January 2045

  Dr. Clifford didn’t fit the mold of a typical conspiracy theorist swearing mankind was on a collision course with extinction. He was pragmatic, reserved, amenable to debate. Even as he witnessed his life’s work featured more prominently in Internet memes than scientific journals, he maintained an even-keeled approach to educating the American public on his findings, never coming off as pretentious or resentful. That was his partner’s job.

  Chambeaux studied under Clifford right out of medical school. Lower-class growing up, Chambeaux always carried a chip on his shoulder and was out to prove the world wrong; to show them a child from poor upbringing could amount to great things despite the overwhelming odds stacked against him. Clifford detected that hunger and took a chance despite Chambeaux’s underwhelming academic accolades. During the initial job interview, Chambeaux had recited Clifford’s entire dissertation on hydraulic conductivity, insisting his brainpower was put to better use on matters of importance—like Clifford’s research—than the boilerplate lesson plans stacked up by an outdated course curriculum guide. Clifford agreed.

  Chambeaux’s brilliance immediately became apparent as he excelled under Clifford’s philosophy on tutelage, one that encouraged perpetual challenging of the status quo and the bulldozing of traditional boundaries of scientific exploration. He quickly surpassed some of Clifford’s foremost and longest-tenured research assistants, ultimately climbing to a position as right-hand and partner.

  Despite Chambeaux’s unquestionable talent, Clifford regularly had to keep a close eye and rein him back in. Whether it was a tirade against a sponsor who withdrew research funding or outbursts on a medical journal questioning their theories, Chambeaux was short-fused and constantly seeking vindication against those who spoke out against them. Lately he had become particularly acrimonious with every pundit or environmental expert who refuted their research. That’s what made today so significant. An opportunity to prove all the naysayers wrong and earn the satisfaction he believed they so rightfully deserved. After all, they were only seeking the continuation of life on Earth.

  Clifford had been invited to testify before the U.S. Senate’s Committee on Environment and Public Works hearing on freshwater availability. If the interviews and blogs didn’t capture the Committee’s attention, it was assuredly the hundreds of letters they’d written. The Committee might have figured it was easier just to hear them out than sift through all of the literature and research they had sent over the prior half-decade.

  Clifford stared awkwardly at the Committee’s twenty members after concluding his presentation on the current and future state of Earth’s freshwater supply inside the Philip A. Hart Senate Office Building. He scanned left-to-right across the dais seeking some sort of reaction from any Committee member.

  “That’s quite a story you’ve conjured up, Dr. Clifford,” the Committee Chairman finally said.

  “It’s not a story, Mr. Chairman. I have scientific data to support everything I’ve just told you. All of the exhibits are logged and available for your review. I sent them—”

  “We received your exhibits, Dr. Clifford,” the Chairman interrupted. “Assuming anything you just said is true, what is the proposed solution to your impending water crisis?”

  “It’s not my water crisis, Mr. Chairman. It’s all of ours. But to answer your question, I’ve created a process that simulates the hydrologic cycle. Earlier I mentioned that almost all of the world’s freshwater is buried deep under the Earth or inside ice caps and glaciers. There’s nothing we can do about that. The other source of freshwater, however, comes from snowfields. That’s our answer.”

  “Snowfields?” the Committee Chairman asked.

  “Snowfields. They’re wide expanses of permanent snow, typically found on mountaintops or in Polar Regions. I’ve designed a process using artificial, climate-controlled snowfields to manufacture and harvest water.”

  “Snowfields,” the Committee Chairman repeated, this time not bothering to disguise the doubt in his tone.

  “Yes, miles and miles of them.”

  “How would these snowfields work?” he asked

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Water at its core is a very simple chemical formula. You can ask any kindergartner and they’ll tell you what H?O stands for. Great. This must be really easy then. Let’s just jump in the lab, combine two hydrogen atoms with an oxygen atom and problem solved, right?”

  “Right,” the Chairman responded.

  “Dead wrong. Oxygen is naturally diatomic which means it exists as a molecule of two atoms. You need a chemical reaction to separate that bond and attach the oxygen atom to its hydrogen counterparts. That reaction is created by energy. There’s a little problem there. Hydrogen is flammable and oxygen combustible. As you can probably guess, one spark of energy to initiate the reaction... boom. Think Hindenburg explosion to get the idea.”

  “Okay so how do you combine the atoms?” one of the other Committee members asked.

  “My solution uses sorbents to extract moisture directly out of the air. We then run the sorbents through thermal energy exchangers and use condensers to convert to liquid.”

  “In English, Dr. Clifford.”

  “Instead of trying to manufacture the molecule in the lab, we take it right out of the sky.”

  “My report here says you’re a hydrologist. You can do that?” a Committee member asked.

  “I’m technically a chemist with a specialty in hydrology. But yes, I can do that. The core technology has been around for decades. It was actually created by our very own military to provide drinkable freshwater to troops in combat zones. But my process has created a way to scale the development using artificial snowfields. We can use these facilities to replicate the cycle and harvest freshwater for immediate use and longer-term storage. Almost like a Federal Reserve for water.”

  “And where would you propose we build these snowfields?” the Committee member asked.

  “Wyoming and Montana. They have the smallest per capita population in the country outside of Alaska which wouldn’t make logistical sense. Their climates aren’t optimal—I’d prefer warmer, southeastern locations with more moisture in the air—but they’ll suffice and it’ll be quicker to displace all the residents so we can break ground.”

  “Let me get this straight. You want to wipe out the entire populations of Wyoming and Montana?” the Chairman asked.

  “I want to displace them, Mr. Chairman. I’m not a monster.”

  “You know what I mean. Where would you recommend we displace them to, Dr. Clifford?”

  “Anywhere but North or South Dakota.”

  “Why’s that?” the Chairman asked.

  “Because they’re next.”

  The Committee Chairman couldn’t help himself but to laugh. “Surely you can’t be serious.”

  “I’m deadly serious, Mr. Chairman. Time is of the essence. If we start there, my calculations indicate we can generate enough sustainable freshwater for the next seven years. With our aging population, that’s only the tip of the iceberg.”

  “Do you actually suppose these snowfields will fix everything?” another Committee member asked. “The solution to a problem only you and a handful of other scientists believe is imminent despite the hysteria you’re attempting to create.”

  “Far from it. We need to completely overhaul our water conservation strategy. I’m talking about regulating production processes, monitoring irrigation practices, scrutinizing industrial control systems. Just like greenhouse gas emissions, we need to cap water consumption.”

  This drew even more laughter from the Committee Chairman. “I think we’ll need to get you in front of every Congressional Committee we have! Foreign Affairs, Aging, Ethics, hell... Appropriations. Dare I even ask the budget on these?”

  “They’re expensive but can you really put a price tag on the future of humanity?”

  “Okay, I think that’s enough for today, Dr. Clifford. We appreciate your time and insights and will surely take everything you’ve mentioned into consideration.”

  “But I haven’t even—”

  “Dr. Clifford, that’s enough. If we determine any of this to be credible we know where to find you,” the Chairman said.

  With that, Clifford was escorted out of the hearing room, guided through the sky-lit atrium and out the exit. “How’d it go?” an excited Chambeaux asked. Clifford just shook his head in defeat. Another opportunity lost. Another day closer to epic and unavoidable catastrophe.