Chapter 10

Their appointment was with Martin Oberg, a 5'9", 45 year old, PhD type. His twenty years of marriage had made him a bit pudgy and his job as a scientific advisor for NASA in Houston had been good but not great to him. When George Stone called him on the phone he had seen this meeting as a chance to do something really different. The idea seemed simple enough to be possible yet grand enough to really bring the NASA community and maybe even those cheapskates in Congress together. A new project, a new idea, maybe even an idea that would be a career maker for Dr. Oberg. He was obviously enthusiastic when Harold and George arrived. He pumped both of their hands, wiped a bit of sweat off his brow, and then actually got a bit short of breath. He and Harold had more in common, but George easily took charge.

"Dr. Oberg, we are pleased to finally meet you. It was very nice of you to make an opening in your schedule for us." George pumped his hand like the salesman he was.

"Oh, it was a pleasure. We have been looking for new projects such as this one. It is tough to get the public interested in another $250 million dollar experiment to see why people get space sickness. I am sick of it myself and no one is offering me even some Pepto Bismol. For $250 million you can give them a mink lined barf bag and tell them to suffer quietly. I read your proposal with great excitement. This really seems like a new idea with great potential." Oberg looked as if he might have an asthma attack.

"Well, when Harold mentioned it to me a few months ago, I thought it was one of his best schem..., ideas. It took us a couple of months on our limited computer system to test the concept. When we realized the potential we knew we needed NASA to help."

"We are glad to be of help. I have planned out your visit in great detail. I figure we can go over your concept this morning with the planetary exploration division. Then discuss the simulations and biochemistry necessary with the atmospheric division after lunch. And finally go over the vehicular requirements with the payload and fabrication people this afternoon. With some start up funds we can make your concept into an idea, then with congressional approval and funding we can build it to a project. Someday, maybe even do something about it.

George began by outlining the idea and Martin just lapped it up. When they got to the part about the ultralight vehicles Dr. Oberg was really getting into it. He almost began to salivate. NASA had developed such vehicles for use as cheap low earth orbit satellites but the cost to benefit ratio had not been quite right. The chance to use the technology on a more interesting job appealed to the whole staff. By lunch time Oberg was convinced enough to agree to anything. But in true governmental fashion, he scheduled more meetings to begin to form a study group, to consider a feasibility study, to develop a design specification, to initiate initiation. A lot got done for NASA, but speed has never been the government's strength.

Usually there was a several month wait combined with the usual onslaught of meaningless memos and pre-meeting contemplation. This was an unusual day, a new idea out of the blue and a spontaneous meeting. George presented the proposal again and again it flew. No one at the conference had the slightest objection to modifying the atmosphere of an entire planet. No objections were raised. They all thought of the project as a technical challenge. By the time dinner rolled around they were developing cost estimates and trying to figure out who was going to go before Congress to get the 500 million dollars for the rocket and ten planes. It was a cheap project they all mused. George and Harold were ecstatic. Martin Oberg was salivating and the people at NASA were intoxicated by their new adventure. George and Harold hit a beer and burrito joint just outside Houston.

"George, I have this terrible feeling, a feeling of impending doom. I don't smoke, I don't eat eggs, fat, or cholesterol, I jog. It can't be a heart attack, but I feel like the world is coming to an end. I think we should run for the hills, skeedadle, vamoose, make like a lettuce and leaf." Harold was looking around nervously.

"Harold, will you calm down? You panic over the most trivial details." George sat there reading the news.

"George, listen. We should disappear. I have another idea on how we can make the money back we spent on this idea. Very simple, no one gets hurt." Harold hunched down as he said it.

"Harold, I am not going to rob liquor stores in a ski mask. This is a great idea. The Venus plan is your best. Just relax." George raised his hand to call the waitor.

"George, I've got it. You know how you sit at home after a long day at the office and you order a pizza delivered only to realize you have to drive to the video store to get the movie that will make your evening complete? Well, we can open a chain of Pizza&Video stores. You order both with one phone call. It'll be great." Harold desperately wanted out of the project.

"No." George waved his hand and caught the waitor's eye.

"How about the Magic Johnson Brand Condoms. They have the Basket Ball Card in each package, and each one has his picture on the front and the slogan "Wear one when you score, and win one for Magic. They would sell George. I know they would sell. We could make millions and do no work." Harold had a million ideas.

"No." George was quite firm.

"How about the time we worked for Ginsu? We could sell the steak knives on TV. You never liked my idea of the little plastic rake and tweezers to remove tongue hair. It would be great. Simple, no problems." Harold was at the point of pleading.

"Harold, you are too crazy to be insane. You are completely out of sane. We are not going to sell Ginsu Rakes for Tongue Hair Removal. We are going to populate Venus." George had seen this side of Harold too many times to let it phase him.

"I am worried." Harold looked down at the table.

"Harold, the simple problem is that you are not used to anyone actually taking one of your ideas seriously. You are used to free associating with me and then letting the whole thing drop. Today someone not only listened to your idea, they actually acted like they were going to spend 500 million dollars to try it out. This must be like the feeling you get when you smile at an attractive lady in a bar contemplating what it would be like to make love to her and then you realize that she is walking over to your table while licking her lips." George looked to the waiter. "Chicken burrito supreme and a Corona."

"Yeah, like my entire self is going to melt into the carpet. I have a thought that I should probably have mentioned earlier. It's a problem that has me a bit worried." Harold looked at the waiter. "Beef burrito with everything and a diet Coke."

"A bit? You mean like a major problem or a minor problem? Not like that time with the exploding..." George now looked at Harold with minor concern.

"I am not sure. George, suppose this thing works and these little algae gobble up the carbon dioxide and make oxygen and then bacteria use the oxygen to fix more carbon dioxide. What is going to happen to all the carbon we fix in organic molecules?" Harold began to wave his hands to augment the explanation.

"I am not the scientist, you are." George did not get it yet.

"Well it seems to me that some of those organisms are going to fall to the planet's surface which should be quite hot. If there is a low oxygen tension on the surface they will decompose into a hydrocarbon slurry. If the oxygen tension is high they will burn and go back into the atmosphere." Harold began to draw on the table cloth with a felt pen.

"Wouldn't that ruin our efforts to clear out the carbon dioxide?" The lights were starting to go on in George's brain.

"Exactly, my dear George. Our success in clearing the carbon dioxide may burn up when we have made enough oxygen to allow ignition, ruining the whole project. An alternative is that since carbon dioxide is heavier than oxygen a layer of carbon dioxide will remain above the hydrocarbon slurry and prevent ignition. We will get a lake of an oily organic goo a few meters deep on the surface but that will eventually sink in." Harold continued to diagram out the problem working around the dishes on the table.

"Harold, are you suggesting that our contribution to Venus will be to convert its atmosphere to an oil spill that will make the Exxon Valdez look like a mess from cooking dinner?" George looked directly at Harold and straightened his back.

"Exactly. The national anthem of the Republic of Venus will be Over Seas of Shining Diesel to Fields of Shimmering Asphalt." Harold smiled at his comment.

"Who is going to populate it, a bunch of Arabs who are too dumb to know the oil is supposed to be under the sand?" George was really starting to get excited now that his investment might be in trouble.

The waiter delivered their food and drinks.

"George, you are getting negative." Now Harold was the source of reason - a frightening situation.

"Harold, when did you figure this one out?" George shook his head in disbelief.

"I was on the john a couple of days ago and I was thinking about all those algae eating all that carbon dioxide and making oxygen and then I was thinking about all those little micro organisms making methane and blammo it came to me. What would a fart containing all the atmosphere condense down to? It wasn't a pretty thought." Harold bit into his burritto.

"Harold, why did you wait until after today's meeting to mention this minor difficulty to me?" George unwrapped his burrito.

"I am sorry, but most of my ideas are so hair brained that I never anticipated anyone listening to one, let alone giving us 500 million dollars to implement one of them. Do you think the NASA guys will still go for it if they know they will be converting that hot dirt clod into the world's largest oil field?" Guacamole began dripping into Harold's lap.

"What do you mean oil field?" Suddenly George's eys lit up.

"Well, George, hot hydrocarbons make oil. This oil will initially be on the surface but it will still be oil. We could sell it, if there were a way to transport it or there was someone who wanted it. The real problem is that if it burns, it will recreate the greenhouse effect we are fighting against." Harold began again drawing on the table cloth.

"Harold, you just keep thinking, that's what you're good at." A very large grin appeared on George's face as he contemplated owning not only the planet of Venus, but also the oil rights. The meek shall inherit the earth, but they won't get the oil rights. George shall get Venus with the rights. Once a capitalist pig, always a capitalist pig. Oink-oink.

Chapter 11

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