"The machine is essentially a converter. It takes in carbon dioxide on one side, and spits oxygen out the other. It's an extraordinary discovery, to say the least."
"Yes, true. But the machine is far from being an environmental miracle yet. Only one prototype has been made and its reliability is uncertain, plus one unit is estimated to cost more than three million dollars. Of course, it'll all be sorted out in time. Time is essential with these sorts of things."
"You don't give yourselves enough credit! I'd dare to say it's the scientific breakthrough of the century."
The scientist laughed. "I appreciate that, but it is a bold statement. People said the same about sliced bread when it came out. I wouldn't say things like that just yet, but it's definitely a big step in the right direction. When the cotton gin was invented, people thought it was the greatest thing ever. And I guess they were right, relative to the time they lived in, but look where we are a hundred years later. People developed it, improved it, and innovated new ideas inspired by it, and now we've got enough cotton to soak up the ocean. Who knows what crazy things will come from Hearden's invention, in the next hundred years?"
"You mentioned that the project is still in early development?"
"Yes and no. We've come a long way with it, but we have so far yet to go. Hearden is nothing less than a genius, and he has had a lot to do with the progress of the development. We have one machine built so far, and we're in the process of experimenting and seeing how it'll affect certain things, but it's looking good."
"And just how does it work - something about cells, or some kind of technology that imitates cells?"
"It's a bit more complicated than that, but that's not technically wrong. Unfortunately due to my legal obligations I can't go into great detail about how it works."
"That's alright. Like you said, all in due time. So will the machine be made available to the public, do you think? And if so, what reason does someone have to buy one?"
"Well, clean air. It would be particularly useful in large cities and places where pollution is out of control. But as it is now the average consumer doesn't have a good reason to get one. We've been putting our focus on making the machine work as smoothly and efficiently as possible, and haven't had much time to think about anything else. As I mentioned, a single unit is estimated to cost over three million dollars as it stands."
Marcus turned off the TV. It was early afternoon and he was about to set out for work. What an extraordinary man Richard Hearden was. He was a man to behold with great respect. Hearden was a titan among ordinary men, and at such a young age. What a strange coincidence it was - Marcus even had trouble believing it - that they had known each other in high school and were close friends. It had been five years since they walked across the stage and embraced the future, and in that time it seemed to Marcus like nothing had changed. Five years ago Marcus had gotten his job at O'Malley's. He remembered how excited he was. Proud, even, although his pride was mild, and mixed with a strange mellow guilt. Sometimes the thought of Richard Hearden would cross his mind, maybe once every couple months, for a brief moment before some new stimulus stole his attention. He wondered what Hearden had been doing since their graduation - probably working, ceaselessly, every hour of the week, doing what Richard Hearden had always done. Where had Richard Hearden been, he wondered - what was he doing, when Marcus earned his first one-dollar raise six months after he was hired? What was he doing in the moment when Marcus caught a stroke of luck in the fall after, leading him to a promotion and getting himself three more dollars every hour? When Marcus had bought his first car, a 2005 sub-compact, and moved out from home? What insane, spectacular things had his old friend Hearden done, what places had he gone - Caracas, Tokyo, Paris, Barcelona - while he was in their hometown, working tirelessly at O'Malley's? When Marcus turned off the TV, a vacuum of silence filled his apartment. All at once the memories flooded his mind. They had been packed up and stored away for five years, pushed away because he couldn't bring himself to face them. He remembered Richard's sense of humor, and how hard he always studied. He remembered the times they spent together, through thick and thin, from the time when they were clueless, terrified freshmen to when it was just another day for them as seniors. Through the endless chore of football games, the content peace of the long bus rides home; into the raging fires of jealousy, and into the cooling waters of forgiveness; through the struggle of a chapter of their lives and through the celebrations for making through it all. The clock ticked loudly when the TV was off. In less than a half hour, Marcus would be standing at work, looking at a full day ahead of him. But right then he was there, thinking about the times with his old friend. Alone in his dimly sunlit apartment living room, Marcus felt a faint urge to smile, but it was not strong enough to carry the weight of his lips.
