Last Gasp (54 page)

Marine Geology. Marine Chemistry. Geochemistry. Meteorology. Physical Oceanography. Botany. Biology. Atmospheric Physics. Microbiology. Biological Oceanography. Physiological Research. Marine Ecology. Geophysics and Planetary Physics. Neurobiology. Physiological Psychology.

Altogether, counting technical and laboratory staff, there were about two thousand people. There was space in the Tomb to accommodate many more—twenty miles of tunnels in this section alone. The complex actually stretched much farther, two hundred miles of tunnels in all, though the rest of it had been sealed off from the Tomb itself.

As he ate his scrambled eggs and toast and sipped his coffee, Chase found himself hoping fervently that Buchan’s confidence was justified. There were nine access points, each one closely guarded, but even so, the fear of discovery was never far from his mind.

Over his second cup he read the teletext editions of the
New York
Times and Washington
Post.
All the leading national newspapers were printed here at Desert Range from a computer-coded transmission via satellite microwave link. At this early hour it was possible to have read the newspapers before they went on sale back east. The complex also had its own twice-weekly news-sheet, The Tomb, which consisted of relevant items from the major news bureau and internal gossip.

By eight o’clock he was at his desk. As director he had to coordinate the efforts of the multi-disciplined research groups. Keeping the climatologists informed about what the marine biologists were up to, the oceanographers in the picture about any progress made by the atmospheric physicists, the microbiologists up to date on what the meteorologists were doing was a daunting and time-consuming responsibility. He also had to arbitrate between them: There was still an element of rivalry that in the early days he had tried unsuccessfully to eradicate. Then he had come to the conclusion that perhaps it was necessary, this competitive spirit, to keep everyone keen and on his intellectual toes. Later in the day there was to be a monthly update meeting, when Chase’s patience and diplomacy met their sternest test.

Shortly after eleven Prothero called him from New York. The news was more of the same—another rash of emergency committees to deal with the social consequences of the deteriorating climate. It was common knowledge that the government apparatus had been set up in Des Moines, Iowa, well away from the steadily creeping Devastated Areas. Official pronouncements continued to insist that this was a temporary measure “in the interests of administrative convenience,” which naturally fooled no one. The rats were always the first to abandon a sinking ship.

“What’s the weather like?” Chase asked facetiously.

“If I could see out the window I’d tell you.” Prothero’s face was more lined these days, pouchier, his eyes hollow and haunted. “I thought I’d better speak to you before you had your update. It is today, isn’t it?”

Chase nodded warily. Something was up.

“It’s about Gelstrom,” Prothero said. “He’s got a matter of days.” Chase gazed at the vidscreen. He felt nothing. “So what happens now?”

“It all depends on whether he’s made provision for the financial support after his death. I’m checking out the legalities.”

“I never expected him to last this long,” Chase said. To give him his due, Gelstrom hadn’t quibbled over a single penny of the cost of setting up and maintaining the project—in total a figure that must now be approaching the quarter billion.

“How near are you to carrying out field trials?” Prothero wanted to know.

“On which process?”

“Dammit, how do I know? Which is the best bet? You’re the scientist.”

“If I could answer that there’d be no need to be working on twenty different solutions to the problem. Maybe there isn’t any one single answer.”

“What’s your best shot?” Prothero demanded. “Come on, Gavin, you must have an idea. A hunch even.”

“The microbiologists are trying to develop a new algae strain with a high oxygen yield that is superresistant to chemical pollution. Over the long term I think that’s the one. But at the moment it’s still at the lab stage.”

“How long is long term?”

“Optimistically, ten years.”

“Jesus Christ,” Prothero said faintly.

“And then there’s Hanamura’s approach, splitting seawater by electrolysis and releasing the stored oxygen into the atmosphere. He’s got a pilot plant in operation that is producing good results.”

“You’ll have to push him. Time’s running out. You’ve seen the reports in the papers recently?”

“You mean the northern latitudes?” Over past months it had been found that 0
₂
levels were decreasing as far north as latitude 50 degrees, which placed most of Europe within the threatened zone. Even more alarming were the stories from Africa and the Indian subcontinent that millions of people were dying from a mysterious sickness. Here at Desert Range debate had raged fiercely, some believing that it was due to oxygen deficiency, while others blamed another, unknown factor. Whatever the cause, it was wiping out and laying waste to entire populations and whole regions.

“I’ve got some figures you won’t have seen,” Prothero said gravely. “The NOAA estimates that within two years New York will be another Mexico City. We need some answers, Gavin, and we need them now!”

“I’ll do what I can,” Chase said stiffly. “I’ll get back to you after the update.”

“What are conditions like there?” Prothero asked, lighting a cigarette.

“Atmospherically still pretty good.” Prothero would be wise to ease up on his smoking, Chase thought, but decided not to preach. “We haven’t got around to selling oxygen on the black market yet. What’s the going rate these days?”

“Fifty dollars a tank. Last week they had to turn out the National Guard to control a mob that attacked one of the food distribution centers. Over a hundred killed. You’ll get back to me?”

Chase promised he would. The screen faded to gray. Even an intelligent and sympathetic layman like Prothero failed to understand why such a “simple” thing as replenishing the atmosphere should prove so immensely difficult. Hadn’t oxygen been produced commercially for a hundred years or more? Surely all that was required was to increase the size of existing plants and mass-produce them. What could be more straightforward?

The logistical difficulties became apparent only when you sat through an update meeting, as Chase did that afternoon. More than thirty scientists—the heads of the research groups—assembled in the main conference room with its greenboards and work-in-progress charts, graphs and blueprints. Chase took up his usual position on a small wooden platform, sitting with arms folded, a clipboard balanced on his knee.

First they listened to Dr. George Franklin, a biochemist, who voiced his concern about a new virulent strain of bacteria, one that might thrive in a heavily polluted atmosphere and against which mankind would have no genetically inherited defense.

“A form of bacterium that would thrive in conditions hostile to us, you mean?” someone said.

Franklin nodded, hunched forward with an elbow resting on his crossed knee, spectacles dangling from his long bony fingers. “Such strains already exist, of course, and have ever since life evolved on this planet. They’ve always been with us—preceded us in evolutionary terms. Whereas man can’t survive without an adequate supply of oxygen, some bacteria are suited to such conditions. And—this is the point—an atmosphere rich in pollutants might positively encourage them to evolve further, develop new strains. The planet could be slowly reverting to the protozoic, with bacteria as the dominant species.”

“Is this just a theory or do you have evidence?” asked Carter Reid, a marine chemist.

“Well, not directly,” Franklin hedged, “though there’s some circumstantial evidence to support it. We’ve noticed that dead animals are decomposing at a much faster rate than is normally the case. We’re not sure that bacteria are responsible, but I can’t think of another explanation.”

“So we inherited the earth from the dinosaurs,” someone remarked, “and the bacteria will inherit it from us.”

“There is a kind of poetic justice to it,” said Franklin with a small smile. “After all, the bacteria were here first. It’s come full circle.”

“Makes me feel a whole lot better to know that,” muttered a sardonic voice from the back of the room. There was some muted laughter and a few rueful grins.

“Could this be what’s happening in Africa and Asia?” said Faulkner, one of the oceanographers. “No one’s been able to identify the cause yet, have they?”

“That occurred to me too,” Franklin said. “As far as we know they’ve eliminated the likely causes—virus infection, oxygen deficiency, malnutrition—and yet millions are being wiped out with the efficiency of bubonic plague. A new form of killer bacterium would fill the bill.”

“I’m sure this is all very fascinating, Director,” interposed a balding, thin-faced man named Lasker, addressing Chase. His tone implied quite the reverse. “But I fail to see what it has to do with our function here at Desert Range. Do we really have time for such speculation, particularly in view of the rapidly deteriorating situation? A new species of bacterium is the least of our worries, I would have thought.”

“The purpose of this meeting is to exchange information,” Chase reminded him, in his role of judge and jury. “We can hardly decide what’s of value or relevant until we’ve heard it.”

Privately, Chase conceded that Lasker might have a point, though he didn’t like the way the engineer had made it. Lasker was one of the technical support staff, a man who dealt in hard practicalities and eschewed random speculation. It was essential, however, that all viewpoints receive a fair hearing, no matter how wild or pie in the sky.

Lasker sat back and folded his arms with a show of churlish indifference. After four years it wasn’t surprising that tempers should be on a short fuse; perhaps it was remarkable that only occasionally they flared into irritation or outright anger.

Next it was Frank Hanamura’s turn. He spent twenty minutes at the board outlining a problem with the electrolysis pilot plant, which at the moment was undergoing laboratory trials. Although the principle of splitting seawater into its component parts was established and understood—the lab model was in fact producing oxygen at 99.5 percent purity—the trouble arose when the process was scaled up to supply the enormous quantities that would be required, measured in tons rather than cubic feet—“tonnage oxygen” as it was called.

The problem was to find an electrode material that wouldn’t dissolve in the solution and at the same time would resist the buildup of oxide deposits, which reduced the effectiveness of the process. Even the purest metal, such as platinum, formed a film of oxide one or two molecules thick, which after a very short period of time brought a drop in electrical efficiency leading to loss of production.

The process was potentially hazardous too. Certain combinations of hydrogen and chlorine, and hydrogen and oxygen, were explosive, so it was crucially important that none of the gases be allowed to mix within the cell. On the scale proposed, such a mixing would not only destroy the plant but also cause widespread devastation. Yet another problem was that the hydrogen film formed on the anode was corrosive and poisonous, endangering the plant personnel.

To be globally effective it would be necessary to build thousands of large-scale electrolysis plants on coastlines throughout the world where seawater would be processed in billions of gallons, releasing its precious store of oxygen into the atmosphere. Millions of tons annually would have to be produced if they were to achieve a significant change in boosting the oxygen content to the level capable of supporting life.

When Hanamura had finished, dusted the chalk from his hands, and resumed his seat, Chase broached the thorny question: How long before marine trials could commence? He didn’t add to the pressure by mentioning Prothero’s call; as director it was his duty to shield his people from extramural hassles and financial headaches. What he had to have was a positive commitment: If the money were to run out then the whole enterprise would be a complete and utter waste.

“We’ve yet to decide on the most efficient cell voltage. At the moment we’re testing a range of power requirements.” Hanamura stared into space, his high fine cheekbones catching the light. “I’d say a year to eighteen months, providing there are no unforeseen problems.”

“But you already have a lab model operating successfully,” Chase said, doing his best to sound reasonable. “How do you know that marine trials won’t actually help you select the optimum cell voltage? You can carry on the work here in any case while we test the process at sea.”

Hanamura glanced toward Carter Reid, his number two, who shook his head dubiously. Hanamura looked at Chase.

“Does that mean you can’t or won’t?” Chase said.

“It means we’re not ready.”

“Is there any technical obstacle to prevent us from building a pilot plant and installing it in an oceangoing vessel?”

“No,” Hanamura admitted slowly, his handsome face puckered in a frown. “I just don’t like the idea of running marine trials until we’ve ironed out all the bugs.”

“I don’t like it either, Frank, but we don’t have the luxury of choice. How soon?” Chase asked bluntly.

“Maybe six months, and that’s working double shifts.” Hanamura swept a lock of glossy black hair from his forehead. He was being rushed and didn’t like it. “It would mean building one from scratch.”

“What about the lab model you already have? Couldn’t you adapt that one for marine trials?”

“Come on now,” Hanamura protested. “Gavin, be reasonable. We need the lab model here. Anyway, it’s too small. The pilot plant would have to be at least four times the capacity.”

“Okay, starting tomorrow, what’s the absolute minimum, given all the resources we can muster?”

“Cutting it to the bone I’d say three months.”

“Right, that gives you till September fifteenth,” Chase said briskly. He was satisfied, but he didn’t intend to show it. He’d succeeded in bringing Hanamura down from a year to six months to three months, but it would have been a tactical error to ease off now. “What about location? I can have one of the Scripps’ research fleet standing by— choose anywhere within a week’s cruising from San Diego.” Hanamura looked at Carter Reid, who shrugged, and then turned to Chase. “Providing it’s well clear of the algae blooms, anywhere in the Pacific will do.” His dark eyes sparkled angrily for a moment, as if he’d suddenly realized he’d been backed into a corner. But it was too late. He jabbed a finger. “And I want to be there, Gavin, directing the operation personally. If we have to meet this September fifteenth deadline I’m going to make damn sure the trials are conducted properly. Any objections?”