My two guards are holding their breath. Neither of them can take their terrified eyes from the glistening pool.

The colonel utters a dismissive command, and the two guards bolt back out the door and slam it shut behind them.

“Welcome,” the colonel says. “We can continue our conversation here without any disturbance. I guarantee you no one who knows of the existence of this room is likely to intrude, at least willingly.”

“I saw your guards nearly piss their pants,” I tell him. “What the hell is down there? The creature from the black lagoon?”

“Not a bad guess,” the colonel says with a chuckle. “I really can’t blame my guards. They grew up near the forest and the horror stories of childhood never fade.”

I peer down into the pool. The surface eddies as if something invisible is swimming beneath. “Horror stories about what?” I ask. “Ghost fish?”

“A horror that is not supernatural but is far beyond your imagination,” he assures me. “But we were discussing my plans for the Amazon. You were wrong about the rain forest being the lungs of the planet. That was a phrase popularized twenty years ago, but even the scientists of your time have already discredited it. Lots of oxygen is produced here, but so is plenty of carbon dioxide.”

“Probably from all the fires you help start,” I suggest, straining to get a look at the dark figure behind the colonel. I’m pretty sure he’s wearing a black cowl. Is he a torturer or executioner? Perhaps he’s some kind of sadistic fish or animal trainer whose expertise involves unleashing whatever monstrosity swims in the pool below.

“The Amazon plays a far more complex role than just being the lungs of the planet,” the colonel explains. “It’s more like a giant air conditioner, with a benign effect on global climate. It’s also a major repository of fresh water, which will become the most vital resource in the years ahead. And like the coral reefs that my son was so fond of, the Amazon is one of the earth’s irreplaceable breeding grounds. Its diversity is without parallel.”

“So what happens when you destroy it?” I ask. “You switch off the air conditioner and dry up the fresh water?”

The colonel shrugs. “The mathematics of forecasting environmental destruction over a millennium are beyond you. It will be easier for you to think of it this way: strange as it may sound, the planet has a consciousness.”

I think back to the moment I held Firestorm in my hand, and felt the anger of the earth seething out from the mysterious gem. “I sort of know what you mean. But what does that have to do with the Amazon?”