 
Krakatoa II

By Les W Kuzyk

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Les W Kuzyk at Smashwords. All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the author – or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a license from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency – is an infringement of copyright law.

Copyright 2020 Les W Kuzyk

## Climate Cowboy

And across the west, folks heard this new story bein' told, the story of the climate cowboy...

So this young cowboy Climate, knew it all and got hisself a six-shooter. A lotta folks was telling him and warnin' him, but near first thing you know, he shoots hisself through the foot. No problem, 'cause he took his wound on down to the doctor's office to get all fixed up. He'd be one o' those adapters—all just fine. And knowing that pistol warn't for no cowboy, he got hisself a 'nother six-shooter. The folks told him and warned him, but he knew pretty much everythin'. Second time he shot hisself in the other foot, plumb through the ankle this time. Limping for life you'll be, the doc said, when he hobbled out. But that young cowboy, well, he didn't care, he'd just keep on goin' 'n adaptin'.

Or could he adapt? We got us a one degree C warmed up planet, and we ain't gonna take any kinda look until two. Say we go ta' three? That'd be a shot to the upper insides, that third trigger pull, no two ways about it.

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Chapter 1

Fram Strait

(Click Chapter Title for vid link)

Blinking his eyes open, Vince knew their jet would cross out of Norwegian air space into International. Almost a déjà vu; three years ago—that Equatorial mid-Atlantic sulphur release. That jet's pilot had been Nigerien, African, and that time they watched military carrier escorts steaming both directions on the Atlantic Ocean below. On this high latitude Arctic endeavour, the pilot was Kalaallit, Greenlandic, and opposing navies played out maneuvers on that far off side of the Arctic Ocean in the Chukchi Sea. Any military confrontation would catch media attention over there.

After the last few daily releases over Svalbard, his fellow engineer Brad's calculations said shift atmospheric action to the west side of the strait. This arctic cooling project clearly stated an objective of significantly diminishing southerly ice flows through the strait, as spring developed. A northern hemispheric spring began erratically, depending somewhat on your geography and a lot on your latitude. With circumpolar nations in the spotlight, and sea ice focused, the world looked on -- Norway's Svalbard and Greenland, once Denmark's, acted with full support from the European Union.

The engineering team had decided on initial release in early March skies on both sides of the Fram Strait, timing the sequence with warming spring sunlight creeping north. Inside the Arctic Circle, they would sulphur seed any north drifting patch of stratosphere, and lay out sulphur trails along the north flowing air masses over the world's second largest terrestrial ice mass. The last two days they'd targeted a whorl passing through Svalbard air space, but with that one drifted off they would shift across the Strait to cool down Greenland.

Reviewing Brad's intensity estimates in the Holocube, Vince noted that last whorl's effect-bubble overlapping the North Pole within days. The bubble probability of that swirl circulating the polar region read medium on the projection graphs. Playing the odds, they had to keep seeding multiple jet stream whorls. Critical impact being to cool the local planetary surface, and ideally keep that cooling away from significant human populations. And particularly, those voting citizens' daily weather patterns. Especially the farmers, and their crop sensitive seasonal weather patterns. They needed engineer their most intense atmospheric cooling releases not just within the Arctic Circle, but in synch with the climate disrupted polar vortex. With elevation constraints on the jet stream winds in the stratosphere, and in the calm thinner atmosphere higher up.

Quicker than the sulphur dioxide gas back in Africa, these sulphur aerosols would immediately deflect a portion of incoming sunlight. That gave the project better control, and Vince set vapour release rates depending on the polar-front jet stream speed. Unlike Africa, this high latitude Arctic project was highly dependent on the season. For lower release elevations the trick was to adjust their patterns daily, to synchronize with the flow of polar vortex air. On days without good jet stream targets, they flew as high as the jet would go to release in those more stable air pattern strata.

With the climate consult team in London running risk estimates weekly, Brad based their next daylight flight hours and release options on that team's latest updates. Today, across to Greenland. Which meant crossing through International airspace, and inviting the responses of spiteful nations and their national interests.

Vince checked over his readouts, and in a sub-cube glanced at the pilot Ivik's intent face. Then he leaned back in his fuselage chair, part of this geoengineering jet design—unlike the repurposed co-pilot seat on that African job. Still a modified business jet, and his fellow business travelers remained steel tank passengers. This first retrofit had been built for an early Svalbard schedule, while that other identical jet being refitted in Germany would join in soon.

Three years ago, on that mid-Atlantic HICCC job they had contracted a Brazilian company for jet conversion. And they stored African sourced sulphur gas in Niger, on the African continent. For this project, Vince, having calculated the tonnage, tracked down a northern European sulphur source, and got a permit for tanks at the Svalbard airport. Any refills would come by delivery ship from offshore Norwegian fossil fuel facilities. Sulphur premixed with water this time, to form acid, instead of liquified sulphur dioxide left to mix naturally in the atmosphere. Like those natural volcanos, and like back in Africa.

No discs, not yet, hopefully never but who knew?

Though the project team held high outcome expectations on this, their Solar Radiation Management contract, this SRM was not the only engineering attempt at high latitude cooling. Starting last winter, wind energy driven water pumps began spraying ocean water up on the Greenland ice sheet. Great idea in theory, but even with a wintertime freeze rate, that effort would take years to build up significant ice. Climate cooling with SRM aerosols worked so much faster, and was oh so cheap in comparison. Still, there was political correctness, within Europe and for Europe in the world's eyes. Just like the HICCC, and those international negotiations. Brad talked too about a discrete private silica rock project, still in testing stages, and at some hidden away location. The same science theory ran with silica as that of brighter low oceanic clouds; to increase the albedo and reflect warming sunlight away.

Anything to restore the arctic ice lens around the North Pole, to get solid sea ice back in the Arctic Ocean, and get the planet's climate half stabilized.

All this, while political tensions flashed and flared in the Chukchi standoff. Events had come to a head more than once on that military drama stage, as spring arrived on that Pacific end of the Arctic Ocean. Treat those events as almost welcome distractions from their Fram Strait project, European politicians agreed. Keep public eyes focused on the familiar; traditional confrontation of naval forces on the high seas, allowing cooperative action on icing in the North Pole. And from the pole, nudging highly reflective white ice out across the expanse of the Arctic Ocean from the Atlantic end. All in everyone's interests, or at least anyone climate crisis and globally focused.

With their unarmed once business jets out of range of Russian or American jet fighters, they would strategically avoid displays of military might. Russia had a continental Arctic airbase in range of east, but not west Svalbard, nor further west across to Greenland. That winter had frozen enough ice to defer any aircraft carrier traversing the Arctic, although military drones and missile submarines patrolled the northern oceans. European strategic advisors saw too much risk for any military to down a civilian aircraft, and any military required their jets in range to escort a forced landing.

Safety first, yeah, Vince felt safe. As safe as could be.

With Europe leading this effort, these sulphur release flights did feel safer than back when the HICCC stood alone. The Asian Alliance forces of that African standoff now cruised far away southern waters. Closer by, Italy had shifted their carrier fleets to join the French in the north Atlantic, alongside the British Royal Navy. In British media, Tamanna in London said, this was cast as a strategic move to support NATO air space security, all while the US sorted it with Russia over arctic resources. For the rest of Europe, the OATO gained further members committed to the non-military oath. That alternate Atlantic Treaty Organization also committed to exclusion of the insane action of drilling for off shore fossil fuels in the thawing arctic.

If those two sandbox soldier boys could learn to get along, Tamanna said, the team's project might expand arctic cooling release options. One potential site being the Russian October Revolution Island, and not much further south the Russian mainland. Their African project had set something of a precedent with that mid-Atlantic release, and those HICCC green Sahara efforts were ongoing. But here in the north Atlantic, where the NATO Treaty Organization claimed home turf, politics flashed into intermittent standoffs, like in the Chukchi Sea. Great to have Canadian space too, like Alert Bay on Ellesmere Island, but they had that covered off by next door Greenland airspace. As it was, Europe held solid influence over near a quarter of the arctic pie, triangulating a slice south from the pole. And with the terrestrial Greenland ice mass frosting that slice, a critical piece of the northern polar region. Circling the pole west, the Canadian Arctic Archipelago had a long stretch of launch sites... but, Canadian politics still droned on with pipeline and fossil fuel talk. Not that Canada had a carrier fleet, but, to be safer on this project, they would release nothing over the high seas.

Any crossing of those high seas took you out where International airspace rules applied. Ancient mariner laws, yet to be modified since pirate days, left sea space and the air above unregulated; without agreement. Global politics might speak out loud that or any day, like in the mid-Atlantic or over in the Chukchi, all while the softer voice of nature, geological or biological, spoke laws of physics into how the climate cards played out.

From the office space in Longyearbyen Brad voice warned their jet crossing into Greenland airspace in two minutes. Acknowledging, Vince turned his full attention to the Holocube, watching dark Arctic ocean waters below turn into high elevation white Greenland ice. Still fairly white, with high reflective albedo after winter snowfalls. But darkening more with each summer, melted out by low albedo fallen dust and ash. As they cooled the Arctic, they ran one risk of less natural snow falling to keep the ice sheets white. The complex games they played, tending to their planet had taken their fall-out tolls.

But there was purpose in what they did, and at least they did take action. Since Africa, Vince had transitioned to a huge personal interest, full well knowing many of the risks imposed on children by his and previous generations.

Vince's daughter Lisi had her thirteenth birthday just months ago. Growing up to be a traditional young lady, or maybe a modern wild outlook teenager. Either way, with an awesome or tragic future looming. Risks written all over the page. The world finally appeared to be acting on issues like their climate crisis, yet even so, in a last-minute scramble. And all while talk kept up back home of berm adaptation to floods, and water bombers for Western Canadian wildfires. Mitigation in terms of carbon capture and storage, like making soap bars out of CO2, still fit the all's okay mentality of older Canadians. Talk of extreme weather events remained nonexistent in many circles. The climate crisis had turned into a series of global crises, the Sahara release, the mid-Atlantic challenge, and now this, yet for his daughter, he would take them all on as each crisis arose.

With their jet cruising over the continental island's central core, they swerved north, and Vince kept his eyes rooted on the jet stream pattern. The northern air flow at last check held, and touching prep to release, he felt Ivik throttling back their air speed. Sulphur aerosols blasted out each side, swirling out far as the German engineers had designed. The release rate would diminish as they travelled north, all calculated to deflect maximum sunlight.

All was on schedule.
Chapter 2

Flying Home

Walking across his designated transfer tube at the Algiers Airport, Vince approached his Step Two flight. He'd watched the greening progress below as his Step One eflight crossed the Sahara from Niamey. He would board his next Step, stepping stones they said, on his way home from Africa to summertime Calgary. He cheered at the thought of the coming time with his daughter, after three weeks on foreign contract. But then, her messy world future set in, and he sank into the grind of global politics, and his struggle living in a two mind world.

Lisi would grow up in either an adult world improved and matured, or a degraded Mad Max mess—most likely some combination thereof. This world of the early thirties carried multiple streams of transition; amidst concurrent moments of chaos. He often thought in terms of two flows, two peoples, like at home with his father's fossil fuels business, playing opposition in the game of his daughter's future. Those accepting the human caused climate crisis in one stream, intent on biosphere repair, up against the crush of business as usual.

He'd taken on his switched sides view in Italy, six years ago.

Thinking of Europe ahead, he shuffled into his Stone Two eflight seat; this one Algiers to Frankfurt. Two stepping stones, and then an old airliner leap across the Atlantic. The range of eflights having hit an expected laws of physics barrier, weight range to energy load, limited distance to five hours of flight time. Not enough for his ocean crossing. Though the efficient tube switch in Algiers added only an hour to his Africa to Europe trip.

After Italy, came that mid-Atlantic release down by the equator. So much a moment of near chaos then. But now the Sahara showed greening over three monsoon seasons. Hiccups aside, all was running smooth.

As this transfer eflight took off from Algiers, his mind drifted back to his first trip to Niger. Via Flughafen Frankfurt airport by old jet tech then... when he first met Brad. A crash course in climate and geoengineering cumulated months later at the Conference of the Parties, COP 33 in Florence Italy. At the time of that 2027 conference, the US, the EU and China filled major player roles on the climate crisis stage. For decades those first two especially, but with the third joining in, any two could have paired up to force the third's economic hand. The big guys could have led, phasing out fossil fuels and decarbonizing the atmosphere. That never happened in any spirit of mutual trust and cooperation, though they shared one biosphere. So there in Florence, he and Tamanna the climatologist, with recruited Canadian officials designated as messengers, crashed the party with the fourth player. Enter the fourth, and necessary, suit in any deck of cards. Holding a serious hand, the High Impact Climate Crisis Countries made their bid. Vince gave voice to the engineering, storytelling the HICCC's cheap and low-tech geoengineering, and Tamanna spoke out the truth of climate science.

An HICCC climate cooling plan had been put into action just hours before their arrival in Florence. With that HICCC hand, and another player at the table, the whole game changed. Release balloons had been launched across the Sahel to cool the Sahara, when they informed the other players. The same tech had been employed all around the globe, they told conference attendees. Released by those nations with high national interests in an abrupt return to a stable climate. National security interests.

If only, that concept of stability...

In the short term, the HICCC had tasked Canada as messenger to the rest of the OECD world. Vince and Tamanna had even hitched a ride to Florence on the Canadian PM's airliner. As the HICCC climate action initiative went global, and with a handy list of countries causing climate change, the HICCC selected the Florence meeting strategically as the time and place to reveal their cooling plan. China's position came in, somewhat on board. Canada acted typically, in the political game in Florence. The Prime Minister refused to meet the HICCC negotiators, took no blame, and flew back home from Florence. The Environment Minister later set up a conference, inviting all OECD ministers, and let each nation respond at its own discretion. The Minister was soon shuffled to another portfolio back in Ottawa.

That Minister had been right there, though, when Vince and Tamanna delivered the engineering and science. While Tamanna spoke true climatology, Vince spun the geoengineering similarities to natural volcanism into story, for all to understand. Engineers of the day, it so happened, could mimic volcanic sulphate emissions, and he told how aerosols acted as tiny little parasols, blocking sunshine and cooling the planet. Dramatizing the cheers of citizens, he highlighted the bravery of sub-Saharan African politicians taking on cooling. Enthusiastic waving in the streets greeted any president who'd promised a Green Sahara.

Which technically was plausible, the green Sahara idea, but highly enhanced with a mid-Atlantic release, Tamanna said over and over. Which later turned into a harrowing experience due to International airspace. That volatile mix of science and global politics. Out the window he watched the advance of the Mediterranean shore, as the south coast ahead turned into France—Italy would be over to the east.

He sighed.

Over in Italy, in Florence, no matter how that initial HICCC message had been delivered, and received, at least a shift took place. No longer would climate negotiations go on without the least developed, and island nations at the table. With climate cooling sulfites released into the stratospheric commons, circulating the globe, and with engineering calculations determining how much to cool the entire planet, the HICCC had found a voice. A calm return to pre-industrial Holocene conditions one might think. But not with people, so many people shouting in the streets, and on social media telling everyone what they could have. Calm did not fit society and governments of the day.

Complications set in quick, as sub-Saharan Africans, and the Chinese, realized the benefits in a Green Sahara. The Chinese bought up sand lands cheap, and committed to rice growing and solar panel fields where once the sand storms blew. Amidst the political frenzy in Africa, climate cooling soared in popularity among those realizing a historical lush green Sahara could be had. And, then, if the planet could be cooler, why not cooler than pre-industrial? The rich countries no longer had only their finger on the temperature knob. And the OECD nations had heated up the planet, caring little for other nationalities and peoples. The HICCC would cool the planet... to 1.5C below that of pre-industrial. The Green Sahara would flourish, and when you live in the tropics a cool day was oh-so-cool. A rainy land returned with frolicking Dabous giraffes, flourishing rice fields and solar power for export.

Ocean acidification might continue, but leave that mess to those who had dumped all the carbon in the air. Many North African nations were landlocked anyway. Of course the ozone layer might be further depleted by sulfur releases, but most Africans, and Asians too, had a high skin tolerance for sunshine. The HICCC countries did what their wealthy neighbor nations consistently had done with climate crisis issues—they promised to commission a science study on the issues. Everyday people who voted talked about a hot today and a cool tomorrow, not scientific details. And, popular political promises had been made, and needed to be kept for the polls.

True to form the climate science explanations Tamanna gave at meetings in Florence didn't go far. And back in north Africa, when she spoke to the sub-Saharan presidents they picked up on what they wanted to hear. Keep the complications of climate for scientists, and simplify all talk into palatable statements for the citizens. One science fact caught attention. She told how a mid-Atlantic release, strategically timed with seasons, would significantly boost greening the Sahara. That perked up the ears of the sub-Saharan presidents, who knew of the African monsoon rains, and liked the idea of pirate space out over the International ocean. While the OECD worked on cleaning up their messes, they would invade International atmospheric space in modified business jets, and take home the rains.

Exactly what Vince had been in, at the liquid sulphur controls, a business jet, modified in Brazil to carry sulphite tanks in place of passengers. For that mid-Atlantic release.

The HICCC had solid data to support their take, and their challenge. True carbon emission numbers showed high population China to be high nationally, but all measures needed to be revealed. The US as a state had dumped much more CO2, over time, like historically, along with certain EU countries. Mostly the US and little buddies like Canada would have to compensate for that. And when you measured per capita, North America came in right alongside the high emissions of oil wealthy Middle Eastern countries. Per person, North America would have to play serious catch up even with Europe. So in China, with lower per capita emissions, and a low historical total, Africa and the HICCC found an ally. Known, even with their economy booming, as a champion of other developing nations.

The pursuit of a cooled planet, mixed into the jumble of global players at the table, came out as a strong suit in the world game of thrones. As the cards were shuffled, and dealt... the next plays would come down to strategic moves, and early morning gambles.

Deboarding in Frankfurt, Vince followed the exit tube to the back of the airport, and this Third Stepping Stone. Traditional jets, frowned on and regulated by Europe, allowed the only technology for a trans-Atlantic flight. An old airliner jet dumped carbon at the rate of eleven tons for every hundred passenger air hours. Another factoid in Vince's engineering mind, a number resonating with no one, unless you transformed those tons into some kind of a story.

After his long walk through an old hallway to Trans-Atlantic departures, and extra time in a waiting seat, dissuading this flight type, Vince rose to board. The German airport served passengers well enough, being quite well organized, and did accommodate any travel needs from Africa to Alberta. But North America, was isolated for eflights, and yet to have a mid-Atlantic transfer tube port on an island, or platform, gaining an old-world feel. A New York to London direct flight was still old jet tech expensive in dollars and on the planet.

Seating himself on the worn seat of his final flight, Vince put his eye covers on and leaned his seat back. With the early life familiar sound of jet engines in his ears, and the Trans-Atlantic airliner at altitude, he clicked off his device and shifted as best he could into total rest mode. The image of sitting with his daughter Lisi in front of a good old animation came to mind. To be awesome.

##

Scant minutes, or had it been an hour in the air Vince's thoughts activated, not leaving him at peace. In the times before that mid-Atlantic release, tense calculating faces appeared time and again at the global gambling tables. One or two card sharks appeared, driven by time-tested human game strategy, cold eyes set on a bid of winner take all, and an empire in mind. One guy played tough, a nation with geographic and economic good fortune after the last empire in European world ward, and another political system held a lousy economic hand. America could play hardball from their military bases, and naval carrier fleets, bargaining with their two-party system on US national security. But with this consortium of poor nations, a fourth suit scattered wide over continents and about oceans, that player for power scrambled to define a traditional bad guy. Without a military target, what card to hold, and which to play? Still seeking security through world dominance, both military and economic, American politicians with thoughts and prayers claimed disbelief in the climate change thing. Others could read twitches in their eyes. Amidst that message, as time passed, US foreign policy had petered out into nonaction. Strategically, they would simply sideline the HICCC.

Until that mid-Atlantic moment, when military action plans turned crystal clear, in the minds of generals and admirals. Sharpened by experience on the battlefields of old.

Before the mid-Atlantic event, Americans demanded China reduce Chinese carbon emissions. All while China phased out coal plants, and took on the global solar panel and autonomous electric transportation market. Traditional political plays stayed in then games. China, referring to the HICCC data sets, on historical and per person emissions, began showing at meetings in the Mao suit. With a Chinese innate desire to maintain civilization, the Chinese cast off European ideas of nation state and colonized empire. China wanted food for all Chinese, all while asserting neither dominating nor a dominated position on the world stage. To be on good neighbor terms with the African initiative, the Chinese bought up Sahara real estate, and focused on the African monsoon effect on rice and solar panel prices. And old-world export markets for solar sourced energy.

Mixed into Vince's climate reality thinking, the HICCC focused on climate action that fit their national interests. What had not been forthcoming from the causal countries played out as a carbon reduction target foregone. With HICCC internal cohesion tight, many if not most enthused for a colder planet. Beyond poverty, Africans and Chinese residents planned riding about their Sahara fields and forests in solar powered electric cars. A fine life on a nice day; leave climate stability to the experts. That other version of a wealthy world could find its own way off fossil fuels.

Amidst all the politics, Vince often found solace in minding to the engineering. The global climate, being a complex system, needed be treated as such in any analysis. With the HICCC most recently agreeing to scale back sulphur dioxide in the stratosphere, globally, they would still keep the Sahara greening project on the go. Within European promises, engineering calculations found an acceptable story for European voters. The HICCC would cool the entire planet just enough to replace black carbon from cooking fires and coal fired power plants. As Asia and Africa cleaned up their air, with health in focus, their cities shifted to renewable sourced electricity. More planet heating sunlight got in, and the HICCC agreed at the table to offset that. In Asia and Africa the conversation went over well enough, and Europe accepted. But in North America, and especially back in a city like Calgary, the fossil fuel industry kept up their historical resistance. Waiting to play another hand.

Many scenarios, and lots of required number crunching.

Seeking further escape, beyond engineering, Vince drifted off into times of old, and fairy stories took over, pulling him back into his childhood. Remembered scenes flashed; that space probe model he'd built, and tested, all mixed in with a churn of the present. As a child, he raced over to his daughter's playground, where she greeted him as if she were the adult. Then she spoke with the voice of children's wisdom, and took his hand to lead him through his early life. And that of Tasha his wife's. She pointed at the childhood moments that impacted, at times traumatized, and damaged even, and then cast their views into beliefs. How those beliefs solidified, and formed them as adults. Swishing her hand about, she waved at all the adults, all damaged in some way and worn down in others. After their time as playmates, the lived ripped and torn on the inside as grownups. But Lisi grabbed his hand, and led him along, skipping and laughing about the playground.

Still in a half-altered state Vince stared out the old jet window, watching the dark Atlantic transition into the white of Greenland. Almost as if the ice invited him down to a frozen playground. And he skipped on down there, with Lisi, playing in the snow. Peeking into ice crystals, and across the sparkling snows, and the rebuilding the ice pack into what it had once been. From his eco-grief world he called out to the ice sheet and glaciers, somehow knowing they needed his return. One day, from his Western Canada ahead. Were he the one speaking for the trees, and for the icy north, say, to the spirit of the universe, some god or whatever...

But reality set back in, and no relief came. He wanted to just say forget it, at times, enough of this struggle. Out in the universe his space probe would prove life on other planets, alien to human beings, and much more advanced at love. Leave it to them, and as a boy he told Lisi, to just forget this human project. We leave together as spirits, and find another place. This one was but a false start... this species was never meant to get any further. Too much greed, too little social togetherness. Still at war, state against state.

But his daughter's smile drew him in, again telling him he was such a boy. She invited him again into the sparkling white snow, insisting, that he try, and keep trying. And okay, maybe there was something magic in this species, and on that chance, and for the children, he'd boy up and keep going.

At that one extreme moment on the mid-Atlantic release, he'd let everything go. So close to their release point, when that jet fighter pilot roared up alongside their jet. To force them down; or shoot them down. But the pilot... he'd seen the guy's face when he waved. And then roared off. That close. In that brief moment too he'd totally committed to do what it took for Lisi. Once in a while in vision or dream he saw her holding hands with that general's granddaughter. That war room decision, influenced by that iconic child's fuzzy.

Gazing across the seasonally darker ice below, but then beyond, Vince sought out his equation in the sky. The whole universe was a math problem. Clouds in the distance broke into fractals, and those fractals formed the faces of children. A few boys, but mostly girl children. Those children closest held looks of distress, while those midway beckoned, inviting him and all the adults out towards those most distant. Out there in the faraway meadows, there children played, contented and happy.

##

Flying in over the Western Canadian prairies, Vince checked his device. That Benj guy had sent another message; an engineer from Kakina. They'd met once, and the guy revealed tantalizing insight into items like that Consumption Museum in Europe. Life sized Holocube displays took you through one family's lifestyle owning a house stuffed full of consumer items. The same family transformed on a comfortable timetable into a life full of experience, and meaningful relationships within the family, and with friends and community.

Back home Vince would still have to figure out how to get himself out of the way. Compensate for the biosphere damage done on his adult watch. That Swedish girl's Fridays for Future voice still rang globally, challenging all adults. That movement provided assistance to OECD and wannabe wealthy adults and maybe, just maybe, an effective guidance.

In his life, he had been one of those buying sequentially bigger houses, and taking vacations by air travel. To the planetary limits and into overdraft. Perhaps driven by his wife's deep desires, and his parent's traditional beliefs. Maybe pushed along by his voted in government's focus on an age-old growth economy. Not only that, his pre-Florence career had applied directly to the business of fossil fuel extraction. Still today he flew in old tech carbon spewing airliners around the world, to work contracts overseas. Like in Africa. He was the problem—what could he do first but apologize? He and his lifestyle so far had caused the problem, and he knew the quip: if you weren't part of the solution, you were part of the problem.

Back on device, he read through the latest Benj messages. The guy was inviting him to two meetings. Not with Kakina, but instead an attend and observe engagement. Benj viewed the world askance, watching those around and reading the intent of human action. First, a team meeting of City municipal engineers, and then another with the City of Calgary's urban planners. Benj wanted him to meet this Michael guy, a City analyst, who had thrown in the exasperated towel. The guy, an internal employee, spent half a career attempting to get Calgary climate active. Michael's employer frustration took his concern outside the walls of City Hall, seeking action from elsewhere, anywhere. Seeking to take the climate truth to the world, Michael spoke openly, totally spieling out and revealing any inside story.

Vince tagged both times and places into his to-do list. Along with Lisi's guiding hand, climate actions like this, potentially influencing this planet, and this species he'd been born into kept nasty fears at bay, guilt subdued and calmed the inner screams at times.
Chapter 3

Calgary Family

Vince stepped into a BudiCab in the que at the Calgary International, weary after the journey home from Africa. Three long contract weeks in Niamey. Home in a way; he felt that churning tear of clashing what-ifs. Voicing the address for BudiCab, he absorbed the excitement of knowing his daughter would be there. At his father's home, though, and Tasha, and his parents too; all his extended family there.

He sighed.

Settling back in the seat, he slipped into watching the cityscape pass by. Summertime in western Canada, hot, dry Cowtown with browns and some green, like the Sahel around the city in Niger, but similarities ended there. Money oozed out of the cracks in this developed country, all while the many discontented shouted for more.

Ever climate action aware, he eyed the traffic. Maybe half the vehicles were autonomous like his cab, others human driven, and still so many non-EV, emitting toxic ICE exhaust along with greenhouse gas. Worst case scenario, the monster trucks still allowed by the province on the road, dumping their excess carbon emissions. Auto manufacturing firms had done their business homework, designing campaign advertising to engage hormone driven young men. Be tough, dude, be a real man, drive a Hummer, or a Ram. With parked-at-home trucks classified as work vehicles, dual wheel extend-a-cabs drove kids to swim class, and hockey moms to shopping malls. If ever actually transporting blue collar trades materials. Commandeered by young wanna-be macho men, on mud grabber tires, or their wives or impressed girlfriends; on a mission to crush everything. Latter day cowboys.

Like little boys, smashing toys, in the sandbox. He'd been there himself, building roads across that same sand.

The city transitioned to the rural residential of a county, Rocky View in the north where most old farms had been replaced and surrounded by mansion land. Where successful fossil fuel businessmen moved into exotic living spaces. His father's residence, out in the Estates.

The cab slowed on the secondary highway, turning in at the Kodiak Estates entrance. Autonomous BudiCab wound a route through the country estate homes to Wolverine Drive, and his father's place nestled deep in among other mansions. Last time he was out to Dad's, spring snow lay on the ground. His father would have his business phone close at hand in his front pocket, clicking that off for dinner hour. As required by Mom, while she ensured the cook had dinner on time. She attended to the large house and all its management needs, yard staff and house cleaners. And she had her many church activities.

He stepped out, declining drone assist with his luggage. Bag in hand, he walked up the front step, between the massive front picture windows, and opened the door. His daughter must have been tracking his timing, as she was right there.

"Oh Daddy," Lisi ran up to give him a hug.

"Hi Lisi," Vince said, giving her a bear hug. "How's my girl?"

"Look look, daddy," Annalise said, cupping a tiny fuzzy fox in her hands. "He's a little cutie peututie."

"Awesome Lisi," Vince said. "Did you make her?"

"Oh yes," Lisi said. "My crafts kit."

Vince felt that since-she-was born heart throb. For this he lived, for this little girl and her future he pushed through each and every day. Vince smiled at Tasha, looking into her eyes for what they once had. No question they had a daughter, and for that he would be eternally grateful. He slipped his hand into hers, and with a light peck on the lips, pushed in moments like that to remember their younger years.

Next, a hug for Mom, and a solid handshake with Dad. His father's company still had sulphur subcontracts on the go with the HICCC, but he'd never talk about that. Certainly not with any his fossil fuel business acquaintances, nor ever about the true purpose of that chemical engineering.

Lisi sang as she walked with Vince to the dining room. "Song of the Sea, Daddy," she told him. "We can watch the movie if you want."

"Sure Annalise," Vince said, sinking into a thought free world of relief.

Vince's father gave him a solid look from his head of the table chair. As the family sat in around their evening meal, the air system kept all comfortable with not a sound. No walls full of echoes like back at the Gaweye. They settled in, bowing heads for Mom's grace, in a voice ritualized by her husband. Vince looked at his father, whose grey-haired mind focused on the business of fossil fuels. His mother submitted to the needs of a successful husband, which fit her own ambitions.

Vince took the potatoes from Tasha, and then the summer Alberta beef steak. Mom's latest cook must have barbeque skills on the resume. Vince smiled, watching Lisi glancing sideways at her mom, and slyly pushing her beef under her salad. The dog should get that piece, eventually. Vince fell into the drone of family chatter, mind bouncing over his priorities for the next days and weeks. What he must do.

With an after-meal coffee, and then an evening beer, they waved goodbyes at the door. Lisi hugging her grandparents, and they headed off to their own home in the city. Their own large house, nowhere near the size of grandpa's, nor Tasha's wishes, but a Calgary home nonetheless. Tasha put on her forlorn eyes look as they left, a look of longing for her own estate sized home. As they travelled, she chatted up of the new fountain grandpa had on order, real marble, and the latest refinishing job in the country estate kitchen. Vince enlisted his ability to multi-task listen, keeping her voice attended to enough to acknowledge what she said.

##

Fumbling down the almost unfamiliar stairs, Vince pushed his way through the jet lag. They had been in this house for three years, so the imminent next move up the Jones ladder should be a couple years yet. Finding morning coffee at the Gaweye Hotel in Niamey had become near automatic, still, around here he'd need a reframed systematic search. Tasha had slipped out, going by the screen message; he'd have to adjust to her routine too. Summer vacation, and no school for Lisi and, after recouping he had his contract jobs list. Of course he'd be on call for Niger, but the African job was running smooth, for now.

Grabbing a chair, Vince slid in at the breakfast table half across from Annalise. His daughter, twelve, still hid her tooth under her pillow, reaching for that feeling of magic, or fairies and pixie dust power. She had demanded to be called Lisi, no more childish Annalise. What did a girl reach for at this stage of human evolution... to be a grown-up, in the image of her parents? Not likely. And what image did or could he present?

"Watcha doin'?"

She appeared focused, sliding a finger in strokes across her miniscreen.

No answer.

He stretched over, peeking around and glancing to where her finger touched. Not a story drama, nor a video, but some kind of game-like interface.

"Why'd you do that?" he said, feigning surprise.

"I dunno."

Grabbing his mug, he full circled the table to sit on the other side of her, leaning in to check out her icons. A purple witch; must be a looking forward to Halloween game. Not 'till October, beside an Olaf the happy snow man for not 'till winter. The girl did have future events in mind. She had a Food for the World engagement on the go, target date 2035. Cool.

"Those are cabbages!"

"No Daddy," Lisi said. "No cabbage."

"Wanna play a board game?" Vince said. "Where's our dominos?"

"Oh no, Daddy, the goat ate those," Lisi said. "Ah ah and, all the chocolate turtles."

"Goofy goat," Vince said, getting into it. "What will we eat now... can we go for an Impossible Burger?

"Mama said we eat Alberta beef," Lisi said, looking straight at him, with almost wistfully eyes.

"Right," Vince said. "We the cowboys... any silvopasture Alberta beef?"

"Difficult paths." Lisi said. "Often lead to beautiful destinations,"

Vince sipped coffee, and tuned in close... where would a twelve-year-old girl, or any other tween pick up on that type thinking? She still covered her room walls with quotes.

"How many teeth left?"

"Five Daddy," Lisi said. "I know this math joke."

"Okay, shoot."

"There are three kinds of people in this world." She held out three fingers, emphasizing. He absorbed that finger count, and looked to his daughter's mystery eyes, waiting.

"There's ones good at math," she said. "And the ones who aren't."

A smile wrapped around Vince's face, and he laughed. Lisi looked right at him with her smile, and they both knew they both got it.

"I know this math kinda game," Vince said. "Your five teeth, like five, that's a Fibonacci number."

"A Fiba number, oh cool," Lisi said. "Fiba-who-chi?"

"Insightful question," Vince said. "An Italian guy, and that's his nickname."

"Ooo, Italy Daddy," Lisi said. "Is that where Fiba-who-chi numbers grow?"

"How did you know?" Vince said, rhyming in. "That those numbers grow."

"What is a Fiba-who-chi number?"

"So you start with one," Vince said. "Think, what's one plus zero, 'cause zero's the last number coming before one."

Lisi went back to her screen touching World Food options. Her eyebrows scrunched a bit.

"Then two, plus the number before," Vince said. "Two plus one is three."

"The number before, and you add once more," Lisi said, humming. "Three plus two is five Daddy."

"A sequence game," Vince said, smiling. "Was that fun?"

"Kinda."

"You do have a special number of teeth left, Lisi," Vince said. "You gonna check for a fairy reward, under your pillow?

"Of course," Lisi said. "Fairies have their assigned tasks."

"The Fibonacci sequence informs us about nature," Vince said. Natural flowers, that grow, how had she known? Could the fifth tooth be that of insight? "Maybe fairies can easily, but us too, we find that sequence in flower petals."

"I have a flower garden game," Lisi said. "No cabbages allowed."

The girl had a distinct personality, that was sure. Vince sensed a cool track of engagement forming, right here, right now. Adult to child. This girl's, and other children's futures would absolutely require distinct leadership, and forward-thinking characteristics. That like that first Greta, the human variations of what medical people called Asperger's, and ones adults like him might only imagine. Or guess at.

"Can so you tell the prettiest flowers, like five petals or eight," Vince said. "Both Fibonacci numbers."

"Five plus three is eight," Lisi said, beaming. "That's easy."

"And then," Vince said, going all dramatic. "After your twelfth birthday, you turn thirteen," Vince said. "The very next Fibonacci number."

"Eight plus five is thirteen," Lisi said, eyes wide. "I like Fiba-who-chi numbers."

"Fibonacci," Vince said, beaming back. "Fib-uh-naa-chee."

"I like nicknames," Lisi said. "The Fibuh guy, and no chee, not nacho." Vince could hear her enunciating the name correctly under her breath.

"Wanna hear a story Daddy?"

"Sure," Vince said. "Please do tell."

Vince finely tuned in on her high octaves voice, searched the kitchen for coffee condiments. That voice, a voice that sang as she might set aside her digital design of a well-fed world, and turn on a dime to her cloth art supplies. As she created a friend for her other cloth snow-people, she began her story. He stuck the ears on as instructed, and she told the story of Olaf, a character from a snow princess story. How could the world of adults have drifted so far from that of children? After Olaf's trials and tribulations, the snow guy's story did end well.

Grabbing another brewed coffee Vince wandered over to the front couch. Settling in to the waking up process, he sipped at the hot stimulant. With Lisi turned back to her screen, he turned to integrating his life back in synch with the Calgary scene.

Okay, so if he could just help calm his wife's anger; by not responding with his own. With the heat of Africa left behind, he could do that. He could spend happy family times with his daughter, and Lisi would have time around her grandparents. They would do what they do, coming in to the transition maybe trying out silvopasture beef one day. Late Adopters or Laggards. They had gotten this far, developing their once pioneering and now problematic attitudes, outlooks and beliefs. He had to accept that, in a calm manner. Acceptance was the answer, Jeri Able the climate modeler had said. More than once, back in Africa.

Yes, he would tag these items into his priorities list, even within this home world of clashing values. Transition... that would be key. Many events would transpire as the world kept transitioning off fossil fuels, casting new roles as a clean world of renewables came about. A regenerative culture; too much a dream for most. For now. Keeping Lisi's healthy planet future, in mind, and on track, that, would be of peak importance. More than nearly anything. Yet their daughter, and that pure energy she exuded. That calming power, a real power, a child's voice singing. A song, for everyone.
Chapter 4

Grandpa's Theater

They all waved goodbye in Grandpa's driveway, the drop off point for Vince and Lisi. His parents were flying off to Edmonton on Grandpa business, and Tasha was headed back into the city on a shopping trip as far as Vince could figure. With multiple tasks to reorganize in his carry along device, he carried Vince had a load of happenings on the go. But with the back home schedule active enough, father daughter time could be on.

"We've got the whole day together," Vince said, following his daughter across the triple garage to the house door. "What should we do?"

With the summer school break in play, and Daddy back home, that meant lots of time with Vince minding Lisi as Tasha put it. Which Vince didn't mind, not at all. All task lists needed prioritization, and adjustment. But with many lists developing, and under consideration, Vince couldn't keep connection time with Lisi from the top of the top list.

"Together," Lisi said, shifting the book under her arm to Touch the door open. "Does reading books count?"

The door recognized Lisi's fingerprint, though the parents said they had a setting for eye-scan coming. Talk of security was often, and increasing in the Estates; the neighbors said best to keep someone in the house if you could.

"Maybe... okay," Vince said, trying out a fun voice. "Any other op-pu-poptions?"

"We can watch a movie Daddy," Lisi said. "In Grandpa's theater downstairs."

"Yes, cool," Vince said. "A morning movie?"

"Of course," Lisi said. "Why not?"

"That's totally rebellious."

"No it's not," Lisi said, leading them in to the front table. "Totally not."

"Is so for Grandpa," Vince said. "He's traditional."

"You need to meet Macha," Lisi said. "She gets saved by Saoirse."

"In the movie?" Vince said. "Quite the names."

"It's a foreign film, Daddy," Lisi said. "With mythical Irish names."

With Lisi setting her book on the table, and Vince following suit with his device, they stepped lightly down the half flight of soft-carpet spiral stairs and across to Grandpa's home cinema. Too much time overseas, maybe, if his daughter already knew the screen entertainment industry, and her way around this Rocky View mansion. But a sense of makeup time wholeness snuck in; this would be a pure father daughter day. A shift to select top top on those task lists felt like the right choice—but now he had to figure out how to dump the rational thought side of his mind. Totally.

"That song you're humming." Vince said. "What's the name of it?"

"Song of the Sea," Lisi said. "Saoirse's a selkie."

Slipping through the blue digital bleep curtains, they entered a noticeably audio-altered environment. A place where you noticed the faintest whisper, and almost as if the place had been waiting to attend to their every wish.

"What's a selkie?"

He'd stick to short quick sentence engagement.

"She's part human, and she's part sea creature," Lisi said. "She has a brother Ben."

"What's she do?" Vince said, in a sing song voice. He'd let his being totally flow back to his own times when he was a child.

"They're like at the beach," Lisi said. "And she keeps going back in the sea."

"So like," Vince said. "You saw this one before?"

"Three or four times," Lisi said. "When I was real small, and when I got bigger."

"When I was small," Vince said, letting his mind-world trace a path back. "I liked space ship and submarine adventures."

"Selkies go deep underwater," Lisi said. "Or the Secret of Kells; you get mystical historical adventure in that story."

"And the girl's name... how do you say that?"

"Kay, Daddy, Saoirse; take it apart, like one who sees, Seer, and then shuh," Lisi said. "Seer-shuh Daddy."

"I'll practice, cool, Lisi," Vince said. "You know, I've never been in the theater."

"Grandpa got it put in just after Christmas," Lisi said. "The whole lower floor was closed off."

Walking up behind the back row of seats, he felt the fabric, breathing in the smell of squeaky clean new.

"Wow, huge project," Vince said. Since Italy, and each day after he couldn't ignore the enormity of this house, and others like it; and the footprint of this type lifestyle. "You ever watch with your mom?"

"Yeah, but she'd never watch animation," Lisi said. "That's kid's shows she'd say; and Grandpa calls them cartoons. But Mama does follow other stories."

"Oh," Vince said. "Song of the Sea is animated?"

"Oh yeah," Lisi said. "You can handle it Daddy."

"Sure, cool," Vince said. "What does Mama watch?"

"Serious adult drama, you know, relationships," Lisi said. "She loves those theater seats too, like totally cozy."

"And you?"

"I appreciate hand-drawn animation, with deep story lines," Lisi said. "Those take you through an awesome visual mind shift."

Vince glanced at his daughter. She had a highly developed vocabulary, and clearly a structured thinking mind. Along with a definite positive outlook. He recalled the happy chatter of children back in Niamey; that glitter in the African eyes of desert tribal kids. Overwhelming, the purity of children. His further defined task then: to absorb whatever it was Annalise found so compelling in this film. Out with his boyhood space-alien submarine-commander action, and hello to moving sketches with voiceover. Drop all logical rational, and truly experience this mythical carte blanche expression of a story.

"Want popcorn daddy?" Lisi said.

"Sure, I can scoot up," Vince said. "Microwave's in the kitchen."

"Oh no, no need," Lisi said. "Doug, two popcorn please."

"Hello Lisi." A neutral voice spoke out via the theater speakers. "Sure thing."

"Wow," Vince said. "Doug?"

"Grandpa gave her that name."

"Umm ... yeah, okay."

With the theater all theirs, they sat in the back middle seats.

"So how do we gonna pick?" Vince said. "Sea Song, or the Kells Secret."

"They're both hand-drawn," Lisi said. "Brave and Sarila aren't."

"Brave?" Vince said. "Sarila?"

"Two others you gotta see," Lis said. "Digital modelling to do their animation."

"Kay, Sea Song or Kells Secret," Vince said. "We flip a coin."

"Rock, paper, scissors," Lisi countered. "Who wins, picks."

Watching Lisi demonstrate the three option process, Vince got the feeling the decision-making played out quite fair. Even though his paper got snipped by his daughter's scissors. Song of the Sea it would be. When you gotta pee, find a tree... his thoughts slipped a moment into poetic playful boy talk. Boys could be vulgar, less mature than girls, but still, children lived, breathed and acted in the fun zone.

"You want butter Daddy?" Lisi said. "You talk, so they learn your voice."

"One popcorn with butter," Vince said, articulating a slow mechanical robotic voice.

"Ahh Daddy, you just talk normal," Lisi said. "They learn your voice."

"Oh," Vince said. "Kay. Who's they?"

"Doug, and Grandma's got Shirley," Lisi said. "Anyone you want to create."

"Really," Vince said.

Vince the adult engineer. He should have a handle on basic voice engagement, although today's tech advanced faster than any individual could hope to keep in scope. Totally.

Struggling, Vince felt an urge to think adult, and he let that slip. Just for a bit. The struggle to follow tech played out typically in the Jackie Haydon family, and the crew on the Mars Port. Innovation abounded. Yet Vince had been investigating innovation in a purer sense of the word. Right here, someone had designed this voice engagement interface to connect appropriately with theater audience people; he wondered how the popcorn would arrive. Yet human nature remained constant, and within that, there were the constants of Innovators, the Early Adaptors and that gap dividing those try-it-now people from the mases. The rest, the sheep. People, all people like kids becoming adults; all fit on a bell curve, yet the purity of children might fit another way. As guiding shepherds. The purest might say let the children come to me. Or perhaps the children might say let the adults come to us. Who defines the sin, and the sacred, for tasks over and above popcorn choices. Those children with insight, and having those aha moments, might somehow guide the rest of the kids. And, especially these days, guide also the adults.

That's all you get, he told the adult thoughts, time's up. And back into the inner child zone he playfully sought a pathway dash back into Lisi's world.

"Who's your favourite character?" Vince said.

"Saoirse, of course," Lisi said. "Especially when she says 'mom, I want to stay'."

"Seer-shuh... can we have subscript?" Vince said, like he always preferred as a boy. "So I can read her name. I'm good a spelling, when I see the word."

"Sure Daddy," Lisi said, glancing at him sideways smiling.

A happy fuzzy face floated across the theater, and over to their seats, a service drone with a tray. Two paper cups of popcorn, with a scrolling screen displaying drinks options.

"Oh Doug," Lisi said. "I'd like a lemon soda."

"Excellent Lisi," Doug the fuzz ball said. Voice came this time from the drone.

"You try Daddy," Lisi said. "Pick a drink and speak. Or you can touch screen too, of course."

"Ginger Ale," Vince said. The screen icon lit up confirming his choice.

"Tell Doug your name, Daddy," Lisi said. "She'll learn your voice quick."

"My name is Vince."

"Awesome Vince," Doug's voice responded. "One Ginger Ale, coming up."

As Vince watched the fuzzy drone bot disappear through a smaller blue bleep door, he whispered to his daughter. "Doug is a girl?"

"Not for Grandpa," Lisi said. "But she doesn't mind."

A lot politer, quite expressive and much more service-to-the-people oriented than the drones in Africa. A purpose other than some nation's security in a fight to the death. His daughter's world, her life, would be technologically advanced in this way. Yet still challenged by ethics, and who sets the ethics. Decisions made by children, by girl children especially, could allow the purer. All people had to make ethical choices, and children could act as teachers.

As they settled in to watch, response and all audio shifted as if to the main screen, responding to each request voiced by Lisi.

"Floater screen please," Lisi said. "You can read words there, Daddy. Mama uses it for foreign dramas, and for this one it helps with any ancient Irish."

"Gaelic?"

"Yes Daddy," Lisi said. "Now listen, or read as you choose."

Munching on rebellious morning popcorn, Vince took the full plunge into childhood mode. While the theme music and roughhewn sketches drew him into the time and setting of the story.

##

With Doug vacuuming, and Grandpa's screen curtain closing, Vince stretched out in the cushy seat. Saoirse, he had the spelling and enunciation down. An amazing connection 'twixt a girl and the sea and a people's mythical past. As the lights brightened, Vince turned to Lisi, taking in her eyes-wide look. He got it, best as an adult could, what she might get out of watching the story over and again.

"Saoirse needs those light-flakes," Lisi said. "They lead her, whenever she plays the seashell."

"Are light-flakes like pixie dust?" Vince asked.

"That's fairy stuff," Lisi said. "More like a will'o'wisp. Like Merida in Brave and her ancestor spirits. Saoirse connects to her mom, and to her greater mother, which would be the spirit of the ocean."

"So Saoirse's mother was gone, but, not really gone," Vince said. "Just returned to the ocean waters."

From the Brave trailer they'd watched, another girl Merida played out a story of totally challenging adult beliefs. Both with Saoirse's light-flakes, and the will'o'wisps, the cinematographers showed the world of young girls much more deeply connected to the world.

"Who was your favorite Daddy?" Lisi said. "Did you like Saoirse?"

"Quite a bit, and her brother Ben," Vince said. "Ben did do the right thing, after a while. And I really liked that guy with the super long hair."

"The Great Seanchaí," Lisi said. "The light-flakes take Ben to him."

"Light-flakes guide everyone," Vince said, nodding. "The Great Shana guy too."

"Shana," Lisi said. "Hwee."

"The Great Shanahwee," Vince repeated. "He keeps all the stories of the world on record."

"One story in each hair," Lisi said, playing with a strand of hers. "Like a story thread."

Like a historical library, or, a database—Vince slipped again into unrelenting adult thinking. Communication threads developed in any digital text exchange. But he wanted to keep the child version of it all alive, and better absorb and understand.

"So Lisi," Vince said. "Like, who sends those light-flakes?"

"Who knows Daddy," Lisi said, eyes mysterious. She raised her hands, wiggling her fingers. "We are one with it all, Daddy."

"Say we watch again some morning," Vince said. "Which other one?"

"Merida's totally a rebel," Lisi said. "She rides a horse, shoots a bow and arrow, and gets guided by will'o'wisps. She's older."

"That's Brave," Vince said. "Sounds adventurous."

"I like The Secret of Kells," Lisi said. "About an ancient Irish boy—he meets a forest fairy. And there's Sarila—two Inuit arctic boys and a girl. They deal with a very demanding sea goddess."

None of the stories on Lisi's list seemed set in modern times, making morning popcorn eating a totally lame rebellion. The Song of the Sea spirit guided select characters with light-flakes to resolution or destiny. Yet, Vince noticed, only children and the mysticals. Like a completely other way of seeing, like another world. Never adults; they had their own learned, and ingrained perspectives.

Vince stirred, absently grabbing at his popcorn bag and drink cup. The air system was already absorbing any buttery popcorn smell, and with Doug at hand, restoring the theater to squeaky clean.

"Let's do it," Vince said, sitting forward in his seat.

"You can leave those for Doug," Lisi said.

"Oh, right," Vince said, setting them back down. "Okay."

"Little girls can see light-flakes," Lisi said. "Like snowflakes of light."

"You ever see any?"

"Once in a while," Lisi said. "More in dreams, 'cause well, now I'm older."

"But you still know," Vince said. "You remember being little."

"Yes Daddy," Lisi said. "But there's other stuff now."

"Like, how does fairy stuff work?"

"Okay Daddy, like a fairy gets born when a baby laughs the very first time," Lisi said. "Floater seeds, shaped like umbrellas get blown off by the wind, so they fly free until they drift to where the special one turns upside down to become her skirt. And she rises up to be."

"Yeah Lisi," Vince said, eyes watering. "You still know."

They passed back through the blue bleep door, and across to the bottom of the spiral stairs. As they ascended, Vince wondered why adults couldn't think that way, at least as a negotiating tool. A theory from within surfaced—his light-flake—that children, especially girls, that they would be humanity's answer. They should vote in elections at least—a crude proposition the way democracies worked, but a start. Surely they needed have a voice on their own future, what today's adult world created for them. Before their very eyes.

"We gotta watch another one," Vice said. "Together, right?"

"Sure Daddy," Lisi said. "Can I read for a while?"

"Yup."

Vince plopped down on the couch, for a quick breather, drifting back to his hotel room at the Gaweye, in the capital of Niger. No such thing as a couch there; he needed adjust back to North American living. He drifted even deeper, half napping at his travel exhaustion. Mind churning against jet lag drag, tingling to connect, Vince posed the big if. If the children's values could be better represented in the adult world—would that not assist with progress? And the what question—what stood in the way?

##

Eyes half-opened, taking in the vaulted ceiling above, Vince shut out the world again. Keeping in the half-awake for a bit, in and out of childhood, his adult mind clipped his life review into a science review. The friends, the allies against bullies, the jostling for position and identity in school hallways. Who or what had defined the ranked social positions up for grabs? That blue-collar family's kid in the hallway, that one day, needing to impress his flunky big brother with a fist fight. Vince had been the 'lucky' target—the smart-at-math kid to pick on.

Where had that boy picked up on his values? Medieval peasantry, plains of Africa campfire conflicts, or jungle instincts even, these traits so pervaded the adult world. No question.

That Song of the Sea had invaded his depths, and a jumbled character review took over. That Great Seanchaí, Shana-hwee, wisdom immortal. Macha had not been a witch, not at all, rather she carried convoluted human fears within. Owls came to her from nature, wisdom of the living world. That mythical Owl Witch had been once but a caring mother. Trying only to protect her son from pain, she got carried away taking nasty feelings away from all others, even turning fairies to stone in a misguided effort to free them from pain.

All the while Cú the dog kept faith alive, Ben's companion with his mother's love distant, and a little sister instead. Connection held between children and people's mythical past. Through deep set emotions Ben kept hearing his mother's singing when he was smaller. A Lisi way of talking, referring to size relative to age. And having learned the mythical songs when small played a critical childhood later in childhood role for Ben.

The children's mother, a selkie herself, had given Ben her horn, a sea shell horn. As a gift to guide the boy's anger, knowing his mother died in childbirth, leaving him a half-selkie sister. Saoirse, who couldn't talk, knew she needed to play that horn. She knew she needed to sneak it away from her possessive brother, and retrieve her mother's coat from the sea. Then, she would be able to sing. To regain her voice. The quest of the story: to find and release the voice of a girl.

Vince opened his eyes wide with a start. Lisi was tapping his nose, and he sat up.

"What does freedom actually mean Daddy?"

"Good question," Vince said. "Let me think."

"Sure Daddy," Lisi said. "Saoirse means freedom."

"Nooo," Vince said. "Can't be."

"Yes Daddy," Lisi said. "True true."

"Ohhkaay, so how did Saoirse bring her name to truth?" Vince said. "Like who gained freedom in the Sea Song story, and in what way?"

"The fairies got free," Lisi said. "To not be stone anymore, and to feel, and to be real."

Vince felt a tidal flow of all coming together. Like when you assign a trend line definition to a spreadsheet data set, and the graph shows the best fit analysis.

"Yeah, yeah," Vince said. "Anyone else?"

"Macha."

"How did Macha gain freedom?"

"She got free, like to feel again," Lisi said. "To feel it all, to laugh, to cry."

"So that's freedom?"

"Yes Daddy," Lisi said. "Even if I don't like pain, nor sadness."

"Nobody does," Vince said, scrambling in this mind to find the right words. "But, better to feel the pain, find your way through, and be free."

"Just like Macha," Lisi said, smiling.

"Yes Lisi," Vince said. "That's a form of freedom."

Freedom, that dream of so many, in their songs and daily talk. To be emancipated, liberated, to get out or be let go. To be uncaged, not captured or trapped, nor persecuted, maybe not even pestered. Just like a waving flag, one song said, or that bird released in others.

They ate lunch up at the table, and after clean-up, together went outside to the country estates playground. Freedom to play, and dream of what might be. Vince's engineering mind spreadsheet graphed the jabs, the spikes, the up and down jostling of childhood, and the transition to that grown up beyond. Where the science of psychology took backwards glances at damage in youth—striving to offset, to keep alive the inherent joy of preadolescence.
Chapter 5

Wenzel Recruits

Wenzel walked his tray across the cafeteria, angling in on the table he'd been eyeing. The Detroit guy had voiced a clear challenge in the Physics lab. No real answer from Spriggs... what would you expect from a school teacher or most any adult? Moraine High lunch counter smells enveloped his approach to that corner table.

"No one sittin'?"

Detroit looked up quick, eyes wide. Like any kind of lunchroom engagement never happened. Squeezing his cheeks into something of a puffed up tough-guy look, he waved at the chair. "Whatever," he voiced through burger bites, focusing back on his device.

Wenzel sat, and slid his tray over into a friendly bump.

Detroit shuffled back, glancing up again, and then back at his screen. "You're on the football team."

"Nope. Not on my list," Wenzel said. "You?"

"Check out my physique, dude." Detroit chomped into his burger. "Do I look like a sports geek?"

Wenzel grinned, toying with his fork. He'd chatted up the team captain coming up the concrete front steps that morning. Team strategy. You pick your players by what they do best. A good receiver plays receiver, grunts play the line. So, when you do non-sports, you apply the same team building tactics.

"Think gaming though," Wenzel said, not hurrying. "You seek out positional gain."

"Skinny wires need Bozo turf," Detroit nodded at his screen. "Any input?"

"Define your objective," Wenzel said. "List your priorities."

"Objective," Detroit said. "Like primary purpose, yeah?"

"Absolutely," Wenzel said. "I heard you loud and clear in Physics. Spriggs gets an 'F' in my books."

"So pitch your gig," Detroit challenged. "Next class."

"Did so with Dewald in Trig. Same vague useless answer, so, waste of time dude," Wenzel said. "Got bigger plans."

"Like?"

"Like action."

"Like game action in the Combat Arena?" Detroit's feigned tough guy stance faded, and his focus shifted back to screen. "Real world's right here—connected."

"Not entirely, dude," Wenzel said. "Needs a world to connect."

Detroit looked back up at him, eyes darting side to side. Wenzel picked up on the vibes he'd suspected.

"Yeah, so toss a rotten egg at Spriggs," Detroit dug into his fries. "Informal protest... where does that get you? Kicked out of school is what."

"Ouch, dude." Wenzel winced. "Civil disobedience maybe, but I'm thinkin' recon first."

"Recon."

"Check it out," Wenzel said. "Then plan it out."

"You play STRATZ?" Detroit said. He touch-shifted screen, quick searching. "You know, Eez and Ize, like strategies and strategize."

"Could be," Wenzel said, biting into his sandwich. "Tell me about 'em."

"Weave together your world with care—backdoor gets you out o' there," Detroit said, face lighting up. "Game's got dirt boxes too... mine's Quasimodo. I mean, you snoop other people's biz, but, whatever, right? Like overhearing any hallway chit-chat, or any chatter right here." Detroit flicked his eyes, nodding out around the cafeteria.

"What's your game strategy?"

"Got a few."

"You got a team?"

"That's an option."

"You ever think team?"

"Wurld Connectz, oh yeah," Detroit said. "Anyone around this high school's a waste of time." He glanced over. "No offence."

"True enough," Wenzel said, nodding. "You gotta be selective."

"That why you're talkin' to me?"

"Could be," Wenzel said. "I saw a couple STRATZ pin-ups might be yours. What did they say... time to poke'em."

"Invasive guerillas," Detroit said. "Hack'em, track'em and poke'em. Poke'em hard."

"That's you then," Wenzel said, glancing intently at Detroit. "In STRATZ."

"Stargazer Virtual," Detroit said. "Vigilantes in action."

"Black Sade's my guy," Wenzel said. "Guy rides."

"Ground skimmin'?" Detroit said. "High flyin's better."

"Think ground force police, the Popo, dude," Wenzel said. "A carbon police force gets total respect. Like think about it, do old folks speed off when cop lights flash behind, or do they pull over?"

"My parents ride," Detroit said. "Never drive."

"That's progressive. We got real world floater bikes comin' out," Wenzel said. "Thing is, you'll never get real world influence just by gaming."

"What you say, that's police impersonation," Detroit said. "That's high crime, with a real-time penalty."

"What's crime?" Wenzel said. "Trashing our planet—that's high crime."

"You got that right."

"Yeah."

"There's this Jayzee, who talks to Jeanzee." Detroit said. "That's an autonomous voice debate. They got a talk on what's legal, and what's not. They say impersonation: misdemeanor, no more."

"Our legal advisors."

"Let's see, a vigilante Popo force makes for civil disobedience," Detroit said. "Maybe a civil step or two past. If it was me, I'd run any scenario through Risk-Analyze, that's got a legal brief."

Wenzel nodded. Talking face to face was his style, but this Detroit kid might fit into some other field position. The guy might, or just might not fit into field ops... but this dynamic techie skill set could play a huge support role. Good contact either way, and the team he envisioned was going to need specialists.

"What if they know you're helping enforce?" Wenzel said. "The greater good."

"Define greater good."

"Laws of planetary conscience," Wenzel said. "What we gotta do to keep our home field in good shape. We, as in us, on our third rock planet."

"And who would they be?"

"Everybody, anybody," Wenzel said. "Take out those who don't, won't or say they can't. Poke'em."

Detroit stared straight at him, face twitching, and Wenzel could tell he'd touched a nerve, and was gaining connection. Maybe with a totally solid team player... maybe a remote command contact dude. The guy might be geeky in the lunchroom, but he'd fit into Wenzel's team that way just fine.

"You talk Halo?" Detroit said. "Like HRV, old version was Ring."

"HRV, like Head Ring Voice," Wenzel said. "Tell me."

"Best going, for total Engage," Detroit said. "Solid guides, like none of that Siri suckin' you into pop advertising shit."

Old folks wouldn't have a clue what the guy was saying, and Wenzel had to slow his mind, and take his time trying to absorb the tech talk.

"You be our expert advisor," Wenzel said. "All things technical."

"I just got Halo—auto eyes," Detroit said, his eyes brightening. "You walk, Halo guides."

"Awesome," Wenzel said, thinking hard to fit in a thought. "Can we start off voice to voice? Say, in bike helmets?"

Detroit stopped talking, kinda abruptly, gaping. His turn to absorb, Wenzel deduced, as he watched the kid's face shift into a totally blank-eyed stare. The guy had never ridden, that was sure.

"Real world, back seat you," Wenzel said. "Give you a ride home after school."

Wenzel watched Detroit's face grind the inner gears, half slipping back to that tough guy look.

"Yeah, shit," Detroit said at last. "Like, where's the bike?"

"E-charge, fourth rack," Wenzel said. "In the parking lot."

With the bell ringing, they both rose, walking their Moraine cafeteria food trays over to the bins. Wenzel offered and received a fist bump, and as he walked off he held a thumbs-up half for himself, and half across the room. Knowing he could work with this guy; a serious addition to his planned action team.

##

Outside after final class, Wenzel signaled Detroit over to his bike as he pulled plug from Rack4. Handing him the spare helmet, he watched Dee check out the inside, and then click in some blue-tooth looking device. Wenzel passed over his helmet for the same upgrade.

"She's old." Wenzel waved at his bike. "Lithi-Ion batts hold a charge, like one trip cross the city and back."

"Nice," Detroit said, un-swayed. Glancing to screen, he swished adjustments. "BTooth reads your power—you got heaps for telecom."

"Sooo?"

"Set yours to BTooth Borrow," Detroit said, handing Wenzel's helmet back. "Your batts power our Engage."

"We can talk?"

"Totally, yeah," Detroit nodded. "We're gonna need cams too."

"Awesome. You know, we need a schedule," Wenzel said. "And a target and options list."

"Been thinkin'. Say the guy in a wheelchair has the best brain patterns goin'," Detroit said. "No one notices a guy like that. He'd be a base of operation, or observation."

"Yeah sure, let's pin that up on our options list," Wenzel said. "Just, first, we need a date and time... and a place to start."

"We need to remain undetected," Detroit said, quite adamant. "Absolutely critical."

"I hear you Dee—we can ride and talk," Wenzel said. "Jump on the back. I drive, you passenger ride."

Flipping his dark hair back, Wenzel slid his helmet on and swung over the bike seat. Bizarre... he could hear Dee's breathing like they were in one helmet.

"Been thinkin' too," Wenzel said, through helmet voice. "Hang over day. After last day of Stampede."

"After the party," Detroit said. "So that's a time."

"We cruse Hummer data, dude," Wenzel said. "Stranded in some bar parking lot, sittin' totally vulnerable."

"Bar parking lot, that's a place," Detroit said. "But... Hummer?"

"Hold a sec... what's volume?" Wenzel said. "Don't want you in my face."

"Voice," Detroit said. "Keep talkin'... takes a minute to learn you."

"Cool dude," Wenzel said. "C'mon, swing on. Yeah, Hummer's a monster truck."

Wenzel could feel the kid fumble onto the back seat, and heaving the bike back, he kicked the stand up. Cruising slowly down the parking lot lane, he secured his gadget bag, feeling Detroit fumbling with his shoulder straps.

"Like physics, but you feel our angular momentum," Wenzel said. "And watch your balance while we ride."

Wenzel took them out into the light school zone traffic, getting his own feel for the extra rider on back. They'd be voice engaging totally; noise cancellation on all traffic sounds, an excellent com system. Riding set Wenzel free, and this talk tech was a bonus.

"Can our Engage give me voice directions?" Wenzel said, giving his new partner a field challenge. The kid was gaining points fast with the tech he brought along.

"Not a problem," Detroit said. "Here's a young female voice, only in your helmet. Want an accent?"

"British please." Impressed, Wenzel leaned into their first corner. Needing to lean hard, and compensate for passenger shifts, he figured keep talking up the good, and start up a get to know the team chatter.

"You got a woman Detroit?"

"Nah," Detroit said. "Who's that chick you nodded to in the caff?"

"Hazel's in my Psych class," Wenzel said. "We got this team project."

"She's a babe."

"You got an eye for women Dee," Wenzel said.

Wenzel had so far noticed Hazel's interest in trust, like the science of, and that fit their project theme. True, he had to admit, he'd noticed her female figure a couple times, and caught her eye—an attractive lady, no question.

"Does she game?"

"She's got this virtual track—Design Island," Wenzel said. "Takes you to Easter Island, and you play to survive. The better way, she says, is to find a better way."

"Cool," Detroit said. "Sounds like a game."

"You gotta meet this Marv guy," Wenzel said. "The guy's kinda there, but not all."

"What for then?" Dee said.

"He's got his useful," Wenzel said. "You'll see."

Wenzel needed be careful with his team building tactics, sensing already Dee worked better on his own. He'd only chatted up the Marv guy a couple times, and didn't want to scare one team member off with another. Marv might be crazy, but the dude rode, and rode crazy too, so that he had going for him. The British girl-voice guided their bike through the calmer streets, the inner city mix of trashy old houses splashed in with stone mansions. Being not far from school was maybe a good thing as Dee shifted the wrong way a couple times, and Wenzel worked hard to keep a balance.

A couple soft corners more, and Wenzel pulled his bike into a curved brick drive. Goosing it up the steep, he swung around on the flat in front the double door entrance. An extra-large one of those stone mansions. Leaning hard to offset the mass shift, as Detroit slid off the back, Wenzel grinned at the team forming challenge. Their roles might work best split into field crew and stationary contact control.

"Quite the crib," Wenzel said, nodding at the house.

"Yeah, empty most of the time," Detroit handed him the helmet, talking direct. "The parents run an international contracts legal firm, so like Calgary fossil fuel service companies. Heard of the HICCC, like in Africa?"

"That Green Sahara project," Wenzel said. "Yeah, in Africa."

"So they leave me, the skunk and the bot here," Dee said. "And fly around the world advising board meetings."

"You are kin to both friends and enemies, dude," Wenzel said, giving his grin. "Our tech guy, and our spy... stay in touch."
Chapter 6

City Zoo

As a Kakina employee, Benj had been invited to a City of Calgary engineering event. His one guest allowance permitted Vince to tag in. A free entrance to the Calgary Zoo; Vince wondered why there. Benj explained people liked the Zoo, so the City, being politically wise, financed the place with city tax. Thus, City Engineering held an all-day team meeting and public engagement event there. What Benj really wanted, was Vince exposed to an inside view of local attitudes on the climate crisis.

Vince made his way through the Zoo gates, where his entrance code scanned into the Safari Building. Spotting Benj inside chatting to a guy, Vince made an approach. Benj introduced the fellow as Michael, a dressed casual grey-haired City planning analyst.

Grabbing plates heaped with waffles, eggs and Beyond Meat sausages, they found a table and sat.

"So you guys're engineers," Michael said. "High marks in math guys, yes?"

"Just 'cause you get the math scores," Vince said. "Doesn't make that your thing."

"Fair enough," Michael said. "Why engineering then?"

"Teaches you to think," Vince said. "Some say that—I think about more than engineering."

"Yeah, Benj was saying so," Michael said. "So here's a set of math questions, that anyone shouldn't need engineering to get correct."

Vince sensed the challenge in his tone, and glanced to Benj. But Mr. Kakina, staring at his device screen, rose at that moment, asking if anyone needed coffee. Vince held up his cup for Benj to see.

"Please," Vince said, digging into his eggs, and looking to Michael. "Ask away."

"Question one... how many habitable planets do we have in our solar system?"

"Habitable, okay, that'd be our Earth, and let's count our Mars Station," Vince said, chomping on toast. "What, Jackie and Hayden have two kids now, Miriam has a second child, after Lou died, so forty-one resident Martians. Add Mars space to our eight billion population... a tiny fraction over one."

"Yes, yes, now think other species," Michael said, livening up to the response. "And think history."

"Our domestic livestock?" Vince said. "And how far back?"

"Your call," Michael said, shrugging. "Tell me what first comes to your mind."

"Wildlife, well our wildlife populations keep plummeting," Vince said. "To the point where we count extinctions. And, just thinking for a second, I'd classify our domestic biomass—our dogs and meat and dairy critters with humans. As human demand."

"Under five percent," Michael said. "That's the biosphere we leave for wildlife."

"No caca."

"Now take history," Michael said. "Do we have the planetary biosphere we once had, say, even a few decades ago?"

"Biosphere being all that's alive," Vince said. "Short answer... no way."

Nodding, Michael turned to Benj returning to the table with coffee, and cream and sugar dispensers.

"Okay, forget Mars, not significant," Vince said. "Assume an improved rewilding, say we give humans eighty percent of the planet, max. Combined with degraded over time, we've got say three quarters of a habitable planet. For people."

Michael looked at both of them, eyes calm, and sad.

"That living planets estimate," Benj said, nodding at Vince. "Less than one, I said."

"Excellent, now question two." Michael held a finger up. "How many planets do we consume living our individual lifestyles? Assume each person lives that lifestyle."

"Cool if that were measurable," Vince said, glancing to Benj. The way Benj looked seemed to affirm that it was. Measurable. "Okay, how many?"

"For Calgary, this city, seven and change," Michael said. "For Canada, oh Canada this country, just under five."

"No shite," Vince said. "Per person, you're saying."

"And the United States?" Benj said.

"Five and a half," Michael said. "Yes, per capita."

"And China?" Benj said.

"About half Canada," Michael said. "About a third of Calgary's."

"Population by per capita would give national total."

"Correct, so all Chinese or all Canadian citizens combined," Michael said. "That national total's another number to know."

"Europe?" Benj said, looking at Vince.

"Western Europe," Michael said. "Three planets."

"Fascinating," Vince said. "And you compared a country to a city; Canada to Calgary. Pretty cool math. How about, say, all countries?"

"One point eight planets," Michael said. "Does the issue not glare out as a no-brainer?"

"We consume like twice what we've got," Benj said. "Over twice what we should."

"Like I was telling you, Benj, "Michael said. "Huge potential for communication purposes. Search up Overshoot Day." He looked to Vince. "That's the day of the year any city or country gets to one planet, so debt financing our biosphere away, or however you want to frame it after that."

"Who issues that loan?" Vince said. "Those loans."

"Our life support system, that being our biosphere. Deforested lands, left degraded or shifted to agriculture," Michael said. "Loss of soils on said agricultural lands, carbon dumped in the atmosphere to become a climate crisis, crowding out other species, so biodiversity loss—there's a long list built up on that debt."

"And the lifestyle, Michael," Benj said. "Expand on that for Vince."

"Or let's let him think it through. Question three's a word problem," Michael said. "So take your thinking beyond our so far discussed numbers. The third ask would be a people question. Can the human world continue with a growth economy? Yes or no, and explain why or why not."

Sensing the question to be for homework, for later discussion, Vince took in the hollow look in Michael's eyes. Absorbing that emptiness into his own howling empty storm. A swirling mathematical vortex, crashing at the human project, with harsh gusts of warning. When all around you slammed into your reality, with stupid and useless mixed in.

They turned silently from finished breakfasts to coffees, and relief came when the fellow on the stage started the official event, asking for attention to the introduction.

##

After a morning meant to be entertaining engagement, frolic around games turned into a launched challenge for any wild idea, and a prize. Fun time brain storming solidified City teams, Michael said. Theoretically, although no one spoke of the planets count, and most focused on the wonders of future engineering technology that would make everything just fine. No problem, all's okay.

Lunch break arrived, and with another meal on the City tab, Vince picked up on the offer to tour the Zoo. "Our closest genetic relatives," Benj winked at Vince, scratching at his armpit. Vince smiled. Michael nodded at the idea, and their conversation continued as they wandered out.

"Benj says you don't think much of City meetings," Vince said. "You in a department?"

"Urban planning," Michael said. "Meetings, yeah, rarely do I go by choice. Pretty much blah blah blah wastes of time."

Along the sidewalk, they chatted on. The province around their city had a recent year's wildfire season flare up, just when a newly elected government cancelled a provincial carbon tax. They all knew that. The tax repeal celebration ended up being cancelled, strategically, when Edmonton streets filled up with wildfire smoke that day. Not BC mountain wildfires either, not that time; instead flames raging up around an Alberta town. A town that had to be vacated. Twice. With these local extremes known, Benj wanted Vince to take on a calm observational role, and to help evaluate a city meeting.

"Michael's invited us," Benj said. "A meeting this week."

"Walk out early if you want; context would be we just got another new manager," Michael said. "Fifth in under two years, as the corporation endlessly reorganizes. As you may notice, this day's event is with another department. Lot of engineers here, like you guys. The meeting this week would be planners; a different ballgame."

Entering the Primates area in the Tropical Building, Benj led them in along to a glass wall. Chatting on, they took in Western African gorillas engaging socially, while another primate species swung about higher above.

Curled his face up into a that of a chimp, Benj gave a soft grunt. Stupid not being a nice word, he explained, he came here from time to time, needing to howl out his primal instinctive frustration at other people. To release his innate instincts, to express truth at the chaotic world around.

"Our climate situation's completely unfair," Benj said. "At least people understand fairness."

Benj led the way around, and up a set of stairs. An elevated perspective of the primate enclave. And up there, Vince read an information sign. That the two species, the gorillas and those higher elevation in the trees monkeys lived this way in the wild, cohabiting the same jungle the sign said. Symbiotic, the sign said.

"The fair, and the unfair," Vince said. "Human nature."

"Your city tax base pays the benefits of the clever, the lucky and the stupid," Michael said. "And right outside City Hall, the not so clever nor lucky, those homeless are allowed to beg. There too, the stronger protest, with signs held high."

"This documentary on chimps investigates primate fairness," Benj said. "Chimp orphans do get adopted, but only once in a while; their chances are poor."

"Tough life," Vince said. "That tell us something... what else?"

"Cultural models of our inner chimp nature," Benj said. "Sharing meat between males creates bonds, and for chimps they use those bonds to dominate, to lead, and to take females. Except Bonobos—that would be the kindly, more feminine cousin species we have."

"So like people," Michael said. "In so many ways."

"So what's your team meeting like?" Vince said. "Those city employee people."

"Like a kindergarten class," Michael said, wry look on his face. "Often like when the teacher's absent."

"C'mon Michael," Benj said. "You exaggerate."

"True, but not true. Bigger words, yes, like this latest stage-gating term," Michael said. "Ask me if you want to know more, the latest manager says. Let's put an example to that—permits approval, that's the value we provide. Write that on sticky note A20, and what do we group that sticky under, her charismatic coordinator will say."

"Same job place," Vince said. "Too long."

"You got that right," Michael said. "Popular job place for many, the benefits, the stable pay. Tax base financed. Take one of those kindergarten meetings—they run at three thousand dollars an hour with a full employee circle attending. A group of 'adults' encouraged to 'discuss' what to do with a little sticky note. 'What do you say Bobby? Here or here? Oh, two places, everyone okay with that?'"

"What keeps you there?"

"Nice views from those meeting rooms, come and see," Michael said. Vince saw the guy grin, really the first time that day. "Naw, the data. A Canadian city of this size has excellent datasets. I've measured planets consumed and published that for academic science. Housing, transportation, well versed units, and energy in Kilowatt hours or Gigajoules, that's standard enough, yeah, excellent data."

Clues on question three, Vince perceived. Houses, cars and energy... he stored that back of mind.

As they set off back to the Safari Building, Vince fell into wondering how far north chimps or those bonobos might venture, with a Green Sahara forming. Maybe not far for bonobos, 'cause one sign said they inhabited deep tropical jungle, near the equator. Searching on his device, Vince found that unfortunately, the bonobo's entire range did not extend beyond the borders of one African country far south of the Sahel. Quite a politically unstable nation too; a government that never replied to an HICCC invitation to join. People had their political borders, but chimps knew borders too: natural borders showed on one bonobo range map. Looked like bonobos stayed south of the Congo River, living only in that bioregion.

Back at the Safari Building, they grabbed fresh coffees and found their table.

"You say this City won't talk planets," Benj said. "And so rarely uses your data."

"Yup," Michael said, sighing deep. "But maybe other cities notice the science in anything I get published. Like Vancouver or Toronto or Montreal, any might pick up the ball."

"Alberta politics," Vince said, watching Michael nod.

"Unless," Michael said, looking at Vince and Benj. "Maybe you guys."

Opening his paper notebook, Michael flipped through a stack of paper graphs. Each he knew well, each illustrating the City's measured carbon emissions. Not just carbon, he pointed out, but total biosphere consumption. An iconic human footprint, to symbolize. And, several proposed solutions. His face went a bit hard, as he paused at each solution—net zero building upgrades made such obvious sense—as opposed to the City's real-world measured action. Or non-action.

"Looks like numbers crunched," Vince said. "Solutions defined."

"There's this coordinator in my team meeting. Pipes up on geospatial analysis," Michael said, sour smile on. "Sounds good, right? But that's the official story, which fits the false conversation. Cause, no one actually carries out analyses, let alone geospatial ones."

"Other species convey false information," Benj said. "Appearing as the poisonous, or stinging, but just for show."

"Frustrating immaturity, though, what Michael describes," Vince said. "Especially if humanity's the most intelligent, and progressively advanced."

"Largest brain box," Benj said. "Proportional to body mass."

"We have strategic projects in the service enhancement category," Michael said, role playing a kindergarten-like meeting. "Then at the execution level, we can see how that cascades as our projects are delivered. We will achieve customer service, and citizen engagement; okay, children, let's give a cheer."

"You got data," Vince said. "But not the right employees."

"People I work with live each in their own Disney world," Michael said. "Vegas for the rougher ones. Mickey Mouse had a house for others. The next slot machine spin, that'll pay off all my debts. Each type responds to the roulette wheel loss, or to Mickey's crumbling house in a variety of ways."

"At least we can classify, our human nature," Vince said. "We humans started talking, as we evolved, and we learned to conceptualize, back in Africa."

"Basic instincts," Benj said. "Underlying modern dreams."

"Allow me to rant my last," Michael said. "This meeting, if you guys come."

"Let it out," Vince said. "Give us a preview."

"This charismatic coordinator will be at the front, keeping all sheep in the herd tuned in with rhythm and rhyme. Feel warm, you perform, be the norm, he'll shout, we want to build a team. Now, we'll number off into ones, twos and threes and divide up into groups. Then we'll form our stickies into a value stream. Who knows what a value stream is?" Michael sighed. "Thanks for hearing me out."

"You gotta organize somehow," Vince said. "Monkeys live in troupes, right?"

"We gotta organize ourselves to fit on one habitable planet," Michael said. "And keep said planetary rock habitable. That's our one huge challenge."

Afternoon sessions in the Safari Building got underway, but Vince broke away early. Device connected, they agreed to meet at City Hall one day that week. For calm observation purposes.

##

Two days later Vince headed downtown to again meet Michael and Benj at City Hall. The evidence jumped out so clear on Michael's graphs—the chart plainly showing the City not achieving its carbon target. Even when the elected City Council had approved that target years previous. The City Councilor most environmentally supportive had released polite statements, pointing out the City's exceptional ability to formulate professional climate action plans, and then leave them gathering dust on the shelves.

Grabbing a Good Earth coffee on the first-floor plaza, Vince found a bar stool seat across. At the tall table, he gazed along and through a transparent glass wall extending way back past the entrance doors. Calm music resonated out of one coffee shop corner, and voice murmurs drifted across from the tables around. Daytime downtown people walked past, focused on device screens; urban citizens, dressed, and playing their downtown roles.

Slurping at his hot coffee, Vince leaned back in the tight high chair. Watching those people, he imagined what that downtown screen to screen conversation might be. Lost to global issues, likely, and so unaware in the day to day.

"Listen real careful you people," he whispered under his breath. "You're riding your children on a crash course wave—wake up, wake up."

Benj appeared through the doors, paper coffee cup in hand from down the street. That moment with the primates; that armpit scratch at the Zoo. Spotting each other, their mutual grins broke out, telling Vince this guy had an itch for people and the world.

"My daughter tells me funnies," Vince said. "Like, early teenager jokes."

"Tell me," Benj said.

"There's these people got an alternate days-of-the-week," Vince said. "There's four Mondays, after that Friday and Saturday, and then pre-Monday."

"Yeah, yeah," Benj said, chuckling.

"Some around here," Vince said, nodding his head around. "Might fit that."

"Yup," Benj said. "Hey Michael."

Vince followed Benj turning to their third arrival.

"You guys ready?" Michael said. "Meeting room's on the sixth floor."

"I want to work in this place," Vince said, grinning wide. "I want a view like this." He waved a hand around, and out through the glass wall.

Their look extended over outside bicycle racks, and along a glass bend in the downtown architecture beyond. Half smiling, Michael nodded, and led them over to the elevator.

"We've got citizens today, representing the local Climate Hub," Michael said. "They meet with the City's senior planners to discuss the Calgary climate action plan."

Out of the elevator on the sixth, and through a maze of doors and cubicles, they found the room and seats around the table. After the shuffle of intros, and getting the meeting going, a Hub member inquired into the City's status on one approved target. The MDP, the Municipal Development Plan, had called for a specifically defined shift of housing to existing neighborhoods. Urban sprawl, versus redevelopment being the issue. A senior planner spoke.

"Oh, last study by our consultant showed we've got twenty percent."

"Wasn't your target fifty," the Hub spokesperson said. "Percent?"

"Yeah, was it?" the senior planner said. "Well that shows people really do want houses in the suburbs."

"Was sprawl not defined as the City's problem?" the Hub spokesperson persisted, all three on the Hub team nodding their heads. "And setting this specific target was your solution?"

"Oh, we'll have to ask Harry," the senior planner said. "Wasn't he manager last year?"

"Yeah, I'll send him an email," the other planner said. "He's on holidays next four weeks."

"Did he reply to you?"

"Oh, he does after a while," the second planner said. "You have to give him a chance to catch up."

As the meeting found a rhythm, and droned on, Vince saw Michael slump and fade. Benj kept perky, jotting down notes. Talk switched to other departments, and their designated climate actions. Oh, you remember that study they did. Oh I remember when it was in a database, oh that's why, oh okay, we can get rid of the old version now, blah blah blah... Vince estimated sixty percent on the blah-bitty-blah, maybe ten on lame attempts at humour, and twenty deferring to the future, or another person. So maybe ten percent productive in the end. Quite an inefficient process; like focused on circle of passing the buck and delaying action.

If these planners were senior, they could have Michael's simplest of math before their eyes, quantifying the climate truth. The planet count; would they then respond in such a nonchalant way? Almost like Vince was in an asylum for the mentally deficient, versions of reality being open to selection. The City scored an F on their Greta girl assigned homework, going by Michael's graphs, yet the City acted on or out like a delinquent school child. Or one with major learning disabilities.

After the designated hour, Benj seemed satisfied with the notes he took, the three arose with the others to leave. They walked out of the meeting room, and Vince and Benj shook hands with Michael, wishing him a great day at the elevator door. Vince and Benj stood alone for the six-floor descent.

"There was this chicken," Vince said. "Lived to cross the road; didn't make it."

"All chit-chat with no talk of climate crisis," Benj said. "Like lambs bleating on those days before the silence."

"No climate solution here then."

"Not in my notes."

Stone silence, and Vince had to agree. Near zero real climate talk, here at City Hall, at any time that week, and not at the Zoo event. While the crisis of climate rang an existential threat. People bleating like sheep about their everyday grass, while the climate wolf slunk through the tall grass, and they disappeared one by one.

They stepped out through the elevator doors and wandered over to the glass exit doors, where they stopped for a moment. Benj told how he'd tried poking into chats, pointing out the doctor's cancer diagnosis of the climate threat. He'd spoken frankly to the adult fathers of children, who, climate tone deaf, quickly shifted back into their state of delusion. Benj had modified his personal outlook, over time, deciding on adaptation to the chosen-to-be-empty minds around.

"Instinctive denial," Benj said. "They listen, they chat but they don't hear. They don't want to hear."

"How about the chem trail crowd?" Vince said. "And, those others with scientific proofs CO2's good for plants."

"Not worth talking to that second group," Benj said. "And for the first, you can mention those contrails are condensed water vapour."

"Sure."

"So you've seen what I see, Vince," Benj said. "A huge acceptance challenge; and our species still at such a global level of irresponsibility, and planetary immaturity."

Vince glanced across at Benj, nodding his head. The forest of disbelief they had to forge through. For Vince's daughter's, or any chance of a brave new world.

"How many years ago?" Vince said. "Hollywood staged that North Pole dive into the Arctic Ocean."

"After the Blue Ocean Event," Benj said. "A couple years after that first September thaw."

"Did people notice that?"

"They knew the actors," Benj said. "And then started talking on and on about other movies they're in."

"What then?"

"Join us," Benj said. "We've got the physical end of engineering down. We need to re-engineering the human attitude. Come work at Kakina."

All clicked into place, and Vince realized what Benj proposed. But he had to keep the Green Sahara contracts in Africa going.

"Kay, a contract job to start," Benj said, noticing the hesitation. "Come down to our office, and we'll chat."

Walking across the plaza, the took the steps down to the sidewalk in step. Parting ways with Benj at the lights, Vince stepped into a BudiCab and headed back out of downtown.
Chapter 7

Downtown Calgary

Late nights, in the Sahel of African Niger, in that drone zone, had never left Vince's mind at peace. And now, in this low brick Calgary office building, the walls creaked and groaned. Seeking an escape, eyes drawn out through the blinders, he stared into a tree top standing before the sunset sky. A head appeared there, in the branches, a man's with a moving mouth, and with the tree leaves speaking, he listened. A crested-helmet soldier, from ancient times, sought to pass along secrets of their world. The grimace of rage, or a knowing half-smile. Speaking destiny in fractals, and Fibonacci... war no more.

He had to get out; he needed distraction. Dropping all, he left that engineering office space, for the outdoors.

Walking the inner suburban streets, he wandered towards the river bridge. The sounds of running water, mountain waters, still cool, clear and blue. Along blocks of housing, many infills, the missing power lines allowed trees to flourish. Kakina data mapped out areas with all urban homes switched to net zero. Solar panels had detached homes from the need for that old wire power grid. Unfortunate that hadn't happened a decade or two earlier, Benj said, when the impact could have been meaningful.

A data focus, or anything, he needed relief.

Those CCA meetings Benj mentioned. He said he'd been there a couple times. Vince checked his device, that infogram with the Climate Change Anonymous address. A place to express your eco-grief, Benj said, and any other crazy in your mind. Like a face talking out of the tree leaves. Maybe.

Back in Africa Jeri talked of AA meetings, and her analytical talk took the results apart. She said many don't make the life and death struggle with addictions. Simply put, some never find the doors of AA, she said. But out of the others, the ones who did come, some still didn't make enough change to get well. What had she said... those constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves. Like all the fucking climate denial people. For other reasons, too, some walk back out, she said, choosing to die rather than face the mirror reflected truth.

The human species, squeezed onto the one planet they had conquered and subdued, and having taken on apex predator, gardener and caretake status, yet now refused to accept the consequences. To face the truth. Perhaps constitutionally incapable of taking a hard look in the mirror, and reflecting on that reflection. Refusing to accept responsibility.

With climate evidence so clear, even for those unable to absorb science. Wildfire smoke blew summer evidence into the city, and the Bow and Elbow rivers were destined to reflood their banks. Northern Alberta cities and towns in had blocks of houses burnt up in flames. Insurance costs soared, on an escalating curve—people near always noticed any pocketbook impact. Yet, like stunned sheep, they wandered their grassy meadows ignoring the hungry climate wolf. They watched each other get picked off by the climate crisis, while the herd left behind kept chewing on their grass. For traditional Calgarians, another vacation tour of the nice beaches, scarcer each year, or a trip to visit the family to reminisce the good old days. For baby boomers, summertime travels in their carbon spewing motor homes, on another camping trip out in the wilderness. And what made the least sense for people: disaster zone tours gaining popularity.

Wake the fuck up you people, Vince so needed to scream: stop drinking that consumer Kool-Aid. Grow up you morons, and stop trashing your own life support system. Like a deep-sea diver, ditching his tanks. Insane. My daughter's future, he raged across the bridge indifferent to any calming of those mountain waters running below. Who in their right mind takes it to the point of death? The hard walking and internal screaming helped to release his frustration. C'mon, fix things up you bozos. Constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves.

Benj said you could talk about your anger, and your fears at these meetings, your concerns, your truthful reality. And others there agreed to just listen, and people together found mutual relief in those meetings. He stepped off the bridge, downtown, and oriented his walk towards the CCA meeting.

##

Coming up on a downtown brick church, Vince glanced about to identify the meeting address; some building doorways displayed numbers. A couple young guys leaned up against one entranceway wall, and Benj's info text said take that as a people sign.

"Hey mister, just puff puffin' here," one guy said. "Meeting's downstairs."

Vince made his way down the steps into a basement, and followed arrows posted along a hallway to an opened door meeting room. Inside at one end of a circle of chairs, some occupied, a chairperson sat in front of paper and pamphlets on a collapsible table.

Vince found a chair, and sat. Glancing around, he rad a printed expression on one wall reading One Day at a Time. He closed his eyes, and tried to relax.

That chairperson spoke, chairs shuffled and the meeting started up with people in chairs reading. Rarely had they seen a person fail who had thoroughly followed their path, our path, he heard. There are those who believed they deserved what they have, a lifestyle that clearly did not fit on our planet when shared fairly. They are not at fault. They seem to have been born that way. There are those too who are mentally and culturally incapable of realizing change.

Support for the idea the human species had evolved in a certain way, and was not at fault. If Vince could keep that in mind, day to day, he might find some comfort there. Retain some peace, and sanity.

Being a discussion meeting, the chairperson asked for topics. On an old chalk board behind the table, a volunteer scrambled up to scrawl Surrender, and then Awakening and Step Two. The steps were written on a poster, twelve of them, and Step Two appeared to involve coming to believe in a power greater than self. Well, Vince did have his fractal angel—who might just have formed that soldier face animated in the tree leaves. One person in a chair started talking, and everyone else listened.

"My name is Luanne," the woman said. "And I am climate crisis concerned."

Vince's ears perked, and he listened closer, and even closer as the sharing went from person to person. Bits and pieces of the talking sank right in, as he became aware these people were talking about what went through his mind often enough. He listened closest when a grizzly old grey-haired fellow spoke.

"I'm Steve," the old timer said. "And I got climate issues."

The old guy talked for a bit, with most seeming to appreciate his voice. Many years in the mother program of AA, Steve had, yet his first meeting had been for adult children. When he sat at that first meeting, he heard conversation he never had growing up. Never at the home dinner table, and that inside appeal to speak your truth released him, and kept him coming. And now, he calmly accepted it all—we might destroy ourselves with old ideas of battlefields and war, he said, 'victories', or, we might shift our views, take care of our planet, and survive. Steve talked of his own playful inner child, the anima some say, your soul for others, but the earthy playground loving part of everyone. He had become a lover of Earth, he joked, so LGBTQ but you gotta add in an E for Earth.

At the halftime break they had announcements, and one fellow reminded all of the meeting after the meeting at the coffee shop. Newcomers were welcome.

The sharing when on, and Vince found the twinkle of an inner lightness coming on, resolution, or that acceptance; he wasn't sure. Ego held you back, some said. One woman talked of kicking the idea of being ruler of the world, or the universe, right out of her head. Like as if ego was just that. Humility, another woman said.

At the end of the meeting they all stood, before their circle of chairs, and repeated a saying together. All ended with a hand clasp of togetherness. While helping stack the chairs Vince saw streaks of original red blonde running through that old guy Steve's grey hair. He followed the guy each other up the stairs, and in the coffee shop direction.

##

Making their way through the coffee shop door, a Steve and three young guys from the meeting found a table. All the women had made their way home, this late in the evening downtown, so men only. With the young fellows chatting up their climate concerns, Steve looked at Vince across his coffee cup, cheeks crinkled into a Brad type perpetual smile.

"Love," Steve said. "First person to mind."

"Lisi," Vince said. "My daughter's twelve."

"Your wife?"

"Don't ask."

"You love her too, the mother of your child," Steve said. "Just maybe love isn't what we tell ourselves."

"Right."

"Love is frustrating," Steve said. "Love is anger, love is fury, love has a taste of that hatefulness mixed in, but love is everything."

Vince said nothing, taking in this real world human voice wisdom. Better than trying to figure out a helmeted solder head in the tree leaves.

"Love is being engaged," Steve said. "When you love our mother Earth, you engage. For your daughter, but for your wife too. For all people... maybe you just need to define what love means."

"Yeah," Vince said. "Maybe."

"Hey... I know nothing," Steve said, grinning. "Our meetings are meant to be suggestive only."

"Take what you want and leave the rest," one young fellow chimed in. Steve smiled, and nodded.

"You notice half the people around anywhere are women," Steve grinned. "Bodies shaped like women, and they dress all feminine—healthy men notice that. Triggers you, sexually."

Vince stared, uncomfortable. Not a dining room conversation in his home, neither growing up, nor now.

"We find beauty, in others like us, especially the young ones," he said. "And, though kings and emperors have tried, you can't have them all as wives... but you can love them all. Spiritually."

Vince listened.

"That, you can do," Steve said. "All the women, and children, and other men in your village, and on your planet, you can care for them. You can dedicate your life to their care."

"Their biosphere," Vince said. "All that's alive."

"Yup."

The old guy chatted on with the young guys, leaving Vince to absorb. Tamanna, the attractive British climatologist on the African team; he'd held her hand once, in Florence, that one moment of intensity after meeting the Canadian Minister. But she knew of his daughter, and his marriage, and she respected that. Her cousins in Bangladesh cheered on the HICCC, deeply advocating their country's survival above ocean waves. Issues above flirting; love this guy said, beyond any passing romantic fantasy; any inner teenager crush. His parents had modelled a lifetime marriage commitment. And he sure did want the best for Lisi, whatever her future partnership deal might be. As a father, he could make wise village choices.

Ego translated into self-righteousness, one voice in the meeting had said. And another, that freedom from climate denial and any associated depression was available, and that in this program the twelve steps were the path to freedom. Freedom, and that chat question Lisi asked. A spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, they said as one of their promises, especially fulfilling in the last three steps. Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, the last step stated.

Waving a goodbye to the others, and stepping out on the late-night sidewalk, Vince walked off into the cool downtown air. As he cut down a back street, he saw a poster of the first Greta, and Greta girls, and even the remains of a Banksy spray paint image on a concrete wall.

This same downtown had been that of the Fridays for Future marches and protests. Championing that first Greta's voice, girls having no interest in what adults knew or didn't, they let adults know how little they mattered. Thanks for what you've done biologically, a Greta girl would say. Like getting us this far, but you've served your purpose. You've trashed our planet, so now, it's time for you to go to your room and let us children clean up after you. He'd heard it all, somewhere, over the years.

Adults were but worn out children, he reasoned. To be left on the old toy heap at certain points in time, as children arose, and grew anew. Hard to say when his expiry date might come, but from what that Steve said, he had a planet to help preserve.

A higher power's voice could be speaking through Greta girls. The first Greta had been diagnosed with Asperger's, yet her thoughts spoke out so clear as a teenager, and echoed on in many girls to this day. A voice challenging presidents. That time she tapped her mike, asking the UN crowd, or the Davos billionaire meeting if they could hear her. That was classic. Was the mike working, or was her English good, she questioned. Meme's that lived on. Forcing those who could understand to recognize their lack of hearing the real climate crisis message. Could they not hear, or did they choose not to hear; the question each adult had to ask. Speaking specific to the global climate crisis, with the clever insightful voice of a girl, she showed a power even over the rich, and adults of authority.

Young girls speaking directly, and honestly, with integrity to the big men, those with leadership needs, that adults followed like sheep; the dictator types. Sure enough, the voice of girls was a power greater. A power over an existing power. Yeah, Vince could come back to a meeting like this. They said over thirty meetings a week in Calgary, and in a lot of other cities. Probably in Spokane—he had to tell Brad.
Chapter 8

School Playground

The two girls walked past the three trees at the corner, along the back path leading to the school grounds. Lisi and her friend Charlize had teasingly talked adult as they strolled sedately along the street, but when their school beckoned across the open grass, they burst into a wild dash. Lisi led the way, waiting for her really-good-with-words but not so athletic friend. At the edge of the playground bouncy turf they slowed, and Lisi with a dance step, spun about to introduce Charlize's entrance.

"Welcome to zee school of old," Lisi said, bowing low. "My lady."

"I'm going to miss this place," Charlize sighed. "Will you?"

"Oh I will," Lisi said. "But we are off to l'ecole de français, mademoiselle."

"Ah oui," Charlize said. "And our Grade seven French emersion world of growing up."

"I wonder if Angelique will come around today," Lisi said. She broke cadence, and scrambled up the monkey rungs to the lookout deck.

"We don't even know where she lives," Charlize said. She walked in under the deck, and sat serenely at the hideaway bench.

"Maybe she's not even real," Lisi called down. "Maybe she's all in our heads."

"She was never in school," Charlize said, looking up. "Not in any grade."

"Was so at school... she played with us right here," Lisi said. "And she came inside to skills class."

"Yes?" Charlize said. "Inside our school."

"Well I like her."

"So true, me too."

"Can you do this?"

Lisi squatted low, and wiggled her runners back and forth down the tube slide.

"Ohh Lisi B, we're not elementary school children anymore."

"Who cares," Lisi sang out. "This is so fun!"

"We have to arrange a goodbye party," Charlize called out. "Au revoir to six years of wonder."

"You are so worldly Charlize Kara," Lisi said. She spun around at the bottom of the slide, and grabbing the edges scooted back up. Lying flat on the deck, she hung her head over the edge, viewing her upside-down friend through her streaming hair.

"Six years of favorite teachers and friends," Charlize said, waving at Lisi. "I came to this school for K... when I was five, so seven years for me actually."

"Best Friends Forever," Lisi said. "Oh Char-char, we do have to come visit."

"Your favorite teacher was Miss Fuller."

"Yours was Miss Spriggs."

Lisi peered around her upside-down world, her scan zeroing in longingly on the school entrance door.

"In September we return," Charlize said. "Just a few more days."

"We so need our friends and teachers Char-char," Lisi said. "People I mean, we so need each other."

"Looks who's worldly now," Charlize said. "But yes true."

Lisi swung down off the deck, running circles around the playground. She had to get the upside-downs out of her head, and feeling her shoes grip the bouncy turf helped so much.

"My dad says we are a highly social species," Lisi said. "He's home from Africa you know."

"Africa. Zebras and lions," Charlize said. "Zebras eat grass, and lions eat zebras. Nasty."

"People eat burgers, and we lord over our planet," Lisi said. "Not even lions are king anymore."

"Did your dad go to save the lions and zebras?"

"To save the people actually."

"The Africans?"

"Everyone," Lisi said. "So us too."

"From what?"

"From ourselves, like, save the world actually," Lisi said. "You know, the not-so-blue sky in Science."

"My mom nor my mama believes you can do that," Charlize said. "Why would you want to change our sky color?"

"I don't know Charlize," Lisi said. She clambered up again, and from the end of the deck stepped onto the walkover bars "Walk my lady, like this." Lisi hung backwards, swinging step by step sideways across to the lookout box.

"I adore the color blue," Charlize said. "No pink sky for me, that's for little girls."

"My dad says we need to keep our inner girl, Char-char," Lisi said. "Like as we grow up, we don't want to forget."

"I still have my fuzzy," Charlize said. "My favorite."

"I read my own bed time stories," Lisi said. "Since grade five."

"My sister called hers pushies."

"I still have five teeth to go," Lisi said, and she still hid them under her pillow.

Daddy listened close when she told him of the magic you feel when you deal with fairies and touch their pixie dust. Reach for the sky, he'd say in cowboy talk, or reach for the spirit inside... he tickled her when they talked, but no more of that. Mom only ever talked about their house and fashion clothes; her grown up magical world.

Lisi bounced back and forth against the lookout box rail, hanging completely over to stare straight down. She arched back up, her head so dizzy she saw the school all blurry.

"Hey look," Lisi said. "There's Angelique."

Lisi waved, and called out "Angelique! Angelique!" She wobbled a bit, scrambling down the twisty ladder, and then in her excitement slipped on the last bar and rolled out flat on the turf.

Charlize turned around from her bench and peered over, peeking between bars. "Where?" she said, rising. "Oh yes, I see someone at the corner, no, not anymore Lisi."

Charlize walked out on the sponge-foam turf.

"I don't see anything now," Charlize said. "There's no one there, Lisi."

Bouncing back to her feet Lisi stared over to where her friend pointed. The far corner by the teacher's door.

"She was peeking around," Lisi said. She stood looking, hands on hips. "She gave a little wave."

"We are having a grade four flashback," Charlize said. "We did play with her then."

"Before that," Lisi said. "Remember grade two when she'd come to the playground."

"Like, we never talked to her," Charlize said. "She was just, well, there."

"We were only seven," Lisi said. "Like yeah, in grade two."

"I know I saw her once before that," Charlize said. "I was five."

"Did you?" Lisi said. "Or was she all in our mind, like Melman. In Madagascar."

"We are not giraffes, Lisi," Charlize said. "You've got Africa on the brain."

Charlize walked up to stand beside Lisi, and they both stared across at the school. Lisi was sure of what she'd seen; she knew, she just knew. Like Daddy, and his talk about fractal angels and the universe. An inspiration or memory or dream. Let Angelique wave and then hide; they would act—okay, like how?

"Look Charlize, you walk around the back of the school," Lisi said. "I'll run around the front, past the teacher's door and we meet at the back."

"Sure, yes," Charlize said. "We solve this Angelique mystery once and for all."

"Stay close to the school," Lisi said. "Peek around each corner first."

"Yes, like hide'n'seek," Charlize said. "Technically."

"Kay, so let's go," Lisi said, trotting off in her direction.

"What if one of us finds her?"

"We yell Over Here as loud as we can."

Lisi ran carefully towards that far corner, across the K kids entrance plaza. Keeping her eye on the edge of the brick wall, she wove in close to the building and hopped over the railing fence in a wild monkey leap. But from the front sidewalk, all she saw was an old guy and his dog, walking along the street sidewalk down below. No one at all on the school walkway. She kept going, running up in front of the teacher's door, glancing into the inset.

No one.

Not able to curve around the next corner—the sidewalk was totally straight—Lisi raced out past the end of the next brick wall onto that back paved part. Where no kid ever went, and, no one was there. But then, way across the busy street with the traffic lights, she was sure she spotted that same someone. A girl under a tree, looking out. If she could just time the lights right, and get across; but what about Charlize coming? Should she yell? Yes, no. What?

Lisi scooted across the paved part, then around another corner, and then up to the next. Their school was not square, that was sure. Charlize was there, finally, and she waved her to hurry.

"Did you find her?" Charlize said. "Why didn't you yell?"

"She keeps getting farther away," Lisi said. "Like across the lights. C'mon."

Lisi turned back, dashing over to the school yard fence. When Charlize caught up they stood together, hands on the chain links, peeping through the diamond holes into the trees. Across the busy four lanes of cars and trucks, Lisi strained to see that girl under the tree again. Not for the life of her could Lisi catch sight of Angelique and now she couldn't even tell which tree, in a maze of waving branches. Like a fairy, like a dream elf... like the grade two girls they had once been.

"When was the last time we played together?" Lisi said.

"Long ago," Charlize said. "Strangely enough... I don't really remember."

"Long ago and far away," Lisi said. "A will-o-wisp she was."

"A spirit," Charlize said. "She passed beyond long ago, and still she haunts our school."

"That one boy died in grade one," Lisi said. "Remember?"

"People die," Charlize said. "Nia's dog is gonna soon."

"I so totally know Angelique came into our school," Lisi said. "She'd talk to Ollie in skills class. He's autistic, like Asperger's."

"She's our angel," Charlize said. "Our guidance, our soul."

"My dad talks about angels," Lisi said. "He's got this fractal angel he knows."

"Frac-tal? Yes, tell me more," Charlize said. "But first, what are angels? And what are fairies?"

"Angels are more real world," Lisi said. "Fairies are more fabrications."

"Sure."

"My favorites are the selkies in Song of the Sea," Lisi said. "That confused old Macha woman keeps turning the other fairies into stone."

"And fractal?"

"Components of the universe. Like building blocks."

The both dropped their hands from the metal fence links. Lisi glanced at Charlize and Charlize looked back. They both shrugged.

"So, what's Angelique?" Charlize said. "If we both are of her, and she appears to us."

"Our Girl spirit," Lisi said firmly. "Our guiding light."

"Our real-world angel," Charlize said. "Because she's a frac-tal."

Turning away from the car exhaust stench of the street, they strolled back over the dusty pavement. Lisi dribbled an imaginary basketball and jumped to shoot at the real-world hoop as they passed.

"Will you try out for soccer," Charlize said. "At our junior high?"

"Maybe," Lisi said. "Will you play ringette this winter?"

"Oh yes," Charlize said. "I'll be goalie."

"Let's go to the other playground," Lisi said. "They got a climbing web over there."

##

After distracted dawdling along the way, past the tennis courts, they broke into a dash to the school-next-door playground. The red-roofed school had totally other swing bars and a rope net Lisi loved to climb. You could start at one end, and monkey your way around the circuit without ever touching the ground. And the girls had so many times played grounders there.

"What's that like to have a dad Lisi?"

"He's away a lot," Lisi said. "Overseas contracts."

"Always in Africa?"

"Yeah."

"Do you miss him?"

"Yes, Charlize," Lisi said. "I do."

Lisi grabbed the lowest rope on the web, chimp swinging up to the peak. At the top rope, Lisi breathed in the smell of a hundred children's hands. If only she had a spider monkey tail, she would wrap it right around and dangle from there. Instead, she poked her head through at the top, pretending, and jungle chattering at Charlize. Seeing Charlize's rolling eyes, she trailed off.

"What's it like to have two moms?" Lisi said. "At least they're not away."

"Mom and mama," Charlize said. "I love them both."

"Oh kindness to the world," Lisi sang, climbing under to hang upside down from her knees.

"Would you actually go back in?" Charlize said. "To our good old elementary?"

"Yes, Char-char," Lisi said. "Yes I would."

"But we have to grow up now," Charlize said. "Get on with our lives."

"School before wedding dress," Lisi said. "Don't get your horses mixed up."

"What horses?"

"Ducks in a row then," Lisi said. "Life is nastier than a fairy story bride."

"Mom talks about nasty men," Charlize said. "What to do with a really nasty man."

"You challenge him 'NO' right in his ear," Angelique's voice whispered loudly.

"Did you hear that?" Lisi said. "That was her!"

"What? Who?"

"Angelique."

"How?"

"She whispered in my ear, my mind. Didn't you hear?"

"Are you okay Lisi?"

They walked over to the bench for adults, and Charlize patted a place for Lisi to sit beside her.

"The nasty old guy needs a Girl's voice helper," Lisi said. "One that sings to him in the evening."

"Okay, sure, keep talking Lisi."

"Whispers the odd thing in his ear through the day," Lisi said. "When he's thinking his nastiest thoughts."

"He's nasty," Charlize said. "He'll always be nasty."

"He can't harm a Girl voice," Lisi said. "Her voice only."

"Yes, okay ideas girl."

Or was that idea in Lisi's head an Angelique gift; it felt like it came from that mysterious girl.

"But what to do if some nasty old guy actually started talking to you?" Charlize said. "Came inviting you, like say today?"

"Tai-Kwon-do," Lisi said, leaping to her feet. She balanced on one foot, taking on a martial arts pose.

"Leave that task to Nia," Charlize said. "The martial arts girl."

"To delegate," Lisi said. "To assign tasks or activities to another."

"Yes," Charlize said. "To administer, to take on the role of leader."

"Nia then," Lisi said. "Our warrior girl."

"Nasty old men are scary," Charlize said.

Lisi scrambled back onto the playground matt, and ran another circuit. Charlize stayed sitting on the bench, watching. So we save our world from our nasty old selves Lisi thought. What Daddy said and tried so hard to do.

"I had a dream, full of nasty old men and monsters, all my fears," Charlize said. "My mama said dreams tell you things."

"So, like fears and fears and fears?"

"Yes, my truth in the world."

"Take courage my girl."

"Yes."

"Me too—my dream was the future... my dad always talks about the future," Lisi said. "But I think he needs help. Like from us." Lisi could tell what made Daddy smile; she could read him in that way.

"Adults need help to be kind, kind, kind," Charlize said.

"Do you think we can help the adults?" Lisi said.

"Maybe," Charlize said. "Yes."

"Okay, so imagine two fists, smashing each other," Lisi said. "And instead, they learn to say Hi, what's your name? Like Olaf."

"Maybe we can help your dad," Charlize said. "Help him help other adults."

"Get new-sky-blue onto Art palettes," Lisi said. As she thought a moment, she felt struck by inspiration like in art class. She loved art, but math science even more. "Or not just in Art."

"Like?"

"I don't know, let's see... how about in Math Science?" Lisi said. "Or English, if we tell the right story."

"Two plus two is four," Charlize said. "Write that in story."

"No it isn't," Lisi said. "Devil's advocate."

"So you be the Devil," Charlize said. "Advocate on."

"Two plus two is..." Lisi said. "Five!"

"You lie," Charlize said. "Prove it."

"Why?" Lisi said. "I told you so. And I'm the nasty one."

"Why would anyone believe that?"

"Because I am one of your fears," Lisi said. "I am the serpent of true lies."

"You need longer teeth," Charlize said. "And Hallowe'en eyes."

"Just wait for our Hallowe'en party," Lisi said. "Fear will be there, all around."

"Your birthday's then too," Charlize said.

"Yes my lady," Lisi said.

Lisi finished what felt like her last final playground circuit, and plopped back down on the bench beside her friend.

"We gotta get home," Lisi said. "Mom said on time."

"I'll show you that mosaic," Charlize said. "You know, red shades with gold glitter."

"Yes, what used to be our crafts," Lisi said. "Our world of art."

"Let's go."

They raced past each other, across the so-far-in-life school grounds, on and off the grass along the well-worn trail. At the corner, in the stand of those three trees, they stopped hidden in the branches. A place where you made a pact, a solemn promise; they caught each other's eye, and then they strolled sedately out along the sidewalk.

"Winter named the calves at her gramma's farm," Charlize said. "Her gramma knows all the cows but she has a tough time with a new name."

"She's forgetful," Lisi said. "Old people, you know."

"Well there are so many in the herd," Charlize said.

"You are such a names girl," Lisi said. "We need a name for our Girl Power."

"Oh yes," Charlize said. "She can be Angie, or ANG if she's an app."

"An app," Lisi said, going dreamy. "She could be a whisper in all ears."

"Like Angelique," Charlize said. "Angie Q then."

"We can discuss that one," Lisi said. "I think I like that name."

"But now we leave Angelique at our elementary school, Lisi B," Charlize said. "We've got adult issues coming."

"Oh no Char-char," Lisi said. "We need Angelique around—part of our Girl app."

Lisi looked for solemn promise connection in her friend's eyes, sensing a little. Charlize seemed more set on growing up, maybe with her older sister around. The way others grew up, into adults, forgetting about ones like Angelique. Lisi would not be so quick—she'd make a pact with herself—she had to draw Angelique into being part of the Girl App. She would keep talking to her friends about the idea... that might help, not only those dirty old men, but other adults too. She knew, she just knew, and the knowing burst out of her in a rush of bravado.

"Voila, this is our world," Lisi said, waving all around looking to her friend. "We speak the true truth Charlize."

"Yes, oh wise one," Charlize said, looking back. "Like when we get older."

"We already are older," Lisi said. "We are the voice of Girls!"

"We are the Girls' way," Charlize said. "And the Girl light."

"They'll call us freedom," Lisi broke into song. "Just like a waving flag."

Laughing wildly, they scooted across at the crosswalk to the trail past the mailboxes. Stopping, overloaded in joy, they shifted gears totally to a grownup stroll and Lisi calmly engaged in adult talk with Charlize Kara all the way home.
Chapter 9

Plaza Rally

Vince had crunched way too much African project engineering that day, updating, recalculating, ensuring the latest cooling release design to be tight. Seeking an escape in the math. Head swimming with sulphur numbers, he needed escape to another other world. That coffee table talk with twelve step people had its place, but Benj and Michael had talked too of the plaza rallies, led by Extinction Rebellion crowds. Late evening, on the ground outdoor downtown events.

Heading off along the sidewalks among office towers, he cleared his mind of African calculations. Destination: Olympic Plaza. A climatology speaker was scheduled to be telling the Blue Ocean Event story, the demise of the arctic ice. This late he would have missed that main event, but he'd check out the scene anyway. Like late crashing a party, you find out a lot about people in their shutting down moments.

He fell into a walking pace, under the late evening lights.

When they'd exposed the HICCC global cooling project in Florence, a plan to cool the entire planet, the news went viral. And the six countries with arctic ocean coastlines took note, and each had a response. Canada and the three Nordic European nations, politically, economically and militarily small, were sidelined by the drama of the two powerhouses. Had global politics run smooth, and diplomatic, engineers could have kept a regional arctic cooling effort on the go. With Green Sahara experience, the technology had been tested, and near proven.

But, yeah, Cold War history reared up, and got right in there.

With Alaska across the Chukchi Sea from the once USSR boss nation, animosity ran the show. Chest puffing displays of military might ran wild amidst naval vessels designed for the north. Engineering firms ran the numbers on optional climate cooling regional designs, but the deal fell flat politically. His model calculations just that evening required ongoing adjusting for that historical kybosh. Respective resource corporations had jumped right in, lobbying for their geological interests. Less ice, better resource access, they touted. While corporations ran estimates on fossil fuels beneath the ocean floors, both American and Russian navies staged maneuvers. Conventional fleets, and nuclear-powered surface vessels with or without aircraft, and the submarines. The Arctic Ocean fleets might one day rival those of the Pacific, or, at least the Atlantic.

The Blue Ocean came in September that first year. Celebrity activists rushed up for a North Pole swim the next year; late August photo-ops. The only arctic climate stabilizer now would be a refreeze attempt. With a completely different annual design, according to Tamanna; one adjusted in sequence with each receding ice year. Already, the arctic destabilized, and intermittently repositioned into altered air mass patterns, with the arctic cold center shifted towards Greenland. The weakened polar vortex, marked by the jet stream, shifted south and east towards Europe and Eastern Canada. The cold center might be coaxed back to the North Pole, Tamanna said, but only with arctic ocean countries working in cooperation.

Vince glanced at those walking by, those others downtown, so many people, of so many ethnic backgrounds—dressed in different ways, speaking other languages. Right here, on the sidewalk he walked. A microcosm of the world.

Yet still, so much got driven by expressed needs for national security, when global security superseded true importance in so many ways. Your nation did not have security with periscopes peeping out of gopher hole bunkers, and at surface drones cruising above. He'd spent time enough in Africa. So much effort directed by a nation's control center, focused on exterminating those in opposition to their ideology. People, they were but one species on one planet.

With the Chukchi Sea rivalry on the go, the South China Sea engagements had shifted off the main media radar screen. Moscow and Washington squaring off left room for Beijing to expand their naval influence even further. Building ocean rock mounds into islands, and then military bases, the main Asian global player influenced gas supplies out of Qatar in the Middle East. And both gas and coal out of Queensland, Australia.

Slowing at an intersection, Vince waited on a red light. With no vehicle in any direction, he noted how traffic engineering design did not always fit each situation. Others crossed against the light, and he followed. He'd rebel, inspired by actors in that show he'd just seen.

Tuning into a dramatization of China's building influence, Vince lately found screen drama told you more than the biased media. Set in an outback valley in Australia, a joint NATO watch team kept track of the world via satellites, and China was not on the NATO side. But still, portrayed by local Chinese business people, China sought to invest in Australia. On base, off base, vigilantes played roles releasing truthful data. While ships like the Bartlett aircraft carrier tracked paths back and forth across the Nine-Dash line. The drama was high, and felt real the way people of each country interacted; so committed to their beliefs.

Trade mixed right in with military in international negotiating, as military weaponry made up one entire trade sector. Each nation state sought out ongoing stability in their version of our economy. All wanted the same, Tamanna would say. Yet too often via our vs your power gaining influence, generally backed by militarily might. Treaties might arise where naval forces stretched thin out on the high seas. Or, more so, as the economic might of one like China came into play.

You learned conflict lingo from that screen drama. Intel was the intelligence they had, so you picked up on the security room talk from the analysts. I'll be overhead one would say, or go to that geo. Use my birds to take images of the South China Sea, at two minute intervals. Kilometres distance, nautical miles for the naval guys, and latitude longitude to pick a spot anywhere on the planet. In the heat of the moment, they would decide, to missile the target, or back off.

Clearly important aha moments came up, when the hero of the moment figured she detected submarines by surface ripples. Critical when you got that freedom word into the story. Propaganda value ran high, near priceless. One side would take a risk, as the military standoff jostled in escalation. Your jet fighter was in our airspace. So there, in an across the sandbox challenge. God bless our country. No, no, God bless our country. Well, we don't like your god, so nya naya nyanaya nay.

A mature overview had yet to fit into high action drama.

With childlike military characters playing out adult roles, the scariest was they controlled grown up destructive technology. Advising and confirming, activating GPS locators, and seeking out a distress beacon of the downed hero. But in a moment of high ethics and morality—did they kill one of our guys? An unarmed drone shot down stacked up small beside a manned jet fighter. Especially one on a freedom of navigation flyover. Relief came over everyone, the story strongly implied, when the hero pilot successfully ejected, and high enough to land safely on the north tip of Spratly Islands.

Now we can negotiate again. A seminal moment in history, or an insane repetition of the human past. Death triggered response emotions, highly escalated, back on the hominid plains of Africa. An eye for an eye, one dead for another dead. But okay, if my guy's still alive, we won't throw rocks back at you guys. This time.

Vince checked out the street number on one green sign, gaging the minutes left walking to the Plaza.

War hero, what's that? Military action in the name of a nation state, when all nation states share the same chunk of rock in space. Who's the real hero... in the interests of the people? The species? Trade, all the nation states seemed to get the mutual interest in economic back and forth trading; why not the mutual interest in a common space ship. And the life support system, like the water, and air you breathed all around that travelling piece of rock.

##

The Olympic Plaza loomed ahead, and there Vince knew he could break his mind free by crashing into the social space of others. People still milled about the plaza, some walking off and away, but the later stages of the gathering were still around. Benj had warned watch what you wear; no suit and tie for sure, better casual, and trendy if you could. At the plaza corner he slipped his jacket open, exposing his Green Sahara t-shirt.

Just in time.

"Hey mister," a young girl said, walking straight up to him. Her pretty hair was streaked pink. "You want a milkshake?"

He hesitated, not moving. Benj had filled him in on appropriate phrases to express. Like Earth First, or Fuck Consumers, or Okay Boomer. If you got asked about your milkshake fave, think, think, one answer was Respect, Power... Banana!

"What's your trip, dude?" another voice said from behind Vince now.

"Planetary engineer," Vince said, half turning. "Earth First."

"What's Green Sahara, mister?" the pink streaked hair girl asked, following him around.

"You know, like the HI triple-C?" Vince said, keeping his voice upbeat. "The too hot African desert, and disappearing small islands countries. The HICCC demands climate action with global cooling."

That newsVid Benj sent showed youth surrounding a lone adult on all sides, and dumping milk shakes all over them. The tactic had developed as a proven success on political figures.

"So you been to Africa?"

"A few times."

If Vince had it right these might be XR Guardians, dumping churned ice-cream on politicians and phony Friends of the Scientific.

"Air travel," the voice to the right said. "Huge emissions."

"Eflights and offsets," Vince said. "Sorry on the airliner, guys."

In Benj's vid the one directly behind tossed their shake first, the target cringed, then turned only to get another shake full in the face. Four flavours from four sides, Benj said, especially if the target wore glasses, and the flavor hunters captured vid from all angles. He had to patiently submit.

"Pro bro'," the voice behind said. "Kay, he's a dude."

To his left Vince picked out a white faced make-up guy with green hair patterns.

"Hey brother!"

"I might be fourteen," a girl on the right said. She stuck her tongue out at Vince. "So like, I walk right up to say hi to the Minister."

"Advisors, and guards," another said. "Politicians got those."

"Think over fifteeners for that, they search, strategize the team and keep to the side," the deepest voice said. "Legal support calls them unassociated. So when you're under sixteen you only got juvie charges."

"You can pick a guard so easy," the younger one said. "But how d'ya know an advisor?"

"Face-Rec apps," the first replied. "Search it up."

"That Edmonton gang got a Minister."

Vince felt more at ease, as they got distracted by and absorbed in their internal conversations.

"What fave you got Bob?"

"Strawb, Stuart, respect, power."

"Bob Banana, I'm Kevin."

That Banana expression clicked with Vince; from one of those Minions animations he'd watched with Lisi. A flic older adults would never watch. Nor get, ever.

"C'mon, we slurp down and scoot," the self-proclaimed Kevin said. "Later, mister Sahara."

Better than that military drama on the South China sea; and in the drone zone world, so much better than a drone missile strike from the sky. If these were the Plaza event guards, these guys had a clearly advanced engagement method. He'd take a milkshake shower over incineration any day.

Vince started off around the circular plaza, looking over the mingling, but dissipating crowds. For sure he'd have missed the Blue Ocean Event. But a young fuzzy-headed guy, right in the next space, paused from packing to hand him a paper pamphlet. Signs saying ANTZ leaned against the guy's display panel, at the top of the steps. The guy seemed to have tuned in to his milkshaker interchange.

"You doin' the Green Sahara," the guy said, nodding at Vince's shirt. "I'm Jerome."

"Sure, name's Vince," he said, extending a handshake. He peered into a face nestled beneath a nest of wavy hair. "We designed that engineering, and, I do try to translate truth into the story."

"Heeeyyyy," Jerome said, waving in another young adult close by. "Listen in Melissa. Climate truth, this guy."

"Climate justice denotes social justice," Melissa said, flipping her orange braids back. "Eusocial species avail us many working social models, with varying evolutionary histories."

She gave Vince a wide-eyed look.

"Bugs!", she said. "Most eusocial species are insects."

Vince glanced at the pamphlet. He read the title Eusocial Species: Social Insects and Humans, and the highlighted question: What can we learn? Below, a paragraph began outlining commonalities among bees, wasps, ants and people.

"We're university students," A deep toned voice said, face beaming a feminine smile. "Any questions sir?" The muscular body nor the shaved matched, unless you looked.

"Well, get me your basic numbers," Vince said. "And, spin me your best support story."

"Same ant biomass on our planet as human," the shiny head said. "For every human, a million ants. We have sources on those calculations... our contacts are on the pamphlet."

Vince nodded, glancing to find a list of their PHD studies, and one post doc. Like the sulfur to carbon advantage in Africa. What kept geoengineering so cheap, that million to one ratio. That magical million number. But the one with orange braids had begun the story...

"So once upon a time these ants built their hill on the edge of a meadow," Melissa said. She held her hand sideways to her mouth, and whispered 'strategically positioned'. "Now one day, when all was calm and each ant was going about everyday tasks, and, through each mind ran thoughts of their city, their hill and their queen, well, word from a scout came in." 'Chemical signal', she whispered. "A territorial dispute had erupted with the next ant hill; a crisis. All the ants scrambled, scurrying everywhere at double speed to pass along the alarm signal. Protect our hill, and protect the queen. At all cost!"

"Great introduction," Vince said.

"Now sir," Melissa said. "Does that response sound a bit like air raid sirens blaring in a human city?"

"Oh yeah," Vince said. "That response does sound familiar."

"Ants have inhabited this planet much longer than our species," Jerome said. "They model basic social interaction possibilities; have you heard of biomimicry? Ants can be our teachers—ants use solar energy to warm their mounds."

"Cool," Vince said. "What else should I know?"

"Ants don't do physics," Melissa said. "They adapt to the laws of physics apolitically."

"Ants form super colonies," Jerome said. "Melissa's story segues into Jozi's research."

"You're not going to finish the story," Vince said, exasperated. "Are you?"

"Nope," Jerome said. "Just suckin' you in. Jozi continues with science."

The fuzzy-head expertly waved the conversation over to the shaved head.

"Research has found that specific ants refrain from warfare," Jozi said. "Now our research question seeks to define the trigger for that evolutionary adaptation. Genetically similar ant species demonstrate ongoing colony against neighboring colony warfare. To the competitive death. But when species shifted to super colony, one suspect causal event, they put down all weapons."

"Ants don't technically have weapons," Melissa whispered. "But they've got soldier ants, with huge cutting jaws."

"Humans might discover a war free society, by trial and error," Jerome said. "Or, get clever through biomimicry, as in replicate what exists. Learn from the species who go before us. The social insect modelled outcome lies there for us to see, our choice, our challenge."

Vince listened to the deep convincing voices, coming from these post secondary students of the day. Checking, he found sure enough, Jerome was the post doc, and the one researching biomimicry.

"People must shift past warring nation states," Jerome said. "And make their planet into one super colony. Or, fade out of the evolutionary picture. As in, go extinct and let another species try."

"I gotta grab food," Vince said, waving the pamphlet at the students. "Your most important factoid; tell me."

"All social insects are essentially female," Melissa said. "While certain eggs do hatch into males, their lives are brief, and they serve primarily to establish new colonies. Sisters run ant civilizations; they a few boys around for select purposes."

"Cool, kinda," Vince said, heading further down the steps.

"You don't evolve to a no war rule, you don't survive out in space. Like once you've got space travel, like we have, you better establishing peace," Jerome called after him. "Then, to infinity and beyond... we look across the universe for similar trending planets. Hey, send me text, we'll talk."

Vince lifted a thumbs up behind him. He needed to catch the last dog-on-a-bun at that closing food stand he'd spotted.

Ripping down the steps, Vince wondered what kept the third rock out more alive. Mars had microbes, and maybe historical life. Furnace creatures roamed Venus only in extreme imagination. The deep below the ice surface microbes of Jupiter's moon Europa, and Saturn's Enceladus; space probes reported the signs. Would Jerome's generation send out a friendly wave only to microbes, or another Earth-type planet, that had learned to be neighbor friendly.

Plopping down on a bottom step, Vince inhaled the fried onion and mustard smell from his BeanDog. He was famished, and chomped in. All that talk, one side, or the other side, who's side are you on? What's with that sides thing? Human nature, straight off the African savanna; fear of that other tribe competing for resources. How could ants, like insects, have that figured out ahead of people? Awesome question.

Say you make a choice, or say we the people are evolving—either scenario or some of both, yeah, we could or should chose to evolve by design. Each design pod could have an ant colony; an ant farm on each desk. He took another bite, and touched at that pamphlet, there in a pocket.

Keep on milkshaking the bullshitters, though. So many of those at City Hall from what Michael said; a business opportunity to set up a downtown milkshake stand. Strategically located, like some ancient ant at some once upon a time ant hill.

Family could never be replicated from social insects; way too dissimilar. But village or city, yeah, and there, aspects of civilization. A matriarchal queen figure with a matrilineal ancestry, so translate that into a Prime Minister or President. Women were getting elected more often. Theoretical, but he would forward these ant ideas to Brad. For the guy's cultural redesign model, in that far away valley in Idaho. Or start with demographics of this City of Calgary right here, right now. European descendants, who colonized and conquered the natives, and took over their land all while forming a cowboy culture. The Calgary Stampede lived on. Long ago for non-cowboys, and, many had moved to Calgary since.

Expand up from city to say continent... the human species represented by the Vince-familiar North American culture. Then divide that social model into classes, or, demographics. Say you group by age, say grandparents first. Then take another generation, parents, anyone with children at home. Then a third category, those still children. Restricted by voting age, children had near no influence on community decisions. Either way, those three together made up families. Say you take them all out of the human picture, and look at what you have left, what remains.

Not much, but some, a fourth group. Non-family people.

So you take your four groups apart, and classify by action and belief. Who acts the craziest in their lives, and who's the most disruptive? Hormone driven pre, or non-parents, with quite low motivation in the interests of a family. Yet the singles crowd could vote. Who makes community decisions? Through voting booth choices, and decision-making power in some cases. Who has the most limited voice—yet a great voice? Who has the least voice on decisions that will impact their lives the most?

Children.

Children needed a serious voice in designing a cultural model. He knew that, Brad knew that, kinda, yet everyone need to know better.

Vince chomped his last bite down, and stood, heading for the last train home. The BeanDog slowed his mind, as his body took over absorbing biochemical energy, and stealing his brain blood away. Vince sighed with relief, letting nature take over, as his need for sleeping time crashed in.
Chapter 10

Spokane Family

Yawning into his coffee Brad sat at the table chatting with his wife in their Spokane home. With a couple days rest under his belt, ensured by Julia, he spun the latest on the African project. Sticking to people, and relationships, he talked on Aahil's Tuareg traditions; men wearing blue head dresses, and Moslem women with a strong voice. The extended family ethnicity of these Berbers living in the Sahara. A great model to emulate, he smiled her way.

She told of her eco-grief clients, and the escalating concerns of Pacific North-West residents. The climate crisis, and biodiversity loss. Agriculturalist knew of global soils loaded with phosphates and nitrogen manufactured fertilizers. Many grieved deforestation. A few slipped into the craziest of thoughts, conspiracies and end-of-the-world stories from church and childhood. Brad listened, picking up on the mindset of other Americans among Julia's Washington state clients.

Eco-grief, Julia told him, was an extra for adults, in letting go of their lifetime belief package. Other mental health professionals agreed, that long held aspirations challenged their therapy outcomes. Baby boomers especially, and after them Gen Xers had major issues giving up on deeply ingrained beliefs, that they deserved their lifestyle. Even getting them talking was the first challenge. They'd talk on and on about their hard work, gaining what they had, food on the table and their family's struggles. Many determinedly stuck with their prayers, telling how they'd asked their creator, and how they'd been blessed. Their God-given vacations, and the SUV lifestyle, well deserved, but they did pray for a nicer house like the one down the block. Everyone talked that way—what other way was there? As crazy climate crisis news built up in the media, middle class Americans came in for Julia's counselling. These clients drove her growing business, and, had become her therapy challenge number one.

"I though my trauma was numero uno, babe," Brad said. "I got PTSD, don't I?"

"Not many have your inherited euphoria, dear," Julia said. "You are biochemically lucky."

"Just, you know, Keith," Brad said. "Creeping back into my dreams."

"You grieved your friend's death," Julia said. "Time to face him in those dreams. Talk to him."

"Thank you, counsellor," Brad said. "How's his daughter?"

"His wife has moved on," Julia said, in a soft voice. "His daughter has a new father figure in her life."

"Yeah, cool," Brad said, half smiling.

Julia had told Brad many times before of his fortune. Having a high production of peptide hormones, natural uppers, and a decent childhood helped ingrain positive self-thoughts, she said. Endorphins, and other feel good body rewards varied up and down across the human population. He'd been triple blessed he joked, third bonus being her. She spoke in his language, quantifying evidence for his happy hormone index of eight, anomalous, off on one side of the statistics bell curve. Most got no higher than seven, and many people were stuck with a lifetime setting of four. Lots of lower on the index people, and people with lousy childhood homes sought out human created stimulants. They sat drinking on lonely bar stools, and tried out other drugs looking for any happy moment in a drab everyday life. Looking for happiness in sad dreary songs.

"I've got you babe," Brad sang.

"I love you too dear."

"Gaming helps, right?" Brad said. "Having fun play therapy."

"DuoMundo does assist people with life experience in a possible world," Julia said. "Youth respond better to game therapy, but a select set of older clients also respond well."

"A special set of adults?" Brad said, curiosity perked.

"Yes, those that register high on the imagination index," Julia said. "Open minded, curious by nature, and typically compassionate."

"DuoMundo," Brad said. "Virtual reality based?"

"Like Josh and Jimmy's games," Julia said, winking warmly. "Both primary worlds become available to the client. World Nuevo, the new world they can have, selectively designed on human rights. And, yes, also on our global biosphere limits according to science."

"Yeah, babe," Brad said, sipping coffee. "Awesome."

"And the world they are encouraged to let go of," Julia said. "World Viajo, the old world. Cast as historical in the game, that's the world they had, but can have no longer."

"Like kids and candy."

"DuoMundo can be quite engaging," Julia said. "Amy's finding accelerated positive outcome rates through all stages of depression, and enhanced passage times for agitation and anger."

"Gaming works, then," Brad said. "Always fun to play, for everyone."

"Community wellness scores go up too," Julia said. "Game engagement looks to gain through interactive information giving. Meaning players cooperate."

"You know, Julia, we'll seriously need community up in the valley," Brad said. "Just in case..." They'd talked about the world going sideways, but he let that topic trail off. Julia was a strong woman, doing what she did. But he knew best not to dwell on that long.

"Can you add a custom outlook to that game?" Brad said. "Like, could a client like me weave in someone like Aahil, and the Tuareg?"

He'd talked face to face with that blue turban guy, Aahil, and his cousin Aksil on every contract in Africa trip. Knowing what the guy ate, what he really needed when it came to eating, actually, and how much to heave up on a camel's back. Here in Washington that might translate into how much you stuff in an SUV, or, how much to pack in an overnight hiking back pack. Survival exercises kept popping into Brad's head, for himself and the boys. Selectively reviewing what they did in the military, Brad found, had application. Special ops knew a lot, but they'd need another name.

"I'll let you discover for yourself, dear."

Brad's device beeped, and he saw Julia had sent him a link to DuoMundo. She rose from the table, off to meet a client, she said.

Brad sighed.

Those stages of depression, Julia had told him of before, theoretically were just that; stages. When Keith got blasted, he'd felt a deep loss of purpose, like nowhere left to go. Maybe like losing your bucket list of trips around the world that kept you motivated in your dead-end job. Adults needed replacement dreams, like virtual travel, which just like gaming had such potential. The youth without plane tickets, and that select group of adults would love it given a chance. To live socially close to others, Julia said, gave you all you truly needed, your family, your health, and pursuit of your real interests. Before the housing developers tricked you into thinking better only comes with bigger. Jeri back in Africa said that all the time, that so much advertising misinformed on the true nature of happiness. Ads drilled shopping alternatives into any hollow moments you might have, filling any empty inner space with their special offers. Yet a walk in the park, watching a squirrel in a tree gave you what that ad said could only be had owning their latest SUV.

Whenever Brad listened to his wife's psychological profile of modern day Americans, he snapped back to thinking how all might play out on the ground. Outside the game world, where missiles took a real-world father or two from their families. Keith and Sanoo, right before his unbelieving eyes. On this same beautiful blue green planet he saw, when looking down from sky balloon or paraglider. How could it be—well it was. He needed to prepare a place, on the off chance the real-world game didn't play out to a wonderful ending. Youth, and those imaginative adults Julia noted would create and keep a better version of the world game.

##

Ball gloves under arms, Josh and Jimmy came barrelling into the front room. Home from Spokane Teens League games, they were pumped with summer afternoon boy energy.

"Dad," Josh said, running up to bear hug his father. "You're awake."

"Long nap," Brad said, ruffling Josh's hair. Jimmy at fifteen now stood off, waiting on a hand shake. Brad offered a high five, and got that, and a quick hug.

Brad got them both going on baseball game strategies, and what positions they played best. When they grabbed snacks, and sat on the couch he shifted talk to the valley plan.

"Kay guys, geography," Brad said. "Where's the Columbia River?"

"In Washington," Josh said, pointing. "To the west."

"Trick question," Jimmy said. "That river's the Washington Oregon border, going into the Pacific."

"Good call," Brad said. "Headwaters?"

"Priest Lake," Jimmy said.

"No they're not," Josh said. "Up in Canada."

"So technically both," Brad said. "Priest River comes out of Priest Lake, and into the Pend Oreille River. The Pend Oreille flows into the Columbia, which makes a long trip down from Columbia Lake up in Canada."

"Mom's Canadian," Josh said. "And that guy you work with in Africa."

"Mom's dual citizen," Jimmy said.

"She was born in Kelowna," Josh said. "She grew up in Osoyoos, both in Canada."

"How far to Osoyoos?" Brad said.

"Four highway hours," Jimmy said. "By ground vehicle."

Brad hesitated at the near military talk he could pick up on in his older son's voice. Did that come from him, or the boy's Sniper game? That would need adjusting, in games, and their future real world.

"How about Cascadia?" Brad said, thinking future. "Where's that?"

"Right here," Josh said. "Canada too."

"Yeah, so political borders don't make much sense," Brad said. "Especially when it comes to what?"

"Bioregions Dad," Josh said. "Cascadia is a bioregion."

"Let's get better familiar with our bioregion, boys," Brad said. "Let's overnight out in the woods."

"Yeah, yeah Dad," Josh echoed Jimmy.

"Bonners Ferry's in Boundary County," Brad said. "Yet, Sandpoint is in the next county south, strangely called Bonner County."

Anyone in their close family knew Bonners Ferry, and Moon Shadow road. Their piece of land, up there, where he'd built their tiny cabin. Or survival cell, the term in anyone's head depending on the mood of the conversation. Over in Idaho, on the bench lands above the river valley.

"Yeah," Jimmy said, eyes bright.

"We need a pack horse," Josh said.

Josh was the horse man. He'd go out riding whenever they went up to the Osoyoos stables, and out on the horse trail with his mom given any chance. Julia's cousin, owner of the stables, loved to tell horse stories; he often told them of David Thompson, the great Canadian explorer. In one spin, the Thompson guy travelled the Kootenay valley with two expeditionary forces, his wife and kids on horseback paralleling the other party in river canoes. Making maps along the way, month after month, season in and season out. In the late 1700s, the cousin said, and then Lewis and Clark used some of the guy's maps in the early 1800s.

With the world completely mapped out now, complete with satellite imagery, and terrain modelling options, they could still use earlier lifestyles as reference to horse travel.

"How many overnights for us?" Brad said. "Away from Moon Shadow."

"One one-nighter," Josh said. "And one two-nighter."

"C'mon, a week," Jimmy said. "Before school starts."

"Can you do a week?" Brad said. "How about in the winter?"

"We scope out all the valley ridges," Jimmy said. A boy who loved elevation. "We pick sniper points along the bench."

Jimmy had the valley modelled into Maps, and he grabbed his device to reference on screen. That sniper word concerned Brad; he'd have to work on that.

"How far across the valley?" Brad said.

"Under three thousand yards just up from Fleming Creek," Jimmy said. "Over five thousand, north of the north bridge."

"Let's talk more on how long we stay," Brad said. "We want to know that valley inside out."

Noting the energy in the boys, Brad grabbed his ball glove, and led them out the back door. Forming a triangle, they played an enthusiastic three way catch, until their evening meal.

##

Looking to the after-dinner wall screen, with Julia's nose in a paper book, Brad got Jimmy to click on Maps elevation showing with hill shade. On the large screen view they could talk valley terrain together. In what they called the flats, large-field farms covered the land. And then the bench lands rose up on one side, the edge of an older, wider ice age river that once flowed. And the bench lands were not so flat, cut by many creek valleys running down the mountains on that side. Farm fields on the benches were smaller, and more broken, but good views across the flats could be seen from the benches, and that kept Jimmy excited.

"Did you really fly off Half Mountain?" Josh said.

"A few years back," Brad said. "When our cabin was half built. You remember Julia?"

Julia looked up, half listening, her warm smile covering her face. But Brad thought he noticed that extra twitch of concern, at her smile's corner, not the first time. Like when a mother has a thought that a game may no longer be a game. Not all just for fun anymore.

"Awesome Dad," Jimmy said. "You picked excellent sniper terrain. There's viewpoints all along the bench lands."

"Okay, you boys propose a plan," Brad said. "One side of the valley." He needed the two working as a team as much as possible. "Think get a view of the second bridge up at Mission Creek."

"We go up Queens Mountain, Dad," Jimmy said right away. "We follow those ridges to the north, we walk the west ridge. There'll be views of second bridge, easy."

"Could you snipe that bridge?" Brad said. "From that ridge?"

"In Sniper, I can hit a one foot circle," Jimmy said. "At sixteen hundred yards,"

"Consistently?"

"Wind matters, and up down angle," Jimmy said. "I shoot with the Bergara 308 Winchester."

Touching distance measure, Brad picked the second bridge, and stretched the measure line over to the high Queen Mountain ridge. Brad glanced a Julia again, but let the military talk go for the moment. He had to build on the boys' strategic thinking.

"Nine thousand yards to here," Brad said. He brought the measure in closer to the bridge. "A thousand yards to the nearest heights on this edge of the bench."

"In Sniper, you sneak in close," Jimmy said, pointing. "Then, you confront and challenge."

"Think more about that one, Jimmy," Brad said. "Can we secure without firearms?" He needed to hold the boy's enthusiasm, but didn't want to talk drones, or missiles. He needed to get the boys thinking in a new way.

"Sure Dad," Jimmy said. "You don't always need firearms in Sniper."

"Awesome. Kay, we're out there," Brad said. "What's the first thing about survival?"

"Food," Josh said. "A pack horse carries a lot."

"What else can you do for food weight?"

"Dehydrate your food," Jimmy said. "Carry minimum water."

"Think live off the land," Brad said. "Any grain farming around Bonners?"

"Yeah, grains make excellent chow, Dad," Jimmy said. "Like cereal rations, and now's August, so crops are ripe real soon."

"When else?" Brad said, looking straight at Jimmy.

Jimmy stared, looking to Brad, and to Josh.

"What do geese eat winter time in the fields?"

"Yeah, long as you got no snow cover," Jimmy said, clicking in. "Fallen on the ground grain stays good through most of the winter."

"We know our food options," Brad said. "Survival on the trail."

"Cool Dad," Jimmy said.

"And we'll check the walnut trees babe," Brad said, looking to Julia. "We'll get us half a barrel this fall. Dry by Christmas."

Her smile brightened a bit, and she nodded lightly, but kept on reading. Let boys be boys, she would say at times, but her face didn't read that way so much today. Not when serious undertones come with conversation on survival in the wilderness.

"You built our little cabin," Josh said. "Right Dad?"

"Survival cell," Jimmy said. "Not a cabin."

"Could be both," Brad said softly. "Depends on what happens."

Enough for that evening. Brad rose, leading them on clearing the table, and washing up the dishes. Something they did together as a family bonding event, and what Brad knew well how to do, keep the spirits up. As well as he could.

Later, out in the garage, Brad repacked his paraglider, grounding himself being back home again. But he couldn't help thinking he had to do something for Keith's daughter. However her life was to turn out, she'd need a healthy world to live in. And for Sanoo's children, the other father blasted out by that drone zone missile.

He'd start off preparing his boys for what might come, and that just might help other kids. Josh was the smart one, maybe still not so mature. Kinda snuggly with his mama yet. Jimmy was tougher. He would get the boys out to the valley on the ground, not just knowing the terrain, but trained to survive under duress. To prepare a place, and keep that place safe... that would allow all children some insurance. As the world figured things out.
Chapter 11

Kakina Office

Benj's institute had provided in depth engineering solutions for Alberta climate action over many years. Impressed, Vince still wondered at the thought of their cultural evaluation research. Fascinating that a local engineering firm planned budget and time on re-engineering the human attitude. Although their name did imply such aspirations, Kakina was Algonquin for All of Us. had He could, maybe, eventually. But, Benj sent another message after, that Kakina had received a last-minute notification on another project. In exclamatory language, Benj made out this was sure to fit Vince's atmospheric work.

Jumping in his BudiCab ride, Vince voice-commanded the Kakina address. With the route to a business district, south on nineteenth street; a thirty minute trip estimate, he leaned back. He would mind review his latest face to face human observations, having tried out what Michael had proposed.

At a social event with Tasha last evening, Vince had engaged with Natalie's husband, Mario, a guy he'd known for years. With a degree in mathematics, Mario was one Vince could get to talk on subjects like fractal math. So he brought up Michael's math, telling Mario in a casual factual sense of the seven planet lifestyle in Calgary. Then, as Michael had proposed, he listened closely for classification patterns in the other person's responses. In casual conversation.

"So four point five, Mario," Vince had said, watching the guy's face close. "Four and a half planets worth of carbon emissions only."

"We bought LED lights for our home," Mario said, shrugging. "At some Home Depot sale."

"Energy use, off the Alberta electric grid, explains carbon emissions," Vince said. "What's your quantified reduction?"

"Couldn't tell you," Mario said. "Natalie does our utility bills."

"Ah so, you have no measure."

"Nah."

"Seven planets in total, you know," Vince said. "Seven point four; there's the four and a half carbon footprint, and the other two point nine for deforestation, and such."

"We got this low flush toilet," Mario said. The guy would not stick with the math. "Got a City rebate on that one."

"That would be water," Vince said. "There's no water in this footprint measure."

"That's the City," Mario said, eyes going hard. "Those buggers want to charge extra for waste now."

"I got a science source says for every ton of solid waste, forty tons of carbon emissions get dumped directly into our atmosphere," Vince said. Watching Mario's blank expression, he threw in a bit of story drama. "Just imagine if CO2 was visible, like a nasty purple color, or smelly, like wildfire smoke."

"Yeah, like methane smells, right?" Mario said. "The city captures that at the landfills, thank God."

With retail business, and local government actions and perceived responsibility filling Mario's responses, Vince would classify the language as passive consumer talk. Not that he Vince hadn't thought and talked in that manner before Africa. But here, in a mathematician's mind, no alternative thinking formulated around the reality of the numbers. Meaning a simple analysis challenge, even to one who should easily understand, did not sink in. Not only that, but was avoided, rather. Try working in a go for the throat statement, Michael had said.

"You know, Mario," Vince said, softening his intro. "You crunch the hard numbers; you've got your four and a half-measure for carbon, in planets, and a seven point four total planets lifestyle." He watched Mario's face close, for any twitch, or body language sign of the math sinking in. "Calculated facts show your lifestyle to be trashing your kids' lives, Vince said slowly. "And destroying their future, totally."

But the response had come out like the guy was in some other conversation, or on some other planet.

"Hey, yeah, how's your daughter, Vince? Our kids are doing just great," Mario said, smiling. "One's in university now, and sure enough, she picked Business management. Other one's in high school."

Facts presented, clear and precise, Michael said, watch for deflection, and change of topic. Absolutely, just as Michael predicted on this one. Push it once or twice more was the advice, but selectively.

"But you heard my solid crunched figures," Vince said. "So how're their lives going to turn out in a highly damaged world?"

"C'mon, great, eh," Mario said, eyes going sad a bit. Because he would miss the kids at home life, or due to the degraded biosphere, Vince could not tell. "Older one'll get that degree, and then she'll get a great downtown job. She's seeing a guy, so who knows—they'll tie the knot like we all do, and buy a house. Right here in Calgary, we hope, you know, so we have grandchildren coming to visit when I retire."

"Sure," Vince said, figuring next push to keep soft and suggestive. "Retire out by a lake, overlooking those mountain trees. Out in beautiful smoky British Columbia."

"My wife's uncle's moving to the Okanagan," Mario said, not flinching at the climate related smoke. He zoned right in on the familiar conversation. "Lots of people are retiring out there. Nicer weather."

"What about wildfire smoke," Vince said, trying one last time. "And rivers flooding."

"Yeah, well, we know this other couple, Vince, and they're gonna sell their BC house," Mario said, nodding enthusiastically. "They're gonna get in their RV, and live mobile. Just think about it – you know, you travel all over Canada, and the US, stopping here and there."

"Nice," Vince said. An awareness of solid waste, and methane capture; acknowledging that smell threat, the guy would not even mention the GHG effect of methane. This was adaptation writ large, with minimal personal interest or effort.

"Anyway you get a fire premium on your BC house insurance," Mario said. "And Kelowna's getting a couple new fire copters."

Enhanced firefighting equipment, the related personal cost increase, but otherwise, for this Canadian mathematician, the belief that someone else would take care of it all took precedence. The math, successfully deflected. Vince could report that pattern back to Michael, but he'd likely only be confirming the typical.

As Mario had adapted his responses to fit his deep set Canadian beliefs. And, adapted his any future outlook, for his children too, in an identical traditional manner. In spite of the simplest of quantified facts, his mathematical mind had no equation space to compete with his beliefs. The lifestyle he knew, no matter what you said, was not up for discussion. He protected his beliefs by effectively dodging the issue in a personal conversation.

Vince shook his head, watching out the window as BudiCab navigated the turn off the next interchange. For Mario, Vince had his practiced story telling voice tuned up for next time; he would see how that panned out. That had been their African political strategy, and he needed to spin a tale for Mario that would get into the guy somehow.

What would Kakina be able to do with data like this? They might write up a report on Alberta responses to climate reality. But, if this defined the problem, Vince saw no facts based solution. Not for Alberta, or most voting citizens of Alberta. This was not a math exam question to solve, but a human predicament to resolve. A story to replace, somehow, and retell, in some way.

At the north end of nineteenth street, the BudiCab turned down the hill, and into the quieter neighborhoods. The time estimate showed maybe half way there.

After that social event, Vince had fallen back into his climate reality world, where he sensed one of those deep inner rising screams. Responses like Mario's, had once been his own. Intellectually the guy was far from lacking; he worked an administrative career, managing corporate employees. Vince felt his eyebrows crease; how could it be, that he and Mario, with the same measured skull size and brain capacity, resonate at such adverse wavelengths? Such a complete disconnect between two disparate spheres of thinking. His educated acquaintance lived in a world of self-delusion, as he once had, and nothing that made sense would trigger a difference. Adults awaited the arrival of a magic fairy, to wave her Tinker Bell wand, and disappear that nasty climate crisis. The guy must hear the news once in a while, if not every day. Yet his belief in being Canadian would solve all, the climate, and biodiversity loss, all of it glued back together with pixie dust.

With the BudiCab cruising down the slope, Vince felt that inner scream rise to resonate; he so needed to let it out. To release his old friend rage, who he'd arrived with first time to Africa. With inner discipline, he allowed inner anger to rise up and run a couple laps on the inner track; how could people be so stupid? So unbelievably gullible with their distorted out-of-date beliefs. So dense in mind, he raged softly, that they could not subtract one planet from seven and find six missing biospheres. Equating to a huge problem. Or, clearly, so fucking simple that seven is larger than one. Typical, Michael had said calmly enough. The smarter kids back in high school, the smartest, and now they couldn't do elementary school math.

Or wouldn't do it, a human conundrum.

Taking a calming breath, as he'd learned to, Vince stared out the window. Large trees rushed past on either side in this older part of the city. And housing from the bungalow age, the least energy efficient buildings Michael said. Yet large, here close to the university. Okay boomer. He shook his head, blowing that breath back out slow. Keep on swimming, swimming, swimming... from one of Lisi's animations. Calm persistent swimming got that talking fish to his destination.

Time for an evolutionary leap. But like a sequential phase shift—those on various wavelengths staggered in timing. First, those who would accept climate reality, and those who would not. And among people, likely distorted un-phased efforts. Mobile climate refugees, colonizing anywhere perceived to be better. The powerful few, with wealth, education and select awareness, taking the best survival zones on the planet. The OECD countries might build walls, and let those other six billion on the planet fend for themselves. On the other side—nothing new there. The regenerative people building eco-villages; to live independently off the land. Brad's model anticipated keeping that eco-village idea serious and on the safer side of any OECD wall. And, those glamourized billionaires, hiding away in underground bunkers, and outfitting middle of the ocean private islands. Like that Toba event Jeri talked of, over seventy thousand years past, a human bottleneck when in the end but a few survived.

BudiCab slowed, coming to the congested end of the street. Almost there; a few slower travel minutes, yet he needed those slow moments, that he could tell.

Allowing his rage back on the track, for one more lap, that fury raced down the final stretch. Straight into his face, screaming. Why would he want to save these useless immature adults? That they shared a species definition did not suffice. How dare you, resonated somewhere. Calming at the finish line, the stronger part of him coached that infernal scream on one concrete reason—his daughter. Around that he must form his own beliefs. He did care deeply, and totally believed in his daughter. Not only her, but her friends too. The children of the world, then, for them and for their future. On that belief he could act today, and keep acting. And not for sure, but potentially, that belief might bottleneck evolve into a human species with planetary intelligence.

Yes, that he could do.

What might happen in Mario's near future he could only imagine. All gone sideways, in one scenario. One day he'd keep calling the police, as city crime escalated, wondering as slow response became no response. He'd get the latest security system, keeping his eye on Kelowna for secure retirement. Listening to the sirens, he'd bolt the door and have another drink, turning back to his favourite screen show. Ads would scroll down his screen on the latest insurance premiums.

Scream energy expended, Vince decided to keep Mario as a reference point. A belief system, and a lifestyle for comparison. He still had his own, and his father's to question, challenge and for reference. A solid iconic set of lifestyles, to assist in a solution definition of the no more planet to share.

And personally, Vince needed convince his innermost self of the fact, yes fact, that most people would not share his mindset. Many never. You started with three point five percent, he'd heard from some past Rebel for Life movement. That accepted, would set him free to act. If he could... accept. While he worked at saving their world, they would live on with set beliefs, not noticing. Pushing back, in the end actually screaming and whining in resistance; to the point of the throwing rocks. Others waiting in dead silence, praying or not praying, but waiting for and believing in that miracle. Jesus, technology or that pixie dust.

His autonomous ride pulled over on nineteenth, and the cab voice requested his engagement. Scanning his card for BudiCab, Vince stepped out at the Kakina office. An older brick building, quite far from the central downtown core. Making his way through an unlocked door, he found a guy sitting in casual dress, deeply focused on his screen.

##

Walking into the Kakina boardroom, Vince encountered a bunch of chatting engineers. Benj introduced them one by one—a couple recent graduates, and a whole room of youthful faces. Humor rounded the table, the joke of the moment on sounding so Albertan; the geriatric pro fossil fuel outlooks. Laughter at the western prairie province troglodytes. The word explained, a cave dweller, brought out added hilarity.

Finding a comfort zone in it all, Vince told his tale of the pine beetle slash wildfire valley. A forest devastated. The lesser known Kootenay National Park, bordering right on that all famous Banff National. There, troglodyte offspring raced their sports cars to the Hot Springs, for lunch'n'a'dip, past old-fashioned geriatrics moseying along in their motor homes. Funny, kinda, but not funny. He dramatized a screeching on the brakes, in a sport car or any other, but at a clifftop edge. To keep all passengers, especially children, safe, on the adult road ahead.

The hilarity dimmed, but Vince smiled bright, and they turned to business.

Nodding, Benj shifted their focus to the meeting theme, cousin cultures. The Costa Rican way had been presented and discussed last meeting. The Children's Eternal Rainforest was a national park in Costa Rica. How could a Central American country, once third world classified by their first world, be so environmentally advanced? And according to a beliefs and values index, a very happy low footprint country. Yet so small, and unnoticed on the world stage.

"Costa Rica peaked below two planets," Vince said, looking up from his device. "Lifestyle measured in planets consumed."

"Yeah yeah," one young voice said. "Who did better?"

"Cuba," Vince said. "Excellent human development index, and peaked at one point one planets."

"Tz'what I said," the voice said. "Viva la Cuba!"

Today, the Chinese.

Two fluent in Mandarin guest engineers spoke, all while engaged in a game of Go. Demonstrating the rules of the Chinese as they played. The game began with an empty board, and each player piece had equal weight. The strategy was to take as much territory as possible. They compared how the Chinese thought and played to the European board game of Chess, with highly unequal kings, knights and pawns. In Chess, the strategy was to protect your all-important king, and while your adversary's objective was to strike your king a fatal blow. To end all power with a kill. Rather than expanding area of influence as the game was played in Go. Not a final sword stroke, nor any checkmate claim.

One engineer spoke of the Art of War, enunciating the title in Mandarin, a book written by traditional author Sun Tzu. This war could be taken as a metaphor for any struggle between peoples. A fine arts view said first meet, leader across from leader, and resolve issues without combat. Where possible. The other told how war strategy, or art, could be applied to each one's life. To personal conflict within.

One could strategize lifestyle based on another cultural model, the meeting theme Benj reminded, and discussion turned to how that might happen. Cultures did borrow words and beliefs from each other, gradually and at random. Might that process become an engineering design process? A designed global belief, and value set, to address global challenges, like the climate crisis. Like biodiversity loss. Like soil degradation.

Vince perked up extra at the stories told next... the Chinese hero stories. Although the hero word did not translation well into Mandarin. The two revealed the Chinese outlook on world exploration, a historical alternative to that of Genoese conquerors seeking gold. Decades before Columbus, Admiral Zhou had ventured out to offer cultural friendship to nascent civilizations of the early 1400s. To all but the pirates; who favored the Malacca Straits by present day Singapore. Those Zhou cleaned up for the locals. The Admiral travelled far to the west, venturing up and down the east coast of Africa.

One Chinese engineer took on role playing, and spun his cultural history in western Canada. We came first to build your railroad, and then to share our excellent food—you know any place around without Chinese food? Like, Chinatown. And now we come to help you guys with your engineering. A chuckle rounded the table.

They had the climate change challenge narrowed down to peoples' beliefs and values, Benj emphasized, and the problem to solve was modifying those beliefs. An equation would not work. More like a new religion; not the best word for reference, but they needed a globally combined cultural outlook.

On the Go board, Vince pictured the HICCC; a network of countries with common interests. The beliefs of the wealthy carbon spewing countries, self-entitled, being the main game contestant.

A show of hands admitted knowing more of the glories of Columbus, and being first time ever uneducated on Admiral Zhou. China, in recent history, told of a global power rising up from assigned developing country status. Once third world underdog, now a global power. With an alternate belief needed, and a champion large enough to take on the traditional European model of colonization, China could be that champion. Economically, militarily only if needs be, all wrapped up in another cultural system. A humbler people, with traits to contribute, the two engineers concluded.

As they rose, Benj asked a question, quite out of context. How important was the arctic passage opening up with ice loss, to Chinese shipping routes, he asked the two, potentially putting China closer to Europe. One route was defined on China's Belt and Road Initiative, one engineer said; an arctic shipping passage on the map. The two reemphasized China's flexible status, seeking out civilization and connecting with neighbors like Admiral Zhou.

"Thanks guys," Benj said. "Cuba's next, then."

The young fellow cheering Cuba on raised a fist, and as the meeting dispersed Benj nodded Vince's way, and waving him to a chair, inviting him to stay a minute longer.

##

Boardroom cleared, Benj and Vince sat alone. Benj nodded, listening as Vince pointed out his doubts on his working the research end of cousin cultures. Later, perhaps, they agreed, further along in the project when it came to human attitude analyses, and potential implementation.

"Talk a bit more?" Benj said. "I've got twenty minutes."

"Sure, yeah," Vince said. "I saw your last message."

"Absolutely," Benj said. "Maybe you heard of the tenders being put out for bid. Your gig, geoengineering."

"Like what?"

"A major political consortium proposes to refreeze the arctic ice," Benj said. "So that's the European Union, and pals, putting out advanced notice of requests for proposal."

"Climate cooling, wow, the arctic," Vince said, nodding. "Maybe the world's getting real with the HICCC."

"First the political showdown," Benj said. "We'll be watching, if you want to join us. The project, if a go, starts in months."

"Contracts with Kakina?"

"We're not allowed by Canadian law," Benj said. "To carry out international work—but they sent us engineering specs, in case we know anyone ... so, you interested?"

"Cooling comes in more than one package. We used sulphur gas for Africa," Vince said. "About a month time delay to oxidize, to form sulphuric acid, and then to form aerosol droplets."

"You know what I don't."

"Our little sunbeam deflectors, Benj," Vince said. "They come with side effects."

"Well check their model definition, under required outcomes," Benj said. "They've got specs on required deflector and/or reflection parameters."

"Reflectors, right, like those manufactured nanoparticles," Vince said. "First comment, those would cost you, or anyone, when sulphur's so cheap. And, sulphur's volcano natural."

Vince glanced at the section on the stratospheric model. Within hours of release time, based on daily sunlight events. Immediate, ideally, due to arctic atmospheric conditions. Sulphur vapour instead of gas would improve that, meaning they better have a budget to reconfigure the planes. But, this was wealthy Western Europe. Not a consortium of the least developed HICCC countries, supported by poorly defined financial interests, and any climate savvy philanthropist.

"Gotta go bud," Benj said. "Find your way out, but stay in touch."

Vince would have to run this by Jeri, and Tamanna, to get an idea on tonnage. Jeri had escaped first from Africa, and then her husband and now Chicago. Working out of some backwoods town in upstate Michigan. She'd been their climate modelling expert in Africa, until the drones drove her off to work remote. But her passion for screaming reality into human nature remained well and alive. Not subsiding one bit, last Vince heard. And she knew her climate models inside out; through contacts she could research the latest conditions in the arctic regional stratosphere.

Stepping into the BudiCab out front, Vince rode home in an altered from of mind. His head swam straight back into geoengineering, the chemistry and the climate of an arctic refreeze project. People, beliefs and values aside for the moment. Riding the BudiCab back up the nineteenth street hill, he searched his screen for air space boundaries claimed by nations of the north Atlantic.
Chapter 12

Lady MacDonald

Vince sat in the driver's seat, letting autonomous Andy pilot them through the back streets of Canmore. Michael had come along for the scramble part only, talking of his thrill of heights in a way like Brad. In a way not; the guy now kept his feet on the ground. His hike up and down would work for coordination, as Michael back down would GPS track Vince to Vince's paraglider landing spot. Lady MacDonald, and the promise of magic air. The conversation on the Calgary out to Canmore trip had been lively enough, with Michael spieling off climate crisis stories over his career years at City Hall.

Two plus two did not equal four, he said, if you believed strongly enough. Or if you demoed with a commonly termed construction two by four, actually one and a half on the short side. Then, two plus two measures three. Beliefs trumped facts near every time. Vince had nodded along; people do naturally find numbers, facts and science to support their beliefs.

Over the years, Michael had come up with a nickname for his administrator, the acronym VECES; Verbal Engaging Coded Email Sender, ripe to be automated. To deal with a human that represented false facts, you supply truth to the code writer. Career development meetings with VECES over the years painted a blatant picture of climate crisis denial by civic government. Directly in the face of Michael's climate science research and Michael's footprint measure. In planets, for factual simplicity. Great urban demographics data at the City, Michael said, poor everything else.

Autonomous Andy pulled them in at the Lady MacDonald trail head among a packed parking lot. Being late afternoon, and during the extended once Indian summer, the mountain crowds were out hiking. Many lived in Calgary, while others in Canmore, the live right in the mountains crowd. Vince had time targeted the evening, for Brad's theoretical magic air. Brad would tune in remote from Spokane, after launch, and join the flight through audio and a floating HoloCube. Brad had screen map marked the best launch spot, and Michael knew the hike up, talking of the Tea Hut on the ridge.

They stepped out, and prepping to hike, Vince looked up the slope. That Tea Hut, a speck on the ridge.

On the trip out, Michael laughed at his own fearlessness when it came to heights, as that was more a problem than a bonus. As a younger man, he'd taken on high mountain flights, but found himself up in the air grabbing at his dream of flying like a bird. Or Peter Pan, even. Not good, not safe—that had brought on a crash landing. A soft crash, as he only cracked his tail bone, and laid on the couch for two weeks. He ran the tracks for a year after at GIS technical school, after to help his back heal. He only watched the sky gliders then, and gradually deciding on wisdom, took on a spectator role. And a compromise activity, like peering over a cliff.

A soft crash. He hoped for that in the human evolution world too, he said. People consumed their biosphere with a voracious appetite, a crash was eminent, and soft would be better than hard. He knew of others driven to fly, like he had, living post hard crash lives in various types of wheel chairs, depending of the crash damage.

Swinging packs onto backs, they started their walk from Andy's parking to the edge of town. Once upon a time you parked with just a few vehicles, Michael said, and walked straight into the wilderness. But now, the trail was a paved connection from a Town of Canmore pathway; urban growth, traditional progress... gotta crash, Michael said again.

"You recall when Canada banned single use plastics?" Michael said. "About twelve years ago."

"Kinda, sorta."

"You're too young," Michael said. "Old timer like me—I'm over sixty you know."

"You still climb a mountain."

"Oh yes," Michael said. "Up is the direction to go—I let that inherent drive to climb help keep me in shape."

"Acceptance," Vince said. "Like you said."

"In a way."

Walking past a traffic roundabout, they reached the pavement's end and took the Cougar Creek turnoff. Along the berm, built after the June 2013 southern Alberta flood, the flood everyone remembered until the next one. The berm, engineered to keep Cougar Creek contained. Progress, the traditional thinkers said, or insurance protection, others thought. Acceptance of that, Michael would say, people's way of accepting the higher risk of the next climate event.

"You don't have to fly," Michael said. "You see all around from any peak. Or hold your arms out, like wings, when you walk a ridge. Absorb the feeling... imagine the rest."

"Yeah, I can picture that," Vince said. "Brad flies, but never too high."

"The guy in Spokane."

"Yeah, that guy," Vince said. "He's the aeronautical engineer—he loves heights, like you."

"He designed your African project, right," Michael said, nodding. "Anyway, like plastics, Canada should have banned all single use fossil fuels by now."

"Yeah, true," Vince said. "You can only burn a barrel of oil once. Single use."

"Listen, here's how our federal government worked through plastics. In 2019 they announced the big gonna do it, but not 'til 2021," Michael said. "Then, as promised, not 'til 2021 do they even start to put together a plan."

"Sounds like a story."

"Well, in the next chapter they gotta consult with a whole load of experts on plastics. Now, many of those experts once worked for plastics corporations. Lobbying, you know."

"I sense a twist coming," Vince said. "And a story needs a title."

"Twist one is, they put out a plan to phase out single use plastics only. Who cares about the other plastics. The second twist is, easy on the fast food corporations, due to... lobbying perhaps? They go easy, and they make exceptions. They piss around and piss around, so hey, let's name the story Kicking the Can Down the Road."

"People, yeah."

"Look around for plastic garbage," Michael said. "Ever see any?"

"People in Calgary go clean up the Bow River banks every spring."

"That's what people do," Michael said. "Talk big story politics, and act when it looks good to others."

As they crunched along the rocky creek bed, the sky turned bluer, and the mountain breeze fresher. Further from the nearest auto exhaust, Vince could smell what was left of nature.

"You must have a reason to work at the City."

"Oh yeah," Michael said. "Data, loads and loads of high quality spatial data."

"Spatial?"

"Take global hectares," Michael said. "Global hectares can be factored into planets, and overshoot day."

"How do you talk global inside a city?"

"Global hectares, as implied by the name, are a standard subdivision of our planetary biosphere," Michael said, in technical talk. "We take our one globe, and we measure how many hectares of bio-productive forests, grassland and ocean we have. And conversely, how many hectares worth we need, or don't need but consume anyway. You measure in terms of those hectares, and apply that measure anywhere."

"Like how?"

Turning off the stone creek bed, they branched up onto a softer forest floor trail. Mountain forest branches cooled their walk, hiding them from the bright sun, and casting intermittent shadows on the path ahead.

"Picture the City of Calgary's carbon footprint in hectares," Michael said. "On a map, you show the City limits, and that footprint in hectares. Pick your shape, like could be a circle, as long as the area is seventy times that of the City limits. So the City needs that much biosphere to offset carbon emissions."

"Sounds useful," Vince said. "Like for demos."

"Blows away talk of urban forest as a carbon sink," Michael said. "Calgary's dry natural grassland, so there's maybe six or seven percent tree cover. Lots of trees planted by City Parks, and developers. When you do the math, that even quantifies how useless conversations become. You can measure what people chit-chat, how about that."

"A BS meter, yeah," Vince said, smiling. "But your Mr. VECES must be into maps, and geography, and your GIS."

"Oh yeah," Michael said, grimacing. "Let's have another meeting, and send a few emails."

At a wooden trail route sign, Tea House marked, they turned up the steeper slope, away from the creek. In Michael's determined upslope pace Vince almost sensed a simmering rage on the guy's insides. Like Vince, could be so. Enough of the VECES human, who Michael may have autotomized in his head. Maybe to keep his own human rage at bay, and in check.

"You going to Glasgow?" Michael said.

"In Scotland?" Vince said. "Wasn't planning to. Air travel across the Atlantic means carbon emissions, you know. You?"

"Ask me what's not so good about the City."

"What?"

"People, administration, lack of common sense, basic lack of planetary intelligence," Michael said. "Wait, there's more, okay, pretty much everything, but the urban data."

"Okay... so..."

"Would not cost the corporation a dime," Michael said. "And, I'd do the work off the side of my desk. I'd fill out the paperwork, to apply for Bloomberg funding. If they finance an event that makes sense, like the Glasgow conference."

"You could skip air travel," Vince said. "Attend remote."

"Or, research another paper," Michael said. "Statistics Canada data... I could talk forever on that. You convert housing, transportation, imports and exports directly into those spatial units—global hectares, or planets or overshoot day. Such lovely quantities they are."

"Quantifying can be lovely; there's fractals and Fibonacci numbers." Vince said. "No go on the Bloomberg application?"

The City would not be sending Michael to Glasgow, by plane nor by Holocube. Michael shook his head, looking away as he repeated how the corporation had successfully sidelined his information on planets and lifestyle. Way too much climate crisis truth for Calgarians. Better to leave action to some other government, like Ottawa, or the province, well, not Alberta but next-door BC or Quebec. Better in VECES mind to form a belief he could support—physics fairies Michael said, clearly angry, but forcing a smile. You negotiate with the laws of physics; those that drive climate change, through a total belief in physics fairies.

"The Ecological Footprint has a record in the City MDP, written four times," Michael said. "That's the plan for the whole city, and gets updated. So first written way back when I first started at the City."

"Awesome," Vince said, taking his turn on being upbeat. "The City's got history with your lovely math."

They dug into the rocky dirt at each switch back, and the sun switched trail sides on them as they cut back and forth across the slope. Progressing ever upwards, and Vince was picking up and inner high just on that.

"So, bureaucracy buries the lovely," Michael said. "Buries me too. Looking back, maybe I pissed my career away working on the footprint. In an upper administration shuffle, one guy wants to tell the climate truth, and the other guy wants to keep it buried. Guess who wins? Like that's the climate crisis truth, but this is the entire biosphere truth. Revealing more than just carbon."

"Maybe you're on one of those required learning curves," Vince said. "I've got a similar story."

"That's a lovely thought," Michael said. "You gotta tell me about fractals someday."

"How do you speak to VECES," Vince said, smiling playfully. "Does he have a code voice, or human voice."

"Still speaks human," Michel said. "I swear harshly at him. Hijo de puta. But I keep it in Spanish, and I keep it in my head."

"You spreken Spanish," Vince said. "That's another Latin language; mine's French."

"Do you own a dog?"

"No dog," Vince said. "Why?"

"Dogs are carnivores," Michael said. "We are omnivores."

"Yeah," Vince said, sensing an explanation coming. "Okaaay."

"You'd think owning a carnivorous dog, the bigger more so, makes for an enlarged carbon footprint... not so," Michael said. "People eating industrial meat, beef especially, adds hugely to carbon emissions."

"Interesting."

"Did you know the dogs and cattle story before?"

"Cowboys, cattle and herd dogs," Vince said. "But no, not in that sense."

"The footprint teaches that," Michael said. "Easy math. Easiest thing for Canadians to do is count and eat fewer hamburgers. For carbon reduction. Or even try out one of those no meat burgers."

"You could explain a lot to VECES then," Vince said. "You are a working group of analysts, right? The guy an engineer?"

"VECES, oh VECES; astronomy's his fascination," Michael said. "But he got a more practical degree. In Geography, looking to get a job."

"So, he's educated," Vince said. "And should get the numbers."

"He listens according to his admin training," Michael said. "And thus, he listens, but does not. And with climate truth blockers in place, he won't hear. Like the rest of City staff, and most Alberta citizens."

"Yeah," Vince said. "I hear you."

"You ever hear of silvopasture?" Michael said. "You graze beef in a forest, with no industrial feed. And truth be told, you've got yourself a carbon sink. You can eat beef burgers if you raise cattle in a select manner."

Stepping out on the ridge, they left all tree shade behind, and entered the realm of the full beaming sun. At one flat spot, they stopped for a breather, and spotted the Tea Hut just ahead.

"This guy in African did something like that special pasture," Vince said. "Greened part of the Sahara by raising cattle... or goats maybe, I gotta ask Brad. Anyway, domestic animal shit sticks the sand together, and forms soil."

"You need to convert any quantity tool into a communications tool, an advisory tool," Michael said. "We're still cleaning up our plastic garbage, when we really need a hip slick and cool veggie burger."

"My daughter eats those," Vince said. "Unless my wife's around."

"You need the masses changing behavior. Give the veggie burger a catch name; that's one strategic way," Michael said. "Gotta be the cool thing to do, what everyone else is doing. Cause that's what triggers action, in most people."

Walking past the abandoned Tea Hut they fell into a silence. Trees having shrunk to dwarf size with elevation gain, the Bow Valley spread out all around them. Lisi's smaller voice crept singing into Vince's ear, that voice song of the paper crafts, fingers sewing together a snowman friend for her other cloth buddy. Songs that calmed his wife's anger, if only for a bit, but more than anything else. Maybe better than a shopping excursion, when advertisements found inner satiation targets, and she purchased what ads told her would make all feel better.

The girl songs calmed parents in a way truer than the ads, at a deeper nature-connected level. A song of the sea had a calming power, a tune of truth to power. Why not that for all? Could the girl's song sink appreciation into one like VECES's ear? Bring urban forest truth, to Calgarians, amidst September snow dumps. When leafy green canopies, and all trees Michael said, struggled to recall the pattern of regular seasons. Songs, amidst smoky summer skies, as wildfires caught in the tinder dry spring before spring. With greening tree roots remembering those days of a moist ground.

Lisi not only sang, but walked and spoke a girl confidence living her way into this evolving future. When Vince watched the girls gathering, like around a school, they formed so unlike politicians. No dominant male figure leading, commanding, and deciding. Girls neither led nor followed, but cooperatively came to consensus even when their early lives were immersed in adult termed preparatory school years.

"Here's an earlier year story," Michael said. "Take VECES, back then at City Hall."

"Tell me."

"Been trying for years on my thesis topic, like, I've got a master's degree but no more," Michael said. "So, big deal, when I get an academic paper published."

"Cool," Vince said. "On that Ecological Footprint?"

"You got it. Okay, the numbers speak truth to science, and scientists, at least," Michael said. "I mean, anyone should think that a nation's GDP correlates with carbon emissions."

"Yeah okay," Vince said. "No brainer, kinda."

"We've got all this Statistics Canada data," Michael said. "You pick the simplest proxy for carbon emissions, and that's household income."

"Households," Vince said. "That speaks to people."

"Our society's sign of success reveals her dirties secret, and yes, right in your personal household. So rationally, you measure, explain, and solve the problem," Michael said. "But, oh the cultural barriers to rational solutions, like guess what VECES says?"

"Oh no," Vince said. "What?"

"We can't talk about that," Michael said. "We don't talk about how much we make."

"Even when it defines a life-threatening problem," Vince said. "Wow, traditional beliefs... the human problem."

"So yeah, he's open to the administrative wonder of encouraging an employee, like me, to develop a career," Michael said. "Until the hard facts revealed hit him in the face. Him, his beliefs, the Canadian lifestyle he's entitled to; his seven planet Calgary lifestyle. Then, an abrupt about face, and he's all on board with burying those facts."

"He needs convincing."

"True," Michael said. "I'm not a convincer."

"What's he say to climate change?"

"Technology will solve all," Michael said. "Aren't they working on a new kind of power plant?"

"How's he act on our climate crisis?"

"Typical consumer inaction," Michael said. "He bought an SUV when they're on sale, with a down cycle in oil prices. One time he says, oh yeah, I'm ready to do anything. But he lives the big house lifestyle, four kids; health and education being top priority. Cause they will have the lifestyle he had, in his not so deep beliefs."

"And typical Canadian non-action," Vince said. "Five and even seven planet lifestyle. Wow, that's me too."

"You believe in magic Vince?"

"Yes maybe," Vince said. "My daughter was eleven not long ago."

"So all these Canadian adults, near all the ones working at City Hall," Michael said. "They typically pass the seven planets count off on magic. And get on with their consumer day."

"My daughter explains fairies, when I ask," Vince said. "I never heard of any climate action fairy, but I'm starting to hear of those physics fairies. So we can negotiate with the laws of physics."

Walking past the abandoned Tea Hut, they made the final ascent to the launch platform, and there, Vince rolled his wing pack off his shoulders.

"Calgary adults send twenty bucks to the Mars Station, and twenty to the Houseboat for Santa fund," Michael said. "After the Blue Ocean Event... with thoughts and prayers. All waiting for the magic of next Christmas."

"Yeah, I get that," Vince said, pulling out the wing from his pack. "My family, their explanations; we love Canadian Oil and Gas, for Christ's sakes."

"My kids are adults now," Michael said. "My daughter won't be having children. By choice, mind you; she plans to help care for children, though, like in an eco-village-type setting. She's heard me talking too many years, you know, our planet wheeling and keeling over on its last legs."

"Harsh, but should like determined acceptance," Vince said, taking in a glimpse of how Lisi's life might play out. Marching the wing roll to the edge, he flipped it unrolling back towards Michael. "You heading back down?"

"Yes sir, you'll beat me no doubt," Michael said. "But I'll find you down there.

"Roger that."

"Have a great flight."

Vince waved a hand as Michael about faced, and started back down the Lady MacDonald trail.

##

Pulling the wing up into the air, Vince made that familiar spin around to face the breeze. Adjusting the glider cams, he gave his pilot guide Brad a full view of the flight. And he tuned in via voice.

"Hello Spokane," Vince said. "Hey Brad, you there?"

"Hey Vince," Brad said, voice coming through clear. "How's your chat with the City Hall guy?"

"You would not believe what does on," Vince said. "You guys gotta meet."

"Yeah sure," Brad said. "Set that up."

Vince pulled on the select control strings, guiding the wing above to lift him off the ground, and then settle back to touch down again. The breeze felt right, and all was ready enough.

"Okay, so you feel the air," Brad said, from the dangling HoloCube. "Look to the far-off horizon."

"Like floating," Vince said. "I'm stepping off."

Walking into the wind, he approached the rocky edge straight on, with the wing slightly ahead. At that last touch moment he followed the wing off, swinging under, and up like a bird. All good, as he ascended.

"Tell me more on the City guy."

"Yeah, he's motivated, so he starts up like fifteen years ago," Vince said, picking a flight direction. "He's got these urban planners for clients, so they talk up this triple bottom line measure. Economic, social and the environmental. So he picks environment, and says hey, we can measure that for you. He researches, designs and creates this footprint tool."

"Cool."

"Super cool," Vince said. "A quantitative measure. He says he talks better to engineers, 'cause they get the numbers. And, get this, he figures out, just like us, that there's gotta be a story in front of the numbers. The footprint measure's got presentation options, like overshoot day and biosphere expressed in planets. Talk, he says, needs to be about lifestyle."

"The City knows everything then," Brad said. "Measure it, define the problem and calculate a solution. No sweat."

"You would think," Vince said. "But, not."

"Tell me."

"Politics, and bureaucrats," Vince said. "Extreme inefficiency."

"Efficiency's the core of any design."

"Yeah."

Veering gradually onto his flight line, Vince caught a glimpse of Michael far below, fast pacing it down the ridge-top trail. The guy was already at the first trees, top of the switchbacks. Down a mountain was usually double speed, Michael said a couple times, compared to the grind up. The guy's jacket color gave away a distinct identity.

"Government bureaucracy in a nutshell," Vince said. "Excellent data, but near no action."

"So we got us an inside look at modern city politics," Brad said. "In a fossil fuel focused province."

"In a fossil fuel bloated City too," Vince said. "Even though, that City's council approved a climate target way back. A target for 2020, defined in carbon tons – then they did measurably near nothing about it. Okay, they talked a bit."

"And that footprint measure," Brad said. "Does that measure tons of carbon?"

"Does so," Vince said. "And more, like total biosphere consumption. But he gets nowhere with the City using the tool."

"Go figure," Brad said. "So what's he do?"

"He gives up on the City," Vince said. "But by then, he's met a couple groups outside the City. This medical doctor with two daughters. Doctor's highly climate aware, and driven, and the girls know the Greta girl talk. The doctor gets a Calgary climate citizens Node going."

"Cool," Brad said. "And the other group?"

"Extinction Rebellion," Vince said. "You know, those civil disobedience guys, started in Britain."

Vince checked his altimeter, barely budging, even bumping up a bit. With a feel for time, he knew he was having a true magic air flight, his wing sinking oh so slowly. Magic, right there.

"Those rebellion guys demand government's do what science says people need," Brad said. "It's what the government talked about and promised already, so just what Michaels says."

"Bullshitting bureaucracy," Vince said. "Bloated with seven planet lifestyle employees."

"Action will be up to the people."

Checking the horizon, Vince got a visual confirming his height was holding; now he could truly believe. Why did people so need visual proof; floods and wildfires, when the climate science talk was so revealingly clear. On paper, in story, but they needed to see for themselves.

"You got a landing site picked?"

"I see the valley," Vince said. "And the openings."

"I'll be your guide when you get closer," Brad said. "You might need to dump a lot of the magic air, to get down before dark."

"Thanks boss."

"We need out Holocene back, Vince," Brad said. "Our kids need the wonder of a calm climate."

"Gonna take a lifetime of work," Vince said. "Got any new ideas?"

"You come here," Brad said. "To Spokane."

"Too far."

"Meet me in Idaho."

"Yeah... I'll check my schedule," Vince said. "Would have to be before any snow."

Keeping an eye on one potential landing spot, Vince settled in for magic air time. Meeting more on-board people like Michael had its wonder, and Brad needed to meet Benj too. That calm climate of the Holocene might return for their children, late in their lives. But for now Vince needed to stay connected with that future's positive side. Listening to and watching for any sign of those fractal cloud children, those playing happily under tomorrow's sun.
Chapter 13

Car to School

September snowflakes splitter-spattered against Lisi's window, the big wet ones blowing backwards into water streaks tracing across the street rushing past. Daddy would drive them to school today, first of all over to pick up Charlize, and then-of-all to get Nia. Then-of-all; a new word for everyone.

Her phone beeped a message.

Their car turned the corner into Charlize's cul-de-sac and Daddy cut a wheel-around to not get stuck in the snow. He had fun driving, especially in the snow, she knew; she could tell what made her Daddy smile. Play, plain and simple. Looked like her code girl Adrian wanted to play too; she sent a silent text to link her to Girl Voices this morning. They'd been discussing Angie, and Lisi so wanted to give the idea a try. So, she did click on her Listen In.

Charlize stepped into the back seat with her backpack, pulling her seat belt over. Lisi watched until she jiggled in the buckle. Then-of-all Daddy played on, getting their car moving in little jump-ahead spurts in the growing mini-banks of street snow.

"Good morning." Charlize looked up.

"Hi, creative girl," Lisi said.

"Maybe not," Charlize said. "You do those calculate taxes questions?"

"For Math?" Lisi said. "Yes."

"People don't like taxes," Charlize said. "Mom doesn't, and Mama even worst."

"You just have to multiply decimals," Lisi said. "Express your tax rate as one point the rate times the amount being taxed."

"If you can even multiply," Charlize said, sighing. "I wish."

"Are you in a class group?" Lisi said. "You're allowed groups of three in my class."

"Most kids do it alone," Charlize said. "And I don't like the kids in my class's one and only group."

"We can meet at lunch," Lisi said. "We can be our own little group."

At the lights when the car slowed, and Daddy snuck cleverly in along the narrow open lane, squeezing around the corner. Lisi looked at her phone, and surprise, Adrian told her to record the back-seat talk. Whatever, she thought, but then sent back No, No secret spying. Into the new blasts of pelting snow, they followed along the boulevard to Nia's house. Up the hill, like all white into forever land.

"You know my friend Kenzee," Lisi said. "Like who was born in Asia?"

"So she's Chinese?"

"Yes, she speaks Mandarin," Lisi said. "Like, she's not allowed to celebrate her birthday."

"Why not?"

"Her mom says no," Lisi said. "It's so sad she says."

"But why?"

"It's family only," Lisi said. "Like her grandparents and uncle."

"I mean, okay, family," Charlize said. "But she wouldn't play with them, like ever."

"Yes, it's Han culture," Lisi said. "Han is Chinese." She listened to see if her father would join into the conversation; he did when he was interested sometimes. He listened a lot, she knew that. But he seemed to be having action fun getting them through the snow—boys' play was oh-kay—and bopping along to the radio music. "Better in certain ways, Dad says. Like grandparents do enjoy children time. And her uncle isn't married."

"Oh yes," Charlize said. "I do love time with my grandparents."

Their to-school ride veered in at Nia's place, and bumped up the steep driveway to a halt, all ready to roll back out. Adrian messaged oh you!!... look, no diff hearing talk in the hallway. Nia bounced out the glass front door into the flurries, down the steps with her school pack. Cold air rushed through the car door when she opened it, swirling in with the stench of auto exhaust. Fine, I'll record, Lisi sent back. Nia rolled in, goofy as ever—almost like Winter, just, Winter was special goofy.

"Hi soccer girl," Lisi said, as Nia shuffled into her spot.

"Hi other soccer girl," Nia said. "And names girl."

"You need a nickname, Nia," Charlize said. "The Giver Girl."

"See my generousness," Nia said. "Want my sandwich today?"

"PB and J?" Charlize said. Nia nodded. "No thanks."

"Remember my corner kick?" Nia said. "When I kicked it to you Lisi."

"To me," Lisi said. "Was I there?"

"When we were doing that drill," Lisi said. "The corner kick."

"Great kick, Nia," Lisi said.

Daddy eased them back down Nia's steepness, and back off the way they'd come.

"How was your last game?" Charlize said. "Oh team players."

"Weird, 'cause we change in the back seat," Nia said. "On the way to the other school."

"Oh Nia," Lisi said. "You enjoy those times."

"You do look kinda weird," Nia said. "In one sock."

"And what's wrong with you and pants?" Lisi said, looking at Nia. "Seriously."

"Lana has to...," Nia said, grabbing the back-seat tissue box. "Catch the football." She tossed it across and Lisi raised her arm to block, bouncing the box back to Nia.

"Girls, girls," Charlize said. "Think soccer ball."

"Lana takes...," Nia said. "A long pass."

"Ahhh," Lisi said, failing to block the box this time.

"You have a talent for hitting me in the head Nia."

"What's happening to your catching skills, Lisi?" Nia said.

"You're a cheater," Lisi said. "Nia's a cheater."

"We'll call you," Charlize said. "Oh, let's see... Cheater Girl."

Nia slipped the tissue box gently onto Charlize's lap.

"Two cheaters against one," Lisi said. "That's not fair."

"Orggg," Lisi said, sneaking in quick to grab the tissues. "Tissue boxes are painful. You almost took my head off."

"Sorry," Nia said.

"Nia, watch and learn," Lisi said, tossing the box lightly into the front seat.

Lisi could feel the car swooshing down the hill, where they always came to those lights.

"Interesting play," Charlize said.

"And so we emerge victorious," Lisi said, raising her arms high. "We take the tournament!"

"I totally didn't throw it," Nia said. "I never had the ball, coach."

"Clever claim, Nia," Lisi said. "You're a genius Nia."

"I think I'm losing my mind," Nia said. "I do not know what I do, coach."

"We'll call you Extreme Nia," Charlize said. "Nice name rhythm, for the team."

"Omg, Charlize," Lisi said. "She's thinking."

Lisi looked at Charlize, and Charlize looked back—the both knew what it meant. When Nia got that look in her eye, and went silent for a bit. The car turned right down fourteenth street, the turn that always triggered Nia. The fast street, along the huge wilderness park with wild deer and coyotes.

"Oh, first we devise a plan," Nia said. "And then..."

"Don't let her open the window," Charlize said. "She eats car snow."

"I promise I won't."

"You promised last time," Lisi said. "We don't trust you."

"You know why I do that?" Nia said. "From when I was super small."

"Hang on to that," Lisi said. "What you know, from when you were small."

"Yes coach," Nia said. "I want snow."

"Don't eat dirty snow," Lisi said. "That's bad for you."

"I want snow," Nia said, eyes wide, lips pouting.

"You don't even like whipped cream, "Lisi said. "Why would you put that on your tongue?"

"I eat pieces of what my brother won't," Nia said. "This tongue has been many places."

"Nia, no no no," Charlize said. "And watch how you talk, young lady."

"I now eat the... whipped cream," Nia said. "Lisi doesn't have any whipped cream."

"That is window frost Nia," Charlize said. "Crystallized water vapour."

"Mmmm," Nia said. "So tasty to my super small memories."

"Ohh, that's gross," Charlize said. "We need rules on what we retain from childhood."

"Family spit," Nia said. "Does that count?"

"Young lady," Charlize said. "No no no."

"I don't have a brother," Lisi said. "But family counts a lot."

Each looked their own way, out the car windows at the swirling pelting snow performance. The all had families, and each of them went silent, and they all knew why.

"You need to keep that Nia," Lisi said softly.

"What?"

"From when you were super small," Charlize said. "What Lisi said."

"Why?"

"Super important," Lisi said. "We have devised a plan."

Daddy's voice up front faltered in his humming, and he even turned the radio down. Like he was listening close, what else, but he never said a word.

"Whatz our plan?"

"We," Lisi said. "We are our plan."

"We rule zee world," Nia said, "We eat all zee snow."

"No Nia," Lisi said, "No no no."

"She can be our Emoji," Charlize said. "Our Nia App."

"Nia, listen," Lisi said. "Our Girl Power App."

"Should we be saying Power?" Charlize said. "Like I don't think so."

Lisi fell into a moment of silence, looking to each friend.

"You are so right Charlize," Lisi said. "Something else."

"We must express our dedicated outcome," Charlize said. "In some way."

"I am a girl," Nia said, shooting her firsts high. "I eat snow!"

"We want alliteration," Lisi said. "Great Giving Girl."

"Do you want my sandwich?" Nia said.

"Yes," Charlize said, ignoring Nia. "Keep it catchy too."

Lisi was sure Charlize would come up with something. Whatever the Girl's name, she needed a natural voice, a soft voice, yet an influencing voice. Like a whisper, the voice of a Girl Whisperer. Lisi watched the snow rat-ta-tat into the windshield as blasts of wind gusted stronger.

"Bingo," Charlize said. "Yellow car."

"Okay," Lisi said. "Let's play."

"Toy cars count," Nia said.

"No," Charlize said. "They don't."

"They count."

"No. no. no."

"Brady has lots."

"Your little brother doesn't count," Charlize said. "I didn't mean that, I mean his toy cars don't count."

"Even yellow ones?"

Lisi felt drawn back into listened to her friends, wondering how to best moderate. How to bond them even more into a we. When she talked with Adrian, telling her about her and Charlize's Angie plan, the code girl said app right away. An ANG app, but she needed real world voices, she said. In a natural setting, no acting allowed. Lisi patted Nia gently, somehow knowing her friend's super young years must be kept alive.

"Bingo when you see a real yellow car," Lisi said. "Banana for a taxi or school bus."

"Banana."

"Toy bananas count," Nia said. "My little sister has a plastic bunch."

"No toy counts, Nia," Charlize said.

Daddy turned off fourteenth, the last of the fast. Lisi sighed, staring out into the snow storm. How would the wild deer be doing out there? And the coyotes and the rabbits. Daddy said they were hares, snowshoe hares. How would everything alive be doing?

"The game of yellow cars," Lisi said. "The game of life."

"Duh."

"Write a book about that."

"Like that movie, remember," Lisi said. "The Book of Life."

"Those guys were dead," Charlize said. "The Book of Death."

"They lived," Lisi said. "But in the world of the dead."

The car slowed at another city street corner, left past the James Fowler School. Kids outside ducked under their hoods and hoodies against the snow, milling around the bus stop.

"Looks, there's Angelique," Charlize said. "Wave, I did."

"That's not her," Lisi said, staring out. "You can't see."

Daddy sped around the curve, and then up the hill. Lisi glanced at Charlize, and then back into the snowflake world, another world now with the car edging along behind others, and houses all around. Adrian silent texted a question: Whose Angelique? I'll tell you later, Lisi messaged back. Fine, she texted. You guys talking in the back-seat... those're the voices we need. Lisi appreciated the code girl's seriousness on the ANG app, she was just nervous about spying.

"I'm the tallest in my class," Nia said. "And the most mature."

"Oh," Charlize said. "Are you starting an adult conversation?"

"Never," Nia said, retracting into her own inner version of things. "Would you like some fuzz, oh outside world?" Nia tapped at the down button for her window. But Daddy still had the child lock clicked. "That I might flick my finger out in the wind," Nia said. "What do I do with my fuzz?"

"Have you done your seasons thing yet?" Lisi asked Charlize. "Spring, summer..."

"Oh yes," Charlize said. "Winter's gonna be easiest."

"We've got winter now," Lisi said. "And we know Winter, and we've got Nia."

"Goof ball."

Daddy pulled the car into a spot across from their junior high, among the other cars slipping and sliding around. Positioned ready steady to go, yet safe. Boys, and their toy cars world.

"Let's go," Lisi said. "It's school time!"

"I'm stuck though," Nia said. "I'm stuck in the stuck... I can't get out."

Charlize and Lisi pulled at Nia's backpack to help her with her efforts to get out of the car.

"Catch you ladies after school," Daddy said, turning back from his music to smile at Lisi and her friends. "Text me Lisi, on the soccer practice time."

"Okay Daddy," Lisi said. "Pretty sure that's tomorrow."

His face went soft right then, kind of sad, eyes wet in the corners. She smiled bright, and gave him a goodbye wave. "Bye bye, Daddy," she said. Then, joining in with the girls, she walked across the street for another day of school. Today was Day 2 and Miss Blaise wanted that Humanities assignment handed in. School was fun, school was awesome. She truly believed so, and her friends did too.

##

After school Lisi strolled with Charlize and Nia along the upper concrete sidewalk, all snow cleared, knowing her father would be parked down and across. Like always. The snow was so deep, but melting everywhere into slush heaps, so you could smell the grass underneath. All that snow triggered Nia's deep needs, and she plowed both boots into slush trails, ending fallen to her knees. There, she built a snowman, picking an exposed dandelion to plant in his ear.

"Bonhomme," Lisi said.

"De neige," Charlize added. "Avec le fleur."

"C'mon Nia, let's go," Lisi said. "We'll give you a cupcake."

In a chatting bunch the girls stepped down the concrete stairway, then across the street to the car. Bouncing across the back, all from the sidewalk side just to be safe, they each found their place. Lisi clicked Listen In, and Record on her phone, swayed by code girl Adrian. And Angelique... maybe.

"We parlez good French," Lisi said.

"Je suis fini," Nia said.

"No, non," Lisi said. "That means 'I'm dead'."

"Like, it's j'ai fini," Charlize said.

"Yes, oui," Lisi said. "Nous avon fini."

"Just you are dead Nia," Charlize said. "Whereas we, are finished."

"J'ai tres tres tres fracais," Nia said.

"You have lots of French Nia," Lisi said. "Is that what you want to say?"

Daddy pulled out, a new driving game on the slushy ride home.

"I'm finished," Nia said. "I am la mort in the Book."

"Don't worry Nia," Lisi said. "Death has no power."

"So true," Nia said. "I know that, like totally, when I eat snow."

"Our Girl of the snows," Charlize said. "Polar Bear Nia."

"Ahh Nia," Lisi said. "You knew it all... when you were super small."

"Where's my cupcake?"

"Here we go Lisi," Charlize said. "Our young lady."

"What did you say?" Nia said.

"She must be shamed," Lisi said. "She shall be shamed."

"That's what you say," Nia said.

"Yes," Charlize said. "You must be... our young lady."

"Oh."

"You can't have that, Nia," Charlize said. "You can't have what you want."

"Oh."

"So you recall this morning," Lisi said. "How we kept Nia from eating car snow?"

"Yes, like Patty the five-year-old I babysit," Charlize said. "She's trying to get attention."

"Bad, right?"

"No," Nia said. "Not bad... good."

"We have rules."

"School rules?"

"Rules of adults," Charlize said. "The law."

"We take the snow eater to court," Nia said. "To court, to court, to court."

"You are the snow eater," Lisi said.

"Take me to court," Nia said. "I plead... pas de guilty."

"All right then, our backseat court case," Lisi said, knowing this would be what Adrian wanted. Girls' rules on right and wrong. "The accused must defend her action before judge and jury."

"You be the judge, Lisi," Charlize said. "I wanna be the lawyer."

"Prosecution or defense?"

"Which is what?"

"Defend the accused car snow eater," Lisi said. "Or put her away."

"Away where?"

"We bury her in snow," Lisi said. "Nice clean fresh snow."

"Yessss," Nia said. "Nooooo."

"Will she be shamed?" Charlize said. "She needs to be... our young lady."

"Yes, she did the very shameful," Lisi said. "And, she nearly ate a dandelion today."

"I shall prosecute her then," Charlize said. "Dirty snow, and, the dandelion."

"What age?" Lisi said. "The defendant?"

"I'm twelve your honor," Nia said. "My birthday's in November."

"Next is thirteen," Charlize said. "My sister said that year sucks, but you have no choice."

"Angelique knows something about thirteen," Lisi said.

"Duh," Nia said. "Like unlucky."

"There's like zero luck in math," Lisi said. "And it's flower petal math."

"Flowers of the meadows," Nia sang. "Smell so lovely in the spring..."

"Silence in the court," Lisi said. "This case is now in session."

Lisi conducted the court case as well as possible, considering all witnesses were absent. Nia spoke in her own defense. She told of all the fun times as a super small kid, when the pursuit of snow to eat was highly admirable, and brought one of the purest of freedoms. Back then, even the adults laughed, and the snow was oh so cold, and only dirty once in a while. Lisi checked for precedents in her legal cases files on children, and finding no precedent, she could make no other choice than to acquit the defendant. Then, having court running so smoothly, she could not but call for the next case.

"We try before the judge and jury."

"We have no jury," Charlize said. "We try what?"

"A case for the people, of the people," Lisi said. "You pick."

"What?" Charlize said. "How about Boss Baby?"

"We babies have a crisis," Nia said. "Behold, our mortal enemy. The puppies."

"Awwwhhh..."

"No no no, that's the problem," Nia said. "The cutie pewty response."

"Okay, Peshu's my puppy," Charlize said. "Peshu so needs to be cared for."

"No no no," Nia said. "Babies need care, not puppies."

"Our court case," Charlize said. "Puppy business versus baby business."

"Great case, wrong court," Lisi said. "Take that to the Court of Pets and Infants."

The ride home reached the end of fourteenth, and tool them up the hill into Nia's neighborhood.

"This social media nasty old man face-booked like he's a little girl," Charlize said. "Deceit of children, a serious crime."

"Oh, so rude," Nia said.

"Teacher said you only ever meet any person face to face," Charlize said. "Serious."

"But my cupcake," Nia said. "Do nasty old guys take your cupcake?"

"Order, order in the court," Lisi said, tapping her imaginary gravel. "I call a recess. For the duration of one evening at home."

Nia hopped out of the car in her wet slushy driveway. Charlize passed her bag out after her, and she said 'thank you' over and over as always. Adrian silent messaged one word: AWESOME!!! With Nia gone, the conversation got seriously serious. Adult type talk.

"Dreams of cancer," Charlize said. "Dreams, and cancer."

Lisi turned back from the window, mind on her mom and the kitchen when she got home. She was a little tired, but, listening with compassion to others could be uplifting.

"I had a dream," Lisi said. "Martin Luther King said that."

"My dream was fear," Charlize said. "All my fears, of cancer in my family."

"My dad said dreams tell you things," Lisi said. "Like, a lot."

"My mom said so too" Charlize said. "My mama doesn't remember any."

"Dad says cancer gets all the attention," Lisi said. "And our climate crisis gets none."

"That's his issue of choice," Charlize said. "Climate change, right?"

"One of them," Lisi said. "Let's raise money for cancer."

"We can make paper cranes," Charlize said. "That'll be fun."

"And sell them with cookies," Lisi said. "We can raise support money."

They sat in silence the rest of the way. Lisi's mind muddling up with images of cookies, dripping with icing like melting glaciers, and cranes. Charlize got out in the slush at her house with a bye bye. Then, on the way home, Adrian sent one more message. She wanted special situation girl voices. How about at a party, like Birthday or Hallowe'en, she wondered. When Daddy pulled up in front of their home, Lisi jumped out of the back seat, and rushed into the house to give Mom a hug.
Chapter 14

Mountain Flowers

On this day, Vince needed head out for a drive deep into the mountains. To build a cathedral, history showed evidence, you first needed a foundation, and that allowed inspired design by future generations. With Tasha's approval, he and Lisi had decided on a flower picking afternoon; old-days cathedrals had often been surrounded by flower beds. For him, a dawn to dusk day away from all urban.

Lisi had invited both her friend Kelli and little sister Cassi along, and together, they would venture forth to a field of Saturday flowers. Triggered by forests like those of Kells—they had all watched the animation—and exploratory urges needing fulfillment. An excursioner's outlook would add to Vince's needs, with the express purpose of clearing his mind by clearing out of the city. A hear clean wiped of thought allowed space for the possible, and nature herself, or the beat of the highway music might fill in the blank. Or, who knows, something else. A river valley hike, or any off-road wander along the highway would bring them to those promised fields of flowers.

Tumbling out of the house, Lisi and Vince jumped into their respective car seats. In the driver's, Vince grabbed the wheel and selecting IDrive, allowed GPS Talk as a guide over to Kelli and Cassi's. Lisi sat in the back, expecting to keep company with her friends, like any car pool to school day. Falling into the street's rhythm, Vince clicked on public rock'n'roll, but found his ear tuning in to the inspirational beat of the back seat. He punched the volume down on public music.

"Da-dah-da-da, duh de duh duh," Lisi sang happily. "Underwear rocks, underwear talks."

"Awesome song Lisi," Vince said, grinning. "Underwear, eh?"

"Quiet Daddy, I'm reading," his daughter said. "Underwear is always quiet. It never talks. That's the good thing about underwear."

"Ahh, okay," Vince said. "Shhhh me."

Distractions mixed, Vince anticipated flowers instead, and that connection to math. The Fibonacci sequence, blooming in the fields. That Alan Turning guy, Vince had been reading up on the history, a tragic inspiration. Turing had been British, and after his heroic act of breaking the WWII Nazi enigma code, kept his genius going. Like, the guy wrote the original theory of digital computing; he invented computers. And in his spare time, or for his distraction maybe, Turing counted flower petals. Like the math in that wartime code, Turing's mind picked up on patterns in those petals. Forget fractals for a bit; Vince needed let in fields of flowers. And any emotive moment that might sneak in with back door thoughts that day.

"Bubble bees rock," Lisi sang softly. "And bunny flies talk."

"Bubble not bumble, right?" Vince said, risking another interruption. "Are those true-life critters?"

"Of course Daddy," Lisi said. "Bubble bees live oh-so deep in the wilderness."

The scientist in a recent documentary used children's soap bubble blowers to demonstrate the chemistry of the universe. A single bubble for hydrogen, the basis of the universe, and bubbles sticking together like atoms combining into molecules. A CO2 molecule needed that bubble scientist to show a larger C bubble in the middle and two smaller O bubbles stuck on either side. If children's bubbles for chemistry, why not children's mind bees and bunnies, for biology, and for humanity.

"What are you reading?" Vince said, not having been assigned to silence this time. "Read me a sentence."

"Ladies, gentlemen and all chickens," Annalise said, waving her hand out at the crowd. "Please take your seats."

"Ahh, Lisi," Vince said. "You put in the chickens."

"No, it's true," Annalise said. "You wanna read it?"

"I can't read," Vince said. "I'm driving."

"Here, Daddy, look," Lisi said, holding her book up for him to glance in the mirror. "Right there, the word chicken. Bawwwk, buck buck-buck, bawwwk."

An uncheckable smile spread across Vince's face. This pure silliness of children, holding such purity, continued a push to fill in that blank. Silliness only from an adult's perspective, yet the key might be in the adults that smiled, touched in some gentle way.

Pulling into the friend girls' drive, Vince watched the two come barreling out the door with a waving parent behind. Vince waved back; return time and just-in-case contacts all prearranged. The two sisters scurried in after each other, filling the back seat in practiced sequence; arranging backpacks and water bottles. Like any kids on a car trip day.

"Hi guys," Lisi said, shuffling to make room.

Vince backed out, and pulled off down the street. Back into the rhythm of the road, anticipating the beat of the tunes on the wide open, or at least imagined to be, highway ahead.

"Flowers, right?" Kelli said. "Right?"

"Flowers, my dearest," Lisi said.

"And squirrels," Cassi chimed in. "Right?"

"Fuzzy forest squirrels," Lisi said. "Rainbow squirrels."

Settling in for the drive, Vince let Talk guide their way to the ring road; the freeway connecting the city to the mountain highway. To those flowers. In southern Alberta, on prairies next to mountain country, the latest normal extended Indian summer deeper into the fall. September flowers bloomed extra weeks, a climate change noticeable to anyone paying attention the last couple decades.

"When I was five, I picked flowers with five petals—the prettiest," Lisi told Kelli. "And when I was eight, I picked petal-of-eight ones, for the pirates."

"Pieces-of-eight, Lisi," Kelli said, correcting.

"Petals," Lisi said, resolute.

"What about when you were six," Kelli said. "Or seven or nine?"

"I don't know," Lisi said. "I never picked flowers then."

Tuning in, Vince scrambled his memory to confirm. He vaguely recalled that pattern of behavior, possibly, maybe she did. Tasha talked of that one time of how Lisi arranged flowers in the house, maybe by fives and eights.

"Well you're gonna today," Cassi said.

"Ahh yes, my lady," Lisi said. "This day, we do gather les fleurs."

"We pick," Cassi said. "We gather."

"Warning," Lisi said. "If you see one with thirteen petals, do not pick it."

"Why not?"

"Angelique says so," Lisi said.

"Oh her," Kelli said. "I saw her picking flowers at school one day."

"That's not true," Lisi said. "Really?"

"Is so true," Kelli said, hesitating. "Kay... ooo, I dunno."

On the edge of the city Vince tuned in to the rock'n'roll of the day... the freedom of the highway. But he kept an ear on the back-seat chatter too... as they joined that freedom of the highway traffic. Everybody going my way music, but the pull to the back seat won out again.

"Kay, watch this," Cassi said. "Go like this."

"Do it slowly," Lisi said. "You wanna know the trick?"

He glanced at the rear-view mirror.

"They went like this," Cassi said. "It's on Brain Games, there's this show."

"You're crossing your fingers the wrong way," Lisi said. "You do it this way."

"You have to hold them this way," Kelli said. "Like this."

Their engagement flowed, in such a natural way.

"There was this girl at school, and her little sister's there," Lisi said. "So the girl snipped her sister's nose off and her little sister's saying 'I'll do anything, I'll clean your room, just give me back my nose.'"

"I will give you back your nose," Kelli said. "If you don't pinch me."

The giggle level rose to a crescendo, and Turing might have searched for a math pattern in children's laughter. The guy had no children, but a teenage best friend who had died; a tragic early life and naivety as an adult brought on his own early death. This would be new ground, so tuning in on the laughter frequencies, Vince let his mind try to classify the unadulterated rings of mirth.

"Why is there a bump on my finger," Cassi said. "No, there, my other hand."

"It's a phlish."

"Noooo, a fish."

"Yes, yes," Kelli said. "And a crawly crick."

As they pulled over the first rise, and snowcapped mountains took over the horizon, the sounds of freedom tunes competed with the lyrical talk behind. What Vince had always sought in his looking for adventure highway music, came just as well from the writ pure girls' voices behind.

"Oooh I had a beautiful thought," Cassi said. "But I'm not gonna tell you that part."

Kelli ignored her sister.

"Okay fine," Cassi said. "I'll just sit here."

A world free of logic, unconfined by rational thought, unhindered by adult determination on how next to act. Yet, so socially in tune. Adult thought was so based on social calculations, and mixed with political cultural math. All learned, as any child grew in to the adult world. But that abandoned the silly world, along with the energy of the human spirit.

"Why are you so far away?"

"Try to get me."

From within that silliness, amid those giggles, the human equation rang out.

"I'm gonna sleep on you."

"Kay, I'm awake now."

The problem being, Vince restrained his mind from engineering mode, the problem being, even though his thought process might be construed as rational—kay, call it intuitive, just that adults constrained childishness to the shelves of no value. Adults, totally losing out on the answer to their own problems. A circle of chats, in a circle of dance, and the children knew where and when to step out. Yet without his logical rational adult thinking, how was an engineer to transfer the data into a problem-solving format?

He could be there on the side, listening at least, and venture that way into the girls' world to observe, and absorb what he could.

"You know the stupidest thing I ever did," Cassi said. "I asked mom for pie, and there was this broccoli."

"Oh yes," Lisi said.

"Anyway I ended up with veggie pie."

In the moment honesty. Children expressed unhindered self-truths.

"How dare you... object to your own name," Lisi said. "And thieve mine."

Still confrontational, a true social species requirement.

"I wanna try."

"No stinky farts."

Erratic. Ideas from every angle.

"Oh, I wanna show you a drawing I did when I was little," Cassi said. "Kay, I draw a heart-man, allz he's made of is hearts. Hearts, hearts, hearts."

"Look, see, my flowers."

"Kay, you won."

Yet so inclusive in the end.

At best Vince could know the girl children's world from the edges—and a series of visits and retreats. As the Rockies drew them in, and the highway changed to curves, Vince sensed his growing concern of select places ahead. Retreating into an adult's inner drive to protect children's innocence, he recoiled at driving deep into the Kootenay National Park. Each year more of a dead tree zone. Wildfires and pine beetles had had their way with the forest, each with a distinct non-green signature. Black burns, and purple disease. Frustration tore at him, whether to protect, or tell the truth—how does an adult to reveal to any child what adults had done to their future?

##

Yanking at the wheel, Vince pulled over last minute at Marble Canyon, one stop before the Ink Pots. No dead forest tour for these girls, not yet, not today. A parking lot of shoulder season tourists greeted them; not the size of summer crowds. This trail of seven bridges would be a blast for the girls, and then a hike down the less beaten path towards the Ink Pots. Onward for their treasure search for mountain flowers.

Past the stone wall, and down along the creek bottom, the girls' chatter switched to tones of excited awe at the natural. In the pine scented mountain air they found smooth river stones, and grey branches to carry through the running water soundscape. Behind Asian tourists at the first bridge, Vince tuned in on the demographics. People from around the world came to these mountains, to Banff National Park, seeking a connection with beauty and nature. All while spewing trails of carbon emissions behind their trans-oceanic jets. The girls, like children all over the planet, remained near oblivious to those actions of global adults.

Mingling with picture-takers, they made their way from bridge to bridge, the girls racing up to the railings to peer down into canyon depths. To find a stone to toss over, and watch, and smelling the odd flower. At the final bridge they snuck past the steel fence, and sat on the cold stone. Until breaking into a free dash the other direction.

Back down from the bridges, they turned off that main tourist trail to follow the river bottom towards the Ink Pots. With few hikers venturing this way, nature further absorbed the girls as they darted about. Here the autumn stream-side flowers grew, and the girls gathered their favorites to carry along. And engagement took in the wildlife, the birds flying among trees, and those squirrels. Even like, becoming the wildlife.

"So Kelli," Lisi said. "You don't speak squirrel well."

"Ohh, I speak squirrel," Cassi said. "Spruce tree red squirrel."

"I do speak fluent squirrel," Lisi said. "I get it what squirrel talk says."

With Vince listening, they imagined together a conversation of squirrel chatter translated into English. Local rodent fauna drew them into the forest fairy talk, like in mythical Kells. In a world badly needing a seedbed of cultural redesign, sprouts might spring from these soils, in these type creative play zone conversations.

At one rocky spot, Lisi dashed up to Vince while the two sisters tore up ahead. Vince watched, as his daughter picked the petals off one flower she'd gathered, a bloom displaying multitudes of yellow petals. More than thirteen, Vince estimated, and more than twenty one. A thirty-four petalled buttercup maybe. What would her world be at age thirty-four?

Still thirteen, she pointed out what she saw in the stone forms.

"Look Daddy," Lisi said, waving with her flower hand. "A giant train."

"Yeah, yeah," Vince said. "Like, I see a caboose."

"Woo, wooo," Lisi said. "Chug-a-chug-chug."

Invited into a place of stone trains, and the language of squirrels, Vince engaged as if he knew child talk.

"You didn't get Kelli's squirrel talk?"

"Because she doesn't know squirrel."

"How do you know?" Vince said.

"Kay, I ask her a question," Lisi said. "And she answers in squirrel."

"And?"

"And I ask what did you answer?" Lisi said. "I tell her to say it in English."

"And she does?"

"But she says it wrong," Lisi said. "Because I know what she's saying in squirrel."

"So?"

"Kay, so we couldn't speak squirrel."

"Yeah, yeah," Vince said, thinking a second. "So how did you learn squirrel?"

"Just listen Daddy," Lisi said. "When we get to a squirrel tree, just listen."

"Sure."

Lisi raced ahead to catch up with the other two, leaving Vince to tag along. At another spot they all crouched at the edge of the stream. Where stones shifted to wet stones, amid the magic of their sunlit colors.

Many adults could never think like children, even though all adults had once been children. How could that be? The next best option for some might be adults as students of children's thoughts and talk. Invite those to play, as best they could, and with that not possible, at least join into a follow the leader game.

##

Sneaking through tourists, they all hopped in, and Vince decided then and there they would travel no further than Numa Falls. On the edge of Kootenay National Park. The girls kept the flowers they had taken captive, switching on a quick travel game as Vince pulled out for a final short stint on the highway.

"Let's play a word game," Lisi said. "You guess the letters in the spaces."

"Kay."

"I don't like that game."

"Two words," Lisi said, ignoring Cassi's resistance. "Five letters and seven."

"I'm gonna draw myself," Cassi said, excluding herself from this game. "I never did that before."

Social distance, yes, but this time only of course. The younger one resisting inclusion in the game, Vince noticed, set her social space, while the other two carried on with theirs, and everyone's, game plan.

Following the signs as they passed the Ink Pots, Vince recalled his last stop there. Culture and life values had come to a clash historically at that spot; he'd read the tourist sign narrative. Pots of ink produced yellow ochre, which mixed with fish oil or animal grease, turned into face and tepee paint. Over centuries, for the indigenous peoples, until Europeans showed up. Then they commandeered the resource, in pioneering attempts to commodify colored clay into an economic resource. However that had played out, the site now played a part in the modern tourist economy.

Forget the problematic adult world, for now; seek solution in the games of youth.

"I give up," Kelli said. Then she switched to the alphabet chant. "A, B, C, D, E..."

"You can't do that."

"I guessed all the letters," Kelli said. "Kay, scaly rabbit... scaly raccoon."

"Needs nine letters," Lisi said. "You got scaly, but six and seven... you need nine."

"Give me a first letter hint."

"Kay, look out the window," Lisi said. "And up."

"I see a bird," Kelli said. "And a tree."

"What's a mountain with a line through it?"

Geology, Vince's mind flashed to first, then the stratigraphy of sedimentary rock formations that left linear patterns in the synclines of mountains. But his mind wasn't fast enough, or, too complex to guess the right letter in the girls' game.

"A," Cassi said, chipping in from her self-portrait sketch. "An A."

"Yes," Lisi said. "Mammal, nine letters, starts with an A and it's scaly."

"Armadillo," Kelli said.

"Yes!"

Far from any armadillo, the images of geological synclines shifted Vince's adult thoughts into analysis of waves, and then of people. The first problem, the A issue, was the peak consumption pattern of adults in the wealthy OECD countries. Yet in a wave graph, any point of observation would show these peoples to be a quite small percentage of the global population. And further to that, selecting his own personal lifestyle, clearly, he was one of those wealthy high carbon emitting OECD citizens. No brainer, whew, back to the girls' talk.

"Scaly rabbits live in Nunavut," Lisi said. "In the city of The-Majority-avut."

"No such place."

"Is too," Lisi said. "Little Bit-avut, that's a town."

At Numa Falls Vince cut over into the final parking. They would go no further. Edging up to stop right by the stream, he came face to face with a well-fed raven eyeing him from a rocky perch. An intelligent corvid, a bird that knew humans meant food scraps, and nice birdy offerings. Not that the bird likely knew, but bonused with living in an OECD country, where food was plentiful, and but a passing thought, to citizens.

"Hey Lisi, c'mon," Kelli said. "I see something."

"Wait for me-ee-ee," Cassi squealed in delight. "I'm coming."

The girls bailed out, scooting quickly to the natural stone steps by the water. Vince stepped out, and wandered over to sit on a picnic table top. He watched the raven, and the raven watched him. That raven in flight, would see this valley from high above; a view of the degraded forest he knew to be just ahead. How would girls ever play in that zone, trashed by climate change calamity? A natural beauty destruction zone, created by greed prone adults and their corporations. Accepting current circumstances, Vince kept adult strategizing on a future geography. A dead zone could become a buffer zone. Buffering the sludge ponds of the fossil fuel prairies from what had Brad called it? Cascadia, a defined bioregion and perhaps to be more, one day.

The late afternoon drifted swirling thoughts further, swept along with the rush of mountain waters, and plunging over a waterfall into a pool of non-thought. In and beside the bright sunlit running river he entered a stone, surrounded by so many stones, amidst a maze of smooth forms and earth tones. Set in universal endlessness. Like stars in the heavens, billions of stars, billions of galaxies.

Joining the wolf spiders, he roamed the riverbank, gathering energy from the sun warmed terrain. Alive, and on the move, yet among the lifeless stones all around. He felt a strong draw on his perception, gravitating in on one particular stone. A blueish rock that could be blue green, like a planet. Alive in its own way, and there, nestled within the infinity of billions. That precious little planet Earth. With a human species evolved to a so far state, and now standing on the precipice of risk, and opportunity. A place in time, with one chance to gain planetary intelligence. A moment for his daughter to evolve, and to lead a much-needed evolutionary leap.

Shivering his way out of the non-thought, and then at the cooling afternoon, Vince rose to then step up top of the picnic table. Looking around, he spotted the girls by the water, among the human sized rocks, and he called them back, waving.

"C'mon guys," Vince said, glad to hear his own voice. "Let's go."

##

They closed the car doors around them, and huddled to get warm again. Home, home, home. Vince backed out, calm eyes on the raven, and pulled slowly out on the highway. Off on a ride home, to the city. Now topped up with girl chatter resolve and natural mountain peace, Vince felt such a peace. As the girls kept their social model going.

"Kay, another word game," Lisi said. "One person makes up a word."

"You wanna play?"

"I wanna play."

Cassi, having had time out to sketch, and who knows what along the mountain stream, was all part of the game again. And Vince sighed; all people could, would or must be included. And they would, somehow.

"So you come up with a word," Lisi said. "And then you say that word."

"Like when?"

"Next one says a sentence, and when they stop, you have to say your word."

"So, kay, whatever."

"If one of them laughs or smiles, they're it."

"Kay, who's gonna be the person who asks?"

While Cassi spiraled into a spontaneous giggle fit, the other two waited. Adult talk would be dominating, manipulative, demanding, control focused and thus scary, while kids focused on the inclusivity of each other. Fearless. What was there to fear, when giggle bonds glued everyone into tribal glee.

"Kay, starting now," Lisi said, keeping patient. "You're not allowed to smile or laugh."

"You can ask me-ee," Cassi said.

"Kay, the word is sausage," Lisi said. "If you smile or laugh, you're it."

"Your foot wouldn't fit in your shoe," Lisi said. "What's in it?"

"Sausage."

Everyone giggled, bursting through all rules into an altogether giggle. Not just a bond, like Vince as a spider together with stones, and not always mirth, but an unhindered being of one with the world. For the girls being friends, together whispers, hidden from raging winds and storms howling around. Like peddles of one flower.

"Kay, kay, my word is smelly shoes," Kelli said. "You wash your hair with..."

"Kay, can I go now?"

Anger and rage absent, or nearly so, unforgiven resentment simply did not exist among children. No seething vindictive needs. Yet among adults—were they not all but damaged children—core pain induced tick offs slashed and crashed grown-ups into and against each other. Until all who ruled the world burned right up, leaving not but ashes swirling in the wind.

"You had a pet goat and you named him..."

"Sausage."

The child's mind held the answer. Snippets of emotional interchange, among children, and their adults, told you how well any tribe, or your community, or the people of the planet—how well they were getting along. That was far more useful than logic or rational thought to negotiate a global community.

"I'm never having sausage," Cassi said.

"When it's cold out you have hamburgers," Kelli said. "When it's hot out, you have ice-cream."

In his adult mind, Vince wondered if he hadn't met a piece of god that day. If a Higher Being created flowers, with five or eight petals, that Being had also formed these children—the harmony of three young girls. Singing together, and giggling off into harmony any mistaken word or tune slip in rhythm.

Forgiveness came in tones, subsequent to any clash. A wired in need, a drive; that true social instinct to bond; to form family and tribe. Keeping connected held such higher community value than tiffs. Blessed were those, well, Vince felt blessed at that moment more than any rock'n'roll highway moment before. Super fortunate were those who roll the dice looking straight in the mirror in this here and now. Anyone could walk on water, with today's technology.

"Oooo, I got an idea," Cassi said. "In case she ever sees a sausage."

"I've decide to tickle you."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a master tickler."

"We gotta teach Lisi how to play Stella Ella Bloo," Nelli said. "Now sing."

Along the highway, curving back through the mountains, up and over foothills, and out on the flats, Vince let it all just flow.

"And this is how it goes," the sisters sang.

"My sister was a hairdresser, yum yum, pea yehw..."

"Oh yeah, I know that one," Lisi said. "Wacky wacky hairdo."

The singing voices of some public audio songs harmonized with girl child voices. Others were gruffer, and heavy metal harsh. Already damaged by the adult world.

"This is what I said."

"Shiny, shiny coco botts, don't tell mommy," the girls sang.

"Shiny, shiny coco butts, don't tell daddy."

Lisi pulled drawing paper for everyone, and pencils of color, as the back seat settled into quieter times, and broken sentences.

"Oh, I thought you were gonna..."

"Cassi, can you make these flowers?" Lisi said. "I want to dooo..." her voice drifted off into creative thought.

Even giggling subsided then, into no more. Glancing for the city ahead, and in the review, Vince saw Lisi giving Kelli a hand sign. Little finger out, thumb tucked in. Sign, learned at school, even enough to talk a bit around adults. Silently, like being invisible, shutting all adults out of their world.

Two words invited Vince's life to a focused task; together planet and life became planetary life. The outcome would be a completely human decision. As one member of the human race, Vince shone as but one pixel on the screen. Yet here, these girl children confirmed a naturally harmonized solution. The emotional rifts connecting peoples' love to the universe, glued together in a Fibonacci Sequence held the human answer. In the harmonic voices of girls.
Chapter 15

Marv and Frank

Wenzel careered along at freeway speed plus a bit, weaving his way through the traffic, cutting in front of a mud grabber truck. At this near flight pace, he could feel the extra rider load in any swerve. Detroit helped without knowing, hanging on for his life, both hands grasping onto the back seat. Wenzel loved the free flow clear audio talk, helmet to helmet—this Dee kid was totally tech savvy.

"You asked Spriggs again," Wenzel said. "Our lame butt Physics teacher."

"Flood retaining wa-a-all," Detroit said, teeth chattering.

"You jest, my good Dee," Wenzel said. He still hadn't caught on to Detroit's sense of fun, but the guy was fair rad, up and on it. The nick-tag of Dee stuck, fitting well, powering up their team bond.

"Shit brains Spriggs says we're building," Detroit said, talking super quick as they slowed for a ramp. "A climate flood wa-a-all."

"Amazing tech," Wenzel said. "So we keep the good weather climate inside for us, and the bad climate outside the wall for the rest."

"He's gonna leave our future totally out," Dee said. "Of his si-i-imple mind."

"Might get a chat challenge goin' on that," Wenzel said. "The ones who get it, easy sayin' no such thing as a climate wall. And like, even he's gotta figure you can only build a flood wall so high, like to keep us from drowning."

Accelerating out of the curve, and goosing it on the straightaway freeway to the next off ramp, Wenzel then braked down hard to cut into their destination strip mall. Dee dismounted, and yanking his helmet off, took in an unbelievably deep breath. Wenzel watched, knowing he might be better not pushing so hard. A biker Dee was not; not in the dude's skill set. Waving at the grub joint door, Wenzel led the way in and over to two guys at a table.

"Marv, Dee," Wenzel said. "Dee, Marv."

"Wenz-erimo," Marv said, eyes crazy wide. "My cuz, Frank."

"Hey Frank," Wenzel said, pumping the guy's hand. Wenzel knew Marv was out of school, a couple years at least, and Frank the cousin looked like something a bit longer. The dude stroked at his thin mustache, and ran his fingers back though receding hair. They both wore heavy leather jackets, and chaps, and had their image stamped helmets on the table beside their afternoon beers.

Wenzel slid into the booth seat, after Dee, who got his face into the menu real quick.

"We're chattin' up Skimmer Bikes," Marv said. "You blast those babies over tundra up north, up where Frank worked. He'z like a month in and a month out."

"Tundra riding?" Wenzel said. "Tar sands turf?"

Wenzel had seen the Skimmer Bike chatter on device. Easy on the terrain, advanced thinkers said, not like the old dirt bikes that ripped up creek beds. A Skimmer Bike could keep the northern tundra pure. That one guy smashed it up on protruding rocks, but you need those laser eyes on your front, and that autoleap. And like any old wheeled bike, you gotta stay on top of your speed. Slowing down quick can save a lot of crash cost—skin rips and rashes. Ouch.

"Lotta lease roads through any still standin' bush," Frank said. "You ride all yer long way clean up to the tundra."

"Once you ripped through the sludge fields," Marv said, smirking. "You kin skim right on over them stinkin' ponds. Like, open water."

"Tars sands tailing ponds," Frank said. "Open pit tar sands mining... never got cleaned up."

"You worked up there," Wenzel said, looking to Frank. "No more?"

"Rigs, field operator," Franks said. "Lotta cash, so now least I got a place for me and the kid."

"How come," Wenzel said. "How come they never got cleaned up?"

"Abandoned by fuckin' big oil," Frank said. "And the fuckin' government."

"You ride a lovely lake-side trail up there," Marv said, snickering. "Beautiful waters, shimmerin' black. But I tell ya, ya better wear a full helmet, and sealed mask. And bring along a tank'o'yer'own oxygen."

"Stupid corporate fucks," Frank said. "Trashed a lotta the boreal forest diggin' out that last of the fossil fuel burn."

Wenzel nodded, absorbing the guy's drawn look. He nudged Detroit, who glanced up from the menu. Dee waved over at the bar, for fries.

"Sometimes I just wanna blow my fuckin' head off," Frank said. "But then I gotta blow my kid's head off first. And I can't."

"Nooo... Frankie," Marv said, a look of horror drawn long on his face. "You, you're my cuz."

"Serious damage up there," Wenzel said, looking at Dee. "High crime, no question."

"Deadly serious," Dee said, nodding. "Criminal."

"We got us on a crazy ride," Marv said, eyes on fire. "You just gotta ride the wild side."

Wenzel shook his head slow, glancing around the table. What the baby boomers had left for him and these guys to clean up. A dad with a kid to live with in the mess. Frank spoke a realized truth, and Marv picked up on it all in his own distorted fashion. Their rage and grief energy were there to mold, guide and direct.

"That's 'bout all what keeps me goin'," Frank said. "My kid."

"Kids are like rad, and the coolest," Wenzel said, looking to Frank. "Any savvy kid looks the adults, and parents, like straight in the eye."

"So you guys gonna do somethin'?" Frank said, eyeing Wenzel. "Marv says you are, he says I tell you my valve story."

"Yo, you tell us," Wenzel said, nodding at Dee

"Okay, you guys know whatz a pump jack?" Frank said. He turned his screen their way, zooming in and out on a steel beam lever with a donkey head at one end. The whole rig moved up and down on this metal stand, like an old campground water pump.

"That's oilfield," Dee said. "Production, right?"

"Old stuff," Frank said. "Lotta tubes on directional holes now, but any well'z got a surface pump. Like this. And a production line, with a, not check this, a valve." He zoomed in further, scrolling down to a red painted piece in the blue pipeline, with a spoked wheel poking out.

"That's a valve," Dee said. "That you can open, and close."

"That's right," Frank said, looking hard at Dee. "That you open, and you close."

"So?"

"So say you wanna test your downhole pump," Frank said. "You close the valve, and count the pumpjack strokes."

"Yeah."

"And you write down the pressure rise on the production line gauge." Frank tapped at the gauge on the screen. "For the foreman."

"What's that tell you?" Wenzel said.

"You wanna replace the downhole pump or not," Frank said. "Pumps wear out."

"Keep your production up," Dee said, chomping a fry. "You cash flowing."

"Yeah, so listen up. One time I got this water jerker in my field," Frank said. "Pumpin' lotta water, little bit of oil, and I get this call right while I'm doin' this pressure test. A gotta-go call turns out, so I drive off leavin' the valve closed."

"Oh no," Dee said. "Gonna pressure up."

"You got that right kid," Frank said. "Blows the drain, downhole, and the foreman is not happy."

"What's a drain?" Wenzel said. "And what's with the foreman?"

"Safety shit, set to blow at a set pressure," Frank said. "He's not happy 'cause the fixin' costs his monthly budget."

"Ahh, yes," Dee said. "The voice of money."

"Foreman's got two choices," Frank said. "Put a rig on, pull the string for a new pump and drain. Or leave the water jerker down and lose whatever oil production."

"Who wants water?" Dee said. "A production cost."

"You're clever, kid," Frank said. "I'm lucky that time, 'cause the foreman keeps me on."

"Sounds like a risk point," Dee said. "Those valves."

"Whatever, just think about this," Frank said, draining the last of his beer. "Say that well'z the top producer. What if I'm havin' a real crazy day and forgot a couple valves closed? Only takes half a minute to close a valve."

He looked back and forth at Wenzel and Dee.

"Small actions," Dee said. "Can make for huge cost impacts."

"I gotta go pick up my kid," Frank said, sliding out his side of the booth. "See you boys later."

"Thanks Frank," Wenzel said, standing to shake the guy's hand again.

"Nice chattin'," Frank said, making his way out the door.

Wenzel looked at Dee, and Dee looked back with team bonding eyes. Marv shuffled, snickering to himself, but then staring at them hard. Wenzel picked up on a distinct need in Marv, maybe just to outdo the story they'd just heard, but maybe more. Marv had reason to tell his story too, for as insane as the guy seemed on the outside, Wenzel sensed he had some working parts on the inside.

And Marv was the one to talk first.

"You ride early spring highway," Marv said. "Wet, and sloppy and some transport's kickin' up rocks and muck."

"Sounds insane," Dee said. "Like why would you?"

"You just cut through that upspray," Marv said, grinning wild. "It's a blast."

"You're trying to say something," Wenzel said. "You got an idea."

"Fuck you jefe," Marv said. "Like what?"

"Like highway jobs," Wenzel said, keeping a calm smile. "We mimic that upspray from transport trucks. We color the muck, green and blue Earth colors, and we pick our targets."

"Fuck ya, jefe," Marv said, grinning. "Total blast."

"So we pick you a target, Marv," Wenzel said. "Some pathetic carbon dumpin' truck, Dee, needs a late-night plaster-the-windshield carbon ticket. Takes the owner a week to scrape the shit off, so the event sticks hard in the driver's simple brain."

Marv's grin widened, and Detroit nodded, chomping his way down a ketchup laden French fry. "Need a vid cam on that... catch a real impact react when he first sees."

"You think just the right way, dude," Wenzel said. He gave Detroit a thumbs up, and a wink Marv's way.

"Yak on, I'm gone," Marv said, draining his beer and snagging his helmet. "See you riders in the splash zone." Flashing a crazy face at Wenzel and Dee, he stood and clomped straight out.

##

Detroit had convinced Wenzel to walk out, and find a quality food joint. In the same strip mall, with no further bike ride involved, they sat across a table with another menu before Dee. Wenzel drummed his fingers a bit, breaking into a grin—he could see serious benefit in talking to older guys. And Marv, he knew, would work out on call for any special op they set up.

But they had options to discuss, and a decision to make.

"How about the airport vacation scenario," Wenzel said. "Hazel goes on her phone and, she posts carbon stats in beside any airline vacation ad."

"Yeah, gnarly," Dee said. "But you want real world."

"We got a real airport in this city."

"Yeah," Dee said. "She still gaming?"

"She's on this Design Island site," Wenzel said. "You survive on Easter Island means you can survive on a planet like Earth."

"Real world history," Dee said. "Rad way to model."

"Yeah, and like think about it," Wenzel said. "An island's surrounded by water, just like a planet's surrounded by space."

"What's her Eez and Ize?" Dees said. "Her strat?"

"Find some kinda better way, she sticks with that," Wenzel said. "She like picks a hidden corner on the island to stay away, and start a new way. Same stratz on a planet. She gets a happy people place going... she thinks a network of happy places."

"Like a fortress," Dee said. "You survival behind a wall."

"Nah, not a fortress," Wenzel said. "She wants a soft wall with an entrance—let's in the better way cooperators."

"Yeah, gnarly," Dee said. "She gotta build on that."

"You into women Dee?"

"I got Beava," Dee said. "My furry pet."

"Dog?"

"Kay, listen, first I had BEAVA," Dee said. "Like a home remote drone. So get this... when I find out my pet skunk's female, I switched their names. My drone's recoded to RANK, and my mammal comes to the call of Beava."

"So your mammal's a female," Wenzel said slowly. "And you're not sure about your bot."

"A biological she, or not," Dee said. "I call her she, and she brings me my pizza's hot and fresh."

"The skunk?"

"Technically, no," Dee said. "RANK does take my skunk Beava for fly-rides, but normally not into any pizza place. RANK takes food-fetch directives—she brings me my eats."

"From the pizza house?" Wenzel said. "Tell me."

"She's got front eye cams," Dees said. "She reads the wall menu, while she hovers in the lineup."

"Never with the skunk on board?"

"Rarely," Dee said. "She the bot cam scans the menu, and I voice the order through her audio."

"Your bot woman orders your pizza," Wenzel said. "Speaking your voice."

"Never, dude," Dee said. "Voice recognition code's out there. Only with voice over code—I like Adele's voice best."

"You're into women Dee," Wenzel said. "Soft touch skunk, and bot."

"Whatever."

Dee dug into the Asian delights arriving in bowls, face lighting up with each bite. He nodded to Wenzel to join in with the finger food fun. He'd be bagging a bit for Beava, he told Wenz, grinning.

"Maybe airport carbon tickets, and maybe oilfield tickets," Wenzel said. "Let's talk those two through."

"I can tell you a thing or two about bot traffic at an airport," Dee said. "Short answer... leave that one out."

"Okay then, oilfield," Wenzel said. "Frank tells us that it's pretty easy to close a valve. So we close a bunch of valves."

"Yeah, we shut down a fossil fuel production field," Dee said. "Send a signal to industry."

"Yeah, but the thing is," Wenzel said. "Who would notice?"

"Need a lot of coordination," Dee said. "Can we do that?"

They looked at each other, both digging for and kinda knowing what the other might be thinking.

"A field operator," Wenzel said, reviewing. "Gets reamed out by a field foreman."

"And a monthly report," Dee said. "Goes to production accounting."

"Accountant calls a journalist right away," Wenzel said. "Huge news item, everyone's talking."

"News splash on every screen."

"Yeah, maybe not," Wenzel said. "Let's stick with the Hummer job first."

"Yeah, Hummers," Detroit said, sipping at his spice tea. "I'll track down a Hummer or two."

On the ride back to Dee's they sorted out details, talking through those audio-connected helmets. When Wenzel dropped off Dee this time, they both knew Dee would not be a rider. But they also knew with a team-for-sure fists bump their strategizing would go on. For a Hummer job. They'd go with a ground operations control base, with Detroit remote coordinating, and a field crew of Wenzel, and maybe Marv.
Chapter 16

Alternate Route

Pacing around their suburban Spokane backyard, Brad kicked at the grass. Julia had a full day of clients; just as well he kept out of her picture. With weeks of school in, the boys had been ranting and raving at the breakfast table; good they had after school sport today. In whatever classification Julia might rank him on her psych index, happiness had no place with him this morning.

Brad could not get Keith out of his head these days—that missile strike—at that African border crossing. If Tamanna, the project coordinator, had released all info instead of select—he struggled with that; he knew she'd been given directives from higher up. He couldn't let go of a sullen what if wish, 'cause then Keith and the other engineer Sanoo would be still alive. And fathers to their children.

Like a war-torn combat soldier, he must have PTSD. He needed talk to Vince, on fury and rage at the injustice of it all; now that guy knew his way around the pit of despair. Although, not so much recently. Ha ha ha-ha, he could choose to mock, and laugh at the shit-ass world. And scratch Norman the dog's ear. Or, he could take on doing what Vince did, and focus on a task.

He leaned against their back fence, rocking slowly, looking across the roof shingles at the faraway sky.

Deep adaptation—that fit on his strategic task list. Best case survival options stood out as geographic patterns on maps. Pulling his device, he clicked on Maps, and Routes, checking Home to Destination Bonners Ferry. That alternate route to the valley ran an international border crossing. To the Idaho panhandle via Canada, hmmm. Deep strategies kept aware of alternatives, and he'd never been that way. If you kept going past Priest Lake, Maps showed, you crossed at Nelway border crossing into British Columbia. That would be the second closest route; although double time the Sandpoint way. An adaptation strategist needed to case out any alternate travel route. Past Nelway you drove east through serious mountain terrain, and then came back into the valley from the north.

Pushing off the fence, he wandered over to sit on the bench. A focused task—this he could do.

Maps showed straight north of Spokane you switched highways twice to join the Pend Oreille River valley. His parents had taken them as kids to that Tiger place, for striped ice cream. But never further. The Pend Oreille, as it turned out, crossed the border too, into Canada, and there the waters tumbled into the Columbia River. Yet then, near right away, the Columbia veered south again into America. What a crazy way to divide up territory... a straight line political border. A bioregional border, now that made better deep adaptation sense.

Quick checking his engineering schedule, Brad saw nothing on that day. End of the week, and time for a recon mission. To leave this quasi-PTSD behind, he would scout out that alternate route. With a Destination target of their cabin on Moon Shadow Road; a good take-a-break spot on the way back home.

Whistling for Norman, he rose, and walking around to the front drive, switched Maps background to shadow the terrain relief. High mountains jumped out all around their valley, giving deep security to east and west for sure, and where the valley stretched north up into Canada.

They'd taken the boys up to Osoyoos lots of summers. To Julia's home town just across in Canada; horse riding and visiting Julia's folks. That drive extended way out west, taking you on another four-hour journey. Looking closer, Brad nodded, satisfied with geography adding further valley security with distance and isolation. The Nelway border crossing, being so out of the way, meant the two-hour trip through Sandpoint, and then Naples, kept the south valley entrance primary. In spite of exposure to the south, that main entrance kept the valley isolated enough.

Swinging the car door opened, he jumped in, with Norman bounding into his seat. Switching hand device to vehicle screen, Brad picked GPS Destination Nelway border crossing, and mind focus to a near future timeframe. Habituated by Africa, he immediately thought passport, and he found his ready at hand in his device bag. But passport tore his focus from future to past border crossing, screaming out that moment in Africa. Some bastard—probably some military commander, decided that perceived border threat, and the global politics of the day had meant taking out his friend Keith.

Focus. On the here and now; the world today and ahead.

In a message he posted Julia, he carefully texted he'd taken Norman along, and he'd be out of country a couple hours. Deep breath... gone for the day. On the GPS screen, a turn highlighted before Newport, their regular route on Priest Lake camping trips. You keep north instead, and you arrive at that hidden away Nelway crossing into British Columbia. With valley security in mind, he'd check out the Kootenay Pass that he would be traversing. A high pass, going by the terrain, which would make for a west side security buffer point. Like those military check points in Niger, along the road to the Sahara—he had to talk to Vince. That Yahk town in Canada could be the east-side check point, just before the highways divided into two ways west, one via Canada to Creston and the other way southwest into Idaho. If so, and you discounted international borders—huge item, but then Naples would be the main valley gate on the south route.

Backing out of the driveway, he rolled down the window for Norman and headed off. Voice set on the GPS guidance, he took on Manual drive to help relax. Norman panted a smile, and barking at something, stuck his nose happily out his window.

Brad nearly smiled.

This world, the one Vince so lamented, surely did need an upgrade. That got him thinking, outside the box, focused on what he, Brad could contribute to that upgrade. He'd get the boys out on a weekend to their Moon Shadow place. He'd keep talking up the forest garden, with their nut trees planted and growing, and the natural berries as undergrowth. Food and water were hugely important. He'd check the Moon Shadow water tanks, and talk up this back route to their valley. Trail horses for Josh, and Jimmy had 3D modelled their valley into his Sniper game—they'd have to get the Canadian side in there. Then, with games for assistance, they needed real on the ground overnight survival practice. Overnights in the forest—they had bivy sacks—and they needed to talk up future valley plans, around evening campfires. And thinking beyond borders, better to call the place Kootenay Valley, and think the bioregion of Cascadia when it came to security. He'd invited Vince before, but he'd have to push that engineer harder to come out and take a gander.

Brad passed through the Spokane outskirts, getting a feel for the open highway. Like flying, he connected to the sense of forward motion, and the slight ups and downs.

Vince had pit of despair experience, for sure, yes, and Vince had learned how not to take the dark side to the cleaners. The guy said he faced the black night square on, let it come, he said. And Vince had been right there, at that border crossing, though he'd never met Sanoo nor Keith before. Brad's turn to have a face to face with that border blast image. At that crossing from the country of Niger into neighboring Burkina Faso; he pictured those haunting chain links in that long border fence. He, and Vince, had followed that fence in, had a great engineering chat around that lunch table, left on a mysterious note, and then walked back out along that same chain link fence. At the last moment, with a solve the mystery better question for Keith, they'd walked back to that fence, waving, looking through, and... that missile blast. The vehicle before them vapourized in a millisecond. Fucking covert operations—fucking non-disclosure agreements. Gaping through that fence, at that African border, he'd seen the cruelty of two fathers gone forever. Taking his cheerful side with them. He hadn't laughed for weeks, hadn't been able to, and he'd come to know the natural power of the fuck-it-all side.

This he must face, until that side lost.

Heeding GPS voice, he turned north at the Deer Valley sign. No matter how Norman wagged his tail, the waves of heaviness pounded over him hard. So unnatural to Brad, before Africa. Socked in grey Washington skies intensified his hollowness any moment he dropped his guard. Emptiness trailed close along up the Deer Valley highway, why, he raged, and realized another deep knowing. Those camping trips on the Priest Lake road collided full on with the lifestyle he had known, that his sons would never have. Facing the border blast, he had also to face the two worlds ahead. He needed to learn, and live like in Julia's game, DuoMundo. He needed know the world around him, and concurrently design the world of his sons' future. In that moment of truth, he swung his arms over both worlds, like school days buddies.

Even in that first world, Vince had acted on the select topic focus approach, when they first met. Keeping his sanity, he said, fighting his nemesis in the devastating African heat. Six years back, Brad had then been the c'mon, cheer-it-up buddy. Now they both had a post climate crisis world ahead.

Sailing along the highway into nature, Brad could absorb the peace of the forests taking over. With his aerial flight views in mind, he had chosen the Bonners valley from several options. Not Osoyoos. Although food grew well there, food production depended too much on canals, fed by high-water spring runoff, from disappearing snow pack. At the north end of the Sonora, Osoyoos was naturally desert dry. Nor Castlegar, on the Columbia River. Right where the Kootenay River flowed in made the site great for hydroelectric power. But the valley around contained little agricultural land. Think food, local food.

In the whispering of his airborne heights above he'd selectively decided. Full of her patience, Julia had listened when he'd picked out the lands of the Kootenay River valley around Bonners Ferry. An international border crossing valley, which could be a barrier, or, a sign of the future.

Keep going with that future's idea... in that, he would make a place for those fathers' kids. That's the best he could do. His Dad always said you got a choice on how you think, and what you think. He'd do it; he'd keep building a select valley location, to contain a model of their near future. An improved model of—what everyone wanted. What he'd seen sitting in Aahil's home in Niamey, where all children were fellow villagers. That calm blue turbaned fellow, who's cultural model of desert camels and respect for women and extended family made so much sense.

He growled low at Norman. The dog gave him a puzzled look, head cocked sideways. Julia's dog, but everyone's dog. His wife had a list of positive thinking techniques she passed on to her clients, and fuzzy mammal therapy helped many.

The reality of this valley plan was, up to a point, a just in caser. Should other people need to take the climate crisis to the cleaners, in this valley, those aware would wait it out as the world sorted itself out. Which, it would have to, no matter how chaotic the process. Deep adaptation those aware called it now. As the human species grew to planetary intelligence, or went sideways trying. In the valley, an eco-village would lead, model and experiment, and ideally offer experience gained to the rest of the world.

Deep history, evidenced in current human DNA, told that in Africa a pre-historic human population bottleneck had played out. Like over seventy thousand years ago; Jeri and Vince talked about that one back in their Niamey office. Physically modern humans had experienced a paradigm shift, due to climate disruption, even if that one was caused by natural events. The point was, people had survived, obviously—he almost chuckled. How people survived was less sure. One idea theorized the few survived by migrating to the ocean side—good enough. Away from the rest, an adapted to seafood lifestyle. Historical evidence could be motivationally useful, and assist deciding on useful learnings to keep.

Now, what Brad heard in the world around him, told him modern day people were dividing up into camps of belief. Like those watching Noah build an Arc, many laughing. Only the few wanted to, or were willing to, hear the climate change truth. And biodiversity loss. And the tiny few honestly realized the changes required in a near future world, if they were to have a positive outcome. That earlier bottleneck, revitalizing modern humans from some seaside type refugia, then spread people around the world. Those ancients' future had translated over time into today. But not for most, those laughing at the Arc, or those not resettling at the seafood beaches.

Pulling past the Nelway border crossing sign, he showed his passport. Those incessantly smiling Canadian border guards glanced, and asked about Norman. They waved him through.

Oh Canada, Brad had heard the national anthem sung in climate laggard jest at times. Paragliding off Half Mountain right up tight on the Idaho BC border, he'd peaked across. And he'd heard that same ridge, a ridge crossing the national border, took on the name of Skimmerhorns up there. And that others flew off that cliff-like mountain ridge. Mount Thompson, maybe named after that David explorer guy, Julia's cousin talked about. He'd have to make a Skimmerhorn flight, and pick out a survival cell piece of ground for Vince.

After a long harrowing ascent up a valley side highway to the Kootenay Pass, Brad nodded at the tight entry, making an excellent security buffer. At the top, he snapped a device photo of a tiny mountain lake and messaged that to Vince. The guy had to get out here. He'd been pitching the survival valley idea for years, and he needed his fellow engineer to hear the Kootenay Valley name, while looking over the place. If he could get Vince set up on the Canadian side, with another survival cell beside another forest garden, that would make for a growth spurt in starting an eco-village.

Cruising down from the pass, Brad ran his standard thought experiment of a ground military force scenario. Hypothetically moving through, with no plan to occupy. The valley village would need valley guards, or valley guardians. Young men looked for speed thrills, like the sports car young guys you passed anywhere, yet with modified values. Jimmy real soon, and Josh not long after.

His thoughts paused—and that fucking border missile blast crowded in. He took it straight on, watching the vapourizing blast, swallowing, but not looking away.

Military thinking must be filed away with stories of the old days. Military thinking had taken out Keith, before his eyes, what more did he need? He scratched Norman's ears, and stared the dog in the eye. A whine, of understanding. Okay, all needed to start anew, missiles remaining in the dark days of the dark past. The boys would not train as combat soldiers, but rather as guardians. Of their future, and of all humanity's future.

And the village model needed to protect their near future from one more item, in two ways. Jeri had talked endlessly on human nature, and what motivated billionaires. Extreme wealth had to be eliminated, yet, the one percent still existed, still glamorized by many. The billionaire ocean islands now developed security tech in their own interests. Cascadia maybe, but the valley alone could never support a satellite cluster, but, whoever did maintain a global watch system, well, you could piggy back on their tech. The billionaires were financing tech development on ways of blocking out select watching. A valley blocked from high elevation views, and ground patrolled by locals. You eliminate billionaire values, but in the meantime, borrow their survival technology.

How tech developing global brains divided up among global powers, and global interests, depended on how much for-profit thinking and how much for-planet thinking was involved. Over that, he had no control.

Out on the valley bottom Brad pulled over to stare across the Kootenay Valley. East across this Canadian end of the valley; Idaho would be to the south. Any border line was invisible, historically, and from where he parked. Lowering his window, he felt a gentle valley breeze, and one more time he looked squarely at that missile blast flash. Holding his face solid, he let that explosion air-puff blow past his cheeks. A tear rolled down one cheek, and he waved at those children standing beside missing fathers. Allowing that image of father disappearing in fire to drift up into the clouds, he signaled Keith and Sanoo with a thumbs up.

Valley security had to be non-violent.

Somehow.
Chapter 17

Sea Ice Refreeze

Vince sat with Michael in the Kakina boardroom, waiting on Benj and their coffees. They'd gathered by previous agreement, for what Benj called a global update on atmospheric engineering. First to take in the politics, and then discuss the engineering options, both underscored by the science of it all. The official political presentation ran on EBC, a world European broadcast, and that was up in their HoloCube Hangout. There, assistants milled about, making preparations to properly profile political figures, with all kinds of prime ministers, chancellors and presidents on their lists.

"Norway, Denmark and Spain will be critical on this agreement," Michael said. He'd been finding out what he could. "Spain's got high level national interests, and needs Norwegian and kinda Danish airspace."

"Kinda?"

"Greenland was colonized by the Danes," Michael said. "They have been devolving into an independent nation, but last stage negotiations remain incomplete. Greenland and Denmark still form a joint committee to negotiate Greenland's foreign affairs, so that includes airspace."

"And Spain?" Vince said.

"The Spanish have become increasingly appreciative of the HICCC's Green Sahara initiative," Michael said, nodding knowingly at Vince. "But the Sahara heat still jumps the Mediterranean, into Spain, specifically when there's a stalled polar vortex ridge in place."

"But, but, that's a polar vortex," Vince said, grinning and taking his coffee from Benj. "That's way up in the arctic."

"The arctic warms faster than lower latitudes, we all know that," Michael said, lifting his chin at the satire. "Making the tropospheric vortex loopier. Atmospheric Rossby waves matching the jet stream loop far, far south, and sometimes even cross the equator."

Michael took his cup with a wink. Benj sat in at the table.

"So arctic waves loop way south," Vince said. "I mean... do we still call it an arctic vortex?"

"You can say polar-front, and not-so-cold-now arctic air does loop south. Still colder than southern air, and, a swirling low-pressure air mass, so yes, still a vortex," Michael said. "Once upon a time parked nice and stable on the top of our planet, all through the Holocene."

"Ah yes, that gift we once had," Vince said. "That twelve thousand years of climate bliss."

"When we first grew crops, and built cities," Michael said. "Then, along came us, and our industrial revolution."

"And our capitalist-driven energy choice," Benj said. "Fossil fuels."

"One of our evolutionary choices," Michael said, sighing. But he continued. "So, the vortex used to be dryer, and now the air's picking up more humidity, as the ocean melts. Planetary rotation remains as it was, so that still forms Rossby waves in response. Historically, cold dryer waves wove south and they still do, just further south now. In our Anthropocene. And, warm wet waves loop further north in our modified atmospheric mix."

"And those sloppier waves hug the ground closer," Benj said. "Gaining more influence from surface features. A wave might go stable, like stall out, over western North American mountain ranges. Ocean on one side, prairies on the other."

"So we've got a deeper slower wave pattern; a developing trend, especially since the first time all arctic ice melted," Michael said. "That was the September late 20s, the BOE, or Blue Ocean Event. Now the Arctic Ocean refreezes, but thin single year ice and over varying extents, only during winter months."

"So with a weaker vortex, a messier polar-front jet stream and loopier waves stalling out," Vince said. "We've got a less contained target to cool."

"A lot of our atmospheric action happens down in the troposphere, at weather zone elevations," Michael said. "That jet stream we're talking about moves at the top of the troposphere. There's another polar vortex up higher, and that one's more stable."

"So top of the weather zone, and up," Vince said. "We work basically at stratospheric elevations."

"That's where you do the African project, right?" Michael said. "You guys were above the Atlantic."

"Yes, absolutely," Vince said. "In the stratosphere."

"That ChirpFeed went viral," Michael said, smiling. "All over social media."

"The African monsoon comes in off the ocean, veering north east from the mid-Atlantic, right into that bight of Africa." Vince said, air sketching Africa's coastline with a finger, and wooshing the monsoon in with his other hand. "I'll have to talk to Tamanna, our team climatologist, but, like you say, a double bonus for Spain. Green Sahara from the south, as that progresses, and then the benefits of an arctic refreeze in the north."

As they paused, sipping coffee and nodding, the EBC broadcast began.

The European Union, and non EU Europe officially recognized the BOE, the blue arctic ocean event. Under official banners, this consortium of nations recognized arctic sea ice loss as a crisis, requiring a high priority response. Ocean health was mentioned, iconically represented by tropical reefs. Retaining reef for biodiversity reasons was critical in warm oceans. Once hearing chat of Alberta ducks, gophers and coyotes as biodiversity, Vince read up a bit on the global picture. And global statistics. Ocean reefs contained salt water biodiversity like tropical jungles did on land, huge biodiversity compared to the land of gophers.

The Holocube abounded with briefings—and their chat turned to those highlights rather than the slower moving political formalities. EU Spain and non-EU Norway had met previously to sign a bilateral agreement. Denmark trumpeted out a job creation program for Greenlandic Inuit. The Inuit had many words for ice in their native language, and found identity in their nation of ice. They, and their prime minister, wanted to talk specifically of ice. Other leaders, speaking in a supportive tone, sought to weave all that in with their political agendas.

"Denmark won't say," Michael said. "But jobs in Greenland reduces Danish transfer payments."

"Yeah yeah, jobs," Vince said. "The political agenda."

"No America," Benj said. "And no Russian representative."

"National interests in natural resources," Michael said. That's got all kinds of Cold War back story."

"Did that happen back in the Holocene?" Vince said. "That Cold War."

"Must have," Benj said. "Olden times, and colder then."

"But check the climate science," Michael said. "As the BOE progresses... this year we've got a six-month ice free arctic projection—two months five years ago; anyway, the arctic center of cold once at the north pole shifts towards a new cold center. With the ice melted off the ocean, the cold north shifts to continental Greenland."

"Serious?" Vince said, jaw dropping. "And?"

"The cold center shifting makes for a colder eastern North America, and western Europe. Another reason for European interest. But, far away from Alaska, making that state warmer."

"So... c'mon," Vince said. "Would America's national interests want that?"

"Wildfires and droughts in California," Benj said. "While those fossil fuel corporations still want exploration permits for the Alaskan sea floor."

"What I hear... well, Europe's talking to Russia, and not in a NATO context." Michael said. "As any arctic refreeze goes forward, the best-case scenario might be the old Cold War adversaries distracted with that standoff in the Chukchi Sea."

"What about China?" Vince said. "That sea route question you asked, Benj."

"Europe wants to appease China," Michael said. "So they talk up the New Silk Road, and that's got other route options."

"China does mitigate their climate food risk with the Green Sahara," Vince said. "If the South China Sea monsoon gets disrupted, and home rice production goes south—they've got ricefield plans where once there was desert. In Africa."

"The Chinese were right there," Michael said. "At that mid-Atlantic moment."

"Technically, the Asian Alliance," Vince said. "They arrived in their version of military glory."

Pulling up a globe in the Holocube, Michael spun the world around to a view with the North Pole at center. Pointing at the north coast of Greenland, and Svalbard, relative to the North Pole, he illustrated a near equilateral triangle. Europe had enough national airspace to do an independent arctic refreeze.

"Svalbard's part of Norway," Benj said. "Interesting... totally within the Arctic Circle."

"Yeah, yeah... I see," Vince said. "Never would have guessed. Looks critical for any arctic refreeze."

Though Canadian, or less likely Russian or Alaskan release points, would add to project geographic options, those nations were clearly not required. Nor, that problematic international air space, ruled by that ancient law of the high seas. They'd learned of that legal code over the mid-Atlantic Vince told them. Iceland, or the Faroe Islands, like Greenland part of Denmark, had territorial air space, but outside the Arctic Circle. The key airport location would likely be Svalbard, that high arctic Norwegian island.

"There's strategy written all over these politics," Vince said, nodding at the Holocube. "But like Spain, European politicians look relatively safe on a refreeze project."

"This one scientist I follow makes this statement," Michael said. "Political systems are prone to highly nonlinear responses. Scientific thinking, yet, understandable only by the few. Unfortunately."

"Science needs a translation," Vince said. "Into story, I always say. But story can become screen drama, and there's art."

"That same scientist translates into politico talk," Michael said. "So often nothing gets done as a slow moving issue develops, delay after delay, and then on occasion, a rush to fix happens at a crisis moment. And decisions made in the chaos of that rush are often not those best thought out. Sub-optimal."

"Stories," Vince said. "Everyday people need everyday stories."

"Everyday voters need hear of a pre-crisis plan," Michael said. "You a story teller?"

"Work in progress," Vince said. "You gotta write a million words. And find a voice people hear."

Back in the HoloCube national leaders walked past the podium, dramatizing the politics of one at a time signing the agreement. Solemn, formal, smiling politely at well advised photo op moments. Among the handshakes, Arctic Refreeze officially took on a role out on the broader climate action stage.

##

After lunch Vince convinced Michael to stay on, when Benj initiated an extended discussion in the boardroom. Reconvening, Vince invited Benj and Michael to meet the African team in a Holocube Hangout. Vince had told Benj about aeronautical engineer Brad, in Spokane, climatologist Tamanna in London and climate model analyst Jeri from Michigan. With Brad feeding in, and the other two on Cube call, Vince figured a chat on the engineering with reference to the European Refreeze specs.

Brad's face popped into the Cube, and Vince introduced him to the other two in Calgary.

Regional control would be critical, and Vince pulled the global map up in the Cube. To refreeze the arctic, cooling action needed be contained within the arctic. Was that possible? If so, how so? Considering heat and moisture, mobilized by winds and waters... keeping arctic cooling regional would be a challenge equal at least to greening the Sahara. Though minus total global cooperation, the working normal would be on par politically. Compensation agreements would be ideal, but, they had what they had to work with.

Their Michigan participant appeared, and Vince introduced them all to Jeri's climate modelling expertise. They could assemble an engineering briefing, climate science supported, pragmatic and solutions focused. Vince proposed an options discussion, with pros and cons determined for each.

Initiating talk with that idea he'd been bouncing about internally, Vince brought up sulphuric vapour release. They could improve timing control, he emphasized, on their tried and true deflective natural aerosols. In Africa, the sulphur gas took weeks to naturally encounter water vapour in the high atmosphere, bond into aerosol droplets and form sun shield aerosols. Adding water would be the only change.

"That's added weight," Brad said. "Air lifting that water component."

"Yes well, there's an arctic offset," Vince said. "The troposphere's thinner, and the stratosphere's lower in those high latitudes."

"All right, yeah," Brad said, absorbing the aeronautical end, and then bouncing back with his own thoughts. "How about those high efficiency reflective discs? Cost prohibitive for the HICCC, but these guys'll have European budgets."

"We need to consider removal time and removal process," Vince said. "If we need a short-term adjustment."

"Like in Africa," Brad said. "The shut-it-down requirement."

"Like twice in Africa," Jeri said. "We are not a clever species. We play Russian roulette."

Michael perked at her tone, and perspective.

The Holocube toned overseas input, and Tamanna messaged in from her cycle ride home in London. She'd watched the EBC politics with her business partner Jake in their London office, and she would send them a list of her climate business's proposed options. She'd get Jeri to run these through their global climate model, before any next Holocube meet-up.

"That I can do," Jeri said. "Model runs reveal best estimate truth... in case any human wants to hear."

"Decision making human," Michael said. "A leader of sorts."

"Your big man," Jeri said. "Big kahuna."

Vince spun the Holocube global map, zooming in on Svalbard and arctic urban Longyearbyen. The international airport appeared to have plenty of storage yard space for sulphur tanks. Excellent, if they went with sulphur. He zoomed back out, clicking a distance grid on and the Svalbard setting with an Arctic Ocean background.

Discussion turned to the churning polar vortex model, and Jeri dove in with model settings for shifting air masses, high speed winds, the low-pressure ridges and high pressure troughs. Moving targets, over days or hours—a serious timing challenge to engage.

"With atmospheric zones lower, that puts our operation relatively higher," Brad said. "Assume we go with those manufactured discs... they can find elevation above the stratosphere. But if we stick with sulphur, we've got easier access to our stratosphere."

"Two options so far, sulfur or discs," Vince said. "Both released from business jet platforms."

"Not necessarily Vince," Brad said. "Discs elevate themselves."

"Ground or ocean vessel release?"

"Nah, still a plane," Brad said. "Don't need to fly so high."

"An air release then," Vince said, referring back to the Svalbard setting. "What about release locations?"

Their mid-Atlantic release had set a precedent for international airspace. Geoengineering, in that first political scramble to shut-it-down, had not been classified as an act of piracy. Any more that carbon emissions... that eco lawyer argument held sway in the international courts. But, some countries appealed, of course. In and around the Arctic Ocean, the EU had jurisdiction over territorial airspace of Greenland and Svalbard, closest to the North Pole, and all the way south to Spain. The arctic project might touch the edge of the Sahara project.

"The polar vortex circles the coldest air remaining, north or not," Benj said. "So, how contained is that vortex?"

"Like an ice cream scoop," Jeri said. "On a hot Chicago summer sidewalk."

"With less temperature difference pole to equator, the polar vortex gets weaker during summer," Michael said. "Compounded by warming in the arctic, but, still somewhat contained."

"Like monsoons, kinda," Vince said, recalling previous Tamanna talk. But Michael sounded well versed. "Driven by temperature difference."

"Another issue would be the polar jet stream has been slowing, and stalling at times," Michael said. "The vortex stalled out, even reversing direction last year. The Blue Ocean Event's not a onetime event, we keep in mind the Arctic Ocean freezes back in each winter. But each frozen winter gets shorter, and not so frozen."

"All this gives us a schedule to act on," Vince said. "We target blocking next year's summer arctic sunshine."

"Tamanna would know, then" Michael said. "That reversed vortex direction was expected, and will progress."

"Frozen ice acts essentially as a continental land mass for weather patterns," Jeri said. "Melted into a liquid ocean, weather patterns change. Our model shifts to monsoon-like activity for that scenario."

"A real stratospheric mess," Vince said. "Complex engineering Brad."

"We'll need daily updates," Brad said. "With hourly weather forecasts when we fly."

"We've got multiple manufactured nanoparticles, right Brad?"

"I'll check," Brad said. "We gonna meet again?"

Nodding at Brad's last remark, Vince sensed a team forming. High cost alternatives, like designed nanoparticles; they'd talked about those for the African project. The discs they knew best worked by the photophoretic effect. Which, gaining an upward push from the photophoretic force, eliminated any need for high elevation aircraft. Clever, maybe too clever. Theory said you could even design the particles to drift poleward, with electrostatic or magnetic materials.

A focus on Greenland came up as one cooling target, and the more they talked, the more that location made sense. Even with the arctic ice gone half the year, Greenland was continental, and still cooled with kilometer thick ice. They needed propose a project to extend Greenland ice out over the ocean. Thoughts coalesced around that geography.

As a terrestrial ice island, Greenland had semi-unique climate change issues. Surface melting exposed darker particles and fallen ash, like a spring snow melt anywhere. Which decreased the summer albedo—a feedback loop. So, anything to keep the ice white assisted the refreeze tremendously. Sea spray could create reflective clouds, and bonus, the effect was highly regional. But highly complex, Benj said, shaking his head. Efforts to finance a water spraying project up onto the land mass during Greenland winters were ongoing, Benj told them. To build ice mass, and to increase the albedo, a whiter ice sheet reflected more summer sun. But was highly cost prohibitive, with thousands of floating pumps required.

"Offshore wind."

"Each pump needs an autonomous energy source," Benj said. "Cost demands rise on single purpose infrastructure."

Pure white wintertime snow... once so naturally right there, back during that Holocene gift, now so elusive.

"Remember the big droplet issue," Brad said. "For naturally forming aerosols."

"Aerosol size is critical," Vince told the others. "Vapour instead of liquid sulphur dioxide takes care of that issue. We airlift the water, Brad."

"Yeah."

They had used modified business jets in the mid-Atlantic release. Sulphur vapour had advantages over liquid sulfur dioxide gas, and the design change would be no more than adjusting the release nozzle size. Europe would have to supply jets, as the HICCC had in Africa. Strategic releases would be based on summer time stratospheric patterns, to keep maximum cooling effect within the polar vortex.

Greenland, and, or... they stared back at their Svalbard perspective view. As Vince slowly sketched in a line across the ocean waters from north Greenland across to Svalbard. The Fram Strait. And he tagged in a newly discovered info fact—eighty percent of arctic ice lost to the south each summer flowed out through that strait. Something of an annual flush, of ice flows and ice bergs south into warmer melting waters.

"Engineers build bridges," Michael said. "And dams, right?"

"Our species do have brain capacity," Jeri said. "And the ability to conceptualize."

"Beavers build dams," Brad said. "Other mammal engineers."

"Humans mimic," Jeri said. "Instinctively."

Contain existing ice—they could see it in each other's faces. Freeze in an ice dam to keep that already frozen water frozen. If they could form and keep arctic ice across the Fram Strait, from European Greenland to Svalbard, the ice would build up in a northerly direction to enforce the ice lens around the North Pole. More geographic luck for Europe and European politicians.

"Okay, just checking time here," Vince said. "Let's propose a first draft engineering brief."

"Business jets retrofitted for vapour release," Brad said. "But I'll check more on those discs, and any other nanoparticle options."

Vince left Brad with a thumbs up, and as the Holocube faded, he turned to Benj, and Michael's quiet smile.

"Talk to your London associates, Vince," Benj said. "Kakina will back you, unofficially."

Vince nodded, sensing a new climate engineering project coming together. Sulphur aerosols, or, manufactured discs. He walked out with Michael, and Benj saw them to the building door.
Chapter 18

Arctic Science

(Click Chapter Title for vid link)

Waiting on an overseas Holocube meet-up, Vince sat with his early morning brew at the front table. Tash and Lisi were off at grandpa's place—eighteen hours since that Kakina boardroom. The British climate consultants would feed in attendance from their London office, and he would hear their arctic science takes on the engineering proposal. He, in return, would fill in details for Tamanna and her business partner Jake on the engineering alternatives. Vince knew of Jake through Tamanna, a father, with children around Lisi's age. A man seven time zones east, but still driven by his children's future, and up against a non-responsive spousal backdrop. The screens tagged, and CubeComms facilitated the two Brits' appearance at Vince's host table, melding together a face to face meet-up across the north Atlantic.

Vince hadn't seen Tamanna since an African meeting a year ago. She appeared bursting with her calm enthusiasm, tea set before her in their London office, now meshed into Vince's home. She smiled a hello, admitting herself to be why Vince might know of Jake in a way, and as his holo appeared Vince waved a greeting.

Tamanna fancied leaving climate science and engineering for a bit, and she started them off with political geography. Tuning in on Tamanna's Arctic Refreeze poli-obs, Vince picked up on the count of national women leaders in attendance. Of specific interest to their project, Denmark, and Norway, had both again elected younger women as Prime Ministers. Both climate savvy. As well as Iceland, Scotland, Ireland and far off New Zealand, small progressive nations took on global leadership roles. That gender divide slashed back hard at America's Alaska and Siberian Russia, and Tamanna emphasized the truly feminine over simply being a woman. Along with Canada, the other northern nations bordering the Arctic Ocean. Tagging in on media coverage of the Chukchi Sea confrontation, Tamanna shrewdly posited that they, like the European consortium, leave the boys battle it out. Leave their sand box war games at that other end of the Arctic Ocean. Over on the European side of the North Pole, the girls would send out frost crystals of ice across a freezing ocean pond.

"We've got ten provinces in Canada, each with an elected Premier," Vince said. "Only two are women, and one talks with compassion."

"The truly feminine shows in a mother nurturing her babe," Tamanna said. "Or infant, and could be a father too."

"You guys know nearly all ants are female," Vince said. "The Queen, of course, but all the workers and soldiers, except for the short-lived drones."

"Thus, we are expendable," Jake said. "Unnecessary males, as fathers of children we have served our purpose."

"Blokes, the lot of you," Tamanna said. "We've little use for you lot now."

"C'mon," Vince said, smiling. "We're mammals—large brain capacity primates—we think, at times, and do we not have a higher purpose to serve?"

"Let's rally to that call, Vince," Jake said. "Yet for any proposal we put up, we need keep at the fore our planet's need for renewed motherly attention."

"We need take into account of the feminine political influence on an Arctic Refreeze," Tamanna said. "To nurse our dear earth back to health."

"And we've other inherent value, Jake, as risk takers," Vince said. "Once we freeze that ice across the Fram Strait, we need ride across on snow machines. To ground proof the freeze, and you are invited."

"Brilliant," Jake said. "I'll check it with the wife."

Their chat on the politics blended into climate science, with a review of the Blue Ocean Event. The first-time satellite imagery revealed arctic open water had been that first September. And progressive but fluctuating ice loss began, as expected. The past year the ice free arctic spring began in June, after lasting until November the previous year. As the ice retreated, and thinned, the darker water absorbed heat. All while ocean waves churned higher, breaking up that thin ice in an ever more watery northern ocean.

For any project proposal, the Brits agreed, the north coast of Greenland needed to be one focus. Freezing outward from that starting point, to form an ice dam across the strait to Svalbard. Yet, due to location, run the project from the Svalbard airport.

There was project advantage having other circumpolar coastlines available. Canadian or Russian. But if Russia and America's Alaska needed a fists up stance, best leave Canada on the sidelines of that distraction, on that they agreed, Norway's Svalbard fit as the other key point, geographically across the Fram Strait. With the nation of Iceland, and Denmark's Faroes Islands further south of the Arctic Circle, the refreeze drama could take place over large areas of the north Atlantic. Freezing the ocean across the straight could be supported by freezing action over the continental ice sheets of Greenland.

Any action over international waters would be the trick, no question, as stratospheric winds knew no national borders. And neither did those Cold Warrior sand box combatants. International law stated each nation had complete and exclusive sovereignty over the airspace above its territory, including territorial waters. Twelve nautical miles, or twenty-two kilometers out from any recognized nations coastline. Outside that, the high seas law of pirate times applied. Science revealed the stratosphere to be governed by more restrictive laws, those of physics, rather than those of peoples. No negotiating. Unless you combined science with beliefs, kind of the existing human mess.

"The doctrine of Mare liberum," Jake said. "The free sea in Latin, dating in the year of 1609."

"Pirate times."

"The right to navigation and the right to overflight," Tamanna said. "Defined by maritime law. The Convention of the Seas had 63 signatures, and then later, the UN held a convention on the Law of the Sea."

"We've got those Exclusive Economic Zones," Vince said. "Two hundred nautical miles out, but down to seafloor only."

"That's fish," Jake said. "And ocean floor resources."

"And exceptions, like always," Vince said. "Oh Canada claims the North-West Passage as internal ocean waters."

"The sand in our economic box," Tamanna said. "Resource bickering for our two boys and their corporate oligarch interests over in the Chukchi Sea."

"Male dominated politics," Jake said. "Let that play out."

"Negotiations, not missiles," Tamanna said. "Peacekeepers, not combat soldiers."

"Politics aside," Vince said. "What's our climate impact risk? Will our project disrupt any ocean currents?"

Spinning the Holocube globe, Vince shifted their attention to the North Atlantic. Ocean currents should be low risk, especially for western European weather and climate. The thermohaline circulating up from the Gulf of Mexico remained critical in keeping Europe winters warm. But the lesser current splitting west to the Fram Strait showed quite small on the map. Also critical, the Fram Strait lay situated out of the way of human day to day activity. Essentially no one lived permanently in northern Greenland. And less than three thousand inhabitants of Svalbard promoted ice celebrations, polar bear tourism and midnight sun tours. In the bigger picture, damming the Strait to restore a frozen arctic, and stepping back towards a pre-industrial Holocene-like climate, well, the overall cost benefit trade off looked quite acceptable.

At least in this meet-up of three.

They agreed—keep proposed sulphate releases inside the polar vortex. The summer time, obviously, that would be their target timeframe when by far the majority of sunlight to shade came in on the north end of the planet. The polar vortex was not only extra loopy due to climate change status, Tamanna pointed out, but, stagnating seasonally and extra weak during the summer. That would be the challenge; to keep the sulphur aerosols local in the arctic.

"The best way to keep arctic regional," Vince said. "Manufactured nanoparticles."

He told them how the disc nanoparticles theoretically could be designed to drift poleward. Which rang bells of advantage, until hearing more Tamanna and Jake both voiced concerns over that just in case removal risk. They agreed, on further investigation required.

Jam back the Fram Strait ice, and you leverage already frozen ice staying frozen, no longer allowed drift south. The ice bridge would minimize project cost, and effort, and appeared on the map as an effective strategy in building up the ice lens around the North Pole. They would have Jeri run a series of outcome scenarios through their climate model. Intense releases, hit hard the peak sunshine months and strategize for minimal drift and dissipation.

##

After tea break, and time out—Vince refilled his coffee, and they reconvened. The Brits fancied picking up on their method, and asked Vince about the status of untried disc technology, and he spieled out his engineering input on any tidbits he already knew. All while he searched up more on the net.

The discs needed be the thickness of a transistor in your CPU. The photophoretic force had enough strength to keep these tiny particles hovering in the upper atmosphere. Manufactured with the right materials, discs could theoretically be oriented using the Earth's magnetic field. These were huge potential advantages. Also, being non-spherical, they reflected rather than scattered light, making them much more sun shade efficient.

"Yet, with a huge people resistance to discussion," Vince said. "Even in science, so, little field research if any has been done."

"Can you express that fearful resistance—sounds like fear," Jake said. "Say, in engineering terms?"

"We know we have a million to one sulphur leverage in our African gig," Vince said. "For each ton of sulphur cooling, we offset a million tons of carbon warming."

"Alright, cost and physics advantages," Jake said. "Start with those."

"Our cost benefit leveraging," Tamanna said. "That allowed the global south, the HICCC to initiate our Green Sahara project."

"So, let's ignore cost for a second and take physics only," Vince said. "A ton of discs offsets nearly ten million carbon emission tons."

"People don't fear high costs, that's a business challenge," Jake said. "We fear the laws of physics."

"And what we can do with them," Tamanna said. "We fear our own ingenuity. We rightly fear our own potential errors."

"With sulphur aerosols, to reduce Earth absorbing sunlight by one percent, we need to scatter nine percent of light," Vince said. "But that's one to one with discs. They don't scatter, they directly reflect like a mirror. With one magnitude of leverage gained, discs change our climate roulette game."

"So we have ten times the power," Benj said. "And ten times the error risk?"

"A sharper blade," Tamanna said. "A finer honed tool."

"Correct," Vince said. "By the numbers we know."

They looked at each other, letting the realized leverage of this science sink in. And Vince could sense that hesitation to discussion. No one spoke the words, but Tamanna had briefed Vince before on the historical snow ball Earth. Snowball Earth—as per the Neoproterozoic. Then, the Earth had naturally frozen to the equator, so, higher risk than a nuclear holocaust. That film years back—a train piercing a world of snow, had speculated a survival-of-the-few scenario. They had talked of known risks in Africa, risks Vince had dramatized into his storytelling at that COP in Italy. A snow ball, so easy to picture.

Discussion turned to the extraordinary scope people had to develop new tools, and the decisions they needed make on those tools. Manufactured parasol particles would allow them added control of timing, and regional space, with fewer environmental side effects. The discs could be elevated above the stratosphere, could last longer than sulphur aerosols and would have little if any impact on the planet's protective ozone layer. Awesome to think of, making you feel clever, except for that unknown removal process.

"Removal's critical, if we require a rapid response," Vince said. "Sulphur drops out naturally within a year."

Thoughts of a snowball returned, so easy to hold in your hand, and throw across the yard. So easy to engage in an all fun snowball fight, just like a sandbox tussle, until someone got hurt.

"Any other cooling options?" Jake said.

"Space mirrors, with touch button controls," Vince said. "Extreme cost, and technology development on that."

"A fast climate control knob takes us to the terminator problem. A moral dilemma," Tamanna said. "A blessing and a curse. Ideally with that space adventure Spock chap deciding, and responding rationally to new information. But we're humans, and we don't respond rationally."

"Let's consider the disc shortfalls," Jake said.

"Development, and production costs may be high, offset by a European budget," Vince said. "There's a lack of research on the arctic drift; those are electromagnetic or magnetic materials. Science says a class of photophoretic forces not found in nature."

"Not found in nature," Jake said, slowly. "Anything else?"

"Removal time estimates," Vince said. "Original design suggests a ten year lifespan. And we've no researched way to quick remove those particles. We depend on natural fallout, on Earth's schedule."

"We need self-imposed limits," Jake said. "That could well be an engineering step too far."

"Jake watches for global CFC plants," Tamanna said. "In that, any country, but take a cold northern nation such as Russia, any might decide to quickly warm up our planet."

"We have that technology," Jake said. "Tried and true."

"Melt off all the ice, and get rid of any cold winter issue," Tamanna said. "Cold weather crowds cheer in their end of the world. And, well, risk taking politicians enjoy the win, and play out the game, however the cards might fall."

"Chlorofluorocarbons," Vince said softly, listening. "Extreme greenhouse gas effect."

"Cheap and easy to manufacture," Jake said. "High cost benefit leverage for those wanting a warmer planet."

"Ah shit," Vince said. "We are just too clever."

"Easy drone missile targets," Jake said. "That's the safety switch I can envision."

"Or not," Vince said. "Clever, I mean."

"Let us consider not joining the sandbox boys," Jake said. "We choose our toys, and keep any manufactured nanoparticles off our list. For now."

"People have been carting animal excrements about to fertilize their fields over the centuries," Tamanna said. "All while earthly volcanoes have added to that healthy soil, perhaps violently, but all natural. All natural... we stay natural."

"We could restrict this design to natural sulphur," Vince said, nodding. "We spin, or tell story of, an all-natural effort."

"To make friendly with our planet on her terms," Jake said. "That gives our proposal added oomph, especially in front of women European leaders on the proposal selection committee."

A middle of the road strategy for their design, they had that option—a shift only of liquid sulphur gas to sulphur vapour. Better control, but still natural. They had African experience and could recalculate the spatial timing on the removal process for the arctic. Extra energy would be required to keep their sun shade efforts in place, compared to the disc theory. In the arctic, and within regional bounds, and they had the complications of a huge seasonal aspect, no longer at the equator. And, as the HICCC had determined with their start in Africa, the whole planet did need cooling. And, that same planet had its own strings of natural volcanoes, and its own finger on that thermostat.

No discs then, that would be one option. Unless they needed that disc option.

Ideally, they would merge a refrozen Arctic towards a Green Sahara, and gain a happier southern Europe to start. A nicer planet as all people wanted, eventually—what could go wrong?
Chapter 19

Queen Mountain

With Car Carl on the Lidar cams, Brad swiveled about to engage the boys in a serious talk. Survival strategizing would be their homework, as Carl took them north through Sandpoint; Destination: Moon Shadow Road. Having packed the night before, they planned a camp set up before dark. Rehearsing with the boys, he emphasized how a guardian needed to move out on a moment's notice, and to forest sleep more than one night away from base. You get familiar with home turf, and the overnight sites around the valley. Drinking water was critical; you purify what you need to keep your carry weight down. You've got live-off-the-land knowhow, if necessary, when you keep your body energized with wild and agricultural foods. Stay warm, dry and well fed. Get wet, or get cold, but never both. Basic training for a trusted protector of the valley—Brad emphasized a thumbs up on that proud guardian identity.

"Expect the unexpected," Brad said. "And, do the unexpected."

Jimmy beamed at that.

While the boys teamed up via devices, Brad focused on valley inhabitants. Who would be a villager's family, their people, and how their roots would fit with their new world identity. You need conversations among villagers, about belonging Julia said, leaving DNA to the bio-scientists. Unless a population bottleneck played out... still so unspeakable. The wildly aware would come first. Those with a will would pull up roots, like migrants of old, and make their way to the talked of place. Humanity would be transplanted, and reseeded, into a new garden of one planet values. Kinda poetic, that thought.

Pulling off on Shadow Road, Car Carl parked in the drive and unlocked. They grabbed packs for last check, not entering the cell. Winning the toss, Jimmy had chosen a sky-high tour, up Queen Mountain, and maneuvers on the top ridges. After three evenings they would return down to the cell, training for a first seasonal walk in on a future perimeter site. A moonlight return, Jimmy told them. Jimmy had their field ops planned out and organized.

Shouldering packs, they all walked out past their ground vehicle... Carl their car, and Brad and Josh fell in behind Jimmy on their way to his target trail head.

Having dropped in on his scouting excursion through Canada, Brad had checked out the survival cell site then. The nut trees were growing well this year, on the flat terrace he'd built into in the sloped land. Those trees would develop into the top canopy of a planned forest garden. The rain capture gravity-fed water supply kept the garden soil moist through the hot summer months. Constructed flat space made for food production by terrace farming, and living space in any not so flat mountains. Mountainous terrain added mountain living security by default.

Their nearest neighbours lived further along on another access off dead end Moon Shadow Road. Strolling the valley view ridge south, you could turn east for an overlook of the town of Bonners Ferry. Jimmy had explored that ridge time and again, and he'd hiked the other way north along the forested ridges, up and down the drainages. This trip Jimmy led an upward trek between two lakes, Smith and Dawson, and they would first overnight on a high spot overlooking a lake on each side.

Will past the neighbors' turnoff, Jimmy took them through the forest, bushwhacking at times on animal trails and at other times on people trampled paths. They crossed open meadows, trekked along forest edges and paralleled the edge of the odd agricultural field. Typical ground cover, across their valley bench and bottom.

Had Josh won the toss, they'd be scouting out the valley bottom on horseback. But his training exercise would have to wait. They knew the horse stables up Kootenai Valley from a couple trail rides last year. They'd need special horses for any steep mountain climb like today. Horses could pack a lot more than they on their backs, so think a week-long outing, Brad told Josh.

After a water break, they began their steep ascent, absorbing the smells of mountain tree cover under intermittent afternoon sun. Brad dropped back on the rocky trail, letting the boys engage further in guardian roles on their own. The boys needed to gain confidence on both the valley terrain, and brotherly team work. These type overnight survival outings would be key to valley surveillance and tactical oversight. Each boy needed to hone his specialties too. Though he loved the horses, Josh had a tech oriented mind, and Brad figured horseback might be superseded by terrestrial hoverboards. Of course he would keep flying high surveillance by paraglider, but the tech coming out was pushing the elevation limits on those boards.

In the higher mountain air, Jimmy picked out a camp spot in a narrow stretch of forest overlooking a logged out opening on each side. The bivy sacks they'd tried out that spring made for an excellent way to travel light. Each sleeping bag had a tiny insect cover at the head end, replacing the need to carry a tent. Extra wind breaks came with these bags for cooler weather, and the higher you went, the cooler it got. Especially the nights. Orienting each sack about a stone circle fire pit, they gathered and stacked wood for the cool evening air.

After chowing down on fire warmed rations they talked of tomorrow. Next night would be a camp right near Queen mountaintop. Never having been up Queen, they would find a site below the peak to avoid any high mountain winds. Trees around made for rain cover too. One rocky crag looked like an excellent look out, Jimmy showed them on screen, above a low clear spot. To can up and down across the valley. Global imagery revealed a lot, but not all. They would only know that view for sure from the ground. Ground truthing, Brad told the boys across the campfire. Once they got there, they would check an over the tree tops look and see what they saw.

Brad's input said to train for the unexpected. They would choose to forget, he said, pick a critical item. Comms the boys decided. With one boy allowed to keep the one and only phone, assuming the other device lost or damaged, the no phone boy would need to figure out another way to communicate. On the split ridge, the third day Jimmy said, they could separate and old tech communicate ridge to ridge. Comms in a secure valley would be critical, Brad knew. They had wireless now, mountain top to Shadow Road and back to Spokane and the rest of the world. A situation might arise needing talk extended on peak beyond the wireless. And in the future, they'd need comms with Cascadia. Brad nodded at the high need to keep all around comms technology at hand.

Snuggling into warm sleeping bags, talk drifted off and thoughts shifted to Queen Mountain. Tomorrow.

##

The day long hike had not been all uphill. Along that inter-lakes ridge, the trail descended to Meadow Creek, and then to the trailhead at the mountain's base. After a grueling climb, the meadow below the crag on Queen turned out to be wind contained enough. Knowing the not so fantastic part of high mountain ridge life would be high mountain wind blasts, they dropped their packs there to eat lunch. And then, fueled up and rested, they circled back up to take that look.

A quick grunt further up revealed a view par excellence. From the crag, with Queen's peak still behind, and their campsite below, they scanned the entire valley. Farmers' fields stretched either side of the meandering Kootenay River across to mountains on the other side. To the north, their valley veered to the west, disappearing into what Josh's model showed to be a bit of Canada. And, to the south, beyond Bonners, they could pick out signs in the air of the town of Naples.

"That second bridge Josh," Jimmy said, pointing at the valley, and at his model on screen. "That's where our horses cross the river."

Fourteen thousand yards to the second bridge, Jimmy measured in his model. That bridge would be a critical point in their valley's security. One of two river crossings on the Idaho side, north of Bonners. The river waters defined the valley bottom, and Jimmy picked off that pattern where the bridge would be, to get the distance. Queen Mountain had excellent elevation, but, was quite a long distance set back from the valley flats below.

Down under the crag, they set up overnight camp. Jimmy showed Josh the ridge top pattern in his model for tomorrow, and how one of them would get closer to the bridge. Going north from Queen, the main ridge split into two, one ridge jogging further west, and one east. The west ridge would bring whoever took that route to within nine thousand yards. The east ridge would take the other kid into view of the highway 95 valley. Across that valley was Half Peak, and that ridge Brad had flown, the one that crossed up into Canada. On the east ridge, they gained little view of their valley—the west ridge would give them that—but splitting apart would be great for a low tech comms challenge.

As the late afternoon sun dipped, they left camp to scout out Queen Lake east of the peak. Though the water looked crystal clear, stagnant water was typically not safe to drink—best to always purify. Great for a cold-water swim one day, though. One of the benefits of high mountain ridge life was beautiful blue water, fresh from the sky Jimmy laughed, splashing his brother. On the way back to camp they heard a spring running at the base of their rocky crag, and marked that convenience into Jimmy's model. Spring water was much safer to drink in any emergency. Brad took a water sample from the spring for a lab test back in the city. They would stick with tablet purifying all cold water this trip. Who wants beaver fever, Brad joked, and after explanation, they all laughed about the miles and miles of toilet paper.

As that evening cooled further at this added height, they built up their fire and got the water boiling. Another way to purify drinking water, and to cook up some hot grub. Around the Queen Mountain campfire, they played about, and planned. Jimmy figured the boys could stay for long times up on the ridge tops. Especially in the warm season, Brad said, picking up on the looks in his sons' campfire eyes as they chatted. The older boy would pack in ridge top food stashes, on the younger one's horseback idea if they could, to keep warm, dry and fed. And with their critical locations known, and any water supply marked into Jimmy's model, they were on their way to being roving valley guardians.

Drifting off that evening, Brad knew he was keeping his word, doing what his needed to do. And that African border blast lost most of any power it had to drag him down.

Warming around a morning fire, they went over Jimmy's third day plan. Brad would stay at Queen peak camp, and the two boys would head north, splitting up to follow east and west ridges. Josh won the toss and picked the functional phone option, the second powered down and presumed broken. That phone had contact with Brad, and with Spokane, but not with the phoneless boy. Josh ceded that Jimmy pick his route, and he took the west ridge, talking on how he would scope the valley from there. And check out the better view afforded of the second bridge. He'd be five thousand yards closer according to his model measure. The boys' challenge was to coordinate timing, and track each other with no wireless comms contact.

With the boys off, Brad poked the fire back to life. Now, completely out of their picture, he served as nothing more than a comms contact. Their future would eventually not include him at all, but until then he could show anything he knew now. And there might be many ops before then.

Jimmy's survival skills would be critical. And his fascination with heights, and high ridges told Brad to encourage the boy's functional mobility anywhere in and across the valley. And his teamwork with his little brother needed to extend into the valley community. And, that community needed to take care of itself, under unknow and ever-changing conditions going forward.

What the Greta gang voices had said over the years. As the days passed, and when an activist came to be talked of in everyday terms. You think cathedral, they said, and you build the foundation. Like back in medieval times, when later generations built on the foundations you left. You built a strong floor, and later they built the walls and all the vaulted ceilings with stained glass. The media still followed the Greta girls who told cathedral thinking stories.

Needing both a restful day, and the discipline to keep the boys' schedule top of mind while trusting in their outcome, Brad made this way up to the Queen Mountain peak. Afternoon showers seemed possible likely—Josh with a device would better know any forecast, and Jimmy without would depend on reading the sky.

The valley bottom spread out below, and fields ripe with food crops would serve their local cathedral foundation. Food was critical as the basis of a community survival strategy. The mountains around could serve as cathedral walls, excellent security from most any ground force. That military thinking again... but what else did he have? The largest valley threat would be from the air. They so needed an impenetrable barrier for a ceiling vaulted over this cathedral. Ideally limiting visual and all other air access, a force field barrier dome. Science fiction stuff. But, realistically, based on communications detection and scramble technology. Those billionaire-hired brains would be thinking along similar lines. And marketing the tech, as business minds were prone to. The tech to keep foreign drone church mice out of their pews, and any black drone angels blind to their valley. A camouflage screen, keeping unfriendly remote detection eyes off this option model of the future world.

##

Around the evening campfire Jimmy told them of the awesome view points along the west ridge. Across the valley stood out totally, and he'd picked out the bridge by shape for sure. And Josh told how he saw Jimmy's flash in the sun, and even picked out his brother's moving form. Thinking what else, and knowing the distance between ridge ends to be four thousand yards, Jimmy dug out his shiny metal blade pocket knife. Along his hike, and at the end he shone a flash point across to where he figured Josh should be.

"What do you do," Brad said. "If you lose your pocket knife."

"Smoke signal, maybe," Jimmy said. "Next shiny object."

"Your make-up mirror," Josh said.

Jimmy gave him the wide-eyed non-response look. He was matured enough to ignore a lot, and he'd need that.

Like Josh on the east ridge, Jimmy had viewed the highway 95 valley crossing over. Jimmy told how the end of the west ridge point was an excellent look out; what any sniper would want. Way out of range for even a precision rifle, but without firearms, maybe they could find another way to message from that distance. Nodding, Brad figured they keep thinking on that one.

Josh told of the highway 95 view below the east ridge. That split south from the just west of Yahk Canadian highway, Jimmy showed them in his model. And Jimmy pointed out how the ridge tops formed a pattern across that highway 95 valley, stretching from Half Mountain across the Canadian border up to Mount Thompson and further. Well worth an exploratory expedition, he figured, that Canada ridge connection.

They crawled into sleeping bags early, and Jimmy allowed them six hours sleep. Brad dozed off and on, until Jimmy's device alarm buzzed and he called his brother and father to pack up under early morning moonlight.

The easier down route from the Queen peak allowed double time, and the boys fell into excited light chatter about their overall strategy, and the low-tech ways to keep in contact. That mirror had been a backup, and they could learn a contact code based on flashes. Device contact was totally critical though, for whenever their routes split up.

With early sunlight outshining the moonlight, the three stepped through the door of the survival cell. Brad assumed command, and let them Flop out for a well-deserved hour's rest on a flat bed before heading back to the city.
Chapter 20

Moon Shadow

After an enthusiastic greeting, Vince sat with Brad in that survival cabin he'd heard of, at a table once in a camper van. The tiny house was laid out long and narrow, like a mobile trailer home, but semi-permanent Brad said. With no concrete foundation beneath, the building technically could be moved. But the edge of this agricultural valley fit Brad's plan, so any potential move had transitioned into expanding the community and he kept telling Vince over and again how the valley crossed into Canada just to the north. How the community could cross into the land up there, and Vince could build his own survival cell.

Deep adaptation. Think about a human backup, Brad kept saying. But overwhelmed by arctic action proposals, Vince needed focus on a geoengineering solution. He listened, as he'd nodded along with the Brits, agreeing kinda. No way on discs but he wavered now, he hadn't been able to let go of the sharp blade design benefits.

He'd spin the option by Brad, literally, with the gadget he'd brought along, and watch for any deep reaction.

Beside the window, exposed to outside light, Vince set a photophoretic spinner on the table. The dark one side light the other vanes spun in the sun, black sides forced along by the sunlight. Looking to Brad, and nodding at the physical evidence before their eyes—visual proof of the photophoretic force—he shifted talk to the wonders if they replaced aerosols with discs. Spheres, with flat plates. Artificial nanoparticles of the right mass, gained a designed lift, designated for a predetermined elevation, and critically, assigned a poleward drift.

Brad took a turn at nodding along. Part of the guy's engineering base, Vince knew, but now as the time to hash it out. Better to keep it natural, the Brits said. But how natural?

They could do this, carefully engineer response to the natural photophoretic forces. They could control the latitudinal distribution of atmospheric particles. To overcome their biggest arctic design challenge. As in like, keep these disc parasols over the arctic region. Science said that particles confined near the stratopause would get transported poleward. By what they called the Brewer–Dobson circulation, and that very circulation takes equatorial ozone to both poles. Naturally.

"What do you say Brad?" Vince said. "How's the aeronautics?"

"Good enough, that circulation's got an atmospheric flow; have to check the speeds," Brad said, carefully. "Like wind, but up in the mesosphere. Distribution control comes from your disc design—you balance levitational force to weight, as a ratio, to set an elevation range. Then your high elevation winds take those sun reflectors to the arctic."

"Awesome aeronautics, then," Vince said. "Engineering excellence, no?"

"We gain some critical influence," Brad said. "For the arctic, that's the lateral control we want. That lateral distribution, like you say, the north south spread."

"Brits don't like the manufactured," Vince said. "As in, no particle exists in nature like this."

"Sure, but these little discs reflect sunlight like a mirror," Brad said. "The best natural mirror before glass was a water surface. Discs give us a thicker sun shade effect than sulfite aerosols. And a reduced lift load, especially if we go with sulphur vapour. Efficiency, man."

Back-of-a-napkin calculations said with discs, they could alter the entire global climate with ten thousand tons. Super-efficient stratospheric reflectors, that could be released in a month by a single heavy lift stratospheric aircraft. What a sense of excitement, and power Vince sensed, and a tinge of fear.

"Near zero ozone impact," Vince said. "This manufacture avoids destruction of the natural."

"That circulation's totally natural," Brad said. "Drifts our artificial aerosol discs on a free ride towards the pole."

"There's this other lateral drift option... listen to this design," Vince said, reading from his device. "You can add in a weak magnetic dipole to break the rotational symmetry of a particle... says orienting it along the terrestrial magnetic field. To induce a magnetophotophoretic effect, what a word. Basically, to create a drift force on the particles towards the magnetic pole."

"Magnetic pole," Brad said. "Not identical to the axis pole."

"Nope... deeper in the Arctic Ocean. Like behind the axis North Pole from our Atlantic side," Vince said, swiping his screen map to show Brad. "Approaching Russian. Anyway, you basically add a tilt to the disk, and that drifts the little buggers towards the terrestrial magnetic pole. A meridional component, added to the upward force."

"We nudge in closer to the Russians."

"The magnetic pole's beelining their way," Vince said, zooming in on a map image. "For a century now, at least."

Vince took Brad into the story of one original disc research scientist. The guy had once been a professor at the University in Calgary, before shifting his research to Harvard. And the guy had participated in this one debate. He never mentioned the manufactured disc option at all, back then, but he sure raised doubts on keeping sulfites regional in the stratosphere.

"Regional's messy," Brad said. "But we did it in Africa."

"Did so," Vince said. "We trial and error engineers."

That scientist dug right into the political challenges at the time of that debate. As the original theorist, he repeated his assertions on the low cost of sulfites, and thus, the geoengineering leveraging available. The million to one. The point was, he explained, the science won the debate by educating and changing minds. Back then, he'd argued for further research on solar radiation management with sulfites. What, as it turned out, they had ground-truthed in Africa.

"We gotta talk to those Brits again."

"Yup."

Leaving the light mill on the table, they rose and stepped outside. Vince followed Brad's wave along, as the guy led a silent wander over to the valley edge. With the sun dipping in the west, a gentle breeze blew across, ruffling the tree branches near and far. Vince felt his overwhelmed being letting go. And sitting on that edge, Brad spoke into that breeze of Keith, and Sanoo. Waving across and up at the mountain peaks to the sky beyond, he talked a bit on reengineering people, and if that could even happen. Just that those guys still fit in, as part of a redesigned story.

"Fractals, and that Fibonacci sequence," Vince said softly. "Those guys became ingrained, into universal patterns."

"Yeah, cool Vince."

"Count the flower petals."

"Yeah," Brad said. "And fractals in the clouds."

They sat in the silence for a moment, gazing over the stupendous view.

"We need an arctic proposal."

"Final sign off next week," Vince said. "We need any changes before then."

"Human engineered discs, or,... well, natural," Brad said, waving across the valley. "Engineering's cool, but I dunno, I've got my boys."

"Got my daughter... so, we need to be selective," Vince said, nodding. "We don't want to bring on a year of no summer. Tambora did that for Europe, natural sulphur emissions, back in 1816. We need to get our planet back on track."

"Remember our first artificial volcano, in Africa," Brad said. "We are still god, dude."

That first ascent in a helium balloon, they released a sulfur aerosol test. On the outskirts of Niamey, in the African Sahel. Back then, Vince gained an appreciation for atmosphere, altitude and geoengineering the climate.

"Did you ever hear how brown bears got trapped in the arctic," Vince said. "And developed into white polar bears?"

"Naw," Brad said. "Tell me."

Sitting on the edge in grassy moss, Vince tossed twigs out into the valley beyond, and they chatted away the last of the late day. Then, as the chilled evening air set in with dimming light, they headed back, and Karl Car took them down into Bonners Ferry to find some grub.

##

After an unbelievably quiet sleep, Vince woke to the chirp of morning birds. Brad stirred in the up above loft. Coming down the ladder, he got the coffee pot on, and bread toasted under his watchful eye on the gas stove burner.

"Propane's a fossil fuel," Vince said. "Emits carbon into our atmosphere."

"Yeah," Brad said. "We are still in transition here."

"Who's a better engineer?" Vince said. "Us, or those beaver pond mammals, or hey, how about the insects?"

"We're doing a mimic-the-beaver job in the arctic," Brad said. "C'mon, give us people a chance. We're learning."

"Yeah... you remember I was telling you about the psychology of deer," Vince said. "And you talked about the wasps."

"Wasps have distinct personality types," Brad said. "I've got Julia convinced, okay, listening."

Brad slid a plate onto the table, and setting the toast there, pulled a jam jar from the cupboard above.

"So, Brad, I'm downtown Calgary talking to this Jerome guy, and his PHD entomology crowd," Vince said. "Those guys study wasps, all social insects actually, but ants get their attention."

"Cool," Brad said, spreading jam on one toast slice.

"Jerome says those ants have formed super colonies," Vince said. "So get this—there's ant hills next to each other that don't go to war with each other."

"Once upon a time," Brad said. "The ants signed a peace treaty."

"Exactly Brad," Vince said. "Kinda, like genetically."

"We biomimic the beaver," Brad said. "Let's biomimic the ants."

"How many aircraft carriers?" Vince said. "Does America have now?"

"Fourteen... seven others with NATO," Brad said. "Russia's got two carriers."

"Russia has nuclear subs, no?"

"Lots... that's an arctic story for sure."

"We the warlike," Vince said. "Once were warriors."

"Lotta ants out here," Brad said. "Let's check out a hill or two."

Grabbing the last pieces of toast, Brad moved the plate into the sink, and they walked out the door. Coffee mugs in hand, and toasted bread to crunch, they greeted the fresh valley morning.

"There was an active hill over by my second walnut tree," Brad said, descending the stepping stone stairway to the terrace below. "That tree went in the ground a few years ago, so, I noticed that ant hill after a while. I sent an ant video to this college, and the prof there calls them Thatcher ants."

"So the hill's gone now?" Vince said. "What happened?"

"Those Thatchers came out all active this spring," Brad said. "Lookin' normal enough the first weekend I was out. I even arranged two lines of human foot protector stones across my pathway. A little highway corridor giving them safer access to the forest."

"You ant engineer you," Vince said. "Symbiotic, I'd say, 'cause ants don't likely build with stone."

"Yeah, so next time out was two or three weeks later," Brad said. "And no ants on the highway. A few wandering around the hill, but wow, highly reduced activity. They didn't like my forest route design maybe."

"Jerome says bears knock ant hills over," Vince said. "Those omnivores don't mind insects for a snack."

"Nope, no way," Brad said. "The hill's still there. Kinda collapsed, but without ant maintenance workers. No ants at all on that hill anymore."

Vince looked over the abandoned thatched mound, wondering what went through the last ant's mind. As that ant civilization collapsed. And what had those last ants done with their final time. Highly industrious beings, socially cooperating to build their hill, their version of a city. Human cities had collapsed historically, abruptly at times.

"No other hill close," Brad said. "No sign of invasion."

"Didn't run out of food," Vince said, waving over at the lush forest floor.

"What happens when the queen dies?"

"Dunno," Vince said. "I'll ask Jerome."

Vince went on more about global ants, how invasive Argentine farmer ants had colonized across continents. Catching rides across oceans with humans, first on their wooden ships, and then in their metal aircraft. Was that symbiosis, or conspiracy theory—the clever ants were taking advantage of humans. Like chickens and cattle, colonizing the planet through the domestic animal strategy. Especially if your population marked your score in the game of symbiosis. Jerome's crowd argued for the symbiotic, in that people would benefit taking the ants on as teachers.

"Think historical human empires, and now, economic anyway," Vince said. "So eusocial ants, and highly social humans, form super organizations."

"What a super concept; sounds so... planetary," Brad said. "Just, maybe our peace treaty starts in a valley like this."

"Yeah," Vince said. "You may be right."

Guiding Vince over to a recent ant hill build, ones different than the Thatchers, Brad was sure. These ones built directly below a huge pine, and moved faster than the video ants. Vince watched the live ants organizing around mound entrances, their city gates, and along travel trails. Teams worked together scavenging a caterpillar carcass. How did this ant hill define the bounds of its bioregion? And, not risk exceeding its resource supply. Its support territory. Or did it, and if so, what happened to that other ant mound?

"Early morning air's still cool," Brad said, pointing at the ants with linked up legs on top of the mound. "They're using their dark bodies to absorb solar heat to warm up, and to warm up their home. Solar panel energy, bud."

"Amazing, and amazing organization," Vince said, staring at the ant activity."

"They got no crews," Brad said. "Don't need any foremen."

"No engineering team," Vince said. "No conceptual design discussions."

"Like they all got the plan."

"I told the Brits we humans are not insects, but primates," Vince said. "I mean how useful would an insect model be, even if Jerome finds that genetic shift that ended ant wars. We don't have time to evolve genetically."

"Genetically no, but culturally, yes we can," Brad said. "Natives lived thousands of years on this land. Survival cell strategy says we learn from them, and Aahil's African desert model—we keep our comms tech devices functional—that's critical."

"Why's that?"

"We stay in contact with other cells around the world," Brad said. "Resource extraction technologies gotta go."

"Right... young people need new ideals," Vince said. "Our kids gotta think totally different, and global."

"We need a receding work week in the old economy," Brad said. "And increasing time spent on cleaning up industrial messes."

"You have a political plan?"

"Yeah right, look, bioregions anyway," Brad said. "You crossed into Cascadia at the continental divide."

"That's the BC border," Vince said. "What's Cascadia?"

"That'll be most of your Canadian BC," Brad said, waving to the north. "And Oregon and Washington, with chunks of other states like Idaho thrown in. So like, an idea on newly defined borders, maybe political, maybe not."

"Tamanna talks up the feminine political leaders," Vince said. "And my daughter's a girl leader; a woman leader of the future. And we got young feminine European leaders on the arctic proposal committee. Anyway, Tamanna says our planet needs mothering."

"Nice... so we adults can bawl our heads off like babies Julia says," Brad said. "Back in the cradle, where mama takes care of everything."

"Mama earth."

"Yeah," Brad said. "C'mon, let's tour the valley."

##

Autonomous Andy drove them down along the Idaho highway south, to a squeeze in the valley, and a lake where water flowed the other way.

"A bottom end tight spot," Brad said. "A barrier."

"A check point," Vince said. "Within a buffer."

They chatted up Cascadia's potential—what if buffers solidified in the global game. If the OECD countries enforced political border walls, Cascadia might define bioregional buffer zones. Who knew how the rest of Canada might respond, Vince said, out beyond Cascadia. Alberta, the land of tar sands sludge. But open up connections with other bioregions, Brad said. Real world Cascadia contained the two major port cities of Seattle and Vancouver, the urban areas close and the coastal mountains around. Eco-villages had been forming throughout, for years now.

Envisioning invaded deeper into their chat.

The boundary could be bioregional, but the who's in and who's out factor would be tricky. Best to have a transition buffer zone. They could have trade talks, and short flight electric, or high-speed rail connection. Someday. Would political Cascadia's first election select a president, or a prime minister?

"That's so old school," Vince said. "A multi-party coalition."

"Yeah," Brad said. "Or a band council."

Anyone thinking president, or even governor—there had been that Washington state governor who ran for president back in the daze before. The first presidential candidate to run on a climate change platform.

But with daze times still on the go, Brad talked with Julia about Cascadia security. That buffer idea, the control zone around the perimeter of the mountains. There, climate refugees passed through the buffer to enter the CCZ, the Capitalism Collapsing Zone. What kind of rules on that entrance... they'd need a special encounter.

They knew some things, Vince said, but a lotta things they didn't know. You build a foundation, thinking of the cathedral to come. As the climate fired global transition played out.

That downtown Calgary poster pictured a Greta days foundation, playing off medieval church building times. Foundational; that school girl would challenge adults in her school girl voice. Like, have you done your homework? She'd talk to adults as if they were school children, waiting for acceptable responses. Answers to be graded by science sourced facts, and maturity levels. Don't you understand? Unless you get your homework handed in, you will not pass this grade. How had adults responded to Greta... a few did their Greta girl homework, but so many would never pass the grade. What do you say to those awaiting entrance at the buffer border?

"Okay, here's a thought," Brad said, sinking into an unnatural dark voice. "We keep a subset of our species. I mean, look at 'em. Each day, grazing shopping mall fields, like sheep graze grass."

Vince stared at Brad. Where had that endless smiling optimist gone, in their happy outlook field of grass? His turn to buoy the moment, but, strategically.

"Les moutons?"

"Huh?"

"That's sheep," Vince said. "In French."

"Yeah, so we cull the herd," Brad said. "Or leave most of 'em in their dead brown-grass pasture."

In a carefully thought through cultural evolution model, many adults fit in as old-date stamped children. Their expiry well passed, they must be downplayed in any forward-looking decision making. Children were creating the human future, and in that process not replacing adults as they were, as they existed, but adults as they could be. Each adult had a date stamp, Vince had his, just not quite yet.

"Mothers tainted," Vince said, first joining into the dark mood. "Once little girls, now with children, trapped in a world of raping, militarizing men. Naught but grown bullies out there."

"Fuck that."

"Okay, how do we enclose that with the power of children?" Vince said. "Around that darkness we bring pure enduring love. And not on the bully's time line."

Brad swallowed, listening.

"What to do with a really nasty man?" Vince said. "His girl app sings to him in the evening. She whispers the oddest ideas into his ear when he's thinking his nastiest thoughts."

"Talk on brother."

And the entitled middle class, Vince went on, that still chats on about vacations in Hawaii. Not so nice, the wife's friend says, Cuba is nicer. If only Cuba were not so poor, the friend laments. The beaches are nicer, they just need more development. Like duh—Vince knows Cuba lives a one planet lifestyle, while Hawaii as a part of America would be five. And that so simple math that registers with no one—only got one planet.

"Okay, a university setting redesigns culture; resetting values and beliefs to fit on one planet," Brad said, back from the dark. "Then they swarm, into towns, and urban communities, bringing the alternate values of one planet living. They come in, they set up, they live the lifestyle and talk up that life they live, all around town."

"Student swarm teams," Vince said. "People redesign tech."

"They set a date, and show up for a year," Brad said. "Swarms attract others into local tribes. You need a dozen to start, remember Jeri's Dunbar number. Dozens meet and form, and they hang around until they're tribes."

"Or a clan," Vince said. "All while we refreeze the arctic."

Vince shifted their talk to engineering envisioning, filling Brad in on the Glasgow conference. How one planet concerned billionaire would finance any non-government entities with proven interest, such as them. Contract engineers. As long as they committed to a carbon offset for their flight emissions. The rich guy would finance the offsets too... his faves being the ocean seaweed project, or African rain forest south of the Congo River for biodiversity. Bonobo country.

With the world's problems all solved, like teenagers at a party, they fell into silence. Until Brad reminded Vince of his invitation to Spokane, to meet the family. But checking devices, they found updated schedules and times conflicting. They would switch to the travel method of their future, and have a next encounter by Holocube.
Chapter 21

Cascadia Buffer

Along the highway north of Moon Shadow, Vince crossed into BC. The valley appeared similar, both sides of that national border, and he came into a Canadian town on the other side. A place bigger than Bonners, tricky to traverse, and with a mind snag catching at his thoughts, he ended up at the north end of town. Lucky for him he was heading east, as he passed a string of vehicles lined up on the highway west across the valley. Back on route he pulled in at a coffee shop for a breakfast bite.

Listening to the coffee shop chit chat, and engaging a couple locals, he took in the lineup story. A truck carrying a toxic load had gone off a bridge into the river, across the other side, and the highway was backed up for kilometers. All awaiting the HASMAT response. One local fellow worked fire, and explained HASMAT, a special emergency response unit. Everyone knew of the issue, it sounded, and the details abounded in their voices. What was going on, and what was being done, and who should be doing what.

Yet in those coffee shop discussions, and any others along his journey, not a peep came out on climate change, nor biodiversity loss. The emergency issues of their planet floated outside the neighborhood consciousness. Yet emergencies reflected in the rearview mirror now, and others loomed ever larger on the near horizon. More ominous than a truck spill in one river, tragic though that may have been. All had heard of the time delays on the highway, and the detour around via the local lake crossing ferry—everyone talked of that. The freight truckers knew precisely how much fuel they carried, and exactly which detour options they could or couldn't take.

Where was the conversation on how to fit humanity onto one planet? How could a civilization threatened, carry on so unaware? A serious issue, undiscussed. That snag, like a river current, dragged him under.

At least the HASMAT incidence revealed security issues for the future valley. Brad said he'd driven in from that west side, scouting out an alternative route. So when the road west closed, no one got through—good trial, good to know. And near no one came prepared for any alternate route, nor on a typical day thought at all of another way, even if their own detour. People depended on the system, like an everyday functional ant hill. So, imagine a highway closed for a week—emergency crews might. In this case, the far away HASMAT response overrode traffic flow needs, and someone far away decided that. What if you as a traveler ended up a week out on the highway... think drinking water, think food, and think toilets.

Away from the coffee table talk, and through town, he settled into the curvy mountain highway. Humming along, yet bothered, Vince struggled for a focus, to calm his mind or process. But on what? Ants? That HASMAT? Cascadia?

Brad's wife Julia sent clients to the CCA meetings for eco-grief. Those people talked of climate at least, like that meeting downtown Calgary. Unlike the general public—the coffee shop crowds. That same twelve-step stuff Jeri talked of, back in Africa; tough love Jeri, but also human nature Jeri. He had to chat with her again. In those AA meetings, for someone looking straight into the eyes of self-destruction, she said, you change your behavior or you die. The gift of desperation, and how handy that could be. For some, only for some.

Winding through the forested slopes Vince absorbed the natural habitat of peoples. Human behavior, now translated into seasonal tourist patterns, and daily fluctuations. Traffic thinned out into evenings, feeding times, and more so in the dark of night. The weather affected people movements, with any bright sunny day bringing out the multitudes, and dim cloudy times leaving road side parking lots vacant.

That Cascadia buffer would be like this. Vince recalled that far enough feeling driving the children; did they need to see dead forest? Depended on their age; Lisi and her friends needed to connect with life bursting mountain flowers. If Cascadia formed one day, as a recognized bioregion, or even politically, this highway east would run through any buffer. The bioregion made such planetary sense; to some, only to some. To the young and the younger.

At a nondescript little lake he pulled over on a whim, and stepped out. Morning sunlight glared through high pine trees, shimmering across the waveless waters. All while right next, intermittent human highway noise broke the bird song silence. Sitting at the picnic table, he watched an ant making its way across the concrete pad. Absorbing the peace between each passing vehicle, he could feel the contrast. Nature, versus the human rush. Further from the highway noise, he ambled down to the water's edge, and, deeper into the bio quiet felt an urge to stay. To befriend the place.

Turtles basked on a log, like ants on a cold morning, absorbing their share of passive solar gain. Energy efficiency written all over both turtles, and ants, species that had evolved long before primates. Ants; they had their super colonies. Ants took to the air, when they needed a new hill, Jerome said. Alates, the winged sexual males and the females, set out to establish new social insect nests.

Ants in any colony formed a super mind, cooperating towards one purpose. That mind helped strategically locate any new nest, siting the place near food and mound building materials. Younger ants lived closer in the nest to the queen, while older sisters took on the high-risk tasks further from the core. Social insects told stories, even, with ants leaving chemically marked trails saying hey, food over there. You could say their story of origin was written over generations in their DNA. That story of how to stop wars Jerome sought after. A wasp acting weird had revealed to Brad a story of personal insect identity. I'm this kind of wasp, the kind that leaves quick, and returns to the nest in a later surprise attack. I'm a soldier ant, not a worker or queen. Social insects pick their career, or tasks list, by personal choice.

In global communities, certain species of ants thieved the eggs of other species, and raised them to be slaves. How familiar. The Argentine ants had colonized Europe, a reversal of the human story. Who had been their Columbus or Admiral Zhou, and how would their DNA explain hitching a ride with humans across oceans? Now the mega colony stretched across continents, Japan, California and Southern Europe. The invasive Argentine ant had done just as well as global humans.

Turtles, ants and people, his species, his humans... Vince had to work with their risk-taking ventures. Their learning abilities and deficiencies, and their potential. If turtles could go solar, people could. Picture people, like Jackie and Hayden, and their first human child born on Mars. How many kids now, like three Martian kids and one on the way. People had a start, predestined perhaps, acting kinda like ants. To bud out into a life flower, in the endless universe. One planetary life form among Jerome's theorized billions.

But for now, Vince's tasks were not up in space, but back in his human mound, on home planet. Climbing back up from the lake he headed further along towards his home city of Calgary.

##

That snag held him back, unreleased, and passing through those degraded forests of Kootenay National Park, Vince slowed at Numa Falls. His thoughts begged for consolidation, but he couldn't deliver, rattled, and half resolved. At the last moment, he signaled and veered into that familiar pull over. That mountain flowers trip with Lisi and pals—that other time before, middle of winter. He'd escaped the city that time, when Lisi was maybe five. And when that raven spoke his name; well, ate the sandwich pieces he threw anyway. The touch of nature filled him up, then, and whenever he allowed.

At another table for picnics he pulled in, facing straight across the river. A broken branch in those cold river waters, waited to drag him under.

Getting out, he stepped up to sit on the tabletop like a child. A fondness, for the natural, what else? The running water, and black ravens; he truly sensed endearment with their timelessness. Cher, cheri, en français. This tranquility, far from the bustling city. With people unfriendly weather set in, he found near no one else parked in the cloudy mountain drizzle. Turtles did not inhabit these cold rushing waters, and wood ants moved slow here in the cool mountains air.

Munching on his going home lunch, he absorbed the clash of natural peace up against that ever-present traffic rush behind. All while across the gurgling river water, on a log, that raven preened its black feathers. And in the misty background, the mountains ascended in vast walls of ancient stone. Into a timeframe far above and beyond his being, his tiny problematic life.

With the wet chilled air penetrating, he returned to the parked car. Yet he had no compulsion to return to the city, not yet. Fiddling with the GPS map, he realized the thousand-foot elevation gain he'd made driving up this valley. Touching at the window control, he allowed in just enough cool for the comfort of his breath. Comfort, and control, the blessing of modern times. Or curse.

The raven chortled, and he looked up. The bird had flown close, perched right there on the picnic table. A huge feathered friend, with wet feathers as if having just bathed. Seeking out nourishment at this food oasis frequented by those human tourists. Clever, clever bird. The figure it out end of nature, like humans.

A millennial car pulled in, and then a boomer camper trailer behind, and a monster truck after, but he held his position, blocking out that world. The rushing river flowed so constant; the traffic noise intermittent and oh so recent—these waters had flowed for a million years, while that auto traffic would record but a tiny blip on the planet's time scale.

Torn between here and there, Vince clicked out his Holocube and touched Jeri's Hangout. That sparring partner of old, well versed in human nature. Those games at the card table back in Africa. Though an analyst who ran the numbers through their climate model, she doubled as a critic of the human species. What would be her take on the arctic ice refreeze venture? Jeri, yes, a chat with the human nature woman might resolve his innermost dilemma.

"Hey Jeri," Vince said. "How you doing?"

"Vince," Jeri said, scowling. "What?"

Jeri, oh Jeri. That the Chukchi Sea lay between her country's Alaska and the other Cold War combatant, and she'd say, the once Beringia human migratory land bridge. Jeri, in the know on both her country's clash since Stalin times and those ice age days when people first crossed into the Americas. Bringing stone technology, and, that ever-present savanna based human nature.

"Jeri, oh Jeri, listen... you hear that?" Vince said, turning his mic to the water sounds. "Beyond Africa, we colonized these high latitudes. We hunted and gathered even here in the cold north, camping over the generations by the river."

"You're a fuckin' poet, Vince," Jeri said. "Keep talkin'"

"Listen to me Jeri," Vince said. "I think I feel it."

"Yeah, what?"

"The beat, Jeri, our beat," Vince said. "What you said to look for. Thousands of generations on the African plains."

"Yeah, good for you, Vince," Jeri said. "Nice you noticed, finally."

"Been watching people, Jeri," Vince said. "The patterns... so predictable."

"And?"

"We gotta change us," Vince said. "Our nature had reached the stage of self-awareness, or close enough, 'cause we've got this emergency and a lotta the old has gotta go. We need to think cathedral, and build a foundation. Like yesterday, cause it's gonna be a huge project."

"That Greta girl foundation," Jeri said, perking a bit. "And what do we do with our past?"

"Leave it behind," Vince said. "Or to the side at least."

"So, what's home?" Jeri said. "And what's freedom?"

"My house, but, my planet too," Vince said. "Freedom from our evolutionary past, that's our freedom. Freedom to become what we can. A flower budding in the universe."

"Oh Christ, a flower," Jeri said, shaking her head. "Sure, good boy."

"How's our climate model runs?" Vince said, switching to business. "Our refreeze project."

"Total shit."

All bets were off, Jeri said, filling him in on the arctic refreeze runs. Off the charts erratic. People, she stated in her exasperated tones. A couple details: the higher up winds were speeding up, that was sheer. Those winds spun up convective complexes, and tornado clashes in the south.

"Tornadoes get noticed," Vince said. "In North America."

"Sorta," Jeri said. "Nothing new for many."

"The Sahara gets attention," Vince said. "Shifting across the Mediterranean in southern Europe."

"Listen up," Jeri said. "I'll tell you what we got."

Everything was shifting, Jeri grunted; the dice were being rolled in combination and there would be no new normal. Forecasts came out some version of messy, and outcomes deviated into statistical outlier territory.

In the arctic, with sea ice thin and broken, a full year BOE loomed in the real soon. Ice receded from shorelines, melted back up channels in the Canadian archipelago, and flowed out in that huge arctic annual flush through the Fram Strait. Ice; here today, gone tomorrow, Jeri said. With ice gone, water temperatures soar. With the final flush on the radar, huge shifts would be happening real soon. Like the last human population bottleneck, she said, when we left the savanna to survive in refugia.

"Jesus Christ."

"Our Lord and Savior," Jeri said. "I'm sending a summary."

Thanking Jeri, Vince closed the window tight, and glanced to read. A fractured jet stream elbowed Jeri's model outcomes to extremes, and the high arctic diverged into the twilight zone. Torrential monsoon rain patterns over the land churned up unprecedented ocean storm successions. Climate change wrote in severe risks on all outcomes. Jet stream troughs looped far south, taking along the once constrained to Eskimo turf cold arctic air masses.

##

Churning back out from that parking spot, Vince had to go, just go, one more time. Not stopping at the entrance he swerved back the way he'd come. Not finished, not yet—anything to avoid, or delay. Just ahead, he knew that turn off, that Floe Lake corner he'd passed so many times. He'd stopped once, by that trail head sign. With a map. A day long hike, and hikers leaving talked of two bridges.

On this edge of the Cascadia buffer, he abandoned his car next to the lake map sign. This time he walked hard, determined, crunching along the pine forest trail. An emergency response, on trial—he could go far enough in his flip flops. The first bridge crossed the river, in a valley paralleling the auto highway. The trail cut downslope, hard, to the creek, and along the bottom. The rain intensified, what would turn today's people back, so he kept on to the second bridge. And, just across the creek.

There Vince sat, breathing hard, yet snagged in the falling sky waters. This just could not be; you can't breathe under water. Silent, he sat dripping in the rain.

The kind of place for out-camps, by a pure mountain water runoff. What Brad's boys talked of, select spots to move between when necessary. Tiny survival cells on a mountain ridge, or by a mountain lake would make for a valley guardian's circuit. But that was Jeri's refugia. Places like this Floe Lake. Think food, think drinking water and warmth. You burned wood to keep warm, you drank mountain water—and for food, you stashed sacks of rice. After the rice, given time, you figured out how to grow food, like the Chinese sprouting plants on the moon. You lived on a wintertime mountain ridge, on a snowball earth planet.

Nice, real fucking nice. Who the fuck wanted to live on a snow ridge, or a snowball planet?

He stared up the creek valley—the drainage flowing out of Floe Lake. The main access route to the bottom. That people might really take the world so sideways, snagged in their own stupidity, to drown in cold river waters.

Unless... survival would be harsh over winter on a mountain ridge, yet still, simpler than on Mars, or the moon. Historical David Thompson had travelled the valleys, an excellent immigrant lifestyle reference. The natives had lived here for thousands of years, with stone age technology. In a transition emergency, you pick your best location, and the best of modern technology that made the most sense, the today's refugia. You kept clear of HASMAT type situations, and you let the chaos out there play itself out.

You needed better in the valley, than HASMAT thinkers. You needed dreamers, artists and youth. You needed the possible, and with that thought the snag snapped free, releasing Vince to float downstream, and struggle to the surface for air.

Vince gasped, and shivered at the wet, rising to walk back out. Across the valley the pine beetles showed their true survival colors, purple tinges and orange streaks in the once green trees. The voracious appetites of beetles told of survival, stretching life, their lives, to their range limits. Killed only by cold. The ultimate emergency scenario, another human population bottleneck. Refugia at that sea shore translated here into forest islands on mountain peaks. Last camps of the last humans.

Fuuuuuck!!!

With a last gasping sob at the parking lot, Vince forced a left turn and sped up for the highway. A highway he sensed one day just might be a travel through the Cascadia buffer zone. Intent on Calgary sped out of the mountain calm, joining the busy unthinking tourist highway journey. Back into that urban buzz.
Chapter 22

Carbon Ticket

The two treaded softly down the alley in sponge-walkers. Wenzel had said yeah to Dee's idea—undetected under any circumstance, and these soft soles would keep them foot travel noise free. Especially on this back-lane grit and gravel.

Connected remote to Detroit, they pushed a trial run of this, their devised org structure. Wenzel and number three in the field, with Dee at Control Center. On this select special op, field personnel carried device screens dimmed with wireless whisper audio on. Wenz had dropped his bike close to Marv's, and now they both looped 'er back on this predefined circuit. Wenzel focused on timing their parking lot arrival, so like, just after closing of the target dude's night club.

"The guy's like clockwork," Wenzel said.

"Huh?" Marv trotted up beside.

"He goes drinking every Saturday night," Wenzel said. "Same time, same place. And, he rarely drives home."

"What a shit head."

"Good on us, Marv," Wenzel said, giving a thumbs up. "That means we know where to be—the drinking hole parking lot, and when to be there—after closing time."

"For sure Wenz," Marv said.

Wenz had heed and hawed with Dee over whether any usefulness could come out of passing the dude on his piss tank stagger home. Wenzel figured they'd get in some learned practice on covert ops—like guerilla tactics; and Dee voted for true-testing their abilities on any encounter surprise. So they left risk factors open to challenge, and travelled the client's regular route.

"He goes to church Sundays," Wenzel said. "Every Sunday morning with his wife and four kids."

"Like a clock."

"Yeah Marv," Wenzel said. "Makes our ticketing job..."

"Ssstt... up the alley Wenz." Marv shifted to his night whisper. "Listen."

Wenzel glanced over—Marv's face had switched to that slow panting driven look. "Yeah," Wenzel whispered back. The instincts of a guy like Marv totally fit in, like here and now. Ability came natural to some, and his were commando tactics; an innate need in the field to see and not be seen. All while keeping mobile—Marv fit like a hand in a glove. The guy'd been born out of night crawler material, optimal caution mixed with just the right crazy level of fear freedom.

Watching Marv's hand motions, Wenzel slipped in between a fence and garage wall. Eyes on the guy's face in the shadows, Wenz kept his breath shallow, listening. Footsteps approached, crunching louder on gravel, and staggering, but then stopped abruptly. The chatter sound of a fly coming down turned into piss spattering on a garbage can. Then, joined in by a voice mumbling out the song of that night in a way off broken rhythm.

Wenzel caught the slightest shuffle in Marv's form, and taking after the dude, he pulled his dark hoodie sideways to block his face. One eye checking it out of his cloth hole darkness, and past a broken edge gave him full visual.

The alley man picked up on his stumble, breaking out now into a loud off-key voice. After a piss relief. Then a shhh, to himself, and then he sings in a lower tone. Wenzel froze, eyes down, and the fellow shuffle by, not noticing. The smell of beer breezed sideways across the alley. Awesome special ops field practice. They had their advantages of prep time, and not being mind-blasted on booze. Yet no matter what, their ticketing team was picking up on how to function unseen, unheard.

"Awesome Marv," Wenz messaged on device.

"You sink into the woodwork," Marv voice whispered across. "You become the alley."

Marv for sure turned like into something totally other, our here. Like the reincarnation of some gung-ho guerilla warrior. Emerging from his garage-side slot Wenz watched Marv break into form out of the alley shadows. The off-tune singing echoed back from way down the block.

"That was him, pretty sure," Wenzel said. "Blue collar worker."

"Sure Wenz," Marv said.

"He works, he eats, he sleeps," Wenzel said. "He follows his weekly routine."

The alley reeked of evening garbage cans, and the drunken guy's fresh piss spot. The smell of beer breath still floated in the air. And Wenzel realized they'd have to talk about their own body aromas later.

"Forgot to set his Hummer alarm," Marv said, in an offhand voice. Another Marv face, again half-recognizable to Wenz. "Kinda dim in the head."

"You sure Marv?" Wenzel said.

"Oh yeah," Marv said, tapping his device screen.

"Alright," Wenzel said. "Confirms he's our dude then."

Wenzel absorbed the situation—Marv could play multi field roles. Bonus, totally—never expected team options could easily come out during field operations. Tapping that observation in as a text record for Dee, Wenzel called up the Control dude on voice.

"Dude," Wenzel said. "Whazzup?"

"Watch this," Dee said, quick playing a vid. Bot eyes scanned a pizza screen, and the voice of Adelle placed an order.

"Awesome, Dee," Wenzel said. "And your fuzzy female?"

"My pizza's here with me now," Dee said. "So Beava's on a RANK ride, round and 'round the place."

"Marv got us by the dude," Wenzel said. "Says the Hummer alarm's off."

"Gave him Read Around, so he's on it," Dee said. "Location's holding."

Wenz checked the feed on his screen map where Dee had the Hummer marked with a soft flashing star. And arrows pointing in a swoop view at parking up against a brick back wall, back of the night club. Only one other car left in the lot, an SUV close to center. Trial and error payed off, as long as any error got contained. Dee's cautious outlook kept plans under control, and Marv kept ops risks low in the field.

"Let's go."

"Sure Wenz."

They moved upstream, on their target dude's back trail, two more blocks. At a block from target, they entered their predetermined silence zone. No audio, GPS trackers off and a rule to engage Dee only on screen. Wenzel led their advance into trees at one corner of the lot. With no local motion detectors, they squatted to observe. No movement apparent in the Hummer, nor the SUV, but they would wait their set time.

A line of night lights, all along the brick wall, glared off the pavement. Street lights beamed down too, mixing with the red glow of an EXIT sign hung over the bar room's back door. A dude got totally attentive out on a night prowl. The faint scent of pine needles wafted up Wenzel's nose, with each passing breath, as they crouched their designated clock time. Marv jabbed his finger up, as a distant sky chopper flew across the oblique distance, and Wenz could pick out that faint beat. A siren broke through the nighttime hum, far off, but approaching rapidly. Not budging, Wenzel felt a howling shiver, a churning gnash of fear and thrill, as the flashing blue and red raced past.

With the enforcement sound receding, Wenzel checked the time.

"Frank'd sleep in his car," Marv voice whispered. "Places like this."

"Yeah, kay, you check," Wenz back whispered, nodding at the car. "When we move in."

"Ooo yeah," Marv responded, eyes flaring wildly wide.

The cool evening siren sounded a last high-volume wail, and settled into the distant urban hum. With their soft beep warning, undisturbed, Wenz moved around the parking lot through a meld of local rustles sticking to tree shadows. Marv soft walked straight across the lot, past the SUV, shaking his head. Each edged along one side of the brick wall, meeting up at the Hummer. The rank smell of vomit and dumped ashtrays oozed out of the back sidewalk, booze pervaded the night everywhere, and piss reeked out of the corners.

Opening up a ticket package, the two self-designated climate police, vigilantes in each move, rolled a coordinated reprimand across the full windshield. The sticky back ticket—was gonna be such a mess to remove—had been posted and plastered. For those who don't see what they do to our future, Wenz thought, for those who don't see at all. A seriously break your wallet glass cleaning job should warn and inform those ignoring the climate crisis truth.

"Ticket issued," Wenzel texted Dee. "Front glass application."

"Notified!" Dee texted back one word.

Checking all the streets around, and parking lot edges, Wenzel and Dee scurried over to the fence along the side. On a corner post, they carefully installed the cam Dee sent along to record first reaction—that would be critical.

"Cam settings confirmed," Detroit texted. "Got a clear view. We vid post his response."

"We're gone," Wenzel messaged back.

They soft walked through the side trees half way to the night club front, and cut down another alley in the direction of their bikes. As they walked Wenzel glanced over their back-up plan. Dee had two monster trucks flashing in the neighborhood, on the off chance their target dude drove home that time. There'd be options, they'd decided, but always best to stick to original plan if possible. Dee had totally caught on quick to hacking and tracking lonely lost trucks, or SUVs, after weekend evenings and party nights. An enhanced hang over morning-after event, for infractions of many sorts.

A block along, past the silent zone, voice came back as an option.

"We got a name?" Wenzel said.

"James Cardel," Detroit said. "Registered owner."

"Jimmy's Hummer," Marv said, face back to normal crazy.

"Alright," Dee said. "We zoom in and capture Mr. Cardel's face and share his reaction with the world."

"We blur his face, remember," Wenz said. "Otherwise, for others to watch and learn."

"Planet Earth rules!"
Chapter 23

Mid Atlantic Release

Rolling over, Vince half-awoke to the sleep pelting into the window. Three years ago, on that mid-Atlantic release, he'd struggled against a wakeup tone, but he'd blinked his exhausted eyes open then, to the dull roar of jet engines. Squinting across at the Nigerien pilot, he'd directed his attention over to Brad in the Chirpfeed Cube.

"You cross into international air space," Brad said from the Niamey office. "In ten minutes."

"Right," Vince said, forcing his eyes to the icons on the flight screen map.

"Both carrier fleets are holding in the direction of our dispersal," Brad said. "No more national sovereignty ahead—airspace in the international matches the high seas jurisdiction below. You copy?"

"Yeah," Vince said, waking then to that. "They gonna force us down?"

"The British base on Ascension maybe," Brad said. "Better forced down than shot down."

The American strike fleet upheld North Atlantic naval security, and sent their carrier task force south towards equatorial waters. While the Asian Alliance carrier fleet rounded the Africa cape to stream north up the South Atlantic two days before. Behind the Chinese carrier, the Alliance left a doubled naval presence in the West Indian Ocean.

How Canada fit in then Vince hadn't a clue.

"They'd never," Vince said. "Shoot... right?"

Amidst the chaos, Vince had found a peculiar calm. An unnatural tranquility he knew. After those weeks in the Nigerien drone zone, he felt invulnerable at times. Like a seasoned tour-of-duty vet, in a militarized country like America. In firefight after drone strike untouched, the unnatural belief he'd never be taken out. That was crap, Brad said, and he knew it too. Coming fully conscious he'd focused hard on reality, while that tremble jabbed a withering track up his backbone.

"A military commander will be talking to a high-end politician," Brad said. "That conversation in a war room somewhere."

"Our Chirpfeed Broadcast," Vince said. "We work with that—could make all the difference."

"You're in the air," Brad said. "You let me know."

Vince could still feel the hot African dust in his teeth—that time they tumbled out racing from their Nissan. Surface drone detector blaring, they'd ducked around the wall just in time as their SUV blasted into a missile smoke hole.

His false courage in the aircraft then built on that previous years-ago drone strike. He'd survived! Courage hard wired into that moment of terror. He stood to volunteer for the flight, caught up in rational thought versus feeling invincible. He'd selectively used that belief to ignore any drone tracking this flight as far as the coast. Whose drones on the African continent they'd never been sure—one of the global players.

As military tech developed, weapons platforms transferred to surface drones. Why view from above, coordinate with surface views and still strike from high in the sky some military genius had asked. Too complicated. Instead, you transfer support roles to drones above, and the strike role to the surface drones.

"Tamanna's standing by in London," Vince said.

With Brad coordinating transmission from the African mainland, the British climate scientist and Vince's Canadian chemical engineering would explain the stratospheric aerosol effect via Chirpfeed. Or parasol effect, which ever wording better built a badly needed voice. Brad figured the standoff would come to a head when the carriers passed into strike distance of each other. And that was to happen this flight. Escalation then, depended near totally on ship captains' initial launch commands.

On the flight screen their unarmed jet left the African coast behind. Over the ocean, any open ocean outside territorial waters, the laws of the high seas prevailed. Over their piece of the mid-Atlantic, once pirate waters, international treaties had changed little. Less than four hours remained in their flight to target, a release half way between the equator and Ascension Island.

"We transmit in thirty minutes," Vince said. "Anyone linked to Chirpfeed can receive and retransmit. Let the people decide."

"We've got thousands of feeds connecting."

"Right," Vince said, taking a slow breath. Shooting down an unarmed plane in international airspace would scream political—they had to keep that possibility alive too.

Vince had taken that first flight from Niamey out over the mid-Atlantic, to supervise sulphur dispersal, and then fly on to Rio de Janeiro. A long uncommon flight path, but international to international airport. The Brazilian aeronautical company, designer of the business jet repurposing to liquid dispersal jet had required a manufacturer's check. Brad supervised the second dispersal, circling that flight back to Niamey. Maybe they should have stored sulfur in Brazil. Cause the third flight mid-ocean turnaround glared pattern abnormal on observer screens. Return flights from mid-ocean to central Africa glared anomalous detected by both Chinese and American military satellites.

The American carrier task force, and the Chinese carrier under Alliance fleet protection both changed course that day. Less than a week before. All while in the background, the climate changed according to the laws of physics. Amidst the human wild cards, and taunting talks with physics fairies, they'd calculated multiple unknowns, making any outcome now possible.

Vince leaned back, resting again in the redesigned co-pilot seat with all co-pilot controls removed. The cockpit had been repurposed in Brazil to accommodate a load release operator. Business seats and cocktail bar removed, the plane had been converted to maximize storage of his liquid sulphur dioxide load. Lines connected the low-pressure steel tanks in the fuselage behind, via his controls, to exterior release nozzles.

When invincibility took a back seat, Vince fell into the hollow of the why of it all. Brad maybe flew for God and country, but Vince flew for his daughter and her future planet. He'd stood as a father, volunteering for that flight. Especially after the African contract, he knew too much about his home tar sands province and the looming crisis not to act. The British climatologist and Brad representing his American children, would join via Cube. Their international representation had been another calculated tactic, a global representation in a Chirpfeed virtual interview.

Maybe invincible came to those driven by national pride. King and country at one time—but now few monarchs remained. Old school thinking worked hard enough still at maintaining military control, with a drive for national security. Yet those strategizing an alternate future wanted peace too, just with a transition back to a stable climate.

Truth be told, Vince knew their global cooling design to be a cost benefit juggle. And how old school thinking did pounce on that. Their project risks list. The monsoon experiment on the Sahara—and any arctic sea ice project—risked disruption by natural volcanic activity. Volcanologists had only short-term warnings, making eruption prediction highly inaccurate. Yet, once a volcano blew it became highly visible, and newsworthy. Like wildfire smoke, ocean storms and urban floods; but did people connect those to climate?

Managed solar radiation accomplished nothing to mitigate ocean acidification—algae blooms continued replacing nature's marine wonders; the vacation crowd should notice. The reefs were dying everywhere around the globe. A major shortfall. Any regional change like that Green Sahara effort might throw a loop into any other global initiative—another climate action risk. Coordination was essential, yet difficult. Better to have a calmer more natural method, something organic like extensive reforestation and rewilding, and the seaweed forest alternative. Back off on clever engineering, and let mother Earth heal herself. But when did people ever make the best choice?

The two countries east and west of Niger had negotiated synchronized sulphur balloon releases. Original talk involved Niger's extra release capacity, and using that central country as the only balloon release. Niger's solitary discharge technically worked, knowing stratospheric sulphur would spread laterally across the Sahara on its way north towards the Mediterranean. As it turned out, the Sahel countries had not only common mid-desert geography, but cohesive political interests in a Green Sahara. And China, as a budding friend.

Lifting one eyelid, Vince had glanced at the time digits floating in the Cube. Fifteen minutes to go.

Just days after first meeting in Niamey Brad took Vince up on that first balloon ride. The smaller test balloon they released rocketed skyward, spewing sulphur and helium, until finally emptying two miles higher. Like a mini-volcanic eruption. But, with both gases colorless, the eruption came out just as invisible as any greenhouse gas. Brad joked about adding color. They would create a true chemtrail, and shine truth on the jet trail conspiracy theory. All fun aside, visibility of any sort—in the public or political eye—remained a primary climate crisis issue.

Unless the Chirpfeed world paid attention to their mid-ocean atmospheric drama, and connected the dots.

That Niamey bridge had been lined with presidential campaign posters, a smiling face beside those stone giraffes. They'd been sent up to Agadez on the edge of the Sahara, where nocturnal releases lifted most of the sulphur load by balloon. Their Harvard science million-to-one leveraging advantage spoke wonders—every ton of sulphur cooling offset a million tons of carbon warming. And on the ground in Africa Green emblazoned balloons went up in the daytime, close to Niamey for the Nigerien president and his citizens to see. With background action at Agadez supporting front stage political talk for the people with a popular green-the-desert message; that strategy worked.

The Atlantic release first came up in conversation when their project shifted to Phase III balloons, the Sahel regional. The British climate woman then said continental balloons would not be enough. For reference only, officially, yet even back then they'd tactically calculated storage of liquid sulphur for the mid-Atlantic. Officially, to offset any balloon loss to the ever-present fleets of drones. According to the official stance at Phase II stage before, desert balloon tons cooled the Nigerien climate only. Ridiculous to think a political border contained atmosphere, but, that ever-changing official outlook.

In one unofficial engineering talk, they'd sat under that paper wall map in the Niamey meeting room. With Tamanna joining via Cube, they had pointed at arrows sketched in over the ocean. Stratospheric drift over lower wind zones and ocean current directions defined weather patterns. There and then, they roughly engineered a significant cooling effect over the mid-Atlantic.

Aeronautical Brad told them right away no way on a balloon release out over the ocean. Nor in international airspace. Next unofficial meeting he told them of his research. Best to send out a small fleet of high flying modified business jets with dispersal technology. Business jets, not much advanced tech over desert balloons, but, extra susceptible to high flying drone or fighter jet interference. Requests for proposal got them a Brazilian aeronautical design, one that beat out the Hindu quote with an identical quality.

Strategically, they planned seasonal balloon releases, allowing the Sahara sands their summer heat while their jets cooled the summer Atlantic. The winter continental Sahel release would continue, and they could introduce this mid-ocean process into Phase III regional. That fit. Vince learned that heat alone didn't have weather pattern influence so much as the temperature difference. The Sahara versus the equatorial Atlantic—that brought on monsoon. Cooling one was the same as heating the other. So, most effective to cool the ocean when the Sahara was naturally at its hottest, during summer.

Assuming engineering only; they'd laughed or smiled dryly at that. But Tamanna pointed out further info—released sulphur drifting south towards Antarctica would spread, but never east nor west enough to influence either southern Africa or South America. Near all effects would remain over the ocean. They could still classify the project as regional. Speaking engineering, they wryly assumed non-politicized interests, and with benefits and risks considered, the plan had become HICCC official.

Rolling up to sit, Vince wondered what today's official would be.

Of course the reality of global politics had rolled out dicier in that mid-Atlantic event. The challenge in that moment had been: explain science and engineering details to the guys at the top. Political decision makers. Poking their well-engineered sulphur release design out over mid ocean had triggered airspace interests galore, screaming global, not regional. The naval interests below then demanded their say, and they poked back, assuming their military might would have the final say.

Pushed to his feet, Vince knew he had to keep these years ago events in a for-reference file, and get back at the arctic. Walking to the window, he looked through the pellets of ice and snow plinking against the glass.
Chapter 24

Hallowe'en

Lisi skipped down the stairs, her latest novel snuggled in under her arm. A clever way to ignore breakfast was to read at the table and imagine her favorite character in the story. Collette was searching for her missing twin right now; she couldn't wait to turn that next page...

"Good morning Lisi," Daddy said. "Bonjour."

"Hi Daddy," Lisi said, beaming a bright smile.

She walked into the kitchen, and into a circle, and another loop around, and another. Daddy looked up from his screen. Grabbing her kindness bowl, she filled it up with milk and popped it in the MicroHeat to warm. Then she poured in that best of the bad cereal, and sat down, spreading her book wide to that last Collette paragraph.

"Hey birthday girl," Daddy said. "How many days after Hallowe'en... three or four?"

"Well, technically three," Lisi said, looking up at Daddy. "From midnight on Hallowe'en to the first hour of my birthday."

She absently lifted her spoon, juggling another scoop of her breakfast food.

"And the Combo party's midway between," Daddy said. "Whose idea was that?"

"Mine, and the Frog Queen," Lisi said. "A Birthday party for Hallowe'en."

"Frog Queen?"

"Alias Code Girl," Lisi said. "Alias Adrian."

"Adrian goes to another junior high."

"Yes she does," Lisi said. "But we're still friends."

"Got plans," Daddy said. "For the party?"

"Oh yes, do we ever," Lisi said slyly. She put her finger on a Collette moment on her page.

"Any you can share?"

"Well we wrote this song." Lisi said. "The words would give you a Hallowe'en hint."

"Okay..."

Daddy set his phone down on the table, listening.

She set her bookmark, and resolutely closing her book, twisted her lips to the side. This might be a fun way to answer an adult question. But she didn't feel like sing-songing around the breakfast cereal. "Like, I can't sing it alone," Lisi said. Scrunching her brain, she recalled the song's first words she sang with her friends together in the back seat. "But I can start off story telling the words."

"Okay," Daddy said. "You guys composed together?"

She switched to hush talk, swaying slightly to set the tone, and the mood.

"Yes," Lisi said, taking a breath. "Kay, here goes."

Daddy folded his hands at the table center, totally focused.

"Watching TV, eating candy," Lisi intoned. "Getting popcorn, out and handy."

"Pop, p-pop-corn."

"Popcorn's not really candy," she explained. "But it's just like candy."

Daddy nodded, smiling.

"Scary theme... on the screen," she sang, taking on a spooky voice. "Watching horrors, on Hallowe'en."

"Oh no," Daddy said, his eyes wide, and his smile fading.

Squinting both eyes, she dropped her tone totally deep and raised up her sharp-clawed fingers.

"Cats and wizards... ghosts and ghouls, "Lisi voiced. "A big fat monster, who only drools."

"Gross," Daddy said, putting on a disgusted face. "Not drool!"

"Scary theme... heard a scream," she went on. "Now my eyes are off the screen."

Lisi stretched her eyes wide, and lunged in with a growly snarl at her father. He jumped back, hands up, and she squinted.

"Through the window... by the door... ghosts and witches wanting more."

"Enough, enough," Daddy said, fingers over his face. "I can't take it."

"Okay, I'll stop," Lisi said. She flipped her book open, back to the story of Collette's twin.

"Maybe I can hear the rest," Daddy said, reaching for his phone, but not picking it up. "Does the story song have a happy ending?"

"I can't tell you," Lisi sing-songed. "You have to be brave."

"One more verse," Daddy said, looking sideways. "Just one more."

Lisi stuck her finger on a paragraph to hold her place on the page. She looked up, sighing.

"Go over to the door... open it wide... they all peer in to see, who's inside."

"Who are they?" Daddy said. "Tell me."

"One more verse... that's what you said," Lisi stated, shaking her head. "When you're brave, you can hear the last one."

"Ahh, man," Daddy said. "Fair enough, I'll work on my inner courage."

"Let me know," Lisi said. She shifted totally back to the search for Collette's twin, spooning in that don't-break-the-rules breakfast cereal absentmindedly.

##

With the door chiming, the Entrance-Cam screen popped up in the corner of their Wall. Lisi waved, excited—Charlize in a totally orange gown and Nia in bright yellow hair stood looking up, just as, surprise, Adrian dashed up the walk to join. Awesome, everyone but Winter, who did take her time. And the twins.

She remoted the Wall to let them all through.

"Hi guys," Lisi said, scooting to the door. "C'mon in."

"Hi Lisi in blue."

"Hi, hi."

Shuffling into Lisi's house, they pulled off jackets and kicked boots off on the mat. Winking at Adrian, Lisi was sure the girl had her phone pad hidden deep in her green frog costume. She said she needed more hours of the girls' voices, to round out composing their ANG personality. Lisi made her promise they'd tell everyone later, but, Adrian said, it had to be natural. So not yet. Keeping a secret, just for a bit, was kinda okay.

They gathered around each other in the front hallway, like the girls always did at school, and Lisi led them all in.

"Mummy wrapping game," Lisi said. "Or swamp water drinks first?"

"What did your mom say?" Charlize said. "We won't make like a dead body mess, will we?'

"She went out," Lisi said. "Just us girls."

"Oh, hello there," Nia said, bursting out in loud song around the hallway corner. "Dead body, where are you?"

"Not sokay, you're busy singing," Lisi said. "And killing me."

"Oh," Nia said. "You do not like my songs?"

"Oh death, sorrow and pain," Lisi said, strumming her cowboy guitar. "Ridin' my saddle again."

Lisi guided them into the front room, where three of them found a spot on the sofa, except for Adrian who took the big chair.

"Horses love us," Nia said. "And I love horses."

"Sure, kay, death—that be real?" Adrian said. "Like, I don't think so."

"Do we live on forever?" Charlize said.

"No, not our bodies," Lisi said. "We get D E D dead one day."

"You guys hear any database humor?" Adrian said. "Code jokes?"

"Our digital girl," Charlize said. "Okay, such as?"

"'Kay, so you're watching this video clip, and this bot's talking to you," Adrian said. "And the bot asks you..."

"Tell us, tell us," Lisi said, winking at Adrian. "Oh Frog Queen."

"So the bot asks you... are you alive?" Adrian said. "Or, are you only my human engagement tool?"

"Oh, your royal Froggy Majesty," Charlize said, hand to heart. "What do you wish us to be?"

"No, no... listen, you trick your mind, and the bot," Adrian said. "You say: Both." On the last word she shifted to a deep Hallowe'en voice.

"That's not exactly funny," Charlize said. "Your Majesty."

"Well kinda is," Lisi said. "If you think about it."

"I hate grapes," Adrian said. "I love tomatoes."

"That was so random," Lisi said. "Like, what tomatoes?"

"How long has it been since you last touched a tomato?" Nia said. "Your majesty?"

"Cheers to my ladies," Charlize said, dramatizing a distraction cue. "And my lords."

"Tomato sandwiches," Adrian said, punching her fist on high.

"You can be weird," Lisi said. "Or, you can be a weirdo."

Amid all the silliness, the door chimed again, and Lisi voiced the Wall to answer. Winter in purple, mauve she would say, looked like she caught a ride with the twins, both in their blackbird outfits. The twins were two years younger, but their moms were good friends. Lisi showed them the way in to join the crowd.

"Hi guys."

"Hi Avery, hi Ashley, hi."

The twins found spots on the carpet, sitting cross-legged, like they usually did. Winter seated herself sedately on the arm of the couch, crossing her legs to play her role of that day.

"I'm literally spending all my time just learning to sing," Nia said. "To the dead."

"To act, as one is," Winter said, dramatically. "Is to be as one should be."

"To be or not to be," Charlize said. "Are you taking music, or drama?

"In drama I have five lines to memorize," Winter said. "I aspire to the stage."

"Then I shall write your screenplay," Charlize said. "And you shall achieve your worldly aspirations."

"Can you do costume design?" Winter said. "And stage props?"

"Oh yes, and I can write song lyrics," Charlize said. "But you need someone else to put them to a beat."

"You wanna be dead, dead, dead," Nia sang, swaying to her song. "But not in your head, head, head."

"That's got beat," Avery said, to her cross-legged twin.

"And rhythm," Ashley said, shaking her hand in the air.

"Do you eat sandwiches with a fork?" Nia said. "Do you have forks at your house?"

"Sandwiches covered in whipped cream," Adrian said. "And then topped with berries."

Talk of tomatoes and sandwiches meant her guests were hungry, and Lisi needed to play a good host. To allow all the silliness, and yet keep organized. Gathering up her party friends she shifted them over to the table, inviting them to what Mom had set out before she left. More food was in the fridge, and drinks too. Lisi had to take care of clean up after, she'd been told.

"We bring on a theme of Royal Darkness if you noticed," Lisi said, waving at the queen's eyeballs and princess toe sausages. "You want swamp water or blood?"

"What do you recommend?" Nia said.

"Swamp water this year," Lisi said. "With frogs' egg floaties, and the toad farts, you'll love it."

"Oh yeah," Adrian said in her deep voice. "Pleazzz."

"Nia, you sit down," Lisi said. "And we'll give you a cupcake too."

At the table, they politely passed around the plates of Hallowe'en delicacies. Finding a fork for Nia and her sandwich, and whipped cream for the Frog Queen, Lisi fell into a chat with Charlize.

"Did you invite Angelique?" Charlize asked.

"Yes, my dear," Lisi said. "Of course."

"How's the girl doing?"

"Ohh, she praises any effort standing up to any crime against humanity," Lisi said. "She speaks of the carbon ticket."

"What's a carbon ticket?"

"That Hummer guy got one," Lisi said. "My mom said plastered all over his truck windshield. He was like, so angry. A monster truck, my dad said."

"My dad got a parking ticket," Charlize said. "But, like, Angelique's coming?"

"She's already here," Lisi said. "With Charlie, somewhere."

"Charlie's that boy," Charlize said. "The one who died in grade two."

"Yes... she likes Charlie," Lisi said. "And Ollie, in skills class."

"Oh yes, well, I like her," Charlize said. "And I did see her in that snowstorm."

"We know she's around, Charlize," Lisi said, shrugging. "Remember at the school, like, watch for her."

"Oh I will," Charlize said. "I will."

"Me too," Lisi said, smiling at her friend.

With all the girls gathered at the table, Lisi sensed their together energy. A moment to guide the chit chat in a special way; their deepest fears for the Frog Queen. She looked around at each and every one; she'd engage her party guest crowd in a Hallowe'en challenge.

"Kay guys, what's the scariest," Lisi said, speaking loud. "Like, anything you know ever?"

They went silent, last of all Winter.

"I got a really scary frog story," Charlize said. "But I'm not gonna tell that one."

"Unless I'm gonna have a nightmare," Avery said. "People stalking me behind my bed."

"Oh Avery... I'm scared of Adrian," Nia said. "I mean look at her."

"But why?" Lisi said. "I mean, really."

"Because she's bigger than me," Nia said, jumping to her feet. She scooted over to the taller girl, who rose from her chair.

"What do you want?" Adrian said, looking down.

"She was shorter than me last year," Nia said. "Now look."

"You must hear me," Adrian said in her deepest voice. "Listen to your mom, and eat."

"I don't like cupcakes," Nia said. "But I'd do anything for a jellybean."

"Ahh, ahh, can't hear you," Adrian intoned, looking into Nia's face below. "You're sooo far away down there."

"I think you guys need some medical attention," Lisi said. "Seriously."

The girls all broke into laughter, and Lisi joined in. Friends together were so much fun, and no fear existed that you couldn't flip into a joke. Or face head on, and make it feel not so real. Girls' fearlessness would be part of Angie. Glancing to the Frog Queen, and her wink, Lisi thought, hey, what about girls and adult fears.

"Kay guys," Lisi asked. "Now what are adults scared of?"

"Having fun," Adrian piped in. "It's too embarrassing for them."

"One time we were playing hide and seek," Winter said. "With this little boy."

"Were you scared of him?" Lisi said. "Are adults scared of him?"

"No," Winter said. "Of course not."

Listen Frog Queen, Lisi messaged. Listen to us... we chatter about everything, like A.D.D. kids.

"Adults are afraid to be like children," Lisi said, looking at Adrian. "And children are not afraid of children."

"We the children," Adrian said. "We, have conquered all fear."

"So true-true," Lisi said. "Adults fear us."

Children; good to know for ANG. Daddy talked of all those old men making fun of Greta gangs, and the first Greta, when she told the climate truth. Way back when. She totally scared them, just by talking the truth, and totally ignoring their bullying.

"So, people, and especially adults, are most scared of..." Lisi said. "Da da-da da... other people."

"Especially bigger ones," Nia said, looking at Adrian. "With deep voices."

"That sounds so..." Winter said. "Instinctive."

"Yeah, stinktive," Ashley said. "We fear the stink."

"Not when we played soccer," Nia said. "We scoot around the tall ones then."

"Yeah," Ashley said. "And the stinky ones."

"Hey Lisi," Avery piped in. "We play grounders at the playground."

"We weren't in the same grade as you guys," Charlize said. "The kindergarteners always came through the playground door."

"With all grades," Ashley said. "Can we play now?"

Adrian messaged Lisi. We capture the everyday energy for our ANG build. All totally part of her, even when we bounce off topic.

"Strategic dodge, or dislike," Nia said, looking up at Adrian. "I hated you in grade one."

"Well yeah," Adrian said. "I have a better house."

Lisi clicked in, that was Dad talk. Grandpa's house, and their house... an old-days idea that better house meant bigger, a house that cost more. Cost the planet more, Dad would say.

"You still have a dog?" Lisi said, looking to Adrian.

"Yeah, he barks a lot."

"My mom's afraid of dogs," Lisi said. "How's Toopie, Nia?"

Nia's face fell, going totally sad for a bit, and she didn't say a word.

"I'm scared of bugs," Charlize said. "We found this dead centipede."

"And I was so scared," Winter said. "We wrapped it in a Kleenex and flushed it down the toilet."

"Omg," Charlize said. "I never sat on that toilet again."

"With scarier outfits," Winter said. "We scare the adults."

"We've got a dress up game coming," Lisi said. "Right Winter?"

"Oh we have," Winter said. "Your liege."

Which reminded Lisi to keep the party going, and keep everyone engaged, she needed to give them all a schedule. So they had some idea of what to expect. Organized, like adults.

"Kay girls," Lisi said. "After food, it's the dress up game, Mummies and Models."

"Okay."

"Oh."

"Then a break time," Lisi said. "We can chat again then."

"Alright," Charlize said. "Yes."

"And then," Lisi said. "We pick the scariest movie ever, to watch downstairs."

"We test our resolve," Charlize said. "We face our deepest fears."

"Not until I eat my dressing," Nia said. "I need to finish."

"Ooo gross," Adrian said, in her deep voice. "You will never grow big."

"There is something deeply wrong with both of you," Lisi said. "Like deeply."

"Never trust her with pepper or cream," Charlize said. "We had to hide all the cream at my place."

"My sister eats cream," Nia said. "With pepper."

"Black pepper?" Winter said. "Nia, don't eat that."

"Gross," Charlize sighed.

"She tried to karate chop a tomato," Adrian said. "That one time."

"Oh look, I got a ring pop," Avery said. "And look, free chips."

"Can I trade you for this?" Ashley asked. "Just to make it fair?"

We kids talk all over the map, Lisi messaged. Adults call that free thinking, Adrian texted back.

"See, I told you," Charlize said. "Give Nia a bowl of mixed anything, topped with peanuts."

"Squirrel food," Avery said, extending her hand to her sister. "Here little squirrel."

Silly fun, and talk of fearlessness. Everyday energy; what Adrian wanted. Lisi would just let it all flow.

"Hey look, I got edible tattoos," Nia said. "My sister would not eat these."

"It says do not eat," Lisi said. "Read!"

"My sister can't read yet," Nia said. "She ate off the floor at the Med Clinic, and they had a tube in her mouth."

"Yeah, I remember hearing that," Charlize said. "She ate a floor kebob."

Watching for too much of a mess, Lisi joined in her friends' fun around the food. People got so engaged around food, talking, and playing. Don't play with your food, that's what moms said, like, however adults learned their table etiquette.

##

Lisi got the girls to alternate number off, and they gathered in their Mummy teams. The Mummy Ones took over the couch and the Mummy Twos circled around the coffee table. Each team got an activity space, and their Mummy box. Girls working together on teams, Adrian had said, could compete with adults out in the world.

"Kay guys," Lisi said. "Games time ... the Mummies into Models game first."

Pulling out boxes of toilet paper rolls and makeup, Lisi prepped up the Mummy game. She'd watched vids on with Mom before, and caught the gist of it. She'd added on the transition into a Model idea, keeping Winter and Charlize in mind.

"So divided into Mummy teams," Lisi said. "Each team has two tasks. First task—make your girl into a mummy."

"Then we make her face up," Winter said. "Into a model."

"Yes, that's task two. But first, like one girl gets mummified," she said. "And the rest of the team mummies her."

"So I said One," Avery said.

"And I said Two," her twin sister said.

"Kay, me Nia and Avery," Lisi said. "We do Mummy One, you guys do Mummy Two."

"What about me?" Winter said.

"Kay, you take my place on the Mummy One team," Lisi said. She'd be the organizer. "Models right after mummies, Winter."

"So who gets mummified?" Winter said. "Modelling the dead."

"How about you twins," Lisi said. "Avery and Ashley, okay?"

"Technically that makes it fair," Adrian said. "Science often compares twins."

The twins looked across couch and coffee table at each other, shrugging.

"Okay, three minutes," Lisi said. "Kay, wait, kay, ready."

"I'm a dead mummy," Ashley said. "Like in a tomb."

"You are D.E.D. dead," Adrian said.

"Mark set," Lisi said. "Ready, three, two, one go!"

"Okay, stand still Ashley," Charlize said. "It doesn't hurt to put toilet paper on."

"They tickle you though," Ashley said. "I hate that."

"Don't wreck my hair," Avery said.

Each with a toilet paper roll, the girls raced to create a ready to bury girl. An Egyptian princess, who met her tragic end, and would now move on to her entombed residence in a pyramid.

"Keep going, keep going," Lisi said. "You only have thirty seconds."

They passed the rolls around, hand to hand, each team rushing to wrap their twin.

"Okay, stop," Lisi said. "Kay, everyone, hands off, like whoa."

"How do we know who wins?

"Photo Judge," Adrian said. "A Hallowe'en app."

"Yes, that's fair," Lisi said. "Let's see what the code judge says."

Pointing her phone cam, Adrian got a Photo Judge decision. So close for both, like eight point four to eight point six. The Model game came next, and they lifted their twin mummies to sit in make-up chairs.

Winter and Charlize took on lead roles on each team as lead facial designers, and Lisi kept out of the way on this one. Letting the girls self-organize around each twin, the game flowed on.

"Do we have any real make-up?" Charlize said. "Trust me, I'm a great make-up artist."

"Let's use the long flow wig," Winter said. "Grab that eye liner."

"Vampire casj," Charlize said. "We need casual blood, and teeth."

"The rouge, the rouge, grab the rouge."

"Are you not using this?"

"Where's the mascara brush?"

"Can I use that when you're done?"

Cooperation set in, and Lisi caught Adrian's eye for a second.

Adrian's Judge gave a higher score to Winter's design on Avery, and she raised her arms in a cheer. Lisi clapped her hands, knowing Winter's desires to have been appeased.

##

Keeping the party momentum on the up'n'up, and the house not too messy, Lisi invited everyone to gather up all mummy and model materials into boxes. All while Winter supervised the twin models' moment-after; make-up removal from the famous-for-a-moment. Calm time now, and Daddy always said you found out a lot about character by the way people played a game. Girls' voices in the who-done-it game of Clue would be oh-so-telltaling for Adrian, and their ANG app.

"Kay girls, think now, who's the killer," Lisi said, setting the tone. "Dr. Orchid or Miss Scarlett."

Leading the girls into a circle around the games table, and sorting into chairs and teams, Lisi opened up the game box. Shuffling up the cards, she dropped the dice into their rolling cup and the girls got Dr. Orchid and the other suspects all lined up. All girls had eyes on the throat slicing dagger, the pow pow gun and whatever you do with a monkey wrench. And then, with who goes first determined, the game began.

"Oh, hey," Nia said. "We have seven cards."

"And, we have five," Winter said. "Okay, give one to us."

"But then we know," Nia said. "Like, what it is."

"That's okay," Winter said, "It'll be our little secret."

Quite a happy engaging start, when a murderer lurked about.

"Actually," Nia said, sliding one card over face down. "You won't have any disadvantage."

"And you have a slight advantage," Charlize said. "Cause you know our card."

Some characters came out as cowboy card sharks, Daddy said, who kept clever track of every tiny detail. But you could never read those guys' faces. Some played totally competitive, usually but not always grown men, highly driven to win at any cost. Others hummed while they played, all at ease inside and out, playing only for the joy of mingling with others.

"Alright, are we ready?"

"Ready Freddie," Charlize said. "Like, let's go."

The first cards played out face up on the table, the dice rolled and they moved Orchid, Scarlett and the purple Plum piece room to room. And suspect murder weapons, Study to Sunroom to Ballroom. To win, your team kept a record of who did what, in which room, all on your team card. And each other team accusation gave your team a clue.

As the not guilty line up became known, and weapon and rooms remained empty boxes on the tick off lists, the game intensified, and they came to a decisive moment. A crime solver's speculation on the guilty party.

"Can we help them," Adrian said. "No, no we can't."

"Yes, can you help us?" Winter said. "Oh, pleazzz."

"Alright," Nia said. "We give each of you a jellybean hint."

"Thanks a lot," Avery said. "Thanks so much."

"Okay, think Professor Plum, or Miss Scarlett," Lisi said, winking. "You guys go."

The game records tabulated in Lisi's mind, but something else edged at her too, and helped her know. Deductive reasoning, maybe, but an inner voice snuck in with a nice warm fuzzy feel too.

"Has to be this," Winter said, looking to Charlize, who looked back. "So that's right."

"What should we do?"

"We need to discuss," Charlize said. "Anybody can help."

Charlize tapped at their record card, showing Ashley and Avery.

"The monkey wrench," Ashley said. "The Professor in the Study."

"Good try," Lisi said. "But, sorry."

"Arrgh," Avery said.

"Our turn guys," Adrian said. "We calculate our guess."

"I wanna cry," Winter said. "When I can't win at cards."

"We all should try," Nia said, bopping side to side. "To touch the sky."

"Sky," Ashley said. "Rhymes with cry."

"Scarlett, Billiards room," Adrian said. "Lead pipe."

"Wrong room," Winter said. "Wrong killer thing."

"Kay, guys, Miss Scarlett in the Sunroom," Charlize said, looking at her partners. "Should we try that?"

"It's a big choice," Winter said. "I'd take the Ballroom."

"Come on," Adrian said. "Like go!"

"Oh, but Adrian, we could be playing forever," Nia said, looking to her teammate. "Like being in heaven."

"Yeah we could be," Adrian said. "But we're not!"

"Miss Scarlett," Avery said. "The rope, and the Kitchen."

"Watch your team, Avery," Lisi said. "They like the rope, but are not happy with that killing place."

"We have to do team work," Charlize said, showing the twins the card again. "Read the other team signals, and, check our list."

All came together for Lisi, so she knew the murderer, the weapon and the room. Is that you Angelique, she thought, and then thought she heard the tiniest giggle. She could decide at times, if she wanted to win, or, better yet to help someone else win that time.

"Do you guys give up?" Lisi said. "We'll give you one chance now."

"We guess the candlestick," Charlize said. "Au français, le stick de candle."

"Ahh, the suspense," Lisi said. "Who can help who?"

"I'm gonna leave you," Winter said. "In your time of crisis."

"No, no Miss Scarlett," Lisi said. "In Winter's Ballroom."

"So who wins?"

"We win!!"

"You guys didn't help."

"Okay, you guys win."

They all laughed, and giggled amid the confusion, as if all of them were among the flowers in Nia's sing song.

"Play again," Charlize chanted. "Play again, play again."

"So, Nia, you probably want to sit on the floor for this," Lisi said. "Now, roll the dice."

"What are we doing?"

"Playing again."

"So we are," Lisi said. "Adrian, you roll the dice for us."

Adrian shook the cup, and flipped it over.

"Okay," Lisi said. "Now you roll until you get two of the same."

"Who's first?" Charlize said. "We are."

"Mrs. Peacock picks up the lead pipe," Winter said. "In a moment of rage, in the library."

Another game began, and the same two teams played off against each other, but with each other too. Character engagements with other characters. And again, so much came down to those final decisions, and mostly, like, who was wanting to help who.

"Unfortunately, we cannot help," Lisi said. "What did we do last time?"

"Can you help?" Nia said. "Can you help us guys?"

"We can't," Winter said. "Oh, maybe we can."

"I vote no, never, this is too much pressure," Adrian said. "Don't leave it up to me."

"Let's take a break then."

"If we stop forever," Charlize said. "They will never play."

"Ahhh, no, no, no," Adrian said. "You can't do that"

"Stop stopping, then," Lisi said. "Okay guys I think we have it."

"Plum, dagger in the Sunroom."

"Not."

"Anybody can help," Charlize said. "I think we should try."

"It's a big choice," Nia said. "Oh gosh darn it, jellybean attack."

"I vote no, this is too much pressure," Winter said. "Don't leave it up to me."

"We can do it," Winter said. "Kay, Orchid, dagger in the Sunroom."

"Okay guys I think you have it," Lisi said. "Nia, no more jellybeans."

"You guys win this time," Nia said. "Good job, guys."

A team didn't win, just 'cause they could, a team could help everyone win. Lisi knew that, of course, and, somehow she knew they all knew. The girls all sat back, leaving the cards, dice and game pieces sitting where they lay.

"And now, true break time guys," Lisi said. "Blood, or swamp water refills?"

"I want a cupcake," Nia said. "I want swamp water."

"Kay," Lisi said. "But no jellybeans."

"Why no boys?" Winter said. "At our party."

"Know any nice ones?" Charlize said.

"They've got this kill what's alive instinct." Lisi said. "They kill gophers for fun."

"What's a gopher?" Winter said.

"That's a rodent," Nia said. "And you, Lisi. Go 'fer the cupcakes and jellybeans."

Chat sessions started up, switching to old memories and girls catching up on the latest.

"I was losing all my teeth on this side," Charlize said. "How long did Shazi have braces?"

"She didn't have them all of grade five," Nia said. "So, after that."

"We were all in the same class in grade five," Charlize said, looking at the others. "That was fun."

But the girls got going silly head too, with Nia full of jellybean talk. The twins shuffled over into a cuddle at one end of the couch.

"My name is not lawnmower," Adrian said. "Do not call me lawnmower."

"You have a spider on your head.

"Oh look, a spider web thing."

Time to move the party attention to the Wall, to gather with popcorn on the couches and chairs around the screen. Lisi wished they were at grandpa's house, with his mini theater, but, this would work.

"Kay guys, after all our scary talk," Lisi said. "Now to watch The Village."

"Scary, right?" Charlize said.

"I dunno," Lisi said. "Some parts are so ridiculous, you wanna laugh."

"I shall not laugh," Adrian said in her deeply intoned voice. "Fight the laughter."

"Ridicule all," Charlize said. "And your fears will dissipate."

"Don't worry if Adrian goes savage," Lisi said. "She's got emergency peanut butter."

"Babies are made out of peanut head," Adrian said. "Babies don't have heads."

"That makes absolutely no sense," Charlize said. "Are you two talking some secret code?"

Lisi looked at Adrian, and Adrian looked back, both shrugging.

"How do you know if you're scared?"

"I can feel my heart pound," Winter said. "Like literally."

"Along the Nile," Nia said. "Egyptians found fears in... the crocodile."

"Rhymes," Ashley said. "Nile and dial."

"Fear of large water lizards makes sense," Adrian said. "Science explains our fears through knowledge."

"Nia, you can sit in the chair," Lisi said. "If you get scared we turn on the massager to relax you."

"Oh, nice," Nia said. "A cushy arm chair."

"Okay, watch the movie," Charlize said.

"I want a cupcake," Nia said.

Lisi sighed, bringing out the last of the cupcakes for her friends, and a tiny cup of jellybeans for Nia. The girl needed to be rationed. The Wall took them off into storyland, another time and place, where they would face their fears, and together find their strengths.

##

With Charlize last to leave, Lisi had a chance to tell her the secrets of what she and Adrian had done. They had a reason, like to build ANG, which stood for All Natural Girl. The Angie girl, all because they knew Angelique, and, they would all be part of her. They needed whole bunches of recorded girl voice; like the voices of everyday moments in girls' lives. Like how they talk and what they say, and any special moments. Adrian would totally disguise each voice, and merge all their voices into one, so nobody could ever tell. They would, together, become the voice of Angie.

"So you guys were spying on us."

"I know, I know, I'm so secret sorry Charlize," Lisi said. "Just that we needed like natural girl voices. And we share all, and delete all records, I promise."

Lisi gave her best friend a hug, and looked into her eyes.

"You know, Angelique was around," Lisi said. "Like, someone told me who done it in the game."

"Your math mind, Lisi, you figured that out."

"Maybe, maybe not, Charlize."

"We all have intuition," Charlize said. "Especially girls."

"Angelique's our intuition," Lisi said. "And she'll be in our Angie voice."

"Like being famous," Charlize said, laughing. "Winter will go for that."

"And once we all together become Angie," Lisi said. "We, combined into a package of love, will become fearless."

"People see doctors, and take medicine," Charlize said. "They're afraid of being sick, and death."

"But you know what scares adults the most?" Lisi said. "And maybe it shouldn't."

"Getting eaten. Bears!" Charlize said. "Wolves. Sea snakes!"

"Each other," Lisi said. "Like other adults."

"Maybe we should be," Charlize said. "Us girls, and nasty old men."

"No, no, no," Lisi said. "Not anymore."

Charlize's ride showed up, and Lisi have her friend one last hug goodbye. They would get ANG speaking into the ears of those nasty old men, before they turned out nasty, and before they turned from boys into men. And in the nighttime dreams of all the ones already nasty. That would make for a more lovey dovey world.

##

Lisi scooched down the stairs, a book clutched as usual. A non-fiction, this one, highly appropriate for a school day, and to get into Daddy's mind. She'd heard the adults talking like he was on his way to Glasgow... across the ocean in Scotland.

"Bonjour mon fille," Daddy said. "What chu' reading today?"

"Artificial Intelligence 101," Lisi said. "In French."

"Cool," Daddy said. "Can I hear that last verse?"

She grabbed her cereal bowl, cluing in right away.

"Are you brave enough Daddy?"

"I want to be."

"Happy hint on how it ends," Lisi said. "A total twist, your fears back to the everyday."

"Okay, whew, thanks." Daddy smiled, listening. "Hit me."

Lisi filled her bowl, and bringing breakfast over to the table, sat next to her Dad. Composing face, and voice, she put all the scary she had into that final Hallowe'en verse.

"Do they want my brain?" Lisi said, snarling. "Do they want my meat?"

With teeth gnashing, Lisi scrunched up her nose into a snarl, growling as deep as she could. Then, quick as a wink, she recomposed into a nice girl at the table.

"But all they say is... TRICK or TREAT."

Like, life came out so scary for adults—but really, they make it scary themselves. Through flittering eyes, she watched her father's acknowledging inward look. At least some adults got it, kinda; like once in a while. Adults needed help with so much, and she intuitively knew Angie would be their helper. Gobbling up her breakfast, she grabbed her book off the table and scrambled off to school.
Chapter 25

Virtual Flight

In his father's entertainment theater, Vince took a real-world seat as if on a transatlantic flight. Having chosen virtual attendance for the Scottish conference, yet accustomed enough to real world air travel, he leaned back to scan through device messages and scheduling. Keep the experience familiar, he'd been advised, and adapt. The near-his-age Scottish Prime Minister had pushed through her legislated restrictions on international flights, based on travel purpose, and carbon targets. And the One Planet conference had been quite willing enough to accommodate. Near all Glasgow flights purposed for meeting face to face, even academically, had been restricted. Absolutely no private jets allowed in and out, not even the royals. Tamanna would be the only real-world participant, catching the mag train up from London. The rest of the team would join in via Arctic Refreeze Hangout. After a simulated landing in Glasgow, Vince would click in, and still have Doug the bot's popcorn delivery available.

So far, Vince had signed up for a geoengineering methods debate. Evidence based opinions on self-restriction to natural chemistry—the known sulphur aerosols effect, or opening up to the range of theoretical manufactured nanoparticles. Vince would pay specific attention to the nanoparticles under discussion by his team; the discs. Space mirrors, manufactured by default, would be one option bouncing around. Space program associated, maybe, but so cost prohibitive. At this One Planet debate, geoengineering proponents would weigh in under two themes: controlling the planet, or working with the planet. With experts on the stage, one side would argue for learning Gaia talk, while the other sided with engineering the hell out of it all. Caution advised better to research discs, and other nanoparticles, as a backup plan. Controlled field tests on any discs without a known removal method. Any removal process developed needed to be on par with nature's timing of sulphur aerosols, those coming back out of the atmosphere after a major volcanic eruption.

The cool thing about virtual flights was knowing you could deboard at any time. Just rise from your seat, and head off to a no-lineup household coffee machine. With a string of overseas travels in his past, and on his conscience, Vince had decided to take the full virtual package. Jet lag pro bono, but he might just skip that pharma induced replication. You did lose, or gain, full option points in favor of virtual preferences.

As he stood, the beepers triggered his unbuckled timer.

Upstairs, Vince found Tasha sitting at the front table.

"Hey honey," Vince said.

"You won't believe this," Tasha said. "So stupid."

"What's up," Vince asked.

"Some street gang plastered a ticket all over a car in a parking lot," Tasha said. "They covered the whole windshield."

"What kind of ticket?"

"Your climate stuff," Tasha said. "Like first a carbon tax, and now a carbon ticket."

"Really?" Vince said. "Where was the ticket?"

"Not far from us," Tasha said. "What if they go after houses, like our house?"

"Not sure Tasha," Vince said. Or his father's house would be much more of a target. "One of those non-violent Rebellion groups maybe? Not gangs I'm sure Tash."

"I'm going shopping."

"Okay honey," Vince said. "Bye."

Back in his theater seat, Vince set his cup in the holder, and let Doug bring on the popped corn. He'd lost status points, with time unbuckled, but still gained other virtual travel points. Turning back to his device, he settled into flight mode, to absorb more.

Those entomology students, the ANTZ crowd from Olympic Plaza, had been messaging. Especially Jerome, their fuzzy-haired engagement guy. All the punctuation expressed high excitement over preliminary findings. Their PHD research indicated super colony ants may have lost a theorized marker gene. An aggressive gene, still prominent in once ant-society males, did not genetically pass to the queen's female offspring. And as the queen laid all the eggs, neither to any of her female workers, soldiers or importantly princess ants. The bonus being, Jerome explained, that in a super colony you had many queens, previously princesses. So theory held that at a certain evolutionary point the females of an entire royal family risked foregoing war-like maleness. At some historical crowning ceremony, neighboring sister queens had formed the first super colony.

Communicating into Vince's engineering mind, Jerome tracked and forwarded ant census data in spreadsheets, where population counts confirmed their research propositions. Super colonies fared better than independent warring ant mounds, based on mound to mound distance analyses. Assuming standardized resource availability, regional geography, and the latitudinal climate zone of the species. Energy lost to war in terms of foregone work time, and fatalities, offset an ant hill's otherwise gains in health and wellbeing. Ant hill health in a harvest season, with and without war, could be tabulated against spring survival. Wellbeing; the society of warring hills juxtaposed beside social being societies sharing resources with sister queens and their broods.

And, more for Vince's economic mind. Jerome and crew had modelled out each human country's economies as if an ant colony. Biomimicry existed in many forms in the natural world, tried and true models of success. Ants were eusocial, and humans were eusocial. In the Cube ANTZ Hangout, Jerome spoke to what ants did when they exceeded their boundaries. In African Acacia trees, when branches grew to touch one another, ants of one tree would expend thousands of fallen soldiers warring with the neighboring tree. Until some signal had them stop. But not all ant species acted in that manner—the Argentine farmer ants signed metaphorical peace treaties; humans had choices on models to mimic. All while that female-based societal option stuck out like a friendly wave.

Besides Scotland, other human countries had a female, or the more feminine, acting as leaders. An index of feminine leaning countries versus military budget and social programs would reveal a lot on the human species.

Before Jerome got into his exoplanets spiel, he brought up human social science. That science research demonstrated cooperation to be more effective in evolutionary terms than competition—the Kinship Selection theory having been replace by Multi-level Group Selection—the Virtue Theory. A bonus for social species. In the broader picture of course, as short-term victor's gains could be had on the war field. Short term being the key, in an ongoing game of rolling the evolutionary dice.

Jerome's fuzzy-headed icon told more, and Vince absorbed what he said. Male winged ants in the super colonies showed a reduced level of that aggressive gene, but not a total absence. The genetic key came with the crowning process, when the princess became queen, eclipsing that male drive for war. Now with humans, historical data revealed among war adverse royal families, kingdoms saw more springs. Life was also more peaceful internal to empires, once wars of conquest, or that other negotiations option, were over. At a microbial level, evidence supported first cells having formed in a symbiotic process. One cell entered another, to become the first protected nucleus. A stretch, maybe, but original cell based life had been the long distant ancestor of all peoples. Symbiosis being the key here, cooperation perhaps ingrained at a cellular level.

And then, Jerome got right into the support that gave for astrobiology. That the yet to be encountered non-warring species would have an evolutionary advantage for extraterrestrial intelligence out among those exo-planets. The universe would be a love-filled space place, a friendly check out the party zone. Warring species making it into space just did not survive. Too bad, so sad. The whole Star Wars series was delusional, total crap for all those bozo brains.

Vince smiled at the young fellow's communication dynamics. He clearly fit as the ANTZ spokes guy. Checking flight time to Heathrow, Vince went on to Michael's messages.

During all the talking on that hike up Lady MacDonald, the older fellow never got to the class structure topic. But now on the ANTZ contact list, he pointed out humans being organized so similar to the workers, soldiers and the royalty of ants. Just that the recent billionaire syndrome deviated from the traditional royal model, where a wealthy politico class had taken control of workers with the soldiers. Turning ant against ant, metaphorically. And now, with planetary survival on the block, billionaires built survival fortresses and ocean islands with private jet landings. And they bought plan B backup properties on isolated islands like New Zealand, Iceland and Hawaii. They'd never survive alone as a class, without their worker base, but their human instincts kicked in with survival first. The human species as a whole, adapting, or adapting to self-destruction.

How had Nazis survived after WWII, Michael posed; many by simply adapting to the new reality, and fitting in wherever they were. Burn the uniform, dump any weapons and switch to another European language. Or relocate to South America, for those with connections and resources. Today's billionaire mentality thought helicopter pads, and the tech necessary to support fortress security, design escape routes and plan survival tactics. In post WWII, few like Israel's Mossad spent time tracking down war criminals. Human society mostly picked up the pieces, rebuilt, and adapted, found common interest in trade and commerce, and found the odd fall guy.

Gliding gently down through that magic air, Vince had talked voice to Brad. That eco-village valley, as a strategic option, would be playing out in competition with the superrich mind set. The beauty of the place spoke volumes, and good to hear from ANTZ that cooperating villagers' survival chances could be better than the competing capitalists. The regen valley had international geography, like Europe, like One Planet.

Now, having been there, Vince had the valley data ingrained into his head. Plenty of food grew on the river flats, and the security advantages spoke volumes in that isolated valley. Mountain ranges surrounding, high passes, and the rugged terrain guarded the place naturally. Like Switzerland, in WWII. The greatest security threat flew through the air, while the superrich strategies contracted this challenge out to military consultants. Developing technology, Michael said.

##

With the virtual airliner circling in to simulate a Heathrow landing, Vince felt his father's action seat simulating turbulence, and then touchdown. The next hour would replicate his travel to Glasgow on a high-speed train ride. The coolest of the virtual experience was he could fast forward skip the hassle of time in airport lineups, and any shuttle transfer to the train station. He could get into this planet-respecting remote attendance.

Feeling the seat settle in on train travel mode, he turned back to glancing over the conference agenda.

A measuring tool in one session, the Planetary Footprint, split the human boot on the biosphere into components. Accounting for more than only the planetary biosphere required to absorb carbon emissions. Back in Canada, the national carbon footprint came into the country to country top ten, yet carbon was only sixty percent of the total planetary footprint. Then you took that Canadian Footprint, divided by the Canadian population, and you got the per capita footprint. The life support system consumed by each citizen. A discussion could be taken up over children versus adult consumption, or whether mature adults equal the youth. Any city beside another city, imagine ant hill queen versus worker, smoothed out those discrepancies.

You can't manage what you don't measure was the Footprint motto, bouncing around the event hangout.

Best to show a suite of measures, to any planetary manager, and trick any politician into speaking out that truth. The historical footprint told the cost story of any country's progress with the first nations to industrialize emitting extra carbon in any time total. Clicking to sign up, Vince wondered if there wasn't a historical measure for each person. Like, your lifetime. Like, Vince's father's footprint would be larger than Vince's, and his would be larger than his daughter's. All depended on years of your life totaled up; your lifetime as planetary inhabitant. All else being equal, your age told the story of your lifetime Footprint.

Checking out more, Vince investigated that non-carbon forty percent. After carbon emissions, the total biosphere, ahh, like deforestation, and fishing out the oceans. Footprint holo promos emphasized the critical, revealing to human managers the planet was more than atmosphere. Climate remained Vince's gig for now, but what if their geoengineering project fell apart for some reason? A political shift, or a natural planetary voice, speaking straight from Mother Earth. What would he focus on next?

With an agenda selected for the day, Vince left off picking what else he would attend over the conference days in Glasgow.

Feeling the virtual bullet train slowing for Glasgow station, Vince took in the arrival with a signal for Doug's latest snack option. Finger food bag in hand, he climbed the stairs to the kitchen for a coffee refill. Picking up on Glasgow at the front room table on Holocube, looked over meeting connections via Cube space. Tamanna would be there in real world, and they needed a room merge arrangement.

A fact floated around the conference hangouts. Like other factoids, a clock ticking. This one counted off the pieces of the Amazon rainforest the size of a football pitch lost every 30 seconds. A further shot at feeding think life support system into the human psyche.

Personal identity, now that session could be informing. He'd had his lucky dollars in a bank account since working part time as a kid. That would be his challenge; thought experiment he no longer had that security stash. He'd named that cash his safety freedom net, what had early on allowed him to walk away from any part time job. To find another, if and when he chose. What most people must have, some version of personal values. Identity and security; what came together during childhood. A core belief that later made sense in all life's decisions.

As Glasgow events coagulated in the Holocube, Vince took on a practice in self-discipline. In the regular chatter zone, the Scottish way came through; think pitch in place of field. Placing himself among everyday chit chats, he evaluated each thought crossing his mind in response. Given the will, he could let each pass, and, having patience, allow the people thoughts to breeze past. As his developing core conflicted at times with the human transition in progress, he needed to keep a sanity strategy going forward.

Daily conversations tripped over the past, again and again, in that pattern he could so detect. Like tribal talk around fires, keeping stories of survival alive—all in community interests of the time. Critical point: of that time. What they knew, was that what had worked before would work again. But who leads, when what worked before, works no more? When the same question, and those standardized, memorized, culturally supported responses came at increasing cost. Then, challenge all into thinking transition; disciplined patience would help with that.

In this type mode, it took almost two trains of thought; to hear the human voice-babble wind, and keep his own values stable, and unaffected. On the path to a brave new world, what will come out of this? And after this? Almost like listening to a dead conversation, ghosts in the grave, or watching a movie from days of old. How far back? He must let the Scottish, the Canadian, the human babbles breeze by, yet sink future values solid into his own depths. Leave the daily talk cast on a stage, or as the reflection in a pane of glass, Vince felt... hungry.

With no way he could think to participate in a virtual meal, he sought out a real-world meal from the fridge upstairs. And sitting at his father's dining room table, he accepted he needed a real-world plate before him. As he ate before the upstairs Wall, his front room virtual merged with a conference room in Glasgow.
Chapter 26

Glasgow Conference

The old crew from Africa gathered in a virtual room, and Vince remote introduced them all to Benj and Michael in Calgary. With Jake connecting in from London, the other Brit Tamanna was the only one actually in Scotland, and the only to have a Scottish morning meal before her. The gig was a bring-your-own-breakfast affair for all others.

Digital food icons only, Brad lamented, and, no wing nor paragliding time in the Scottish Highlands. Scotland, the first country to declare a climate emergency back in the day, Vince said. When politically glued more firmly to the UK, Tamanna reminded. Nodding, Brad asked Tamanna if she flew, and Vince tuned in to their interaction. An invitation to take on flying the Scottish skies, from Brad, meant all was forgiven for African times. With HICCC intensions classified back then, and secrets being kept, trust had waned in that land of deadly flying missiles.

Chatter turned to the Chukchi standoff.

"The navy christened the carrier Freeze Zone," Brad said. "First in our Arctic Fleet."

"He's talking American navy, like everyone should know," Vince said. "Still sparring it out in the old cold war ring with arch enemy Russia."

"Neither gives a toss on our one planet," Tamanna said. "A rat's ass, in your harsh North American terms."

"Neither leads the world in cooperation," Michael said. "Both keep fighting to win, and to dominate."

"American still part of NATO?" Benj said.

"Not so much," Brad said. "The president's having discussions."

"Discussions with European women," Tamanna said. "Coalition leaders, who decided by consensus."

"Hey Brad," Vince said, smiling. "You guys ever elect a coalition?"

"Never," Brad said. "You, in Canada?"

"Nope," Vince said. "Not yet."

"You girls rock," Brad said, digging in with his fork. "Fly those new skies."

"Our skies," Tamanna said. "Our atmosphere."

What purpose was there in paying attention to the past, the long-held outlook that war and conquest were the only way. To remember why never again perhaps. Time had come to turn to the negotiating tables, where decisions on survival depended on agreements, where the feminine excelled.

With morning meals finished up, and coffees on the go, the Hangout crowd turned back to events as the conference began. As they click buttoned off, their specific invitations whisked each off to participate in break-outs and presentations. With a conference theme on squeezing in on their one planet, focus was specific to OECD countries. A solution concept, clear on paper, but evidently not so simple to implement.

##

In a full session, Vince took in the Planetary Footprint. The flexible tool allowed measurement outputs in multiple forms, for storytelling and number crunching. Overshoot day communicated with the public, and that same message could be converted to storytelling planets, or global hectares or carbon tons for analyses. Three planets out of Canada's five quantified Canadian carbon emissions. Quick mind math told anyone if you kept all his nation's carbon in the ground, responsibly cleaning up what Canadians dumped in the atmosphere each year, well, that still left you with a two planet lifestyle. A story begging to be told anywhere in the streets. And, that a global overconsumption clearly measured in above and beyond the climate crisis alone. Over fertilized soils, deforestation, biodiversity loss—all demanded a human lifestyle adjustment.

Another fun fact revealed.

The key point came quick to Vince, doing the so simple math. With people in charge, and with other life forms keeping the human habitat in balance, people should want one healthy planet. Health, like the doctor talks. And if you measured in planets, rational decision making dictated planning around that fact, and that measure. Humans had to find planetary intelligence, and quick to stay healthy. Scrambling to refreeze arctic sea ice, when they knew it had been melting out for decades, was not so clever. And, without hesitation, people needed to figure out their best interests lay in living a one planet lifestyle.

Calculating solutions, thinking factually and intelligence were not the problem, Vince reminded himself. Beliefs blocked attitudes of planetary care. Unless the human species was maladaptive on reaching that planetary need, and not one to survive out in Jerome's speculated universe.

The Footprint measured in planetary ecosystems. There were shallow oceans, grasslands and forests that fit into bio productive land covers although agricultural land created by humans played a huge role too. Tiny, but one land cover class was the urbanized, or cities. Places where people paved over the earth along roadways between houses, work buildings, and shopping malls—allowing just the right trees, shrubs and flowers to please local urbanites. And the big ecosystem, the oceans', earth's geology and atmosphere's natural capacity to absorb carbon dioxide, and keep the earth system in balance. A balance now hidden in the past tense; flirting about in the preindustrial mists of time.

Valid points of knowledge emerged. Most shallow seas lay next to continents, which made sense, yet ninety percent of ocean life inhabited those shallow seas—who would have guessed? Deep oceans inhabited by whales and deep-sea squid, matched closer to deserts and polar ice caps. With little food to eat, life could only be had by the ingenious, and the highly adaptive. Desert lizards hunted after scarce insects, penguins migrated to and from the ice zones, and whales quit eating for months, crossing oceans from calving waters to eating waters. Sand, ice and deep waters, huge in expanse, but small in biomass.

Then, taking in the life support from these biospheric land covers, five people needs took place in easily understandable terms. You modelled all consumption at each and any household, where you had your home as housing, and your car and any air travel, so transportation, and what you ate, so food, and all the rest bundled into goods and services. Only a couple exceptions to the overall measure showed as human activity. Nuclear power came in as quasi-ambiguous, with no carbon emissions, but that nasty nuclear waste. Water didn't fit either, but an independent water footprint existed. So what you ate, your protein source most critical, and how energy efficient your house, and modes of travel, were critical. Answering a set of basic questions, that everyone knew because it was about their household and their life, told you your personal Footprint. A scaled-up version totaled and compared each and every country. For any country, national economic databases answered those same questions as that personal calculator.

Taking in a short video, Vince watched an illustration form of the hectare count, shallow seas, grasslands and forests, colored on a global map. That explained a global hectare—basically, a hectare of bio productive land. A hectare of forest absorbed a hectare's worth of atmospheric carbon, an easy to mention factoid in a story. Telling stories of global biosphere maintenance, or human consumption, you could talk of land, and point at a map. For those specializing in maps, like planners and foresters, you showed consumption as part of your geography. Forest that's become farmland, or city, or cancelled out by desert, or conversely, any desert revitalized into pasture, or grassland.

Then, one math factor converted global hectares into planets, based on the known number of bio productive hectares on the planet. One planet's worth of hectares, or one biosphere. Easily, this could be a high school math class. And then, other factors converted either hectares or planets into hard to visualize, but often talked about tons of carbon for climate change people.

He sighed, just as Brad popped in as a quick visit guest.

With a mindful of the basics, to point at and share, Vince took in a special session on what else the Planetary Footprint could tell. Brad knew this stuff for his valley project, so the guy would not be staying long.

A graph back tracking over time showed all countries together, as in a global measure, crossing over the one planet line in the year 1970. Glancing at Brad, Vince shook his head, giving a what were people thinking look. What were people thinking today, in the early 2030s, Brad shrugged. Same old, same old... people learned in emergencies and respond to chaotic events. Human nature, off the plains of Africa. Historical footprint data took you all the way back to 1961, when standard national economies began collecting the data. A United Nations initiative. Back when boomers found all to be well, and planetary consumption was safely below one. Countries, and their national economic growth models, in a delusional belief that the infinite would fit on one finite planet. Clearly, a mindset bringing on today's crisis.

Overshoot Day spoke to the masses, communicating the tool's output onto everyone's calendar. That critical date screamed of the moment when the one planet Earth mark had passed. On that day, in any select year, an entire biosphere, one whole planet had been munched down by hungry human lifestyles. In the mid-twenties, the world had finally peaked; a good sign on effort made, with global overshoot day measuring in mid-July. Not enough effort, clearly, as still that day came this year in September, when it so needed be well after Christmas. In this year, as people scrambled to refreeze arctic sea ice, and keep greening the Sahara, the behind schedule warning glared.

Writ large, playing with danger, late for school. Problem countries like Canada, and the US, had shifted overshoot from the mid-March to middle of April. Demerit points for those kids, Brad said, and faded away. Western Europe had shifted mid-May forward to July, and Japan shot over in July too now. Another graphic illustrated the footprint as a count of your country, where Japan needed six Japans worth of land for the Japanese lifestyle. Three sets of British Isles needed to be biosphere, somewhere, to support the lifestyle here.

A global health language almost, in and of itself.

Outside the OECD, some countries, entire nations in fact, did model living a one planet lifestyle. What a relief, except for, people and their beliefs. In what they had, and what they deserved. Noted one planet countries also kept up high or very high UN development indices. Meaning citizens over there went to school, becoming educated, lived long healthy lives, and lived a good standard of living. Like, had houses and food. The entire planet needed that—not hard to figure. How to make that happen—a challenging assignment for that high school class. That OECD, that global north, those wealthy consumer countries like Canada, and America and Japan. And in Canada, Vince, and his family, his parents, his lot—all needed to answer the questions and look in the mirror, and not the magic one. The next event called Vince's thrashing mind in, promising calm in a virtual experience of what could be.

##

The c'mon down Rabbit Hole challenged any willing participant, and Vince took it on. A virtual trip into the personal world of a one planet lifestyle. One could live just like a Jamaican, or a Cuban... or a slightly modified Costa Rican. That Central American country had been one of the original net zero countries, and held out the bonus of a happy cultural model. Or, in your personal world, you could make certain choices to resize your lifestyle—signing up for an attitude commitment on what to keep going, and of what you let go. Like when you pack to go somewhere, you don't take the kitchen sink. Unless you still lived in that worn out world of motor homes.

And, down that rabbit hole.

For housing, Vince had never thought of much but size—bigger being worst. But when he fed in his house answers, he was quite surprised to find maintenance energy to be the most critical. By far. Carbon emissions came from heating and powering your place, and, your energy sources, where a coal fired power grid was the worst. By far. Newer homes held in much more heat in cold weather, and cool air in hot weather, and, used much less electric power. A net zero house, with thick insulation and a solar roof set you free to be off grid. One house had all the roof space required, for enough solar panels to power that home. A south facing wall, with windows, and a south facing roof helped, but, were not essential. And, you home charged the batts in any owned EV, off those panels, never to pay at the pumps again. The fun fact flashed out that most travel was back and forth to work, yes, in those daily traffic jams. The opposite of how any auto ad pictured you wild and free on a mountain highway. You could keep your suburban location, teleworking, or as long as you travelled rightly light, keeping on public transit, and off old jet airliners.

Say you owned one of those darling old heritage homes. You gave your place an energy upgrade, offsetting your lack of insulation with extra solar panels. Or, you added in exterior insulation, a new look and feel to the home, while installing rooftop solar panels, replacing the gas furnace with a heat pump. And you celebrated all, with neighbors, the day you cut off your heating utility. Your house value rose immediately on the market, and you worked the cost savings of one less bill into your payout time calculations. This Rabbit Hole trip did fit with that conference motto reversed: you could manage what you did measure.

Then food, go figure, made for the easiest of burger bar choices. Yet everyday menu choices they were, traditional hamburgers or trendy no meat burgers, or some kinda mix. If you really needed to fly on some old tech jet airliner, and say travel to adventures overseas, you amazingly could offset your carbon emission with a calculated change in what you ate. Dropping industrial feed lot beef from any personal diet made for a huge impact—who would have guessed? Western ranched grasslands beef, like cattle roaming a silvopasture forest, actually gained you carbon credits. As long as you read the labels, silvopature was a carbon sink. He could eat fish or chicken or talk veggie burgers any day with Lisi. You had options, when you thought food quality, and planet health, when out shopping.

Other lifestyle questions asked Vince what shirts, socks and underwear he wore, and then about his household appliances, and gadgets like Holocubes and personal devices. Goods, and services. Living in Alberta, he was fun facted on how phasing coal burning electricity off the provincial power grid had dropped his personal footprint drastically. A government policy decision, more of which would help the personal you decisions.

Vince could, theoretically, squeeze his lifestyle in on one planet. But there remained the masses, the many others sharing his city. He thought of those days out in Brad's valley, there, where the squeezed in lifestyle might work more easily. The City had options, and a heavier impact to lighten, but with the climate clock ticking, and few physics fairies about, he needed to keep a vacate the city shift open.

Coming out of virtual, he felt overall refreshed. The choices had been simple enough—he could eat Alberta chicken, not beef, and impossible burgers with Lisi. He knew airliner travel tagged in critical for an overseas business traveler like him—annual hours in the air the Rabbit Hole asked. And, how could he ever convince Tasha, or, his parents, to give up on airliner travel vacations? Virtual travel had taken him to Glasgow, a step in the right direction. And they still needed converted business jets for sulphur dispersal flights.

Brad's valley had to be one place, to trial and error and get going this lifestyle. They could start with a footprint measure of the whole valley, those towns in Idaho and BC, and some census data on households. A target could be proposed, like one planet lifestyles, and spun as easy to understand, and in the interests of the valley people. Target and contain their community to a one planet lifestyle.

He popped in on Brad, who was on break it turned out.

"Dude," Brad said. "How's the Rabbits down the hole?"

"We've got food choices, us and the bears," Vince said. "Omnivores survive better."

"One Planet Valley," Brad said. "We've got a name."

"Not under one planet?" Vince said. "Leave room for the rabbits and bears."

"Yeah, true, fuzzy bears. Footprint's an awesome measuring stick," Brad said. "That's a start. Our new church."

"How about planetary intelligence?" Vince said. "The place of those with intelligence. A broader view."

"In the valley we develop a model," Brad said. "We survive, and thrive, with the bears, and rabbits; we show what's possible."

The whole world needed a one planet lifestyle; a no brainer. But so many people would resist, and that would keep on as a progress roadblock. Especially those living OECD lifestyles. Vince fell into absorbing what he could for the rest of the day, and evening came on soon. Around the virtual dinner table, discussion turned back to the European initiatives, and how those might lead the world into wiser action. In spite of that carrier fleet, and nuclear subs gathering up in the Chukchi Sea.
Chapter 27

Svalbard

Vince stared through the cold November fog of the north Atlantic. They would be approaching Svalbard... on this third day of a sea voyage from Tromsø. Though slower than the mag train from Amsterdam airport to the Norwegian north, sea transport had become the project choice. For the air freight option, old tech flight paperwork would have been horrendous. And low project emissions had been influential in the European Refreeze consortium choosing their proposal. Along with their African experience. Minimize jet fuel combustion wherever possible, like the policy for the Glasgow conference. Travelling with his freight, Vince had more personal time, and adventure bonus to boot. Most of the boat ride he'd spent breaks out on the deck, with waves and weather, and work time in the comms lounge in touch with their project and the world. Today, knowing they approached the mountainous main island from the south, he took frequent cold air moments looking to catch first sight of land.

With scheduling of an offload at the Longyearbyen harbor on the go, and arranging ground transport of project sulphur tanks to the Svalbard Airport, he'd been following the latest climate court cases in Brussels. The Holocube in the lounge gave you a front row seat in the international courtroom.

The court case drama had been unfolding before the eyes of others in Vince's sphere, with a Hangout chat space active. Social media popped Benj in and out of the court room audience, and Vince waved at Michael's live holo and Tamanna from time to time. The constitutional right to a Holocene climate, meaning a safe and healthy climate, had been challenged before in individual countries. But this was an international court of law.

In this case, the increasingly powerful World Youth had fossil fuel corporations in the docket. Direct confrontation of those causing, by those affected. The case considered historical responsibility, knowledge of biosphere damage, and took total restorative costs before international judges. Two of the big seven corporations headquartered in Europe were represented; enough to set an international precedent for the others. Recognition of international law was high, but not universal, among nations. The Chukchi boys still working out their positions. National precedents had been set in more than one nation state, with science based evidence requiring legislated climate recovery plans. With stiff penalties for missing any target. Not just fines, but in this case who would bear the costs of restoring arctic ice, would set precedent for restoring other planetary climate related damages. With World Youth at the helm, and the right to a stable climate and healthy atmosphere precedents nationally secured, this court decision would be internationally critical.

In the Hangout chat, Vince glanced over Michael's input. Any decision-making administrative staff like VECES could be on trial here. Many had contributed to climate inaction, and thus climate damage. That slow drawn out voice cast as 'leading a discussion' or 'brain-storming'—Michael vehemently argued those human behaviors had contributed to the global crises. The guy had no patience with chit chat, that didn't result in action. Automation, he'd argued for, a bot to replace the human discussion voice, and the ninety percent useless chatter. Oh, what we do. Oh, what we used to do. This item, that item. A gaggle of fucking people talking about nothing.

Michael watched this court case close, picturing coworkers in the docket.

From what Vince could pick out, the one City employee of reference, though university educated, would be the class moron. The stupid one, how contradictory, how oxymoronic.

When Vince asked Michael how you could put a civic bureaucrat on trial, he'd talk of higher levels of government. When that president-elect dropped the Paris agreement, and sold off the South American rain forest for hamburger production. The tropical forest smoke got noticed globally, and the Australian bushfires. Depended on which country, whether a president could appear in national court, and back then other countries started calling out for an international court case.

The lungs of the planet, so noticed when smoke filled the air, revealing the impacts of invisible greenhouse gases. People believed so much better what they saw.

Giving up on any land appearing through the fog, and catching a wet chill, Vince walked back inside to a happening voice chat.

"We need another plaintiff in this case," Benj was saying. "Russian, Denmark and even Canada claim Santa as a resident. That North Pole residence, contests he's lost his home."

"Our Blue Ocean Event," Brad said. "Contests for a degraded planet."

"These two resource corporations are international," Vince said. "And this is the UN international court, so yeah."

"We've got national precedents set," Brad said. "Netherlands first, and the Children's Trust case in the US—started in Oregon, but a national constitutional case."

"Canada's got cases," Vince said. "Led by kids."

"A long list in City of Calgary administration could be in the dock," Michael said. "So many adults—action they could have taken."

"Who would you start with?" Vince said. "At my home town city hall."

"City council approved a 2020 carbon target," Michael said. "With eight years to act, and updated measures at any time. They acted like a junior high school delinquent. They failed completely, and would have been kicked out of school."

"So they missed a target," Vince said, watching Michael's eyes narrow. "Badly missed a target, who gets the blame?"

"You needed legislated targets," Michael said, sighing. "Write them into law, with penalties. Like, kicked out of school. In the end, it's how much carbon ends up in our children's future."

"We're watching a legal challenge right now."

"Yeah, but after the emissions," Michael said. "Recall, the laws of physics don't negotiate."

"We damage our biosphere at our peril," Vince said, nodding. "What's our best strategy?"

"Do you blame the people in the past?" Michael said. "Or do you focus on a new outlook? Someone gets pinned up as the scapegoat, but how well does that define the new way? The new belief?"

"Take your VECES, Michael," Vince said. "Best strategy."

"I doubt one like VECES would even notice this process," Michael said. "He would be the type who waits for others to save the day."

"And never notice the day got saved."

"Yeah."

Nodding, Vince wandered out on deck again to catch glimpses of snow covered mountains looming ahead in the fog. Like a Viking explorer of old, catching the first sight of a northern land.

##

In the comms lounge again, all remained ice crystal white as Vince's Holocube map showed the freighter veering east up the Isfjorden. Three days on the heaving seas of the north Atlantic calmed in the fjord, and Vince caught the faintest whiff of human habitation. That slightest aroma of fossil fuels, soaked into an airport tarmac.

Vince and Brad had chatted with Tamanna on what it would take to refreeze the Arctic Ocean. A huge engineering project, much better never to have let it thaw. Tamanna said barking mad, like trying to freeze an ice cube tray in a jiggle machine. Not a simple reversal, with ocean waves and disrupted currents, and the polar vortex in an all distorted mess.

Wandering out on the deck, Vince checked the hold hatch one more time. When that hatch door opened, the boom on the harbour dock would lift his tanks out and off the transport boat. Onto a waiting truck, if all went to schedule.

He ducked back into the comms lounge, and his device.

Europe was, country by country, following Scotland, Iceland and Demark away from the military focus of NATO. Norway might be next, attending conferences organizing into the OATO, Oceans and Atmosphere Treaty Organization. France had decommissioned their last aircraft carrier, while Italy and Britain held on to one each. All of western Europe had publicly stated no arctic naval intensions. And a desire to somehow form an international agreement around arctic ice, like the world had for Antarctica.

A ban on tuna fishing out in the unregulated pirate seas, the deep oceans, symbolized action on the OATO agenda. Nonviolence made for nonmilitary, the Scottish Prime Minister stated, echoing the efforts of Extinction Rebellion. What had been proven effective via civil disobedience, she extended into the realm of international politics. After the post Brexit UK, and OATO formed, Scotland had been first to drop out of NATO.

Break some of those old rule beliefs, Scotland had completely demilitarized, not that Costa Rica hadn't decades before. But this was Europe, and she to showed what the small countries wanted. The globe needed open ocean regulation, and, atmospheric regulation. Military stand offs were passé, let the big countries join OATO when ready. Maybe when the big two had finished with their toy boat conflicts in the Chukchi.

Celebrity jet setters had taken sea planes up to the North Pole to pose for their photo op swim. Some travelled north first by eflights, but one British prince by traditional private jet. Science explained why, by then, their swim was not really cold—the latent heat effect. Once the ice was gone, dark water absorbed significant twenty-four-hour summer sun, and returned the heat. Not at all like a polar bear swim in a hole cut in ice, nor like a heated Hollywood pool either, but somewhere in between.

Climate science reality exposed, associated with recognized celebrities; some noticed.

You could pick your personal climate heroes, any of the Greta girl offshoots. The Children's Rebellion, Kid's First or the now prominent World Youth. Greta girls and each country's Greta gang stood witness in climate court trials. At the age of thirty, the Swedish girl's name still reverberated through youth climate action. Fridays, for their future. Jet set climate activists typically gained finger pointing at hypocrisy, in comparison to the first Greta's historic journey across the Atlantic in a sailboat.

The Greta gang girls caught Vince's attention, all children, who did not naturally act as the fucked-up mess of adults. What a contrast! While some kids learned to act stupid from adults around, picking up on existing older generation models, many did not. No longer could Vince doubt the potential, with his daughter and her friends as one working model. And global children biosphere action covered by the global media. What he noted through observation confirming that the children's way held the human answer.

But the how to model the children further as a solution, yeah, that remained to be determined. Especially back on the cowboy six-shooter western Canadian prairies. Yet as he watched girls, naturally engaged in each other, abandoned into friendships and absorbed with care, he knew beyond doubt their human model solution fit with one of his lifetime careers.

Tucking in under his sea jacket, Vince stepped out on the deck as the boat approached harbour docking. Girls and court room cases and certain people. One more thought process on girls, and he had to get back into this arctic action.

People needed a world, where, instead of mother's teaching their girls how to deal with the tough-out-there situations, rather a world where mothers listened to their girls telling them how to make things not-so-tough-out-there. Mothers could recall when they were girls, and what they had needed most to know from their mothers. Like, the world's feminine wisdom.

Stepping off at the wharf, Vince spotted an office to take his permits and transport files. He'd found English prolific across Europe, and expected a face to face with local harbor staff to go smooth. He would spend the night in a stable, non wave rocked bed in town, and supervise his tanks transport to the Svalbard airport the next day.
Chapter 28

Playdate

Vince walked in the front door, his whole being in dire need of another Saturday off. Sure they had talked of a weekend barbeque, and family time, he called out. "Where's the grill honey?" No answer from upstairs. He walked to the bottom of the staircase, and looking up, got the sure feeling not asking again was the way to go. That November snow blast had vanished in a subsequent late fall heat wave, washing the streets clean in a flush of run off. Now, arctic air again, and that put Tasha in one of her moods.

Vince was learning day by day, how to live the at home family life.

"Mama said it's in the basement," Lisi said, from her front room chair. "I told her no, it's under the sun room roof."

At twelve, she talked directly to her mother.

Wandering into the kitchen dining area, Vince met his daughter's straight on look. Her eyes were playful, yet her face profound. She sat at the table with her friend Kelli, and Kelli's little sister Cassi. Before them they had a board game on the go. The conversation sounded interesting, as Kelli waved a piece back and forth, staring at the board. Vince had played Blokus with Lisi a few times, until he could never beat her again.

"Ooo... oo... oo," Kelli said. "Where do I put you?"

"You are horrible," Cassi said. "Talking to pieces."

"I get rid of you," Kelli said. "My little precious."

"Kelli!" Cassi said, raising her tone. "Why are you talking to them?"

"I don't understand why you don't work," Kelli said. "You'll never be able to fit."

"She talks to her pieces," Lisi said, glancing at Vince. "Like they're alive or something."

"Got it," Kelli said. "Beautiful, but I won't tell you about that part."

As Kelli placed her piece, and Lisi began her turn, Vince slid in at the table, attentive. That a girl could find personality in a board game—truly a creative way to engage. The Blokus game was quite similar to the Chinese game of Go. So unlike putting a King into check, like the European game of Chess, the objective was to strategically gain territory. No king killing moment. Girls especially could engage kingdoms with no battle to the death plan.

"No, no, no," Lisi said. "Yeah, okay."

"I don't care," Kelli said. "What are they telling me?"

"I know, I know... where to go now."

Vince had watched Lisi at the children's playground all her life, and again recently back from Svalbard. One of her last returns to that type of play, now at age twelve. Approaching that leap, from the world of tweens to that of teens. He needed pay closer attention; absorbing how she and her friends decided which child best to have leading, and which children to select as their leaders' primary advisors. Research showed girls had the amazing ability to form coalitions, and make decisions by consensus.

"What did I just play?" Kelli said.

"Ask your pieces," Cassi said, taunting. "Kay, right there."

"I can't trust you."

"I pinky swear," Cassi said, pointing.

"I'll be watching you," Lisi sang.

As the game went on, Vince sank into a relaxed deep thought world. At the playgrounds, and school yards where children congregated, he'd been noticing how all kids acted, and even more, how they engaged with each other versus with adults. He shivered at the way many positive qualities of children were squashed out by adults. Adult traditions, their values and inherited beliefs they at times pounded into their children. Or infused into their offspring simply by living around them. Adults actively taught their children and in so doing destroyed their purity in many ways. Dysfunctional, psychology would say, cultural evolution for anthropologists. The children molded into images of their parents. Reverse that; one could in a thought experiment, and speculate a what-if scenario. What if adults selectively dropped their interference, and their influence, except that positive principles remained? A huge ask, of course, but then how might the children have grown up? A possibility, well, a thesis in any case.

"You just happened to look away," Kelli said. "That's not gonna work."

"If it's not correct you're cheating," Lisi said.

"She always cheats," Cassi said.

"You just stole my space." Lisi said. "It's technically your fault."

"How's that my fault?" Kelli said. "I was gonna put it here."

"I'm sorry," Lisi said. "It's your turn now."

No need for an imagined trial and error; real life evidence before his eyes availed Vince data on conflict becoming resolution. With kingdom princesses negotiating, girls could all survive in this game, and by extrapolation in the real world. With kingdoms of an adjusted size; the smaller the better. More real world feminine leaders translated into less global bullying.

"Actually, I can..." Kelli said. "Alright, so I'll put it here."

"Okay, sorry," Lisi said. "I'm being rude."

"I don't really care," Kelli said, sticking her tongue out playfully.

Lisi was growing up; she no longer needed to seek refuge from her mother's anger. Vince recalled how she used to wrap towels over her stick teepee fortress, a girl hidden away from world nastiness. At her own imaginary beach, or, in a hidden away cocoon. There she maintained a connection with the heartbeat of the universe, and there transformed into what she was destined to become. Now, she brought that heartbeat to the table.

"How's that my fault?"

"You can't play."

"No, it's 'cause that doesn't work," Kelli said.

"Nothing is gonna help you," Lisi said. "Put it there."

"Please stop figuring it out."

"Okay, okay!"

Conflict again; just a part of the social norm. Yet all the technical DNA code in any cocoon had informed the transformational process. A universal heart had guided that complicated transformation. Many real-world caterpillar legs transformed into six, and the purpose of browsing leaves changed to touching the breeze on butterfly wings. To risk launching into the wind, and grown, taking on the brief but critical moments that mattered.

"I changed my mind here."

"You tricked me though," Lisi said. "You can't put it there."

"Okay, I get the rules," Kelli said. "Now let's play."

"Well I figured," Lisi said. "That's very organized, Kelli."

"You can give me that, can't you?"

"Well I don't want to," Lisi said. "But I can."

"I'll be fast this time," Kelli said. "Look, see, game over."

They gathered up the pieces, all giggling.

"You wanna get out of here?" Vince said, looking at Lisi. "We give Mama a day on her own. Let's go downtown for lunch."

"Oh yes Daddy," Lisi said. "Can we go to the library?"

"Sure," Vince said. "That's downtown."

"And can Kelli and Cassi come along?"

"Of course," Vince said. "Actually, send their parents a text on that."

"They are here all day anyway," Lisi said. "My day playdate."

From that deeper mind zone Vince felt stimulated, driven he was sure by his inner sense of play. This would be a Saturday off. They would go on an adventure to the inner city, to the architectural wonder of the new library and then across town to the indoor fish pond at Devonian Gardens.

##

Hopping in the car, they headed down the Centre Street route. The new lots around the Library took private auto park, and had ChargeUp. From there they'd take the walking avenue to the Gardens. Lisi got a back-seat game going right away, guess the animal, and Vince held onto the wheel, for a fun drive. The girls strategically figured out which critters, laughing and giggling, and the trip went quick.

From the parking lot the girls bounced down the block after Vince, and they blended in with the mix of parents and children climbing the Library stairs. The top floor inside held the non-fiction, and Lisi scooped a couple books there. Kelli had her library card number memorized, and touched that in from her head at the checkout.

As they all crossed the street from the Library over to the City Hall, Cassi broke into song.

"The score was 4 to 7," she sang. "Mosquitoes were ahead."

The other two got right into it...

"The bed bug hit a home run," they sang. "And knocked me out of bed."

"Ee, me meemee, meeme my, me mo... Gonna catcha Tiger Tiger, Tiger by the toe."

They sang in unison, not perfectly, but close. And whenever you heard voices out of synch, Vince noticed these moments to be greeted with contagious giggles. Any word slip, far from being consigned as an adult would to the mistakes bin, was instead taken up as an invitation to reconnect. Intuitively, totally. That giggle filler among children, far from the mistake bin, showed huge advantages. Those giggles glued the girl gang together, when adults would be blasting at each other in debate, if not shouting matches. The word pop slipped out as poop, a group slip, catalyzing the girls giggle-fits into a bonus of intensity.

Following the elevated building connections on the Plus 15 route kept them inside and warm on their way to the Gardens. A few yellow jackets protested on the street below in front of City Hall. Not too many. The girls read the signs, perhaps wondering what they meant, or which ones to take to heart. Their choice, their future Vince thought. This mix of peoples, downtown, allowed a cultural smorgasbord of human options. But, in their world marching down the Plus 15 hallway, all became but a choice of color.

"We are purple," Lisi said. "The royal color."

"Don't touch the purple," Cassi said. "Go around."

"We are the school of purple," Lisi said. "Where everything is purple."

"Cassi's only first grade," Kelli said. "Ask her a question."

The walked passed the arts windows, distracted for a moment by indigenous displays. But dissuaded not, they kept their thoughts on track.

"Kay guys, the school of purple," Lisi said. "You are in, or you are out."

"What color's the sky?" Lisi said.

"Blue," Cassi said quickly.

"You'll never make it in," Kelli said.

The game of colors and belonging took them in a fun to follow game around corners, and down the Plus 15 hallways. The stopped, face to the glass and the traffic below where they crossed streets.

"Kay, kay," Cassi pleaded. "I'll always say the color is purple."

"Kay, sing, for practice," Lisi said. "Purple purple puurple."

"Purple fluffy unicorns," Nelli sang. "Dancing on rainbows."

"We'll give you another shot."

"T'stotally fair."

"Not it's not."

The game went on, the chatter subsiding, and escalating in intensity, and at one point Vince heard all three girls speak. What? What? What? Like a door chime, the voices rang in sequence.

"No, Cassi, you're not choosing," Kelli said. "You're being tested."

"Blahh."

"If you get seven out of ten questions," Lisi said. "Then you're in."

"Yes, kay, alright."

Clearly the older girls wanted the younger one to pass her purple school entrance exam. They were on her side, giving her all the help they could.

"Kay, if she gets the next one right, she's in."

"Kay, if you can get two more right."

Vince knew what he could help with, what he could tell them, but he knew he had to let them figure things out. Or, if he could, big if there for any adult, lead with a better model.

"Okay." All was resolved. "You're in."

They needed to scurry down a set of stairs where their elevated route had yet to be built, and rush down an outside block in the cold wind. Then in again to ascend an escalator.

At the food court, they found seats and selected items to eat. The staples, nothing too exotic. Mostly adults did that, seeking out thrills in foreign foods, and learning of few cultural nuances. So much room for cultural redesign, and learning more about other existing cultures than what they eat.

With the girls settled in, quietly munching, Vince thought of that time Lisi showed him how to travel one playground route. When she was small. The purple, the green, the beige plastic steps challenge with a set of Lisi defined rules. Like this, that had been a dilemma, a problem requiring thinking, a rule set being formed and enforced. A code on how to live. And he'd had such fun with it, learning, remembering, but also noticing Lisi, her focus and how she wanted to show him antics "Look Daddy," Lisi would say. "This is how you swing the monkey bars. Easy peezy." A child's drive to please, and show how, that could assist in a children-led plan.

At the far end of the third-floor Garden, the girls gravitated to the mini grand piano, each taking a turn at playing. They received a striking level of attention. People walking along zeroed in first on the sound of music, and as they approached, tuned completely in to any song the girls might be playing. Kelli got right into touching the keys, bobbing her head to the beat and tempo and gaining calls from tables far away for 'more, more'. Music drew people together, no question, and in this case highly catalyzed by girls.

##

Back at the car they loaded up for the trip home. Vince yawned, and picking autonomous Andy, leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. The girls in the back, maybe worn down a bit, slowed in their own way.

"My laugh is tired out," Cassi said. "My smile too."

"Wanna play Ghost Town?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"One two three," Lisi said in a dramatic introduction. "Ghost Town."

Silence fell over the space behind, leaving Vince wondering how this game went. He could hear the rattle of pencil cases and pencils—they must have paper too. Yes, the shuffle of booklets, and the distinct rasp of an eraser, and the shavings being brushed aside.

"You guys playing?" Vince said over this shoulder. "Ghost Town a game?

No answer. He opened one eye to glance in the rear-view mirror, and caught sight of Lisi giving him the silent thumbs up. Nodding, he smiled and let that eye close again.

Along the way Vince half drifted off to the sound of traffic humming by on either side. Reconnecting with his wife, well a little, he could kinda sense Annalise influencing his spouse. The impact of young girls, influencing their mothers growing up further, would have definite societal value. Maturity would come with more than just passing time. Lisi seemed almost to be softening, or deflecting, Tasha's bigger house dream; Vince had been a witness. The miracle of influence his daughter had on his wife, from time to time, could leapfrog Lisi's mother past her grandfather's lifestyle. At times, Tasha's talk and behavior even hinted at dropping the pursuit of that worn out dream, turned nightmare.

Too good to be true; there had to be a down side, of course. Do girls deceive each other? Their mothers might, well did, so they might learn to, playing at the playground he'd been striving to catch a moment. And he couldn't. Deception didn't seem inherent in children, girls especially, so likely a learned behavior. What benefit did deception hold in further human evolution, if trust was required across the us them divide?

Andy's voice announced their arrival, and Kelli and Cassi hopped out at their house. Vince sat up to wave at the parent opening the door, as Lisi said her goodbyes. He took on manual driver for the rest of the way home.

"Who's Angelique?"

"Oh, this girl," Lisi said. "We saw her around school."

"She same grade as you?"

"She's a flower, Daddy," Lisi said. "So, she talks Fibonacci."

"That's a language?" Vince said, attentive. "How's that go?"

"Spiral talk, like in flower," Lisi said. "She math sings her in a two three three and then on to three seven seven. Three three-in-a-row petals."

Vince scrambled to process, 233 and 377 were Fibonacci, and then he voice searched sunflower, sure those had the most petals. Eighty-nine was a Fibonacci, and sunflowers could have eighty-nine. Yet how many science studies on library shelves did you need to prove out what he had before him? The future girl wisdom coming out in his daughter voice. Correctly analyzed, girl data might help him understand any coming transformative influences. The universal heartbeat in a spreadsheet, all stored in universal flower formats, or maybe cocoon to butterfly format.

"Where does she find flowers?

"Not here Daddy," Lisi said. "Somewhere in the whorls of the golden mean."

He knew, he just knew, intuitively, no, he could hear-sense it in the girls' voices. He was not, could not be a part of it, not allowed, yet he could take it in, observe, and having absorbed, assist. Girl power over fossil fuels, that was enough for him to know, and in that he must trust. In what girls knew, not he.

Vince had to step back. He knew, somehow, that he was not to know what she could, and would know. He simply had to trust in his daughter's future. Her life might be an extension of his, yet, her life stretched into an unknowable future for him. A couple curves around that Fibonacci spiral.
Chapter 29

Debriefing

Wenzel cruised the slow traffic secondary highway alone, out on a scout-it-out night-ride. Detroit'd had his last bike ride; he made that totally plain, and, they had only one heated riding suit. Talking up next options, Wenzel engaged Control through his helmet devices, listening to Dee's carbon reduction statistics. The countryside around the sprawling city teemed with pump-jacks, and gas wells—the source of their fossil fuel charged world of chaos. Great in theory, Wenzel had agreed, but he'd been chattin' up real-world messaging. How do you tell people what they don't wanna hear? The supply side Detroit pointed out—you close each valve like Frank said. Wenzel's eyes roamed the consumer houses around; the demand side, he told Dee.

"So we cut all ties with Marv," Wenzel said.

"Yo, near all," Dee said. "Just you and me, like when we started."

"We never got seen in the alley," Wenzel said. "Marv keeps us camouflaged in the field."

"Yeah, from a pissed-up alley walker," Dee said. "In the night time."

"Two of them," Wenzel said. "Near the bikes another guy came out his back-alley gate. Pissed on the neighbor's flowers we think. Whatever he was doin'... he was pissed off maybe, but maybe not pissed. Marv got us by anyway."

"He's gnarly in the field," Dee said. "With you."

"He's a back-alley natural," Wenzel said.

"Marv's on our spin list," Dee said. "He'll find us if he wants in on any special op we propose."

"Nice," Wenzel said. "Let's design us an op."

"Keep talkin', keep lookin'," Dee said. "Any op gotta read low in Risk-Analyze."

That Hummer ticket launched high in the messaging sky, like totally on key. First reaction Vid went near viral—lotta local hits and global too. And if they had a campaign to go on, that was it. But Dee had them stop, and think; think gaming. Maybe too viral. Not being a true police force, gaming said better to back off Dee argued, and convinced Wenzel. Best to wait, and live to strike another day.

So now what—what next?

Their climate policing tactic played out, time to start a new game. If any game at all. Spotlight on that carbon ticket definitely hit the old folks media—the Hummer owner being nephew to a corporate oil executive. All good, good attention. But all bad, way too much attention. If they were gonna keep going, they had to lay low, real low, or, shift operations totally.

Last time going over the Hummer ticket details, Wenz told how they first dropped off bikes, as planned, and then looped around. They rode public bus back to a random start point, got past the guy in the alley, and plastered the ticket on the Hummer. Then, after setting up the cam, they strolled on to scoop their bikes, and rode off like any old day. School project research for a game they were designing, that would have been their story if challenged. Leaving nothing at the scene but a ticket, almost nothing, that f'in cam. Next day, and happy Dee told Wenz to ride back and get that cam. You never return to a scene, Dee had griped—they should have thought of that. Real world popo look for patterns.

"Did we think up any alternative?"

"Coulda mobilized a cam on RANK," Dee said. "Maybe—too late now."

For their first job, the nephew guy's first reaction Vid capture could not be repeated. And so, that Vid was priceless for now. Posted up for repeat by others, in another city maybe, but not by them, not in Calgary.

"Tickets do it dude, no question," Wenz said. "Pinned top'a our list, like totally."

"Do it too good," Dee said. "Like exposure overload."

"City Popo don't patrol outside the city," Wenzel said. "We ticket the countryside."

Wenzel could see Dee at Control, wherever the dude was—they kept Control GPS locator off, and Control mobile. Detroit was set on audio only; the guy did not want any live rider view. Wenz remote watched Detroit chomping on French fries, and slurping a cola. For Wenz, his helmet engagement demanded full multitasking attention, especially riding the road.

Checking for any traffic on the night time highway, Wenzel pulled off on a short gravel road, and up a ridge. Ice ripper times had grip enough that night. One of those pump jacks loomed ahead. A lease road this would be—that's what Marv's cousin called them. The oil well piping middle of the loop at the end had a painted metal fence around, and smelled totally rank.

Circling around back of the pump jack, Wenzel passed a whirring drive motor—Frank had pointed at screen shots and explained the thing. He totally gagged at the stench; this oilfield apparatus reeked like any asphalt paving job you rode through. Riding on 'til breeze blew the putrid off the other way he kicked out his side stand.

Glancing at the pump's endless unthinking repetition, he smiled at that old timer's story of black gold. So ancient, that idea. The youth of his day would be sniffing out the cleaner energy, like a true-to-the-future guerilla raider. At least this lease road ended at the top of a hill with a view. Leaning back in his bike seat, he switched his exterior helmet cam to full zoom, and night view, scanning the horizon around.

"Check out this looksee, Dee."

"You stationary?" Dee said. "Like, parked."

"Totally," Wenz said. "At a fossil well with a view."

Detroit accepted the voice click setting, and flicked view on.

"Sure, gnarly." Dee said. "Like, whatever."

"We talk through our list," Wenzel said. "Our pinned-up ideas."

"Yeah, you keep your view," Detroit said. "Ticket's top'a the list."

"What chance we keep a focus on the traditional?" Wenzel said. "Old folks media."

"Better for no personal imagery," Dee said, determined. "Nothing for face recognition to scan. Like, ever."

"Yeah, I hear you dude," Wenz said. Like Marv in the alley, who became the alley.

"Story text only," Dee said. "Cams always point away from us. Any of us. Like a gun, you keep the barrel always more than ninety degrees away."

"You ever gone hunting?"

"Dad promised," Dee said. "Never got past hunter training."

Wenzel listened close when Dee huffed up, stick with take no chances on ever being known. An excellent operational crosscheck—they made an awesome two-man team. With rotating field staff, they'd decided, but Wenzel was glad to hear they'd keep Marv on a contact list.

"Say we show up at the airport," Wenzel said, scanning the countryside to the horizon. Some of the mansions out here would be homes to those often-at-the-airport type people. "Say we party crash the shiny holiday crowd."

"Maybe... "Dee said. "Maybe not."

"International airport, like our city's got," Wenz said. "You with me Dee?"

"Sure, but..."

"Hold off Dee, like picture this... we the GenZ2 toss the language-they-get, like eggs, rotten eggs say," Wenz said, glassing rural estates. "We leave real world yolk stains drippin' down their shiny vacation clothes. Vid capture, post that on SnapVid."

"Dude," Dee said. "That's one oozy message."

"All over those fashion statements," Wenzel said. "Those pets with trimmed nails, and exotic hair styles."

"I gotta hug my skunk," Dee said. "Here Beava."

"Your skunk been overseas?"

"Hey, hey, skunks are omnivores," Dee said. "Beava's gone vegan."

"Like we humans," Wenzel said. "Drop your meat eating habits."

"Beano burger's better than Awesome burger," Dee said. "Beava eats Beano in a can, dude."

"Okay, Dee, say at the airport half that holiday crowd's luggage goes missing. News clip says police suspect baggage handlers, and the guy sittin' at the org screen."

"The stuff turns up again, yeah?" Dee said. "No thievin', dude."

"No thievin', course not. Next news story says the luggage turns up plastered over with messages," Wenzel said. "Not just cars and trucks—why not airport carbon tickets?"

"Yeah... that's rad," Detroit said. "But listen Wenz, airports run so tight security. They got cams stuck up in every corner."

"We send in a mobile cam," Wenzel said. "On a bot."

"Wenz, I admit the truth," Dee said. "Beava has been on one short flight. But RANK the bot's never been anywhere near an airport."

"Why not?"

"Airport security would ID any bot soon as it's over any airport grounds," Detroit said. "They triple confirm, soon as any bot code enters any airport terminal door."

"Tough gig?" Wenzel said.

"Oh yeah," Dee said. "Security way above our level."

"Parking lots around the airport?"

"Listen Wenz, I'm never gonna send RANK onto airport land," Dee said. "Any drone that flies gets ID coded at a micro level—like molecular read. No one knows how to remove those, and if you did, you'd be in court talking to the Airport Authorities."

"Safety, right?"

"Boomer and GenX safety," Dee said. "Yeah, piss all over our future safety. But, yo, keep them safe day to day."

"When baby boomers go," Wenzel said. "GenXers fill the slot."

Lights flickered along foggy field edges in their rural screen view, still the odd old farm house, but most massive homes for those urban commuters. Those rural mansions, like permanent parked monster trucks—success story people, local businesses in fossil fuel extraction. Those the pocket change cash to crowd in with privileged airport crowds.

"RANK flies our backyard fence with a pickup mic," Dee said. "The way neighbors talk sounds worse than any teacher at Montane High. All a hoax, that climate change talk."

"Can RANK spray Beava smell?" Wenzel said. "On those neighbors."

"I'd like to connect a spray bomb," Dee said. "Paint their shoes green. Too risky Wenz. Here's the thing: Rule one, we do not fly over private property of others. Rule two, we do not fly onto any airport property."

"Yeah, sure dude, look, tell me again," Wenz said, picking power zoom to scan across the countryside hills. "That Sticky Back tech, you said that's a basic glass process."

"Legal, cool, and common," Dee said. "For wilderness hipsters."

Wilderness Sticky Back applied on any vehicle window, adhering chemically onto a glass surface within minutes. Permanent, Dee had said. A feel-nice feel-good help the wilderness message. And traffic safety board approved, 'cause the images were highly reflective from the outside, but had to be highly translucent for the driver.

"A Green subliminal message," Wenzel said. "For those brains full of financial green thinking."

Footprint stickers placed center windshield, like their Hummer job ticket, made for a serious task to remove. A windshield Sticky Back ticket said you replace the glass, or, live with the everyday reality check. But, glass was glass, and Wenzel had once seen this Innovator who turned his home into a stained-glass sustainability church.

"Listen Dee, free of charge for one of these dream home mansions," Wenzel said. "A stained-glass Sticky Back design; that we install. For free. You get at church, and we get a mansion message board."

As Dee checked tapped his way through a series of RANK cams, the bot patrolling the house in search of Beava, Wenzel let the new idea bounce around Dee's mind.

"What else we got pinned up?"

"That pump jack you're beside," Dee said. He flick-tapped Wenzel's bike cam image. "What Marv's cousin told us."

With the pump jack banging in a clatter-trap way right there, Wenzel could pick out those valves Frank had tapped at, and told about from screen images. He could picture what to do. So... they blow the drain on this well, and some foreman calls out a service rig. Frank said open the valve up again, and the field workers wouldn't even know why the drain blew. Might have pressured up downhole.

"Like how Dee?"

"Like, we shift into other org mode. We pick a time one random night, and more than one pump jack gizmo. Like we get together three, four, or even say seven of your bike riding guys," Detroit said. "And we send'em out, each up a lease road, each guy closes one of those valves. Coordinated."

"Would that make the old folks news?" Wenzel said. Like who would give a rat's ass? "Picture the old fashion headline, like, what? Front page news, like, Seven Oil Wells Blow Drains."

Wenzel had checked out a newsfeed from like a decade back, back facts, or archives in old time lingo. Known activists, they were called that back then, activists, so hard to believe. Like they're the ones wanna live, what's activist about that? These guys would walk into coffee shops at gas stations, and plaster little #EXXONKNEW stickers on the glass. How many saw that? Like nearly no one—they needed a serious independent second event. Those first Extinction Rebellion events, the Brits anyway... they spray painted oil company buildings in London back then, and they got noticed.

But Wenz and Dee were in the here and now, in the year 2033. Awesome Hummer job, but too risky to repeat now. They totally needed something totally else.

"No?" Dee said. "Keeps fossil fuel in the ground."

"Many faces make for high recognition risk, no?" Wenzel said, playing into Dee's cautious hand. "And besides, like totally boring, like no pizazz, dude."

"Highway jobs got pizazz." Dee said, picking up on it. "We get that multi-bike org goin', get those same bikes out on the highway. We track down old monster motorhomes, pre-GenX Boomers out on their well-deserved vacation tours. And we upspray plaster'em out on the road, like Marv was sayin'."

"Newsworthy maybe," Wenzel said, zeroing in on one gated estate complex. "Some serious monsters parked around these countryside mansions."

"Seriously dude," Dee said. "You pic-click me some vehicle plates out there in mansion land. Registration data."

"And we know the mansion address," Wenzel said. "Houses, Dee, houses have a lotta glass."

"Kay, yeah, maybe."

"Okay, so say we find these planet trashers out on the highway," Wenz said, in a low voice. "And we paint ball plaster them on the fly."

"We get a database goin' anyway, for our field crews," Dee said. "Remember our rules: never show a face. What about houses?"

"Houses can become churches," Wenzel said. "Or billboards."

"We narrow down, Wenzel," Dee said. "We pick a tighter list."

"Hummers, highways and houses," Wenzel said. "How about that?"

"You pick first targets," Detroit said, going along. "Long as we keep all ops secure."

"We need a metaphorical billboard," Wenzel said. His voice shifted to executive decision maker. "We need a new church... windows glass stained with the word."

In that gated community he'd been glassing, Wenzel had been eying two or three oversized rural abodes worth a closer look.

##

Riding the roads closer to that mansion cluster, Wenzel braked down at an approach not at all a lease road. Marked not by a house number on a street, but by the entrance arch below a Kodiak Estates sign. The black steel gate was there, but opened, and thinking but for a second, he made an executive decision to take on a cruise through risk.

As he rode in, checking out the territory, he voice-commanded his helmet cam settings to adjust to exterior search. Then cruising the executive streets real slow, he assisted the cams to zoom in on any license plate visible as he passed each home. Any vehicle parked outside would be image captured, and associated with the residence.

"Pickin' up what you requested boss," Wenzel said.

"Oh yeah," Dee said. "Streamin' that into our database box."

"These high flyin' mansions gotta be the sexiest of all targets, Dee," Wenzel said. "And they do look just like churches, some of 'em."

"My parents like the city livin'," Dee said. "But they might know folks out there."

"Family churches of a sort," Wenzel said. "They mistakenly worship at the altar of the almighty dollar."

"Double checkin' Sticky Back," Dee said. "Picture windows can be transformed; a new church, sure. A new belief, to gather around for family, friends and neighbors."

"This one Dee, picture this baby transformed," Wenzel said, slowing right down. One of the one's he'd spotted from the lease road. His helmet cam zoomed in on a Mercedes SLR Roadster parked in the driveway. A custom plate—not a number—but the word GEOCHEM spelled out. Shadowed over by a stone house, dwarfing Dee's urban place down to hut size.

"Let's find out who's place that is."

"Awesome," Dees aid. "Name rings a bell. Africa?"

"What?"

"Parents," Dee said. "International contracts."

Wenzel cruised the rest of Wolverine Drive, and into and around one last loop. These mansions deep in the estate backed onto an emptiness, and he could pick out a bush line in the distance. These were not everyday go-to-work in a Hummer, and then go-to-the-bar on a Saturday people. Not at all. These were flaunt-your-lifestyle and when-will-we-get-a-private-jet type people. Forget the airport—this home and car show would do just fine for a next op.

"Remember Frank talking Arctic races on Hover bikes," Wenzel said. "We ride over the back farmer fields on a Hover out here."

Tech of the day knowhow completed their team strategy of hit and hide. And gaming flashed into Wenzel's mind: Weave together your world with care... back door gets you out...

"Hover bike keeps you undetected," Dee said. "Right?"

"Softwalkers worked in the alleys," Wenzel said. "But here we need Hovers; we need speed to cover distance, we need hover to maneuver off road, and we need that total silence setup."

"No tracks, right?"

"Minimal ground disturbance, Dee, so in through the late night across the fields," Wenzel said. "Back door gets you out o' there."

"Yeah," Detroit said, slipping his thumb across his screen. "Hmm, GeoChem, that's a business name. So... one John Patel comes up as co-property owner, him and his wife. PatternResolve says highly likely that vehicle belongs to that home, so, not a visitor."

"A worn-out temple, museum beliefs needing an upgrade," Wenzel said, looking at Dee. "Add John's Wolverine Drive place of worship goes top of our list."

"Gnarly dude."

Maybe not right away, and maybe not even for a while. But the church image of a changed mind religion, like a new belief, wired solid into a churn spot in Wenzel's brain. Churches, and cathedrals, over the centuries had their stained glass. Building a belief into the human mind over time. Planetary blue would make for a religious message; the primary color of a stained-glass ticket. New hymns to sing, eventually, but first the Logos. The word reminder of sins against the biosphere, and then a new set of stone tablets.

Scattered snow pellets began banging off his helmet, as Wenzel rode out under the Kodiak arch. He pulled out north, and tore off towards the main highway back to the city.

Kay, stone tablets was going too far, but at least the church of a how dare you, like those Greta girls would say. A church needing a strong belief, preached to the people on how to keep his generation's future alive.
Chapter 30

Naval Standoff

Past events pushed for Vince's attention again; any clue that might assist the girl power story now. That stored for-reference file of three ago, over the mid-Atlantic; when Vince had touched the HoloCube to connect Niamey and London. Before Hangout days back then. Those two other faces formed in the Cube, joining him across the virtual meet-up table for Chirpfeed transmission.

"What's our status please?" Tamanna asked. She'd needed a military technical update for the High Climate Impact Minister.

"Our American carrier's three hundred miles past Cape Verde, coming south," Brad said. "The Chinese carrier passed fifty miles from Saint Helena territorial waters."

"About ten hours ago, Tamanna," Vince said. "The Asian Alliance fleet with that Chinese carrier are bearing north, towards Ascension Island."

"They're both close?"

"Within fighter jet launch range," Brad said. "In less than two hours."

As Tamanna filed her ministerial report, and Brad rose to shift pins on the Niamey paper map, Vince went over one last time his take on what best to say.

Asia showed an ever-growing interest in a Green Sahara, then and now, with ongoing Chinese land speculation deals going down on the sand dunes around Agadez. The Chinese may have subsidized biochar for agriculture, to look good in the public eye, but a bigger monsoon in the background would boost biochar soil creation. The Chinese kept a close eye on enhanced food production in a place like the sulphur-cooled Sahara. Asians planned to emigrate to the newly greened Sahara, to set up shop, while political negotiators signed long term trade deals on a huge future food export market.

Tamanna returned her attention to the Cube.

"We need to incentivize the Chinese," Vince said, casually. "To call back their carrier."

"Brilliant. The Chinese monsoon off the South China Sea has decreased rice rains due to carbon-warming," Tamanna said. "A load of tosh for them; incentivized to seek out other lands for growing rice."

"That's about food," Vince said. "We've got the militaries involved."

"Food's one item people bicker over," Tamanna said. "With their armies."

"America standing with NATO allies is not a question," Brad said. That had been truer back then.

"American and NATO may condemn the High Impact Countries' incursion into atmospheric space with sulphur emissions," the British scientist had said. "But HIC rightfully holds them responsible for historic dumping of carbon emissions into the same airspace."

"So that's our situation." Vince spoke to Cube, listening. "We speak to that, Brad."

"Right. Let's finalize the points you guys are gonna make," Brad said. "Our broadcast has to send a strong statement, to the carriers, and to the people of the world."

"We build story around your science, Tamanna," Vince said. "We bring in the Dabous Giraffes, for sure."

"The Vostok ice core?" Tamanna asked.

"No," Brad said. "Science overload there."

The naturally caused historical Green Sahara, Tamanna had explained, also known as the Neolithic Subpluvial, had actually been caused by a variation in the planet's tilt and the effect that had on African monsoons. But that story was a hard sell, kinda like analyzing annual ice deposition in that Vostok core.

"I apologize for my own country," Vince said. "Canada's inaction for so long."

"Can we voice national regret?" Brad said. "Or any personal heart throb?"

They'd looked at each other for a moment.

"The High Impact Countries' case for extra climate cooling." Tamanna said. "Knowing they can extra cool the planet."

"Below pre-industrial—that's real. If we need to." Vince said. "Military pays attention to any threat."

"No climate transition goes smooth," Tamanna said, reminding them of one climate history factoid revealed in the Vostok core. "The Sahara grew larger during the Younger Drydas, when climate shifted to colder globally."

"If colder made for bigger desert then, why not now?" Vince said, challenging. "Our message has to be clear."

"That historical event was naturally incurred in association with the global climate of an Ice Age ending," Tamanna said. "Our efforts will be human planned, and regionally we know we will reduce the desert."

"Yes," Vince said. "We weave the tilted earth axis in with the Dabous Giraffes. We storytell the science. Remember, talk parasol along with aerosol, and atmosphere or upper air to help with stratosphere."

"You tell story," Tamanna said. "I'll cover science."

When they'd told the six Sahel presidents how to best spend the Asian billions, Tamanna told how they'd the option to increase balloon releases of sulphur dioxide over the continental stratosphere. But, she made it scientifically clear, the benefits of a mid-Atlantic release to be grand, and, worth a certain risk. Recreating the Green Sahara based on the Nigerien balloon release carried more political hype than science, and the best the Nigerien president could fancy had been more rain. No more than real-time decades ago. When Vince came in storytelling the Green Sahara's history, the presidents perked up. That once upon a time could be brought back with cool breezes full of refreshing Sahel rains, and the giraffe mystique of the millennial African past. All in a flash of awe, yet tagged in with the real-world task of a mid-Atlantic high altitude direct release from a jet. The presidents connected to both their African heritage, and their own ministry jets.

Vince had eyed the others as he counted down from ten, and touched Chirpfeed.

"Hello. My name is Vince Patel and I'm a chemical engineer." He opened his arms towards the other two as if a practiced screen host. Keeping face focused on HoloCube, he projected the feeling of a panel of experts to be introduced.

"With us today we have Dr. Tamanna Meacham, a scientist and paleoclimatologist, and Brad Moore, an aeronautical engineer. We speak to you today from an unarmed jet now leaving the west coast of Africa. And we will, in a short time, arrive at an important place just below the equator in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean."

"For those following COP 33," Tamanna said. "You've likely been privy to the African balloon initiative carried out in the national airspace of Niger, and other Sahel countries."

Vince brushed a globe into their Hover Space, running a finger across the Sahara, and then the Sahel just below.

"Now that balloon release holds a climate cooling substance," Vince said. "A sun shade, one that mirrors back a little of the extra sunshine. To cool us off a bit."

"A sulphur dioxide aerosol can cool our planet," Brad said. Vince winced, shaking his head. They had not wanted to talk entire planet back then. "Or, a part of the planet, like North Africa." Brad recovered.

"We send tiny little parasols up into the high air," Vince said. "And those little guys cool off the Sahara Desert. Like a backyard umbrella on a hot summer day."

Picking up on the parasols that rhymed with aerosols, Vince shifted the tone to talk as if telling story to a child. Not so long ago ... but well before the Europeans came, the people of Dabous, where the Sahara Desert now flows ... he searched for a grackle grass rhythm, well, those people had carved giraffes into stone. Pure solid stone ... and stone lasts forever or long enough for us to see those boy girl pictures. Beautiful giraffes, one male and one female, he let that image sink in, pointing to that spot on the edge of the Sahara. Now, the Dabous Giraffes told us of a time when the Sahara had been oh-so green, green enough for the giraffes and lions and zebras we all know. And, giraffes eat tree leaves, so back then the falling rains helped even trees to grow. Back then, science tells us now, a wobble in our Earth's tilt pointed our little planet a tiny bit more towards the sun. And, that extra sunshine then warmed up the Sahara even more.

"No way we can tilt our planet." Brad said, coming in on cue. "We just aren't big and strong enough."

"Absolutely not," Vince said, confirming. "But, we've got another plan."

"Still, c'mon." Brad said. "You said that tilt made the Sahara warmer. We want cooler."

"Science tells us ..." Vince looked to Tamanna.

"Bizarre, truly, but amazingly, extra heat reduces the desert," Tamanna said, in her British scientist voice. "Our climate does not always work as we might think. What happens in this case is, extra desert heat rises up, drawing air in off the ocean. That's called the monsoon effect. For the Sahara, more heat boosts the West African monsoon, drawing in more humid air off the Atlantic. And all that humid ocean air dumps plenty of extra rain."

"Awesome," Vince said. "And..."

"And rain cools off the lands," Tamanna said. "Even more so once vegetation begins to grow, like grasslands, and forests."

"Or jungles," Brad said.

"Yes."

"Just like one huge vacuum," Vince said. "The hot air rising over the desert sucks rain clouds right in, and that's what gives us a Green Sahara. So those Dabous giraffe people, once upon a time, found heaps of happiness in all that green desert. And today, we want a better ever-after for us, with our tiny aerosol parasols."

"Science tells us, that, to boost the West African monsoon," Tamanna said, picking up from Vince. "And to recreate what those Sahara giraffe people once had, and strengthen that vacuum cleaner effect, we help with a regional cooling out over the mid-Atlantic. To dial up our Green Sahara, we stimulate the monsoon by taking our impact out over the mid-ocean."

"A hot desert beside a cold ocean gives us a super slurping effect," Vince said. "That grabs those rain clouds off the ocean, and onto the desert."

"And bonus," Tamanna said. "Science tells us this Green Sahara will harm no one. A smooth transition, and a slight cooling to offset global warming."

"No harm at all?" Vince asked. "No risk?"

From the corner of his eye Vince caught sight of icons appearing on the screen map. Glancing to Brad, he confirmed jet fighter squadrons launching off aircraft carriers both north and south. Looking back at Tamanna, they both kept silent noting the estimated flight times.

"Very little risk," Tamanna said. "Like a zebra crossing, that's a crosswalk for you chaps."

All factors considered, the mid-Atlantic release made for a best compromise for regional cooling. Any acid rain, or stratospheric ozone depletion, to be minimal over an extremely arid and relatively uninhabited desert. Few people living there, like across the Atlantic Ocean.

"We've an overall bright outlook," Tamanna said. Vince let her go on about how their tiny parasols would drift south down the middle of the Atlantic. Towards Antarctica, maybe disrupting mid-ocean weather patterns, and transatlantic ocean travelers, but impacting few citizens' homes. He'd assisted her story, by running his finger down the global map. Stratospheric drift was always polewards, south in this case, and north of the Sahel over the Sahara Desert. They didn't get into the tricky facts, like where the sulphur spread was actually based on high elevation winds and risk analysis.

"Our parasols will be way up in the stratosphere," Vince said, keeping the story on the feels safe side. "Many miles above us. And everyone can come on vacation one day soon, and visit live giraffes around those Dabous rocks."

"How do we track the sulphur, post release?" Brad asked, pointing at the fighter jet blimps lined up on an intercept course.

Vince sighed, watching those icons moving, while taking up the hint they needed to cover for an educated fearful adult audience. Those for whom the gods of the universe, and any story fairies might not suffice; to whit, the multiple laws of physics.

"Satellite imagery partially," Tamanna said. "Partly our climate model. We've weather patterns at the bottom of the stratosphere, so at mid-Atlantic we keep our actions up higher, and the process goes smoother."

"Unfortunately," Vince said, facing directly into the Cube at the whole world out there. "Any operation carried out in international airspace holds political risk. And at this moment, we have aircraft carriers approaching our jet from two directions. We are deeply hoping they'll talk to each other."

They'd all looked at one another.

"This isn't a two-way standoff, but a three way," Brad spoke carefully, like a fighter jet pilot of a different type. America and NATO wanted status quo, the Asian Alliance wanted to experiment and Africa wanted to roll the dice on a desert replaced by forest with a shot at a cooler planet. "What else do the High Impact Countries say on global cooling?" Brad asked, looking to the scientist.

"The presidents of the Sahel countries are growing quite popular," Tamanna said, equally cautiously. "When they talk about the Green Sahara, when they bring up the idea of a planet cooler than pre-industrial, they're hearing cheers. They've got a popular conversation going around a negative one degree world."

"That would be like," Vince said, "A mini Ice Age."

"Only in high latitude regions. Such as Europe or North America," Tamanna said. "A cooler day in Africa rings as appealing as a warm day in the north."

"Not good for everyone," Vince said.

"Climate inaction hasn't been either," Tamanna said. "And High Impact Countries live on the same planet as we all do."

Vince had sensed a moment to close the conversation; just as well on those notes of dramatic doom and the jet fighter icons approaching.

"There you have it people," Vince said. "Reporting from our unarmed jet."

Signing off Chirpfeed transmit, Vince took a deep breath.

"Okay guys."

"Alright bud," Brad said.

"I've got the Minister on," Tamanna said. "Talk later."

The powers that be needed talk directly, to diffuse any military standoff. Lifting hand to eyebrow, Vince ceded to whatever decision was to be made in some distant war room, and the world out there. He let his head roll back, wiping at his eyes, with his daughter in mind back then.

##

All that information transmitted, Vince could do nothing more but watch the icons. The race against time showed the NATO jets slightly ahead, as they drew nearer on the screen. He'd glanced at his Nigerien pilot, reading fear in the African eyes, but also resolution. Nothing would change their flight track, not by their choice.

Dark dots expanded rapidly out of the clouds on the north side of their jet. And then past, as if to circle around.

Staring out the windshield into the white mist rushing past, Vince watched the cloud shadows of two now full-sized fighters edging in along either side. The military aircraft matched the speed of their jet so close Vince picked out one NATO pilot speaking into his intercom. The conversation went on, and on it seemed, as if the fighter pilot was receiving conflicting commands.

Asian Alliance fighter icons had nearly arrived from their southerly direction.

"Check the maps," Vince asked. "What's happening?"

"Yeah, yeah," Brad said. "Not sure."

Then, had Vince seen, or just imagined one fighter pilot giving a little salute his way.

"Brad, I think..." Vince said.

"What?"

Vince caught a distinct wing dip in that jet beside, like a second salute. Then both NATO escort fighters shot out ahead, and rapidly disappearing. His eyes darted to the map screen, and he felt another of those moments of the invincible. But the receding fighters weren't circling back, as the Asian jets also veered off. Like, on a return to carrier course.

"The North Atlantic strike fleet appears to be shifting their naval presence." Vince said, reporting to Tamanna to relay to her Minister. "Asian Alliance too."

"Are we sure?" Tamanna asked. "To confirm for the Minister."

Vince's eyes penetrated the screen, as the two escorts that had been either side appeared to rejoin their flight squadrons.

"Brad?"

"Affirmative."

"Confirmed," Vince said, giving Tamanna the nod

All fighters appeared on altered tracks towards their carriers. Staring in amazement, Vince watched the Chinese carrier veering off on a changed course. The NATO commander would have eyes glued to that.

"What happened?" Vince said. He'd thought then of his wife and daughter back home. For a moment he'd heard children's laughter back then, his child, with her friends. Like the gurgle of a mountain stream. He risked all for them, and their climate tomorrow.

"They've opened diplomatic channels," Tamanna said. "New political proposals on alternate methods of climate cooling will be tabled."

"Yeah, well they need coordinated intentions," Vince said. "And a defined course of action, if they want to avoid another firestorm."

They looked at each other, nodding.

"What went down?" Brad asked. "Really."

"The Minister tells me one commander completely broke from a strategic discussion," Tamanna said. "Like he went bonkers; he started talking of his granddaughter's fuzzy giraffe."

Vince had pumped a fist up and down in the air.

"The extra global cooling's trending on social media, Chirpfeed, MyBook..." Tamanna said. "We've deescalated complications, at least for our African monsoon release."

"What chance the extra cooling gets trade off space," Vince mused. "And we target the climate we had?"

"Copy that," Brad said. "Let's hope."

International recognition the atmosphere belonged to everyone. No pirates allowed, Vince would tell his daughter. Everyone who breaths, and everyone who looks up at the sky. Technically, the sky covers international waters, and all nations need keep in line. Like at the playground, certain things, not allowed.

Back then, Vince had again been able to think of tomorrow.

They'd released another load of sun parasols to cool the planet, and given people extra breathing room to tone back on carbon emissions. And now, revision of the idea that critical decisions of military commanders might have the voices of girl power interceding was worth everything.
Chapter 31

Toopie's Funeral

Lisi set the HoloCube at table center, firming up her jaw as she took her executive end chair. Even Winter should be on time; Charlize along with herself would be consoling friends, while Winter played goof around to ward off too much Nia sadness. Touching Virtual Visit on her Cube, she selected Occasion: Solemn, Setting: Grief and after thinking a bit, Offset: Fun Choice. All recording. True Voice, as Adrian had requested. Their ANG code girl wanted all their compassionate tones and inflections of sympathy for the All Natural Girl code. This serious event to be mixed with back seat sillies and scary movie fears, all rounding out to natural in Adrian's AI mind.

Awesome; she sat back to wait, their Christmas tree glittering in the front room.

Charlize showed up first, awesome, they could chat. Lisi waved her avatar into Visual, face on. Visit melded Charlize sitting in her home into the chair right next to Lisi at her table. Cube visits were totally awesome, especially when the arctic air Daddy called it was outside.

"Oh Lisi," Charlize said. "We'll grieve, as we must."

"Hi Charlize," Lisi said. "Fun Choice too, I'll tell you more later."

"Yes, do," Charlize said. "Now, I must compose myself."

"Oh yes, do," Lisi said. "How you truly feel."

"Okay, so, aww, I remember the last time I scratched Toopie behind the ear," Charlize said. "He so loved that. He really did."

"He was such a cute dog," Lisi said. "I liked him."

"You never had a dog," Charlize said. "And I only had a hedgehog."

"My fishies died... we buried them in the flower garden," Lisi said sadly. "I'll be the organized undertaker today."

"That's tragic," Charlize said. "Did we invite Angelique?"

""Oh Charlize, she's always around," Lisi said. "And how cool... she doesn't need a Cube."

"Oh Lisi," Charlize said, intent. "Did her mom ever come for her?"

"Like no, we never saw her mom," Lisi said. "How mysterious."

Angelique's spirit might bring a comforting presence to Nia's time of bereavement, Lisi thought, and Winter a little chaos to help offset whatever somber mood of their friend might have. The HoloCube wavered in another attendant.

"Here's Winter," Lisi said. "Awesome, she's on time."

"Hi Winter," Charlize said, inviting her avatar to a chair.

"Hey you guys," Winter said, beaming her goosey loosey smile.

"You guys remember that boy in grade one?" Charlize said. "Like when he kept going in and out of Children's Hospital."

"So sad," Lisi said. "Charlie was only six when he actually died."

"Well, I had a dream about Charlie," Charlize said. "So like, he can be our source from the other side."

"Ooo, like The Book of Life movie," Winter said. "You guys have been to Mexico, right? That's a real Mexican holiday you know; the Day of the Dead."

"If Toopie needs a walk," Charlize said. "He goes with Charlie."

"Okay, guys Nia's beeping in," Lisi said. "Let's speak appropriately now."

Nia's avatar appeared first in the Cube, all in black, with her face shadowed beneath a dark veil. Her eyes downcast, and she held a somber look as Visit melded her in.

"You look sad Nia," Charlize said. "I'm so sorry."

"My dog died," Nia said softly, a tear running down one cheek.

"I love dogs, and kitties," Winter said. "And hamsters, and all furry pets actually."

"Ohh, he would lay his head on my arm, or on my lap," Nia said, shedding another tear. "He was so snuggly."

The other girls listened, nodding in deep sympathy.

"I hate bacon, but Toop loved it," Nia said. "Oh Toopie."

Lisi smiled the slightest, knowing of Nia's lighter side.

"I'd slip him my bacon under the table," Nia said, eyes emotionally bright. "Mom never noticed."

"I like butter," Winter said. "My mom made me eat all my eggs."

"For Toopie, then, we eat our last ever meat burger," Charlize said. "A bacon burger."

"Then, we eat vegan for a month," Lisi said. "For Nia's health."

"Butter and carrot sandwiches," Winter said. "For one and for all."

"Kay, so first Nia will give the formal eulogy," Lisi said. "Then anyone can speak."

Nia came to her feet, cleared her throat, and wiped at her tears.

"Well, I don't remember but I was told," Nia said. "Toopie came to our home as a puppy, when I was just a baby. And, as I grew, he did too, and we played and we played—you guys know dogs read people's feelings better than people can? Toop never did learn to read, but that's okay... I went to school for both of us. And, I read our bedtime stories to him."

Nia talked a little longer through her memories of Toopie's life, and she did finish on a positive note. An especially happy memory. Lisi heard her Dad talk about heaven, and life after, real or imagined, and that one thing was sure... memories carried on among those still living. And those memories had influence on the living too, so go figure on the life after he always said.

##

Lisi touched the take-a-break setting on Virtual Visit; the default same out Snack Time. Audio record stayed on though, Adrian had said get it all. She'd call a time out, before taking their procession into the graveyard. Technically, each girl would have to find any real-world snack at home.

"Okay girls, lighten up," she said. "Take a breather."

"Toopie loved snacks," Nia said. "So I'll give him a virtual dog biscuit."

Lisi so preferred virtual snacks too, that you never really had to eat. Virtual had ominous graveyard similar benefits.

"Member Hallowe'en," Charlize said. "The scare-you-to-death stories we told."

"Scare-you-to-laugh stories too," Winter said. "Octopuses ate dinner at a garbage truck." She gave a spread eyes-wide look. "And then, they ate the garbage truck."

"Pardon me," Charlize said.

"What did you say?" Winter said. "There's this song, and it's on this track."

"You tell us, Winter," Lisi said. "Oh, please sing, actually."

"You want me to sing, okay, so there's this guy with a really deep voice," Winter said, lowering her tone way down.

"Really?"

"And he goes ohhh yeah," Winter said, intoning. "Like this, ohhh yeah."

"Does he act weird?" Charlize said. "Does he do the crab walk?"

"You stand up like this," Winter said, avatar coming out of her chair to show.

"How do you scuttle?"

"Like this," Winter said, shuffling sideways. Weaving her arms up and around, as she scrunched up her eyes, opening and closing her mouth like a fish.

"Our prophet from the sea," Lisi said. "Our messiah of the deep."

"I shall light the way," Winter said. "Ohhh yeah."

"You guys are crazy," Nia said. "Full of loopholes."

"Okay girls, Nia's dog," Lisi said, switching to her own deeper voice. "Toopie has passed, and we must show our respect."

But the Fun setting overrode the adult type respect.

"Was your dog afraid of the fire hydrant?" Winter said, in a solemn voice. "After he peed on it?

"No."

"Did your dog eat jellybeans?" Winter said.

"No this doesn't work," Nia shrieked. "I just can't do it,"

"Say jell-ee-bean," Winter encouraged. "Like Tai-Kwon-do."

"Oh."

"Talk Nia, talk," Lisi said. "Express your final moment of grief."

"Tai-Kwon-do Shep always climb mountain," Nia said. "Shep say, easier to come down mountain than go up."

"Good girl Nia," Lisi said. "Did your dog climb mountains Nia?"

"We go to Tai-Kwon-do," Nia said. "Toopie came once to Black Belt."

"Our martial arts girl," Lisi asked.

"Nia, eat jellybeans," Winter said. "Eat all the black ones."

"Black ones are the worst," Nia said. "I hate black."

"But for Toopie," Winter said. "He ate your bacon."

"Black denotes death," Charlize said softly. "So morbid."

"Death is but a transition," Lisi said. "To the Elysian Fields—another plane of existence."

"Like Flanders Fields," Charlize said, in her morose tone. "When people have a world war."

"The Elysian Fields were Roman," Lisi said. "Like a happy heaven."

Turning to her Holocube, Lisi guided the bereaved through the entrance to the virtual graveyard. In spite of the real-world winter cold, in Virtual she'd picked a birds-chirping doggie heaven day. What Adrian's code would ever make of this she could only wonder. The girls strolled along the graveyard pathway, trees, grass and flower beds on all sides. The sounds of running water floated in from a distant brook.

Gathered around the gravesite, they bowed their heads for Toopie.

"We don't speak dog," Charlize said. "And howling wouldn't be appropriate."

"What are you singing Nia?" Lisi said. "You are remembering a song."

"Someone died in the middle of this opera," Nia said, face falling, with tears on either side. "No one notices except the audience."

"But we are gathered here for Toopie," Lisi said. "We all notice, and we do miss him."

"I feel sooo dead," Nia said. "I feel totally gone."

Lisi felt the moment, wondering if they needed switch to an adult version of funeral. But looking at her friends, and with Adrian's directives ringing in her ear, she felt they would get more for Angie just letting things go. Adults had so little connection in the Fun setting, and sure enough, Winter had something to say.

"Oh, Nia, eat these black jellybeans," Winter said, passing a virtual bowl. "Toopie's dead, you are alive."

"Eat, eat, eat," Charlize said, joining in. "To the beat, beat, beat."

"You speak Swahili Nia," Charlize said. "Sing the Lion King song."

"Ahh surrenda', you da winna'," Nia sang. "Nya, nya nya."

"You do not speak Swahili," Winter said.

Lisi sighed, looking to Charlize who gave a slight shrug. She made an executive decision, to hold this sad mood a tiny bit longer, and then gather up the spirit of a girl whisper.

"Girls, girls, girls," Lisi said. "Flowers, oh, we leave Toopie a ring of flowers."

"Yes, I love flowers," Charlize said. "So beautiful, and so alive."

"Let us gather flowers, then," Lisi said. "In the way we do." The girls swayed in a back and forth step, expanding in a circle out from around Toopie's site. A dancing spiral drew them out to the flowers around, and they collected bouquets of the brightest colors of petals.

"I shall be Florence, the flower," Nia said. "I shall grow, blooming upon the mountain."

"And in the heavens above," Lisi said. "In the promised land."

Adults would talk that way. Anyone could dream of being with flowers, or, girls could be flowers who dream. The freedom to be free, and respect the freedom of others.

"Fields of mountain meadow flowers," Nia said, smiling bright. "Toopie will romp about forever."

The flowers mood settled in on them, and all around them, yet then faded. That Angelique could be around, influencing all.

"You're too big," Charlize said, eying Nia. "To be a flower."

"Larger than," Lisi said. "Or less than, oh Charlize, I hear the ring of comparative math."

"Math, eyuk," Charlize said. "We seek only flowers, and beauty."

"Flowers are math," Lisi said. "Don't you guys love Math Science?"

"Humanities," Charlize said. "Literature."

"Drama," Winter said. "And Art."

Nia stuck her tongue out, though she was the only one Lisi knew who would best get the Math Science of it all. Crazy, but smart.

"Daddy's got this Fibonacci number," Lisi said. "From his fractal angel."

"Fiba-what-chki?" Charlize said. "How can flowers be math?"

"The Fibonacci sequence," Lisi said. "You like words Charlize."

"Yeesss," Charlize said. "How do you spell it?"

Shrugging her avatar shoulders, Lisi simply said Fib first. Then she spelled out the other letters, while Charlize's avatar squatted in virtual to etch each with her finger on the grass.

"The last two numbers add up to the next number," Lisi said. "One, two, three, five, eight and you keep going."

"Un, deux, trois," Winter said. "Tell it to your ba-ba."

"And like who cares?" Charlize said. "Why would you do that?"

"You see patterns," Lisi said. "To understand secret aspects of the universe."

"For Toopie," Nia said. "My dog peeing out numbers in the dream world."

"Thank you, Nia," Lisi said.

"Okay, let's discover," Charlize said. "Explain this Fiba-what-chki math."

"Start in the middle," Lisi said. "Easier. Like two and three are five."

Lisi finger-sketched in the virtual grass where Charlize had, carefully, the numbers one after another.

"Then you take the last number, like your three," Lisi said, pointing. "And you add that to the total from before, your five, and you get eight. Do it again, like five and eight are thirteen, the next Fibonacci number."

"Awesome possum," Nia said, excitedly. The girl was coo-coo, but, mathematical.

"Why was six scared in the swimming pool?" Winter said. "Cause quatre cinq seis."

"Okay Lisi," Charlize said. "We discovered the secrets of the universe."

"You get it?" Winter said. "Like you say cat sank our dear seis, which is six."

"How about dog," Nia said. "Quatres and cats can't swim."

"Thirteen and eight," Lisi said. "Make twenty-one."

"Is that engineering math?" Nia said. "Your dad's an engineer, right?"

Lisi and Charlize stared at Nia. Was the girl losing a bit of her crazy? And no matter how lame her funnies, Winter was learning French. She did know her single digit numbers.

"Say thirteen in French Winter," Lisi said. "Say twenty-one."

"Treize," Winter said. "Vingt et un."

Winter still was not thirteen, but she could say any Fibonacci number in their soon to be second language. English numbers, or French numbers, those didn't matter much, except maybe for adults. But, languages aside, how about flower numbers?

"Flower math," Lisi said, looking at Nia. "You find Fibonacci numbers in flowers."

"How Lisi?" Charlize said.

"Find a flower," Lisi said. "Count the petals."

Lisi looked to Charlize, nodding, and guided the girls into another expanding circle out to touch the flower edges. Among the colorful beds of many blossoms growing virtual. The gravesites and graveyard faded far into the background as Lisi shifted them over to a park.

"Dandelions have a gzillion petals," Winter said, meandering over on the lawn.

"Okay, so, just some flowers," Lisi said. "Check other kinds."

"These have seven," Nia said. "Those have five. Oh Toopie, you can pee flower petals."

Their chit chat scattered like flower petals in the wind, as they stared into the bloom bunches, searching for universal patterning.

"Did Toopie eat pizza?" Winter said. "Flower pizza maybe?"

"Spell flour, Winter," Charlize said. "Not flower."

"Oh, flour pizza, what pizza?" Winter said. "Smile Nia. Eat not bacon, but pizza."

"Not pizza," Nia said. "Fibonacci flowers."

"Will we get that," Charlize said. "Like, in Math Science?"

"Winter, are you ready for a flower shower?" Nia said, gathering up handfuls of petals. "Winter, time to take a shower."

"Oh, I do gotta go," Winter said, checking her real-world device. "Mom says pizza time."

Winter's virtual avatar scurried off.

"Did she really go?" Nia said. "Oh rats, guys."

"She's gone," Lisi said. "Don't worry, she does that."

"Oh."

"I had a dream," Lisi said. "Daddy in Africa got caught in this numbers wave."

"Why's your dad in Africa?"

"A work contract," Lisi said. "Adults don't talk about dreams, Charlize."

"They should Lisi," Charlize said. "They need to hear dreams."

"Or screams, Kids need to scream," Nia said. "All at the same time."

"When I was four my Daddy would look straight into my eyes," Lisi said. "He'd say he could see into me."

"I ate snow," Nia said. "When I was four."

"Before four too," Lisi said. "Since I was a baby he says."

"Why?"

"He says we have to be who we really are," Lisi said. "Not what the world tells us to be."

"The world can't tell me," Nia said. "Like, when to eat snow."

"Your parents want the best for you," Lisi said. "Maybe they don't totally know what's best."

"Your turn Lisi, like you see back into him back," Charlize said. "Break the rule, talk about his dream."

Lisi looked at her friends, a wavy smile slowly coming. She knew she wanted a better world for adults, like what Daddy always talked about.

"Five... eight... thirteen," Nia said. "What's in a flower's dream?"

"Flowers dream of freedom," Charlize said. "Blowing so wild in the wind."

"Adults talk about freedom," Lisi said. "They put flowers on our flag."

"We girls love flowers," Charlize said. "And my parent's love me."

"Freedom's what adults really want," Lisi said. "They need to become flowers."

"How, how?" Charlize said. "Angie can help."

"Angie who?" Nia said.

"At elementary school," Lisi said. "Angelique."

"Oh yeah," Nia said. "I knew her, the always calm girl."

"Really?" Lisi said at the same time as Charlize.

"Oh no, like, I think so," Nia said. "So calm you didn't even know she was there."

"Oh," Charlize said.

"Oh," Lisi said. "Oh well, we'll tell you more."

"Oh," Nia said. "Kay."

Adults so needed help; they so needed to understand universal secrets better. Lisi looked to Charlize, and they both nodded. Lisi looked to her Cube, and touched Setting: Friendly Chat—they would bring Nia into the all-knowing girls' circle.

##

Lisi sat back in her real-world chair, across from Charlize and Nia. But when the Wall beeped, she looked up to see Winter—they'd have to ask about her pizza yesterday. Voicing recognize for the Wall from the front room table, she scooted to let her friend in out of the cold. No Virtual today, and the others braved the wintery world to be back in the real world.

Winter stomped her snowy boots, and walked in, finding a chair at the table.

"Dreams, Winter," Charlize said. "We speak of dreaming."

"Like, I had this dream last night," Lisi said. "About that boy who died, Charlie. The one Angelique talked to in skills class. I mean total truth, Nia, I saw her there."

"And," Nia said. "Like, she said why he died?"

"Angelique says he'll come to us, in dreams maybe, or intuition, when we're thirteen," Lisi said. "And after that too, but only as an advisor, and an anchor."

"When we turn thirteen," Charlize said, looking to Winter. "You first."

"Why thirteen?" Nia said. "What's this about thirteen?"

"So think Fibonacci flowers math," Lisi said. "Cause Angelique says if Charlie went to thirteen in his life, his spirit would be so tainted."

"He's Peter Pan," Nia said. "He never grew up."

"Your dream could be our dreamy intro, Lisi," Charlize said. "What else?"

"Like, in skills class, Charlie could not hear," Lisi said. "One of his symptoms. That I know."

"So he was totally deaf," Charlize said. "How could Angelique even talk to him then?"

"She whispered in his ear. Somehow," Lisi said. "I don't know, but she stood there right beside him."

"Well of course," Charlize said. "No brainer, she was speaking into him. Like your Dad did when you were four, Lisi."

"Oh," Lisi said. "You're clever, Char."

"Will we forget, like, how to eat snow?" Nia said. "Oh, we will. Oh no."

"Not if we keep a record, Adrian says," Lisi said. "Like when we played Clue, remember."

"We will be thirteen next, never twelve again," Nia said. "Me after Winter. That's grade two counting math."

"Never," Lisi said. "That we know."

"What about when we were small?" Nia said. "Like my little sister."

"My Dad says even adults don't really forget, just that what we knew gets all covered up," Lisi said. "Like buried, like treasure, so, like on Peter Pan's Neverland."

"I do not plan to grow up," Winter said. "Say what you like, I know what I know."

"If Charlie lived all the way to adult," Lisi said. "Angelique said he'd like forget everything truly important."

"We must play the Clue game then," Charlize said. "As we figure out who's who."

"And keep eating snow," Nia said. "Never stop."

"Oh do they ever need help," Lisi said "Adults need another chance to grow up."

Lisi felt sure the help they could give adults would come to them, as their own childhoods faded into the coming teenager world. Love must be expanded, to replace the adults of now. And she was sure this idea would help Daddy with his take care of planet Earth project. So Earth won't die, cause no-brainer, that would not be good for anyone.

"Hey guys, we are bonding," Lisi said. "And we have to tell you Winter, we have voice record on for Adrian. So sorry you were last to know, but you can see the file right there."

"My voice," Winter said, dramatically. "Out there, for the world to hear."

"Oh Winter," Charlize said. "Your moment of fame."

"First moment," Winter said. "There'll be many others."

"Adrian will compose Angie, or her code name's ANG," Lisi said. "Toopie's goodbye caught our serious side, and times before caught our back-seat fun and joy, and our party times."

"I knew we'd be famous," Winter said. "Angie, that's our stage name. That totally old Mick Jager song my mom always sings."

"You'll like this then Winter," Lisi said. "Like, Adrian still wants us to have a giggle fest."

"What's that?"

"She needs to snag our uncontrollable happiest moments," Lisi said. "To script in Angie's totally natural giggles. We don't want that sad Mick song, we want the love power of girl whispers."

"Like when?" Charlize said. "Let's do a giggle fest now now."

"Nia, I know all your ticklish spots," Lisi said. "Just telling you that."

"Adults don't tickle," Nia said. "Some don't even eat cupcakes."

"But you will, Nia," Winter said. "Jellybeans at least."

"And, we still need a totally serious side," Lisi said. "Even past my Toopie's demise—the totally tragic."

"Like little Charlie," Charlize said. "Never getting to grade two."

"A planet can die just like a dog," Lisi said. "Mars died with a boom. A volcano boom of Olympus Mons."

"Like little boy Lou, the Martian boy," Charlize said. "Mom says they didn't know what to do."

"How does any planet die?" Winter said. "Not drama of the past, but now."

"Not Mars, but ours," Nia said. "An almost rhyme."

"I asked for this volcano kit for Christmas," Lisi said, pointing. "That's probably it under our Christmas tree. We'll do a kill your own planet experiment."

A time after Christmas holidays, and they would do both. Lisi knew enough, and had heard enough; that sixth mass extinctions talk, and that snowball earth Daddy talked about. You could do both with a volcanic eruption, and a good imagination. A simulation of a totally dying planet, and what you do in that tragic situation.
Chapter 32

 Valley Guardians

(Click Chapter Title for Google MyMap link)

Snow fell lightly out of late February skies, as Brad and the family pulled in at Moon Shadow. The boys had been chatting up spring break school work on the trip from Spokane, brought along at Julia's insistence. Their EV bumped sideways into the soft snow drift along the road cleared by neighbors, and Brad lifted their boards off the roof onto the crusty white snowpack. Throwing carry-packs onto hoverboards, they fitted on snowshoes to tramp a trail over to the survival cell, pulling boards behind.

After a final lunchtime review with Julia, who'd come along to hold down base camp, and Norman to keep her company, father and sons would head out on overnight guardian practice.

Out of the car, the boys were pumped.

"Mark us a direction path on the snowshoes, boys," Brad said, hand signaling north. "One breaks trail, the other follows."

"How far Dad?" Jimmy said.

"Keep the cell in sight," Brad said, glancing at Julia. "Time yourselves."

Further snowfall was expected the next days, and they'd packed snowshoes as a known wintertime standard. But as guardians, they'd learn to travel by hoverboard. One degree global warming increased atmospheric water content by seven percent, so around the planet the air held well over ten percent more moisture. And that water vapour had to precipitate out somewhere—light or heavy flurries to be erratic, and intermittent with bright sunshine in the Idaho panhandle. Capturing solar recharge for board power would be one challenge.

Brad shivered at the cold, and when thinking of the arctic refreeze gone sideways. Ice age two—then what? He shook it off, focusing instead on a firewood supply for their indoor woodstove. To have a warm and a cheerful lunch. Julia carried a load of food supplies in through the door with Norman the dog at her heels. Picking cut wood off the stack, Brad carried an armload into the cell. Squatting at the woodstove, he put flame to fire starter under splinters to get the stove heat flowing up the chimney. Julia lit up a propane burner in the mini kitchen and began heating up their late morning meal.

Brad stepped back outside, checking on the boys.

"Totally slow Dad," Jimmy said, walking back. "Half speed when you break trail."

"Boards for sure then?"

"Yeah Dad," Josh said. "Hoverboards."

The boys poked their snowshoes tail first into the snowbank, and stomping the snow off their boots came inside. Sitting together as a family, they chowed down their brunch.

Brad watched his wife's face as she engaged with the boys, asking about their homework yet still supporting their boys' needs for adventure. To Brad's surprise lately, and heightened concern, Julia seemed increasingly worried and extra supportive, of the survival cell idea. Staying behind, and inside with Norman, she would keep their ground transport vehicle charged—their EV—and keep tabs on their double back up wireless contacts.

Thinking ahead, the best contact methods would be critical for a local community to keep in touch with the outside. In the event the outside did go sideways, and that community needed to keep track of the outside world. As the global transition progressed, and Brad knew others who agreed, monitoring global engagement would be an excellent status indicator of global civilization. Humanity organized would be surviving well enough, if all, or at least major communications systems stayed operational. Finger crossed.

Outside they laced carry-packs and stuff bags onto front and back of their boards. With Julia holding Norman back, they stepped on to find hover-float balance. Waving back, and with Jimmy in front, they headed out along the boys' snowshoe trail north. Up-valley into the benchlands forest, where even with recent snowfalls, through-the-branches visibility was extensive. With no leaves on the wintertime underbrush, nor any other deciduous trees, a valley guardian world invited exploration.

##

Leaning either way to gain the hover-float feel, Brad took up back guard behind Josh along the weaving snow board trail led by Jimmy. Board controls displayed power discharge rates, and total energy remaining; even though the flat travel would be light use, they would need a recharge. Brad wanted the boys to stay on top of that, and Jimmy had figured a couple ideas on their solar scheduling. The local power grid, if they could.

The two boys needed practice working as a team, Brad knew, and at this stage needed also to develop valley security know how. Knowing the boys, Jimmy would play mobile sniper from his hoverboard, while best to have Josh establishing a control site. Josh would be thinking packhorse, given the warmer seasons, and calculating weight to carry to a semi-permanent base. Like headquarters. They would learn to travel, at times separately, yet stay in touch with each other, and know each other's position.

Adjusting hover float settings to minimum power drain, they sledded along the ridge to a bench view above Fleming Creek. Resting a bit, Jimmy figured best to make their way down and across the country road below, and up the other side of this creek valley. Ascending back uphill anywhere took a huge hit to their power storage, but better than all the way around. Checking his valley model, Jimmy said they'd keep to the higher ridges, cross the next two creek valleys, and follow the flats to the top of a knob. And there, catch solar for the rest of that afternoon.

In the depths of valley snows, Brad figured, the two boys would be working hard with their pack weights had they chosen snowshoe travel. Hoverboards were better, in his mind, but you did always need a backup. Arriving where Jimmy's model showed, they picked a high point, and stopped to unfurl panels and catch afternoon solar power.

With board power charging, they dug a day camp into the snow. Tight against the forest edge, they build a quick clean dry wood fire, emitting no smoke. Below, Brush Creek cut down the benchlands visible all the way to the Kootenay River. Strategizing their decent, Jimmy pointed out a route they could take down and over to that critical north bridge. Three miles as the crow flies to the bridge, Jimmy reported from this model, so more like four for their weavy way. As the sun settled lower Josh reported they had a ninety percent power charge.

With the sun dipping below mountain tops, and shadows shifted, they hedged staying in the same spot with Jimmy arguing they wait on moonlight. With a white snow cover, and all else dark, any light made for real good visibility. Compromising, they made the most of remaining daylight, descending down into the valley.

Out on the flats, but still short of the bridge, they stopped to await moonrise. Brad fell into talk on how a guardian sniper could message. Say you had a traditional military squad. If you ridicule the leader in front of his men, that sent a signal of internal disruption. Like pink face-goop splattering while the drill sergeant shouted. They laughed. Or, critical to their overarching plan, a come no further message. A traditional sniper might fire warning shots, and ideally a valley guardian could send come-no-further messages from a distance. Like natural wildlife marked out their territory. A bear scratched trees at territory borders, and cougars urinated like dogs. Brad let the stories sit, giving the boys room to absorb and think.

With a two thirds moon rising above the horizon, and then peaking above the trees down in the flats, they rose to make a final evening move. Under a partly clear of clouds night sky Jimmy led their way.

##

Waking to birds chirping at a bright morning sun, the boys heaved snow chips across at each other. They'd crossed the no-nighttime-traffic bridge and pitched sleeping camp late in the moonlit night. Spotting for snowy season routes used by locals, and animals, they'd passed over to the far side of the river, eyeing the mountain slopes for Josh's HQ site.

From where they were, the valley bottom flats ran eighteen miles south to Bonners, and veered off to the west of north nine miles further, up to the Canadian border. The benchlands ran up and down the valley, but only over on the east side. And east of those benchlands the Queen Mountain heights rose into the frosty blue skies. On this side of the river, west side flats collided directly with steep rocky upslopes, drifted in deep under heaps of mountain snow.

Breaking camp they crossed the valley flats towards Josh's target. His thirteen-year-old mind explored for a headquarters site, and Josh pointed them up at a protruding knob. Wind swept bare rock even in these snows and not too high that a horse couldn't get up there. A designated place, that all valley guardians would get to know. A meeting spot, and a command control. The snow drifted extra deep at this bend in the valley, but they took their hoverboards up like a horse would go in the no snow season. In the blustery afternoon weather, they stepped off in their terrain boots onto solid bare rock. Looking out from their island in the snow, they took in a view of the darker Kootenay Lake waters contrasting the white way up in Canada. And then, the other way south, where ridges poked up past Bonners. Two miles straight across to the second bridge from the HQ spot—Jimmy nodded knowing that.

The boys led a wild ride down off the HQ hill, all power off, and just like powder snowboarding on any ski hill. Swooping and veering, hooping and hollering, and Brad did his best to totally let if all go with them. A life of the serious had to have its fun, and with altering unexpected futures ahead, a winning game target.

Weaving his way down through the trees, Brad fell into an internal tactical review. Second day, and one night out.

To gain situational experience, Brad had taken on the challenge of all comms off, noon to noon, until the third day. Forty-eight hours out of touch with the world. No contact with the Refreeze Team for Brad—he'd let Vince know, and no consoling mother for the boys. They were learning to build winter time keep-warm fires, and getting to know days and nights of eating, sleeping and travelling the valley in any season.

Winter took on an assistant's role for security in the mountains. Thank you, snows of the north. And Brad had discovered more scouting further west, taking another late fall trip towards the coast from Nelway up in Canada. Another way to Osoyoos. One single high bridge crossed a deep gorge, and the choppy valleys made for rough terrain; great valley security that direction but still internal to Cascadia. Quite an isolated wild space. Two-year work camps, for those transitioning into your bioregion, Jeri would talk that way—but leave that to the future for now.

The Kootenay River floated winter ice, Brad knew, but never froze solid enough to walk across. Meaning bridges were critical. Unless, and Brad had read up on a hoverboard design having grasshopper jumping abilities. Launching high, with a blast of compressed air. With any outside people pressure on the valley, they'd need to learn surveillance and travel tactics. To avoid assumed valley invaders, and they would practice guardianship. If worst case scenario that imagined force turned out to be unfriendly, and would occupy for a week, they would take on guerilla like tactics. Remaining light, slight and out of sight.

Brad cut over through the trees to the boys' slalom trails, spotting the bottom ahead.

General low to the ground flight capabilities would be excellent for valley guardians. As hoverboard tech kept developing, horses and travel by foot in this terrain would still be back up. They didn't need, nor want to fly high, but rather low to the ground, maybe up to the treetops. Any river crossing ability could be useful, whatever height that required. A strategically left boat maybe. And those linked camera mini-drones, gave a hoverboard rider a screen view from a voice controlled location above. You left any higher bird's eye views coming from public satellite imagery. Guardians needed hover in, and hover out; move at high speed for point to point re-locating, and be on call response.

At the snow slope's termination, they grouped up, brushed off and turned up towards Canada. Scouting out bare mountain stone slopes, they catalogued view points for Jimmy's distant warning sniping. And general surveillance points of the fields and tree lines across the valley bottom. Berms formed farm fields further up the valley, and they dropped in at a couple farm houses. Engaging with the locals up by the border, they got to know people who recharged their boards off the power grid like good neighbors. All making for good guardian policy, they agreed.

Around that second night's campfire, they talked about what to do as guardians with climate refugees. They chatted up the idea of supplying a route map to Alaska, with tips and good stopping points. Most American refugees would be thinking stay in their own country, and head north for Alaska. The earlier movers anyway.

##

They stopped for lunch back above Brush Creek; the spot of that first solar charge. Having decided to follow out the same way as in, they moved fast on their hoverboard trail, seeing their valley looking south on the way home. Intermittent snowfall by this third morning out had only partially filled their back trail.

And at noon, as agreed, they clicked back on all comms.

A beeping voice call notice sounded demanding on Brad's device. Listening close, Brad asked Julia to repeat. Speaking brief and to the point, she told him to check news media. That volcanic eruptions were being reported, that Vince had left multiple messages and that one volcano sounded extra important. Vince said something about critical impact on their projects.

Back on boards leading the boys now, Brad listened to Vince as they travelled. He could make some sense of the situation, but he'd need to check Volcano Watch when they stopped. Having talked so many times on this risk in project chats, the situation felt half like a ritual. One risk of human geoengineering had always been any concurrent natural eruption. Unexpected, and unknown sulphur quantities blown into the stratosphere threw all engineering calculations out the window. And from what he could gather so far, more than one volcano was activating.
Chapter 33

Volcanic Activity

What started out as a web, world wide, had been the norm in Vince's life. Wires and wireless tech connected Holocubes, from anywhere to anywhere around the planet. You connected with your tribe, your people, as he'd attended that court case in Brussels, right from his office chair here in Svalbard. On the European mainland he absorbed World Youth defying fossil fuels corporations. While Michael in Calgary confronted his fellow adults with destroying their own children's futures. Whoever you needed to engage, or to challenge, you could face to face. At this gathering space, the Refreeze Hangout, all were global north people, with a northern hemisphere spring coming on. And all were highly aware of the social media focus on developing volcanic events.

Plagues, pandemics and natural disasters caught peoples' attention. All, with human history for reference.

Like the internet turning into emails, then cell phone voice and text, and then Holocubes and Hangouts, a natural volcano coming to life had its own sequence of acts. At first, whispers in the geological corners, vague rumours unnoticed, setting the stage. As humanity learned to speak nature, a similar drama appeared to play out. This global dialogue, a rolling event you didn't respond to at speed. Except, for climatic exceptions. Those moments, when version 3.2 came out, or, when a rumbling blast of volcanic smoke stretched up to the sky.

Vince found himself first to show, and maybe the only on today at the Hangout. All others had logged out, rescheduling, yet the site was embedded in a flurry of notes, and data updates. Volcanic risk compounded all when adjusting climate. Back in February, the first visible smoke column had caught European media attention. Statistically, reports at the Hangout emphasized, volcanic eruptions were random events, so blasts from the hot Earth's insides occurred in clusters from time to time. The second column gained more recognition, with another European news story.

An Indonesian volcano, one that that erupted a hundred and fifty years ago in the then Dutch East Indies, could be returning to life. All while that first Italian eruption, and then a third Central America volcano blew up smoke signals. Cluster warnings came together for volcanologists, but for the public still politically acceptable talk speed. Seismic shuffles at all three mountains, experts notified, and smoke rose in aerial and ground-shot Hangout cam links. Tamanna worked overtime with Jake to define what if climate scenarios. All while Brad and Vince reported in tonnages released, and flight patterns. Jeri would run those through their climate model, defining probability outcomes.

By this week in March their arctic project was well under way. The technology had shifted to air lifting water mixed with sulphur dioxide, giving better parasol control, with much shorter time to form ideal sized sun reflecting aerosols. Up in the stratosphere, the trick remained keeping those parasols concentrated north of Fram Strait. When any volcano blew that high, jet streams spread natural sulphur gas all over the planet within weeks. Proof abounded of that happening, with the sulphur mixing with atmospheric water in the latest documentation from the 1991 Pinatubo eruption.

Pinatubo had not been huge, not like eruptions in the eighteen hundreds, nor ancient caldera forming volcanic events. Only one order of magnitude larger than Mount Saint Helens in Washington, which had dumped ash in Spokane. That Washington eruption had no effect on climate. One decimal shift larger, Pinatubo again only blew enough sulphur to cool the planet by 0.4 C degrees at peak. Like most climate coolers, a volcanic climate effect lasting three or four years. Pinatubo had been one excellent engineering design reference for their African project.

With the Clark US Air Force Base right next door to Pinatubo, the how and when of that eruption had been detailed in US military records. By June eighth and ninth of 1991, due to highly visible smoke, and seismology instrument readings, volcanologists posited something was highly likely to happen. Vague language... they were best guess speculating. Then, on the morning of June tenth, a military commander decided to the evacuate fourteen thousand people from the base. All while the science experts, watching and analyzing, second guessed; that that something was less that highly likely. And, what if that something didn't blow at all? The commander had a budget to consider, but those dollars had to deal with the years of their planetary life their Gaia had behind her. The planet had her schedule, and spoke on her terms.

The African team had talked in depth previously on volcano statistics; the odds of a natural eruption. Fifty or sixty volcanoes spewed ash or lava during any given year. Smokers. With a Volcanic Eruption Index of six, or less likely seven, there'd been three eruptions back in the eighteen hundreds. And Laki, not long before in 1783. Two blew hard in the nineteen hundreds but only one, Pinatubo, blasted sulphur into the stratosphere. Time had been ticking on another, but the clock was highly erratic. Always, the question when you geoengineered a planet, along with when, was how much climate cooler would be spewed out to throw your engineering calculations off. Totally, or partially, or otherwise.

Did we actually have disc nanoparticles on our options list?? Brad had left one note, highly punctuated. I checked, like a ten-year atmospheric fall out time!! Sulfur dioxide rocks, Vince posted in reply, snowball Earth flashing back of his mind. He chose not to go there, switching his mind track as he was learning to.

One like Jerome, and Vince might once in a while, extrapolate on that volcano count. How many planets in any galactic arm might sprout life forms, and then intelligent lifeforms, and of those who made their way off into space, how many had a planetary cooperative effort well enough in place to survive. Maybe one in a few, or many, but at least some really nice species would get together to become god. Even to help and guide the others; what a thought. Led by the most solid cooperator; if you had fifty or sixty intelligent life planets say in each space quadrant, the loving universe plan might calculate out to work fine.

Two days after that evacuation, with Clark base personnel and local Filipinos chewing fingernails, Mount Pinatubo blasted grey ash like an arrow rocketing into the heavens. The straight up blast gave the volcano experts a better handle on what to expect. They strongly suspected this June twelfth event to be only the first blast. And not the biggest, they correctly speculated. At first the grey ash settling on the ground, nice and dry, as people flinched and scurried, responding to emergency in a way that came natural. Human nature, on display. For those awake at 2 AM on June fifteenth, a blast of ash soared up a hundred thousand feet, and the pyroclastic flows began.

With volcanologists briefly cheering their accurate assessment, the natural event turned into slow motion chaos. Local people ebbed and flowed amid the disaster, like slow ocean waves. Essential Clark personnel left on base now moved out, totally abandoning buildings. Then, all tactics shifted again, and many returned. Beliefs would mix into those decisions made, and the familiar churned in too. Everyone knew rain, but this rain triggered in part by the eruption, turned the dry ash falling into mud showers, full of pelting stones of pumice. The opposite of familiar.

Though scientists might celebrate correctness, and military commanders their evacuation decisions, five hundred Filipinos perished. Unstable ash-filled valleys, churned up by rainfall, turned into mud flows that took on the texture of concrete. And those unplanned-by-people concrete pours kept on filling in and covering over for months, Some, even for years.

Excellent natural climate change data, though, for anyone investigating history. Useful to know, for a modern times project engineer, here at the Svalbard airport. In the office space they had rented, for their arctic geoengineering. Data gathered on historical events, all around the planet. Across time and space.

He leaned back in his chair, thinking time frames.

You could notice volcanic eruptions came out in a time frame opposite to drone missile strikes. Seconds, versus months, with variations. In hindsight, Pinatubo's early morning June 15 stratospheric blasts became the Pinatubo event, but, the peak event, actually. The real time and impact lasted much longer, before and after. The earliest signs, in retrospect, had been seismic stirrings March of that year. And that type of Earth talk received conversational chatter attention, typically. Give Pinatubo a four-month high activity time event window. And now, a cluster of three Earth conversation were turning up the volume.

That century and a half ago Indonesian event had been observed from a local stone lighthouse, and from ships sailing ships the Dutch East Indies. Ships' captains and light house operators kept records. Like Pinatubo, earth tremors were first noticed. Unlike inland Pinatubo, the Indonesian island rose directly out of the ocean, but not far from archipelago neighbors. From that light house, one later understood to be a telltale sign was recorded, when all ocean swells went flat for a few minutes. Explainable not then, but later by volcanologists. On that ocean island, volcanic activity that began in May continued over months, with back to normal calm periods in between. Calm critical for people... human behavior writ large. Until a Sunday, and Monday, late that August blew eleven cubic miles of deep earth materials into the sky. Not limited to, but including, sulphur dioxide gas.

Much had been recorded by the science institute of the day, the Royal Society of London. Society documentation revealed the earliest volcanic signals happening fourteen or sixteen weeks before the sky-high blasts. That Indonesian event blew materials twenty-five kilometers up, well into the 1883 stratosphere. And the final blast marked the end of that mountain island, leaving only a caldera—a deep hole, that filled in with ocean water.

Yet the story did not end, for, out of that ocean caldera, a new volcano emerged. Over the decades, a new mountain peaked above the ocean waves, that formed by 1927, and in 2018, erupted into clouds of ash and a burst of tsunami deaths. Not at all dead, but awaiting new life. And with time people retired the original 1883 name of Krakatoa, and christened the mountain cradle anew. The island emerging from the crater in 1927 was dubbed Anak Krakatoa, a local personification of an infant volcanic mountain, to be born again.

These days, the reborn mountain had reached the height of the original. And like a rebellious teenager, hanging out on a street corner, sneered at the world. Smoking, and shouting at will. The Central American, and the Italian smokers hung around that corner too, as the inland crowd, there a caldera collected rain water into a volcanic crater lake. Any one, or two, or even all ganged up together, might have their blast out moment. One risk adults had taken on with their planet.

Adults now played the role of planetary managers; no question that Earth would be near future affected by human decisions. For those adults, and for their children, and all their descendants. Enough people realized that within human ingenuity and evolution, with technologies abounding, creativity could expand. And now, at least for Vince, and what ones like Michael said, the question might be: would people learn mama Earth's language, or keep chomping at her sides as they had so far.
Chapter 34

Model Volcano

Awaiting her friends Charlize and Nia, Lisi hung around the school science lab. Maybe a new world friendship would become important in Daddy's world. What makes that click though; that could be a science question. You might need a cosmic splash, kinda like a volcanic big bang, and then you mix the let's-be-buddies swirl into whatever's left, like mixing up cookie dough. She'd like to get an Experience kit for that, and mix in their Angie girl.

Adrian would be clicking in remote, after the volcano.

Connecting Experience wireless to the science lab Wall, she clicked into the Cube on the counter. She'd picked a delay option at Christmas, to have the later Experience version. Fitting in now as a spring school project. Back home, the games had been happening with that old deck of paper cards, since Christmas. That deck Daddy dug out of the kitchen drawer, challenging her or mom to play. That, or the Go game, but mostly her, 'cause Mom didn't like to play much. Not yet anyway. Maybe she would, though, 'cause she was really good at winning. Especially at Go, maybe she was still freaking out being so good at something.

Charlize and Nia walked in, plopping their backpacks on the lab table. The three stepped up to sit on lab stools, all facing each other.

"So we could build our model out of clay, shaped like an old volcano crater," Lisi said. "And leave a hollow in the smaller emerging volcano's crater for lava pills."

"I suppose," Charlize said. "But sounds messy."

"Exactly what I thought," Lisi said. "So this version of Experience has this digital display option."

"So you got this for Christmas?" Charlize said. "What else did you get?"

"We got this board game too," Lisi said. "Not like we ever played Chess much, but Dad says this game's better; he likes to play this Go game."

"Go?"

"A Chinese game," Lisi said. "A gentle game Charlize, you'd like it. We'll have to play another time. I'll show you."

"Yes, Lisi," Charlize said. "You do know me, I am of the gentle."

"That part of you Charlize," Lisi said. "That gentle part—we'll emphasize that in Angie."

"Volcano time?"

"Krakatoa time!" Lisi said. "Then Angie time."

"Us three," Charlize said. "How's Adrian?"

"She's texting me so much," Lisi said, showing her screen. "Look."

"Awesome," Charlize said. "Maybe we'll meet Angie ANG, finally."

"Krakatoa first," Lisi said. "On the Wall, and in the Cube."

"Krakatoa bad," Nia said. "Death and destruction."

"Krakatoa destroyed a lot, and she died herself," Lisi said, goin dramatic. "But then, she rose from the sea, to live again." The full screen display grabbed their attention. "Voila, the green tree covered island of Krakatoa. Fully grown, as small mountains go, and living in peace," Lisi said, waving her hand over. "Just before she exploded."

"Oh my gosh," Nia said. "How did she die?'

"Let's find out," Lisi said. "The final event took a few days—let's all take notes."

Lisi placed the HoloCube on the lab table in front of three lab stools, allowing the school project team to view Wall or Cube.

"So okay," Lisi said. "Who touches Erupt?"

"Rock, paper, scissors."

"No, I suck at that."

"You always beat me."

Intuitively knowing of a common decision need, they pumped forearms and flashed fingers to their oh so useful decision-making game. Nia won, and looking at the others, she touched Erupt.

With the Krakatoa volcanic event taking place over weeks, with some days more special than others, Lisi had set ReEnAct to a friendly forty minutes. Accelerated speed through the slow change times, and slow right down for the dramatic moments. The Krakatoa intro spewed clouds of steam, and ash, with a sub-screen showing time and place. Spring and summertime in Canada, like May, June, and up to August, but long ago in the year 1883, and far away in the Dutch East Indies. Way down on the other side of and right next to the equator.

"Omg," Charlize said. "The Dutch were from Europe."

"We learn from our history," Lisi said. "Far away people and planet events can have an everywhere effect."

Casting an initial gentle setting, Experience took the girls through the story of Krakatoa evolving over the weeks. At first, the island began rumbling, and spewing out smoke, while the scientists of the day observed. Some took a boat over to the island, and walked right up close, taking notes.

Then, and Experience slowed right down. Spring had passed, notes had been catalogued, people were calm, yet, along came the day of the 27th of August. On that day, the first pyroclastic blast – they had to spell that word – blew the top right off the mountain. And burned that once pretty island in a lovely blue ocean into a heap of ash.

The girls glanced in silence back and forth, at the screens, and to each other.

As the volcano exploded, Experience cut in another view from high up in the sky. Looking way down on Krakatoa as she choked out her cloud super high in the air. The green jungle fried up, totally, burnt to a crisp. In the side view you could keep watching an expanding cloud column spewing upward.

"Think about the monkeys," Charlize said. "And like did anyone get hurt?"

"Watch that ocean wave," Nia said. "Tidal wave, bad."

"Thousands of people died," Lisi said, touching for impact data. "Look, data says bodies floated in the ocean a year later."

As the girls watched, Krakatoa explode four times, all in that same day. By then, the whole mountain blew up in the sky, no matter where you watched it from. Starting with an orange blast at first, the heat at the base turned yellow, taking over to blow skyward with enough energy to reach the edge of space. The data screen said six cubic kilometers of pyroclastic matter, and broke down all the chemistry. In the end, the mountain blasted apart into nothing, leaving behind an ocean caldera the data screen said. Where the island had once been, now a sunken hole remained in the ocean, surrounded by three new islands.

What a death.

"Why are we watching this?" Charlize said, distraught. "Why this for our science project?"

"Well think big, what if our Earth dies?" Lisi said. "So do we, you know."

"Tra-la-la," Charlize said, half-heartedly. "We could go be with Angelique!"

"We can meet and play with her in a dream," Lisi said. "But we can't actually go there."

"That's where Toopie went," Nia said. "And Charlie."

"Better to leave this world before you're thirteen," Lisi said. "Or, when you're totally old."

"Thirteen Fiba-who-chi petals," Nia said. "Then twenty-one; totally old."

"Angelique tells us that," Charlize said. "And my sister."

"You sister's fifteen," Lisi said. "Right?"

"Yes, but the whole Earth dying can't be true," Charlize said. "We don't want to explode like that."

"Daddy said we're not exploding," Lisi said. "We're a frog in a pot on the stove."

"Those frogs are so dozy," Nia said. "And, they die."

"Or, we're on a slow-fry, like the jungle edges first steaming up on Krakatoa," Lisi said. "We've got our fingers on the stove knob."

"So if we know that," Charlize said. "Why don't we turn it down?"

"Adults can't figure out how," Nia said. "They like need more potty training time."

"Let's keep watching Krakatoa," Lisi said. "'Cause she gets born again."

Lisi touched Continue flashing on the HoloCube.

"Look, look," Nia said. "The smoke's all gone."

"Ooo, a baby volcano," Charlize said. "Isn't she cute."

"That's why Dad rushed back to Svalbard," Lisi said, staying serious. "Even though the Krakatoa volcano exploded in Indonesia."

"Why?"

"That baby volcano grew and grew again," Lisi said. "To be a teenager, going wild now."

"Just wait for ANG," Nia said. "Our Angie."

"Better than any volcano," Charlize said. "Our very own girl power eruption. We spew out giggle whispers into the dreams of all people."

"Yes, like totally, like absolutely," Nia said, switching to a surprisingly mature voice. "We remodel our people, who remodel our planet, not just one mountain, but the whole green and blue island."

"Exactly," Lisi said. "We treat our planet, and all people, like an old volcanic caldera, and in that crater cradle we raise up a new baby, one that keeps growing and growing."

"Like when we have a baby someday," Charlize said. "After our wedding day."

"You've got a mind, my dear," Nia said. "Biology and geology, together."

"Our mother Earth," Lisi said. "Our Gaia."

Once you began a planetary experiment, there was no going back. Gaia could be quite forgiving, and had lasted with life for like billions of years. Microbes at least. So, depended on the experiment, and depended on your timing. Daddy would agree to that.

"You gotta get naked with your husband," Charlize said. "And do the wild thing."

"Love, and friendship first," Lisi said. "You bond, you make love."

"Sometimes, mom says," Nia said. "Either way, you get a baby."

"Explosive love," Charlize said, nudging Nia. "Boom Boom." She spread her eyes wide in Nia's face.

"Some volcanoes explode," Lisi said, sticking to geology. "Look at the images, and think Hawai'i. A gentle release of lava into a growing island of paradise."

"Only sometimes," Nia said, a dark mood coming over her for a moment. Lisi knew she only saw her father once a week. "Not everything turns out as planned. We can talk to my mom."

"You don't have to do that," Lisi said. "The sex thing."

"How else?"

"Kay, so you form a family, or a tribe, or a village, and there's children everywhere on this planet," Lisi said. "You care for one or more already born."

"My friend named Lisi," Nia said, singing. "Who had a crazy mind."

For sure there was no way to stop a volcano, or maybe Daddy and the engineers could figure that one out. But like, when Olympus Mons erupted on Mars, well that totally happened, and the mountain was still there billions and millions of years later. The heat and chemistry below ground came to the surface, and played out the game according to the laws of physics and science.

"Alright," Lisi said. "Let's get our volcano kit into the delivery room. A baby new world, reborn."

Together, they as girls, long before ever becoming biological mothers, they together could give birth to Angie. The next project in the science lab. Lisi checked for any message from Adrian.

"Like what?" Charlize said.

"What child would you want to have?" Lisi said. "To mother, to raise."

"Goo goo, "Nia said, back to her old self." Gaa gaa."

"She needs to sing, like my friend Yaritza," Lisi said. "And play an instrument."

"Angie sings and plays music, to the nasty old men," Charlize said. "And that calms their vile thoughts, no matter what they plan or devise for their day."

"Yes, yes," Lisi said. "I love you Charlize, and you too Goo Goo."

Maybe physics fairy adults would figure out how to bring Mars back to life, that's one experiment they liked. Good old planet Mars had been dead for so long, except for Village Mars, which was maybe forty-two people. Forty-one now, since Lou died. Not even a real village yet, more like a school class. Much better, however, all people first get planet Earth on life support long enough to keep home planet alive. So then the fairyland adults could keep playing their Martian game.

##

As they finished up their class notes, and their final resolve discussion, Adrian's face appeared in the Holocube. And from there the code girl quickly popped up her duplicate in a Wall sub-screen.

"Okay, guys," Lisi said. "We're done with this born-again volcano."

"Hey Adrian," Charlize said. "Where are you?"

"School digital lab, Adrian said. "What you guys doing?"

"Talking," Charlize said. "About forever and heaven."

"Forever could mean," Adrian said. "An image, or a memory, like those do live on in a directory, or a mind."

"You know that boy Charlie, Adrian," Lisi said. "He came to skills class the days he was at school."

"He was autistic," Adrian said. "He was, wasn't he?"

"We don't really know," Lisi said. "Ollie and Max were autistic—Ollie had Asperger's."

"Cool," Adrian said. "Totally awesome, for code."

Charlize stared at Adrian, and then looked to Lisi and Nia.

"Charlie hung out in one spot," Charlize said, softly. "Always by himself."

"He never went outside," Lisi said. "But Angelique came into class, to whisper to him. And you know what, to Ollie too."

"Some of first Greta's proteges were autistic," Adrian said. "Awesome for code, that's what I mean."

"Who's the first Greta?" Nia said.

"That Swedish girl," Adrian said. "She was the no school Fridays4Climate girl—she's like thirty now."

"Oh," Nia said, looking to Charlize. "But but but... and so?"

"She's still got like a gzillion followers," Adrian said. "And she's autistic, she's got Asperger's."

"Oh I see," Charlize said. "So does that help her with code?"

"Not code so much, but her and her Asperger helpers," Adrian said. "The first Greta was totally awesome speaking truth to adults. Asperger's is her super power."

"Awesome Adrian," Lisi said. "We want her childhood in our Angie."

"She quit talking for two years," Adrian said. "So that's like missing data."

"We've got Nia," Charlize said. "She started talking when she was super small, and never stopped."

"I wanna be a bat, bat, bat," Nia sang, face shining. "Simple as that, that, that."

"Oh mama," Lisi said. "Nia, you need a brainer feed."

"You can be a crow, crow, crow," Adrian sang back. "That's what I know, know, know."

"A bat crow," Lisi said. "You guys are connected!"

"The first Greta started talking again," Adrian said. "But only when she had something worth saying. Like climate science."

"A bat is a mammal," Lisi said. "And a crow is a bird."

"Science," Nia said, dreamy eyed.

"They both fly," Charlize said.

"You remember Hallowe'en?" Lisi asked Charlize. "Blood dripping from Adrian's eyes."

"What were you dressed as Adrian?" Charlize said.

"Duh," Lisi said. "The Frog Queen."

"Coder Queen," Nia said. "Yeah."

"Let's discuss our born-again girl app's presentation," Lisi said. "We must choose carefully, and think of her future."

"So, CHAR-actor composes our ANG the bot voice," Adrian said. "She's our Girl App."

"How she comes out to the world," Lisi said. "Like, I don't think as an actor."

"When do we meet our Angie," Nia said. "Then we decide."

"Talk to my bot," Adrian said. "Keep her confused—so she doesn't take over our minds."

"Not just an app," Charlize said. "A real-world presence."

"How then?" Lisi said.

"Angie, Ah-ahh-ngie," Charlize half sang, looking to Nia. "Your mom sings that song, right?"

"Rolling Stones," Nia said. "Rocks roll downhill, every time."

"Angie, Ah-ahh-ngelique," Charlize sang. "When will you ..."

"Our voices are all part of her," Lisi said. "No spying, no copyright violation, no court cases."

She looked at Nia and Charlize.

"I'm in," Charlize said. "I want part of me to be part of Angie."

"Goo goo," Nia said, nodding affirmative.

"We know we recorded each other in our natural state," Lisi said. "In our natural environment."

"We feed all our voices into Adrian's compose code," Lisi said. "And all we recall about Angelique, and Ollie and Charlie."

"All we know about what it is to be girls," Charlize said. "To be we."

"All girls know, all we know," Lisi said. "What nasty old men, and our new world needs to hear."

"Our values," Charlize said. "What's important."

"Our list," Lisi said. "Kindness, compassion, caring."

"What does she look like?" Adrian said. "We decide right now."

"Short hair," Charlize said. "She smiles."

"Red curly hair."

"Okay, and freckles."

"Yes, yes, yes."

Adrian touched in HoloCube, and they watched as Angie's face formed before them on the Wall.

"Faces are easy," Adrian said. "Character development takes serious engagement time."

"Okay."

"Girls, prepare to meet Angie," Lisi said. "She is you, and you are she."

"We can think high school project," Adrian said. "She'll be us for now, and she'll be us version two when we're teenagers."

"She is us now," Charlize said. "And we are her."

"Kay, so Charlize, yes," Lisi said. "Angelique, like we found her."

Could an app have Asperger's Lisi wondered. Like first Greta, and Ollie.

"Voila," Adrian said. "Meet Angie."

"Cupcake," Nia said. "Snow cupcake."

"She does not look like any of us," Charlize said. "At all."

"That's the best," Adrian said. "She's a completely new girl."

Not able to find words to say anything, Lisi slipped into overwhelm, stunned. And Charlize said nothing either, nor Nia, while they sat there together in silence. Tears rolled down their cheeks.

The freckled face before them now spoke louder than any words could, and Lisi was sure her whisper would speak into many ears. They were ANG, the girls were Angie, and Angelique, and those guys... they were the girls. The voice of all girls, speaking truth to the adults.
Chapter 35

Arctic Standoff

In the depths of his being Vince could feel the core fear, yet at the same time a soaring thrill. High risk did that to you, with any high potential return. On this human evolutionary path; planet Earth at stake. Back in drone zone Africa, he'd come face to face with a surface seeker drone, the bot cams scanning for facial recognition. His face. A match with any foreign designated eco-terrorist list – a dated term – could have meant his on-the-spot demise. Without the need for a high elevation missile launch platform, the seeker drones carried multiple termination options. Old overlapped new – a dated list term; high launch now dated technology. Yet a good old bullet through the head remained one seeker option, or a lethal injection while sleeping, or even a gas release to eliminate all witnesses.

Used to what ran through his head in this Svalbard office chair, Vince turned to local new. Arctic tourism had tapered off after the spring equinox. Electric planes deboarded half empty in recent days, and pending Volcano Watch updates the refreeze team had postponed their sulphur release flights for the day.

Having targeted stable jet stream whorls as spring progressed, they pushed their old tech jet to its height limits, and higher as the releasing sulphur load lightened the aircraft. All project projections were on track. Amid the media churn last few days tension buzzed on more than just the Chukchi Sea standoff. Last night he'd been getting messages and voice calls from every direction. Another Africa-like moment loomed on the horizon. That memorable evening, when they'd expanded Sahara regional to a global sulphur release, and then taken the High Impact Country's climate cooling story to COP Italy. To challenge the carbon emitting OECD wealthy countries, on the world stage.

Or might this global moment play out like that mid-Atlantic stand-off, naval forces and jet fighters clashing in shows of force. Commanders to decide who's who. Chest beating for power over a decision on all peoples' common planetary life expectancy.

In the Chukchi Sea, or back in Africa, an all-male display; or, the conversation might just shift into female discussion. With personal commitment to fall back on, still, Vince figured the trend was shifting towards a boardroom standoff, as well as or even in place of, the military. A boardroom, where people talked to each other with no weapons pointing. Negotiating; a skill par excellence for the feminine, where women leaders might sideline any military plays for power. Over at the Chukchi end of the Arctic, youthful feminine eyes might watch the boys, bemused. And turn to each other; asking hey girls, what do we do?

With a Refreeze team invitation to a European Minister's Hangout, Vince had but to wait around the quiet Svalbard airport. Waiting, was part of the game. The next sequence of sulphur releases was on the block. Go, or no.

What a world... Vince sighed. With a task at hand of sitting tight, he imagined a story completely action drama free. Awaiting a volcanic event was like standing by on human action. Over population, or fitting the species onto one planet dragged out with traditional hunter-gatherer instincts at play. Rule one: don't change anything.

In this zero-action lull, he turned to browse his device.

Brad had posted valley security updates. That west approach from Nelway. Emergency gates both sides of the pass, well below the pass peak. Images of runaway lanes, and mandatory tire chain signs for trucks. A nightmare for any invading ground force, the guy messaged. Excellent Swiss-like security, and also, within Cascadia; that appeared important. That was Nelway to Kootenay Pass, a deep steep valley, with one highway scratched into one high slope side. One blast to close all access, Brad noted.

Hmm, awesome, sure, join the planetary survivors. An option seeming more real, playing more of the time in Vince's mind.

A Hangout post from Jerome revealed the latest genetic research, among social insects, discovering specific gender divisions. Those ants; even commenting on Idaho valley insects. Ants' genetic codes revealed a historically lost male gene—misplaced along those insects' evolutionary trail. Revealingly, Jerome said, about the time those very ant species shifted to super colonies; no longer warring colony on colony. As always, Jerome reiterated his factoid that except for breeding drones, all ants—soldiers and workers, carried female DNA. All girls. And that the queens and sisters of some at least ant species refrained from war. Learn bug love, learn of love from bugs, Jerome wrote as if composing a song.

The Idaho ant hills reports revealed, Jerome had recruited that engineer. Tiny ant colonies survive undetected next to big hills, and documented cases showed took over when the big hills collapsed. Like a tiny valley, in human terms. Brad was all gung ho to report in the GPS coordinates, and gather species identification photos come spring. Who in ant terms, and where; how close to each other. Like the gist of a military strategy going through an ant commander's mind, if that happened.

Jerome's latest theory, meanwhile, extrapolated ant hills out across those night time stars. Think about it, he proposed. Take those millions of ant hills, scattered across planet Earth; take that as a model representing the likely millions or billions of planets out there. Even across one galaxy, like the Milky Way. Or Andromeda, the galaxy next door. At either or any scale, for one human mind an unfathomable count of planets. And then assume universal life, a universe teaming with life. Like Vince's boyhood space probe, and that math-based organization in flowers and fractals.

Indicators of extraterrestrial life existed within their solar system, Jerome pointed out, like seasonal methane releases from the Martian underground. The two known sources of Earth methane being geological or biological. Natural gas, and bacteria and cow farts. Organic molecules, the Mars rovers had discovered so far. Or take the ice shell moons of the outer solar system. Especially Europa, that liquid ocean moon orbiting Jupiter. Reddish streaks on a white icy surface meant subsurface liquid water in contact with a deeper rock core. A sign of life, scientists proposed. As per deep ocean life on Earth, around volcanic vents.

Vince nodded along with the possible, keeping a check on the Euro meet-ups status. Still nothing.

Microbial life, maybe. But crabs topped the food chain at Earth's ocean vents. And sulphur eaters—no sunlight required, fit with those outer moons' solar distance. Among planets strewn endlessly across a living universe, life more advanced than crabs, or humans, seemed not only possible, but probable. Back to the ant hill model. Some, at least, of those advanced life forms would learn to be non-warlike or had evolved never knowing war to start. Bioscience showed internally and symbiotically cooperative species had significant evolutionary advantage, Jerome explained, past the kinship theory. So, highly likely the universe out there was cooperative, even friendly. Based on the supposition that cooperative species evolving space travel survived, and Star Wars species didn't.

Nice. Vince got it, that people, his species, had a chance at a friendly universe. With a right-choice ticket. But at this stage of maturity, no guarantee. This was a with-effort-only proposition. The Idaho engineer had yeah yeah yeah written all over his notes to Jerome.

Those darling Argentine ants, Jerome proposed; we biomimic those insects, and welcome all to a loving universe. Or at least cooperative. Enough not to make enemies, and throw rocks, or fire missiles. Ants led the way for the Idaho valley cultural modelling, anyway. In today's planet Earth situation, globally Vince deduced, that would take negotiating in good faith at the Euro meeting table. And then some. Friendly neighborhood human nations, like good morning next door ant hills, to culturally integrate. A huge ask, but to one day join a friendly universe of brotherly, or sisterly love, a huge payout.

Brad had zeroed in on a story request for Jerome's ants. Those ants that took slaves—in that situation, he wanted the word on an insect revolt. By the enslaved. A successful revolution, where once slave ants now held truly equal economic and social rights. A constitution of the ants, by the ants, for the ants.

Jerome had yet to message back on that one.

Check human history Jerome argued on. Find a truly feminine wise woman leader who had ever initiated warrior conflict. With ants all being sisters, even huge soldier ants with crushing jaws held an inner soft touch. Among the non-warring colonies, those soldier sisters stood guard duty over the queen, and protected the larvae in each ant hill. Not from ant neighbors, but from other nasty dangers of the natural world. Among people find not a masculine mimicking female leader—Jerome supplied a list of those, but a truly feminine leader. Had she ever started a war?

Vince leaned back, taking in Jerome's latest, breathing deep, and swelling up thinking of Lisi. Then, a return to the here and now, his part in the whole game, and he glanced to the Holocube. The European led meet-ups showed two minutes to start time.

##

Vince snuck in beside Brad at a Minister's Holocube Hangout. Multiple feeds connected to the global event, with the primary interaction posting from Brussels. There, NATO sat directly across from OATO. Benj, and then Michael slid in across the virtual table, and Jake and Tamanna joined in. A tribal connection taking in this global decision.

Another feed profiled the latest on the naval standoff in the Chukchi Sea. Ongoing maneuvers, and no agreement. The Russians patrolled nuclear subs beneath the Arctic Ocean, below the last of any sea ice. The US kept one Pacific Fleet aircraft carrier just outside the Bering Strait, and their first Arctic Fleet carrier patrolling the thin ice edge receding with spring across the Chukchi Sea. Soon to access the new naval base being built on the north shore of Alaska. Where the Beaufort Sea ice gyre once circulated.

"Don't shoot," Vince said, and keyed in that comment. That would be an early stage act of cooperation.

"Stand down," Brad said. "For boys, with military minds."

Girls might go further, with love in their voices. Stop pointing at me, pleazzz—your stone tipped spear, those slings and arrows, your finger; for sure those laser-guided missiles. Learn to get along, learn to make friends. C'mon, let's build a castle, an ice castle, we can sculpt one together. We'll show you, c'mon. A stretch too far, perhaps too much to expect from today's adults. But, human help stood on offer.

The team tuned in, and commented on the NATO across from OATO negotiations. NATO needed national security, with that nasty other tribe just over the hill, just across the river, or just across the ocean. Eyeing our gold, our women, our domination. Conversely, OATO needed a health planet, with a stabilized biosphere.

Shit, look at Germany, NATO, Brad posted. The Nazi party lasted thirteen difficult human growing up years. Now? Germany had elected a woman chancellor for so many years, and the country had zero aircraft carriers. What are your security needs, or, your insecurity issues, really, all about?

Michael posted the story of his grandfather's days, four years as a child war refugee after soldiers ate the family milk cow. The way people had not long ago gone about adjusting government, empires ending, and czar to people power then. That people's effort gone sideways now played a role on the world stage, maneuvering a sub fleet under the Chukchi Sea.

People of the world listened, as theirs, and other global leaders spoke. People who chose their leaders, through various levels of fairness in ballot box counts, and people who didn't so directly choose leaders. For a host of reasons. Among the arctic team, consensus was to keep the refreeze project going. And Vince had the latest flight schedule waiting.

At an Open Oceans engagement, European leaders teased the US and Russia into one discussion meeting, with nonmilitary on the table for both the high seas and atmosphere. The US went so far as to publicly agree to ban a list of nanoparticles from manufacture by any private enterprise. And a Russian representative appeared, pronouncing a ban on any weaponized manufacture of CFC plants. Talks, or the beginnings of those talks at least on global limits to any radical adjustment of the climate temperature control knobs. A Europe squeezed in a planetary limited climate action sideline agreement, with wording on arctic sea ice, and the term geoengineering.

The world's bread basket grain production regions, experiencing climate related droughts, and other erratic weather, had farmers explaining to agriculture ministers. The poor-quality soil of the tundra, and lost permafrost and ice, did not bring about more farm land. Eastern European nations, with northern stretches of territory acknowledged. And bump the ethics up, Benj posted, like ethically sourced arabica beans for everyone's coffees; the changed climate decimated coffee bean production.

Vince felt the warmth of his precious coffee cup.

Back when the world knew the seven global rivers flooding the oceans with plastic, Benj reminded them, the whole world did act. Not as promptly as they acted together on virus pandemics, but countries had taken on global cooperation to a degree. The Montreal Protocol had solved the ozone depletion issue. One planet, one problem, one coordinated solution. The world got the OECD finances out there and cleaned up those rivers, wherever they flowed, to everyone's benefit.

Vince took in an active bubble graph, tracking alliances over recent history. Europe and south-east Asia were economically moving together, reviving one old world connection along that ancient silk road. China's initiative; high speed trains replacing camel caravans. Scanning the scripts, he absorbed associated human history, how hunter-gathers became tribes, and chiefdoms, and fiefdoms became kingdoms, and nations eventually, yet all along how empires once formed gained internal peace. An empire, by another name, with peace keeping police, and no external borders, could encompass their one planet.

The day drew to a close under calm pretense. Another agreement under way between the militaries, and presidents, of the powerful and less powerful nations. Go ahead with the refreeze Jake and Tamanna said. Confirmed via that Open Oceans agreement. Cool. When first Greta talked of building a foundation, and thinking future cathedral, inspiration had run high. Perhaps that young woman's voice had been the turning point, or at least an inflection in the curve. Or perhaps adults of the day had realized another mutual destruction moment, like they had with nuclear arms. Not so quick as atomic blasts, but minus climate action and serious caretaking of a life supporting planet, but still, everyone loses.

The human race and their planet needed a lasting and final accord.

Who the enemy was could be seen in the mirror. Yet, there was no self as enemy defined in naval commander terms. The whole Chukchi Sea standoff played out with dominant male egos in a worn-out boy game of conquest. With but one planet, nothing remained to conquer. Nothing left to win or lose; only the immature impulse of humanity's echoing past. And, with women gathering up their daughters, or daughters gathering their mothers into focus, humanity would face what might come. From the great queen of the social hill, the universal queen of love, the voice of the universe would speak first, through mother Earth.

Whatever she might have to say.
Chapter 36

April Fools' Day

Standing at the Svalbard airport, Vince stared into the Holocube. The date 1 April, 2034 floated across, that April fool's day of European tradition. Top of Volcano Watch list the steaming caldera lake in Central America filled one side screen, and the Italian lava flows on another. While front and center, the Indonesian mountain blew sky high into the stratosphere. Krakatoa, the ocean island, had erupted from its caldera.

Firming his gaping jaw, he could feel the cascade of engineering equations crumbling throughout his mind. Statistically speaking, this type of volcanism had always been defined as a random risk, on the geological timetable. Independent of human decisions to scramble in response, as humans did; scurrying about adapting their politics and action plans. And face once again their folly. Mother Earth had taken her voice to the table, and she would be speaking last.

Vince read back though the project agenda, twice over. An early morning notice had cancelled that day's flights, and then another postponed all arctic sulphur releases for the week. The refreeze project flashed On Hold, pending further European political decisions. Forget fast tracking that other jet being retrofitted in Germany. Another ball now thrown in to the geoengineering juggling act.

With their project design an order of magnitude more complex, as an engineer Vince would shut down all sulphur release operations globally. Specifically in Africa, and the Arctic, to recalculate, re-evaluate and recalibrate. Yet European politics might take this natural event as a boost to their Arctic project efforts, in a political risk calculation. All while the cash-strapped HICCC in Africa might take climate cooling cost reductions as welcome financial benefits. And even juggle in the political talk of a one degree cooler climate.

These decision-makers balancing their priorities with nature—the elevated snowball Earth risk raced through Vince's head. And he had to fight that off.

As the natural world brought her geological voice to the stage, the laws of physics gathered up as audience on one side of the performance hall, while laws of biological and cultural evolution took seats on the other side. All while human politics spoke in tongues to a thinning crowd of spectators along the middle aisle.

Thank whatever gods, or universal math rules might be they hadn't elevated those pole drifting discs. Nanoparticles, with their order of magnitude in engineering efficiency. Then the snow ball earth performance would come out screaming—to a hall of fleeing people, or a service praying hard for salvation. Feeling his eyes well, thinking of his daughter, Vince wiped at his face hard to focus on the issues. Again.

In the drone zone, they'd shut down HICCC geoengineering before, giving the OECD breathing space they didn't deserve. Humans could forgive, unlike ants. Now they must coordinate and cooperate with Krakatoa's moods, and natural sulfur to stratosphere explosions. People had taken on management of their planet, and they must learn to manage.

While the OECD formed legal agreements, many in Africa would strive for planetary cooling below pre-industrial. Those countries, who had not caused climate change, could argue based on science that's what nature had on the burner anyway. No matter how Tamanna explained to African presidents the extra Sahara sands during early Holocene times, what people voted for remained pivotal. The High Impact Countries could take a legitimate satisfaction in the Krakatoa blast. What with budgetary considerations as Finance Ministers said in OECD countries, reduced operational and project costs on geoengineering kept global south presidents smiling.

And those in the streets of the global north, the rich countries, would react. Ban the discs! Street banners would read. Nature rules! The crowds would chant. And truth be told, restrictions to natural atmospheric aerosols would cede to mother nature's methods. A step towards cooperation with planet Earth.

With Europe and China on board with natural cooling only, ocean mist, or spray water on the land ice, or sulphur only in the air, the boys in the Chukchi just might follow, to stay out of trouble. The Open Seas Treaty could become real, and if the cards played out well take in the all-important Atmosphere Treaty.

However people might scramble, this first of April would record Krakatoa blasting a hundred-and-twenty-foot ash column straight up. Into the stratosphere. While her sister volcanic mounts waited in the wings. Mother, or could it be Queen Earth, with geological Princesses in tow, had rejoined global negotiations. All bets were off on climate change; global heating or cooling could go either way. Maybe people would learn the language of their planet as she spoke again, or if unable to learn, maybe valley survivors not snuffed out somewhere would get another chance later.

The End

Thank you for reading Krakatoa II. If you took something away from this novel, please take a moment to leave a review at your favourite retailer.

Thanks!

Les W Kuzyk

About Les W Kuzyk

Although my writing career began with an academic thesis on Social Justice, and I have published academic papers, with time I have come to realize my preference for facts based speculative fiction. This novel seeks to warn and inform the human race as to how our climate crisis might unfold in a concerning manner. I maintain an Our Near Future website linked to climate change stores such as Blown Bridge Valley and Tribe 5 Girl that follow the Krakatoa II characters as this climate crisis novel series develops. I have also completed a near future speculative science fiction novel, _The Shela Directive_ , questioning our need for the _toorich_.

Discover other Writings by Les W Kuzyk

Our Near Future

Climate Fiction Short Stories

Blown Bridge Valley \- Vince and daughter in 2037 Calgary

Tribe 5 Girl \- Vince and daughter Annalise near 2047 in the Valley

Green Sahara \- Alternate Pinatubo II ending

AlberTa's Gift

Next Door Data

Storm Punchers

Other Short Stories

A Future History of the Environment

Other Novels

Pinatubo II

The Shela Directive

The Sandbox Theory

Connect with Les W Kuzyk

Favorite me at Smashwords
