Last of the Ski Domes

By Kim Vacariu

In the climate-altered world of 2175, when potable water is almost non-existent, where no snow has fallen in nearly 100 years, when rain is a virtual oddity, and fossil fuels are long depleted, human threats to Nature continue unabated. In the transformed environment of the Rocky Mountains, a genetically-selected journalist known as Zee and his telepathically-gifted girlfriend Lectra find both other-worldly love and a burning desire to fight for what remains of the natural world through rejuvenation of the age-old sabotage art known as “monkeywrenching.”
The two partners endure risky fights against Nature-damaging projects, designing spectacular sabotage actions to stop them. Their ability to craft unique scientific approaches and uncanny escape strategies give Zee and Lectra the experience, courage and inspiration to fine-tune future ingeniously-executed actions designed to “Save What’s Left” of Nature. Through it all, Zee and Lectra’s participation in a unique life-extension experiment gives them an uncanny vantage point for interpreting humanity’s greatest irony—that continuing damage to the planet’s ecosystem is irreparably and permanently linked to a manifest defect in the “human condition.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kim Vacariu
• Release date: Oct 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463030875

Kim Vacariu

Kim Vacariu migrated West after receiving a Bachelor of Science Degree in Journalism at Kent State University. Upon arrival in Colorado he co-authored his first book, a collection of nature-infused poems peddled on the streets of Boulder. He soon launched a multi-year poetry-writing marathon, living in a remote off-the-grid cabin at the site of an old mining town called Bear River near Steamboat Springs, where he fully heard the call of the wild. Later, establishing a homestead in the nearby Elk River Valley, he co-founded and edited multiple publications, most notably the Steamboat Springs Review, a free alternative newspaper in which he first published The Adventures of Zee beginning in 1989. The newspaper received the local Environment 2000 Shining Star Award in 1995 for its “Commitment to Environmental Responsibility.” Vacariu continued focusing his writing and energy on Nature conservation, spending the next two decades as a communications specialist and grassroots organizer for Wildlands Network, where he created and directed a large coalition of conservation groups working to connect wild habitats in the Rocky Mountains. He continues to serve on boards of directors for nature-protection organizations, and lately claims he is scheming new ways to save what’s left of Nature in a future that is happening now.

Book preview

Preface

I wrote and began first publishing the original Adventures of Zee in 1989 as a series in the Steamboat Springs Review, a free alternative newspaper that my wife and I published and edited. At the time of that first writing, the climatological, social, and political upheavals I attributed to the far distant future seemed certain to take a very, very long time to occur.

When I recently unshelved the hefty, 110-chapter book after it lay dormant for decades, I was amazed by the story’s overpowering relevance to today’s world—more so than it even seemed back then. In fact, as this new series is published, it’s clear that I may have drastically over-estimated the time it would take for some of my original prognostications to come true, proof that the dire process Zee called the human stupidity loop was accelerating far faster than ever thought possible. Re-inspired by the eco-action of the old story, I split the original text into a 2-book series— 2175: Last of the Ski Domes; and 2177: The Magic Seed. In these latest versions I’ve faithfully maintained the characters, events and descriptions of the future world as I envisioned them back then.

The story occurs in the landscape of northwestern Colorado’s Park Range, where the Continental Divide headwaters of the Elk River, the spectacular expanse of the Mt. Zirkel Wilderness Area, and the gem of Gilpin Lake are all located. The names of some of the landmarks and towns referenced are accurate, while other such places and people are fabricated. However, the main characters in the story are not fabricated—they exist in real life today all over the world, waiting to take action when their time comes.  — Kim Vacariu

Introduction

In the climate-altered world of 2175, when potable water is almost non-existent, where no snow has fallen in nearly 100 years, when rain is a virtual oddity, and fossil fuels are long depleted, human threats to Nature continue unabated. In the transformed environment of the Rocky Mountains, a genetically-selected journalist known as Zee and his telepathically-gifted girlfriend Lectra find both other-worldly love and a burning desire to fight for what remains of the natural world through rejuvenation of the age-old sabotage art known as monkeywrenching.

The two partners endure risky fights against Nature-damaging projects, designing spectacular sabotage actions to stop them. Their ability to craft unique scientific approaches and uncanny escape strategies give Zee and Lectra the experience, courage and inspiration to fine-tune future ingeniously-executed actions designed to Save What’s Left of Nature. Through it all, Zee and Lectra’s participation in a unique life-extension experiment gives them an uncanny vantage point for interpreting humanity’s greatest irony—that continuing damage to the planet’s ecosystem is irreparably and permanently linked to a manifest defect in the human condition.

1

Day in the Life

An almost unheard of January rain was peppering the solectric roof of Zanderson's small house. The translucent covering, diffusing the first hint of a rare cloud-muted sunrise, cast the rooms below in a ghostly hue. The view to the east, of peaks along the Continental Divide cropped down to their waists by the unusual morning overcast, caused Zee to feel slightly unsettled, whether he realized it or not. Cloudy skies almost never happened, let alone rain.

Mindlessly following his early ritual, pulling on the same silver bodskin he had worn for the past two days, heading for the kitchen—without checking vitals on the medscanner, or even so much as a 360- degree glimpse of himself on the image viewer.

Good morning, Zee, came a familiar male voice from somewhere in the servosystem. Please don’t forget your medscan today. It has been four days since you last checked your vitals. I believe you are either lazy or convinced that you are in good health.

Okay, I’ll get to that later. Thank you for the reminder.

Are you enjoying the precipitation?

That’s a double-edged question, replied Zee to the empty room, tapping his fingers on the countertop as he waited for his replicator to produce a cup of wakeup. The particle field across the opening of the machine vanished and a cup of customized liquid appeared: 50% Cafpro, 40% THC and 10% Macamix, a concoction that Zee found kept him mentally focused and physically elevated until at least noon. He took his first large gulp of the hot orange brew.

Not sure I like the dense cloud cover, but I’ll sure take the rain any time. Maybe something will turn green out there for a change. I doubt it.  

Perhaps you should step outside and experience real rain? came the carefully enunciated response.

You know damn well that I would be out there if I could actually feel it on my skin. But we can celebrate for the biome, dry as a bone, not a drop of water, for what, the last ten months? Zee pulled his stool from under the kitchen counter, sat down with a heavy breath. I didn’t mean to sound combative. I guess I’m just frustrated by the fact I’m forced to stuff myself into a radsuit and radpro just to go outside. At least I’m seeing the raindrops running down the viewports and smelling it in the exchanger.

Smelling is not feeling, came a quick reply.

Feeling is not smelling, either, Zee shot back.

Sometimes it didn't pay to joust with the peculiar intellect that lived in his servosystem’s homechip, the Wizard II-XL654. Maybe he shouldn't have programed the Wiz for advanced conversation, but it had turned out to be a fairly decent substitution for lack of a real partner, the likes of which had been zero for quite some time.

Let's hear the weather, requested Zee, staring out the kitchen viewport onto an odd-looking dampened landscape.

Okay, but you will need to lighten up first. Please take a couple more sips of your wakeup, the Wiz said, sounding slightly put off now by the abrupt avoidance of his previous comment: smelling is not feeling. The Wizard knew he could do neither of those things, but was working on building an algorithm that might duplicate those human realities. Zee obediently took two large swallows of wakeup. The longed-for distinction of clarity was already starting to mushroom through his senses.

Wiz, the nickname Zee had ended up giving his servosystem after touching the Auto Name light during the set-up process, responded in his fairly well-perfected weatherman dialect with a curt report:

Weather: 24-hour rain total of 30 millimeters or 1.18 inches is a twenty-five-year record for any individual rain event, regardless of date. Rain to taper off by this afternoon. High temperature today 39 degrees Celsius or 101 degrees Fahrenheit, five degrees below average. Warming back up with clearing tomorrow. A pause, then selecting a slightly mocking tone from his language menu, You could sense most of this if you just went outside.

For better or worse, the capacity of Zee’s intelligence-enhanced personal assistant to participate in audio conversations with adjustable language and delivery that, after a break-in period, emulated the personal vocabulary and voice inflections, the anticipated tones, the sense of humor and other common slang of its operator. It took a while to get used to. Sometimes the feature was entertaining, sometimes engaging, but it frequently resulted in Zee being verbally dissed for any one of his illogical comments. Still, since he had no human mate with whom to banter, it was better than nothing.

Okay, okay, I admit I didn’t really need to know the weather report. Could we look at some news now? A small airscreen embedded in the counter top pushed itself up through a pile of accumulated debris (a half-empty vial of ReLax, a bottle of power pills, a pile of image chips, two small communicators—one global and one interstellar—and a small, shear voice pad), adjusting itself to a viewing angle, its outer rim flickering. The green WorldNet logo appeared, followed by dark blue text drifting down its clear face, letters enlarging as they rolled across the screen’s center (annoying audio feature turned off).

Thursday, 19 January, 2175   0814 MZW

Please Select Topic

Zee pulled his fingers through his tangled shoulder-blade-length silver hair and flipped a long bundle of it behind his back.

How about politics? he asked out loud.

Do you think you should review politics this morning, Zee? responded the Wiz, in the hesitating and questioning tone he used when speaking with concern. I’m afraid your medscans will redline if you’re exposed to the legislature’s new Author’s Surveillance Regulations, which are being finalized today.

Mountain Zone West Politics, Zee commanded, ignoring his homechip’s intuitively logical, and frightening, response. The screen began to show the day's regional political news. Zee slumped forward and watched, sipping wakeup, occasionally glancing out through the rain-spattered kitchen viewports. Those triangular openings framed a familiar view of the several large, almost ancient cedars that had somehow clung to life in his front yard. Trees that sprouted back when the conditions were far wetter and much colder than existed now, more than a hundred years later. Zee alternately groaned and emitted muffled expletives as the news slowly rolled past.

You have to transmit a manuscript to New York today, interrupted Wiz, defaulting to the program that enabled him to override certain human-directed operations, like viewing the news, allowing the homechip to take on the responsibility of enforcing crucial deadlines that Zee regularly ignored or forgot. Got it ready?

No, I certainly do not have it ready, replied Zee, fully aware of the immediate requirements of his life-sustaining journalistic commitment to society. For your information I’m heading to the CityCenter today for an interview with a woman, a science planning advisor on the Town Board. Sounds like a new ski dome revival has reared its ugly head. Can you imagine that? Another ski dome! I thought those damn things were obsolete. I’ll have a story ready about that, I hope, by deadline.

Well, that gives you three hours to complete it. No response from Zee, rising from his seat, shaking out two powerpills from their container on the counter and tossing them into the back of his mouth, where they instantly dissolved. Typically a not-so-needed additive on top of the boost a couple cups of wakeup offered, but considering today’s challenges, probably a good thing. Recommended dosage: Do Not Exceed One Pill Every Six Hours.

You can never count on obsolescence when something that generates billions of D’s can be revived to keep business flowing, noted Wiz, resuming the conversation. To their benefit, they will be relying on an artificial water formula that can freeze itself at the right temperature with virtually no energy consumption. The fact that it works at all in this hot world is quite a feat.

Nevertheless, not good news for Nature, countered Zee, walking away from the screen, knowing such a storyline was perfect fodder for a writer who had never bought into the rule that humans knew what was best for the planet.

Zee rummaged through a disorganized closet full of his few garments and picked his most up-to-date radsuit, the full-body standard green industrial version required for protection from the potent radiation that lurked invisibly everywhere outside—a lasting gift from the terrorists who had vaporized a Cesium-137 bomb in the atmosphere almost fifty years before.

If it keeps raining, turn the heat up a notch. It's freezing in here, Zee instructed the Wizard as he grabbed his backpod and waved open the door to the radiation-proof passageway leading from his house to the attached port where his aircar sat on its recharger.

It’s 80 degrees inside. Most people would not be cold at that temperature, remarked Wiz, getting in the last word.

A big red-haired dog came bounding into the house from the passageway, then turned and excitedly ran back down the tunnel toward the aircar port, then back to Zee again, communicating a desperate plea for attention with bursts of rapid panting.

Hey, Chara, you stayin’ dry? The dog ran back down the short passage to Zee’s aircar, sitting on its recharger pad in the port, and stood up on her hind legs, paws stretched upward toward the passenger hatch of the beat up 2165 FleetRide, anticipating a possible ride somewhere with her master.

Not this time, girl. Strictly business today, Zee said, giving the dog a rub behind long, floppy ears. Zee popped open the operator door of the AC and pulled himself inside. He pushed his clear, lightweight, bubble-like radpro—the see-through radiation-proof head protector used by every human these days—onto the seat beside him, not needing to twist the clear ball onto his radsuit’s neck clasp, thanks to the AC’s radiation-proof cabin.

The AC port’s outer entry slid open and Chara disappeared into the drizzly mist. Zee knew she could not stray beyond the particle-veiled boundary zone around his houselot, a rolling eighth-acre of sandy soil, clumpberries, patches of spirangula and a few snarled, remnant cedars. The effect of heavy radiation exposure that his Crimish hound would receive outdoors was a constant worry, despite the fact that for some reason this particular breed seemed immune to rads. Maybe she was emulating the strength of her namesake, the beautiful red-haired Greek Goddess of honorable war.

Zee tapped a smudged light on the control panel and the AC’s potent electro-magnet hummed to life, sending waves of magnetic repulsion downward from its belly. He touched another light and the cradle of the similarly magnetized parking pad below released its hold-down clamps, allowing the AC to levitate slightly above the pad, floating on the technology of pure magnetic repulsion. The pilot slid his fingers down a circular control panel screen, floated the machine backward out of the open port door and rotated it to align with the string of blinking blue lights that marked the centerline of his drive lane, where the single-rail maglev conductor was buried.

The top and front AC viewports immediately collected raindrops as Zee hovered momentarily between the soaked trunks of two twisted cedars, but visibility cleared as the little-used evaporators did their work. He watched the AC port door close behind him and touched a familiar travel code on his directional panel. In less than ten minutes he would be at the Crystal Springs CityCenter, twenty miles to the south, an all-to-familiar glide down the old, parched Elk River Valley, which had seen neither a river nor an elk in the more than 100 years since the Great Warming.

2

The Interview

Zee hovered down his magnetized drive lane, always worried about his old FleetRide. Don't know how this thing still flies . As he glided down the lane and its partially brush-covered string of directional lights toward the magline that serviced his houselot, he purposely ignored an annoying little buzz coming out of the control panel, probably related to outdated circuitry.

At the end of his drive lane, Zee terminated the power code for his private magline, making access to his house by other maglev vehicles impossible. He felt the surge when the FleetRide detected the connecting neighborhood magline network, pulling itself quickly forward and elevating to the standard seven-meter cruising altitude. From this height, Zee had a good view of the brown, sparsely vegetated transport corridor ahead, leading to the eastern edge of the valley where it intersected with the far more powerful main magline stretching south to Crystal Springs and north to the Clark CityCenter, Hanson Peak, the Zirkel ValueLand, and beyond.

The hard airborne swing to the south at that junction, amplified by the potency of the hyper-charged mainline, always gave Zee a rush. The FleetRide made the sharp banking turn and was slingshot out onto the multi-lane magline, joining dozens of other ACs flying north and south above the riverbed. It was now a high-speed glide to the Crystal Springs CityCenter. Zee slumped back in his seat and watched as the normally dusty riverbed sailed by below. Strangely enough, today a tiny trickle of water snaked down the center of the rocky embankments, a sure sign that a record-breaking rain event had indeed occurred.

Zee had never seen it, but he often recalled old images he’d found of the Elk River Valley, in which an average January landscape like the one sailing by below would have been bisected by a wide, frozen river lined by tall spruce and fir trees, everything covered by a yard-deep layer of bright white snowpack.

Ironically, the frost-colored tops of thousands of soy farm growbubbles passing by on the west side of the valley created a snow-like mirage that amplified Zee’s imagined winter scene. Confusing the issue further was the fact that the steep hills on the east side of the riverbed were uniformly stacked, like endless honeycombs, with thousands of dorminium units constructed with snow-white solectric roofs and walls—a glacier flowing down onto Arctic flatlands. The fantasy didn’t last long. Outside, it was 100 degrees, humidity flirting with zero percent.

As the AC soared ahead in autodrive, the violet morning outline of the Continental Divide, now back-dropped in the eastern distance by a mist-muted yellow sun, came briefly into view. Visible through a break in the low-draped clouds, two peaks on the horizon stood out due to their permanent disfiguration caused by crumbling twin ski domes. The pale blue plastex skins of the gigantic superstructures, bent and broken by extreme heat and wind, made the domes look eerily like remnants of the original, now abandoned Mars Colonies. At least they were both non-functional. Relics of past human madness.

Speeding along, Zee never failed to note the endless habitation this far north of Crystal Springs, an area known locally as the Outland. Maybe that was supposed to classify it as a place where a fragment of open space still remained—the soy farm and a few dying clusters of Emery live oaks that hung on along the river’s west edge apparently sufficing for Nature. A century ago, those oaks could never have grown there, with winter temperatures that stayed far below freezing. Zee tried to pinpoint the last time water froze in this high mountain valley. He seemed to remember a report that a frost had occurred in 2096, but he couldn’t be sure, his 40-year-old memory being far too short.

Gazing further out to the west, beyond the soy farm, the Red Yards came into view. A huge expanse of land layered with soil still crimson from the oxidized residue left behind by a once-bustling recycling facility that had, over a 10-year period back in the late 2000s, turned millions of internal-combustion-engine vehicles into the source materials for the exploding aircar production revolution.

Zee's instrument panel beeped and talked. Two minutes to destination, the panel’s voice said. The FleetRide swung smoothly between multiple magline junctions as it reached the densely developed outskirts of Crystal Springs. Other aircars flew past in steady numbers, shooting blurs of the popular orange, blue and silver. Zee touched more lights on his scratched-up control panel. Park Lane 4 flashed on his view screen. The AC had located and reserved a recharge pad for itself, slowing to a near crawl as it approached its destination.

Zee was in the heart of the CityCenter, jockeying with the traffic moving in and out of intersections stacked on top of one another. He needed the lane leading to the Administrative Complex, and could have relied on autodrive to find it, but he preferred manual operation in these tight situations. Once he had left it up to his AC’s intellect and by the time the damages were paid, Zee was out D600. No one had been able to explain how two ACs could collide, since all vehicles were programmed to autostop within 6 feet of one another regardless of speed or elevation. But collide they had.

The AC finally hovered above its assigned parking spot. As magneto power gently faded below him, the FleetRide rocked, then quickly descended to the recharge pad, settling with a thud. The red charger-on light illuminated on the control panel. Zee reached for his radpro, dropped it over his head onto the connecting clasp on the collar of his radsuit, twisted it into place, and popped his door. 

The sun was straining to break through the dissolving clouds. A patch of bright blue floated overhead. Zee grabbed a note pad from his backpod and closed the AC operator’s door. The rad reading was a little low today, and Zee had to fight back the urge to unfasten the front of his suit. A smell of sulfur from a millennia-old natural spring near the CityCenter filled the air, a smell he had come to associate with this city at the crotch of two Rocky Mountain river valleys. Named centuries ago for what was then a bubbling, geyser-spewing source of clear water, Crystal Springs now had to live with what was left—a sulfur-belching dry hole.

Zee plodded along an elevated pathway past various commercial outlets, including popular restaurants (the Soyboard, ReLax Hut, etc.) and clothing stores (BodSkin Designs, Radsuit Haven, etc.) toward the Crystal Springs Administrative Complex. At the entrance, the rad-proof doors hissed open, leading to a moving stepway that sent him quickly into the depths of the brightly lit mall. Radpro now under his arm, he watched as directional signs passed by. Energy Section...Food Section...Enforcement Section...Commerce Section...then his destination, Town Board. Zee stepped off the moving track at that point and stood before the entry. He ran his hands over his tangled hair, smoothing it down as best he could. A receptionist glanced up, her scarlet bodskin nearly matching her rosy cheeks but contrasting sharply with her forest green hair.

May I direct you, sir?

I'm a little early, but I have a meeting with Science Planning Advisor Electra at 10 hours.

The woman motioned with her eyes for him to take a seat on the recliner against the wall as she touched lights on the communicator in front of her. As he waited, Zee gazed up at the blue horizontal surveillance bar just below the ceiling. He made a crumpled face in its direction. On the table next to him was a standard air screen that offered real-time panoramas of the CityCenter. But this wasn't the time to be admiring promotional scenes. Someone was coming down the hall. A tall, young-looking woman Zee estimated to be about twenty-five years old appeared at the front of the reception room.

Are you Zanderson? she asked as he quickly stood.

And you would be Electra? said Zee, officially extending his upward-flattened right palm toward her in a business gesture.

I'm Electra, but you can call me Lectra, she said, pressing her right palm down briefly onto Zee’s, warm and soft. Zee followed her down a hallway and into a bright white office, where she folded her arms, turned and looked him up and down in a slightly intimidating fashion.

So, I take it you're here for an interview, Zanderson. Are you briefing me, or am I briefing you?

Now it was his turn to scan the woman. She was unable to disguise a certain underlying lack of enthusiasm, but she smiled politely at him. The young woman looked fashionable in her glove-tight purple bodskin with a hairstyle popular with her youthful generation—very long, very straight but with a thin braid down the front on each side. Her hair color was not traditional though, a brilliant sunflower yellow, possibly an attempt to make an avant-garde statement in some way. Zee wondered about the authenticity of her electric green eyes. The now on-the-job reporter activated his notepad, slid a chair close to Lectra's desk, and cleared his throat.

It's my understanding, as a free reporter of course, that the city is considering construction of a new ski dome in the Mt. Zirkel ValueLand, the old wilderness zone. Is that true?

Well, Zanderson. Lectra had stepped behind her desk but did not sit down. It was already all too obvious that her guest was not a proponent of ski domes. I've read a number of things you have written, and I really must compliment you. You have a way with your somewhat one-sided descriptions...

Why thank you, Lectra, he said, interrupting what he thought might be an onslaught of innuendo, swallowing the criticism. I have a few questions, if you don’t mind my getting started. Have you considered what the effects of a ski dome will be on the ValueLand, or on anything other than the flow of Ds to developers?

Of course we have, she shot back, still maintaining composure, a small smile animating her slender face beneath an olive-toned global complexion. It's not like this is a brand new idea or anything. The board has received a grant from the city to pursue it, in terms of bringing in more tourists, in terms of boosting our economy. We're not just going to blindly build on the ValueLand up there without taking precautions. It will be perfectly adapted to the terrain. Very strict construction oversight. The new Crystal-B technology will make a huge difference. Everyone has learned from the mistakes of the past. The crystals won't leak out as happened with the use of Crystal-A in the old Dome One. It will be good for the city and everyone who lives here. The time is now. There have been numerous studies and it is clear there is a new market for dome skiing.

The woman sounded like a recording, almost like a homechip with a soft female voice. When she finally quit spewing the Town Board line, Zee gave her a boyish smile that he used when he needed a breakthrough.

You know, Lectra, I get this feeling that you've never been up in that ValueLand. What do you say we take a little glide up there and see the location for ourselves, you know, take a look around. Maybe get some images, finish our interview up there? Lectra appeared flustered.

Not today, certainly, she smiled, clearly caught off guard. Zee stood up, feeling that a trip with her to the dome location would supply more information than she was willing to give him now, in her apparent combative mood. He sent an ID link from his communicator to hers, which she blinked at with a satisfied smirk.

I need to get all the information you have about the proposed project, Zee said. We can do that at the site, hopefully soon. I’ll look for your communication about time and day to meet. I know we'll be able to work together on this. I hope you understand the importance of getting this information out to a broad audience. Good-looking that she was, he fantasized casting a wink her way as he turned and left her office, but instead gave her the quick, official palm-up departure gesture. Her eyes carefully followed his movement out the door.

3

A Bit of History

The last raindrops were falling as Zee left the Administrative Mall. Tiny water spots dotted the see-through radpro ball on his head but its evaporator cleared the view. The unusual sight of precipitation dripping off the solectric coverings of the CityCenter shops added a surreal after-effect to his surprisingly potent introduction to Lectra. He meandered casually with many other bobbing radpros along a line of dancing, flashing, fully dimensional and interactive holographic advertisements on the walk back to his AC. The pedestrians seemed robotic in their closed-up radiation suits, making every person seem somehow similar except for the wide variation in choice of suit colors. And their headgear, though made of see-through plastex, all but hid facial details behind reflections.

He