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Why the tech giant is so high on Heirloom Carbon

Microsoft is betting millions on the promise of some magic dust spread on a bunch of giant baking sheets stacked in 50-foot-tall towers to reverse the company's carbon emissions.
I’m being cheeky, but the truth is really not much more complicated than that.
Heirloom Carbon, a startup that has pioneered a method to absorb CO2 from the air using crushed rocks, just signed the tech giant to one of the biggest carbon removal deals to date. Microsoft has agreed to pay Heirloom to capture 315,000 metric tons of carbon from the atmosphere over 10 years. For a sense of scale, that’s equivalent to about 75% of the carbon Microsoft emitted in 2022 through its direct operations and energy usage. Neither company would disclose the price, but the Wall Street Journal estimated it would likely cost Microsoft a minimum of $200 million, “based on market prices,” or $635 per ton.
Climate scientists warn that we won’t be able to keep global warming in check solely by cutting emissions, no matter how rapidly the world acts to get off fossil fuels in the coming decades. Finding ways to pull what we’ve already emitted back out of the atmosphere and permanently sequester it can help balance out emissions from industries that might take longer to decarbonize, like aviation. In the long term, it could even cool the planet.
There are now hundreds of startups around the world racing to develop a variety of methods to do this. But many of them, including Heirloom, are still operating at a tiny scale, if they are even at the point of removing carbon at all. So this latest Microsoft deal stands out for signaling a high degree of confidence in Heirloom’s unique approach.
“Heirloom is quickly building a runway to low-cost CO2 removal at the gigaton scale,” a Microsoft spokesperson told me in an email. “This agreement accrues to our goal to become carbon negative by 2030 and remove our historic emissions by 2050.”
Heirloom harnesses the natural ability of minerals to absorb carbon from the atmosphere. The process starts with limestone, which is formed from the detritus of corals, clams, and other sea creatures that use the dissolved carbon and calcium in the ocean to build their shells. Heirloom grinds up limestone and does something that humans have been doing for thousands of years — heats it in a kiln. This loosens carbon dioxide from the rock, leaving behind calcium oxide, a white powder commonly called quicklime. The ancient Romans are believed to have done the same thing, using quicklime in the construction of many of their famous architectural marvels that are still standing today.
But Heirloom's modern kiln, which heats the limestone to about 1,650 degrees Fahrenheit, is electric, meaning it can run on renewable energy. Also, because no fuels are being combusted, the CO2 comes out in a pure gas stream that's easy to capture. Heirloom can either pump it permanently into underground wells, or inject it into long-lived products, like concrete.
This is only the first step. The real trick to Heirloom’s solution is what happens next. The leftover calcium oxide is “super thirsty for CO2,” the company's CEO Shashank Samala told me. “If you put that on your desk, it will start pulling out carbon.”
And that’s more or less what the company does. It spreads the powder on large trays stacked in 40- to 50-foot-tall towers, so that the maximum amount of surface area is exposed to the air. This, along with a proprietary bit of engineering that Heirloom has not disclosed, speeds up the material’s ability to absorb carbon even more. On your desk, it might take a year. In Heirloom's system, it takes a matter of days. Then the company pops the powder, which is now chemically similar to limestone, back into its kiln, and starts all over again.

It’s already been a big year for Heirloom. The company was selected by the Department of Energy to receive funding for a commercial-scale plant in Louisiana under the federal government’s $3.5 billion Direct Air Capture Hubs program. Heirloom will fulfill at least some of its contract with Microsoft at that facility, and has plans in the works to build a second plant as well.
Giana Amador, executive director of the Carbon Removal Alliance, an industry association, told me the deal with Microsoft illustrates this positive reinforcing loop that’s happening between the public sector and the private sector, helping the industry to scale faster. She wants to see the federal government do more to set standards around what high quality carbon removal looks like, in order to encourage more deals like this from companies that maybe want to purchase carbon removal, but can’t afford to hire whole teams to vet projects the way Microsoft can.
Samala emphasized that the deal is significant not only for its size but for what he called its “bankability.” It’s “take or pay,” meaning Microsoft has to pay up as long as Heirloom delivers on its end of the bargain. Even though no money is exchanging hands up front, Heirloom can take this binding contract showing a predictable, durable, revenue stream to the bank, and use it to secure financing at a much lower cost than it would otherwise get from a venture capital firm.
Right now, much of the nascent carbon removal industry is being supported by venture capital. One of the obstacles to financing projects is that nobody knows what the business model will ultimately look like. Will this be a public service, like waste disposal? A regulated requirement, where polluters are asked to pay? Something else? And in the meantime, how do you raise enough money to scale your idea up to where you can credibly sell it?
The Heirloom deal shows the industry is increasingly looking to replicate the experience of early wind and solar projects. This long-term contract is similar to a power purchase agreement, where wind and solar developers finance new projects by pre-selling the electricity to corporations like Google or Walmart at a set price.
At 315,000 tons over 10 years, this isn’t the biggest carbon removal deal to date, but it may be the biggest for such a fledgeling company. The oil giant Occidental, which is building a facility in Texas designed to suck 500,000 tons of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere per year, has pre-sold 400,000 tons’ worth of carbon removal credits, over four years, to the aircraft manufacturer Airbus. In May, a coalition of tech companies signed a 112,000-ton offtake agreement, over six years, with a small startup called Charm Industrial, for $53 million. Charm is working to turn agricultural waste into oil that can be pumped underground.
Microsoft was an early investor in Heirloom through its Climate Innovation Fund, providing some of the company’s Series A funding last year. “They’ve seen this in the front row seats as we made progress from pulling grams of CO2 from a Petri dish to pulling kilograms and hundreds of kilograms, to tons and hundreds of tons,” Samala told me when I asked what he thought gave Microsoft confidence in the deal.
Part of it was also showing them that this solution is modular, Samala said.
“It helps to see that okay, you just need to build more of these stacks, more of these trays. If you want to pull more carbon, you stack more trays and you put more stacks of trays around."
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With a China-Canada import deal and Geely showing up at CES, these low-priced models are getting ever-closer to American roads.
Chinese EVs are at the gates.
Low-priced electric vehicles by the likes of Geely, BYD, and Zeekr have already sold enormous numbers in their home country and spearheaded EV growth around the world, from Southeast Asia to Latin America. Now they’re closing in on America’s borders. Canada just agreed to a new trade deal with Beijing that would kill the country’s 100% tariff on Chinese cars and, presumably, allow them to undercut the existing Canadian car market. In Mexico, EV sales surged by 29% in 2025 thanks to the arrival of Chinese models.
Though China’s EVs are still unavailable in the U.S., they feel ever-present already. Auto journalists (myself included) drive these vehicles abroad and rave about how capable they are, especially for the price. Social media influencer hype has fed an appetite for both entry-level and luxury Chinese models — and confused plenty of Americans wondering why they can’t buy them. Headlines speculate about how the Detroit auto giants could ever hope to compete once cheap BYD Dolphins start to populate American roads. Chinese giant Geely, which owns Volvo and Polestar, appeared at CES earlier this month, as if to signal that the arrival of Chinese electric vehicles is imminent.
But is it? The outlook remains rather murky.
The first thing to know is that Chinese cars are not outright banned from coming to America. Instead, it’s a constellation of economic and technological headaches that keeps Beijing at bay. A 100% tariff makes it difficult to compete on cost, even with America’s notoriously expensive EVs. America’s safety and emissions standards are difficult and expensive to meet. Because of national security concerns, connected cars (i.e. those that can hook into the internet) cannot use Chinese-made software, a ban that’s soon to expand to electronic hardware.
Those restrictions aren’t likely to change anytime soon. Sean Duffy, the U.S. transportation secretary, responded to Canada’s removal of its Chinese car tariff by saying our neighbor to the north would “surely regret it.” Members of Congress from both parties are largely opposed to allowing Chinese cars into America under the logic of protectionism for U.S. automakers.
Yet all that might not be enough to prevent the eventual arrival of Geelys and BYDs. The first variable is the unpredictability of President Trump, who has said before that he would like to see Chinese-made cars in America. I don’t expect the United States to eliminate its tariff entirely the way Canada has, but look, you just never know what the heck is going to happen these days.
In the meantime, Chinese automakers are strategizing how they might navigate the rules in place and sell cars here anyway. Crash safety, for example, isn’t the impediment it might appear to be. China’s carmakers have intentionally designed their models in such a way that they could be tweaked, rather than totally redesigned, to meet more stringent rules.
As for the rest, the global reach of these companies could help them get around rules that specifically target China. Geely, which has suggested it will reveal plans for an American invasion within two to three years, builds Volvos in South Carolina and could use those facilities to build Geely-branded EVs in the United States. Company representatives also hand-waved away the problem of Chinese-made software, arguing that as a global brand, it’s already accustomed to meeting the various data privacy regulations of different countries and regions.
In other words, Chinese car companies could skirt some American hurdles by making their cars a little less Chinese. The problem is that doing so might spoil their secret sauce. Part of the magic of Chinese EVs is their responsive, easy-to-understand touchscreen interface that’s obviously superior to what’s offered in otherwise-excellent electric vehicles by Chevy or Hyundai. There’s no guarantee Geely could easily secure a Western-made replacement of the same quality.
The key question, then, is: Will Americans want the versions of Chinese EVs that come to America? We’ve noted recently that drivers are finally showing signs that they are fed up with the cost of new cars spiraling out of control. The kind of cheap Chinese EVs now on sale around the world would be a godsend for money-stressed Americans who are dependent on the automobile. But tariffs and other aforementioned factors mean that the models we get likely won’t be $10,000 basic transportation machines that undercut the entire overpriced American car economy.
Instead, Geelys for America probably will be big, luxurious vehicles whose appeal is fundamentally about feeling techy, futuristic, and cool, much the way Tesla first won over U.S. drivers. To that end, the brand brought a couple of fancy plug-in hybrid SUVs to CES to show Americans what we’re missing. Five years hence, we might not be missing them at all.
Current conditions: The winter storm barreling from Texas to Delaware could drop up to 2 feet of snow on Appalachia • Severe floods in Mozambique’s province of Gaza have displaced nearly 330,000 people • Parts of northern Minnesota and North Dakota are facing wind chills of -55 degrees Fahrenheit.
President Donald Trump announced a “framework of a future deal” on Greenland on Wednesday and abandoned plans to slap new tariffs on key European Union allies. He offered sparse details of the agreement, though he hinted that at least one provision would allow for the establishment of a missile-defense system in Greenland akin to Israel’s Iron Dome, which Trump has called “The Golden Dome.” On the Arctic island in question, meanwhile, Greenlanders have been preparing for the worst. The newspaper Sermitsiaq reported that generators and water cans have sold out as panic buyers stocked up in anticipation of a possible American invasion.

Geothermal startups had a big day on Wednesday. Zanskar, a company that’s using artificial intelligence to find untapped conventional geothermal resources, raised $115 million in a Series C round. The Salt Lake City-based company — which experts in Heatmap's Insider Survey identified as one of the most promising climate tech startups operating today — is looking to build its first power plants. “With this funding, we have a six power plant execution plan ahead of us in the next three, four years,” Diego D’Sola, Zanskar’s head of finance, told Heatmap’s Katie Brigham. This, he estimates, will generate over $100 million of revenue by the end of the decade, and “unlock a multi-gigawatt pipeline behind that.”
Later on Tuesday, Sage Geosystems, a next-generation geothermal startup using fracking technology to harness the Earth’s heat for energy in places that don’t have conventional resources, announced it had raised $97 million in a Series B. The financing rounds highlight the growing excitement over geothermal energy. If you want a refresher on how it works, Heatmap’s Matthew Zeitlin has a sharp explainer here.
Stegra, the Swedish startup racing to build the world’s first large green steel mill near the Arctic Circle, has recently faced troubles as project costs and delays forced the company to raise over $1 billion in new financing. But last week, Stegra landed a major new customer, marking what Canary Media called “a step forward for the beleaguered project.” A subsidiary of the German industrial giant Thyssenkrupp agreed to buy a certain type of steel from Stegra’s plant, which is set to start operations next year. Thyssenkrupp Materials Services said it would buy tonnages in the “high-six-digit range” of “non-prime” steel, a version of the metal that doesn’t meet the high standards for certain uses but remains strong and durable enough for other industrial applications.
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For years, Tesla’s mission statement has captured its focus on building electric vehicles, solar panels, and batteries: “Accelerating the world’s transition to sustainable energy.” Now, however, billionaire Elon Musk’s manufacturing giant has broadened its pitch. The company’s new mission statement, announced on X, reads: “Building a world of amazing abundance.” The change reflects a wider shift in the cultural discourse around the transition to new energy and transportation technologies. Even experts polled in our Insiders Survey want to ditch “climate change” as a term. The fatigue was striking coming from the very scientists, policymakers, and activists working to defend against the effects of human-caused temperature rise and decarbonize the global economy.That dynamic has fueled the push to refocus rhetoric on the promise of cheaper, more efficient, and more abundant technological luxuries — a concept Tesla appears to be tapping into now. It may be time for a change. As Matthew wrote in September, Tesla’s market share hit an all-time low last year.
In yesterday’s newsletter, I told you that the Tokyo Electric Power Company had delayed the restart of the Kashiwazaki Kariwa nuclear power station in western Japan over an alarm malfunction. It wasn’t immediately clear how quickly Japan’s state-owned utility would clear up the issue. It turns out, pretty quickly. The pause lasted just 24 hours before Tepco brought Unit 6 of the seven-reactor facility back online, NucNet reported.
Things are getting steamy in the frigid waters of Alaska’s Bristol Bay. New research from Florida Atlantic University’s Harbor Branch Oceanographic Institute found that a small population of beluga whales survive the long haul by mating with multiple partners over several years. It’s not just the males finding multiple female partners, as is the case with some other mammals. The study found that both males and females mated with multiple partners over several years. “What makes this study so thrilling is that it upends our long-standing assumptions about this Arctic species,” Greg O’Corry-Crowe, the research professor who authored the study, said in a press release. “It’s a striking reminder that female choice can be just as influential in shaping reproductive success as the often-highlighted battles of male-male competition. Such strategies highlight the subtle, yet powerful ways in which females exert control over the next generation, shaping the evolutionary trajectory of the species.”
The country is already suffering the effects of climate change. A lack of data makes it that much more difficult to adapt.
The nation of Venezuela perches atop a fifth of the planet’s recoverable crude oil. Due to mismanagement, corruption, failing infrastructure, and a dearth of technical expertise, its output, however, is low — less than a million barrels a day. If production in the country were to continue apace, exhausting the reserve would take over 1,500 years, extending the extraction of fossil fuels as far into the future as the early water wheel lies in society’s past. The reserves-to-production ratio for the United States’ existing oil is, by comparison, a mere 11 years.
The opportunity of all that untapped oil is part of why the Trump administration has seized control of the extra-heavy crude in the Orinoco Basin, which is among the dirtiest and most carbon-intensive oil in the world. Many observers have remarked on the planet-warming potential of the oil takeover, and the revival of Venezuela’s fossil fuel industry would indeed be yet another nail in the coffin of the Paris Agreement’s 1.5 Celsius temperature-rise goal.
But far less has been said about what a more extreme climate would mean for Venezuelans. That’s at least partially because we don’t fully know.
“Venezuela often appears in global climate assessments as a blank spot or an unknown, despite being ecologically significant and highly vulnerable,” Liliana Rivas, a freelance environmental and investigative reporter working in the country, told me.
Neglect isn’t a problem unique to Caracas. The international climate science community has long struggled to accurately represent the developing world in its research, though it has made improvements in recent years. Over a third of the contributors to the latest Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change report were from institutions based in the Global South — in parts of Africa, Asia, Latin America, and the Caribbean — up from 10% in the report’s first year.
Still, “the IPCC is doing a systematic literature review, and they rely on what scientific literature is available,” Paulina Jaramillo, a professor of engineering and public policy at Carnegie Mellon University, told me. Jaramillo — who is from Medellín, Colombia, and whose father comes from a border town with Venezuela — added that “the common language you see in the reports from Africa and South America is that the peer-reviewed literature is much more limited in those countries.”
Part of that is due to modest funding opportunities for researchers. (Jaramillo said “everyone thought I was crazy” when she decided almost 30 years ago to study environmental engineering in Colombia.) But the absence of long-term datasets makes quality climate research difficult, too. It takes “at least 30 years of continuous observations … to define a climatic period and allow for robust conclusions,” Nature noted in a recent editorial. Climate researchers who want to study Venezuela are, for the most part, restricted to data gathered since the satellite era, post-1980s, which was never designed to offer a detailed local picture.
Understanding the climate picture in Venezuela is critical, though. Out of 188 nations in the world, Venezuela ranks 181st in climate vulnerability. The nation faces a laundry list of worsening environmental crises, including extreme flooding, droughts, landslides, heat waves, rising sea levels, deforestation, oil spills, contamination and pollution, and illegal mining. An extreme rainfall event over the Andes and Venezuela Llanos last summer displaced thousands of people, observers estimated, cutting off nearly 10,000 families in the mountainous western state of Mérida from food, water, health care, and adequate sanitation services. By some measurements, Venezuela was also the first nation in the world to lose all of its glaciers.
“What happens [in Venezuela] affects the rest of the world,” Jaramillo told me. Between 2014 and late 2025, almost 8 million people were estimated to have left the country, straining public services in neighboring nations. “Climate change is a threat multiplier,” Jaramillo went on. “We can’t just think, ‘Oh, those are problems in those countries.’ They have global geopolitical implications, in addition to the humanitarian aspect.”
An incomplete picture not only heightens Venezuela’s vulnerability to extreme weather impacts, it also renders the country all but incapable of adapting to them. After all, how can you develop effective strategies without data to inform the designs and operations? Partially because of this, Venezuela has been ranked 142nd out of 192 countries by Notre Dame in terms of its adaptation capabilities. “It’s the worst prepared country in South America” when it comes to climate change, Jaramillo said.
The country’s weather-monitoring infrastructure — which is accessible to researchers — is poorly maintained. A “significant” number of weather stations across Venezuela are inoperable, “limiting the ability to track rainfall, temperature, and extremes with confidence at local scale,” Robert Muggah, the co-founder of the Igarapé Institute, a Brazil-based security and development think tank, told me by email from Davos. “More recently, reporting from the Venezuelan Amazon has described weather stations being looted or relocated for security, leaving major river basins with long gaps in routine measurements.”
Mariam Zachariah, a research associate at London’s Imperial College, told me her team at World Weather Attribution ran into this problem when it tried to investigate whether anthropogenic climate change fueled the catastrophic flooding in the country last year. “You might have 10 weather stations in the region, but when you try to look at them, five will not have data,” she said. “So you can’t really use that. You don’t actually get a good representation of the trend in that region.” The complex natural topography of Venezuela also renders large-scale climate models unreliable, making conclusions drawn from them even less certain.
Following the collapse of Venezuela’s oil production in the mid-2010s, recently removed President Nicolás Maduro’s government also began censoring the country’s environmental statistics. “There is very little transparency and public access to environmental data,” Rivas, the investigative journalist, said.
Reporters working within Venezuela face dangers, too. Joshua De Freitas Hernández, an independent journalist, told me he estimates there are fewer than 20 reporters in his country focused on environmental issues, and none of them are on the climate change beat, specifically. Emiliano Teran Mantovani, a Venezuelan sociologist and political activist, also told me there has been a “decrease in the reports of oil spills and the reports of ecological degradation in the national parks because people do not want to talk.” The government repression is “really, really scary,” he added.
Local reporters who forge ahead find themselves contending with many of the same problems as international researchers: “limited access to official data, restricted access to certain territories, and security risk scenarios affected by mining or extractive activity,” Rivas told me.
The environmental situation is so bad, in fact, that some hope the U.S. takeover of the nation’s oil industry will actually improve it. “Much of the [fossil fuel industry] pollution happening today is the result of abandonment, lack of maintenance, and total absence of environmental oversight,” Rivas said. “I think that in that context, some people, including also environmental observers, cautiously argue that the return of international companies could, under the right conditions, introduce environmental controls, monitoring standards, and technologies that currently do not exist.”
Mantovani, the activist, pushed back on that line of thinking. “The environmental issue is not a priority either for the government or the opposition, or for Donald Trump or Chinese capitalists,” he said. “No one is talking about the environmental issues or climate issues.”
The Trump administration has argued that the U.S. takeover of the oil industry will benefit the Venezuelan people. But while “extreme weather in Venezuela will not suddenly shift because of a single military operation,” as Muggah of the Igarapé Institute put it to me, fossil fuel-related pollution could have immediate public health impacts on local and Indigenous communities. (Illegal mining, while not as directly linked to climate change as oil production, is another extractive industry compounding the twinned environmental and humanitarian crises in the country.)
In the short term, “When security operations and political upheaval intensify, the institutions that keep people safe during heat waves, floods, and disease outbreaks often get weaker,” Muggah added. Worse yet, due to the many ongoing uncertainties about Venezuela’s future climate and Caracas’ limited ability to identify those risks or adapt, there will almost certainly be extreme-weather refugees in the country in the future.
International research institutions say, “Well, we don’t know what is happening in Venezuela or if this extreme weather is related to climate change, because there is no data,” De Freitas Hernández, the independent Venezuelan journalist, told me. “That’s the first thing all institutions have to say: ‘We don’t have the data.’ We need the data.”