Lethal Trajectories (56 page)

“I would agree with the Congress part,” Jack observed, “but from what I’ve seen, Wellington Crane is but a shell of what he once was.”

Clayton nodded in agreement. As the turbulence cleared, he walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed them each another beer.

“You know,” he said sadly, “it makes me sick when I think of how we squandered the last two decades screwing around with whether or not climate-change was for real or whether or not there was an oil problem. It’s all wasted time. Who knows, had we acted sooner we might have stopped before we reached the climate’s tipping point; we might even have had new energy models in place to replace oil. Now all I know is that Melissa and Amy will surely be saying to themselves in the years to come, ‘what could they have been thinking?'"

“Sad but true,” Jack replied. “We wasted a lot of time, and we’re going to pay dearly for it in the next few years as we try to transition to new non-fossil-fuel energy systems. But, at least now we have a national energy policy going for us.”

“Speaking of energy policy,” Clayton added, “you missed the meeting I had with Peter Canton the other day on this topic. He told me that we’re actually ahead of schedule in ramping up the smart-grid superhighway project—mainly because we haven’t encountered the local opposition we had anticipated on right-of-way and eminent domain issues. He also said the high-speed rail project was moving ahead as planned, and I was also pleasantly surprised to hear that we’ve now received seven solid new applications for the development of Generation IV nuclear power plants, so his new department is going great guns. Pete’s a good man.”

“You couldn’t have picked a better man to head up the ETCC. He’s doing the same great job now as he did for you when you were the governor of California.”

The president nodded thoughtfully and then said, “To change the subject, where do we stand now in Congress with phase one of our economic security bill?”

“Well, keep in mind, Clayton, that you only introduced it a couple of weeks ago and they’re still getting used to the idea. As you might have imagined, they don’t like the PAYGO and line-item veto provisions we’ve requested, nor do they like the provision that calls for Congress to
not
exempt itself from legislation they pass for others to follow. They’re pretty rankled with the idea of losing some of their other perks, but they don’t know how to attack these provisions without losing favor with the voters.”

Clayton smiled at their dilemma. It had irritated him for years to see Congress passing bills exempting themselves from following what they had passed for others. Americans were fed up with their double-standard shenanigans and sense of entitlement—all at public expense.

“My guess is they’ll attack the entitlement part of the bill—particularly the parts about maintaining the freeze on social security and other benefits until the benefit reductions under phase II of the bill kick in. They’ll garner support in that area, although not as much as they might think, according to a recent poll I read.”

“What poll is that, Clayton?”

“It was a poll taken by the Frothing Foundation, asking Americans about their feeling on shared sacrifices to resolve common challenges. It got at our huge deficits and whether or not they’d be willing to see freezes or cuts in their benefits, or tax hikes, if they thought the sacrifices were being fairly shared by all. Surprisingly, a majority said they would if the cutbacks were fairly applied. This is where Congress will really have to clean up its own act.”

“The PAYGO strategy for all expenditures not directly related to energy infrastructure development has them charged up. It will make it far more difficult to slip in earmarks, and they don’t like that,” Jack added without a trace of empathy.

Minutes later, Maggie entered the room. “Hi, guys, mind if I join you for a little adult conversation? The girls are playing a video game—I think they’re settled for a bit.”

“Sure, Mags, we could use a little adult conversation around here,” said Clayton, winking at Jack.

“So, what’s going on?” she asked.

“We’ve pretty much covered the gamut from international to domestic politics and even talked about our vacation plans,” Jack responded.

“Sorry I missed it,” Maggie said. “I just read a great summary of what has happened over the past year. Very flattering to you, Clayton, but it does say that the Israel–Iran conflict is still unresolved. It prompts my question: what’s the latest on these two countries, if I might ask?”

“Sure, Mags,” Clayton replied. “Not long after that chat I had with Lin Cheng at Camp David about putting a brake on Iran, things began to happen. I don’t know what he said to the Iranians, but I have noticed that their aggressiveness in the Middle East has ratcheted down significantly. Even the UAE is feeling a little easier about them as of late.”

“Israel has also quieted down, Maggie,” said Jack. “I talked to Tony Mullen the other day, and he tells me they’re genuinely interested in cranking up peace talks in the region. They’re looking for us to sponsor the move so that they’ll not look soft to their constituents. You know, like, ‘the United States put heat on us to pursue these talks and that’s why we’re doing it.'"

Maggie nodded. “Right,” she said. “At least some of us can do the right thing without looking for someone else for butt-coverage.”

“Now,” said Clayton with a grin, “we’ve answered your question—tell us about this great article you read.”

“It’s an article from the
Washington Post,”
she said. “Can I just read you the article? It’s short.”

“Sure thing, Mags, I’d love to hear it.”

“Okay, here goes: It’s titled ‘A Blessing in Disguise.'” She read it slowly, word for word.

Does anyone, for instance, think the United States would have been able to do the things it had to do to win World War II without Pearl Harbor? Without it, the political will to break out of isolationism or transition to a wartime economy would never have happened. Passive incrementalism would have ruled the day, and Europe and Asia would have been lost.

In a sense, the Saudi oil crisis was our modern-day Pearl Harbor. It was a blessing in disguise. Now why do I say this?

Prior to the crisis, we were floundering in a cold war. We were spending money we didn’t have for products we didn’t make using devalued dollars shipped out of the country along with jobs we no longer retained. With only 4% of the world’s population, we consumed 25% of the world’s oil and emitted an equal percentage of greenhouse gases. We offered entitlement programs we couldn’t pay for and printed money to monetize and obfuscate debt. We were suffering from multiple addictions, in total denial that we even had a problem.

The Saudi oil crisis produced a set of circumstances that could not be solved without thinking outside the box. To his great credit, President McCarty did the impossible, using his Pearl Harbor as an imperative to establish a new world in partnership with China. He once and for all took on the multiple challenges he characterized as a perfect storm and addressed them in their entirety. He reminded us that our oil-based energy structure was unsustainable. He suggested that climate-change was like a chronic illness with few telltale warning signs before it was too late. He told us we had to live within our means and that meant learning to live with less. He rekindled in us a latent sense of resiliency and self-sufficiency, character traits that made America what it is.

Without the international crisis, exacerbated by the death of President Lyman Burkmeister, McCarty would never have gotten America to take the harsh medicine it needed to address its multiple addictions or stem the lethal trajectories that would lead to its ultimate downfall. America is still a long way from being out of the woods, but it now has a fighting chance. The Saudi Crisis was, indeed, a blessing in disguise.

The Middle East is still a tinderbox, and Israel and Iran are once again focal points for the conflict. Will they find a ‘blessing in disguise’ of their own that stops short of a nuclear holocaust, or are we all consigned to Armegeddon?

Just then, the plane’s steward knocked on the door and said, “We’ll be landing in a little more than one hour, Mr. President. Would you like a dinner or light meal of some sort?”

“What’s your pleasure?” Clayton asked, but neither Jack nor Maggie had a strong preference. He made a presidential decision and said, “A light meal for the three of us, and the kids will have a pizza. Thanks much, Duncan.”

Duncan Jamison smiled, pleased that the president had remembered his name.

With business out of the way, Clayton and Jack started to debate what the San Francisco 49ers had to do to improve their football team. As usual, they argued as passionately as twelve-year-old boys for their positions. After listening for a while, Maggie concluded that things were getting back to normal. She rolled her eyes and happily thought,
Now I’ll have four kids to keep an eye on for the rest of this trip.

P
astor Veronica said good-bye to the kids and left early to run a few errands before the evening’s Life Challenges meeting. She had changed many of her daily routines to conserve energy during the Saudi Crisis and had maintained them after the embargo was lifted; there was no excuse for wasting energy. She even shucked off an addiction she had never understood: like millions of others, she no longer listened to the Wellington Crane show. He was the butt of late-night talk-show routines, and some clever pundit had introduced his name as synonymous with bad advice: “I really got a
Wellington
on that recommendation.”

With the car windows down and the evening sun warm on her arms, Veronica was a grateful and contented woman. Despite the unbearable hardships of the past winter, a number of good things had happened. Mandy had turned the corner at Mankato East High School, finishing the year with decent grades. She still had typical teenage problems, but they appeared to have escaped the red zone. Her son, Teddy, made the junior high soccer team and joined the youth group at church, although he was still almost unbearably shy.

Something else had come to her life that she thought would never happen again: she started developing strong feelings for Bill Princeton, the fifty-one-year-old widower who had become the director of the Life Challenges Co-op. The feelings were mutual and, at age forty-five, Veronica had a man in her life for the first time since Avery’s death thirteen years ago.

Her growing sense of hope was bolstered by the changes that had taken place in Mankato since the crisis. To be sure, unemployment was still at a staggering 24 percent, and many of the businesses that had gone under would never again recover. Still, the
people
were different. Their values seemed to be more grounded in reality. They had all come through the crisis together, and the knowledge that everyone was vulnerable had been a great equalizer and unifier. The sense of community had never been stronger, and she fervently hoped and prayed this spirit would prevail when economic times improved.

The Life Challenges Co-op had been a godsend for hundreds of people in Mankato, and Veronica knew it was literally that: a gift from God working through people to help other people. The last few Life Challenges meetings had been, in fact, devoted more to praising God for deliverance, and for that Veronica was profoundly grateful.

Veronica had developed a sharp eye for potential trouble spots during the crisis, and she now became equally adept at identifying positive signs. She noticed on her ride to church that construction was beginning on a new housing development off Oak Street. It was the first new construction she could recall seeing since long before the embargo. She also noticed the price of gas had dropped to less than eight bucks a gallon, although gasoline rationing had remained the same.

She smiled as she pulled her car into the Gas-Go station, where she was greeted by her favorite proprietor, Clarence.

“Hi, Clarence,” she said with honest cheer, “How’re you doing today?”

“Hi, Pastor Veronica,” Clarence replied warmly, “nice to see you! I’m doing just fine. Now that the gas situation has improved slightly, folks are all in a better mood, and for the first time in years I’m actually starting to feel more optimistic.”

“Clarence, you’ve made my day. I used to worry about you when the gas lines were long and people would chew you out for the high prices you had nothing to do with. It must have been discouraging.”

“It was, Veronica, but then there were always a few nice people like you who made me feel things would get better, and you know what, Veronica? They have.”

“They have indeed, my friend. Have a great day.”

G
lobal events confirm the approach of a perfect storm. The threats are ominous and the trajectory lines lethal. Consider, for example, just one of these threats: our addiction to oil. Our addictive behavior subjects America—and other nations—to the whims of foreign cartels; drains consumer pocketbooks and the national treasury; necessitates military actions to protect fragile oil supplies; and deprives future generations of the physical and economic security once enjoyed by the majority of Americans.

How could this happen?

It is difficult to break old habits, particularly bad ones. The seductive qualities of oil—its power punch, utility, portability, and multiple uses—make it a fuel that is hard
not
to like. While providing the energy that runs over 95 percent of our transportation system, it also opened horizons never before imagined.

For well over a century, in fact, the American Dream was fueled by cheap energy and abundant resources. It enabled Americans to own homes in the suburbs, far from their workplaces; it allowed for the prodigious production of agricultural and manufactured goods through energy-intensive automation; it made life easier and provided mobility and freedom unknown to any previous generation. It inspired an expectation of unlimited growth and a belief that every generation ought to live better than the previous one.