Heat, a Novel about Global Warming

By James Babcock

HEAT is a novel about a looming looming catastrophe. Have you ignored “climate change”? So has Associate Professor William Fleming, a honeybee specialist—until global warming is suggested to him as a cause of crashing bee populations. He decides to research that, but first he needs a deeper understanding of the climate change controversy. His alarming findings eventually convince him to write a popularization of the science. His quest for a publisher leads him to sweet romance, but his writing results in big trouble from a powerful skeptic, who sues him. It’s an experience both chilling and steamy. It’s quite a story—and so is climate change.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Babcock
• Release date: Feb 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005586027

James Babcock

Following three years in the Navy and forty years in international and domestic banking, Babcock took up a second career as a writer and composer. His plots draw on his travels abroad and experiences in foreign exchange trading, bank operations, lending, trust services, auditing, and bank management. Active in community work, he served as a university rector, symphony president, and chairman of economic development organizations. He holds degrees from Princeton and the Wharton School. In addition to his novels and short stories, his creative work includes books of humor and games and a number of pieces for violin and piano. He resides with his family in Blacksburg, Virginia.

Book preview

To my lovely niece

Cameron Anne ‘Cami’ Davis,

mother, skier, artist, professor, ecologist

There will be signs in sun and moon and stars, and on the earth dismay among nations, in perplexity at the roaring of the sea and the waves, men fainting from fear and the expectation of the things which are coming upon the world.

—Luke 21:25-26

This book is a work of fiction. Climate change is real and serious. However, the characters and events herein are fictitious and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Back to Contents

Chapter 1

Mine went farther than yours did! the young woman shouted, laughing.

The man smiled. Well, it’s nice to know there’s something you’re better at than I am.

They were skipping stones from the end of the dock at a Long Island yacht club on the Sound. The sun was setting to their left as dusk and the cocktail hour approached.

I’m awfully warm, she said, can we go in where it’s air-conditioned?

Sure. C’mon. He took her hand and they strolled up the path to the clubhouse. Through the clubhouse doors she could see a room packed with men holding drinks and conversing animatedly.

Roger, she said, I appreciate your getting me involved with all this. It’s been quite a learning experience. Politics is exciting, even if all I do is stuff envelopes.

I know it’s only the party’s local committee, but what’s fun is working on policy. I’m on the platform committee. We get to discuss everything—defense, welfare, healthcare, infrastructure.

Climate change?

He smiled. That’s a crock. There is no such thing.

Oh.

At the clubhouse door, the blast of cool air was refreshing.

C’mon, Jenny, let’s get a drink, and then I want to introduce you to someone who could help you really apply your expensive education to proper effect. Newspapers are fine but this is better.

What does he do?

He’s a publisher. A leading light among the Republican cognoscenti. He’s a doll. You’ll like him.

As he spoke, he led her through the crowd to the bar. He ordered a vodka martini and she asked for a brandy alexander.

Publishing? Jenny said, That sounds exciting.

Beats stuffing envelopes!

What’s his name?

Don’t laugh. It’s Harvey Dunklehaus.

She did laugh.

They accepted their drinks from the bartender.

Roger pointed. He’s over there.

She saw an elderly gentleman with a mane of white hair and an old-fashioned smoking jacket sporting the yacht club emblem. He looks awfully old. Is he still active in business?

And politics. As I said, a leading light.

They weaved their way through the other guests to the corner where the older man was standing alone.

He’s actually very shy, Roger whispered, but strongly opinionated. Aloud he said, Mr. Dunklehaus, I think I’ve found you that editor you told me you were looking for.

Wonderful! The man shook hands with Roger, looked at Jenny, and smiled avuncularly.

Roger turned to her. Jenny, allow me to introduce Harvey Dunklehaus, chairman of Dunklehaus Crabtree Publishing. Mr. Dunklehaus, this is Jenny Summersby.

A pleasure, she said.

All mine, Dunklehaus replied gallantly. He turned to her companion. And how is my favorite young banker?

We’re still lending to your company, if that’s your real concern. Roger knew that Dunklehaus Crabtree used a lot of credit and struggled to make payments.

All in a good cause, Roger. Now where is that promised editor?

Well, right here, sir. You’re looking at her. He laughed. Staring actually.

Not dead yet, young man. To Jenny, he asked, How many words a minute?

Typing?

Writing. He waved his hand. Correcting. Adding. Blurbing. Criticizing diplomatically. Declining crisply.

She’s a really good writer, Roger interjected.

Roger is too kind, Mr. Dunklehaus. I have a degree in journalism and I write for one of the Herald Community Newspapers. I’ve actually never been an editor before.

Mm. Do you read?

Voraciously.

Then, despite your degree, you must know the difference between good writing and bad.

Oh yes, she smiled, I think I do.

Good. Well then, you’re hired. Come in on Monday and Human Resources will fix you up with a desk and a salary. He turned to Roger. Now, if you young people will excuse me, I think I’ll refresh my drink. He nodded and walked away.

Jenny stood with her mouth open.

Roger laughed. You see, Jenny. He trusts me.

Roger Karsh, you are the limit! How do you know I even want to change jobs, much less to a company I never heard of? And I suppose I would have to commute into Manhattan.

Well, you see, that’s the advantage. We could start having lunch together.

So, this was just another deal to notch on your bedpost.

No, I use the bedpost for notching other kinds of deals.

Moron, she laughed. Anyway, I guess I have to go see their H.R. person on Monday. We wouldn’t want to disappoint Mr. Dunklehaus. And I can always say ‘no’.

Sure….Another brandy alexander?

Chapter 2

A blast of icy wind lifted the corner of the tent flap and struck the man in the sleeping bag in the face. A candle provided the only light in the tent; it flickered.

Jeez! the man exclaimed, Why did I ever agree to come with you?

The other man, seated cross-legged, laughed. Because like me, William, you are a scientist, and you wanted to know about glaciers.

Right, Aksel. But you didn’t tell me there wouldn’t be a heater!

Uff da, do you want to live forever?

You crazy Norwegian Vikings.

Well, Aksel shrugged, "if it’s warmth you want, we’ll all be warm soon enough."

I guess so, if what you said is right about global warming.

Oh, I am right, William. As I told you before, the evidence is overwhelming. I’ll show you when we are back at the university.

I just hope this glacier doesn’t melt before we decide to pack up and go home…and by the way, you can call me Bill.

All right, William. Just don’t call me Bear, like my ‘friends’ do. I may be big, but I’m not a Russian. He blew out the candle and crawled into his sleeping bag.

Chapter 3

Jenny paid the taxi driver, stepped out onto Fifth Avenue, and gazed up at the glass-covered fifty-eight-story building. Trump Tower. She entered the glittering foyer and took an elevator to the twenty-first floor. She pushed through a glass door labeled in gold letters: Dunklehaus Crabtree Publishing.

The receptionist, a striking middle-aged blonde, sat at a large desk backed by file cabinets and a computer station. She looked up. Hi, she said, you must be Jenny Summersby. I’m Shirley. We’ve been expecting you.

Yes, I was hired by Mr. Dunkle— She frowned. How do you pronounce his name properly?

The woman laughed.

You mean the last syllable. Who knows? She motioned Jenny to a chair beside her desk. It could be ‘howse,’ ‘house,’ ‘hoss,’ ‘haws,’ ‘huss,’ or ‘hose.’ I’ve heard them all. Take your pick. We just call him Dunk behind his back, or Harvey to his face."

That’s awfully familiar. He could be my grandfather!

But young at heart. We’re a small company. He likes everything to be friendly.

Small? Jenny looked around at the tinted glass doors lining the wide foyer.

Just three editors besides yourself, and one marketing manager to deal with the printing companies, and me. Harvey calls me the business manager because I deal with the agents and the bank accounts, but I double as human resources and receptionist. We farm out the printing and distribution. And we deal almost exclusively with literary agents, rather than would-be authors.

Why is that?

It’s more efficient. They know what we want and they weed out what we don’t want.

Oh….I can see I have a lot to learn about publishing.

Right. She stood up and strode into the foyer. C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the other editors. Each has her own office. You will too. Easier to concentrate on manuscripts."

Jenny’s eyebrows rose. The other editors are all female?

Yes. Dunk doesn’t like office romances. He may be a Republican, but he hates competition.

Jenny wondered what kind of competition the woman was referring to. Well, I knew Mr. Dunklehaus was a Republican, she said doubtfully.

"What are your politics?" Shirley asked.

Jenny frowned. Is that a fair employment question?

Shirley shrugged. Around here it is.

Well, I’m an independent, but I have been working as a Republican volunteer because my boyfriend is a Republican.

Close enough.

Jenny frowned. Does it matter?

Let me explain. Harvey is a leading light among the Republican wealthy. And he’s opinionated. And a stickler. Just don’t get into a political debate with him.

Shirley tapped on one of the glass doors and pushed it open. Hey, Darlene. Meet Jenny Summersby. Jenny’s going to fill our vacancy.

Hi, the young woman said without standing up. Nice to meet you. She looked Jenny up and down and then turned to Shirley. Is she going to go to the Estate?

We’ll see. Anyway, you’re busy, Darlene, so we’ll get out of your way.

In due course Jenny was introduced to Helen and Beverly and to the marketing manager, Becky. All were blondes.

That’s everyone in the shop, Shirley said. C’mon back to my desk and we’ll do the paperwork.

Jenny followed the woman into the foyer and sat down beside her desk.

Okay, Shirley nodded, your salary will be $80,000 for starters. You get free health insurance, life insurance, and two months of vacation.

Wow!

Yeah, Harvey is generous, I’ll give him that.

But a two-month vacation?

Well he figures you’d be a teacher if you weren’t doing this. So, what the hell.

You know, Shirley, I’ve been a journalist, not an editor. Nervously, she asked, What kinds of manuscripts am I going to see?

We’ll publish anything we believe will make money. But we prefer fiction as that keeps things simple. No footnotes, no bibliographies, no pictures or graphs. And no need to line up scientists or literary critics to give testimonials.

Jenny suddenly felt her confidence return. I read a lot of novels, she said.

That’s the ticket.

Why did Darlene ask if I’m going to the estate? What did she mean?

She was talking about Dunk’s mansion out on Long Island. He likes to entertain. Some of us go every weekend. There’s a pool, tennis court, even miniature golf. I mean, it’s a real taste of luxury. You can’t beat the cooking. And Dunk serves wine like it was water.

Jenny shook her head. I can’t believe it—and I just stumbled into this job!

Shirley laughed. C’mon. I’ll show you your office.

Chapter 4

The professor wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. And I want to tell you, it was cooold!

The students laughed.

Bill Fleming was an associate professor at an urban university located on a verdant campus in the heart of the Bronx. He was an entomologist specializing in bees. He taught a freshman biology course and a graduate seminar. He stood in front of a half-filled classroom and tugged at his bow tie. The kids had found his story of camping in Greenland hilarious.

Well, back to bees. As I was saying, bees are not fond of cold. It makes them sluggish. When it’s too cold, they don’t fly well, can’t get to the flowers for food. On a snowy day in winter, they’ll bundle up and stay snug in their hives. But if it gets too cold, they’ll die.

Several of the female students frowned.

But instead, he continued, let’s talk about what they do on warm days. From the point of view of bears, the most important thing bees do is…what?

Honey! several students called out.

Absolutely. I see we’ve all read our A.A.Milne. From the human point of view honeybees are also important to us, especially for our food supply. Last week we learned how honeybees move from blossom to blossom sucking up nectar and pollen to feed to their larvae and, in the process, pick up pollen on their legs that they unwittingly spread among the plants they visit. He paused. With a straight face, he added, However, enough of that. The sex life of plants is taught down the hall in Botany 101.

The students laughed.

Among the plants that bees fertilize are apples, cranberries, melons and broccoli. Fleming spoke deliberately as he watched the students scribble notes. Avocados. Cucumbers. Onions. Grapefruit. Ninety percent of our cherry and blueberry crops depend on honeybee pollination. And without bees, we wouldn’t have any almonds at all. No more snickers almond bars from the vending machine. He paused and lowered his voice. "When I was kid we called them Mars bars, and I would buy a box of a dozen, put it on the table in the foyer, and offer them for sale. Unfortunately I didn’t make