Snowfeather listened while Farthwell speculated about world disease and catastrophic global climate change as Gaia’s revenge for extreme overpopulation. No one laughed at these ruminations. Before this audience, this man, proponent of a notion that would have been widely ridiculed in an earlier time, was hailed as one of the heroes of his generation.
Wow, Snowfeather thought. There is more energy here than at any of Dad’s political meetings. This is energy that can be harnessed for the cause. This Gaia movement goes way beyond Dad’s small-bore environmentalism, the traditional more trees, and fewer smokestacks. Maybe it takes something really extreme to get people out of their complacency…
Could I ride this horse?
Farthwell finished his remarks early and gave Snowfeather another generous introduction. Snowfeather smiled and moved smoothly to the rostrum as easily as if she were in her own living room in Idaho.
“Thank you, Mr. Farthwell. And my thanks to the University Club and the Gaia Foundation for inviting me,” she said. “Our Texan friends still talk about the Alamo. How many of us still remember that sickening ecological catastrophe on the Australian coast?” A number of hands went up. “The Tong shipping company lives forever in infamy! Now, may I say a word about the ecological catastrophe if we don’t stop S&S Shipping from poisoning the Pacific Ocean?” She paused, as the room erupted in enthusiastic applause. “Okay,” she said over the din, “I will.” More applause and cheers followed. Snowfeather grinned in acknowledgment; then her face became solemn. Snowfeather’s sense of audience was pitch-perfect.
“Legend tells us that Chief Seattle gave a remarkable speech 200 years ago. Some say he had a ghost writer. I can’t believe that. I know these words were in his heart. This is what Seattle said to the ages:
“‘This we know: The earth does not belong to man; man belongs to the earth. This we know. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. Man did not weave the web of life; he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web he does to himself. Even the white man cannot be exempt from the common destiny. One thing we know, which the white man may one day discover, our god is the same god. You may think that you own him as you wish to own the land but you cannot. This earth is precious to the Great Spirit, and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its creator. The whites, too, shall pass; perhaps sooner than all other tribes. Continue to contaminate your bed, and one night you will suffocate in your own waste.’”
——
Snowfeather was late for class. A few minutes after leaving the University Club, Snowfeather paused, immediately irritated by the small, intense, self-important woman who was standing in her path.
“I’m Louise Berker,” the woman said. “And this is Cynthia Thomas,” she added, pointing to a taller, more severe looking woman with tangled, brown hair.
Like I’m supposed to care? Snowfeather thought. “That’s nice,” Snowfeather said aloud, trying to step around Berker. The Thomas woman moved in her way. Give me a break! Snowfeather scowled and slipped past this even more irritating woman only to face Berker again, who was trying on a smile.
“I’m really sorry if this isn’t a good time,” Berker said with the insincere charm of a spoiled diva who has just been annoyed by a waiter.
“I’m so sorry,” Snowfeather said, matching Berker’s insincerity, “but it is not a good time. I am running late.”
The other woman stepped aside but Berker held her ground. “Just a moment of your time, please,” Berker said. Snowfeather slid past the annoying woman and continued walking. “I promise that you won’t regret it,” Berker said, while striding to keep up. “Our organization is very impressed with how you are handling yourself at these demonstrations.”
Snowfeather slowed, turning to give Berker the penetrating appraisal her father would have. Her flash assessment: Berker was a borderline case. The first impression, the one the woman projected was cordial and responsible, but there was a darker shadow. Helen suspected that Louise Berker was one of those beauties whose cold heart had subtly robbed her of normal human appeal. Dad would say that her feathers were clipped but not her talons. That this woman is charged up with…what? She reminds me of an obsessive compulsive runner between races…or…someone possessed.
“Thank you,” Berker said. She was probably in her mid thirties, and Snowfeather heard the faintest trace of a German accent. Great, she thought, another condescending European wanting to recruit a nice Injun.
“I have just a minute,” Snowfeather said. “What is your organization?”
“Environmental Opinion Associates.”
Berker was trying to be personable, but it was a doomed effort. Like a sociopath pretending to cry at a funeral, Snowfeather thought. And she isn’t used to this, she is used to giving orders.
“We’re a bit on the environmental fringe, some say.” Cynthia Thomas offered.
No doubt! Snowfeather thought. This one is a radical nerd, a self-important subordinate, a minor player with delusions.
“I’m also head of a group dedicated to the protection and restoration of Mother Earth,” Berker added, resuming control of the conversation. “We plan to succeed no matter the cost.” Berker’s implied ruthlessness was thinly concealed by her pleasant, conversational tone.
Snowfeather had stopped walking. Oh crap! Not another true believer! Ruthless as they come, I’ll bet. Snowfeather could hear her father’s warning voice: Watch out for the nutters who self-medicate with anger.
“We are the Women’s League for Earth’s Restoration.”
“It does sound fringe,” Snowfeather said out loud. But she had become curious about this woman, Berker. There was a distinct smell of ruthless energy seeping through her charm veneer. As Snowfeather had reluctantly decided to engage, she pointed to a path near the Club that led to the Jackson Building. “We can chat while I walk, if you don’t mind. I really am late for class.”
“We have excellent funding sources,” Thomas said, walking behind them, head down as if she was talking to herself. Berker waited for Thomas to catch up, and Snowfeather slowed.
Berker sensed the opening. “Cynthia is right about funding. And we are a very well-disciplined organization. Actually, we are two organizations.”
Snowfeather’s curiosity was piqued by the prospect of excellent funding sources; she stopped on the path next to an outdoor bench. “We are Environmental Opinion Associates, which I run, and our newer political action committee, the Women’s League for Earth’s Restoration is where the real action takes place.”
An impish smile crossed Snowfeather’s face. “WOLF-EAR?”
Berker looked puzzled then she actually smiled. “You have a gift.”
“For acronyms or humor?”
“Both, it seems.”
“We could use that,” Thomas added.
No kidding! Snowfeather thought. Then she remembered what Dad had said, Watch the white eyes who have no humor, Little Princess. Those are the dangerous ones. “You just mentioned funding sources,” Snowfeather said out loud. “Are we talking about local money or what?”
“We have some very generous contributors…world class, as a matter of fact. Would you like to join us for a meeting with one of them?” Berker was now playing with Snowfeather like a trout.
“Maybe,” Snowfeather answered. She knew she was being played, but her own ambition was now fully aroused.
“Mr. Rex Longworthy will be there and one of his backers.”
Snowfeather knew the Longworthy name well. “I’d be happy to come,” Snowfeather said.
“Then we should stay in touch. Here,” Berker said, producing a business card bearing a logo consisting of a line drawing of the earth, holding a green eye centered under the words: “Earth’s Sisters.”
Snowfeather glanced at it. “Not the Women’s League?”
“Same address. The ‘Sisters’ are the governing committee, in effect.”
Snowfeather nodded, “And you are the Big Sister, I assume.” Then she
slipped the card into her jeans. Snowfeather did not offer one in return. She waved as she turned to head down the path. “Nice to meet you.”
“Will you have any time to meet this week?” Berker asked.
Snowfeather slowed, calling out, “Day after tomorrow? In the afternoon?”
“Excellent. You are staying at Gates Hall, I believe.”
Snowfeather stopped walking. “You seem to know a lot about me. I really am running late.”
“We’d like you to know more about us. Five o’clock?”
“Okay.” She took out the card. “I see you are in Pioneer Square.”
“Yes. Can we pick you up?”
“I’ll manage to find you, thanks anyway.”
Snowfeather stepped up her pace. After a moment, she glanced back at Berker’s purposeful, retreating form, followed by her slightly uncoordinated companion. Both disappeared into a parking structure. Snowfeather trotted on her way, lost in speculation.
Chapter 11
It was a dark Seattle winter afternoon, and the streetlights dimly glowed in the damp air. The office of the Women’s League was an unmarked walk-up behind the Earth Planet bookstore. The store occupied a poorly illuminated niche between an office supply and a vacant business.
Snowfeather nodded to the bored clerk in the bookstore and opened a rear door that revealed a dim, musty stairway. As she approached the top of the stairs, she could see Cynthia Thomas and Louise Berker standing near the doorway of the Women’s League office.
“Come in, Snowfeather,” Louise Berker said, holding the door to the small office. “It isn’t exactly downtown, but it’s ours.” Snowfeather entered a spartan reception area, and was escorted to a large, book-lined room. A simple relief globe of the earth, in true color without political markings, hung from the ceiling over a battered oak conference table. “Let’s talk,” Berker said, pointing to a chair.
“You have a very interesting library,” Snowfeather said as she looked around the room. “And where is Mr. Longworthy?”
“Oh, that wasn’t for today,” Berker said. “We need to get to know you a little better.”
“Every important environmental text and ecological book…they’re all here,” Cynthia Thomas said proudly. “As good or better than the University library.”
“I am impressed. You should have these online.”
“Computers,” Berker dismissed. “They can be a dangerous addiction. And we don’t trust the cloud. High technology is not allowed here at all. Let me ask you a question.”
“Go for it.”
“What was the single most serious ecological problem of the last fifty years?”
Snowfeather paused, frowning. “There have been a whole series of calamities, of course. Global warming seemed to have stalled, restarted, even while the greenhouse gas situation was improving, then sudden cooling ensued with sudden out-of-season blizzards in temperate zones, followed by intermittent warming. In a word—weather chaos. Precipitation is either too much or too little. For several years running, there were major drought zones blighting forty-five percent of world crop acreage. I think food production in many regions fell during that period almost fifty percent worldwide before it began to recover. The overall picture is one of utter unpredictability and increased stress on the various ecosystems. The single problem is eco-stress, possibly without a single cause.”
“Good enough. And you might have added the food price inflation, riots everywhere, the rich countries buying up most of the food while millions starve.”
“That was ten years ago but, yes, we are still working our way out of that one,” Snowfeather said.
“Icebergs are again breaking away from the Antarctic ice mass in large numbers and masses,” Cynthia said.
“Yes, at least for a couple of years that was the case. I was getting to that,” Snowfeather said. “For a ten year period, ocean water levels at all coastal cities rose rapidly, in spite of the Fossil Fuel Technology Treaty. The current pause may be over.”
“What was most important about that treaty?”
“Well, the two-tier pricing system for basic crops seemed like a great idea, giving poor countries a subsidized low price for food imports in exchange for their retirement of fossil fuels, and restrictions on deforestation. But the unintended consequence was a reckless shift by the same countries to old style nuclear power generation. Worse still, companies like S&S shipping are plying the high seas with the resulting unprocessed nuclear waste. Plus, their expanding industrial base created new environmental problems, in effect repeating the China disaster.”
“Excellent,” Berker said. “You obviously know your stuff. Some computer models of global warming predicted a decline in warming, others an increase. None seem to have got it exactly right. What does this mean?”
“I thought you didn’t do computers.” Snowfeather smiled.
“You got me there. There is actually an excellent answer in what you’ve said: Gaia will do what Gaia will do. But is that really your best answer to my question?” Berker asked.
“I don’t follow you.”
“Over the last fifty years, at least one million species of living things have become extinct. The percentage of wild areas, outside the polluted ocean—just the wild land areas—have shrunk to forty percent of what they were at the beginning of the period. Wouldn’t you say that is the single most serious ecological problem of the last century?”
“I suspect you are counting extinct microbes, but the larger animal extinction figures are pretty disturbing. Most of my Native American brothers and sisters would probably agree that the shrinking percentage of wild areas is a very bad thing.”
“The earth, you see, is injured. That is unacceptable.”
“Damage to humans is collateral,” Cynthia added.
What did she say? Snowfeather shot Thomas a questioning glance; then she looked back at Berker, whose expression remained impassive. Did she really mean that?
“So,” Berker continued, “what would you call the prospect of massive spills of radioactive waste products transported in North Atlantic by Ukrainian vessels, and in the Pacific by Brazilian, Indonesian, Ukrainian, and Chinese carriers?”
Snowfeather’s answer came without hesitation: “Sounds like another S&S Shipping screw-up. It would be a huge disaster, of course,” she said.
“You know what we would call it?” Berker asked.
“What?”
“An opportunity,” Thomas said.
“To do what?” Snowfeather asked.
“To move opinion to the next level,” Cynthia mumbled.
“We are going to change the world,” Berker said flatly. “And you can be part of this. Can you meet Mr. Longworthy and a couple of special friends later this week?”
——
Two days later, Snowfeather was called to a noon meeting in a downtown Seattle boardroom. The room was on the top floor of the Fowler building, fifty-five stories of faceted green marble, oxidized copper and mirrored glass. The meeting was just one floor above the environmental law firm of Price, Farthwell and Longworthy.
As the elevator opened into a quiet carpeted hallway with rows of unmarked doors all the way to the end, Snowfeather hesitated, looking again at her hand-written directions. The boardroom was identified by a brass sign over the last door on the right: FOWLER. Snowfeather took a deep breath, walked over and opened the door.
At first, no one seemed to notice her arrival. Louise and Cynthia were almost unrecognizable in their tailored suits, seated at the end of a massive table of inlaid woods. The heavily curtained room was filled with plants and a large globe in natural color. Three men in beautifully tailored business suits sat in a row. No one rose.
Snowfeather hesitated; then Berker turned toward her and smiled. “Helen Snowfeather Lindstrom, this is Mr. Fowler.” She pointed to a slender man with snow-white hair, sitting to her immediate right. Knight smiled and nodded.
“Knight Fowler?” Snowfeather asked. The name belonged to a
huge contributor to green causes, although the Fowler family fortune had been made in coal mining. “The Knight Fowler?”
“Yes,” the patrician man said graciously. “You have heard of me, then?”
“No. I just read the sign on the building,” Snowfeather cracked. Fowler chuckled. A least the old guy has a sense of humor, she thought.
“His support has been invaluable,” Cynthia said.
No kidding, Snowfeather thought. “You have been one of my Dad’s heroes,” Snowfeather said. At least my Dad’s biggest contributor.
“Have you met Rex Longworthy?”
“I’m familiar with your work for the Greenspike Coalition, especially in the China spill case. That was amazing work!” Snowfeather took the man’s offered hand. Whoa. A hand like a dead trout!
“I see you have done your homework,” Longworthy said. He was impeccably dressed in a tweed coat.
“And this is Jim Funk.” The last man was in his early thirties, a shaved head and bright, intense eyes.
“Of Coffin and Funk?” Snowfeather said. The man nodded. “Mr. Funk, you have one of the hottest advertising agencies in the country.”
“If you think so, it must be true,” Funk said, also shaking Snowfeather’s hand. “Please sit down.” Snowfeather took the seat nearest the door.
“This is a lot of clout in one room,” Snowfeather said. “I hope you all didn’t travel on the same plane.”
Fowler laughed and winked at Berker. “Louise, you have outdone yourself. I already can tell that Ms. Lindstrom here has every bit the charisma and talent you advertised.”
“Is it Helen or Snowfeather?” Berker asked.
“I prefer Snowfeather.”
“Snowfeather, you may be wondering why this group is getting together,” Fowler said.
“Let me guess,” Snowfeather answered. “You are preparing for some demonstrations?”
Gabriel's Stand Page 7
