Gabriel's Stand (6 page)

Senator Gabriel Standing Bear Lindstrom's public stock as an environmentalist was based on the adoption of the Habitat Act a year earlier. It was the first extended, multi-state ecosystem protection area in American history and the direct result of Gabriel's leadership. As a result, he was now a celebrity. During the Christmas recess he agreed to a series of interviews at his Northern Idaho retreat.

One interview, recorded by freelance reporter, Max Cahoon, was carried by several media outlets, and incorporated into a public broadcast special. Cahoon's was a well-known face among news junkies; his contracts with the Times and leading video news services had generated a certain celebrity of its own.

Max prided himself on his journalistic independence, maintained in part by keeping and paying his own crew, and partly by a fierce dedication to the facts. He had arrived on time at Gabriel's Idaho home with just one set-up assistant, and introduced himself at the front door.

Gabriel immediately liked Cahoon—an exception for a reporter. Max was an unaffected, athletic man in his mid-forties with unruly dark hair; he was at home with himself and was underwhelmed by celebrities. In a few minutes, he and his assistant had transformed the Senator's living room into a studio. Then his assistant reached over and affixed a tiny mike to the Senator's denim shirt. Then Max powered up the AutoCam, a semi-autonomous remotely operated audio-video kit, leased to Cahoon by NEWSNET. When the assistant moved out of the way, three cameras automatically began tracking the two men. “Test,” Cahoon said. “Senator, could you give me a conversational level?”

“As long as the rivers shall run,” Gabriel said, clearing his throat. “Good enough?”

“Perfect.”

“This is a great rig you have. Are these things expensive?”

Cahoon laughed. “Not so bad on lease. I'll send you a brochure.”

“You think I'm kidding,” Gabriel said.

“I really will, then.” Cahoon signaled “Start” by raising one thumb.

Gabriel nodded. From that moment, the unit's cameras would autonomously capture the ensuing conversation in the room, cutting fluidly from speaker to speaker. An edited version of the interview would be fed to media outlets that afternoon.

“Senator Standing Bear, as the junior Senator from Idaho, you have already earned the unchallenged record as the most effective environmentalist in the Congress.”

“Beginner's luck.”

“And yet you are charting an independent course. You have friends and enemies on all sides.”

“I'm not for sale. It's a small problem, but one I'm comfortable with.” Gabriel's smile was very subtle.

“Just what kind of environmentalist are you?”

“A practical one. I love people and I love the wilderness.”

“Has anyone
ever
started an environmental bill as a member of the House, then spearheaded its passage as a new member of the Senate?”

“Not that I've heard. It was a pretty good trick.” Gabriel grinned widely. He stretched out his legs. His moccasin clad feet were crossed on a leather stool that was silhouetted against the crackling flames of an open fireplace. He was dressed in a weathered leather vest and jeans. The frost scarred window of the rustic living room in Idaho looked out on a stand of lodge pole pine trees.

“No one can remember a precedent,” Max Cahoon said.

Gabriel shrugged. “We all have short memories these days. It just worked out that way because of my negotiations with the tribes.”

“Tell me about that.”

“It was pretty tough, actually. The North American Habitat stitches together seven national parks and nineteen other protected areas. By eminent domain and negotiated buy out, several million acres of additional habitat were to be added. We wanted to create a single, protected contiguous meta-ecosystem. But the contemplated Habitat area covered parts of six states, and took in three dozen Reserved Indian Territories. These tribes are like sovereign nations within the US.”

“Still?”

“In my view, yes.” Gabriel had seemed to bristle at the question; then he relaxed.

“Somehow you got it done.”

“After some tough sledding.” He shook his head. “I was a pretty fair labor negotiator before I got my own business going. But these negotiations were the hardest in my life.”

“How long did this take?”

“Practically all of my two terms in the House and my first year in the Senate. Toward the end of my last House term, we had pretty much worked out the special access rights for tribal members. It was a very tricky to trade off against restricted access for the general public, but we did it. And then Senator Jack Silton died, and my old friend, Governor Bob Wright, asked me to serve out the last three months of Jack's Senate term.”

“And you ran a successful campaign and became the nation's first elected Native American Senator.”

“Seventh.”

“Sorry, seventh. Your bill passed in the Senate with fourteen votes to spare, and created the Standing Bear National Wilderness Area, the largest ecologically protected area in the world.”

“That's not the official name, thank God.”

“I saw a road sign.”

“My daughter probably made that one.” Gabriel grinned.

“Can I bring up a personal matter?”

Gabriel gave the reporter a guarded look. “Try me.”

“I was told you were shot by muggers in Washington DC who also attacked your wife.”

“You mean I was a very lucky Indian. Yes, I can talk about that. We were more worried about my wife, Alice, who was in a brief coma from her head wound.”

“But not you?”

Gabriel grinned, knocking his forehead with a knuckle. “As, my opponents will say: I have a very thick skull. Anyway, our family, my tribe and my close friends all became much closer after that. And I paid more attention to my roots. The furrow in my skull was closed up with a bone graft from a bear my father killed. Now, according to my wife, I'm smarter than the average bear.”

Cahoon chuckled. “We'd all say a lot smarter, Senator. I guess my question is this: Given your experience and your passionate commitment to the environment, can you explain something for us: Why did you announce that you are against the pending Earth Restoration Treaty?”

“The one adopted by the European Union, Russia and China? You mean the power grab disguised as a remedy? As you know, former President Baxter signed it but the Senate refused to take it up and it was considered a dead letter. Suddenly, President Chandler has signed the treaty anew and has demanded a ratification vote. Mark my words: If our Senate
ever
ratifies this thing, we are in for a world of trouble. The Great Depression will seem like a cakewalk.”

“What is the core problem in your opinion?”

“The Earth Restoration Treaty might as well be called the
Punish The Humans Treaty
. This is counterfeit environmentalism, based on a fake conflict between technology and the protection of the wilderness. There's no unbridgeable canyon between technology and the environment.”

“You've claimed the Treaty could dismantle the Habitat?”

“Not could, will. Yes, it will dismantle the Habitat. The Treaty gives huge powers to the Technology Licensing Commission—in Europe they call it the Technology Retirement Commission. And in Europe, I must note that the Commission is run by extremists. Ask yourself this.” Gabriel looked straight into the camera. “Will the American people or any of their representatives have any real voice in the composition of this all-powerful Commission, the selection of its High Commissioner, or in the formulation of any of its policies? The answer is no. And that is by design. All of the key supporters in Europe and on this side of the pond have wild positions. To them technology is an evil to be eliminated.”

“Do we need technology to preserve the environment?”

“It's far too late to just go ‘back to nature' without terrible consequences. The Habitat requires us to use all our technological resources to manage this huge wilderness area.”

“Why give Native Americans preferred access to this area?”

“Lighten up, white eyes.” When Cahoon looked taken back, Gabriel grinned disarmingly. “Hey. There aren't that many of us left. And weren't we Injuns there first?” Cahoon conceded with a knowing smile.

“Seriously,” Gabriel continued, “nature is for all of us to enjoy as long as we fulfill our duty to preserve it. This means that ordinary folks ought to be able to enjoy it. Not just the wealthy or the exceptionally fit. After all, technology can help get a four year old child and seventy five year old grandmother safely into and out of the wilderness. And it can save a rare species of fox from extinction.”

“What makes you so sure that the American version of the Commission will be so extreme, Senator?”

“A skunk by any other color still smells bad. Just follow the political connections, the money connections, the people connections and their shared ideology. My vote on ratification will be no, and I hope to have half of the Senate with me. The wilderness has always been in my blood. I think we all desperately need balance. If we are good stewards and we vote down this treaty, the wilderness will be alive and thriving a thousand years from now.”

Cahoon nodded, signaling the end of the formal interview. “Well, congratulations, Senator. The Habitat Act is probably the most significant environmental measure in the last hundred years.”

“I am proud of everyone who worked on the bill.”

“Even Senator Smith of Utah voted for it. How did you pull that off?”

“I took him fishing.” Gabriel grinned. “And I let him use my flies.” Gabriel stood. “Come outside. I want to show you around the place. Have you met my wife and daughter?”

“No.”

“Can you ride a horse?”

“In the snow?”

“Come on, white eyes. Custer did.”

When Helen Snowfeather Lindstrom began her last year at the University of Washington, she felt that she had finally moved out of her father's giant shadow. Snowfeather had earned her own—admittedly smaller—place as a mover and shaker.

With her mid-length black hair, high cheekbones and luminous gray eyes, she carried her beauty with the innocence of a young colt. Still cherishing her taproots in the tribal/family compound in Northern Idaho, she had been released from her years of confinement as a politician's brat in Washington. She had dropped her first name and, as Snowfeather, she was taking on life on her own terms.

Of course, Snowfeather loved her parents. But to her, Gabriel and Alice were hopelessly out of touch. Their unreasonable insistence on micromanaging her life even after her recent twentieth birthday was exasperating even if it was delivered with love. She understood their need for involvement, the attack on both of them and Rachael Owen's death had made them all too aware of their mortality. But Mom and Dad were finally coming around and letting her find her own way—apart from them. After a few years of aggressive student activism for green causes, Snowfeather had become a public figure. Today's invitation was among her rewards. Snowfeather was a featured guest at the next luncheon meeting of the University Club, with a place on the podium.

She picked up her phone.
Mom and Dad will be proud…

——

At the same time that Snowfeather placed the call from her dorm room, Louise Berker was entering the service elevator in the subterranean parking lot in the Fowler Building in downtown Seattle. It was the same structure that housed Rex Longworthy's law firm. Dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, and wearing a red bandanna over her hair, Berker turned a key and headed to a secure work area below. It would the first American meeting of her G-A-N support team. For public consumption, the G-A-N was a small-bore international alliance of NGOs dedicated to protecting the environment. To the public, the letters stood for Geo-Alliance-North.

Deep inside, the G-A-N was a lunatic fringe cult, the Gaia Antibodies Network, based on the notion that humanity was a pathogen and Gaia, the Earth, was a living organism to be protected by any means necessary.

The Gaia Antibodies Network consisted of three working divisions, but today's meeting would be brief, and attended only by Berker's personal team. These were the four loyalists who had followed her from Germany. They reported to—and were known by—Louise Berker alone.

The four were waiting for her in a windowless cement-lined box. It was many times the size of the jail cell it resembled, furnished with hardwood tables, comfortable chairs, and two bathrooms. The new communications console was still in its shipping crate at the end of the room.

Berker took the seat at the end of the large table. Her team consisted of three fit, hard-faced males and one equally buff female. Their given names had long ago been replaced by pseudonyms; the latter were supported by elaborately constructed identities; the former were never committed to writing.

Gaul opened with the question the team had all agreed on. His American accent was flawless: “Will you need our help with the Senator's daughter?”

“No,” Berker said, looking at each of the four in turn. “Stay in your cover identities until you are called. It may take me several months to recruit her.” Berker paused as if thinking something through. “I do have one vacancy among the Earth's Sisters. Gaul and the other two males glanced at K. She was an attractive woman in her early thirties with very short, very blond hair. She specialized in killing. K smiled.

“K, I want you to stop by the Earth Planet Book Store in Pioneer Square next week and apply for a job,” Berker told her. “All of you will find new training schedules in your lockers. Everyone: stay alert. Be discreet. Don't ever call me on a cell or land line. I will contact you every few days in the usual way.”

——

When Snowfeather arrived at the University Club for her special guest appearance, she found herself feeling surprisingly serene. She was escorted to the head table and seated next to the University President. The featured talk was being given by Vernon T. Farthwell, the first Director of the Gaia Foundation. Farthwell was a law partner of Rex Longworthy and the outgoing Vice-President of the Greenspike Coalition. His topic was: “The Coming Gaia Era.”

Snowfeather smiled politely when Mr. Farthwell took the podium. He was a mousy, aristocratic man with a penetrating, reedy voice, who had earned a reputation as a formidable environmental lawyer in spite of his charismatic deficit. This was a speech he had given many times recently.

“As many of you know,” he said, “more and more people have begun to talk about the earth as a living organism named Gaia for the Greek earth goddess. As we destroy the earth's ecology, Gaia consciousness has awakened as a powerful political force…and not one second too soon. Many farsighted leaders have joined forces to save the earth, to rescue Gaia…among them Native American leaders like your own Helen Snowfeather Lindstrom.”

The room erupted in spontaneous applause. Snowfeather beamed.

“I'd like to get to know this remarkable young woman. I suspect our movement will be seeing a lot more of her. I was told that Helen Snowfeather Lindstrom may well be the most important figure in student politics in a generation. You know what? I think I agree.” More applause followed.

“Gaia now stands for the idea that the earth is an actual living being. Suppose, just for a moment, that we take that idea seriously. Think about the implications! How deeply we have injured Gaia. How Ms. Lindstrom's aboriginal ancestors would weep at what we have done to her.

“I see a revolution in the making here. Gaia, the Mother Earth of myth and legend, asks us to save her. This is a call we should all be proud to heed. Causes like this come our way only once in a few generations. Why not get on board? I say, why not?” The room erupted into sustained applause.

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.”