Fifty Degrees Below. Kim Stanley Robinson

reduction here would disproportionately shrink the total world footprint.

      ‘The whole thing should be translated into money values at every step,’ Edgardo said. ‘Put it in the best way everyone in this culture can understand, the cost in dollars and cents. Forget the acreage stuff. People don’t know what an acre is anymore, or what you can expect to extract from it.’

      ‘Education, good,’ Diane said. ‘That’s already part of our task as defined. And it will help to get the kids into it.’

      Edgardo cackled. ‘Okay, maybe they will go for it, but also the economists should be trying to invent an honest accounting system that doesn’t keep exteriorizing costs. When you exteriorize costs onto future generations you can make any damn thing profitable, but it isn’t really true. I warn you, this will be one of the hardest things we might try. Economics is incorrigible. They call it the dismal science but actually it’s the happy religion.’

      Frank tended to agree with Edgardo’s skepticism about these kinds of social interventions; and his own interests lay elsewhere, in the category Diane had labeled ‘Mitigation Projects.’ Now she took back the Power Point from Anna and clicked to a list which included several of the suggestions Frank had made to her earlier:

      

      1) establishing one or more national institutes for the study of abrupt climate change and its mitigation, analogous to Germany’s Max Planck Institutes.

      2) establishing grants and competitions designed to identify and fund mitigation work judged crucial by NSF.

      3) reviewing the already existing federal agencies to find potentially helpful projects they had undertaken or proposed, and coordinate them.

      

      All good projects, but it was the next slide, ‘Remedial Action Now,’ that was the most interesting to Frank. One of the obvious places to start here was with the thermohaline circulation stall. Diane had gotten a complete report from Kenzo and his colleagues at NOAA, and her tentative conclusion was that the great world current, though huge, was sensitive in a nonlinear way to small perturbations. Which meant it might respond sensitively to small interventions if they could be directed well.

      So, Diane concluded, this had to be investigated. How big a sea surface was critical to downwelling? How precisely could they pinpoint potential downwelling sites? How big a volume of water were they talking about? If they needed to make it saltier in order to force it to start sinking again, how much salt were they talking about? Could they start new downwellings in the north where they used to happen?

      Kenzo’s eyes were round. He met Frank’s gaze, waggled his eyebrows like Groucho. Pretty interesting stuff!

      ‘We have to do something,’ Diane declared, without glancing at Frank. He thought: she’s been convinced. I was at least part of that. ‘The Gulf Stream is an obvious place to look at remediation, but there are lots of other ideas for direct intervention, and they need to be evaluated and prioritized according to various criteria – cost, effectiveness, speed, all that.’

      Edgardo grinned. ‘So – we are going to become global biosphere managers. We are going to terraform the Earth!’

      ‘We already are,’ Diane replied. ‘The problem is we don’t know how.’

      Later that day Frank joined the noon running group, going with Edgardo and Kenzo down to the gym to dress and join Bob and Clark, from the Antarctic program on the seventh floor. The group was sometimes larger than this, sometimes smaller. They ran various routes, usually on old rail beds now converted into bike and running trails all through the area. Their usual lunchtime special ran parallel to Route 66 east for a while, then back around the curve of the Potomac and west back to NSF.

      They ran at talking speed, which for this group meant about an eight-minute mile pace. A lot of the talking came from Edgardo, riffing on one thing or another. He liked to make connections; he liked to question things. He didn’t believe in anything. Even the scientific method was to him a kind of ad hoc survival attempt, a not-very-successful concoction of emergency coping mechanisms. Which belief did not, however, keep him from working maniacally on every project thrown his way, nor from partying late almost every night at various Latin venues. He was from Buenos Aires originally, and this, he said, explained everything about him. ‘All of us porteños are the same.’

      ‘There’s no one like you, Edgardo,’ Bob pointed out.

      ‘On the contrary. In Buenos Aires everyone is like me. How else could we survive? We’ve lived the end of the world ten times already. What to do after that? You just put Piazzolla on the box and dance on, my friend. You laugh like a fool.’

      You certainly do, Frank didn’t say. Of course Edgardo also did mathematics with applications in quantum computing, cryptology, and bio-algorithms, the last of which was the only aspect of his work that Frank understood. It was clear to him that at DARPA Edgardo must have had his fingers in all kinds of pies, subjects that Frank was much more interested in now than he had ever been before.

      Where it paralleled Highway 66 the running path became a thin concrete walk immediately north of the freeway, between the cars and the soundwall, with only a chain link fence separating them from the roaring traffic to their right. The horribleness of it always made Edgardo grin. At midday when they usually ran it was totally exposed to the sun, but there was nothing for it but to put your head down and sweat through the smog.

      ‘You really should run with an umbrella hat on like I do.’ Edgardo looked ridiculous with this tall contraption on his saturnine head, but he claimed it kept him cool.

      ‘That’s what hair is for, right?’

      ‘Male pattern baldness has taken that away as an option for me, as I am sure you have noticed.’

      ‘Wouldn’t that make baldness maladaptive?’

      ‘Maladaptive in more ways than heat control, my friend.’

      ‘Did you read that book, Why We Run? Explains how everything about us comes from adaptations to running? Even hair staying on the tops of our heads?’

      Edgardo made a rude noise. ‘Why We Run, Why We Love, Why We Reason, all these are the same, they are simply titles for the bestseller list.’

      ‘Why We Run was good,’ Frank objected. ‘It had stuff on the physiology of endurance. And it talked about how lots of native peoples ran animals down, over a matter of several days, even deer and antelope. The animals were faster, but the chase group would keep on pounding away until they wore the animals out.’

      ‘Tortoise and hare.’

      ‘I’m definitely a tortoise.’

      ‘I’m going to write one called Why We Shit,’ Edgardo declared. ‘I’ll go into all the details of digestion, and compare ours to other species, and describe all the poisons we take in and then have to process or pass through, or get poisoned by. By the time I’m done no one will ever want to eat again.’

      ‘So it could be the next diet book too.’

      ‘That’s right! Atkins, South Beach, and me. The Alfonso Diet. Eat nothing but information! Digest that for once and never shit at all.’

      ‘Like on Atkins, right?’

      They left 66 for the river, passed through trees, and then the sun beat down on them again.

      ‘What did you think of Diane’s meeting?’ Frank asked Edgardo when they were bringing up the rear.

      ‘That was pretty good,’ Edgardo said. ‘Diane is really going for it. Whoever heads these agencies can make a lot of difference in how they function, I think. There are constraints on what each agency does, and the turf battles are fierce. But if an agency head were to get an idea and go after it aggressively, it could get interesting. So it’s good to have her pushing. What’s going to surprise her is what vicious opposition she’s going to get from certain other agencies. There are people out there really committed to the status quo,