“We can literally take the plane anywhere in the world and they land us in this shithole by a toxic lake?”
We actually did not have many options. The fires had blanketed much of the western states in smoke, and ironically the clear air of Southern California made no difference because so much infrastructure was still damaged from ARkSTORM. Meanwhile, the incredible heat wave responsible for the fires was grounding planes, crippling power grids, and shutting down airports across the Sun Belt. Phoenix and Las Vegas had breached 125 degrees for several days in a row. There was a hurricane gathering strength in the Atlantic, and riots and civil unrest gripped over twenty major cities across the nation. People were firing on law enforcement with the frequency of a low-grade civil war. Unemployment had reached 27 percent. Base-level power in society was realigning as states laid off police, firefighters, and emergency workers. In some regions, militias were the de facto authorities. Cleveland had instituted a curfew and National Guard patrols earlier in the year, and the governor had maintained relative stability in the city. So a generic workspace on the fifth floor of the Marriott it was.
That night, Tony and I dined together, just the two of us, in the overpriced Italian restaurant in the hotel. He did not eat much of his meal. That day during our meetings, he’d erupted into a coughing fit and had to leave the room, returning ten minutes later with hot tea and a pack of cough drops. He looked exhausted.
I said: “You could probably stand to see a doctor.”
“I did. In Sun Valley. He said it’s smoke from the fires aggravating my throat. There’s no fucking running from this.”
“How do you mean?”
“The crisis. It’s everywhere now, in the air, in our banks, crawling through our blood if you’re living near the wrong ticks or mosquitoes. I knew all this was coming, but I always had that thought in the back of my mind, you know? That there would be someplace to escape, someplace safe. But there’s not. There’s just not.”
“You’ve seemed unengaged. What do you think of the direction the legislation is taking?”
He batted a hand as if it didn’t matter to him and set aside his fork for a pasta dish he’d barely touched.
“We’re getting close. Close enough to whatever it is that’s possible. But even if we arrest this iteration of the crisis, there’s another one behind it. And another, and another. And the revolutionaries are all dead. Set themselves on fire or were gunned down by psychos.” He looked around as if seeing our surroundings for the first time. “I need some air. Want to walk a bit?”
It was an exceedingly hot night, and I felt perspiration break out after only a block. We didn’t stray far from the hotel. Police and security contractors lingered on nearly every corner. Incongruently, the casino was open, beckoning with its relentless lights and promise of air-conditioning while a group of teenagers milled in the public square. The sound of fireworks boomed in the distance. I’d only that evening recalled it was the Fourth of July.
I said: “I find myself looking back fondly to when we first met. Donald Trump was out of the White House, people were taking the science seriously, and action seemed to be right around the corner.”
“And around the next corner, and the next corner, and the next corner.”
“The forces of revanchism always appear weaker than they actually are, I suppose.”
Tony huffed: “Shit, Ash, I look back fondly at the days when I was just getting death threats and fake anthrax. Before my own government was locking me up and then asking me to save its ass a few years later. Goddamn, I wish I had a cigarette.”
“I doubt that would be good for your cough.”
“You think? I’ve been on and off since I was in undergrad. Only hobby I’ve ever really enjoyed.”
We passed a man with a bandana around his face standing solemnly on a street corner. The bandana had the grinning teeth of a skull lined up over his mouth, and he had an ugly scar on the side of his head in the shape of a cross. He watched us as we passed.
Tony said: “I have to tell you something. I’m stepping down from the task force. I have some personal issues, and I need to go be with my family.”
This came as quite a surprise. After the loss of Otero, I felt this development intensely in the core part of one’s brain that processes panic.
“May I ask why?”
“Like I said, personal issues. Holly’s wrecked by what happened to the Morris kid. They were very close. She also has the new baby at home, my granddaughter. They both need me.”
“I understand grief is difficult, but Tony, I have to ask you to reconsider.”
“I’m afraid I’ve made up my mind.”
We stopped in the street and faced each other. I felt the burden of convincing him otherwise.
“Tony, there’s more at stake here than just your family. You may feel a sense of fatalism, and after everything you’ve been through, I completely understand. But we cannot lose you right now.”
“Ash, I’m not necessary anymore. You have all the brains you need in that room.”
“On the contrary, Tony, I would argue you’re the only person we absolutely do need. Did you not see the response to your press conference?” Tony sighed dramatically to demonstrate his irritation. He closed his eyes, and I could see the grim blue veins of his eyelids. I went on: “And you saw what happened in the room today when you were silent. The others erupted in bickering, and the day was squandered. When you speak, people listen. If not, we waste our time digesting the hermeneutics of irrelevant economic texts. When we attempt to sell Congress on this plan, we need you there.” I stepped closer to him, a tactic to communicate urgency, which I’d gleaned from movies in which characters must win their arguments in order to avoid cataclysm. “You are a grandfather now. It is possible that child will live to see the new century. And what you do in these next weeks could be one of the most staggering gifts any progenitor has ever handed down. You hold that power, Tony. I don’t understand how you could live with yourself if you knew there was something more you could have done and yet you chose to walk away.”
I made the calculated move to step back and return his personal space. Tony stared at the hot streets shedding steam. His forehead was shiny with sweat. He said nothing more. He only nodded, avoiding my gaze. We walked back to the hotel in silence while to the north fireworks began to explode in multicolored bursts of light.
After thirteen more days of vitriolic argument and impassioned debate, we completed our work on the omnibus bill. We were faced with an enormous challenge in drawing up this legislation, to say the least. The scale of the technological transformation required simply dwarfs any engineering achievement human civilization has ever attempted, and we found that the scale of social and political change must rise to meet that ambition.
There is only one way to begin: with a rapid decarbonization of the economy. One might call this the low-hanging fruit since many of these policies and technologies have, frustratingly, been available since the turn of the century. This begins with the “shock collar,” popularized by the late Ms. Morris. By implementing a carbon price tied to emissions reductions and rebating the money to taxpayers with a so-called climate dividend we can begin to quickly reduce emissions and incentivize innovation. The price to burn a ton of carbon will begin at $100 and rise steadily at 2 percent unless emissions targets go unmet, in which case it could rise by as much as 7 percent. The revenue will be returned to taxpayers in quarterly checks, weighted so that households in the bottom 75 percent of the income distribution are receiving the majority of the benefit. A border adjustment tariff will deter leakage or offshoring while raising the cost of products originating in countries without a sufficient greenhouse abatement policy. The goal will be to reach carbon neutrality by 2055. Given the size of the US economy, this will indeed begin to quickly “shock” carbon out of the supply chain.