America.
Delgado walked him through the consoles to the display of the United States.
“Take a good look,” said the science advisor. “This is a real-time display, with the cloud cover removed.”
Jamie recognized the image, although as he stared at it he realized it looked slightly wrong, subtly different from the maps he was accustomed to.
Pointing with an outstretched arm, Delgado said, “We’re holding our own along the East Coast, pretty much, although the dams and flood control systems have cost us so much the federal budget’ll be in the red for generations to come.”
That’s why Washington isn’t under water, Jamie realized.
Delgado went on, “But take a look at the Gulf of Mexico. Look at Florida. See how the sea level is moving in.”
Jamie could see that the coastline he was familiar with was no longer there. The Gulf of Mexico was encroaching from Texas to the tip of Florida. He couldn’t find Galveston. Miami was an island, surrounded by the Atlantic.
“That’s the way it is today,” Delgado said, his voice grim. “Now see what happens in five years.”
The image shifted. Most of Florida disappeared under water. The Mississippi River swelled into a connected series of lakes that swallowed entire cities. The Gulf of Mexico grew noticeably larger and covered most of Louisiana.
“That’s what we’re up against, Jamie. And it’s not going to stop. The Arctic is melting down! So’s the Antarctic. Fresh water runoff from Greenland will interrupt the Gulf Stream in another couple of decades. Maybe sooner. When the Stream shuts down, Europe goes into the deep freeze.”
In the greenish light from the wall displays Delgado’s face looked splotched, ghastly. Jamie heard the bitterness in his voice, the anger.
“We’re facing major flooding of the country’s heartland. People in the Pentagon are talking about marching into Canada to take their wheat belt, for god’s sakes! And maybe a new Ice Age to top it all off!”
Jamie stared at him in silence.
“And you want to spend money on frigging Mars? You expect the president to give you a Christmas present, all wrapped up in a bow? Forget it!”
With a silent shake of his head Jamie turned away and started for the door. I won’t forget it, he said to himself. I can’t.
TITHONIUM BASE: CONFLICT
Chang Laodong looked distinctly uncomfortable as he sat behind his desk facing Carter Carleton. The mission director’s office was small but three of its four walls were covered with smart screens that displayed treasures of Chinese art: silk paintings of misty mountain scenes, statues of powerful arch-necked horses, the inevitable portraits of Buddha and Mao. Otherwise the office was strictly utilitarian, with only Chang’s desk, the chair before it, and a sofa and low table along one wall, flanked by two more small chairs.
As always, Chang was wearing high-collared blue coveralls. He had summoned Carleton to his office to discuss the anthropologist’s demand for field workers to help excavate the village site. In his mind’s eye, the mission director saw all his carefully prepared work schedules being torn apart, his meticulous plans being thrown into chaos.
Two hundred and forty-two men and women were based here at Tithonium, he knew. Biologists studying endolithic lichen and underground bacteria. Geologists studying satellite data of south polar cap melting. Atmospheric physicists investigating decline of moisture in atmosphere. Paleontologists searching for more rock dwellings along the walls of Grand Canyon. And the geysers: spurts of liquid water bursting out of ground. What is the heat source that liquefies permafrost? That is important!
All my responsibility, Chang told himself. All on my shoulders. Their work depends on my leadership, my ability to organize them properly, to bring their work into smooth, harmonious totality.
And this one stubborn anthropologist who’s made a lucky discovery. He sits there smiling, handsome
Delgado walked him through the consoles to the display of the United States.
“Take a good look,” said the science advisor. “This is a real-time display, with the cloud cover removed.”
Jamie recognized the image, although as he stared at it he realized it looked slightly wrong, subtly different from the maps he was accustomed to.
Pointing with an outstretched arm, Delgado said, “We’re holding our own along the East Coast, pretty much, although the dams and flood control systems have cost us so much the federal budget’ll be in the red for generations to come.”
That’s why Washington isn’t under water, Jamie realized.
Delgado went on, “But take a look at the Gulf of Mexico. Look at Florida. See how the sea level is moving in.”
Jamie could see that the coastline he was familiar with was no longer there. The Gulf of Mexico was encroaching from Texas to the tip of Florida. He couldn’t find Galveston. Miami was an island, surrounded by the Atlantic.
“That’s the way it is today,” Delgado said, his voice grim. “Now see what happens in five years.”
The image shifted. Most of Florida disappeared under water. The Mississippi River swelled into a connected series of lakes that swallowed entire cities. The Gulf of Mexico grew noticeably larger and covered most of Louisiana.
“That’s what we’re up against, Jamie. And it’s not going to stop. The Arctic is melting down! So’s the Antarctic. Fresh water runoff from Greenland will interrupt the Gulf Stream in another couple of decades. Maybe sooner. When the Stream shuts down, Europe goes into the deep freeze.”
In the greenish light from the wall displays Delgado’s face looked splotched, ghastly. Jamie heard the bitterness in his voice, the anger.
“We’re facing major flooding of the country’s heartland. People in the Pentagon are talking about marching into Canada to take their wheat belt, for god’s sakes! And maybe a new Ice Age to top it all off!”
Jamie stared at him in silence.
“And you want to spend money on frigging Mars? You expect the president to give you a Christmas present, all wrapped up in a bow? Forget it!”
With a silent shake of his head Jamie turned away and started for the door. I won’t forget it, he said to himself. I can’t.
TITHONIUM BASE: CONFLICT
Chang Laodong looked distinctly uncomfortable as he sat behind his desk facing Carter Carleton. The mission director’s office was small but three of its four walls were covered with smart screens that displayed treasures of Chinese art: silk paintings of misty mountain scenes, statues of powerful arch-necked horses, the inevitable portraits of Buddha and Mao. Otherwise the office was strictly utilitarian, with only Chang’s desk, the chair before it, and a sofa and low table along one wall, flanked by two more small chairs.
As always, Chang was wearing high-collared blue coveralls. He had summoned Carleton to his office to discuss the anthropologist’s demand for field workers to help excavate the village site. In his mind’s eye, the mission director saw all his carefully prepared work schedules being torn apart, his meticulous plans being thrown into chaos.
Two hundred and forty-two men and women were based here at Tithonium, he knew. Biologists studying endolithic lichen and underground bacteria. Geologists studying satellite data of south polar cap melting. Atmospheric physicists investigating decline of moisture in atmosphere. Paleontologists searching for more rock dwellings along the walls of Grand Canyon. And the geysers: spurts of liquid water bursting out of ground. What is the heat source that liquefies permafrost? That is important!
All my responsibility, Chang told himself. All on my shoulders. Their work depends on my leadership, my ability to organize them properly, to bring their work into smooth, harmonious totality.
And this one stubborn anthropologist who’s made a lucky discovery. He sits there smiling, handsome
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