Diane switches to a more professional smile. ‘Welcome to This Week in Sports. I’m your host, Diane Tanner, and with me today is University of Miami’s star tailback, Samuel “the Mule” Agler. Sam, thanks for taking time to be with me.’ She winks.
‘My, uh… pleasure.’
‘Sam, pro scouts have already anointed you the most prolific running back ever to play in the professional collegiate ranks. Before we talk about your accomplishments on the field, I thought we’d take a quick peek into your private life. You were born in Chads Ford, Pennsylvania, is that right?’
‘According to the birth certificate.’
‘Your mother died when you were three. What happened?’
‘Drunk driver. This was before the new safety protocols.’
‘Of course. So your father, Gene, moved the two of you to Hollywood Beach, Florida, to start life over. Why Florida?’
‘Job transfer. He took over as principal at Pompano High.’
‘How old were you when you started playing football?’
‘Five or six.’
‘And the rest, as they say, is history. Star tailback your freshman year in high school. Led the nation in scoring and total yardage for four straight years. The most recruited PCAA athlete in history. Scored a perfect sixteen hundred on your entrance exams. With your scores and grades, you could have accepted an academic scholarship at Harvard.’
‘I suppose. But I wanted to stay close to home.’
‘Because you fell in love with your high-school sweetheart. How romantic.’ Diane allows the sarcasm to drip.
‘She keeps me in line.’
‘I bet she does. You don’t drink or Bliss. You donate your time to anti-drug messages. Jesus, Mule, you’re every American mother’s wet dream.’
‘Some of us were raised the right way.’
‘Hmm, now how does that old song go… “ only the good die young?” Anyway, let’s talk football. Tell us what it’s like to step out on the playing field and have 120,000 crazed fans screaming your nickname? How does it feel?’
Sam offers a half grin. ‘Feels kind of good.’
‘Good? I’d think it must feel incredible, unbelievable. When you scored that touchdown against FSU-what a rush, huh?’
‘Yeah. That one felt great.’
‘Did it?’ Diane sits back, the fly now snug in her web. ‘Let’s take a look.’
The lights dim, the smart glass becoming a circular hall of projection screens, Sam’s image on every panel.
Sam takes the pitch from his quarterback Cuts to his right Pivots back toward the line, evading tacklers… punching his way to daylight The cameras zoom in from a dozen different angles – focusing on his facial expression as he sprints down the sideline.
The image freezes. The lights come back on.
‘Sam, that certainly doesn’t look like delight on your face to me. It looks like, well… like fear. Were you afraid of something?’
‘I, uh…’
‘You seem kind of worried, like you might have just screwed up royally. How could you have screwed up by scoring a touchdown?’
‘I was just winded-’
‘You must’ve had trouble regaining your wind, you only gained sixty-two yards on the ground the rest of the game.’
‘It happens. FSU had nine defenders in the box. There were no holes.’
She smiles coyly. ‘Since when does the Mule need a hole?’
‘What’s your point?’
‘This was the biggest game of the year. Billions of dollars had been wagered in the federal government’s weekly football pool. The ’Canes were a six-point favorite. The final score was FSU 16, Miami 10. The game was a “push,” generating a cool 2.3 billion for our friends in Washington, DC.’
‘Are you accusing me of throwing the game?’
‘Of course not, not you, Mr. Perfect. But hypothetically speaking, how much would someone, say, Florida’s governor Ryan Wismer, have to pay you to pull up lame?’
‘You lousy fushcubitch! ’ Samuel stands.
The cameras keep rolling, Tanner far from finished. ‘Any truth to the rumors the PCAA is launching its own investigation?’
‘That’s it, we’re done. Shut it down.’ He searches in vain for an exit.
‘Sammy, darling, before you dash off, explain to my viewers why you ran out of bounds in that third quarter drive. Samuel “the Mule” Agler never runs out of bounds.’
Sam targets a mirrored panel. He jumps off the stage, pivots in midair, and executes a devastating side kick, his right heel striking the smart-glass like a sledgehammer, shattering it into a thousand smoking shards.
Diane ducks, unable to avoid the shrapnel. ‘I’m, uh, Diane Tanner, and that’s This Week in Sports!’
Sam hurtles past the stunned technicians and out the door.
UNIVERSITY OF MIAMI MAIN CAMPUS, CORAL GABLES, FLORIDA
November 21, 2033 7:18 a.m.
Lauren Beckmeyer stands at the dais, rechecking her notes and display disks for the third time. Seated before her are four of the five committee members assigned to the university’s research grant council. English Lit., Asian Studies, Physics, and History… everyone here but my Geology guy…
Professor Christopher Laubin, the fifth member of the council, hurries down the aisle.
‘Sorry I’m late.’ The Chair of the Geology Department nods to the other members of the committee, situates himself in one of the gold-cushioned high-backed chairs, then turns his attention to Lauren. ‘Are you ready to proceed, Ms. Beckmeyer?’
Been ready, you old… ‘Yes, sir.’
She inserts a disk, activating the first series of images-a sequence of moving photos of the Mount St. Helens eruption.
‘On May 18, 1980, at 8:32 A.M., a magnitude 5.1 earthquake shook Mount St. Helens. Within fifteen to twenty seconds, the volcano’s bulge and summit slid away in a huge landslide. This landslide depressurized the volcano’s magma system, triggering powerful explosions that ripped through the sliding debris. Rocks, volcanic gas, ash, and steam were blasted upward at speeds exceeding 300 miles per hour. The blast cloud traveled 17 miles north, its lateral blast producing a column of ash and gas that rose more than 15 miles into the atmosphere in less than fifteen minutes. Over the course of the day, prevailing winds blew 520 million tons of ash eastward across the United States and caused complete darkness in Spokane, Washington, 250 miles from the site.’
A slide of the devastation appears.
‘Volcanic eruptions are not unusual. Even fifty years ago, scientists were able to predict Mount St. Helens eruption in plenty of time to warn the population.’ She pauses to make eye contact with the committee. ‘Now imagine a volcano whose eruption is not predictable, packing ten thousand times the force of Mount St. Helens. Imagine a blast spewing enough ash to cover half the United States in a few frightening minutes. In short, imagine an explosion comparable to an asteroid strike, one that could plunge Earth into millions of years of unending winter.’
The image changes, the committee now looking at a satellite view of a crater, its surface boiling azure greens and blues.
‘The nightmare I’ve just described is called a super volcano. Unlike a volcano, it possesses no cone.
