Chapter 18: A man retraces his steps
A man, pale of skin and blue of eyes, stepped back, let the open palm go by then extended his will slightly. His former lover, who he had been sure would be both glad to see him and helpful in figuring out what was going on, was only one of the two. She forgot that she had seen him, forgot that she had raised her hand to slap him in the face. Time was too short to bring her back around, which was a pity in so many respects.
He checked another name from his mental checklist, reviewed what he had learned so far.
The PhD from CERN had been delighted to see an old friend, although she wasn’t exactly clear when they had been friends, or why. She was happy, however, to share a coffee and explain the physics behind tokamak reactors, and the general progress of fission reactors in general.
An acquaintance of Qi from a few years ago remembered him fondly, given that he had barely spoken to her, so fondly in fact that it was hours before he could probe her knowledge of climate change and ocean acidification instead of other things. She was happy to explain the pH balance of the oceans, and the roughly 30% increase in acidity since the beginning of the industrial revolution, and the projection of 150% increases through the end of the century, a level not seen for 20 million years.
A surgeon with a specialization in radiation and some memorable tattoos let him know that fission reactions were much less radioactive than fusion, so there were no obvious human health issues in any reasonable time frame. Decommissioning was problematic, he found out, as the high-energy particles impacting the infrastructure of the reactor radioactive over time. He promised to return when he was able.
A Chinese horologer gave him what he wanted in so many ways, explaining the various uses of mirrors in mythology, and demonstrating again the use of mirrors today.
A Hawaiian shopkeeper gave him nothing but a delightful stopover, a lei and a bed to lie awake in overnight and think after more immediate needs were attended to. It didn’t help, although her snores were rather musical, something he’d forgotten.
An affable electrical engineer working in the generation industry in the USA gave him numbers, capacity factors and percentages related to coal generation in multiple countries including China. The numbers were very large, and a chill ran down his spine from something other than the ice cubes she adored.
A more educated spirit of the air than usual, a Norse gremlin, gave him the run down on what airplanes needed for electricity, and reminded him what her control over the wind could do when properly motivated, sucking him up into the ether. He almost stayed.
A historian, no longer on sabbatical, back in a cold country, used Google to find out more about mirrors, overlapping with the horologer in some ways, but much physically shyer 20 years after they had first met. This was poignant, and a pity, but the information was of use.
A rather heroic ex-sabra with heavy ringlets took his hypothetical problem, war gamed it across a large sand table she maintained in her spare room, consulting Google and more esoteric sites she still had access to. It wasn’t all talk, and she didn’t have any shyness about her body despite greater weight and the ravages of time.
He arrived at a climate modeler’s city in time to see her interred. He shed a tear, left a ghost orchid growing on a tree near her grave that blossomed every year on the day of her funeral and refused to be removed by fanciers. He spoke with one of her colleagues after the ceremony, found out that climate change was locked in for more than a hundred years, that little to nothing would reverse it except time. The drear weather and subjects didn’t stop him from perking up. A pattern was emerging.
He resumed his errand, spoke with an executive in a major bank with three advanced degrees and a fascination for flamenco dancing, found out that committed capital was one of the two biggest problems with changing generation, the other being sheer conservatism. While making the problem seem intractable, she also cheered both of them up with a private performance, leaving her traje de flamenca shredded on the floor.
The great circles around the globe matched the spinning of his head. Passing over Siberia in private jet, he watched an action movie set in ancient china, terrible subtitles of the utterances — Knight, yon, essayed — masking whatever nuances might have existed between demons, martial artists, monkey gods and the obvious squibs going off beneath their clothes as they were either slashed, pierced or crushed. He inferred that infidelity and jealousy was the cause of this, but as always was perplexed that this motivation led to such violent ends even in fiction.
But then another pair of deities made their entrance from stage left, and an epiphany occurred, turning the maelstrom of knowledge into a clear mechanism and personage. But the question lingered, what would motivate the person and if they were motivated, what could he do about it?