He couldn't begin to guess at the number of flights on the transatlantic route. And God knew how many other private, commercial, and military aircraft were flying every hour of the day and night. Add them all together and it amounted to a global oxygen loss of millions of tons every twenty-four hours.
And that in itself was only a tiny proportion. Man was greedily consuming more and more oxygen in his industrial plants, his power stations, his home furnaces, his automobiles--every form of combustion destroying oxygen in quantities that the natural cycle of the biosphere wasn't designed to cope with, nor was able to replenish.
There was also--and this a thought never far away from Theo's mind these days--the world population of 5.5 billion human beings, each one needing seven pounds of oxygen every day to stay alive. By the year 2000 there would be an estimated 6.25 billion people inhabiting the planet; the question was, would there be any air left for them to breathe?
And those cretins in Washington couldn't see--refused to admit?-- there was a problem. Were they mad, or was he?
In the window seat next to his, Cheryl leaned forward, blocking his view. Resisting the impulse to touch her hand, Theo asked instead, "You're not regretting this, are you?"
"Not so far," Cheryl answered briefly. She spared him a cool glance and turned away, a shaft of pure sunlight gilding her razored cap of hair and snub-nosed profile.
He had no right to expect anything more. All those years of absence and neglect couldn't be simply wiped away by the promise of a week in Geneva. He remembered his resolve, not to rush her into a kind of false intimacy that would embarrass them both. No, if any real affection was still there it would have to evolve naturally, unforced, at its own pace. It came as a shock that for years he had experienced not a twinge of guilt, and now to discover that it was his strongest emotion.
He said diffidently, "This trip will be useful to you. You'll meet other marine biologists and people with different views, be able to get involved in seminars and debates--" Then hastily reconsidered and thought it wise to add, "Of course, for you, I want it mainly to be a vacation."
Still not looking at him, Cheryl said, "I thought maybe you'd invited me along to take notes. Work comes first, doesn't it? And second. And third." *
"Yes, my work is important to me," Theo acknowledged soberly. "But it is also important to me that you are interested--that you believe in what I am doing--that is, I hope--" He was fumbling for the words and making a mess of it. He looked down at his hands, gnarled mahogany. "I wanted you to be with me because . . ."
The truth was he didn't know himself what the reason was. He suspected it had something to do with a need to find understanding. Sympathy. Affection? One person in all the world who might believe in him. Strength and belief failed and withered with the passing years, while the popular myth was that they grew strong, became deep-rooted, like a sturdy tree. Not true. A damnable lie. Alone on his island Theo had cheated time, but here and now, with his daughter beside him, the weight of age and failure pressed heavily.
Cheryl shook her head, looking out of the window. "You don't have to explain. If I wanted reasons I'd have asked for them. I'm here. Let's leave it at that."
Theo found a smile. "If nothing else, you're an independent young woman." He meant it as a compliment, but it was a day when he could say nothing right.
"Yes," Cheryl said. "I've had plenty of practice. I get along fine, thanks, and I always have."
Theo shifted uncomfortably, his broad torso hampered by the narrow seat, and decided wisely to abandon this pretense at conversation.
In the scratched and battered briefcase between his legs rested the paper he was to read at the conference. It was a summation of all his years of research and thought, worked on and sweated over during the past three weeks until he had pared it down to eleven double-spaced typed pages. More a predictive document than a list of facts and figures, he had given it the title "Back to the Precambrian," a reference to the time on earth, more than 2.5 billion years ago, when the atmosphere was composed of hydrogen, methane, and ammonia and no free oxygen, a time to which he believed the earth was returning. The scenario was his own, and it was chilling.
Theo dozed while Cheryl stayed awake and smoked more than was good for her.
She felt confused and vulnerable. To say the least it had been a shock when her father turned up unannounced at Scripps less than a week ago. The shock turned into bewilderment when he produced two airline tickets. She couldn't actually remember accepting his invitation (had there been an invitation?) or even having time to regret it. Events had taken charge.
