The Kubota Effect

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“Eureka!” Hiro “Jack” Kubota shouted and a thousand echoes answered from the empty halls of the deserted underground lab. He jumped, maybe half a meter off the ground—there was no one to watch him. With a trembling hand he selected “print” from the menu of his Granny Smith. Eight years in this surplus would-be superconducting supercollider tunnel, and, finally, he had done it.

The equipment sat there just like it had five minutes ago. But then it had just been an experiment. Now it was a compact antiproton factory, a prototype for something that could change the course of history.

It’s going to belong to the Smithsonian someday, he thought dizzily; I’d better be careful with it. The power could go down, the data could be lost, he might be unable to replicate the experiment and there would be only his word—the nightmare of being the participant in another cold fusion fiasco paralyzed his hand. Print it! Now! he told himself, and shaking himself willfully out of that train of morbid thoughts, he tapped the key.

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