Green Sahara Read online

  #

  Vince stared along the bridge at the dim twinkles spread along the south shore. How much had changed since he first saw the dirty Niger River. Only weeks back he’d stepped off the plane into the African heat. People, Tami’s gawkers, global attention so focused on the Martian pioneering drama. Most people could put name to face of the eight Martians, especially the Jackie and Haydon romance story. Like an afternoon soap. The fantasy of escaping from the crib while their own planet overheated.

  This low budget contract...his device buzzed and he pulled his eyes from reverie to Jeenyus, reading. Daddy I saw my furst star I see tonite. His face softened. I made a wish but I’m not telling it. He thumbed in his reply. OK baby, your secret. But tell me, what color was the sky?

  He pushed send. No, he’d never carried out such a low cost, high impact project. All due to the sulphur leveraging factor–he’d now learned the basics of geoengineering science. Straight out of Harvard, that research professor had published the leveraging power of sulphur: a near million-to-one advantage. What you got ton for ton when it came to carbon gas warming versus sulphur aerosol cooling. He reread that more than once, but yeah, the chemistry was solid. That professor from Calgary left to the better support of Boston. Would he end up doing something like that?

  He liked the measure Tami and the climatologists used for heating, watts per square meter. And the Space Agency climate scientist drew an eye catching image; a Christmas card picture of a tree. With a 240 watt light bulb shining energy on each square meter of the Earth, you had an energy balanced planet. But you add in a few extra watts and the impact should scare anybody. Scariest thing, it didn’t. If you double the carbon load in the atmosphere, a happening fact, you only have 4 watts extra. That’s less than 2 percent.

  How do you talk up these dry numbers so the story gets heard?

  Take the science of the Fifth Assessment report Tami handed out. Right there in the title, 8.5 meant watts per square meter. So you snuggle in an extra little 8.5 watt bulb beside each 240. An added decoration for Merry Christmas tree Earth. The average Joe might say whatever, but really, that whatever now scared Vince the most.

  The Christmas tree was a good start, but the hardly noticed global warming was more challenging. Say you switch light bulbs to degrees Celsius. Easy math, you take three quarters–the latest climate sensitivity estimate–of the 8.5 watts and you get just under six and a half degrees. Much scarier now. That much warmer by the year 2100!

  You should be hearing a deep rising scream.

  The danger line was anything over 2 degrees, or the Space Agency scientist said over 1 degree; way too hot. But people weren’t getting it, distracted by their house and their car and the latest Martian romance. You have to get in with a better story, something Tami kept telling him he could do. Another skill set, storytelling, besides engineering.

  And you have to switch your audience to politicians, the ones who hold the strings on real change. And how would you ever make a story like this fly for voters, let alone consumers?

  These politicians would arrive any minute. He’d never engaged a federal minister before, and these were high end global politics.

  The next thought stabbed his fear deeper, with knife blade anxiety. Geoengineering science was likened to the Manhattan Project. He wasn’t totally sure what to believe yet, but Harvard said any nation could play politics like North Korea. Right beside nuclear arms, geoengineering was there for any country. You didn’t need any high cost bombers or fighter jets either, no intercontinental missiles, just a few balloons and a guy like him to estimate the sulphur tonnage. Then you dictate your back off terms to the world. The calculations were simple; the cost quite low. This story will catch attention, but the scariest thing was how people would react. Countries weren’t exactly friendly when it came to global cooperation. But, his heart shivered, his daughter needed a friendly future. She truly did.

  The buzz. The sky was bluey darc. But Daddy, my star wuz whit. The times he picked her up from grade 2...he could hear her happy laughter. He struggled to keep it together, blinking hard. How would he tell her, one day, what her Daddy’s time in Africa really meant? Physics explained the change of sky color, but this was the sky of her future too. The why-of-it-all raged at him, with his little daughter’s life hanging out in the storm. He felt torn...what he did now either way, no question, would be consequential. He had to choose to be called an eco-terrorist, or to claim ignorance, an engineer following contract specs. To take the right side and be labelled, or to take the do-nothing side. One day he’d explain his choice, somehow.

  He turned back to the room.

  Tamanna sat in one posh chair, focused on her visiscreen. She looked up to smile, giving a reassuring nod. They’d been waiting patiently, with pitch rehearsal after discussion. The door clicked opened, and they both looked up. Vince watched the three men file in, evaluating each face as they took their seats.

  “Good evening gentlemen.” Tamanna spoke. “As you have been informed, we represent Her Excellency Nishat Jabbar, the High Impact Climate Change Countries Minister of Negotiations. My name is Tamanna Meacham, this is Vincent Patel. Any issues with an audio record?” She glanced around, finger poised.

  With no disapproval, she left it recording.

  “Alright, let’s begin. Both Vince and I are consultants; as a paleoclimatologist I consult on climate change issues and Mr. Patel is a chemical engineer. Thus, you will find us speaking in a very pragmatic tone.”

  She returned smile to their man in the middle. “I should think you are the Canadian Minister then?” Her light accent, British, rang with that colonial hint Vince knew.

  The man leaned forward slightly, his polished look expressing empathy and regret. “Unfortunately, the Honorable Minister was unable to attend. However, my name is Harry MacLean, and these are my assistants; we are political negotiators, consultants like yourselves. We are fully commissioned to represent the Minister.”

  Tamanna’s face twitched.

  “Right.”

  She glanced at the assistants, then at Harry. “Her Excellency deferred on meeting your Prime Minister, but insisted we speak to your Environment Minister. She was specific.”

  “With all due respect to the High Impact Countries.” Harry seemed to pick his words. “The Minister conveys his deepest apology.”

  “Our message was absolutely clear.”

  “Our apologies.”

  A shrewd look came over Tamanna as she slowly released her breath. Vince glanced at her eyes of ice as she spoke in the calmest voice.

  “Your Minister may have just made the political clanger of his career.”

  The air conditioning fan hummed through the silence. Harry sat back, his face twitching, almost bristling. But he said nothing.

  She spoke again. “We require a recess–to consult with Her Excellency.” She touched audio pause and rose to her feet.

  “Absolutely, no problem.” Harry’s eyes bored into her, his face now like stone.

  Vince followed Tamanna out.