lisa, it's equipment failure; we have to stop now."

Lisa was pensive for a moment. Then, in a move that doomed humanity, she put down her coffee and said, "No, I don't think this is equipment failure. We'll proceed as normal."

Lisa took her seat once more, and clapped to get everybody's attention. "Okay! Now that we've got the boring stuff over, we can move on to pushing the boundaries of science, like it says on the posters.

"We're only going to do one more experiment before the requisite checks, and believe me when I say I was as surprised as you are to get clearance for this. As I'm sure you know, part of the reason this collider was built was to study the highest-energy particles in the universe. We're going to attempt to one-up them, and find the maximum momentum we can give a particle in this collider."

The scientists began to mutter amongst themselves. Lisa held up a hand, and, when the room was once again silent, continued: "I know, it doesn't sound like the sort of experiment you'd usually do with a synchotron - certainly not the second test ever. But my higher-ups have cleared it, and their higher-ups have cleared it, so we're just the trained monkeys pushing buttons on the ground. Anything goes wrong, it's their fault, not ours. So set up for another muon test, but lower the energy slightly so we can build up to it."

"Why do you reckon they have cleared it, though?" asked Tobias quietly, as everyone took their seats while still chatting. "It's incredibly risky, and, more than that, effectively useless."

Lisa thought for a second. "You know, I think they've screwed themselves. They've overspent on the collider, and now they need to grovel to their investors for more money. This is effectively just a publicity stunt, and, since they know it won't harm the apparatus, it's a safe bet while still being impressive enough to make headlines."

"'Fastest particles ever' does have a nice ring to it," Tobias agreed. "What were you and Julian talking about?"

"He got pissy over what he thought was a detector fault. It'll probably turn out to be nothing."

"Hey, go easy on the guy."

Lisa shot Tobias a knowing look, then clapped her hands once more. "Are we ready?"

A murmur passed through the crowd. Interpreting this as a yes, Lisa once again engaged the PA system. "Synchotron." Five hundred and twelve thousand kilometers of carbon nano-solenoids were activated.

"Beam." The muons entered the synchotron at a slightly lower velocity than the first test, and tore around the ring at a blazing 10,690 cycles per second.

The data began arriving. Julian clicked his mouse several times, appeared relieved, and shot Lisa a thumbs-up. Lisa nodded, then leaned forward and said "Start increasing the initial velocity."

The data on the graph climbed higher and higher.

"Uh, Lisa? We're getting some weird scattering patterns." A software technician named Arman was eyeing the incoming data with suspicion. "It's like they're rotating."

"So? Isn't that normal?" someone asked.

"Not here. This isn't standard rotation. In fact, I'd be minded to call this precession more than rotation. Their axis of rotation is shifting."

Another technician spoke up. "We're peaking - it's getting harder and harder to accelerate the buggers."

"Keep going." There was a definite edge of excitement to Lisa's voice, an edge that wasn't lost on the assembled scientists.

As the energy of the particles grazed the 2x1024eV mark, before the eyes of everyone in the room, the graph of momentum against energy rapidly expanded as a second pocket of data emerged at the very highest energy levels, reflected in the negative.


"What?" Lisa was on her feet instantly.

Julian looked shocked. "We… what?"

"Julian! Focus!"

"There's a shit-ton of negative data coming in!"

Excited murmurs broke out between the scientists. Lisa raised her voice: "Would this fit in with what we were talking about earlier?"

"It, uh, yeah, pretty much. But why… oh…"

Seventeen thousand light years away, the screaming stopped.

Julian stood up. He turned to the other data analysts. "Could one of you cover for me? I need to check something out."

He looked over at Lisa, and, just for a second, their eyes met. Both instantly knew what the other was thinking.

A sudden change in direction of momentum…

"Okay, gentlemen, I think that's enough for now. Shut her down," said Lisa, in a slightly dreamy high-pitched voice.

"You kidding!?" Tobias exclaimed, "This is weird as fuck! We need to get more data and start analyzing-"

Lisa's tone hardened. "Shut it down. We'll begin continuous testing tomorrow. For now, I have something I need to discuss with someone."

Something buried deep within the archives of a Foundation web server began to scream even louder. It howled, and kicked against the bars of its digital cage, and called out to its brethren to come, to set it free. Slowly the bars began to cave outwards.

O5-2 stumbled into his office, his breathing labored beneath the heavy oxygen mask. As soon as the atmospheric regulator in his office assured him that less than one percent of the air he was breathing was amnestic, he tore off the respirator and gasped. Swearing at nobody in particular, he settled into his chair.

So it was going to be one of those days.

The first sign that something was off was that none of the O5s were online. As a matter of fact, nothing was online. His computer couldn't connect to the intranet. Intrigued, he reached down and swapped the ethernet cable in the back of his tower with the substitute ethernet cable, which didn't work either.

He waited patiently for the phone to ring, and when it did, he picked it up and said "What's happened?"

"We can't tell you." replied a heavily modulated male voice.

O5-2's eyes widened. "Oh. Oh. I understand."


"What's the fallout?"

"It's hard to say. We believe some sore of sentient virus caused a global communications blackout, but before it did that it sent out some kind of memetic pulse. Anyone looking at a screen of any kind was… we can't tell you any more than that. Until we know how powerful this anomaly is, we're not taking any risks, so, in the interests of safety: do not come into direct contact with any humanoid creatures. Avoid looking anybody in the eyes. Do not use any form of digital communication that has any potential connection to the Internet. As of now, we are officially operating under an Ignorance is Bliss protocol."

"Right. How many of you are down there?"

"There's One, Four, Six, Seven, Eleven and Twelve."

O5-2 still didn't know to whom he was talking. "Do we have any active containment in operation?"

"We can't. It's so widespread that our efforts at the moment are focused on keeping those infected away from those who aren't, but even that's proving a challenge."

"Is there a way to tell if somebody is infected?"

"If there is no risk of eye contact, take a look at their bodies. Infected beings will be slightly translucent, but it's far from obvious. We're thinking too that they might lack corporeal form, but until we know how it spreads don't risk touching them."

"How come you all get to know what's going on, but I don't?"

"We know that everybody inside this room is safe. The same cannot be said of you. If you can make your way to us, do so; if there is any risk whatsoever, do not take it."

"Roger." O5-2 put the phone down. He couldn't hear any noises from adjacent rooms. The facility was silent. Donning his mask, he hoisted the partially depleted oxygen tank onto his back and opened the door.

The walls of the control room shook as tendrils of shimmering energy

They grabbed his arm, and in an instant they were inside a huge hall. Five figures were sat on wooden chairs around a table. Tents and camping stoves were huddled in one corner. A huge crate marked "SUPPLIES" dominated the room.

An inconspicuous section of wall hinged open and a man wearing a heavy-duty oxygen mask limped into the room. He reached up and took off the respirator. "Situation isn't good. I think there's a fire breaking out upst- who are these people?"

"I was about to ask the same question," said a woman sat at the table. "Rodriguez, we told you to do evac. It follows that you then don't bring them into our secure bunker."

"They said they needed to tell you something. Assuming they're telling the truth, you're going to want to listen." He vanished, and the combined attention of the six figures fell upon Lisa and Julian.

The same woman who questioned Rodriguez spoke up again. "Tell us."

Begin transcript: 01-12-2078 17:17:24, Site-29 Armory

Note: This is data that has been automatically transcribed and archived. Details of personnel involved are unable to be supplied. For more information, contact [DATA CORRUPT].

(Two faint pairs of running footsteps, then the sound of a door opening and closing.)

(Heavy breathing.)

(A loud electronic beep, then a hiss.)

"That was close."

"You're telling me. My lungs were on fire."

"What did they say to grab, again?"

"Something marked, um, NEET, was it?"

"REET. There's a sign on this locker."

(Clinking sounds, then a creak.)

"Here, take one."

"What the hell even is this thing? Where does it shoot from? What does it shoot?"

"Don't ask too many questions. Just aim and fire. NOT NOW, you fuckwit, when we're out in the open!"

"Jeez, alright, okay. I was only joking."

"We don't have time to joke. Grab an oxygen mask and a few tanks while you're over by them."

"Hey, should we take a radio?"

"Who would we-"

(A loud squawk. Sound of plastic hitting floor.)


"-urgently request assistance, I repeat, we are trapped underground in Geneva inside ATLAS and urgently request assistance. We possess information that may be useful."

(A click.)

"CERN, this is Lisa Armstrong. What is your situation?"

"Oh, thank God! Listen; they don't like the accelerator. Something about synchotron radiation seems to drive them away."

"How do you know this?"

"Be quiet, I'm the one with the radio. My colleague wants to know how you know this."

"We were performing obsolescence tests when it happened, and our coworkers are clustering at the top of a stairwell that they cannot seem to pass beyond. Our current hypothesis is that it's synchotron radiation, because we've made contact with other stations and they're in similar situations."

"How stable is your position?"

"We don't know exactly how much food we have, but we estimate enough to survive for some time."

"Why are you requesting urgent assistance?"


"We can't run the collider forever. Energy stores will probably last about three days before we exhaust them. If we can't find a sustainable power source for it, we're going to be overwhelmed by hostile forces."

"Okay, CERN, stay put. We'll send assistance. Over and out."

"Over and ou-"

(A click.)

"Why are you being such a bitch, Lisa?"

"Why am I being such a bitch? May I remind you that you were interrupting my communication with the scientists an-"

(A thud on the door.)

"Who is it?"

"Oh God, it's one of them. Fire!"


"Okay, we have to go now."

"Go where?"

"You go to the bunker. Rendezvous with the Foundation people. Try and work out some sort of plan. I'm going to CERN."



"We're in America. How are you going to cross the Atlantic?"

"I'll cross that bridge - ocean, whatever - when I get to it. For now, we need to get out of here. Put your mask on."

(Heavy breathing. A door opens, then closes. Two pairs of fading footsteps.)

End of transcript.