Steve Alten - The Mayan Resurrection

‘Not at all. Got a full day tomorrow anyway. Watch out for this guy, Lilith, he’s a handful.’

‘Mmm… I hope so.’

Oval Office, The White House 11:43 a.m.

John Zwawa, the forty-seventh president of the United States, has made sacrifices to attain the highest office in the land. Entering the political arena after years as a human rights activist and heavy metal rocker has forced him to shorten his once shoulder-length blond hair, which now runs mostly gray. The thinly shaven goatee is gone too, as are the sideburns. The only remaining physical evidence of the president’s years as a musician are his tattoos. On his right bicep is an image of a leaping lion holding two drumsticks, on his left-a large Polish falcon grasping a banner inscribed with his children’s names.

The president enters the Oval Office to find Lilith Mabus hovering next to Alyssa Popov, the new director of the United States Geological Survey-Earthquakes Hazard Program.

‘Lilith, so sorry about Lucien.’

‘Thank you, John. Lucien was young, but drugs had taken their toll on his heart long ago.’ She tilts her head, accepting the formal peck on the cheek from a man she has slept with more than a dozen times, on two occasions with her late husband.

‘And Ms. Popov. I hear you’ve been busy at Yellowstone Park.’

‘You could say that, sir.’

‘I gather you two ladies know each other?’

‘Intimately.’ Lilith winks, enjoying the president’s blush.

‘So? What’s this meeting about? Next year’s midterm elections?’

‘No, John, it’s about the end of the world and the survival of humanity.’

Zwawa’s grin remains frozen on his face. ‘Lilith, I don’t have time for these-’

‘Show him, Alyssa.’

‘Computer, play program Popov-One.’

Along the far wall, the holographic image of the bookcase and fireplace reverts to a large floor-to-ceiling smart-screen.

For the next thirty minutes, the president of the United States is absorbed in the details of a Top-Secret UMBRA report.

‘Computer, end program. Shred Popov-One and all minutes of this meeting.’

A stunned John Zwawa sits head in hands at his desk, the weight of the world upon his shoulders. He whispers, ‘How could this be happening? Why wasn’t I told?’

Alyssa shook her head. ‘With everything civilization’s been through in the last three decades, Yellowstone’s never been more than a passing interest. It’s only because of recent breakthroughs measuring geothermal changes that we learned of an impending eruption.’

‘How soon?’

‘A decade or two, tops.’

The president loosens his collar. ‘I… I can’t breathe-’

‘Take it slowly, John.’

‘How bad will it be?’

‘Worse than you can possibly imagine,’ Alyssa says. ‘The explosion will release ten thousand times more debris than the Mount St. Helens explosion, instantly killing the surrounding population. The Midwestern states will become ground zero, wiping out our crops. Within a few days, the atmospheric debris will blot out the sun.’

‘And that, John,’ Lilith coos, ‘is when the shit really hits the fan. We’re looking at a volcanic winter, with global temperatures plunging as much as a hundred degrees. Power grids will fail, populations become isolated, the economy lurching to a standstill. Millions will perish during the first few weeks just from the cold. Roads will be impassable. Within a month or two, those who haven’t frozen to death will starve.’

‘Unfortunately, Lilith’s correct, sir. We’re talking major ice age here, make no mistake about it. This is the end of civilization on this world, at least for a very long time.’

‘And you say this can happen in a decade or two?’

‘Maybe less. When it does happen, we’ll have little to no warning.’

‘There must be something our scientists can do?’

‘We have teams working on it, sir. So far, nothing looks promising. You’re talking about a major volcanic hot spot. The last time one of these calderas erupted, it wiped out nearly every human being on the planet.’

‘Who else knows about this?’

‘Lilith’s people, a handful of scientists, that’s all for now.’

‘And that’s the way we want to keep it,’ Lilith says, her azure eyes staring through him. ‘We have one shot at saving our species, John, and only if we act now. Secrecy must be maintained at all costs, or all of us will die.’

President Zwawa reaches into his bottom drawer. Removes a flask and paper cup, his hands shaking as he pours himself a drink. ‘You’re talking about Mars Colony.’

‘Yes, sir. Mars has water, and water means life.’

‘Yes, but what kind of life? What future do we have on such a desolate planet?’

‘Sir, Project HOPE and our own scientists have put together an extensive plan for Mars colonization. As we speak, NASA’s geologists are working with HOPE to design a machine called an AGM, or Automated Greenhouse Machine. Powered by nuclear reactors, these mobile factories will produce vast quantities of perfluorocarbons-simple compounds of carbon and fluorine. In the right combination, these molecules are a thousand times more effective at trapping heat than carbon dioxide. Just a few parts per million of perfluorocarbons in the Martian air will produce enough warming to release vast amounts of CO2 from the Martian polar caps and soil. The thickening of the atmosphere will trap more heat, releasing even more gas. By raising the planet’s temperatures a mere twenty to thirty degrees Celsius, you start a runaway greenhouse effect.’

‘You’re going to terraform Mars?’ The president sits back, light-headed. ‘How soon?’

Alyssa Popov shrugs. ‘With HOPE’s resources, we can have the first of these AGMs pumping within three years. In a decade, we’ll have hundreds, enough to produce the gases necessary for a Martian atmosphere. Some of the colony’s materials can be mined from the planet’s two moons-our probes have detected usable concentrations of iridium and aluminum just beneath the surface of the Mars moon, Phobos. If all goes well, by 2070, the inhabitants of our colony might even be able to breathe Martian air without the use of pressurized suits.’

Zwawa stands. Paces. ‘How many? How many lives can we save before the doomsday event takes place?’

Alyssa looks at Lilith, then back at the president. ‘With the discovery of a second Mars aquifer, the colony can support as many as ten thousand people.’

‘Ten thousand? Ten thousand out of seven billion? And who decides who goes? You, Ms. Popov? You, Lilith?’

‘Actually, yes.’ Lilith’s azure eyes sparkle violet in the light.

‘This is barbaric.’

‘It is what it is. Face facts, John. This planet’s been overpopulated for decades. In a sense, an ice age is Earth’s way of cleansing itself. If history has taught us anything, it’s that those who can adapt survive, while the weak among us perish. It’s nature’s way.’

‘How can you be so cold-hearted?’

‘Sir, those chosen will be contributing members of New Earth. Scientists and high-tech farmers, engineers, physicians, and skilled laborers. We’ll start humanity over again using the best of the best-’

‘-and the wealthiest, of course,’ Lilith chimes in. ‘To pull this off requires vast sums of money-money that cannot be allocated through Congress, unless you want planetwide anarchy. I’ve already started dialogue with CEOs of the Fortune 100s and a dozen private bankers, all of whom are dying-excuse the pun-to invest in HOPE’s Mars Colony.’

Zwawa sits back in his chair, the blood draining from his face. ‘If you don’t need federal funding, then why are you even coming to me?’

‘First,’ Alyssa says, ‘because we need your support in shutting down the handful of government and private agencies who might accidentally stumble across the truth. Yellowstone must be shut down to all nonessential personnel. We have a few emergency scenarios in mind, toxic sulfur leak, that sort of thing.’