Ark by Stephen Baxter

here, out of Colorado. And for this reason, this remarkable, wonderful, hopeful goal, my administration has been happy to back you. And also because of the synergy. The nation will need a space launch capability in the event of any meaningful recovery program in the future.
    “But now things are changing. The flood doesn’t let up, in case you haven’t noticed. In the last year alone the water rose another seventy meters. Seventy meters! And that vertical rise translates into much more lost territory as the water pushes inland across the continents.” She shook her head. “Sometimes I get out of bed in the morning, and I look at my daily update, and I still can’t believe what we’re having to deal with.”
    Holle was amazed that a president should speak to them this way.
    “However, deal with it we have to, as best we can. I continually review and revise my priorities. And as the flood keeps on pressing, what were once outlandish options for the worst case slowly become more realistic, more vital. Because in the end those extreme options might be all we have left.
    “Which brings me to Ark One.” Unexpectedly, she slammed the podium with her fist; there was a blare of feedback that made Holle jump. “And what’s been going on here is simply not acceptable. Chaotic organizational forms, lack of leadership, waste, infighting and general confusion are strangling this project. You’ve had seven years since the start-up meeting that kicked off the whole thing. Am I right? Seven years. I’m told it’s only a couple of years since you even got together a feasible design—I say ‘feasible’; my science adviser tells me that in this case that means a design that doesn’t actually break the laws of physics. And you haven’t flown so much as a Fourth of July rocket out of Gunnison yet. Seven years! The Second World War was won in four.”
    “Six,” Patrick murmured to Holle in his soft Scottish brogue.
    For a panicky instant Holle was convinced the President was going to cancel the Ark altogether.
    But Vasquez said, “Things are going to change. As of now the civilian administration of Ark One is over. By presidential order I’m hereby requisitioning the project, its personnel and all its resources. From now on Ark One will be run under the auspices of the air force. Consultants from NASA and other agencies will be attached to the project as appropriate, but again under overall air force command. If you’ve been following the news you may observe that this isn’t out of character for my administration. I took similar drastic action last year when I sent the army and the National Guard into those Friedmanburgs up in the Great Plain states. There will be a trade-off. I will lock in place the resources for you to complete the work, even if some other asshole is standing here addressing you a year from now, after the election. Let me begin that process by putting a personal stamp on the thing. ‘Ark One’ is kind of a dry name, isn’t it? Numbers never got my heart beating too fast. From now on you’re ‘Project Nimrod.’ You’ll find out why.”
    Vasquez took a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her forehead; for a moment she looked like a weary old woman. Nobody spoke; there wasn’t a sound, save for a breeze that sang softly in the cords of the twin flags.
    “You may wonder why I don’t just shut you down. Some lobby for more resources to be devoted to potential recovery projects, rather than last-resort options like this. Even among the pessimists there are those who argue I should turn over what’s left of our infrastructure to more practical activities, like building rafts. I still believe we are capable of more than that.” She paused, and looked around at her audience. Holle felt a peculiar thrill when it seemed the President looked directly at her. Vasquez said, “I’m no John Kennedy. If you want to hear the speech he gave on 25th May 1961, go find it. But the mandate I’m giving you