Gabriel's Stand (4 page)

One month later

John Owen opened a crisp white envelope which contained an invitation to an exclusive meeting to be held at the Conference Center of the Fowler Enterprises Building in Boston, hosted by the Captains of Technology, Stewards of Gaia. At the bottom was a personal inscription from Fowler. Apparently, all the major pharmaceutical makers had been personally invited by Knight Fowler. John politely declined, citing his family tragedy. In truth, he would never again agree to be in the same room with Fowler, Longworthy or any of those other idiots. John asked an assistant to line the front office bird cage with the invitation.

The next week, Ed Gosli, CEO of General Advanced Technologies, called John to pay his respects. After John thanked him, Ed asked whether John would be going to “Fowler's Boston Show.” Dr. Owen had replied with a remarkably eloquent and varied string of expletives.

“I'm guessing, that means, ‘Thanks, but no thanks'?”

“Call me when you get back, Ed,” John said. “I hope you find the experience…fulfilling.”

——

A week later, Ed Gosli was dropped off by his driver at the Fowler Enterprises Building in Boston. When Ed spotted an empty seat in the small auditorium, he smiled as he thought of John Owen. He watched in bemused silence as the remaining CEOs were seated.
Better me than you, old friend
, he thought. When Knight Fowler gave the sign that the informational video was to begin, the room darkened.

The screen remained blank as the soundtrack began softly with a remote, pitiless tattoo from snare drums, pedal notes from trombones, and muted snarls from the French horns. In total darkness, the music swelled menacingly on all sides. Suddenly, in huge, blood red letters, the words “EARTH AT RISK” glowed against the black screen. Drums beat a march to the gallows as the red words dwindled, fading out as the screen was filled with a brilliant, electric-blue sky.

An instant later, the sound of rushing air replaced the music. A spinning, blurred horizon followed as the camera tracked a dizzying fall from the sky. Then the image froze. Silence followed.

Ed Gosli's eyes had adjusted to the dim light and he took the moment to survey the audience, recognizing several other top executives.
Helluva lot of industrial players here. Looks like every drug maker except John Owen is here. What is Knight Fowler up to?
I didn't come here for some damn movie.

Fading in, the unmistakable whump-whump of helicopter blades heralded the approach of a shoreline. Gosli turned his attention back to the screen. The noise became deafening, as a suspended camera carried the audience over acre after acre of blood-red sand, a charnel beach captured in horridly exquisite detail, the sand stained and blotted. Grotesque images of squirming, dying and dead creatures passed relentlessly below. The camera scanned heaps of dead fish, clouds of flies, sprawled, fat, pale carcasses of whales, some still twitching slowly in agony. Other creatures, less identifiable, lay still, like Dantesque cartoons.

The helicopter stopped in the air, hovering at thirty feet, its camera savoring the image of a single human limb. Then a black screen and sudden silence. After a moment, ocean sounds accompanied a remote shot. Zooming in, the remote camera panned carnage tossing in the surf—a sea lion, the body of a small child, and other bobbing things expelled from the deeper waters. Finally, a wide angle took in the wounded chemical barge, the Tong 334, floundering a mile off-shore. The infamous Chinese vessel was bleeding into the water, listing to the stern. Taking water, it sank further, its contents boiling into the sea, steaming as from some superheated cauldron.

The barge disappeared. The camera conducted a 200 degree pan, showing death clotting the sea all the way to the horizon. A stranded fishing boat bobbed alone in the midst of the debris, a man waving futilely from the deck for help.

A voice-over proclaimed, “This was the Tong Shipping disaster, the underwater explosion and toxic waste spill, just ten years ago. This section of the Australian coastline—all four hundred and fifty kilometers of it—remains a deadly health hazard today. There is still no fishing industry in Western Australia.”

The percussion returned, picking up pace, a heavier bass drum beat, accompanied by sharp, dissonant chords from the brass, a steady drone in the high strings.

Like insects
, Ed thought.

Then the camera's eye visited a long supermarket line in Toledo, Ohio. As snow began to fall, the queue of women, men and children had surrounded the entire building and folded back on itself. Someone screamed. The eye zoomed in on a disturbance near the side supermarket door. A fight had broken out between two men. As they rolled on the snow-covered street, the crowd surged against the closed front doors to the supermarket, ignoring the struggle. The scene cut to a spot of blood on the sidewalk, then to the sale signs.

CHRISTMAS EVE SPECIALS!…WHOLE WHEAT BREAD: $25 A LOAF…ORGANIC CARROTS: $12 PER POUND…SORRY NO RATION CARDS ACCEPTED TODAY

The first window was shattered by a rock, large chunks of glass plate falling inside. The crowd pressed forward. The second window shattered. Someone cheered. Then the store's front doors were forced open and the crowd surged inside. An alarm rang. Sirens pealed in the distance. A hand reached for the camera. It was followed by a black screen.

Another voice-over: “Remember the Toledo food riots? Sixty three casualties. Seventeen fatal. Martial law. Is it over? Food rationing is still in place in Mexico and parts of the U.S.”

The soundtrack communicated tension through dissonance in the high strings, an uneven percussion and the howl of a distant horn.

Briefly the word “SIMULATION” flashed on the screen.

Another fly-over. The helicopter descended over an immense dam across the Yangtze River. As the camera scanned the dam, a gaping crack in the center appeared and dramatically widened. Zooming in, the picture captured the dam finally giving way, allowing a biblical torrent to gout through, sweeping everything in its path. The room was filled with the deafening rush of water.

A scroll of text appeared under the image of the simulated disaster:

The Three Gorges Dam in China was constructed over a major earthquake fault. De Kaph Engineering of Hamburg was retained by the PRC to perform a confidential earthquake audit. The results, suppressed by the Chinese government, have been obtained by Fowler Enterprises. The De Kaph report predicts that a catastrophic dam failure of exactly the type depicted here is likely within the next decade.

Over the next five minutes, the helicopter followed the water, sweeping low as a trapped sea emptied itself into the densely populated corridor leading to Shanghai. A car spun in the water like a tiny top. Silence. The screen cut to a simulated satellite image showing the entire damage, while an inset picture followed the spinning car. An overlay appeared showing whole cities inundated in the path of the flood. The car in the small picture spun out of sight
.

The voice-over continued, “You have just seen a depiction of the failure of the world's largest dam. This is a seemingly masterful feat of engineering, dwarfing the Hoover dam. Experts agree: The dam
will
fail. One million people were evacuated to make room for the reservoir. When the dam eventually fails, more than five million people will be displaced, and at least two million will die, not including uncounted deaths from disease and starvation in Shanghai itself.”

The screen cut to a law office. A slight man with graying red hair and a tweed jacket smiled from behind a large desk. “I am Rex Longworthy, Director of the Environmental Alliance. Decades ago, a prophet of the new age, James Lovelock, in the brilliant book,
The Ages of Gaia
, proposed that the earth behaves as a large integrated, living entity. He called it Gaia, after the mythical earth goddess. In a later work, Dr. Lovelock predicted that Gaia will respond to the insults inflicted on her by the misuse of human technology. He called it Gaia's Revenge. My question to you is: what disaster will be next?”

The screen went dark. Several people shifted uncomfortably in their seats as the lights came on in the small theater. Rex Longworthy, dressed just as he had appeared on screen, stood before the group of men and women.

“There is more to this piece, of course, and you will see the rest of it in a few minutes, but we just wanted you get the theme, in order to establish a context for Mr. Fowler's opening remarks. Every vignette you are about to see illustrates the same underlying dysfunction. Technology is out of control. The world is out of balance. We are at crisis.

“Which brings us to the purpose of this gathering. Most of the Americans surveyed last month were ready to support ‘strong international action restricting the use of dangerous technologies.' Gentlemen and ladies, we've reached what is called a tipping point. A clear majority of Americans are finally ready to accept drastic solutions. As I speak, a solution is at hand. A treaty has been submitted to the president. It is called the Earth Restoration Treaty. The name says it all. The treaty will establish a new international regulation regime for technology. Even now, it has been signed by fifteen countries. And we have more news. Knight Fowler wanted you here—and most of you are already his friends—to get this heads-up firsthand and early, so that you can protect yourselves and your industries. Mr. Fowler?”

For a second, Ed Gosli thought of his estranged son. As difficult as the boy was, Ed Gosli still loved him.
He'd be right in his element here
, Ed thought. He resolved to call Seattle as soon as this was over.

Knight Fowler was a slim man in a gray suit with white hair and intense blue eyes. At one time or another he had socialized with everyone in the room. He stood and looked around. Twenty five CEO's sat facing him, arrayed in a semi-circle.

“Thanks so much for coming,” he smiled, displaying blazingly perfect teeth. “We'll move to the conference center right after this multimedia presentation, and we can talk in more depth about our common problems there.”

Gosli raised his hand. “Knight?”

“Ed, let's hold our questions until then. Each of you is a key player in one of the targeted industries: energy, manufacturing, transportation, medicine and food production. Yes, I said targeted. The American people are deeply frightened of technology.

“The President has told me personally that he will fully support the Earth Restoration Treaty next week and call for immediate ratification by the Senate. When that happens, we need to be ready for the next Stage. The ratification process in the Senate will take longer because of entrenched special interests. But we have it on excellent authority that the Senate will eventually approve. One more disaster of any magnitude that threatens the economy or environment on this side of the Atlantic and we will have a new international political regime. That is what Rex Longworthy meant by the tipping point.

“When that does take place, the Treaty will be promptly ratified and a Technology Licensing Commission will be in place, with real authority. That is when everything will change for you and for me. Let me be blunt. There are going to be two choices: Ride this wave and control it or…be drowned by it. I prefer the former.”

Fowler looked over his captive audience. Most of the CEOs had come alone, and all looked worried. “This is what you can expect. In a methodical series of regulations, increasingly severe, all of your industries will be thinned out, and others not represented here may be shut down entirely. All new and many old technologies will be restricted. Some will be outlawed altogether. Obviously some people will lose money.”

Ed squirmed in his seat. He smelled a set-up.

“But others will make money…a great deal of money. So if you stay on board with us, we will see that you are protected. You will not be poor. Consider that fewer industries means less competition. You will be invited to join a new partnership. You can expect it to be a very profitable one. Now, let's watch the rest of this presentation.”

The lights fell, accompanied by an excited murmur of voices.

A camera panned a huge wall of ice standing against a roiling ocean, the words COMPUTER SIMULATION appearing at the bottom of the screen.

A voice-over began, “This is the Western Antarctic Ice Shelf. Balanced on a smaller land mass, this country-sized slab of ice is at risk. Hydraulic and friction forces that have kept it stable since the last inter-glacial period are unstable. This delicate balance is changing because of ocean warming in the Southern Hemisphere. This single block of ice contains enough water to flood every coastal area on the planet.”

The presentation ended, and Ed strode over to Knight Fowler.

“So what do you think, Ed?” Fowler asked.

“Not bad for a PR campaign, Knight. But I know the game all too well. The world has been going to hell in a hand-basket for the last three thousand years. It's the classic bait and switch. Preach apocalypse and ask us to bend over. Hype the problem and grab the power. Sorry buddy, but I want no part of this.”

Ed was a sturdy man about a head shorter than the patrician Fowler. “Ed, let's step outside,” Fowler said, beckoning for his associate, an attractive German woman, to join them. “This is our consultant, Ed, Louise Berker.” Ed nodded politely, and she followed them into the elevator. As the door closed, the other CEO's were gathering at the opposite side of the small auditorium, following Rex Longworthy into the conference room.

In the elevator, Fowler forced a smile. “We enjoyed meeting your son at a recent dinner in LA. A very nice young man.”

“Thank you,” Ed growled. The three rode down in silence.

The elevator door opened, and Fowler and Berker followed Gosli to an outside hallway. Fowler put a hand on Ed's arm and asked, “Now, exactly what do you mean?”