I decided to take a break from penning my latest novel, Dalon Con. The story is set on a world called Burrus Plax. It’s a sci-fi/dystopian/fantasy/action adventure hybrid with a heavy dose of time travel.
I was taking this short hiatus from work to indulge in a bit of nourishment. My personal assistant, Brenda, disagreed with me on the amount of salsa that should be scooped into the chip of a similar name.
First, let me explain my need for an assistant. It’s not because I think I’m somehighfalutin pretty boy what needs some varmint to get their hands dirty for them. (Kinda reminds you of Yosemite Sam, don’t it?) The fact is, I woke up with a touch of Multiple Sclerosis this morning and needed some help typing (among other necessities).
Now, let’s get back to the important thing at hand. I am a lover of hot stuff when it comes to food. I chose to eat a rather hot salsa, so when it comes to plunging my chip into the fiery liquid, I tend to dip conservatively. My assistant, being unable to ingest foods containing capsaicin, is of the opinion that a scoopful should be just that, a scoop that is full.
Coming to the conclusion that we would have to agree to disagree, Brenda and I crept back into a world full of hair curling, nasty mega-monsters, time snatchers and a dystopian landscape . . . but alas, no capsaicin.
The increasing sea level went undetected until 2015. By then there was nothing to do but watch it
rise. Not that any course was viable had the increase in temperature been detected earlier. Mankind came to the realization he had no control over the climate, for better or for worse. That alone was in God’s hands. Not to say global warming wasn’t real, but there was nothing anyone could have done to prevent it and nothing anyone could do to stop it.
North America’s western coastline stabilized at the Sierra Nevadas. The Appalachian Mountain range became the new East Coast. Tributaries allowed water to infiltrate the country’s interior, turning the Mississippi River into a tidal basin and the Great Lakes into the Great Lake. The Sea of Cortez migrated over halfway up the Colorado River. This intrusion engulfed two-thirds of the area between the Sierra Nevada and Rocky
Mountain ranges forming Grand Canyon Bay. Worldwide the story was much the same. Cities built higher than
two thousand feet above pre-twenty-first-century sea level remained.
With the upward push of water, the atmosphere also welled up, warming the planet
and setting off a
chain reaction that would further reduce the polar caps. This caused the water level to rise, fueling the vicious cycle until the last remaining vestige of ice was reduced to liquid.
After nearly a decade of unrest and political upheaval, established governments and factions alike came to the identical conclusion. Survival depended upon unity. What remained of the human race had finally gotten it right.
The scientific community did a respectable job of collecting and processing the massive amount of pollution seeping from sunken cities, refineries, and tank farms. In time, the planet did what man could not and digested the remaining toxins.
Travel by road or rail was limited but still possible. A handful of usable airports remained, but with so many waterways, sea-going vessels became the most practical way to transport not only people, but goods and services as well.
While the all-consuming need for oil created countless problems for the former world order, a limited need for fossil fuel still remained.
One drilling platform remained, simply because it supplied all the crude the world needed. Enter the planet’s last oilrig, the Omega Z, dubbed “OZ” soon after its conception. Maintaining this aquatic city was a constant undertaking.