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  We hope you enjoy Catalyst: A Prelude to the World’s Revolution. If you like this story, please head over to http://www.theworldsrevolution.com to learn more about our Kickstarter, the Climate Crisis Anthology, and our other future projects.

  Catalyst: A Prelude to the World’s Revolution by C. D. Tavenor

  Twitter: @tavenorcd

  Editor: Meg Trast

  Twitter: @MegTrast

  https://www.overhaulmynovel.com

  Cover Designer: S. E. MacCready

  Twitter:@sarahmaccready

  https://semaccready.com/

  Published by Two Doctors Media Collaborative LLC

  www.twodoctorsmedia.com

  © 2021 C. D. Tavenor. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  ISBN (e-book): 978-1-952706-18-9

  Catalyst

  A Prelude to the World’s Revolution

  ____________________

  C. D. Tavenor

  Stop.

  Think.

  Prepare yourself.

  Too often we imagine the Earth as a mindless ball of water and rock. But it’s so much more. It’s an organism. It breathes like we breathe. The atmosphere cycles air around the world, and the various molecules—carbon dioxide, oxygen, nitrogen—all have their systems.

  Imagine the carbon cycle like a human’s cardiovascular system. Carbon passes into the oceans, into plants, into peat, soil, and air. We, humans, have injected excess carbon into the system. The planet is hyperventilating. It is panicking as it struggles to breathe. We are poisoning it.

  And like an organism, Earth seeks equilibrium.

  There is one difference, though, between a traditional organism and our planet. As humans, our bodies have antibodies to fight off infectious diseases. We have ventilators we can use to help us breathe. We have medicine that can cure and protect us from dangerous symptoms.

  What would it look like if the planet could produce its own antibodies?

  Or perhaps it already has, and the antibodies are currently the ones doing the killing.

  Just imagine if the Earth could fight back against its greatest and most terrible creation.

  Us.

  The hustle and bustle surrounding Natalie reminded her of college orientation. Instead of starry-eyed freshmen, though, thousands of brave activists filled Golden 1 Center. On the stage above her, speaker after speaker said their piece, declared their personal zeitgeist, inspired further fervor. It was intoxicating.

  And now it was Natalie’s turn.

  She breathed, resting a hand on the banister and listening to the final words before her speech.

  “So we’re here today!” The older woman raised her coppered hands into the air. “I’ve been doing this for over twenty years, and we’ve come so far. But there’s so much more to do. They’re taking action, yes, to stop the climate crisis. But we need a climate revolution to change the world. To save it. With thousands of you here in Sacramento, we will be the change the world needs, together. Thank you.”

  Sofia Huber: Natalie’s idol. The woman who, when Natalie was five, stood before the United Nations and shouted them into submission. When Natalie was ten, Sofia tied herself to an oil rig in the Dakota burning fields. Three years later, she received the Nobel Peace Prize at age twenty-eight. Sofia started fighting for everyone’s lives when she was only thirteen.

  Natalie couldn’t believe she had to follow Sofia. I’m a twenty-year-old, making my first Climate Revolution speech, and I have to follow her up. She doesn’t even know I exist! With that thought, Sofia walked down the stairs, smiling at Natalie,. Her eyes widened.

  “You’ll do great,” the hero said, her Swiss accent sliding naturally into her words with her speech over. “I’m excited to hear your thoughts.”

  Just a few words shared between them, but heat rose in Natalie’s heart. Her skin burned. Her moment approached; she was joining the ranks of the heroes who’d come before. As quickly as the flushed heat hit her chest, it faded, replaced by a calming peace.

  One foot after another, Natalie stepped onto the stage and approached the microphone. “Good afternoon, my CR friends! Tomorrow begins the most important Climate Accord of a generation. We’re almost there. We’ve almost saved the planet. Our parents set the stage, now it’s our turn!” She raised her fist, and the crowd followed suit. “Let’s take their breath away this week. Here’s how we’re going to win.”

  * * *

  Natalie leaned into the wooden chair, its hard back aggravating her already-sore joints. A few rows ahead, a pale, silver-haired man in a black suit droned on and on about each Climate Advocate’s assignment for the week. Everyone would attach themselves to a different delegation, different company, different important figure. They’d accepted her special application, so hopefully, she’d receive—

  “Natalie Vorn?” Black Suit cleared his throat. “Vorn?”

  Her phone buzzed, but she ignored it. “Hi, hello! I’m here.”

  “Natalie, we’ve assigned you as a note-taker for the floor negotiations.”

  A note-taker. No arguing. No speeches. Just a note-taker. Ridiculous. Yet she smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

  He moved on to the next name, and the next, and the next. Just a note-taker. They’d given her the opportunity to speak before a crowd of tens of thousands, and they just wanted her as a note-taker? She could do so much more. She was ready for so much more!

  Her phone buzzed again. No longer interested in the presentation of names, she slipped the device out of her pocket.

  L: Party in an hour. Zack’s hotel room. You in?

  Oh, hell yeah. She shot back a nodding head emoji to Liza—and a heart.

  A few minutes later, Black Suit finished his platitudes about how they were all serving a key role in the fight for the climate, and how even the most minute assignments could save the planet. Of course, Natalie believed that in her heart. But she wanted to be more than a note-taker. She wanted to scream at a natural gas mogul. She wanted to negotiate with national delegations. The least interesting conversations occurred during the floor negotiations. The backroom deals were where the magic happened.

  Whatever. As the breakout session ended, she shouldered her bag and headed into the hallway of the immense convention center. Moping about her assignment could wait until the assignment actually started. Her hotel room awaited, where she would get ready for a party.

  Climate Revolution parties were lit.

  * * *

  An hour-and-a-half later, with eyeliner, straightened hair, and a green dress, Natalie slipped through the door of Zack’s hotel room. Anarcho-techno blared, its ambience matching the shifting and drifting party-goers dancing throughout the room. There was barely room to move between their bodies. Glorious.

  Natalie slid toward the window, where Liza and Zack leaned, red cups in their hands. “What are we drinking?” she said, her voice slipping through during a lull in the slick rift of the current song.

  “Nat!” Liza leaned forward and hugged her. “Glad you made it. I can’t believe it’s already been a year since Paris!”

  Leaning into the hug, Natalie smiled then ended the embrace with a kiss on her friend’s lightly-tanned cheeks. Zack, leaning against the room’s eco-AC, opened a package of cannabis-gummies and offered her one. Opening her mouth, she accepted the edible.

  After chewing and swallowing, she said, “Yes,
yes, I’m excited to see you both!” The music began to rise again, so she raised her voice to overcome its volume. “But I need a drink?”

  Liza chuckled. “Zack gives you a gum and then you shoot straight to the liquor. Love it!”

  “Well are we here to party against the end of the world, or just to watch our friends gyrate while sober?” Natalie slid into place beside Zack, propping herself up on the windowsill. “This is just the first of five days of partying, yeah? Every night. Fight the crisis during the day, get wasted at night.”

  Liza saluted with two fingers and slid away toward a desk holding the drinks, only a few feet away. Zack slipped an edible between his teeth, grinned, and swallowed. “Based on the way you said those words, I’m not sure whether you’re more excited for the parties or for saving the world.” He ran a hand through his curled black hair. If she didn’t know him so well, she’d instantly stereotype him as a stereotypical stuck-up white kid from New York.

  Liza and Zack, Natalie’s best friends in Climate Revolution. They’d been dating each other for as long as she could remember, though she didn’t pretend to understand the nature of their open relationship. They loved each other—and loved plenty of other people too in a lot of different ways. And Zack was apparently the heir to some trust fund, so he used the funds to pay for these ridiculous climate parties, in addition to his extensive donations to the organization itself.

  Natalie wasn’t going to complain. She loved them both too. And his parties . . . what a way to de-stress after twelve hours of arduous negotiations.

  Who was she kidding; these were life back at uni, too.

  A few seconds later, Liza slid a cup of clear liquid into her hands. “Vodka soda.”

  Natalie puckered her lips and bobbed her head. Taking a sip, she enjoyed the bite of the drink. Perfect. “So what’s the first game tonight?” It was time to forget all about her assignment as a note-taker, drink away the night, and deal with the consequences in the morning.

  * * *

  A sweet buzzing noise, somewhere in the air. The smell of the auto-coffee dripping from the self-service stand. A drill, pounding behind her eyes.

  No, that was just the hangover. Water. She needed water. And that wonderful-smelling coffee.

  The buzzing noise focused into a bouncy tune—her alarm. Her alarm. What time was it? She grabbed her phone from the nightstand.

  Oh thank goodness. Only 7:30am. She had another forty-five minutes to get ready before she met her site lead. Probably somebody boring, like Black Suit from the breakout session yesterday. She fell back into a pillow and grabbed a second one, shoving it over her face. Note-taker. Just a freaking note-taker.

  All for the cause, though.

  Sitting up, Natalie slid out of bed, grabbed a cup of coffee, and plopped into a chair near the window. From the tenth floor of the hotel, She could see most of downtown. The newly-formed Western Republic of America, its capital in Sacramento, cherished the opportunity to host the 2042 Conference of the Parties for the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change. The threat was real to the city’s residents. On the horizon, the scorched earth of last year’s wildfires reminded everyone of the very real threat.

  Hopefully delegates would keep it sharply in their minds for the next few days. After a few more sips of coffee, she placed the mug on the windowsill and bounced toward the bathroom. After a quick swig of water, she hopped into the shower.

  The lukewarm water rushing through her hair helped the pounding in her skull. Refreshing. She could barely remember the events of last night, though that always happened when she mixed liquor and weed. Still, the spare memories flitting through her mind were . . . nice. Some great dancing. Someone may have taken a shot off her body? She wasn’t sure. Maybe it was off Liza. Oh well. Worth it. After a quick lathering of soap, the shower timed out and the water shut off. She dried with a towel, slipped into a dark pantsuit, and ran her hair into a bun. After brushing her teeth, it was 8:05am. Just enough time for a bagel downstairs.

  Tablet in bag, key card in a safe pocket, Natalie left and locked her hotel room. Only a slight headache now. Perfect anti-hangover regimen. The elevator wasn’t crowded yet, and neither was the café on the first floor. Bagel in hand by 8:11am, she walked through the underground tunnel connecting to the convention center. At 8:15am, she entered one of the small meeting rooms reserved by Climate Revolution for preparation prior to Conference meetings.

  A group of ten other students sat in chairs forming a circle, and in the center of the circle stood Sofia Huber.

  Her site lead.

  * * *

  Natalie was still stunned, even ten minutes into their discussion. Sofia Huber, her hero, her site lead. After a sip of water, she rubbed her temples, trying to wish away the last remnants of the headache constantly reminding her of last night. Sure, it was fun, and she’d probably go out again tonight, but if she’d known . . .

  “So enough about me,” Sofia said. No, please keep talking, Natalie thought.

  “We are here to prepare for your day as a note-taker.” Sofia stepped back from the circle of tables and picked up a dry-erase marker from a container attached to the wall. On the board beside her, she drew a square surrounded by a larger square. “In the inner sanctum of the conference floor, only assigned speakers and negotiators may enter. In the outer square, however”—she started drawing tiny Xs for flourish—“hundreds of reporters, executive assistants, corporate representatives, you name it. All watching. Listening. And making deals in real time, on the floor, behind the scenes. And Climate Revolution has ten seats in the crowd. You all. And I’m at our table, just inside the inner circle.”

  Natalie nodded, thinking she understood. Maybe. Wait, no. To be honest, she still didn’t see the significance.

  Sofia pushed a few stray brown hairs behind her ear as she turned to face the little cohort. “Your task is simple. We’ve interspersed you all throughout the crowd in positions equidistant from the center. You will sit, pay attention to the speeches and announcements. That is what you will tell people you are doing. You are all students; you are all learning. If someone approaches you, asking why you’re there, you say you’re with Climate Revolution. You’re excited to observe the proceedings, learn, and hopefully be a negotiator in the future for whatever country, state, or organization you may represent in the future.” Sofia paused, drawing lines outward from the Xs. When she finished, she pivoted and returned to the circle of chairs. “Ostensibly, you all are the most important asset of the entire operation. Does anyone know why?”

  Natalie wracked her mind for answers, but none arrived. Sitting with a pulse-pounding throb above her left eye, she tried. She really tried. But truth evaded. Her best opportunity presented itself, right now, to impress Sofia with acute understanding, and she couldn’t even field a word.

  Instead, a young man—he looked like he might be from one of the Pacific island nations—raised his hand. “Manuia?” Sofia said.

  “Well, you said the crowd around us will be filled with all sorts of people,” said the young man. Manuia, apparently. “Corporate representatives, aides, the like. Yes?”

  “Correct.”

  “So . . .” He scratched a stubbly chin. “So we are to build relationships with them, make friends, learn from them?”

  Sofia raised an eyebrow. “Close. I’m not sure about the ‘friends’ part of your idea, but certainly you should learn from them. Maybe build a relationship. But most importantly, you must listen to them.” She pulled a small tablet from her pocket and tapped a few commands. “I’ve just given you access to a spreadsheet in which you will input your findings each day.”

  When the woman didn’t continue speaking, rather eyeing the group with an inquisitive glare, Natalie quickly retrieved her own tablet. In her email, she found a link to the spreadsheet. Glancing up from the screen, she noticed everyone else now staring at their own devices.

  “You’ll notice tabs assigned
to your names,” Sofia said. “Columns with names of individuals who will most likely surround you. Rows for time of words, what words were said, to whom they were speaking. The most dangerous words of every Conference occur not via email, not in back rooms, not in public negotiating sessions. They occur on the floor—in the moment—in the final minutes before nations make their commitments.” She sighed. “I will be monitoring constantly. You will flag the most important comments with red fill so it will catch my eye immediately—or send me a quick message through the spreadsheet’s public chat. So why is your task so essential?”

  Finally, the wall in her throat uncaught. Without raising her hand, Natalie said, “By giving you information in real-time, we allow you and the other official delegates from Climate Revolution to react and counter anti-climate action efforts instantaneously.”

  Natalie’s heart fluttered as Sofia smiled. “Precisely. If you do your job, you will transform the balance of power in the room in ways you won’t fully understand for years.”

  The conversation continued, shifting more toward the specific assignments of each note-taker. Manuia, the kid from earlier, was sitting behind the Australian delegation, surrounded by a number of offshore fossil fuel companies. Victoria, a white, middle-aged woman from Vancouver, was assigned to the dead space between Canada and the Midwestern States of America dominated by agricultural and pesticide giants. Yonas—Natalie thought he was from Ethiopia, or maybe Sudan, based on what she’d heard him say earlier in the week—was placed right behind the many Middle Eastern delegations. The list went on.