Carbon Fields

The agonizing heat of the scorching sun penetrated through my puffy, insulated barrier. While in modern conditions, my gear would serve me well, in “current” circumstances, it acted as a catalyst for overheating. Unfortunately, anticipating desolation does not serve to prepare one for it. As a chrono-biologist, my job is often described as incredibly simple. Analyze the years of data recorded during the pockets of time when Regressional and Evolutionary periods are likely to occur, and before the anticipated glimpse into the past or future, locate to the right place. Yet, there were many caveats. For one, the environmental appearance of Evolutionary periods is not constant. There are many factors that often shift, alter, and convolute previously observed data. Regressional periods are easier to quantify, as oftentimes dependable data exists to highlight what year or time period in the past is being examined. While the future is ever evolving, the past cannot be altered in post.

There are pros and cons to this universal truth as there are with most matters. A massive downside being that research for Evolutionary periods is hardly ever labeled “conclusive,” as this would be a neglectful and downright foolish practice. However, on the upside, there will likely always be a need for chrono-scientists. So, I am well compensated for my specializations. This would be phenomenal if the necessity wasn’t based on a possible pending Venusian model of our planet in the disturbingly near future. With this knowledge, terms like “always” and “compensation” begin to feel naive at best and self-involved at worst.

For a continent known for its subzero temperatures, the soil in front of me could not be considered habitable to a tumbleweed, let alone the penguins or polar bears that used to thrive here. Trudging over to the nearest bench like rock, I sat and heaved my bag off of my shoulder. After setting it down on the ground, I rifled around until I found my lab issued datapad. Turning it on, the fluorescent green laser swept across the ground in front of me. Once I collected a solid, non-estimate year, I could start recording some finite data to bring back to my team. While most of my colleagues appreciated a good excursion, we collectively procrastinated the Antarctica observation for as long as ethically possible. To be rather blunt, scientists had been warning the general public for over a decade now of the deterioration of the planet’s Evolutionary period. Discouragingly, no location on Earth painted this morbid truth more obviously than Antarctica.

When a team of modern-biologists submitted a research paper concerning the continental growth of flowers, not documented since the Cretaceous Regression, my team had been assigned to investigate the matter. What most non-chrono-scientists fail to acknowledge is that while Regressions are common occurrences that typically happen periodically throughout an average planetary revolution, Evolutions only occur once in an American presidential cycle. That is to say, they occur once every four years. To add even more complication to this factor, while Regressions can be anywhere from twenty-four hours to a week long, Evolutions only tend to be visible for about twelve hours. One could say that my team had luck on our side to catch such an event. More accurately, we had enough government funding to send a very select few PhD scientists to Antarctica for six months. The research to even obtain such funding occurred over the span of six years. Luck had very little to do with it.

According to my datapad, the biological indicators all pointed to the year being 2080. I set my datapad on the rock and stood up hastily. Waves of heat contorted the shape of the yellowing brush at my feet. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and attempted to listen. To my dismay, aside from the crunch my own footfall made as I shifted side to side, all was silent. Not a whistle of wind, a trickle of a stream, or even the chirps of a small cicada. The only ounce of water to be seen came from my own eyes as I opened them and, against my better judgment, glared at the blistering star overhead. Or, at least, stared where I thought it might be. The dark clouds were too heavy to make out even the silhouette. I acknowledged that without the suit causing me to sweat uncomfortably, I may as well shrivel into silence myself. 

Setting the threat of my humanity aside, I knew I came here with a job to do. Picking up the datapad I set to work. Kneeling near rocks and hillsides, I let the machine scan. Pulling up the notepad feature, I wrote down any non-artificially intelligent observations I could manage, save for the fear of impending doom. It was too subjective to be considered quantitative. I tried not to be too cynical. The topography only needed to be measured with facts, as I knew my feelings would not hold the answers. 

The Carbon in the atmosphere was thick. For the duration of my twelve-hour shift, I had been directly instructed to not consume any sustenance or liquid, as there was a risk of ingesting airborne toxins or exposing myself unwittingly to the unforgiving Evolutionary conditions. The hunger did not help my disposition, however. I thought back to my daughter who I had not seen in four months. When I had left, she celebrated her ninth birthday about two weeks prior. I desperately attempted not to picture her as an adult attempting to survive in these conditions. Scientists unfortunately only made up a meager fraction of the population, and only a slightly larger portion cared for the facts presented. If Carbon represented the majority of the Evolutionary atmosphere, the second most element had to be that of Denial.

While filling small, labeled containers with samples of soil and stone, I nodded my head while recalling the reason I chose to miss half a year of my child’s life. The comfort that motivated me throughout completing such a grueling task lied within the purpose. With enough evidence, enough research, and enough action, this could be prevented. I recalled that this future in front of me only existed if my team, other teams, and future teams of scientists gave into the looming horror of it all. Should this warping of time that we refer to as regressions and Evolutions ever be taken for granted, then the data’s inclusivity would be an indication of failure. 

I pulled out my camera and began taking pictures to accompany the samples. Without the sharp edges, jagged points, and beaten exteriors, the images likely would only reflect an amalgamation of yellows and grays. The very minute plant life reassured me that our efforts were not being wasted, however, one detail made my heart sink slightly into my chest. Not a single flower that prompted this entire excursion could be seen for miles on end. Likely, they had gone extinct not too long before this Evolutionary period took place. It is a known truth that Carbon has the scientific disposition of life. Despite this, it also has the innate ability to snuff out all life as we know it.

Checking my datapad, approximately eleven hours and thirty minutes had passed by. This is about the time I should be headed back toward my residency. In the last half hour, Evolution should gradually regress back to modernity, making any further observations inaccurate. I and four other scientists had been granted the responsibility of this very rare opportunity. Likely, in the next four years, another four scientists will be sent to make post experimentation comparisons. Hopefully, after the research from this observation is analyzed and presented, some legal changes for Carbon emissions will be made, and the cycle repeats. 

As I trudged through the soil, I felt the texture morph beneath my feet. The crunch of dried, nearly burnt, soil and rock softened into dirt, and eventually hardened into snow. The atmosphere released density and the temperature cooled to more bearable conditions. The wind whistled, and distant sounds of other life forms began to return. After about twenty minutes, the sun revealed itself in all of its orangey yellow glory, no longer shrouded by a thick chemical cloud. I breathed a sigh of relief, only to tense once more. At my feet, now haunting Crustacean flowers reared their deceivingly beautiful heads. They promised a future with an abundance of Carbon but not a single Carbon lifeform to be found. 

About five minutes later, the makeshift laboratory building loomed up ahead of me. I spotted the entrance for researchers who had gear to remove and made my way toward the steel doors. I tapped my password into the keylock, hearing the familiar beep to accompany the numbers, and pushed my way inside. The creak of the door served as another welcome replacement for the eerie silence the last twelve hours subjected me to. 

As soon as the door opened, a blast of warm air wrapped around my already temperature-irregulated suit. Once I tore the thing off, that would have to be another note I write for future research improvements. Looking around, I realized I happened to be the first researcher to return, which provided me with some time to reflect before my small team debriefed on our disproportionately large findings. 

Making my way out of what we fondly referred to as “the coat room,” and into the living quarters, I rushed hastily to the water fountain. I grabbed a paper cone cup, not feeling motivated enough to seek out a reusable bottle and filled it to the brim. Feeling the cool, refreshing liquid on my almost cracking lips, I felt revitalized. It was my first drink in twelve hours, and aside from the snow I had seen ten minutes prior, the first bit of water I’d seen in twelve hours either. To think the heat was so high that thermodynamics did not allow for liquid water made the already chilled taste frozen to my tongue.

I sat down on the couch, relaxing into the soft cushions, and set my water cup into my lap. While twelve hours seemed negligible in comparison to the amount of time that remained before all of this became irreparable, it dawned on me that these twelve hours may have had the impact of twelve years. What we do with these findings will determine what scientists see on the next excursion. It will determine how much longer humans have on planet Earth. It will determine if my daughter, and the next generation, would be allowed to live a long and prosperous life. If at sixty years old my daughter would be allowed to hastily sip her own paper cup of unimaginably cool water. This was more than a glimpse into the way the Earth is evolving, this is a scientifically observable second chance.

A few moments later, the door I had just walked through swung open, and one of my fellow researchers swiftly beelined to the water fountain. She desperately gulped down about three paper cups of water, the same look of desperately cracked lips and pure relief. Finally, we made eye contact, and I knew that even with all of the discussing and writing and presenting that will be made over the next few months and years, never would we have a conversation with the same depth or intensity as in that moment. The world was evolving, and so were we. If we could help it, never again would another human witness the desolate Antarctic wasteland that we observed.