Supersymmetry by David Walton

she spotted something important in this mountain of names before the experts? Something critical that led to an arrest? That would get her noticed, no matter how young and green she might be.
    The first thing to do was to visualize the data. That was easily done; she entered the geolocation points into a globe, and once she zoomed in close enough, she could see the points scattered on the ground like a field of yellow flowers. It was the same basic pattern she had noticed on site, but she was no expert. The distribution meant nothing to her.
    Angel had said it was no bomb, but what he really meant was it was no ordinary bomb. Something had caused the stadium to tear itself apart, and no explanation seemed to fit. What she needed was to know where each point—it was easier to think of them as points rather than people—had started in the original stadium. If she could do that, then she could plot connections between where each point started and where it ended up, maybe even find the convergence point for all the vectors and discover where the bomb itself—if that’s what it was—had been hidden.
    Sandra thought she knew just how to accomplish that. Each seat, after all, had a number painted on the seat back and armrests. She had access to the police database of eyejack views of the wreckage, and she could easily find a map of the stadium’s seating chart. The hardest part would be searching through the millions of view frames to find all the instances when a police officer saw one of the seat numbers. Fortunately, she had some experience.
    She and Alex had been Life Loggers for years, making their eyejack views publicly visible and interacting with viewers. Simply the fact that they were twin teenage American girls had brought them a lot of traffic. It was something they did together, but her sister hadn’t been interested in maintaining the site. Learning the practical skills, like using pattern-match programs to find and mark interesting features in vast quantities of eyejack data, had fallen to Sandra.
    She downloaded the latest version of one of her favorites, and initiated a search. Finding the shapes of numbers in video streams was one of the program’s built-in features, so she didn’t even have to go through the process of training it to recognize a particular face or object. In moments, it started spitting out individual frames of the views in which numbers were visible. Since the views were all geo-tagged, she could tell where each number had ended up. And since she had a seating chart, she knew where each number had started.
    Before long, vectors began blooming on her display, but they didn’t fit the pattern she’d been expecting. She’d imagined a shape like a porcupine, lines radiating outward from some central point. Instead, she got a mess. The lines were stacked every which way, more like a spilled box of toothpicks than any kind of pattern. She sighed. This was going to be harder than she thought.
    Either the programs she was using didn’t operate the way she was expecting, or else each person and object in the stadium had been flung along different lines of force. Which didn’t make any sense at all.
    A thought occurred to her: partial numbers. The seat numbers in the stadium had three, four, or five digits. A five-digit number that was partially obscured, or at a bad angle, might be interpreted by the software as a four- or three-digit number. That would contaminate her data. Probably not enough to make it as haphazard as what she was seeing, but perhaps there were other issues as well. Now that she thought about it, there could be other numbers visible, too—numbers from signs, numbers from jerseys, anything other than seats—and that would confuse her results as well.
    She posted a question about the problems she had thought of to a few of the discussion boards she used to frequent. The alternative—that she had made some fundamental