Glass Sky (23 page)

JIE TURNED THE block in the nano-tweezers. ‹Let me get a better look at you.› Grayed-out sections of the rendering popped to life as the electron beam verified the molecular structure and filled in details. He pinched his fingers to zoom in, bobbing his head to the music, eyeballing the almost perfect rows of atoms. Only two broken hooks this time. ‹Beautiful! Beautiful! Very sexy!›

‹Why, thank you!› said Sally.

Jie spun around, nearly falling out of his chair in surprise. ‹Dog testicles!› He pulled off the goggles. ‹Don’t sneak up on me! I thought you were still on the surface.›

Sally laughed. ‹Sorry. I should knock when you’re playing music. Beethoven’s Ninth?›

‹Yeah. Your opera’s OK, but sometimes there’s too much shouting in Italian. The Ninth is a nice mix.›

‹Italian’s so romantic though.›

‹Not when it comes from a 400-pound man in tights,› said Jie.

‹Cretin!› Sally slung an arm affectionately over his shoulder, pecked him on the cheek, and dropped into the spare chair. ‹So, what’s got you so excited?› she asked.

‹Look at this.› Jie switched from the design view to the familiar billiard ball molecular rendering that amateurs preferred. ‹Beautiful isn’t it? And most of it’s programmed into the sequencer, so it’s replicable!›

Sally studied the image for a few moments. ‹I assume you’re trying to get the tile completely symmetrical?› she asked. ‹If so, it looks great.›

Jie pointed at the tile’s edge. ‹I’m working on these molecular hooks now. They’re not perfect, and there’s a lot of variation between tiles. But I’ve got something to build on. It could still be months but I’m making progress.›

‹Sounds like a good reason to celebrate,› said Sally. ‹We unloaded another mining vehicle from Earth this afternoon. There were a few surprises in the cargo.›

***

Sharon was cooking dinner when Jie and Sally arrived at the hive. Jie settled into the couch next to Rajit, who was working on a math problem. What a weird hobby. Mouthwatering smells drifted from the kitchen. The television on the wall played an earlier broadcast from Earth. Tania Black, in a panel discussion with the Florida governor and a man from Arctic Watch.

“It’s a question of relative harm,” Tania was saying. “Another sulfur-induced monsoon failure will kill millions this year alone. I can’t justify that risk to prevent a hurricane that may not even happen. For us to sulfur at this point, there would have to be a greater risk. Like an escalation in Arctic methane releases. Or lower downsides. Like a food aid program for the monsoon belt. I have to go where the evidence leads me.”

“That’s the problem with you scientists,” sneered the governor, pounding the table to show his outrage. “Five years ago you were all pushing sulfuring. Now you’ve changed your minds. Pick a course and stick to it.”

“Sticking blindly to a course is irresponsible,” said Tania, her voice rising in irritation. “You plow into every new obstacle. Science is distinguished by its ability to self-correct. We back actions with empirical data. With numbers.”

“Well, I don’t care about your fancy em-pie-rical numbers,” the governor shot back. “Hurricanes put American lives at risk. And in my book, American lives are more important than numbers!” He glared at Tania, defying her to find a hole in his logic. Tania appeared dumbfounded.

Jie waved down the volume. “How can Americans elect these people?” he asked Sally and Rajit. “In China, they not get past prenatal screening.”

Sally nearly choked on her water. “Not so loud,” she snorted. “Sharon’s an American. That’s one of her leaders.”

“I heard that,” Sharon yelled over a clang of dishes. “Believe me, that idiot’s not my leader.”

Rajit groaned and put on his headphones.

Moments later Sharon emerged from the kitchen, and everyone forgot about the TV. She’d made steaks, with corn and potatoes. Under her arm she held a large bottle.

“Mandatory stress relief,” she announced. “Jie’s making progress. Tania Black’s a voice of common sense on Earth. And Sally, Rajit, and I are doing the work of 3.5 astronauts.”

She handed the champagne bottle to Jie. “Good job, rookie! Open it.”

Jie wasn’t much of a drinker, and he’d certainly never opened champagne before. He felt as if he’d just been handed a grenade with the pin pulled out. As he started to unwind the mesh, Sharon stepped back, motioning Sally and Rajit to do the same.

“Champagne bottles don't like lunar gravity,” she warned. “Earthcon says they’ve fixed the problem. But when we did this in ’29, the bottle exploded.” She pointed to a spot just below her ear. “You can still see my scar.”

“Uhhh…” Jie held the bottle at arm’s length, pointing it away from himself, turning his head in the other direction. Then he noticed the twinkle in Sharon’s eye.

“What the…?” Jie sputtered. “This bottle is plastic. And there is a screw top under the wire. You messing with me!”

Even Rajit laughed. “It's white wine,” said Sharon. “Real champagne would make too much of a mess, so Earthcon decorated the bottle.”

Sharon poured four glasses, and placed a fifth, empty glass in front of the extra stool. “To Isabel. May we honor her sacrifice.”

“To Isabel.”

Jie’s thoughts turned outside, to the cold vacuum beyond the airlock. In the three months since the funeral his world had contracted to the two small domes, the rest of the universe fading to a dull gray memory. Maybe I should go outside again. Watch the next supply drop.

He sliced off a piece of the steak. Wow. The greenhouse produced many things, but top sirloin was not one of them. Conversation resumed. The food vanished. Rajit gathered the dishes.

“Now?” asked Sally.

Sharon nodded, and Sally bounded to her bedroom, emerging a moment later with a roll of fabric almost her height. “Tada!” she beamed.

“What is it?” asked Jie.

“Something to make your workshop a little more homey,” said Sally.

Sharon took the other end, and together she and Sally unrolled the banner. ‹Jié, jì xù nŭ lì ā› – “Work with success, Jie.” Cheng and his schoolmates had decorated the entire length of it with calligraphic Chinese characters and pictures of wildlife. ‹Thank you for making a future for us.›

The segmented insect must be Cheng’s. Instead of drawing it like most kids would have, he’d laid it out like a biologist, paying special attention to where the legs tied into the body.

***

Eventually the celebration burned out and Jie staggered back to his cabin. I’m going to pay for this in the morning. The wine wouldn’t have been bad by itself, but he seldom smoked marijuana. No hangover, Sharon had assured him. Hard to believe, the way the walls are moving. He fell on his bed. Closed his eyes. Patterns of color danced in the darkness, chaotic shapes that resolved into kaleidoscopic rings of Nanoglass. His mind drifted in a pleasant haze. I’ve been working too hard.

The room blurred into fragmented sleep.

A beach.

Thailand?

Cheng splashed in the water. Older now, a teenager swimming with efficient, practiced strokes. Have I been away that long? Has Cheng grown up? A wave crashed onto the sand in a foaming white roll, splashing water on Jie’s face. He wiped it away.

‹Nice child you have there,› said Count Dargool. He wore Hawaiian shorts; suntan lotion caked his pasty skin. He raised the gleaming cup and sipped.

‹How did you get that?› demanded Jie. ‹We haven’t finished the game yet.›

‹Power seeks power,› Dargool taunted. ‹The cup will always find one such as me. And see, it never runs out of champagne. I’m going to use it to open a bar for my friends.›

‹No.› Jie felt a sudden burst of courage. ‹You’re not. The cup belongs to the Council of Elders.›

Dargool stiffened, and his left eye twitched. Who invited him to the beach anyway? Cheng and I are supposed to look for insects later. A drop of rain finished its two-kilometer plunge out of the gray sky and smacked Jie’s forehead. Jie’s horse shifted underneath him, as if sensing magical energies gathering. When did I climb on a horse? Wasn’t I on the beach?

Dargool hissed, and his hands moved, as if preparing a spell. No time to think! Jie whipped his shield around, but it was made of Nanoglass and exploded into shards. Dargool flung the contents of his cup, spraying water all over Jie. Jie rolled over, wiping at the water. Where is all the water coming from? Where am I?

Drip.

Drip.

Wǒ cào! ‹Lights!›

Jie leapt out of bed, slipped in a puddle, and crashed into his desk. He scrambled onto his feet, ignoring the pain from his wrenched shoulder.

“Earthcon! Shuǐ! Big shuǐ come from ceiling!” he shouted. He tore open the doorway, stumbling into the hive. ‹Sally! Sharon! Rajit!› He pounded on the walls. ‹Emergency! Get up!›

Sharon, still pulling on a shirt, was out before Jie even reached her door. “Jie, what’s going on?”

“There’s a big leak from the greenhouse!” The ceiling glistened with moisture. Rajit and Sally bounded out of their rooms. They looked at where he was pointing with undisguised alarm.

Breathe. Breathe. Maybe this situation isn’t as bad as it looks. At least the alcohol and drugs had worn off.

“Earthcon, status please?” Sharon could have been asking for a weather forecast.

“I’m working on it,” answered a panicky voice. “It’s night shift. I’m the only one on right now.”

“Rajit, get to the cargo dome,” ordered Sharon. “Turn off the output valves on the water recyclers. Keep the input valves open. We want to let water into the tanks but not out. Clear?”

Rajit stared, nodding, too stunned to act.

“Do it!” barked Sharon. “Run! Run!” She clapped her hands and stepped towards him, as if chasing a cat from a can of tuna. Rajit fled down the connecting tunnel. A rivulet of water released its grip on the ceiling and started spattering onto the floor.

“Sally,” said Sharon, her voice calm and efficient again. “Take the bathroom. I’ll take the kitchen. Turn on the showers and taps. Flush the toilet. That’ll pull water out of the supply pipes and back into storage. Keep doing it until the lines are empty.”

Sally and Sharon vanished, leaving Jie alone in the hive. Should I get into my spacesuit? No, that doesn’t make sense. If things get worse, we’ll be dead regardless what we wear. Before he had much chance to think about it, Sharon and Sally returned.

“This is Earthcon. Engineering will be here in twenty minutes. In the meantime, they want you to turn off the output valves on the water tank and water recycler. Then open the taps and flush the toilets to reduce the water pressure.”

“We’ve already done that. Please try and keep up,” Sharon snapped. “Sally, take Jie to the greenhouse. Figure out what happened. I’ll join you as soon as I get the computers someplace dry.”

“Got it,” said Jie. He flew up the ladder behind Sally, nearly colliding with the bottom of her feet.

As they reached the vestibule, the lights faded out.

YOUTH CALL FOR Action

[Unknown Sender] Aug 2, 2050

Why is it the young who should pay for past environmental sins? The UNBio preserves are all that’s left of the world our parents raped. Our planet is being cooked in the CO2 our parents burned. If we lack the money to fix things, then we should take it from the old. Roll back their retirement benefits. Claw back their savings. Sell their houses. We’re the victims of an intergenerational crime.  The guilty should pay.  Not the planet. – Mobius 471

***

“Ahem.” Tania waited at the simulations office door for Gordon to notice her. “Ahem!”

“Tania! How was the press tour?”

“If I ever go on a talk show with a politician again, please, just kill me.”

Gordon laughed. “Did you really call the Florida governor an ignorant asswipe?”

“That was after the camera was off,” said Tania. “He thinks it’s my job to protect Florida from the weather. When I said that 50 million people would die in India if we sulfured, he questioned my patriotism. And when I suggested he could do his part by updating Florida’s hurricane evacuation plans, he accused me of being a big-government socialist. I don’t think he even realizes that the United Nations isn’t a US institution. What is it with these people? Do they get transported between government offices in shrink wrap so that they don’t have to dirty themselves with reality?”

“That’s what we get for being the new climate gurus,” said Gordon. “Criticism is the price of power.”

“Power?” scoffed Tania. “We’re mall cops. Please cut your CO2 emissions, or we’ll have to ask you again, more nicely.” She shook her head. “You wanted to see me? What’s your bad news?”

Gordon flicked his fingers on the control pad and brought up the familiar map of the Atlantic Ocean.

“Oh, please, not more hurricanes,” groaned Tania.

“This is yesterday’s simulation run,” said Gordon. “I added the new data we’re collecting in Canada. Both models now agree.” He tapped a key to bring up the windflow lines. Where the jetstream had previously ranged in a wide band of uncertainty across the southern states, it now pulled north.

“Shit,” said Tania. “Is that as bad as it looks?”

“We now have a 96% chance of a category six,” said Gordon. “A Poisson distribution with a lambda of four, if you’d care to place a wager.”

“I’ll pass,” said Tania. “I’ve studied statistics. How long do we have?”

“It’s the height of the summer. Any storm could be the one.”

“Do we have time to prepare a statement before the media goes into hysterics?” asked Tania. Even as she spoke, her omni buzzed. A TV station. It buzzed again. “Never mind.”

“We should reconsider sulfuring,” said Gordon. “The Arctic isn’t in full meltdown yet, but by next summer it will be. If the shield isn’t well on its way by then, we’ll have to sulfur anyway, to stop runaway methane. There’s an argument to be made for starting now.”

“A strong argument?” asked Tania.

“Depends how much faith you’ve got in Tian Jie,” said Gordon. “It’s a judgment call.”

“I’ve talked to Jie twice in my life,” said Tania, “and I exchange insect emails with his son. I barely know him. And even if I did, it’s not a personality contest. We’re gambling on the shield because it’s our only hope for a good outcome. We need to give it a chance.”

“Is it worth getting Khan Tengri’s input?” asked Gordon.

“He’d say it’s my call,” said Tania. “I say we delay.”

Gordon nodded. “For what it’s worth, I agree with you. Besides, even if a storm makes landfall, it could miss major population centers.”

“OK,” said Tania. “I’ll issue a statement. Explain, once again, why we aren’t sacrificing Asian lives to protect the US Coast. With luck the army will mobilize in case a rapid evacuation is needed.”

“And I’ll hand off my simulations to the National Weather Office,” said Gordon. “We’re busy enough without issuing daily hurricane advisories.”

Tania looked past Gordon’s window at the heat-hazed mountains: 106 degrees in the shade. “I miss winter.”

***

Tania retreated to her office, drafted a detailed statement on hurricanes and sulfuring, then fielded an endless series of calls from the bigger news stations.

“Our current recommendation against sulfuring is not the same as Pax Gaia,” Tania explained for the third time. “Pax Gaia is a longterm plan for using the shield to protect the environment and raise the human development index. It’s not even complete yet. We’re still working on it… Yes, Pax Gaia will include provisions to prevent large storms… No. I don’t have any inside information on when the shield will be finished.”

She disconnected. “New rule,” she said to her omni. “Apply to all news agency hurricane queries. Send standard hurricane press release. Run.”

Her inbox slimmed to 200 messages. She resisted the urge to cherrypick, and dealt with the 30 oldest. With the 40 that arrived, that left 210. I’ve got to hire a press secretary before my mailbox undergoes gravitational collapse. Another beep. A video message from Ruth. This one she took off the top of the queue.

“Tania. I don’t care how busy you are – you’re going to have coffee with me. I’ve been drumming up Pax Gaia support among the enviros. Heard crazy stuff about hurricanes on the news. Have the guys on the moon made a breakthrough yet? Call me.”

“I give up,” said Tania. “Put me through to Tian Jie.” She’d been trying not to bug him, but it had been weeks since his initial breakthrough. Maybe he can give me some confidence. And he’d probably enjoy hearing about Cheng’s insects.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. That’s odd.

“Wèi?” Instead of Jie, an anxious-looking Chinese man in a blue space-agency uniform looked out at her.

“Qǐng bāng wǒ zhǎo tián jié jiē diàn huà,” Tania tried.

“Sorry,” the man responded in English. “Is not possible to call right now.”

“Why not? Is everything all right?”

The man hung up.

Nobody answered when Tania called back.