Lab on the Run
Created | Updated Jan 1, 2017
A vision for the new year. Or is it a nightmare?
Lab on the Run
Alarmed that decades of crucial climate measurements could vanish under a hostile Trump administration, scientists have begun a feverish attempt to copy reams of government data onto independent servers in hopes of safeguarding it from any political interference.
Brady Dennis, The Washington Post, 13 December, 2016
The year: 2023. The place: Somewhere deep in the Yukon Mountains of Canada.
Using our updated time-travel fly-on-the-wall camera, we take in the scene at the secret underground lair of NOAA, a dissident scientific organisation whose members have been outlawed as 'data terrorists' by the United States. The cave-like structure isn't cosy, by any means: it's cavernous (that's what 'cave-like' means, duh), cold – the researchers (er, terrorists) are wearing parkas and fingerless gloves – and, hopefully, secret.
George and Tracey are downloading data from orbiting satellites. Other, nameless graduate students (terrorists in training) are assembling Cubesats. Although the Cubesats are only the size of coffee mugs, they are classed as WMDs by the Trump administration. One of these babies can collect enough ecodata from orbit to challenge the government's assertion that the polar ice caps are not melting, and that the fact that New York City is now partially submerged is entirely due to terrorist activities by the EU.
George sits back with a sigh and picks up his mug of hot chocolate. He tries to take a sip, realises he's picked up a Cubesat by mistake, sets it down and locates his hot chocolate before a grad student tags it for launch. He sighs.
GEORGE: Tracey, this job is getting me down. How long can this go on? Hiding under the permafrost, collecting data only a handful will ever read. . . it's a long way from the good old days, when we read our papers openly at conferences at participating Quality Inns. I miss those breakfast buffets.
TRACEY: Yeah, I know what you mean. Once upon a time, we got tenure. Our work was published in Science.
GEORGE: Now the editors of Science have sought asylum in the Ecuadorian embassy.
TRACEY: Well, they had room, once Julian Assange joined the Trump cabinet.
[BOTH SIGH]
TRACEY: Hey, do you see that fly over there? How did it manage to survive this far north?
GEORGE: I don't know. Let's capture it and run experiments.
Suddenly, an alarm goes off and red lights flood the scene with mood indicators. The alarm sounds exactly like Star Trek's 'Red Alert' signal, because they may be outlaws, but science nerds are still scifi geeks. Heavily armed military rush onto the floor.
MILITARY GUY #1: Put that equipment down and your hands up! You're under arrest! You are members of a banned terrorist group. We know you belong to the Nexus for Orbital Acquisition and Analysis!
GEORGE [PUTTING UP HIS HANDS]: You can't do this! We're in neutral territory!
MILITARY GUY #1: Not as of this morning.
TRACEY: It's morning up there?
MILITARY GUY #1: Shut up! Yes, it is morning in Ottawa. And Canada has just signed the international ban on unauthorised, non-government-approved science. You people have nowhere left to hide.
TRACEY: Why do you hate us? We're just trying to collect the facts.
MILITARY GUY #1: Facts? There are no facts beyond the approved messages of the Faux News Corporation[TM]. You data terrorists are interfering with our democratically guaranteed right to invent our own reality. You make me sick! Take 'em out, Schwarzenegger.
The scientists are led away to an undisclosed location where, if they can't collect orbital data, at least the climate is a bit warmer. We follow them with our fly-cam, which is less noticeable in the tropics. In a military prison about 90 miles from Disney World, they are interrogated by agents. The interrogations don't go well, because before they can answer their questions, the scientists have to explain basic concepts to the agents, like the water cycle and how clouds form. This lasts for quite a long time until the rising sea level engulfs the Caribbean, placing Gitmo under water. The scientists, who foresaw this eventuality, stage a daring prison break and are rescued by colleagues with power boats.
The scientists are last spotted waving goodbye, and are heard to sing, 'The sun is a mass of incandescent gas. . . ' as they speed away.
