Higgs Boson breakthrough was UK triumph, but British physics faces'catastrophic' cuts When the Nobel Prize in Physics was announced in Stockholm in October 2013, the world was watching. Among the names read out was Prof Peter Higgs, the British theorist who, nearly half a century earlier, had predicted the existence of a particle believed to hold the cosmos together - the Higgs boson. The announcement, broadcast live from Sweden, was what many scientists had hoped for since a year earlier, when experiments at CERN had finally confirmed Higgs's theory by discovering the Higgs boson - hailed as one of the biggest discoveries in a generation. At the time Higgs, who has since passed away, said in a statement: I hope this recognition of fundamental science will help raise awareness of the value of blue-sky research. Blue-sky research asks questions to understand the universe, rather than design new products.

You can never truly empty a box. Suppose you want to empty a box. You remove all its visible contents, pump out any gases, and--applying some science-fiction technology--evacuate any unseeable material such as dark matter. According to quantum mechanics, what's left inside? It sounds like a trick question.

For the past year, I kept bringing the same story to my editor: quantum computers are on the edge of becoming useful for scientific discovery. Of course, that has always been the goal. The idea of using quantum computers to better understand our universe is part of their origin story, and it even featured in a 1981 speech by Richard Feynman. Contemplating the best way to simulate nature, he wrote: "We can give up on our rule about what the computer was, we can say: Let the computer itself be built of quantum mechanical elements which obey quantum mechanical laws." Today, Feynman's vision has been realised by Google, IBM and dozens more companies and academic teams. Their devices are now being used to simulate reality at the quantum level - and here are some highlights.

"Everyone thinks they're on this big now," Debbie said, refilling her glass. "I've had it with the journey. I've had it with you people." "I don't think I'm on a journey," Burt said. Life's too short to find out who we really are." It was the first time the six of them had got together for dinner in more than a year (since Maria's diagnosis), and after such a long time (and in celebration of Maria's remission) they'd expected to have more interesting things to tell one another, deeper things, but they were entering dessert territory now, a cake was on the table, and only superficial topics had been broached: Ervin's promotion, Jane and Burt's move to the suburbs, Katherine's recent purchase of a metabolism-tracking device--a pen-shaped item and the cause of Debbie's rant. "How much can you know about yourself, exactly?" she said. "The therapy, the vision quests, the birth charts--do we really need the data on metabolic flexibility, too?" Jane, in Katherine's defense, said that, the more you knew about yourself, the more useful you could be to society. Knowing whether Kat is in fat-or carb-burning mode doesn't help anyone." As a result of Katherine declining cake five minutes earlier, no one had touched it. No one, Debbie included, really wanted to. They'd all overeaten already, drunk too much, made private plans to atone for it the next day. The cake presented a challenge, it sat there taunting them, and Debbie knew this, that you couldn't serve cake to a group of fortysomethings without causing ripples, but what else could she have done? She got it, no one wanted to put on weight, but this was a gorgeous princess cake, just gorgeous, she'd had to drive all the way to Andersonville to get it from that Swedish bakery everyone talked about. Staring at it now, though, she wondered if the cake didn't look a little bit like a tit, the smooth half sphere, the small pink marzipan flower nippling the top of it--and, oh, God, did think it looked like a tit?

A group of quantum physicists at Spanish firm Multiverse Computing claims to have created a version of the powerful reasoning AI model DeepSeek R1 that strips out the censorship built into the original by its Chinese creators. In China, AI companies are subject to rules and regulations meant to ensure that content output aligns with laws and "socialist values." As a result, companies build in layers of censorship when training the AI systems. When asked questions that are deemed "politically sensitive," the models often refuse to answer or provide talking points straight from state propaganda. Multiverse Computing specializes in quantum-inspired AI techniques, which it used to create DeepSeek R1 Slim, a model that is 55% smaller but performs almost as well as the original model. It allowed them to identify and remove Chinese censorship so that the model answered sensitive questions in much the same way as Western models.

Researchers at the quantum computing firm Quantinuum used a new Helios-1 quantum computer to simulate a mathematical model that has long been used to study superconductivity. These simulations are not out of reach for conventional computers, but this advance sets the stage for quantum computers to become useful tools for materials science . Superconductors conduct electricity with perfect efficiency, but they currently only work at temperatures too low to be practical. For decades, physicists have been trying to understand how to tweak their structure to make them work at room temperature, and many believe answers will come from a mathematical framework called the Fermi-Hubbard model. This potential makes it one of the most important models in all condensed matter physics, says Quantinuum's Henrik Dreyer . Conventional computers can run exceptional simulations of the Fermi-Hubbard model but struggle with very large samples or cases where the materials it describes change over time.

New studies of the "platypus of materials" help explain how their atoms arrange themselves into orderly, but nonrepeating, patterns. Since their discovery in 1982, exotic materials known as quasicrystals have bedeviled physicists and chemists. Their atoms arrange themselves into chains of pentagons, decagons, and other shapes to form patterns that never quite repeat. These patterns seem to defy physical laws and intuition. How can atoms possibly "know" how to form elaborate nonrepeating arrangements without an advanced understanding of mathematics?

The original version of this story appeared in Quanta Magazine. We were once promised self-driving cars and robot maids. Instead, we've seen the rise of artificial intelligence systems that can beat us in chess, analyze huge reams of text, and compose sonnets. This has been one of the great surprises of the modern era: physical tasks that are easy for humans turn out to be very difficult for robots, while algorithms are increasingly able to mimic our intellect. Another surprise that has long perplexed researchers is those algorithms' knack for their own, strange kind of creativity.

The original version of this story appeared in Quanta Magazine. There are precision measurements, and then there's the Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory. In each of LIGO's twin gravitational wave detectors (one in Hanford, Washington, and the other in Livingston, Louisiana), laser beams bounce back and forth down the four-kilometer arms of a giant L. When a gravitational wave passes through, the length of one arm changes relative to the other by less than the width of a proton. It's by measuring these minuscule differences--a sensitivity akin to sensing the distance to the star Alpha Centauri down to the width of a human hair--that discoveries are made. The design of the machine was decades in the making, as physicists needed to push every aspect to its absolute physical limits. Construction began in 1994 and took more than 20 years, including a four-year shutdown to improve the detectors, before LIGO detected its first gravitational wave in 2015: a ripple in the space-time fabric coming from the faraway collision of a pair of black holes.