-Suity-up, booty-up, diddly-deedly-da-
"Ferb, where is that montage music coming from?"
Ferb blinked. Phineas turned to the assembled board members.
"Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, FLYNN-FLETCHER ENGINEERING is proud to present project Kivu! As you are all aware, the recent ceasefire in Rwanda is poised to stimulate significant investment by our great nation's corporations, and even light starter industries like apparel production, plastic-trinket making, and food processing require electricity…"
-Do-da be-de-da, da-da, da-da-da-
The collected brass nodded attentively to Dr. Lipsky's presentation, and nodded in all the right places.
The bean-counter was about to shake his head, but then Dr. Lipsky presented the shoestring study budget. He shrugged. The department needed makework to keep it busy, and the data the scientists would gather could conceivably be of scientific interest.
All the brass shook their heads vigorously when Dr. Lipsky turned to a slide titled "subscale demonstration" and showcasing a giant sphere of TNT.
-Do-da be-de-da, da-da, da-da-da-
The conference center was beautiful. The room was fuller, the slides were more polished, and the details were more refined.
Phineas kept his gaze on the Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank rep sitting through the presentation. At the end, the woman gave him a thumbs-up.
The Rwandan government representative was equally approving, and he shook Phineas's hand vigorously after the presentation.
The limited-time-offer tax credits from the Development Bureau technocrat were also very lucrative.
-Do-da be-de-da, da-da, da-da-da-
A folder marked "PHASE B STUDY: SITE EVALUATION", "APPROVED", and "TOP SECRET" fell onto Lipsky's desk.
January 1994
Lake Kivu Investment Zone, Rwanda
Before the civil war of 1990, Rwanda's population had been more than seven million. Three years of civil war had forced hundreds of thousands from their homes, driving the population down to just over six million, mostly subsistence farmers working on small plots of land.
Very small plots of land, it seemed. At about 220 people per square kilometer, Rwanda was the most densely populated country in sub-Saharan Africa. Everywhere he looked, Phineas could see banana farms and vegetable gardens. Hills had been cultivated up to their peaks.
"Wow, Ferb! It's just like home, except that they have banana plantations instead of wet rice paddies. Their hillside agriculture could use some work, though. They should really try terracing their hillsides like we do." Phineas winced. "Ooh, someone lost their livelihood in that landslide over there."
Ferb frowned. Phineas laughed.
"This place isn't overpopulated! Oregon Province has what, 400 people per square kilometer, a hundred million people total? And Jiangsu Province has nearly 800 people per square kilometer! Rwanda has barely a quarter of that! More people means more hands, more inventors and more output! High population densities are wonderful for infrastructural efficiency! Rwanda has a bright future ahead of it!"
Ferb shook his head.
"Okay, their government isn't exactly on top of things like ours is, and they don't have capital equipment to boost productivity… oh, look, we're here!"
The land rover drove off the freshly-laid asphalt road, through the gate in a chain-link fence, and onto an expansive concrete apron. A sign proudly proclaiming that the site was a project of the PEACH ORCHARD INFRASTRUCTURE CONSORTIUM-桃花源基建集團 welcomed the small convoy. A big indigo banner insisted that "The People and Government of Rwanda warmly welcome citizens of the Joint Government".
The duo stepped out of their land rover, and looked across the concrete apron of the construction site to the placid lake beyond. To one side were two clusters of containerized buildings - the living quarters for Pacifican and Rwandan personnel. In the center were the beginnings of various industrial plants. And to the right… was a big four-engined Fairchild Republic™ tiltwing aircraft, its wing edge and four turboprops pointed skyward as it descended vertically onto the apron.
Getting a wrench in Rwanda was nearly as difficult as getting a wrench on Saturn's moon Titan (at least until the general-purpose mini-factory was established on Titan in 1985). Nobody made or sold wrenches (or electricity, or gas, or spare parts, etc.) in the middle of nowhere, so most equipment had to be imported. In a landlocked, infrastructure-deficient country like Rwanda, this meant that most imports came with the added cost of air freight – if it could be imported at all.
A Kevlar-vested Buford Van Stomm emerged from the front seat, hefting a boxy assault rifle. "Man, this place is sweltering." He pointed at the tiltwing. "Hey, dinner bell! Couldn't we have taken one of those instead? I don't mind a bumpy road trip, but security in this place ain't top-notch, and I think the nerds up front lost their dinner."
Dr. Baljeet and Irving stumbled out of the lead land rover, and Irving promptly vomited all over the concrete apron. Ferb rushed to the aid of their legal counsel. Phineas walked over to Baljeet.
"What a place, huh?"
Baljeet took deep breaths, and "Indeed. Actually being here is very much different from teleoperating a drone." Baljeet looked at the tiltwing, and squinted. "Hmm. If I am not very much mistaken, that passenger disembarking from the tiltwing is Dr. Andrew Lipsky."
Phineas's eyes went wide. "The not-Teller x-ray laser guy? Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go talk to him!" He turned to Ferb, who shook his head. "We'll invite him over to chat with you later, Ferb!"
They jogged towards the line of passengers making their way across the apron. "Hey! Dr. Lipsky! I'm Phineas Flynn, this is my friend Dr. Baljeet Tjinder. We're engineers working on a project here. We're big fans of your work! Can we ask you a few questions?"
Dr. Lipsky immediately turned around. "Oh, of course. I always spare time for fans." The raven-haired woman next to him rolled her eyes. "Mr. Flynn, Dr. Tjinder. This is my associate Shego, and this is my research team."
They nodded, and Shego waved. "Dr. Lipsky, what are you doing in Rwanda?"
Before Shego could protest, Drew had already begun running off his mouth. "Oh, I'm here to study Lake Kivu. Do you know that there exists a layer of deadly carbon dioxide gas deep under the surface?" Shego relaxed.
"Of course! My engineering company's subcontracting for Peach Orchard. We're building a plant to tap the methane gas in the lake for power and feedstock. We'll be draining the carbon dioxide out too. If we scale everything up, in fifty years or so, there won't be enough carbon dioxide in the lake to trigger a limnic eruption."
"Not enough carbon dioxide?" Drew began sputtering. "Gak… Ngghh…"
Shego slapped Drew's back. "Relax, Dr. D. What happens to the lake in fifty years will be somebody else's problem." She turned to Phineas. "Aren't you a little young to be supervising a project as remote as this?"
Phineas nodded. "Yes. Yes I am."
"He's a semi-independent subcontractor, Shego, he can paddle his own canoe." Drew pinched his chin. "So, you know all about the structure of the lake?"
"We have the data, yes. The latest stuff's proprietary. If you want it, Dr. Lipsky, you'll have to go through official channels."
Drew nodded. "Needless to say. Call me Drew, Mr. Flynn."
"Phineas will do for me. Huh. There's that montage music again."
-Suity-up, booty-up, diddly-deedly-da-
Ferb inspected a medium-sized floating platform, which tugged on long flexible natural gas pipelines like floats on a fishing line. He gave a thumbs-up. Machinery whirred to life, and below the surface, long pipes dangling from the platforms liberated vast volumes of methane and carbon dioxide from the lake's murky depths. The carbon dioxide was disposed of, but the methane erupted from the platform in a brilliant controlled flare that lit up the pitch-black lake.
Dr. D, trying to take additional measurements, was looking right at the flare when it ignited. "Ahh! My eyes!" Shego shook her head.
-Do-da be-de-da, da-da, da-da-da-
"Okay, a little to the left…"
The cargo airship slowly lowered a series of cargo containers, containing the electrical equipment that would allow the small CARBOX hydrocarbon fuel cell plant to distribute the electricity it generated.
The relatively lightweight fuel cells were already in place.
One of Dr. Lipsky's echo-sounding explosive charges misfired, blowing a hole in his rented boat.
-Do-da be-de-da, da-da, da-da-da-
"Gutsy move by your company, coming down the gravity well like that."
Phineas toured a half-built single-cell protein (SCP) plant, decorated with the logo of the moon-based Butterfly Corporation. He passed by vats of special bacteria that ate methane and combined it with atmospheric nitrogen and other minerals to produce edible proteins, checking the flow of methane from his platforms as he did so.
He passed by synthetic protein modifiers, producing synthetic tofu, meat paste, and egg. Such plants had been essential in the Pacific's drive to exploit and settle the Solar System. In protein-starved Rwanda, it would be a (hopefully profitable) godsend.
Lipsky lost control of his teleoperated underwater robot, and Shego painstakingly dragged it back to the surface in a high-pressure suit.
Lake Kivu is nearly half a kilometer deep.
-Do-da be-de-da, da-da, da-da-da-
Both the SCP plant and the power plant began to take shape, under the delicate, time-lapsed machinations of cranes, trucks, airships, and tiltwings. Buildings topped out, skeletons gained cladding, and milestones were met.
Workers streamed into a cafeteria to celebrate the completion of yet another milestone, and Phineas began giving a short speech. Against his protests, Shego dragged Drew into the cafeteria, his laptop in his hands.
Over Rwanda's capital city of Kigali, a small business jet circled Kigali International, and began its final approach.
-Do-da be-de-da, da-da, da-da-da-
April 6th 1994
Lake Kivu Investment Zone, Rwanda
Phineas raised his cola in a toast. "Congratulations to everyone here on a job well done! At this rate, we'll wrap this project up in two more months! We also still have a lot of testing and de-bugging to do, but tonight… we party!"
The room – packed both with members of Phineas's team and personnel managing other projects - broke into rapturous applause. Phineas bowed.
Phineas descended from his chair, and frowned. "Huh. That was ridiculously fast. Only took us three months to see this project through."
Buford tapped his chin. "Was this mostly-finished before we got here?"
Baljeet shrugged. "I seem to recall us completing substantially more ambitious projects in less than a day."
Shego, near the back of the room, threw back a beer, and sat down next to Drew, who had dozed off on top of his boxy, satellite-link-equipped laptop. She shook Drew awake. "Hey, Dr. D! Everybody on-site's getting wrecked! Like triangle-head said, you can work tomorrow!"
"You know I can't stand alcohol, Shego!"
Shego "Okay. Here, I got you some punch."
"Well, I am thirsty." Drew chugged down the sweet, cloy liquid, which felt oddly warm in his mouth. Memories flooded back. "You spiked the punch, didn't you?"
Shego nodded, and Drew groaned. He got up, and began making his way to the bathroom. Much to his surprise, Shego followed him into a cubicle.
"I'm not faking it, Shego."
Sure enough, as Shego looked on, Drew's face turned pink, and then red. Drew tried to decide whether he was feeling queasy enough to hurl, and eventually decided that an early bedtime was preferable to losing his dinner. He stood. Shego chuckled.
"Good. You kept your dinner. You lost it the last time I pulled that joke on you."
Drakken frowned. "That was what, four years ago?"
"No, that was the KGB trying to pump you for information. I recall strongly advising you not to attend that conference in Moscow."
"I met a pretty girl at that conference…"
Shego rubbed her temples. "That was also the KGB trying to pump you for information. The last time I pulled that prank on you was five years ago."
"Oh. Japan, yes. Annoying crime gangs, trying to steal state secrets… like Klaus Fuchs… traitor… no Klaus Fuch'll survive on my team… never tell anyone about the new lasing medium… state secret… principles are obvious, but the devil is in the details, and that's what they're after…"
Shego laughed. Drew always rambled when inebriated. "Let's get you to your room, Dr. D."
Shego opened the cubicle door, Drew on her shoulder…
…and ran right into Ferb Fletcher. The green-haired man blinked twice, turned around, and continued towards the urinals as if nothing had occurred.
They walked into the messy, spartan containerized quarters, hot from a day under the equatorial sun. Shego turned on the air-conditioner, and a whir filled the room. Drew collapsed onto his bed. Shego facepalmed, and sat down in a chair.
"Well, that was embarrassing."
"Eh, we'll be fine. Fletcher is many things, but a blabbermouth isn't one of them. And if he did blab, who would believe it? Heck, my mother went around with my resume on a billboard, and those blind dates never followed me up."
Shego laughed. "Seriously? Your mother goes to those matchmaker's markets?"
"Past tense, Shego. She walked around the park and everything. I even went along once or twice. You'd be amazed how many desperate parents there are in those shindigs. But I gave up after a few tries. Couldn't be bothered."
"I'd have expected more interest in a guy with a cushy, high-placed government job, a doctorate, and a house."
"Eh. I had less stuff back then. How about you?" Drew awaited Shego's usual rebuke - the spook never liked discussing her private life.
Shego sighed. "These ops don't leave much time for a social life. Actually…" Shego's intelligence-issue satphone buzzed, and she pulled the small, ovoid device out of her trouser pocket.
Intelligence alert. Shego checked her inbox, and a grainy text message appeared on the monochrome screen.
SUBJECT: RWANDAN PRESIDENT ASSASSINATED
FROM: [REDACTED]
TO: [REDACTED]
CLASSFICATION: RESTRICTED
AIRCRAFT CARRYING RWANDAN PRESIDENT JUVENAL HABYARIMANA AND BURUNDIAN PRESIDENT CYPRIEN NTARYAMIA SHOT DOWN BY MANPAD OVER KIGALI INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT. RWANDAN ARMED FORCES (FAR) MOBILIZING. LOCAL AUTHORITIES UNCOOPERATIVE WITH UN ASSISTANCE MISSION IN RWANDA (UNAMIR). THREATS AND VIOLENCE AGAINST UNAMIR PERSONNEL AND FOREIGN NATIONALS REPORTED.
ASSASSINATION LIKELY SUCCESSFUL. ASSASSINATION LIKELY TO DESTABILIZE RWANDA. ASSASSINATION POSSIBLE PRECURSOR TO COUP.
SITUATION MOVING FAST.
Shego frowned. The brief contained no helpful advice as to what to do, no clarification as to the rules of engagement, and was… out of date. But then again, the message hadn't been written primarily for her eyes…
"Shego, what's wrong?"
"Dr. D, start packing and get ready to move. I'll tell the others."
"Why?"
"The Rwandan President just got assassinated, and we're waiting for the other shoe to drop."
Schemes similar to that depicted in this fan-fiction to extract natural gas from Lake Kivu are underway. MIT Technology Review ( s/536656/lake-kivus-great-gas-gamble/) has an article on the subject.
Single-cell protein (SCP) factories were built in the Soviet Union in the 1970s. They worked, but the proteins they made were apparently carcinogenic to the cows that were fed them. The kinks could probably have been worked out eventually, but the technology was abandoned. Methane-fed SCP is a key technology for Joint Government space settlement efforts, and is mentioned in the First Space War.
Efficient, cheap, low-temperature hydrocarbon fuel cells (the CARBOX fuel cells depicted above) are science fiction.
The Butterfly Corporation makes an appearance in the Star vs. the Forces of Evil fan-fiction the Butterfly Effect.
