by Les W Kuzyk
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Balloon recovery went well that release-day morning, with only a light wind blowing. Having checked field operations, Vince rode with Brad in the back of a scout truck to the warehouse. Having deciding on lunch back at the Gaweye, Vince asked the driver to take them into the city.
“A ton of sulphur for each balloon, now up in the stratosphere,” Brad said, laying back. “Makes for easy accounting, no?”
“Yeah, good lift design,” Vince bantered along.
“How’re we tracking the sulphur, post release?” Brad asked.
“Satellite imagery partially,” Vince said. “Partly Jeri’s model. Still weather happening at the bottom of the stratosphere, Tami says. If we did mid-Atlantic we’d go higher, and the process would go smoother.”
“We’ll be doing that Atlantic.” Brad squinted. “Just wait.”
Vince had put together a tentative plan to store liquid sulphur for the mid-Atlantic, with a rough calculation to compensate for any loss to drones. But shooting down a plane in international airspace, Brad said, that would scream political. The Atlantic release floated as an add-on option, officially still for reference calculation. Their desert released tons officially cooled the Nigerien climate only. Ridiculous to think a border contained atmosphere.
Vince thought of that first balloon ride with Brad. The smaller test balloon had rocketed skyward spewing sulphur and helium, finally emptying two kilometers higher like a volcanic eruption. But with both gases colorless, the eruption had been invisible just like carbon gas.
On a contract that could have ended then, Vince mused, here they were launching hundreds of daytime balloons aloft around Niamey, all for local politics. Over the next weeks, they’d reach their target of five thousand tons. Then every autumn for a decade, depending on larger than local politics.
Past the engineering and climate science, the impacts of a successful launch brought in people, and the real political game. The laws of physics not caring about national borders as Sahel sulphur thinned, it would approach Europe drifting north towards the pole. Some impact would arise everywhere, all around the globe—like Krakatoa impinged on England— the Sahel sisters would affect his daughter’s Calgary life.
As they drove further into the city, they noticed the noise of people building in the streets. Looking, they saw groups on corners everywhere cheering, some waving at their truck as they drove past. “Hey man, they’re cheering the balloons.” Brad waved back out the window. “That’s what it is. The president’s gonna be happy today.” The farther into the city they got, the more they noticed crowds. Horns blared on the bridge, and they crossed the river, amidst a tumult of bicycles flying green flags high, and pedestrian masses wearing green armbands.
“Amazing.”
“Stunning.”
“Aahil reached Agadez?”
“Yeah, he left a kwikgram earlier,” Brad said. “He’s gonna pick us up at the airport there tomorrow. I told him to launch the Agadez urban balloons this afternoon.”
“He’s got the procedure down?”
“He picks up on things quick, Vince.” Brad said. “But as we know, anyone could be doing this in their back yard.”
It really came down to that, Vince knew. Wouldn’t take much for any small country to build an artificial volcano. You could talk about a volcano, but invisible brought extra challenge when telling a story. Harvard said for every ton of trash going to landfill, forty tons of carbon got dumped into the atmosphere. If carbon was a stinking mass of human refuse, people would have cleaned it up right away. But you didn’t see carbon. Unlucky or unfair, but a lot wasn’t fair. The sky color change might be a visible sign, or would people notice?
“Let’s hope people find a hazy sky as repugnant as garbage,” Vince said.
“Yeah,” Brad shrugged. “Got doubts.”
“They get blazing sunsets first. The hazy blue comes more gradual,” Vince said, looking at Brad. “Yeah…they’ll paint a sunset picture, and talk about the weather. Like another day in Russian—or Canada—just a nice warm day.”
Making atmospheric carbon trash visible by proxy might bring attention to the invisible, but too beautiful perhaps, not disgusting enough. Vince felt a buzz and he glanced to visiscreen. Why would Tamanna be calling? He answered, listening.
“She says they invited a Canadian Minister to a meeting tonight,” Vince said, pushing end call.
“Here?”
“Yeah, here in Niamey. And she wants me at the meeting.”
“Hey, Vince good on you man!” Brad slapped his back. “I told you, you got more going for you than engineering. All that time and interest you got in people, people engineering man, you gotta use that.”
“Yeah.” Vince felt the grin on his own face forming