by Les W Kuzyk
Chapter 7
They carried the launch components one by one from the warehouse out into the yard. Vince found the balloon surprisingly light to carry wrapped up tight in its bag. “They got us high quality,” Brad said. “That’s the latest feather-web fabric, super strong and near zero weight. Needs to be impermeable to helium molecules—that’s it dude!”
The carrier basket they would stand in was just as light, but more awkward, so they each grabbed an end. The steel helium tanks had to be rolled out on a dolly. “This heavier part of our load actually supplies our lift,” Brad laughed. “The sulphur will be the heaviest, each of us next.” Wanting to simulate a prototype procedure, they had Aahil parked on contact standby at a randomly selected location. He would track them down by GPS that morning after they signalled ready.
“So we can launch from the middle of the yard.” Brad pointed. “Should go near straight up in this little breeze. Trickiest part will be getting everything back here again.”
Brad had been telling Vince of his time at Boeing. He’d been in the flight design department for a few years, then some months on military contract as a civilian design engineer—never do that again—and now he ran a one man consulting business. He knew other engineers who did the same like that Keith guy, so they worked at times as a team on joint contracts. But each kept their independent business status. One contract had involved designing these lift and release systems—some kind of urban air pollution absorbent. For some Asian company—he co-designed with Keith on that one. He believed the Asians picked his design for its summary conclusion: adaptable to multiple scenarios. All testing on that project had been in Washington State. Lab testing only. No way air space restrictions there would allow what they were about to do here.
“That same client sent me a request for proposal for this African contract.” Brad shrugged. “I dunno about Keith but I submitted.”
Vince noticed Brad lifting an eyebrow at the organization of materials orders. Someone had precisely and efficiently moved his design proposal through to ready phase, the helium, the balloons, the valves, and the dispersal hardware all in place. All flight materials had shipped in from Asia, and he received a full contacts list with prompt delivery times guaranteed on any further orders. What would come post Preliminary—they could only judge by the extra warehouse stock.
Vince too had been supplied a list of links and direct contacts with major suppliers and refineries in the Nigerian oil industry.
“Why the three tons of liquid sulphur?” Vince wondered.
“Interesting.”
“Yeah.”
Vince held the carrier basket steady while Brad clipped on the balloon.
“Sounds like you like design,” Vince rambled.
“Here’s a story, you story guy.” Brad glanced at him with a glint of mischief. “I was in high school and we got this bio assignment. I mean, biology man, not my science of choice. But I came upon this idea somewhere in whatever I was reading at the time. So I got an empty plastic Javex jug from my mom, wandered around in a field just down the road filling that jug up with cow shit. Way more shit than I needed. Shit everywhere.” Brad waved around. “Tap water rehydrated that shit and I totally forgot that jug in the bio lab. The teacher never forgot though, and he wanted results. So I took a chance on the design theory and stood up right in front with the whole class watching. Hey, I opened the valve, struck the lighter and got a constant flame! Methane, yes, from cow shit. So an alternate energy source got me through bio. Yeah, I like trying things out—potential design options.”
They positioned the basket vertical at yard centre. Brad blasted some helium into the balloon and the feather-web rose to hold, swaying gently above. “Helium. Specific gravity zero point one three eight. So helium weighs one seventh as much as air. Excellent lift.” The early morning heat swirled around carrying the smell of dust. Vince dragged the sulphur tank on edge through the basket door and let it fall back upright. He pulled over the low pressure hose from the three ton tank and clicked the connection, then opened the valve to fill the small tank.
“So you’re into shit research,” Vince said.
“Any shit, man.”
“Natural gas comes out of gas wells. That’s mostly methane.”
“Must be some shit down those wells.”
“Yeah, well that wouldn’t be the primary source. Most gas formations in the western Canadian geological basin are Cretaceous. Deposition occurred at the bottom of an inland sea. So if there was any shit, it was not from cattle.”
Brad showed Vince where to position himself in the basket for their ascent. They were going above cloud base. “If there are any clouds today,” Brad said. They would remain above ten thousand feet for about half an hour, peeking near fourteen thousand. Brad explained to Vince how to pop on and adjust a nasal cannula connected to their oxygen supply tank. A case of pop valves had been set to open at twelve thousand feet, and Brad threw that box onboard. An onsite manufacture warranty test. They needed a near total success rate on those—humidity had an effect and the air did not carry much vapour around here.
“You know they called gas ‘natural’ when town gas got replaced?” Brad said.
“So what’s town gas?” Vince asked. “And why would you know something like that?”
“Town gas was a syngas, made mostly from coal. Technology was all there to convert coal into liquid fuel or gas. The process takes a lot of extra energy, but like the Germans who didn’t have much for oil resource during WWII, they did it. Now our U.S. military keeps the idea on hand for backup energy.” Vince looked at Brad to catch the rare glimpse of a diminished smile.
“I come upon that kind of thing when I do background research on my near future plan,” Brad spoke softly. “You wanna learn how to survive the climate crisis world that’s a comin’, you call my office.”
Vince stared at his jPad, silent.
As they stood in the basket, Brad released more helium into the balloon above. They each ran through their check lists on jPad confirming all required items on board.
“A plan?” Vince frowned. “On survival?”
Brad looked up from his list. “My survival plan has more than one scenario.” His smile snuck back. “One bright side scenario says the world adjusts, keeps humming along and we all get along just fine. You know, no resource wars. But pick any indicator; take gas and coal. You replace coal with natural gas to power the electric grid, and that about chops the carbon dioxide emissions in half, assuming no methane leakage. That would be a smart carbon reduction move, right?”
Vince closed the list in his jPad and looked at Brad.
“Well, has coal burning stopped?” Brad asked. “Tar sands tag along close on the heels of coal, so how’s that project goin’ in Alberta? Right here and now, Vince, you and I appear to be running some kind of CO2 emissions test, wouldn’t you say? When it comes to global priorities, we got politics and corporate interests. So…anyway, most of the time I think about a higher risk scenario. For my kids too, a survival plan.”
Brad opened the helium valve further and turned to a dashboard of gauges. The basket began to shift under their feet. Vince grabbed at the edge while Brad kept his practised feet slightly spread. They lifted off with Vince staring down speechless.
The landscape spread out in a receding picture below, rooftops diminishing and the horizon expanding as the balloon raised them aloft.
“God created all this,” Brad said, waving his hand at the ground below.
Vince peered straight down over the edge. “God?” He stopped humming.
“Yeah, my wife talks.” Brad looked straight down too. “Not religious, mostly spiritual.”
“The universe thing?” Vince asked.
“Could be designed you know,” Brad said. “She reads up on the creationist theory. I mean, she’s got some science behind her. The moon keeps our planet tilted and thus our seasons. How far our planet is from our star, our sun, in the habitable zone. Statistical p
robability says random chance would be suggestively small. But what I need evidence of is universal compassion—to have any influence on my survival scenario.”
“So,” Vince said. “Any evidence Brad?”
They pulled on light jackets as they ascended and the air cooled.
“Religion isn’t too helpful,” Brad said. “Except for the basic God idea. Too many wars. And the laws of physics alone in no way show a compassionate creator. So I’m lookin’ for something else.”
Vince shuffled to the side getting a feel for balance in the swaying balloon basket. Brad tapped the surface of one of the digital gauges.
“Okay, tell me how God fits in on this one,” Vince said. “I did some research on those Dabous Giraffes. A Green Sahara did occur historically, but the causal reason was a wobble in the Earth’s axis. That allowed more direct sun to come down and heat up the Sahara.”
“C’mon.” Brad looked at him. “That’s more heat, not less.”
“Surprising, right? But that extra heat actually reduces the desert,” Vince explained. “’Cause what happens is, extra heat rising sucks air in off an ocean—that’s the basic monsoon effect. For the Sahara, more heat stimulates the West African monsoon drawing more humid air in off the Atlantic. And all that humid ocean air dumps a lot of extra rain. That’s what made for a Green Sahara back then. So anyway, here’s the question. Was that God? I mean Africans around then would have found compassion in all that extra green desert.”
“Yeah, I dunno. God’s a tricky idea,” Brad said. He zipped his jacket a little higher and Vince copied. They were drifting south, further from the city of Niamey.
“I mean, I hear you on the God thing,” Vince said. “I’ve noticed a thing or two.”
“Yeah,” Brad said. “Like what?”
“Assume the universe can be defined. Mathematically.”
“Okay.”
“And you said it, right, religion makes war. But religion stories are still acceptable, and they have ideas that people really get attached to. Everyone knows the Adam and Eve story or something like it. So...I need an acceptable story as background to certain things I notice—otherwise inexplicable.”
“Yeah.”
“So I’ve decided on an angel. Angels are popular, right?”
“A mathematical angel?”
“Look, math has always been a breeze for me. Engineering was a cinch.” Vince looked at Brad. “Okay, I admit it doesn’t say too much for compassion, but say this God doesn’t care about me specifically or any of my little issues. Say this God has a grand plan but say that plan does include me. Religion goes with that, right, God’s will not mine? Anyway, I’ve decided to call what I notice an angel helper. Helped me ace all those math exams, maybe more. I get that impression sometimes.”
“Your angel tell you that? Your angel talk to you?”
“Not really, kind of...”
“Like?”
“Like I keep getting told there’s a reason for everything. ‘So what’s that reason?’ I always ask.” Vince’s face darkened. He stared fiercely at the ground below, and then took a breath. He didn’t look at Brad, but kept talking. “My personal analogy fits the Christian soldier idea. You know, onward. Like suck it up buttercup.” He paused. “So I say ‘what’s that purpose for me specifically? Give me a hint on what to do with all this math’. All I get for an answer is ‘Wait’. Or ‘Good job. Keep going. Stick with it.’ But the main message is wait. So you’re American, you’d get that I’m in the reserves or waiting in the barracks or something military like that.”
Brad zipped his jacket all the way and glanced at the dashboard. He handed Vince the nasal oxygen supply and slipped his own over his head. “Your daughter has a lot ahead of her, so she fits in there somewhere.”
Vince took a breath, squinting at Brad.
“So forget about proof, but just say we were created,” Vince said. “And then say we were created in the image of—pretty anthropocentric—but just say. So add to that, just suppose that we are spiritual beings, and that we all are children of this creator, this God, then we are all having a human experience just like the Son, you know, Jeshua bar Joseph. Jesus. Well, that guy did not have a wonderful life, right? Anyway, that I can take.”
Brad knelt to open the case of pop valves.
Vince went on. “Assume the creation process was evolutionary, so I watch myself, Brad, and I notice a lot of instinctual behaviour, the monkey or the hominid drives, the ingrained survival tendencies going through my mind. A lot of it not really useful towards say being more like what this God of pure love wanted. So I am pure spirit stuck into a monkey’s instincts and told to deal with it day to day. That, yeah, that is my life. That’s a design I can believe, based on simple observation.”
Brad nodded. They were drifting further south, and Vince could recognize the wadi they had driven up with Aahil, with its rocky outcrop ridge. The highway wound its way through the dry landscape.
“There’s two kinds of deer, did you know that?” Vince said.
“Whitetail and mule deer.”
“Naw, think psychoanalysis. Most deer come to the edge of the forest and rush out into the meadow to eat right away. The other type holds back at the edge, has a look first. People are like that, a four to one ratio. Some rush right in, and some hold back. Those first deer eat first, and eat best, but once in a while they get eaten.”
Brad nodded.
“I’m the second type, the more hesitant.”
Brad glanced his way. “Yup, I would say you pegged that one.”
“So species can be genetically similar,” Vince said. “Yet still psychologically distant.”
“Wasps!”
“What?”
“Take wasps. The wasps around Spokane do really well in the heat, but nobody wants them around. You kill wasps best with a hot water and soap spray. So I hang around their nest entrance with my spray bottle and knock them off. Most of those wasps fly straight in without a thought. And they die. Not that I’m saying wasps think a lot, but these others act the opposite. They buzz me or fly off. I always wondered which wasp started rebuilding next day—wouldn’t be those dead ones. Would be the ones that made some atypical choices.”
“Interesting. Insects would be even more genetically similar.”
Brad put his hand on Vince’s shoulder.
“There’s gonna be two types of people,” Brad said. “The ones that adjust to climate change, in a get friendly way. Those ones I want to come live in my mountain valley. Then other ones, I dunno, I hope they get in the lineup for the next Mars mission. The only Planet B we’ve got so far.”
“You have quite the outlook, Brad.” Vince looked at this guy, this incessant grin while he talked of the end of the world.
“My research says get prepped for a transition. A few scenarios are possible. You know the gyrocopter pilot in Mad Maks? How the heck he kept an aviation unit going in that screwed up future world fascinates me. Anyway, the world he lived in is one scenario. Pretty barbaric, but possible. No matter what scenario plays out, it’s all gonna be exciting. That’s what I tell my boys.”
“That’s scary.”
“Yeah, kinda,” Brad said. “Hey, we’re at height.”
Brad checked the dashboard, then switched open the top flap to release the lifting gas from their balloon. He motioned Vince back to the edge of the basket and touched a visiscreen button. The trap door in the floor of the basket fell opened, releasing the sulphur package bundled with small helium tank and bagged balloon. At another touch the package lowered on a thin winch wire to hang below them. One more signal, and the small helium tank opened, filling the other balloon trailing below. Brad smiled, winking at Vince to grab the basket edge. He dumped more helium from their balloon as the rapidly inflating small balloon lightened their load. Balancing off their reducing load, Brad had them slowly begin their descent.
As Brad touched the visiscreen for a side blast of gas to get them clear, they watched the sulp
hur canister come up hanging beside them. As they sank past, the small balloon ascended further above and Brad touched a final detach signal to let the winch wire drop.
“So, we go no farther,” Brad said. “The pop valve on the sulphur tank opens at 15000 feet. As the apparatus loses weight, it’ll accelerate due to lightening load. We could optionally remote control the valves, but this time everything’s pre-set.”
“Cool,” Vince said.
“We could add special effects color and make like a shooting star. If this president wants a daytime show for his people. On a clear day, they’d follow near vertical lines up into the stratosphere,” Brad said. “But I’ve been thinking. The wind’s calmer in the night time, so I’d design a release in the dark.”
Their next task would be guiding Aahil to where their balloon came down. After that they needed to find the landed smaller balloon—the GPS trackers would help. Terrain will be the biggest problem Brad said. They stood, watching the balloon above shrink as it ascended. Once full sulphur release was detected, another pop valve on top dumped helium to atmosphere and started that balloon’s decent, Brad explained.
As they passed through cloud base—there were no clouds—Vince felt Brad’s tap on his shoulder to remove his oxygen supply. He stared at the distant dry horizon, unzipping his jacket unconsciously as they sank back into the heat.
“We redesign our planet.” Brad looked at him with his broad adventurous grin. “We are God, my friend.”
THE PLAYERS
The consequences of climate change as seen through an interesting cast of characters on both sides of the crisis. Although you may not agree with the actions of all of the characters, you can understand what motivates them.
Justin Acton
author, editor
