"I'll do what I can," Chase said stiffly. "I'll get back to you after the update."
"What are conditions like there?" Prothero asked, lighting a cigarette.
"Atmospherically still pretty good." Prothero would be wise to ease up on his smoking, Chase thought, but decided not to preach. "We
haven't got around to selling oxygen on the black market yet. What's the going rate these days?"
"Fifty dollars a tank. Last week they had to turn out the National Guard to control a mob that attacked one of the food distribution centers. Over a hundred killed. You'll get back to me?"
Chase promised he would. The screen faded to gray. Even an intelligent and sympathetic layman like Prothero failed to understand why such a "simple" thing as replenishing the atmosphere should prove so immensely difficult. Hadn't oxygen been produced commercially for a hundred years or more? Surely all that was required was to increase the size of existing plants and mass-produce them. What could be more straightforward?
The logistical difficulties became apparent only when you sat through an update meeting, as Chase did that afternoon. More than thirty scientists--the heads of the research groups--assembled in the main conference room with its greenboards and work-in-progress charts, graphs and blueprints. Chase took up his usual position on a small wooden platform, sitting with arms folded, a clipboard balanced on his knee.
First they listened to Dr. George Franklin, a biochemist, who voiced his concern about a new virulent strain of bacteria, one that might thrive in a heavily polluted atmosphere and against which mankind would have no genetically inherited defense.
"A form of bacterium that would thrive in conditions hostile to us, you mean?" someone said.
Franklin nodded, hunched forward with an elbow resting on his crossed knee, spectacles dangling from his long bony fingers. "Such strains already exist, of course, and have ever since life evolved on this planet. They've always been with us--preceded us in evolutionary terms. Whereas man can't survive without an adequate supply of oxygen, some bacteria are suited to such conditions. And--this is the point --an atmosphere rich in pollutants might positively encourage them to evolve further, develop new strains. The planet could be slowly reverting to the protozoic, with bacteria as the dominant species."
"Is this just a theory or do you have evidence?" asked Carter Reid, a marine chemist.
"Well, not directly," Franklin hedged, "though there's some circumstantial evidence to support it. We've noticed that dead animals are decomposing at a much faster rate than is normally the case. We're not sure that bacteria are responsible, but 1 can't think of another explanation."
"So we inherited the earth from the dinosaurs," someone remarked, "and the bacteria will inherit it from us."
"There is a kind of poetic justice to it," said Franklin with a small smile. "After all, the bacteria were here first. It's come full circle."
"Makes me feel a whole lot better to know that," muttered a sardonic voice from the back of the room. There was some muted laughter and a few rueful grins.
"Could this be what's happening in Africa and Asia?" said Faulkner, one of the oceanographers. "No one's been able to identify the cause yet, have they?"
"That occurred to me too," Franklin said. "As far as we know they've eliminated the likely causes--virus infection, oxygen deficiency, malnutrition--and yet millions are being wiped out with the efficiency of bubonic plague. A new form of killer bacterium would fill the bill."
"I'm sure this is all very fascinating, Director," interposed a balding, thin-faced man named Lasker, addressing Chase. His tone implied quite the reverse. "But I fail to see what it has to do with our function here at Desert Range. Do we really have time for such speculation, particularly in view of the rapidly deteriorating situation? A new species of bacterium is the least of our worries, I would have thought."
"The purpose of this meeting is to exchange information," Chase reminded him, in his role of judge and jury. "We can hardly decide what's of value or relevant until we've heard it."
Privately, Chase conceded that Lasker might have a point, though he didn't like the way the engineer had made it. Lasker was one of the technical support staff, a man who dealt in hard practicalities and eschewed random speculation. It was essential, however, that all viewpoints receive a fair hearing, no matter how wild or pie in the sky.
Lasker sat back and folded his arms with a show of churlish indifference. After four years it wasn't surprising that tempers should be on a short fuse; perhaps it was remarkable that only occasionally they flared into irritation or outright anger.
Next it was Frank Hanamura's turn. He spent twenty minutes at the board outlining a problem with the electrolysis pilot plant, which at the moment was undergoing laboratory trials. Although the principle of splitting seawater into its component parts was established and understood--the lab model was in fact producing oxygen at 99.5 percent purity--the trouble arose when the process was scaled up to supply the enormous quantities that would be required, measured in tons rather than cubic feet--"tonnage oxygen" as it was called.
The problem was to find an electrode material that wouldn't dissolve in the solution and at the same time would resist the buildup of oxide deposits, which reduced the effectiveness of the process. Even the purest metal, such as platinum, formed a film of oxide one or two molecules thick, which after a very short period of time brought a drop in electrical efficiency leading to loss of production.
The process was potentially hazardous too. Certain combinations of hydrogen and chlorine, and hydrogen and oxygen, were explosive, so it was crucially important that none of the gases be allowed to mix within the cell. On the scale proposed, such a mixing would not only destroy the plant but also cause widespread devastation. Yet another problem was that the hydrogen film formed on the anode was corrosive and poisonous, endangering the plant personnel.
To be globally effective it would be necessary to build thousands of large-scale electrolysis plants on coastlines throughout the world where seawater would be processed in billions of gallons, releasing its precious store of oxygen into the atmosphere. Millions of tons annually would have to be produced if they were to achieve a significant change in boosting the oxygen content to the level capable of supporting life.
When Hanamura had finished, dusted the chalk from his hands, and resumed his seat, Chase broached the thorny question: How long before marine trials could commence? He didn't add to the pressure by mentioning Prothero's call; as director it was his duty to shield his people from extramural hassles and financial headaches. What he had to have was a positive commitment: If the money were to run out then the whole enterprise would be a complete and utter waste.
"We've yet to decide on the most efficient cell voltage. At the moment we're testing a range of power requirements." Hanamura stared into space, his high fine cheekbones catching the light. "I'd say a year to eighteen months, providing there are no unforeseen problems."
"But you already have a lab model operating successfully," Chase said, doing his best to sound reasonable. "How do you know that marine trials won't actually help you select the optimum cell voltage? You can carry on the work here in any case while we test the process at sea."
Hanamura glanced toward Carter Reid, his number two, who shook his head dubiously. Hanamura looked at Chase.
"Does that mean you can't or won't?" Chase said.
"It means we're not ready."
"Is there any technical obstacle to prevent us from building a pilot plant and installing it in an oceangoing vessel?"