Verdant Skies—Excerpt

Introduction

NA Newsfeed—Breaking News—05Aug2229.16:23GMT

The U.S. Geologic Survey outpost in Bozeman, Mt. report this morning that four vents identified to be directly connected to the Yellowstone Caldera erupted within eighteen minutes of each other, beginning at 15:38GMT. The skies immediately over the region have begun to fill with volcanic ash and various sulfuric compounds, forcing authorities to immediately widen the established safety cordon around Yellowstone National Park and the surrounding environs.

Evacuations have been sounded throughout the Yellowstone region of Wyoming, and evacuation alerts have been widecast throughout Wyoming and the surrounding states. Scientists at the U.S.G.S. outpost have reported that the eruptions agree with their projections of the imminent eruption of the Yellowstone Caldera, an event that has been widely anticipated over roughly the past two hundred years, though scientists had no way of knowing the ultimate moment, nor the magnitude, of the eruption.

Live data from the Global Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration is being sent to the U.S.G.S. in order to provide an accurate projection of the movement of the volcanic residue being ejected into the atmosphere by the caldera.  Volcanic ash and soot is known to shut down most aircraft and some aerospacecraft engines, so a no-fly zone is being established in the surrounding area.  As the area impacted by the ash cloud widens, air traffic in the North American region will be heavily impacted.  Volcanic ash is also known to be hazardous to respiratory systems; as a result, residents in the states surrounding Wyoming are being advised to stay within their homes or indoors in safe locations, until further notice.  The danger will not be lessened until the cloud has largely dissipated, and scientists have no way of estimating at this point whether that will happen in days, weeks, or months.

Yellowstone National Park has not allowed visitors since 2163, when the heat and fumes from the park’s famous vents and geysers became either too hot for human or animal toleration, or began to spew sulfurs and other volatile chemicals that suffocated the animals in the vicinity.  In 2140, a permanent outpost was set up in Bozeman, tasked specifically to monitor the Yellowstone Caldera in an attempt to identify the approximate time of eruption and to monitor the air quality and current weather patterns in the area to provide early warning in the event of an imminent eruption.  Critics are already attacking the U.S.G.S. over the apparent lack of warning provided by the outpost, and demanding an immediate investigation of the station’s operational mission.

Scientists worldwide are responding to the event.  Many of them are referring to the historic report delivered by Mohamar Reed to the U.N. in 2180, saying that this event would be the environmental “straw that breaks the camel’s back.” Others are referring to it as a “potential extinction event.”

Current evacuation and alert notices
Detail on Yellowstone Caldera
Detail on U.S.G.S. Yellowstone Caldera Research Program
Text of Report #UN44089/MR02052180, delivered by Dr. Mohamar Reed on 2 May 2180: On the threat represented by the Yellowstone Caldera to destabilize the environmental state of the globe

1: Disaster

05Aug2229

The leisurely arc being cut by Aerospace Force One through the Colorado sky belied the incredible power being applied to its twin engines—more than usual, in order to cut through the grit that was already beginning to fill the air, and outrun it into orbit.  Despite plenty of warning and distance, the skies to the north and west were already displaying a deep red hue, and lighter ash being ejected by the Yellowstone Caldera had already managed to reach as far as the Denver metropolitan area and darken the local skies.  The powerful Aerospace Force jet was still in its southward turn and the reddish sky was slowly vanishing astern, but the outboard cameras kept the image centered, broadcasting it on every viewscreen that was not otherwise occupied displaying data relevant to the running of the country.

Only one such screen in the President’s flying office was broadcasting the rearward view.  As far as Gaston Lambert was concerned, that was more than enough.  It was like watching a plague advance upon his nation, and in fact, would be no less devastating.  He tried not to look at that screen, out of concern that its mere image would drain the resolve out of him, that he would be unable to make decisions, unable to run the country.  And as it was, he didn’t know how he would be able to guide it through this disaster, no matter how focused he might be.

Notice had been so short that they’d had little time to prepare or collect much before they had to go.  Only the staff that were in the High House, or could reach Aerospace Force One at the Rocky Mountain Arsenal in an hour’s time, had been able to come.  Those staff members were now liberally spread out among the sub-sections of the jet’s wide blended wing cabin, either trying to get work done, or waiting out the ride and nervously discussing the situation below amongst themselves.

They hadn’t even had the time to wait for Vice President Carruthers to return from Lisboa, before it was decided that the worsening atmospheric conditions demanded they take off.  That was particularly galling, because Lambert knew he would never hear the end of leaving Lena Carruthers in direct charge of the country, while he stole away to the relative safety of Verdant.  And she would never forgive him for leaving her behind… she would be a bitch-on-wheels to work with, for the duration of their term.

However long that would last.

Lambert glanced over at the only other person in the room, seated at the chair closest to his desk.  Enu Thompson, his Chief of Staff, also seemed to be pointedly avoiding looking at the one viewscreen that displayed the ash front behind them, and he glared with tightly knitted brows at the other screens that showed the evacuation efforts in Wyoming, Montana, Idaho and Utah, the emergency meetings being carried out throughout the country, or displays of figures and graphs that measured the health and well-being of the country… all of which were in horrid scarlet death-spirals now. 

As if Thompson could feel Lambert’s gaze on him, he shifted his head enough so that he could meet the President’s eyes.  Thompson’s dark African features and naturally large, round eyes could look particularly fierce when he was unhappy, and he looked none too comforting now.  They had been together long enough that there was no reason to voice what they both knew they were thinking: We could not have known; this is not our fault; yet, we will be blamed for it, and the subsequent ruin of the country, if we can’t find a miracle somewhere that will pull us out of it; in short, our political lives are pretty much over.

Seemingly confirming their shared thought, Thompson’s face softened slightly, and he dropped the hand that had been pressed against his cheek as he slumped in the chair.  He straightened up perceptively, and nodded at the President.  “We’ll figure something out.”  It was an empty gesture, an empty statement, and Lambert chose not to reply.

There was a discreet knock at the door, and Thompson called out, “Yes?”

The door slid open, and one of the President’s aides popped his head inside.  Without pausing to gauge the mood of the room, he said: “Sir, we’ve gotten word that the Vice President has touched down in Frederick.  She’ll be on the next bullet west to Denver within the hour.”

“Thank you,” Lambert replied.  When he added nothing else, the aide took the hint, and disappeared, closing the door behind him.  Lambert shook his head sadly.  “Merde.  ‘Cocktail Barbie’ in the High House,” he muttered, using the nickname the media had so irreverently attached to the Vice-President during the elections  Not that it didn’t suit her—in fact, it could only have been more accurate if she’d possessed a twelve-inch waist.  “I’m not sure which to be more afraid of… the people’s reaction, or hers.”

Thompson shrugged.  “It’s not as if we won’t be in communication with Denver.  We’ll still be giving the orders, and Lena can just sit there and look good.  Like usual.”

Lambert glared at Thompson.  “You know there’s more to running the High House than that.  She’ll be a nervous wreck before sunset.”  He cracked an ironic grin.  “Which will be coming a lot sooner than usual today.”

He risked a glance at the rearward camera viewscreen.  Although the reddish horizon still dominated the image, it was now at risk of being overshadowed by the noticeably-increasing curvature of the Earth below, and the inky blackness above it.  Though the appearance of Earth from high orbit had always awed and impressed him, the image was tainted by the spreading red stain below, and today Lambert saw nothing beautiful about it.

So he glanced at another screen, which had shifted to a forward view.  The cameras were able to provide filtering that the unaided eye at a viewport would not have been able to manage as well, and Lambert could clearly see the tiny pinpoints of starlight speckling the field of black.  A few specks were brighter than the rest, and Lambert knew they were heading towards one of those brighter specks, though at this distance he could not tell which.

Under normal circumstances, there would always be ships in the sky, going to and from the orbital satellites.  Less than a century ago, engine technology had finally put the practicality of powered flight into orbit into the hands of small shipping companies, heavy freight haulers and even passenger services.  Much of the transit and transportation that used to be carried out in the atmosphere was now sent all the way to orbit, where the lack of atmospheric drag allowed a ship to travel around the world on significantly less power, not to mention accessing the various orbital facilities that had been built.  At the moment, however, there were far fewer ships in the sky, as the atmospheric conditions had caught most craft unprepared, and grounded most fleets.

“Are there any reports from Verdant?” Lambert asked.  “How are they reacting to this?”

“I haven’t heard anything yet,” Thompson replied.  “I’m sure they’re monitoring the situation, but the gravity of this might not have reached anyone outside of the CnC.  I’ll get an update.”

Lambert nodded as Thompson rose from his seat and headed for the door.  “Let me know if things are getting bad up there.  Nothing like escaping a disaster and landing in the middle of a riot.”

Thompson smiled grimly at him before he exited the room.  “That’s the spirit.”

~

Verdant’s Command and Control center usually carried the atmosphere of an open office full of relaxed cubicle-workers, talking openly and joking, passing information back and forth, and tending to their work with the quiet efficiency of people who knew what they were doing.  The atmosphere in the CnC today, however, was noticeably different.

Various scenes of the spreading plumes of ash, evacuation efforts, North American and global weather data, and concerned news reports from around the world were displayed on a myriad of monitor screens on the desks.  The reports were in many languages, many of them being translated by the GLIS, the station’s Governing Logistics Intelligence System, into Universal English for the benefit of the staff.  Personnel quick-stepped back and forth, from desk to desk, sharing data or asking questions of each other, and trying to collate everything they were seeing.  The GLIS spoke as well, multiple dialogues from multiple speakers, supplying data or answering questions as requested.  An individual would have had to raise their voice to be noticed above the commotion.  Despite the artificial daylighting in the room, the CnC felt dark and ominous today, as if the ash clouds over Wyoming were somehow blocking their light, too.

The room consisted of two outer rows of control and monitoring desks set in a rectangular pattern, with the desks on each side of the rectangle oriented to the open area in the center of the room.  A command station as large as six of the outer desks dominated the central space, itself dominated by an elaborate wrap-around control panel, a number of large viewscreens on its surface and suspended from the high ceiling above, and a three-dimensional display column in its center.  Of the personnel coming and going throughout the CnC, they mostly gave a wide berth to the central station, and to the man and woman standing side-by-side there.

They wore identical green blazers, complete with the Verdant logo over the left breast pocket, matching green trousers, and cream-colored shirts, the mark of senior governing personnel.  Beyond that, there was very little about them that seemed similar.  He was European in features, handsome, an inch over six feet, just a few years into the second half-century of his life, and with the slight paunch to prove it; outwardly calm, but very alert, taking in the data before him and the reactions around the room with calculating eyes.  She was a small, fighting-trim, dusky Latina who didn’t look like she’d reached thirty yet.  Her pretty face, dominated by large, expressive eyes, was tempered by a strong and confident gaze that suggested an unwavering confidence and dedication to duty. 

She watched the viewscreens in obvious dismay, absently using her hand to cover her open mouth.  “This is painful to watch,” she muttered, too softly for her words to get any further than the man standing next to her.  The man glanced at her… perhaps just to make sure she was bearing up under the stress of the situation… and nodded lightly, but otherwise said nothing.

A voice called out from an overhead speaker… the voice of the GLIS.  “Ceo Lenz?”

The man at the central station allowed his eyes to drift upward at the ceiling, as if looking at the speaker was the same as looking at the Governing Logistics Intelligence System.  The GLIS speakers and monitoring pods all looked like fist-sized soccer balls, their white faceted surfaces allowing for uni-directional sound and sensory input and output.  The sound was directed at him well enough that it was easy to pick out which pod had spoken to him.

Once the man’s eyes had fixed on the appropriate pod, it spoke again.  “Raw stock deliveries to Verdant are already being postponed or cancelled throughout the Americas.  Manufacturing schedules will be immediately impacted in six on-board plants.”

“Understood,” the man nodded.  “Are you still monitoring Aerospace Force One?”

“Yes.  They report no adverse difficulty getting through the atmosphere.  ETA is still 1915.”

“Prepare a list of plant personnel, starting from non-essential and working up, for an interim leave schedule.”

“Very good,” the GLIS responded.

Next to him, the woman nodded, though she did not take her eyes off the screens.  “Might as well.  It’s not as if they’d get much work done during this.”

“Agreed.”  The man glanced at the woman.  “Do you have family near Yellowstone?”

“Are you kidding?” the woman replied, and flashed him an ironic half-grin.  “I don’t think there’s a ten-square-klick plot on Earth where you won’t find a member of the extended Luis clan.”  He chuckled, not too heartily.  “Hopefully,” she continued more seriously, “none that couldn’t get out of there in time.”

The man and woman exchanged glances, then furtively stole a glance about them at those in the rest of CnC.  They were the top of the command structure, and it would not pay to set a bad example to the rest of the staff, or show an inappropriate level of concern during a crisis.  Julian Lenz, “Jules” to those closest to him, Chief Executive Officer of Verdant, had seen his share of executives who’d lost their positions due to a lapse in professionalism at an inopportune time—like when a media camera was on them, or a disgruntled employee was in earshot—and had no interest in playing the defensive role with his career.  He was just too old for that nonsense.

His second in command, Executive Officer Reya Luis, was probably not quite as concerned for her career as he was… but she was just as professional, and understood about professional propriety.  Her comment about her extended family was already a well-known and well-worn running gag in CnC, and therefore hardly something to take issue with.  Even so, she’d kept it pitched low enough to avoid anyone else overhearing... with the possible exception of the GLIS.

They both looked up when they noticed someone new entering the CnC and approaching the central station.  His green blazer was identical with those worn by Julian and Reya, marking him as another senior command member.

When he reached the station, Julian asked, “How’s it going, Aaron?”

The newcomer shook his head.  “I’ve been arguing with freighter company heads for the past hour, trying to get their scheduled shipments up here.  I needed my office, for a little quiet.  Not that it helped, I think.”

Julian pursed his lips but did not reply.  Aaron Hardy, his Chief of Operations, was unmatched for his ability to juggle resources and assignments on-the-fly.  He was not so expert at dealing with people, though… and Julian doubted he’d put up much of a fight with any of the freighter lines who had reservations about flying through ash-filled skies.  Not that he blamed them for arguing the point, or for that matter, Aaron for conceding it—it was downright hazardous down there.  But every freight delivery they lost was going to put them tighter in a bind, and that was not something to look forward to.

Reya Luis looked up at Aaron—both Aaron and Julian were a head taller than she was—and said, “I doubt there’s much you could say to get them to fly through that.”

Aaron nodded in agreement.  “A U.N. Coo is pretty much outranked by the GAA.  They’re already recommending flight cancellations across the board.”  He looked at Julian.  “I may be able to convince more of them to switch to ballistic deliveries, at least for awhile, but I don’t know how well that will sit with them.  How are things looking from here, Jules?”

“Lousy,” Julian replied honestly.  “The caldera doesn’t show any signs of letting up.”

Aaron grimaced.  “Resources are going to get tight.  I’d recommend going to level four conservation restrictions before the day is out.”

“Before the hour is out,” Luis suggested.

Julian looked at them both.  “Level four it is,” he agreed.  “Reset the GLIS.  In the meantime,” he added to Aaron, “see if there are any southern hemisphere vendors looking for some new opportunities.  Before all the windows are closed on us.”

“Already put some feelers out,” Aaron smiled.  He knew his job, no doubt about it.  “Wishing on a star.”

“Well, we’ve got a few,” Julian said lightly.  He gave the room a quick once-over, and seemed satisfied that there was not much else he could do at the moment.  Then he turned and strode to a door with a small plaque that said, simply, “CEO.”  The door slid open for him, and closed behind him.

Julian’s office was noticeably quieter, the moment the door closed, making him realize perhaps for the first time how uncharacteristically hectic it had been in CnC.  He took the moment to draw in a deep, cleansing breath, and let it out, willing himself to relax… he was afraid he might not have many opportunities to do that in the immediate future.  Then he crossed the office, circling around the executive-sized desk at the far end of the room.

As he sat down at the desk, various controls and screens embedded in the desk’s surface came to life, giving him overall information on the operations of Verdant, and the option of digging deeper into any of them.  His hand drifted to one area of the desk, the controls for the viewscreen that filled the long wall directly in front of him.  Ironically, that wall faced the outer skin of Verdant… but between the outer shell, the internal plumbing and wiring, and shielding, an actual window to the outside would have to be three meters thick to be usable… a viewscreen made much more sense, besides being inherently safer.  He tapped out a sequence, and at once, the entire wall came alive with a crystal-clear view of Earth.

So clear and still was the image, that Julian could easily believe he was sitting before a wide window, staring directly down at Earth from an impossibly tall building… instead of from Verdant’s relative position, in geosynchronous orbit 36,000 km above Earth’s surface.  From that distance, the entire sphere of the Earth was visible on the screen, its mostly blue-white atmosphere ably hiding the environmental damage that millennia of human habitation had wrought… and almost centered on the screen, the reddish cloud that was spreading over the North American landmass like a massive, lethal wound.  The final blow that would undo the last century’s dedicated efforts of reconstruction and reclamation.  The straw that would break the camel’s back.

And Verdant was helpless to watch… as were the other satellites, Tranquil, Fertile, and Qing.  No, even worse than that: Verdant and the other satellites were not self-sufficient, and depended upon Earth for supplies and raw materials, by design; Earth was the anchor to which they were all tethered… and if Earth went down, the satellites would be dragged down with it.

They were all in trouble.

At that moment, there was a ping that seemed to emanate from the very air around him, the subtle but penetrating alert tone of the GLIS.  Following the ping, one of the desktop screens began displaying text, a message that would be relayed throughout Verdant, which read:

All personnel and residents: By order of the CEO, due to the crisis on Earth caused by the Yellowstone Caldera, Verdant has been placed on Level 4 conservation restrictions until further notice.

Julian stared at the message for a moment.  He had little confidence that the conservation restrictions would get any better, anytime soon.  He silently prayed for them all.

2: President’s Arrival

Aerospace Force One slid carefully into the slip that was always reserved for it in Verdant’s private craft bay. Many of the monitoring systems that usually provided telemetry from incoming ships were dark, owing to the cloaks and classified feeds aboard the Presidential jet. Nonetheless, the dock monitors watched the ship as it eased into its slip, doing their job to at least visually confirm that there was nothing out-of-the-ordinary about their approach.

The jet was similar to many medium-sized military jets on the outside, most notably its lack of viewports, its beam-ablative shielding, and its defensive laser turrets and missile ports. Its interior was, of course, classified, but no one would have been surprised at the level of creature comforts within, many of which had supposedly contributed to more than one executive or staff member’s achieving membership in the “100-mile high club.” (Interestingly, having sex on Verdant or the other satellites was never counted as membership in that club, as being on a habitation satellite was considered too much like being on Earth. But any spacecraft that had achieved high orbit or further qualified, and it was the rare ship that was not duly “christened” within a few flights.)

The jet finally touched against its moorings, and was captured by the docking mechanisms. The outer doors then began to close, and once sealed, the inner walls came down, bringing the craft fully inside the bay. Like all private bays, the reception areas were not open to the public, so there were no photographers or reporters waiting to catch a glimpse of the President the moment the jet’s hatch opened. It was large enough to accommodate the entire staff and crew, however, so it was often used as a waiting area while transportation was arranged to the Presidential Compound.

President Lambert finally stepped out of his mobile office. Though the last few hours had weighed heavily on him, he still had the ability common to most career politicians to hide his feelings and his fatigue when in public. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders that did not need assistance from padded suit shoulders, and a body kept in trim by an exercise regimen that had only recently begun to lose to the inevitable rigors of office. He was handsome in a rugged manner, with a studiously-high forehead, deep, sympathetic eyes, a mobile mouth and a strong chin. Just the sight of him was inspiring to many of his staffers, a trait that had in no small way contributed to his attainment of the highest office of the nation. In fact, he was easily as good-looking a male as his running-mate, Lena Carruthers, was a female; the only real difference between them was that he was actually capable of running a country, whereas Carruthers was more of a figurehead intended for photo-ops and PR, the usual jobs foisted on Vice-Presidents, and couldn’t run a county government without help.

Lambert headed for the exit hatch, never the first one out of the jet for security reasons, followed closely by Thompson. Along the way, he intercepted and spoke to one of the staffers: “Send Ceo Lenz our regards, and a request for me to meet him tomorrow morning.” The staffer moved off, and Lambert and Thompson stopped walking when they noted AF1’s pilot, Col. Emily Stearns, approaching them on an obvious intercept vector.

“Mister President,” Col. Stearns began without preamble when she was in proximity, “we have confirmations from the Global Aviation Administration that ground conditions are now considered severe over seventy-five percent of the U.S. mainland. Air traffic is considered difficult to impossible at this stage. We may be here for awhile.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Lambert said. “Keep ‘er tuned up for a launch within two hours’ notice. Just in case things change for the better.”

“Certainly, Mr. President,” Stearns nodded smartly. “Mister Thompson,” she inclined her head at the Chief of Staff, before she turned and strode back towards the cockpit.

When she was out of sight, Lambert said softly, “Probably just turn out to be busy work on her part.”

Thompson said, “I could give her something else to do.”

“Didn’t you bring enough of your people with you?” Lambert fixed him with a significant but amused look. “Leave her alone.”

Thompson shrugged with his eyebrows, and followed Lambert out and into the reception area. Some of the rest of the staff were already there, as well as the ever-present security detail scattered throughout the area. Thompson surveyed the staff, especially the female members standing about the area. Many of them were wearing skirts… not a big deal on Earth, but generally considered to be a faux pas for a professional working on a satellite (too many catwalks, open balconies and unexpected low-gravity areas for propriety or modesty’s sake). Of course, they had all left in a hurry, and no one had had time to prepare a wardrobe. A few of the smarter staffers usually kept appropriate changes of clothing in their offices, and had had the presence of mind to bring them. Most of them had changed on the jet, and were now appropriately dressed for satellite duty. Thompson, who liked to take full advantage of the sexual opportunities that gravitated to men of his powerful position, mentally catalogued the rest of the staffers, as their now-unintentionally-risqué appearance would give him something to look forward to—and take full advantage of—later that day.

To one of those women in particular, he caught with an eye and motioned her over. The staffer walked over smartly, her skirt shifting back and forth with the cadence of her long legs. She moved close enough to Thompson for him to catch a whiff of her cologne, and said, “Yes, sir?”

“Gail, make yourself available for debriefing tonight,” Thompson said casually. “And put in a call for the President. See if Miss Vaughn is aboard.” Gail nodded and smiled knowingly, turned and started to walk away, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. Thompson, looking past her at the other staffers, said, “Tell Meryl to join us at debriefing, too.” Gail’s expression barely shifted, but she proceeded away a bit more briskly when he finally released her shoulder.

While he had spoken to Gail, the first of the Presidential transports had arrived outside of the reception area. It was a tram car much like others in Verdant, but reserved for High House staff only and built a bit more heavily in deference to protecting the President. The secret service agents quickly checked the vehicle, and then signaled for the President and the Chief of Staff to enter. Lambert and Thompson climbed into the vehicle, and before the door closed, another of the male staffers stepped up to the vehicle. “I have the report on the present state of Verdant.” Thompson motioned him inside with them. Once he was inside, the door was closed, and the tram moved off for the Presidential Compound. Other trams pulled up to ferry the rest of the staff along with them.

As they moved through subsurface railways, heading for the open air beyond the bays, the staffer took an electronic tablet from his breast pocket, a government-issue model with a brushed nickel case. He brought his tablet up and waited for a sign that the President and Thompson were ready for his report, then began: “Just as we were arriving, Verdant CnC declared Level four conservation restrictions satellite-wide. That’s basically minor rationing of water and staples, and temporary shutdown or cutbacks in select energy use. The number of already-cancelled freight deliveries means they are going to have to shut down at least three full manufacturing plants, and sections of a few others, possibly for the duration of the crisis. U.N. reports of their stores suggest they can go without supplies from Earth for at least a month, then they’ll have to go to Level three restrictions. All senior personnel are aboard, and they are not listing a shortage of required personnel in any area.”

“How are the people taking the news?” Lambert asked.

“A few grumbles,” the staffer replied. “No one likes even Level four restrictions. You’ll hear some howling when they go to three, but mostly from the upper-level executives.”

After a moment, Lambert nodded, and the staffer lowered his tablet. Lambert glanced at Thompson. “Along with everything else, as long as the satellites can’t get raw stocks, we’ll be losing the goods they ship down. That’s an extra hit on our economy.”

“We might want to keep that in mind, if we need leverage for anything,” Thompson agreed. “We might need to stay here for awhile. And given the conditions of things on the ground, we can expect to be involved in some serious negotiations in the near future.” He glanced over to the staffer, who was poised ready to bring his tablet back up if needed. Thompson shook his head, and the staffer lowered the tablet.

Meanwhile, Lambert was nodding. “The immigration restrictions,” he intoned. “This is going to qualify as a crisis mode. It will be impossible for the U.N. to deny us the right to negotiate higher quotas for the satellites. We’ll need them as sanctuaries for as much of the ground population as we can get up here.”

“Sir,” the staffer interjected, his hand flashing over the touchscreen of his tablet, “the U.N. has remained firm on the sovereign status of the satellites and their quotas during the past four challenges, and all of the satellites have documentation that proves they are either at, or slightly above, sustainable capacity right now.”

“Optimal capacity, obviously,” Lambert said to the staffer. “But optimal is a best-case scenario, Harley. They can accommodate more people if they have to.” The staffer, who knew better than to contradict the President, nodded silently.

At that moment, the tram exited the sublevel railways, and they could see the open area of the satellite through the tram’s thick transparent roof. The three of them glanced quickly upward to take it in, and only the staffer, Harley, brought his glance back down to the President after only a few seconds.

Verdant was a massive cylindrical superstructure, enclosing a collection of cylinders within cylinders, twenty in all, each one a level, known as a “floor,” housing apartments, offices, greenspaces, gardens and public areas. Most floors rotated independently at a high-enough rate to generate the equivalent of a standard Earth gravity: Notable exceptions were Floor 3, dedicated to hospital functions, which rotated at a slower pace to create an approximation of lunar gravity to aid physical recuperation; and portions of the science and research floors, which either rotated at various rates, or not at all, to provide different levels of gravity as required by the researchers. Only the outer floor, Floor 20, and the central column, Floor Zero, extended the length of the satellite—from the “north” to the “south” poles—the rest of the floors extending from each pole, or from only one of the poles, and ending in terraces that overlooked or underhung other floors in a staggered but attractive pattern. This allowed the outer floor, and certain areas of the inner floors, to enjoy an open “sky” that extended, in some places, all the way to that floor’s opposite wall, and included the added visual sight of balconies rotating at various rates, each one above slightly faster than the one below. Many of the floors had high-enough “skies” to allow the formation of hills and pastures, mainly on the south end of the satellite, encompassing wooded areas, parks, even lakes and streams. Others provided park areas in the living spaces, where the lowest ceiling of any one floor was still a respectable four meters in height.

All of the satellites had essentially been built this way, even Qing, the Chinese satellite, with minor variations between them. The satellites had been commissioned by the U.N. when concerns about the consequences of global warming, and mankind’s inability to reverse the process, originally forced the world to consider the radical idea of moving humanity off of the planet almost altogether. It was proposed that small numbers of humans, taking advantage of automation, could continue to live on the ground and provide needed raw materials to the satellites, allowing the bulk of the population to live in relative safety in multiple orbital oases… basically, removing humans from the environment they were so good at ruining, and which threatened someday to retaliate and overwhelm them.

However, budgetary limitations scaled back the project severely, leaving only three satellites built by the charter, the third co-funded by the remaining oil barons of the Mid-East, and a fourth by China exclusively. Most of the human population still lived on the ground, and the overriding proportion of them wished fervently that they could live on the satellites instead.

“Look at that,” Lambert said, prompting Harley to look upward again. “Look at all the open, relatively unused space in here. They made every effort to create these fancy greenspaces and luxurious high ceilings, but there’s room for plenty more living space in those unused areas! They could double the population here, with just some creative redesigning.”

“The ecosystem is supposed to be balanced for the existing population,” Harley pointed out, doing his best to sound factual and not contrary. “According to their engineers, a satellite this size could not carry the resources needed for double the population.”

“In an optimal scenario,” Lambert repeated. “But these people live in relative luxury now! They can afford to cut back on resources… food… power use… and spread the wealth a bit.”

“That’ll be a hard-sell to the U.N.,” Harley stated.

“The U.N. may feel differently, when the populations of the world are banging on their doors,” Thompson commented.

Lambert shared a glance with him, and nodded in agreement. “Harley, when we get in, have the staff work up a plausible emergency operations scenario for the satellites, based on our original specs. I want it ready in the morning to present to the U.N.”

Harley nodded, put his tablet in his suit pocket, and said no more.

~

The Presidential Compound was not much of a compound, in a traditional Earth-bound sense of mansions or collections of houses surrounded by acres of land. In fact, beyond the one building, there was not much land that was actually devoted to it as grounds. But it was situated in one of the protected parks on the southern side of Verdant, where individual access was generally limited in order to avoid damage to the flora and fauna there. Since access was controlled anyway, it made sense to put a high-security building there.

The four-story structure, equipped with apartments, work areas, independent security and communications stations, and the Presidential residence, had been leased to the U.S. Government as their secure facility on Verdant… what some people liked to call the “High-High House.” The building was nondescript from the outside, owing to the simple vertically-oriented carbon façade, and to the high-security windows that blended in with the design of the façade so well that outsiders could not accurately tell where walls ended and windows began. The President used the compound as a retreat, occasionally for actual relaxation, but usually to conduct business away from the rigors of the High House in Denver. It was also the unofficial United States Embassy on Verdant, and as such, had a small contingent of American citizens and a few Verdant citizens always stationed there.

Those workers were all outside the entrance to the compound, like a line of expectant servants greeting their Lord and Master, when the tram with the President pulled up to the gate. Once they’d received the official “all clear” signal from security, Lambert got out, and ran down the line greeting and shaking hands with the embassy staff, all of whom he could address by first name. Thompson followed behind him, speaking directly to a few of the embassy staffers, shaking hands with most of them. Harley followed along, addressing only a few people that he knew directly, and otherwise remaining unobtrusive. Once that was accomplished, they all headed inside the building, and the President, Thompson and Harley took the right arm of a double flight of stairs that led to the second floor, and the Presidential offices.

The interior of the building belied its simple exterior, being filled with antique furniture, rich dark woods (half of which had probably been on the endangered lists when they were harvested), expensive accents and state-of-the-art IT. A lot of trouble had been taken to rebuild some elements, like antique lamps, to function with modern lighting units and ambient sensors, but continue to look like their counterparts of past centuries. The overall effect was that of a late-twentieth-century corporate office, considered by historians to be the high-point of modern business opulence, if not efficiency.

The staffers other than Harley had not yet arrived (the first of them were only now pulling up in the second of nine trams following the President’s transport), but the workstations in the main space had been maintained by cleaning staff and looked as if they had been used just yesterday. Harley planted himself at one workstation and activated the intelligence system with a quick thumb-swipe, as Lambert and Thompson continued on to the President’s Office. Despite its regular use as an auxiliary President’s office, it was not oval in layout… only the office in the High House was designed to resemble the famous Oval Office in the original White House, back in what little was still above water in Washington, D.C. But it also looked as if it had been used as recently as that morning.

The President took a leisurely turn through the office, then settled behind the desk, flicked his thumb across the login sensor, and watched the displays mounted beneath the glass-topped surface snap on in his customized orientation. The screens displayed data on the state of the United States at that moment, as well as data on the Verdant satellite that corroborated with Harley’s report, and added information gleaned from other news reports and data collectors by the embassy staff.

Lambert concentrated on the United States reports, which were not good: Besides the nationwide flight cancellations, the ash was beginning to have an effect on the ground, causing abrasive and choking dust-storms in the states surrounding Wyoming. The word “ash,” in this case, was an unfortunate misnomer, suggesting light flakes of carbon, something that drifts out of a campfire, to most of the public… when in fact, it mostly consisted of fine grains of rock, in sizes that ranged from pinprick to golf-ball, spewing out of the caldera, buoyed aloft by the hot gasses, and eventually raining down on everything below it. Local fields and forests were getting stripped down to nothing… it was clear that any crops that were in the path of the advancing ash clouds would be wiped out. The ash was fine enough to be inhaled, and could cause immediate suffocation at worst, or at best, enough of a build-up in the lungs to cause cancer and other ailments in later months or years. The ash was also capable of wearing down surfaces like sandpaper: Clear surfaces like glass would become permanently clouded over; protective finishes would be scraped away, leaving buildings, vehicles, roads, machinery, anything, more exposed to the elements afterward; and wear and replacement schedules would be accelerated for anything exposed to the ash.

Possibly worst of all, the ash cloud would immediately impact the power industry. The cloud itself would most directly block the millions of acres of solar cell installations that depended on the Sun’s light and heat to generate electricity. Once the ash descended from the sky and impacted the cells directly, it would wear away at their surfaces, tearing away or obscuring the multiple chemical layers that did the work of converting solar energy into electricity, and efficiencies would drop severely… essentially all of those solar cells would have to be replaced outright. Windmills would similarly suffer major damage from ash-related wear, worse than any dust-storm, and would also certainly need replacement. Only their tidal systems would be left, but they mostly provided power only to coastal regions… though possibly they would be barely adequate for the major coastal cities, they would certainly not be enough for the entire country.

The United States had come so far from its twentieth century pollution levels, its overly-generous contribution to global warming. It had waited so long, even after pretending to heed the warnings of scientists, that it had finally taken the severe droughts, the three-meter sea level rise (and still rising), and the loss of so much expensive American coastline property, to spur the country into decisive action… and after years of pain, it had actually been working. And now, after over a century of painful but successful national conversion from oil- and coal-based power sources to geothermal, hydro-tidal, solar and wind power sources, their sustainable infrastructure was about to come crashing down upon them.

And the most ironic of all, their geothermal industry would prove to be equally unable to provide power for the rest of the country, even in the face of a volcanic upheaval that was proving to be providing enough power for the entire country to run on every three minutes or so. Their most powerful geothermic plant complex had happened to be the old one at Yellowstone… and the nation had taken a large hit when geologic states were becoming so unstable there that the local area, including the geothermic plant, had had to be shut down and evacuated. Though proposals to restart it and run it purely on automation had been forwarded multiple times, they had never been ratified and acted upon. That left the next-largest mainland plant, at Mount St. Helens, and many smaller plants around the country, but again, none of which provided more than a small fraction of America’s power needs. (And there would surely be those who would claim that the evacuated plant had somehow caused the caldera to finally breach—a claim akin to suggesting a mosquito-bite could cause a human body to detonate.)

Power gone, the nation’s breadbasket literally scoured, nothing running… it was a crisis of biblical proportions. And though it would be a slow process, Lambert guessed that within the month, the United States would be effectively, completely shut down.

Lambert reflected briefly on the thinking of the late-twentieth century regarding what was referred to as the Great Extinction Event of the late Cretaceous period… at the time, it was believed that a rogue asteroid impact had served to wipe out the dinosaurs. But by the mid-twenty-first century, scientists had come to a new conclusion: That runaway climate change had devastated the environment, ruining the food chain from plants-up and leaving the dinosaurs with nothing to live on, and that before the actual impact, they were already dying off and almost gone. If anything, the asteroid may have been the final nail on the coffin, but without the impact, there would have been the same result. And in this new scenario, the trigger had been volcanic activity: Specifically, the volcanic ranges west of India that had started the runaway global warming event. Man had been watching for its expected death-knell in the wrong direction—the Extinction Event had not been triggered from without, but from within. And the likelihood of future such events were statistically more likely to happen than any potential asteroid collision.

Scientists and reporters were already picking up on the parallels, and the ironies, of the two eras: Many of them were stating that there was, at this point, nothing that could be done; that Man’s time on the planet was as done as the dinosaur’s. Geologic history was repeating itself, and for the human race, the fat lady had sung.

And it was happening on Lambert’s watch. All the good he had accomplished, all the positive improvements he’d made to his country during his term, would be wiped out, both literally and historically, by this one event. He had been damned by unfortunate circumstance.

President Lambert looked up. He realized Thompson was standing there, silently watching him. He managed a weak smile and said, “I’m all right. Let’s talk about our meeting with the Ceo.”

~

The satellite-wide ambient lighting had begun to dim hours earlier, in sync with Greenwich Mean Time, the official time on-board all of the satellites. That meant that it was not that late to Lambert and Thompson, at about the time most people on-board Verdant were already in bed.

Nonetheless, Lambert felt exhausted, mostly from the mental stress, the deep-down feeling that everything he had accomplished in life had all gone down the drain in one day. So, when he and Thompson finally knocked off for the day, he felt he only had enough energy to take the elevator, the one meant to be used only for those visitors who were of limited ambulatory means, to get to the penthouse suite of the building, the Presidential Suite, two floors up.

Lambert entered the suite, barely nodding to the agent posted in the landing’s lobby, and started to strip off his jacket the moment he closed the door behind him. “Good evening, sir,” PJ, the house butler, greeted him as he entered. “Nice to see you back.”

“Hello, P.J.,” Lambert replied. Electronic house butlers could, of course, be named anything. Many of them were simply addressed as “Butler” by their owners. But it had been decided at some point, decades ago, that the official butler of the Presidential Suite needed a proper name of some sort, to distinguish it from the rest. By unofficial decree, the name was often only referred to by its initials—some historians suspected it had had something to do with past use of the system for clandestine affairs, and that using initials, full names, or other derivations, was a private way to keep official and unofficial affairs separate… a suspicion that had, of course, never been proven—“PJ” was short for “President’s Jeeves.”

As Lambert trudged towards the bedrooms on the north end of the suite, PJ asked, “Can I get you anything, sir?”

“Send my usual evening drink to the bedroom,” Lambert replied. “Any messages?”

“Just one,” PJ replied, “as follows: ‘Miss Vaughn is here.’”

PJ made that statement, just as Lambert was opening the bedroom double-doors. He paused as the doors swung open, and took in the view of the room from there, allowing his eyes to stop, not on the bed, but at the coffee table and divan beside the balcony. A woman reclined across the divan, facing the balcony and the view, and upon hearing the doors open, shifted leisurely to a seated position, the side slit on her silk skirt shifting as she turned to reveal almost everything south of her hips. She smiled at Lambert, and held up a tumbler that was identical to one that waited on the coffee table.

“And so she is,” Lambert smiled tiredly. “You can cancel that drink order.” He walked inside, allowing the doors to close silently behind him. He crossed over to the divan, and sat down. “Hello, Shay.”

“Hello, Gaston,” she smiled, using one slender hand to brush her shoulder-length auburn hair away from her face. She used the other hand to reach down to the coffee table, and hand him the glass. “You’ve had quite a day.”

“I’d like to say, ‘you don’t know the half of it’,” Lambert nodded, and took a swig from the tumbler. “But I’m pretty sure that you, and everybody else, know exactly the day I’ve had.”

She regarded him levelly, her eyes dancing in the light. “Are you all right?”

Lambert regarded her critically, though calculating more about himself than her. As for her, Shay was one of the most gorgeous creatures he’d ever laid eyes on, a nigh-elemental force. Her skin was a rich, deep, almost reddish-brown that was uncommon of most African-American women. She had an expressive almond-shaped face, dominated by prominent round cheekbones; her eyes were a dark brown with sparkling highlights, so striking that they operated much like miniature black holes, sucking you into their influence whether you liked it or not. She had a strong, lush figure and the legs of a singularly athletic goddess. As for himself, he would’ve given anything to be able to forget his troubles and just hold her, ride her, all day long. But unfortunately, it had already been a long, long day. Momentarily, he gave a small wince and a shrug. “Tired, mostly.”

“Can I—”

“Can you do me a favor?” Lambert interrupted her, and drained the tumbler. “Can we just not talk about it for a few minutes?”

Shay Vaughn regarded him sympathetically, and nodded. “I understand.” She put her tumbler on the coffee table, next to his, and shifted around to drape an exquisitely-toned arm over his shoulder. Lambert allowed himself to slump into the divan, and Shay rested her head lightly against his, gently caressing his temple with her hand as she held his hand with the other.

3: Plans

06Aug2229

“Daddy, help me! I can’t find my ledlight!”

“Oh, Erin,” Calvin sighed the universal sigh of barely-tolerant parental frustration, “every time we have to go through this…”

“It was right here!” his daughter retorted as she dug through her desk drawers haphazardly, shoving things around in one drawer with one hand while pulling items from another drawer out onto the floor with the other. Her eyes always seemed to be engaged with the hand that was doing the least at any one time. “I just had it last week!”

“Keep looking,” Maria called from the kitchen. “Let your father finish his work.”

“Or it won’t matter whether you find your ledlight,” Calvin added from his office. He tried to tune out his daughter’s continued pleas for her mother to help her look, while he bent over his workstation. He was finishing his last report for On High, the Verdant news agency that regularly commissioned him for science-related commentary and consultation, and officially the last thing he had to do before he and his family could go on their camping trip. He was intent on finishing it quickly, because he suspected if he waited too long, he would be dragged into the mess going on down on Earth, and although he would not have said so aloud—because it would be bad for his reputation—he hoped to avoid it, at least for a few days.

The sudden cessation of commotion, and desperate voices, from Erin’s room indicated that she had found her ledlight, as Cal knew she would… crisis-of-the-minute over. Good: Just need a good wrap-up…

“Honey, should we bring the large jar of sauce for the barbeque, or will the small one be enough?”

Cal managed to avoid jumping at his wife’s sudden appearance at the office doorway, but he could not hide the fact that his train of thought was broken by the interruption. Doing his best to mask his irritation, he looked at his wife, and the two jars she held in her hands. “Bring the large one, dear,” he said quickly.

“Oh.” Maria bit her lower lip. “I broke your concentration… sorry, honey!” She elevated the large jar and smiled. “Large jar it is.” Then she hurried back to the kitchen.

“Sauce…” Cal muttered, as he tried to get his concentration back. “Ingredients… secret ingredient…” After a moment, his fingers flew across the keyboard. His muse appropriately piqued, his words came faster and faster, until he was audibly humming in an increasing crescendo as he neared the end. Abruptly, he stopped typing, and humming, and he leaned forward to examine the words he’d just deposited on the workstation screen. Then he lifted a hand as he said, “Aaannndd…” he quickly brought the hand down and struck the key to send the report off. “Done!”

“Good for you, Cal,” Maria was saying, but Calvin was already out of his chair and heading for the bedroom. He noted that his wife’s voice did not sound as enthusiastic as he would have liked… he hoped he was over-reacting. But as he passed by his daughter’s room, he caught Erin’s eye, and she gave him a look that spoke volumes. It was going to be another one of those camping trips.

“Finish your packing,” Calvin admonished his daughter as he passed by her room. “If we’re fast, we can be out of here in—” He stopped speaking when he reached his bedroom. There, next to his half-finished backpack, was his wife’s pack, which had not been started. “Oh, jeez,” he whispered, then, in a louder voice, “Maria!”

“Well, I had to finish getting the food together, didn’t I?” Maria was already at the door, stepping past her husband almost before he knew she was there, and opening the first dresser drawer on her side of the room. “Besides, it’s not as if that park is going anywhere, is it?”

Calvin wisely avoided commenting, and set to work finishing his own packing.

He had his pack about finished, when Erin, with her frighteningly larger pack, shuffled by the bedroom. “Mom, did you pack the hotdogs?”

“Honey,” Maria protested gamely, “you have to eat more than hotdogs on this trip!”

“We’re going camping, Mom!—”

“They’re made of tofu and mushrooms, they’re hardly hotdogs at all,” Calvin muttered to himself, just as the com beeped on the nightstand. “Agh—” He stepped around the bed to reach for the com, thinking, that Clegg, he knows I’m going on vacation, if he wants the report tweaked, he knows he can give it to Bailey and she’ll polish it up… he bent over and hit the answer button. “Clegg, just give it to Bailey, she’ll take care of it—”

“Dr. Rios? This is the Ceo’s office.”

Calvin froze, then winced and pursed his lips. He looked down at the com’s screen, where it displayed the unmistakable ident of the CnC. After a pause, he said, “Sorry… yes, this is Dr. Rios.”

“The Ceo urgently requests your presence at a meeting with the President of the United States this morning.”

“This morning?” Calvin repeated.

“At ten hundred,” the voice said. Calvin didn’t recognize the voice… but he knew no one would be crazy enough to spoof a call from the Ceo’s office. Not even the jokers he worked with. “The Ceo and the President will be discussing the situation on Earth caused by Yellowstone. He needs you as scientific advisor to represent Verdant’s position.”

Calvin did not want to speak. A small sound alerted him to his daughter, standing in the bedroom threshold. He could see his wife standing behind her, almost but not quite hidden around the corner.

Before he could reply, to the com or to his family, the com spoke again: “Is there a problem, Dr. Rios?”

Calvin winced again, and said through clenched teeth, “No. No problem.” He allowed his face to relax, and allow the resignation to seep in. “I’ll be there at ten hundred.”

“The Ceo requests you be there at least ten minutes sooner,” the com stated.

“Of course,” Calvin said.

“Thank you, Doctor.” The com went silent.

Calvin keyed off the com, and straightened up. Slowly he turned, to face his wife and daughter. Erin’s face looked upset; Maria’s face was… something different… he sighed, hoping that it would effectively convey his displeasure of the situation. “Um… well, hopefully, it’ll just be a few hours’ delay. We can still get out of here by this afternoon.”

Erin’s face screwed up. “We won’t have time for the hike!”

Maria immediately stepped forward. “Now, honey, we’ll get some hiking in,” she said, draping her arms around her daughter’s shoulders. “It’s a fairly benign hike, as it is. We won’t miss much.” Erin’s face changed perceptively, her disappointment slowly changing to anger. She was about to turn on her mother, but before she could, Calvin stepped forward and took his daughter’s shoulders in his hands.

He kissed his daughter on the forehead, and said, “Don’t fret, honey, we’ll just be late. It’ll be fine!” He reached over and gave his wife a peck on the cheek, and said, “I’d better get ready.” He gave them both a squeeze, then turned and opened his closet.

Just let me get out of here in time—

~

The tram deposited Calvin a floor below the CnC at fifteen minutes before ten. He’d almost missed that one, in the time it had taken him to change into more business-suited clothing, then attempt to soothe his daughter’s ruffled feathers before he left. Not that it would have helped, as he’d just left Erin and Maria alone to stew over another trip to the park, and that was not a good situation. It seemed that, as much as Erin loved spending weekends and overnights in the Verdant parks, Maria seemed to be developing a growing loathing for it. It had become a constant battle with her, even to get her to come… the parks were simply not good enough for her.

“Not as good as Earth,” she would say.

“What Earth? Where on Earth?” would be his inevitable retort. There simply were no more pristine or virgin forests, no places where the air wasn’t noticeably less than clear and blue, the temperature wasn’t a bit too hot to make even a forest’s shade comfortable, no coastlines that were fit to swim in. Unless, of course, you counted the pathetically few still-clean places that were now under governmental lock and key, to prevent wherever possible further damage being done to them by humans.

“Find us a nice place to go,” he would say, “and we’ll go.” Anything to make her happy, translation, to stop her going on and on about it. And to her credit, Maria did look. But whatever she found always turned out, upon even a cursory inspection, to be restricted, submerged, fetid, or just plain gone. It had been decades since most of those places were habitable or even open… Calvin doubted even Maria had actually been to such a place in her childhood, though she always insisted that she had, no, I don’t remember the name, it was somewhere near Raleigh, or near the Ozarks, you know, that place…

It was making their time together more and more difficult, and that was making Calvin more and more short-tempered by the day. And for a media personality, being short-tempered was decidedly not an asset. Even now, as he rushed up the stairs to the CnC floor and found a moving sidewalk to speed his progress, he could not stop thinking about what this crisis, this worldwide crisis he was being summoned to discuss with the leaders of Verdant and the United States, would ultimately do to his marriage…

“Dr. Rios?”

The voice of one of the CnC’s interns interrupted his reverie as he approached the CnC offices. “Oh, hi, Red. Have they started?”

“Not yet, sir,” the intern replied, turning her body to the left. Her bright red pony-tailed hair invited him to follow. “They wanted me to bring you to conference room four when you arrived.”

“Four?” That was one of the larger conference rooms. “Are we meeting with all of Congress, too?”

The intern grinned slightly. “I don’t think it’s a large group, Doctor. It’s a security thing, I think.”

Of course, Calvin mused: The President needed his security, and room four was best equipped with room for guards, cameras, and emergency exits. Dismissing that thought, then, his mind turned back to his own issues for a moment, and a new idea occurred to him. “Did anyone call Dr. Silver? I’d think she’d be more qualified than I to talk to the President about Verdant.”

“I heard they couldn’t reach her… or she couldn’t get away in time, or something.” Red looked back at him apologetically. I’m just taking you where they told me to take you. She looked like she was considering offering to find out for him, though he knew that it was not really in her job description to cater to him.

“S’okay,” he said simply, and shrugged it off.

They arrived at the entrance to conference room four, where two healthy-looking men in black suits stood at either side of the double-door. When they saw him, one of them stepped forward with a hand scanner. “Dr. Rios?” Calvin nodded, extending his hand and placing his thumb upon the silvered oval of the scanner. After a second’s pause, a friendly-sounding series of beeps sounded, and the security man nodded. “Go on in.”

Calvin was only partially surprised that the President was not already there when he opened the door. Inside, Ceo Julian Lenz, Eo Reya Luis and Coo Aaron Hardy were already seated at one side of the table, Lenz in the middle of the three. “Morning,” Calvin said, and walked over to that side of the table, pulling up a chair next to Reya Luis at the far side.

“Good morning, Doctor,” Julian greeted him directly, while the other two nodded. They were all familiar with each other, Calvin being the Verdant Science Advisor… not really an official position, but a public and prestigious one. The Director of Science on Verdant was Dr. Jacqueline Silver, and Calvin was still amazed that she was not here … but lacking her availability, he was usually next to be called for public or policy issues. “I assume,” Julian said once Calvin was seated, “that you’re familiar with the goings-on on Earth?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Calvin replied sadly, mentally shifting into professional mode. “Things are going to be pretty rough for awhile. For everyone.”

“Yes,” Julian agreed. “The President just got off-planet himself before air traffic was officially grounded over all of North America. He may be here for awhile, too. And while he is, we expect him to renew his efforts to increase immigration quotas to the satellites, especially this one and Tranquil.”

“And ignore the facts?” Calvin asked. “Reputable scientists, the satellite GLISes, and every IS that has examined the issue say that the satellites are already above sustainable human capacity. Do they really think turning the sats into orbiting cattle-cars is going to help matters?”

“Doctor,” Reya spoke up next to him, “as far as we can determine, Earth may be stacking up bodies like cordwood soon. I don’t think looking for any way out will be beyond their interest… even if it’s not an optimum one.”

“We need to be firm,” Julian added. “We need to be able to give them the facts, and make clear why they must be followed… or we’ll be crash-landing this satellite on their doorstep, whether they like it or not.”

“I think it’s fair to say they wouldn’t be pleased about that,” Calvin agreed.

“So: You’re our Man of Reason today,” Julian said. “Be ready to be eloquent.”

Calvin smiled. “What happened to Dr. Silver?”

“Unavoidably detained,” Aaron volunteered. Apparently he felt he needed to supply more info, so he added: “She was sealed up in a clean room when we called. Hopefully she’ll be out soon enough to get here.”

There was a commotion outside, felt more than heard through the conference walls. A moment later, the double-doors opened, and President Lambert walked into the room, followed closely by Enu Thompson and Harley, the staffer. On unspoken cue, everyone rose when the President entered. Two Verdant security guards followed them in, and took places at either side of the door, mirroring the American secret service men outside. Lambert started around the table, and Ceo Lenz met him halfway, the two leaders shaking hands warmly. Though the title Ceo, due to its commercial roots, was generally less officious-sounding than a state title, as far as the U.N. was concerned, a Ceo of the satellites, being sovereign territories, were equal in stature to the President or any other country’s ruler. Lambert and Julian exchanged the usual pleasantries, then Julian re-introduced Eo Luis and Coo Hardy to him. He concluded with an introduction to Calvin Rios.

“Dr. Rios,” Lambert smiled, shaking Calvin’s hand after Aaron’s. “I’ve seen your news reports.”

“Thank you, sir,” Calvin replied noncommittally to a matter-of-fact statement, but had not expected more, so he smiled graciously.

In turn, the President re-introduced Thompson to the Verdant side of the table. Calvin was meeting Thompson for the first time, and he noted a strong handshake from the intense-looking African. Lambert then introduced the staffer, Harley, who seemed reasonably at-ease in the room full of political heavyweights… or perhaps just too preoccupied with the reason he was there to worry about matching his credentials against theirs. They all sat down, and by custom, the leaders poured water into glasses and exchanged them; each took a sip, then allowed the others to help themselves.

“Are any of the latest ground reports encouraging?” Julian asked as an opening.

“I’m afraid not so good,” Lambert replied. “The weather patterns are going crazy, all through North America. The ash has caused some freak storms, some of them with severe winds and lightning, and they’ve done a lot of spot damage. And the larger ash particles are already doing damage of their own. The Great Plains wind farms are trying to trim for extreme weather, but frankly, they weren’t built for volcanic bombardment. Even if this thing ended tomorrow, it would take us years to clean up some of the damage we’ve already had.”

“And,” Calvin interrupted, “are geologists giving any idea yet when they think it might end?”

“None,” Thompson replied. “Some of them suggest we may have been better off with one big eruption, instead of this constant stream. And you can’t get any of them to commit to an estimate of duration. They think the final effect will be much more widespread.”

“And they are probably right,” Calvin confirmed. “Pre-existing weather patterns will have time to carry the ash further. A single eruption would create damage that was bad, but more localized. A constant outflow could potentially impact the entire planet.”

“We’re all in a bind now,” the President said. “This is going to affect materials and goods transfer between the ground and the satellites.”

“Our major economic engine,” Julian added. The importing of raw materials and supplies to the satellites, and the exporting of products that were most efficiently made in orbit, constituted the primary trade between the ground and the satellites, and played a major part in keeping their joint economies rolling. With curtailed trade, the economies of both satellites and ground nations were going to be problematic at best. “We’ve already made arrangements to scale back factory operations, in expectation of that. We’re also talking to vendors about ballistic deliveries, for the time being. Maybe you can help with that.”

Lambert nodded. Sending shipments via ballistic rockets, essentially robotic guided missiles, was not as efficient, and they could not carry as much, as the big freighters, and everyone at the table knew this. It would suffice for small and emergency supplies, but not well, and not for long. “I’ll try to allocate additional resources to the ballistics manufacturers. Given the state of the atmosphere, we probably can’t expect those ballistics to last for more than a few flights. That’ll be tough, too.”

“Perhaps,” Thompson said, “it would be a good idea to provide us with your list of priority items. That way, we can concentrate our efforts to bolster shipments where it will do you the most good.”

“We can do that,” Aaron nodded. “And we’d be glad to prioritize our factory production towards your most critical needs … provided, of course, that we can get the raw materials.”

“I foresee the need to balance our needs and your needs against the available cargo space on the ballistics,” Thompson stated. “That’s going to be difficult.” Here it comes, Calvin mused. “We might be able to help each other here, though… possibly an easing on expected product shipments from Verdant, in exchange for other concessions, to be named later.”

“Maybe we should name them now,” Julian suggested coolly.

Julian and Thompson locked eyes. Aaron, ever the stumbling diplomat, tried to help. “After all, we may need to start planning now for future changes to operations or resource allocation. We—”

“We’d like to see an easing of immigration quotas,” Thompson cut Aaron off. “Effective as soon as the flight restrictions are over.”

Julian continued to look at Thompson, and his expression lightened slightly, as if he was glad the real subject of the meeting was now out in the open. Aaron, already chastened by being interrupted, did not reply. Reya simply glanced expectantly at Calvin, and that was all the indication he needed that the ball was in his court.

“Mister Thompson, you know the data as well as we do,” Calvin started. “Your ISs and ours have all come to the identical conclusions: Verdant, Tranquil, Fertile and Qing, being limited biospaces, and designed as independently unsustainable as it is, are already over designed occupational capacity. They are drawing more resources than they are designed to handle, and producing more waste than they are designed to reprocess, due to the overpopulation that already exists.”

“Drawing those resources from us, I might add,” Thompson stated. “And we are accepting those waste products.”

“Which you shouldn’t have to,” Calvin pointed out. “We should be able to reprocess and recycle our own waste products… it’s more efficient than shipping it down, and shipping more resources back. Yes, our present overpopulation means we are using more than our share of your resources, and sending you more trash besides. For all of us, it’s generating a net loss. And if we allow more people up here, it will only make things less efficient up here, which will mean more trash and less resources for you.”

“The satellites are running in an ideal biospace situation,” Lambert pointed out. “Your use of materials and generation of waste are engineered according to that spec. But things are changing rapidly, Doctor. We can no longer afford the luxury of ideal living situations.”

“There’s nothing ‘luxurious’ or ‘ideal’ about our living conditions,” Reya pointed out quickly, but before she could elaborate, Calvin went on.

“Can we afford shutting down the satellites? Because they are simply not able to be retrofitted to be cattle cars.”

“Who’s talking about cattle cars?” Thompson snapped. “We’re talking about maybe a five percent increase in immigration levels… probably just during the crisis.”

“That would mean almost tripling our resident population within a year,” Aaron retorted quickly. If nothing else, Calvin thought, Aaron knows his numbers. “We couldn’t operate like that at all.”

“Maybe not ideally,” Thompson admitted. “But under emergency conditions, we believe you can do it.”

“Do you?” Julian cocked an eyebrow. “And how many satellites do you run, Mister Thompson?”

“The United States provided the lion’s share of the funds to build Verdant and Tranquil,” Lambert stated.

“Under U.N. guidance and supervision,” Julian countered. “It was not a U.S. project.”

“We know something about how these satellites are put together,” Lambert insisted lightly, and inclined his head to Harley. Harley, in turn, held out a memory chip. “This is an emergency protocol outline that would allow Verdant to operate with as much as five times the current population.”

Reya allowed a rude noise to escape her lips, and looked at Harley’s chip with clear disdain. Aaron simply said, “Preposterous.” Julian and Lambert regarded each other stonily for a moment, and Calvin finally took the opportunity to accept the chip that Harley held out. Reya actually threw a mean glance at him, as if even accepting the chip somehow indicated their acceptance of its implication, or their willingness to discuss anything on it. But Calvin knew the only way to refute the evidence, was to look at it in the first place.

“We’ve taken the liberty of forwarding this to Geneva,” Thompson said.

Reya’s eyes snapped back to Thompson, and were now noticeably cold. She was managing to live up to the embodiment of the “fiery Latin temperament,” and Calvin idly considered whether there might be some good-cop-bad-cop staging at work here. Julian, clearly the good cop in this scenario, shrugged. “Just because the U.N. has a copy, doesn’t mean we will be overridden. The satellites are sovereign territory. The U.N. does not have the right to tell us to accept larger immigration quotas.”

“No,” Lambert agreed. “But they will know the facts. And if the U.S. finds it can no longer supply the resources we have in the past under current agreements, they will understand both sides of this story.”

“America’s usual side of the story,” Reya cut in. “You want, we won’t give, so you invent a justification to take anyway—”

Julian put out a hand in Reya’s direction, palm down. Reya subsided instantly, and looked to her superior, but her expression was not apologetic. “Mister President, it won’t be in either of our interests to fight over our joint resources and needs. We’ll need to work together to survive this crisis. But I’m afraid moving more people to the satellites is not the answer. Obviously I can’t speak for the other sats, but as for Verdant, we extend every desire to provide what tools, equipment and manufactured goods you need to help you get through this. But we cannot extend to compromising our safety and sustainability. After all, it won’t do to wreck our biosystem and have to bring everyone here back down there… will it?”

Lambert regarded him evenly. “Ceo Lenz, the United States, and the world, is in a crisis situation. We need to use every means at our disposal to get us all through this crisis… and you should be aware that that will mean changes to business as usual. We will all have to sacrifice a lot… to get through this,” he finished, making a point to emphasize Julian’s words to him.

Lambert stood up, and the rest of the table stood with him. “I’ll talk to our ballistics producers and suppliers,” he said. “I’d like to suggest you consider the data on that chip. It may go a long way towards smoothing out the rough spots.”

“We’ll look at it,” Julian said flatly.

~

At the end of the meeting, there was no shaking of hands on the way out. Lambert simply rose, nodded, turned, and headed for the door. Thompson and Harley followed him, only Harley sparing a glance behind him, which mostly rested on Calvin, before he left the room. The Verdant security guards stepped out of the room with them, and at Julian’s nonverbal cue, the last one closed the door behind him.

The four of them sat back down at the table. Aaron was the first to speak: “Well, we knew it was coming, and there it is. They plan to blackmail us with immigrants for our supplies.”

“Five times the population!” Reya sneered.

Calvin shrugged at her. “They know that number’s ridiculous. They’re just hoping to get us to settle for something in the middle… like two to three times the population.”

“Not even twice,” Aaron said. “We simply can’t manage it.” Julian looked at Calvin for a response.

“I agree,” Calvin said without hesitation. “We couldn’t produce enough clean air for twice the population, much less run anything else. If we don’t starve first, or drown in our own sewage, it’ll only be because we asphyxiated first.”

“They must know that,” Reya muttered. “They have the same data we have! How can they not know that?”

“They’re desperate,” Julian stated.

“And they don’t live in such a closed system as this,” Aaron added. “They can’t comprehend the difficulties… the delicate balances involved… because they have a whole planet to absorb their messes.”

“Not anymore,” Reya muttered when Aaron paused. He continued on as if she hadn’t spoken.

“They think, if they can just ship up a few extra oxygen bottles, and more shovels to clean up the crap, we’ll be all right.” Calvin did a double-take… he hadn’t expected even such a mild expletive as that to come out of Aaron’s mouth. He generally wasn’t the type to use colorful language.

“Well, how are we going to make it clear to them?” Reya asked.

“The only way we can,” Julian replied. “We’ll make it clear that we can’t produce goods they need without the supplies we need. If pressed, we can get supplies from other countries.”

“But at much higher cost,” Aaron reminded him. “Few countries other than the U.S. are financially equipped to provide resources, in quantity, at a reasonable cost.”

“Cost is cost,” Julian said. “Everyone’s going to be scrambling. If the biggest result of this global crisis is that we spend more money to get what we need… we can count ourselves damned lucky.”

“I don’t think any of us will get off that lucky,” Calvin stated.

The room went silent for a moment. “Probably not,” Julian finally admitted. After another moment’s pause, he turned to Calvin. “Doctor, we’re going to need to put together an official response to Geneva about that report.” He pointed at the chip in Calvin’s hand. “Specific refutations of whatever points in there that would compromise our position with the U.N. Go through it, use the GLIS to pull whatever hard data you need for your counter-report. Dr. Silver should be able to help you, so I’d advise getting to her ASAP—wherever she is,” he added, casting an impatient look at Aaron. Back to Calvin, he said, “I want at least a preliminary by tomorrow morning.”

Calvin pursed his lips tightly. There goes the camping trip. Goodbye, family harmony. Hello, doghouse. Julian picked up on his obvious discomfort. “Yes?”

Calvin shook his head. “Nothing, sir, just some other plans I have to break. But I understand why this takes precedence.”

Julian nodded, and with that, the four of them rose to leave the conference room. As they walked out, Julian paused a step in order to drop a comforting hand on Calvin’s shoulder. “I’m sure your ‘other plans’ will appreciate the gravity of the situation.”

Calvin glanced at the older man, and smiled wryly. “Been a while since you were married, hasn’t it?”

Julian chuckled, and patted Calvin’s shoulder, allowing him to leave the room first and take a right turn that would take him away from the CnC. Once Calvin had moved off, Julian stopped, and his grin faded. Then he turned, stone-faced, and headed for CnC.

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