“A necessity,” Vittoria defended. “We had to prove the input/yield threshold could be safely crossed.” The question with new fuel sources, she knew, was always one of input vs. yield-how much money one had to expend to harvest the fuel. Building an oil rig to yield a single barrel of oil was a losing endeavor. However, if that same rig, with minimal added expense, could deliver millions of barrels, then you were in business. Antimatter was the same way. Firing up sixteen miles of electromagnets to create a tiny specimen of antimatter expended more energy than the resulting antimatter contained. In order to prove antimatter efficient and viable, one had to create specimens of a larger magnitude.
Although Vittoria’s father had been hesitant to create a large specimen, Vittoria had pushed him hard. She argued that in order for antimatter to be taken seriously, she and her father had to prove two things. First, that cost-effective amounts could be produced. And second, that the specimens could be safely stored. In the end she had won, and her father had acquiesced against his better judgment. Not, however, without some firm guidelines regarding secrecy and access. The antimatter, her father had insisted, would be stored in Haz-Mat-a small granite hollow, an additional seventy-five feet below ground. The specimen would be their secret. And only the two of them would have access.
“Vittoria?” Kohler insisted, his voice tense. “How large a specimen did you and your father create?”
Vittoria felt a wry pleasure inside. She knew the amount would stun even the great Maximilian Kohler. She pictured the antimatter below. An incredible sight. Suspended inside the trap, perfectly visible to the naked eye, danced a tiny sphere of antimatter. This was no microscopic speck. This was a droplet the size of a BB.
Vittoria took a deep breath. “A full quarter of a gram.”
The blood drained from Kohler’s face. “What!” He broke into a fit of coughing. “A quarter of a gram? That converts to . . . almost five kilotons!”
Kilotons. Vittoria hated the word. It was one she and her father never used. A kiloton was equal to 1,000 metric tons of TNT. Kilotons were for weaponry. Payload. Destructive power. She and her father spoke in electron volts and joules-constructive energy output.
“That much antimatter could literally liquidate everything in a half-mile radius!” Kohler exclaimed.
“Yes, if annihilated all at once,” Vittoria shot back, “which nobody would ever do!”
“Except someone who didn’t know better. Or if your power source failed!” Kohler was already heading for the elevator.
“Which is why my father kept it in Haz-Mat under a fail-safe power and a redundant security system.”
Kohler turned, looking hopeful. “You have additional security on Haz-Mat?”
“Yes. A second retina-scan.”
Kohler spoke only two words. “Downstairs. Now.”
The freight elevator dropped like a rock.
Another seventy-five feet into the earth.
Vittoria was certain she sensed fear in both men as the elevator fell deeper. Kohler’s usually emotionless face was taut. I know, Vittoria thought, the sample is enormous, but the precautions we’ve taken are-
They reached the bottom.
The elevator opened, and Vittoria led the way down the dimly lit corridor. Up ahead the corridor dead-ended at a huge steel door. HAZ-MAT. The retina scan device beside the door was identical to the one upstairs. She approached. Carefully, she aligned her eye with the lens.
She pulled back. Something was wrong. The usually spotless lens was spattered . . . smeared with something that looked like . . . blood?