commercial applications. I mean, if we happen to make a profit later on, would that be okay with you two Samaritans? Not to mention the publicity we’ll generate.”
“Eva, you are the most exasperating person I know.” Jim, the Peacemaker. His voice was couched in tones of admiration.
“Just exasperating, Jim? Come on, say it: I’m the smartest, most wonderful person alive, and you worship the ground upon which I tread.”
“Smartest, no question. Worship? Got to give that title to my wife and my son. But you are my oldest and dearest friend and I regard the ground upon which you walk on as something close to a national treasure. How’s that?”
Eva said nothing. She felt warmth suffuse her—she was touched by Jim’s affirmation of their friendship. She flushed.
So did Marta, the Insecure.
There was an uneasy moment as the atmosphere in the boardroom changed, like the stillness before a thunderstorm.
Marta drew a breath. “Do you have something specific in mind?” she asked, refocusing on the project.
“You ever know me to be unprepared?” Eva snapped and then continued without waiting for a response. “There’s a water desalinization project in Venezuela that’s perfect for us,” She subvocalized and the room’s pillar projected a globe onto the conference table. An image of the Americas and the Caribbean faced them.
“What are we looking at?” asked Jim.
Eva zoomed in. “This is the Paraguana Peninsula of northern Venezuela, on the Caribbean coast. There’s a desalinization plant there that keeps people in Central America and the Caribbean from dying of thirst. The plant can’t keep up with the demand anymore.”
“How old is the plant?” asked Marta.
“It went online twenty years ago.”
“Why can’t it produce enough fresh water for the region?”
“First of all, it wasn’t designed to be the primary source of water. The principal source of fresh water in the Caribbean is rainwater, which is scarce during the best of times. After twelve years of the NAMSEA drought, reservoirs and emergency supplies are exhausted.” Eva referred to the twelve-year water shortage that desiccated much of North America, the Mediterranean and Southeast Asia—hence the name, NAMSEA.
Marta asked, “How bad is NAMSEA? Compared, say, to the Sahel drought?”
“Which Sahel drought? 1910?” Eva asked, “The 1940s? 1960s? Or do you mean the 1970s? 1980s? 2000s?”
Marta frowned. “Uh, the bad one, I guess.”
“The 1970s drought is the one most people think of. About 100,000 people died and millions were left homeless. That one?”
Marta nodded, still staring into holographic display.
“That drought was severe—for its time. The PDSI rating was bad, but not as bad as we’re going to see,” said Eva.
“PDSI?” Marta asked.
“Palmer Drought Severity Index. A zero means no drought, average rainfall and water table levels. Negative scores go higher as droughts increase. Sahel measured about a -4 on the PDSI scale. Right now, NAMSEA is running about -6, depending on where you measure it. Two years ago, you had water riots that killed over 20,000 people in cities across the Caribbean. We’re starting to see dust storms like the 1930s. The dust smothers vegetation and destroys machinery. It shears off the arable topsoil. Not so good for agriculture.” Eva paused and then continued, “Put it this way, I wouldn’t put the Caribbean on my next vacation itinerary.”
“Is it getting worse?” Jim asked, and then shook his head. “Dumb question. How bad will it be and can we really make a difference?”
“Actually, that’s a good question. I’ve been following the work of the lead researcher at the National Oceanic and Atmosphere Administration. NOAA is staying mum, but privately, its people predict that the drought will hit -8 by the end of the century. That’ll make the Dust Bowl look like a sauna.”
Jim and Marta absorbed this information in silence.
Eva said, “It gets worse. The Puerto Rican government dredged harbors to make bigger port facilities and managed to damage natural aquifers in the process. Same thing in every island that fancied a nice new port. Mother Nature spends a few million years to carve water-bearing bedrock caverns. Commercial agriculture and mining ruin the karsts in just a few decades.”
“Karsts?” asked Jim.
“Limestone caverns. Mama Nature builds ‘em. We drain ‘em.”
“What happened?” asked Jim.
“Acid rain. Over-pumping. Who knows? Who cares? It’s an opportunity for NMech. And the chance for you to do something in the public health arena.”
“So how does this place—Paraguana? How does it figure in?” asked Jim.
“Well, before the drought, the desal plant was the margin of safety in the Caribbean. Now with the drought, and with other water sources ruined, Paraguana can’t make up the difference.”
“What’s wrong with the plant?” asked Jim.
Eva said, “The key problem is that they use reverse osmosis.”
“We’ve been using RO for something over a half century. Longer even. Why is that an issue?” asked Marta.
Eva explained. “Old technology that made sense when energy was cheap. But you need a hell of a lot of energy to force water through a filtering membrane. Now it’s too expensive to filter water that way but they’re stuck with the plant. But the biggest problem is that RO works too well. It’s self-defeating. Water slips through the filter but salt and pollutants build up and clog the filters. The more water you try to process, the more the sludge builds up till it fails. Ironic, huh?”
“What’s the solution?” asked Jim.
“Nanomembranes,” said Eva, with an open hands gesture, as if the answer were so obvious a child could give it. “Nanopores made from carbon or boron nanotubes are about 50,000 times smaller than a human hair, but will process more water, by several orders of magnitude. The material is so slippery that the buildup sloughs right off. It’s like the difference between a cocktail straw and a fire hose. And since water races through the pores with almost no friction, the plant will be able to lower its energy consumption.”
“Can NMech do it?” asked Marta. “This would be fantastic.”
“Sure can. In fact, I have a plan for it.”
“Of course you do!” Even Marta laughed, caught up in her colleague’s enthusiasm.
Eva continued, “Look, we can build the filters in an assembler. That’s easy. We’ll have Paraguana at capacity in four months. The initial yield may be ten times greater than what it is now. And the best part? We have a demonstration plant. We can turn around and sell the technology to industry.” She looked pointedly at Marta. “Are we all happy girls now?” then winked at Jim.
“What about logistics?” Marta asked, serious again. “Once production rises, can the existing pipelines handle the increased output?”
“Good point. We’ll need to make some upgrades but I think with the proper management, there’ll be enough transport capacity by the time the plant is ready.”
“Is that realistic?” asked Jim. “There must be thousands of miles of pipelines to carry water. If we up the production by a factor of ten, are we going to be able to get the water where it’s needed? It’s like expecting, oh, I don’t know…like expecting a bike path to handle a highway’s worth of traffic.”
“Actually, it is realistic. When the plant was built, the promoters overstated what RO could produce. Overstated it big time. So there’s been excess capacity since day one. We’ll need to do some building but nothing extreme.” Eva paused and looked to make sure she had their attention. The side of her mouth curled up in a half grin. “Besides, NMech just purchased the two local suppliers of pipeline and fittings so there’ll be some additional revenue.”
“Of course we did,” Jim laughed. “Great plan, Eva.”
The compliment cracked Eva’s impassive expression and a smile stole across her face and hovered for an
