conflicts over rapidly diminishing arable land, because of drought, floods, windstorms, and rising oceans; rapidly diminishing fresh water; rapidly diminishing food; and rapidly diminishing oil supplies.’” Percy looked up. “The Agency says we’re in for an unprecedented period of what it calls ‘social and climate chaos.’ So we must consider all our options.”
Jenna put down her pen. She’d planned to take notes but she’d already written the book from which the vice president could have been quoting.
“Most of you have highly specialized knowledge. A few of you, like our well-known colleague, Ms. Jenna Withers, are highly educated generalists, if I do you no disfavor by saying so, Ms. Withers.”
“No, not at all.”
“Hey, me, too,” Senator Higgens chimed in. “I’m all about generalities,” she added with a self-deprecating laugh that drew smiles from most of the people at the table.
Senator Higgens was a big woman with an incongruously lean, pretty face. A “table date,” the network’s Pentagon correspondent once called her. Jenna had asked what he meant. “Back in the day, she’d look great in a restaurant, as long as you couldn’t see her from the waist down.”
Jenna had bristled at his remark and turned away. Remembering the exchange softened her to Senator Fossil Fuels.
Since losing the Senate seat that she’d held for twenty-four years, Higgens had become executive director of the United States Energy Institute (USEI), the oil and coal industry’s powerhouse lobbying group. She’d reportedly written more than three dozen energy bills in the last session alone, and found plenty of former colleagues—beneficiaries of USEI largesse—to introduce them under their own names. A boisterous, robust presence, Higgens had long been a favorite of Sunday morning interview shows: a plain-talking Texan whose twang-tinged homilies belied a superior intellect and political savvy widely respected inside the Beltway, where cunning counted as a virtue, not a vice.
“The esteemed senator,” Vice President Percy said with a smile, “is not giving herself proper credit, but I’m sure she’ll agree that it’s vital for us to come up with a plan that will really deal with global warming. If we don’t, we’re…” And here Percy paused, maybe for dramatic effect. If so, Senator Higgens usurped the tension entirely:
“Toast, Andy. We’re toast, baked, bar-bee-cued.” The senator guffawed, spurring surprised laughter around the room.
But Jenna sat in startled silence, shocked by what the senator appeared to endorse: wholesale acceptance by the oil and coal industry of the impending peril posed by climate change. Amazing. Momentous. Even bigger than when some of the oil industry giants finally stopped funding institutes that denied climate change with pretend science.
“We are warming,” the vice president agreed wryly with the senator. “Evan Stubb,” Percy’s chief of staff, “will coordinate your efforts to come up with the cheapest, most efficient means of sharply reducing temperatures and GHGs. In other words, the president wants a short list of the most promising geoengineering options, and he’d like it in the next sixty days, along with your recommendations on how to proceed.”
“Planning on being reelected?” asked the goateed environmentalist who’d leered at Jenna. The election was only ten days away.
The vice president just grinned and directed one of his aides to pass out the memo his office had prepared on geoengineering. Jenna skimmed the first page quickly. Under “Most Feasible” she saw a short section on increasing cloud cover, which noted tersely: “Will cool Earth by reflecting sunlight back into space. Will not remove greenhouse gases.”
Sure won’t, she thought. Increasing cloud cover would only make it possible to live with higher levels of the gases … in the short run. Carbon dioxide would still be absorbed the by oceans, generating ever more
Jenna put down her pen. She’d planned to take notes but she’d already written the book from which the vice president could have been quoting.
“Most of you have highly specialized knowledge. A few of you, like our well-known colleague, Ms. Jenna Withers, are highly educated generalists, if I do you no disfavor by saying so, Ms. Withers.”
“No, not at all.”
“Hey, me, too,” Senator Higgens chimed in. “I’m all about generalities,” she added with a self-deprecating laugh that drew smiles from most of the people at the table.
Senator Higgens was a big woman with an incongruously lean, pretty face. A “table date,” the network’s Pentagon correspondent once called her. Jenna had asked what he meant. “Back in the day, she’d look great in a restaurant, as long as you couldn’t see her from the waist down.”
Jenna had bristled at his remark and turned away. Remembering the exchange softened her to Senator Fossil Fuels.
Since losing the Senate seat that she’d held for twenty-four years, Higgens had become executive director of the United States Energy Institute (USEI), the oil and coal industry’s powerhouse lobbying group. She’d reportedly written more than three dozen energy bills in the last session alone, and found plenty of former colleagues—beneficiaries of USEI largesse—to introduce them under their own names. A boisterous, robust presence, Higgens had long been a favorite of Sunday morning interview shows: a plain-talking Texan whose twang-tinged homilies belied a superior intellect and political savvy widely respected inside the Beltway, where cunning counted as a virtue, not a vice.
“The esteemed senator,” Vice President Percy said with a smile, “is not giving herself proper credit, but I’m sure she’ll agree that it’s vital for us to come up with a plan that will really deal with global warming. If we don’t, we’re…” And here Percy paused, maybe for dramatic effect. If so, Senator Higgens usurped the tension entirely:
“Toast, Andy. We’re toast, baked, bar-bee-cued.” The senator guffawed, spurring surprised laughter around the room.
But Jenna sat in startled silence, shocked by what the senator appeared to endorse: wholesale acceptance by the oil and coal industry of the impending peril posed by climate change. Amazing. Momentous. Even bigger than when some of the oil industry giants finally stopped funding institutes that denied climate change with pretend science.
“We are warming,” the vice president agreed wryly with the senator. “Evan Stubb,” Percy’s chief of staff, “will coordinate your efforts to come up with the cheapest, most efficient means of sharply reducing temperatures and GHGs. In other words, the president wants a short list of the most promising geoengineering options, and he’d like it in the next sixty days, along with your recommendations on how to proceed.”
“Planning on being reelected?” asked the goateed environmentalist who’d leered at Jenna. The election was only ten days away.
The vice president just grinned and directed one of his aides to pass out the memo his office had prepared on geoengineering. Jenna skimmed the first page quickly. Under “Most Feasible” she saw a short section on increasing cloud cover, which noted tersely: “Will cool Earth by reflecting sunlight back into space. Will not remove greenhouse gases.”
Sure won’t, she thought. Increasing cloud cover would only make it possible to live with higher levels of the gases … in the short run. Carbon dioxide would still be absorbed the by oceans, generating ever more
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