Scarcity

by Robert Calbeck

  A dog started barking ferociously right next to him. Adrenaline flooded Luthor’s veins; he turned sharply to face the new threat. His instincts, hardened from war, forced his fists into the air in preparation for a fight.

  Instead of a threat, he found an overly done-up old woman with a dog in her purse. The barking turned out to be little more than yapping. A bow that gathered the dog’s hair on the top of its head succeeded in eliminating even the faintest hint of ferocity. Luthor strained against his own killer instinct, willing his fists to lower and unclench. It’s just a little rat-dog, you have nothing to fight, nothing to worry about, Luthor told himself. Just breathe. Damn the war! Why can’t it ever quit haunting me?

  He murmured an apology to the woman in what he hoped sounded something like French.

  “That’s okay dear,” she said in a formal southern drawl, sounding like she might be from a plantation in Georgia. “I don’t know what came over Mr. Snorkles here. He almost never barks.” The miniature canine continued to yammer while its white paws bounced on the edge of the purse. Luthor’s heart rate plummeted back to normal.

  “Dogs and I have never really gotten along ma’am. I am sure there is nothing wrong with him.” Maybe it was something to do with the fact that he was a scientist. Small animals must innately understand that rodents and scientists are arch nemeses. Scientists are always caging them and experimenting on them. The dog just kept barking, it was probably trying to avoid getting shoved in a cage with the other rats. But then again, it seemed not to mind the purse, so it probably wasn’t afraid of cages, maybe it just didn’t like needles. Luthor looked for an exit. He didn’t want to be around the wretched thing any longer. Looking up he saw that the train was finally rolling into the station.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. This is my train.” Snorkles yapped his shot-glass sized lungs out until Luthor, Tanya, and Michael boarded the train.

  #

  Luthor had splurged on a private cabin for them on the train. It was wholly unnecessary, but he had wanted to make the trip in style. They were about to present the most earth-shattering discovery since the atomic bomb. The only difference is instead of threatening to destroy the world, 126 had the potential to save it. Luthor figured that justified a little splurging. And if Eli was right, then after the conference, he would never want for credits again. Like Garcia always said while they were deployed, “Eat before the food freezes.” Antarctica—food was a premium in that frozen hell. Luthor shuddered as more bad memories clawed their cage.

  The window was a moving postcard of the countryside. The land sped past at over 250 kilometers per hour. Alternating green and hazel fields undulated like an ocean of land. Giant modern wind turbines saluted from the top of every hill, the very symbol of the new, fossil fuel-free world. Blocky, oddly proportioned electric tractors were tethered to the windmills. Each plowed perfect concentric circles centered around the mast of each turbine; the power of the wind bringing in their crops.

  Starkly juxtaposed with the wealth of the modern farms was a field with a man driving a donkey-pulled plow making erratic rows. This man had not made it into the new green world. An old diesel-powered combine rusted outside his barn. It was completely worthless now that a single tank of diesel for that tractor would cost more than Luthor made in a year. Now the harvester was nothing more than a rusted, forgotten symbol of an age when oil fed the world. Those people had possessed neither the foresight nor the means to avoid the Oil Crash or the consequences of a world war with China.

  At least he hadn’t starved with the two billion other people around the world during the Culling. Such an apt name for the mass starvation of the human race. Two billion people had died because war and scarce oil had destroyed the world’s ability to feed itself. Without cheap oil, people couldn’t run the tractors to plant and harvest their crops. Even the food that was harvested never got anywhere because there was no fuel for the boats, trains, and trucks to transport it to the population centers.

  The man with the donkey had survived with the sweat of his brow, while the rest of the world had limped into a new equilibrium of green-energy food production and distribution. People didn’t like to talk about it, but donkey driven plows were far more common than the idyllic, green wind-farmer politicians put on their re-election posters. Consequently, even though the Culling was officially over, the world was still ravenously short on food.

  The door knocked to the cabin and a server brought in an expensive bottle of French champagne. People might not be able to eat, but there always seemed to be enough booze to go around. Luthor had remembered a previous mental note to not pass up the opportunity to taste real champagne if he ever made it to France. As such, he’d made sure to order a bottle. True champagne only came from the Champagne region of France, everything he had ever tried in the USW had been imitation “sparkling wine.”

  They laughed their way through the bottle. They recounted stories of their endless lab hours and unhealthy diets, and the time they accidentally imploded the detector with gravity because they accumulated too much 126. Tanya had been around the lab enough that she had no trouble laughing right along with them.

  Laughter finally depleted, Tanya had flipped on the TV. It was a luxurious meter-sized screen mounted in the corner of the room. Luthor hadn’t seen a personal TV anywhere near that size since he last visited Qwiz—Fermilab’s head computer tech—and this was even larger than one of his unnecessarily wasteful monitors. Of course, Qwiz had six of them.

  “You want to turn on the news? I haven’t been keeping up on things since we left,” Michael said.

  Tanya smiled and raised her glistening glass to him and hit a button on the remote to change the station to the United States News Network, America’s only official news station since the government took over the media for security reasons during the war.

  The screen flickered, then displayed the familiar face of USNN’s Anchorman Allen Wilcox. He was one of those men that everyone instinctively trusted, a touch of gray around the temples, a smattering of distinguished wrinkles issuing from his piercing blue eyes. His chin was strong yet didn’t evoke a military stereotype, and he spoke in a deep comforting voice that was impossible not to believe. He was the quintessential news anchor.

  “The climate change Progress Committee released their much anticipated fifteen-year report earlier today in a press conference in Philadelphia. We now go to Jaili Fendra for more.”

  “Today the CCP presented their historic fifteen-year study on climate change since 2033,” said Fendra. She was an exotic beauty in USNN’s attempt to represent the Central and South American States in the USW. Her tanned face was framed by perfectly manicured black hair that fell past her shoulders. Her full lips compelled viewers to concentrate on what she was saying, though many were successfully distracted by her proclivity for wearing revealing clothing. Luthor suspected she was the real reason Michael had asked to watch the news. “For the tenth straight year temperatures have fallen, though the decrease seems to be slowing based on the current figures.”

  The screen transitioned into a sound bite from what must have been a member of the committee. The nameless suit stood behind a wooden podium with a round government seal on the front. A large graphic to his left dominated the stage. The graphic showed a red temperature line that zigged in a distinctly downward motion with a blue ice-pack line that zagged slightly upward. “We are pleased that the worldwide effort to undo anthropogenic climate change is continuing to be successful. The Paris 2 protocols have cut carbon emissions by 90% since 2025 and there has been a correlating drop in world temperatures, as well as a slight increase in the polar icepack.” The figure changed, zooming in on the red temperature line. “The temperature has dropped by 1.26 degrees Celsius since the end of World War III, but the change is slowing. So far in 2048 we have seen only a one hundredth degree of change and a small, unexpected decrease in the polar ice coverage–”

  The screen faded back to the bosomy Fendra, who summarized.
“The report indicates that the most dramatic drop in temperatures stems from the increased atmospheric debris caused by the massive bombing campaigns of World War III. The slowing rate of temperature decrease has been attributed to the normalization of postwar cloud cover combined with the increasing use of carbon producing fuel sources worldwide, particularly as increasing oil exports from the Antarctic are beginning to affect fuel prices. As expected, the Chinese block is by far the single largest contributor of carbon. But the report shows that rural areas in the western hemisphere are emitting greenhouse gases at increasing levels. Most are emanating from the Midwestern and Amazon States.”

  “How are we producing carbon?” Michael asked, “all coal power plants were banned over 20 years ago.”

  As if answering him, Fendra continued. “The committee speculates that there are two main carbon culprits in North America: The growing popularity of the 2180 movement centered in Colorado.”

  “Why would anyone support those goddamn terrorists?” Michael spat. “I swear the stupidity of people is so—”

  “Quiet.” Luthor hissed. “I want to hear this.”

  “…2180 advocates dangerous climate change practices by burning coal for electricity. They claim that the United States of West contains enough coal to power the western hemisphere until the year 2180. Their destructive ideals are gaining traction in isolated rural areas. Coal is easier to mine than natural gas since fracking was outlawed in the 20s. It is believed that coal is being mined and burned illegally in increasingly large quantities, accounting for the increase in the western states.

  “However, the burgeoning Amish and Independent Christian communities across the heartland remain the main polluters. Citing their 1st Amendment rights for religious freedom, they are currently exempt from many carbon laws, and often use wood or coal for heating. Congressional leaders and climate scientists are calling for stricter regulation on the Amish and increased carbon-police presence in the rural communities of the West.”

  “Those selfish pricks,” interjected Michael. “Don’t they realize their beliefs are jeopardizing our chances of getting this planet back on course? I don’t understand why the Amish aren’t subject to the same carbon regulation as everyone else.”

  “It’s a question of freedom of religion.” Tanya said. “Their understanding of religion forbids them from using technology, without burning something in the winter they would freeze, particularly with these crazy winters we’ve been having.”

  Luthor gave Michael a fierce stare to try to dissuade him from taking the conversation further. Michael was unwittingly entering a deadly minefield. It had certainly singed Luthor enough times to know. Tanya had an odd, sometimes irrational sympathy for the Amish. It all started when her parents had joined an independent Christian community in Wisconsin after she started college. They believed, like the majority of fundamentalists, that the advent of CPI chips—what they called “the Mark of the Beast”— would usher in the end times. So they fled society with the rest of the religious radicals to isolated farming communes. Convinced her parents were paranoid, Tanya stayed behind, unwilling to sacrifice her education to go with them. Despite everything, she still deeply cared for her parents and always stuck up for their decision to leave. Luthor still had no idea whether she agreed with their choice or not, but then he was pretty sure that Tanya didn’t know either. All he knew for sure is that it was dangerous as hell to state strong opinions either way about it. It was never safe to argue with Tanya when she was insecure about something. She was too smart and too emotional for it to end well for anyone.

  Michael blundered on, unhindered by Luthor’s unvoiced warning. “This is more than just a matter of religious conviction. If I were a religious fanatic who believed God told me to light people on fire, I would be arrested today.”

  “Your argument is fallacious. We both know that isn’t the same thing, the Christian Communities aren’t hurting anyone—”

  “It’s exactly the same. They might not be lighting people on fire, but they are definitely hurting people. In fact, they are hurting the entire human race with their reckless use of carbon. Can’t you see what–”

  “Michael, if you value your manhood, I would shut the hell up right about now.” Luthor said.

  Michael scowled, but didn’t continue. Tanya glared at him, but her face softened somewhat as she looked at Luthor.

  Flashing back to Allen Wilcox, the report continued. “President Jimenez who just began a three day visit to Chicago, also commented on the historic report.”

  The handsome Latino spoke to a crowd outside of the John Hancock building. “Our Coalition has been at the forefront of the battle for our planet, but we cannot grow weak in our resolve in light of our success. I am urging Congress to continue to take steps forward in regulating and eliminating the use of carbon. This war on warming will not be won until we see carbon dioxide emissions drop to pre-1850 levels. Only then can we ensure a safe, sustainable future for not only the Coalition, but the human race.” The President’s face faded from the screen.

  “Jimenez will be doing a live interview from the Chicago USNN building tomorrow, after a tour of the CPI carbon monitoring system. For a complete coverage of the CCP report please log on to WWW dot USNN dot gov.

  “After the break, tensions continue to increase between the Americas and Europe over the inclusion of China in the International Energy Convention. The story of the controversial decision by E.U.’s Prime Minister Pollock and his push to get the Chinese to accept the Paris 2 carbon regulations up next.”

  “You’re still sure about wanting to present, even though the Chinese will be the unwitting beneficiaries?” Tanya asked, ignoring Michael for the moment.

  “Yes, I am,” said Luthor, infusing as much confidence as possible into his voice. As much as he tried not to let his hatred of the greedy Chinese influence his decisions, this one was tough.

  “I suspect that after we are done, the Chinese presence at the conference isn’t going to matter much. What is international intrigue compared to this?” Luthor indicated toward his bag, where they all knew the 126 for the demonstration was kept. The subtle gravity field it possessed gave him an uneasy feeling today, like he was being watched. His inner ear never quite figured out how to communicate its dislike for down being somewhere other than down. As a result, his mind interpreted that pull in unusual ways.

  Throbbing, bass-heavy music exuded from the TV’s speakers, compelling their attention. Luthor saw a montage of images portraying a stylish new phone that seemed to pulse with the beat of the song. He caught the tail end of a sales pitch, “smaller, smarter, more energy efficient. the new Lidius E9. Lidius, greener than any other brand. Period.”

  Lidius was a fantastically successful global corporation that made everything green tech, from batteries to screens to phones. Tanya had her own E8 and loved it. Luthor wondered what would happen to all the companies like Lidius who had made their billions by capitalizing on the scarcity of energy. Starting next week their energy-miser products would be obsolete.

  Chapter 2:

  Geneva, European Union

  They exited the train with the rest of the throng, bags in hand. Most of the passengers were not continuing on, they were here to attend the International Energy Convention. The IEC had become something of a tourist attraction for the city in recent years. An energy thirsty world could not be sated by the trickle of power it was currently offered. They came here for hope. Hope that there would be enough energy to run their machines, appliances, business, heat their homes, and grow enough food so they wouldn’t have to worry about starving again this winter.

  It was this hope that Luthor planned to give them.

  A traffic jam of rickshaws clogged the curbside, bicycles crudely attached to carriages, men pulling carts, all vying for attention and business. A violent smell of unwashed human accosted their senses, emanating from the vehicles’ owners. A horse-drawn stagecoach and two electric taxies sidled in the wings. T
he average Joe walked rather than hire human beasts of burden, but dozens still climbed into the probably unsafe, and certainly unsanitary, vehicles. Only the fabulously wealthy could afford a ride in an electric taxi. It didn’t matter where you were, electricity was ludicrously expensive. They’d made plans for Eli to pick them up blocks away from the train station, so his electric car would not be confused with transportation for hire.

  They pushed past a burgeoning crowd of homeless begging for handouts from the rich travelers. It seemed there were as many poor bastards here as there were in the States. Luthor ignored them. The Oil Crash had done its grisly work here too.

  In the years leading up to the war, the world’s rampant use of oil had continued to climb despite the precipitous decline of world oil production and widespread adoption of electric cars. The best attempts of China and the United States to control prices failed, and the simple laws of supply and demand caused the price of gas to skyrocket. It wasn’t long before a liter of gas cost the same as a full barrel of crude had months before. The batteries to run electric cars ballooned in price even more. There simply wasn’t enough Cobalt and other rare-earth minerals to make even a fraction of the batteries necessary to replace all gas-powered vehicles. People abandoned the Suburbs of the world in droves and flooded into the major cities simply because it didn’t require a car to live there. The Suburbs became burned out third-world nations ruled by gang-tyrants; the cities became giant homeless shelters as only a small percentage of the millions of suburban refugees managed to find work. The Culling and the war had killed off huge swaths of homeless, but they were still everywhere and any that hesitated to beg didn’t survive long.