by Ginger Booth
The weather remained weird. But it’s amazing what people can get used to.
Cam and Emmett glanced at me, but elected not to comment. I was a Resco, sort of, if only a junior assistant sort of Resco. If Sean wasn’t kicking me out, they wouldn’t either.
“The world is not getting better,” Cam replied. “The goal is to slow climate change, not turn it around. Because we can’t.”
I leaned forward intently as he flipped another slide onto the screen. “Atmospheric carbon dioxide is still rising. Methane as well.” Cam clicked into the familiar graph of carbon dioxide levels at Mauna Loa observatory in Hawaii. Its scalloped upward trajectory looked similar to the last time I’d seen it. No drastic upward turn, but no flattening out, either.
“We’re still on the blade of the hockey stick growth curve, maybe,” Cam continued. “The hope is to stay on a flat or gently curved trajectory, and not turn upwards sharply, like a hockey stick handle.”
“That’s 490 p.p.m. already?” Sean remarked. “All we’ve done, all the people who’ve died. Why is carbon dioxide still growing so sharply?”
Cam flipped back to the climate change metric overview slide. “War and economic upheaval aren’t kind to the environment, sir. Rampant deforestation in the Amazon and Congo. China managed to stop the damage in Indonesia. They wiped out most of the Indonesians. Vietnam takes care of its land. But other than that, we’re losing the tropical rain forests. Russia and Canada protect the main boreal forests, but boreal forests burn during heat waves. So they’re burning a lot more than they used to. The Pacific Northwest rain forests are dry, the fires out of control. A lot of fires in the South, too. I don’t know if there’s anything left to burn in California or the Rockies. Healthy forests like ours are getting scarce.
“Coral reefs in the subtropics, and marshes in the temperate zones, are the other superstars of primary productivity – photosynthesis and carbon drawdown. The coral reefs are dying or dead, from the changing ocean chemistry, from absorbing too much carbon. Marshes are limited by dense populations near the coastlines. We’re increasing the marshes on LI – that helped our metrics. But most places, to evict people and agriculture in favor of marshes, is unpopular.”
Cam pointed out another set of numbers. “The other big problem is tundra melt. As permafrost bogs melt around the Arctic, they release vast amounts of methane. Methane is thirty times stronger a greenhouse gas than CO2.
“So, the anthropogenic climate drivers are slowing. People are generating less greenhouse gas. If for no other reason than that there are fewer people left to do it. The current drivers are the natural consequences of the heat already in the system. Snow-balling.”
“Methane ice?” Emmett asked.
Cam shrugged, and clicked back into the Mauna Loa carbon dioxide map. “I don’t know how we could tell if the methane ice were melting, Emmett. Aside from the arctic bogs. They’re certainly melting.”
“Remind me. What is methane ice?” Sean prompted.
Cam gestured to invite Emmett to answer.
“Methane hydrate is a molecule of methane, sir,” Emmett supplied. “Natural gas, trapped inside a crystal lattice of water ice molecules. Looks like snow. But explodes into fire. Theory is, there’s a hundred times more methane ice in the world than there ever was oil and coal. Most of it is trapped in the ocean floor. Some in arctic bogs, like Cam was saying. Huge untapped fuel resource, really.
“The problem comes in if that methane ice melts. Then the ocean starts bubbling up methane on an epic scale. The geological record of climate disasters long ago, shows times when Earth’s temperature skyrocketed in a really brief time. Decades or centuries instead of millennia, sort of thing. One theory is that what supercharged that global warming, was ocean temperatures rising to the point that the methane ice melted. Which methane warms the atmosphere, which warms the ocean more, and melts more methane ice – greenhouse effect upward spiral.
“This theory, and methane ice, inspired a bunch of scientists to insist our goal was to get carbon dioxide levels back down to 350 p.p.m., not arrest them at 400 or 450 like the first UN IPCC goals said. That at some point, we’d unleash the methane ice and enter into the ‘Venus Effect’, where the planetary temperature would just keep spiraling upward, out of control. Until water wouldn’t stay liquid anymore.”
“Right. Cheery scenario,” Sean murmured, his memory of the argument apparently refreshed. “So what you’re saying, Cam, is that we have no idea whether we’ve unleashed this Venus Effect yet, and the end of life on Earth as we know it.”
Cam nodded and shrugged. Not a clue.
Emmett offered reluctantly, “We believe we did enter that spiral, sir. The question is whether we can exit the spiral.”
Sean Cullen looked like he stopped breathing for a moment. I know I did. “And what are our chances of that, Emmett?” Sean asked softly.
Emmett frowned. “Your briefing should have included –”
I was just thinking that. Sean Cullen seemed better versed than he had back in October. Emmett had warned me that now Sean was a head of state, he might be informed at a higher level.
“I agree,” Sean said. “It should have. And my briefing included the fact that it was my prerogative to decide how much I share with my people. I told them so. I believe my top Rescos need to know what they’re up against. Because they, all of you, may need to operate independently. And we don’t know if you, Emmett, will be available to advise us at that juncture.
“So out with it. What are our chances of avoiding the Venus Effect?”
“Maybe one in four,” Emmett murmured.
I stared at him stunned. That’s quite a secret you’ve been keeping from me, love. Though to be fair, Emmett had never pretended to me or anyone else that we’d dodged the climate change bullet. He believed that the relatively mild, sane weather we’d enjoyed since the outset of Project Reunion was a gift from God, our reward for trying. I found that worldview so alien that I preferred not to think about it, in aid of marital harmony.
Once upon a time, when the borders started to close and people fled into the arks, I believed we were all going to die. Or perhaps not. I’m not sure I ever really believed our odds were that bad, not for the planet itself.
“All that we’ve done,” Sean said bitterly. “All the billions dead. We improved that to what, one in three?”
“No, sir,” Emmett said quietly. “Without the, um, population culling, they estimated our chances were one in ten. These numbers aren’t exactly precise. Sir.” He glanced around the room, briefly meeting everyone’s eye, landing at last on Cam. We looked variously stunned or angry, but Cam looked betrayed.
“Would you have felt better knowing, Cam?” Emmett said softly. “Would it have helped you do your job? You do an awesome job. I’ve got to believe that matters.”
Cam dropped his eyes. After a moment, he admitted, “No. Knowing wouldn’t have helped.”
Sean rallied. A fit and lean general in his mid-fifties, dressed today in field cammies like his top Rescos, Sean impressed me with his leadership style. He was willing to display and share raw emotion, yet quickly able to strengthen his resolve and get back to business. I wondered if he was a fair preview, or a role model, for how my Emmett might lead in a couple decades.
“Thank you, Emmett,” Sean said briskly. “Cam, how are we on sea level rise?”
In dread, I looked back to Cam, still standing by to conclude his climate change briefing. He flipped the display to the next slide.
But before Cam could resume, Sean’s phone buzzed him. Looking highly annoyed – the governor-general of Hudson had minions to waylay such interruptions – Sean took one look at his phone and raised a hand to halt the proceedings. He leaned back, forcibly relaxed, and took up more space in the room. Like me, he knew the person on the other end could hear his smile, how tense he was, and managed his posture accordingly.
“Ivan! Speak of the devil,” Sean greeted the phone genially. Ivan Link, Gover
nor-General of New England, I presumed. “I hope this is pleasure, not emergency?”
Sean listened a moment. His gaze fell without favor on Cam. “Cameron mentioned that, yes. … What, right now? … On pain of? What did they threaten to do? … Of course, no, that’s fine. They’re welcome. … Ah, I’m in a meeting, not free to talk. Let me call you back privately in a few minutes.”
Sean ended the call and blew out a long slow breath. He smiled wanly around his Rescos. “Connecticut will be joining us. Effective immediately. And in person. Light Colonel Mora and Captain Niedermeyer should arrive shortly.” Sean’s forehead looked pained at Ivan Link’s presumption. Link had dispatched the top two Rescos of Connecticut to crash Sean’s Hudson Resco summit meeting, before even asking.
Sean waved his phone vaguely, and concluded, “I need to call him back. Pete, add half a day to our agenda. Your meeting, here. Ash, you’re with me.”
The other Rescos didn’t envy Ash Margolis his second hat as lieutenant governor today.
Once Ash and Sean were gone, Pete Hoffman said mildly, “Cam, let’s finish climate change when Carlos and John are here. Prepare a five-minute summary in case that’s all we have time for.”
As Cam made for his chair, Pete added, “Next time, Cam, you might consider asking Sean first. You know, if he actually wants to add a whole state to our little empire. Before you suggest it to persons outside Hudson. We’d appreciate that. Because it’s not up to you, really.”
Cam winced and nodded, ducking back into his chair. I got off with a mere withering glance from Pete, and no barbed comment. From the way Emmett was looking at me, though, he correctly surmised that it was me, not Cam, who first mentioned the state transfer idea, when Cam and I sent New England its carbon footprint metrics. Cam and I ran the metrics for the whole Northeast, there being few Rescos who could decipher that arcane spreadsheet and its weird input data.
Pete’s eyes skipped down his electronic agenda. “Emmett. Wow us with progress in North Jersey,” he invited with a crooked smile.
“Uh-huh. There’s been some. Progress,” Emmett quipped, taking Cam’s vacated place at the big screen.
“In North Jersey. Wow,” Pete said dryly.
4
Interesting fact: The Resco directives were to preserve local and state governments through the collapse of the United States, wherever possible. By that, they meant wherever pre-existing governmental structures remained competent, on the job, and meeting the crisis. Many local governments, especially in small towns, continued under martial law. The shining exemplar of local government resilience was the Staten Island Borough Council, which continued to govern throughout the Ebola epidemic and the starving year. But by this point, after two and a half years of martial law, Connecticut’s Ben Fallon was the last remaining state governor in the East.
“You look downright cheerful, Carlos,” I accused him at the dining table that evening.
Lieutenant Colonel Carlos Mora, lead Army Resco in Connecticut, was not a cheerful man in my experience. We’d worked together closely for over a year on Amenac and PR News. I’d seen pictures of him happy, from before the epidemic, proudly smiling with his elegant British wife and gorgeous teen daughters at parties. His son didn’t attend parties.
Carlos’ wife Lauren and both daughters were in New York City the day Ebola broke loose and the epidemic borders slammed shut, with them caught on the wrong side. The three contracted the disease, and only one recovered, his daughter Maisie. She returned to Carlos last spring after a year and a half running with the feral orphan gangs on Long Island.
“Yeah,” Carlos agreed, looking somewhat less cheerful for a moment. “It was hard, putting Keith into a residential program.” He sighed. “But he’s doing well. And he doesn’t mind. It’s just me. You know? Like I’ve let Lauren down. But life is a lot easier for all of us.”
“There’s a school taking in autistic kids now?” Cam asked. He was seated across the table from Carlos. They bracketed me at the foot of the table, while Emmett and the upper ranks held the other end. “Wow. I feel like I’m in a different world now on LI.”
“You knew that was coming, when you took on LI,” Carlos pointed out. He’d been Cam’s boss and next-door neighbor, as Rescos go, back in Connecticut. I gathered the relationship had been rocky. Between them, the two men coordinated the three best counties in the state, all rated the sterling ‘level 9’ these days on the Resco scale. Cam had traded in that success for a destitute level 1 challenge on Long Island.
Carlos elaborated, “Private co-op school, for Keith. Bunch of parents got together and funded it. We hired teachers and staff, found a nice boarding school facility. I thought I’d go crazy the first week. They wanted me to stay away, let him adjust to the new structure. I finally went back, after the week, ready to pull him out and take him home, defend him against the staff. All rubbish. Keith was happy and settled. Gave me the grand tour. When visiting hours were over, he walked away without a backward glance.”
“That’s got to be tough, Carlos,” I sympathized. “Loving someone who can’t return it. Or show it, anyway.”
Carlos shrugged. “I love him. That’s enough.” Turning back to the exchange with Cam, he added, “I had a hard time with the ethics. As a Resco, setting up a school most families couldn’t access. Kids who aren’t really educable, when so many normal kids don’t have schools. I insisted we all pitch in for scholarship students.”
Ash Margolis, seated beside Carlos, offered, “I don’t see an ethics conflict. You have child care expenses while you work.”
“If you had small children, you’d hire nannies,” Cam agreed. “Ash has private tutors. Not really any different.”
“Yeah,” Carlos agreed gratefully.
“So are you dating, now that you’re freed up?” I teased. I was delighted to hear him laugh in return. Our housekeeper Gladys, seated beyond Cam from me, took interest and shot Carlos a smile.
“Not yet,” he denied, but allowed, “I’ve had offers. Soon, maybe.”
“There was that special ed teacher,” I suggested. “The one who was helping with Keith. She looked amenable.” She looked desperate to win him over, from what I’d seen.
Carlos nodded, then shook his head. “She was nice. Too nice. Kinda vapid, really. Too young. I have a dark side.” Cam and I chuckled agreement with that. “Too sweet is just not interesting.”
“How old is old enough?” Gladys flirted. “How old are you, Carlos?”
I narrowed my eyes at Gladys. Our housekeeper had a habit of snaring men into bed if they wandered too close to her lower-level lair. I thought we had a tacit agreement that the Resco summit meetings were off limits.
“I’m forty-five,” Carlos replied. “It’s not age so much as outlook. She’d never had anything bad happen in life, until the Calm. I couldn’t relate. But under thirty-five seems too young. Up to fifty is fine.”
Gladys smiled in return. She was nearing forty, and could entirely relate to what Carlos was saying about having a dark side. “Oh, by the way, Carlos,” she purred, “you’re welcome to stay in my apartment downstairs tonight. We’re short on bedrooms upstairs.”
Before I could suggest otherwise, Carlos saluted her with his wineglass and said, “Thank you very much, Gladys.”
Ash Margolis met my eye in alarm. Gladys hated him, certain that he and his family had designs on taking our Brooklyn Prospect brownstone, the ‘Resco mansion.’ Which, in fairness, they probably did. Ash was the lead Resco of the Apple Cities now, not Emmett. We just hadn’t given up our house yet.
On reflection, I suspected Carlos already knew about Gladys. He’d stayed with us before. His fifteen-year-old daughter had been with him last time, and the Amenac hacker Popeye had slept downstairs with Gladys. I smiled and shrugged back at Ash. His pursed mouth suggested he disapproved. Tough. Consenting adults, after all.
I really wasn’t cut out for the army wife hostessing bit. Emmett was the host. Gladys and I just followed his lead
on hospitality. More or less.
“Carlos!” Governor Sean Cullen hailed from the upper ranks up-table. “Remind me – who do you report to in New England?”
“John,” Carlos supplied, indicating Niedermeyer, seated across from Sean.
Sean frowned incomprehension.
“It’s more of a matrix than a command chain, sir,” Carlos elaborated. “Most of the paperwork goes – went – to a light colonel on General Link’s staff. New England started with two Resco light colonels. Me plus Brazeau in New Hampshire. A couple new ones now in Massachusetts. None in Narragansett or Vermont. And John, as O-6, is top Resco.”
Light colonels like Emmett and Carlos were officer level 5 – O-5. The titles were confusingly non-congruent between naval and land forces, with an army captain being a lowly O-3, and a naval captain a lofty O-6. As a Coast Guard captain, John Niedermeyer was the same rank as the ‘full bird’ army colonels Tony Nasser and Pete Hoffman seated up-table next to Sean and John, one step down from admiral or general. Emmett was only seated up there in the nosebleed section as host. He was a lieutenant colonel, same as Cam, Carlos, and Ash.
“Ah,” said Sean, and laughingly pointed out, “I’m afraid you’ll find the Resco Service a bit more structured here in Hudson.”
“That would be nice,” Carlos returned blandly. “To structure.” He toasted with his wine glass.
“To structure,” Sean agreed. Most joined with a quaff of wine. Emmett and I raised cider glasses instead. We didn’t drink much.
“You don’t seem overly concerned by this proposal. Connecticut suddenly transferring to Hudson,” Sean fished. Apparently he was using this dinner to get to know his proposed two new lead Rescos, a whopping 40% increase in said Resco Service since this morning.