Well, there‘s something good to be said for it, then.

My new pilot finally showed up yesterday.

Would this be Sabine?

It would indeed.

Does that whistle mean what I think it means?

It does.

We may have a logo, Kate.

Don‘t toy with me, Annie.

I‘m not, I promise.

Did that artist come through?

No. Believe it or not, we got a really nice design from one of Demetri‘s nieces. We will need a professional to adapt it into a logo, and the artist who did the Gaea logo says she can do that, but I think everyone will like it.

You know people will say it‘s favoritism, that her design won because her uncle‘s on the board.

Let them.

Jim was the last to leave, walking back up to the post with a plate of leftovers for Holly Haynes, there to pick up the Blazer and drive home. Kate would soon follow in the Ranger.

Kate took a last look around. The little cabin had a view that wouldn‘t quit. The sun was a burnt orange memory on the horizon. Venus shone brightly in a clear night sky, preening at its reflection in the river below. Kate was unsurprised to see her breath when she exhaled. Winter would soon be upon them.

She went to stand at the end of the dock. Come on, Uncle, let‘s get you to bed before you roll into the river.

Mutt was sitting on the dock in front of the bench, looking up into his face. Old Sam? Kate said.

The old man didn‘t move.

Kate started down the dock. Uncle? Unconsciously her step began to quicken, until she was running. Uncle!

She skidded to a halt next to Mutt, who looked up at her with wise yellow eyes. Kate didn‘t know her legs had given out until she felt her knees hit the wooden planks of the dock.

His eyes were closed and his head had fallen a little to one side. He looked like he was asleep.

His hand was already cool. She clasped it in both of hers and cradled it to her breast, and bent her head, and wept.

Mutt took a deep breath and raised her head.

The plaintive, mournful howl ululated into the still air, echoing down the river, and beyond.

Twenty-three

Gaea is the face of the organization behind the brochures, the press releases, the radio and online ads, the television commercials and the ballot proposition. We‘re a registered 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization, we file our paperwork annually, and our reputation is squeaky clean. We are known for activism but not for fanaticism. We are respected but not feared.

Fear isn‘t necessarily a bad thing.

No, McKenzie said, but the appearance of propriety is ninety percent of the battle. It behooves us to maintain— He paused.

The shine on our halos?

Exactly. McKenzie‘s smile was approving without being patronizing. We must be seen to be on the side of the angels. By contrast, Global Harvest and the Suulutaq Mine must be seen to be on the side of the devil. That‘s about as subtle as the collective public mind can handle. Ask anyone who ever ran a bank. He looked around the table at the four other men sitting there. Three were heads of their own new-made nonprofits, Eric Sackman of Green Energy, Rudy Villegas of Alaskans for Sustainable Jobs, and Chad Isaak of the Seventy-one Percent Society. Sackman was a former political consultant and a member of the board of Villegas‘s group. Isaak was a local attorney who had sat on the Anchorage Assembly and served in Juneau as a legislator. Sackman and Villegas had been major contributors to his campaigns.