by Paul Byers
Cain placed both hands on the podium and leaned slightly forward, a wrinkle of concern creasing his tanned brow. Completely gone was the conversational language he had used earlier; he now spoke with more purpose and thought, as if each word spoken was more important than the last, building to a monumental truth. “What do think would happen to the economy of the United States if we ran out of water? Impossible you say?
“Devastating droughts have already hit the south, threatening millions in Georgia and Florida; reservoirs in upper New York State have dropped to record lows and in the west, the Sierra Nevada snow-pack is melting faster than ever. The government reports that 36 states could face water shortages within the next five to seven years. Even if only a few states had to ration water, the economic turmoil would ripple through the entire country.
“And if the economy of this great country crumbles, so goes the entire world.” Cain paused for a moment, letting the silence punctuate his point, looking slowly around the room. “Now I know I’ve painted a bleak picture, full of doom and gloom…” Cain paused and took a deep breath, then suddenly straightened up as he continued in a lighter tone, “…but I had to make some use of my acting 101 class in college.” Nervous smiles and laughter fell flat against the floor.
“But fear not, where there’s a shadow, there’s a light, where there’s a will and technology, there is a way.” With a nod of his head, the window blinds began to lower again and the lights dimmed. At the same time, six men came from behind the podium wheeling in a table that was fifteen feet long and five feet wide. It was draped with a white satin cloth that hung down to the floor, revealing nothing that was underneath.
“Many say that oil is the life blood of modern society and that oil, not love is what makes the world go round. I’m certainly not going to argue the fact that oil and love are important things but let me put it to you this way. Man has survived centuries without oil but how long can he survive without water? Days, not centuries. Water is used not only for us to drink and bathe in but it grows the very food we eat, and it too, along with oil helps turns the wheels of industry.
“The United States uses more water than any other nation in the world. The average American uses about 100 gallons of water a day, compared to the average in India which is just fourteen gallons—and the numbers go up from there. You’re probably saying to yourself that you don’t drink that much water… especially if there’s a cold beer around.” Just then someone in the back of the room yelled “Hear, Hear!” Everyone in the room laughed and Cain smiled as he continued. “That’s right my friend, but did you know that it takes 1500 gallons of water to produce just one barrel of beer? And that Big Mac or Whopper some of you will have for lunch today? One gallon of water to process it. But these numbers are only the beginning.”
Cain now came around from the back of the podium and stood beside it, leaning on it with his left elbow, gesturing with his right hand. “Remember earlier, I said that water, not oil, is what makes the world go round? Well, it takes 1851 gallons of water to refine that one barrel of oil. It takes over 39,000 gallons of water to make just one car and a staggering 62,000 gallons to make one ton of steel.” Cain paused and picked up a glass of water and swirled the ice cubes around. The clinking sounds of the cubes filtered to the back of the room and the light refracted off the ice and the crystal glass, sending shards of light out, glittering like light bouncing off a disco ball. He took a big drink and let out a satisfying, “Ahhhh.”
“Again, pardon me for my earlier theatrics as I don’t mean to cause alarm,” he paused as he set the glass back down, “…but the alarms have already sounded with the banners warning us of global warming.” He stopped again and held up his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t worry, this is not another speech about global warming, but the threat here is very real.”
Cain stepped away from the podium and walked slowly back and forth as he continued to speak, like a preacher giving his Sunday morning sermon. “What you see before you is not the solution but just one of many. It will realize the dream that was begun five years ago with the first iceberg, to give developing and drought stricken countries a chance not only to help their people to survive but to overcome. And it will allow countries like ours to safeguard our own citizens and maintain our position of world leadership.
Even as we speak,” Cain continued as he stepped down from the podium and moved toward the covered table. “The prototype is being constructed and in fact, is nearly complete. Cain grabbed the cloth and yanked it off with the flair of a magician revealing that he had just made his lovely assistant disappear. At the same moment, spotlights shown down, illuminating the case as if it were a great revelation from God Himself.
Cain quietly slipped back up to the podium while the crowd slowly gathered around the case. Cain enjoyed studying their faces as they gasped at the display. Most were duly impressed although they didn’t fully realize or understand what they were looking at. A few faces were filled with wonder and he could see their minds racing. They too didn’t fully comprehend but they had the idea, they got the concept. And a few, to his disappointment, actually looked bored. They were the same dull people who lived out their same dull lives day after day. He actually felt sorry for them; they were the people cursed with no imagination. Black and white is all they would ever understand.
The case contained a highly detailed ocean diorama, built by the finest model makers that Hollywood had to offer. In the center of the case was a huge oblong man-made iceberg. Buried deep within the block of ice were the hulls of four ships, equally spaced and connected together by steel beams. Running throughout the entire length and breadth of the block were a myriad of pipes, flowing from the ships like wires running out of an old fashion switchboard. There were also mazes of tunnels carved out in the interior, making it look like a giant, elaborate ant farm.
The top of the iceberg was crowded with building of various sizes and shapes, all adorned with flashing neon lights. It looked like Cain had scooped up a city block from downtown Las Vegas and put it on top of the iceberg. One large ocean going tug was in the front towing it, with two more in the stern pushing.
When the initial buzz of excitement and conversation died down, Cain continued.
“I’ll not bore you by throwing more facts and figures at you but I do need to touch on just a few of the highlights here. You’ll find all the complete details and specific information inside your press binders.” Cain walked around the display, gesturing passionately as he spoke. He wasn’t just reciting facts, he was introducing his “baby” to the world, and spoke with almost the same fervor as a new father does while passing out cigars in the waiting room.
“The ice block is a thousand feet long, one hundred feet high, and one hundred feet deep. As you can see, buried within the ice are four support vessels. Each ship is four hundred and forty feet long, and in this day of reduce, reuse, recycle, all four ship are recycled WWII mothballed merchant ships, cleaned up and brought back to service.
“The elaborate piping system throughout the block has a two-fold purpose; one, during transport the pipes will circulate coolant to keep the block intact. And two, once it arrives at its destination, they will be used to help melt the ice. The entire system is self-contained. Once the ice starts to melt, it will be gathered and filtered in one of the ships which has a built-in processing station, making it safe to drink, then pumping it to shore. As the ice melts and the pipes become exposed, they will be dismantled and loaded back into another of the ships to be reused again and again.
“Once the tops of the ships are exposed, remaining chucks of ice will be loaded directly into the ship’s melters and processed, giving us a 60-70% usage rate. And what does that 60-70% get you…? About 42 million gallons of water. To break that down into more practical terms, at least for now and for our thirsty friend in the back there, that’s enough to make 28,000 barrels of beer, and that’s the whole plan in a nutshell.”
Chapter Seven
; …and here are several more reasons the Apollo moon landings in the 60’s and 70’s were a hoax. If debris from the Apollo missions was left on the Moon, then it would be visible today through powerful telescopes. However, no such debris can be seen. The Clementine probe that recently mapped the Moon’s surface failed to show any Apollo artifacts left by Man during the missions. Where did the Moon Buggy and base of the LM go? And for that matter, why were blueprints and plans for the Lunar Module and Moon Buggy destroyed if this was one of history's greatest accomplishments?
Gabriel Pike pushed himself back from the small desk that was situated in the corner of his hotel room. He’d been reading for the past hour on his computer and he needed a break. He stood and stretched his muscles, which he could feel starting to tighten up, protesting his aerobatics earlier in the day. He wasn’t looking forward to feeling their full wrath in the morning. As he stretched, he took a moment to look out at the view.
He was on the 28th floor of the Treasure Island. The night was clear and the dazzling lights of the casinos along the strip blazed brightly, beckoning all to come visit Lady Luck and win their fortune. What most tourists didn’t know was that Lady Luck had had already left town last night on the red-eye back to Pomona.
It was a warm night and the strip was crowed as usual. He watched as the crowds moved in packs between the blocks, governed by the traffic signals, followed by the inevitable stragglers who were heeding the Siren’s call and were in too much of a hurry to lose their money to wait for the next light.
It was a nice view, certainly better than a jail cell, which was what he half expected after his little super-sonic stunt in the desert earlier that day. He sighed as he watched the lights of a Boeing 767 making its approach into McCarren and wondered if he would ever fly again. Thankfully his brush with the blues was cut short by a knock on the door.
Pike opened the door to see the smiling face of Tony Roberts. Tony was one of the interns who had been with Pike’s engineering firm for about three months with one more year to go before he graduated from the University of Washington. He was a bright kid, tall with sandy blond hair and dimples that attracted girls like bees to honey when he smiled, which was most of the time. At 25, he was living the dream; he was single, in Las Vegas, and on a company expense account, a kid in a candy store with a pocket full of quarters.
“Howdy boss.” Tony beamed.
“Hey Tony, come on in.” Tony walked in and saw the laptop on the table. “What ya looking at there boss? Please don’t tell me its porn, my whole image of you would be so shattered. I’d be scarred for life,” he said with a mischievous grin.
“Very funny. I was just relaxing a little.”
Tony walked over and started reading. “More conspiracy stuff huh? Let me guess: it was Dr. Pepper on the grassy knoll with a loaded widget, ...and he wasn’t working alone because he was sponsored by a covert, black ops government agency, secretly working out of area 51 using alien technology, right?”
“Oh, you read the post too huh?” They both laughed.
“Come on boss, everyone is waiting downstairs for you.”
“Why? Are they giving me a going away wake before they ship me out to the big house?”
“You mean haven’t seen the news?”
“No, I’ve been reading for the past couple of hours; why?
Tony shook his head and smiled as he led Pike out of his hotel room. “You really are more cleaver or lucky than you think you are.”
As the elevator doors opened, Pike was immediately assaulted by a shock wave of sight and sound. Bleeps, chirps, buzzers and bells filled the cavernous main casino floor. Slot machines lined the floor like soldiers awaiting orders. The flashing lights and cheery sounds all helped to deaden the pain for the gamblers as the money went in but very little came out.
Though he wasn’t much of a gambler, there was one thing he did miss. In the old days when the quarter was king, when you hit the jackpot, you heard the joyous sound of the quarters spewing out and clunking into the metal tray. With each clunk, you could hear and feel yourself getting richer and richer. The efficiency of modern business had taken over and now the machines spit out a little pieces of paper stating your winnings. No cascade of quarters to run your fingers through; just a slip of paper shot out, like the machine was sticking its tongue at you, being a sore loser.
Tony was in the lead as they pushed through the throngs of people toward the bar. Having lived in Las Vegas for a few years, Pike always enjoyed watching the people in the casinos, picking out the tourists from the locals. The tourists were usually overdressed, thinking they were high rollers, or they had the ever-present fanny pack and camera hanging around their neck.
Parting through the last wall of people, they entered the Mist Bar. Pike said a silent prayer of relief as they walked in and looked around. He was thankful that George hadn’t picked a noisy sports bar with a bunch of beer chugging guys cheering at every point scored or arguing over who was the greatest player to ever play, whichever game was on the television at the moment. He was also grateful that it wasn’t a fern bar, where everyone was afraid to join in a conversation, usually dominated by one person— afraid to reveal to the rest of the world that they really didn’t have a clue about the economy, global warming or what the latest Hollywood starlet was thinking when she wore that dress.
Instead, the Mist had a casual atmosphere, but like everything else in Vegas, it had a little glitz and glamour thrown in. Clustered around a group of overstuffed chairs at the side, Pike saw all the members of the firm. The owner, George Talbot, and his wife Marilyn were there, along with Nathaniel Grant, Arthur Dunmeyer, and K.D. Crooks, all partners like him. Halfway through the bar, Talbot spotted the pair and stood up and waved them over.
“You two are just in time,” Talbot said as he grabbed and shook Pike’s hand.
“In time for what?” Pike shouted over the noise in the bar.
“For the news of course. Are you kidding?”
“He hasn’t seen the news yet, Mr. Talbot.” Tony said. “He was upstairs reading his conspiracy theory stuff, wearing a little hat made out of aluminum foil.”
Talbot grinned from ear to ear. “Sit back and watch Gabriel. You’re a star.”
The news came on the television and Talbot hollered at the bartender to turn it up.
“And our top story today, in what they are calling the ‘Blast from the Past,’ a vintage jet fighter flown by this man….” The screen switched from the news anchor to a picture of Pike, one that he thought looked worse than his driver’s license picture. As soon as Pike’s face flashed across the screen, everyone at the table whooped and hollered and cheered. Pike instantly felt his face turn red. “…Gabriel Pike, in a bit of quick thinking, averted certain disaster by derailing a car full of deadly bank robbers from two busloads of high school kids, by flying his Korean War era F-86 Sabre jet at supersonic speed and forcing the alleged bank robber’s car off the road, where police captured them moments later.”
While the newscaster was speaking, the film showed the Yankee Clipper circling over the disabled bandit’s car. In either in a bit of good film editing or sheer luck, the Clipper circled and then flew off into the sunset toward Las Vegas.
“Did you see that?” Dunmeyer shouted, “You’re a hero Gabe, a real life hero, man.” Pike knew Arthur’s enthusiasm was genuine but he also knew it was bolstered by the four beers he had already downed; still he felt himself blushing again. For the next few minutes Talbot kept ordering more drinks and Pike was beginning to feel like a piñata from all the pats on the back he was receiving.
Pike looked at Grant and just rolled his eyes. Grant just smiled and tipped his glass, clearly enjoying his friend’s predicament. Pike mouthed the words “I hate you,” then got up and excused himself. He walked up to the bar and sat down.
“What’ll you have?” The bartender asked as he walked up polishing a glass, but before Pike could answer, two girls came up behind him. They were about 25 years
old and looked like they belonged to the local clubbing scene. One was wearing a black, low-cut cocktail dress and the other had on a white tank top and a mini-skirt with knee-high black leather boots.
“Hey,” the girl in the cocktail dress said, “aren’t you that hero pilot guy on the TV?”
Pike didn’t think it was possible but he felt himself turning red once again.
“Yes.”
“Cool.” She opened her purse, took out a piece of paper, wrote something on it, then took Pike’s hand and placed it inside, then the two girls walked away. As she walked away, she turned around and smiled seductively at him and whispered, “call me,” winked and disappeared into the crowd.
Pike was a little stunned as he looked at the piece of paper in his hand then to the bartender who was smiling. “This is Vegas. Enjoy your fifteen-minutes of fame. What’ll you have?”
“Ahhh, ah…diet coke please.” Pike stammered out. He half expected someone to jump out and say he was on some kind of reality show, but thankfully no one did. The bartender returned with his drink and Pike started reaching for his wallet.
“Put your money away,” the bartender said as he set down the drink down. “My neighbor’s kid was on one of those buses you help save today. That was quick thinking on your part, and gutsy too. It’s on the house; it ain’t much, but it’s my way of saying thank you.”
“Well, thank you.”
The bartender just nodded, then left to fill an order brought by one of the waitresses. Pike took a sip of his drink, trying to wrap his head around all the attention he was getting. He wasn’t particularly shy, but having a complete stranger, and a beautiful one at that, just walk up to him and give him her phone number was not something he was used too.
“Hail to the King.” Grant said as he placed his hand on Pike’s shoulder and sat down on the barstool beside him.
“Not you too, Nate.” Pike groaned.