by Louise Clark
Noelle perked up at that. “A movie? What’s playing?”
Sledge’s phone provided the information that there were two summer blockbuster action flicks and the latest animated kids hit, as well as an assortment of other movies that would never appeal to a nine-year-old. They discussed which film ticked all the boxes, and Christy thought they’d come to decision when Roy came up with another suggestion.
“We could go to the presentation on the fish farm and help Patterson’s brother-in-law keep the ocean safe from corporate greed.”
Sounds exciting. Not.
Noelle giggled.
Roy looked affronted at Frank’s comment, but because Tamara was sitting at the table finishing up a pot of yoghurt and a bowl of strawberries, he couldn’t reply. Christy hoped Tamara assumed that Roy thought Noelle was laughing at him and was annoyed.
“What’s a fish farm and why does it hurt the ocean?” Noelle asked.
Animation flickered in Roy’s eyes and he launched into a complicated explanation that included escaping Atlantic salmon, open net pens being located close to rivers and inhibiting wild salmon spawning runs in those rivers, sea lice and disease infecting wild stocks, and degradation of the ocean floor due to pollution from the farms. As he talked, Noelle’s brows moved closer and closer together in a frown as she struggled to understand the issue.
When his father paused to draw breath, Quinn said, “Basically, man is interfering in the natural order. It’s affecting the wild salmon, causing a drop off in numbers, to the point where there are concerns about the survival of the wild salmon.”
Noelle’s brow cleared. “That doesn’t sound right,” she said, sounding quite fierce.
“It doesn’t, does it?” Quinn said.
He was smiling. Activism had been part of his childhood and Christy wondered if he was remembering how it felt to be a smart, curious child, learning to question the world around him.
Noelle nodded briefly to Quinn, then turned to Christy. Her expression determined, she said, “We should go to the fish farm presentation.”
What about the movies?
Noelle’s eyes flickered to Tamara and she said carefully, “We can’t take Stormy to the theater or to the mall, but we could take him to the fish farm place, couldn’t we?”
Christy sipped her coffee. The excellent brew was perking her up, helping her to push away the grogginess left from her restless night. “I expect we could. I don’t think anyone would mind if he wandered around the grounds.”
“Great!” Noelle said.
There were nods of agreement from the others. “Then we’re decided,” Roy said. He sounded pleased and he looked excited by the prospect of an afternoon that could potentially become one of protest and perhaps civil disobedience.
The only one who wasn’t on board was Frank.
I still think the movies are a better idea.
Chapter 3
The fish farm information center was located at the end of a dirt road that was accessed from the regional highway that connected all the little towns along the east coast of Vancouver Island.
An official green and white directional marker at the corner indicated the road led to Loyal Scotsman’s Bay, but on the verge, set back from the highway, an enormous full color billboard eclipsed the polite official sign. Progressive Fish Farms Worldwide Information Center and Demonstration Fish Farm was written in huge letters. Below the large black arrow that pointed down the side road someone had taped a sheet of paper on which had been written, “Information session today at 2 PM.”
“Impossible to miss,” Ellen said. There was a sniff of disapproval in her voice. She was sitting beside Christy in the passenger seat of the van, while Trevor shared the next row with Noelle. Stormy the Cat sat on Noelle’s lap. Sledge was in one of the rear seats.
Ellen had opted to wear her tailored slim leg white trousers, which she’d matched with a jade green silk tunic, while Christy had been satisfied with a pair of distressed designer jeans and a long sleeved round-necked top. Since Trevor was also dressed in less casual tailored twill slacks and a well-fitting golf shirt, she suspected that he and Ellen were each trying to impress the other.
The thought made her smile as she turned onto the side road. Though not paved, it was beautifully graded, with a gravel surface that crunched under the tires. It headed straight for a kilometer or so, passing the fenced-in back yards of a housing complex, then turned a corner and twisted around a stand of trees. Just beyond was a makeshift, one-way bridge that straddled a wide rushing river. Another turn brought them to an open meadow, which the river traversed, only to cascade down tall cliffs at the far end of the meadow. The road ended in a parking area that was currently filled with vehicles.
Roy, Quinn, and Tamara had come in Quinn’s small compact as there wasn’t enough space for everyone in the van and they’d already arrived. Christy found a spot not far from where Quinn had parked. She shut off the engine, then gazed out the windshield at the scene beyond. Beside her, Ellen also looked. Stormy, who’d spent most of the ride snoozing on Noelle’s lap, hopped onto the console between the front seats, then up onto Ellen. As he put his paws on the dashboard to check out at the scene as well, Ellen absentmindedly began to stroke his soft fur.
The grassy meadow contained two structures—a compact one-story building and what looked like a huge above ground swimming pool, except the sides were translucent, instead of opaque. A sign identified the pool as the Demonstration Fish Farm. A wooden boardwalk ran along the top of all four sides of the rectangular structure. At the end nearest to the building, a narrow staircase provided access to the walkway. What caught everyone’s attention was what was visible through the clear sides of the pool. There, hundreds of small fish swam in their example of a well-designed fish pen.
Stormy’s tail began to twitch and his muscles tensed.
Beyond the pool and closer to the cliffs, the building was a rectangular prefab structure that looked to be a combination of display space, meeting room, and offices. The pool dwarfed it, but Christy judged it to be about nine hundred square feet in size. From where they were parked she could see people milling about the doorway, some heading inside, while others stared at the pool, gazing at the apparently happy fish. The forecasted rain was holding off, but the sky was heavy with threatening clouds.
In the back of the van, one of the doors slid open as Trevor climbed out. Noelle bounded out behind him and was followed by Sledge who emerged from the last row of seats. Stormy scrambled off Ellen’s lap and dove out the door too.
Ellen looked at Christy. “There are a lot of people here.”
Christy stared out at the crowd and nodded. This afternoon’s presentation was going to be well attended.
“There are a lot of fish, too.”
“I’ll put Stormy in my tote,” Christy said.
Ellen nodded. “Good idea.”
They got out of the car and caught up with the others, who were nearing the fish tank. Christy reached down and scooped up the transfixed Stormy.
Hey!
Christy tried to stuff Stormy into the tote, but the cat splayed out all of his limbs and began to wiggle, making it impossible for her to dump him into the bag. “You have to tell Stormy to let me put him in the tote, Frank. There are too many people here for him to run around. I’m afraid he’ll get hurt.”
For a few moments Stormy continued his physical protest, but finally Frank convinced him to allow himself to be deposited into Christy’s bag. He kept his head above the edge, though, watching everything that was going on. Especially what was going on in the demonstration fish pen.
A heavyset man in his mid to late thirties wearing a dark blue suit, white shirt, and red tie, emerged from the doorway to the building. “Good afternoon everyone! We’re about to begin, if you all want to come inside.”
The crowd, about sixty strong, shuffled toward the building. Stormy wiggled, as if he wanted to be put down. Christy held the tote a little tighter and kept an
eye on Noelle, who was skipping ahead of Ellen and Trevor.
Sledge, in disguise, wearing a baseball cap—Toronto Raptors, this time—on his unruly hair and sunglasses on his nose, came up beside her. “Expensive set up,” he said.
Christy nodded, thinking that his disguise, over all, was pretty good. Dressed in faded jeans, an equally faded grey T-shirt, and runners, he looked like any young male in the crowd. “It sure is.” She laughed. “Roy would say they’re trying to blind us with a lot of razzle-dazzle to mask the damage the fish farm will actually do.”
Sledge laughed too. “Where are they?”
They being Roy, Quinn, and Tamara. “I saw their car parked in the lot, so they’re here.”
As they entered the building behind Trevor, Ellen, and Noelle, Sledge removed his sunglasses. There was mischief in his eyes. “They’re probably up front, ready to heckle the speaker.” It was evident from his grin that he thought a little heckling would do a lot to make the afternoon more interesting.
They joined the others at the edge of the audience, not far from the door. The crowd was thick ahead of them, so Sledge crooked a finger and said to Noelle, “Hey, kiddo. Want to come on my shoulders?”
Her eyes lit up. She glanced at Christy, who smiled and nodded, then she said politely to Sledge, “Thank you.”
He laughed and crouched down. She climbed onto his shoulders, then he straightened slowly.
“This is awesome!” she said.
While Noelle and Sledge surveyed the crowd, Christy looked around her.
The walls were hung with photographs of Loyal Scotsman’s Bay that had been blown up into eight foot by five foot images. Some showed off the majestic beauty of the cliffs and the perfect horseshoe-shaped inlet. In others, an artist had drawn in a mock-up of a pristine, perfectly clean, and beautifully kept fish farm. The scenes looked almost as idyllic as those pictures of the bay without the farm.
Trevor shook his head as his eyes scanned the images. “They must be pretty anxious to get the license for this farm.”
“Is there a chance the province won’t issue one?” Ellen asked. She too was scanning the photographs, though her expression wasn’t as disapproving as Trevor’s.
Trevor nodded. “The first fish farms were set up thirty years ago. There’s been plenty of time between then and now for problems to show up and for the environmentalists to gain evidence of the damage they cause. Fish farming brings in billions in revenue, but the farms have also harmed the fishing industry, which is one of the largest sectors of the province’s economy. The government now has to find away between two conflicting industries, without offending either. It won’t be easy.”
Noelle leaned down over the top of Sledge’s head. “Look, Mom. Roy’s right up near the front, with Quinn and Dr. Tamara. The man from Detective Patterson’s campsite is there too. And so is the lady from the one opposite them.” She began to wave with considerable enthusiasm.
The cat’s bored. Who’s the woman from the other site Noelle is talking about?
Christy snugged her elbow closer to her side so the cat couldn’t escape. “I don’t know. Detective Patterson perhaps?”
“No, she’s in the double site with Haley and Dylan,” said Noelle, overhearing. “It’s like Mr. Three’s site is compared to ours.”
“A single on the other side of the road,” Sledge said.
With a little girl draped over his head it was impossible to imagine Sledge the rock star was in the building. Good thing too, Christy thought, with a grin. If the crowd knew Sledge was here, no one would listen to the information session. Except, maybe, Roy and Quinn. That made her grin widen.
“I saw her when Aunt Ellen and I walked the long way to the washrooms this morning and looked at all the campsites around us while we went,” Noelle continued.
At the mention of washrooms, Ellen made a harrumphing sound in her throat. She had not yet adjusted to using a public bathroom facility for her personal needs.
“Look!” Noelle announced, clearly enjoying herself. “Detective Patterson is coming over, but she’s left Mr. Detective with the other man.”
“How delightful,” Ellen muttered. Trevor squeezed her arm in silent support and she looked at him gratefully.
Patterson, who was dressed like Christy in jeans and a long-sleeved top, arrived a few moments later. The expression on her face was one of her most noncommittal. “Ready for the fireworks?”
Christy raised her brows. “Will there be?”
Patterson eyed the group at the front of the room. “Oh yeah. See the heavyset guy at the podium, the one who called everyone in?”
Christy nodded.
“He’s Shane Higginson. He’s the regional vice president for Progressive Fish Farms Worldwide, the company that wants to build this fish farm. The guy on the platform beside him, tall and stooped, wearing glasses? That’s Dr. Norman Laing. Laing is a professor of marine biology at one of the big Eastern universities. He’s an expert on open net fish farming. According to him, fish farms are perfectly safe. Sea lice infestations are controlled, disease is managed with antibiotics, and the farmed salmon can’t breed if the pens are breached and some of the farmed fish escape. In the audience…” Patterson paused.
Christy raised her brows and waited.
Patterson’s noncommittal look evaporated as her mouth hardened. “In the audience is my brother-in-law Adam Farnsworth. As I mentioned earlier, Adam believes the open net system is a danger to the environment and the only fish farms that should be allowed are inland ones, which is where he’s centering all his research. Then there’s Roy Armstrong, environmental activist and general sh…”
Christy cleared her throat and looked up at Noelle, raising her eyebrows.
Patterson looked up too and changed what she was going to say to, “…troublemaker. And they’re all going to be working to convince that man—” She pointed to a smiling man of medium height, wearing chinos and a polo shirt, standing to one side.
“That’s Chad Davis, my provincial member of the BC legislature,” Trevor said, sounding surprised.
“And the Premier’s representative, here on a fact-finding mission.” Patterson raised her brows and curled her lips in a cynical smile. “The man who will advise the government whether or not to issue a permit to build a fish farm on Loyal Scotsman’s Bay.”
The fireworks didn’t start immediately. Shane Higginson began with a polite welcome and added that he hoped everyone had had a chance to view the photographs and read the documentation attached to them. There were murmurs and Christy saw Norman Laing peer at the audience, his expression worried.
Higginson, however, didn’t seem to be concerned. He beamed at the crowd. “Progressive Fish Farms Worldwide is an international organization with instillations in Europe, the United States, and Canada. Our reputation for excellence is well known—”
“Yeah, sure,” muttered a voice from the audience. Roy Armstrong’s voice to be precise.
Sledge looked at Christy and grinned. Noelle leaned down from her perch on Sledge’s shoulders. Her eyes were wide. “That was Roy!”
Her voice echoed clearly through the room. People stirred, turning to look. Noelle blushed and Sledge chuckled. There were some smiles, a few raised eyebrows. As the crowd shifted, Christy saw Quinn glance over his shoulder, with a frown. “Jamieson manners!” she whispered to Noelle.
Noelle bit her lip, then wiggled and shifted so she could whisper something in Sledge’s ear. He hefted her off his shoulders and put her back onto the ground.
Christy was instantly awash with regret at spoiling Noelle’s fun. Ellen nodded approvingly.
Shane Higginson had continued talking throughout this exchange. He’d introduced Norman Laing and as Christy refocused on the front, he was saying, “Dr. Laing is an internationally respected expert on modern aquaculture and is the chair of The Aquaculture Institute associated with the University of Central Canada. Progressive Fish Farms works closely with Dr. Laing to ensure all of our in
stallations conform to industry best practices.”
“There are no industry best practices,” Adam Farnsworth said loudly. Like his brother, Patterson’s husband, Greg, who was standing nearby, he was a tall man, easily visible in the crowd. To his left was Roy, who was nodding in agreement. Christy could see that both men had their arms crossed over their chests.
“Here we go,” Patterson muttered beside her.
Up front, Tamara said something to Quinn and he nodded. He whispered something to Roy, who also nodded, then Quinn and Tamara started edging their way toward the back of the room.
Sledge murmured in Christy’s ear, “Not like Quinn to bail in the middle of a fight. I guess Tamara doesn’t like the conflict.”
Noelle squeezed Christy’s hand. “Mommy.”
Christy looked down, frowning. Noelle edged closer to the door, tugging Christy, who followed along. She was already regretting coming to this event. She’d envisioned an exhibit she could talk with Noelle about as they viewed the images and read the explanations, a way to introduce her daughter to issues that were important in the present and would only become more so in the future. She had not expected a lecture that was also a sales pitch.
Quinn and Tamara reached the others. She saw Quinn glance her way as Tamara looked up at Sledge and smiled at a low-voiced comment he’d made. Tamara’s focus was completely on Sledge, but from what Christy could see, Quinn didn’t appear to mind.
As she and Noelle neared the edge of the crowd, Christy heard Norman Laing say, his voice hot with the force of his emotions, “On the contrary, Dr. Farnsworth! I would never associate myself with an organization that wasn’t dedicated to ensuring their operation caused no harm—”
“Offshore fish farms are lethal to other marine life.” Adam Farnsworth kept his voice pitched to a conversational level while he interrupted Laing, but outrage simmered beneath the words. “All offshore farms.”
