End of the Beginning: Chapters 1 and 2
As promised, a serialization of my novel. The first two chapters introduce Russian and US characters. Chapter 3 introduces Chinese, Indian and European characters. Its set in 2032.
Comments welcome, you hate it, you love it, you want the next chapters, pointers for improvement …. the “End of the Beginning” is from a Churchill speech in 1942.
Chapter 1: July 6th, 2032
Russian Arctic Waters
Natalya opened her eyes and blinked a few times, smiling to herself as she remembered the previous evening. Misha’s playful eyes inviting her into his room, that beautiful expressive mouth just wanting to be kissed, his hands caressing her body, the strength of his body against hers; that strong, hard, body.
He may not be a genius, but he sure was the fun that I needed.
She felt his heavy, muscular, arm stretched across her stomach. Lifting it gently, she sat upright on the edge of the bed as she realized that her watch alarm had awakened her. After putting her underwear back on she sniffed the sweater.
Oh well, it will have to do.
As she stood at the door, she looked wistfully back at her lover. Sighing heavily, she fought the urge to return to the bed, opened the door, and disappeared into the corridor outside.
Natalya walked toward the heavy metal door at the far end of the passage-way, swung it open to emerge onto the deck of the ship, and squinted painfully against the merciless light of the Arctic sun.
At thirty years of age, she had already achieved a great deal. Always at the top of her class, she rose quickly in the scientific establishment after gaining her doctorate. Following in the footsteps of her famous, and greatly admired, mother.
As she strode languidly along the deck and into the monitoring room, she felt a buzzing in her ear and heard the word “mother”. “Answer,” she said, then “Mama! How’s Moscow? Still having fun with your big bear?” she asked, smiling to herself.
“Well, we all need at least a little bit of fun in our lives, my treasure. Hopefully you have some to break the tedium of the North,” her mother answered. “I just wanted to call to see how you are, before my briefing to the leadership today.”
Olga Shaposhnikova sat in her office in the Russian parliamentary building, leaning back in her leather chair, content in the trappings of the scientific respect and political power that she had so thoroughly earned. She was a tall, strong, confident, and direct woman. She had learnt to be well groomed and dressed so as to exude the image required to succeed in the corridors of power. Her silky hair was carefully crafted around the intense eyes that shone from an older, yet still vibrant, face. Natalya was like a younger version of herself; brilliant, driven, and headstrong.
Olga loved her more than she could ever accept.
The mother and daughter bantered back and forth the way they always did, challenging each other in the loving way that only they could.
“Natalya?” her mother questioned. The urgent beeping of one of the computers next to Natalya had grabbed her attention.
“I will have to call you back, Mama,” she answered. “Good luck with your briefing.”
Natalya turned her attention to the screen on the wall. The line on the graph monitoring methane was travelling nearly vertically upward.
This is crazy, she thought, the concerned expression on her face intensifying.
Stepping back outside, she heard the popping and gurgling of bubbles in the water. As she peered over the side, she saw that a foaming sea had surrounded the ship. A feeling of dread grew in the pit of her stomach. As the noise around the ship intensified, she felt it lurch uncontrollably and start to fall. Losing her footing, she reached out for the railing, but missed and fell to the deck. The ship’s fall accelerated, as if it were dropping through air rather than floating on the ocean.
The cold, foaming, Arctic waters engulfed her.
Olga paused but a second. Having her daughter cut her off as something else claimed her attention was nothing new. She assumed it was more of the same: an intriguing scientific insight, a ridiculously handsome man... Whatever it was, it had demanded her attention.
“Madame Shaposhnikova. It’s time for the briefing,” a man at the door announced. She stood up, grabbed her tablet, and strode towards the door. She walked through the paneled halls of the Kremlin, past the portrait of Putin – The Father of the New Russia – as she entered the briefing room.
Olga had spent her life working and striving harder than anyone else to reach her current position. Born in the last decade of the old Soviet Union, she had lived through the convulsive birth of the new Russia, its near collapse in the 1990’s, and the recovery brought about by the new nationalism of Putin. Through all of that, along with having to raise a young daughter after the death of her husband, she had managed to gain her doctorate in atmospheric physics and begin an academic career.
The shock of an ice-free Arctic Ocean fifty years ahead of the expected schedule had opened up an opportunity for the more worldly scientists to become part of the decision-making elite; an opportunity that she had leapt at. Her deceased husband, a political economist, had opened up the world outside of pure science to her, and it was one that she had found fascinating. She was one of the few who could easily move between the worlds of climate science and politics, understanding the interplay between the two. The past decade had been a crazy, rocket-propelled adventure, as she had discovered an ability to easily mix with – and explain complex issues to – powerful politicians. She was now as much a politician as she was a scientist.
President Yazov nodded appreciatively as she entered the room and beckoned for her to take her seat. For such a powerful man, he was a relatively unimposing figure. Smaller than the others in the room, he had a waistline that showed his enjoyment of good food and exceptional wine. His warm eyes and welcoming handshake were skillful camouflage for the manipulative and sociopathic wolf that lurked beneath. The power elite of Russia sat around the dark wood, semi-circular table – an imposing audience of government, military, and oligarchs.
Dmitry Yukovsky, the head of National Security, addressed the briefing. He was a tall, large-framed bear of man, with a gravelly voice suggestive of endless vodkas and cigarettes. “The impacts from climate change have become a threat to Mother Russia equal to that of our American friends. This new reality fundamentally changes the way in which we must assess what is required to keep our nation secure. This issue has also started to catch fire domestically, particularly with the passing of the 2°C milestone earlier this year. The overall legitimacy of the government may be at stake if the population does not perceive that we are actively in control of the situation,” he stated. President Yazov nodded in agreement. Yukovsky continued. “I have been working closely with Madame Shaposhnikova’s new climate research secretariat to produce a clear understanding of the challenges ahead. In the past, the two of us have had our differences, but circumstances can make for strange bedfellows.”
Olga stifled a smile at Dmitry’s literal statement. He gestured for her to take the floor. She took her position at the podium and flipped to the first of her slides. “I will not bore you with the details that sit within the dossiers that I am sure you have already perused. The reality is that the global community’s emission reductions have been nullified, as the Earth’s ability to store carbon has been reduced and its biosphere has started to increase its own greenhouse gas emissions. With the breach of the 2°C limit, we are seeing the start of a very dangerous level of climate feedbacks…”
A strange feeling suddenly pervaded her body, like a cry from her soul.
She shook it off and continued. “… such as the ongoing collapse of the forested areas in the North and the Amazon, escalating methane emissions from the ice-free Arctic waters and permafrost, and El Nino intensification. Most recent studies also show that parts of Western Antarctica are perilously close to collapse, with the possibility of sea levels rising ‘feet per decade’ rather than ‘per century’. Added to that, is the ‘weather chaos’ in the Northern Hemisphere – which will only intensify – that has significantly reduced crop yields and depleted food stocks. The window for successful action, before the climate runs away from any hope of control, is rapidly closing.”
Olga paused to allow her audience to take in the gravity of her message. “We have moved from a period of incremental climate change into one of abrupt climate change, where the scale and speed of actions required is far, far higher. We are standing at the edge of the climate precipice. One more step forward and we may never be able to return.” Again, she paused to allow the digestion of her disagreeable message. She was surrounded by an uncomfortable silence.
“My staff have worked with many of your departments to look at different economic and social scenarios, and we have also had extensive discussions with the scientists from the U.S.A., E.U., and China. We are very well prepared for the emergency summit that we have requested with the other great powers. Given the gravity of the situation and the social impacts of what is required, secrecy will be paramount,” she concluded.
President Yazov nodded and surveyed the room. “So, we are all in agreement then. I have proposed that we use Mr. Bazovsky’s compound in New Zealand for the meeting where the scientific and policy decisions will be worked out.” Turning to the foreign minister, he said, “Kalinsky has arranged a meeting with the Chinese. We need to be on the same page with them before dealing with the Americans.”
Chapter 2: July 7th
US Scientific Camp, Greenland Ice Sheet
Jim Anderson lay outstretched on his towel; the sun beating down on his body, tempered by the warm breeze on his skin, the ocean entrancing with its song.
“Your drink, sir,” the attendant interrupted politely, placing the cold beer next to him.
Jim looked over at his beautiful wife, who gazed back lovingly, as the stress of the past few weeks drained from his body. Somewhere, from the corner of his mind, the sound of water trickling around him beckoned. He awoke abruptly into the reality of his cabin.
Shit! Still on top of fucking Greenland, he grimaced to himself.
It sounded as if the cabin was in the middle of a large stream. He unzipped the sleeping bag, threw off the blanket and forced his tall, lean body from the sleeping bag while brushing the messy salt-and-pepper hair from his face. He paused for a second to collect his thoughts, the intense but sad green eyes focused inward as he listened to the trickling water. The sound intensified and Jim pulled on his shoes, rose up and flung open the cabin door; immediately sheltering his eyes from the intense sun and reaching desperately for the sunglasses tucked away in a pocket. A shallow stream flowed across the ice and around the cabin.
“I was just coming to wake you, Jim!” Roksana the expedition lead shouted from the other side of the stream. Her petite dark-haired mix of Persian and Ukrainian stood out against the vast whiteness. Although a scientific advisor to the President, Jim was just a visiting guest here.
“This started up about an hour ago,” she explained. “I have been conferring with Kangerlussuaq base and Summit camp. It looks like the whole ice sheet is melting again today and this shallow water could get a lot deeper within the next few hours. A Twin Otter will be landing in forty-five minutes to get us out of here, so we need to gather what we can and move to the landing site.”
Forty-five minutes later the ragged team of four researchers plus Jim watched the plane circle above them and start its landing run. Gliding down towards them, the plane bounced a couple times on the runway before coming to a sliding stop atop the mushy ice twenty yards from the group. They gratefully rushed into its safety and were quickly airborne. As the plane gained altitude and passed over the camp, Jim saw that it had been engulfed in a new river streaming across the ice sheet; one of many. The ice sheet glistened back at him as the July sun beat down through a cloudless sky.
“It’s going to be a bit rough at Kangerlussuaq,” Roksana exclaimed, as her deep blue eyes turned towards Jim. “The discharge from the ice sheet has caused the Watson River to overflow its banks. It’s much worse than in 2012 when they lost the old bridge. Part of the runway is gone, so it will be a tight landing. You will head out of Greenland pretty quickly after we land – some urgent briefing with the President. Give him my regards!”
Jim felt himself wishing deeply for that warm breeze and cold beer. As the plane approached Kangerlussuaq, he took in the devastation below. The bridge, built to replace the one lost in the flood of 2012, had already been engulfed by raging water, and the expanding river had inundated part of the airport runway. Several weeks’ worth of melt water stored within the glacier had broken forth, turning the relatively tame Watson into a raging torrent, devouring everything in its path.
Jim remembered the never-ending discussions to replace the airport, sited next to an abrupt bend in the river that exacerbated floods. But, in typical bureaucratic fashion, inertia and short-term budget considerations had won out.
Fortunately, the Twin Otter was small, and didn’t need much room to land. The pilot thankfully plopped it down on the end of the runway opposite the flooding. The plane rolled to a stop and the door was flung open, revealing a stocky man in a military pilot uniform.
“Jim Andersen?”
Jim nodded and held up his hand. The airman motioned for him to leave the plane quickly and to follow him. Once on the tarmac, Jim took in the sheer scale of the flooding as a torrent of water gushed by him a short distance away.
“I’m from the 109th, sir,” stated the airman. “Tasked with getting you to Iqaluit where they will fly you to Washington. Come with me.” Jim followed him to a jeep and they quickly drove across the tarmac to another plane.
Once boarded, the airman immediately taxied it to the takeoff point and confirmed clearance with the tower. Picking up speed after a short run, it jumped into the sky. Jim looked back at the towering glacier and the scene of devastation below.
Soon enough, they were over the tranquil southern waters of Baffin Bay. It was still only three in the morning, and Jim had gained little sleep before being awakened by the flooding. They had two hours ahead of them before landing in Iqaluit. He closed his eyes and quickly drifted off to sleep.
The plane touched down, jarring him awake as the multi-colored houses of Iqaluit passed by the window next to him. He noticed that the plane was taxiing toward a private jet at the end of the runway.
If that’s for me, I have certainly come up in the world! Jim thought, amused. The plane finally halted. He quickly thanked the pilot and exited onto the tarmac.
It was overcast with a warm drizzle, reminding him more of Ireland than Northern Canada just south of the Arctic Circle.
“Mr. Anderson, my name is Kelly Hunter from the State Department.” A tall, lean woman in business attire stretched out her hand. “I will be briefing you on the flight down to Washington.” Jim nodded and shook her hand.
“No time for a quick nap?” He asked, looking exhausted.
“Well, if you’re a quick study, maybe we’ll let you have a little nap,” she replied curtly.
Once aboard the jet, they settled at a table, across from each other. “Well, let’s get this briefing started,” Kelly stated, wasting no time as she opened her folder. “Just so you know, I studied Physics at M.I.T. before moving into International Relations – where I gained my doctorate. So, I’m not some lawyer type, and you won’t lose me with the scientific stuff. I then joined some think tanks, before being picked up by the State Department, where I now head up the department of Environmental Security Threats, and report directly to the Secretary of State.”
Unimpressed, Jim retorted, “So, you are not involved in overthrowing any annoying foreign governments then?” smiling sarcastically.
Kelly eyed him for a few moments, finding his childishness annoying. “No,” she finally replied flatly, and continued “I have been tasked with partnering with you for the upcoming summit with the Russians, Chinese, Indians and E.U.” Jim looked back at her quizzically. “A few days ago,” she explained, “the U.N. Security Council requested a secret emergency summit on climate change – due to all the issues that you scientists have been raising. There will be a preliminary meeting of scientists and security advisors to form a general consensus before the leaders meet. That’s where you and I come in. For this purpose, we will report directly to the President.”
“Well it’s about time – loss of the sea ice in the Arctic, Greenland melting down, California on fire once again, the new fashion for lighting methane plumes from the melting permafrost, Spain starting to resemble North Africa, drought in the Amazon, accelerating sea level rise …” Jim’s voice tailed off and he went silent as the plane travelled over wide barren lands before reaching the northern tree line and heading south to Washington.
Bad news eh? A frightenly realistic scenario, perhaps not realistic enough actually. And what of the elite? The ten percent? No doubt retreating to their air-conditioned, high altitude lairs, somewhere in New Zealand, incapable, trapped in their hubris, of doing anything other than what they've always done. Fiction or non-fiction? 2032? I think it will all be over by then.