At The Edge

by David Dun

  "That's fine, but it's not what I asked. I want to know if these ancient redwoods were being cut at an unusually fast rate because Anderson and Otran Enterprises knew or suspected a court order was coming. I also want to know if unfelled trees were deliberately killed."

  Dan was cornered. Obfuscation would anger the judge. Denial would be lying to the court, which was out of the question. He glanced at Maria Fischer and received an ugly glare in return.

  "I believe Anderson, without the knowledge and against the wishes of Otran, cut on the weekend with more than the usual number of fallers. Anderson knew a court order was a possibility and wanted to keep his men working. But that's not against the law. And when Otran found out, they got them stopped by noon on Sunday. Only three trees were girdled, and the fallers who did it were thrown off the job."

  "Mr. Young, tell us what time fallers normally stop dropping trees."

  "It varies." The judge stiffened. "But often it's three or four p.m., sometimes earlier because the wind comes up in the afternoon."

  Dan knew he had to turn things around if he was going to make a settlement. Right now, he was sure the judge was convinced justice lay with Maria Fischer.

  "Your Honor, I'd like to offer the rest of the story. The pure unvarnished truth."

  "I let Ms. Fischer have her say," Traxler said. "I'll listen to your clients' views as well."

  ''Your Honor, I want everybody here to get the big picture. She's coming into this court with mental images of clear-cuts and people naturally tend to think they are ugly and therefore bad. The implication is that clear-cutting is destruction and we should stop it. Well, I'm here to tell you that this kind of thinking is pure ignorance.

  "We are saving the world by growing forests."

  There was outright laughter in the courtroom. A prominent member of the local press was smiling and shaking his head.

  "Hear me out." The courtroom quieted. "Humankind is making more carbon dioxide today than at any time in our history. We burn fossil fuels and spew the stuff out. Because we don't manage government forests and thin them, they burn up. We make more CO 2 by allowing our federal forests to burn. Hopefully, we all understand you can't breathe CO 2. hi addition to choking babies, the stuff warms the planet and we get global warming. Growing trees helps solve in a major way each of those problems. When you see a clear-cut and all those little hand-planted trees, you know somebody is trying to save you. This isn't the Amazon, where they chop them down and make a plowed field. In the temperate northwest we're cutting trees for the sake of growing trees.

  "People of the future are going to realize that growing forests is the best way to counteract the effects of burning fossil fuels like gasoline and diesel. They will learn that by managing them, we can better control wildfire. It's one of the best ways to convert the sun's energy into something we can use at the same time we are cleaning the atmosphere. We can make ethanol from trees. We already make 1.8 billion gallons of the stuff as a fuel additive, and we need more. It will run a fuel cell or an engine and it emits far less CO 2 than gasoline and is the best smog-control available. So we clean the air, make fuel, and reduce CO2 emissions all at the same time. I'm telling you if we had invented trees we couldn't have done it any better.

  ''Growing forests, people, is what we need. Not stagnant forests full of rotting old trees like Ms. Fischer advocates, but young vibrant forests that suck up the CO 2 and produce oxygen. These growing trees are the best scrubbers of our atmosphere. It's that simple, Your Honor. Old-growth forests were for the days when the only pollution to speak of came from plankton, forest fires, farting buffalo, and the few Native Americans who ate them. Clear-cuts grow trees because redwoods and most conifers won't grow in the shade. People are going to figure that out when the government gets off its ass and teaches them."

  "Mr. Young," the judge called out.

  "I apologize for using a term like 'ass' in the courtroom, Your Honor. In no way would I want to imply that somebody who doesn't agree with me is an ass. We never refer to ignorant people that way in a civilized society."

  There was a lot of laughter and clapping from the mill workers.

  "Mr. Young."

  "So my first point, Your Honor, is that a little ugly for a little while does a lot of good. Our replanting programs create young forests that will save the planet for future generations. Smart management controls fire.

  "Now I'd like to make my second point."

  "I wish you would," the judge said.

  ''Our opponents always want us to selectively harvest; it looks good to them like a park. But it's usually bad. Private forests have been ruined by selective harvesting. When you cut the biggest and the best, it's like killing the first three finishers in a horse race and then using the fourth place finisher to stand at stud. You reduce the genetic viability of the forest through selective harvesting. Worse yet, the tree species that were there before a selective harvest won't grow back because the remaining trees provide too much shade. So in a word you ruin the forest. Today the average-sized tree on Otran lands is only eighteen inches because of uninform selective harvest practices. After one hundred years of modern clear-cutting techniques throughout the next century, the average-sized tree will be over thirty-two inches. The trees will be large once again, as they were before the Europeans arrived. So what looks ugly-namely a

  clear-cut-is really good. Forced selective harvesting will make sick, stunted forests. It's pure ignorance. These stunted forests do less for the CO 2.

  "I have just one more point, Your Honor. In 1968, the government came into our community and said that they were going to save the old-growth redwoods. They took private property, reduced our timber base, closed our mills, and gave our workers government handouts. The government put tens of thousands of redwood acres in a park.

  "But what happened then? Ten years passed, and concerned citizens noticed that not all the old-growth redwoods were in parks. I guess they wanted more places where the trees won't grow. By that I mean they wanted to produce an old rotting forest that does nothing. Inland away from the coast such forests burn in a horrible inferno because we put out the wildfires and also never cut because we have some weird idea about what's bad and what's good. On the coast such forests just stop vigorous growth and therefore do less for the air we breathe. These are the kind of concerned citizens who may do more harm than good.

  "And in 1978 the government came in again and studied the matter, weighing all the options. And again, private property was taken, mills were closed, people were put out of work, and the welfare rolls were expanded.

  ''Now, it is true that when the Native Americans occupied the redwood coast, there were far more old-growth redwoods than there are today. But they didn't have cars; they didn't need fuel for cars and planes. They didn't have a problem with the greenhouse effect. And I admit we should have a few old-growth forests like we have museums. Keep them around. But the vast majority of the forests should not be old and stagnant. We need the rapid growth of a developing forest. And for God's sake, if we're going to manage a forest instead of leaving it untouched, then let's not make it sick. Let's not decide to intervene and destroy the forest by foolish selective harvesting methods. If we're going to cut, let's do it right so it grows back and grows back vigorously.

  "And let's give a break to the people for a change. Let's follow the law. Let's not let ten minutes' worth of emotion overcome twenty years of planning. We don't need another vegetable dump. And that, Your Honor, about sums up my position."

  Finished, Dan turned to his chair. Before he could even sit, the mill workers broke out in passionate cheers and whistles. On the bench Traxler banged his gavel; next to him, the marshal screamed "Quiet!" — but all to no avail. Emotions were too high now. A fight erupted near the back of the courtroom between a logger and an environmentalist. Screams and shouts filled the air as the audience tried to pull them apart. The bailiff, a fat man in his thirties, tried to make it to the melee, but ended up hopelessly lo
cked in the crowd.

  Fifteen feet away from him, Dan could see Maria Fischer climbing on the counsel table.

  "Stop!" she shouted with more volume than Dan would have thought possible.

  Perhaps it was the strange spectacle of a female lawyer standing on a table, but whatever it was, it quieted the crowd.

  Stepping down, Maria addressed the court. "Perhaps, Your Honor, we could meet in chambers now. But I have got to say that Mr. Young is hallucinating about the science. He's just oversimplifying." More shouting erupted in the courtroom gallery.

  Traxler banged the gavel. ''Court is adjourned for thirty minutes or at the request of either party." Then he was gone, off the bench as fast as he could move without actually running.

  At the judge's suggestion, the two lawyers entered the jury deliberation room alone. There, Maria sat at the head of the table, and Dan took a seat immediately to her left. It was only then that Dan noticed Ross taking a seat beside Maria.

  "I believe this is an attorneys' settlement conference," Dan said. There was silence as Maria looked first at Dan, then at Ross. She sighed.

  "You are really a prick," Ross said.

  "Why torture yourself?" Dan said. "If you've got her, she'll come home. Following her around like a sick puppy isn't-"

  "That's enough!" Maria shouted, and slammed her hand on the table. "You shut up," she said to Dan. "Ross, come here," she said, rising. "We'll talk outside. This man can't be civil, so don't give him the satisfaction of watching while the bailiff kicks you out." Ross followed Maria, who slammed the door on their way out.

  In a minute she returned, livid.

  "Did you send him home to Sacramento?" Dan said.

  She sat down and opened her briefcase, removing a yellow pad.

  "This may be your idea of a joke-"

  "Will you just listen for a few minutes? Please."

  "What?" she snapped.

  "I didn't plot and plan against you. I wasn't sitting there on the weekend hoping they'd cut down your trees. I had no idea anybody was girdling trees or cutting with a huge crew. Of course I didn't want to spill the beans about what I thought was an ordinary logging job. I may in the past have made some unfortunate jokes about cutting on the weekend but, Maria, it isn't what you think."

  "Yeah, you're not a deceitful sort of guy. Right. You sit in the dark like a spy, and let me go on and on in a restaurant thinking you're some kind of… soul mate. You oversimplified the carbon issue in your argument to the court. God, you think like Allen Funt."

  "I have a job to do. If you don't like it, just walk down to engineering and they can fight with my boss," Corey said. ''We have an ionizer to fix. That's all I know. Complete rewiring. If you have a problem, then why don't you and I go onto the roof and talk to my boss." She hoped he would take her up on it

  The deputy hesitated. "Your boss is on the roof?"

  She nodded, then took off her hat and shook out her hair. "We could go look at the sights," she said with tones that were a touch friendlier and a lot more adventuresome.

  Immediately the deputy's face was transformed. He was talking to a beautiful woman and not a snot-nosed boy out of high school.

  "Let's go," he said. "Jeez, I thought you were a…"

  "A what, Deputy?"

  "Well, a boy. That's what they said."

  Quickly she put on her hat and tucked her hair back up under it. "I find sometimes it helps to let people think that. I gotta take them this anyway," she said, picking up the crowbar.

  He waited until she walked ahead. Unfortunately, he seemed very alert and still slightly suspicious. They opened the door and walked past the workmen who nodded and said nothing. The deputy pulled out a big ring of keys and unlocked the roof door. It meant she wouldn't have to knock out the small window again. She could use the crowbar for something else. They walked up the concrete stairs that rose through a cut in the roof.

  She gripped the bar. Glancing back, she saw the deputy's hand go to his baton-probably just habit. Or maybe something was bothering him. His footfalls were heavy behind hers. He was close. Her second hand curled around the bar so that she held it like a bat. There were three stairs to go. When she touched the top stair, she whirled in one smooth motion. He was four stairs down. At chest height his head split like a watermelon as the bar slammed into his ear. A red film shot into the air and gray brain matter went flying.

  The deputy's body crumpled. She grabbed it so he wouldn't roll down the stairs. The body convulsed in her hands. A stain spread across the front of his pants and a stench came with bowel sounds. He was dead. Using all her strength, she dragged the big man the rest of the way up the stairs and laid the body on the roof. Quickly she went to the southerly side of the building and found the large sunken chamber in the roof. She climbed ten feet down the metal ladder to the bottom of the rectangular, concave area. On the inboard wall of the chamber were large louvers. From her pocket she removed a red ribbon, tied it on a louver, and let it stream through the opening.

  Quickly she climbed the ladder, ran across the roof, went down the stairs and through the door, noting with satisfaction that the workmen were gone. Right where she left it, she picked up the loaded furniture dolly and wheeled it down the hall around a corner, and into the small hall that bordered the southern side. Mechanic rooms, like the door to the roof, had small eight-inch windows. There were two off this hall.

  She would try the first. Taking the bloody crowbar in both hands, she looked up and down the hall, then with one sharp blow knocked out the window. Opening the door, she wheeled the dolly inside and closed the door quietly. From the tool bag she removed a wooden square with black paper that she quickly taped over the window hole. Next she pulled out a small flashlight and found the light switch.

  All around the dusty room were duct pipes, blowers, and electrical panels. She pulled a Colt. 45 from her overalls, then took from her tool case a grease-filled sound suppressor and screwed it into the barrel. The first three or four shots would be almost silent. She returned the gun to its hiding spot.

  She walked ahead toward the side of the building, winding through the various pieces of the heating, cooling, and duct system. When she neared the outer wall, she saw the light pouring through the louvers and the small ribbon.

  Certain now that she had the right vent for the outside air intake to the south-facing courtrooms, she walked over and examined the equipment. Air from the outside poured into the equipment room and was drawn into a sheet-metal box a little smaller than a Volkswagen Beetle. The box sat about five feet from the louvered wall through which the ribbon fluttered. Its fans drew air from the outside and down into the courtrooms.

  Directly in front of the box and its air intake louvers, she placed the two drams. But she inverted them, allowing the dram full of sulfuric acid to contact its specially designed plastic lid. It would take five minutes for the acid to penetrate the lid and hit the sodium cyanide. Heading back toward the door, she was shocked to see the board knocked off the window hole. Then a man dressed in uniformly dark clothing stepped out of the shadows. A small man but confident-it registered in her brain. Reaching into her overalls, she fished for the gun.

  He moved so swiftly he seemed more apparition than man. As the gun came up, his foot snatched it, hurling it against the wall. Open-mouthed, she raised the heavy crowbar, gripping it like a bat. She could beat any man with this advantage.

  "What have you done?" The man had an Asian accent.

  "You'll find out the hard way if you don't get your ass out of here."

  She swung. Easily he stepped away. Never had she seen anyone this fast. No martial-arts instructor, no boxer. Nobody.

  "Put it down or I will take it away."

  It was as if he were speaking to a child. Furious, she aimed for his head. It missed, but she saw anger ignite in his eyes.

  He lunged; she swung but it was a feint. In the split second that the bar flashed past him, he was delivering a blurring kick that nearly dislocated her
shoulder and sent the bar flying.

  "Be sensible," he said.

  She jumped toward the door. He cut her off.

  "Tell me what you have done. Then you may leave."

  "Fuck you." She launched her best kick. It landed on his ribs, a glancing blow. New respect lit his eyes.

  "It was good. But you are only a student. Now tell me."

  This time she attacked with a feinted kick followed by a punch. The block was so hard it felt like it broke her arm; then she was flying upward, and her legs went out from under her. She hit the concrete with a horrible slap that knocked the wind out of her.

  Before she had time even to blink, her hand was twisted at her side. White-hot pain shot up her arm.

  "Tell me."

  She breathed deep and fast, certain she could stand any pain. His other hand at her neck set it on fire.

  "Oh," she moaned. "Fuck you. Fuck you." It was like a mantra and she repeated it over and over. She could take it. She could hate her way through it. Nothing would stop her. They would both die in minutes.

  He bent her over, pushing her nose into the concrete. She was on her knees in seething constant pain. Then he released her just slightly.

  "I can see you can take pain. I do not wish to blind you. But I can cause you another kind of pain. Do not make me."

  "Die, fucker."

  There was a click of a stiletto. At first she thought he would carve her face. Then, like a whisper, she felt her overalls part up the center of her buttocks. The slice was so clean, the knife so sharp, he did it without touching her body. She could feel the air on her panties. Then her panties were pulled down.

  Something broke inside. "No, no, no, motherfucker, motherfucker." It was her father; it was everything she loathed, everything she couldn't stand.

  "One more chance or I will put you in pain like you have never known."

  But it wasn't the physical pain that she feared. It was something else, something she didn't understand. "Over by the wall," she gasped, hating herself. "Two drums. You're too late. It's gas."