time. But now it’s some kind of emergency.

And we would still have each other. And we would be rich, or at least well off— secure— with an annuity for life, and a trust fund for the kids. We would still have something to do on a Saturday night. So it would be all right.

But after a while your eyes began to hurt. People broke down and couldn’t finish what they were saying. Their friends helped them off the stage. This was our town. This was who we were.

Finally there was nothing left to say. It was midnight and we closed up the town like in a fairy tale. Nothing left to do but go home, feeling hollow, stumbling a little. Go in your house and look around at it. Pack your bags.

88

We eat shit and we shit food. A time comes when we need to move together. We follow the sun widdershins, moving all together. We are a herd made of individuals. We move in lines one after another. The land we walk over is mostly water. When we walk on water we grow frightened and hurry to return to land. Some of us lead astray the stupid, others urge fools to rash adventures. If we follow the wrong leader we die. If we panic we die. If we stay calm we are killed. You could eat us but we are of more use to you in other ways, so you rarely do. By our passing we render the land in ways you need more than ever before. We are caribou, we are reindeer, we are antelope, we are elephants, we are all the great herd animals of Earth, among whom you should count yourselves. Therefore let us pass.

89

Mary went to work the next day feeling uneasy.

“How was your day in the Alps?” Badim asked her.

“It was grand,” she said. “We sat in a meadow and looked at marmots and chamois. And some birds.”

He regarded her. “And that was interesting?”

“It was! It was very peaceful. I mean, they’re just up there living their lives. Just wandering around eating. It looked like that’s what they do all day.”

“I think that’s right,” Badim said, looking unconvinced that this would be interesting to watch. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Then Bob Wharton and Adele burst in, excited; word had come in that the latest CO2 figures showed a global drop, a real global drop, which had nothing to do with the season, or the economy tanking— all that had been factored in, and still there was a drop: it was now at 454 parts per million, having reached a high of 475 just four years before. Thus 5 ppm per year down: this was significant enough that it had been tested and confirmed in multiple ways, and all converged to show the figure was real. CO2 was going down at last; not just growing more slowly, or leveling off, which itself had been a hugely celebrated achievement seven years before, but actually dropping, and even dropping fast. That had to be the result of sequestration. It could only be anthropogenic. Meaning they had done it, and on purpose.

Of course it was bound to happen eventually, they told each other, given everything that had happened. The Super Depression had helped, of course, but that impact had been factored in, and besides that would only have caused things to level off; for a real drop like this one, drawdown efforts were the only explanation. Bob said that reforestation and the greening of the ocean shallows with kelp were probably the major factors. “Next stop three-fifty!” he cried, giddy with joy. He had been fighting for this his whole career, his whole life. As had so many.

The rest of that hour was a celebration, mainly. They toasted the news with coffee. No one had ever seen Bob so exuberant before; he was usually a model of the scientist as calm person.

But when everyone left her offices, Mary realized that she was still uneasy. She texted Frank to see how he was doing. Fine, he replied, and nothing more. As if nothing had happened.

So at the end of her day she trammed down and walked to his co-op, just to see for herself. There he was in the dining hall, sitting on the piano bench with his back to the piano. He looked only mildly surprised to see her. Or like he knew why she was there.

“What?” he said defensively, when he saw her looking at him.

“You know what,” she said. “Did you go to the doctor yet?”

“No.”

She regarded him. There was something about him more pinched than usual. “That was no ordinary fall,” she told him.

“I know. I felt faint.”

“So you need to see a doctor. Get checked out.”

He pursed his lips unhappily. She could see he wasn’t going to do it. It was like looking at a child.

She sighed. “If you don’t, I’ll tell the people here. As it is, you’re a danger to them. You’ll fall and hurt yourself, and maybe someone else, and their insurance costs will go up.”

He gave her a bitter look.

“Come on,” she said. “I’ll go with you to the clinic. After that we can go get a drink.”

He grimaced. After a long pause, looking down at the floor, he shrugged and stood.

The clinic took the usual stupid amount of time, and in the end it was just the start. They measured him and took blood and asked questions and made an appointment for him to return. And after all that, he didn’t want to go get a drink. So Mary walked him back to his co-op and then went to the tram station and took a 6 tram up the hill to Kirche Fluntern, past her old apartment and up the Zuriberg to her safe house. Bodyguards following her all the way, yes; she always gave them a nod when she saw them and then forgot about them, or tried to.

She

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