to look away when the one with a white goatee—old enough, and then some, to be her father—stared too intently into her eyes. No, I’m not trolling for a date. Jesus. She was reminded, once again, of Washington’s strange sexual charge, where power—and access to power—was the dominant aphrodisiac.
Across the table she spotted two scientists who wrote immensely popular blogs on climate change. One of them, Ben Norris—balding, freckled, jowly—had been an outcast at NASA during George W.’s regime, forced to abide a callow press aide who’d monitored his every public utterance. Jenna was glad to see that Norris had finally been granted a seat at the table, literally and figuratively. She gave him a quick smile, pleased that the panel was dominated by men and women of his caliber.
“It has become painfully clear,” the vice president began, looking over the assembly of men and women from across the racial and religious spectra, “that we are nowhere near the level of reductions in greenhouse gases necessary to prevent disastrous consequences from climate change. That’s the overwhelming scientific consensus, which is no longer in serious dispute…”
Jenna sat up, astonished to hear such direct and—yes, dire—language from the VP, who was speaking far more frankly about global warming than any administration official in history.
Of course, all of us just swore to keep our mouths shut.
“Even if we had managed to convince the American people of the need to make dramatic changes in the way we live,” Percy went on, “which we’ve utterly failed to do, the developing world—especially China, India, and Brazil—has shown a tragic unwillingness to make more than nominal attempts to cut back.” Percy shook his head sadly; it didn’t look like an act to Jenna.
She shot a glance at Gayle Higgens, wondering what “Senator Fossil Fuels,” as the greenies called her, made of the vice president’s shocking admission. Higgens—Jenna could scarcely believe this—was smiling and nodding.
Have I just walked through the looking glass, she wondered, where nothing is as it appears?
The vice president paused, looked meaningfully around the room, and said, “We have to see what science and technology can do to lower the Earth’s thermostat. We have to move forward aggressively with geoengineering. I want you to consider everything that’s feasible, from CCS”—carbon capture and storage, usually underground—“to launching sulfates into space to reflect sunlight. We want to hear about whatever you think will work.”
Whoa. Jenna had assumed that geoengineering would be on the agenda—why else would they have invited her?—but not that it would be the agenda. And to talk so causally about using sulfates, in particular, was sobering to her. She’d actually had a nightmare about sulfates being blasted into the atmosphere, which she was willing to bet was one of the very few dreams about that odd subject ever to afflict humankind. Desperate to awaken, she dreamed she was standing at a window watching a beautiful sunny day turn bitter cold. Her reflection in the glass showed frost coating her face, and she felt her heartbeat slowing. Worse, in the dream she heard it stop, which awakened her, ironically enough, in a sweltering pool of perspiration.
“That’s what all of you have in common,” Percy said. “You’re acknowledged experts in your fields, and you’ve all expressed deep skepticism about our country’s willingness to take the steps required to reduce GHGs.” Greenhouse gases. Percy nodded at Norris, the prodigal son from NASA, who sat grimacing with his arms crossed. “You need to understand that we basically agree with those of you who have been most critical of your government’s efforts in this regard.”
“Hold on, Mr. Vice President,” NASA’s own said. “What you’re telling us—let’s cut to the quick here—is that there’s no real commitment to reduce GHGs, so now we’re going to tinker with the planet’s incredibly fragile heating and cooling system, something our forebears did a couple of hundred years ago, which some of us are now calling the ‘Industrial Rotisserie.’”
Percy ignored the play on words. “They increased temperatures by burning carbon-based fuels, and we intend to lower them.”
“Unbelievable. Do you have any understanding of the risks? This could kill all of us. Miserably.”
“We do, of course. But we think that doing nothing will be much worse.”
“But you won’t address the risks publicly?”
“No, we won’t. We recognize that this is the most serious crisis ever faced by any administration, but talking publicly would only set off panic.”
“If you’d spoken openly five years ago when you were running for—”