Third repost. Edited for grammar/spelling/loliwasaretardbackthen.

So, enjoy.


The climatologist bounced up and down on the seat of the taxi as it drove through the streets of New York. The car was a very old model, real rubber tyres, and not the toughened plastic alloy that was so popular in cities nowadays. The air conditioner was cold, freezing the sweat that had accumulated on the climatologist's head.

Dr. Everdeen was nervous, though there was no way to tell. The only betrayal of his emotions was the way he wrung his hands as they lay in his lap. What he held in his head was huge. Massive. Life changing. World ending.

Maybe world beginning.

"We're here," said the driver, stopping at the curb and interrupting Everdeen's thoughts.

"Thank you, sir," Everdeen said, paying the man and tipping him generously.

He stepped out of the cab, holding his breath and closing the door as soon as possible. Even now, the filter system in the taxi would be working away, banishing the toxic outside air and replacing it with artificial air.

The man fumbled for a mask, clamped it over his face, and breathed in. The cab pulled away from the curb as the climatologist stared at the building. Plastic trees lined the doorway, which was locked and barred, thin wood covering the three inch thick door of solid steel in the middle of the door. It was suicide not to have an airtight door. Everdeen stared sadly around the world he saw. The toxins in the air gave the street a hazy look, collected at the worn edges of the plastic trees because real ones wouldn't grow anymore.

Should the public be warned?

His thoughts grew heavy as he gazed around. Humans had done this. The people all around him, those strangers in the corner, he had caused this.

What right did they have, really? They had destroyed the earth, and the earth was about to take its revenge. What right did he have to interrupt it?

He wondered if he really should inform the president, if those all around him were really worth such costly solution.

Everdeen quickly made his decision, and walked away from the door, down the path, the air disrupted as he moved past.

His breathing inside the mask quickened, and he became aware of what he was about to do. It was worth it. It was all worth it.

"Sir?" A hand touched the climatologist's shoulder, and he jumped roughly three feet in the polluted air.

He straightened his coat, and turned.

A man in a black evening suit, complete with bowtie, stood there. He also had a gasmask on, and an earpiece was screwed into his ear.

The climatologist despaired inside, knowing that his plan was foiled. Overhead, the pneumatic tubes that carried the millions of people around the country hissed.

Everdeen sucked in the artificial air and shrugged the hand off, walking back to the hotel where the president was waiting incognito for him.

He opened the door, waited for the filter to do its job, and peeled off the mask, sticking it in the receptacle. The inner door hissed open, and the man stepped into the hotel proper.

It was ornate, in a twentieth century way. Dr. Everdeen almost snorted. Why were they bothering to conserve something so far in the past when outside no one can breathe the air? The human race seemed more concerned about preserving the past then the present. Well, for better or worse, the ozone layer will be fixed. The climatologist could predict that much.

"Sir," said another man in a suit. There was no question of who the climatologist was. He wouldn't have made it inside they didn't know.

The climatologist nodded again and ascended the oak stairs, marvelling at the extinct wood. It was so beautiful. All those natural things, totally destroyed by the humans. He wished he'd never even come to Washington.

A panorama presented itself at the top of the stairs, glass protecting the hotel from the outside world. It was unbroken apart from evenly spaced doors made of the same material.

He went to the one marked 5 and pushed the small red button beside it. A section of the glass darkened and reformed into a smoky grey keypad, distinguishable from the rest of the door. The man fished around in his pocket for a plastic card from his pocket. He pushed it against the scanner with pulsed gently beneath the keypad, before typing in a seven digit number. He pushed enter, and then stepped back, replacing the card in his pocket.

He pulled the door open and stepped into the console, making sure he was standing in the centre, and that there was no clothing or anything caught.

A huge mechanical man o' war, long pneumatic tubes it's tentacles, guided itself overhead. One of 'tentacles' affixed itself to the roof of the cubicle, the roof hissing as it slid open. A suction of air started, flapping Everdeen's coat around his legs. Finally, the pressure became strong, and the climatologist was lifted from the ground, sent spinning up to the body of the man o' war.

He was sucked into the body and then out again, travelling downwards into the channel that lay behind the hotel. The man closed his eyes and tried to relax, unsuccessfully trying to think of something other then what he had come to say to the president.

He was sucked out of the water and into the sky again, to a room that was simply hovering in the air. Finally, he was placed in a cubicle like the one he left.

Pausing only to smooth his hair, the climatologist strode out of the cubicle, into the room proper.

It was spacious and well appointed, with wood and chrome seemingly the theme. Two guards stood next to the doors, but other than that, there was no other occupant in the room except the president of the United States himself.

He was short, but thin, with kind eyes and white hair. He sat at a desk, next to a large crystal computer screen, sipping tea from a cup.

The president placed his cup on the desk and leaned back in the office chair he sat in, the gel sacks altering themselves to his new position.

"Dr. Everdeen," he said, steepling his fingers. "Nice to see you."

"I wish I could say the same for you," Everdeen said, attempting a smile.

"Indeed. I hope these aren't too trying of circumstances?" President Snow asked. His tone was light, but the undercurrent was of something close to panic.

The United States now controlled over five and a half billion people, taking over what was once Australia, most of Europe, and East Asia. All of these people depended on the President, some more than others. He could not afford to have something as major as what Dr. Everdeen was about to show him out of his control.

The smile slid off the climatologist's face as he crossed to the computer screen. It was gas and thermal technology, and Everdeen barely had to touch it.

He brought up the findings of the Observatory, and several other images. Several other models and scales joined the others on the screen as crumpled pieces of virtual paper. The President frowned. This didn't look good.

"Right," Everdeen said, grey eyes staring seriously at the President. "As you know, the air outside is so toxic that it is immediately hazardous to human health."

The President nodded. The air was a sore-spot, and he was putting everything he could towards fixing it.

On the screen, Everdeen smoothed out a piece of paper, unfolding it so it took up half the screen. It showed a simple bar graph, the bars glowing a softly pulsing blue. It started at 2254 and continued to 2454. At the side, a single symbol, O2, was present. The numbers ranged from 3000 to 0.

"Over the past two hundred years," Everdeen began, "Myishi has allowed us to use their observatory to observe ozone levels." The instant Everdeen said 'ozone', the President got a really bad feeling. A really, really bad feeling.

"As you can see from the graph, the sample we gather is getting bigger and bigger, and the amount of actual ozone is getting smaller and smaller.

"At the rate of deterioration, my team and I have predicted that by this time in five years, the ozone layer will have completely dissipated, and the Earth will be completely exposed to the sun's UV rays. This will mean that everything not strengthened will be fried, including humans. In additions, many, many fires will start as the rays ignite the gasses in the air. What's left of the polar caps will melt, and we predict that this will swallow everything under twelve meters above sea level. There is nothing you can do to stop this happening."

The President paled visibly. "So many will die... so many..."

Everdeen nodded.

"While a short-term solution is not within our reach, my team and I proposed a long term one."

He smoothed out another piece of paper, this one showing a large sketch, worn and showing many crease marks. It showed a large, intricate machine, outlined in a strong hand. The title above it simply read Hope.

"As you know," his voice took on a sad turn, "The satellite was sabotaged. It crashed back into Earth, killing all onboard and shattering so badly that very few parts of it were found. The only reason I still have this is because I was drawing it the morning of the scheduled sampling. It was while we were sampling that the sabotage happened."

The President bowed his head, remembering the fifty scientists and well over two hundred other employees that had been on the satellite. "What does this do?" he asked after a customary minute of silence.

The climatologist smiled for the first time. "It repairs the ozone layer."

The President exhaled in relief. "How long will it take?"

"If it's started within the next nine months, it should take about five years to build."

"So," the President said. "The disaster can be averted."

"I suppose," said Everdeen. "But, when the ozone layer finally depletes to zero, it will most likely burn all the toxic gasses in the atmosphere. We'd be able to walk around outside without gas masks." Everdeen took on a wistful tone as he said it.

"But, still so many people..." the President said.

"Aye," said Everdeen, slipping into the slight Irish accent he always got when he was excited. "This is what I propose. We build the machine and deploy it a month before the deadline." Deadline. It had a name now. "This will expose the world to the UV rays for a single day. This will result in massive amounts of damage to the surface of the world. But it will get rid of a lot of the pollution."

The President leaned back in his chair. He exhaled, looking far older than he did twenty minutes ago. Everdeen clicked his fingers and the screen blackened.

"What about the people?" he asked.

"Move them underground. That's the only sollution I can think of. Most everything natural on the earth will be ruined, so plants and animals will need to be kept underground, too. We will lose thousands of natural things on our earth, but not everything. It's the best we could come up with."

Outside the gasses whirled, and crickets would be chirping if they still existed.

The scientist stood quietly, bunched in anticipation.

Finally, the President opened his eyes.

"I'll do it." The three words echoed around the room, and it seemed something as momentous as those three words needed a more spectacular arrival.

"It will cost a lot, both in money and biological terms," the climatologist reiterated.

"But weighed against the survival of the human race and the world itself, what else can I do?"

The climatologist nodded, walked out of the room, and was sent spinning back down to Earth, all the while pondering what was going to happen next.


[stay tuned for next week's installment]