“Every animal extracts a price from nature for its existence, but it’s only humans who have an inbred sense of guilt for it. To disconnect man from the nature that created him is egotistical to the point of hubris. Evolution is the most awesome force ever to exist. Right now we are at the top of its chain, but like the dinosaurs, we aren’t meant to stay there forever. When nature no longer believes that the big brain of Homo sapiens is the key to survival on the planet, she’ll do away with us. It’s been tried before. Cholera, tuberculosis, and the plague nearly wiped us out, but we adapted, changed our behavior, stopped living in the filth that bred such diseases. Today, what is AIDS teaching us? In what evolutionary direction will this modern killer push us? Nature is producing viruses faster than we’re able to cure them. This is a direct competition between our brains and natural selection. By denying us our right to use our minds and to use the resources we are able to exploit, you’re trying to stop the natural progression of our species. And you accuse me of going against nature’s wishes. I advise you to take a good look at evolution and tell me who is more in concert with nature, a person who is working with natural evolution or someone who is denying that its forces continue today. Do you think a locust swarm is concerned with the destruction it leaves behind? Why do humans, the most intelligent species ever to exist, try to deny what is natural to every other creature on the planet?”
“Are you saying we are nothing more than an insect infestation?”
“To the earth and on the geologic scale in which it exists, yes, that is exactly what I’m saying. I deal with a time line that stretches billions of years while you limit yourself to your own insignificant life span. To the planet, we are one in a long line of dominant creatures and we will be usurped.” Mercer paused and shifted tack.
“I don’t deny that man has the responsibility to husband nature’s resources, to protect them for our future, but that does not mean that we must stop using them altogether, which I suppose is the goal of your organization. PEAL and other environmental groups see every issue as a double-sided coin, black or white, right or wrong, exploit or protect. But there’s a third side of the coin, its thin edge that we call compromise. I may not like it and you may not like it, but that’s the way it is.
“As we speak, the most controversial compromise in environmental history is being played out in northern Alaska. For the sake of a few thousand square acres of land, the United States may free itself from the smog that has choked our cities for generations and end our dependence on fossil fuels forever. Is the price high? Absolutely. I’ve seen the Arctic Wildlife Refuge. It’s one of the most spectacular places on the planet. But if its use means that future generations won’t have to live with acid rain or high levels of carbon monoxide or gaping holes in the ozone layer, then I believe it’s justified.
“I’m sorry if you don’t like it. I would just as soon see it left alone too, but that’s the nature of compromise. At some point in your life, when you’re not so sure that you’re right all the time, you’ll understand what I mean.”
Mercer broke eye contact with the woman and surveyed the attentive looks of the students. They were rapt by the exchange. He smiled self-consciously, embarrassed at his long-winded soliloquy. “Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for your time and attention. Dr. Snyder has some amendments to your syllabi before class is dismissed.”
The applause was genuine and enthusiastic as Mercer gathered the notes he never needed. Just before he turned from the lectern, he caught the eye of the young woman again. She threw him a saucy smile, as if to say round one to you, but the fight will continue.
Los Angeles International Airport
Howard Small stepped off the Boeing with an expectancy he hadn’t felt since college. He’d spent four more days in Alaska with his cousin before returning home, and he was expected back up at the test site in a week. This short stay in Los Angeles was due to a prior commitment he could not avoid. While he was physically unimposing, just over five foot six with a slight frame and a prematurely hairless skull, the crowds at LAX seemed to open before his eager charge. Within the briefcase swinging carelessly from his hand were the final test data from the mini-mole. The information, while signifying a technological breakthrough, also represented a great deal of money. Once the patents were filed, Howard and his UCLA team were going to be wealthy. He smiled to himself as he walked along the crowded corridor.
His buoyant mood carried him through the hassle of collecting his suitcases from the carousel, allowing him to ignore being jostled by countless others who believed that rushing the process would somehow give them an advantage getting out of the airport.
With his valise under one arm, a case in the other, and his larger piece of luggage rolling behind him like a disobedient dog, Howard turned to the terminal’s exits and the Southern California night beyond. Had the uniformed limousine driver not chosen that moment to cough, Howard would have missed the man holding a signboard with his name on it. He approached the dark-complected chauffeur warily.
“I’m Professor Small,” he said.
“Ah, very good, sir,” the driver responded. “Let me assist you with your baggage.”
“But wait.” Howard refused to give up his grip on the luggage. “I wasn’t expecting a car. Are you sure you are waiting for me?”
“I was told to pick up a Dr. Howard Small arriving from Anchorage, Alaska.” The driver sounded like he hadn’t been in the country long.
“Any idea who hired you?”
“No, sir.”
Howard laughed to himself and spoke more for his own benefit than that of the taciturn driver. His confusion had turned to delight. “Must be the guys at the lab already spending their share of our profits.”
He turned over his two large cases and followed the driver into the night. In the glare of the airport’s loading ramp, a black limo glistened like a panther amid the battered taxis. The driver used a keyless entry system to unlock the doors, opening a rear one for Howard before securing the luggage in the trunk. The luxury vehicle glided smoothly from the curb before Howard could get himself comfortably settled in the plush interior. The inside of the car smelled of carpet cleaner and Armor All.
“You have my address in Glendora?” Howard asked through the intercom system. The dividing screen between the two compartments of the vehicle was up and Howard could not seem to lower it.
“Yes, sir,” came the quick response, and the intercom went dead.
Since conversation with the Arab driver was out of the question, Howard contemplated helping himself to a drink from the minibar but realized he’d done more drinking in the past week with Mercer than in his entire life. He thought it wise to give his body a rest for a while. Howard chuckled again. He’d had six hangovers in seven days, and not once had Mercer shown any ill effects from the alcohol they’d consumed. The man’s guts were harder than the rocks he mined.
It took more than an hour to reach the quiet development north of Los Angeles where Howard owned a modest bungalow. Between the drone of the limo’s tires, the mesmerizing lights of other vehicles, and the occasional mutterings of the driver to his dispatcher, Howard was lulled to sleep, waking only as the car pulled into his development.
Howard’s home was third from the end of a cul-de-sac butting against one of Los Angeles’ increasingly rare patches of woodland. It was a little past ten, yet the street was quiet and dark, the only light coming from street lamps and the occasional porch fixture. The limo pulled unerringly up to Howard Small’s yellow and red one-story house. The driver’s familiarity with the neighborhood should have alerted Howard, but he failed to notice it.
He stepped out of the car and looked up the street, hoping a neighbor would see him with the stretch limo, but even Mrs. Potter, who seemed to always be walking her dachshund, was tucked in for the night. The driver too scanned the street, his eyes sweeping the area with military efficiency. He recovered the bags from the trunk and followed Howard up the driveway, past the scientist’s decade-old Honda. At the door, Howard fumbled with his keys while pulling a ten-dollar bill from his pants as a tip. He turned the key in the lock and was just about to relieve the driver of the bags, when the man powered a shoulder into him, shoving him bodily into the house.