“But trash can’t fill a gas tank. We need the energy in a more convenient form. Technology developed by Eudon Alternative Energy will take this pile of garbage and transform it into ethanol, ready for use in vehicles and power stations. Today you will witness that transformation. Ladies and gentlemen, the demonstration takes twenty minutes. Please hold your questions until the end. Thank you.” Martin gave another signal.
A metal cherry picker pivoted from the wall and dropped a white canister the size of an oil drum into the center of the tank. On landing, the canister split apart and spilled white powder onto the top of the trash.
The spectators’ focus was drawn upward as screens rolled back and uncovered the building’s dome, focusing a shaft of sunlight on the trash below.
By the time the guests looked down again, the white canister had melted and sunk into the pile. Vibrations were felt underfoot as the garbage shifted and bumped. The gallery of watchers was strangely silent, captivated by the sight of seventy tons of garbage moving and settling in a huge cauldron. People pointed out specific pieces of debris, following a tire or a sofa as they were consumed. Orange liquid seeped into spaces in the lowering pile. After fifteen minutes, except for a few floating Styrofoam boxes, most solids had disappeared. Finally, even the white foam melted.
As the activity subsided and the liquid cleared, Martin spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, before today, fewer than two hundred people had seen what you just witnessed. The liquid in the tank below you is a thirty-percent solution of ethanol, ready to be fed into a fractionating vessel and distilled into fuel suitable for use in automobiles, or power plants: a clean-burning alternative to oil.”
Martin fed them the tag line, the sound bite for the news agencies as they led with the story of the miracle in the desert. “We’re making gas from garbage, ladies and gentlemen, gas from garbage.”
Martin stopped the questions after twenty minutes. He didn’t give a damn whether they understood the process as long as they understood the importance of what they had seen. Over lunch, the crowd was animated. Journalists crammed food into their mouths while working their smart phones. Martin had recorded the demonstration and packaged it on DVDs to slip into the care package each guest would take home.
After lunch, four sleek buses pulled up outside the building. Nazar and the guests piled in. They drove down a dirt road to the Interstate, turned east, and in two miles took the turnoff to the main facility. Martin wanted them to grasp the scale of what Nazar had created. The first step came on the newly-built highway.
Martin’s audio broadcasted to all four buses. “We anticipate two thousand truck trips each day on this road once the plant is fully operational.” He paused to let the number sink in.
“The garbage trucks ahead are loaded with the detritus of home and industry: rotting food, animal waste, plastic and paper. All built with energy from the sun.” He tapped his driver on the shoulder and made a slowdown signal with his hand. They reduced speed to twenty miles an hour. When they had passed thirty of the idling trucks, Martin spoke again.
“The trucks in this line constitute less than one full payload of feedstock for just one of the industrial-scale conversion chambers. Three chambers are complete and ready to begin ethanol production today. Construction will continue for another twelve months. Once finished, there will be six conversion chambers, capable of producing sixty-thousand barrels of ethanol every day. Gas from garbage, ladies and gentlemen. Gas from garbage.”
The buses pulled into a coned-off area. The luminaries and press corps followed a path painted on the concrete to where a green-and-gold ribbon was strung between two four-foot poles.
Martin spoke through a bullhorn. “It is deemed unsafe for you to approach the conversion chamber. Beyond the feed station is a two-hundred-foot dead drop to the bottom of the tank. However, the package you will receive before leaving will contain video footage of the interior, identical to the prototype, except one thousand times larger. It is now my pleasure to invite Senator Isley, of Ohio’s second district, to carry out the ribbon cutting.”
The gray-haired politician wobbled forward. One hundred pounds overweight, even in dry desert heat sweat beaded his brow. Nazar walked alongside, and Martin ushered the press photographers to their places. The senator held the ceremonial ribbon, scissors poised over the tape. Nazar Eudon held the ribbon to the senator’s right.
The senator said, “I now pronounce Eudon Alternative Energy’s ethanol conversion facility open for business.” The tape parted and fluttered to the ground to a weak ripple of applause. Nazar shook hands with the senator, and both men grinned for the cameras.
Martin waved a large green-and-gold flag, and, with a roar of engines, eight trucks rolled from the waiting line. Each backed up to a feed station. The rear of the trucks lifted, and garbage slid out. The trucks pulled away, almost in unison, their bodies tilting back to horizontal as they drove off. The next trucks in line took their place.
After three truckloads, eight huge bulldozers roared into life and used their front blades to push the trash into the feed station, and it crashed into the conversion vessel below. The noise and dust and stench were impressive. The guests were quick to respond when Martin suggested they returned to the air-conditioned buses.
After their guests had departed, Nazar, Martin and the professor sat drinking cold beer in the marquee. Nazar raised his can. “Well done, Martin. And you, Professor, your nanobots performed splendidly.” A few remaining Eudon staff bustled about, packing equipment. “Professor, I expected to see David. Where is he?”
“He has t… t… taken a short break to visit his family. But not to worry, the nanobot technology is fully automated. Now if you’ll excuse me, I am tired and s… still have a few things I must attend to.” Without waiting for a reply, the professor left his beer and hurried away. Nazar stared after him. His abrupt departure seemed odd, even for him.
Martin tipped his drink toward the departing academic. “I swear, he gets more eccentric every time I meet him.”
Nazar nodded.
“I’m tired too,” Martin said. “For a people person, you know, sometimes I hate people.” They both laughed. Nazar understood. “The woman from the LA Times,” Martin rolled his eyes. “I still don’t think she gets it.”
“Do you know anyone else there?” Nazar asked. “It’s a key publication.”
“Oh, they have good people. She’s just not one of them. Don’t worry, I’ll follow up tomorrow. They’ll be focused on us like a laser beam after tonight’s TV buzz. Get this! Next Sunday, CBS is planning a one-hour Sixty Minutes special entitled Gas from Garbage.”
“Excellent,” Nazar said. He was exhausted. The senator had been very needy, bitching about the heat at every opportunity. He’d loved the ribbon cutting, though, great ego-salve. “I’m flying back to town, want a lift?”
“Thanks, but I have to finish with my people here. I’ll talk with you tomorrow. Have a good night. You deserve it.” Martin stood and shook his boss’s hand. “Nazar, I take my hat off to you, sir. You’ve got the biggest cojones in the world to pull this off.”
Nazar accepted the compliment. He’d gone all in, everyone had called, and he’d shown top hand and taken the pot.
At the airport, before he climbed from the helicopter, the pilot shook his hand. “Sir, if you don’t mind me talkin’ out of turn, you’ve done wonders for this area. You’ve brought a lot of jobs, and man, we needed them.”