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He was small in stature, with brown hair streaked with white and thinning; his features, once cheerful and crinkling, were set and solemn. He reopened his eyes as a sudden winter sleet rapped the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. Outside on Pennsylvania Avenue, the traffic crawled at a sloth like pace as the pavement turned to ice. He longed for the warmer climate of his native New Mexico. He wished he could escape on a camping trip to the Sangre de Cristo Mountains near Santa Fe.
This man had never set out to become President. Never driven by blind ambition, he had served in the Senate during twenty years of conscientious effort and a solid record of accomplishments that did little toward making him a household name.
Nominated as a dark horse by his party's convention, he was elected by a wide popular margin when an investigative reporter dug up a series of shady financial dealings in is opponent's past. "Mr. President?"
He looked up from his reverie at the sound of his aide's voice. "Yes?"
"Mr. Mercier is here for your security briefing."
"All right, send him in." Mercier entered the room and seated himself across the desk. He passed over a heavy folder.
"How goes the world today?" the President asked with a thin smile.
"Pretty grim, as always," replied Mercier. "My staff has completed the projections on the nation's energy reserves. The bottom line isn't exactly encouraging."
"You're not telling me anything I didn't know. What's the latest outlook?"
"The CIA gives the Middle East another two years before their fields scrape bottom. That will leave the world's known oil supply at less than fifty percent of demand. The Russians are hoarding their depleted reserves, and the Mexican offshore bonanza fell short of expectations. And as for our own oil deposits . .
."
"I've seen the figures," replied the President. "The hectic exploration several years ago brought in a few small fields at best."
Mercier surveyed the interior of a folder. "Solar radiation, windmills, electric autos, they're partial solutions of a sort. Unfortunately, their technology is at about the same state as television during the nineteen forties."
"A pity the synthetic fuel programs got off to such a slow start.
"The earliest target date before the oil-shale refineries can take up the slack is four years away. In the meantime, American transportation is up the polluted creek without locomotion."
The President cracked a faint smile at Mercier's rare display of dry humor. "Surely there is some hope on the horizon."
"There's James Bay."
"The Canadian power project?"
Mercier nodded and reeled off the statistics. "Eighteen dams, twelve powerhouses, a work force of nearly ninety thousand people, and the re channeling of two rivers the size of the Colorado. And, as the Canadian government literature states, the largest and most expensive hydroelectric project in the history of man."
"Who operates it?"
"Quebec Hydro, the provincial power authority. They began work on the project in nineteen seventy-four. The price tag has been pretty hefty. Twenty-six billion dollars, the major share coming from New York money houses."
"What's the output?"
"Over a hundred million kilowatts, with double that coming in the next twenty years."
"How much flows across our borders?"
"Enough to light fifteen states."
The President's face tensed. "I don't like being so heavily dependent on Quebec for electricity. I'd feel more secure if our nation's power came from our own nuclear plants."
Mercier shook his head. "The sad fact is our nuclear facilities provide less than a third of our requirements."
"As usual we dragged our feet," the President said wearily.
"The lag was partly due to escalating construction costs and expensive modifications," Mercier agreed.
"Partly because the demands on uranium have put it in short supply. And then, of course, there were the environmentalists."
