Oil Trees

Alec- September, 2020 AD (1 EL)

The two-laned asphalt highway lay like a black paper cut on the land. The sun shone into that wound like a monstrous ER exam light, bringing the temperature far above blood heat. On both sides were tall fences covered in purple vines. Along the wound crawled occasional maggots- massive convoys of four-bottomed robotic semi trailers. Sometimes the huge black beetle of a farm machine would lumber by. Then something new entered: a tall man, dressed in flowing white robes, sun goggles and head cloth, like a surreal Lawrence of Arabia, mounted on a silently skimming skeletal tricycle. He glided northward along the gravel shoulder. Conserving energy, his eyes were the only thing that movedwatching, searching, evaluating, alert for approaching bad weather or Security. Alec Mueller hated this part of the trip. At home hed have been able to appreciate the early morning sunshine, the noisy chickens, and the carefully nurtured shade trees around his tunnel. Instead hed checked out one of the Phoenix-built electroscoots to make his regular monthly run to Morris- too long a day trip for a horse. He carried the seeds of a special project, which helped him endure the tedium of checking out of the LOOZ, the Chippewa Local Outlook Opportunity Zone. Past the Appleton Checkpoint, he tooled northward on the shoulder of old US 59, out of the way of the hurtling semi-trains. He thought of how this area had looked before. The Great Plains of North America was once a land of small farmsteads, quaint old houses, lilac bushes and schoolhouse township halls. When hed moved here as a kid in the 90s, the prairie had been a wondrous place, a dry-land sea of wildlife, far horizons and possibilities. The tree plantings around farmsteads had been islands, greenly echoing Tahiti or Fiji. A mans spirit could soar there like a red-tailed hawk. But that world was gone, a tragic sacrifice to misguided efficiency and the politics of fear in a dying civilization. Now US Commerce Road 59 hunkered between 16-foot-high security fences. Behind them lay miles of one-crop fields with their various robotic attendants scurrying or lumbering about in the harvest. The monotony was occasionally broken by huge feedlot cow factories, muddy corrals a mile on a side, crammed with melancholy-looking steers. The stench of these competed with that from the blocks-long chicken production sheds. The side roads hed explored on pleasant afternoons as a youth were now plowed under, or marked with yellow and black signs: AGRICORP PERSONNEL ONLY. SECURITY WILL USE DEADLY FORCE. The changeover had been slowly catastrophic, with almost everyone in Minnesota being relocated to fenced cities in recent years. During the transition, raids by roving bands of murderous looters had been barely worse than the help from Corporate Security. Things had settled down since then, but it was the peace of death. There was still plenty of activity on the prairie, but it was the activity of maggots on a corpse, not real life. Like inverse cancers, little pockets of counter-culture lived in that wracked body, waiting to metastasize when their time came. They kept low, doing only the expected- at least to prying eyes. Thered never been much to see of the farm-and-college town of Morris, Minnesota, and it didnt look all that different now. The industrial park on the south side still consisted of steel buildings huddled along the rail line. The ethanol plant still poured forth its fragrance, officially called the aroma of fresh baked bread; the bread Jacks giant made from the ground bones of Englishmen probably smelled like this. It technically wasnt really polluting, as the foul clouds quickly degraded into harmless organics, but having its stench so near town was demoralizing. It reminded the peasants that Big Money ruled them.

A closer looked showed big changes. The edge of town was now a clear boundary, marked by the omnipresent security fences. Few side roads branched from the highway, and most were restricted. Beside the billboards for Pamida and McDonalds were ones bearing the smiling face of Administrator Erhart, urging people to Pull Together! Treacherous bastard, thought Alec, Ill show you pull. Like an old-time Nazi regional governor. Erhart was free to convert the LOOZ to a Corporate Opportunity Zone whenever he thought it not cost effective. Residents would have a choice: become Citizens of the teeming Metros, or stay as slave labor. He had already tried to disband the Paul Bunyan LOOZ up north. Reports of fierce guerrilla fighting by Ojibwe warriors still filtered out, months later. Alec knew that the most disturbing sight in Morris for his older friends would be the former University of Minnesota water tower. It was still there, but its great maroon M had been replaced by a huge AgriCorp logo, with smaller ones for Sony and the other corporations that had bought out the bankrupt school. The University which remained was like a great rain forest tree, overwhelmed by parasitic plants that had eventually smothered and dissolved it while retaining its outward shape. Overnight, Morris had utterly changed from a sleepy college town to an enclave of corporate society, a mere colony of the Metros. Everyone worked for AgriCorp, from the teachers at the agribusiness school to the road maintainers. Downtowns bars and shows glittered as rewards for faithful service, while the other stores were mostly empty, not that anyone had money to spare. (Most people will put up with repression and short horizons as long as they felt secure and entertained.) The road from the main campus to the West Central Research Center sub-campus was still there, but with a barred admittance gate. Alec showed his ID pass to the hulking Augment cyborg guard, and continued up the hill. The office buildings still stood among flower gardens, but the yard was no longer as grand as before, since there was little profit to be had from flowers. Alec admired his contact here, Agronomist Sean Lundquist. Sean had re-entered school in his thirties, graduating from UMM in the Oughts. He somehow managed to combine the old Liberal Arts ideal and the new Utilitarian Policies, like walking the center line between two opposite traffic streams. Alec knew that a miss-step for Sean might be just that deadly. Alecs official mission was to be briefed on Corporate chemical spraying schedules for the next few weeks. The Corpos didnt want to destroy his people outright; LOOZers were great propaganda targets, after all. His unofficial mission was another matter entirely. After a half-hour or so of routine business in a thoroughly nondescript office, Sean loudly suggested that they do a walk-through of some of the experimental plots. Out from the air-conditioned building they went, into the oppressive heat. Soon they were walking among ten-foot stalks of genemod corn. You want an OIL TREE? the agronomist gasped. What the heck are you gonna do with THAT in Minnesota? Not a whole tree, just the genome mods for the hardwood version. Alec answered, grinning at his friends shock. Lets say that its for a bit of old-fashioned improvisation. He explained some of the details of his scheme, and then waited. Hardwood, you say, maybe Aspen like they use in the Alberta Fields? I was thinking more of a fast-growth maple. How come you cant just download the specs from AgriCorp?

We dont want Erhart to own EVERYTHING we think of. Its bad enough being locked up. For a few seconds Shawn gazed skyward, figuring, then said. Jah, sure, I think I got a lead. The usual delivery, then? So, hows your Dad doing? Alec felt safe passing on greetings to his fathers old pupil, shielded by the rows of PlastiCorn. Alec returned to the Appleton Checkpoint at about sunset, pulling up beside the huge sign: North Gate, Chippewa Local Outlook Opportunity Zone. Entry restricted. The Corpos were watchful for smugglers and terrorists, but clearly Alecs frail vehicle had nowhere to hide much contraband. He was quickly passed through the automated gate. On the way south toward home the contrast was stark. Here, old US 59 was the border of the LOOZ. To the east were high fences, warning signs and rows of monotonous corn, unbroken to the horizon. To the west a hedge of flowering scrubberbush stood along the abandoned rail line. Beyond lay a healthy quilt of windrows, orchards, fallow fields and wetlands. A few houses peeked from their berms, windmills lazily cycling in the breeze. Alec was proud of those windmills, which were develop at and built by Phoenix. Later, along the old county road from Appleton to the Asyl Bridge, he passed Western Dawn, the village where several Hmong families had settled under the University of Minnesotas long-expired Farming Incubator Program. They had fled Minneapolis in the 'teens, preferring life on the land to the consumerist insanity, crowding and violence of the Metro. Theyd chosen a moist fold in the wrinkled tablecloth of the land, terracing the little valley for growing squash, corn, tomatoes and greens. Chickens wearing sunshade hoods clucked around the longhouses. A group of children, picking scrubberbush nuts near the colorful gateposts, smiled and waved their gloved hands. He realized that it had been a while since their last shared festival, and resolved to arrange another. Lac Qui Parle-Lake That Talks- had been named by French explorers for the racket made by its abundant waterfowl. In the 1930s the Minnesota River had been dammed for flood control, expanding Lac Qui Parle. For most of a century it had drawn goose hunters and walleye fishermen from hundreds of miles around. Long, narrow and shallow, surrounded by fertile wetlands, it had been the pride of Western Minnesota. Then came the climate shift. Dams and spillways designed for the gentler weather of the Twentieth Century were utterly inadequate for the deluges of the Twenty First. They gave way after years of record flooding, inundating Montevideo, Granite Falls and other towns downstream. Like many of the worlds rivers, the Minnesota was declared uncontrollable. A <<No Insurance Available, No Government Services Rendered>> area was established along its banks from Ortonville to the suburbs of Minneapolis. The LOOZes, reservations for Greens and other malcontents, grew from such seeds. Now, less than a century after the young Eric Sevareid had passed this way on his epic canoe voyage from St. Paul to Hudsons Bay, the communal settlement of Phoenix sprawled along the eastern bank of the lake. It had been founded in 1997 by the eccentric dot-com millionaire Karl Mueller. That visionary foresaw that American culture was only going to become more oppressively consumerist, then Fascist, as the world's many predicaments converged. He was also convinced that a healthy, lowenergy, close-to-the-land society didnt need to revert to peasantry. He began by buying the house, bait shop and clutch of cabins of the Asyl Beach Resort, then sent out invitations for selected residents. His vision was now home to about 150 souls, hardy non-conformists dedicated to gleaning compassionate uses from the needlessly twisted technologies of Corporate Civilization. Its influence was why there was a free LOOZ here rather than an outright labor camp. Karl had brokered the deal with Erhart that kept them free, but behind barbed wire, as long as they kept inventing useful gadgets.

None of the original 20th Century structures remained. They had been scoured from the banks by recurring 500-year floods. The low dwellings now were set a few hundred feet back from the shore, above the old floodplain; some were dug into the hillside. Many trees and shrubs had been planted before their doors, gene-tweaked to tolerate high UV light levels. Several windmills stood on the ridge above, with lines of solar panel between them. Among them stood greenhouses, fishponds, labs and shops. What the casual visitor could not know was that the hillside tunnels also contained works of art, music, literature and philosophy. These treasures had been rescued from the McWorld which no longer had use for them, held in trust for that day when the successor to Western Civilization would need their spirit. For it was the spirit they represented, more than the goods themselves, which ultimately mattered. Alec approached the fence that surrounded Phoenix, made necessary by terrorists and anti-tech hysteria when the facts of what climate shift meant had finally sunk in to the minds of America. The government then made things worse by scapegoating those troublemakers- eccentrics, peaceniks, environmentalists and Liberals. He stopped to chat with Mai Li, who had drawn gate duty this evening. As head of Security he needed to know whether anything odd had happened that day. He drove down the gravel lane that ran the length of the ecovillage. Soft lights shone in some round hobbit-hole windows of residence tunnels, but most folks were outside enjoying the evening, playing music beneath the sunset skys pyrotechnics, happy to be out without sunscreen and protective clothing. Alec exchanged greetings with them, and promised to be back in a bit. He then went to his Fathers lair, the undistinguished burrow that was the old mans studio, library and home. Knowing that he was expected, Alec walked in without knocking. The front room, both parlor and sleeping space, was dark. The whirring of fans and muttered expletives leaked around the curtained doorway at the rear. Alec pushed through. In the lamplight, battered glasses strapped to his head, sat a stocky sixty-something man. His long gray hair was tied back with a shiny gray headband. He sat before a large bioorganic flatscreen monitor, with a keyboard and trackball on his lap. Ill tell you where to stick your No Socket! he cackled at the flashing online error messages, fingers flying. He still loved hacking, especially now that the stakes were higher. Alec didnt want to know what unsophisticated corporate programmers brilliant security was about to become digital hamburger. The old wizard jumped a bit when he realized Alec was there, but didnt take his eyes from the screen. Just a sec, OK? Ive almost got this puppy rolled over so I can scratch its belly. he said from the side of his mouth. Alec looked around. The contrasts of this room held no strangeness for him. Bent-willow chairs and an antique oak desk stood on maroon indoor/outdoor carpeting. Oil lamps hung from the ceiling. The walls were lined with steel shelves holding all manner of antique computer equipment, reference manuals, parts and widgets. A battered wooden bookcase held haphazardly piled volumes of History, Philosophy and Science Fiction. Almost there. Almost there.... Shit! It just impacted on the surface. He turned to face his son. OK, boy, whats happening? No incidents, Dad. The usual heat and traffic. Greetings from Shawn. And your request? He says he can probably manage it. Delivery next Market Day.

Unh. Good. Connie can tweak it, but what about reactions? Well burn that bridge when we come to it. The old man laid a finger beside his nose. You know that burnings a real option. Watch yourself, kid. This place can get a little rough. I know. Lets talk about it tomorrow, OK? Fine. Im not done with this beastie yet either. Later! Karl turned to the screen and was immediately back in his cyber-world. Help me Obi Wan, youre my only hope, he crooned while booting up a computer worm-generator hed first written twenty years before and allowed to evolve ever since. As Alec passed back out into the night he mused that his Fathers flakiness was neither a put on, nor a sign of losing touch with reality, but the manner of a person whod seen and done too much, for whom life held a Marx Brothers kind of absurdity. Sometimes the only rational response was a touch of irrationality. Alecs door was a bit farther down. He stopped there only to drop his over-robes and shoulder bag. Clad in the sandals and shorts that were standard Phoenix garb, he walked up the hill to the greenhouses, then through their pungent humidity to the lab annex. There he found Connie Winston, partner in many ways these last few years, as she peered into a microscope. Connie was a tall, red-haired woman with piercing green eyes and a razor wit. Engrossed, she hadnt heard his silent entrance. Frowning and muttering, she straightened and reached for a notebook. As she wrote she glanced up, the frown of concentration cracking into a wide smile. Hey! Youre back! she laughed, grabbing him and planting a wet kiss. After a minute or so they broke apart. Did Sean say he can get it? He thinks so. Hell send it in a couple of weeks at Market Day. So, whats up? She waved toward the worktable. Ach, those alleles for the new-bees navigation problems just wont settle out. But that can wait for tomorrow. Alec helped her shut down gear and lights before they left. She lingered a bit in the greenhouse, examining some skinny reddish stalks growing in a large container of soil. She shadowed the plants with a sheet of black cloth, and nodded with satisfaction as they greenly glowed. Good, she said. See? When these dogwoods hit the supernutrient level, they started glowing. Its a Demonstration of Principle for our project. Alec smiled, loving her ingenuity. They walked hand in hand back to where their friends celebrated, joining them for a few cool hours of fellowship. Guitars and autoharps thrummed. Traditional tunes like Yellow Submarine and Armstrong echoed across the waters. Afterward Alec and Connie returned to their burrow to engage in some warmer connecting. Alec delivered the schedule chip, notes, and his report to Tammi Delfina the next day. The short, dark woman was Chief of Phoenixs greenhouses and pastures, and liaison to the LOOZs Agriculture Society. Karl joined her and Karl to discuss how theyd cope with drifting sprays from the Corporate fields. With over 500 million desperate Americans to feed, including war and climate refugees, commercial food production was an intense, chemical-intensive job- regardless of what those chemicals did to people or the environment. However rational in the Corporate big picture, these

agrochemicals could play havoc with the LOOZs own crops. That covered, Karl said, Tammi, theres something else afoot. We werent bringing you in until we knew more. Alec and Connie have a plan. Alec laid a folder on the table. From it he drew several colored sketches. OK then. This shows the strata under the old lake bed. You know how the farmers used to capture methane bubbling up along shore to burn in their stoves? Heres where it came from. He pointed at the diagram, at a band labeled PRE-PETROLEUM ORGANIC SEDIMENTS (KEROGEN). This is from way before the glaciers. Its old forests and animals, covered over with sand, on the way to becoming oil. Natural gas seeps up while it changes. I want to adapt the technology the Big Petroleum Guys are using for the Tar Sands to tap this. We can use the fuel it generates. On this scale its too small potatoes for the big labs to work on; its just useful here in the sticks. He brought out another diagram. It showed a squat, purple-leafed maple tree with very deep roots. Heres how the finished product should look. These critters will seek out the sediments, capture the pre-petroleum, and run it up through special channels under the bark. When they hit a rich vein theyll glow in the dark so well know to tap them. Tammi said, It sounds good, but how will the locals react? Some of them get freaky about new gengineering. How should I handle the news? Will we need to run this by the Council? The discussion went from there. Phoenix had been trying to educate the LOOZers for decades that the only fix for the results of bad technology was better, more appropriate technology. All but a few diehards realized that it wasnt technology, but foolish application of it, that had trashed the Earth. But, those die-hard ultra-greens and religionists could present real problems. Consider the scrubberbushes, after all. The genemod bushes, based on dwarf almonds, leached toxins like PCBs and DDT from the soils and concentrated them in hard-shelled nuts. Harvesting the nuts for disposal was an ongoing task in the LOOZ; only such biotechnology could clean up the toxic legacy of decades. Phoenix had sold a version to Erhart, who had distributed it widely. Phoenix scrubberbush was a standard tool in toxic cleanup world wide. This education was vitally necessary. The climate had shifted, and would continue changing. The Suns ultraviolet flux had become much stronger than in decades past, and would continue to get worse until all CFCs had been flushed from the atmosphere. Even more disastrous was the chemical and genetic blowby from the mega-farms outside. The people of the LOOZ had long since ceased growing relatives of the commodity crops. New and different food plants had been developed- hardy, UV-tolerant and perennial. The oil trees were just one more step toward needed self-sufficiency.