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“Eh, I had some shortcuts. We’re dealing with such absurd scales of energy here, I tend to think in ‘New York City years’ of energy, which is about one-half of one gram of Astrophage.”
She rubbed her temples. “And we need to make two million kilograms of it. If we make a mistake along the way…”
“We’ll save Astrophage the trouble of destroying humanity by doing it ourselves,” I say. “Yeah. I think about that a lot.”
“So, what do you think?” she said. “Is this a terrible idea, or could it work?”
“I think it’s genius.”
She smiled and looked away.
Another day, another staff meeting. Who would have thought saving the world could be so boring?
The science team sat around the meeting-room table. Me, Dimitri, and Lokken. For all her talk about cutting out bureaucracy, Stratt ended up with a bunch of de facto department heads and daily staff meetings.
Sometimes, the stuff we all hate ends up being the only way to do things.
Stratt sat at the head of the table, of course. And next to her was a man I’d never seen before.
“Everyone,” Stratt said. “I want you to meet Dr. François Leclerc.”
The Frenchman to her left waved halfheartedly. “Hello.”
“Leclerc is a world-renowned climatologist from Paris. I’ve put him in charge of tracking, understanding, and—if possible—ameliorating the climate effects of Astrophage.”
“Oh, is that all?” I said.
Leclerc smiled, but it faded quickly.
“So, Dr. Leclerc,” Stratt said. “We’ve been getting a lot of conflicting reports on exactly what to expect from the reduction of solar energy. It’s hard to find any two climatologists who agree.”
He shrugged. “It’s hard to find two climatologists who agree on the color of an orange. It is, unfortunately, an inexact field. There is a lot of uncertainty and—if I’m being honest—a lot of guesswork. Climate science is in its infancy.”
“You’re not giving yourself enough credit. Out of all the experts, you’re the only one I could find whose climate-prediction models were proven true over and over again for the last twenty years.”
He nodded.
She gestured to a disorderly mass of papers on the meeting table. “I’ve been sent every kind of prediction from minor crop failures to global biosphere collapse. I want to hear what you have to say. You’ve seen the predicted solar-output numbers. What’s your take?”
“Disaster, of course,” he said. “We’re looking at extinction of many species, complete upheaval of biomes all over the world, major changes in weather patterns—”
“Humans,” Stratt said. “I want to know how this affects humans, and when. I don’t care about the mating grounds of the three-anused mud sloth or any other random biome.”
“We’re part of the ecology, Ms. Stratt. We’re not outside it. The plants we eat, the animals we ranch, the air we breathe—it’s all part of the tapestry. It’s all connected. As the biomes collapse, it’ll have a direct impact on humanity.”
“Okay, then: numbers,” Stratt said. “I want numbers. Tangible things, not vague predictions.”
He scowled at her. “Okay. Nineteen years.”
“Nineteen years?”
“You wanted a number,” he said. “There’s a number. Nineteen years.”
“Okay, what’s nineteen years?”
“That’s my estimate for when half the people currently alive will be dead. Nineteen years from now.”
The silence that followed was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Even Stratt was taken aback. Lokken and I looked to each other. I don’t know why but we did. Dimitri’s mouth fell agape.
