Michael Crichton - State Of Fear

"Which is?"

"When you said earlier that the Antarctic is melting," Sanjong said, "were you aware that it has been melting for the last six thousand years?"

"Not specifically, no."

"But generally, you knew that?"

"No," Evans said. "I wasn't aware of that."

"You thought that the Antarctic melting was something new?"

"I thought it was melting faster than previously," Evans said.

"Maybe we won't bother anymore," Kenner said.

Sanjong nodded, and started to put the computer away.

"No, no," Evans said. "I'm interested in what you have to say. I'm not closed-minded about this. I'm ready to hear new information."

"You just did," Kenner said.

Evans picked up the sheet of paper again, and folded it carefully. He slipped it into his pocket. "These studies are probably financed by the coal industry," he said.

"Probably," Kenner said. "I'm sure that explains it. But then, everybody's paid by somebody. Who pays your salary?"

"My law firm."

"And who pays them?"

"The clients. We have several hundred clients."

"You do work for all of them?"

"Me, personally? No."

"In fact, you do most of your work for environmental clients," Kenner said. "Isn't that true?"

"Mostly. Yes."

"Would it be fair to say that the environmental clients pay your salary?" Kenner said.

"You could make that argument."

"I'm just asking, Peter. Would it be fair to say environmentalists pay your salary?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Then would it be fair to say the opinions you hold are because you work for environmentalists?"

"Of course not"

"You mean you're not a paid flunky for the environmental movement?"

"No. The fact is"

"You're not an environmental stooge? A mouthpiece for a great fund-raising and media machinea multi-billion-dollar industry in its own rightwith its own private agenda that's not necessarily in the public interest?"

"God damn it"

"Is this pissing you off?" Kenner said.

"You're damn right it is!"

"Good," Kenner said. "Now you know how legitimate scientists feel when their integrity is impugned by slimy characterizations such as the one you just made. Sanjong and I gave you a careful, peer-reviewed interpretation of data. Made by several groups of scientists from several different countries. And your response was first to ignore it, and then to make an ad hominem attack. You didn't answer the data. You didn't provide counter evidence. You just smeared with innuendo."

"Oh, fuck you," Evans said. "You think you have an answer for everything. But there's only one problem: Nobody agrees with you. Nobody in the world thinks that Antarctica is getting colder."

"These scientists do," Kenner said. "They published the data."

Evans threw up his hands. "The hell with it," he said. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

He walked to the front of the plane and sat down, crossed his arms, and stared out the window.

Kenner looked at Sanjong and Sarah. "Anyone feel like coffee?"

Sarah had watched Kenner and Evans with a certain amount of uneasiness. Even though she had worked for the past two years for Morton, she had never shared her employer's passion for environmental issues. All during that time, Sarah had been in a tempestuous, exciting relationship with a handsome young actor. Their time together consisted of an unending series of passionate evenings, angry confrontations, slammed doors, tearful reconciliations, jealousies, and infidelitiesand it had consumed her more than she cared to admit. The truth was that she had paid no more attention to NERF or Morton's other environmental interests than the job required. At least, until the sonof-a-bitch actor appeared in the pages of People magazine with a young actress from his TV show, and Sarah finally decided she had had enough, erased the guy from her cell phone, and threw herself into her work.

But she certainly held the same general view about the state of the world as Evans did. Perhaps Evans was more aggressive in stating his views, and more trusting of his assumptions, but she basically agreed with him. And here was Kenner, casting doubt after doubt.

It left her wondering whether Kenner was really correct about everything he was saying. And it also made her wonder just how he and Morton had become friends.

She asked Kenner, "Did you have these same discussions with George?"

"In the last weeks of his life, yes."

"And did he argue with you the way Evans is?"

"No." Kenner shook his head. "Because by then, he knew."

"Knew what?"

They were interrupted by the pilot's voice on the intercom. "Good news," he said. "The weather's broken over Weddell, and we will land in ten minutes. For those of you who have never made a landing on ice, seat belts should be low and tight, and all your gear safely stowed. And we really mean it."

The plane began a slow, curving descent. Sarah looked out the window at a crusty expanse of white, snow-covered ice. In the distance she saw a series of brightly colored buildingsred, blue, greenbuilt on a cliff, overlooking the gray and choppy ocean.

"That's Weddell Station," Kenner said.

Trudging toward structures that looked like oversize children's building blocks, Evans kicked a clump of ice out of his path. He was in a grumpy mood. He felt relentlessly bullied by Kenner, whom he now recognized as one of those perpetual contrarians who argued against all conventional wisdom, simply because it was conventional.

But since Evans was stuck with this lunaticat least for the next few dayshe decided to avoid Kenner as much as possible. And certainly not engage him in any more conversations. There was no point in arguing with extremists.

He looked at Sarah, walking across the ice airfield beside him. Her cheeks were flushed in the cold air. She looked very beautiful. "I think the guy is a nut," Evans said.

"Kenner?"

"Yeah. What do you think?"

She shrugged. "Maybe."

"I bet those references he gave me are fake," he said.

"They'll be easy enough to check," she said. They stamped their feet and entered the first building.

Weddell Research Station turned out to be home to thirty-odd scientists, graduate students, technicians, and support staff. Evans was pleasantly surprised to find it was quite comfortable inside, with a cheerful cafeteria, a game room, and a large gym with a row of treadmills. There were big picture windows with views of the choppy, restless ocean. Other windows looked out over the vast, white expanse of the Ross Ice Shelf, stretching away to the west.

The head of the station greeted them warmly. He was a heavyset, bearded scientist named MacGregor who looked like Santa Claus in a Patagonia vest. Evans was annoyed that MacGregor seemed to know Kenner, at least by reputation. The two men immediately struck up a friendly conversation.

Evans excused himself, saying he wanted to check his e-mail. He was shown to a room with several computer terminals. He signed on to one, and went directly to the site for Science magazine.

It took him only a few moments to determine that the references Sanjong had given him were genuine. Evans read the online abstracts, and then the full text. He began to feel a little better. Kenner had summarized the raw data correctly, but he had drawn a different interpretation from that of the authors. The authors of those papers were firmly committed to the idea of global warmingand said so in the text.

Or at least, most of them did.

It was a bit complicated. In one paper, it was clear that even though the authors gave lip service to the threat of global warming, their data seemed to suggest the opposite of what they were saying in the text. But that apparent confusion, Evans suspected, was probably just the result of drawing up a paper with half a dozen authors. What they said was they supported the idea of global warming. And that was what counted.