On Vestige Way

A World Federation Novel

David H. Spielberg

 © 2017
David H. Spielberg
Palm Beach Gardens, FL

 On Vestige Way
A World Federation Novel

David H. Spielberg





 PART 1
The Beginning of the End




From the rostrum above Tiananmen Gate at the northern

extremity of the plaza, Sylvia Carlyle Marshall could see a crowd of
people so vast that it was impossible for her to encompass it. Never
before had she experienced this kind of foreign outpouring of
solidarity with the United States. She expected things to be on a
massive scale in The People!s Republic of China, but she was not
prepared for this. With an area of 440,000 square meters, this was the
largest plaza on Earth. The crowd it could contain was simply
enormous.
In spite of her winter clothing Sylvia!s teeth were chattering in
the bitter cold as a north wind blew across the Square and across the
thronging crowd. The hastily erected wooden walls on either side of
the elevated rostrum provided scant protection against the late
January winds that swept through the level and open plaza.
It is said that Napoleon III widened the Champs Elysées in
Paris to its⎯for that time⎯extraordinary width not only to provide
space for celebrations worthy of an emperor!s army but also the
better to control unruly and possibly rebellious crowds. Tiananmen
Square likewise had its similar multiple advantages. Yet it was
impossible at this moment, she felt, to experience anything but awe
at this vast, enthusiastic gathering of humanity, numbering in excess
of a million people, moved to gather there by the death of an
American general.
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 Viewed from her lofty vantage point along with the other
dignitaries, Sylvia could see the towering column of the Monument
to the People!s Heroes in the center of the plaza. Beyond the
Monument, further south, was the massive and looming tribute to the
George Washington of their country, the Mausoleum of Mao Zedong.
It still all seemed surreal to her. Sylvia looked around once
again at the honored invited guests she sat among. These were the
most powerful people on Earth. That General Morgan Slaider
merited such honors Sylvia did not in the least doubt for even a
moment. What seemed unreal to her was that she sat among these
elect. Only twelve years ago she was simply a young, black, female
physicist, the dependable right arm of her boss, then as now, Dr.
Arthur J. Cranshaw, founder of AJC Fusion Incorporated. Her
unexpected and unlikely rise to eminence, her achievements as
Deputy Director of the Federation Laser-Fusion Agency, everything
she became since her AJC Fusion days she owed to General Slaider.
Even more stunning to her was where she now was sitting⎯in
Beijing, China, eleven thousand kilometers from General Slaider!s
home in Maryland, attending this second, national memorial
ceremony.
Ritual has always been an essential ingredient for both the
military and in politics and when the two combine, when the
emotions of each intersect at one event in history, at the death of one
charismatic individual, the effect on people is at once cautionary,
liberating and exhausting. The tributes to General Slaider for both his
extraordinary talents and boldness in the face of America under
internal attack and as a political force of even now unfathomed
influence…well, she could not restrain her own sobs once again at
his passing.
Five days earlier, the rituals of an American state funeral
reserved for presidents, vice presidents and other especially high
officers of government ran their dignified and orchestrated course.
All of America watched Marion Slaider as her husband!s casket was
transferred from the hearse used to bring the general!s body to
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 Washington to its position of honor atop the waiting limber and

caisson. The limber and caisson then made its slow and somber way
to Constitution Avenue drawn by three pairs of same-colored horses.
On one horse of each pair sat an erect and solemn soldier. An honor
guard escort representing each branch of the major US military
forces flanked the casket. Additional military units followed slowly
further behind to be followed still further back by a line of
limousines led by the limousine bearing Mrs. Slaider, her son and
two daughters. In the vehicle with Mrs. Slaider was Major General
Roland Stanwick, ramrod and chivalrous commander of the Military
District of Washington, who was Mrs. Slaider!s official escort. But
most affecting and immediately following the limber and caisson
with its casket was the white riderless horse named Lightning, head
held high and slowly led by its bridle by a soldier from the US Army
1st Cavalry Division. In the stirrups were the general!s riding boots,
reversed as if looking back at the troops he would never again see
nor lead. A portion of the Marine Band, in measured steps, played
muffled drums directly behind the riderless horse.
The caisson paused for a moment at 4th and Constitution
Avenue where the band played "Eternal Father, Strong to Save.” The
procession then resumed its slow progress down Constitution Avenue
toward Capital Hill until it reached the steps of the Capital building.
The casket was removed by the honor guard from the limber and
caisson to begin its stately transfer up the steps to the rotunda of the
Capital whereupon a 19 gun salute was begun, each firing at thirty
second intervals until the casket was settled on its bier at the center
of the rotunda and the honor guard re-established itself around the
bier.
President Llewellyn had issued a presidential decree closing all
government offices for the day and declaring a national day of
mourning. He spoke graciously at Washington National Cathedral
about General Slaider!s service to his country and about their long
and close personal friendship. The president recalled the days that
Sylvia remembered so well, that even though the nation knew
3

 General Slaider was fighting a brave but losing battle with disease,
still the finality of death, even when it is expected and there is time
to prepare, is a stunning lesson that the least among us, likewise the
greatest among us are all mortal, that we take nothing with us, and
that all that remains when we are gone are the seeds that we have
sown in life. The President urged all his fellow Americans and
General Slaider!s friends worldwide to follow the general!s example
of courage, self-sacrifice, and purpose⎯to hold not a shallow and
foolish vision of their lives but a deep and meaningful vision. If you
want to shoot for the stars, the President said, the lesson of Morgan
Slaider!s life was that you have to aim at the sky.
The President did not mention that General Slaider!s vision and
President Llewellyn!s codifying a world powered by laser-induced
fusion energy could not have come to fruition had it not been for Dr.
Cranshaw and his team of scientists and managers. Nor did he
mention that Sylvia had been the glue that held AJC Fusion together
when chaos had reigned and Dr. Cranshaw!s dreams were turning to
dust along with his company⎯before it became the Federation
Laser-Fusion Agency. Under her direction and Dr. Cranshaw!s
mentorship, the Laboratory had fulfilled the dream that former
President Drummond had died for and that President Llewellyn had
enshrined into law by his "arrangement” with The People!s Republic
of China: cheap, widespread, virtually unlimited fusion energy and
successful exploitation of the moon!s rich supply of the rare helium
isotope, Helium-3, needed for the mix of ingredients that made the
fusion process work.
The US President didn!t mention these things, but they were
why Sylvia now found herself in Beijing going through the same gut
wrenching commemoration she endured in Washington. My god, she
thought, how much this man has changed the geopolitics of the
world. Sylvia listened distractedly, not caring about the translation or
what was being said. She was certain it was appropriate, genuine,

 and moving. She looked around her in continuous amazement at the

Americans who had also travelled for this historic gathering to this
historic location with our unlikely partner, masters of a new world of
geopolitical economics.
The United States and The People!s Republic of China had
locked arms to create a new kind of world organization, an
organization that displaced and replaced the old United Nations with
not yet another political "good intention” but with a very real
entity⎯the "super corporation.” Amidst all this, she knew that she
was here among the illustrious of the world not for merely a dream
come true, but rather a development beyond her wildest dreams of
twelve years ago when The World Federation was created.
As she was lost in thought, the air was suddenly ripped by the
approaching engine roar of five Chinese J-13 "Flanker” jet fighters
flying in "missing man” formation. This formation was famously
first devised, Sylvia had learned, by World War I British fighter
pilots honoring the funeral of Manfred von Richthofen, better known
as the Red Baron. She had witnessed a similar tribute over the
United States Capital as General Slaider!s coffin was being carried
up the steps to the rotunda.
The crowd below looked skyward and applauded their pilots as
the five jets approaching from the south streaked towards Tiananmen
Square. The formation leader took the point position while two
elements of two formed on either side, completing the "V”. Just as
the formation was directly over the square, in plain sight to all, the
left wing man broke formation rolling to the left, to the west
symbolically into where the setting sun would vanish, thus honoring
the missing man. On foreign land and among foreign people, Sylvia
was especially moved by this gesture of respect for General Slaider
by the People!s Liberation Army Air Force.
The crowd below was still applauding as the planes flew
quickly out of sight when suddenly another rising roar of engines
could be heard coming from the east. Another formation of jets was
5

 rapidly approaching. The crowd quickly turned and watched with

excitement as the planes approached for what they assumed was
another flyover by the PLAAF. As the fighters drew nearer a gasp of
astonishment rose from a million onlookers as a formation of five
clearly marked United States Air Force F-22 fighter jets, also in
missing man formation, approached rapidly toward the Square.
A startled silence gripped the anxious crowd for a moment.
When the formation was directly over Tiananmen Square the left
F-22 Super Falcon wing man suddenly broke formation going this
time into a steep vertical climb, rising up, up, up into the gray
overcast sky until it could no longer be seen in its flight, symbolizing
their fallen comrade!s journey into eternity. At the instant the fighter
broke formation the crowd suddenly went wild, shouting and
clapping and waving their arms at the American fighter planes
receding as quickly as they had arrived. When all planes were finally
lost from view, as if activated by an electric signal, every face turned
toward the rostrum filled with dignitaries from around the world and
in their million waved their little flags and sang.

***

It was not easy establishing a hydrogen energy economy. Even

now, Sylvia well knew, the infrastructure was only in its early stages
of development. She called it, when among friends, the Bullshit
Stage, when almost everything that needed to be done was being
done for the first time and so even among the eager and converted
there was the unconscious mountain or doubt that needed always to
be climbed. And the people problems were not even the half of it.
Hydrogen is the smallest molecule in nature and so is able to
escape from containers closed convincingly for any other gases.
Seals, joints, valves and containers all have to be "perfect.” A perfect
container and transport system is to an engineer as unconventional as
"unlimited” credit is to a banker. The terms were almost devoid of
meaning, there being no baseline, no precedent for the concept. Yet,

 as had happened so often in the history of laser-induced fusion

energy, throw enough brilliant minds motivated to find a solution
rather than merely to study the problem forever and a way is always
found.
The lumbering train of hydrogen energy worldwide was finally
gaining momentum. A critical mass of countries was subscribers,
franchisees as it were, and the finances of The World Federation
were becoming self-sustaining. James had written a wonderful
article, Sylvia thought, on the projected expansion of the number of
franchise countries over the next ten years. He described for the
layman the scientific achievements accomplished by the
international research body of the World Federation and the
challenges they yet faced. She was so proud of her husband!s
contributions.
Politically, General Slaider!s expectation had been confirmed
that governments would ”adjust” their governing strategies and
policies in light of the need to score well on the domestic stability
test in order to qualify for a franchise. As Dr. Cranshaw frequently
told her, financial self-interest can become the driving agent of high-
minded principles. The genius of General Slaider!s plan was to marry
the two, so financial self-interest could be best served by altruistic
governance. Domestic stability was the key to the door of
membership in The World Federation. The surprising result was that
the ruling elites of countries formerly known for intransigent
autocracy discovered that with careful planning they could still enjoy
the benefits of ruling while also promoting the well being of those
they ruled. Besides, access to the World Federation!s technology and
materiel demanded it.
After the ceremonies, Sylvia relaxed for the first time when she
arrived back at the Rosewood. The Rosewood Beijing hotel knew
how to cater to foreign dignitaries, to entertain them if that was what
they wanted and to isolate them when that was what they needed.
Right now it was the latter that she craved. The Rosewood had the
most magnificent apartment suites she had ever experienced. The
7

 rooms were spacious beyond any self-indulgent expectation, verging
on the absurd. Yet ironically, they were furnished, decorated and
illuminated with a reserved elegance that belied the almost pointless
extravagance of size.
Comfortably seated in a chair facing the oversized window that
offered a panoramic view of the city from her twenty story high
vantage, Sylvia Marshal finally had time to miss James. In the
eleventh year of their marriage it was usually he who was the absent
party, his job with the World Federation taking him to all corners of
Earth and even once to the moon. It didn!t really matter to her now
whether it was he who was absent or she. The void was there either
way.
Sylvia!s thoughts returned to when she first met James at the
AJC Fusion headquarters, how his skeptical view of their claims
gradually abated as she escorted him through the lab and after his
meeting with Dr. Cranshaw. She remembered the crazy, scary times
when the country was in chaos following the attacks on the nation!s
energy infrastructure, the death of the President, and finally the
imposition of martial law. That was the scariest of all for her as she
remembered waiting, terrified in her Brooklyn Heights apartment,
for some indication from government officials that safety and
security would quickly be re-established. She remembered how she
felt when James unexpectedly appeared on her doorstep. Like the
marines had landed, she said to him then and how she felt when they
made love for the first time during those desperate hours.
She leaned back more comfortably into her heavily cushioned
chair and closed her eyes. Yes, she thought, the world has changed a
great deal since that dangerous year of transition. Who would have
thought that the United Nations would ever be displaced and that a
new form of international cooperation would be established not
based on xenophobic national self-interest, but on multinational
economic self-preservation? The threat of losing access to the laser-
fusion technology and essential materials obtainable only through the
World Federation proved to be everything General Slaider predicted

 it would be. A failure to obtain access to the Federation monopoly

quickly demonstrated the catastrophic financial consequences to the
few nations who challenged the rules and resisted the mandates for
membership, who tried to go it alone. There was one major
exception. The Russia Federation.
The World Federation, General Slaider explained to her twelve
years ago, was not simply an organization to join but a business
entity, a super corporation such as had never before existed in the
history of humanity. The World Federation transcends national
borders and narrow national agendas. Denial of a franchise for the
laser-fusion package is tantamount to economic ruin for the rejected
nation. Sylvia was convinced Russia would soon decide it had made
its anger known at being left out of the charter membership club and
in time would join.
Unlike the Universal Declaration of Human Rights promulgated
by the United Nations, The World Federation political stability
protocol would be a mandate with teeth. Political stability and the
happiness of the people would be tied, General Slaider explained, to
economic survival and profitability rather than to altruism and the
delusion of human rights. Instead, in the economic interests of the
world, in every geographic region, social stability must reign for
stable economic and political outcomes. Fail the domestic stability
test and you don!t receive a franchise.
Sylvia thought, with deep admiration, about Ranjit Lal, the
former General Secretary of the United Nations and now CEO of
The World Federation. In a few short years he has brought the vision
alive of a world-governing model that actually benefitted the people
while retaining the cooperation of the oligarchy. Lal!s masterful use
of the carrot and the stick had changed the course of human destiny.
But most amazing of all, Sylvia thought, was the cooperation
General Slaider had nursed successfully from the very beginning
between the United States and The People!s Republic of China.
General Slaider!s vision got the teeth it needed without the threat of
military force when the US and China claimed joint sovereignty, in
9

 the name of The World Federation, to the moon and its# helium
riches.
The moon was home to a bountiful and exclusive supply of the
one chemical not found in nature on Earth beyond trace amounts, but
crucial to an economically feasible laser-fusion process, the isotope
of helium, He-3. The steady rain, from the sun to the moon, of this
isotope in the solar wind was the limiting factor that made laser-
induced fusion energy possible. Only the United States and China
possessed the resources and power to monopolize and guard the
moon from competing efforts by entities that foolishly might think to
challenge their monopoly.
In creating this new world order, Sylvia agreed, the ends
justified the means and the results spoke for themselves. Wherever
franchises existed the living standard of the people had risen
dramatically. Opposition to the power of the World Federation
melted away and the conversion to hydrogen-based energy was
gaining speed as more and more fossil-fuel fired power stations were
being retired. Small pockets of opposition based on national rather
than economic loyalty was, as predicted, proving unsustainable. A
peaceful Earth was now in the offing.
In spite of all this, Sylvia wondered, why am I worried?

10

It had been a difficult adjustment for Arthur Cranshaw. There

was only one decision to make: agree to General Slaider!s terms. The
terms were generous, to be sure, but not the outcome Cranshaw had
built his dreams around.
He would have the same team working for him that he had
assembled at AJC Fusion. His budget was virtually whatever he said
he needed. His purview went beyond the US presidential seat of
power to an even wider stage. Through The World Federation his
influence now was spread over the entire Earth and even to some
extent to the moon, as he consulted on the Helium-3 lunar mining
operation.
But it cost Cranshaw his company. While his authority was
extensive, he still had a bureaucracy above him that he had to deal
with and all the inertia and second-guessing that came with it.
Thankfully, he still could depend on the financial and business
brilliance of his old friend and former CFO of his company, Samuel
Berman, to keep him out of trouble with the bureaucracy. And
Sylvia!s administrative staff kept the wheels moving in the right
direction, on time and within budget. She had an uncanny ability to
sniff out where the technology and the finances were no longer on
the same path. Sylvia could intuit before it was obvious to anyone
else when a project was going off the tracks and then correct the
problem before it escalated.

11

 General Slaider made the pot as sweet as possible. Cranshaw
knew that. But Slaider also made clear there would be no sharing of
resources, no people, no equipment, no money without ceding
control and ownership of the technology to The World Federation.
Besides, as with everyone else on Earth, he was trapped by The
World Federation monopoly of lunar Helium-3. And as with
everyone else, without it, he too would be stopped in his technical
development tracks. So he moved on, having made peace with the
only decision he could make. It was really just Hobson!s Choice.
Great men have great egos. Cranshaw liked being the big fish in
the small pond that was AJC Fusion. Now he was a big fish in a
really big pond and that, he found, compensated for his lost pride of
ownership. So Cranshaw was one of the elect among men, one of the
lucky few who could claim no regrets.
The move to Beijing was difficult at first, but it made sense. A
totally new world order needed a totally new world headquarters.
The United States and Europe bespoke too much of the past. It was a
measure of the irony surrounding the move that the world!s oldest
civilization would be the seat of the world!s newest governing
paradigm.
For Samuel Berman it was easier. He and his wife were
cosmopolitans, comfortable from their European roots, with adapting
to differing cultures. China was just one more. It was more difficult
for Sylvia. It involved the uprooting of a family, of her and James
and their son, Jonas. Little Jonas, being only five, adapted more
easily than his parents. The Chinese love children. Jonas could have
attended the American School where the American diplomats and
CEOs sent their children, but even at his young age, Jonas would
have none of that. He wanted to immerse deeply in China and that
would not happen in the isolating experience of an English-only pre-
school. Jonas made friends easily at Beijing City International
School and quickly spoke Mandarin better than his parents. Genes
will out and he was a very bright and charming young boy. Cranshaw

12

 cherished his role as Uncle Arthur to Jonas. To a child in China every

adult male was "uncle” or "shushu”.
Sylvia made whatever adjustments were necessary to work
productively. Language was the challenge she found most daunting.
She had no need, really, to struggle with learning Mandarin since
almost every educated person in China spoke English. However, it
was not in Sylvia!s temperament to be defeated by such an obvious
goal. To live in the country and not be able to speak the language, to
her, was a disrespectful path. So she soldiered on with her Mandarin
lessons, in addition to everything else on her plate.
James was a different story. His adjustment was still a work in
process.

***

Cranshaw got up from his chair and paced nervously, aimlessly

in his office. He stopped for a moment to look out the large window
facing southeast to the central business district. There was a constant
bustle of heavy construction that compounded the noise of the
already heavy traffic below. However, with the continuing
conversion to electric vehicles, the pervasive and choking smog that
had plagued Beijing in the past was almost entirely gone.
It had been raining all day and some streets, visible from
Cranshaw!s office window, were flooded. The rain dampened
Cranshaw!s mood. About five years ago the summer rains began to
last noticeably longer. Instead of the dependable brief daily summer
showers the rain pattern had shifted to daylong downpours. The
Beijing spring had undergone its own change as well. Noted for the
frequent but short-lived sandstorms, the city in the last few years had
been subject to less numerous but more damaging tornadoes. This
had become regular enough that tornado-warning sirens were
installed throughout the city.
Cranshaw turned to look at his office. After his relocation three
years ago it gradually acquired the distinctive plaques, decorations,
13

 books and mementoes that made it his office and no one else!s. It
was more spacious than his former office in Ann Arbor, but not
extravagantly so. He was afraid that he would succumb to the
"edifice complex” so typical of bureaucrats with generous budgets.
He had resisted extravagance in his office and in his research and
development projects. His projects were not characterized by vast
expenditures and outsized equipment. What his projects lacked in
grandeur they made up in variety. Cranshaw was a man of startling
originality and wide-ranging curiosity. As a result, instead of a
handful of "flagship” projects his department was managing almost
fifty, ranging from the development of biological and medical
imaging, to communications, to hydrogen containment, fuel cell
optimization and, of course, to weaponry. The laser induced fusion
system leant itself well to thermonuclear detonation simulation as
well. The upside of this, Cranshaw reasoned, was that the need for
actual testing was greatly reduced.
Making the biggest adjustment to the new world order, in spite
of its inside track status, was that for The People!s Republic of
China. Cranshaw remembered how unlikely the US/China
partnership had seemed to him at the time, twelve years ago. While
the US then was closing coal-fired power stations in an effort to
reduce carbon dioxide emissions to the atmosphere, China had been
adding such stations at the rate of about one a week…before there
was even a need for such added capacity. The investment by China in
such an energy strategy had been the equivalent of trillions of US
dollars. Cranshaw realized the successful development of laser-
fusion technology as an alternative to fossil fuels had taken China by
surprise. Fusion energy had been predicted for so long without
results that virtually no one took it for more than a black hole
research project that money fell into and disappeared. China had
been completely blindsided, concerned more about industrial and
commercial development than about environmental considerations
and the use of alternative fuels.

14

 Cranshaw was stunned at the time by China!s response. The
Chinese currency, the yuan, was in danger of being overthrown from
its status as the premier international reserve currency, a title
formerly held by the US dollar. The advantage of the one party
system had always been the ability to turn on a dime and so China
exercised its strength and turned on a dime. It halted all further coal-
fired power plant approvals or construction. Their engineers
developed plans for converting existing plants to laser-fusion plants
and redesigned those not yet built to adopt the laser-fusion
technology.
China had no choice. The problem facing the world was the so-
called "One Degree War,” the goal set by scientists for the allowable
safe rise in the average temperature of Earth to avoid catastrophic
environmental collapse. The accelerating pace of global warming
had become an imminent threat to a life-friendly Earth. The
advantage of the laser-fusion technology was no longer only that it
provided a sustainable energy path to the foreseeable future. It also
provided a critical weapon in the One Degree War by emitting no
green house gases while it provided for the world!s energy needs.
There was a knock on Cranshaw!s office door.
"Enter.”
Samuel Berman walked in, smiling as he caught Cranshaw!s
eye. He moved to one of the two leather chairs in front of
Cranshaw!s desk.
"Hello, Arthur,” Berman said as he settled comfortably into the
chair.
The two men could not be more different in appearance.
Cranshaw was a large man in every way. He had always been obese
to the point of life threatening. It was a condition he seemed unable
or unwilling to deal with. Now mostly bald with wisps of short,
white hair on both temples, he had lost the boyish look he retained
even into middle age. His skin, still bloated, no longer had the
pinkish hue of youth. It had turned over the years to a more ancient,
15

 ivory pallor. But there was still the transcendent confidence of his
posture, the backward lean of his body against his chair that
suggested tranquility and the absence of a need to convince. This
was a man content with himself and with his life.
Berman, on the other hand, had managed effortlessly to
maintain a thin, unexceptional figure, even now. He showed not so
much the ravages of age but rather the graceful decline of a simple
body whose only task had been to support and protect the human
calculator within. The eyes may be the window to the soul for most,
but for Berman they were a carefully analytical sensor, taking in but
revealing little beyond the alert gaze of constant awareness. He wore
the glasses of a scholar and the full head of hair, though gray, of a
man who grew seasoned with age, rather than old. He was not an
imposing physical presence, but rather a dependable intellectual one.
There was something almost alarming about the penetration of his
observations. He revealed all only to Arthur Cranshaw.
These two men, when once their life paths intersected, were
wedded forever in a bond of trust. Like some second-rate romance
novel, it was a kind of love at first sight and just as quickly they
understood their roles. Cranshaw would provide the vision,
adventure and financial reward that would enliven Berman!s sedate
world and Berman would protect Cranshaw, the dreamer and risk-
taker, from himself.
"So, Samuel. How goes the battle today?”
Berman sighed as he sank deeper into the chair. He met
Cranshaw!s warm but steady gaze, aware from experience that this
was not a trivial social question.
"The conversion is not happening fast enough, Arthur.” Berman
held Cranshaw!s steady gaze.
"The atmospheric carbon dioxide level is already approaching
550 parts per million according to the latest values from the Mauna
Loa observatory. The trend line just keeps going up.” Unaware he
was doing so, Berman!s hands were nervously rubbing his knees.
16

 # "If anything the slope of the line is even increasing slightly.

We!ve already lost the One Degree War.” Berman stopped for a
moment to look for a reaction from Cranshaw. There was none.
# "You know, when Mount Tambora erupted four years ago,”
Berman continued, "we got a temporary halt to the rise in Earth!s
temperature, but we also got a lot of carbon dioxide emitted along
with the ash and sulfur. So it was a mixed blessing. The cooling
effect of the droplets in the stratosphere is winding down but the
carbon dioxide, it!s going to stay and do it!s dirty work for a very
long time.” Berman paused as if hearing the words from someone
else. Finally, with another sigh, he folded his hands in his lap and
said, "Nothing we are doing seems to be helping. The reality is the
conversion is just too slow and not enough.”
Both men were tired and frustrated. Cranshaw understood the
problem well enough. Earth was like a sick patient with too many
symptoms. The complex web of entanglements and dependencies of
the human body are easily matched and perhaps exceeded by the
web of entanglements of Earth!s biological and geological systems.
It!s a tangle slow to start and slow to stop. It was difficult to imagine
how man could really undo the damage to Earth that built up over
more than two hundred and fifty years of burning fossil fuels.
"The lag time is the problem,” Berman said. "It!s Earth we!re
trying to fix, not a pushcart. It!s like ants trying to build a pyramid.
The resources don!t yet match the task.” Berman seemed to sink even
further into his armchair.
Cranshaw let his friend and advisor vent. After a few moments,
Cranshaw was ready to confront whatever Berman was reluctant to
state up front.
"What did Lal say?” Cranshaw asked, referring to Berman!s
early morning meeting with the President of The World Federation.

17

 "He knows that the conversion to hydrogen is going as well and

as quickly as it can. But it!s not fast enough. Things are getting away
from us, Arthur. We!ve gone about as far and as fast as we can with
wind and solar power plants. They!re still limited by suitable sites
and transmission problems. We just can!t get enough wind and solar
energy to where people are, to the cities, without losing too much
energy in the long distance transmission lines. Superconducting
power lines are not practical. Probably never will be. We have teams
in other parts of the Federation working on high voltage direct
current transmission lines, but that!s not ready for deployment yet
according to Lal. It looks like in any event we will never get above
twenty-five percent of the energy mix from wind and solar.
Hydrogen can make up the balance, but time is not our friend,
Arthur.” Berman went silent again, twisting uneasily in his chair.
"Samuel, what did the board want you to tell me?” Cranshaw
knew there was a shoe about to drop.
Berman smiled at his old friend, knowing he would want the
condensed version without the long run-up to the punch line.
"They want us to stop all non-essential projects and put
everything we have into developing a solid state room temperature
Maser. We can then use it to transmit energy anywhere using satellite
relays. The argument all along for the Maser, as you know, Arthur, is
that the microwave energy from a Maser will pass through rain,
snow, clouds and smoke while light energy from a laser will not.”
Berman paused to check Cranshaw!s reaction. Up until now no one
in the World Federation hierarchy had ever dictated to him.
Cranshaw was used to a free hand and nothing but praise.
"Go on, Samuel. I have a feeling you!re not done.”
Berman laughed. "Well, we!ve always known the advantage of
microwaves over light for energy transmission through the
atmosphere, but now it!s become critical. They!re giving us eighteen
months to have a commercial design and prototype capable of
18

 transmitting five hundred megawatts to a relay satellite. A Maser for

the ground and a Maser for the relay satellite. Eighteen months.” He
paused for a moment. "Eighteen months, yes, but nothing will be
refused us in the way of people and resources. Lal is talking about
setting up a separate program with the Chinese to develop the
satellite components of the system. The American team will continue
working on the high voltage direct current land line system.”
Cranshaw leaned back in his chair, no longer looking at
Berman. His body began to rock ever so slightly. Berman knew the
sign well. Arthur Cranshaw was slipping into a meditative state that
might last for hours. With a perfunctory nod, Berman rose and left
Cranshaw to his thoughts.

19

"So, Jonas, tell me about your day.” James Marshall leaned

back in his chair, waiting for his seven-year-old son to form what he
wanted to say. Jonas scrunched up his face, deep in strategizing his
answer while Lijuan, wearing a bright yellow serving jacket over
dark gray pants, served the first course of their Friday night dinner, a
cold, marinated cucumber salad with white rice.
"It was so fun, Dad. We did lots of stuff. We made cookies. And
we got to decorate them. And also we worked some more on our
class model of the Great Wall. We had to wash our hands again after
that because the clay made our hands stink.”
Sylvia leaned towards Jonas and took one of his hands and
smelled it carefully. "Umm,” she said, "they smell yummy now.”
Jonas giggled. He was large for a seven year old. His skin was the
typical pale brown of a mixed race child, but his eyes were a vibrant
hazel. He inherited the same hair as his mother!s, wavy rather than
kinky. His face was an appealing mixture of the angularity of James!s
facial bone structure and the softening roundness around the eyes
and lips that he got from Sylvia. He was dressed like a typical upper
class Chinese schoolboy with blue pants, an orange tee shirt and
sneakers with brightly colored socks.
"Did you bring any cookies home?” James asked.

20

 "I!m sorry, Dad. I ate them all.” Jonas hung his head slightly but
still had an impish grin.
James laughed. "That!s not fair. Next time you have to save
some for mommy and me. Okay?”
Jonas nodded. "I promise,” he said.
"What else did you do?”
"We played football and we also went swimming. But I like the
football better. And we heard a story. A man came and told us a story
about bears. I didn!t understand all of it, but I!m getting better.
Teacher Yah-Fen says I say the words pretty good for an American.”
"That!s really great, Jonas. I$m very proud of you. Lijuan says
the same thing when you speak with her in Mandarin.”
At that moment, Lijuan returned to remove the appetizer dishes.
It was expected, because of their elevated status, that Sylvia and
James would have a servant. She was twenty-two years old. Her
parents were a mixture of Chinese and Japanese. This combination
had become more common as Japanese women stopped saying they
wanted French lovers and American houses and began touting
American food and Chinese men. Lijuan took the best features of
both her parents and was a 160 centimeter Asian beauty, as James
described her to his former US boss, Dick Scully, at the Washington
Courier.
In a few moments, Lijuan returned with bowls of vegetable
miso soup and more rice. No meat was expected for the main dish
since China banned the sale of fish and meat on all days except
Monday and Wednesday. Sylvia and James expected a creative soy
substitute. It was amazing to Sylvia how many ways tofu could be
altered and presented.
Lijuan spoke something in Mandarin to Jonas and he answered
her in Mandarin. She gave Sylvia a smile of appreciation and Sylvia
high-fived Jonas. James took advantage of the family gathering to
discuss with Jonas and Sylvia the details of their planned weekend
trip to the countryside, outside Beijing city limits.
21

 When the dinner was finished and the dishes removed from the
dining room table, Lijuan went to the kitchen to clean up and Jonas
got ready for bed. He kissed Sylvia and hugged James good night.
When Lijuan returned, James asked her to bring a bottle of red
wine and the crystal wine glasses to the table. It was Friday evening,
the end of the workweek and time for a small celebration. They had
completed their first full week in their new home in the Shunyi
district to the northeast of central Beijing, well beyond the fifth ring.
It was a significant commute but they appreciated the quiet suburban
atmosphere and the proximity to international schools, shopping
malls, good public transportation and other amenities. Hotel living
had been luxurious but not, after two years in Beijing, how they
wanted to raise Jonas, as a kind of male version of Eloise at the
Plaza.
When Lijuan returned she opened the bottle and poured the
wine while James and Sylvia relaxed in the quiet peacefulness of
their home. They silently let the wine air for a few moments. From
the wry smile on James!s face, Sylvia knew a story was coming.
Finally, James said, "Ah, to the inscrutable politics of China.” James
raised his glass and leaning forward clicked it with Sylvia!s.
# "Alright, out with it. What inscrutable story did you pick up
from your nosy, newsy buddies at the office?”
Sylvia was pleased that James was honoring his pledge to be
home for dinner at least every Friday, if he was in town. No late
Friday or weekend meetings. When he left the Washington Courier
after they got married and moved to Beijing, it was clear that his new
position in the Information Office of The World Federation would
involve a lot of travel. Sylvia was happy that he found a position in
the Federation that could properly use his scientific expertise and his
journalist!s snooping skills to advantage. But they had to set some
rules for the sake of the family.
"Well,” James began, "things are evidently not going so well for
President Zhou. The good old days when presidents of the The

22

 People!s Republic were untouchable demigods are over. Wang Jintao

going down in flames, undone by the bean counters, proved that.”
"I always thought that was too bad,” Sylvia said. "Wang was
only being practical facing reality the way he did. It!s one of the
things I admire so much about the Chinese, their willingness to admit
when they have a problem and do something about it.”
Sylvia had met President Wang in the early days of the
founding of the Federation and liked him. "He had to do something
about all those coal plants they built or had in the pipeline.” She
knew that Wang!s decisions at the time weren!t based just on hard
financial calculations.
"He had no choice, really, about collaborating with the US if
there was any hope for staving off environmental disaster, and the
Council knew it.”
James was smiling at Sylvia as she put on her "feisty face” as he
called it.
"Really, everyone knew it. Chinese coal-fired power plants had
become the biggest human producers of carbon dioxide on Earth. He
was very brave in my opinion. And enlightened to use a nice Asian
descriptor.”
"Enlightened, yes, my darling, but enlightened prematurely. The
bean counters or should I say the abacus crowd won out. Wang may
have bullied the State Council to go along with partnering with the
US to form the World Federation, but they couldn!t be bullied into
being happy about several trillion yuan going down the toilet
because they had to convert every coal-fired power plant to a laser-
fusion system.”
Sylvia took a sip of her wine. She favored the cabernet from the
Helan Mountain region of China. James shared her selection out of
solidarity, but preferred a good single malt scotch, which he indulged
in when with his colleagues, on a business trip or when alone
working late after Sylvia had gone to sleep.

23

 "I just think it was unfair,” Sylvia said.

"Sylvie? Fair? You know fair has nothing to do with it. And
now President Zhou is under a lot of pressure as well, but not about
the yuan this time.”
"Yes, but Zhou Xiang is a smart cookie, James. He really knew
how to take advantage of a honeymoon period when he took office.
He!s surrounded by his own people and seems be getting his way for
the most part. At least from what I can see. And I hear there!s finally
an income stream worth mentioning from licensing fees and the sale
of lunar Helium-3.” Sylvia had her own sources of gossip.
"Maybe so,” James said, looking skeptical. But that!s not the
problem Zhou is facing. It!s not about finances. Why he!s in trouble
now is,...well, it!s because of the same problem that forced the
transition away from coal. Climate change. What!s at risk now is the
government itself. Even the People!s Liberation Army, maybe, won!t
be able to keep the lid on.”
"Wow, what are you talking about? Are we safe?” Sylvia asked
with evident concern in her voice. "The PLA has always been able to
keep things from spiraling out of control. Even the Revolutionary
Guard couldn!t break the love affair between the PLA and the
people.”
"That was then. This is now.” James took a sip of his wine to
slow the conversation. He realized he was making it all sound
apocalyptic to Sylvia. She waited impatiently for him to continue.
Finally, she asked, "So?”
"It!s about famine, Sylvie. For the first time in almost a hundred
and fifty years there!s real concern about feeding the people. The
government is still importing food like crazy, but it!s getting harder
and harder to find countries with excess food to export. And on top
of that, there!s more and more flooding from storms along the coast
24

 and they!re beginning to threaten the Special Economic Development

Zones. The whole collaboration with the US and The World
Federation was supposed to protect us all from the scary scenarios of
global warming. To the State Council and the Communist Party elite
it!s starting to look like a lost cause no matter what. And Zhou is
being blamed for not being bolder.”
Sylvia gave a gasp of indignation.
"Bolder? My god, the country has been incredibly bold and self-
sacrificing and that boldness cost President Wang his job. And now
you!re saying Zhou is being criticized for not being bold enough?”
"Exactly. Welcome to my initial statement about the inscrutable
Chinese politics.”
James leaned back in his chair, while Sylvia considered her
husband!s comments thoughtfully.
"Syl, are you okay?”
"No. I!ve been worried myself about the pace of the transition to
hydrogen. What do you think the Council wants Zhou to do that he is
not doing? Do they have their own plan or are they just covering
themselves by being tough for the record?”
"For one thing, I hear they want to reinstate population control.”
"No! Are you sure?”
"Not really, but it makes sense. And from what I hear the
Council is not just talking about China. They want to have other
countries institute strict population control as well. All the other
countries, actually. And this time it!s not going to be so many babies
per family. It!s going to be so many children per village, city,
province, and country. Basically, they want to return to a world
population that scientists could affirm were safe. I hear talk bout
1930 or 1940, for example. or whatever they come up with and let
normal deaths get us there with controlled birth rates—meaning

25

 virtually none—that will stabilize whatever the population number is

they think is sustainable.”
"Sustainable!” Sylvia said, louder than she intended. "I!m so
sick of that word. It was what drove Arthur to create AJC Fusion, to
create the whole laser-fusion technology. The World Federation.
Everything. And don!t get me wrong. I understand its importance as
a guiding principle. But sustainability is all we ever seem to talk
about. It doesn!t seem to have done any good and I!m sick of
worrying about it. And I!m sick of worrying about what the next
generation is in for.”
Sylvia paused to compose herself. She took a deep breath and
continued. "Jimmy, I!m really worried about what Jonas will face.”
She stared at James. Her frustration and fear was slowly giving way
to anger. "And now this. I don!t know. Will Jonas be able to have a
family? This is all so unprecedented. There!s no normal anymore. No
normal has become the new normal.”
Sylvia put her wine glass down. "It will never fly. Maybe they
can do it in China again, but they!ll never get population control
accepted anywhere else. Not a chance in hell.”
With a sudden realization Sylvia cried out, "Jimmie, we!re
talking about a reduction of billions of people. The numbers don!t
make sense. People won!t die fast enough. Or in large enough
numbers.”
"Exactly.”
"So it!s a plan that will fail before it even starts but it shows
boldness.”
"Correct again, but I think we!re getting a little ahead of
ourselves here. It was just a rumor. I think it!s still in the trial balloon
stage, so to speak. Sweetheart, I need a cigar.”

26

 James rang for Lijuan to receive her final instructions from

Sylvia before heading home. As usual, when Lijuan finished her
tasks she would let herself out.
Sylvia and James got up and went outside to the rear patio.
They settled into their chairs and James lit his cigar. He smoked
silently for several minutes while Sylvia enjoyed the cool night air.
After a while, James continued where he left off.
"From what I hear, they are really worried about the political
land mines of famine, or at the very least of a serious food price
spike. People don!t go hungry quietly anymore and they have ways
of organizing quickly these days.”
Tapping the ash off his cigar, James leaned towards Sylvia.
"More wine?” he asked. She nodded and he refilled her glass.
"I!m afraid to ask. Is anything else coming?” Sylvia held her
wine glass, gently swirling the blood-red liquid. "Because there must
be. Arthur and even Samuel have been unusually inaccessible lately.
I have the distinct feeling of being left out of a loop. It!s not like
them to keep me out of so many private sessions they!re having
together. Something is up.”
"Darling, we!ll all find out in good time. Meanwhile, I!ll be
flying to Las Vegas on Thursday.”
Sylvia was accustomed to James flying to all parts of the world
to assess progress with the transformation to the hydrogen fuel and
energy economy. Usually she had less advanced warning than six
days. This time there would be more time to plan and more time
together. She tried not to think about the future.

***

Ranjit Lal picked his head up from the report he was reading.
His afternoon meeting with President Zhou Xiang did not go well
and his attempt to sequester the acrimony to the back room of his
consciousness was proving unsuccessful. It was only now, after
27

 twelve years, that former President Wang!s gamble years ago to

partner with America had begun to pay off. At least a positive cash
flow was helping to stabilize the yuan. Not a moment too soon, Lal
brooded.
The cost of the infrastructure for mining lunar Helium-3 and
returning it to Earth had been enormous and even with the
contribution by the United States it would still take decades to
recoup the cost of China!s investment. The accelerating deterioration
of the global environment rendered traditional cost/benefit
calculations irrelevant. The world was shifting yet again, due to the
disruption of climate change, to a new economic model, but as yet no
one had a clear picture of what that model will be.
Lal turned to the picture on his wall of the first headquarters
building for The World Federation. It was a scene of utter
destruction, the building destroyed by saboteurs in a vain attempt to
protect the interests of the carbon cartel. With the value of the carbon
assets still in the ground valued at the time of the World Federation!s
founding to be in excess of four hundred trillion dollars, it was no
surprise that violence would enter the picture. The carbon interests
understandably saw their future wealth slipping through their fingers.
Lal was disturbed by the tactics General Slaider had employed in the
past to suppress opposition to the formation of the World Federation,
but there was and still is no other choice, he told himself.
Suppression of opposition was buried in the secret world of the
World Federation, a world that he left to others. "The new world
order” covered a multitude of necessary sins.
Lal, though a Hindu, admired the Buddhist approach to sin. For
Buddhists there was no such thing as sin, but rather unskillful
behavior. He liked that. There was no guilt-laden and shameful
reproach. Instead, there was the exhortation to change and improve.
Unskillful behavior. It was a nuanced approach Lal liked for the
difficult choices to be made as they sculpted the new world order,
chipping away at the stone to find the mystery figure within the
stone.
28

 The reports on Lal!s desk concerning China were clear. The

alarming rise in the ocean level worldwide had put Chinese coastal
investment zones in danger and the relentless droughts in the
northern and central provinces had severely reduced the already
inadequate food harvests. The dire predictions of scientists at the
beginning of the century were proving correct and were swiftly
becoming an ominous new reality. Lal allowed himself a sigh.
Ranjit Lal was unusually tall for an Indian. Though his hair had
begun to grey, his skin was still smooth and youthful looking. His
face was round with narrow lips and dark, wide-set eyes that still
managed to have crinkled laugh lines despite his many years of
stressful engagement with the problems of the world. Lal got up
from his desk and walked to the ceiling-to-floor corner windows of
his office where he had a panoramic view of Beijing!s high-rise
skyline.
Observing the city Beijing had become, it seemed to him to
represent one of the great success stories of history. Despite its
sometimes dark and bloody past, so common to most nations, China
had reached within its collective consciousness to adapt to a world
changing with a rapidity unprecedented in the annals of the human
drama.
Lal remembered reading as a child in India The Good Earth by
Pearl S. Buck, a story about an earlier China, before there was a
People!s Republic. He remembered particularly the episode she
described where the people of one village, dismayed by a poor
harvest, destroyed the clay image of the god they prayed to.
Undismayed, however, they created a new, freshly modeled clay god
hopefully more efficacious than the prudently displaced god. It was
that kind of practical resilience with an almost ironic whimsy that
Lal admired so much in the Chinese disposition.
His years as Secretary General of the late United Nations were
to him, despite the occasional small victory, years that left no
enduring mark. Those minor yet hard-won victories were like
footprints in the sand, with no permanent impact, washed away by

29

 the next tide of the latest affront. The World Federation, however,
had the feel of a sea change. Its goal was to institutionalize
revolution so that enduring change became inscribed in the new
collective consciousness. Easier said than done, he thought, even in
China.
Lal returned to his desk and sat silently for several moments.
He slowly inhaled and then as slowly exhaled. Resting each hand on
his thighs in the jnana mudra position, palms up, thumb and
forefinger joined, the remaining fingers pointing towards each other,
Lal recited the Wisdom Mantra that daily brought him peace.

Lead me from death to life,

from falsehood to truth.
Lead me from despair to hope,
from fear to trust.
Lead me from hate to love,
from war to peace.
Let peace fill my heart,
my world, my universe.
Shanti, shanti, shanti.

Lal sat quietly for several minutes, maintaining the jnana

mudra. Despite his effort, he was once again unable to calm his
mind. He closed his eyes to try a different strategy. Instead of
fighting the turmoil in his mind, he would embrace it. Mentally he
stepped into the stream and felt the flow, the rush of currents. He
imagined himself to be a leaf floating on the water, now this way,
now that around the obstructing boulders in the stream and into the
roiling and wicked flow over the rapids. He let his mind travel the
stream, manifest as a leaf until finally it came to a species of
dynamic rest caught in an eddy near the shore where the stream
widened. He clearly saw in his mind the trap the leaf was in and
wondered if it would escape. As the leaf circled round and round in
his mind, no longer a traveler in the stream, Lal wondered if at last
the leaf was where it was meant to be.
30

 He believed when he accepted the position of President of The

World Federation that change and accomplishment would come
more easily than they did at the UN. Fuel cells were the answer for
moving away from a carbon-based energy economy. Hydrogen was
the environmental friendly fuel and laser-induced fusion was the
means.
Lal marveled that everything was going according to plan yet
time had proven to be unfriendly to all their good intentions for
world harmony, political stability and "uninteresting” times. Lal
smiled when he thought of the old Chinese curse that threatened,
"may your children live in interesting times.” It seemed to Lal that all
he had endured in the last twelve years as head of The World
Federation was nothing but interesting times.
The recent elevation of Zhou Xiang had benefited greatly from
the alignment of circumstances. Zhou had long been a champion of
environmental issues in The People!s Republic and was also known
as a financial pragmatist. He was a natural choice, a man of
compromise, and someone with whom Lal was confident he could
work productively. In addition, the temporary but welcome
beneficial effect of the eruption of Mount Tambora, with its sun-
shading ash and sulfur droplets, provided a political respite from the
daily apocalyptic projections of global warming. The early fortunes
of Zhou!s elevation seemed tied of Earth!s average temperature.
Lal turned back towards his desk but instead of sitting at it he
turned one of the leather chairs facing his desk to face the corner
windows instead. He was not ready to give up his view of Beijing.
After arranging the chair, Lal walked to his desk and reached
into the drawer where he kept his pack of Zhonghua cigarettes. He
had long ago given up trying to break himself of the cigarette habit
and found the Chinese brand as satisfying as the American brands
and far more available. The occasional smoke calmed him, he noted
sadly, more than his daily prayer for wisdom. He convinced himself
that the resulting tranquility offset any resulting chemical harm to his
physical health. It was cigarettes or scotch, he told himself, and
31

 scotch made him sleepy. He walked back to his chair after lighting
up, ashtray in hand, and settled in for some quiet contemplation.
Lal reached over and picked up the intelligence report on
Germany that he commissioned. Germany was an important member
of The World Federation and Lal was getting concerned about its
commitment to the organization. With the collapse of the United
Nations, followed quickly by the collapse of the European Union,
The World Federation had provided Germany with a suitable
replacement political and commercial community to join and in
some ways dominate.
However, Lal was beginning to fear that there was a competing
and alluring path of influence for Germany that neither General
Slaider nor he anticipated. Paul Latimer, the insurgent former Vice
President of the United States, was leading the opposition parade,
with Germany, he feared, watching cautiously but curiously from the
sidelines.
The restrictive agreement that all Federation members would
trade only with other Federation members was not just a powerful
advantage for member nations, it was a powerful tool to keep
members from straying, from being lured to side deals with those
entities unable or unwilling to meet the Federation governance
requirements for a franchise. The temptation for black market trade
with non-members, Lal understood, would be a constant danger.
From the latest intelligence report there was suggestive but not yet
compelling evidence that Germany was being courted by Latimer.
And not simply for off-book trading, but for a change of loyalties.
The report suggested that if Germany went, so would the Baltic
countries, all of whom would almost certainly join with Russia.
To some extent, the report went on, global warming had been
kind to Russia, giving her longer seasons and an extra harvest each
year. Her people were well fed and China was a potential customer
for its excess agricultural production. Only the World Federation!s
restrictive trade agreement kept China from purchasing food from
nearby Russia. The United States had long been China!s $grocery

32

 store,!# but continued droughts in America!s northwest and several

central states were threatening China!s food security. Zhou was not
happy with the trading embargo with non-members of the Federation
and had let Lal know it in their meeting earlier in the day.
Why are things always so complicated? Lal asked himself for
perhaps the thousandth time in his career.
Lal lit a second cigarette. Evening was approaching and
Beijing, the new "city of lights,” was putting aside its daytime glare
as it slowly presented to the emerging night a different dazzling
brilliance.

33

Sylvia knocked on Samuel Berman!s door. It had been closed

all morning and Sylvia decided she would wait no longer. When
there was no answer she knocked again, harder. A few more seconds
passed before she heard "Yes, come in.”
Samuel Berman rose from his desk immediately as Sylvia
entered the room. He offered her his hand and directed her to the
sitting area in a corner of his office. On the low table were copies of
The Atlantic, Forbes, and The Economist. Sylvia once again noticed
their colorful covers and their untouched appearance. She had never
once seen Samuel peruse any of them. She could not help wondering
each time she was in his office why they were there.
"Sylvia, would you like some coffee or tea perhaps?”
"Samuel, what!s going on?”
Berman!s lips tightened a bit and he sank back into his chair. He
did not know what to say and just returned Sylvia!s gaze. After
waiting as long as she could for Samuel to respond, she said "And
so? At least you!re not treating me like a fool and asking me what I
mean. But I will answer it anyway. I know when I am being kept out
of a loop and that is yours and Arthur!s prerogative, but I don!t like it.
I don!t like feeling untrusted or not useful. I also can read the news

34

 and know things external to the company are not going well. So,
what!s happening and why do you feel I can!t help?”
Berman remained silent. After a moment he began tapping his
fingers on his thighs, seemingly lost in some internal calculation.
Finally, he said with resolution in his voice, "Well, I need some tea.
I!ve become rather fond of the pu-erh. Are you sure you won!t have
some with me?”
Sylvia saw there was nothing to do but indulge Samuel. If she
wanted an answer she would have to play this game with him.
"Alright, yes, thank you.” Samuel used his cell phone to order tea to
be brought in directly when it was ready. Even so, Sylvia was not in
the mood to play for too long. When Samuel asked about Jonas while
waiting for the tea to arrive, instead of following his lead she
complained that she wished her husband didn!t have to travel so
much.
"Why Sylvia, I thought you would be pleased that it was not
another short notice emergency trip.”
"You remember of course that I am not only an administrator,”
Sylvia said deliberately. "I am also a scientist. And as a scientist
anything off pattern draws attention. In this climate, no pun intended,
off pattern also raises concern. What!s going on in Las Vegas? The
transition to hydrogen, I thought, was going very well there and
sustainable secondary energy sources are nicely bridging the gap,
solar especially.”
"You won!t let an old man have his tea first before the
inquisition?”
"My dear Mister Berman, we both know you were born old. No
excuses, please.”
They both laughed. "True, true,” Berman said. "Sylvia, I do
apologize for being so secretive, for Arthur also I apologize. Your
temporary exclusion is not a matter of lack of trust or competence, I

35

 assure you. It!s more a case of our trying clearly to define the
challenge before bringing you in. Believe me, when we do you may
regret what you are asking for if you are asking for inclusion.” After
a pause, he added, "But perhaps it is now time.”
Sylvia began to lean forward, giving Berman her absolute
attention when the office door opened and a young Chinese woman
entered carrying a tea service on a porcelain platter. "Ah, just in
time,” Berman said. He fussed for a few more moments serving
Sylvia first and then himself.
He carefully blew on the surface of his tea and cautiously took
a small sip. Sylvia did the same and then shrugged in an involuntary
sign of irritation.
"Okay, let!s get to it,” Berman said, putting down his tea. "As
you know, the World Federation began with laser-fusion. You have
done a brilliant job as Deputy Director of the laboratory. But your
skills are needed elsewhere now. You are a creative troubleshooter
par excellence my dear. It!s time to turn the role of sustaining what
you have built over to someone who loves the long slog, a strong
manager content with controlling a well-established organization
already having proved itself. I might add already having established
its traditions and procedures and record of achievement upon which
to build. Do you follow me?”
"Not yet. Please continue.”
"As to be expected, there are multiple solution streams flowing
from the climate change problem. One new stream involves solid-
state Maser development. That is where you would have been
directed to place all your energy and effort, if…if you were to stay as
Deputy Director of the Laser Lab. You need not concern yourself
with that project. It is officially out of your hands as of now. The
Federation has an urgent need for your skills in another crisis.”
Berman took a sip of tea and smiled. "Isn!t everything a crisis these
days, my dear? Well, anyway, you must be waiting breathlessly for
the other shoe to drop, so to speak. And here it is. It involves your
36

 question about James!s travel plans as well.” Berman pointed to

Sylvia!s cup of tea. "It!s getting cold. Please, enjoy.”
Sylvia gave a frown of frustration, but took her cup and sipped
the earthy, musky flavored tea. She never did acquire a taste for pu-
erh tea. To her it tasted like liquid, mushroom-flavored dirt.
"Samuel, do you really mean to make me crazy?”
"I suppose I do, my dear,” he said. "Because, on second thought,
what you need to be told I believe is above my pay grade, as they
say. In fact, even Arthur would be telling you the same thing had you
knocked on his door instead. Above his pay grade as well. You need
to speak directly with President Lal on this matter. Why don!t you
head toward his office and I will call him to let him know you are on
your way and why.”
Sylvia realized there was no point in questioning Berman any
longer. "I don!t like this unnecessary intrigue, Samuel,” she said
getting up to leave. "It wastes my time.” And she left.
As far as Sylvia knew, energy for Las Vegas was not a problem.
Built as it is in the desert, the conditions have been ideal for solar
energy to bridge the energy gap when the coal-fired plants were
decommissioned and before the laser-fusion plants could come on
line with greater capacity. The transmission of energy from the
source to the user also was no problem because of the proximity of
the city to the solar farms. According to last reports Sylvia had read
the creation of the hydrogen infrastructure was going well. She
assumed the long lead-time to James!s trip was because…well,
because as far as she knew that there was no crisis in Las Vegas. But
why go at all? There were many other locations around the world
that were not as rosy. She still didn!t get it. And what was she going
to find out from President Lal? She just lost a very good job. She
assumed this was a promotion, but to what?

***

37

 From the air, to James Marshall Las Vegas had always seemed a
kind of arrogant challenge to reason built as it is in the Great Basin
of the Mohave Desert. Bounded by dry mountains, especially on the
west by the Sierra Nevada and Wasatch mountain ranges, moist air
from the ocean has long lost its moisture rising up the western slopes
of the mountains, dropping their water load before making it over to
the leeward, eastern side of the mountains. On average, Las Vegas
received about four inches of rain a year. There is no surface water
since rain quickly seeps into the porous and desiccated soil.
James scanned Las Vegas from ten thousand feet as his plane
approached McCarran International Airport. The green lawns and
thirsty New England style landscaping plans were gone years ago,
outlawed by the Southern Nevada Water Authority, as the water level
of Lake Mead steadily dropped. The Colorado River by summer over
the last few years dried up before reaching Lake Mead. The loss of
mountain snow meant loss of the snowmelt that fed the Colorado
River.
The previous year the level dropped to near the critical nine
hundred feet above sea level at which point the Hoover Dam turbines
would stop receiving water. James had been to Las Vegas the year
before to monitor the switch to solar energy to replace the impending
loss of hydroelectric energy. The solar farm is the largest in the
world, funded by a consortium of casino owners, state and federal
governments and grants from The World Federation.
James was told his trip was to monitor the conversion of the
Mohave and Reid Gardner generating stations from decommissioned
coal fired units to new laser-fusion direct current units. The solar
farm was able to supply Las Vegas with a minimum of energy
needed for necessities, but was unable to support the dazzling
casinos that were more or less its financial reason for being. When
the two power stations come on line in the fall, Las Vegas will be
almost back to normal even without the Hoover Dam turbines. James
figured this for one of his less stressful visits.
By drilling deeper into the base rock of Lake Mead, a fourth
"spigot” was turned on to ensure a steady and adequate water supply
38

 for the city. It looked to James Marshall that Las Vegas was a model
for how a well-planned and well-timed response to the consequences
of global warming could be managed with laudable success.
Evidently the local population thought so too. The formerly
relentless exodus from the city had stabilized. There was even a
recent slight uptick in the population of the Metropolitan district.
There wasn!t a lot of happy news elsewhere about energy and water
these days, James thought, and Las Vegas, he decided, was going to
give him a welcome warm fuzzy feeling.
It was late morning when James!s plane touched down. He was
retrieving his luggage only a half hour later. Even though he was
tired and jet-lagged from the long flight from Beijing he decided to
drive immediately to the Mohave station so that he could get a sense
of accomplishing something before he went to sleep. He called ahead
to let Jim Banes, the project manager at the site, know he was
coming. After another half hour to rent and acquire a car he was on
his way.
James quickly regretted his decision to meet at the job site the
same day he arrived in Vegas. He underestimated his jet-lag and the
Nevada sun. Also, he had left his sunglasses in his luggage. The glare
off the desert sand was exhausting and he was worried about keeping
his eyes open. He thought of Sylvia and Jonas and kicked himself for
what now seemed like a dumb decision.
He finally thought it best to pull onto the shoulder to take a
short nap. Not a lot of time went by before he was awakened by a
Nevada State Trooper tapping with his nightstick on the driver!s side
window. James tried to gather his wits as he rolled his window down.
"Do you need any help, sir?” the officer asked.
Blinking his eyes to clear his head, he looked blankly at the
trooper for a moment. Then he smiled and said he was fine, just
catching some winks to get past his jet lag.
"Where are you heading?” the trooper asked.

39

 "Laughlin, to the Mohave power station. I!m a consultant for the

conversion project going on there,” James said. "I appreciate your
stopping to check on me, officer, but I$m okay. Actually I!m glad you
did or I might have slept right through my meeting. But I!m okay
now. I think the nap and the coffee at the airport have kicked in.”
"Alright, sir, but just be careful…where you drive and where
you stop. It!s a pretty quiet road and you don!t want to take chances.”
"Right you are, officer. It!s not that long a ride. I!ll be fine.
Thanks again. Can I be on my way?”
"Yes, sir. Have a safe trip.” The trooper backed away putting his
sunglasses on as he did.
Well, that woke me up, James thought, resuming his drive to
Mohave Station another hour down the highway.
Even from a distance the plant was impressive. Before it was
decommissioned, the two generating units at the site could produce
almost eight hundred megawatts each, giving the plant the
extraordinary output of approximately sixteen hundred megawatts at
full capacity. James marveled how, despite the huge investment costs
sunk in the plant, the evils of coal and the uncertain availability of
cooling water had shut this behemoth down. Southern California
Edison elected not to go to the expense of upgrading to meet the
pollution control requirements for a coal furnace, especially since the
water needed to operate and cool the plant was not a sure thing
anymore. After some initial dismantling the owner company simply
decided just to abandon it.
James drove to the project manager!s trailer where Jim Banes
was waiting for him. Thank god the trailer was air conditioned,
James thought. He spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening
reviewing the progress of the conversion. When he was ready to
leave that evening he was convinced the September commissioning
date would be met and that the laser-fusion conversion would put
this site to good use. After a final cup of coffee, James drove to his
hotel in Las Vegas and went to sleep.
40

 The next day, his visit to Reid Gardner station was more or less
a repeat of his trip to Mohave station. No unusual delays or setbacks.
The project manager at Reid Gardner station, Harold Haskie, was
new. He stood a little over six feet, was dressed in comfortable
construction site attire, and wore the obligatory orange hard hat. He
was Navajo and had the dark complexion of that race. His ears lay
flat against his head and his face was somewhat rounded, with
pronounced cheekbones and a long, sloping nose. His eyes were
wide set, but narrow and piercing and he wore metal frame glasses
that James noticed tinted automatically in the sun. He was about
fifty, James guessed, although he typically found it difficult to judge
the age of members of a different race.
Harold Haskie, just like Jim Banes at the Mohave station, had
things under control and anticipated meeting the September
commissioning date. At a former generating capacity of 560
megawatts, Reid Gardner wasn!t in the same class as the giant
Mohave station, but had still been important to the power picture for
Las Vegas. The conversion to a laser-fusion system would put to
good use this retired plant as well.
When their work was done and it was time for James to leave,
Haskie asked him if he could walk with him to his car. James was a
little surprised. Usually project managers are too busy to extend such
departing courtesies to visitors. The dry gravel crunched in the late
afternoon sun as they walked to the parking lot. There would be no
tar paving of the parking lot, no elaborate landscaping with large,
water hungry green leaf plantings and no sprinklers, only a simple
drip watering system for the few specimen bushes scattered near the
entrance to the plant. All the bushes were native to the area.
"I want you to know how much the Federation appreciates the
work you!re doing here, Harold. Staying on schedule is vital.”
Haskie remained silent. At James!s car, they shook hands but
Haskie did not let go. When the time for letting go was long past,
James used his left hand to release the grip. "Is something wrong,
Harold?”
41

 Haskie backed away slightly and placed his hands in his

pockets. He looked directly into James!s eyes, but still remained
silent. James waited for Haskie to decide what he was going to say.
Haskie turned away finally, scanning the surrounding looming
mountains on one side and the dried out field dotted with sagebrush
skeletons on the other.
"Harold?”
Haskie made a decision and looking directly at James said, "The
water is radioactive.”
James was surprised at the completely out of context statement
so he said nothing. He was, of course, aware of the issue of uranium
contamination for some aquifers, especially in the West and Midwest
United States. After a moment of reflection he asked Haskie, "Is this
something to be concerned about?”
"Normally, not really. Uranium can be easily removed from
water even though the filters are a bit costly. But this is different.
More dangerous and not filterable.”
"Where is it coming from?” James asked.
"Yucca Flat. It was supposed to take about a thousand years or
more for ground water to reach outside the Yucca Flat nuclear test
range, but it!s showing up now, here. The level of radioactivity is
steadily rising.”
"How do you know all this?” James asked.
"I know.” Haskie paused. He wasn!t ready to reveal his source.
"It!s in the deep water aquifer, the fourth pipe, but it!s not detectable
at the taps yet. I thought you ought to know.”
"Does the Water Authority know about this?” James was
beginning to think non-locally.
"Yes. They just haven!t made any announcements. I think
there!s a secret plan to install uranium-trapping filters. From what I
hear, some administrators at the Authority are even calling this good
42

 fortune as they envision selling whatever uranium they can trap from
the water. Only…”
Haskie folded his arms and looked at the ground.
"Only what? Come on, Harold. Out with it.”
"Only it!s not the usual uranium contamination. I don!t know
what those guys are thinking or maybe I!m just not getting the story
straight. The problem isn!t uranium. It!s the radioactive material
created by more than nine hundred nuclear detonations at the test
range. Yucca Flat is probably the most radioactive place on Earth.
The above-ground tests were bad enough, but the underground tests,
those are the ones that left massive caverns filled with just a
hodgepodge of radioactive material, strontium and cesium being the
worst. It!s impossible to clean so uranium is the least of the
problem.”
"A thousand years, you said. And we!re getting it now? What!s
speeding up the flow do you think?”
"Mr. Marshall, it!s what you get when you build a city in the
desert. Las Vegas is more or less draining every source of water,
surface water, ground water, everything. And by sucking it all dry,
they are pulling the aquifer flow from the test range towards Las
Vegas faster and faster. I used to work for OSHA and spent a lot of
time at Yucca Flat. It was always thought the contamination from the
tests would never be a problem, for all practical purposes. But the
injection wells using Colorado River water to replenish the aquifers
supplying Las Vegas don!t work anymore. With global warming
there!s just not enough winter snow to keep the Colorado going past
mid-summer. By then the river!s more or less gone dry so the
aquifers are getting depleted. The depleted aquifers act like a vacuum
pump pulling contaminated water from the Flat towards Las Vegas.
It!s really a disaster no matter how you look at it, Mr. Marshall.”
"Harold, what do you mean $a disaster?!#Have the levels reached
a health threat?” James asked.
43

 "I think it was a year ago when they first noticed the spike in
radioactivity, from what I can tell, at least.”
"Jesus. This would be pretty hard to hide.”
"Well, I only found out about this ten days ago. I!m just telling
you what I heard and from a good source. No one, and I mean no one
talks about this for the record. There are almost seven hundred
thousand people in Las Vegas and we!re talking about potentially
abandoning the city. There just is no other possible source of water
that hasn!t already been tapped out or that won!t be contaminated.”
"What about the plant?” James asked. The whole point for
building the new plants at Mohave and Reid Gardner stations, James
knew, was to provide an alternative long term, high capacity energy
sources for Las Vegas. If Las Vegas was not a going proposition,
there was no need for the two laser-fusion stations due to go online
in September. What Harold Haskie was telling him would represent a
huge financial loss to the Federation, to the other investors and to the
United States government as well. James was stunned.
Harold Haskie shuffled his feet, head down and did not answer
James!s question.
"What about the plant, Harold?” James repeated.
"Mr. Marshall, I guess the answer to that question is going to be
for the guys that get the big bucks.” A brief smile crossed Haskie!s
face, but quickly disappeared, replaced by a blank stare in the
direction of Las Vegas.

44

Paul Latimer hated The World Federation. He hated Ranjit Lal.

He hated the memory of a murderous General Slaider. He hated the
usurpations of the United States and The People!s Republic of China.
He hated the whole sanctimonious pretense behind the Federation.
And he hated the Deep Labyrinth, the invisible powers, including the
World Federation, which ran the world clandestinely, without
accountability to elected bodies outside the ruling faction.
Twelve years ago he barely escaped with his life when Slaider
secretly masterminded the bloody coup that created the new, rosy,
superficial worldview, but left everything in the labyrinth of deep
power the same. Only the names and faces had changed. Latimer
hated the secret cabal that created The World Federation, which like
a phoenix arose from the strategic ashes of its own creation.
Latimer lived his own clandestine existence for five years while
he struggled, adapting to his new, renegade reality.
While he served as Vice President, he knew there were forces at
play that he simply was not privy to. He accepted as one of the
political realities that he held an essentially powerless position with
only one function, to be there if the President ever died or became
incapable of performing his duties. When that moment arrived, even
then he was not destined to fulfill his constitutional role. General
Slaider had seen to that. Seven years ago he put his anger aside, not
away, just aside. He roused himself to a new life, a new awareness
and a new mission. He would bring down The World Federation.
45

 Latimer had time now to prepare himself carefully for his

evening meeting at the Café Bruges. He had arrived in Algiers only
the previous day. He didn!t like to stay in one spot too long.
Standing in his hotel room, Paul Latimer assessed himself in the
simple oval mirror mounted above the cheap chest of drawers. For a
man now in his early sixties, he was pleased with how trim his body
was. Sixty-three had always seemed so old to him. Now it was just a
new stage of life. Not elderly exactly, but if he were still in politics,
an elder.
He was now about six feet one inch, a loss of a full inch. The
accumulating impact of advancing age, he thought. He had
effectively lost five years living in the shadows after the coup that
was never called a coup. When he sought refuge in Europe, he hid in
Germany for a few months with friends of Air Force General Stoner,
himself a victim of General Slaider!s plan. His German protectors
were American spies embedded unobtrusively in a community near
Frankfurt.
Latimer grew a beard and let his hair grow longer then and
looked quite transformed, he thought. Even though he could not
change his height, in Germany a tall man was not unusual. So he
blended, but only for a while. He could not impose on his hosts
indefinitely. Their inescapable divided loyalty between keeping faith
with their friend, Stoner, and keeping faith with the new US
government for whom they worked and also owed loyalty created an
unbearable tension and risk. He had overstayed his welcome. He
would avoid the "community” contacts and move on his own to the
Czech Republic. Money was not an issue. Stoner had arranged for
him to have five hundred thousand US dollars waiting for him when
he arrived in Germany.
He fully understood that identity papers, even the false papers
provided to him by General Stoner!s contacts, could be traced
without much effort. Latimer elected to chance moving without
papers. In the US, there was a time when identity papers were not
routinely carried. However, with the advent of worldwide terrorism
46

 at the beginning of the century, identity papers had become a part of

what you took with you when you dressed, like your wallet and your
keys.
Latimer knew well now when and where he might reasonably
be asked to present his papers. They were mostly predictable
situations and he learned to avoid them. The random stop was one
circumstance he could not protect against and would have to trust to
luck and to staying under the radar. One thing in his favor was the
large number of immigrants, legal and illegal, from the Middle East
who took a higher priority for random stops than a well-dressed,
obvious westerner. He also trimmed his full beard to a neat goatee
and thin mustache. Very European. The hardest of all was the loss of
his wife and son. His family became tormenting memories for him.
For them, he was presumed dead and labeled atraitor.
Now in Algiers, looking in the mirror Latimer was happy with
his still tight and muscular build. He could handle himself if the need
arose and it had. His long journey from America to Algiers was not
without testing his patience, resolve and willingness to defend
himself when necessary. But even these occasional incidents did not
raise his profile above the herd because he lived within the herd of
faceless, voiceless, inconsequential people, invisible in plain sight.
Twice he had brief encounters with agents of the World Federation.
However, he believed they were random and that they did not
recognize him. Yet he knew that he represented a loose end to the
Federation, a witness to their real treason. Immediately following his
escape from America his days seemed to him numbered, the forces
arrayed against him being so powerful and so widespread.
Paul Latimer discovered qualities about himself—survival
skills—he never knew he had. This had surprised him, but also
pained him that he found himself in a world where such skills were
necessary. His new life was a far cry from being Vice President of
the United States.
The Café Bruges was located between the Casbah and the Gare
d!Alger train station. It was an easy walk from Latimer!s nondescript
hotel, chosen for its lack of diligence regarding official papers and
47

 documents. In any event, he would not be at the hotel long enough to

create a risk. The bigger risk was the walk to the café, even dressed
as he was in simple native clothing. His face was covered by the
drape of his keffiyeh and his unkempt appearance and large stature
made him an unlikely and perhaps risky target for thieves or worse.
There were easier fish to catch than he.
Latimer quickly scanned the café from a doorway across the
narrow street. There appeared to be nothing that might arouse
concern, so Latimer silently moved to one of the little outside tables,
ordered an espresso and waited for his contact to arrive. There were
no other patrons using the two remaining outside tables and only two
groups of two men each occupying inside tables. Outside was better
for a private conversation.
Latimer was almost finished with his espresso when Grigory
Alexeivich Zukanov arrived. Latimer rose and greeted him warmly.
Zukanov was dressed in a simple male abaya. He sat across from
Latimer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to
Latimer. Latimer accepted and they both lit up, smoking when the
waiter arrived. Latimer ordered espressos for both of them. They
waited silently, smoking their cigarettes until the waiter returned
with their drinks.
"I can get you in,” Zukanov said, in a deeply Russian-accented
English. It was good enough, however, for Latimer to understand and
smile. It was not a place Zukanov was speaking of, but rather a
condition of trust.
Latimer tapped the table with his knuckles in recognition and
satisfaction of a mission accomplished. "Excellent. When do we
leave?”
"Tonight,” was his succinct reply. Zukanov was not as tall as
Paul Latimer, but he still commanded a sense of authority when he
spoke. He had surprising eyes that captured one!s attention. They
were strikingly blue and piercingly direct. They inspired confidence
as one who understood urgency.

48

 "In one hour,” Zukanov continued. "A car will meet you in front
of your hotel. I will be in the car next to the driver and we will leave
straight away as soon as we pick you up. Leave nothing behind.” He
watched Latimer!s reaction closely. "Any questions?” he asked.
"No,” Latimer said.
"Good. This has been an excellent place to begin our journey.
You have left essentially no footprint here. It is a journey from
nowhere by no one. Exactly as we need it to be. We will first travel
to Tripoli, then Cairo, then Ankara, and finally to Novosibirsk. It is
there our work will truly begin.”

***

Smiling professionally, Ranjit Lal!s secretary, Gladys, told

Sylvia he had to attend briefly to an urgent matter, but that she could
wait for him in his office. She offered Sylvia tea or coffee while she
waited, but Sylvia declined. She was not sure she could keep
anything down.
She waited patiently for Lal to return, feeling that her life
suddenly had become a complete mystery, her past twelve years
working for the Federation suddenly upended leaving her with no
sense of the next step in her career trajectory. She was acutely aware
of the randomness of life, that plans are a vain affectation and that
forces beyond her control or approval could always rewrite her life
script. She knew she had done well, that she was respected and
validated by her achievements, but suddenly that solid perch had
been pulled and she was like a cartoon character suspended in mid-
air but not yet falling because she had not yet looked down.
As the waiting continued, Sylvia calmed her speculations.
There was no point in trying to anticipate what Lal!s plans would be
for her. She!ll know when she knows and that!s all there is to it, she
decided.

49

 Finally, Lal entered the room moving swiftly to his desk

without acknowledging her presence, evidently lost in thought. After
settling himself at his desk, Lal looked up, his eyes pointed towards
Sylvia but his focus seemed to be at an object far behind her. Sylvia
shifted in her chair and that brought Lal back to the moment.
"Yes, okay. Good afternoon, Sylvia. Sorry about keeping you
waiting. Did Gladys offer you anything?”
"She did, sir, but I was good. Still am.”
"Okay. I understand James is in Las Vegas. Probably one of his
less depressing destinations. Just checking up on schedules, you
see.”
Lal paused, but since Sylvia did not know what to say, she
remained silent with a noncommittal smile on her face.
"Well, I!m glad Samuel called me. The time has come for us to
have this conversation. I know you have felt neglected recently, but
not to be alarmed.” Lal looked reassuringly at Sylvia.
"Except that I!m also out of a job,” Sylvia said.
"Only temporarily, I assure you.” Lal folded his hands and
placed them on his desk, in front of him. He leaned forward looking
intently at her now.
"I think it will be easier to start with the end,” he said. "I want
you to take a leadership role in a highly confidential project, a secret
project as it were, reporting only to me.” He watched for any
reaction by Sylvia, but she remained silent.
"The work you will be participating in, if implemented, will be
perhaps the most important work ever performed by human agency
or if it fails to launch may end up being a colossal waste of time and
money. So, those are the boundaries. The task I will describe in a
moment. But I can say with confidence, whether we use the plan this
group develops or not, it will consume you. The fate of humanity
may, I say may, rest in your hands as well as those of the others in
this group so there will be no vacations, no distractions, no excuses.”

50

 Again Lal paused. "And your work must be developed in complete

secrecy.”
"Mr. President, with all due respect, this sounds pretty scary.
What are we actually talking about, sir?” Sylvia asked, becoming
unnerved.
"Quite,” Lal said, acknowledging her anxious attention. "You
know, of course, twelve years ago your work to develop the laser-
induced fusion technology was to secure a sustainable energy path
for the future in a way that broke the dependence on fossil fuels.
Now we need not only a sustainable source of energy, but a life-
sustaining environment. Of course, you know all this. What you may
not know is that we are losing the battle for that second goal. Our
task and methods for reducing carbon emissions is already well
established, but not the schedule. In the early $20s a maximum one
degree centigrade increase in the average temperature of Earth was
the political target. Tragically, we have already lost the $one degree!#
war. We are now losing the $two degree!# war, the consequences of
which we are now experiencing. When the average temperature of
Earth reaches two degrees above the 1951-1980 base period we will
already be sliding into the $three degree!#war and the beginning of the
doomsday scenarios so thoroughly described by scientists for
decades.”
Lal stopped speaking and stared blankly at his desktop. His
words seemed to drain his energy. Sylvia sat quietly, waiting. Finally,
Lal gave his head a little shake, as if clearing an obstacle from his
mind that was preventing him from proceeding.
"I use the word $war,!#as in $three degree war!#advisedly, because
if we don!t think of our efforts to stop the rising temperature of Earth
with a warlike mentality we will lose perhaps our only opportunity to
save our planet for life as we know it. In a war, winning takes
priority over everything else. You don!t hold back. You do whatever
you have to do to win and we are at war with the forces that drive the

51

 rising temperature. We know who the enemy is. It is fossil fuels. In

the beginning the high energy density of fossil fuels was a blessing
that supported the industrial revolution. Now, it has become a curse
that may kill us all.
"Harvests are failing and the specter of widespread famine,
eradicated for more than a hundred and fifty years, is returning—in
China, India, South America, Southeast Asia, Australia. It!s not a
pretty picture, Sylvia and drinking water is becoming problematic in
all regions of the world depending on mountain glacial melt. Wells,
and aquifers, too, for that matter are failing. The prospects for
survival for billions, yes, with a $b,!#are becoming dire indeed.” Lal
picked up the pen on his desk and began gently tapping it on the
report lying there before him.
"The conversion to a hydrogen energy economy is moving
apace. You have seen to that brilliantly, Sylvia. Brilliantly, that is,
within the constraints of what is politically possible. Scientists knew
and repeatedly warned that Earth!s climate is like a massive,
lumbering ocean liner with only a forward gear,” Lal said, "not like a
little speed boat. People just could not seem to understand that what
was being done to Earth!s environment was not reversible and not
even able to be quickly slowed.
"The consequences of the greenhouse gases already in the
atmosphere to some extent are felt immediately, but the full
consequences may not be felt for decades. As a result, a blundering
humanity keeps adding to the load of greenhouse gases put into the
environment every single day, twenty-four/seven.”
Lal observed Sylvia fidgeting in her seat and realized he was
taking too long getting to the point.
# "Sylvia, the Federation believes we are heading for a tipping
point the other side of which is catastrophic environmental collapse.
The focus of attention for decades has been the accelerated melting
of the Greenland icepack. Troubling as that is, it is not as serious as

52

 the melting of Earth!s permafrost layer. This has the potential for the
release of a really terrifying amount of carbon dioxide and methane
into the atmosphere, an amount that could easily double the amount
already there. We cannot, we must not let that happen.”
Sylvia knew that the conversion to hydrogen was not happening
fast enough. All she had to do was look around or follow the news.
The flooding of coastal cities. Sea level rise. Altered weather
patterns. The disappearance of year round Arctic Ocean ice. She
knew it all, but believed other people were working on intervention
plans. She knew she did not see the whole picture of what could or
would be attempted. She always assumed there would be some kind
of massive expansion in the deployment of alternative energy
sources, wind and solar and the like as a bridge until the hydrogen
energy economy was fully in place.
"How can I help, Mr. President? And why must it be kept
secret, especially when I believe worldwide collaboration on all
solution scenarios is the best strategy?”
"I will get to that. I promise. But before I do, I don!t want us
wasting time elaborating the obvious. We can do with less, change
our eating habits, accelerate the conversion to stop-gap wind, solar,
geothermal, tidal and whatever other source of energy is in the
sustainable alternative energy mix until the infrastructure for
hydrogen is completed. We can seriously reduce energy use with
conservation and triage, eliminating what energy use is not essential.
Of course this is all possible and on a short time line. But it won!t be
enough even if there was the political consensus to proceed on a
massive enough scale to make a difference, which there isn!t. We!re
sure of that now but the blockage can be explained with a too long
and pointless a tale of greed and corruption. Nevertheless, we must
stop the rising temperature of Earth, even without a consensus.” Lal
paused to allow Sylvia to process his so far incomplete message. He
waited for a comment.

53

 "Well, as you know,” Sylvia began, "I!ve been dedicated to

getting the conversion program moving as quickly as possible, but I
haven!t been unaware that things seem to be slipping out of control,
especially with James traveling the world as he does, getting a
firsthand view, and of course he shares his observations and
impressions with me. Frankly, I!ve tried not to dwell too much on
what I know and what I suspect. I!ve mostly been focused on the
tasks I!ve been assigned. Where do I fit into this new project?”
"Ah, now the tricky part begins. Do you know how a young
woman such as yourself, with no political network with no obvious
powerful mentor rose so quickly to the position of Deputy Director
in the department that fundamentally spawned The World
Federation?”
Settling back in her chair, Sylvia answered, "I have a feeling
you!re going to tell me.”
"It was because of General Slaider. He was most impressed with
you at the one meeting that counted for him. It was the meetings
when you agreed to take the management reins of AJC Fusion, to
bring the team back together and to complete the work you all had
started so brilliantly and to complete and perfect the laser-fusion
technology. He spoke with me about you at great length. What he
saw, he told me, was not just a good manager who could inspire the
trust and respect of her colleagues and subordinates. He saw
something bigger, a dormant quality as it were. It was the ability to
see the big picture. Yes, I know that what one means by the big
picture depends on what pond you!re swimming in. In your pond,
you saw it all. You had, he said, the rare and valuable talent for
attention to detail without getting lost in the detail. He said he trusted
you never to lose sight of the end goal and that everything you did
was ultimately to achieve that goal. The key word here, Sylvia, is
trust.” Lal stopped and watched for a reaction.
"I hope that over the years his trust has been justified.”
54

 "Indeed, that is why we!re having this discussion. But for the
assignment I am proposing to you, trust is not enough. I need to
know how committed you are to an end goal.” He paused. Sylvia
made no comment and Lal continued.
"You remember, of course, the chaos, the loss of life and
property, the destruction of, for many, cherished institutions that
preceded the founding of The World Federation. Thinking back on
that, I say, do you believe it was worth it? The president dead,
thousands killed, martial law, all of it. Was it really worth all that?”
Lal watched Sylvia closely.
Sylvia did not know what to say. Like so many others at the
time, she was caught up in the flow of events, following the current,
not really weighing $should!#and $should not.!#It all just happened.
"I don!t know,” she said. "Honestly, I haven!t given it much
thought. It all seemed so right at the time. More often than not I think
one gets captured by the flow of events.”
"Yes, in a way it is so much easier to go with the flow. But if
you had to authorize the events that led to The World Federation, if
you had to make the decisions that were the root cause of all the
chaos and death, in addition to the good, looking back would you
have been able to say: Yes, go ahead?”
"Mr. President, this is highly speculative and hypothetical. It
would be easy now to say yes to something already done. If I did not
know already how things would turn out—I don!t know. It depends.”
Sylvia smiled and added, "Probably not the answer you!re looking
for.”
"On the contrary. It!s what I expected from an honest person of
integrity. But let!s go deeper. What would it take for you to say $I do
know, rather than $I don!t know?!# What is missing in your
calculation?”
Sylvia thought for a moment. "A really good reason that I
believed in strongly,” she said.
55

 "I see. And how far will that conviction let you go?”
Sylvia looked puzzled. "I don!t understand. What do you mean
by how far?”
"I think you know what I mean. How far will your conviction to
a goal take you? Would there be a line, despite your conviction,
across which you would not permit yourself to go? If so, how do you
know where that line lies? Or is there no line if you feel strongly
enough about it.”
Sylvia stared at Lal with no expression, wanting to understand
where he was going with all this. Still, she didn!t know what to say.
"Suppose,” Lal continued, "your son got himself into a difficult
situation at school, for example. He decide to cut school to avoid a
test, let!s say. And there were good reasons for him to cut school to
avoid the test. It was a high stakes test and through no fault of his
own, he had been unable to study and prepare for the test. Would you
lie for him, make up an excuse so he could take the test later?”
"No, of course not.”
"Why not?” Lal asked.
"It would be wrong and not fair to the other students who did
prepare.”
"So you have a line and it is based on your conception of right
and wrong. Yes?”
"Yes, pretty much.” Sylvia knew there would be another shoe to
drop and did not have long to wait.
"Now suppose,” Lal continued, "your son was in grave danger
and to protect or save him you had to harm seriously someone else,
some innocent person. Would you do it?”
"Harm how seriously?”
"Gravely serious.”
Logical arguments swirled in her head, first for one decision
then for another. Finally she said, "Yes. Yes, I would.”
56

 "Would it be the right thing to do? Your test for where you set
your line was doing the right thing, remember.”
"No, it wouldn!t be right but I would do it anyway. It!s my son
and I would do anything to keep him safe.”
"Your commitment to your son would be that strong?”
"Yes, it is that strong.”
"Ah, good.” Lal leaned back in his chair. "So your commitment
to right and wrong is not as strong as your commitment to your son,
your commitment to a stronger filter than right and wrong. Whether
it be love or loyalty or something else that guides you when nothing
else will, you acknowledge that what we think of as $right!#may not
always be the final arbiter. Yes?”
"Yes, I suppose that!s true.” Sylvia acknowledged.
Lal rose from his chair and gestured to Sylvia to change her
seat. "Let!s sit over here,” he said, moving to the coffee table. "I think
it will be more comfortable.” He waited for Sylvia to sit and then he
sat as well and continued.
"Sylvia, here is where we, I mean we the world, find ourselves.
We are slowly, relentlessly moving toward that cliff of the three
degree rise in the average temperature of Earth. This would be the
beginning of a self-sustaining slide into a doomsday scenario. And in
that case not millions, but billions of lives will be at stake. The
conditions of life on Earth if we go over the edge will make the
plagues of Egypt seem like child!s play. Most loss of life will be the
result of famine, thirst, flooding, heat and fire. It will be like nothing
ever experienced by man. The world population would probably
drop to something like two billion from its current nine billion. Can
you imagine, seven billion global-warming-related deaths? We
cannot let humanity suffer such losses.”
Lal reached into a drawer in his desk and pulled out a pack of
cigarettes. He offered one to Sylvia, but she declined. After a few
drags, Lal continued.

57

 "We need a new plan. The plan I want must not be constrained
by political, financial or factional appeasement. And if need be, the
plan must include the contingency for its forceful implementation.”
Sylvia!s thoughts were swirling with never before imagined
complexities. "Mr. President, you are leaving me quite breathless,”
she said. "Do you already have a plan in mind?”
"Yes. I have a skeleton of a plan. The project I wish you to join
will supply the flesh. The only imperative for the plan must be that it
can be implemented almost immediately after making the decision to
launch. And that its impact would be felt almost immediately.
Everything else is for the project members to work out.
"Where do I fit in to this project?” Sylvia asked.
Lal sighed and sat back in his chair. "I want you to be a part of
the program,” Lal continued, "but I cannot commit to you unless you
completely commit to me. Right and wrong can no longer have
meaning for you. Just as you say you will do anything to protect your
son, I need the same level of commitment from you to protect human
life on Earth. What I have to share is highly confidential and I cannot
share it with you unless I can trust you and count on you.” Lal
paused, needing a response.
#"So far, sir, it!s a bit of a blank check you!re asking me to sign.
I don!t know what I am committing to and you can!t tell me until I
do. Interesting dilemma.”
"Indeed. And yet we must find a way. Let me put it bluntly to
you then. You said that there are situations where the filter of your
sense of right and wrong may be superseded, where a higher filter,
shall we say, reigns supreme. I ask you now, does saving humanity
from the prospect of billions of global warming related deaths enter
that realm of higher level decision making?”
"You mean, do I believe the end justifies the means?”

58

 "Exactly,” Lal said with a smile, appreciating her well-known

ability to cut through the smoke and misdirections.
Sylvia answered without hesitation. "Yes, the end justifies the
means to me, at least in this case of global warming. I keep
envisioning an Earth that looks like a wasteland, a desiccated planet,
once beautiful and teeming with life, perhaps like Mars once was,
reduced, like Mars to just another rock whirling in the universe. I do
have such dreams, nightmares really. And I do see the terrifying
images, looking down on a lifeless Earth and wondering, what were
they thinking?” Sylvia lost her eye contact with Lal and her mind
drifted to the future world she just described. She took a deep breath
and let it out with a sigh.
"My son will inherit the Earth we leave him. It will either
nurture him or kill him. I will do whatever it takes to see that it
nurtures him. Does that answer your question?”
"Quite.” Lal sighed. "This part, the recruiting, is always so
difficult and some positions can be filled only by me. Yours is one of
them. But, here we are. Mission accomplished, as the American
military are fond of saying. And apropos of a good tradition, let!s
drink to that before we move on to answer your questions.
"I understand you favor a good cabernet from the Helan
mountain region. I believe I can do even better with a good French
vintage. We have earned a small celebration.” Lal pulled his phone
from his pocket and messaged his secretary, Gladys, to bring a bottle
of the wine he described to her and two glasses.
Lal and Sylvia waited silently until Gladys entered with the
wine and glasses. The windows in Lal!s office were solid with the
black of night sprinkled by the glowing patterns of bright dots of
light from nearby buildings and from the snaking traffic many stories
below. For the most part, however, the darkness outside produced
only reflected images of the room within. Sylvia waited patiently as
Lal opened the bottle and poured two glasses.

59

 After clicking wine glasses and taking a sip of the cabernet,

Sylvia said "I assume this project is some kind of $hail Mary!#solution
that may not get universal approval.”
#"Indeed it is,” was all Lal said.
"Do we know what that solution is or do we have yet to find it
first?” Sylvia asked.
"That is a very good question. Let!s start first with the obvious.
You know of course what geoengineering is.” Lal asked.
"Yes. It calls for cooling Earth by seeding the stratosphere with
particles capable of reflecting a portion of the sun!s energy back into
space, much like what happens after a large volcanic eruption. But I
thought it was off the table as a solution.” Sylvia paused, looking for
some confirmation from Lal, but he remained silent.
"Well,” Sylvia continued, "spraying particulates into the air will
certainly reduce the average temperature of Earth, but it!s also
considered too risky even to consider as a last ditch global solution.
Weather patterns can change, going from bad to worse and even if it
will temporarily bring Earth!s temperature down, it then becomes the
permanent task for humans to continue seeding the atmosphere,
managing the atmosphere forever.” Sylvia tried to remember where
she had read about the case against bioengineering.
She continued, realizing Lal was studying her closely.
"Besides,” she said, "if we don!t stop burning fossil fuels almost
immediately. even with geoengineering, the oceans will continue to
acidify because they will continue to absorb the carbon dioxide from
the atmosphere, turning the oceans basically into a dilute vinegar and
killing off a significant source of food for a majority of the people on
the planet.”
"Bravo! You don!t disappoint, Sylvia,” Lal said with a wry grin.
"I mention geoengineering precisely because it is all that you say…
and less. Geoengineering is discussed a lot in the literature, but no
one is seriously proposing any of the different strategies for blocking
60

 the sun!s energy. It!s just too dangerously complex. Too fraught with
unknowns. Too unpredictable. No, never.” Lal paused, seemingly
struggling with himself to get the words out.
"It is a false solution that leaves people with the mistaken belief
that even if things get really out of control, this solution is still
available to us. It is the perceived $hail Mary!#pass, as you say, that
we can always turn to. Well, it is not any kind of solution, for the
reasons you enumerated.
#"So, to get back to your question, we do have a solution, but it
is not this. Our solution, really the only solution, is the complete,
worldwide and immediate cessation of fossil fuel extraction of any
kind.”
Lal leaned back in his chair. "Of course, that is easier said than
done and what I mean by immediate must also be worked out.”
Sylvia was stunned and speechless.
"Yes, I know. This is an estimated five hundred trillion dollar
industry, but money won!t mean much to anyone if we are all dead.
Or most of us. Nor will arguing over which no longer relevant
economic ideology or theories be a fruitful enterprise. It has become
an argument bereft of significance.
"We are not moving fast enough with the hydrogen conversion.
It!s just a fact we have to accept. No criticism is meant of your
efforts by this statement. We simply must accept the facts and act.
This project will, of course, create a huge disruption to the world
economy, a disruption we hoped to stretch out over several decades,
but that is no longer a concern. We must expect, at least temporarily,
a complete, worldwide breakdown of commerce, so every aspect of
this move must be carefully planned and executed. And secrecy is of
the utmost importance.”
"With all due respect, Mr. President,” Sylvia said, "that!s not
possible. The fossil fuel stakeholders will not stand for a complete
and immediate cessation of extraction. We!re talking about money
61

 interests that can fund their own private army to resist such a move.
And we are not just talking about the businesses that depend on
extraction. There!s the extractors, the processors, transportation, the
byproducts industries, you name it. The fossil fuel industry and the
industries tied to it probably account for a quarter of the entire
world!s economy. Yes, eventually the fossil fuel interests were going
to lose a lot of their future earnings, but the schedule was such as to
give them time to move into other opportunities, sustainable energy
sources, for example, and also becoming part of the economy of the
hydrogen infrastructure. But this…it!s not possible. For one thing it
would produce the greatest economic collapse in the history of
humanity. No one will know where to turn or what to do.”
"And yet,” Lal said, responding to her challenge, "humanity will
be asked once again to perform the impossible. This project is not
negotiable. The consequences of not taking this step are becoming
more and more abundantly clear and time is not friendly to us. If we
wait until this step becomes the obvious action that must be taken,
the forces that will align against us will have prepared a course of
resistance that will make success infinitely more difficult and
costly.” Lal paused for a moment before continuing as if the next
words were only reluctantly to be spoken.
"The bottom line about the world economy is that the capitalist
economic model as we know it will be dead forever. Consumerism is
no longer sustainable anyway. It is the harsh reality, but there will be
nothing we can do about it. The World Federation will have to lead
the transition to a new, sustainable economic model, a model we
have yet to envision, but we are working on it.”
"Jesus Christ! This is like the end of the world, no matter what
happens.”
"It is indeed. There is no happy ending. What we will be doing
is trying to produce the least bad ending. A great deal of disruption is
assured by what we have already put into the air and the oceans.
Remember, our environment, this ocean liner, is still moving
62

 forward. Even if we kill the engine it will still continue on for some
time by its own momentum. But we must kill the engine and fossil
fuels are that engine.”
"I see. And this is the $ends justify the means!#part of the plan.”
"Yes,” was all Lal said.
"Okay, I am entering information overload. So, you are saying it
will, in all likelihood, require force, military force, to execute our yet
to be determined plan, and that we must launch first before our
intentions become known.”
#"Quite so.”
"And there is a likelihood of some death and destruction when
implementing the plan,” Sylvia said, already imagining how this
might play out.
"Yes.”
"And I assume the best way to minimize the death and
destruction is by the exercise of overwhelming force and by
surprise.”
"Yes.”
Sylvia sat quietly calculating, trying to expand her imagination
to the proper scale for a project like this. It would have to be a
worldwide, simultaneous action directed first at the choke points.
There were just too many extraction sites to occupy them all at one
time. However, they would need to be occupied and destroyed later
so that there could be no going back. Finding the choke points,
Sylvia reasoned, would be the foundation for the rest of the plan.
"Mr. President, who else knows about your plan?”
"At the moment, you don!t need to know that, but you will meet
with them shortly. We have no time to waste.”
"What about the budget? And where will the money come
from?” Sylvia was beginning to slip into her comfort zone, the
management mode of thinking.

63

 "As for the budget, as the plan evolves, so will the budget,” Lal
answered. "Regarding where the money will come from, let!s just say
that god will provide.”
"Okay. I understand, because of the secrecy requirement, there
is a $need to know!#filter controlling information, so let!s just get to
where I fit in. What is it you want me to do?”
"I want you to be responsible for managing the project schedule
—the schedule for the planning phase and the schedule for the
implementation phase of the plan. I want one person, you,
responsible for all this. You have amply demonstrated your skill in
managing tasks and resources when you brought the development of
laser-fusion energy to fruition and with your management of the
worldwide hydrogen conversion program. Your plans were brilliantly
conceived as was the management of those plans. We need exactly
those skills for this project.” Lal stopped. He needed to be clearer.
"Sylvia, I need a schedule that reflects the plan minutely. The
schedule is the key to the success of our plan. Indeed, the schedule is
the visual representation of the plan. And I want the plan logic
challenged by you every step of the way, as I know you can do. I
want you continually to test the logic of all the parts of the plan, to
look for flaws and unintended consequence. I don!t only want you to
find and overcome the known unknowns. I want you to discover the
unknown unknowns. You will be the choke point for the plan.
Everything will go through you. We will only get one chance to do
this right.”
"Okay,” said Sylvia thinking quickly as she spoke. "But what
about the conversion program? We are moving as quickly as possible
worldwide, as you know, but it!s nowhere near complete. What will
happen to the management of that program?”
"Sylvia, you have already done the heavy lifting, as they say.
Dr. Cranshaw and I discussed this at length and he agrees it is safe
for a competent administrator to take over from you. He has given

64

 me several names to choose from. But now I need you on this

project, project Nemesis.”
Sylvia realized that the recent closed-door meetings that
excluded her were probably to discuss her replacement as Deputy
Director. She sank into her chair, suddenly tired and without any idea
what to say next except, "When do we get started?”

65

Sylvia was still stunned by what President Lal told her and
about her new position in The World Federation. She had been
surprised in the past when The World Federation mandated a halt to
all further herd animal production for food. The amount of water and
grain needed was staggering, taking up to two thousand gallons of
water and six pounds of grain to produce a single pound of beef. In a
world already experiencing serious harvest shortages, herd animals
were too costly in water and grain. They were also responsible for
more than ten percent of greenhouse gas emissions worldwide. Cattle
expel methane and methane was a powerful contributor to global
warming. The World Federation leadership decided beef was a
luxury food the world could no longer afford even though the
mandate would destroy a one hundred billion dollar industry
worldwide. Sylvia, at the time, understood the urgency for quick
action. Persistent droughts had led to important aquifer depletions. It
was obvious that new priorities were needed for how grain was to be
used.
The decision met enormous resistance from both the financial
stakeholders and from the developing countries themselves who
viewed eating beef as a sign of affluence and a rite of passage owed
them by the developed countries. So there was no way to limit beef
production in the developing countries without also limiting them in
the developed countries. An immediate and total ban was the only
course of action. At the time, she reluctantly agreed with this
66

 assessment, but even then was disturbed by the minimally
compensated nature of the mandate. Current cattle stock was to
complete their commercial life cycle but no new calves were to be
raised and processed. All commercial calves after a certain date were
to be killed, in accordance with the mandate.
A significant unintended consequence of the beef ban was that
it put greater stress on the ocean as a source of protein. The heating
of the oceans had been driving more and more oxygen from the
water, seriously stressing all marine life, producing smaller and
smaller catches. The trick was to increase the harvesting of sea-based
food to make up for the loss of beef protein without bringing the
various fish populations to the brink of collapse from over-
exploitation.
Despite the support of the beef mandate by the US and Chinese
governments, franchise holders had been shocked at the time by
what many argued was a tyrannical act by The World Federation.
Their franchise agreement, they protested, did not allow for such
unilateral actions, obligating the franchisees without their consent.
Yet the mandate held and now Sylvia realized she was to have a
leadership role in a project to do the same thing again, but to an
industry a thousand times more valuable and thus more powerful.
Sylvia understood all the good arguments for "biting the bullet”
as Lal described the herd animal ban at the time. She also understood
the importance of preparing for any eventuality. She knew the carbon
stakeholders were not voluntarily going to walk away from hundreds
of trillions of dollars of fossil fuel wealth still in the ground. She
understood the dire climate change projections and the disruptions
already occurring, but she had no illusions this would or even could
be a winning project.
Lal informed her that he already had recruited Bert McEldridge,
former head of the US National Security Agency, Chen Huichi,
former head of the Ministry of State Security of the People!s
Republic of China and Phyllis Abrams, former head of the Economic
Assessment Division of the Federation. These three, all former high
level executives, would be her team mates. Lal explained that she
67

 and they would report only to him and that Chen Huichi would be
the executive head of the project, Project Nemesis.
The project name was for operational convenience, but it was
never to be spoken outside its inner circle. She could not even
discuss her mission with James.
"I!ll need a convincing cover story for James. He!s not easy to
fool. I do understand,” she quickly added, "the need to control
information about this project.”
"The best cover story will be if we stay as close to the truth as
possible. Just tell James that you are working full time on a classified
mission and that you can!t talk about it. I think that will do the trick.”
Sylvia nodded her acceptance of this approach. She felt that James
would appreciate this message and honor it.
While Sylvia had no concerns about her husband understanding
and accepting that some things can be secret even to him, she wasn!t
so sure secrecy could be maintained once the number of support staff
began to grow.
Somewhere along the way they would develop a proposed
budget. As for the project schedule, it already had two milestones:
the start date is today, she realized, and the end, the submittal of the
plan, was mandated by Lal for no later than January 1, 2045,
approximately two and a half years, start to finish and about fourteen
years from the founding of The World Federation.
Sylvia didn!t even know what her title was. Officially, she
realized, she wouldn!t exist.

***

Sylvia Carlyle Marshall stood immediately when Bert

McEldridge entered the conference room at the airport. He had just
arrived in Beijing and had recommended that he and Sylvia meet as
soon as possible. She suggested meeting at the airport before he got
caught up in office minutia.
68

 She arranged for the conference room. Water, snacks, light

sandwiches, whiskey, coffee, whatever he might want or need.
After greetings were out of the way, McEldridge poured a cup
of coffee for himself. Sylvia poured herself a glass of water.
This was her first meeting with one of the legends of the
intelligence community. She would be working closely with him for
the next two and a half years and was a bit intimidated. She
welcomed the opportunity for them to begin getting to know each
other in an off-site and informal location. Plus, she had some grave
concerns about the project.
"Sylvia, I may have been recruited into this before you, but you
met personally with the boss and I just spoke with President Lal over
the phone. You probably have a better handle on what we have to do
and what we!re up against than I do. So what do you think?”
Sylvia was taken aback, not expecting such a blunt and open-
ended question, at least not this early in their collaboration.
"Mr. McEldridge, whew. That!s a loaded question. Would you
care to put some handles on it that I can use to grab and go?”
"Please, Sylvia. Call me Bert. Okay, some handles. Well, one
handle, anyway. I know the general goal is to stop carbon-based fuel
extraction worldwide and for us to come up with the plan to do this
and turn it over to President Lal in two years and a half years. That!s
basically it, yes?”
Sylvia answered without hesitation. "Yes.”
"Good,” McEldridge said. "So, what do you think?” He smiled
broadly at her.
Sylvia was silent for a long time, while McEldridge waited
patiently for her answer. Finally, having tested in her mind any
number of responses, she decided to go with exactly what she
thought.
"It can!t be done,” she said. "Even worse, it probably shouldn!t
be done. If it could be done, which I think it can!t, it would take
down the whole world economy on a scale never even imagined
69

 possible. Carbon-based chemical extraction can be reduced gradually

as is being done now, but not in a matter of days or weeks. It would
simply bring down the world.” Her voice during the last few words
trailed off until she was silent.
"Is that all?” McEldridge asked.
"Isn!t that enough?”
"I mean do you have any other concerns?” McEldridge said.
"For example, you say it can!t be done. Why not?”
Sylvia sighed. "Okay, first there are no real choke points. Or
rather, there are so many choke points that it would be impossible to
control them all so they are not really choke points at all. It!s
complicated. And we don!t even know where they all are. Or what
they are. Are they money choke points that make the operations
meaningful to begin with? Material choke points that feed the
process? Transportation choke points that could stop the distribution,
making extraction pointless? As for the number of extraction sites, in
the US alone there are about two thousand coal mines. This does not
include natural gas, oil, shale and tar sands extraction sites.
Worldwide, god only knows how many sites we are talking about.”
Sylvia looked at McEldridge to gauge his reaction to her assessment.
When she couldn!t read his reaction, she summed it up once again
for herself. "It simply can!t be done.”
McEldridge leaned back in his chair. He studied Sylvia for a
moment, and then asked, "Anything else?”
Sylvia looked closely at McEldridge. "No,” she said with an
element of defiance in her voice. After a moment she concluded
more softly with, "No, for now.”
McEldridge got up and walked to the table with the drinks and
snacks. He looked the table over and then chose two of the small
sandwich halves, putting them on a dish and then gathering up some
utensils. Walking back to the table he placed his plate down and

70

 turning to Sylvia said, "I think we are going to get along just
famously, Sylvia.” And then he asked her, "Can I get you
something?”

***

James Marshall returned his cell phone to his pocket. His boss,
Noel Anderson, Director of External Affairs at The World
Federation, was not happy with the report James submitted regarding
the radioactive water beginning to arrive at Las Vegas from Yucca
Flat. However, it was no longer an issue for James!s concern. The
issue would be kicked upstairs and other people would have to deal
with it. It would not be a pretty picture.
America!s coastal states had been hit hard by hurricanes and by
the rise in sea level as well. Some cities, New Orleans being among
the most prominent, had been entirely abandoned. Others, virtually
all the principal cities of the east coast of the United States, were
forced to take extraordinary measures to deal with permanent
flooding of the seaward portions of the cities, abandoning streets,
buildings and infrastructure as the cities contracted away from the
advancing ocean. Sea walls and massive pumps gave some inland
relief from surge damage during storms. The shape of the eastern
coastline of the United States was gradually transforming into
something permanently new.
But Las Vegas was a different story from the coastal nightmare,
James thought. It was an improbable city, true, stupidly built in a
desert, but on the other hand, not endangered by the ocean. The
perpetual issue for Las Vegas was the assurance of adequate drinking
water. In an ever-growing world population, making ever-growing
demands for water, global warming at the same time was choking off
the supply of water.
James was not surprised by the water deficit problem for Las
Vegas. Persistent drought and the replacement of winter mountain
snow with rain were the major culprits. Slow melting of winter snow
71

 in the mountains provided the constant water supply needed to feed

rivers like the Colorado in the spring and summer. However, winter
rain instead of snow runs off quickly and by late spring and summer
the mountains no longer supply water and the rivers go dry. Then,
everything that depends on the river perishes. Or adapts if it can, but
changes were happening too quickly for adapting to be a plausible
remedy in the wild and now in the human population.
James remembered that pithy Darwinian maxim he learned in
high school biology class. "In times of environmental crisis, adapt,
migrate or die.” If the changes were happening over thousands or
even hundreds of years, adaptation might have been an option. But
the changes were occurring over decades and that was simply too
fast for nature to adjust to and migration on such short notice was a
challenge that only people with money could meet. For animals,
plants and the human poor, dying was the inevitable Darwinian
outcome.
James didn!t want to think about the probable end game of the
Las Vegas crisis. Even the word crisis had come to lose its meaning
since a crisis by its nature should be a rare upheaval demanding
decisive action, but the world now was awash with exactly such
situations.
There was a mounting credibility to what used mockingly to be
called "doomsday scenarios.” Except the mockery had gradually
faded away in the last five years as one global warming related
disaster after another took center stage, only to be followed by finger
pointing and recrimination. Still missing was the collective and
coordinated worldwide collaboration of effort at a level sufficient to
make a significant difference to the accelerating collapse of the
worldwide environment. James was acutely aware that seriously
deep and painful actions were needed but not happening.
Although the growth in greenhouse gases emitted into the
atmosphere had been slowed due to the growing use of wind and
solar energy and the steady conversion to hydrogen based energy,
fossil fuels were still being burned as the primary source of energy

72

 worldwide. Despite all the warnings, all the death and destruction
already attributable to global warming, the old arguments remained
unheeded that a "wartime footing” was needed to save the
environment. It was all too depressing to James. He decided not to
think about it.
Instead, James decided to call his wife. He was almost never
able to locate Sylvia easily. Her influence was felt in so many critical
areas within the World Federation, it almost always required several
telephone transfers before he finally connected with her.
Nevertheless, despite its frequent failure to result in a speedy
connection, he routinely started with her cell phone. As he heard the
sound of the call attempting to connect he suddenly remembered the
fifteen-hour time difference between Las Vegas and Beijing. To his
surprise, she answered right away.
"Wow, Sylvie, that was randomly lucky,” he said after she
answered on the second ring.
"Jimmy, it!s so good to hear from you. Evidently something big
is happening in Vegas and President Lal suggested I keep an ear out
for a call from you. He thought you might need a friendly voice. Can
you tell me what!s going on?”
"Not over the phone, sweetheart. When I see you. I just wanted
to hear your voice. You sound wonderful to me. How are things
going in Beijing?”
"Well, you know. One step forward, a half step back. Also, I met
with President Lal yesterday and, oh yeah, I have a new job. It!s
designed to eat my life for the next year or two. Can!t talk about it
either over the phone. It will test your patience, my darling. And
mine I think, but duty calls. Ours is not to question why, right?”
James was surprised that Lal had advised her to check up on
him. He wondered if Lal was already aware of the water problem in
Vegas? In that case why did it seem like new business? Perhaps there
was only a suspicion and Lal wanted to get his take on the story. The
Federation was getting more and more clandestine. He didn!t like it.
73

 "Exactly,” James answered with the same flippancy as Sylvia!s

lighthearted question. "Aint it fun? Anyway, it!s hotter than hell here
in Nevada, but I!ll be leaving soon. Spoke with Noel and he wants
me to check out the relocation activities in Bangladesh. The flooding
is evidently worse than anticipated. The country is really struggling
with the permanent relocation of so many people. The government is
overwhelmed and Noel wants me to come back with some
recommendations for anything the Federation can do to try to
stabilize the politics. I!ll be leaving tonight for Dhaka instead of for
home.”
"Jimmy, I!m not happy with that,” Sylvia said. "These civil
unrest assignments are getting scarier and scarier. Will you have
adequate protection? I know they always reassure you, but what do
you think?”
"It!s like a fucking war zone, Syl. I know that. But it goes with
the job and Noel said a Delta Force team has been assigned to my
security. They!re very capable and I!ll just trust to their taking good
care of me. Those guys are pretty scary all by themselves. I probably
won!t see them or meet with them, but they!ll be there. I!ll be okay.
So, not to worry. Hey,” James said, engaging his cheerful voice once
again, "you have a new job! Do I offer congratulations or
condolences?”
"I think a little of both. Jonas said to give you his love and
asked if you could bring back something $wild west!#for him to show
at school.”
"I already planned to get something at one of the airport gift
shops. How!s he doing?”
"You know kids. He!s great. His Mandarin is becoming very
slick. Lijuan says for a foreigner his accent is almost undetectable. I
think he learns more from playing with his Beijing buddies than
from his classes, but in any event, we can be proud of him, without
74

 question. He really is an amazing little boy, Jimmy. Well, not so
little. He wants to work on a farm this summer after school lets out.
The farm belongs to Lijuan!s Uncle Renshou. What do you think?”
"Hmm. Let me think about that. What does Lijuan!s mother
think? I assume she!s in the loop on this somewhere.”
"I talked with Lijuan and she talked with her mother. They say it
would definitely be safe and a good experience for Jonas. They
already talked with Uncle Renshou and he!s willing to look after
him. But Lijuan says they!ll not pull any punches, so to speak. Jonas
will have to carry his own weight. It!s a working farm, not a
showplace for pampered diplomats!#kids.”
"It sounds great. I love it. I!ll talk with Lijuan when I get home,
but I don!t see a problem as long as that!s what Jonas would like to
do. He!s already pretty tough for a kid his age, but I think this will
make him even tougher.”
"He!s still my baby and I!ll miss him. We could wait a couple of
years, but I also think this will be very good for him and to tell you
the truth, with my new assignment, I won!t have a lot of time for him
this summer. This!ll take up the slack. I think it!s all good, Jimmy.”
"Me too. I love you, girl. I have to get a move on. Off to
Bangladesh.”
They both laugh. It sounded more like a line from a movie than
from real life.
"Be safe, my darling. Call me when you get to Dhaka.”

***

For the Federation, Bangladesh had been ground zero for a long
time in the fight against the devastating and irreversible sea level rise
affecting hundreds of millions of people. It had been a losing battle

75

 for Bangladesh and James!s visit was to check on how the population
relocation to the interior was going. It was not the first case of
climate refugees, but it was definitely the biggest.
Ironically, despite of the lower third of the country being under
water, the upper two thirds of Bangladesh were now less subject to
inundation. The reduction in the size of mountain glaciers in India
reduced the flow of the Brahmaputra River that supplied fresh water
to northern Bangladesh. Also, the lessened seasonal monsoon
downpours due to altered weather patterns contributed to less
flooding along the banks of the Ganges, reducing the flow to
Bangladesh from that river as well. So, while one problem due to sea
level rise was creating devastating inundation in the south, in the
north, ironically, region-wide drought was creating greatly reduced
harvests with the consequent threat of famine.
Approaching from the north, as James!s plane got lower, he
could see a large group of demonstrators outside one of the Shahjalal
Airport terminal buildings. This was nothing new, he thought. Food
prices had skyrocketed after India began diverting more of the water
from the Brahmaputra for its own irrigation needs. Relentless
droughts had hit neighboring India hard and its agricultural
productivity too was greatly reduced. But this was of little interest to
the average Bangladeshi householder, struggling under the
uncertainty and cost of feeding his family. Farmers in northern
Bangladesh could no longer depend on the fresh water of the
Brahmaputra and Ganges rivers for irrigation.
When James!s plane landed, it taxied to a far corner of the
airport and stopped near a line of jet fighter aircraft. James guessed
that with the demonstration taking place, it was probably a security
precaution. He saw three Air Force jeeps moving quickly toward his
plane. There were several armed military personnel in each vehicle.
They came to a stop near the plane. Armed soldiers got out of the
vehicles and formed a cordon around the plane. A man in a business
suit and another in a military uniform quickly strode to the plane.

76

 "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain. Please remain in

your seats. We will hold here briefly for a security check and then
have you on your way as soon as possible.” James regretted not
having that second scotch before the drink service was closed. The
front door opened and the two men entered. From his seat in first
class, James Marshall could see that the military man was a senior
officer. He assumed that the civilian was some kind of security
official. They busied themselves with reviewing paperwork with the
head stewardess. Finally, the civilian $suit!#looked past the paperwork
into the passenger area scanning all the faces. James was surprised
and a little alarmed when the man quickly entered the cabin, coming
directly to him.
"Mr. Marshall, is it not?” he said.
"Yes,” James said, wondering if he would need to present his
passport. It was in the overhead bin.
"Please come with me, sir,” the man said. "Do you have an
overhead bag?”
"Yes.”
"Best if you take that, sir.”
James and the security officer walked to the front exit by the
flight deck access door. The military officer led the way down the
stairs. James was relieved to see a limousine rather than a military
vehicle had been brought to the foot of the stairs. He moved to the
rear seat, followed by the civilian official. The military officer
returned to his men securing the aircraft. As James drove away he
heard the jet turbines increasing their revolutions, evidently to
continue to its assigned arrival gate.
"Mr. Marshall, the Prime Minister wishes to extend his
welcome. He believed it would be best to meet you on the tarmac so
that you could avoid the terminal delays. Did you have a pleasant
flight?”

77

 "Yes, thank you. It was most kind of the Prime Minister to be so
thoughtful.” James decided it best at the moment not to acknowledge
the demonstrations outside the Shahjalal main terminal.
It was a short ride to the National Parliament House where the
Prime Minister!s office and residence were located. The complex
looked more like a castle on a hill than anything representing "The
People!s House” as the Bangladeshi name for the building translates
into English. James always found the architecture pretentious and
ugly from the outside. The ornamental lakes and cylindrical towers
incorporated into the overall design suggested a medieval flavor to
the building that conflicted utterly with its expansive flat, featureless,
totally contemporary facade. Once inside, however, the central
chamber with its high-vaulted ceiling and dramatic lighting, spacious
hallways and panoramic views were unexpectedly impressive the
first time James had visited.
James!s meeting with the Prime Minister did not take long. It
was the same story of woe, with no change from his last visit. In the
south, the relentless rise in the sea level had permanently doomed
that part of the country. In north and central Bangladesh, the annual
monsoon rains would once again be far less than what was needed.
The rivers in the north would largely run dry by mid-summer. As a
result, the harvest would again be insufficient to feed the people.
Grain purchases from Russia and elsewhere would again be
necessary to stave off famine. The cost of relocating the southern
population was to some extent being helped by grants from the
Federation, but assimilating so many people into new neighborhoods
was straining the social infrastructure and was not going well. When
dirty work like this was being done, speed was of the essence and
James had made some recommendations in this regard.
Even greater than the people!s anger against the Bangladesh
government was their anger at the Indian government. The
Bangladeshis blamed India for their failed harvests due to the Indian
siphoning of greater and greater portions of the Brahmaputra River

78

 flow to satisfy their own irrigation needs. Thankfully, James thought,

the Bangladesh military was no match for the Indian military or he
would be concerned that the people!s rage and fear might lead to war
with India.
Following his meeting with the Prime Minister, James went
back to his hotel room in Dhaka where he was able to arrange for a
private plane to take him on an aerial flyover of the submerged
south. He did not expect to see anything new. He just wanted to see it
again. The loss of so much land to the sea was such a powerful
testament, James thought, to the irretrievable years wasted arguing
about climate change, especially during the crucial years of denial
during the Trump administration and subsequent Republican
administrations in America.
In the past James Marshall had flown over the flooded
Mississippi River and had been impressed then at the massive scale
of the inundation. He was well aware of the normal banks of the
Mississippi and marveled at how much beyond its banks the water
had spread. Observing the transformation then, he thought even the
idea of river banks had lost its meaning. All he saw then from the
ground was the unexpected vision of an inland sea stretching to the
horizon, relieved here and there with flooded farm houses and the
sight of useless, elevated earthen dikes, surrounded on all sides, in all
directions, by water. However, that inland sea created by the flooding
Mississippi River was only temporary and retreated when the rains
subsided and the floodwaters receded.
This time, when the inundation came to Bangladesh, it seemed
at first like all the others that in the past had plagued this at-risk
region of the world. Except it did not recede and there was no
monsoon rain to blame. Like a vengeful spirit it simply came to do
its worst, unannounced and without pity. And stayed. The flooding of
southern Bangladesh was now permanent.
Known as the Brahmaputra Delta or the Bengal Delta, this
connection to the ocean for western India, Bangladesh and Myanmar
was the world!s largest delta and emptied into the Bay of Bengal. It

79

 had also been one of the world!s most fertile regions, supporting
upwards of 300 million people prior to its loss to a rising ocean.
The Bay of Bengal was uniquely shallow and vulnerable and
just as the scientists predicted, it was among the most calamitous
losses to the warmer and warmer, steadily rising ocean. The entire
Brahmaputra delta historically had been subject to episodic tidal
surges and temporary inundation, but now the lower portion of the
delta was permanently under water. As far as James Marshall could
see, the Bay of Bengal now penetrated inland almost to the capital,
Dhaka.
Flying over this abandoned delta, kilometer after kilometer he
witnessed once again the depressing vision of an unwelcome and
endless inland sea, now peppered with the rooftop relics of deserted
villages, awash and as lonely as tufts of dead and desiccated grass
poking from desert dunes. Further up the encroaching bay, he saw
the naked treetops of what once had been thriving forests.
Everything else lay hidden beneath the wind-ruffled water. Except
for the bodies.
Bodies floated, dead from starvation or disease, like the
ghoulish debris of some distant destruction. Many of the starved had
been placed in hurried, shallow graves only to re-emerge when the
water came, rising to the surface by the thousands, truly by the tens
of thousands. They were silent testimony for what was yet to come to
other coastal populations worldwide.
James knew five years ago it would take something this big and
this tangible to get the attention of the world, to get them to
acknowledge the cost that inaction was going to exact. What shocked
James was how quickly it all happened and now in a matter of only a
few months, more than 300 million people from three countries
needed to be relocated. And housed. And fed. At least twenty-five
million more people were expected to die of hunger or disease by the
time the relocations were completed.
It was an area of the world already scarred by famine. In 1943,
the Bengal famine killed approximately three million people. Again
in 1974 more than a million Bangladeshis died of famine. Elsewhere,
80

 in the early part of this century, James Marshall knew that the
political unrest and rioting that became known as the 2011 Arab
Spring was not at first a call for democracy, but rather arose from an
alarming increase in the cost of food, a burgeoning, largely
unemployed youthful population and more and more evident
government corruption. It would only take the spark of famine to
ignite political fires outside the Middle East as well, in the northern
and western provinces of China and throughout Central and South
America. Global warming was heating Earth in more ways than one,
he thought.
To ease his distress, when he had seen too much, when
witnessing tragedies on such a massive scale as that in Bangladesh,
James removed himself emotionally to a more peaceful place. He
thought of Sylvia and Jonas, pictured them in his mind, and
imagined being with them. It was as if he forced himself into a
parallel universe, one without the human catastrophes he witnessed
regularly because of his job.
He and Sylvia and Cranshaw and General Slaider and all the
rest responsible for the formation of The World Federation had
hoped laser-induced fusion would save the day, rescue the world.
Instead, every day it became more and more evident that the
predicted consequence of the relentless burning of fossil fuels and
the continuing, almost criminal lack of urgency in taking meaningful
action left the consequences of human folly already "baked in,”
unavoidable and increasingly manifesting.
It was time to return home to Beijing, James decided with some
relief. He directed his pilot to return him to Shahjalal Airport. To
keep his schedule flexible, to allow him to observe wherever and
whenever he deemed necessary, James was not going to use a
commercial flight home. At his request, the Federation had sent one
of their own jets to pick him up. The pilot of his observer plane
called ahead to determine the status of James!s Federation plane and
to inform the crew that he was on his way back to Dhaka. The World

81

 Federation crew gave assurances that James!s plane would be fueled

and ready when he arrived.
On their approach to Shahjalal Airport James saw from the air
that nothing had changed. The demonstrators were still concentrated
in front of one of the terminal buildings, overflowing onto the access
road.
Just shy of an hour after starting back, James!s plane was on the
ground and taxiing to an arrival gate at Terminal 2. Suddenly, the
pilot of James!s plane throttled the engine up quickly and turned
abruptly away from the terminal and back towards the runway
leading south, toward the military portion of the airport.
"What!s happening?” James asked his pilot.
"I am just getting information now. There seems to have been a
breach of the terminal entry points and the crowd is now inside
Terminal 2,” he said. James noted his matter-of-fact, unhurried
delivery of this information and was relieved by it.
"We have been instructed to meet your World Federation plane
at the south end. It!s more or less a VIP arrival area, anyway. No
problem, Mr. Marshall.”
As the pilot was speaking, people began emerging from
Terminal 2 and onto the field. It was clearly another breach of
security and the crowd was growing in numbers as James watched.
He was becoming concerned despite the pilot!s calm assessment of
the situation. As the pilot continued taxiing, military vans began
arriving, forming a barrier in front of the advancing crowd,
attempting to block their further advance onto the field. Riot police
emerged from the vans. Some carried body-length transparent
shields. Some carried wooden batons, while others carried automatic
rifles. James noted many of them were surprisingly tall, towering
over those in the approaching crowd. Specially selected and scary
looking, James thought.
A mobile water cannon was quickly approaching the area of the
breach. James turned his head and looked back to follow the action
82

 on the tarmac. It appeared that the crowd was heading toward the
Federation jet awaiting his arrival. There were armed guards
surrounding the plane and James had confidence the authorities
would do whatever was necessary to avoid embarrassing a World
Federation official.
"Mr. Marshall, if you please, when I come to a stop, I will open
the exit door and deploy the steps. If you would move swiftly, sir, to
your plane, I assure you there will be no problem.”
"No problem. Okay,” James said, repeating the pilot!s words as
a kind of reassuring echo.
The spotter plane taxied to The World Federation jet and came
to a stop. The pilot opened the exit and deployed the steps. James
moved quickly to the exit, but just as he was about to descend, the
pilot stopped him and respectfully, but firmly pulled him back into
the interior of the plane and lifted the steps back into the plane as
well. Looking out a window, James could see that there was a breach
now of Terminal 1 and a large number of demonstrators were racing
towards his plane. James watched with growing concern as the
military personnel who were protecting both his spotter plane and the
Federation plane arranged themselves in a kind of skirmish line and
presented their weapons towards the approaching crowd. Another
row of troops carrying batons quickly formed in front of them.
The front of the crowd stopped abruptly when they saw the
presentation of weapons, causing a collision with those behind them.
James could see a lot of hand waving and yelling, though he could
hear nothing. The pause created by the presentation of arms was just
long enough for a second water cannon to reach the scene. It stood
ominously between the temporarily stalled crowd and the double line
of troops. An officer stepped out to face the crowd. He had an
amplified megaphone and James concluded by his gestures that he
was busy ordering everyone off the field. There followed more
confusion among the demonstrators as to what their next course of
action should be. The officer waited. James could see those in the
front of the demonstrators looking towards Terminal 1 for some
guidance, but there was no obvious sign of leadership there as well
83

 among the emerging body of demonstrators from that terminal

building.
The scene slipped into an eerie silence. Both terminals had
disgorged several hundred people confronting the troops on the field.
Additional troops kept arriving and James assumed reinforcements
were gathering inside the terminal as well.
Suddenly, someone from the middle of the crowd threw a rock
and as if a switch had been flipped, the water cannons went into
operation. At the same time, the troops with batons slowly began
moving forward, the cannons moving forward with them. The line of
demonstrators fell into confusion, some moving forward and some
moving back toward the terminals.
The officer in charge gave an order and the front row of troops
charged the crowd, swinging their batons and powerfully striking
anyone not able to retreat quickly enough. It did not take long to
clear the field once the policing decision had been made. The troops
pushed the demonstrators back inside the terminals and kept going,
obviously, James thought, to support the police and military already
inside and to help with the crowd they had just forced back inside the
terminals.
"Mr. Marshall, I am so sorry for this delay. It is now perfect to
move to your plane for the trip home. Okay?”
"Yes, perfect,” James said, unconsciously adopting the rocking
of the head from side to side in a gesture of $no problem!#
characteristic of this part of the world. It takes a bit of time for
westerners to understand that what looks like a no is really a yes.
"Time to transfer, Mr. Marshall,” the pilot said with authority.
He thanked his pilot, quickly descended the redeployed steps
from the spotter plane and just as quickly moved to and climbed the
stairs to his larger plane for the trip home.
Not the worst exit he!d ever made, but not the best either, he
thought as he buckled in, relieved that the Federation pilot was
wasting no time taxiing to the runway.

84

85
 7

Paul Latimer sat across the cargo bay from Grigory Zukanov.
The plane was one of the few remaining turboprop planes in the
Russian fleet. It was slower, but very dependable, Zukanov had
assured Latimer. Now, neither one was fully convinced.
"Jesus,” Latimer cried out as the plane took an unexpected lurch
downward followed just as quickly by another lurch to the right.
"What the fuck,” he said for emphasis. Zukanov remained silent,
tightly gripping the edges of his seat after pulling his safety belt
more securely about him.
Both men stared vacantly as the plane oscillated in three
directions at once, with sudden drops and recoveries continuing for
another fifteen minutes, perhaps the longest in Latimer!s recent
memory.
Zukanov watched Latimer and finally said "We should be on the
ground in about ten minutes.” Latimer was not comforted. Fuck me,
he thought. This was not the way he expected to die. Receiving not
even a nod of acknowledgement from Latimer, Zukanov returned to
quiet resignation.
At last, the wheels of their plane touched the ground and
despite the evident swaying of the plane due to cross winds along
their path, the plane slowed dramatically, finally coming to a
reassuring stop. When the rear cargo door opened they both could
see that it was probably best there had been no windows in the cargo
86

 bay. Outside there was a strongly gusting windstorm blowing sand,

debris and leaves across the runway from the birch forest along the
southern border of the airport.
Latimer called to Zukanov as they waited for the pilot to
instruct them on what to do next. "Did he just land us in a fucking
hurricane?” he asked.
"Don!t worry, my friend. It!s normal here. They planted trees
around the airport to try to reduce the wind but it has been only
partly effective. The lake behind the hydroelectric dam used to be all
forest and it slowed the wind. Now, because of the lake, nothing
much stops the wind. You get used to it.”
"I don!t think so. You won!t mind if I kiss the ground when we
get off this thing?” Zukanov just smiled. After several minutes,
when the pilot completed his necessary arrival tasks, he entered the
bay to lead the men off and to the reception area.
Tolmachevo Novosibirsk International Airport was about
fifteen kilometers from the center of Novosibirsk proper and
Zukanov arranged for a car after they cleared the security and
passport control checkpoints. No one was waiting to meet them.
Latimer did not want to telegraph his arrival. He was used to staying
not just under the radar, but invisible. The fewer people who knew
the when and where of his travel arrangements, the safer he felt.
Zukanov drove to the city, passing over the Bruginsky auto
bridge spanning the Ob River. Novosibirsk, being a heavily
industrial and commercial city, the third largest in the Russian
Federation, Latimer was confident they could easily melt into the
warren of densely populated streets. Zukanov, born in Siberia and
living most of his life in Novosibirsk, was able, on short notice for
security reasons, to arrange housing for them both.
Zukanov found a fourth floor room in a five-story walkup in a
nondescript hotel in the central district. It had shared bathrooms, but
it would do. Documents were of no interest and payment was in
advance. Two light bulbs in their room were no longer working and
it would be easier, Latimer thought, to buy new bulbs himself than

87

 wait for the hotel management to replace them. Latimer decided he

would deal with it when they went for food in the evening.
Tomorrow he would meet with representatives of the Federal
Security Service, the FSS, as Zukanov promised.

***

Paul Latimer never expected to be living the life fate had thrust
upon him. He expected to live the safe life of privilege; one where he
had only to choose the path and success would follow. His father,
Edgar Latimer, was president, CEO and principal shareholder of
Latimer Enterprises. The company sold information. They harvested
information, looking everywhere from online, government, financial,
military, private and even clandestine sources.
The data would be organized, shaped and presented to meet the
individual needs of the clients. In an age when knowledge was
money, Latimer Enterprises was a creator and protector of wealth
worldwide. Paul Latimer!s family became rich and powerful keeping
other people rich and powerful.
Latimer was educated in the world of entitlement and loved
America for what it gave him—access to the benefits of wealth. One
of the benefits was entrée into the fraternity of high public service,
not for the money and security it can provide, but for the
connections. In Paul Latimer!s circle there was no need for him to
express an interest in politics. He had a kind of birthright to it. Good
looks, good people skills, good family and influential friends. The
political king makers came to him. And the family approved.
Latimer began his political career with a run for the US senate
in his home state of Ohio. As a Democrat in a Democratic state, with
no youthful scandals to explain away, with a beautiful, articulate and
politically astute young wife and earning his money in a way that,
because it was esoteric, was safe politically, he won office on his
first try. As expected.
As the junior senator from Ohio, Latimer learned how to be a
team player, how to use his charm to persuade constituents who
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 might otherwise not favor or approve where the party wanted to go

and most of all he learned the value of raising money to help other
party candidates. Almost by virtue of this alone he became one of the
chosen few.
At the nominating convention for soon-to-be President Emerson
Drummond, Latimer gave the keynote address. By Drummond!s
second nominating convention, Paul Latimer was named as the
President!s vice presidential running mate. His task was to secure for
the President Ohio!s twenty Electoral College votes. Latimer
understood his role and delivered. President Drummond swept Ohio
in his run for a second term and Latimer rose from a political
expediency to a presidential friend and confidant.
President Drummond embodied for Latimer a true man of
vision and integrity who took the path of public service as a calling.
He was perhaps the first man Paul Latimer was able to observe
closely who was not merely rich but was also honestly and fervently
principled. The proximity to a man such as Drummond could not
help but change him. The World Federation was formed from the
ashes of the years of chaos, death and transformation, when the
entire government of the United States was sequestered outside the
loop of actual power, when President Drummond himself was killed,
when the UN was cast aside. In the wake of General Slaider!s
temporary usurpation of supreme power in the US, Vice President
Paul Latimer escaped to Germany, but left his life behind. No more
wife, no more family, no certain future.
His life as he had known it was done. He had to become
invisible because he knew too much. While the world was hailing
General Slaider as a hero who returned order to the world, Latimer
knew the truth, that it was Slaider who was behind the disorder all
along. He knew it, but he could not prove it. Nevertheless, his
knowledge was a threat to the newly established order and he was a
marked man.
It was his association with President Drummond that had
nurtured the strength crouching within him, hiding, masked by the
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 easy life of privilege no longer his. He had new choices to make and
new priorities, the first being survival. To survive he went
underground. But survival was not enough. He would not capitulate.
Somehow he would bring down the new world born from lies, death
and destruction. The World Federation, he was convinced, was born
from an evil seed and evil would eventually be its fruit, despite the
slogans and the cover-ups. It was born from tyranny and it would
return to tyranny. Of this he was convinced. Paul Latimer was a man
of action, but for now, action in the shadows.
Latimer Enterprises, in its data gathering activities, would
sometimes discover information of a compromising nature on men
and women of power and influence, not to be sold, but rather to be
stored for possible future use as exigent "currency.” Paul!s father
realized the value of these data and formed a clandestine division of
Latimer Enterprises to gather and manage this growing base of deep
intelligence. He called that division The Network.
The Network soon touched every continent and Paul Latimer,
proving himself to be a skilled clandestine operator simply as a
matter of survival, gradually and secretly was given control of The
Network. It was a good match. Neither The Network nor Paul
Latimer could operate openly, but Latimer had anyway abandoned
hope for an open life for the foreseeable future when he set foot in
Germany, one step ahead of General Slaider!s Special Forces
assassins. Yet the emerging invisible strength of The Network
created a shield around him like a mirror. When people looked for
him, what they saw instead was the reflection of their own quest.
Latimer remained safe in the virtual world behind the mirror.

***

General Yevgeny Bukonovich, Deputy Chief for Military

Counterintelligence, and Gospodin Sergei Ivanoff, Deputy Chief for
the Border Service of the Federal Security Service, ducked into the
shadows of a doorway. They were dressed simply, attempting to be
two anonymous jots of life in the teaming streets of Novosibirsk.
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 However, Bukonovich, the taller of the two, wore a full-length

coat, which, against his intention, served to emphasize his height. He
stood tall and straight, unable to retire his military posture and not
accustomed to field operations. A man of about sixty years, clean-
shaven with close-cropped hair, he displayed a commanding
presence that comes from years of authority over other men. Despite
his lack of field experience, he was still a soldier of the Russian
Federation and in a confrontation would use his training to attack
rather than defend. Fortunately for him, he was a cautious man and
rarely in his career did he need to put his skills to the test. Only once,
when posted to Syria, did he experience hand-to-hand combat. He
proved himself then to be a formidable foe.
Ivanoff was rather different, appearing to be no more
distinguished than any other merchant one would find in abundance
in a commercial shipping area with its nearby array of support
services and businesses. He was a man in his late forties, of average
height and wore a brown beret and a light denim jacket. It was three
days since his last shave. He peered through round, wire frame
glasses. To the casual observer he left no distinct impression. He was
invisible. Exactly as he wished it.
Although of inferior status to Bukonovich, it was Ivanoff who
steered the two into the shadows. "General, I think it best if we travel
separately from here. The number of Chinese on the streets is
becoming worrisome. If we continue to travel together we may be
seen as a threat to them and thus of interest. We can arrive separately
at Zukanov!s apartment.”
Bukonovich didn!t like the idea of splitting up but deferred to
the greater field experience of his partner. Like Ivanoff, he was
concerned that the more they moved to the edge of the central district
the greater was the Chinese presence. Many of them were in the
country legally, but many were not. And almost all of them also
carried Chinese passports and identity papers in addition to their
Russian Federation documents. To Ivanoff, charged with control of
the borders of Siberia, the numbers were worrisome, but not yet

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 alarming. Tensions had recently increased, along with the number of

Chinese migrants to Siberia, as the three year drought in the Chinese
agricultural heartland was heading to a fourth year.
"As you say, Gospodin Ivanoff. Better to be cautious.”
At that moment a Chinese man in ragged clothes, unshaven and
evidently indigent appeared unexpectedly. Having moved quietly,
accustomed to stealth, he approached Ivanoff and Bukonovich
undetected until the last moment.
His Russian was poor but good enough to make clear he wanted
a cigarette. Bukonovich tried to brush him off, but the man persisted,
becoming noisy and hostile.
"Fucking Russians,” he shouted. "Give me a cigarette.”
This was shocking and unexpected behavior for a Chinese who
almost universally tried to stay inconspicuous in the presence of
Russians. Now it was becoming dangerous for the two Russian
officers. Bukonovich, without waiting for Ivanoff!s assessment
struck the man a solid blow to the jaw. The man immediately lurched
backwards from the force of the blow, simultaneously crumpling to
the ground. Bukonovich moved quickly, supporting him and
maneuvering him to a recumbent position on the hallway steps where
they had taken refuge. Having created the appearance of a drunk
sleeping it off, the two men quickly separated and went their
different ways to their rendezvous with Zukanov and the American
only a few blocks away.
Sergei Ivanoff arrived first. The entrance to the building was no
longer secure, the lock having evidently been broken long ago and
never repaired. It was not a problem. It was unlikely there would be
anything worth stealing anywhere in the building. Ivanoff entered
and stood at the foot of the stairs, waiting for Yevgeny Bukonovich.
The hall light was dim and barely more than what a candle would
have produced. Ivanoff simply noted it, looked around quickly to
survey the hall for other entrances and exits. There were five
apartments on this level, three on the left and one opening on the
right in front of the stairs and one opening behind the ramp of the

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 stairs, also on the right. Ivanoff noticed the door to the middle
apartment on the left was open slightly but no light escaped into the
hallway. Ivanoff assumed the apartment was empty, perhaps not yet
rented, and simply neglected.
He decided to remain at the bottom of the stairs to wait for
Bukonovich in the partial light. If someone else entered the building
he could always make a show of beginning to climb the stairs. He
believed he and Bukonovich meeting Zukanov and the American
together would present a stronger first impression of power and
organization. Despite expecting Bukonovich any minute, Ivanoff
reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pipe and a pouch of
tobacco. If Bukonovich arrived before he finished, he would simply
take it up with him. In any event, the informality might put the
American at ease.
As he half expected, only a few moments passed before
Bukonovich arrived. They exchange a silent greeting and climbed
the stairs to their rendezvous point.
Bukonovich knocked strongly on the door and the two were
very quickly admitted to the room. The room was lit well enough
with a bare overhead light and a lamp on the table next to the bed at
the rear of the room. There was a round table in the center of the
room with four simple wooden chairs around it. It was only one
room with a small kitchen area against the left-hand wall. There was
no bathroom in the unit. Instead, there was one communal toilet and
shower on each floor. There was no other door in the apartment
besides the entrance door. Against the right hand wall was an armoire
that served for a closet. The American stood beside the bed, waiting
to be introduced.
All present spoke fluent English.
"Gentlemen,” Zukanov said, addressing Ivanoff and
Bukonovich, "I am honored to present to you my companion, Vice
President Paul Latimer and a friend to the Russian Federation.”
Zukanov followed the tradition of using a man!s last acquired title.

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 Ivanoff smiled and continued smoking his pipe. He did not

offer his hand to Latimer. Bukonovich did not smile but pumped
Latimer!s hand energetically.
"Please, everyone have a seat,” Zukanov said. While the others
were seating themselves he reached into a bag on the table and
pulled out a bottle of vodka and four shot glasses, which he
proceeded to fill and pass to the others. "Gentlemen,” he said again,
raising his own glass, "to a successful meeting, to our mutual
benefit.” Each glass was quickly emptied.
"Now, if you will allow Mr. Latimer the honor, I would like to
turn our discussion over to him.” Ivanoff and Bukonovich nodded
their assent.
Latimer tamped out the cigarette he was smoking and began.
"I first want to express my deep gratitude for allowing me to
meet with you in my rather unique role of minister without portfolio.
Indeed, I am a minister without a country. Of what am I a minister
then? Gentlemen, I am a minister of information. You know that we
had in the past what we called the Stone Age, the Bronze Age, the
Iron Age and so on. We are now a part of the Information Age. As
with those other ages of the past, this one is named for the dominant
factor that assures power and control. Information, gentlemen,
information I say, is the new dominant factor.” Latimer paused for a
moment, not so much to give time to digest what he had said, but
rather to frame what he was about to say.
"Gentlemen, I am not talking about the information you have at
your fingertips with the Internet and Google or even the massive
depositories of data every government secretly accumulates. People
in America used to refer to Google as a force of nature, as the
warehouse for all human knowledge. People said, only half in jest,
that it was like talking to god.” Latimer looked directly into the eyes
of each man before continuing. "Well, I can tell you, god is not so
easily approached. And information readily available to all is of little

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 value to a certain type of client who wants to know what others

cannot know because, “ he paused, "god has his little secrets, too.”
Latimer stopped and lifted his glass slightly to Zukanov who
immediately understood the call for another round. Offered by
Zukanov, they could not be refused. Everyone was silent as they
quickly tossed their drinks down.
"And that is why, The Network was formed, to uncover god!s
little secrets. Knowledge is strength and it has kept me alive since I
was forced to leave my country. The early mission of The Network
under my command mainly served that purpose, to keep me alive,
one step ahead of my assassins. But over the years, The Network has
grown as if with a will of its own. If one believes that each person on
Earth is connected to every other person by no more than six degrees
of separation I can tell you the same is also true when applied to
knowledge. A fact here, leads to a door there, which, when opened
provides a path to yet another door until you reach the deep, the
invisible heart of the labyrinth.
"I contend it is this deep labyrinth of power, that drives
decisions that actually rule the world. And surprising as it may seem,
my Network is the only organization on Earth to have infiltrated,
mapped and engaged with it not from the outside visible world, but
from within its murky depths.”
Bukonovich, evidently agitated by this claim, began to
interrupt, then thought better of it. Ivanoff sat stoically, revealing
nothing other than a soft, impatient drumming on the table.
Latimer did not miss this and paused for a moment.
"Gentlemen, I see in your faces the question you wish to ask, the
challenge, really, to my claim. When so many nations spend so much
money on intelligence gathering, why do I claim a knowledge
network that goes well beyond what they are able to acquire with all
their resources and all their spending. Surely, you are thinking, he is
not claiming a private company can compete with them. Yes?”
Bukonovich spoke out, "Da!”

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 # "Good. With all due respect, General, the problem with your
systems is not understanding the problem. By searching for the head
of the snake that does not exist, neither the snake nor the head, it is
inevitable that gathered intelligence will be misunderstood. There is
no fixed secret cabal ruling the world. This is not the right thing to be
looking for.”
Ivanoff took the bait. "So then, Mr. Vice President, what is the
right thing, as you say? You have our attention, but understand it is
easy to make a claim about special knowledge. It is quite another to
support that claim with evidence.”
"Ah,” Latimer said, "what we offer, what The Network offers, is
the true picture of the deep labyrinth with actionable information.
And what is the true picture? Think about what a labyrinth is. It is a
structure with multiple dead ends, but if you know which turn to take
in what order, the one correct path among the many false paths, you
emerge at your desired goal. The strategic difference between the
decorative labyrinth of a royal garden and the deep labyrinth of the
multinational world is that the destination, the goal at the deepest
level of power keeps shifting.
"Remember, a snake with no head. And no permanent snake.
Rather, there is a tangled web of financial, commercial, military,
intelligence and political interests. The goal and the path to that goal
evolve by a kind of unconscious synchronization, the way, for
example, three people sleeping in the same room over time will
begin to breath at the same rate. That synchronization is the
consensus of the deep labyrinth at any given time.”
#"But how do you know when a consensus is formed and what it
is?” Bukonovich asked.
"Understand, gentlemen, the consensus will change depending
on worldwide realities. No one needs to lead or command the
process because the synchronization of interests always arises from
one abiding principle: the commitment to power.

96

 "With power comes influence and wealth and, to a great extent,

immunity. The deep labyrinth is a world of the near super-rich who
never, by definition, suffer negative consequences. Since they are the
driving force for whatever happens, it is always to their advantage.
Always. The losers are never part of the labyrinth of stakeholders.
Never.”
General Bukonovich interrupted. "But you have not answered
Gospodin Ivanoff!s question. How do you know this consensus?”
"That is the great strength of The Network. Penetrating the
secrets of the labyrinth is not about massive surveillance, hoping to
get lucky. One is not, after all, looking for thieves or even terrorists.
One is looking for the currently active goals of stakeholders at the
deepest level of power. These are the people who navigate the
labyrinth the way water follows its natural course.
"The success of The Network is about six degrees of separation
and frequently less. The wealthiest people on Earth are well known,
as well as with whom they closely interact. These people become the
first and second levels of our map of the deep labyrinth. Those who
influence the second level are known, but not as well. They make up
the third level and they as well have their confidants and operatives,
and so on.
"But this hierarchy does not imply that the convergence of
interests always ends with those at the first level, with the world!s
wealthiest. Those hundred or so of the world!s wealthiest can be
brought along unwittingly. Since power and wealth often go hand in
hands, the wealthiest, like everyone else, believe they are running the
show. They are not. It is at the level where the interests of the most
rich converge that the consensus is to be found, where the most
powerful are to be found.”
General Bukonovich was clearly getting frustrated. "Money,
power, what!s the difference? Mr. Vice President, the rich are
powerful and the powerful are rich.”

97

 "No. They are not the same!” Latimer fairly shouting this. "Not
the same at all, gentlemen, and that!s where you go wrong. Where
you always go wrong.” Latimer was rising from his seat when he
looked at Zukanov and saw a frightened expression on his face that
calmed him instantly.
"If it truly were simply the rich who run the world behind the
scenes, it would be so easy to discover their secrets, their evolving
consensus. We know who they are. There are ways to penetrate their
dreams, their ambitions, their machinations to get even more wealth.
The wealthy, in this digital world where nothing is hidden if you
know where to look, are an open book.
"No, it!s not the super-rich who are the most powerful. It!s
people who use the rich and become invisibly powerful, it is they
who rule the world. They are never at the top level. No, they are the
second, the third, perhaps even the fourth level from the wealthiest.
They are the hands-on people, the people charged by the wealthy
with the power to make things happen. As long as the wealthy
remain wealthy the lower levels of real power retain their power.
Don!t you see? The rich are there simply to empower the powerful.
It!s the power levels you must penetrate. That is what The Network
does.”
General Bukonovich turned away in frustration seemingly
contesting with himself whether to rise or not and end the meeting.
"Be patient, General. All your questions will be answered—
with proof. May I continue?”
Ivanoff looked at the general and gave him a palm down sign to
calm himself. He then turned to Latimer. "Please continue,” he said.
"It is a question of knowing what level you are at, where in the
six degrees you are and which way to move to get one degree closer
to the consensus. Each level provides its link to the next level, if you
know how to look. So it does not take hundreds of thousands of
people and gigantic depositories of mostly useless data. It takes
focused, purposeful intelligence goals, not to stop every act of
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 terrorism or corruption, but to discover the evolving consensus. The

Network looks only at the big picture. It discovers when there is a
convergence of interests forming and at what level and whether to
approach from above or from below. And all this happens in a
continually changing environment. No wonder the traditional
intelligence agencies worldwide are so often blindsided by
unexpected events and alliances. They look for changes in patterns,
run vast amounts of data through filtering algorithms hoping to
discover a meaningful trend, but what they find instead is the debris
of a consensus already out of date.”
Latimer stopped and rising from his chair, stepped away from
the table, his back to the door. He rubbed his chin, thinking, and
began to walk back and forth silently in front of the door. Suddenly
he stopped and looked sharply at General Bukonovich.
#"You asked, General, how we know what the consensus is. Our
trick, the secret of our success for The Network, is knowing all there
is to know about the hundred or so wealthiest people on Earth, not all
there is to know about everyone. Intelligence organizations like
yours, for example, General Bukonovich, look to stop every
bombing, every assassination, every violent demonstration,
expending huge resources, when in reality, these events are
insignificant. A hundred killed here or there has only the power you
give to it. Yes, your intelligence organizations have their successes in
thwarting a terrorist attack or uncovering a rogue banking operation
or even an assassination plot. Even the uncovering of a hostile spy
network or its agents.
"I tell you these successes are not really successes. They are
outliers of very little significance to the labyrinth. Remember, the
labyrinth is concerned only with the big picture that drives the
current consensus. They never lose because the balance sheet is
always in their favor. The more important question always is: was
the act a part of a larger goal? What is the condition of the labyrinth?
Who benefits? To what purpose? What is the governing logic of the
actors? This is what the Network is designed to uncover for a fee.
For a fee, General, and sometimes for something else.”
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 #"Yes, yes,” Bukonovich said forcefully, "but how do we know,

Mr. Vice President, that your claims are not idle boasting?”
Latimer came prepared, knowing this question would be asked.
"Permit me, General Bukonovich, Gospodin Ivanoff, to give a
small demonstration of what The Network offers, of what we can do
for you if you subscribe to our service. Consider this a free sample, a
taste so to speak, of what you can expect.”
Bukonovich and Ivanoff looked at each other. Ivanoff shrugged.
They both relaxed back in their chairs waiting to see what magic,
what rabbit the American was planning to pull out of his hat.
"You are all aware that the drought in Central America is
getting worse. The agricultural implications are severe with harvests
expected to be less than forty percent of what they were five years
ago even though the population increased by twenty-three percent.
The Russian Federation believes and is planning for a military coup
in Guatemala. The leaders of the coup, your policy makers believe,
will then authorize a full invasion of Mexico in order to seize
farmland that is more productive because it!s further north, than their
own. You undoubtedly know that the most likely leader of such a
move would be forty-six year old Colonel Simon Ortiz. However, an
older, more mature Colonel, Colonel Claudio Montalbo, is actually
the power behind the plot.
"Montalbo has the financing to carry the plot forward and to
sustain it using money commitments he received from banks in
Colombia and Oman. Of course, those banking commitments must
be off-book, as we say. Arrangements for the transfers of money as
needed were arranged using connections made at the anti-terrorism
conference held last October in Madrid. However, the real power
behind the coup, facilitating the financial commitments is the
Panglico Corporation, which currently has a one hundred percent
interest in Guatemala!s oil production, pipelines, refining and
exporting operations. Colonel Montalbo is the uncle of Raul
Sanchez, a member of the board of Panglico. Their interest is not

100

 political, but in unhindered exploitation of the Xan oil field in the

middle of the Laguna del Tigre National Park in Guatemala. And
Sanchez is, General Bukonovich correct me if I am wrong, an asset
for your Military Counterintelligence Directorate.”
General Bukonovich was trained well not to reveal emotions.
He stared directly at Latimer, his surprise betrayed only by the
involuntary twitch of his Adam!s apple. General Ivanoff allowed
himself a stifled smile.
"Unfortunately for you, General, these plans will not succeed.
Quite the opposite, Mexico will invade Guatemala and annex it.
Neither Mexico nor Guatemala are members of The World
Federation, and like the Russian Federation, are not bound by its
charter. What you missed was the convergence of powerful interests
that decreed Mexico will be the victor here. Mexican officials will
reveal the Guatemalan invasion plans, plans by the way acquired by
my Network for them for a fee, as justification for their own
invasion. What Mexico gains are all the Guatemalan oil and mineral
assets for itself under the pretext of preventing a Guatemalan
invasion. They also, gain control of the southern border of
Guatemala, which they can enforce with a brutality not so visible as
their northern border with the United States.
"By Guatemala allowing itself to be a transit route for food
refugees into Mexico and beyond it promoted intolerable disruptions
not just to the overwhelmed Mexican infrastructure already
collapsing under the struggle to feed its own people, but to the
survival of key Mexican banking interests and, shall we say,
cooperative key politicians. Weighed in the balance, the consensus
was for Mexico to annex Guatemala, especially during times as they
are now when disadvantaged countries are growing increasingly
desperate and to whom former rules of international behavior no
longer apply.
"So General, I give you fair warning. Mexico will move no later
than three weeks from now. Forewarned is forearmed. This one is for

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 free. Consider this sharing of intelligence my calling card and my

resume.”
Grigory Zukanov thought it a good time to pour another round
of vodka. Silently, the three Russians downed their shot. Latimer sat
back in his chair, sipping his. Bukonovich, for an instant forgetting
his training, was clearly stunned. Ivanoff simply sat with the amused
smile of a man who was savoring an "I told you so” moment. For
more than a year he had been warning that borders would be where
wars will either start or be prevented.
Finally, Ivanoff broke the silence.
"Mr. Vice President, you have just used an impressive number
of important names in your demonstration. You clearly mean to show
us your six degrees of separation in practice. And if your information
is true, certainly foreknowledge of such an eventuality would be
extremely valuable. Assuming your information is correct, you will
have demonstrated what you have to offer. What is it then, in return,
that you want from us.”
#"For now, Gospodin Ivanoff, I prefer to wait before answering
that question.” Latimer said, looking severe suddenly. Ivanoff
assumed Latimer should be looking pleased. Ivanoff did not like
inappropriate emotions. They almost always led to unanticipated
difficulties.
"I prefer to wait until you see that my information is indeed
trustworthy and accurate. Let us agree to meet one month from now.
I wish to thank comrade Zukanov for his effective services in
arranging this meeting. However, I will be using another
intermediary for the next meeting. And another place.”
At that instant, the door to the apartment opened and a powerful
looking young man in workman!s clothing entered. He drew no
surprise or alarm from the Russians. Without introduction, he walked
quickly to General Bukonovich and whispered in his ear. Latimer
became instantly alert. Ivanoff abruptly rose from his chair.

102

 "My man here informs me that there is a group of Chinese

beginning to form at the western end of the street. It is best if we
adjourn. Mr. Vice President, how will we be in touch?”
Latimer smiled now. "Not to worry, General. I will notify you in
my way.”
"Then, to be continued, gentlemen, one month from now.
Somewhere,” Ivanoff said with a smile.
The group looked around the room to make sure they were
leaving nothing behind. Zukanov even took the vodka bottle and the
glasses, placing them in a net bag he took from his pocket.
Once regaining the street level and there no longer being a need
for stealth, a car quickly appeared and Sergei Ivanoff and Yevgeny
Bukonovich entered it and sped away. Grigory Zukanov and Paul
Latimer drove away at a more restrained speed in their rental car.
Zukanov dropped Latimer off at the port where he left Novosibirsk
by ship, down the Ob River. Zukanov continued on to the airport
having completed his mission.

103

It was James Marshall!s opinion that Mexico was quickly

becoming a failed state. Despite its successful invasion of
Guatemala, the Mexican military was spread too thin to sustain even
temporary control of the vast area of Mexico itself plus the
additional area comprising Guatemala. Intelligence reports he had
seen showed a relentless decline in control of the greater part of
Mexico by the central government in Mexico City. Even in Mexico
City, satellite photographs showed vast tent cities overrunning the
suburbs. These makeshift cities reportedly suffocated the social
services support infrastructure as well as swamping law enforcement
services, which had essentially abandoned attempts to protect the
residents within the tent cities.
The vast majority beyond the reach of the central government
had succumbed to control by local warlords. The border states of
southern Mexico—Chiapas, Tabasco and Campeche—were virtually
$killing zones!# by Mexican police and military in an attempt to
suppress border gangs. These gangs were armed by brisk illegal gun
sales from Honduran suppliers. Whoever had the most guns locally
was in charge along the Mexico/Guatemala border, on either side.
Mexican authorities were in stiff competition with these gangs.
The Guatemala invasion by Mexico permitted the rounding up
of tens of thousands of squatters and illegal immigrants into that
country. Mexican officials were trucking these people from
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 temporary detention centers to the Guatemala/Honduras border and

summarily expelling them into Honduras. The Honduran officials
were unprepared to resist this and the refugee problem was simply
shifted from Mexico!s northern border with the US to its new
southern border with Honduras. James did not expect this state of
affairs to persist without eventually a serious push back by
Honduras.
James expected the concentration of Mexican military assets to
the south to result in a further degradation of central government
authority in the Mexican north. Mexico was, in James!s view,
experiencing the last gasp of a viable national government. The rapid
loss of control did not bode well, he thought. A three thousand two
hundred kilometer border with a failed state portended dire future
consequences for the United States
The non-Hispanic militias had already abandoned the US/
Mexico border to the overwhelmingly Hispanic local population.
Hispanic militias replaced the white militias. So far, no militia had
challenged the authority of the US federal government in the
southern states. So Far. But James knew that all it would take was to
seize control of Interstate 10 running parallel to the Mexican/US
border and the whole of southern Texas would be severed from the
rest of the state—and the rest of the country.

***

James occupied his usual preferred window seat. As the plane

approached Del Rio International Airport, he recognized the
distinctive semicircular terminal building. The airport earned its
international status not by virtue of huge jets arriving from faraway
foreign lands, but rather because of its proximity to the Mexican
border. It was the small but numerous cross border traffic between
the US and Mexico that earned it the label $international.!
As James made his way through the front exit door of the
United Airlines Astrocruiser, he had the almost alarming sensation of

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 entering a burning world. The jet passenger compartment was air-

conditioned and he knew the terminal would be comfortably air
conditioned as well. But the jetway was not and he was immediately
struck by an invisible punch of heat. He moved as quickly as he
could to enter the make-believe world of the terminal. He knew that
eventually he would have to leave the terminal but reassured himself
that the rental car also would be air conditioned, as would the spotter
plane he intended to engage once he was settled in a room at a hotel
in Del Rio.
Waiting on line at the car rental kiosk, James thought about
Willis Carrier, the man who invented air conditioning in 1902 and
made commercial and residential development possible in so many
otherwise inhospitable southern locations. In the southern border
states and in the states bordering the Gulf of Mexico air conditioning
went from a luxury to a necessity to, in the age of global warming, a
fantasy, creating islands of relief in the otherwise relentless, year
round furnace that the outside world had become.
The first landmark James would be flying over would be the
Amistad Reservoir. The reservoir was filled by the inflow from the
Rio Grande, the source of which was snowmelt from the San Juan
Mountains of southwestern Colorado. And once again the same
problem being experienced worldwide was evident at the Amistad
Reservoir. The mountain snows that melted slowly and served to
maintain the summer flow of the Rio Grande were now replaced by
winter rain that was quickly absorbed into the soil allowing the Rio
Grande to run dry by mid-summer, never making it to the sea.
The Amistad Dam, built in 1969, was responsible for the
reservoir behind it, comprising almost 7 cubic kilometers of water.
Once again, a hydroelectric plant was threatened with a loss of
generating capability because the alarming drop in water level. In
this case, one hundred and thirty megawatts of hydroelectric power
was at risk. The reservoir was built also to provide agricultural water
storage and for flood control. The loss of water for irrigation was a
serious threat to the already marginal production of yet another
farming region. Cattle ranchers as well were also threatened by the
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 drought, with herd populations down forty percent from the numbers
only two years earlier.
Having secured a rental car, James phoned the pilot of the
spotter plane he would use to survey the dam and the reservoir. The
region had already been surveyed by satellite, so James did not
expect any surprises, but you never know. However, his principal
mission was to assess the political situation in the region. That would
take time. And car miles.
He phoned Sylvia to let her know that he arrived safely and
expected to be in Del Rio at least four or five days assessing the
mood at the border.
After an uninteresting ride from the airport, James arrived at the
Hampton Inn on North Bedell Avenue. It was by far the nicest hotel
in a decaying Del Rio. Surrounded by a flat, barren landscape,
touched here and there with cactus and sagebrush typical of the
desert, the town groped bravely to arouse a face of relevance.
Nevertheless, he found himself asking the same question he asked in
virtually every border town. What made people want to live or stay
in these relentlessly hot, joyless towns with pretensions of cityhood?
He never found a satisfactory answer.
James found the desert depressing. He was a mountain, field
and stream man. In every desert he had traveled through, in
California, Arizona, Nevada, New Mexico and now Texas, he found
the same vast expanses of nothing, interrupted by small, isolated
villages appearing just frequently enough to conjure again the picture
of their bleak and dismal isolation. It seemed to Marshall here was
no evident reason for their existence other than that the people living
there forgot to leave.
Like lichen clinging to rocks, these little, tenuous clusters of
communities, with their scattered trailers and trash and broken down
machinery, seemed to him living monuments to human inertia. There
was no real business to sustain them, so they survived in a kind of
circular economy with almost nothing entering from outside, each
living off the other, each providing some small good or service the
other could use. The people living in these little zombie towns could
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 only have been, by James!s reckoning, those born there or left behind
by the others who managed to escape. They had no significance to
the politics of this land. They were simply human clutter providing
gasoline to allow those just passing through to move on.
James Marshall was suddenly shocked. He wondered how and
when he became so cynical?
James knew there must once have been another, powerful,
unseen aspect to this world off the main roads, beyond these failed
scrap heaps, out of sight to those just passing through. There were
the big, corporate farms and ranches with their water rights to
aquifers and access to cheap labor that nowlived mostly on borrowed
time.
It was from these ranchers and farmers that the militias
historically drew their all-white members. But now they were mostly
gone. The aquifers—the magic desert water that created communities
out of thin air, sand and dust—were almost gone as well. The white
population got the message that their time was up and mostly moved
on.
In this part of Texas, only those supplied with water for
irrigation and drinking by the Amistad Reservoir remained, the last
bastion of non-Hispanic population along this part of the Texas
border with Mexico. Everywhere else was heavily Hispanic, both
legal and illegal.
In fact, James, along with everyone else, had given up the
$illegal!# designation almost a decade ago. It was a pointless
distinction promoted by laws that were no longer enforced, even
symbolically, and so without relevance. Now the militias drew from
the next-wave replacement Hispanic population. The authority over
the border had become more and more unclear, the physical border
itself consisting more of holes and tunnels than wire and concrete.

***

James checked in and took the elevator to his second floor

room. He thought he might take a quick nap, but he had arrived at
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 the Hampton Inn a little later than planned and wanted to begin
speaking with the locals as soon as possible. Tonight he would walk
around downtown Del Rio. Tomorrow, he decided, he would take the
spotter plane to survey the region more widely. After that he would
follow Route 90 west from Del Rio for several days toward El Paso,
a distance of about six hundred kilometers and more or less parallel
to the Mexican border. Presidio would be the only large city he
would pass before reaching El Paso.
Going east instead from Del Rio the border towns would be
more numerous, more populated and better understood. No, it was
going west toward El Paso where the mystery lay. It was the people
of the long, worrisome westward stretch whose $temperature!#he was
sent to take.

***

A tire blew on James!s car on the stretch of US 90, just west of

Marfa passing through the foothills of the Davis Mountains. It was
an isolated section of road in the middle of the Chihuahuan Desert.
His car had a spare tire in the trunk, but it was a pitch black,
moonless night and James did not have a flashlight. Although there
was a flashlight in James!s telephone, he felt too exposed on the side
of the road. He immediately regretted not having taken a colleague
with him or arranged for a security detail for safety sake as Sylvia
had urged before he left. Careless, careless, careless, he thought. He
decided to call the state police for assistance.
Assured that help would arrive in less than a half hour, James
opened the trunk and disconnected the spare tire from the latch
holding it securely. He took it out of the trunk and sat on it after
placing it behind the car. It was a clear night and the sky was awash
with stars made all the more impressive without moon light. There
was very little traffic so with the trunk light off when he closed the
lid the desert sky was visible in a way impossible for city dwellers to
experience.

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 Whenever a car approached in either direction James became

alert, hoping it was the roadside assistance dispatched by the state
police. After each car sped by, James would relax back onto his seat
on the tire. One car that passed him slowed and turned around.
Finally, he thought, help has arrived.
The car crossed the centerline of the road and pulled in front of
his car. James noticed right away that there were no markings on the
vehicle, nothing to indicate it was other than a private car. It was,
however, an old and still impressive for these parts Chinese hybrid,
the BYD Tang. When three young Hispanic men got out, he
immediately felt anxious, worrying that this might not end well. One
of the men stood by the front of his car while the other two men
moved toward him at the rear of the car.
James stood up and faced the two approaching men. He waited
to hear what they had to say. Both men wore jeans, boots and plaid
checkered shirts. The taller of the two wore a dark neckerchief and
had a wide mustache and an angular face. He had a trim, athletic
body and appeared to be in his mid twenties. The shorter man had no
neckerchief or mustache and was stout, appearing older to James,
perhaps in his late thirties. He wore a large cowboy hat and had a
hunting knife in a sheath hanging from his belt.
James could just make out the man in the front of his car.
Although he had stepped to the side, out of the beam projected by the
headlights of their car pointed toward James!s car, there was
sufficient reflected light for James to get a reasonably good look. He
was dressed more or less the same as his other companions but his
sleeves were rolled up. He could not make out the details, but he
could see a sleeve tattoo on his right arm. He was wearing a cowboy
hat with a band that had a large white feather stuck in it. He stood
motionless and expressionless.
Of the two men approaching James, the taller man began to
smile, but the other man continued walking slowly until he was
behind James. The tall man spoke first, but in Spanish. Jams could
remember very little of his high school Spanish, but enough to say
his name and that he did not understand what was just said to him.
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 The tall man continued smiling, but turned to the man in front of the
car and said something in Spanish to him. The two men laughed.
James began moving sideways, toward the grass, beyond the
shoulder of the road, attempting to get both men in sight, but the man
behind him just shifted over with him.
James did not believe that they didn!t speak any English. He
pivoted slowly sideways to get both men in view and said "Sorry
men. I don!t speak Spanish.” He accompanied this with the universal
hand gesture—palms up, fingers extended—signifying "I don!t get
it.” The two men near him then began to speak to each other again in
Spanish.
"Blew a tire, but no flashlight. Do any of you speak any
English?”
The tall one spoke up in a heavy Spanish accent, "A little.”
"Great. I called for help, but with you here, if you would help
me with the lights from your car I could probably fix the tire before
the state police get here.”
James maintained a steady, friendly tone of voice, making
strong eye contact with the tall man, but was concerned when the
man in front walked to the driver!s side window and looked inside
the car, front and back. The shorter man behind him walked over to
the open trunk of the car and looked carefully inside. It was empty
except for the small overnight bag James had taken for his border
survey travels.
The shorter man looked at the taller man and shook his head.
The tall man turned to James and asked, "What is in the suitcase?”
James looked at him silently without answering. After a while
the tall man took a step toward James. James quickly asked, "Why do
you want to know? What business is that to you?”
The tall man stood silently assessing James. Then he asked
again "What is in the suitcase?”

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 James ignored his question. "Look if you!re not going to help

me, then I!ll just wait for the state police to arrive. They are coming
and it won!t be long.”
The tall man took another step toward James. "Where is your
money?” he asked. The man near the front of James!s car by this
time had moved next to the tall man. "Come on, gringo. Where is
your money?” he asked impatiently.
No one had displayed any weapons, James thought, but this is
clearly going to be a robbery.
"Who carries cash? I have maybe fifty dollars. Everything I
need, I use a credit card. You want my fifty dollars? Here! Take it.”
He reached into his side trouser pocket to retrieve his wallet. As he
reached into his pants, he saw out of the corner of his eye the short
man by the open trunk lunge at him. The last thing James Marshall
remembered was the man swinging at him and him trying to deflect
the blow. At the same time, he experienced a blinding blow to his
face from the direction of the tall man. Then nothing.

***

The flashing light of the road assistance truck pulled James

from a deep place of unconsciousness, upward toward awareness,
slowly. He remembered being struck a hard blow to the side of his
head and slowly he began to think again.
He did not move, but realized he was lying prone on the
ground, his head on the pebbled shoulder of the road. He saw the
emergency truck lights flashing and two men standing near the
vehicle. Gradually he recognized one of the men to be the tall
Hispanic who knocked him unconscious. The other was evidently the
driver of the road assistance vehicle.
The side of James!s face felt on fire from the blow he received.
He tried to get up, but one of the tall man!s companions pushed him
back down with his boot. When James turned to see who was
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 keeping him down, he saw it was the man with the sleeve tattoo. He
had placed his foot on James!s back to keep him down. James turned
to the driver of the emergency truck and called out, "Can you help
me? I don!t know these men. Help!”
Suddenly the man with his foot on James took a step back and
kicked him in the ribs. Hard. Lights immediately flashed in his brain,
blocking out all other sensation, even pain. But the pain did come
and it took his breath away. The man who kicked him waited next to
him, watching for James!s breath to return, then he motioned to
James to be silent. Everyone was silent.
The truck driver gathered his tools and moved to James!s car.
He did not look at James or at the other men. As if there was no else
present, he quickly replaced the flat tire with the spare. When he was
done, he gathered his tools and walked back to his truck, got in and
drove away without saying a word or acknowledging James lying on
the ground.
In the meantime, the third man had taken James!s travel case
from the trunk and searched through it. James!s wallet was lying on
the ground next to the travel case. The tall man, the apparent leader
of the group, said to James, "So, gringo, you are an important man.
You work for The World Federation. What are you doing here in my
country? Are you a spy?”
The man holding James down with his foot stepped aside to let
him sit up. When he tried to stand, the man pushed James back down
to a sitting position.
"What do you mean, your country? I don!t understand. We!re in
Texas,” James said.
The man sanding beside James forcefully kicked him in the side
again. James rolled in pain, his breath gone again. After a few
moments, when the pain no longer stole his breath, he thought,
Goddam, they!re going to kill me. He remained silent, not knowing
what was going on or what these men wanted.

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 "We will tell you where you are. You are in New Texas and you
have no business here and no permission. You are in deep shit,
amigo. There is no help for you. Do not expect that driver to get help
for you. He is here because we let him be here. The police are not
here because we do not allow them to be here. So, once again, why
are you here?”
James looked back at the man with the sleeve tattoo, thinking
how best to proceed.
"If you are looking for another excuse to kick me, I will say
nothing.”
Instantly, the man kicked him again in the same side. This time
he felt the distinct snap of a rib breaking. James lost consciousness
and fell onto his side. Slowly he revived, but his body was bent
double and his eyes were tearing from the pain. The man who kicked
him said something to the tall man in Spanish. The tall man turned to
James. "I think it is best if you just answer my questions. Yes? Why
are you here?”
Talking was now painful, because breathing had become
seriously painful, but James had no choice. "You saw my credentials.
My wallet is right there.” He stopped to take a breath. "I am a field
agent for The World Federation. I was sent here to survey the border
to determine the political sentiment—the wishes—of the people on
the Texas side of the border.” James stopped again and took a couple
of breaths before he could continue. "And the economic conditions.
Any suffering or hardship. We want to help. So why are you treating
me like this?”
"First, crazy man, there is no more $Texas side of the border.!#
There is no Texas border. We are the border. We tell you if you can
come or go. And you cannot come. And now you cannot go.
¿Comprendes?”
"What do you mean $I cannot go?!# How is anyone to know
about the rules here without someone like me coming here?”

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 "No, my friend. This is a good way for your people to find out.
Maybe they want you back, no? What do you think? Do they want
you back, hombre? Yes? No?”
James recognized this was going to be some kind of extortion
and he was to blame. They did not kidnap him. He walked right into
this mess and they were obviously going to take advantage of his
carelessness.
The world being the violent place it had become because of
so many desperate people, he and Sylvia had often talked about the
risks of his travels. Usually, a Delta Force team, the best of the
best, had his back. In almost every place he visited, he was
comforted knowing they were there even if he didn!t see them.
Fully aware of the need for caution and preparation, he rushed
this trip anyway. It was his own fault. He wanted to get the trip out of
the way so he could be home for Sylvia!s birthday. He wanted to buy
her an emerald ring for her fortieth birthday. She loved emeralds and
he found exactly what he was looking for in a shop in the Panjiayuan
Flea Market in Beijing. With more than 3000 vendors he had been
confident he could find what he wanted and he did. The ring was of
Russian origin, an estate piece with a two and a half karat bright
green emerald with just enough imperfections to make it tirelessly
interesting. Diamond chips in a filigree, yellow gold setting
surrounded the emerald. It was magnificent.
He couldn!t wait to see Sylvia!s expression when she opened
the little box and because of that, he was careless in his trip
preparation and did not follow the protocols. It was just Texas. $What
could go wrong?!#he thought at the time. Now he and perhaps others
will have to pay for his stupidity.
He assumed his protection team scrambled quickly and
deployed when they discovered he had left on his own and without
notice. But how much time was lost picking up his trail the hard way,
playing catch up, because of his own stupidity? He regretted he
didn!t have a military mentality or discipline. He was not cut out to
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 be a field agent. He was a trained scientist, for goodness sakes. And a

journalist. James Marshall, not James Bond.
Yet here he was. A prisoner. Beaten pretty soundly, with no idea
how badly except for the bolt of pain with every breath. His only
hope was the knowledge that the Delta Force was much better at this
than he was.yet, would they find him? Could they rescue him
without getting him killed?
He used to joke with Sylvia that all the traveling he did for the
Federation did not bother him because before each flight he would
mentally give himself up for dead to begin with. So nothing worse
could happen. While this did give him some comfort, it didn!t seem
to keep Sylvia from worrying.
Right now he just wanted to lie down and sleep, his energy
completely drained.
Seeing that James was no longer responding, the tall man
gestured to his friends. The next thing James knew one of the men
covered his eyes with a bandana. They lifted him up and placed onto
the back seat of their car, pushing him down so he was lying along
the seat, not visible from the outside.
The pain in James!s jaw and ribs kept him from breathing
during the transfer, his only goal during that process being to
survive. He knew that pain was generally more a warning and not
life threatening by itself. Broken ribs could be, but he was no spitting
up blood. That provided some comfort. Once he was lying down, he
was able to catch his breath. The previous talk of holding him for
some kind of ransom convinced him they did not intend to kill him.
There being nothing he could do at the moment, as the car drove off
he gave in to his exhaustion, closed his mind and went to sleep.
James awoke as soon as the car stopped. There seemed to him
to be a kind of $checkpoint!#conversation between the driver and a
man at the driver!s window. When the car began to move again he
heard the sound of crunching gravel followed for a longer stretch on
what seemed to him a mildly rutted dirt road. He inferred they were
going more and more remote.
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 When the car came to a final stop, the front doors opened and
the two men got out. They opened the back door of the Tang and
pulled him out. Pain shot through his left side. He imagined this is
what a bullet would feel like at the moment of impact. With every
lurching motion, the pain came like a flash of fire and then only
slowly ebbed away. He knew nothing much could help broken ribs
except painkiller and time.
Still blindfolded, he was pushed from behind. With the help of
his $guide!# he maneuvered into a building and moved forward until
pulled to a stop. His guide stopped him, turned him toward the wall
of the corridor and removed his bandana. James found himself facing
a door opening into what was evidently a detention cell. It had a cot
and one window covered with a sheet of plywood. The door had only
a small slit.
James knew there was no point in asking questions. The man
either would not understand or, anyway, not answer. As in a dream
he only partly accepted, his saw his one option, especially if he
wanted to avoid beatings, was simply to do as he was told.
Without warning the man behind him gave him a strong blow to
his kidney followed by a shove into the cell as he began to fall. He
lost consciousness before his face hit the dirt floor.

***

"Sylvia, we will get James back. I promise you. Safe and

sound.”
President Lal tried to sound positive and optimistic on the
phone, but it was complicated. Lal knew the US President was about
to crack down on their southern border violations. If they were going
to get James back before Llewelyn took action, they would have to
move fast.
Lal decided Bert McEldridge would be ideal to manage a
mission to rescue James Marshall. As a former Director of the
National Security Agency he would have a good working
relationship with the US intelligence community. With him already
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 working in secret on the Nemesis Project another level of secrecy

would not be a problem. He planned to have McEldridge work a side
project to track down Paul Latimer and neutralize him, but now this
must come first.
The US border-states had become more and more an
intelligence mystery. Food refugee pressure was building and
building. Deploying Federation resources there without angering the
Americans, sovereignty and all that, could be turned to advantage if
handled right. Lal decided rescuing James Marshall might not just be
a challenge, but an opportunity as well.

***

James had no way of determining how long he had lain on the

floor before he managed to crawl to the cot. Every move sent shock
waves of pain through his chest. Lying on the cot he did a kind of rib
inventory by gently feeling down his chest on both sides. It was only
on his left side that he felt pain, but he was unable to determine if it
was just one or several ribs that were broken. He had no doubt there
was a break and not just a bruise. The pain of breathing was too
intense. Wherever else he could touch or whatever part he could
move seemed to be sore but okay.
He remembered reading somewhere that the first obligation of a
prisoner of war was to try to escape. Well, he wasn!t a prisoner of
war, he reasoned, but he was a prisoner of some kind. That!s for sure.
He tried first calling for help.
"Hello! I need help. Hello!” he yelled over and over as best he
could between carefully organized breaths. No one came. At first, he
thought he might be alone. They might simply have brought him
here to scare him and then taken off. He listened carefully and was
disappointed to hear sounds of activity—very low but clearly there—
outside his door and outside the boarded window. He stopped
shouting.

118

 Okay, then it will have to be escape. But how? In the movies it
always looked so easy. While he was trying to think about what
resources he had and what opportunities, his body had other plans for
coping with his situation. Once again he drifted into
unconsciousness.
When he awoke he found that his eyes had adjusted to the
darkness. He saw by the light entering the room from the slit in the
door and from the slight opening beneath the door that a tray with a
bowl and a spoon lay on the floor. He was annoyed that he had not
been awake when the food was brought. He missed an opportunity to
get information. Surely, he reasoned, they all spoke some English
and just pretended not to. Well, next time.
He found he could not, without assistance, simply get up and
walk to the door. However, by slowly dragging his body, he was able
to get off the cot and into an upright position. He slowly approached
the tray on the floor. He couldn!t tell in the low light if it was chili or
a thick soup in the bowl, but at least it was food.
He looked at the tray, studying how to bend down to pick it up.
Finally, he dropped first to one knee and then to the other. He was
able easily then to take hold of the tray, but getting up again while
holding the tray or even just the bowl, he decided, was simply
beyond his capability at the moment. He sank to a sitting position on
the floor and ate right there what turned out to be chili.
"Not bad,” he said out loud, vocalizing his thoughts and
strengthened by the food. "I can do this.” Trying to maintain a sense
of humor, he said aloud once again, "I!ve always liked Mexican
food.”
Except for the possible occasional beating, which he accepted
long ago as a possibility associated with his job, he no longer feared
that his life was in danger. Nothing would be gained by killing him.
But what did they want? Who are these guys and how many of them
are there?
By now, he knew, he would be missed. Attempts to contact him
would have failed and whether these guys made contact with the
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 Federation or not, his people would know he was in trouble. And

Sylvia would have been informed of the situation by Federation
management. She may even have been the first to raise an alarm
when she did not receive his usual call. What would they do? What
could she do?
He was most upset about how Sylvia would be suffering
through all this. He knew she was strong and would $keep the faith!#
that he would be saved. But that faith, he knew, could not erase
completely the dread of loss that seemed always to be a lurking
companion to love.
James finished his food and carefully stood up again. He
walked several turns around his cell and then lay down. He kept his
mind busy by naming the states and their capitals and then the
countries, with their capitals. After what he judged to be $a good long
time!#decided to go to sleep.
When he awoke, he saw that the food tray was gone, replaced
by a steel bedpan. Evidently they did not want him leaving the cell
for any reason. He was surprised by how exhausted he was. It didn!t
help that he had no way to determine the passage of time.
Suddenly, his cell door was flung open filling the room with
light from the hallway. A switch was thrown and the ceiling light in
his cell came to life filling the corners of the room not touched by the
hallway light. A man entered. He was short, stooped over, with gray
hair, perhaps five feet, six inches, wearing rumpled brown pants,
shoes with no socks and a stained white shirt. He carried a black
leather doctor!s bag.

***

August 3, 2042
I don!t know what he was thinking. Marshall took off for Del
Rio without telling us. All hell broke loose. The CO went ape shit
when he found out. Everybody in his protective detail got called up

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 and transportation was arranged PDQ to get to Texas and track him
down. A guy named McEldridge, some suit in the World Federation
pecking order, seems to have the ball and getting us whatever we
need. We ship out in 40 mins at 0920.

August 3, 2042
Arrived in Del Rio, now 1210. There!s 20 of us, including
Captain Keiber. We!ll rendezvous five miles west of Marfa. We got
intel from the state police that last night Marshall made a call
requesting road assistance. Car broke down or something. Tow truck
was sent and Cap is interviewing the driver at the airport.

August 3, 2042
1330 Accomplished rendezvous. Will switch from 2 per car to 4
per car when we begin pursuit. We got a good lead from the road
assistance driver. Marshall was grabbed by some coyote gang
members. It does create a problem though. It!s a gang and not some
random assholes. So we!re going to need some help. Maybe.
Depends on the size of their encampment. The truck driver evidently
knows approximately where they hang their hats on the US side of
the border but not how many people are there. We have enough info
evidently because Captain Keiber told us US drones have been
enlisted to find the exact location given the driver!s intel.

August 3, 2042
1700 Drones located the encampment. We are awaiting a
weapons delivery helicopter. Rendezvous location is suitable for
clandestine mission. Isolated. The help will get here after dark, about
2130. Weapons will be distributed and we will head out. The coyote
encampment is about 50 clicks from here so it shouldn!t take us long
to get there.

August 4, 2042

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 2017 Camouflage tents up. Cars removed. Bedded down about

two clicks from the encampment. Four-man recon group is out
gathering intel on headcount, weaponry, placement, etc. Captain
Keiber will have a plan by morning.

August 4, 2042
0640 Finished meeting with Cap. He has called for assistance
as the encampment is bigger than expected. A squad of US marines,
about 20 men, will join up tomorrow after dark. Meanwhile recon
will continue. With the pending arrival of the marine squad any
rescue timetable is set back probably a couple of days.

August 5, 2042
2230 Met with the marine sergeant. Funny name. Sergeant
Sedgewood. He seems like a good guy and his men are well trained
and serious and will be easy to work with. With the size of our
encampment getting bigger, it will be increasingly difficult to keep
hidden so I suspect we will be moving soon, ready or not.

August 6, 2042
0730 Well, they decided for us. A small caravan left the
encampment and Marshall was spotted by our recon team being
moved with it. Captain Keiber says we will let the US drones mark
their route for us and we!ll follow at night. Cap figures they!re taking
him to the other side of the wall into Mexico. This is turning into an
interesting intel operation. They have no reason to harm Marshall,
we hope. So Cap says we!ll follow and see where they take us. Big
shots are evidently going along with Cap!s plan. For sure the coyotes
intend to use him to extort something or other. Like I said, this could
get real interesting.

August 8, 2042
0742 Sheeit! They led us right to a big motherfucking
compound in the Sierra Madre Mountains. Cap says we will stand

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 down until the recon patrols have a better idea just how big and how
well manned and armed. Clearly we are not just jumping in here.
This has rapidly turned into a more complex operation but also a
potential intel bonanza.

August 9, 2042
0630 Cap filled us in on what the drones, satellite photos and
recon teams have come up with. The compound is almost 40 hectares
with a population of roughly 200 men. They have standard issue
rifles and officers have automatic weapons. There are eight
watchtowers with 50 caliber machine guns in each tower, two along
each fenced border. The perimeter is heavily patrolled with men and
dogs. We!ve worked up a map of the place and located which
building Marshall is being held in. Cap and the marine sergeant are
working up a plan but I!m sure this place will be captured rather
than destroyed. Whatever, everything will have to go real fast if we
want to get Marshall out alive.

August 10, 2042

0415 I!ll be in the first action to rescue and remove Marshall to
safety. We!ll be a group of six. We!ll work our way into the compound
and over to the detention building we labeled B-14. We!ll use the
mushroom spray that works so well putting dogs off our scent. There
are four armed guards outside the building and three more inside,
lightly armed with pistols only. We!ll take out the outside guards
probably with knives but we!ll have handguns with silencers as well.
Inside guards will be taken out quickly, almost certainly with
silenced handguns. Marshall will be extracted and removed as
quickly as possible to a position outside the perimeter. We figure it
will take about 20 minutes to complete the rescue part of the mission.
After that the main event will begin:

1. Take out the eight watchtowers simultaneously with RPGs

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 2. We’re counting on that rousing the camp and bringing all able-
bodied men out into the open to repel an attack.
3. Three minutes will be allowed for the compound defenses to
muster outside before BLU anti-personnel fragmentation bombs
will be dropped by drones. These are REALLY bad boys. They’ll
spray the entire compound with shrapnel. Anyone above ground
and in the open will be killed. Very effective. We’re figuring 50 to
60 percent of the defenders will be taken out almost immediately.
4. Following stage 3 the US marines and the rest of our forces will
storm the compound and kill or capture whoever is still standing.
If possible we want to capture officers alive and minimize
destruction of buildings and records. I will return to action with
the group securing building B-8.
5. The operation will begin one hour before sunrise today at 0630.

August 10,2042
1530 What a freakin!# light show that turned out to be. Bombs
and rockets going off, tracers criss-crossing everywhere in the pre-
dawn darkness. Our guys shouting their heads off scaring the crap
out of anyone still standing in the compound or in the buildings. The
anti-personnel bombs worked even better than we expected. We
knocked off maybe 80% of the defenders in that stage of the attack.
I!ve seen these bombs used once before and it is a positive shit storm
for anyone out in the open and that!s just the way it is. You just die.
We got Mr. Marshall out with no casualties. He was beat up a
bit, a couple of busted ribs and a cracked jaw, but nothing life
threatening. The rest of the operation went as planned with 3 lightly
wounded marines and 2 of our forces also lightly wounded.
The place was a fucking goldmine of intelligence. We captured
several officers. Documents were unbelievable. Maps giving the
locations of all the tunnels under the wall for pretty much all of West
Texas, personnel lists, organization charts, supply routes, bank
accounts, you name it. Cap figures this group was probably

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 responsible for maybe a hundred thousand illegal entries into the

United States per month just for West Texas.
Cap was all smiles and so was Sergeant Sedgewood. The
sergeant told us a simultaneous raid was made on the Texas
compound where Marshall was originally held. US airborne forces
took that compound and shut it down. They also got valuable intel.
I would say it was a bad fucking day for these guys when James
Marshall stumbled into their clutches.

***

Bert McEldridge sat beside Ranjit Lal on a bench in Jingshan

Park. For several moments they simply stared silently at the
magnificent, panoramic view of Beijing that each of the five peaks in
the park offered to visitors.
Lal broke the silence.
"A beautiful day, Bert, is it not? So much better once in a while
to discuss business surrounded by beauty.”
"As you say, Mr. President. A beautiful day.”
"Well, it is a wonderful backdrop to the success of your
mission. I could not have asked for a more expeditious and
competent management of what might have been a tragic
development. You did a marvelous job as did the men under your
direction.”
"Thank you, sir. President Llewelyn must be pretty happy with
the intelligence that we turned over to the marine seargent. Basically,
copies of everything. We turned over the captives as well.”
"I couldn!t be more thrilled myself. A splendid operation. Of
course, we!ll have to come up with something to placate the Mexican
president about our military operation in his territory, but President
Llewelyn and I will deal with that.”
Lal paused for a moment to fully absorb the positive outcome
of the mission. The extended timeline for intelligence gathering

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 purposes put James Marshall!s life at greater risk, but it was an

opportunity Lal could not pass up. If the mission had gone badly the
blame would have surely fallen squarely on Lal. Having gone well,
however, Lal felt entitled, he told himself, for an internal victory lap
of self-congratulations. Outwardly he showed nothing so personal.
"Bert, what is Mr. Marshall!s location and condition at this
moment?” Lal asked.
#"He!s on a medevac plane out of San Diego, heading for home
in Beijing. He received some modest medical attention while a
captive and, of course, more complete attention once we had him,
which is continuing on his flight home. Nothing too serious. In about
a month he should be good as new.”
"That!s excellent news. Has Mrs. Marshall been informed yet?”
"No, sir. I figured you would want to tell her yourself before she
spoke with her husband.”
"That was very thoughtful of you, Bert. I made her a promise. I
want to tell her I kept it.”
"I thought there might be something like that, Mr. President.”
President Lal reached for his phone and called his secretary.
"Gladys, I am on my way back to the office. Please call Sylvia
Marshall and ask her to come to my office. Tell her I have an update
for her. Yes, just that I have an update.”

126

For the first three years the wall along the entire border between
Mexico and the United States had done its job well, indeed beyond
expectations. It was two rows of six meter high cyclone fencing with
razor wire on top running in front of and parallel to a solid wall, also
six meters high, with motion and sound sensors every 50 meters
connected to a computerized monitoring system that could pinpoint
unusual activity or a breach. Any breach would initiate an immediate
airborne response. The airborne response was to put troops on the
ground to round up the perpetrators for brief detention and then a trip
back to Mexico. During the detention period permanent tattoos
would be placed on the inside of their bicep muscle. If they were
captured again, they would be imprisoned in the US instead of
returned to Mexico. While the wall did not stop all illegal crossings
into the United States, it dramatically reduced the number to less
than fifteen percent of its former level of about a half a million
illegal crossings into the United States per month.
Then conditions changed for the worse five years ago when
desperate, starving people began crossing the border in large
numbers as before, overwhelming the border guardians once again.
Extreme weather conditions, an expected consequence of global
warming, were hitting Central American countries with devastating
effect to agricultural production. The further south from Mexico, the
worse it got. Harvests in Guatemala, Honduras and Nicaragua were
no longer sufficient to feed their people. Due to the continuing
drought in the united States mid-west and west coast, food aid and
food sales from the United States had largely disappeared as a result
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 of smaller harvests. The World Federation program to coordinate the

introduction of modern farming techniques designed to mitigate the
effects of climate change had proved largely ineffective due to
corruption, mismanagement at the local level and population growth.
However, some progress had been made in switching over to more
drought and heat resistant crops.
The attempt to supplement the diets of the populations of these
countries by expanding fishing fleets was proving unsuccessful as
one fishing ground after another became either over-fished or a dead
zone due to rising water temperature and acidification. With the
decline of both reliable food sources along with a decline in most of
the regional economies, crime became the most widespread social
epidemic in the Americas. Honduras became the epicenter for
weapons sales. Illegal aliens were simply importing crime along with
them, much like Morley!s chains rattling and clanging behind them.
President Llewelyn decided five years earlier, as the wall
became less and less effective as a barrier, that something had to be
done that would be painful but necessary. The president had ordered
the military to move swiftly and comprehensively along the entire
border with Mexico. Guard posts were established every ten
kilometers ready to respond to sensors indicating cross-border
activity. Those captured attempting to enter the US illegally would
be incarcerated rather than deported. Incarceration in large
internment camps had long ago been authorized by the continuing
extensions of the powers of the Executive branch, first asserted in
Executive Order 13603, signed by then President Barak Obama in
2012. The period of detention was to be five years followed by
deportation.
"The revolving-door crossings by the same persons have to
stop,” President Llewelyn declared at the time, justifying the
establishment of internment camps. The message was heard loud and
clear. The president often said about his decision that the United
States simply could no longer tolerate illegal entry into the country.
That was five years ago, but conditions had changed since then.
President Llewelyn was convinced the border once again would
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 jump to the front of the list of his many $first!# priorities. He had
hoped new strong action could have been put off until after he left
office, but that option was rapidly disappearing as food shortages
worldwide continued to grow. Earlier in the day he told his Chief of
Staff, Taylor Cronin, that he needed to talk with the Chairman of the
Joint Chiefs of Staff. Admiral Cornelius Holden had long been a
close friend of the President and it was to him the President turned to
help decide what comes next.

***

President Llewelyn sat with Taylor Cronin in the study adjacent

to the Oval Office. Both men were tired from a busy day of meetings
and a press conference regarding the annexation of Guatemala by
Mexico. Even though Mexican troops had entered Guatemala more
than two weeks earlier, Llewelyn!s public appearances were still
necessary in order to calm concerns that things were spiraling out of
control in Central America.
The President sat smoking a cigar. Cronin sipped a scotch and
soda. The room was small, with a Persian area rug and four
overstuffed armchairs arranged facing each other at each corner of
the room. Room darkening drapes covered two floor-to-ceiling
windows. There was a television screen mounted to the wall between
the windows. A small table below the television held a family
photograph on the top shelf and several magazines on the shelf
below. Although there was an overhead light fixture, the President
preferred the standing lamps in two diagonally opposite corners of
the room.
While they waited for Admiral Holden, the President decided to
lower the room lighting. "Lucy,” the President said, using the wake
up name for controlling the smart lighting in the room, "Set lighting
level to sixty percent.” His chief of staff looked at him quizzically.
"I!m just tired, Taylor. Time for a more peaceful setting for a few
minutes.”
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 "Yes, sir, Mr. President,” Cronin replied and took another sip
from his scotch.
The president leaned back wearily. "I!m still trying to figure out
why people are fighting so hard to get this job. Nine months more
and they can have it. I!ve never waited for anything with more eager
anticipation than the inauguration of a new President.”
Cronin remained silent, assuming the president was simply
thinking out loud and venting.
"I don!t see any clear path for the future. Everyone running for
my job has detailed plans for what they!ll do to save the world, while
I know that it!s all just happy horse shit. They!ll scrap those plans the
day they first sit in that chair in the Oval Office on the other side of
this wall. Everyone wants to look like they have a plan, that they!re a
strong leader, that they!re on top of the issues, that they!re prepared
to be President.” He paused for a moment, smiling at Cronin. "You
and I both know, no one is ever prepared to be President of the
United States, no matter how full a resume he or she may have. It!s
always going to be eighty percent on-the-job training.”
The President checked his watch. At that moment, his secretary
knocked and entered the room. "Admiral Holden is here, Mr.
President,” she said and then ushered the admiral into the study.
Holden was a man in his late fifties who had risen quickly through
the ranks largely due to his success in working with the Chinese to
forge a complex but effective military partnership. It had been clear
to Holden that a political alliance alone was not going to suffice in a
world rife with military risks and threats due to climate change. The
US military, at his urging more than a decade ago began war-gaming
the possible threat scenarios of agricultural failure, starvation and
massive population migrations, both by land and by sea.
President Llewelyn rose from his chair and greeted Admiral
Holden warmly. Cronin remained seated, nodding a welcome as the
admiral was settling into his chair. President Llewelyn offered
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 Holden a cigar, which he declined, asking for some coffee instead.

The President made a quick call to his secretary to arrange for the
coffee.
"So, what!s the situation, Cornelius?” the President asked.
"Well, Mr. President, as you know we got blindsided by the
Mexican action in Guatemala. All our information pointed to a
military move from Guatemala to Mexico rather than the other way
around. However, in the short term, this can work to our advantage.
With Mexico controlling the northward flow of migrants from lower
Central and South America at their new southern border in
Guatemala, we should find a temporary easing of tension on our
border with Mexico. Also, the intelligence haul from the James
Marshall rescue mission has pretty much given us the tools to shut
down, at least for a while, whatever leakage there is across our
border with Mexico. That!s the good news.”
The president!s secretary entered carrying a tray with a cup of
coffee, milk and sugar and placed it on the end table beside the
admiral. He paused long enough to prepare his coffee, black with one
sugar.
"Okay, Admiral, what!s the bad news?” the president asked.
"As bad as harvests have already been, our belief is they will
only get worse in the next five years. Droughts are forecast to persist,
probably permanently. We are not just looking at food shortages, Mr.
President. We are expecting mass starvation in a wide swath across
Central and South America. As astonishing as the number sounds,
probably more than two hundred million people will soon be at risk.”
Admiral Holden paused as the President put his cigar down and
looked as if he was going to interrupt. The President changed his
mind, remaining silent. Holden continued.
"Pretty clearly this will result in a significant threat of illegal
entry by boat all up and down our entire west coast, along our
southern coastal border from Brownsville to Key West and along the
coast from Miami to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Based on
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 what the meteorologists project, we will begin to see catastrophic

crop failures and subsequent pressure on these borders resuming
within the next two years.”
"When you say $pressure!# what exactly are you talking about,
Admiral?” Taylor Cronin asked.
"I think we can expect boats of every type and description to
begin ferrying people from the south and attempting to enter the
country along our entire coastline. Excluding the Mexican border for
the time being.”
"Does the military have a plan for dealing with this?” Cronin
asked.
"Cornelius,” the president interjected, "before you answer, are
we talking about a plan for deterrence or a plan for capture?”
"Mr. President, that!s exactly the right question. Is it one or the
other or both? This becomes a political decision, which is why I!m
glad you called for an early heads up.” He paused for a moment. "I
think we will have to set up what the Aussies used during World War
II. I mean coast watchers. Patrolling the coastal borders will be a
huge effort and the military can!t do it alone. Even with satellites and
drones.”
Admiral Holden reached for his cup of coffee and took several
careful sips. Steam was clearly visible above the cup.
"So, the coastal watch is the deterrence part,” Admiral Holden
continued. "For the capture scenario, what do we do with those who
get through? We!ve got the internment centers already in place and
functioning, but they!ll be quickly overwhelmed. We!ll need to plan
for probably ten times their current capacity.”
"But Admiral,” the president said, "those camps are designed to
hold about four hundred thousand internees. Now you!re talking
about four million. How will we feed all these people? With the
warming trend, I understand our northern states are experiencing
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 better than normal harvests, but does it make up for the drought
losses in the lower states? Actually, we would need much more than
just making up for the loss. Breakeven won!t do it. With a really big
influx, we!ll need a significant net increase in our harvest.”
"Well, there is one idea that we!re assessing,” Admiral Holden
said. "Lower Canada will experience warmer weather and increased
farming opportunities as more of their land becomes suitable for
farming. There!s also the possibility with longer summers of more
than one harvest per year for rapidly maturing crops. We!d need to
make some kind of agreement with the Canadians, which would
rapidly become complicated as you can imagine, Mr. President. Who
does the farming? Who pays for it? How is it distributed? What
about Canadian sovereignty and their need to feed their own
people?” Holden paused for a moment to see how the President and
his Chief of Staff were reacting to what he was saying. "The usual
mix of nightmares on your plate, sir.”
President Llewelyn and Taylor Cronin remained silent in the
light of Admiral Holden!s report. Finally, the president said, "Okay,
Admiral. I will need whatever reports and assessments you have on
this and I will take it from there. When can I have this?”
"It!s Thursday. I can get it all together for you by next Monday,
Mr. President.”
"How about tomorrow morning?” the President said.
Admiral Holden thought better of objecting. "Yes, sir.
Tomorrow morning. Can we say that means before noon. Yes?”
"Okay, Admiral. Yes. Before noon.”

***

President Llewelyn took a couple of days to mull over Admiral

Holden!s report. For the moment, he was satisfied that things were

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 in their normal state of controlled chaos, but he also knew time was
not on his side. A massive surge of illegal attempts to enter the US
was fairly certain. Housing, feeding and caring for four million
illegal aliens would put a huge burden on the country!s resources, a
burden the country was not realistically ready to take on. And the
threat of internment to desperate people might seem like an
inducement rather than a deterrent.
When Admiral Holden gave the President the documents he
wanted, he also gave him privately an alternative strategy to
incarcerating and feeding those captured that he did not want to
share even with the President!s Chief of Staff. Given the likely high
level of desperation of food refugees, Admiral Holden told the
President, it was his belief that deadly force ultimately would be the
only way to secure the borders. Whether by land or by sea, Holden
believed rules of engagement would need to be established for the
use of deadly force. The admiral!s argument was simple. The food
refugees were dead to begin with. If they stayed in their native
country, they would starve to death. If we fire on them, they!ll be
dead. Either way , they!re dead. His argument!s strongest point was
that we cannot let millions of desperate food refugees bring the
United States down with them. The President told Holden he would
take his argument under advisement, but wanted nothing in writing.
Llewelyn did not want to be the first President to fire on
starving innocents. He could wipe his hands of it and let his
successor deal with it or he could meet with the Chinese president,
Zhou Xiang, and with Ranjit Lal, the president of The World
Federation, and at least reinvigorate a discussion based on the reality
of imminent, worldwide, mass starvation.
President Llewelyn called his Chief of Staff into his office.
"Taylor, I want to make a quiet trip to Beijing to meet with
President Zhou and President Lal. I want to leave Sunday morning,
before church lets out. That should get me in to Beijing by Sunday
evening. The purpose is to discuss a common strategy to deal with

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 these damned harvest failures. If possible, I!d like to meet Monday,

some time in the afternoon. Keep the staff to an absolute minimum.
Make it happen.”
After dismissing Cronin, the President called Dr. Kathryn
Boyle, Administrator for the National Oceanographic and
Atmospheric Administration, and asked to meet with her in the
evening. He wanted her on his trip and he wanted her to have ready a
complete update on weather forecasts for the Americas and for The
People!s Republic of China for the next three years. He then called
Tom Spinichek, the Secretary of the Department of Agriculture. He
instructed him to prepare his best estimate of harvests for all the
Americas, including the US, and for The People!s Republic of China,
looking forward also for the next three years.

***

Dr. Kathryn Boyle was not at ease having tea with the President
on Air Force One. Llewelyn!s flight was delayed by a powerful
windstorm, so he was still on the ground when he received the
troubling news of a surge in Chinese crossing the border into
Mongolia. Since the Mongolian countryside was largely unoccupied,
it was understood by the President!s advisors that they would quickly
move through Mongolia, across the Russian border and into Siberia,
where there was a steadily increasing Chinese presence.
"Can!t everything just hold together until I!m out of office? Just
nine more months,” the President said after learning about the
Mongolian migration surge.
Dr. Boyle did not respond to the President!s musings. She was
enough of a Washington veteran that she understood presidents
talking to themselves was nothing new or to be concerned about.
"What!s with this storm, Dr. Boyle?”
"It came up very quickly, sir, or they never would have let you
get on Air Force One. Best now just to wait it out.”
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 "Are we safe on the tarmac?” Llewelyn asked.

"I assume so, sir. I!m sure they wouldn!t have moved us here if
there was any real danger.”
The President asked Dr. Boyle whether he should ask the pilot
to come back to give him an update on the situation. However, Dr.
Boyle assured the President that storms that assemble as quickly as
this one usually die off just as quickly. The pilot would have nothing
to add to what she just told him. Accepting her comment, the
President became quietly thoughtful.
"It!s really getting worse, isn!t it Dr. Boyle?”
Kathryn Boyle understood his question to be about global
warming and not about the storm. She wasn!t sure how to answer the
President. Scientists for years have been keeping in check their
growing terror of what they believed was coming. Or had their fears
suppressed by others. But this was a direct question by one of the
most powerful men on Earth and she needed to be as honest with
him as possible.
"Yes, sir. It!s really getting worse. More than you can imagine.”
They both remained silent after that, waiting.
The President!s phone rang and he quickly picked it up and
listened to the pilot!s report. "Thank you, captain,” the President said
after a moment and then replaced the phone next to his cup of strong,
black coffee on the table beside his armchair.
"We!ll be taking off in a few moments, Dr. Boyle. I!d like to go
over your three year weather projections again.”

***

The flight plan indicated a trip duration of about eight hours

using the four ADVENT engines developed by the Air Force. Two
F-40 fighter jets would escort Air Force One, changing shifts about
every two thousand kilometers, as newly fueled planes took up their
stations beside the President!s plane.
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 The President!s flight would be monitored, especially when

over the Pacific Ocean, by ships at sea, satellites and land-based
radar. There would be no time when his location would be in
blackout. The Russians and the Chinese were given his flight plan as
a courtesy and for potential assistance should any be required.
It would be a working flight. The President would be meeting
with Tom Spinichek following his meeting with Kathryn Boyle. He
wanted to understand in detail both their worldwide weather and
agricultural forecasts and how reliable they were and how they
quantified the reliability of their forecasts. He had a similar review
three years ago. However, data was being accumulated at such a
rapid rate as technology improved that the assessments were out of
date more quickly than in the past.
Approaching Beijing, Air Force One was handed off to the
controllers at Beijing Capital International Airport. Paul Latimer
already knew the arrival time and where it would park.

***

The three presidents had been in deep consultation for several

hours. Yet, instead of arriving at a common strategy, the more they
discussed the consequences of massive population migrations, food
refugees as it were, the more contentious the conversation became.
President Llewelyn was clearly despairing of any agreement.
President Lal and President Zhou could barely look at each other and
when they did it was more or less to frown unhappily.
"Gentlemen, I think perhaps we need a half hour break,”
President Llewelyn said.
Lal and Zhou agreed to the break. Llewelyn and Zhou rose and
left the conference room in different directions, moving to their
respective office spaces provided by President Lal.
Zhou had been growing more concerned by the month with the
food conditions in his country. The early years of rapid
industrialization under Communist leadership had resulted in
widespread water contamination. Almost seventy percent of the
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 underground water, especially in the north, was contaminated,

suitable for industrial use only or not at all.
The problem of China!s water crisis was recognized even in the
latter years of the 20th century. However, steps were not taken to
reverse the damage until well in to the current century. Industrial and
agricultural runoff that polluted the near-surface aquifers were
attacked by the introduction of severe water source protection
regulations, but progress had been very spotty due to lack of
vigorous enforcement and the long recycle times of many of the
aquifers.
Rural towns that could afford to do so drilled deep wells, often
five hundred or more meters down, to get to uncontaminated water.
However, most farms in the north still relied on near-surface aquifers
and the prolonged droughts dramatically lengthened the time for
aquifers to refresh themselves. The net result was that water for
drinking and agriculture was almost no better now for the average
farmer than it was thirty years earlier. And the monsoon rains had
become less reliable.
For Zhou, the situation was growing desperate. His
commitment to The World Federation, with its ban on doing business
with non-members was becoming the path to political suicide. There
were almost no countries anymore within the Federation that China
could count on to supplement its food requirements.
In the fall, Zhou ordered the rationing of all non-agricultural
water usage. Conservation became one of the highest priorities in the
country. Industries depending on water in the manufacturing
processes were ordered to find ways to do with less. Village officials
throughout the country would have to report to the Interior Ministry
as to the steps they were taking to implement water rationing in
commercial operations.
Household use of water, as well, was placed under strict
rationing. Family use water allocations were determined by size of
households, with allocations based on a maximum of what was
considered adequate for four members or less. Again, conservation
and periodic re-evaluations of how water was used were now
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 required. All ornamental use of water was banned. All agricultural

use of water was by permit only. There were now only three allowed
methods of water distribution to plants, each designed to minimize
loss through evaporation. Violators of the water rationing orders
were subject to very harsh punishment.
Zhou once again weathered public outrage. Everywhere the
need for water rationing was explained as a national necessity. The
news of famine in the western provinces provided some support to
the government!s admittedly desperate moves to control water
consumption. However, Zhou knew that while his edict would help,
they would not be enough. There was only so much conservation one
could do with an arguably outdated and inefficient water
infrastructure almost everywhere in the country. Also, the further
from the central government in Beijing, the more Zhou could count
on corruption undermining the water conservation edicts. China
alone still would be unable to feed its population. It still will depend
on external suppliers of food.
Only Russia, to the north, had dependable excess food
production as an expected benefit of global warming. Even the
United States could no longer be counted on as a dependable food
partner for the People!s Republic. The vast, empty landmass of the
largely unpopulated Siberian plateau was a potential agricultural
treasure too rich to ignore for a country slowly sliding toward
starvation.
Zhou was torn between two bad solutions to China!s food
problem. Risk possible war with the Russian Federation or risk the
possible unraveling of The World Federation. In the end, Zhou was
convinced only a world government could effectively deal with
global warming. Local interests would always be what motivated
local stakeholders. Solving global warming would require giving up
the concept of local winners and losers. The whole Earth would be
the winner or the whole Earth would be the loser.
Zhou had hoped for a creative option outside the box of futile
half measures, but so far Lal and Llewelyn had not proposed

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 anything new. Indeed, President Llewelyn was coming to this

meeting with his own food problems. The Chinese situation, as Zhou
saw it, was far graver than that for the Americans.
Zhou needed his problems addressed first, but political
constraints were blocking anything meaningful from the Americans
who consider their problems of the highest priority because they are
American. Zhou was getting nowhere.
President Lal was weighed down by his own set of restraining
forces. On the positive side, Lal was pleased that at least the cards
were being laid on the table, as the Americans were fond of saying,
but not often fond of doing. As for recommendations for concrete
action, walking back to his office Lal concluded that nothing would
be resolved today.
Although President Llewelyn called for this meeting, Lal was
focused on the China issues. The intelligence from the Marshall
rescue earned the Federation some credits with the Americans that
would buy him some time with them. But not enough, he feared.
Interests of the three principal stakeholders, The World Federation,
the Chinese and the Americans, were getting too complex to juggle
effectively. Lal needed a way to help simplify them. What was
missing, he decided, was a clear understanding of the trigger points
for each side. What he was missing was more information than what
the World Federation!s intelligence gathering resources had so far
turned up.
What was missing, Lal concluded, was a good grasp of the big
picture. His intelligence services provided a good analysis of
individual personalities and the needs within each of the three
principal Federation stakeholders. However, the black hole of his
intelligence was an understanding of the Russian interests. They had
not joined The World Federation and global warming was ironically
raising Russia to a new level of international importance. He needed
to understand what the Russians would want in any future
negotiations.
Only Paul Latimer and his intelligence freelancing enterprise,
The Network, seemed uniquely able to intersect with all the parties
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 concerned. By all reports, Latimer had become a serious player in

the Chinese/Russian drama. More intelligence was essential. What
happens between Russia and China impacts the United States and
The World Federation. Latimer and his intelligence gathering
resources had to be taken seriously. Lal had underestimated the reach
of what he formerly dismissed as an anomalous spy outfit of no
consequence. It was a mistake he could not afford to repeat.
Lal needed to know where Paul Latimer was and what he knew.
Latimer had simply been unfinished business. The World Federation
had tried for years to kill him as a dangerous witness to the
tumultuous year of its formation. Now, ironically, he might become a
resource, even an ally. But there was no reason why Latimer would
help The World Federation or the Americans for that matter. Yet,
necessity had forged stranger matches than this in the past. It may
again.
Lal was surprised at how resourceful an enemy Latimer proved
to be. Always, he had been one step ahead of all the Federation
assets deployed against him. He would try one more—Chen Huichi.
As former Minister of State Security for the People!s Republic of
China, he would have the contacts and the knowledge of resources
needed to track Latimer down once and for all, but not to kill him. To
hire him.
Lal knew that currently Chen, like McEldridge, was working on
the secret Project Nemesis. But Chen!s background and skills, like
those of McEldridge, were too valuable to be totally dedicated to one
project. He would give Chen a crack at Latimer.
Project Nemesis would once again have to suffer the temporary
loss of one of its key members. And because Project Nemesis was
already a secret project, drawing from among its ranks would
provide one more layer of secrecy to any Latimer mission. Lal knew
Chen could be counted on to keep a new assignment secret.
Lal messaged his secretary to arrange for a meeting with Chen
Huichi as soon as possible. Then he had a quick cigarette and
returned to the conference room. President Llewelyn and President
Zhou were already seated, waiting for him.
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 ***

Paul Latimer arrived in Ulaanbaatar, the capital of Mongolia,

after traveling by land from Irkutsk, in Russian Siberia. His journey
took him first to Lake Baikal, the deepest lake on Earth with a depth
of more than a kilometer. It is also the oldest lake, having formed
more than 25 million years ago. And even more, the lake also had the
greatest volume, containing twenty percent of the non-frozen fresh
water on Earth.
From Lake Baikal he continued by land, crossing the border
from Russia into Mongolia at the Altanbulag border post, then
straight south to Ulaanbaatar. The countryside was largely fertile, flat
pastureland making the drive gratefully uneventful.
By early morning Latimer arrived at the capital, known
familiarly by the locals as UB. He checked in to the Shangri-La
Hotel on Olympic Street using the name and passport of Philip
Anderson, a mining engineer from Canada. The hotel lobby, the only
five star hotel in UB, was spacious, with two huge chandeliers and a
solid wall of ceiling-to-floor windows affording a panoramic view of
the mountains to the east.
Ulaanbaatar had grown from a backwater rustic Mongolian city
to a modern commercial and financial metropolis, the largest city in
Mongolia and home to more than fifty percent of the entire
population of the country. Latimer decided there was no point in
trying to hide in the shadows. It was best, he decided, to hide in
luxury in the open.
After receiving the room key, Latimer followed a bellhop
carrying his suitcase. They took the elevator to the ninth floor. His
room was at the end of the corridor. There were two king beds one of
which, after dismissing the bellhop, he immediately lay down on to
refresh himself with a nap after his long drive. When he awoke it
was already early afternoon. He showered, shaved and changed into
clean clothes.

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 Latimer was in no hurry since his mission was not until early
evening so he went to one of the three hotel restaurants, the Café
Park, and had a light lunch prepared to order for him at one of the
food stations. Following lunch he decided to walk to Castle Pond,
just south of the hotel, where he could enjoy the clear weather, warm
temperature and where he could rent a paddleboat.
After about an hour, Latimer decided to leave the park and walk
further south towards his destination, River Garden Luxury Village,
just north of the Tuul River. The apartment he was going to visit was
in the area of the village called Time Square. This was the most
expensive residential area in UB, surrounded by museums,
embassies and diplomatic housing. The man he would meet, the
target of this mission, lived in River Garden Luxury Village.
The entire residential project consisted of three eleven-story
buildings, six sixteen-story buildings and two thirty-three story
buildings. The interior of the apartments were appointed with high
ceilings, windows affording panoramic views of Bogd Mountain to
the north or the UB skyline to the south, walls of Brazilian stone,
floors of Polish wood, a fireplace and European style utilities and
whatever supplemental custom features the wealth of the owner
could afford.
Latimer went directly to the apartment of Babayar Pantulga,
Executive Director of Mongolian Coal Resources. Pantulga owned a
residence on the twenty-fifth floor in the south tower. He knew
Pantulga was not expected to return to his apartment until after seven
in the evening.
Mongolian Coal Resources was developing the Tavan Tolgoi
coking coal deposit in southern Mongolia, near the Chinese border.
This was the largest such deposit of high grade, metallurgical quality
coal in the world. Coking coal is an essential element in steel
production and as such is highly prized. As Executive Director,
Babayar Pantulga would be well placed to know the business,
transportation and political power brokers in Mongolia. A large
percentage of the coal is shipped to China to support their steel

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 industry, so Pantulga was also well positioned with important

Chinese industrial and transportation leaders.
Mongolia was strategically positioned as a kind of channel that
flowed with material, people and information between Russia to its
north and China to its south. The Russian language was commonly
understood and spoken by the older generation in Mongolia due
Mongolia!s history and proximity to Russia. However, for years
Mongolia has been teaching English as a second language to its
children as the language of international commerce since the fall of
the Soviet Union. Having China across its southern border
introduced a strong Chinese influence as well. The Chinese border
town, Erenhot, just across the Mongolia/Chinese border, was a stop
on the Trans Mongolian Railway and as such was one of the transfer
points for Chinese entering Mongolia and often from there traveling
further north, to Russia itself. Erenhot was also not far from the
Mongolian Coal Resources coking-coal mining operations.
From Paul Latimer!s point of view, Babayar Pantulga would
make an important asset to The Network. His mission was to recruit
him. He entered Tower 1 and rode the elevator to the twenty-fifth
floor. The hall was empty and he quickly approached Pantulga!s
apartment and almost just as quickly, defeated the security lock on
the entry door. He entered with some stealth, wanting to verify the
apartment was empty, although he knew Pantulga had a late
afternoon meeting in downtown Ulaanbaatar. Latimer, satisfied the
apartment was empty, began a careful sweep of the unit for weapons,
first, and then for any documents that might prove instructive or
enabling to his task. He found no weapons except a ceremonial
sword mounted on the bedroom wall.
Pantulga!s mail was stacked neatly on the table by the entrance
door. Latimer photographed the front side, containing the address of
the sender of each envelope. He also found a safe in the bedroom
floor, covered by a small area rug. Latimer had come prepared for
the possibility of a more sophisticated safe, but this was a simple dial
combination safe. Opening his shoulder bag he removed an
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 electronic stethoscope and in a few moments was able to open the

safe. Because of the simplicity of the design, he did not expect
anything seriously valuable, but it was documents, anyway, that he
was most interested in. He photographed the contents so that he
would later know how to return the contents to their original
positions in their original order. There were some small pieces of
men!s jewelry and a woman!s gold charm bracelet with eight gem-
encrusted gold charms. He took a photograph and made a note of this
since he knew Pantulga to be unmarried. Also, he found a small
packet of envelopes that were gathered together by elastic bands. He
photographed the addresses and the contents of each for analysis
later.
There was no file cabinet in the apartment and only a small,
period desk so it was obvious Pantulga did not take his work home
with him. He did find, however, a very diverse and expensive
collection of clothes in his walk-in bedroom closet.
He checked the medicine cabinet and photographed the
prescription drugs found there. Likewise, he checked the kitchen for
any unusual foods. He found a plastic bag in the freezer
compartment that looked to Latimer to contain marijuana. He also
found a plastic bag with a mixture of herbs that he was unable to
identify. Knowing the faith Mongolians place in traditional
medicines, Latimer took a small sample from the bag, again for later
analysis. It might be suggestive of some medical issues for Pantulga.
Paintings throughout the apartment were of exceptionally high
quality, mostly Western European masters, but some American
impressionists as well. American culture had become very popular in
Mongolia as a sign of sophistication and wealth. He photographed all
the paintings along with the few personal, framed family and
business photographs scattered on various surfaces throughout the
apartment. One photo was not of a Mongolian woman. It was clearly
a high maintenance Chinese woman. She might prove useful, he
thought.
Latimer took a seat in the living room with its panoramic view
of the impressive skyline of Ulaanbaatar with its many skyscrapers.
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 The incongruity of this architectural tour de force located on a high,

alpine plane in Mongolia reminded Latimer of the similar
incongruity of a major city, Las Vegas, having risen from the desert
of the American southwest.
Sunset was not expected until about 8:30 pm so Latimer relaxed
for a long wait for Pantulga. He found a small collection of books on
a bookshelf in the living room. All but one was in English and
Latimer found one to read while he waited. The title was The Decline
and Fall of the West, The Rise of Safe Havens. Latimer recognized
the title as one he had started reading in Italy, also in English, a year
earlier while recruiting a former prime minister.
Latimer discovered early on that recruitment of the right people
for The Network was always surprisingly easy. If a significant
amount of money was offered along with access to people with even
more money, and hence more power, recruitment was virtually
assured. Sometimes The Network encountered men or women of
principle, but not often. Almost always there was a workaround for
principles that got in the way. In the case of Babayar Pantulga,
Latimer knew him to be an ambitious man and so he anticipated a
successful outcome.
Latimer discovered that the hyper-rich in their heart of hearts
thought of themselves as the mysterious power players controlling
the world, but he knew they were confusing connectedness with
power. They are the public elite everyone knows, the establishment
icons living in their delusional world of self-importance. They were
not the Labyrinth. It was in the highest hands-on level where the
actual Deep Labyrinth of roiling interests resided populated with
those who have the ears of those who have the ears of the world!s
richest people. They are the ones, the shifting denizens of the Deep
Labyrinth, who ebb and flow by circumstance to converge on a
shared interest—a consensus—who make the hyper-rich believe it
was their goal as well.
Babayar Pantulga was several layers away from the Deep
Labyrinth, but was still useful in the web of connections. Recruiting
at the level that interested The Network was not only about money.
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 Beyond a certain level of wealth and its comforts, money no longer

was sufficiently motivating on its own to turn a prospect. The
Network did not deal with people enamored with great wealth.
Power was the drug of choice to the addicted.
For The Network, knowledge was power and for the client,
Latimer had an illuminating metaphor. For Paul Latimer, The
Network was like an ant colony. All the hands-on worker ants were
busy at their appointed tasks. But when a challenge or an opportunity
presented itself, with their myriad antennas touching and sharing and
passing along information like a radiating ripple from a stone
dropped in a pond, awareness spread and the colony was transformed
into a determined and focused unified organism. The queen was still
there, but somehow the power of the separate parts, of the colony,
coalesced into a common understanding, independent of the queen.
Anyone closely watching an ant colony in the throes of such an event
would report not only a sense of purpose, but something approaching
joy, the thrill of power let loose.
Latimer would be ready with a convincing proposition when
Babayar Pantulga arrived home.

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 10

With her husband, James, recuperating at home for at least three

weeks and another two weeks at half time at work for a full recovery,
Sylvia was having second thoughts about Jonas going off to work on
a farm. Part of the logic of his farm adventure was that there would
not be adequate home supervision for Jonas, with Sylvia deeply
engaged on the Nemesis Project and James normally traveling most
weekdays. But now, James would be home for most of the remaining
summer vacation. He would be home during the four weeks Jonas
was scheduled to spend on the farm and probably could swing not
returning to work until the summer break was over.
The discussion with Jonas did not go well, however. He was so
emotionally prepared for working on the farm that his deep
disappointment moved both parents to relent. It was decided once
and for all. He could go to the farm. Lijuan would drive Jonas to the
farm of her cousin, Renshou, using James!s car. It would otherwise
be standing idle anyway during his recovery.
When the time came, Sylvia and James sent Jonas off to the
farm carrying only essential clothes, shoes and toiletries, plus several
bottles of sunscreen. Jonas was still so young, Sylvia thought. What
was she doing approving this? On the other hand, and there is always
another hand, she was very proud of her young son!s independence
and willingness to forgo the comforts of a stay-at-home summer in
Beijing. He would be just fine, she convinced herself. Or would he?

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 A mother!s doubts quickly crept back into her already substantial pile
of anxious, World Federation concerns these days. Her husband was
more relaxed about their decision. It was a guy thing, she decided,
and resolved to trust in others.

***

Jonas Marshall woke before the sun came up, as usual on the
farm. Although only ten years old, Jonas quickly went to work on his
assigned task caring for the chickens. He fed them, cleaned up after
them and collected and stored their eggs. When that was done, he
went into the fields with Renshou!s daughter to hoe and weed.
Jonas wore a coolie hat that shaded his head from the relentless
heat of the sun. He wore simple shorts and a white, cotton, short
sleeve shirt. Renshou gave Jonas woven straw and wooden soled
clogs that almost immediately produced nasty blisters. In the evening
of his first day, Renshou put a cream on his blisters, but it did not
help reduce the size of the blisters.
Jonas waited until the second morning with no improvement
and then punctured each blister with a pin to let the liquid out,
making it easier and less painful for him to wear his clogs.
Renshou!s daughter, Jiao, also ten years old, was working in the
field alongside Jonas. Jiao was shorter than Jonas and thinner. When
Jiao and Jonas first met she did not smile and when she did, it failed
to light up her face the way smiles commonly do. Instead, her face
retained a kind of guarded reserve. Jonas at first thought Jiao was not
friendly and did not like him. After a while he decided he was
wrong, that she was just very shy.
Jiao!s hair was long and dark with a small, colorful barrette on
one side of her head attempting to assert some control over the
otherwise unruly cascade about her shoulders. Her tan cotton dress
fit her loosely and went almost to her ankles. Around her neck,
hanging from a string, was a flat green marble chip with delicate
patterns of white streaks throughout it. The edges of the stone had
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 been roughly polished and rounded. An off-center hole had been

drilled in the chip to allow the string to pass through it. After Jonas
had been on the farm for almost a week, one morning Jiao let Jonas
hold it.
When his chores with the chickens were complete, Jonas and
Jiao worked together in the bean field. Watching Jiao work, Jonas
thought of her as not strong, although he could not decide if it was
simply because she was a girl or whether she was not well somehow.
Jonas liked talking with Jiao, as it was good practice for his
Mandarin, which Jiao preferred to speak rather than the regional Jin
dialect. He discovered that his teachers in Beijing had been very
forgiving of small errors in grammar and pronunciation. Jiao was not
so forgiving and corrected his Mandarin politely, but thoroughly.
Jonas didn!t mind and was grateful to her for her insistence on
perfection.
Working together, it didn!t take long for a measure of trust to
build and Jiao became somewhat friendly towards Jonas. She helped
him with Mandarin and he helped her with the hoeing and other farm
chores. Jonas was also learning about farming from Jiao. She told
him that the family had switched this field to bush beans because
they did better in hot, dry soils than the pole beans they used to grow
there.
Jonas looked again at the field and was not so sure. The plants
looked, even to his untrained eye, weak with drooping stems and
many yellow leaves. It also seemed to him that each plant had only a
few bean pods. Some had none.
Nevertheless, they both had a task to do. Shortly after Jonas
arrived at the farm, Jiao had taught Jonas how to use the hoe to weed
among the plants and how to loosen any solidly baked soil around
them so that water could penetrate to the roots. It was necessary but
tedious work and Jonas was finding the day particularly hot. He
stopped his work and stood up to give his back a rest. When he
turned towards Jiao, he was suddenly alert.

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 "Cousin Jiao, are you feeling well?” Jonas asked. Children,

until they have spent enough time together for dispensing with
formalities, refer to each other as cousin or little cousin if much
younger.
Jonas was alarmed to see that Jiao was sitting in the dirt several
rows away from where he was working. His back had been turned
toward her and he hadn!t noticed her declining strength. Jonas
walked over for a closer look and noticed Jiao was dripping with
sweat and looked dazed. Jiao did not answer Jonas right away when
he asked her again if she was okay. Jonas knelt down for a closer
look. Jiao stared blankly at Jonas for a moment and then seemed to
recover her senses.
"Cousin Jonas, my head hurts and I can!t stand without fear of
falling.”
"Shall I get help?” Jonas asked.
"Yes, please. I don!t think I can stand up.”
Jiao, who had left her wide-brim hat at her family farmhouse,
was working with only a scarf to protect her from the sun. Jonas
realized it had not been enough. Even with his coolie hat, he was
feeling the heat exhausting him. And they had not had a drink of
water in more than an hour. Jiao did not have a watch, but Jonas did
and tried to make sure they drank regularly. For some reason, no one
had come to bring them more water.
"Cousin Jiao, I think you have been in the sun too long today. I
will leave you to get help. I will leave my hat with you to better
protect you from the sun.” He carefully tied his hat under her chin
and then raced off to the farmhouse to get help.
When he arrived at the farmhouse only Renshou!s wife,
Huifang, was home. When Jonas explained about Jiao, she quickly
gathered up a container of water and she and Jonas ran back to the
field where Jiao had been working. When they arrived, Jiao seemed
to Jonas to be asleep. Her mother recognized it as more serious. She

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 bent over Jiao and gently tried to rouse her after first wetting a
corner of her dress and putting the moist cloth to Jiao!s lips.
"Jiao, Jiao,” her mother urged her to awaken. She slid the scarf
underneath Jonas!s coolie hat off Jiao!s head and wet it with water to
make a compress, which she quickly applied to Jiao!s forehead. After
a moment, Jiao regained consciousness, looking blankly at her
mother.
"Mama?” she asked, not yet understanding what was
happening.
"Shhh,” Huifang said to comfort Jiao. "You had too much sun
today. Cousin Jonas and I will take you back to the house where you
can rest. Drink some water now, before we go back.” Jiao drank
slowly from the container. After several sips, she was able to take a
bigger swallow. Then she turned to Jonas. "Thank you, Cousin
Jonas,” she said and smiled for the first time with a true light of
friendship in her eyes. Jonas smiled back and took her hand, giving it
a gentle squeeze.
Jiao!s mother then picked her up and asked Jonas to carry the
two hoes as they walked back to the farmhouse. When they arrived,
Huifang put Jiao down on her bed in a shady corner of the house.
She removed Jonas!s hat and continued applying a wet compress to
Jiao!s forehead.
"Should I get Uncle Renshou?” Jonas asked.
"No. He is busy in the wheat field with the other men. Jiao will
be well soon. Too much sun. No more work for today. I think maybe
better if you stay inside as well. Do not forget you also must drink.
Yes?”
"Yes, I understand, Auntie,” Jonas said.
Jiao was beginning to feel better as the compresses took the
heat away from her forehead. She settled more comfortably into the
bed while her mother moistened the compress again and reapplied it.

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 Huifang then turned to Jonas. "Did you drink your water in the
field?” she asked.
Jonas did not know what to say. He didn!t want to get anyone in
trouble.
"Cousin Jonas?” She asked again.
Jonas had no choice but to answer. "No one came,” he said.
Huifang was silent for a moment and then simply said, "I
understand,” but she had an angry look on her face that Jonas had not
seen since he arrived at the farm.

***

Sylvia Marshall knocked on Samuel Berman!s office door.

She heard a faint "Come in” and entered the office.
The Berman she had known for so long was gone. The man
whose organizational and business brilliance had been so
instrumental in developing the successful enterprise of commercial
laser-fusion energy and ultimately The World Federation was gone.
She could see it in his eyes, in the slump of his body. Seeing Sylvia
enter the office, a small spark of his former self ignited briefly.
What hair remained, though no longer full, had suddenly, it
seemed to her, turned from salt and pepper gray to white. His face
was haggard and the skin along his jaw line had sagged as if no
longer able to support the pretense of youthful enthusiasm. Because
of her other duties, plus the drama of James!s capture by the Mexican
coyotes, Sylvia had not seen Berman for more than a year.
Project Nemesis succumbed to the in-depth assessment of the
remaining power of the fossil fuel interests and their related
stakeholders. The end of all fossil fuel extraction was simply never
going to happen, but President Lal wanted to prove this to himself,
Sylvia reasoned, by giving his best people a crack at it. The further
the project advanced, the more impossible the task seemed, until

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 finally President Lal accepted the reality that the goal was impossible
to achieve.
With the end of the Nemesis Project, Sylvia was reassigned
back to the laser-fusion group once again under her old boss, Dr.
Arthur Cranshaw and in her old capacity as Deputy Director, with
the acting Deputy Director, reassigned elsewhere. Project Nemesis
had been a long shot at best. She did not mourn its demise.
Since both she and Samuel Berman once again worked directly
for Dr. Cranshaw, in a way her visit now was a courtesy call to
Berman. But not entirely. On her way to a meeting with Cranshaw,
she wanted a heads up on what she might be walking into.
"Samuel, it!s so good to see you again. How have you been?”
she asked as she stood in the doorway to Berman!s office.
Berman relaxed back into soft, overstuffed leather chair,
evidently thinking about how to answer what would have been
considered meaningless pleasantry under different times with a
different person. Sylvia was quick to read his struggle with an
otherwise mundane question. She changed her expression to her best
poker face and waited.
"My dear, come in, of course. What!s the matter with me?”
He rose from his chair and moved to give Sylvia a hug and a
kiss on each cheek typical of Europeans greeting old friends. "And
James? Of course I heard about his problem in Mexico,” he said
leading her to a chair in front of his desk. "He!s fully recovered, I
trust? And your little boy, Jonas?”
"Thank you, Samuel, for asking. Everyone is just fine and
James is almost as good as new.”
Sylvia took a seat in front of Berman!s desk. Despite her
fondness for the old man, she had always hated the separation of
these seating arrangements, and not just in his office, but in offices in
general, with this traditional barrier from outdated custom with its
unnecessary implication of hierarchy and rank. But that!s the way it
was, so suck it up, she told herself. It was not designed to imply a
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 team of equals and indeed more often than not it wasn!t. There were
exceptions to this strategy, for that is how she thought of the seating
arrangements: a strategy. She liked it when Arthur Cranshaw,
certainly not her equal, unquestionably not her equal, unfailingly
invited her to sit with him at the small coffee table in the corner of
his office.
"And you, Samuel,” she said with a smile. "Is there any point in
asking you?”
Samuel immediately feigned a happy smile in return. "Of
course there is. You know god!s way. Close one door, open two
others. The Maser program is going exceedingly well. We have
demonstrated we can transmit energy from any place on Earth to
virtually any other place. You realize of course that means we can
make energy in otherwise unfavorable locations, but with dependable
solar and wind energy and send it to anywhere else that needs it to
supplement the laser-fusion plants. In some regions, it may even be
their primary energy source. Plans are currently underway to deploy
at least fifty satellite relays. They should be ready for launching in
two years or less.”
Sylvia showed real surprise. "Why that!s wonderful. The Maser
team has done a brilliant job.” However, Sylvia quickly realized the
technical achievement quickly gave way to the practical reality. "But
Samuel, how does that make up for the hundreds of abandoned
coastal power plants worldwide that were lost to flooding?”
"Unhappily, it does not. The greater part of the Maser
applications will be only as a supplemental systems, not a primary
system. To make matters worse, because of the millions of people
displaced from coastlines around the world, additional energy to
service this huge inland migration has been accomplished by the
quickest means possible, which means expanding the coal and oil
fired systems already operating inland. The laser-fusion generating
plants would have taken too long to go into service. The need is
dramatic, Sylvia, and the need is now. We!re building both systems in
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 parallel, but, as you know, the fossil fuel plants require much less
effort to expand than to build from scratch a brand new fusion energy
installation. Ironic, no?”
Sylvia sighed. "Crazy, yes.”
They both remained silent for a moment. Finally, Sylvia asked
the question she had come to Berman to ask in the first place.
"Samuel, what!s going to happen to us all?”
Berman was silent, looking carefully at Sylvia, he didn!t want
to give too small an answer, nor did he want to go further than her
question required. It would be a delicate balancing act, just enough
to retain her trust in him. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes,
mostly buying time he realized. Finally, he believed he had found a
satisfactory answer.
"By $us!#I assume you don!t simply mean the employees of The
World Federation.”
Sylvia, laughed, knowing he was trying to edge into her
question lightly. She nodded in such a way that showed they both
knew he was not serious.
Berman sighed. "I didn!t think so.” He paused ever so slightly.
"We have a rough estimate and believe a least one hundred fifty
million people have already died from climate change related causes.
Mostly from flooding, famine and thirst. And with the Antarctic ice
fields slipping rapidly toward the sea, we can expect more coastlines
to disappear under the waves. Probably another hundred million
deaths, at least, within five years.”
Sylvia lowered her head under the weight of Berman!s
projections.
"Sylvia, my dear, we cannot think of these numbers as people. I
think that would drive us mad. On the other hand, humanity has
adapted to such numbers before. In the last century, perhaps four
hundred million people died of smallpox. The Black Death from the
14th to the 18th centuries killed more than seventy-five million
people. Because European Catholics were hit so hard, of course,
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 Jews were considered responsible and many of them were put to

death. Nothing new with that as well. In the early nineteen hundreds
between fifty and a hundred million people died in only two years
from the Spanish flu, with more than half a million in the US alone.
World War II was responsible for more than a hundred million war-
related deaths. Even today, AIDS continues to kill, especially in rural
Africa, as if their problems were not already great enough. So people
have a history of adapting to great numbers of untimely deaths and
still the world population keeps growing.”
"But, Samuel, the current numbers are ghastly and with no end
in sight. All those numbers you quote, they are people. I can!t
simply erase that understanding. And not just people. Whole
cultures. And the face of Earth, the geography, is changing forever.
Coastlines will never be the same. And with the disappearance of so
many mountain glaciers the numbers that will die of thirst and
starvation will not be in the millions, or even the hundreds of
millions. I believe it will be in the billions. The few safe places on
Earth will become areas of contention and probably war, with yet
more deaths trying to stop people desperate to relocate there.”
Samuel was silent, knowing her assessment was probably more
correct than his.
"Is there no hope?” she asked.
Samuel folded his hands on his desk and lowered his head,
obviously deeply considering her question. Finally, he raised his
head and looked at Sylvia, expressionless.
"My dear Sylvia, I am of the last lucky generation of humanity.
I will probably not live to see the final chapter of climate change
work its way through the people of Earth. Not just the people, but all
higher forms of animals and plants. You and your children and your
grand children, indeed, all generations following in the wake of
mine, will find an Earth no longer suited for the abundance of life
this precious planet had for so long nurtured, indeed,” he sighed,
"like an indulgent parent.

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 #"The land that once provided crops enough to feed humanity, is

growing sterile either from the droughts, which kill the plants
outright, or from the failure of the grain plants to set seed because of
they have not had time to adapt to the higher temperatures.”
Berman looked at Sylvia!s questioning expression.
"You probably didn!t know that, did you, Sylvia?”
Sylvia was startled by his comment on grain and needed to
make sure she understood what she heard.
"Are you saying,” she asked, "that our cereal plants will not set
seed if the temperature gets too high?”
"Yes, my dear. That is exactly what I am saying. Harvests will
not be limited simply because there will not be enough water. What
plants that do manage to grow will not produce useful amounts of
grain when the temperature during the crucial development phases of
their growth exceeds a certain maximum. We are fast approaching
that maximum for most of the world below the equator. Those people
depending on a successful harvest will simply die. And those who
don!t die of starvation will die of thirst when all the mountain
glaciers are gone and their spring and summer melts are no longer
there to supply water for the quarter of the world!s population that
depends on it. They will die not in the hundreds of millions, which
humanity can absorb. But, as you say, in the billions.”
Sylvia was stunned by Berman!s blank expression as he said
this—emotionless—as if he was reciting a weather report, predicting
an unpleasant weekend. She didn!t know if it was what he said or
how he said it that shocked her most.
"Samuel,” she said, "It!s just a shit storm and when you think
you have heard the worst, it just gets even worse. I!m trying to see if
what I am doing, what anyone is doing, will make a difference now.
Are we all just spinning our wheels, wasting our time, pretending
there is some scientific magic that will, okay, not prevent disaster;

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 disaster is already here, but put a cap on things. I need a reason for
hope. There must be something that can be done.”
"No,” he said with infinite sadness in his voice. "There is no
reason for hope. It!s too late. It was too late twenty years ago and we
just didn!t believe it. Not enough of us anyway. Not the politicians or
the businessmen or the manipulators of public opinion. Now it is
simply too late. The predictions of the knowledgeable are coming
true. Cities abandoned, coastlines transformed, death and starvation,
and cruelty—we must never forget cruelty—as people struggle to
survive.”
Berman was reciting his assessment almost to himself, but out
load, when he suddenly realized he was shocking Sylvia beyond his
intention. He realized he had exposed his deepest fears. He was no
longer able to keep contained the thoughts that had for several years
been roiling his consciousness. He did not want to spread like a
contagion his utter despair for humanity. No longer able to control
his words, he stopped speaking.
They sat silently.
Suddenly, Sylvia decided she would not accept this apocalyptic
view of Earth!s future.
"No! I don!t accept that. I don!t accept that there is nothing we
can do.”
Berman simply shrugged his shoulders. He was not in a debate.
She could believe whatever she chose to believe. He saw no point in
trying to dissuade her. What will be, he thought, will be.
"If you truly believe there is no hope, what keeps you going?
You must think the powers that be are working on something. On
many things. During wars we, I mean the collective humanity "we”,
have mobilized to produce huge united efforts. Some on one side and
some on the other. What we have been able to achieve for destructive
ends was epic and with global impact. Why can!t we do the same
thing, but with a common enemy. The common enemy that can unite
the world is not aliens from space, like a cheap movie thriller, but the
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 real deal: global warming. Okay, we are taking too long to mobilize
the united forces of Earth, but it can be done. If we can fight two
global wars for reasons a lot less ominous than the destruction of
human civilization, then we can fight a global war on climate
change, no matter what the cost and no matter what the sacrifice.”
Berman did not respond. He had vented more than he intended
and did not want to go down that depressing path again. But Sylvia
was not through.
"Samuel, I know there are solutions, okay, not for reversing
what!s already happened, but for stopping the runaway. There!s
geoengineering, creating a veil around Earth to reduce the amount of
sunlight getting through and reflecting more back into space. There
is fertilizing the oceans with iron to create algae blooms to absorb
more carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. There is re-implementing
Project Nemesis to stop all fossil fuel extraction. There is carbon
capture and sequestration, CCS, to actively remove carbon dioxide
from the air. There is a full scale worldwide conversion to wind and
solar energy where it is abundant and using the Maser developments
to send the energy to where it is needed. We can implement a
worldwide commitment to expedite the conversion to a hydrogen
energy economy.
"If we can produce tanks and ships and planes and weapons by
the thousands and tens of thousands and train men all over the world
to use them in a matter of a couple of years, we can make the same
effort, on the same war-like scale to save Earth itself as a place safe
and nurturing enough for us, okay, maybe not all of us, but a lot of
us. My god, if the survival of humanity and all we have
accomplished, and all we have suffered through, if this is all not to
be for nothing just because we can!t as a world community get our
shit together, Samuel, Samuel, it can!t end like this, with a whimper.”
Samuel Berman had no fight in him anymore. He had no more
arguments or even the energy to engage. He knew all these
technologies had been examined for years. One by one they were
shown to be too local, too costly, too uncertain of results or too
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 dangerous and likely to make matters worse rather than better. He

was exhausted by his own deep knowledge of these so-called
solutions that never led anywhere. Because he had nothing more to
say, he remained silent.
Sylvia waited until she realized Berman was done and had no
response, no answer, no comforting words of assurance. He was a
man, she decided, going through the motions and simply waiting for
death. But still she made one last effort.
"Samuel? Please.”
He looked at Sylvia and with a shrug again of his shoulders
forced a faint smile.
"My dear, Sylvia, we go back together so many years. You are
like a daughter to me. From my days in Europe with my wife, may
she rest in peace, until now even, I have not been more fond of
anyone than you. I would not have said the things I said to you just
now if I did not love you like a daughter. I must be honest with you.
Honest with what I know and what I project from what I know. This
I do all the time. It is an old habit of an old man.”
He stopped and took a long shallow breath before continuing.
"It is what Arthur pays me to do. For you I do it for free. Sylvia,
my darling, we are surrounded already with epic disasters. History,
the history of humanity is being rewritten every day now. We see it
with our own eyes, but because I do love you I tell you what we see
is only the tip of what will come.
"You want a reason for hope from me. I see no reason for hope.
My advice to you is to decide how you want to live the remaining
years of your life.” Berman gave a short laugh at his own words.
"It!s not so brilliant, this advice. One could safely give the same
advice at any time to anyone in humanity!s past. Yes, how do you
want to live whatever time remains? It!s not so brilliant. You see, it
makes good sense at any time. So this time is really no different.
Yes?” He looked at Sylvia, but really was seeing somewhere beyond
her as he said, perhaps for himself, "Just different options, that!s all.”
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162
 PART 2
The End of the Beginning

163

164
 11

All along the East coast of the United States, cities have had to
be either abandoned or protected by the construction of dikes and
seawalls, borrowing from the experience of The Netherlands. Miami,
one of the richest and among the most valuable cities in the world,
could not simply be abandoned. One does not walk away from
Miami. For any reason. Every conceivable engineering solution to
the rising water was discussed, analyzed and rejected. Impractical,
too expensive or it wouldn!t work.
Finally, the mayor of Miami solved the problem. Miami would
become the East coast Venice. The city, not having been built on
stilts to begin with, would improvise. The ground floor of every
building of two stories or more became the stilts supporting the rest
of the building. The streets would become the canals. Only ground
level, one-story buildings would be abandoned. It was not perfect,
but it would suffice. When the streets of Miami became canals, water
taxi services will flourish, as will the sale of small boats of all
descriptions.
However, most of the South Florida coastal homes and
businesses had to be abandoned. Since the sea floor along the Florida
coast was mostly porous limestone, water would simply come up
from the sea floor as if a wall were not even there. So sea walls
would do no good at all along the Florida coast. In many small
seaside towns along the East coast, Front Street, parallel and closest

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 to the ocean, was replaced by First Avenue, then Second Avenue,
then Third as the rising water gobbled and shrank the town.
While the rapid melting of Greenland was well studied, and
raised its own terror among scientists, it was not the cause for the sea
level rise devastating coastlines worldwide. Antarctica was mostly to
blame. It was not the predictable and calculable source of slow and
steady sea level rise that Greenland represented. Antarctica was the
source of random, episodic and unpredictable climate disasters.
Antarctica is different in many ways from the Arctic region of
Earth. The Arctic Ocean covering the North Pole is a vast ocean
surrounded by land. In contrast, Antarctica is a vast continent
surrounded by water. Not only is Antarctica surrounded by water; it
was in the past encapsulated by water. The Antarctic Circumpolar
Current, flowing clockwise around the continent, is the largest ocean
current on Earth. Its cold water had kept warmer waters from
penetrating to and moderating the Antarctic climate. The frigid water
of the Antarctic Circumpolar Current allowed the continent to
maintain its extremely cold temperature, too cold for casual human
habitation. It is essentially a large science experiment site managed
independently by several nations.
Antarctica is a desert with very little rain or snow. What snow
does fall never melts but remains and adds to the glacial mass by
steady accretion. Almost the entire continent is covered with ice the
average height of which is over 1.6 kilometers. Antarctica holds
ninety percent of all the ice on Earth. Greenland holds the second
most amount of ice.
The continent is divided into two sections, East Antarctica,
consisting of about two thirds of the continent, and West Antarctica,
constituting the remaining third. East Antarctica is a landmass
approximately the size of Australia while West Antarctica consists
mostly of ice-covered islands.
All ice is not the same. There are three types of ice at
Antarctica. There is the ice sheet that is land-based. Earth!s gravity
gradually moves this ice toward the sea forming what used to be
relatively stable ice shelves that extend beyond the land, floating on
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 the water. Finally, the third type of ice is seasonal ice at the edges of
the ice shelves that melts in the Antarctic summer and reforms in the
Antarctic winter.
The Larsen Ice Shelf was located at the northwest tip of
Antarctica and consisted of three segments, Larsen A, Larsen B and
Larsen C. Larsen A, the smallest section, collapsed into the sea in
1995. Larsen B, approximately the size of Rhode Island, collapsed in
2002. Larsen C, the largest segment roughly two and a half times the
size of Connecticut, became unstable when a huge crack developed
in it marking out an area about three quarters the size of Connecticut.
This broke off and separated from the remainder of Larsen C in
2030. Large sections of land-based ice behind it, no longer anchored
by the ice sheet, gradually began sliding into the sea and was
contributory to the sea level rise that inundated Bangladesh and
many other coastal regions around the world. Fortunately, all the low
lying island nations had been abandoned years earlier, even before
the collapse of a large section of Larsen C.
The reasons behind sea level rise are complicated. Floating ice
does not raise the ocean level when it melts. Marking the level of
water in a glass of water with ice cubes floating in it will readily
demonstrate this. After the ice cubes have melted the level of water
in the glass will not have changed. However, place enough ice cubes
in the glass so the column of ice is resting on the bottom of the glass
and you will find the level of the water in the glass will have risen
after the ice has melted. In other words, floating sea ice does not
change the level of the ocean when it melts, but land-based ice that
flows into the ocean or melts will raise the sea level.
The Larsen ice shelves extended out into the ocean but were
connected at their rear to land-based glaciers or ice sheets behind
them along what is called the grounding. The grounding line is the
connection boundary between the floating ice shelf and the land-
based glacial ice sheet. The reason for the collapse of the Larsen ice
shelf was that with global warming warmer water intruded on and
broke up the underwater connection between the land and the ice

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 shelf along the grounding line. This allowed a large ice shelf
segments to break off.
When a section of the shelf ice collapses into the sea it has no
long-term effect on sea level because it is floating ice, but it releases
the glacier behind, freeing it to move more rapidly toward the sea. As
this land-based ice breaks off into the ocean through what is called
calving, it produces permanent increases in the level of the ocean.
The danger to coastal regions of the world is that sea level is no
longer rising simply due to the expected expansion of water from
heating up, as most things do when they get hotter. Now the world
had to face the rapid and random collapse of Antarctic shelf ice,
releasing the Antarctic sheet ice. Predictions for the increase in sea
level with the accelerated outflow of portions of the Antarctic sheet
ice into the ocean was somewhere between five and ten meters. At
ten meters, most coastal communities around the world will be
doomed—inundated and lost.

***

Like waking from a nightmare, only to discover it is not a

nightmare, at 9:48 AM on December 12, 2042 the Thwaites ice shelf
collapsed into the sea. With that ice shelf gone, because it was
floating ice it would not of itself raise the ocean level, but it would
no longer serve as the plug holding back the glacial sheet behind it.
Gravity would now pull the land-based glacial sheet ice rapidly to
the ocean where it will melt and raise sea level worldwide.
Like Indra!s net, the interconnectedness of all things included
the laws of physics as well. Gravity, the great organizer of the
cosmos, even on the scale of Earth had multiple roles to play.
Gravity not only would draw the Antarctic ice field to the sea like
iron filings to a magnet. The gravitational attraction of the massive
amount of ice covering Antarctica draws ocean water toward the
continent creating a kind of water "hump” around the continent!s
perimeter. To the degree that ice is lost from Antarctica to that same
degree its gravitational attraction for ocean water will diminish and
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 the water hump will redistribute around the world, further adding to
the rise of the sea, shaking Indra!s net.

***

President Lal was in a meeting with the German Finance

Minister when his secretary, Gladys, knocked on the door and
entered without waiting for Lal to invite her in. Indeed, he probably
would not have as he was engaged in a difficult discussion with
Minister Schuler. He was both surprised and annoyed by her entry.
"Excuse me, Mr. President, but I was told to give you this
message without delay. I apologize for the interruption.”
She handed the folded note to Lal. Already anticipating that it
was not good news, he quickly read the note. Struggling to maintain
a neutral expression, he thanked Gladys, folded the note and
continued with his meeting.
It had not been a good day. The Germans were flirting with the
idea of exiting from the World Federation. They had long ago, even
prior to the formation of the Federation, converted the major part of
their energy supply to renewable energy sources. Almost eighty-five
percent of the country!s entire energy budget came from wind and
solar energy. They let their existing nuclear plants gradually
complete their expected duty cycles but did not extend their
operation beyond that period. Germany had taken almost no
advantage of the fusion energy opportunity offered by membership
in The World Federation.
With the demise of the United Nations, Germany needed
another venue for a voice on the international stage and The World
Federation was that lone platform. Germany supported the idea of a
world government, but paid a commercial price for that commitment.
The prohibition for trade with entities outside The World Federation
was a big price for Germany to pay for its seat at the table.
Minister Schuler had forwarded his country!s concerns about
it!s actual benefits of membership in The World Federation and
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 President Lal scheduled a meeting with the minister almost

immediately as a result. After more than an hour, the meeting was
not going well.
When Gladys left the room, Lal decided it was time to end this
discussion and give time for the minister to consult with his home
office on the meeting particulars thus far. When the minister left his
office, Lal messaged Gladys to arrange for a meeting with President
Zhou, within the hour if possible, but, in any event, before the end of
the day. He also asked her to call President Llewelyn.
The note informing him of the collapse of the Thwaites ice
shelf changed everything. With its collapse, more and more land-
based ice will move to the sea, melt and irreversibly raise the level of
the ocean. The new models incorporating the possibility of just such
an event occurring predict not a half meter rise in the level of the sea
by 2100, but a more catastrophic rise.
This was the kind of unpredictable but expected event that
threw all the projections into the trash. What was the tipping point?
When would it happen? What did the world community need to do
by what date? One event like this made all current planning and
programs yesterday!s news.
The consequences of this event would be felt almost
immediately. Calving of land-based glacial ice into the sea will
increase dramatically. Sea level will rise faster than all expectations.
Lal for the first time believed they were fighting the will of
God.

***

Sylvia Marshall, Chen Huichi and Bert McEldridge sat at the

table in the small conference room. There were no decorations, no
potted plants, no paintings or even photos on the walls. It was, in
fact, only the fourth time, despite the urgency associated with Project
Nemesis that they all had met as a group.
The need for the Nemesis Project had vanished when events got
ahead of the planning. Now, with the collapse of the Thwaites Ice
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 Shelf, The three attendees believed a ten-meter rise in sea level by

the end of the century had become a virtual certainty. The few outlier
deniers were still promoting their contrarian point of view, but no
longer had a following or even clandestine financial support.
President Lal sat quietly for a time, looking at his three proven
achievers, the team he had hoped would plan the final break with
fossil fuels. But events had outpaced his plans. The conversion
program was going well, but not fast enough. Alternative energy
sources were also going well, attracting a lot of investment money
and the scale of the projects were steadily increasing. But not fast
enough.
The hard reality of chemistry was that the energy density of
fossil fuels far exceeded that of wind or solar. It would take a square
kilometer of ground to produce one megawatt of power whereas a
fossil fuel fire electric generating plant the size of a football field
could easily produce one hundred megawatts. Solar energy did a
little better, but still did not come close to the energy density of fossil
fuels. Very few locations had been found where alternative energy
could reasonably replace a decommissioned fossil fuel plant.
Cutting off the supply of fossil fuels without the hydrogen fuel
cell energy economy solidly in place would simply lead to
worldwide economic collapse and probably rebellion and revolution
on a massive scale. At the latest Paris conference on the
environment, virtually every country agreed to set a date, no later
than the summer of 2044, when in theory further fossil fuel
extraction would be prohibited, and therefore its use as well.
Everyone agreed, whatever the consequences of such an order,
whatever the economic or personal hardship, whatever the perceived
injustice, the ban on fossil fuel extraction would simply have to be
accepted. Except that no nation was truly willing to accept the
consequences of such an action without a viable alternative already
in place.
Lal!s message to the three principals sitting before him was
simple. The Paris agreement was dead. Project Nemesis was dead.

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 Despite the evidence all around them for the necessity of abandoning
fossils no nation was expected to comply.
To Sylvia, it seemed that The World Federation and indeed the
world was simply flailing with no strategic path that could be
counted on. The centuries of human abuse of Earth had finally
aroused its wrath, like a living organism taking its revenge. Sylvia
was not normally one to engage in anthropomorphic
pronouncements, but the growing epic of relentless global disasters
began to strengthen her supposition of a living and angry Earth.

***

Sylvia woke gasping for breath, crying out to James lying

beside her. It was 3:12 AM.
"Sylvie, what is it?” he said, putting his arms around her. "Hush.
I!m here. It!s okay. It!s okay,” he repeated, trying to comfort her and
bring her from wherever she had gone in her sleep, back to the
present moment and his arm around her.
Sylvia pressed her face onto his chest and gradually
acknowledged her husband!s familiar embrace. Gradually she calmed
down. But the vision that jolted her from her sleep was still vivid in
her memory.
"Oh, Jimmy. It!s just too terrible. I see it so clearly.”
James Marshall held her close. As a scientist, he too knew the
data, the projections, all the bad news that he and everyone else
seemed bent on acknowledging intellectually, but not viscerally, not
in the gut where decisions and actions are taken. He realized that
Sylvia had pushed across that barrier, that protective wall that
allowed her to function in the midst of horror. He feared she would
probably take him there as well.
"Jimmy, what will become of Jonas? It!s all so unrelenting. We
go through the motions, planning, pretending, but there!s really no

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 hope. It!s all crumbling around us and we adapt, because that!s what
we do. But the horror is still there.”
James pulled her closer to him. He kissed her head resting on
his chest.
"I feel like we!ve all been cursed for what we!ve done, that
maybe there!s some karmic account that!s being settled that we can!t
escape. I can!t stand it.” She began to sob.
James gently pushed her from him. "Come on, Syl, let!s go talk
in the living room. I!ll fix us a couple of drinks.” He took her hand
and led her, unresisting, from the bed.
He guided her to the couch and waited until she settled in. Then
he went to the liquor cabinet and prepared two scotches with ice and
a splash of water. He returned to Sylvia, gave her a glass and sat
down beside her. He said nothing for several minutes, letting her
quietly sip her drink.
"How can you stand it?” she finally asked him.
James answered without hesitation, as if he had asked himself
the same question many times before.
"Because it!s my job to stand it, Syl. I travel all over the world
for the Federation. You know that I probably have a better view of
what global warming is doing than most people. It tears at my guts,
what I see. But then I think of you and Jonas and I say to myself I
just have to keep moving, to go on with the life that was handed to
me. To us.”
He paused to gather his thoughts, wanting to help his wife and
not push her further into despair. "I!m a professional witness to the
disaster of global warming. But I couldn!t do this job if I hadn!t come
to terms with what I see and what I know. Sylvia, I love you and
Jonas more than anything else in my life. And I worry just the way
you do about our future and Jonas!s future, but the only way I can do
my job is to take a restrained view, a philosophical view I guess. So
many millions of people are already suffering so much from global
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 warming that my life, our lives seem—I don!t know—not less

important, exactly. I don!t want to say that. I don!t mean that.”
James held his wife closer. "I just go day by day by day in my
job, Sylvie, in my life with you and Jonas. If I start to drift into
thinking about the future, then I put that little devil back in the box
where I keep it. No argument. No discussion. No rationale. I just put
it back in that box and move on with my life.”
Sylvia sat with her head down, her shoulders slumped, not
speaking.
"You know how I do it, my darling,” James said. "It!s how I do
so much business travel without overly worrying about my safety.
For every flight I make, I give myself up for dead to begin with.
Anything better than that happens and I count myself blessed. Just
like I do with the future.”
"Yes, I know. You!ve told me that before and it didn!t give me
any comfort then and it!s not giving me any now.”
"Okay, so I won!t use that argument again. What!s going on at
work that brought on this sudden dread? I know you!re working on a
secret project.”
"Well, it!s a dead project so no need for secrecy any more. It
was to figure out how to force the end of fossil fuel extraction
worldwide. Not necessary any more because Thwaites changed the
whole politics of fossil fuel extraction. The timing for when the shit
will really hit the fan has just moved up dramatically. With all that!s
going on and Thwaites exacerbating everything, it no longer matters
if we stop fossil fuel extraction abruptly or gradually. Thwaites was
the shit and it has hit the fan. So the project is dead.”
Sylvia gave a deep sigh. "Basically, we!re fucked and I don!t see
how there is any bright future for any of us.” Sylvia finished her
drink in one gulp.
"Also, I spoke with Samuel. Jimmy, he!s a broken man.”

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 Sylvia handed her empty glass to James. She held up her

pointer finger indicating one more. Rising quickly, James went and
prepared another round for both of them.
"The Federation has no real plan,” she continued after James
returned with the refills. "I!ll get my old job back and return to the
fusion conversion program. Life goes on. That!s it. Everything,
really, is all too little, too late.”
Sylvia swirled the refilled glass of scotch, watching the motion
of the two ice cubes as if it was at least something she could follow
that made sense, made no demands and was uncomplicated.
"It!s our son. I can!t be as philosophical as you. It!s like I am
watching him catch a fatal disease. I want to scream, to protect him,
to rush him to somewhere safe. Except there is nowhere safe. Jimmy,
all I want to do now is scream.”
James moved closer to Sylvia and put his arm around her.
"Don!t you think I feel the same way? What good does it do?”
James sipped his drink that he held in his other hand. "Jonas!s
birthday is coming up. Let!s go somewhere.”
"No. I can!t just turn it off.” She moved away slightly so she
could look at James.
"We had such high hopes in the beginning, “ she said, "with the
formation of the World Federation. Science to the rescue! Well, it
didn!t turn out that way, but that doesn!t mean we give up. Science
maybe can still salvage something. It!s just that I don!t see it. There!s
got to be a solution. You know me. It!s not in my nature just to give
up. But the problem, it!s just so big, so unprecedented. There!s
nowhere to look for guidance or ideas.”
Her eyes watered up again. "The hopelessness, it!s just too
painful to bear.”
"Darling, that!s why I keep a short time horizon on all this. We
will go crazy if we think too far down the road.”
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 "I can!t do that, Jimmy. I don!t understand how you can do it.
We!re both scientists. We can!t just pretend that what!s going to
happen isn!t going to happen.”
James was out of comforting comments and remained silent.
Sylvia finished her second scotch.
"I need another way of looking at this. Something that makes
more sense than just that we!re fucked.” She thought for a moment
and then continued. "As a scientist, I can!t just stumble through this
with no explanation, no theory of what!s happening. I!ve been
thinking about the Gaia Principle lately.”
"I don!t understand,” James said. "You don!t believe that Gaia
nonsense, do you?”
"Now I think I do. I was thinking everything that!s happening is
like a curse for our bad behavior, our abuse of Earth and all the
systems, the biomes. I!ve been seeing this endless stream of
catastrophes as Earth finally getting its revenge on us for abusing it
so. Even this evening. It!s what woke me up. The horror of it all. But
Gaia, it seems so anthropomorphic. I know. Believe me. I know. It!s
too anthropomorphic. I think it!s crazy to understand what!s
happening as somehow a vengeful and intentional act by nature. That
seems really an unacceptable working premise for a scientist.”
James shrugged his shoulders. "Go on,” he said.
# "I!m reaching here now, Jimmy, because I need a reason. I!m
just thinking out loud here. Let!s say, just for argument you know,
let!s just say, $What if the Gaia Principle is true?!#What if Earth and
everything in and on it are components of one big organism? Then
what is our place in that organism? Not as important as we think.
We!re only a part of the whole. But still a part. We do have a place.
We!re part of a complex, interrelated and inter-reacting web of
influences. I believe that part completely.
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 "As I see it Gaia is not simply an external environment we live

in that we can bend to our will. We are Gaia, or at least an integral
part of it, not outside looking in. And as with any organism, Gaia
adjusts to maintain or return to homeostasis. Everything that is
happening, all these disasters, are happening because one of the
interacting parts of the organism, us, has knocked the whole thing
out of equilibrium. Everything we are experiencing is simply Gaia,
the entire organism, the biosphere, including us, the geosphere and
the atmosphere seeking to establish a new equilibrium, a new
homeostasis. It!s just physics with a purpose. What is it that as far as
we can tell is unique to the whole fucking universe? It!s life. It!s just
Gaia doing what!s necessary to sustain life, not destroy it. That
makes sense, doesn!t it?
"Geez, Sylvie, whatever gives you comfort. I don!t know what
to say. It all seems like a revenge theory to me.”
"Jimmy, maybe, just maybe it!s part of my management
training. I!m never looking for the zero sum solution, you know,
where one side wins and the other side loses. I!m always looking for
the win/win solution. Maybe what!s happening is a win/win and we
just don!t realize it because we!re so used to thinking of humans as
the most important component of life on Earth because we alone,
among all the forms of life on Earth, have a destiny, a purpose. Or at
least that!s what we think”
James stared silently at Sylvia. Finally, James was moved to
comment.
"Wow! Where did that all come from? The bottom line is still
that we!re all fucked. Right?”
"But I need a reason. Yes, we screwed up. And yes, we!re still
not doing whatever it takes to reverse what we!ve done. And yes,
we!re all fucked. Well, actually not all. I believe that the urge to

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 homeostasis, true for any complex organism, will win out and when
Gaia establishes a new equilibrium, then life will continue. There is a
new equilibrium condition coming and science will be making its
contribution. We don!t know what it will look like, but life will
continue.”
"For Jonas as well?” James asked.
Sylvia was silent. The pain of the question and the logical
conclusion of her argument was clear, brutally clear. "I don!t know,”
she said finally. "But no one is guaranteed a particular quality of life
with a reliable duration. Disease, predation, war…these have always
been with us to one extent or another, creating the equilibrium for the
whole organism, for Gaia, that was appropriate at the time. I!m
beginning to think we have to see all this as just another transition to
a new equilibrium. Gaia simply does, mindlessly, what the
conditions require so that life can continue.”
"And this explanation, this nihilism, is comforting for you?”
"Darling, it!s not nihilism because it!s not meaningless. It has
the goal of sustaining life by whatever means available to the
organism, to Gaia. It!s the exact opposite of nihilism. I think I would
better describe it as expedience. Gaia does what the prevailing
conditions require with only one intent: achieve a new homeostasis
that sustains life.”

***

President Zhou!s order in January reinstating the family size

law met with great resistance. Traditionally large families were a
form of old age insurance where children were expected to and did
take care of their elder parents. Despite the cultural and social
advances of modern China, the return to family size restrictions was
seen as a serious blow to personal security.
When Zhou ordered the new rules about water use and
distribution he did so only after a massive show of military force at
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 expected resistance locations. Even so there were widespread

demonstrations against the orders. To Zhou it looked like the country
might fall into open rebellion. There had been a general hostility to
the central government for decades. As the eastern provinces thrived
with the collapse of Communism, the western provinces felt more
and more left out of the new China prosperity. The water restrictions
seemed to them just one more degrading abuse of power towards the
western provinces.
It was April and the monsoon winds failed to come. And
because of this the monsoon rains would fail to come as well. The
farmers of northeast China would have to rely on newly limited
water drawdown regulations for already rapidly depleting aquifers to
irrigate their fields. Rice crops would be severely reduced. The
central government was working around the clock to develop and
distribute seeds for plants engineered to be more resistant to the new
reality of high temperatures and low water.
The one seeming bright spot was that the two great rivers that
ran through China, the Yangtze and the Yellow River, were running
full due to the heavy mountain glacier melting that feeds them. The
farmland that was served by these great rivers was prospering.
However, it was just the rally before the end to the scientists and
agriculturists who knew better. When there no longer are mountain
glaciers to melt, the Yangtze and the Yellow Rivers will run dry.
Agriculture in China will collapse.
Knowing this, Zhou made the decision to move on his own with
yet more drastic measures. He needed someone he could trust to
open the door to Russia. He would try to create a partnership with
Russia to jointly exploit the potential for Siberian farmland created
by global warming. He saw the fight against global warming as
already lost and the consequences piling up worldwide. He could no
longer sacrifice his country to preserve a global government. He
decided he would have to deal with Lal and his obligation to The
World Federation later. His obligation to his countrymen came first.
Zhou was sure Russia would take a deal if it were carefully
crafted. Money and power, profit and influence would win the day.
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 But he still needed a channel to the Russians. He knew the Germans

were getting restive but he couldn!t count on their discretion. The
United States was out of the question. They were not desperate
enough to consider a break with World Federation policy.
Zhou knew of Lal!s assignment to Chen Huichi to find Paul
Latimer. But to what purpose? Chen, being the former Chinese
Minister of State Security, was a man Zhou knew well and liked.
They had worked closely in the past. He was a man Zhou could trust.
Zhou surmised that Lal wanted Latimer in order to find out
what he knew about Russian intentions. Zhou wanted Latimer to
help save the Chinese people. Chen understood this and his first
sympathies would always be with Zhou. It was he who first informed
Zhou about his Latimer mission. At first it was a kind of professional
courtesy. However, the closer he got to Latimer, the more Chen
became convinced he made the right decision to put Zhou in the
information loop.
Chen fed information to Lal about uncovering Latimer!s trip to
Novosibirsk and then to Ulaanbaatar. But he made sure the news was
always old. He wanted to give Zhou time to assess the information
first. Latimer!s recent activity in Berlin was no exception. Zhou
knew he was there before President Lal did. Zhou realized that
would be his chance to open a path to Latimer. He had agents in
Berlin who could let it be known that they represented a business
interest for Latimer!s Network. Zhou was convinced that even
Latimer, elusive as he was, still was open to new business.

***

Over the several decades the attitude of the Lithuanian people

towards Russians had been more or less a roller coaster ride. When
Lithuania achieved its independence from the Soviet Union there had
been much hatred. Teaching the Russian language became virtually
banned in schools and Lithuanian culture was given free rein to rise

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 and impress. English became the second language of choice and after
a while only the old could still converse in Russian, if need be.
However, eventually it became clear that in its rush to cleanse
Lithuania of all things Russian, the Lithuanian people had sacrificed
a monumental cultural legacy. Slowly, the Russian language and
Russian culture returned to Lithuania. While the Russian language
never regained the widespread hold on the people as in the old,
former Soviet days, nevertheless there was a revival of sorts. Vilnius,
the capital of Lithuania, became a favorite tourist stop, particularly
the Old Town section with its Paris-like atmosphere of narrow,
cobblestone streets, shops, museums, art galleries, the University,
nightlife and churches. Vilnius flourished. It was in Vilnius that Chen
Huichi and Paul Latimer had agreed to meet.

***

Chen blended in to a Chinese tourist group arriving by bus in

the Old Town section of Vilnius. His European clothes—tan slacks
and short sleeve shirt with a colorful flowered print—were typical of
the vacationing crowd in the street. At a mere 1.7 meters tall and of a
slightly rotund build, he was not an imposing figure. Bald in the
middle with long, gray hair on the sides of his head, he wore round,
wire frame glasses that all together reinforced a kind of invisibility.
His most distinguishing feature to those who first met him was his
almost continuous smile, as if aware of a joke that only he could hear
and thoroughly enjoyed. Indeed, it seemed to endear him to
strangers. He was, they thought, such a happy fellow.
The bus parked at the foot of Pilies Street, across from the
Lithuanian Cathedral, the most important in Lithuania, and directly
opposite the large square where the heroic statue of Grand Duke
Gediminas, founder of Vilnius, dominated the scene.
Chen slipped away in the confusion exiting the bus, moving up
Pilies Street while the tour group gathered chaotically to cross the
street to the cathedral. After a short walk up Pilies Street, Chen
arrived at number 17. He passed through the heavy wooden door into
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 a small courtyard. Quickly locating the door to the stairway, he

walked up to the third floor. Having previously received the key to
the apartment on the side facing Pilies Street, he used it to gain entry.
He had rented it for the month.
As he planned, he arrived before Latimer. He walked to the
sliding glass door leading to the balcony overlooking the street. The
street was filled with tourists enjoying the warm, blue-skied and
unseasonably warm spring day. He sat on one of the two chairs on
either side of a small wrought iron table on the balcony and lit a
cigarette, waiting. Across the street he could see balconies with
flower boxes overflowing with colorful floral displays.
No more than twenty minutes had passed when Chen saw the
apartment door open and a man walk in. He was dressed in jeans
with suspenders and a blue work shirt. He had a beard and wore a
small navy captain!s cap. He took his sunglasses off immediately
upon entering the room.
"Mr. Paul Latimer, I presume,” Chen said in perfect English
with no accent as he returned to the tastefully furnished living room
of the apartment.
"I won!t be here long, Chen, so let!s get right to it,” Latimer
said. "What do you want? You!ve got my attention, but don!t waste
my time.”
"I assure you, sir, as I explained to your man, I am acting as
surrogate for President Zhou Xiang. Please, have a seat.”
Chen gestured to an armchair for Latimer to use. He sat in the
opposing armchair. There was a small coffee table of Swedish design
between them.
"My President wants your help to open a backdoor channel to
the Russians. We know of your, shall we say, business dealings with
Ivanoff and Bukonovich and would like to use either of them as a
conduit to the Kremlin and to President Tamarov.”
"And why do you want to do that?”

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 "I think you know why, at least in general, already, sir. Russia
has surplus food to feed its people. The People!s Republic of China
does not. People with far weaker intelligence resources than you
know this. The unfortunate truth is that in three years, if no remedial
action is taken swiftly, famine will return to China. It!s not pleasant
to watch millions of your countrymen starve to death.”
Latimer said nothing.
"Russia does not need a warming Siberia to feed its people, but
we do,” Chen said with his impenetrable smile. "We will pay
handsomely for the use of the land. We propose, in effect, becoming
tenant farmers to the Russian government.”
Latimer gave no indication whether or not he had come to this
meeting with instructions from the Russians. He pulled a pack of
cigarettes from his shirt pocket and offered one to Chen, who
accepted. Looking around, Latimer saw no ashtray so he got up and
began to open the cabinet doors over the sink. He decided a small
dish he found in one of the cabinets would suffice.
When Latimer returned to his chair, he said nothing.
"Mr. Latimer?” Chen asked.
"Chen, I!ll be glad to take your money to convey your proposal,
but there isn!t a chance in hell it will be looked on favorably. You
know that already, I!m sure.”
"Sincerely, we were hoping that you could provide a greater
service than messenger boy. Am I being too frank? I believe
Americans like it straight up.”
"I don!t know. I!ll have to ask if I meet one.”
Chen smiled in recognition of Latimer!s long, stateless
condition. "Do you really see no path to this happening? Even if we
were to pay you handsomely to be persuasive?” Chen showed no
emotion now, his smile gone.
Latimer thought through various scenarios before answering.

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 "You know, of course, that I am not interested in any way in

helping The World Federation or its members have a happy life. Part
of the reason that we are even talking is The Network. It helped me,
as I!m sure you know, to survive attempts by The World Federation
to find and kill me.” Latimer said. "And now I have capabilities you
want to use and I am supposed to help you. I would say, before you
ask me to be persuasive on your master!s behalf, first you need to be
persuasive, very persuasive, to convince me I want to help you or
your people for any reason.”
Chen remained silent for an unexpected length of time, even for
Latimer, who was used to silence and often used it effectively.
Latimer began to think that Chen was foolishly unprepared for this
question. Finally, Chen seemed to resolve some immobilizing inner
conflict and sighed, as if a heavy burden had been released.
"Mr. Vice President,” he said, using Latimer!s last official title,
"this seems perhaps like a simple exchange of understandings,
perhaps even the beginning of a negotiation. However, I will tell you
from my heart that what we are doing now is of the greatest
importance to the security of the world. Yes, in this little apartment,
in tiny Lithuania, we may be choosing one of only two paths, either
one of which will have enormous consequences. One path will lead
to saving many lives. The other path will surely cost many lives.”
Chen paused to weigh his words, again, before continuing.
Looking at Latimer, he kept strong eye contact for several seconds.
"I will tell you, Paul—and I use your given name to appeal to
you as a man not as a caricature mired in issues tied to the past, but
as a man—that China will use Siberian farmland with or without
Russia!s approval. We have no choice. Famine and death on a level
no country would accept is a certainty without the use of that land.
My mission is to promote Russian agreement. Do you understand?”
"Keep going,” Latimer said, expressionless.

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 "You asked me to persuade you. If I may again be blunt, you

can help prevent a potential nuclear exchange between the Russian
Federation and the People!s Republic of China. If we enter Siberia
without Russian agreement it will not be a half measure. China will
annex Siberia claiming ancient rights to the land. And that, almost
certainly, will lead to a military and probably a nuclear response
from Russia, which will be followed by a nuclear response from
China—millions of people will die, the farmland will be ruined by
radiation, and no one will have achieved anything but death and
destruction. You can help prevent this. If you don!t help, you will
partly be an architect to this grim scenario. Paul, I am appealing to
your humanity.”
Latimer was silent now. Finally, he asked, "Specifically, who
authorized you to speak with me?”
"President Zhou himself.”
"Does President Lal know of this meeting?”
"No.”
"Do you know why President Zhou has kept The World
Federation out of the loop on our meeting?”
"No.”
"Does anyone else know of our meeting?”
"I don!t know.”
Latimer was silent again, thinking. Then he folded his arms
across his chest and shrugged his shoulders.
"I!m not convinced, Chen. Millions of people have died, are
dying worldwide as we speak. Why should I care if they are Russian
and Chinese?”
Chen leaned forward. "Because for those who have died and
those who are dying there was no choice. We have a choice here. We
can stand back and watch them die or we can do something, one of
the rare occasions in these awful times when we can do something,

185

 and save them. There is a difference, Paul, between the inevitable

and the predictable. The predictable we can do something about.”

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 12

Spring brought an unusually strong flow of water from the

mountains into the Sacramento River and the San Joaquin River
watersheds. California!s Central Valley was therefore well irrigated
once again. One of the most productive farming regions in the world,
the Central Valley produced more than half of all the nuts, fruits and
vegetables consumed in the United States.
Until mid-summer, 2042.
In mid-July the volume of water flowing in the Sacramento and
San Joaquin Rivers dropped dramatically. By mid-August both rivers
went dry. The water flowing to the Sacramento and San Joaquin
Rivers was no longer from slow melting glacial ice as in previous
years, but instead from quickly melting winter rain. This rapid flow
was quickly exhausted by summer, no longer able to maintain the
supply of water to the Central Valley. Desperate farmers began
drawing more and more from deep aquifers already having depleted
the near-surface aquifers.
The depletion of near-surface aquifers resulted in substantial
land subsidence during the early decades of the 21st century. Water in
the pores of the aquifers provided structural strength to the aquifer.
Removing the water left a mass of empty pores with no ability to
support the land burden above it. The result was a crushing of the
empty pores exactly like placing heavy bricks on a dry kitchen
sponge. The pores were crushed, forever destroying the ability of

187

 that aquifer to store new water. Land subsidence from the collapse of
near surface aquifers was as much as ten meters.
With the transition to deep aquifers, a thousand meters or more
below the surface, the same process of depletion was being
duplicated. Once these deep aquifers were depleted there would be
no alternative source of water. Deep water is high quality water, but
expensive to pump to the surface. Also, deep water replenished itself
very slowly, over hundreds of years, making this water virtually
irreplaceable. The life expectancy of the Central Valley aquifers was
estimated to be no more than fifteen years at the current rate of
withdrawal.
By September, the new American President, President Richard
Kendrick, signed the country!s first attempt at family size control.
Congress agreed to limit population size, not simply population
growth. The population, President Kendrick declared, was no longer
sustainable and for everyone!s security must be reduced. A heavy tax
burden and medical insurance penalty was placed on families with
more than two children. There was a strong sentiment to include
mandatory sterilization for families with two or more children, but
the country was not yet ready to go that far.
By the fall of 2042, Bangladesh had completed its massive
population relocation following the inundation of the Bengal Delta.
The loss of life was approximately thirty-five million dead from
drowning, starvation or disease. Mexico had consolidated its control
of what was formerly Guatemala. The Northwest Passage connecting
the Atlantic Ocean with the Pacific Ocean was dependably free of ice
for more that five months out of the year. Pakistan and India had
exchanged artillery fire over the withdrawal of water from the Indus
River. The Indians, Pakistan claimed, regularly violated the Indus
Waters Treaty of 1960. In addition, India was planning yet another
hydroelectric plant that would further reduce the flow of the river by
the time it entered Pakistan. Enraged Pakistani farmers were
demonstrating in Islamabad, demanding strong action against India
and not merely symbolic gestures. In Africa, essentially the entire
populations of Ethiopia, Malawi, Somalia and Nigeria were leaving
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 their countries to find food elsewhere. Many millions of Africans

were dying because no one would open their doors to the food
refugees.

***

Like the Count of Monte Cristo, Latimer had his island

sanctuary. When he wanted to go completely "off the grid,” he would
fly alone by seaplane to the uncharted island he named Mount
Aratron, known only to him, his father and the Chief Operating
Officer of The Network. They were never to contact him there unless
under the most dire of circumstances, which had yet to happen.
The island, a small, uninhabited volcanic island located in the
north Pacific, is barely more than two kilometers in diameter. The
heavily weathered volcanic island relic rises about six hundred
meters above the ocean surface and has a narrow beach that encircles
the entire island. The leeward side of the island has an inlet leading
to a cave with ample room to shelter Latimer!s seaplane. Walking
inland anywhere from the beach there is a dense forest bordering the
steep, volcanic cliffs. Also on the leeward side of the island there is a
small plateau about one hundred meters above sea level. The plateau
is shaded by another forest, dense enough that nothing can be seen
from the air or by looking up from the beach.
An elevator shaft was cut in the cliff face allowing for access to
the plateau from the beach. The beach level elevator door was
carefully camouflaged. The plateau level shaft exit opened onto a
space carefully cleared to provide just enough open area for
constructing Latimer!s retreat without revealing its presence from
above the canopy. Latimer built his retreat high enough to survive
the rising seas and remote enough to enjoy safe solitude. Latimer
preferred, but was not limited to his Mount Aratron hideaway. He
also had a backup safe haven among the almost countless Greek
islets, where he was able to disappear in plain sight when he found
that more suitable to his needs.

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 Any communications requirements were managed using the

equipment on his plane. He rigged an antenna wire from the ocean
inlet to the encampment on the plateau. Electricity was generated
using high efficiency solid oxide fuel cells with liquid natural gas as
the fuel. By recycling the waste heat, the efficiency of these cells is
greater than 90%. The island had a ready supply of fresh water from
an above sea level aquifer in the porous volcanic rock. He always
brought with him enough food and other supplies for two weeks. He
never stayed longer.
Latimer used his visits to Mount Aratron to assess the
implications of all the fast-moving events on his active-items list. He
knew, and anyone else who thought about migration under distress
knew, policy decisions regarding borders would be in flux depending
on the degree of human pressure and political pressure on those
policies. Fear of drought plagued the US and China, but also India,
Pakistan, all of Central and South America, North Africa and sub-
Saharan Africa. In fact, virtually everywhere worldwide south of
twenty-five degrees north latitude people were dying from drought-
related famine.
There was an abundance of opportunity for The Network. The
worse things got, the more the market for intelligence heated up.
Business was, indeed, very good and The World Federation seemed
to be focused on more important things than tracking him down,
Latimer concluded.
He had dismissed Chen!s concern about a nuclear exchange
between Russia and China and, at least for the present, put off China
as a client. He knew nothing would come of any intervention by him
to promote a tenant farmer/landlord relationship between China and
Russia and fully expected China to annex Siberia regardless.
Meanwhile, the new American President, Rickey Kendrick, had
his hands full trying to work a tenant farmer arrangement of his own
with Canada, also going nowhere, while desperate migrant pressure
—food refugees—along all of the US coasts was increasing
dramatically.

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 Latimer!s intelligence gathering for India convinced him that

India and Pakistan were his next area of opportunity. India was
paying The Network handsomely to stay informed of Pakistan!s
military planning and intentions.
Latimer was satisfied that the worldview The Network provided
him was accurate, but he needed time to assess what to do next. The
Network was a means to an end and business success was not the
end he was pursuing. Bringing the World Federation down was his
goal. It was personal. For Latimer, the fruit of the poisoned tree was
still poison.
Latimer remembered his desperate flight as Vice President from
capture by General Slaider. Slaider was the architect of a coup so
cleverly planned to make him look like a hero when he put down the
very forces he set in motion. The World Federation sprang from the
subversive collapse of the United Nations, the capture of all the top
officials of the entire US federal government, the judiciary and the
military under the pretense of national security.
Slaider created a phony crisis and then orchestrated a phony
resolution that included the death, albeit by accident, of President
Drummond as well as key legislators and judges, blowing up electric
power and transportation infrastructure, putting down a military
rebellion, even using tactical nuclear weapons against his own
troops, throwing the country into enough chaos to justify governance
just long enough by martial law. Latimer knew all this but no one
would listen. He tried to stop it, but was defeated. He barely escaped
to Europe with his life and nothing more.
General Slaider was the "hero” from hell and The World
Federation was his offspring, conceived in death and destruction. To
Latimer, nothing good could come from such an evil beginning. He
must cleanse the world of this pariah. This was his passion.
Everything else was just business.
He would use his time at Mount Aratron to advance his plan for
the dismantling of The World Federation and Germany would
provide the opening wedge. The Germans had, even before the

191

 formation of The World Federation, committed to a carbon-free

energy infrastructure. Early on, before the rest of the world
understood the gravity of global warming, they transitioned to
alternative, renewable sources of energy. They stopped permitting
the construction of power stations using fossil fuels. Equivalent wind
or solar generating stations replaced decommissioned plants.
Germany committed heavily to battery development. By the time
The World Federation was leveraging its fusion technology into
political control, the Germans no longer needed it. They joined The
World Federation not to obtain access to technology they didn!t need,
but rather to have a place at the table of the only world organization
left after the demise of the United Nations.
Latimer was convinced the Germans could be persuaded to join
with the Russians as an emerging alternative worldwide political
power center. Germany saw Russia, with its excess food production,
as a source of supplemental food should their own resources prove
inadequate in the future. They also saw Russia as a lucrative
replacement trading partner if they severed ties with The World
Federation.
The Russians spurned The World Federation from the start.
With its vast reserves of fossil fuels, Russia did not need the fusion
technology. As for the economic isolation imposed on countries
failing to join The World Federation, the Russians long ago, while
still under Communist control, learned to survive and adapt in
financial isolation until a surrogate war with the Americans in
Vietnam drove them into economic collapse. They discovered to
their dismay that no nation can spend money it didn!t have better
than a capitalist country. It was the Russian Federation that rose from
the debris of the Soviet Union and that eventually restored Russia as
a world power not just in name but in actuality. Global warming,
ironically, was Russia!s friend.
With Russia!s position well north of the developing worldwide
drought zone, global warming was bringing more moderate
temperatures and longer growing seasons for its farmers, particularly
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 in Siberia. The carbon dioxide emitted by power plants still using

fossil fuels was actually changing the world climate picture to
Russia!s advantage. Global warming and the almost year round
melting of the Arctic ice even provided Russia with the opportunity
to exploit the oil known to be present below the Arctic Ocean.
Latimer was reminded of the old truth that it was an ill wind that
blows nobody any good.
Latimer was sure he could make the union of Germany and
Russia happen. The only problem was China. While Germany would
represent a good start, China leaving the Federation to join with
Russia and Germany would unleash a stampede of uncertainty within
the World Federation that would shake other leaves from the tree.
Latimer was sure of it. The great challenge would be China.
The headquarters for The World Federation had been moved to
Beijing for a good reason. It recognized the importance of China!s
cooperation in securing the World Federation monopoly of the lunar
mining of Helium-3. China was the crucial partner with the United
States that gave military credibility to their "no trespassing” sign on
the moon. Helium-3 was the essential ingredient that made the laser-
fusion process viable and it was the Chinese and American
partnership that provided the military might to enforce their
exclusive access to this isotope of helium found for all practical
purposes only on the moon.
China and the United States had become so financially
entangled and entwined in the process that they no longer could
remain competitors on the world stage. Instead, they became
inevitable collaborators. Their joint formation of The World
Federation was simply memorializing what had become a fact in the
banking houses of the world anyway.
Breaking the bond between China and The World Federation
was the goal that roiled Latimer!s sleep, that bathed his conscience in
a turbid wash of hatred and clouded the justice of his mission. He
didn!t care. His goal was the destruction of The World Federation no

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 matter what the cost. China was his problem. Unexpectedly, Pakistan
Latimer concluded, would be the solution.

***

Following the end of World War II, Bernard Baruch, the

American financier, proposed that only a world government would
be able to gain control of what would surely be a proliferation of
nuclear weapons. President Lal hoped that The World Federation
would be that world government, but it never was able to gain
control of the world!s nuclear arsenals.
Latimer attributed this failure to the fact that The World
Federation was not a world government in the normal sense of the
phrase. It was a super corporation that used its technical and material
monopoly of laser-fusion energy to leverage significant political
control over the countries within its orbit, but not to the extent of
nuclear weapons control. Twelve nations—the United States, the
United Kingdom, France, Russia, China, Pakistan, India, Israel, Iran,
Saudi Arabia, North Korea and South Africa—jealously guarded
control of their nuclear arsenals.
Latimer would use this failure to his advantage.

***

"Wake up! Syl, wake up.” James Marshall was gently prodding
his wife, trying to rouse her from yet another nightmare. "Darling,
wake up.”
Sylvia finally woke with a sob as James attempted to comfort
her.
"My God, I can!t stand it, Jimmy. I can!t stop my brain from
creating one horror scenario after another whenever I go to sleep.
During the day, I can keep busy. I can bury these images, but when

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 I!m asleep they!re free to emerge and terrify me. I don!t know how to
stop them. It!s driving me crazy.”
James had no wise words for his wife. All he could do was hold
her in his arms. They remained embracing silently for several
minutes when Sylvia noticed Jonas, now twelve years old, standing
by the door to their bedroom, a door he opened.
"Jonas?” Sylvia said, questioningly.
"Mom, I heard you crying.”
"It!s okay, son. Mom just had a bad dream. She!s okay. Go back
to sleep, butch.”
"Mom, what!s happening? You!re having these bad dreams all
the time.”
Sylvia sat up and made a place beside her on the bed. She
patted the spot and Jonas came and sat on the bed next to her. He
looked at her, not sure what to do next.
"Jonas, I!m sorry if I frightened you. I!ve been under a lot of
stress at work and I!m afraid it!s given me problems sleeping. I can!t
turn my brain off. You!ve had that sometimes, haven!t you, when
something at school or maybe with friends just bothers you and you
can!t get a good night!s sleep because you keep thinking about it?”
Jonas nodded, hesitantly. "Well, not so much, Mom. But
sometimes, I guess.”
"I!m glad it doesn!t happen often to you. It really stinks when it
happens, doesn!t it?”
"I guess,” Jonas replied uncertainly.
James leaned across Sylvia and took Jonas!s hand. "Jonas, I
want to talk with Mom about her dreams to see if we can make them
go away. Okay? Can you go back to bed now? Mom is okay. We just
need to talk.”
Jonas got up from the bed. "Okay, Dad. Good night.”

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 Sylvia kissed Jonas on his forehead. "Go to sleep, my darling.

I!m sorry I frightened you. We!ll see you in the morning.”
"Okay, Mom,” Jonas said, turning back to look at his parents as
he left their bedroom.
"Close the door, please, Jonas,” Sylvia said.
When he had gone, Sylvia turned to her husband. "Jimmy, the
problem is that these aren!t nightmares, not my mind making up
fantastic, exaggerated versions of something to get my attention.
These are visions of now, of what!s happening or about to happen. I
feel like the end of the world is coming. That one good push is all it
will take to destroy everything. I know too much. You know too
much. It!s not a damn dream so much as a foreshadowing of what!s
coming. I feel it. I feel it inside as real as I feel this bed or you sitting
next to me, the world coming to an end.” She held James tightly.
Abruptly, Sylvia sat up straight, suddenly determined.
"At least, the world as we know it,” she said. "I think my
nightmares are because we don!t have a plan for survival. Everything
is already crumbling around us and it!s pretty safe here in Beijing,
for the moment anyway. We!re among the lucky few with favored
lives among the protected elite. Let!s be honest. It!s true. But I!m
right to be scared. I!ve been thinking about this for a long time, about
what to do, about not just stumbling into the future. My first loyalty
is to you and Jonas and my job, our jobs, are a distant second by
now. We just haven!t talked about it. We need a plan, Jimmy, if we!re
going to come out alive at the other end of what!s coming.”
"You!re right,” James said with conviction. "I guess I!ve been
afraid to face the fact that we have no plan.”
"We!ve been going on with work as if all this was just some
spell of bad weather or even some earthquake killing people, but
somewhere else. Terrible, but just not to us.”
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 Sylvia snuggled closer to James. "We!re just stumbling toward

the inevitable we don!t want to face. We!ve been denying the reality.
We see it coming. We watch it happening and it still seems unreal,
like we!re outside looking in. But we!re not, even if it seems safe
here in Beijing. We!re in it with everyone else.”
Sylvia looked at her husband with an expression of firm
resolution. The old Sylvia Carlyle was re-emerging.
"The thing is,” Sylvia said, "no one really has a plan. Not the
new President Kendrick. Not Zhou. Not Lal. Not Dr. Cranshaw. I
don!t see anything happening to stop this train wreck we!re all
approaching, rolling to it, but in slow motion. Everyone is just
flailing,” Sylvia said. "Time to acknowledge that and make our own
plans. Time is past worrying about anything other than our own
survival.” She stopped to catch her breath. "Fuck the jobs, Jimmy.
We need a plan.”

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 13

Jonas Marshall knew at an early age that he was different. His

skin color and his features did not quite match those of his
playmates. As he got older, he realized that this was because his
father was Caucasian and his mother was a Negro. He came to
understand that he was an interracial child.
A child discovering he is different can react to this realization in
any number of ways, only one of which is good for the child: to
think of himself as special. His parents were so accomplished he
reasoned that as their offspring he must have that potential within
him as well. Both his parents were scientists and their worldview
was based on data and observation. But his mother, he noted, also
had a well developed sixth sense, an intuition that she valued and
respected. He learned to model all their behavior, including a trust in
his own intuition.
Jonas would listen as they explained in subtle ways, usually at
dinner, the reasons for their daily decisions. He learned that those
decisions were not random, but were based on principles. Not only
the science principles that explained everything he saw happening in
the physical world around him, if one just dug deeply enough, but
moral principles as well. He saw that his parents believed that these
principles served as a reliable guide to choosing the path of right
behavior and he internalized those principles as well. Because of this
he gained the trust of his parents at an early age..

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 And he was loved, unconditionally loved by his parents.

Unknown to him on a conscious level, the consequence of this love
was that he would never knowingly bring home to his family shame
or disappointment of his own making. And because he was loved, he
also was brave. When the family moved to Beijing he was
determined, even at six, to immerse himself in the experience.
Instead of the English language school for the children of American
diplomats, he asked his parents if he might attend a Chinese
language school. Because he was trusted, loved and brave, his
parents agreed to his request.
As Jonas got older, he was trusted with greater and greater self-
regulation. It was this growing trust that led to his summer work on a
distant farm at the age of ten and every summer thereafter. In a way,
as a result, Jonas lived two lives: one he shared daily with his parents
and one at the farm. His farm life was largely unknown to Sylvia and
James except on a superficial level, the way tourists, for example,
might know a foreign city they visited for a few days. This was not
from any intent to deceive on Jonas!s part. It was just the way it was.

Lijuan is behaving strangely and I can!t figure out what!s going

on. She!s being kind of secretive and distant in a way. Kind of as if I
did something wrong. But I didn!t, at least not that I!m aware of. Now
that I think about it, mom and dad have been strange too. What!s
going on? I know dad!s work takes him to some pretty awful places. I
mean where there are a lot of people dying or suffering. Maybe it!s
something to do with work.
But that wouldn!t make Lijuan behave the way she is. Maybe it!s
the farm. Every year the struggle for a harvest has been getting more
and more difficult, but somehow they always seem to manage. Some
new problem, maybe. I mean other than global warming. That!s all
anyone is talking about and how terrible it is and how we all should
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 have seen it coming and everyone blaming everyone else until you
realize that maybe they!re all right. Everyone is to blame. But if
everyone is to blame, what!s the point in trying to find someone to
blame.
I think we have to get used to the way things are and just move
on. Like adults are telling us all the time to do. They!re always saying
it. Just move on. Just move on. Just move on. Like that ever solved
anything.
Something must be going on at the farm. When I see Lijuan, I!m
going to ask her directly why she!s behaving in a way that looks to
me like worry. Maybe it!s Jiao. I didn!t think of that. Maybe there!s
something wrong with Jiao and everyone is afraid to tell me.

***

Sylvia was putting the final touches on her plans for Jonas!s
thirteenth birthday party. In two days he would officially be a
teenager. Even though in China, where the naming of numbers does
not recognize this particular quirk of denomination, she would not
allow the family relocation to Beijing to deprive her son of this
English language rite of passage. Nevertheless, she did not want to
ignore the fact that they were living in China. Sylvia worked closely
with Lijuan to create a Chinese flavor to the celebration. Everything
was planned, purchased and stored, ready to be set up on Saturday
morning while Jonas was at football practice.
Jonas was not aware of the scale of the celebration for this
birthday. No mention was made of extraordinary plans. His birthday
celebrations in the past had always been strictly modest family
affairs. He was expecting nothing different this year. However,
Sylvia had Lijuan contact Jonas!s teachers and created an invitation
list of his best friends from school. Sylvia also hired a storyteller, a
magician and a Chinese musical trio, a flutist, a mandolin player and
a female singer. The trio would entertain with traditional Chinese
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 celebratory music. Fireworks would not be allowed but the

decorations, scrolls commissioned by Sylvia, were minor works of
art created by friends of Lijuan!s in the Beijing art community and
stored until they would be needed. They told a story of life!s
passages in symbols derived from Chinese mythology and were to be
hung in a prescribed sequence about the apartment.
Surprise parties are difficult to pull off, especially when young
boys are involved, but so far his friends had managed to adhere to
their "oath of secrecy.”
Jonas went to bed early Friday evening and rose early Saturday
morning for football practice. On his way to the bus stop he saw
Lijuan walking to their apartment. Jonas was surprised to see her
since she only worked five days a week for the family. Jonas greeted
her respectfully, but with surprise in his voice.
"Good morning, esteemed Lijuan,” Jonas said with a small bow.
Lijuan looked anxious when she heard Jonas addressing her.
"Good morning,” was all she said and made to scurry on past Jonas.
Before she could do so, Jonas again addressed her.
"Lijuan, why are you here today? And have I offended you in
some way?”
Lijuan stopped and turned to Jonas. "No, of course not, young
sir.”
"And yet, something seems wrong. Is everything normal at the
farm? Everyone is well?”
"Yes,” Lijuan replied. "Everyone is well.”
"But why are you here today?” Jonas asked, still concerned.
"I must hurry. I am already late. Goodbye, young sir.” She
hurried past Jonas, without answering his question. Her behavior
only convinced him the more that something terribly wrong was
afoot.
Three hours later, Jonas would forget his concerns when he
returned from football practice and re-entered his home where his
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 parents and a dozen schoolmates burst into a rousing Chinese

equivalent of "For He!s Jolly Good Fellow.”

***

In April of 2045 there was a minor earthquake in Wilkes Land

in Antarctica, but just large enough to separate the Totten shelf from
the Totten ice field. News of the Wilkes Land earthquake sent
political shock waves around the world. It was another one of those
unpredictable and dreaded events that were not part of any global
climate change models. How could it be? No one knew when an
earthquake would strike. The usual images of death and destruction
would not be measured in the accustomed units of human suffering.
No one was killed and no property was damaged; yet it would
ultimately be the single most devastating earthquake in human
history.
Above Wilkes Land was the Antarctic Totten Glacier, five
hundred thousand square kilometers of ice and one of the largest
glaciers on Earth. This was field ice—land-based ice. The Totten ice
shelf, jutting out from where the land-based ice field ended, was a
monstrous island of floating ice. A catastrophic tipping point had
now been passed. The melting of this much floating ice would not
directly affect the sea level, but the combined mass of this new
breakaway segment of the east Antarctic Totten ice shelf with the
already floating ice from the Thwaites and Larsen ice shelves in west
Antarctica, represented a huge amount of fresh water added to the
ocean locally.
Fresh water has a different density from salt water and reacts
differently from salt water to the forces that create the ocean!s
currents. All this fresh water dumped into the sea was already
disrupting the flow pattern of the Circumpolar Current that shielded
the continent from intrusion by warmer water currents. The feared
breaching of the Circumpolar Current by warmer water would
inevitably attack the field ice grounding lines or anchor zones from

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 below. The doomsday scenario of Antarctic field ice free to slide or

melt into the sea was now a distinct possibility.
The eastern land-based Totten Glacier ice catchment, as it
melts, will raise the ocean level by more than three meters
worldwide. The melting of the western Antarctic glaciers would
bring additional fresh water into the Circumpolar Current of the
Southern Ocean, producing even more accelerated melting of the
land-based Antarctic glaciers in a kind of vicious circle of effects
adding another potential three meter rise in ocean level worldwide.
The loss of water mass from the continent into the sea would result
in a reduction in the gravitational water "hump” around Antarctica
resulting in yet another contribution to the rise in ocean level.
At the beginning of the twenty-first century roughly one quarter
of the world!s human population lived in threatened low-lying
coastal cities. Many of these locations had already been abandoned.
However, there was simply no way to relocate a quarter of the
world!s human population to paradoxically water-deficient inland
locations. A melting Antarctica threatened the lives of roughly two
billion people.
The Wilkes Land earthquake tolled for many the predicted
coming of the four horsemen of the apocalypse: War, Famine,
Disease and Death. Many believed them now to be striding from
continent to continent.

***

The seat of the United States federal government had long since
been moved to Denver, Colorado. Washington, DC, along with so
many other coastal cities had to be abandoned. As a result of the
federal government moving to Colorado, President Kendrick had
declared a financial state of emergency. He froze wages and prices
and suspended operations of all federal agencies deemed non-
essential using a special board of counselors he established by
Executive Order to guide his choices for closure or suspension.

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 As the Chinese had done, President Kendrick ordered the

gradual termination of the raising and selling of herd animals.
Congress would work on a compensation bill but meat from herd
animals were to become a thing of the past.
Through the invoking of an extension to Executive Order
13603, first signed during the Obama administration, President
Kendrick nationalized all food and water production, treatment and
distribution. Thus, water use and distribution was subject to severe
federal restrictions and regulations.
The President authorized the use of lethal force to turn back
unauthorized ships entering United States waters. He canceled the
order for the internment of captured illegal aliens. They were to be
deported, but if they returned to the United States and were captured
again, they would be tried by a military tribunal and if found guilty,
executed. Illegal entry into the US became a capital offense. Illegal
entry into the country, because of the ensuing drain on essential
resources, was declared a direct threat to the security of the nation.
The revolving door was being decisively closed, as it was in every
country in Europe, China, Australia, Japan, most of southeast Asia,
every country south of Mexican-occupied Guatemala and every
country in northern Africa and the Middle East.
President Lal at first objected to these harsh matters as
incompatible with the charter of The World Federation. His urging
restraint meeting with no success with the American President, he
turned his attention to President Zhou whose circumstances and
actions were even more dire than those of the United States. China
was effectively invading the Russian Federation by a mass migration
to Siberia. Here too, Lal!s appeal for restraint met with no success.
Zhou had grown desperate and was no long open to discussion on the
matter of Siberia.
The migration into Siberia was duplicating a strategy that had
worked well in the past for China. After invading and annexing
Tibet, China authorized and encouraged a mass migration of Chinese
into Tibet, effectively and permanently altering the demographics
and politics of the region. Since the Russian Federation had no
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 formal ties with The World Federation, Lal was at a loss for a
strategy to stop much less reverse this similar Chinese migration into
Siberia.
Unexpectedly, Lal received a telephone call on his private cell
phone number, known only to a small and select few. Paul Latimer
was not one of them, yet it was he on the line. His call on Lal!s
private line sent the message Latimer intended: there is no place
anyone can hide from The Network.
"Mr. President Lal, greetings from Berlin,” Latimer said with
exaggerated formality. "No doubt you are wondering how I have this
number. I intend for you to wonder. But I won!t waste time on that. I
have news for you Mr. President. Can you stand it?”
"Ah so, Paul Latimer. You are a man of exceptional resilience. I
congratulate you on still being alive.”
"No thanks to the World Federation. Just not up to the task are
you?”
"Latimer, you have me on the phone. What is it you want to
say?”
"I have sad news for you.” Lal said nothing, letting Latimer
play his hand.
"Germany has left The World Federation to join with the
Russians. Not tomorrow. Not in a week or a month. Now. They
wanted a seat at your table, and they took it when that was all there
was. Now they found a better table.”
Lal was stunned. "I don!t believe you.”
"Hmm. I never took you for a fool before. Would I lie about
something you could check with one phone call? No, Lal, Germany
is gone. And soon Saudi Arabia and Iran will be next. They and
virtually every oil-producing nation on Earth will join them by the
end of the year. Your sick dream is dying and my triumph is just
beginning. I get to watch as The World Federation suffers the death
of a thousand cuts it so richly deserves.”
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 "Latimer. What is it you want? Why have you called?

"To gloat, Lal. Just to gloat,” Latimer said. And then the
connection indicator went dead.
Lal was struggling to process what he heard. He called the
German ambassador to The World Federation. There was no
response. He made further inquiries and learned that Herr Schuler
had left early in the morning for Berlin, along with his entire staff.
Lal next placed a call to President Zhou Xiang. Zhou, he was
told, was in a meeting and could not be disturbed. Lal was assured
the president would get back to him as soon as he was able to emerge
from the meeting. Lal had no choice but to wait.
Fusion-based energy technology and materials were the
leverage The World Federation used to acquire and maintain power.
In reality, it was the only weapon Lal had to exert influence and
demand compliance. He reached into his desk where he had Sylvia
Marshall!s most recent update on the worldwide conversion to a
hydrogen-based energy economy. He needed to refresh himself about
where they stood in the conversion program.
Scanning the report that he had days earlier read in detail, he
began taking notes. There were only six countries in all that had
completely converted to hydrogen fuel cells or a combination of fuel
cells and alternative energy sources such as wind, solar, geothermal
and tidal. Of the remaining members of The World Federation, less
than fifty percent were expected to be free of fossil fuels within five
years. It was expected that by ten more years perhaps seventy
percent would be free of fossil fuels. Ten years. if things went
according to plan.
Under more favorable world conditions, Lal mused, these
would be admirable accomplishments. But these were not favorable
times. The consequence of almost two hundred years of burning
fossil fuels was piling up more rapidly than anyone expected or
predicted. Sylvia Marshall!s report indicated that with the collapse of
the Totten Ice Shelf and the consequent release of the Totten Glacier
field ice behind it, the sea level would rise more rapidly than anyone
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 projected. She predicted that in the next two to five years seventy to
eighty more major coastal cities would have to be abandoned, along
with thirty capital cities. This would not happen all at once but
gradually, turning the news into a crisis a day.
Lal!s political team predicted the recriminations and the search
for whom to blame, already a flourishing industry, would intensify to
the point where virtually every afflicted country and The World
Federation itself would need to feed some flesh to the sacrificial fire.
Lal, himself, was not bulletproof from the geniuses of hindsight. No
one was bulletproof.
What was the American practice that former President
Llewelyn told him about years ago? Standard operating procedure in
America after a major crisis was a search for the guilty, followed by
the punishment of the innocent. Except now there were no innocents.
Neither the people nor the politicians ever took the scientists!# dire
warnings seriously. Lal concluded it was too late to stop or even slow
down global warming. Project Nemesis, created to stop the
extraction of fossil fuel worldwide, was dead before it even got truly
started. It was too late. The effects of the accelerated advance of the
Totten glacier would always be ahead of any move to reduce fossil
fuel usage.
Lal, who had been pacing back and forth in his office, walked
to his desk and, opening a drawer ,removed an incense burner and a
single stick of incense. Taking a small box of wooden matches from
his pocket, he lit the stick until it was smoking then walked to one of
the armchairs to await Zhou!s call. He would do his best peacefully
to contain the invasion by Chinese peasants and farmers into Siberia.
The world was more and more spiraling out of control. He
needed a plan for staunching the flow of Chinese migration to
Siberia. He needed a plan for keeping the World Federation together
and he needed a plan to replace Project Nemesis.

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 14

Paul Latimer was awakened unexpectedly from a deep sleep

after only three hours. At first, the banging on the door seemed to
him internal, a part of a dream that he could listen to and experience
with no need actually to do anything. Slowly, as if he was watching
an approaching train wreck, the image got closer and more distinct
and the clickity-clack got louder and louder until the image exploded
in a flash of awareness that it was his door that was getting pounded.
Reconnecting with his surroundings, he rose from his bed rubbing
his face vigorously to re-awaken his senses to the moment. Only a
handful of people, people high up in The Network organization knew
of his whereabouts in Pakistan.
The nation had become a failed state. Intractable corruption at
every level of government, even in the face of predictable disaster,
had doomed the nation. Water was the problem. And
mismanagement and population growth and climate change and bad
luck. Over the years Pakistan had turned from a mere disaster to a
living vision of hell. That!s why he was there.

***

In Pakistan, eighty percent of the fresh water, no matter what

the source—river, reservoir, ground water, wells—were declared
hopelessly polluted and unfit to drink. The people had no choice but
to drink the contaminated water and most became ill. Many died.
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 While money was used to fund a nuclear arms program, no money

was used to build dams and reservoirs to capture and control water.
What little water Pakistan was able to get, from whatever source, it
largely wasted through inefficient irrigation and virtually no
organized water management. Since the middle of the twentieth
century to the approximate middle of the twenty-first century
Pakistan had built six dams and two hydroelectric projects. India, by
contrast, had built five thousand regulatory dams for water
management and control and ten hydroelectric plants.
Pakistan!s farm productivity was among the worst in the world.
Politicians and farmers with political influence regularly succeeded
in stifling modern, but more costly, farming strategies. By 2030, the
country was only able to produce enough food to feed seventy
percent of its population. The rest died. However, the high birth rate
continued to replace the losses with a substantial excess left over.
In the beginning of the twenty-first century, the population of
Pakistan was one hundred and fifty million people. By 2025 it was
one hundred eighty million people and by 2050, in only five more
years, the population will be over two hundred million. Feeding
these people was an impossible task for Pakistan, now and for the
foreseeable future.
Where there is such misery, disease, hunger and death terrorism
sees an opportunity. From ten significant, distinct, militant,
organized terror groups operating from within Pakistan in the
mid-20s, by 2040 there were hundreds. The rallying cry for all of
them was $death to India!# for stealing its water from rivers flowing
through India first and then into Pakistan. These militant groups,
having one way or the other acquired significant military equipment,
were often responsible for cross-border exchanges of artillery fire
with India. The Pakistani army, seeing the exchanges as pointless
and futile, made no effort to prevent them. The Pakistani military
command decided any effort to intervene would simply be a waste of
their ammunition budget.
The impotent central government, such as it was, no longer
convincingly ruled anything. The Pakistani military capability,
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 though aging significantly, was still provided for and indulged,

operating more or less independent of the central government and
ruled by a general corps. Taxation was negligible because the people
had nothing to give. So the illusory business of governing happening
in Islamabad was actually funded by the sale of narcotics and
provided money laundering opportunities for international crime
cartels through the banks in the capital city, Islamabad.
There was a brief period of privatization of many government
operations. That, however, was halted and reversed in 2032. The
government essentially nationalized most entrepreneurial enterprises
and used any business profits to fund the military and its own more
or less self-serving operations. And of course, every act of
governance was tainted by corruption.
The Network was supplying India with information regarding
Pakistani political and military intentions. Latimer had spent two
weeks in Islamabad recruiting for The Network, but it was in Lahore
where he intended to help his new client, the Chinese.
Following Latimer!s meeting with the Chinese operative Chen,
he had second thoughts about acquiring China as a client for The
Network. He began to see multiple opportunities with China that
meshed with his other intrigues. The Chinese were not happy with
the balance of power between India and Pakistan swinging to the
Indians so decisively with the collapse of the Pakistani economy and
were intent on bringing Pakistan, if not into overall parity with India,
at least above its current failed state status.
For decades the popular sentiment in Pakistan was to confront
India militarily over its alleged violations of the Indus Waters Treaty
of 1960. This treaty, among the longest surviving treaties in the
world of international agreements, divided the waters of the Indus
Valley Rivers between India and Pakistan. This treaty had survived
eighty-five years, a period that included two wars and innumerable
terror attacks. Three of the Indus Valley rivers were assigned to India
and three to Pakistan. However, the three rivers that were assigned to
Pakistan flowed first through India. India built thousands of dams on
its rivers and those of the Indus Valley were no exception. India
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 denied that it!s dams diminished in any way the water allotment to
Pakistan. However, with the downward spiral of Pakistan!s water
deficit, militant groups needed no encouragement to point the finger
of blame not only to Pakistan!s failed leadership, but also to the
aggressive water policies of their neighbor to the south.

***

When the migrating Chinese severed the Trans-Siberian railway

at Irkutsk just west of Lake Baikal, Russia began sending troops and
equipment east, massing along the Ob River west of Novosibirsk.
Despite the Russian military buildup, the Chinese migrants
continued to pour into southern Siberia having passed unhindered
through Mongolia. The number of ethnic Chinese living in Siberia
before the new migration was estimated at about five million
compared to a total Siberian population of about seventy million.
There had been longstanding concern about possible Chinese
expansion into Siberia, but the last Chinese expansion had been west
into Tibet, not north to Russia. The only other large scale Chinese
migration had been to the northeast, into Manchuria. However,
global warming was creating new migration routes and new
bedfellows.
Irkutsk was fast becoming a Chinese staging area for the
People!s Liberation Army. Chinese actions were described with some
merit by Igor Tamarov, President of the Russian Federation, as a
Chinese invasion of Russia under the cover of humanitarian
necessity. Irkutsk airport, having been upgraded in 2024, provided
long runways, advanced radar and communication equipment and a
strategic location near the Mongolian border. It was a choke point for
the Trans-Siberian railway. With each passing day, the Chinese
position at Irkutsk was becoming more strongly militarized and more
permanent.
These Chinese actions were long speculated upon, but for
several years two things had prevented a coordinated Chinese move
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 into Siberia. One was the known Russian nuclear arsenal. Even
though aging it was still a sobering impediment to rash behavior. The
second reason for inaction by China was the absence of a real need
to do so.
Global warming changed all that. With Chinese harvests failing
or greatly reduced, famine was already a growing wound in the
Chinese body politic. Lower Siberia, at least, had become a vast
source of newly temperate, arable land, well watered with an
acceptably long growing season. All it lacked was Chinese farmers.
The mass migration into southern Siberia was now addressing that
paucity.
Yet, the Russian arsenal was still a matter of concern. Latimer!s
new Chinese client needed to know Russia!s strategic intensions. The
deep penetration by The Network into the Russian operational
labyrinth was worth whatever it cost to the Chinese.
Likewise, the Russians needed to know the Chinese intentions.
Satellite surveillance of Chinese military movement and
deployments were only the visible part of the picture. The Network
had demonstrated abilities that the Russians considered a necessary
investment.
Babayar Pantulga, as well as other agents, were constantly
updating Chinese activity along the migration routes through
Mongolia. Network resources in Beijing provided insight at the deep
Chinese command level.
Latimer had already told his Russian contacts that annexation of
Siberia by China was probably inevitable. Latimer had become a
master at juggling countries with competing interests.
Over and over, his Chinese client asked him the same question.
"How could Russia be persuaded to accept the large scale change in
the demographics of Siberia?” Finally, Paul Latimer would have an
answer for his Chinese client, President Zhou, himself. Pakistan
would provide the shock that would alter the psychology of two
nations and defuse the threat of a Russian/Chinese exchange of
nuclear strikes.

212

 ***

The pounding on Paul Latimer!s door had not stopped and he

was now reasonably awake. He walked to the door of his hotel room
in the Ravi Town part of Lahore, irritated by the sound of the
continued pounding. Holding his handgun behind him, he asked who
was there.
"Jamal,” was the answer. Latimer quickly opened the door and
let his visitor in and just as quickly closed the door.
"Al-salaamu alayku salaam,” Latimer said in Arabic.
"Wa alayka al-salaam,” Jamal replied.
Latimer and Jamal then leaned forward slightly and kissed each
other on the cheek.
Latimer offered Jamal a seat at the small kitchen table in the
center of the room.
"Would you like some coffee?” he asked his visitor.
"Yes, Paul. Thank you. That would be most welcome. It is cold
out this morning and I!m afraid I caught a little chill.” Jamal sat
down and began rubbing his hands briskly together. "Also, I left
immediately to see you upon getting word from Bilal Tabir that a
meeting with you was approved.”
"Excellent,” Paul said as he began preparing a pot of Turkish
coffee. He used bottled water that he boiled the night before. Even
so-called bottled water was not to be trusted without boiling.
Virtually all the Lahore hotels used tap water to fill the bottles and
then resealed them.
When the coffee was ready, Latimer offered some biscuits to
Jamal who readily accepted them.
"When will we meet with Bilal?”
"We!ll meet in the Youhanabadh zone,” Jamal replied. "We can
leave as soon as I finish your fine coffee.”
213

 Once they exited the hotel, Jamal hailed two rickshaws. He

gave the drivers directions. At first the drivers were reluctant to go,
but Jamal offered more money and they agreed. Jamal turned to
Latimer just as he was stepping up to take his seat. "It is better that
we go separately. You never know.” Latimer just nodded his
approval.
Youhanabadh was the largest slum in Asia. Once a Christian
colony within Lahore, it was burned to the ground in 2029 by angry
Muslims claiming several members of the community had
blasphemed the Koran. Later the area was re-inhabited by homeless
Muslims. It was a warren of tents, sheet metal shacks and half-built
brick structures. Drainage ditches functioned as a makeshift sewage
disposal system. Human waste and excrement ran down the center of
the streets and connected with many other such ditches throughout
the slum, eventually discharging into the Ravi River. If there was no
rain, the ditches went dry and stagnant. To newcomers, the smell was
almost unbearable.
Latimer was used to meeting in unsavory places, but the stench
of Youhanabadh challenged his adaptive skills. The smell of the ditch
water, the stench from the countless mounds of organic waste and the
stifling closeness of the air once they were well inside the colony
almost overwhelmed him.
Several armed men stopped the rickshaw operators. Jamal got
out of his rickshaw to speak with the men who soon cleared them to
continue on. At the next checkpoint armed men instructed Jamal and
Latimer that they would be changing to a single rickshaw. The two
rickshaw drivers that carried them this far turned and retraced their
path. When they were out of sight, a single rickshaw appeared from
around a nearby shack. One of the armed men frisked Latimer and
Jamal for any weapons or electronic devices. He then gave the driver
directions, which neither Jamal nor Latimer could hear. They were
told to enter the rickshaw together and that they would be taken to
Bilal Tabir.
Latimer believed that all militant terror groups were simply
fools trying $to make hog shit smell like eucalyptus.!# They were
214

 easily maneuvered if you played to their pretensions. Latimer was
prepared with a big play.
Sitting in the rickshaw, while the young man pulling it kept up a
steady pace Latimer reviewed his commission.
Conceal his Chinese connection with this transaction. Convey
to Bilal Tabir that he, Paul Latimer, had access to three tactical
nuclear devices to be sold only as a package, each with a reduced
yield of one kiloton of TNT, to facilitate close-in deployment. This
yield was approximately one fifteenth of the yield of the bomb
dropped on Hiroshima. He would explain that the devices were of
equivalent size to the US nuclear artillery shell that could be fired
from any standard eight-inch howitzer. He wanted two million US
dollars for each shell. For an additional hundred thousand dollars
apiece, he would also supply the howitzers.
The deal would be completed within one month of this meeting,
payment to be wired to an account that he would provide the day
before the scheduled transaction. He would remain with Bilal Tabir
while the transfer of funds was verified and as surety until the three
devices were turned over to Tabir!s group the next day. Tabir and
Latimer would mutually agree on the location for the transfer of the
devices. Tabir would guarantee safe conduct to and from the transfer
location for Latimer!s party. There would be no questions asked or
answered except where and when for the transfer and the proffering
of the account number to which the money would be sent.
Satisfied that his commission was well conceived, he looked
calmly at the scene rolling by him. There was squalor everywhere he
looked. What was formerly a Christian community consisting mostly
of brick, one-room buildings, some with running water and some
even with electricity, was now a filthy breeding ground for disease.
Latimer had witnessed scenes like this before. Flies were
everywhere and when the children slept the flies gathered around
their eyes, noses and mouths. The children slept without so much as
a twitch, so accustomed were they to the crowd of flies crawling
over their faces.

215

 The rickshaw finally stopped in front of a large tent. Despite the

heat, the flaps of the tent were closed. There were several armed men
surrounding the tent. A man, evidently waiting for their arrival,
emerged from the tent and greeted Latimer and Jamal with only a
nod. He gestured with his hand indicating they should both follow
him into the tent.
It was stifling inside and with the constant background stench
Latimer was once again surprised at how people were able to adapt
to these vile conditions. Nevertheless, the interior was spacious,
devoid of clutter, with four large pillows arranged in a rectangle. In
the center of the rectangle was a large tray with a silver teapot over a
burning candle. This pot contained concentrated tea. Beside this was
another carafe of slowly simmering water, also over a flame. The hot
water would be used to dilute the concentrated tea when poured into
the gold trimmed glass teacups.
Bilal Tabir stood beside a pillow facing the entrance. He was
surprisingly short. A pipsqueak warlord, Latimer thought. His hair,
uncovered except for a small skullcap, was gray and cut short. He
wore round, wire frame glasses and his bright green eyes were
unwavering in his assessment of the two strangers who entered his
tent. Instead of the usual full beard, he had a carefully cropped gray
goatee that had a small, renegade dark brown patch on his jaw line
betraying the color of his youth. Tabir waited as the men were led to
stand beside two pillows opposite his and with their backs to the
entrance. The fourth pillow remained unattended.
After a brief exchange of greetings, Tabir gestured for the men
to be seated. Tabir waved an arm to the two men indicating they
should help themselves to the tea while an attendant entered and
discreetly lit incense sticks in holders placed at the corners of the
tent. Latimer recognized this as an accommodation to them because
they were new to the smells of the ghetto. However, the burning
incense didn!t work as Tabir probably intended. The conflicting
odors only made things worse for Latimer, but he made no sign of
acknowledging the lighting of the incense or of its unfortunate effect.

216

 Tabir turned to Jamal and spoke for a long time to him in Urdu.
When he was done, Jamal turned to Latimer and translated Tabir!s
comments. Tabir had told Jamal that an opportunity like that which
Latimer was offering, like any unexpected good fortune, was
suspect. He wondered how Latimer came to the decision to make this
offer to him and not to some other, perhaps one who could pay even
more than the quoted asking price. He also wondered what Latimer
expected he might do with these devices. Surely they did not believe
Tabir would simply put them on display as a kind of boast. Finally,
he wanted to know if the devices were traceable back to their source
if discovered.
Latimer sat silently for several moments before responding. He
went over several scenarios in his mind with their likely outcome. He
chose the simplest.
"Jamal, please tell Tamir that I am authorized to discuss only
three things. One. Does he want to make a deal? Two. If yes, can he
complete the deal within a month or less? Three. Does he have a safe
transfer site?”
"With all due respect, Paul, that may be a little overly direct and
perceived as rude, perhaps,” Jamal said.
Latimer maintained eye contact with Tabir while speaking to
Jamal. "Tell him exactly what I said, please.”
Tabir maintained a neutral expression. He took a sip from his
teacup and placed it carefully on the silver tray. He turned to the
attendant who was standing by the door and gave a small gesture.
The man instantly left the tent. The three occupants of the tent
remained silent, waiting. After less than a minute the attendant
returned with another man. He was Arab but not dressed in the
traditional Arab thawb. Instead he wore western slacks and a white,
short sleeve shirt open at the neck. He was of medium height and
clean-shaven. He smiled broadly as he entered the tent, almost jovial,
as one might expect of a banker discovering unexpected capital.

217

 He quickly exchanged a salaam greeting with Tabir and a

handshake with Latimer and Jamal, after which he sat on the
remaining cushion.
"I am Sayed Sarwah, Mr. Tabir!s, shall we say, business
manager.” Even with his broad smile, he kept a shrewd eye on
Latimer.
"So,” he said to Latimer, "where are we?” Latimer remained
silent. This did not seem to trouble Mr. Sarwah, who turned to look
at Tabir. He and Tabir then engaged in a lengthy back and forth in
Urdu, tempered, no doubt, by the fact that Jamal knew the language
as well.
"Okay. Mr. Tabir says yes, yes, yes to your questions. Do you
want us to continue communications through Mr. Jamal?”
"Yes,” Latimer said, rising. "Excellent. For now I would like
you to continue with Mr. Jamal. That may change. I assume, Mr.
Sarwah, that communications will proceed now through you, at least
for the moment.”
"Precisely, good sir. But as with you, expect some possible
changes on our side as well.” He rose and walked over to Latimer to
shake his hand, smiling broadly again. "Our men will arrange for
your return to your hotel. Safe journey.” Jamal rose now as well and
both men turned to Tabir to make a slight bow of goodbye. Jamal
thanked Tabir in Urdu, on behalf of Latimer, for his courtesy.
Surprisingly, Bilal Tabir took several steps closer to Latimer,
close enough to be verging on an invasion of personal space.
Looking directly into Latimer!s eyes, he said in perfect English, "We
met once before, Mr. Latimer. I am sure you don!t remember, but it
was at an embassy party in Washington. I was a student at
Georgetown University then. You were Vice President. My father,
may his soul be at peace, was a minor official working on the
Pakistan ambassador!s staff. The lies your General Slaider told the
world only a few months after that party changed everything, did

218

 they not? I escaped America with my life. My father was not so

lucky.” His brow furrowed as he studied Latimer!s expression.
Latimer said nothing, only returning Tabir!s direct gaze,
expressionless. After a moment he bowed slightly to Tabir and then
he shook hands with Sarwah before he and Jamal turned to leave the
tent.
When Latimer and Jamal were once again outside the tent,
Sarwah remained inside watching the tent flaps through which the
two agents of Providence had passed out into the slum,
unconsciously wiping his hands on his thighs.
Latimer and Jamal were almost out of Youhanabadh when they
heard the sound of gunfire erupting in the direction from which they
came. Unperturbed, the rickshaw driver continued pedaling.

***

Once again the summer monsoon rains failed to appear so once

again the hoped for water bounty failed to appear as well. The
Tibetan plateau was becoming parched and the runoff that fed the
Yellow and Yangtze Rivers, rivers that until recently were flush with
water, also failed. The reduced flow of these two great rivers was
devastating to Chinese harvests. Serious nationwide famine had
become an tragic reality.
Likewise, Bangladesh was receiving less water from the rivers
that originated in India, but not because the glacial melt had failed.
India had built so many dams for irrigating its own fields that the
flow downstream of all these dams was being essentially turned off.
The same effect was being felt in Pakistan. Despite the assertions by
Indian officials that their dams were not depriving countries
downstream of their allotment of water from rivers passing through
or originating in India, India was gradually controlling the fate of
those nations downstream of its rivers.
There was not much Bangladesh could do about the Indian
usurpation of water, but Pakistan was a different story. The

219

 Pakistanis may be thirsting for water, but they were flush with
weapons, legitimate and otherwise.
So far, cool heads had prevailed.

220

 15

It was a very hot day in Delhi, at least 38°C. The leather seat of
his taxi was so hot it almost burned Latimer through his trousers. The
streets were full of people, as they usually were, despite the heat. He
had spent the day walking along Connaught Circus, the outer ring
that circles Connaught Place. Connaught Place was first built in the
early 1900s by the British and had become one of the largest
commercial, banking and business centers in India.
Latimer had time before his clandestine dinner appointment
with an under secretary in the Department of Investment and Public
Asset Management. He asked the driver to take him to the Chandni
Chowk area of Delhi, near the teaming bazaar and the Red Fort, so
named for its massive red sandstone outer walls.
Despite his unremarkable clothes, as soon as the driver let him
off beggars surrounded him. He angrily pushed them away and after
a few moments they deserted him for a more likely target—an
obvious tourist replete with guidebook, camera, wife and child. He
chose not to enter the Fort with its many museums, but preferred to
walk about the streets at random.
There were people everywhere. The density of people was so
great that there was almost no space between the pedestrians as they
completely filled the sidewalks and street giving the impression of a
sea of humanity, ebbing and flowing. Even though he had been to
Delhi several times before, he still found the overflowing streets of
the bazaar breathtaking each time he navigated them.
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 Street vehicular traffic was necessarily very slow and when cars
came to a halt, children would rush up to the windows with their
hands out begging for a few coins. Latimer watched as one young
beggar boy obstinately followed a taxi from stop after stop until he
finally saw hands extending from the taxi to reward the boy for his
perseverance.
Commercial stalls lined both sides of the street, selling a wide
profusion of merchandise. Some were selling cloth, some pottery,
and some jewelry or artworks. Fruit stands were everywhere. At
frequent intervals along the street there were pitiful beggars, blind or
crippled children or old persons lying on mats on the sidewalk with
an alms bowl nearby that pedestrians silently navigated around after
dropping in a coin or two. About the middle of the street on which
Latimer found himself, he saw several men pissing into the open,
street urinals. Vivid, strikingly colorful flowers hung like festoons
everywhere.
At the corner of the street he was walking down there was a
man, age impossible to estimate, lying asleep on a cot about six
inches off the ground. He was almost entirely brown. His skin was
dark brown, his hair matted and dirty brown, his eyes were brown
and his simple cloth covering was brown. Only the whites of his eyes
and his teeth relieved the total brownness of the fellow.
Further down the next street he saw a man in a business suit
standing idly on several sheets of newspaper, barefoot except for his
socks while a street vendor did an on-the-spot shoe repair. Several
feet away, sitting on a wooden vegetable box, a man was getting a
haircut. Further yet down the street, at the next corner, was a display
of fruits and vegetables for sale. Latimer never purchased anything
from street vendors that could not be peeled.
He entered a small shop to buy a pipe. The purchase took time
because of the bargaining ritual required of all seasoned travelers to
India. The pipe he wanted had an exotic design with intricate
carvings on the bowl and stem. The vendor was pleased with how the
negotiation went and when completed he presented Latimer with a
small gift in appreciation for his business.
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 When Latimer left the store he continued on his random stroll.

Several blocks down he entered an obvious auto repair area. Every
vehicle in Delhi, it seemed to Latimer, was old and hanging on by a
thread, so there was a busy industry of small repair shops that kept
everything running.
Finally, Latimer was ready to go to his hotel to rest a bit before
his meeting later that evening. He hailed a bicycle rickshaw and told
the driver to take him to the Oberoi Maidens Hotel. Unlike the Leela
Palace Hotel, the most magnificent in Delhi with its exuberant
splendor, the Maidens was magisterially reserved, dating from the
British colonial era of India. Its day had passed and it served mostly
as a kind of "overflow” hotel when the five star hotels in New Delhi
were completely booked. It served Latimer!s needs well.
Latimer watched from the side of the hotel entrance as guests
were received. In this land where "labor intensive” was a virtue, if a
guest had three bags, three porters would carry them. If five bags,
then five porters. Reducing the need for manual labor was not a
valued business priority. Occupying idle hands was the higher
priority in India, with its population of almost two billion people.
Latimer entered the hotel and walked to the small elevator that took
him to the second floor where his room opened onto the street. He
quickly fell asleep.
He was awakened by the sound of bells from the street. Moving
to the window he watched a procession of convertible cars with tops
down, rickshaws, bicycles and elephants, all elaborately decorated in
honor of a wedding. The young couple rode on a gold painted throne
atop an especially festooned elephant. Musicians in the procession
played continuously. A crowd of people as diverse as the kinds of
vehicles in the procession gathered along the street to watch and
cheer.
After a while, Latimer turned away from the window and gave
his attention to preparing himself for his scheduled recruitment
meeting.

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 ***

The front page of the Times of India carried a seven-column

headline and only one story, "India Under Atomic Attack.”
Newspapers everywhere in Delhi were sold out, but a courier
brought Latimer a copy from the Vijayanand plant where the Times
is printed. Latimer skimmed the article with interest, but not surprise.
The first kiloton atomic artillery shell struck the Wular Lake
Dam. Two more nuclear artillery shells followed quickly, striking
one irrigation and one hydroelectric dam each. All three rivers, the
Indus, the Jhelum and the Chenab, originating in India but flowing to
Pakistan had been struck. Although deaths were limited to the
workers at the three facilities receiving the attacks, the facilities
themselves were completely destroyed, following which the rivers
flowed freely through the resulting flooded ravines.
Radiation levels were expected to be high following the attacks,
the newspaper explained, making recue and assessment tasks
difficult. The nation!s military was placed on highest alert and Prime
Minister Ashok declared a wartime general mobilization. The
Pakistani government denied any knowledge or involvement in the
attacks, although grateful for the much-needed release of water
"illegally usurped by the Indian government in violation of the Indus
Waters Treaty of 1960.” Pakistan pledged support to India and said it
was engaged in actively hunting down the rebel group believed
responsible for the attacks.
President Lal of The World Federation, the Times declared, was
sending high level envoys to both Delhi and Islamabad to urge
restraint in reacting to this "worst terrorist attack in the history of the
world.” There was the fear, the Times went on to say, that many
India legislators might regard the Pakistani claims of terrorists being
responsible as a charade to divert responsibility from the Pakistan
government. Already there were calls within the government for
immediate retaliation with wide ranging and crippling strategic
bombing of Pakistan, including the use of nuclear weapons.
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 President Lal was proposing that India let the world community
establish other means of punishment for the Pakistani rogue elements
than an exchange of nuclear attacks. But, the Times asserted, the
mood in the capital was grim and there was no guarantee India
would be able refrain from a severe military response.
Latimer and his Chinese clients were counting on the fear of
mutual destruction to keep a lid on the conflict. Despite decades of
hostile relations between India and Pakistan, as well as several
inconclusive mini-wars, all-out regional war had always been
avoided. Latimer was convinced that the Indians would not launch a
full-scale attack against Pakistan knowing they could respond in
kind.
Nevertheless, Latimer decided it was time to get out of India.
His job was done and though the world!s attention had for once been
drawn away from the daily stories of environmental calamities, the
intended audience was really Russia with an example of where
nuclear confrontation can lead.

***

"How the fuck did this happen?” President Kendrick asked his
National Security Advisor, Joe Benson. "A fucking terrorist nuclear
attack! We!ve spent decades keeping these weapons away from
terrorists. How the fuck did they get their hands on these shells. No
one even makes the goddamn things anymore. It!s got to be one of
the crazy Middle East fuckers, Iran or Saudi Arabia. Or maybe North
Korea. No, probably not North Korea. No, and probably not any of
the Middle East crazies either. Anyway they never had any atomic
artillery to give away, at least to our best knowledge. Maybe…shit, I
don!t know.” Frustrated and realizing he was starting to babble, the
President stopped.

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 "We figure maybe fifteen hundred workers were killed,” Joe

Benson said, "and of course the dams are a complete loss. Thank god
it didn!t happen here.”
Benson stopped, waiting to see which way the President wanted
to go. After waiting for the President to begin again, but seeing that
he was not going to, Benson continued.
"Mr. President, the highest priority now is to stabilize the
emotional and military factors. We need to keep everyone in place.
Pakistan has taken some helpful steps already, but India is the
problem right now. They need something that will substitute for the
emotional satisfaction of retaliation against, who…? They don!t even
know yet. No group has claimed responsibility.”
"What do you think I should do, Joe?”
"Sir, I believe it is urgent that you release an immediate
statement that you will be flying before the weekend to Delhi in a
show of support for the India government and people. If we can
arrange it, you can announce that you have asked the Pakistani
President to meet with you in Delhi as well. Of course, Lal and Zhou
will need to be there. The longer we keep the lights flashing the bells
and whistles going, the more time there will be for Pakistan to find
out the who and the why. And the more time to cool down the Indian
military and politicians.”
"Alright, let!s make it happen,” the President said, beginning to
rise from his chair.
"There!s just one thing, sir.”
"Oh?” the President said as he let himself back down to his
chair.
"Well, Mr. President, there is the safety issue. Whoever did this
managed to get well within Indian territory without detection in
order to pull this off. And we don!t know if they have any more
devices or whether they just shot their load. You might be getting
into harms way by going to Delhi.”
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 The President remained silent, thinking about Benson!s

concern.
"We could have the meeting in Beijing or some other location
outside India where it would be too short notice for another such
attack to be orchestrated,” Benson suggested.
The President mulled this proposal over. Finally, he stood up
and made his decision.
"No, it must be in Delhi. That is the psychological center of
gravity for this mess and anywhere else would seem cowardly and
insincere. Joe, make it happen in Delhi. Get with the crisis team and
also start scheduling me for statements, interviews—the works. For
starters, I want to issue a statement about my going to Delhi and I
also want to address the country by nine o!clock Eastern tonight.”
As Benson was walking to the door of the Oval Office to leave,
the President called to him. "And Joe, let!s find out who the fuckers
are who provided the ordnance.”

***

The arrival of the three Presidents was almost as big a story as

the reason for their visit. Each President had flown first to England!s
Heathrow Airport on their official aircrafts. There they transferred,
against all security protocols, to an Air Indian plane for the
ceremonial landing together at Indira Gandhi International Airport.
The crowd at the airport to greet the Presidents when they
arrived was massive as only can be done in India or China and
largely restrained, except for occasional protesters who had
infiltrated the crowd. As soon as they began their chanting they were
hustled away by security forces. No one objected.
The Presidents were quickly transferred to waiting limousines
and they and the accompanying procession of dignitaries in their
separate vehicles and their accompanying security vehicles made
their way to the Leela Palace Hotel in the Chanakyapuri area

227

 diplomatic enclave. The Leela had been emptied the day before for
security reasons.
In many ways, this was an unusual public event. It was a public
convergence of the three most powerful people on Earth and meant
to be publicly promoted as such with widely accessible photo
opportunities, but no speeches. Everything was kept moving, but
thoroughly visible to the people. It was an widely advertised visit
clearly representing a dangerous terrorist opportunity.
Security forces were required flawlessly to balance providing
an impenetrable protective screen around Lal, Kendrick and Zhou
while at the same time making the presence of the three presidents
visible to all. The uneventful arrival at the Leela Palace was exactly
what the security forces planned for and achieved. The Prime
Minister of India, with the Prime Minister of Pakistan standing
beside him, greeted the procession at the hotel portico with its glass
ceiling to protect guests and visitors from the elements.
The ceiling was attached at one end to the hotel structure and
supported at the far end by two monumental statues of elephants that
Kendrick immediately found clumsy and tasteless, an opinion he
kept to himself. Once inside the hotel it became immediately clear
why the word "Palace” was in the name of the hotel. Everything was
both on a palatial scale while at the same time replete with artistic
adornments and inlays of the minutest detail. The hotel was clearly
constructed in a work environment where labor hours were not a
significant cost consideration.
After a brief ceremony for the benefit of the news media, the
presidents all dispersed to their assigned suites in the hotel. The
formal meetings would be held later.

***

The Pakistan military high command determined that it was a

radical group embedded in Youhanabadh that was responsible for the
attack on the Indian dams. Which one, they could not say, so the
decision was made to torch the entire district. It would be a good
228

 lesson, they decided, to teach the consequences of harboring

terrorists in their midst. The military high command did not ask
permission to do this. It never occurred to them to ask.
The operation began on the third day of the presidential
meetings in Delhi. The day was calm, with virtually no wind.
Incendiaries were dropped into the middle of the district first. While
these flames were spreading, bulldozers were being trucked in and
unloaded around the periphery of the district. They quickly began
creating a cleared and leveled firebreak around Youhanabadh so that
the fire would not spread beyond the district. No effort was made
either to help or hinder the three hundred thousand largely Muslim
residents in their effort to escape the blaze. The death toll was fifteen
thousand dead, about ten times the number that died from the attacks
on the three Indian dams.
The news of the Youhanabadh attack reached Delhi in real time
via numerous satellite feeds. The Pakistan military calculated that
their action would strengthen the hand of their Prime Minister. The
headline on the front page of the Times of India read, "Pakistan
Deals Swift Blow to Terrorists.” The sub-headline read, "Source of
Nuclear Weapons Still a Mystery.”
First photos of the aftermath of the Youhanabadh attack quickly
followed, showing an almost completely flattened landscape
reminiscent of photos of Hiroshima after the atomic bomb was
dropped there. Flammable structures were simply consumed by the
fire. Metal shacks had collapsed, melted by the heat. Brick structures
were reduced to roofless, empty shells.
All India rejoiced.
Lal dispatched James Marshall to determine what, if anything,
The World Federation could do to assist the victims of the razing of
Youhanabadh.
The actions of the Pakistani military did have their intended
effect. Pressure on India to respond militarily dropped dramatically
and the meeting of the three Presidents devolved into a series of
satisfying photo opportunities. By the evening of the fifth day, plans
were being laid for all the foreign leaders to return to their countries
229

 and for the Leela Palace to return to its normal business as the
premier hotel in India.
President Zhou decided he must have a private talk with
President Kendrick before they dispersed and went their separate
ways. The meeting was quickly arranged. When Zhou arrived at
Kendrick!s suite, the American President welcomed him warmly.
After a few moments of casual conversation, Zhou asked if they
could have the suite to themselves. President Kendrick motioned to
his chief of staff who quickly ushered everyone out. He, himself,
then left once the room was cleared.
Before sitting down to talk, Kendrick asked if Zhou would like
a drink. Zhou accepted and soon they both were sitting comfortably,
sipping on very good, chilled white Bordeaux. Kendrick waited
patiently for Zhou to explain the purpose of the meeting. After taking
a large swig of his wine, reducing it by half, Zhou began.
"Ricky, we were lucky this time. We may not be so lucky next
time.”
Kendrick saw this as stating the obvious and chose to remain
silent, giving Zhou time to develop his thesis.
"We both know the next flash point will be, if it isn!t already—
the Mongolian/Siberian border. I know you have your own border
challenges you!re dealing with, but we!re desperate and for the same
reasons the Pakistanis are desperate—food and water. I cannot, I will
not sit and watch my people drift relentlessly into famine and death
on a truly frightening scale. I cannot and will not sit and watch the
ever more favorable Siberian land be denied us. I will be frank with
you, Ricky. We will use that land. The only questions that remain are
how and with what consequences.”
He paused, weighing his words. Kendrick remained silent. Then
Zhou began again.
"This episode with India and Pakistan has crystallized in my
mind the need for action. Desperation leads to mistakes and mistakes
at our level lead to large numbers of people dying. The Pakistanis

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 were able to contain this mess. I!m not so sure I can contain my
issues with Siberia.”
"You know what we!re trying to work out with the Canadians. I
know you!re trying to work something similar between you and the
Russians,” Kendrick said. "How is that going?”
"Nowhere. The Russians feel once they let us in, they!ll never
be able to get us out and it will be a virtual, if not actual, annexation
by us of Xiboliya.” Zhou quickly corrected himself. "Of Siberia.” He
paused, waiting now for Kendrick!s reaction.
"Hmm. The Russians have a good point. Once in, is there a
Chinese exit strategy, ever? What to say?” He absentmindedly
swirled the wine in his glass.
"Here!s how I see it, my friend,” Kendrick finally began. "The
world has changed a lot even from the time that the US and The
People!s Republic, in partnership, formed The World Federation and
made Lal its President. It!s not just about energy anymore. It!s about
survival in a world where political borders are making less and less
sense. Climate change is creating new communities of interests that
the political borders were never meant to accommodate. Climate
change is creating new borders or at least new—I don!t know—
aggregates of interests. I think that!s what is happening between you
and Russia and between Canada and us. What I see is a new way for
people to organize themselves and it!s not a choice. It!s a matter of
survival.”
"I!m happy, but a bit surprised to hear this from you,” Zhou
said.
"Don!t get me wrong. I!m not saying the US is about to annex or
absorb Canada. But global warming does give pause to consider new
realities. So when you talk about China and Siberia, I hear you.” He
waited just long enough to realize he needed to keep some cards off
the table. For now.
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 "So why are we talking?” Kendrick asked.

"Confucius said, As the water shapes itself to the vessel that
contains it, so a wise man adapts himself to circumstances. I must
have Siberia. My country must have Siberia. Climate change is the
circumstance. I see only one way for this to happen without great
loss of life.
"I have been told Russia will bow to the inevitable and accept a
Chinese occupation, annexation, who knows what words will be
used. This I do not believe. I believe Russia will fight for this, their
land. It has been a part of their story for a long time and Russia will
not easily walk away from a part of its soul. This is the great strength
and the great weakness of the Russian soul—an infinite capacity to
suffer and yet see it as a virtue.
"No, they will fight because their soul demands it. And we will
fight because we have no choice. A great many people will die and
the land itself, in the end, may be rendered useless if it comes to
atomic war. And so, it will all be for nothing.
"I have thought hard and long about this Ricky. The People!s
Republic must form a new—how did you call it?—aggregate. We
must form a union with Russia so we are not understood to be
outside invaders, but instead, part of the family, so to speak. You see,
Russia and The People!s Republic of China must become one.”
President Kendrick put down his wine and sank back into his
chair.
"What are you saying? Leave The World Federation? And join
with Russia as a competitor?”
"Yes, leave The World Federation, but not as a competitor. This
is not a business decision. I hoped you would see that,” Zhou said.
"Climate change is a major disruption to the world order. The World
Federation was, likewise, exactly that—a major disruptor. The path
to sustainable energy gave birth to The World Federation. Now, it is

232

 global warming that!s creating the need to adapt once again, as

Confucius advises.
"The decision will be made, Ricky. Russia will accept this new
union. We must adapt to the consequences. Whatever they may be.”
Kendrick stood up to pace the room. Zhou!s message was too
big to absorb sitting down and motionless.
"I can!t say that I haven!t entertained similar thoughts about the
US and Canada, but actually to go ahead with it…well, yes, I see the
logic, but just how much disruption can one generation handle? Did
Confucius have anything to say about that? And what about the lunar
mining operations? What about The World Federation itself? Without
The People!s Republic, it will just shrivel up and die as member
nations one by one desert in search of their own self-interest. It will
be a political if not actual bloodbath. Worldwide. Don!t you see
that?”
Just at that moment President Kendrick!s communicator
sounded indicating an incoming message. Quickly he looked at it. He
looked at Zhou and then stood up.
"Right now thousands, not hundreds, thousands of boats of
every size are attempting to cross the Mediterranean to get to
Europe. There evidently is no practical military way to stop them
without firing on and destroying them. It!s not clear what the
Europeans will do, but they certainly cannot absorb so many food
refugees. Zhou, this is out of control. Completely out of control.”
Zhou stood as well.
"This I will say to you. Pakistan was a lesson in what out of
control can really look like. This migration across the Mediterranean
is another view of what out of control looks like. Across the border
with Xiboliya is yet one more. I will not let that border continue out
of control. I will do what I have to do to protect my people. I must
leave now, but I will request a meeting in two weeks with you, me

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 and Lal to discuss my course of action, which will be decided

precisely by then.”
Zhou Xiang shook Richard Kendrick!s hand with a finality that
unnerved Kendrick.
"Okay,” Kendrick said, "I!ll get the ball rolling about the
meeting. I!ll get with Lal right after we!re done here. Zhou, these are
history-changing moments. Be very thoughtful. Get outside that
Chinese box. You know, right now I!m thinking of our own President
Lincoln and how much death and destruction he both endured and
created to preserve another union. It was bloody and costly and in
many ways similar to the visions of hell we are stumbling toward
now. But he prevailed against great odds. We can too—I am
convinced of that—if the will is there.”
Zhou looked at Kendrick silently for several seconds before
replying.
"My friend, I don!t know now what path I will follow, but I am
convinced it must be like nothing yet devised by man because we
have never experienced anything like what we face now—worldwide
dissolution of political borders under the pressure of a worldwide
attack from the forces of nature. It is unprecedented. For the first
time neither people nor governments are the problem now. Nature
seems to be saying to us $your time is up.!# We must learn how to
show that it is not true.” Zhou turned and left.

234

 16

By morning, all countries bordering the Northern

Mediterranean coast declared themselves off limits. Messages were
sent in all languages of North Africa that the refugee flotilla must
turn around and return to their points of origin. Police and military
vessels would sail among them using loudspeakers to broadcast the
same message. If they crossed into the territorial waters of Southern
European countries, they would be warned to stop and turn around
with "shots across the bow.” If they failed to heed the warnings, they
would be sunk.

***

Lal sat in his office watching the video feeds from satellites. It
was like something out of videos he had seen of the Normandy
invasion during World War II. The land route through Turkey had
been sealed months ago as well as the entire coastline of Cyprus. The
route across the Mediterranean was all that was left and there were
boats and ships of every kind filling the field of view on the screen
on Lal!s office wall.
It was indeed an invasion of Europe, but one of unarmed
civilians. Yet they were just as dangerous as if they all carried
weapons. They would just as certainly change the safety, health,
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 culture, and political control of the nations they entered in such
numbers much as if they had been an invading and conquering army.
If they got through.
Lal stood and looked out his office window. Everything
everywhere was out of control. Massive population adjustments had
already been made stretching the limits of what could be absorbed by
favorable inland locations. The maps had been permanently changed
for almost every country having a coastline on any of the oceans of
the world. Coastal cities in stunning numbers and of inconceivable
worth had already been abandoned in the face of inundation. Whole
island nations had disappeared under the sea. Trillions of dollars of
capital investments have simply been flushed down the drain. And
hundreds of millions of people have died of thirst, hunger and
disease.
To all this, the world had adapted and survived. Governments
had somehow managed to remain intact. World Federation
leadership, Lal thought, played no small part in the ability of its
member states to carry on. By relocating resources (mostly food and
water), command and control centers, transportation hubs, military
and police assets and communication links, people made do at great
loss, but the system managed to survive.
Lal, throughout all these horrific times, was constantly amazed
at the resilience of humans to disaster. Lal was a man who cherished
hope. He was also a man who understood the Buddhist concept of
impermanence and non-attachment to outcomes. He could not give
in to giving up. Yet, it was a constantly trembling tightrope he
traversed between holding on and despair.
His communicator vibrated and when he opened the channel he
read the report that he was dreading. The coastal countries of
southern Europe had authorized their military to use deadly force at
their discretion to stop and turn back the food refugee flotillas. Lal
picked his head up automatically to watch the streaming video from
space of the Italian boot. He could clearly see the warning shots
erupting in the water around several dozen leading vessels that were
closest to Italy.
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 The flotilla seemed to hesitate for a moment, but only for a

moment, and then Lal could see clearly that they resumed their
forward direction. Immediately, this was followed by boats and ships
exploding into flames or simply disappearing in a cloud of smoke.
Lal froze the image and counted at least 20 boats, laden with no
space to spare with people, destroyed.
Lal turned the screen off. He knew the boats and ships would
turn around now, but to what end? Starve on the southern
Mediterranean coast or die in the waters off the northern
Mediterranean coast? At the moment, despair had the upper hand.

***

"Zhou, is there nothing I can say to dissuade you?” Lal asked.

"There must be another course of action if only we thought about it a
little more.”
Zhou remained silent, not knowing what else to say that he
hadn!t already said.
"Okay, you!re adamant on leaving the World Federation.”
President Kendrick got up and began walking back and forth. "Okay,
let!s stop arguing that point for a moment. Is there any way to turn
this lemon into lemonade?” President Kendrick realized that sounded
flip under the circumstances. "I don!t mean to make light of the
situation, but we need to look at this from a different angle. I mean,
we all know without you the World Federation is dead. So let!s
accept that for now. What!s next?”
The other two Presidents remained silent.
"Come on gentlemen. We can!t just take our marbles and go
home. We have obligations. Leadership obligations.” President
Kendrick stared intently at both men. "Zhou, you can!t just sit there
and say you!re breaking up The World Federation and taking your
marbles to Russia. Think again of the consequences.”
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 Zhou remained silent.

"Come on, Zhou. You have to think about your responsibilities
to the World Federation, which, by the way, is most of the civilized
world. You have to give this more thought.”
"No, I really don!t,” Zhou finally said, breaking his silence.
"Whether you are willing to see it or not, the world has reached its
every-man-for-himself stage. There is no longer an opportunity for
united action against a vengeful nature at war with us. In China we
know when we have lost our mandate. There no longer is a People!s
Republic of China. There are only climate zones. Almost all of those
zones can support life to some degree. But that degree is crucial. In
the south of my country the climate zones will support only a small
population, perhaps a few million. The rest will die. In the central
zone when the Yellow and Yangtze Rivers go dry, as they will within
five years after the mountain glaciers that feed them disappear, this
zone will support even less people. The rest will die.
"The people of the northern climate zone will complete the
move smoothly into what you call Mongolia and Siberia. The
northern climate zone of China will be barren. All people will have
moved north. Mongolia and Siberia will be called by a new name
with a new border. It will incorporate Mongolia, Siberia and parts of
Eastern Russia and could be called simply East Asia. It will not be a
political entity so much as a farming district. Making things,
manufacturing things, at least for a considerable time, will no longer
be the primary concern. Food. Food will be what East Asia makes.
It!s what will define it and how its people will spend their energy.
"Russia and China agree that about three hundred million
Chinese will be allowed to enter East Asia, after which the border
will be closed and that will be that. The rest will die. There will be
an army whose only duty will be to keep the border closed.” Zhou
paused to allow Lal and Kendrick to process what he was saying.
"This is not a negotiation. This is what will happen.”
"But what does Russia get out of this?” Kendrick asked.
238

 "They get not to be annihilated,” Zhou said in a way that, with

its finality, seemed to close the discussion.
But Kendrick was not through. "What about the fusion energy
program? And the lunar mining?”
"We can discuss that. East Asia will fall outside the Federation
charter so things will have to change. We can continue as we are, but
as a kind of independent contractor. The only thing that will change
is the business relationship, not what we do. If that is unacceptable to
you, well, then lunar Helium-3 and all the fusion technology, all of it,
is yours.”
Zhou stopped for a few seconds to let that settle in before
continuing. "We don!t need it. Between the coal in China and the oil
in Russia, East Asia will have all its energy needs satisfied into the
foreseeable future. And gentlemen, please don!t tell me about fossil
fuels and their effect on global warming. By now we are—how can I
say this so you can understand?—it no longer matters what we do.
We have long since passed the tipping point. It!s time simply to live
with the consequences of our reckless past. Now, it is what it is and
nothing can change it.” With that, Zhou got up and with hand
extended shook the hand of Lal and Kendrick.
Zhou turned and walked toward the door. Before leaving Lal!s
office, he turned back to the two men and said, "Even so, billions
will die?”

***

Lijuan asked if she could talk with Sylvia and James. She had
not dressed in the clothes she usually wore when she came to
perform her duties. She had changed into more formally attire, into
clothes she might wear to mark an occasion worthy of higher note or
respect. It was the first thing Sylvia Marshall noticed.
Jonas had gone to sleep and it was the time when Lijuan would
usually leave to return to her parents, with whom she lived, further
239

 outside of Beijing than the Marshall apartment. Lijuan waited until

Sylvia and James were seated at the dining room table before she sat
as well.
Lijuan sitting in their presence had simply never happened
before. It looked to James, not so much that she was relaxing her
display of respect for them, but rather that she would not be able to
stand and say what she had to say. They waited until she was ready
to speak.
"Dear Mr. and Mrs. Marshall, I must say something very heavy
in my heart. I am so fortunate to work for you. You very fair and
generous and kind to me and I never forget my good fortune. I am
grateful forever.” She stopped speaking briefly, working to retain her
composure. Sylvia and James remained silent but Sylvia felt a
growing dread of what might be coming.
"I have much sorrow that I must leave your service. I have so
very much regret.”
Lijuan fell silent having said what she needed to say and not
knowing what else was necessary or expected. She lowered her head,
waiting for the reaction.
James recovered first from the news. "Lijuan, we are so sad that
you must leave us. Can you tell us what makes this decision
necessary?”
"Was it something we did?” asked Sylvia.
Lijuan shook her head, but remained silent,
"Is your family well? Is there anything we can do to help, if we
can?” James said.
Lijuan lowered her head even more and began to cry. She
turned her head away and tried unsuccessfully to wipe away her
tears.
Sylvia got up and walked over to Lijuan. She pulled a chair
next to the young woman and moving close to her, put an arm around
her in an effort to comfort her.

240

 "Lijuan, you!ve been like a daughter to us. Tell us what!s wrong.

Maybe we can help you.”
Lijuan brushed her hair from her face and tried once again to
wipe away the tears. She looked at Sylvia and then at James with a
forlorn expression.
"Tell us, Lijuan,” Sylvia urged gently.
The room was silent for a few moments. When Lijuan regained
enough composure to speak she timidly pulled herself from Sylvia!s
embrace and sat up straight.
"It is my Uncle Renshou. No, it is more. They, we, must all
leave for the north. Soon everyone must gather what we can carry
and leave our homes and farms, businesses—all that we have.
Everything.”
"But, why?” Sylvia asked, stunned.
"It is because of water. There no water anymore, you see. The
land is dry and will not produce. If we stay, we all die. Our regional
governor decreed all must go north. Far north.”
"What do you mean by $north!? How far north are you talking
about?” James asked.
"We go through Mongolia to Xiboliya.”
James Marshall was shocked by this. "But, how? I mean who is
giving permission? How many are going to move?”
"Mr. Marshall, I am just young woman. The government tell us
to do this. If we have motor vehicle, we drive until no more fuel.
Then we walk. If no car we just walk. For permission, I think you
mean in Mongolia and Siberia. I do not know. But I do know all in
my province ordered to leave and we go. No choice. Everyone. We
all go to Xiboliya and we told People!s Liberation Army going to
protect us. All way through Mongolia and into Russia the PLA our
escort. We told this.” She paused for just a second. "I believe PLA
our permission. Even so, we cannot stay where we are because no
more water. No choice. This only place to go.”
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 "What do you mean $there is no more water?’” James asked.

Lijuan looked at James quizzically, as if the words said back to
her did not follow from what was said before. "Gone, no more water.
All gone,” she said. "It all gone. There no wheat. There no corn. No
vegetables. Nothing. All dry.” Lijuan looked at James and Sylvia to
see if they understood.
Sylvia looked at James, stunned by this news. "I don!t know
what to say. Lijuan, is there truly no choice? You must go? Your
family must go?”
"Dear Mrs. Marshall, there no choice. Not just because
government man say we must, but because truly no choice. If we
stay there no food. There no future here. We will all die if we no go.
Perhaps maybe moving we have hope.”
Lijuan rose from her chair. Immediately, Sylvia and James
stood up as well. Sylvia walked to Lijuan and embraced her. Tears
flowed as she remembered all the family moments they had shared,
how good Lijuan was with Jonas, how capable and strong and
intelligent. Sylvia was overcome.
"Government man, he say we move now because soon time to
plant.” She looked at James. Her voice was confident, but her eyes
were filled with tears. "If we plant we have food. Uncle Renshou, he
bring seed, tools. We have car and truck. We be okay.”
James walked to where Sylvia and Lijuan were sitting. Facing
Lijuan, he said, "Of course you must do what is best for you and your
family. We would ask you to stay with us, to live with us, but we
know that you would not wish to separate yourself from your
family.”
Placing his hands on Lijuan!s shoulders, he continued, "Mrs.
Marshall and I thank you with all our hearts for everything you have
done for us. You are leaving us like a daughter going on a long and
dangerous voyage and we will pray for your safe travel and that you
will build a good life in your new home, wherever that may be.”

242

 He stepped back and Lijuan lowered her eyes once again. "I
must go now,” she said, moving to the door.
The sound of the door closing behind Lijuan stuck in Sylvia!s
awareness until she finally turned to James, speechless. James
moved to Sylvia and enfolded her tightly in his arms.
The door to Jonas!s room quietly closed.

243

 PART 3
Karma

17

The next morning James and Sylvia stayed home from work.
James rubbed his head in frustration. "We need a plan to get
back to America before the borders are locked down completely.”
Sylvia refilled their coffee mugs.
"That may look a little suspicious,” James said, "if we both just
take off for New York or wherever. We need to do this so that there is
no alarm going off when we leave. Then we need to disappear when
we get there. We!ll need to blend almost immediately. And we!ll need
money that!s not traceable. We don!t want to get sucked back in.
Once we leave, we!re gone. No going back.”
"I just want to argue this out,” Sylvia said. "Why don!t we just
give our reasons and resign? I don!t mean to imply I think your plan
is wrong. I just want to challenge your assumptions. Let!s say we
resign and level with Lal and Cranshaw. That humanity is past the
tipping point and we have to think about survival. Even Samuel
believes that. We could just say that we didn!t see any point anymore
in pretending that we are not heading for a catastrophic worldwide
collapse of virtually everything.”
"We could do that, but my instinct tells me that honesty is not
the best policy here. Have you heard about China?”

244

 Sylvia looked startled by the question. "China? What else about

China?” she asked suddenly alarmed that yet another disaster was
about to be revealed to her.
"There!s a rumor going around that The People!s Republic is
planning to exit the World Federation.”
"Holy shit. And I!m worried about the demoralizing effect on
the Federation if we leave with an explanation.” She paused to think
over the consequences of what James just told her. "How good is this
rumor?” she asked.
"Well, you know. It!s a rumor, but it makes sense considering
what!s going on in Mongolia and what Lijuan told us last night.”
"Jesus! That puts a whole new light on our timing. When did
you hear about this?”
"Just yesterday. In the strictest confidence, but you know how
well that will work with a story this big if it!s true.”
"If China pulls out, The World Federation is done. Economies
worldwide will collapse—banking, transportation, the value of
currencies. It!ll be a fucking nightmare. Worse, we won!t be able to
get anywhere. Everything will be shut down because no one will
know how to do business, what exchange rates will be, who!ll buy
and with what and who!ll be selling. The world will shift to a barter
economy. Food and water will be the only thing of value, at least
until the dust settles.”
"We can bet against the Chinese pulling out of the Federation,”
James said, "but I think it!s a sucker!s bet. China will make some
kind of deal with Russia and the US will make some similar deal, no
doubt, with Canada, and the rest of the world can fend for itself. I
think we need to move our timeline to days and not weeks or
months.”
Sylvia began shaking her head back and forth as if trying to
resist the logic of the situation—as if denying the emotional reality
245

 of $the end of days,!# as they had so often referred to life after the
tipping point.
"We!ve talked about it so often,” she said. "When the shit really
hits the fan. But it was always said kind of like otherworldly. Like a
mythical tale. Now it!s really happening. Jesus, Jimmy, the world is
in a crash dive. We always talked about the next generation being in
for a really crappy ride. We never expected to see what we!ve already
seen, much less $the end of days.’” Sylvia could not completely stop
her head from swaying back and forth.
"Jimmy, we need to get the hell out of Beijing and back to the
States as soon as we can. Can you create a need to visit Denver? I
can follow a couple of days later and just say we!re going to see
some family we haven!t seen in a long time. That will work I think as
a cover story. It!ll explain taking Jonas out of school as well. Family.
That will work. We can make it out to be a three week vacation.”
"Okay. I can swing something. I!ve been thinking about money.
I changed my mind. I think we should buy everything on credit, max
everything out. Save cash for the last resort. We can put the
apartment up for sale. I can give Chin power of attorney to handle
everything for us and have the proceeds wired to our Denver
account. I!ll tell Chin we saw an apartment we love closer to central
Beijing and need the money quickly because it!s a desperate owner
who needs a fast cash sale. It!ll work.”
Suddenly, James thought of a complication. "What about the
furniture and clothes and everything else?” he asked.
"Just tell Chin to put everything in storage and that we!ll be
back in three weeks.”
"Darling, are we being crazy?” Sylvia asked.
James just looked at her without answering. Finally, ignoring
her question, he said, "Sylvia, arrange for you and Jonas to meet me

246

 in Denver three days after I get there. I think planning too far in
advance is a waste of time, but we!ll probably head to Canada before
that border is closed. We!ll go to the next phase of $life with the
Marshalls!#when we!re together again in Colorado.”
#"What about the cars?” Sylvia asked.
James was stumped. He could not think of a quick way to turn
them into cash without arousing suspicion.
"Okay, fuck $em.” Sylvia shrugged her shoulders, accepting the
loss. "We!ll have to just abandon them. Can!t be helped,” she said.
"Jimmy, you leave your car at the airport and I!ll do the same three
days later with mine.”
"Well, that!s it. A good plan, I think. At least the beginning of a
plan,” James said.
"Okay,” Sylvia said. "And I!ll talk with Jonas tonight and let
him know about our $vacation!#plans and that he!ll be missing about
three weeks of school. That he!ll need assignments to keep up. We
need to make everything seem like a totally normal family vacation
with a home sale thrown in.”
James began to peel a banana, his appetite suddenly returning
along with the formation of their plan.
"Jimmy, I think we!re in for a real horror show.” Sylvia reached
across the table and took both of James!s hands in hers. "But when I
think of how many people have suffered so much and how many
have already died—I don!t know. I just have to put in perspective
that life as we knew it is over. We!re survivors. Our new life—
wherever it takes us—we!ll be okay. Not luxurious, but okay. We can
handle okay as long as we!re all together.”
James was not so sure. He had seen firsthand the death and
misery global warming had already produced. He often thought that
those who died were the lucky ones. For the survivors he saw mostly
247

 lives of hardship, want, disease and a longer, prolonged death rather

than an escape from death. But he was in awe once again at his
wife!s courage and resilience and would do or say nothing to crush
her spirit. Instead he got up, walked to his wife and stood behind her
chair. He reached around and embraced her with both arms, kissing
her hair and whispering words of endearment.

***

By the end of the next day, James had arranged for his trip the
following week to Denver to meet with the water management
people there. He would leave Beijing on Tuesday, April 11, 2045.
Sylvia would follow three days later with Jonas. They were all
scheduled to return three weeks later. The family apartment had been
placed for sale through his attorney, Chin Song. All was going
according to plan.
On Monday, the 10th, Sylvia received a phone call asking why
Jonas was not in school. Sylvia immediately called Jonas!s cell
phone. He did not answer. Then she called the apartment and again
got no answer. She called his Mandarin tutor. He had not seen Jonas.
She called the school back to inquire if any of Jonas!s friends were
also missing. Sylvia suspected that Jonas and some friends might
have declared a skip day. But, no, all his friends were in class.
After Sylvia finished her search, having come up empty, she
called James at his office four floors below her at the World
Federation headquarters.
"Jimmy, Jonas isn!t in school today. Do you know anything
about this, where he might be? Did he say anything to you?”
"No, he didn!t tell me anything about skipping school today.
You tried all the usual places?”
"Of course. I!m getting concerned. I!m always worried about
kidnapping. I know I shouldn!t jump right away to the worst-case

248

 scenario, but this isn!t like him. He!s pretty responsible for a thirteen
year old.”
"Should we call the police?” James asked.
"No, not yet. I!m going to go home first and see if he left a note
or anything that might tell us where he is.”
"Okay.”
It took her fifteen minutes to get to her car and another half
hour to get to her apartment. She entered quickly, calling out Jonas!s
name as she did. There was no response. She checked every room,
but Jonas was not in the apartment. Frustrated and beginning to fear
the worst, she went to the kitchen to call the police, when she saw
the envelope on the kitchen table. She breathed a big sigh of relief
when she saw it and quickly opened it.

Dear Mom and Dad,

First, I love you both. I always will. I can!t thank you enough
for all that you have done for me and given me. When you read this, I
will already have left to find Jiao. I know I!m only thirteen years old,
but the thought of never seeing her again was more than I could
take. I heard you guys talking and I know our trip to Colorado is not
a vacation. It!s permanent. I!m so afraid for Jiao and her family and
want to be with them to help in any way I can. I may be young, but
I!m strong and smart and speak Mandarin very well by now. I know if
I asked you first you would certainly not let me go find her. And it
wouldn!t be fair to ask you to stay because of her.
I!ll use the credit account you set up for me to pay whatever it
takes to find her and go to her. Perhaps at least for a while you might
be able to track my progress by my purchases. I also took a ¥10,000
cash advance. I!m sorry if you think I am stealing from you, but I
didn!t know what else to do. I plan to start by going to the farm and
then seeing what I can learn there. I don!t know how you will be able
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 to contact me from America, but I!ll send word somehow when I can
to Aunt Sonia to let you know how I!m doing.
I hope your plan to go to America works for you. I think things
are getting bad in China pretty quickly from what my classmates are
saying and leaving now is a good idea. Like, really quickly.
This is something I must do. Good luck on your trip to America.
Anyway, I love you both more than I can say.
Jonas

Sylvia put the letter down on the table. At first, she had no
reaction to the letter. The meaning was almost impossible for her to
process. She looked around the room as if to verify where she was,
that it was a familiar place, that she was not locked in some vivid
dream, a lifelike nightmare. But it was all too real and she burst into
uncontrollable sobbing. She hugged Jonas!s letter to her chest, tears
flowing onto her hands and onto the paper.
After a while, she managed to stifle her tears and she thought
first to call James again and have him return home immediately.
"Lashi,” she said to herself as she entered his cell phone number.
"Lashi!” She repeated the Chinese expression for $shit,!# a word she
had learned over the years in Beijing from all too frequent necessity.
She could not reveal anything over the phone, but he would read her
voice well enough not to question and to do immediately what she
instructed. "Come home, now!”

***

"This changes everything, Jimmy. We can!t leave China without

our son.”
"Jesus, why didn!t he just talk with us about this. It!s crazy. A
thirteen-year-old Western child on his own in rural China or God
knows where. If he!s following Jiao, he may not be in China long, or

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 whatever used to be China. He!ll be on the trek to Siberia. What was

he thinking?” After a pause, he said, "Well, he just wasn!t thinking.
Shit.”
"Exactly! Thank god Lijuan will be with them. She!ll protect
him and vouch for him if necessary,” Sylvia said hopefully.
"Yes, if he finds them.” Realizing suddenly this path for the
conversation was not productive, he sounded a more constructive
note. "Okay, what!s done is done. Obviously we are not going to
America and we!re not flying anywhere. We can do exactly what
Jonas did. We can go to the farm, find out what we can and then
drive to Mongolia to try to pick up his trail.”
"Right. And we leave today! I!ll make trips to several groceries
and stock up on all the canned foods and drinks that will fit in the
car. You pack some clothes for us.” She looked at James carefully
before asking the next question. "Jimmy, do you have a weapon?”
"No. Of course not.”
"Should we get one?”
James thought about this. He decided against it.
"It will cause more trouble than it!s worth if we get caught with
it. Even with my World Federation credentials, I never carried a gun.
The most I!ve carried was a pocketknife. That won!t be a problem.
And it might come in handy.”
"Okay, let!s meet back here in one hour,” Sylvia said as she
walked to the apartment door. Then she stopped. "Jimmy, give me
your bank cards and credit cards. I!ll draw out the maximum cash
advance I can get from yours and mine.”
When Sylvia had gone, James Marshall sat quietly for a few
moments, trying to get himself grounded in the reality of the life path
toward which they unexpectedly and compellingly were thrust. He
had seen so many life-changing crises strike so many people he had

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 wondered when it would be their turn. "Well, here it is,” he said out
loud, without realizing it.
He shook his head to clear it for the task at hand. First things
first. He decided that neither their electric luxury vehicle nor their
get around electric compact would serve on the trip they were about
to take. He called the largest used car dealer in Beijing and told them
he wanted to trade his car for a strong, used, almost military grade
utility hybrid vehicle. He explained it had all to be done today and
that he would be over in one hour. He wanted it serviced and
prepared for a long trip. When he gave his employment credentials
and bank for verification of funds the salesperson assured him on the
phone that everything would be waiting for his signature when he
arrived. One hour later he picked up the vehicle.
$Okay, what else?!# he thought. Gather essentials, but not too
many, he told himself. And he would have to guess at the essentials
for Sylvia. He went through the list of things he needed to do. In
separate calls to work, he informed them that he and Sylvia would
not be in the next day. Likewise, he called Jonas!s school and
cancelled all subscriptions and utilities. Then he called his attorney,
Chin Song, to ask him to come by the apartment. He had an
instruction letter for Chin and wanted him to pick it up personally.
When Chin arrived he explained that he and Sylvia were going on a
brief vacation but wanted to sell the apartment because they found a
larger one they liked more. He told Chin to use his key to the
apartment to let himself in since very likely they would not be home.
Just as James finished stuffing two carryon bags, Sylvia
returned. Fifteen minutes later, they were out the door and on their
way to Changzhi and the farm that would be Jonas!s first stop.

***

It was about an eight-hour drive to Changzhi. The roads south

were surprisingly clear once outside Beijing. However, the
northbound traffic was heavy and slow.
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 "Syl, I!m not sure of this plan. If we get there and don!t find out
anything useful it will be more than sixteen hours of driving to get us
right back to where we started.”
"Pull over. Let!s talk,” Sylvia said.
Once stopped, Sylvia sat quietly thinking. Then she said, "It!s
easier driving south, but perhaps not where we want to go. We know
they are all heading north. The only border crossing into Mongolia
from China in the East is at Erenhot. We could change plans and go
by train and avoid all this traffic, but almost certainly it!s not the way
Uncle Renshou and his family will be going. Lijuan said they had
vehicles so they will be heading to Erenhot. Or more likely already
passed through it by now.”
"It!s a good thing we haven!t gone too far south yet. I guess
there!s nothing for it but to turn around and head to Erenhot. But in
this traffic it!ll take two days to get there.”
"The sooner we get started the better,” Sylvia said. "Jonas
probably took a train to Changzhi and then hitched a ride to Erenhot.
He!s made lots of friends from working at the farm over the summers
and he!s bound to try to follow the vehicle route rather than take a
train. Let!s go to Erenhot and see how we can pick up his trail there.”
Once out of the Beijing traffic it was faster going. Sylvia and
James took turns driving and sleeping and made it to the Erenhot
border crossing by late the next afternoon. The last stretch of the
drive was over an exhausting and featureless desert plain. The town
of Erenhot, however, was surprisingly modern.
The actual border crossing point on the China side was about
three kilometers from Erenhot. In former times, this crossing point
was organized and efficient. However, now the line of vehicles
waiting to be processed extended almost back to the town. The
decree to move north evidently was having its effect on this crossing.
Sylvia and James looked at each other in dismay as they pulled
into the line. With a resigned sigh Sylvia shrugged and said, "Well, I
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 guess this decides our next step. When we get to the Mongolian side
it!ll be too late to do anything, so we!ll spend the night in Zamyn-
Uud.” James slid down in his seat and got comfortable.
Sylvia had never been this close to a desert before, even in the
United States, and was watching with fascination the scene around
them at the edge of the Gobi desert, a name already filled with
mystery and romance for her.
After several hours of inching forward, their car was finally
inspected and then locked while James, as the driver when they
arrived, went to complete the paperwork and Sylvia was led through
the administration building to a waiting area for all passengers.
When the paperwork was complete, James drove the car to the end
of the building to pick up Sylvia and then drove the one-kilometer to
the Mongolian border crossing at Zamyn-Uud.
While at the Zamyn-Uud crossing, James changed his cash into
Mongolian currency. Meanwhile, Sylvia tried to get some
information about vehicles coming from Changzhi.
No one spoke English and Sylvia was beginning to despair
when the wife of one of the drivers spoke up in halting English. Her
husband was returning with a load of merchandise purchased in
China and she overheard Sylvia trying to question one of the
customs inspectors.
Sylvia learned that her name was Muunokhoi. With her aid,
Sylvia was able to learn from the inspector that a large caravan from
Changzhi had passed through six days earlier followed by a smaller
caravan only two days ago. Sylvia was sure that Jonas, probably
arriving late, would be in the second caravan. Both caravans were
heading to Ulaanbaatar, she was told, to replenish supplies after
traveling through the Gobi desert.
Once the paperwork and perfunctory inspections at the Zamyn-
Uud crossing were complete, James and Sylvia were once again
ready to be on their way. However, the difference between travel in
China and travel in Mongolian became painfully obvious. The four
lane paved road on the Chinese side quickly degraded into a
nondescript dirt road with uncertain markings that seemed simply to
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 vanish into the desert. Mongolia is the size of Australia with only a
few thousand kilometers of paved road. Only the tire tracks of
previous vehicles indicated that a road was being followed.
It was roughly six hundred kilometers to Ulaanbaatar from
Zamyn-Uud. Traveling without a GPS device would be very risky.
James regretted not purchasing one in Beijing before they left. Sylvia
wasn!t so sure. "Actually, Jimmy, I think all we need is a simple
compass and follow the heading to Ulaanbaatar. There are no real
roads anyway.”
James reached into his pocket and pulled out a quality hiker!s
compass. "Just in case,” he said with a grin.
Looking into the distance, Sylvia realized that traveling at night
would be a harrowing experience and mentioned her concern to
James. He agreed but said he thought stopping along the way might
be dangerous because of marauding criminals. Reminiscent of the
old west in America, traveling by day and in groups was by far the
safer way to go.
Muunokhoi, the woman who earlier came to Sylvia!s aid,
advised her to tag along with the caravan she and her husband had
joined. Seeing the wisdom of this recommendation, Sylvia and
James readily accepted her invitation. They agreed to meet at dawn
the next day and to use the rest of this day buying supplies, food,
water and extra fuel for the trip across the Gobi desert to the
Mongolian capital city.
"We!ll pick up Jonas!s trail in Ulaanbaatar,” James said
hopefully.
Sylvia kept her reservations to herself. She had no idea how
they would find Jonas once in Ulaanbaatar. He was not expecting
them to be looking for him. He believed they were headed to
America. As a result, he would not be leaving messages on the
message boards in Ulaanbaatar expressly for reuniting separated
families. Their best bet, she decided, would be to follow the second
Changzhi caravan, if they could, and hope to find Jonas when they
caught up with it.
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 The last thing they did that evening was to buy another spare
tire.

***

"I was hoping we could do this in three days, tops,” James said
to Sylvia as they drove in the last spot on the caravan. "But this road
really sucks. From a distance it all looks so flat but I never drove a
road with more ruts and potholes and whatever just itching to break
an axel.”
Alternatively, for long stretches the route was not merely flat,
but smooth as well, which made for more relaxing driving. There
would be the occasional surprising ravine with steep walls whose
origin in the stark, dry land seemed a mystery to Sylvia and James.
Sometimes they would see the silhouettes of camels on the peak of a
distant ridge.
The glare of the sun reflecting off the land was tiring and
painful and Sylvia and James frequently switched driving. Their
failure to bring sunglasses with them proved to be a troubling
oversight. %

256

 18

The caravan stopped every four hours to let people get out of
their vehicles to stretch their legs and walk around a bit to restore
circulation and to socialize as well. On the first such stop, Sylvia
found the couple who invited them to join the caravan and they were
introduced to other nearby travelers. Several families were Chinese
heeding the directive to move north. Many others were, like her new
friends, merchants taking advantage of the cheaper prices in China
and retuning with their purchases to resell in Ulaanbaatar.
Sylvia learned from Muunokhoi that her name meant $vicious
dog!#and was a so-called taboo name. Muunokhoi had an older sister
who died in an accident. So when she was born her parents gave her
this taboo name to scare away spirits who might bring bad luck.
After a half hour they would be off again. There was no stop,
even for lunch. People ate on the go. However, after about twelve
hours of driving the caravan came to a halt for the day. They made
camp, it being too dangerous to drive at night on such uncertain
terrain.
While Sylvia and James were stocked with canned and freeze
dried food, their neighbors mostly prepared wonderfully fragrant
stews containing camel meat, carrots, onions and potatoes, all
suitably seasoned and heated in stone pots. Sylvia was about to begin
opening one of the cans of food they brought with them when
Muunokhoi invited them to join in their dinner.
James and Sylvia looked at each other for an instant, both
worried about the possibility of food poisoning from eating foods
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 their bodies were not accustomed to and then simultaneously threw

caution to the wind and readily accepted their invitation. Warmed in
the chilly night air by the campfire and the friendly companionship
all went well. After sampling an alcoholic beverage of unknown
pedigree, Sylvia and James even learned a simple Mongolian
campfire song. Sylvia shared with the group a simple Chinese
children!s song that Jonas had taught her.
Upon retiring, James and Sylvia stretched out in their sleeping
bag. It was actually two sleeping bags that could be zipped together
to make one big bag suitable for two. As they lay in the bag, the
lights of the camp gradually dimmed and went out and the night sky,
even with the few remaining campfires lit, earlier already strikingly
beautiful with stars, became resplendent with an unimagined bounty
of points and patches of light—whole fields of glistening stars in the
clear, sixteen hundred meter high Gobi desert blackness of night.
Lying silently in their sleeping bag they watched the Milky Way
rotate in the sky until they drifted into sleep. They slept soundly and
motionless till morning, when the bustling activity of breaking camp
around them woke them up.
On the third day, one of the vans in the caravan slipped into a
rut and severely bent the drive shaft. On caravan, by sharing
resources many breakdowns could be repaired. However, if a
suitable repair could not be made, the only remaining choice was to
abandon the vehicle and hope to be taken in by other members of the
caravan. This is a serious obligation felt strongly by other caravan
members, as abandonment of the passengers as well as of the vehicle
would result in almost certain death.
The breakdown resulted in a two-hour delay, when the vehicle
was finally abandoned. The caravan completed its journey to
Ulaanbaatar by early evening. With the help of Muunokhoi, Sylvia
and James had surprisingly little difficulty in tracking the second
Changzhi caravan. Mongolian officials were cooperating with the
Chinese migration through their country and were registering each
caravan and the names of the travelers in each. To James!s

258

 astonishment and joy he discovered Jonas among the names in the

traveler manifest along with Lijuan and her relatives from Changzhi.
They learned that the destination of Jonas!s caravan was the
border crossing into Russia directly north of Ulaanbaatar. The first
stop would be on the Mongolian side at Altanbulag followed by the
roughly two hundred fifty meter drive to the Russian side at
Kayakhta. It was not possible to discover the ultimate destination of
the Changzhi caravan from Ulaanbaatar. They would have to get that
information at the Russian checkpoint at Kayakhta.
The caravan Sylvia and James had joined dissolved quickly in
Ulaanbaatar since many of the people in the caravan were Mongolian
and Ulaanbaatar was their final destination. Muunokhoi and her
husband said their goodbyes after making some suggestions for how
to join another caravan of Chinese that would be heading north.
Sylvia and James had taken turns driving during the long hours
through the Gobi Desert. Whoever had not been driving spent some
time learning the Cyrillic alphabet and rudimentary "tourist” Russia
in preparation for their final passage into Russia. Sylvia and James
found that many merchant and commercial signs in UB included
Cyrillic lettering so they were able to practice reading Russian in real
situations. Fortunately many merchants spoke English as well so
shopping for re-supplies, meals and a hotel room was not a problem.
There was another caravan heading north leaving in two days
and they arranged to join that group. Jonas had left Ulaanbaatar three
day earlier so when they left they would be five days behind.

***

The temperature in Mongolia was already decidedly warmer

than what was typical. Formerly the average temperature of
Ulaanbaatar in April was a chilly 0ºC. By 2045 the average
temperature of Ulaanbaatar in April had risen to 5ºC, no longer
hovering about freezing. By a complicated joining of climate forces,
the average temperature counter-intuitively increased as one moved

259

 further north. The Arctic region was now a full 12ºC warmer in April
than at the beginning of the century.
By Spring of 2045 more than twenty million Chinese had
already passed into Siberia. The Chinese migration was taking place
in time to take advantage of the warming of Siberia and planting
time. The Chinese faarmers would be able to plant spring wheat to
get a base crop down immediately and follow with the more
abundant winter wheat in the fall for harvesting the following spring.
Corn likewise would be planted in April with planting continuing
through June.

***

After two days travel to the Mongolian border with Siberia and
then a drive to Irkutsk it was time to reassess.
"What do we do now?” James asked. "It was all pretty easy up
to this point, but where they!re going there are no real towns. Well,
there are some towns, but it!s all pretty rural and isolated.”
Still in Irkutsk, but eager to leave,q they began driving before
they had a plan.
"Pull over, Jimmy. We need to think this through.”
James pulled the car into a roadside rest area just before
entering on the main road out of town.
"Jimmy, we know the caravan passed through Irkutsk. Going
north from Irkutsk on P-255,” Sylvia was marking a path with her
finger on a map they were able to buy in Irkutsk. "They go a pretty
long way and then they could have taken R-419 north where it
intersects with P-255 and that goes northeast to Bratsk. I think Bratsk
is the best bet. I don!t think the Chinese want to go too far west. That
direction is more built up and populated by Russians. North and east
is emptier and less likely to cause conflict.” She sat up straight in the
car. "I say we head to Bratsk and try to pick up their trail again
there.”
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 James was still bent over the map. "I like it. I think that makes
good sense, Syl. I!m sure in Bratsk they would have noticed a
convoy of Chinese farmers passing through. We!re bound to get
some intel in Bratsk. From there they could go either further east
through these towns,” he said, pointing to the route on the map, "or
straight north from Bratsk and toward the Angara River. There!s
probably good farming country further north and they would be
away from Bratsk, which would be too Russian.” He closed the map.
"How long do you figure it!ll take to get to Bratsk?” Sylvia
asked.
"I have no idea. R-419 seems to be at best a secondary road.
Maybe worse. It!ll probably be slow going.”
"Shit,” Sylvia said. "We!re doing this alone. If we get into
trouble we!re in big trouble. The Mongolian travelers were incredibly
hospitable. So far I!m not so sure about the Russians. Where we!d get
help in Mongolia if we broke down here I think more likely we!d get
robbed…or worse. It!s pretty obvious we!re Westerners. I think a lot
of these people would just as soon kill us as help us.”
James looked at Sylvia closely before speaking. "What choice
have we got? Let!s go.”
It was a long ride to the intersection of P-255 and R-419. P-255
had been a poorly repaired and maintained but paved road with one
lane in each direction. However, R-419 was not much more than a
rutted and pitted dirt road stretching off to the horizon. Sylvia and
James looked at each other after turning onto R-419. The road was
strangely empty. As they proceeded there was the occasional vehicle
coming in the opposite direction, covered with caked on mud almost
to the midpoint. Sometimes a vehicle would drive by them with the
mud caked all the way up one side.

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 "What do you think?” Sylvia asked without taking her eyes off
the road while she was driving. "From a rollover?”
James just shrugged, but his expression became grim. After
about two hours of driving they saw a stalled lineup of vehicles
ahead. It seemed to stretch for several kilometers at least. Here and
there a vehicle would pull out of the line and turn around. Sylvia
pulled up to the end of the lineup and stopped. After a few moments,
with no advancement of the line at all, she stopped the engine.
"What do you think it is?” she asked.
"I have no idea, but it looks like this might take hours. Let me
go see what I can find out. I think my Russian is good enough for
that.” He stepped out onto a surprisingly wet, muddy ground. He
hadn!t paid attention to the gradual build up of water on the road.
Sylvia watched as James moved down the line. About twenty
vehicles down the line he stopped and she saw him speaking with the
driver. After what seemed to her a very long time, James returned.
He opened the door and sat facing outside while he cleaned his shoes
with a stick he had picked up. The mud was very adherent and it took
him a while, in silence, to clean them. Sylvia waited impatiently.
"It!s not good,” he finally said. "One of the drivers spoke a little
English. Apparently there was an early thaw of the snow in the
mountains and the road up ahead has turned into a river of mud. He
says sometimes it!s worth waiting and they let you try to get through.
Many get stuck and then they have to pay to get hauled out.
Depending on where they pull you out, you either go on and you take
your chances again or turn back. He says if they let him go on, he
can probably still make it. But he!s a truck and not a car. I showed
him what we were driving and he shook his head. All he would say
was $maybe,!#but it sounded more to me like $no fucking way.’”
"How bad is it really? Do you think we can make it?”
"It!s bad. The mud is like a soft plastic and can easily be a meter
to two meters deep. Sometimes there!s flowing water over the whole
262

 mess. Sometimes it!s just the mud. Right now, he says, it!s mud and
water. That!s a little better than just the mud. You get a little bit of
buoyancy. They!re trying to decide whether just to close the road and
be done with it for the spring, at least. It will close off whole sections
of Siberia until late summer or fall.”
"Jimmy! Until fall?” Sylvia said with alarm. "If we wait until
fall we may never pick up Jonas!s trail again. We must go on.”
James rested his chin in his hands for a few moments, thinking.
"Syl, let!s keep going until we get to the decision point. Where
the road has really turned to scary shit and decide there what we
want to do.”
"What do you mean? There!s nothing to decide. We go on.
Period. One way or the other we find a way to go on.”
James took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay,” he said
with a sudden smile. "That!s what I meant! We go on!”

***

Five hours in their car with no movement at all. Finally the line
of vehicles began to crawl forward at perhaps one to two kilometers
per hour. Steadily the road became more and more difficult. The wall
of earth on either side became steeper and steeper and beyond the
edge of the road only an impenetrable forest. For long periods of
time there was no forward movement. More often than not the only
movement occurred when from time to time another vehicle would
give up and turn around.
At last the road widened. Cars were sinking into the mud
almost halfway up their doors. On the right side, half on and half off
the road was an overturned tractor-trailer truck. A bulldozer, buried
in the mud almost to the top of the engine compartment was slowly
pulling a tethered line of five cars through an otherwise impassable
section of the road.

263

 James whistled in astonishment as he watched the bulldozer,

metal treads slowly churning through the plastic mud, slowly, against
all common sense, making progress forward toward a higher and
dryer part of the road. James looked at Sylvia.
"I!m going to find out what the charge is. There!s no way we
will get past this on our own.”
Sylvia was too exhausted emotionally to respond and simply
turned her head and shut her eyes. In a few minutes James returned.
"According to the truck driver I spoke with before it!s expensive
and the road is one long river of mud all the way to Bratsk, with at
least a dozen more deep spots like this. We!ll need to be towed
through all of them.”
Sylvia put her head down and rested her hands on the
dashboard. She was silent except for the steady clicking of her
fingernails on the hard plastic surface. Thinking. Thinking.
"What do we do, Jimmy? I just don!t know.”
"Darling, Bratsk was a gamble to begin with. We!re not sure the
caravan was even headed there or by this route or if they got through.
Also, there was no way for me to get to the bulldozer drivers to ask
them what a tow costs or any way of knowing if they even
understand English.”
"We!re not turning back,” Sylvia said. "Bratsk is still our best
bet. We!re not going backwards, James. Bratsk is our key to finding
Jonas. I!m sure of it.”
They sat silently for a long time. Finally, Sylvia asked, "How
friendly are the men in that truck—the guy!s you!ve been speaking
with?”
"They seem nice enough. A little rough but I suppose that!s to
be expected for Siberian truckers. Why?”
"I think we have only one choice. We abandon our car and go
with them, if they!ll let us.”

264

 For a fee, the truckers readily agreed to take on two more

passengers. They helped James and Sylvia move their car far onto
the shoulder of the road so as not to impede traffic flow, such as it
was. James even threw in the keys to their car, saying if the men
could salvage it later, it would be theirs.
It took two more days of arduous and slow going before they
finally arrived at the outskirts of Bratsk.
Bratsk itself was, for practical purposes, under water. The
unusually strong melt of mountain snow had swollen the Angara
River well beyond its banks, inundating about half the city proper.
Their trucker friends, by asking around, were able to determine that
there were no vehicles from Changzhi in Bratsk currently, but a
caravan of perhaps twenty trucks had passed through only two days
earlier. They were believed to have gone further north to Vikhorevka
where there was drier land and where the caravan, they were told,
was still encamped.
The truckers also said there was some building resistance to the
steady influx of Chinese. A few fights, some damaged property.
Small stuff, but enough to encourage a fast transit through Bratsk.
Chinese caravans stayed only long enough to replenish whatever
supplies were still available for purchase.
"Well, the credit cards are still working in the outlying shops
and we made it this far. Goddamn lucky if you ask me, Sylvie. Also,
I found some Italians who speak English and we!ll be meeting with
them this evening. I think we may be here for a few days until we
can hitch a ride to Vikhorevka. They offered to put us up until then.
They also were working in Beijing and pretty much came to the
same conclusion we did to get the hell out and move north.”
"Only we were hoping for Canada,” Sylvia said with a sigh.
"They kind of questioned why we were escaping to Siberia
instead of the US or Canada. I explained about Jonas.”
"I know it!s a long shot,” Sylvia said, "but did they see anything
of Jonas? A mixed race boy might have stood out.”

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 "I asked them and they said they didn!t see any children at all,
probably because the parents all thought it safer to keep the kids
close. But they said they would ask around. Their Russian is
evidently quite good.”
"Let!s see. Italian, Russian, English, probably Chinese. How do
people do this?” Sylvia asked with a roll of her eyes.
"Oh, God, Jimmy” she said with a sudden shiver. "Are we on
the right track? Will we find our little boy after all this?”

***

It was early evening when the truck driver let James and Sylvia
off just outside the encampment of the Changzhi caravan they were
chasing. A People!s Liberation Army officer at the checkpoint
controlling entry to the encampment stopped them as they tried to
enter. It took several minutes before the officer was able to locate
someone who spoke English.
Chairs were brought for James, Sylvia, the PLA officer and for
the translator. The translator was the son of a farmer from the same
general area where Jiao!s family farm was located. He was about
twenty years old and his name was Woh Yan. He had spent a year
living with an aunt in Beijing and learned some English at the school
he attended while there.
The officer arranged for a table and for tea to be brought. While
introductions were being made, the young translator did a lot of
exaggerated smiling and nodding. Sylvia was afraid his translating
was not going to go well. Nevertheless, she began bravely.
"Dear Mr. Woh,” she said, "thank you for helping us. We have
come a long distance to find our son. We think he is with this
caravan. He is thirteen years old. He has worked for several summers
at the farm of Wu Renshou. Do you know Uncle Renshou?”
Woh!s face lit up immediately with a happy smile.
"You look for Cousin Jonas?” he asked.
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 Sylvia and James were stunned.

"Everyone here know Cousin Jonas. He big friend of everyone.”
Sylvia was too surprised to react. James took her hand and
turning to Woh asked, "You know, Mr. Woh, we are his parents. We
came to find him. Is he here now? Is he well? Can we see him?”
Woh immediately turned to the PLA officer and explained the
situation. The officer quickly rose and gave orders to a soldier
standing nearby who then moved off into the compound.
"Yes, Mister Marshall, sir, he here. We all know Cousin Jonas.
He good boy. Know Mandarin very good. He work very hard. Every
summertime. Very good boy.” And then the translator evidently
decided he had nothing to add and simply sat back in his chair,
smiled and sipped his tea.
James leaned forward and shook young Woh!s hand vigorously
and did the same with the PLA officer who stiffened at first and then
relaxed, allowing for the exchange of warm feelings.
After a few moments the dispatched soldier returned and spoke
with the officer, who then spoke with Woh Yan.
"Hmm,” Woh said, searching for the words. "Cousin Jonas and
Uncle Renshou come soon. Need time to prepare to meet honorable
parents. Uncle Renshou will bring Cousin Jonas soon. Maybe many
others come too. You most welcome. Everyone very happy you
here.”
The officer spoke to several of his men and lanterns began
appearing. And more chairs appeared as if from nowhere. James,
Sylvia and Woh Yan waited for what would happen next.
Sylvia leaned toward James and whispered, "My god, Jimmy. I
can!t believe this is happening. We found our baby. Our Jonas is safe.
And we found him!”
"I had no idea Jonas had become such a celebrity,” James
whispered with a broad grin.
Sylvia smiled, but said nothing. She continued eagerly to scan
the darkness outside the area lit by the many lanterns. Finally, there
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 was a rustling sound coming from behind Woh Yan. The sound
steadily built until it was obvious a crowd of people was coming. At
last, Uncle Renshou emerged from the darkness holding Jonas by the
hand and at the head of a group of about twenty people. Sylvia also
recognized Lijuan among the welcome party.
Her instinct was to stand up and run to her son, but she
restrained herself, realizing that as with so many things Chinese,
there was going to be a ritual to this reuniting. She waited, to allow
Renshou the honor of welcoming them and presenting Jonas to them
in a respectful way.
Renshou came with Jonas and stood before Sylvia and James,
who had both risen as he approached. Sylvia was finding it difficult
to maintain eye contact with Renshou when all she wanted to do was
crush Jonas in her arms.
Renshou bowed deeply towards Sylvia and James and began
speaking as they waited impatiently. He then gestured to Jonas, who
likewise bowed to his parents and then to Uncle Renshou. When that
was done, Renshou indicated Jonas was free to run to his parents and
receive their embraces.
Sylvia crushed her son to her breast as she burst into tears of
joy while James encircled both his wife and his son with his
outstretched arms.
The crowd immediately began clapping and singing a lively
song to commemorate the reunion of child with parents.
After the hugs and tears, Sylvia turned to I Yan to ask him to
express her gratitude to everyone for taking good care of Jonas and
for being so kind and generous. I, however, melted back into the
crowd. As he did so he gestured towards Jonas in a way that clearly
indicated that Jonas now $had the floor.!
Jonas, standing by his parents, smiled and turned to face the
crowd. He spoke in easy and confident Mandarin expressing the
gratitude his mother had just shared. When he was done, he bowed
deeply to Uncle Renshou and turned, bowing to the crowd as well.
Everyone clapped. Jonas then took his parents by the hand and

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 walked with them into the throng of well wishers where they were
met with handshakes and joyful pats on the back and many smiles.
"This is amazing,” Sylvia whispered to Jonas.
Jonas whispered back, squeezing his mother!s hand tightly, "I
thought you and dad were going to America. I!m so excited. You!re
amazing! I can!t believe you found me.”

The shots rang out just before dawn.

Jiao ran to the tent where the Marshalls were all sleeping. She
knocked frantically on one of the tent poles until Jonas poked his
head out of the tent flaps. He was partially dressed with his shirt still
unbuttoned and was hopping on one foot as he tried to put on his
second shoe.
"What!s happening?” he asked Jiao.
"Quick, hurry, all families must go to center of compound.
Soldiers will protect us.”
"But, Jiao, who from?”
"My father says from local Russian farmers. They not want us
here. The PLA officer, he tell us what to do.”
The firing had stopped and James stuck his head outside the
tent flaps. "Jonas, what!s happening?”
"I!m not sure, but you better get mom up and out because
everyone is going to the center of the encampment until the soldiers
tell us what to do.”
Sylvia emerged from the tent and they quickly made their way
to the gathering location. The people stood silently waiting for the
PLA officer to arrive. The Marshall family huddled quietly together
with Lijuan, her family, Jiao and her family. Jonas stood by Jiao,
holding her hand protectively.
When the PLA officer finally arrived, Jonas moved closer to his
parents so he could translate for them. Jiao went to her mother,
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 Huifang, and took her hand. Everyone had their eyes on the officer
and patiently waited for him to speak. There were perhaps a hundred
people, not counting the soldiers who were not to be seen, but were
deployed protectively.
As the officer began to speak, Jonas explained.
"First, he says we are in no immediate danger. The firing of
weapons was to get our attention, more or less. I think he said it was
just in the air. No one was injured. Our soldiers have been arranged
to create a safe border for the encampment. He says they have
enough men and weapons to protect us. He says the Russians
understand that many Chinese are coming into Siberia, that it!s just a
fact. They don!t want to fight with trained soldiers, but they want us
to remove, um,…to move on. Our officer, by the way, Dad, his name
is Captain Li. So Captain Li explained to the Russian leader that we
are just passing through, on our way to open land northeast of here.
"Captain Li said to the Russians that we planned to spend
another three days here while some of his men, um,…search to find
the best trail, no, road. He said to the Russian leader if he could help
point the way they would be able to leave sooner. The roads north
and east of here are very poor, Captain Li says. Many roads do not
even show on the maps. He will try to talk, no, um,…bargain to see
if they will provide a guide who knows the region we are going to
who can help us. He says we will pay or promise some of our future
harvest for their help. He is going back to continue talking with the
Russians. We should just wait here.”
With that, Captain Li left the inner circle.
"Jonas, you!re amazing. That was brilliant. How did you get so
fluent?” James asked.
"Dad, you know I!ve been going to a Chinese language school
for six years. I guess there just wasn!t a reason to show you guys
how much I learned until now. And Jiao has been wonderful. Every
summer she would correct my Mandarin. No mistakes allowed. She
was even tougher than my teachers.”
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 Jonas turned to his mother. "I admire her so much. I love her,
Mom. She!s like my sister. I just couldn!t leave her when they were
ordered to move north. It was the toughest decision to go with her. I
couldn!t imagine never seeing her again. Jiao wanted to tell her dad
right away, but I begged her not to. If they sent me back I said I
would just find another way to her. Until we were well on our way,
Jiao hid me for the first three days and secretly brought me food and
water.”
"But Jonas, didn!t you think about how it would devastate us? It
would be like you had died, God forbid. Never to see you again!
How could you think we would let that happen? Did you think we
would just go to America without you?” Sylvia was disappointed that
his plan did not seem to include their feelings.
Jonas hung his head, not having an answer to Sylvia!s question.
"Well?” Sylvia demanded again.
James put his arm around Sylvia. "Come on, Sylvie. What!s
done is done. He!s a thirteen year old boy and he did what he thought
was right. But now, guess what? We!re all together, safe and sound.
We!ve just run out of plan. That!s all.”

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 19

Earlier in the day Latimer had taken the cable car ride to the
"top of the Rock.” From there he could see across to Spain to the
northeast and, as it was a very clear day, even to the north coast of
Africa. But now, as evening was approaching, the sun was just
setting, wrapped in a brilliant swath of flaming colors across the
western sky. Latimer walked into the street after an excellent early
seafood dinner.
It would only be a short walk from the town center to Gibraltar
harbor. Latimer wanted to catch the sunset once more on his last day
on Gibraltar. Latimer decided the view from the harbor would
provide a good vantage point and as he had just finished dinner, he
savored the added benefit of settling his food with a bit of exercise.
This would be his last trip to Gibraltar. Large sections of the
harbor and even the downtown area were under water as were many
of the western roads. The eastern roads being somewhat higher were
still usable, but served only the few remaining tourists and
occasional businessman, like himself, finishing up business.
Discretionary travel had largely disappeared, falling into the same
sinkhole as the value of currency.
Virtually all of his father!s company assets as well as the assets
of The Network had already been converted to real estate or cash.
Edgar Latimer had used the resources of Latimer Enterprises to seek
out and purchase whatever land suitable for sustainable agriculture
was still available for sale. Decades earlier the major countries went

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 on a similar land-buying spree so Edgar was limited to very remote

locations.
Paul Latimer!s trip to Gibraltar was to complete the final family
land purchase, this time in Brazil. The land was owned by one of the
few financial service businesses still on Gibraltar. With the
conclusion of this land purchase, whatever remaining assets existed
for either Latimer Enterprises or The Network were converted to
cash for current and future day-to-day operations.
In the morning Paul Latimer would be flying out of Gibraltar to
begin his trek back to Mount Aratron, where he planned to meet with
his father. There they planned to discuss their options for how they
would live out the rest of their lives. They were in agreement that
Earth was already entering the worst-case scenario, catastrophic
environmental collapse. Global warming had already raised sea level
by almost eight meters. Thirst and drought were killing off
populations worldwide by the hundreds of millions. It would not be
long, perhaps five years or less, that the number would exceed a
billion. Only a fool could be blind to the fact that the greatest
civilization in the history of humanity would be just a memory in
lonely pockets of survival in the last half of the twenty-first century.
The view from his hotel balcony was a painful reminder of how
the Gibraltar town center was once a vibrant tourist attraction, alive
with street noise and music and sparkling with festive year-round
lights. Now it was quiet and dark except for the one or two bars still
able to operate, preserved by owners with nowhere else to go and
frequented by patrons like Paul, completing their last Gibraltar
transactions.
Paul had dedicated himself to bring about the collapse of The
World Federation. He had devoted his life to two things since
escaping from the United States: to survive and to destroy. Now he
realized that all he needed to have done was wait.
The hydrogen energy economy was too little too late, the pace
of conversion too slow, the continued burning of fossil fuels too
widespread, the accumulated concentration of greenhouse gases too
abundant and long lived. The accelerating melting of the northern
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 permafrost with its consequent toxic release of massive amounts of

methane into the atmosphere would be the final proof of the
blindingly obvious. Earth had gone long past the tipping point and
was about to enter a new geologic age.
Paul moved back into his flat and poured himself a large glass
of scotch. He got his wish with The World Federation. The fact that
there was still an office building in Beijing that housed The World
Federation, that there were still employees drawing paychecks with
The World Federation logo on it, that freight rockets were still going
to and from the moon with precious cargoes of He-3, crucial to the
laser-fusion process—all these just meant the Federation was among
the other walking dead.
The world governments were never able to grasp the dire nature
of the calamity that was fermenting during all the years of $business
as usual.!# The world was never able to agree on an emissions mid-
course correction on a large enough scale to halt the slow slide to
disaster. While in two world wars nations were able to mobilize
resources on a massive scale in order to kill each other, they never
were able to mobilize on a scale even remotely similar for the
purpose of self-preservation.
The World Federation was done because with the withdrawal of
China, the Federation lost its critical mass. And its purpose. Energy
was no longer the pressing issue it had been. Food and water were
now the new limiting factors for survival and they trumped
everything else. National borders were crumbling everywhere.
Central governments were becoming irrelevant. World financial
systems were collapsing.
Nuclear war had been averted between India and Pakistan, but
conventional wars were breaking out in Africa and South America.
Israel had once again bombed the water diversion projects
originating in Syria. Communities everywhere were drawing in,
consolidating, restricting entry—closing off.
The largest nations—the US, Canada, Russia, China, India,
the European Union—of course, were better able to adapt to the
blows of increasingly rapid changes. They once had the discipline,
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 the military control and the commitment to their respective political

traditions and structures to preserve some measure of stability. They
could have strained every resource and acted boldly. But they didn!t.
Now it was too late. The swirling currents circling the abyss
of catastrophic environmental collapse were drawing everything in
with them. Paul Latimer knew when the game was up. He and his
father were already deep into their plan for a new mission. Survival.
In fourteen hours he would be at Mount Aratron.

***

His father!s boat was already in the cave on the leeward side
of the island as Paul!s seaplane glided to a stop beside it. In a short
time he was up on the mountain, at the plateau where his cabin lay
hidden. Edgar greeted him warmly at the well-camouflaged, beach-
level entrance to the elevator shaft. In just a few moments they
completed the ride up to the plateau.
To maintain concealment from the air, the cabin was not built
in a clearing in the forest. Instead, a large cavern had been hollowed
out beneath the plateau surface with a living area of some two
hundred square meters. There was a living room, spacious dining
room/kitchen area, two bedrooms, each with a private bath, an office
and a communications room. Finally, there was a utility room where
the ventilation and climate control equipment were located.
Above ground was an all weather power shed where the fuel
cells, battery storage system, controls, regulators and converters
were located. The shed was small enough that it fit within the forest
unseen from the sky. A flowing spring located at the inland side of
the plateau, just before the ground began to rise again up the
mountain, provided water to the cabin. The ground rose enough from
the front of the plateau to the rear so that the elevation change
provided enough pressure head that no water pump was needed. It
was a small spring, but gave more than enough water and was
dependable, having never failed Latimer when he visited.

275

 In all, Mount Aratron provided an almost completely self-

sufficient retreat. The only element missing was food. It would not
be a difficult task to provide for this as well on the island. However,
Latimer and his father decided against stocking the island with small
mammals, fowl and other game. They did not envision Mount
Aratron as anything more than a retreat and not a final destination
and so they always brought their food with them.
Edgar Latimer at seventy-seven years old was a man of
unusual vigor. He was as tall as Paul, even an inch more than Paul!s
six foot two inch height. He had a full head of silver hair that
promoted a first impression of vital good looks. His face had an
almost gaunt appearance that was saved from looking grim by a
ready smile. He was a man who Paul knew always to be in good
humor, even when angry or stressed. It was a quality Paul admired,
but was never able to model.
Edgar Latimer!s body was lean and muscular, but with a
surprising and distinct roundness to his shoulders as if from years
spent bent over, examining documents, books or blueprints. He wore
jeans and a red and black checkered, flannel shirt and rubber-soled
shoes with no socks.
Paul was not ready to enter the cabin and suggested the two
walk a bit in the forest. They moved silently for several minutes,
enveloped in the leaf-filtered light that managed to penetrate the
canopy. Paul bent and picked up a branch, still green and evidently
stripped from a tree by wind rather than age. Coming upon a large
boulder, Paul sat down. He reached into his pocket and took out a
folding knife, a Case trapper his father had given him when just a
boy. He began absently whittling the branch while his father stood
watching patiently, hands in his pockets.
"Dad,” Paul began still focused on his whittling, "I never
expected you to live to see all this.” Both men laughed at how that
sounded. "I mean, it happened more quickly than I ever expected.”
"Armageddon?”

276

 "Exactly. You know, my target was The World Federation. But

I always assumed there would simply be another world organization
of some kind. I figured, correctly I think, that it would be China and
Russia that would lead the way. But I never figured there really
would be nothing left, no new experiment in world order. That
destiny, so to speak, would overtake everyone!s plans. Or that so
many people would fail to see how swiftly the collapse would come,
coming in their lifetimes, that is.”
Edgar Latimer smiled at his son and looked around at the
forest cathedral they were in. There was perhaps another hour before
darkness and the light now was the best of the day with its sharp
shadows and growing glow of gold over all it touched.
"I think everyone simply believed they could argue forever
and that nature would wait. Actually, there was a decent effort finally
starting in the late twenties, but I don!t think people, the policy
people, ever fully grasped that the time delay between the damage
we were doing and when it would show itself would suddenly
become so short.” Edgar stopped and watched his son cutting away
at the stick. "It!s the magic of tipping points, Paul.”
"You know,” Paul said, "surprisingly I don!t feel angry about
what!s happening to Earth. I keep telling myself Earth doesn!t care. It
just reacts to circumstances, obeying the laws of the universe.” He
stopped for a moment, but then was animated by another thought.
"The deserts were the final nail in the coffin, I think. For almost a
century people have been fighting to keep the deserts of the world at
bay. When the coastal cities had to be abandoned, that was bad
enough, but the deserts, who!d have thought, they!re like a cancer
growing from the inside. When the desert control efforts finally
collapsed in !39 you would have thought it would be clear to
everyone that the game was up and nothing we could do would make
a difference anymore.”

277

 Paul turned the stick and began cutting notches along its
length.
"You!d think. I guess it wasn!t clear enough,” Edgar said.
Paul Latimer stood up and watched the surrounding forest as
if waiting for a sign. Or a last goodbye. As he stood next to his
father, he felt as if he was wiping away his entire previous life. A
new phase was about to begin. Clean slate. He could live with that.
He!d done it before.
Standing in the shadow of the trees above him, Paul Latimer
was feeling the magnitude of the world events swirling outside his
secluded redoubt. He was mindful of the millions who had died
already and the billions more destined for an untimely death. He
thought about how he struggled to avenge himself against The World
Federation and how unpredictable was the storyline destiny writes
without help or direction. With all his struggling and scheming, all
he had to do was wait.
He couldn!t recollect who said that every organism or
institution has within it the seeds of its own destruction. How true, he
thought. The most successful system in the history of humanity is…
no, was capitalism, and the consumer society. More and more, bigger
and bigger—forever. With no consequences. Well, evidently not, he
thought.
The scientists were not believed. Latimer remembered a tale
he heard many years ago about an Indian rajah who became deathly
ill. The court physician was unsuccessful in treating him so the call
went out to all the land for doctors who might treat the king
successfully. One by one they came and each in turn was questioned
by the rajah!s wise men, first, on their belief in emptiness, karma,
reincarnation and the immortality of the soul. One by one they were
rejected. And thus the king died.
King capitalism is dead. Long live the king.
"Well, Dad, John Galt is waiting for us.”

278

 His father smiled at the allusion to the mysterious character in

Ayn Rand!s book Atlas Shrugged who, like them, created a haven for
the makers and shakers of the world.
"How is our colony doing? How did the trip to Gibraltar go?”
Edgar asked.
"I had to clear some titles and some other loose ends. While I
was there I also wanted to arrange for additional shipments of
materials to Brazil. There aren!t too many carriers these days, but I
got done what I wanted to. Nothing to concern yourself about.
They!ve already begun clearing the forest with enough space to
accommodate about two thousand people. There!s plenty of water,
both above ground and in a large, completely untouched aquifer. The
Network engineers completed all the designs for the electrical,
sanitation and water systems, and for the hydroponic farming
project. We!ll be bringing in some farming experts, agricultural
academics, to explore ground-based farming. Rainforest land in
Brazil is notoriously infertile, but we think we can change that over
time. We!re going to have storage facilities for agricultural
chemicals, starter plants and a wide variety of seeds to last us at least
five years, enough time for the colony to become self-sufficient. Nut
and fruit trees have been planted. A design for a very extensive
hydroponics facility is also nearly completed. We!ll have a pretty big
area set up for orchards. Prefabricated sections for the housing and
hospital construction are being flown in and assembled as we speak.
Provision is being made for a school and a library, a file storage
depository, really.”
"When do you think it will be ready for occupancy?” Edgar
asked.
"Ready but not complete—probably in less than two months.
We!ll stay here until we get the word that everything is complete. It!ll

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 just be easier to deal from the outside with unexpected issues. Then
we!ll close shop here and disappear off the grid, forever.”
"Who would have thought,” Edgar said, "that The Network
would be the launch pad for our survival colony.” Edgar Latimer
took a cigar from his shirt pocket and took his time lighting it. After
a few puffs to make sure it was well lit, he asked, "How are the
colonists being chosen?”
"I!m still working on that. Ayn Rand was quite the good old
girl. She practically gave a blueprint for our little life raft. And it!s
strictly invitation only. We need to consider loyalty to The Network
and the need for women, young people, a mix of skills and genes and
security—a sustainable population. We!re looking to maintain a
balance of deaths and births so the population stays at about two
thousand.”
Edgar Latimer became quiet. So much to think about. Then
with a shake of his head he seemed to renew himself for further
discussion.
"Paul, I!ve had some of my senior IT guys developing a data
base for all the information and data we might need to maintain a
self-sustaining agrarian society. They!re also compiling an analysis
of every known utopian and communal experiment to see what
worked and what didn!t and why. When it comes to the economic
system and governance of the colony, I!d like to have some
suggestions to propose to the community. That will be ready in about
a week. Every colonist as they are chosen and agree to come will
receive a copy of the analysis to read and consider.”
Edgar looked at his son contentedly puffing on the cigar he
had given him and the then asked, "How will I get the documents to
the colonists? We have to be careful until they are actually there.
Who will distribute them?”

280

 "Don!t worry about that, Dad. Just let me know when they!re
ready and I!ll take care of it. Can you get me hard copies of the data
dump as well?”
"Whew. That!s going to be a lot of pages. It might fill a
room.”
"I think it!s best to have hard copy as well. Just in case our
electricity resources don!t work out as planned or computer parts
become unavailable. Whatever. Anything can happen. Dad, we need
hard copy as well.”
"Impossible. We can make multiple digital copies of the data
files, but to print it all out, Paul, no way.” Edgar said.
Paul became thoughtful, but did not continue pressing his
father on this issue.
"Paul, let!s head back to the cabin. Now that we know we!ll be
going to Brazil, we need to think about what to do with the other
properties we own. We!ll have to barter them to other colony seekers.
We need to decide how to approach this. I think The Network will be
the best avenue for reaching out to divest ourselves of excess real
estate. What do you think?”
"Let!s go to the cabin and look at the other properties and I
can get people working on prospects. We need to think about keeping
at least one, perhaps two properties as fallbacks in case the climate
changes in ways we can!t accommodate where we!ll be in Brazil.”
Brazil at first had been an unlikely choice. The rising heat
was expected to hit the rain forest hard with a dramatic loss of
species through extinction. However, Edgar and Paul decided that
the plants and animals that would be lost were of no concern to life
in their survival colony. The trees would survive and that!s all they
really needed. It was the canopy of the trees left within the
community and the surrounding forest that would protect them from
the likely regional temperature increase. That it might not was a

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 small risk, but isolation was a higher priority and the Brazilian
location best satisfied this need.
"Brazil!s big cities are doomed,” Paul said, "but the
indigenous population is well equipped to survive in a primitive,
minimalist culture. The rest will succumb to fighting over interior
population centers. Brasilia will be doomed by an unsustainable
influx of people from the coast.”
#"Security is the big concern for our colony,” Paul continued.
"Really, for every colony. Ours is sufficiently remote, I think, to keep
us safe from intruders. It!s unlikely even indigenous tribes will
stumble on us, but you never know. Anyway, we!ll need to be
prepared in case they do.”
The two men walked slowly and silently back to the entrance
to the cabin. They realized their remaining time on the island would
be filled with discussions and planning, but that once done there
would be no reason ever to come back. Paul was already feeling
nostalgic about the loss of Mount Aratron. It had served him very
well and from the time he fled America, it was the only place on
Earth he had considered home.

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 20

The members of the Deep Labyrinth would by now have

protected themselves. The Network had uncovered many locations
where other secret colonies were in the planning stage or already
under construction. Their populations would survive.
The super rich and powerful, business people with great
wealth, much like he and his father, could and would take care of
themselves. Their colonies too, isolated though they are from public
view and knowledge, were nonetheless known to The Network.
Likewise, political leaders were not going to be trapped by their
public rhetoric of hope. They, too, secretly were in various stages of
creating their escape colonies. In fact, anyone with the resources
living below 35°N latitude was now searching to acquire the few
remaining places on Earth where sustainable communal life could be
established.
Even before the first major coastal city was abandoned, the
concept of "lifeboat colonies” was being floated among climate
scientists who could project the future and were horrified by the lack
of action commensurate to the threat. When there was a response to
their warnings, it had always been either rhetorical, symbolic or
when sincere, still woefully short of what was needed for survival.
Climate change was, simply put, a different kind of challenge.
Even though it was predictable, it was always in the future, at least
for Americans. And then, when bad things began to happen, it was at
first gradual. A bad harvest here, flooding there. Novelty photos of
an ice-free Arctic Ocean that shippers and oil explorers seemingly
turned into something good. It was not until a major hurricane
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 inundated New Orleans and forced its evacuation that things began
finally to seem undeniably dire. When the storm passed, this time the
water remained and the city was abandoned. Forever.
Americans typically don!t pay much attention, except briefly,
to things that happen elsewhere in the world. Finally, they started
paying attention when more American cities were abandoned to the
ocean. Then the arguments grew louder about the meaning of it all
and about what to do. And who to blame. Mostly, about who to
blame.
The concept of "lifeboat colonies” became a more openly
discussed possibility as more coastal cities were abandoned. But the
concept of such colonies seemed to most people impractical and
more like science fiction than science fact. The result was once again
more talk than action, more acrimony than agreement.
Later, by the mid $30s, when the idea of lifeboat colonies
became a suddenly serious consideration in the public arena of
proliferating arguments, the politics of priorities doomed them to
failure. The challenge of who gets to be saved and who gets to be left
behind raised so many acrimonious debates that the whole idea was
dropped, condemned as "inhumane and elitist.” But it was dropped
only at the official and visible public policy level of virtually every
nation on Earth. It did not stop the clandestine attraction to the idea,
especially when attached to the word "survival.” For people or
organizations with the resources to fund lifeboat colonies, they did
what they wanted without the distraction of open debate.
They would do what they would do because they could.
When Antarctica showed signs of destabilizing things moved more
deliberately and with focus.
As disaster followed disaster, even governments began
clandestine purchases of large tracts of arable or potentially arable
land worldwide. These tracts of land were seen publicly simply as
passive investments, as insurance policies, just in case, to be used
only if necessary. But it was not passive.

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 What governments can do without arousing suspicion is form

committees to study things. Under the shield of these legitimate
government actions, detailed plans were drawn up for every aspect
of creating lifeboat colonies, a name that after the US drought of
2032 to 2037 finally stuck in the collective consciousness.

***

Edgar Latimer stepped out of the helicopter and lowering his

head moved quickly beyond the range of the still whirling blades. So
that no trip would go to waste, several men unloaded crates of
hospital supplies that he brought with him to the colony. Edgar stood
aside and watched the men as they unloaded the helicopter onto the
nearby carts powered by thermoelectric batteries.
It never ceased to amaze Edgar what vast amounts of money
could do, even in these times of mega-inflation. With forethought,
Latimer Enterprises had purchased and stored much of what they
needed for their Brazilian colony beginning five years earlier. They
spent their wealth as fast as they could turn it into materiel, not
wanting to risk accumulating a big pile of what surely would become
worthless currency eventually.
Edgar looked around and was satisfied with the progress at
the colony. The basic shell of the colony was virtually complete. The
outer walls and supporting structures of almost every building
planned for the colony were complete. As he drove an electric cart
around what was really a small town in the making, he was content
that things had progressed far enough for him now to stay if he so
chose.
He was particularly interested in the housing, cooking and
sanitary arrangements. Several Israeli engineers had been drafted to
design these and they were minimal and functional as were the same
requirements for Israeli kibbutzim. Here the progress had been
exceptional.

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 He was not sure this trip would be permanent or whether

other trips would be necessary before he settled in permanently. But
he was pleased with what he saw.
Edgar Latimer!s communicator vibrated. Paul was calling.
"So, what do you think, Dad?”
"Looks good. Housing is really far along. Everything seems to
have a good start. Well, except for security. There!s nothing that I can
see addressing that issue.”
"I know. It!s a problem. We haven!t really figured out what
kinds of threats we plan to deal with so we haven!t a plan yet for
dealing with them.”
"Who!s working on that?” Edgar asked.
"We haven!t figured that out yet, either.”
Edgar was not pleased. "Paul, that!s a pretty big hole in the
planning, don!t you think?”
"Not to worry. Weapons we can always get. It!s just a fact of
life. One of the tragedies, really. Anyway, keep the faith. I am on my
way to offer a space in the colony to one of the best military planners
in South Africa. We!ll depend heavily on his advice if he agrees to
come with us. Not married, no kids. I don!t think it will be a
problem. But actually, there is another challenge for us that turned
up. Some of my other planners say two thousand colonists is not
enough, not a critical mass for long term survival. We need to raise
the population to three thousand in order to have a sustainable
population with all the required skills.”
"Is that a problem?” Edgar asked.
"Not really. We just have to expand the housing and cooking
and sanitary systems. I know that sounds like a lot, but everything is
more or less modular so increasing capacity shouldn!t be a problem.
It just means we get to expand our invitation list. And buy more
stuff.”
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 "Good. Now, Paul, what can I do to help?”

"Well, we!ll need additional modules because of the increased
population load. My team is preparing the lists for what we need. I
could use your help in arranging for the purchases and shipments.”
"Okay. That settles it. I wasn!t sure if I was here for good or
not. So the answer is $not.’”
"Dad, I need you not only to order the stuff, but to get it to
Brazil fast, like yesterday. Can you do it?”
"You!re kidding, right? Or have you forgotten who taught you
everything you know? Send me the lists and I!m on my way. No,
check that. It will have to wait until morning. Send me all the specs
before I leave starting with the housing modules. I want personally to
get things going and maybe hang around a bit at the vendors to
expedite things. I!ll call the vendors, but fly to them to make sure
they have a plan to meet our housing, production and shipping
schedule. Sanitary systems next and finally the kitchen modules. I
will hound them.”
"Okay, Dad. Work your magic. While you!re there, I mean at
the colony, talk with Svenson about the need for additional
foundation space for the added modules. Have him contact Heinrich
for the requirements. He!s still at the German office, in Berlin I
mean.”
"Got it.”

***

Edgar Latimer walked into the construction manager!s office

to talk with Hugo Svenson. He was a tall, solidly built man of about
sixty years. Strangely, his eyes were of two different colors, which
sometimes served to distract when he was talking with strangers. He
had a slight Norwegian accent and long, straight, blond hair, a round
face and deep wrinkle laugh lines at the outer edges of his eyes,
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 indicative of a happy disposition. It was only his size that was

intimidating. And his history.
Edgar Latimer had hired Svenson years ago when his new
corporate headquarters was under construction after the company
made the move to Germany. The project was not going well, with
delays and overruns. Edgar had decided it was time for a visit to the
job site to see what was going on. But construction was not his
specialty and he decided to send a specialist. Hugo Svenson!s name
came up as someone who was highly regarded with serious
construction experience. He also was a former Special Forces officer
in the Norwegian military. Latimer hired him for this assignment and
sent him to assess the management of the headquarters construction
project.
The job site construction manager got wind of Svenson!s
visit, knew why he was coming and didn!t like it one bit. As soon as
Svenson entered the construction manager!s office he was met with a
barrage of threats and insults that he was a corporate spy, a stooge
for management and only there to rat him out. It was obvious the
manager was a belligerent drunk. And he was large as well, about
Svenson!s size. Svenson stood his ground, waited until the tirade was
over and then said, "I!ve been standing here for two minutes listening
to your bullshit and you still haven!t offered me a drink.”
This unexpected reaction clearly caught the manager by
surprise. It stopped him short for a long enough moment for the
atmosphere to change. The manager turned, pulled out another glass
from a cupboard beside his desk and poured Svenson a drink, which
Svenson downed in one slug. He held his glass out for another shot,
which the manager quickly obliged. After that the two men had a
frank and productive discussion.
Later, when Svenson had a chance to report the details of this
encounter to Edgar Latimer, Latimer asked him what he would have
done if the construction manager had attacked him. Svenson simply
said, "Mr. Latimer, I!ve been trained to kill too well. If there was
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 going to be a body on the floor that day, it wasn!t going to be mine.”

Svenson returned to the site to assist the construction manager and
the project finished on schedule and within budget.
After that assignment, Svenson gained a permanent job with
Latimer Enterprises.
As Edgar Latimer entered the colony construction office,
Svenson warmly greeted him at the door. Latimer quickly relayed his
son!s message to Svenson regarding additional foundations and
promised to follow it up soon with the specifications for all the
additional modules.

***

"What the fuck,” Paul Latimer exclaimed to Svenson when he

learned of the delays in shipping additional housing modules and
energy storage packs for the increased power requirements of their
Brazilian colony. The windmills could generate more than enough
energy, but the existing number of storage packs would get
overloaded and burn out.
"Everything is getting harder and harder to find,” his father
told him on the phone. "I!ll keep working it, but we may need an
alternative storage approach besides batteries. I have a group of
engineers working on a mechanical storage system. Get massive
wheels turning and store the energy as kinetic energy. We can
recover it later by using the spinning wheels to run a generator. It!s
an old idea. Or maybe just old fashion lead acid storage batteries.
Anyway, the guys are on it. We may need to find a generator
somewhere from an old decommissioned power station. I!ve got a
lead on that already and I think it will work.”
"What about the other modules?” Paul Latimer asked his
father.

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 "They!re going to be less of a problem. I!m just going to need

to use some different vendors here and there. The stuff won!t exactly
visually match the other units already on site but this isn!t a beauty
contest, right? It!ll work and the whole shit storm should just delay
us maybe a week. No more.”
"Okay, Dad, that sounds better than the story I first heard.”
"When is our security consultant, Colonel Zhokwana, coming
from South Africa and is he prepared to stay permanently?” the elder
Latimer asked.
"He!s arriving in two days and no, I haven!t offered him a spot
yet. First things first. He!ll meet with me here to discuss security
needs. Then, he says, he will have to personally oversee the purchase
of the necessary hardware. He says a lot of crap is being falsely
labeled and peddled for high prices. He says he can!t trust agents to
handle this. I like this guy.”
"What if you offer him a spot and he decides not accept? Does
that compromise our security?”
"No, Dad. Not to worry. All he will know is that we are
somewhere in the Brazilian rain forest. Not exactly a great lead.”
"Some of The Network team have been arguing that we
should have done security first, but I agree with you, Paul, that it
makes more sense to do it last, so we know exactly what we!re
protecting and the likely adversaries at the time of completion of the
colony. Plus the external environment, politically and militarily I
mean, seems to change every day.”
Paul Latimer looked around his location in the colony and
satisfied himself that he was quite alone.
"You know, we have to get busy on the $invitations.!# The
people already here have been offered population slots. All agreed.
Because we wanted only unmarried workers and supervisors the
problem of family has been minimized. Still, there are twelve among
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 the colony work force that have family and we!ll invite them as well.
Just not yet. You and I will need to get going on the list for the rest of
the colony population.”
"When I get back, I promise,” Edgar Latimer said.
Paul Latimer put his communicator back in his pocket. He
was planning to stay at the colony, but suddenly had second
thoughts. He called his father back.
"Dad, what about my family?”
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone
connection.
"Paul, we!ve talked about this before. That part of our lives is
dead. There!s only your wife and son left. All these years they!ve
believed you to be dead. We did this for their own safety. So they
expect nothing from you. They are the wife and child of a former
Vice President of the United States. They have their own support
system. The Network!s penetration into their lives has been
superficial at best because there was no need, but what we do know
is they will not be abandoned. You know all this.”
"Dad, I miss them. My focus all these years was the downfall
of The World Federation. It!s done and now I have time at last to feel
that loss. I can!t help it. I know they will probably be taken care of,
will probably end up somewhere in the Northern US or Southern
Canada. I know. I know. But I miss them.”
"What is it you want to see happen, son?”
"I want to let them know I am alive. I want them to have the
choice to be here with us. I want them to have that choice.”
"Paul, I don!t think that!s possible or even a good idea. The
US is a black hole for us. You know that. And if we get word to them
but can!t get them out, then what. We!ve just made them suffer again.
They dealt with losing you once. Do you want them to repeat that?”
Paul was silent. He knew his father was right. But still…

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 Finally, Paul said, "I!ll call you in two days when Colonel
Zhokwana arrives.” He closed the connection and turned to return to
the construction office.

***

The Russian VTOL flew low and fast. With the extra fuel
tanks the pilot was able to bring Paul Latimer in easily under
Canadian radar from its base on Wrangel Island in the Chukchi Sea
just off the coast of the Russian mainland. Its destination was a drop
off point a few kilometers outside of Meadow Lake, Canada.
Meadow Lake, with a population of about six thousand, was buried
in northern Saskatchewan and sufficiently remote and sparsely
populated that an arrival there, Paul Latimer felt, could be
accomplished unnoticed.
The pilot landed in a reed-covered clearing, stayed long
enough for Latimer with his backpack to get well away from the jet
and took off vertically. Once achieving a height of about fifty meters
it changed to horizontal flight and soon was gone, flying swiftly and
low back to its base.
Latimer took a GPS compass from his pocket to get his
bearings and began walking to the nearby town of Meadow Lake. It
was a cold morning and he established a brisk pace. By the time he
reached the town, he was hungry. He checked in first at the Super 8
motel on Route 4 and then walked across the street to the Meadow
Lake Mall. He had spotted a McDonald!s sign and decided that was
just what he wanted on his way back to his home country from
which he had been absent for so long.
After breakfast he walked to the car rental office just outside
the mall also on Route 4 and rented a compact car. He made sure it
was fully charged since his destination was Val Marie, the Canadian
town near the border with the US. It was about six hundred
kilometers straight south. The car should just make it with a full
starting charge. The range was advertised as a bit over six hundred

292

 kilometers and with the usual engineering cushion, he should be fine,
he decided.
Val Marie was about another twenty-five kilometers to the
port of entry to the United States. He would recharge in Val Marie
and leave the next day. His papers were clean and he was confident
of a problem-free crossing. Once in the US he would make his way
to Samantha and Trent.
He still had not worked out exactly how he was going to do
this. To appear out of the blue after all these years with them
believing he was dead would be quite a shock. How would he
explain the big lie that he was dead? In he past, he had to keep the
truth from her for her own safety. He had no choice. But would she
understand that? Would she understand that when he left he was a
hunted man, a target for assassination? Anyone knowing his
whereabouts would not only be a threat to him but in grave danger
themselves.
However, time had changed the conditions and the threats. He
was convinced he now could safely reveal himself to his wife.
His father, who had helped maintain the deception of his
death, for everyone!s sake, would help in the walking back of the
story. But how?
I know I have to reemerge in stages, first creating an
unexpected suggestion that new information had been discovered
about me. Dad will message her.. Some exciting news he didn!t want
to discuss over the phone. That he would contact her again as soon
as he could. She won't know what it was about but a seed of
suspicion will have been planted. As I get closer, Dad will message
again explaining everything. And then I!ll just show up at some
designated place. I can pay some kid in town to deliver the location
to her. That could be a problem. It can!t be at the house, not for the
first time. Too obvious. While I!m no longer an active threat to The
World Federation, I!m still a threat in theory. For my own safety, the
house is out, at least for the first meeting.. I!ll think of something on
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 my way to Coeur d!Alene. Meanwhile, Dad will send the first

message today. We!re all planning for the $end of days!# and I just
want Samantha to know the truth and know her options.
I!ll be in Coeur d!Alene in three days.
Samantha Latimer saw this note on her doorstep in the
morning when she was about to walk the dog:
Sammy, meet me at Tubbs Hill. Enter alone at the South Third
Street entrance. I!ll meet you at interpretive Station 24 at 3 o!clock
today. For my own safety, tell no one.
Love,
P

***

Latimer saw her coming. As she got closer, he stepped out

from behind a tree, directly in her path.
"Sammy,” he said softly.
His wife stopped abruptly. Her long red hair rippled as her
head shook rapidly from side to side, revealing her struggle between
supposition and belief. She was more than twenty meters from her
husband and she looked dazed and uncertain about what to do next.
Latimer began to walk slowly towards her. He got only a few meters
when she suddenly held up her hand, stopping him. He lips began to
move but no words came out.
She looked at him intensely, studying him, trying to confirm
intellectually what she was seeing, not trusting herself.
"Paul.”
It wasn't a question. It was more like an affirmation.
"Sammy,” Latimer responded. He slowly walked toward her.
He stopped when he was about a meter away. He didn!t want to seem
too aggressive, not knowing how she would react. He held out his
hand to her.
"Let!s walk up the old fire road,” he said.
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 Silently, she took his hand and they turned onto the road to
the summit. They walked together without speaking until Latimer
saw a wooden bench. He moved to it and gestured for Samantha to
sit down and then he sat down beside her.
Looking uncertain, he took both her hands in his.
"I don!t know where to start. It!s all so complicated.”
Samantha released her hands from his grip and folded them in
her lap.
"When I vanished, when Slaider was taking over the country,
when he shut down Congress, when he was creating crises just so he
could be seen solving them or to get more power, when he was
murdering people, well…you didn!t really know about that. But I
did. I tried warning people but it was no use. It was impossible to
fight against the powers given to Slaider by the state of emergency
decree. When the Air Force rebellion failed, I had no choice but to
escape. I knew the truth and they would have killed me to silence me
for good.”
#"But why didn!t you let me know you were alive?” Samantha
asked. "Even if it was too dangerous to tell me where you were. Why
did your dad continue this deception? I would have understood.”
"Yes, and you would have been seen as relieved instead of
bereaved. And they would know. They would know just by your
natural reaction and the hunt for me or my body would have
intensified. You have no idea how dangerous those people were. If
they thought you knew where I was they would not be above
torturing you to get the information. And then killing you. The killed
President Drummond. Killing you and Trent would just be all in a
day!s work to them. There was no other way, Sam. I had to vanish.”
"I guess I played my part well then. I was devastated and it
showed. We were all devastated. We were told you were a traitor,
that you had fled to Europe and then that you were dead.” She
looked at him sharply in the eye. "Do you understand? Of course, at

295

 first we didn!t believe any of it. It just didn!t make sense that you
could be a traitor. What could you possibly have wanted that you
didn!t already have that would drive you to betray your country? But
important people kept repeating these stories to us over and over
until… I don!t know. We came to believe what they were telling us.”
"Sitting here beside you, I!m living proof they were lying, but
not just about my death. About everything.” He took here hands
again. "Do you believe me?”
She reached up to feel his face and as she did so she gently
pulled him toward her. Slowly, slowly she brought her lips to his and
slowly kissed him gently. Latimer kissed her back, but was careful to
put no more into the kiss than what she brought. After several
seconds he backed away slightly. Samantha moved close to him
again and rested her head on his chest.
"It!s been so hard with you gone,” she said in almost a whisper.
"I know, Sam, and I!m so sorry. I thought of you and Trent
every single day.” He stroked her long hair, her head still on his
chest.
"We kept the secret from you well, Dad and I, that I was not
dead. They weren!t sure for a long time, Lal and Llewelyn. Now Lal
knows I!m alive. And while I!m not a top priority anymore for him,
he would still like to get his hands on me for what I!ve done since I
left America and for other reasons of state. Oh, I!m sure General
Slaider, somewhere in his crazy mix of rationales, believed he was
doing good, but for the most part it was about power, the power to
affect change. But it was change they alone decided on, change they
believed was worth any cost. And the cost was very high. I swore
revenge on them, that I would destroy them. Now it ll seems so
pointless.”
Samantha put a finger to Latimer!s lips to stop him from
speaking. "Paul, why are you here, now?”
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 Latimer got up and began slowly pacing in front of Samantha.

Then he stopped and looking down at her and simply said, "I!ve
come to get you. And Trent. To take you to safety.”
"But we are safe. Your dad has been taking care of us
financially and as you arranged, no one is haunting us about you. Of
course, early on there were questions and all but that!s been over for
years. Why now?”
"Sam, you!re not safe. You only think you are. Here in Coeur
d!Alene it feels safe because it!s so far from where the immediate
dangers lie, from where climate change is real and happening and
where there is incredible death and destruction. But it won!t stay safe
here.”
"But, Paul, Coeur d!Alene is one of those places that will be
better off with global warming. We!ll be even safer when the rising
heat reaches us.”
"No! I only seems that way. Think about it, Sammy. All those
people in the south, dying of thirst and hunger just need to look north
to happy Coeur d!Alene and they!ll say $I want some of that.!# And
before you know it there will be a wave of migrants and then a flood
of desperate people wanting what you have. And there will be open
war either to capture or to protect Coeur d!Alene. And not just here,
but everywhere that global warming will have made things better. Or
where life could at least be sustainable. People are running out of
places to escape to. You may think you!re safe, Sam. You may think
you are, but you!re not safe here.”
Samantha sat staring at Latimer. Saying nothing. Not
knowing what to say. She sighed and turned her head away, her
hands folded in her lap. Latimer waited patiently. When she was
ready to speak, she turned her head once more to face him.
"Paulie,” she said quietly, "I know I should be overjoyed to
see you, to see you alive, to be with you again.” She pulled a slip
297

 paper from a pocket in her skirt. "When I got this letter from your
dad I knew it was about you. Paulie, old wounds I thought were
healed began to bleed again. After you disappeared, for the first few
years I, we, mourned for you, but in a state of utter confusion,…with
the traitor thing and all. But we mourned, truly we did. And then for
a couple of years I didn!t care whether you were a traitor or not. I just
missed you. It wasn!t mourning any more. It was worse. It was like
there was a hole in my soul, in my heart, that just was growing
bigger every day until I felt it was going to swallow me up. I really
felt, Paulie, that I was disappearing into a kind of,…I don!t know, a
kind of nonliving life. Not really present, but present because one
can!t help being present. You know? The body keeps moving but the
light behind the eyes is gone. They become the dead eyes of,…of a
goldfish. Of a picture of goldfish.”
Samantha gave a short laugh at her description of the most
dead living thing she could imagine.
"And then,” she continued, "I just pulled myself up and went
on with life. First it was for Trent and then it was for me. I stopped
the angry $Why me?!# questioning. I realized there is no one!s life
where heartbreak hasn!t entered. There had been a time to weep and
then it was over. I rejoined life, Paulie, when I accepted your death.”
She looked up at him. "And now you—a confused memory—
appear and say, as if from your grave, you!ve come to save me. Us.
To take us away. Can you save me from death? How does that work,
my darling? Oh, Paulie…you!re at least five years too late. My life,
our lives are here and here we will die, however that may be. I!m not
afraid of death, Paulie, because I!ve died already once.”
Paul Latimer knelt in front of his wife, his hands resting on
her thighs. He felt her body through the dress she wore. She looked
into his eyes. She placed her hands on either side of his face. She
held his face in a gentle grip.

298

 "We have a life here,” she continued. "You haven!t been a part
of it for more than ten years. What difference does it make where we
die?”
Latimer gently moved her hands away and stood up and
standing before her, looking down at her looking up at him,
expressionless, he didn!t know what to say. He looked around at the
beauty surrounding him, at the panoramic view of Coeur d!Alene
from where they were near the summit, at the clear blue sky streaked
here and there with icy clouds high in the atmosphere. He looked at
the woods and even down at the old wooden bench they were only
seconds ago sitting on with its multicolored patches of lichen. Life
was everywhere about them.
"Sam, I!m offering you a choice even if you don!t think you
want one. Just consider for a moment the descent into hell that is
coming. I can offer you safety and stability. And we!ll be family
again.”
Samantha shook her head slowly from side to side.
"Is there nothing I can say?” he asked.
"No, it!s too late,” she said with sad resignation.
Latimer sighed, recognizing the resolution in his wife!s voice.
Their past suddenly seemed like another life lived long ago by
someone else.
"What have we done?” he sobbed pulling Samantha to him.
"To the world, Sammy?” He hugged her fiercely. "To the world. It!s
all over.” His body shuddered, stricken with the certain knowledge of
what was to come, and the sorrow for what had already happened.
Latimer pulled himself up straight. "Sam, I have other
obligations. I can!t stay. I!m sorry.”
They walked back arm in arm in silence to the trailhead
where her car was parked. She opened the car door, turned and
kissed him.

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 "Goodbye, Paul,” she said and drove away.

***

It took Latimer six days to work his way undetected back to

Brazil and the colony.

300

 21

It was a beautiful late spring day. May in Denver, 2045.

Modest, comfortable temperature, clear blue sky broken here and
there with low, billowing, strikingly white clouds. Tree leaf buds
bursting along with an early bloom of Oleander adorning the center
dividers of many Denver boulevards. A perfect day.
The seat of national government, now occupied about five
hundred hectares of the Rocky Mountain Arsenal National Wildlife
Refuge, only eight miles from downtown Denver. The complex was
a picture of contrasts. Sprawling office buildings set in the midst of a
high range meadow with plentiful deer, coyotes, prairie dogs and
bison living and roaming freely. To the west of the government
complex was a dramatic view of the Denver skyline.
A former factory and development location for chemical
weapons, a massive cleanup effort after the Vietnam War eventually
made the land suitable as a wildlife refuge but not suitable for human
habitation. Then things changed and Washington DC was inundated
by the rising level of the ocean and nearby Chesapeake Bay. In the
2030s another cleanup effort allowed for the safe construction on and
occupation of those five hundred hectares.
One by one the buildings of a new federal district took shape.
Its name was Washington DNM, Washington District of New
Manhattan, named for the location of the first capital of the United
States and for the first President. Over a period of five years the
essential elements of federal activity were moved to DNM and by

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 2045 the only federal headquarters not relocated within the enclave
was the CIA Langley center in Fairfax County, Virginia.
The move proved to be beneficial in an unanticipated way. It
resulted in a great deal of shedding of the outdated, unused and
unneeded. Agencies disappeared along with a horde of government
employees. The size of the federal government, as reflected by its
payroll, was diminished by a full eighteen percent after the move.
However, the obligations of the federal government were not reduced
one jot due to the escalating burdens brought on by climate change.
And still, it was a perfect day in DNM. The spring of 2045 had
been $one for the record books,!# as the Denverites unanimously
proclaimed. Except for President Kendrick. He was having a bad
spring. The Denver Basin aquifer was nearing collapse from
excessive drawdowns. Replenishment was taking too long to match
the rate of water withdrawal and the only solution was to reduce the
population of Denver County. The federal government froze all new
development in the Denver Metropolitan Distric. Immigration to
Denver County had been stopped five years earlier and the
population was allowed steadily to decline. By 2045 the population
of Denver was sixty percent of its 2020 population.
The report on President Kendrick!s desk said the aquifer would
need significant replenishment by 2060 or the New Manhattan
District, not to mention Denver, would experience a serious water
deficit. When the decision to move the federal district to Denver was
made evidently no one projected the water conditions over a time
horizon greater than five years from the commencement of the
construction of the federal district. All Kendrick could do about this
now was pray for rain. He had been doing a lot of praying lately.
The president decided he needed some spiritual sustenance so
he abandoned his desk and went quietly to his rose garden. The
bushes were almost past their time, many of the flowers had dropped
their pedals and the rose hips were in full form. However, there was
enough beauty to justify his move outdoors.
Kendrick was exhausted. Over and over recently he had been
asking himself why he fought so hard to get this job. President of the
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 United States at a time when the very existence of a national entity

was falling into chaos and uncertainty. Worldwide, national borders
were becoming meaningless, obliterated by mass migrations of food
refugees desperate to find safe harbor in a world of rapidly shrinking
sanctuary. American military presence outside of the borders of the
continental US was virtually gone. A substantial portion of the
military personnel returned from overseas posts were relocated along
the northern and southern borders. These borders were now
completely militarized. Likewise, the US fleet was largely pulled
back, relocated to protect and patrol the nation!s coasts.
The air ports of entry into the United States for travelers had
been reduced to El Paso, Houston and Tallahassee on the southern
border; San Diego and San Francisco on the west coast; and
Savannah, Richmond and Providence on the east coast. Naval ports
of entry had been continually in a state of flux due to the no longer
predictable rise in sea level. Random collapses into the sea by
portions of the Antarctic and Greenland ice fields produced sudden
surges in sea level rise that made permanent naval port construction
almost impossible. Worldwide, shipping port facilities had become
almost exclusively modular, moveable and temporary.
Kendrick could not remember a day that did not contain reports
of starving populations, gun battles for local control of arable land or
potable water, or both. The world was a total freaking mess, he
thought, as he sat alone in his rose garden. He was told over and over
as a younger man that he was part of the last lucky generation, Well,
he thought, I guess I just missed it. It was his father!s generation.
Because this one is not just turning apocalyptic. It is the Apocalypse,
full blown.
Would it be his fate, he wondered, to preside over the demise of
the United States? Or at least the United States as it was understood
for almost two hundred and seventy years. The relentless escalation
of climate change impacts was sealing the destiny of everyone on
Earth and America was not to be spared, nor its neighbors, he
thought with a sigh.

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 The United States was now trapped in a massive food refugee

crisis of its own. Borders may be blocked and sealed, but within the
contiguous 50 states there was a migration that dwarfed that of the
dust bowl years of the twentieth century. As with everything else in
the twenty first century, it was more and bigger and more widespread
and,…what? More intractable.
Kendrick sat on a bench facing the fountain at the center of the
garden. Beyond was the misty phantom of the Denver skyline. He
took a cigar from his inside jacket pocket and his lighter from the
outside jacket pocket. A good cigar, well, any cigar, he thought, was
getting more and more difficult to find these days when inedible
agricultural products were virtually nonexistent, farmland now being
reserve exclusively for food production.
Rank has its privileges and someone on his staff took care a few
years earlier to create a small stash for him, enough to last the rest of
his life. It was one of the few vices Kendrick indulged in and he was
careful not to make a show of it. In the solitary peace of the Rose
Garden he was already feeling its healing calm as he allowed himself
a smile and an inner directive to throw caution to the wind as he lit
up.
With his first exhale, he leaned back comfortably on the bench
and let his thoughts wander. At the water!s edge, on the north side of
the fountain there was a stand of pickerelweed, still in bloom with
lances of tiny purple flowers. It reminded him of his youth in
Connecticut and his hikes in the forests and his delight in the ponds
he found there, surrounded often by pickerelweed and cattails. How
many tranquil hours he spent in the New England forests!
He tapped the ash off his cigar, looked at the lit end for several
seconds for no other reason than that there was no reason not to, and
resumed his smoking. Kendrick hoped to spend an appropriate
amount of time enjoying his cigar, worthy of the tobacco used to
make it. This and all his cigars were from Cuba, where the best cigar
tobacco in the world was grown until it was outlawed on the island
nation in 2031. As with everywhere else, prime farmland could no
longer be used for inedible crops.
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 When it was announced that 2031 would be the last year for a
Cuban tobacco harvest, Cuban cigars once again disappeared from
store shelves as whole inventories were bought either for scalping or
hoarding.
Kendrick was not quite halfway through with his cigar when he
heard hurried footsteps behind him. He turned to the sound and saw
his Senior Special Assistant running toward him. This can!t be good,
he thought. Running is never good.
Out of breath by the time she reached him, she managed to say,
"Mr. President, your presence is required immediately in the
Situation Room.”
"Of course it is,” he said getting up. He looked at his cigar and
the lost opportunity it represented. He tapped the end against the
back of the bench and put the stub in his outside jacket pocket. Too
good to waste, he thought, as he walked slowly back to the Executive
Block.

***

"A reconnaissance plane on routine patrol along the northern

border with Canada strayed into Canadian territory, was engaged and
shot down. That!s all we know at the moment, Mr. President.” The
Chairman of the Joint Chiefs began to shuffle papers as if in a vain
search for more to say.
Kendrick looked at him with an astonished expression.
"What do you mean, that!s all you know?” he asked.
"Mr. President, if I may, Sir?” interjected the Secretary of State.
"We!re trying to contact the Canadian Prime Minister as we speak.
We haven!t heard from anyone in the Canadian government about
this. It!s almost as if they!re unaware that something happened. Of
course we!re using every channel of communication to find any
responsible person in Canada who can speak to this.”
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 "The pilot?” the President asked.

"Dead, sir. I regret to say.”
The President turned to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.
"General, now tell me what the fuck really happened.”
The general immediately put on a quizzical expression. "Sir?”
"General, we!re not talking about Cambodia. We!re talking
about Canada. We don!t stray over the border into Canada. Did one
of your Air Force buddies get the bright idea for a closer look at the
Canadian side? Did the satellites show any unusual activity? What?
What was it that got this pilot killed?”
The general remained silent.
"I want that pilot!s commanding officer and his commanding
officer!s commanding officer here by six o!clock today. Then I want
to meet with them and with you by six thirty. In my office. Go! Now!
Make this happen.”
Turning to the Secretary of State, he said, "You realize, of
course, what this means.”
"Yes, Sir.”
"The Canadians aren!t stupid. I was wondering how long we
could keep this up. With almost two million active military personnel
in the US thanks to our overseas base closings the Canadians weren!t
going to buy the story forever that it was just to safeguard the
borders.” Kendrick pulled out the cigar stub from his pocket and lit
it.
"It!s obvious the Canadians are getting very nervous about our
intentions,” the Secretary of State said.
"I was hoping that deploying roughly equal strengths to each
border would buy us more time to think this all out. But obviously
Canada is fortifying their border with us. And this thing with the
plane. Some fool in the Air Force decided to let his pilot do a little
unauthorized snooping and it gave Canada a perfect opportunity for a
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 shot across our bow.” Kendrick waved away a small cloud of cigar
smoke that had gathered near his face. "I don!t like to be on the
receiving end of a warning shot,” the President continued. "This
straying over the border, it!s a deeper problem than a screw up. It
was an intentional breach of command discipline.”
The President tapped the communication screen built into the
top right corner of his desk. A female voice said, "Yes, Mr.
President?”
Kendrick thought for a moment before answering his secretary.
"Never mind,” he said. He turned to his Secretary of State. "This
needs to be handled very carefully and very discreetly,” he said. "We
may be on the cusp of something much worse happening here. Our
cover story of border security, well, obviously Canada isn!t buying
that any more. And now, are we starting to lose control of our
military?”
Having nothing to add or contradict, the Secretary of State
remained silent. Silence, anyway, always implies agreement,
Kendrick thought.
The President continued. "I want you to fly to Ottawa tonight,
ostensibly to discuss the plane incident. When you meet with Prime
Minister Boullet let him know that for the stability of both our
nations we must conclude an agreement within the next six months
regarding the movement from the US into Canada of a large
population of farmers and farm hands along with the equipment
needed to support their work. Find out what Canada would want in
return for allowing this migration to occur. Make it clear that time is
running out. No threats. Just say that the President has given you a
six-month window to conclude negotiations or he will explore other
options. Say you don!t as yet know what those options are, that I
haven!t shared them with you since my preferred result would be a
concluded agreement with Canada. I want it vague but ominous.
Understood?”

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 "Yes, sir. Just for my own clarity, what are those other options?”
"Clearly the Canadians already think the other option is war and
US occupation of Canada. But I will be damned if I go down in
history as the president who made war on our neighbor to the north.
So just conclude a successful agreement with Canada and we won!t
have to think about war.”
The President got up from behind his desk and moving to its
front sat casually on the edge. He removed his jacket, placing it
across his desk over several piles of reports and documents ready for
signing. He put his glasses down on the desk as well and rubbed his
face slowly but firmly with both hands before addressing the
Secretary of State again.
"Tom Spinichek, in the Agriculture Department, forecasts the
worst US harvest since the dust bowl drought of the 2030s. Latin
America is a bleeding disaster. In less than five years we!ll have to
abandon the southern half of our country. Hearing this in normal
times anyone would have a right to question my sanity. But these are
not normal times. The US so far has been spared the millions of
deaths elsewhere by starvation or water deprivation, but not for
much longer. We will have millions of dead and dying. If we don!t
get an agreement with Canada to use their newly arable farmland,
well, I don!t even want to think about the further breakdown of law
and order that will result. You must get an agreement.”
President Kendrick walked to where the Secretary of State was
seated. The Secretary rose immediately as the President approached.
The President rested his left hand on the Secretary!s shoulder and
taking the Secretary!s right hand in his he shook it firmly and
vigorously. "I will not save our people by killing Canadians. Go.
Now. Make this agreement happen and God bless you with success.”

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 The Secretary of State released the President!s hand and said

only, "Yes, Mr. President and thank you, sir.” He turned and left the
President!s office.

***

(AP) August 15, 2045 — A large section of land-based ice from

the Greenland Ice Field broke free of its bond to the ground below it
and slid into the Denmark Strait. Professor Wilhelm Struder of
Switzerland!s Bern University explained that the rapid melting of
Greenland!s ice has sent continual streams of water throughout the
nation!s ice field. This water, Dr. Struder explained, has over the
decades been lubricating the underside of the ice field and finally
created enough instability to allow a large section to slide into the
sea. Ocean levels worldwide almost immediately rose an average of
two more meters, further inundating coastal regions. Ports around
the world not already abandoned were dealt another crushing blow.
Transport of materials via ships has come almost to a standstill
resulting in dangerous shortages almost everywhere.
World Federation President Ranjit Lal stressed today that time
had run out. He claimed that the only thing that could save us from
catastrophic environmental collapse was a worldwide mobilization
of resources and an unwavering commitment to halt the continued
heating of Earth. He said that the effort needed would have to be on
the scale of a world war, where failure is not an option.
Elsewhere, at the California Institute of Technology, plans for
the so-called "hail Mary” option using geoengineering methods to
reduce the amount of sunlight striking Earth!s atmosphere were said
to be moving forward despite widespread fears among climate
scientists that this strategy might actually make things worse.
Scientists at Caltech, however, seem to agree with President Lal!s
assertion that time is up and there is no choice but to try desperate
measures.
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 Climatologists at the Berkeley campus of the University of

California fear that continued introduction of freshwater flowing into
the Atlantic Ocean from the Greenland ice field melt could stop the
Gulf Stream, the world!s second largest ocean current after the
Antarctic Circumpolar Current. Ironically, deprived of the warming
impact of the Gulf Stream, this could result in a dramatic decrease in
the average temperatures of all western coastlines of Ireland, Great
Britain, Europe and Africa,
Shortages in essential goods have spread across the interior
territories of North America due to the influx of refugees from the
coastal cities. Gun battles have erupted between local communities
and the migrating refugees all throughout northern United States
and southern Canada.
And this just in. It has been learned today that President
Kendrick has ordered the imposition of nationwide martial law in
response to widespread looting and rioting, joining a growing list of
other countries having already taken similar action for the same
reasons.
Over the last several weeks the values of key currencies have
collapsed and money has virtually disappeared as investors rush to
precious metals and diamonds as so-called "safe harbor”
investments. Today trading has been stopped in all major stock
exchanges pending a return to order in the financial markets.
Dr. Johann Maartensen, president of The World Bank, has
stated that the worldwide retreat of business activity will likely last
for some time. Many locations around the world, he said, are
resorting to a barter system for conducting business.
Francine Hoverman, Chairman of The World Federation
Council on Refugees, claims that dislocations due to rising sea level
have reached at least two billion people worldwide and a growing
toll in lives lost approaching five hundred million. Ms Hoverman
added that if the monsoon season fails to materialize again,
repeating the lack of rain last year, the number of deaths due to
starvation and dehydration can be expected to rise once again,
perhaps doubling the current number.
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 ***

President Kendrick was not a religious man, but for quite a long
time he thought he would welcome comfort from any source. Earth!s
human population from recent estimates had already dropped by
close to one billion people attributable to the consequences of global
warming, but also through a remarkable drop in male fertility.
Whether it was from the changing diets necessitated by agricultural
realities or whether it was simply Earth invoking an immune
response to mankind as a species of infection, no one knew. But
creative speculation abounded.
Violence, too, was taking its toll. While a nuclear war was
narrowly averted between Pakistan and India, there were growing
conventional conflicts over food and water and the chaos of mass
migrations. Within the United States alone gun battles raged every
night in the cities between locals and migrants encroaching from the
abandoned territories in the southern states. The tent cities were set
up at first across the country in an attempt to manage and care for the
displaced, but were quickly overwhelmed and overrun. And the
violence spread.
Worldwide, relief resources of food, water and medicine were
being depleted and the ability to replenish them was rapidly
disappearing into the turbulence of broken financial, manufacturing,
transportation and distribution systems. Indeed the capitalist system
was breaking down everywhere. The consumer economy was dead.
With the value of paper money, dependent on faith in the stability of
central governments, collapsing everywhere, business and commerce
was rapidly degenerating to a barter system, where possible, and to
failed transactions, where agreed bartering terms could not be
formulated. With the world!s leading economists offering no braking
mechanism, business failures were pandemic. The world was
experiencing an apparently unstoppable capitalism extinction event.
While the recall of US military forces around the world dealt
havoc with the various local economies, it provided needed
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 manpower resources to try to regain control of the many US cities

engulfed in violence. However, President Kendrick knew any steps
taken, no matter how extreme, to regain control of the population
would only work for so long. In the end, like Belshazzar, he saw the
handwriting on the wall. Humanity had been weighed in the balance
and found wanting. And like Belshazzar, he knew his days were
numbered. He was going to be the last President of the United States.

***

President Lal read the dispatch with disbelief.

The United States military has seized control of the government
and is presently engaged in a full-scale attack on Canada. President
Kendrick, along with all members of his cabinet, are under arrest
and martial law has been declared over the entire country. All US
road, train and air traffic are ordered to stand down by noon this
day.
So this is how it all ends, Lal thought. China leaving the
Federation was a severe, but not a deathblow, yet. Accommodations
could be made. Even with the drop in revenue for the World
Federation as more and more countries shifted their priorities from
energy to food and water, adjustments could be made. But with the
collapse of the civilian government in the United States, the balloon
of hope had finally stretched too far, and burst.
So this is how it ends, he thought again, not with a whimper but
a bang, rearranging to suit the occasion the words of T. S. Eliot, one
of his favorite poets. He felt a deep level of disappointment, but not
regret, anguish or despair over the turn of events. His faith, an
eclectic composite of Hinduism and Buddhism, fostered a freedom
from attachments to things, people or outcomes. What happens is
what was conditioned to happen by prior events. There is no such
thing as destiny, he thought. The Law of Karma always compels the
earned path. It!s a nuanced difference. If you are successful, it was
an earned consequence of your prior actions. And if you fail, that too
was earned.
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 The Eastern view for following a true and just path was not
based on a rule, which could be followed or rejected. Nor was it
based on commandments asserting what you must do on pain of dire
consequences if you rebel. No, the Law of Karma and the fact of
reincarnation conditions one!s path—creates an earned path.
Lal, born to the faith, understood that the Law of Karma was
otherwise known as the Law of Cause and Effect. To the believer, the
Law of Karma had the same irresistible force as Newton!s laws of
physics. It was just the way things were and could not be
circumvented. Lal believed in the Law and its assertion that actions
have consequences. Actions are skillful and wholesome or they are
unskillful and unwholesome. There is no good or evil, just skillful or
unskillful. Wholesome or unwholesome
Lal knew that sometimes it was difficult to know what was
wholesome and what was unwholesome. The Law of Karma supplies
the answer. Wholesome acts eventually result in wholesome
consequences. Unwholesome acts result in unwholesome
consequences. In the present life or in the next life. The
consequences of all one!s acts eventually ripen and bear fruit
accordingly.
Lal was confidant that whatever happened in his life was due to
the karma that he accumulated in his current life and his previous
lives. What was transmitted in rebirth, in reincarnation, was that
inescapable bundle of accumulated consequences. His karma was a
mixture of wholesome and unwholesome acts that would ripen either
to be enjoyed or to be endured as the Law unfolded the future.
To Lal, the billion deaths already suffered, and the many more
certain to follow were in a way a crass understanding of the Law of
Karma to be merely "getting what all those people deserved.” Crass
and uniquely lacking in comfort from the Western theological point
of view. But to the Eastern faith, there is comfort in the
understanding that misery and misfortune are simply evidence of the
working out and moving past the unwholesome consequences of
one!s karma.
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 The World Federation, born in the fires of death and

destruction, was, to Lal!s understanding, now experiencing the
consequences of its originating acts. General Slaider!s murderous
good intentions, the people sacrificed to those intentions, the
destruction, the angry energy, the lies and deception would all have
their karmic consequences. The Law is upheld, Lal mused, when
eventually the effects clarify the nature of the cause. There is no such
corollary to the Law of Karma that the ends justify the means. The
seeds of the lotus will produce only a lotus and the seeds of the
strangling fig will produce only the strangling fig.
When The World Federation was born, Lal forgot or ignored
this simple truth. Now he was working out his karma for those early
unskillful acts, as were the people of the United States, The People!s
Republic of China and every other member of the Federation.
The World Federation was as good as dead as was the world to
which it had been born. There just remained to acknowledge the
truth of this. He signaled to his secretary, Gladys, to enter his office.
He would need his entire legal, operations and human resources
teams to work up the protocols for declaring The World Federation
bankrupt, for dealing with the legal actions sure to follow, most
likely in the Beijing courts, and for severing employees, closing
down activities—turning off the lights.

***

Paul Latimer and his father, Edgar, were satisfied with the
security arrangements for their survival colony. The colony was
remote, situated deep in the Brazilian rainforest. No roads led to it.
Access was only by air or on foot through hundreds of miles of
jungle in every direction. The colony could repel a significant air
invasion and a modest land invasion. Security was more than
sufficient they concluded.
The scaling up of the colony had been successfully
accomplished. For the most part, those who were invited to live at

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 the colony were now at the colony adapting to life "off the grid.”
Energy, water, food, housing and medical facilities were all complete
and self-sustaining. Waste was to be recycled, including human
waste.
The last air shipment was complete. The pilot and crew were
among the chosen to remain. After the plane was emptied and
stripped of anything of possible later use, it was taken apart and
buried in the jungle in ten different locations. Each burial crew was
unknown to the other. Like the crew of the Bounty, when they
committed to living out their lives on Pitcairn Island, the members of
this modern day survival colony also "burned their ship.”
By the middle of 2050 the "drawbridge” to the Latimer survival
colony had effectively been drawn up. In addition, communication
was almost completely severed with the outside world. Almost, but
not completely. A one-way-only receiving channel was maintained to
ensure access to information from the outside world that might
possibly affect the survival colony. There would be no transmissions
from the colony for fear of revealing its location.
The leadership realized, of course, that things change and some
time in the future it might be sound as well as safe to reconnect with
other pockets of survival around Earth. Should that time ever come,
the colony could always launch a land party to the coast and take,
when there, whatever steps they deem appropriate.
In addition, the founders of the colony, Paul and Edgar Latimer,
felt it was essential to try to understand how humanity had come to
this apocalyptic end.

***

There were many times in history when the human death toll
seemed staggering. Roughly seventy thousand years ago, a huge
eruption in what is now Sumatra caused an almost decade long
volcanic global winter and produced a near human extinction event.
Mongol conquests under the leadership of Genghis Khan are

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 believed to have killed about sixty million people. During the

European invasion of the Americas roughly one hundred million
indigenous people died, mostly from exposure to European diseases
for which they had no established immunity. Over a four hundred
year period, the black plague killed an estimated one hundred million
people. The Spanish flu in a period of less than two years, from early
1918 to late 1919, killed about fifty million people while infecting
almost one third of the entire world population. From 1917 to about
1953 the human death toll as a result of the Communist revolution is
estimated to be about fifty million people. From about 1958 to 1961,
as a result of centralized planning that emphasized industrial growth
over food production, more than forty million Chinese died of
starvation during the period known as "the great leap forward.” The
death toll from the First World War is estimated to be about sixty
million people, while that for the Second World War is estimated to
be over eighty million people.
The Latimers realized there was ample precedent for massive
human death tolls. However, except for the Sumatra eruption nothing
again come close to a human extinction event except for now. Edgar
and Paul Latimer knew climate change, with the advent of
catastrophic environmental collapse, had that potential. Strategic
planners within The Network estimated a decade ago that worldwide
survival communities would preserve a human presence on Earth of
just under two billion people. But they projected about three quarters
of the humans on Earth will perish as a result of global warming.
The greatest cache of human knowledge and history was
compiled during a decades long project by the Google Corporation.
Almost the sum of all human knowledge accessible from the Internet
had been captured and stored in huge data storage facilities
worldwide. By the beginning of 2030 advances in quantum
computing reduced the size of data storage devices used by Google
from football field size buildings to room size. Small enough for
duplicates to be acquired by The Network. It was like the map of the
human genome, but it was the map of human civilization.

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 "How this could happen,” Paul Latimer said to his father,

"surely will have lessons even for us in our little world here. What to
avoid? What to embrace?”
No future problem experienced by the colony would suffer
from a lack of information. To this end, the colony possessed one of
the most advanced computer facilities on Earth. Interpreting and
learning from the data already at hand would be the challenge rather
than a lack of data. To help interpret and use the data, the chosen
population of the colony included eminent historians, economists,
sociologists, psychiatrists, a broad range of hard scientists,
agriculturists, meteorologists, mathematicians, and a dazzling
collection of writers and visual and performing artists. Religious and
secular philosophers as well as political scientists were also invited
and came. Every point of view would be examined to uncover the
lessons to be learned from what was essentially a human, self-
created near extinction event.

***

The first order of business was to choose a name for the colony.
Since it was known that other survival colonies had been and were
still being formed, a name would be needed to distinguish one from
the other. A retired schoolteacher suggested "Tranquility.”
She said she had seen videos as a child of the first moon
landing and she never forgot the words of the American pilot, Neil
Armstrong, as his spacecraft touched down on the surface of the
moon. She quoted it to the colony leadership. "The Eagle has
landed,” Neil Armstrong said, followed immediately by "Tranquility
base here!” The moment the vehicle touched the surface of the
moon, it was no longer a space ship. It had become the first human
base on an extraterrestrial body. Tranquility base.
It was adopted by unanimous consent. The colony name was
henceforth Tranquility.

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 Next, the permanent governing structure of the colony needed

to be formulated. The Latimers and a small, select group were
functioning as the temporary leadership of Tranquility, but it needed
a permanent and widely agreed upon governing paradigm. To that
end, it was decided by a gathering of the entire tranquility population
that the Latimers would act as temporary "ringmasters” keeping
everything in motion and advising when roadblocks were
encountered. Paul Latimer quickly recommended establishing three
committees charged with basic policing, maintenance and food
requirements for Tranquility.
The members of Tranquility agreed to establish a committee of
fifty, chosen by lottery, to devise a constitution for the colony. There
must be guiding principles for its governance. Paul could think of no
model that suited the unique status of Tranquility. In size it was more
like a bloated club than a small country. And yet it had the same
needs—a social contract—for creating and enforcing rules of
behavior. Was Tranquility small enough for direct democracy? Or
something else? What kind of leadership should the colony adopt
and what would limit their powers? How would judges be chosen?
What would be expected of the citizens of Tranquility? A thousand
and one questions needed to be asked and answered.
Paul and his father purposely stayed off this committee.
Finally, another committee was formed to devise an economy
for Tranquility. It would have to be simple and closed. The consumer
economy would be impossible to maintain with the colony!s fixed
resources. Capitalism was out of the question since there was no
capital. A starting point some people proposed was to study the
experience of Israeli kibbutzim. For some kibbutzim there was only
very limited trade with the world beyond the kibbutz walls. The
economies of these communities could be studied and harvested for
ideas and practices that were deemed suitable to Tranquility. It
seemed like a good starting point to the members of the Economy
committee.

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 Paul and Edgar Latimer, standing together in silence in the

main square, marveled at the harmony so far displayed by the good
people of Tranquility.
"Dad,” Paul began after a few moments of quiet meditation, "I
could really use a good drink right now. Or a smoke. Or…” They
both laughed. There were no provisions in the colony plan for the
unproductive use of space, soil, chemicals or water. In that respect it
would be an austere life for the colonists.
The humor, however, quickly faded and they both once again
lapsed into silent meditation. Finally, Edgar broke the silence.
"The nightmare is only just starting, isn!t it, Paul? I know we
always talked in terms of $by the end of the century,!#but that all was
just a delusion. What I saw before making my final trip to
Tranquility was bodies piling up everywhere.” Edgar Latimer
reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two cigars. "I brought a
pretty good supply from home. We can enjoy them while they last.”
He handed one to his son, who cautiously took it.
"Let!s take a walk into the jungle,” Paul said. "I don!t want to
annoy or taunt people with the smell of this fine cigar.”
The forest was redolent with the musky atmosphere of living
things—dense and humid and filled with potential. One could hear
the distant sounds of animals, accustomed already to giving
Tranquility a wide berth. At any time of the day the floor of the
forest was veiled in a deep green shadow while splashes of yellow
light flickered across the foliage and the ground, darting in time to
the shivering of the leaves and branches of the canopy and the
traverse of the sun.
While Tranquility was designed to mimic the feel of the
people!s recently abandoned former lives, the jungle stealthily lured
Paul and Edgar Latimer back to another world abandoned countless
millennia ago. Ironically, the further the two men walked into the
forest—among the shadows, the sounds, the flashes of light and the
smells—the more at peace they felt.

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 There was a surprising sense of safety as the father and son

confirmed how easily this jungle world could be entered from
Tranquility, from the center, while how unlikely it was, by intent,
that Tranquility could be penetrated by the jungle from its edges.
In the history of humanity, the open emptiness of the desert
seemed conducive to a religious inclination with its vast, featureless
and unobstructed horizons. But here in the jungle, the endless
rainforest awakened different emotions in these two men, emotions
from a distant and dormant primordial past. It was in their DNA. It
was a return to Mother.
The two men went on silently without fear of getting lost. Their
wristbands contained the GPS coordinates for Tranquility and could
direct them back from anywhere within the radius of a one day walk.
The Latimers ensured that the forest would be a friend to Tranquility
as well as a protective shield.
"One gets accustomed to the dead,” Edgar said. Paul did not
respond. He let his father!s words drift into the forest, hardly noticed.
Still, the mention of death provided the link to an unconscious
connection, enough to remind Paul of his wife and son still in
America. He failed to understand their decision not to come with him
to Tranquility. Perhaps they would be okay, he thought, now that the
US military had taken charge of "convincing” Canada of the
weakness of its bargaining position.
Paul estimated that expanded farming in southern Canada could
potentially save a hundred million Americans from starvation.
Maybe more. Which left two hundred million Americans condemned
to starvation.
"Paul?” his father said, noticing his faraway look, and blocking
his forward path.
"Yes?”
"I said $one gets use to the dead.!# Don!t you think so? You
certainly have seen plenty of the dead and dying on your travels for
The Network.”

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 "I!m sorry. I must have drifted off.”

"Any place good?” his father asked, smiling.
"Not really. Just got caught for a moment in the enormity of
what!s happening.” He brushed his cigar tip against the nearest tree
trunk and put the stub in his shirt pocket.
"It probably would have been better to keep smoking,” Edgar
said. "Keeps the bugs away…well, at lest somewhat.”
Paul removed his cigar from his pocket and relit it.
"I don!t think you!re right,” Paul said. "I don!t think you ever get
used to the dead. Not this time.”

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 22

It was early spring of 2051and the fallow fields were becoming

replenished with the young stalks of new grass rising amidst the
dried and brittle remains from the previous fall. Birds again were
filling the air with their songs and all the villagers, it seemed, were
well into their preparations for the next plantings. From the distance
came the spirited barking of a group of dogs, perhaps disturbed by
the scent of a forest bear awakening early from his winter
hibernation.
James Marshall and Wu Renshou rested on their shovels, the
day!s work almost complete. They had been turning the soil for a
small garden near a newly finished cottage. The cottage walls were
made of logs readily obtained from trees in the forest not more that a
kilometer away. There was a small window to the left of the door.
The door was solid and heavily built for protection from the
elements and wild beasts when shut. There was an opening in the
door, just above the latch, through which a locking mechanism could
be activated if the cottage was to be left vacant for more than a day
or two.
The roof was made of thatch constructed from a sturdy wild
straw mixed with dried cow manure and eggs that solidified to a kind
of cement. This was learned from indigenous Siberian peasants who
also used the same material for the walls of many of their smaller
structures. There was active bartering between the Russian and
Chinese communities and helpful information was frequently
exchanged in addition to the usual commodities.
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 Inside the cottage was a single spacious room. Just to the right
as one entered the cottage was a large brick oven. Being essentially a
cube about three meters on a side, it easily dominated the room. On
the side of the oven facing the left as one entered were small
"pockets” for placing wet or cold clothes, shoes or gloves so they
could be warmed and dried. Above these pockets was a large
opening for baking multiple loaves of bread or large pieces of meat
from wild game. On the side of the oven facing the door of the
cottage was a stove for everyday cooking chores. Above the oven
was a space of about meter and a half from the ceiling where guests
or children could sleep.
Near the left wall of the cottage a section of the wooden floor
could be lifted away revealing steps leading to a deep underground
storage room. With the dirt floor of this food storage room three
meters down from the cottage floor, the temperature of the room was
cold all year and served as the refrigerator for the family.
Along the entire front wall, which held the only window, was a
simple bench. Guests could use this bench to sit since there was no
other furniture for sitting besides the four chairs accompanying the
simple table located more or less in the center of the room. In the far
left rear of the cottage was the bed. In the rear wall, right of center
there was a door connecting to an attached shed for tools and in the
rear of the shed was another door connecting to a barn attached to
the shed. The interior of the barn was sectioned to hold two cows,
several pigs and chickens.
The inside of the cottage was this day richly decorated with red
pennants and lanterns. More tables and chairs would be brought later
by neighbors for temporary use for the celebration.
About thirty meters from the house was another small, detached
shed, this one containing tools used for beekeeping. There were a
half dozen hives located a short distance from the shed.
James and Renshou looked around for a final inventory of tasks
they had completed. They would leave the selection of plantings for
Jonas and Jiao to decide for the small garden they just finished
preparing. The large flower box under the window was already alive
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 with early-blooming bulbs, yellow and blue irises and crocuses. The
cottage was brightly decorated on the outside with colorful festoons
made by neighboring village children.
Satisfied that they had completed all their tasks, James and
Renshou turned and walked slowly back to Renshou!s house.

***

James Marshall and Wu Renshou paced nervously outside the

door to Renshou!s cottage. For ten thousand years children had been
born under similar conditions. And for the most part, things went
well or humans would long ago have perished as a species. Faith,
history and experience supported the notion of calm and patience
while waiting for a birth. However, for anxious fathers these were
not altogether comforting notions.
The mothers, Sylvia Marshall and Wu Huifang, were inside the
Wu cottage attending to matters as mothers of expectant parents have
done, also for ten thousand years. Expectations were no different in
this Chinese village in Xiboliya, than they would have been in their
ancestral village in northern China.
While the women tended to Jiao, Jonas more or less fended for
himself beside his wife, holding her hand and squeezing it tightly
with every contraction, while elsewhere in the village bells rang and
cymbals sounded to scare away evil spirits. From the doors and
windows of nearby neighbors red pennants covered with small
prayer poems extolling life flapped in the breeze. Each flutter of each
pennant was considered as if the prayer had been expressed aloud.
Jonas and Jiao, now each nineteen years old, had been married
for one year. The farm community that moved to Xiboliya, during six
challenging years, had set its roots firmly in the fertile farmland.
Global warming, in a perverse irony, by virtue of the steadily
improving conditions had made the land even more productive. Over
time, the village prospered while the region of northern China
abandoned by Renshou and his family and friends had finally and
utterly collapsed. The lack of water and the higher temperature
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 together condemned the region. The grain seeds failed to set in the
heat and drought. Anyone who did not escape to the north faced
inevitable starvation.
The new community, named Xin Changzhi or New Changzhi,
had grown steadily to a population of close to six thousand. They
connected with many of the other scattered Chinese communities
that had relocated to Xiboliya and there was a lively trade between
them. James Marshall estimated that perhaps two hundred million
Chinese were now living in Xiboliya.
James and Renshou gave a sudden start and looked at each
other as a long and piercing cry escaped from within the cottage.
While Renshou was a man of the earth and more familiar with the
natural processes of life, still Jiao was a delicate flower of a girl, a
woman only because of her womanly condition and not possessed of
the rugged heartiness of her mother. Huifang had expressed to her
husband early in Jiao!s pregnancy her own fears for the ordeal their
daughter would face. They did not share their anxious concerns with
Sylvia and James, nor, especially, with Jonas. They kept their fears to
themselves.
Jiao showed unusually large during the latter months of her
pregnancy. Many of the village neighbors and friends, particularly
the younger ones, close to Jonas and Jiao in age, laughed and joked
that they must be having triplets. Jiao laughed with them. Jonas
found it best and safest to follow whatever mood Jiao was
displaying. Her temperament was somewhat volatile in these latter
weeks of her pregnancy.
Jonas!s parents were not very helpful in preparing him for how
the birth process would play out. Formerly living the life of wealthy
officials of a global enterprise their experiences were far different
from those who lived more in harmony with nature. Indeed, until
Sylvia and James joined the community in order to remain with their
son, their life experiences and those of the average Chinese peasant
hardly overlapped at all. They lived a life vastly more
accommodating and thus much less familiar with the simple and
unpretentious ways of living close to the land. Uncle Renshou, with
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 the permission of James and Sylvia, was the one to fill Jonas in on
what to expect when the time came for the baby to be born.
As a first-time father, he proved almost of no help at all except
for the steady stream of encouragements he directed to Jiao during
difficult moments of contraction. In between, he filled the time with
endless kisses to Jiao!s hand that he never let go of as he stood beside
her. Sylvia wiped Jiao!s forehead and dripped water from a wet cloth
into Jiao!s mouth while Huifang would from time to time check the
progress of the delivery.
Finally, with a look of concern, Huifang uncovered Jiao!s
abdomen and began aggressively pressing her daughter!s swollen
belly, trying to understand the position of the child.
The birth was taking too long and Jiao was getting weaker and
weaker. Sylvia gave a worried look to Huifang who wore an
unreadable expression of focused attention. In six years at Xin
Changzhi Sylvia!s Mandarin had improved greatly, but it was not up
to questioning Huifang. She wanted to ask Jonas to ask his mother-
in-law what she thought was the problem or even if there was a
problem. The flaw in this plan, Sylvia understood, was that Jonas, as
intermediary, would also be getting any bad news through this
exchange. Sylvia hoped to shelter Jonas.
Finally, Sylvia made up her mind. "Jonas,” she said, "ask
Huifang if there is a problem. It seems to me this is going on too
long.”
There was a quick exchange of words and Jonas told his mother
that Huifang believed the baby was stuck in the breach position.
"What does she think we should do?” Sylvia asked.
Again a quick exchange and Jonas reported. "Mom, she says the
baby has to be turned.” He paused to catch his breath, "or things will
not go so well.”
An anguished "Mama,” escaped from Jiao as she listened as
best she could to the muted exchange between Jonas and her mother.
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 Jonas quickly leaned down and began kissing Jiao!s face, whispering
that he loved her, not to worry. They would solve the problem. All
the while covering her face with kisses.
Sylvia grabbed Jonas!s arm. "Can we do it?” she asked Huifang
desperately in Mandarin.
Huifang looked at her daughter and then at Jonas. "We try our
best,” she answered. But after saying this she whispered something
in Sylvia!s ear, whereupon Sylvia turned white and began to tremble.
Huifang grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard, looking
fixedly into Sylvia!s eyes until Sylvia was able to regain control of
herself. Sylvia left Jiao!s bedside and moved to the stove. She set a
pot of water to heating to a boil and placed an army pocketknife
lying on the counter into the water to sterilize it.
Meanwhile Huifang went about trying to rotate the baby.
Pressing firmly on opposite sides of Jiao!s belly, Huifang began
trying to rotate the baby clockwise. Over and over, with strong and
knowledgeable hands Huifang slowly induced the baby to small,
incremental rotations. To the surprise of all the Marshall family this
did not seem to discomfort Jiao much. In fact, to their delight and
amazement, Jiao seemed to be experiencing some relief. She turned
and smiled at Jonas, weakly, but still a smile. She turned her head
again and looked at Sylvia and flashed her the same smile of relief
that something, anything was finally happening. Sylvia, smiling
back, leaned over and taking Jiao!s hand kissed it lightly. Jiao
squeezed Sylvia!s hand, whereupon Sylvia burst into tears and turned
away.
After several minutes, Huifang announced that the baby was
now properly positioned, head down and first. "Thank god,” Sylvia
exclaimed loudly as she hugged Huifang. She hurled at Huifang a
stream of what she hoped were Mandarin words of praise,
admiration and joy, but was surprised by the continued look of
focused attention on Huifang!s face.
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 Several minutes later Huifang checked the progress and she

called Jonas to her side. He baby!s head was clearly crowning and
she wanted Jonas to observe his baby!s birth. At Jiao!s next
contraction Huifang yelled at her, "Tui!” Push! Over and over during
the contraction they all yelled encouragement to Jiao, who bore
down with whatever strength remained in her. By the time the
contraction ended the baby!s head was out. Huifang cradled the head
and gently rotated it about a quarter turn. Huifang told Jonas to get a
blanket and a bucket. He quickly moved to where they had placed
these during an earlier rehearsal.
By the next contraction, the baby!s shoulders were out. With the
final contraction accompanied by cries of triumph from everyone,
including Jiao, the baby was completely delivered. But to Sylvia!s
horror, the baby was entirely blue and not crying. Huifang cradled
the helpless little thing in her hands observing the newborn closely.
"Mama?” Jiao cried, fearing the worst when she heard no crying
from the baby. Sylvia, too, cried out, "Huifang?” But Huifang was
not listening to either of the women.
First she held him (for it was a boy) by his feet to drain any
fluids in his throat so they might spill out. Still the baby was not
breathing. The room was absolutely silent as all eyes were on
Huifang. Slowly she cradled the baby and began to flex him in a kind
of artificial respiration, raising his head and legs together then
lowering them, then repeating this over and over.
All at once there was a gasp from the child, followed by a lusty
chorus of screaming cries. The little one was evidently unhappy with
his new quarters and was being very clear about his displeasure.
Everyone in the room erupted in laughs and cheers. Within seconds
the baby began turning a healthy pink as his blood became
oxygenated. There being enough slack in the umbilical cord, Huifang
placed the baby on Jiao!s belly. Huifang instructed Sylvia to get the
knife and the sterilized string that had been prepared in advance.
Sylvia quickly ran to do as Huifang instructed.
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 Soon, another contraction began, this time to deliver the

placenta. Its size shocked Jonas and Sylvia. It seemed almost as big
as the baby. Huifang twisted the placenta as it emerged, finally
grasping the whole organ in her hands, pulling it completely from
Jiao!s body. She briefly inspected it and then placed it between Jiao!s
legs.
Huifang milked the umbilical cord to get every bit of the
healthy mother!s blood into the baby. Sylvia, when instructed, gave
the sterilized string to Huifang who then tightly tied off the umbilical
cord in two places near the baby!s belly. After she did this, Huifang
asked Sylvia for the sterilized pocketknife.
Huifang looked at Jonas and gestured to him to take the knife.
Jonas first bent to give a smiling, but exhausted Jiao a kiss. Jiao
lifted her head trying to see her baby resting on her belly. Jonas
turned to his mother and asked her to drip some water into Jiao!s
mouth. He waited until Jiao was a bit refreshed and then looked at
the baby boy. Huifang turned to Sylvia and gestured for her to hold
the baby. He was a beautiful child and seemed to blend the best
features of both his parents!#races.
While Sylvia carefully held her newborn grandson above Jiao!s
belly, Huifang began to wipe the blood off the little boy. Finally, she
gestured to Jonas to proceed. With Sylvia cradling the baby in her
hands, Jonas quickly and neatly cut the umbilical cord between the
two ties and the baby was free. All raised another cheer. Huifang
disposed of the placenta into the bucket Jonas had brought next to
her. She then covered Jiao to make her presentable to the new
grandfathers anxiously waiting outside. After wrapping the baby,
Huifang placed him once again on Jiao!s belly.
The men were then called in from outside the cottage. Even
before they entered, they beamed with pride and joy, aware of the
good news telegraphed by the baby!s cries and by the cheers they
heard from within welcoming them to their newborn grandson.

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 ***

Jiao would spend the night at her mother!s house, but would be
moved to the new cottage the next day. After the celebration and the
feast were over and the guests had all departed, Jonas took a
moonlight walk with his mother. The moon was bright enough to
cast shadows, giving everything a mysterious, otherworldly
appearance. It seemed to cap the series of extraordinary events with
an extraordinary light. They stopped to lean against the rim of a well
and simply to enjoy the moment filled with peace and astonishing
recollections of the day.
"Mom?” Jonas began after several moments of silence between
them. "What did Jiao!s mom tell you that upset you so?”
Although several hours had passed since the birth, and many
messages were exchanged during the celebration and feast, Sylvia
knew exactly what Jonas was referring to. She smiled at Jonas and
said, "Nothing, dear. Just girl stuff about a messy business. That!s all.
She was just reassuring me that a little blood looks like a lot of blood
and not to worry.”
"Really? That!s all it was? It looked different to me.”
"Nope, I promise. That was all it was and a good thing too. I
wasn!t ready for the placenta. Yuck. What a mess. They never show
or talk about that part in the old movies. Just $the baby was delivered
by the policeman.!# Now I realize why they left out the rest of the
story.”
Jonas looked at his mother closely, but her breezy mood and
explanation seemed to end the conversation and he didn!t mention it
again.
Later, in bed, unable to sleep, Sylvia!s mind was still in a
runaway condition not quite under her control. She turned to James.

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 "Darling, I told you about how magnificent Huifang was, but I

didn!t tell you everything.”
"Oh?” James said, his voice as neutral as he could make it. He
didn!t think this was going to be good. "What did you leave out,
grandma?”
Sylvia smiled broadly, enjoying her new title, but soon she was
serious again.
"When Huifang told me to sterilize the knife, she also told me
why, but only so I alone could hear.” She paused. She began to tear
up returning to the moment in her mind. "The baby was in the breach
position. You know that. What I didn!t tell you is what she said
would need to be done if she could not turn the baby.” Sylvia!s voice
began to tremble. "I believe she told me so I could prepare myself for
the worst. She needed me to be strong—in case.” She stopped,
unable to go on, and burst into tears.
James pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. "What
is it, Sylvie?”
Sylvia relaxed her body in the comfort of her husband!s arms,
reminding herself they had all survived a life changing event.
Everything turned out well and could now be remembered with joy
every day for the remainder of their lives. Comforted by this thought,
she began again.
"Jimmy, Huifang told me if the baby could not be turned we
would need to cut Jiao open to save the child. She said Jiao would
almost certainly die.” Sylvia, burst again into tears. "Jimmy, do you
understand the nightmare we avoided. Can you imagine that scene?
If we had to do that? I can!t get it out of my head. It!s too grotesque.”
James had no words of comfort. He simply continued to cradle
his wife in his arms.
Between sobs, Sylvia said, "Can you imagine the courage, the
strength of Huifang when she told me that? And the fear?” She
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 turned to look James in the eye. "I mean, who could do it? It would
have to be her. Where does such courage come from?”

***

Four days later, Jiao was still in some discomfort, but was
pleased to be resting beside Jonas in their bed in their own cottage.
Little Congshen, for that is what they named him, "from god”, lay
quietly at Jiao!s breast.
"If times were not as they are now, my husband, Congshen
would learn to speak English as well as Russian, but there is no need
for English here. Your honorable mother and father are speaking
better and better Mandarin. And no one else in Xin Changzhi uses
English. Do you approve?”
Jonas did not answer, considering the question too insignificant
to consider at the moment. He smiled at Jiao and shifted his view to
Congshen. "My wife,” he said, "how I love saying that, $my wife,!#
and now $little mother.’” Jonas gently moved Jiao!s hair from her
eyes. "Look what we made. Is he not beautiful?”
Jiao quickly corrected his Mandarin. "Not beautiful, my
husband. He is handsome, as a son of Wu and Marshall should be.
And strong, and smart, and kind, and gentle like his honorable
father.”
She bent her head and kissed her son at her breast, turned and
kissed Jonas on the lips. "I love you so much, my husband. Good
fortune has smiled on us even while it brings suffering to so many
others. Such good fortune, also, that your honorable parents are here
with us! That our family is together and safe, that we can raise our
son together, with our family around us. We are truly blessed.”
Incense burners were lit in two opposite corners of the cottage.
Huifang had taken care of this and would continue setting the

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 burners for the remainder of the ten-day period after Congshen!s

birth to ensure by its vapors protection from evil spirits.
"I have given this much thought, Jiao. I do not believe so many
people have died because they were evil and this is their punishment.
I believe all the deaths are because there were simply too many
people and Earth Mother said there must be a reckoning. Am I using
the correct word? Panduan?” He scratched his head after observing
Jiao!s puzzled expression. "Hmm. This is not all a punishment. It is a
predictable outcome from so many people using up Mother Earth for
nonsense, for toys, for unskillful pleasures. It is a judgment,
panduan, in the sense that we did not respect Mother Earth and this
is the result.”
"I understand the duty to respect Mother Earth. What will
happen now?” Jiao asked.
"I think what will happen will be what has happened for
numberless ages. People will learn from their mistakes and then
make new ones. It is in our nature to rebound. How shall I say? To
recover from tragedy. We have inside us a spirit that makes us move
forward. It is the spirit that led us, despite the judgment of Mother
Earth, to have our son. He is the symbol of that spirit. It is called
hope. $Xiwang.’”
Jiao sighed. "Our little symbol was very hungry today and I am
tired, my husband. May I take a small sleep now?”
Jonas moved gently away from Jiao and then took Congshen
from her. The baby gave a grunt of displeasure at being removed
from his mother!s breast but quickly fell asleep when Jonas placed
him in the cradle his Grandfather Wu made for him.
While Jiao!s eyes began to droop, Jonas said to her, "You know,
two years ago some Americans passed through the village and gave
me a book they thought I would like. It!s called "Walden,” by the
American writer, Henry Thoreau. It!s all about living simply and
respecting Mother Earth. His words were very powerful during his
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 time and even after his death his ideas were very popular with the
young. Like us. Like the new world will be, I think. Simple.
Respectful. And filled with hope. Xiwang.”
Jonas covered Jiao with a light blanket. "Sweet dreams, my
love,” he said to her in English. She had already drifted into a
peaceful sleep.

The End

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