I wrote this short story Feb 18th 2010, 3 days after BP's Deepwater Horizon began drilling in the Gulf. This was a couple of months before the drill exploded and caused the largest disaster in human history. A disaster that some are saying may lead to the end of the human race. Have we cut down the last tree?
The Last Tree by Sacha
John was in his favourite place to sit and think; at the edge of the sea cliff that jutted out behind his small, cosy house. The sea breeze and the sound of the waves below calmed him. He needed calming. The sun was setting now, which meant it was nearly time to head over to the council chambers and put forward his case. He looked up at the clearly visible moon and noted how different it looked now, compared to when he was little, so many years ago. Before they started mining it. He went over his facts and arguments one more time. They had to believe him. So much was at stake. John consoled himself that no one would be to blame if he failed. There would be no one left to blame.
*
"John, you're not seriously going through with this charade, are you?". It was Jacob Reardon who said this, stepping out from behind one of the marble columns scattered about the entrance hall of the council chambers.
"You know I have to Jacob. You might not believe me, but maybe they will. If you'd only listen to some sense, my data is conclusive. I'd be happy to help you find another way." John replied, hoping to see some kind of change of heart behind Jacob's cold, all-business eyes. But they hardened instead.
"You'll be the laughing stock of the entire scientific community after this", Jacob stabbed. It was all he had to say before the ceremonial bell sounded to indicate the council was now in session.
*
From his position in the centre of the council benches, Reardon was gesticulating wildly and had started shouting down at John, who was seated in what was usually a defendant's booth in criminal trials.
"You claim that the detonation of explosives at the Reardon Power lunar mining facility will cause some kind of magic chain reaction that will split the moon in two. You sit there having once been my chief researcher before I fired you for improper conduct and you believe my fellow councillors should accede to your request to delay this vital procedure. It's preposterous!", Jacob screamed.
Trying to appeal to the other council members by looking at them each in turn, John replied. "Please, if you'd just look over the data. It's conclusive. The ore is highly volatile and runs all the way through the moon. If you turn to page---"
"Fifteen other studies have shown there to be no danger what so ever!", screamed Reardon.
"Those studies were paid for by Reardon Power---", pleaded John.
"Conducted by respected members of the scientific community!" Reardon threw his hands in the air and for a moment John thought he might reach down and start ripping his hair out.
"Surely the issue is really whether it's worth the risk of taking that chance."
"THE RISK! Of course it's worth it. Look around you." Reardon gestured towards all existence. "The lights, the chairs, the walls. All created using Reardon Power. None of this exists with out that ore."
*
They were both in the entrance hall again, Reardon having to excuse himself as chief council due to his conflict of interest. They were waiting for the other council members to finish deliberating. John was hopeful.
"You're an idiot, John", Reardon said, his voice still raised. "You know I run the council and they know you're only doing this to get back at me."
"Jacob, that's not it at all. I'm sure about this. It's nothing to do with you and me. If you go ahead with this, it's the end. Of everything, Jacob. You're willing to risk that and listen to your bullshit yes men, simply because you're nearly out of ore to sell and you're under pressure. It's sick!"
Reardon started speaking more softly, changing tack in an attempt to persuade rather than badger. "You know, when the first nuclear bomb was tested, there were people like you saying the entire atmosphere would ignite. It didn't happen. We're still here."
John steeled himself, he had one last chance. "Let me tell you a story too, Jacob. There was once an island in the Pacific, probably under water now, where the inhabitants lived on fish from the sea and fruit from the trees growing on the island. One season was particularly harsh and they believed that cutting down one or two fruit trees would appease their gods. You see they needed the logs to help construct statues to honour their gods.
"It didn't work, so they kept cutting the trees down until there was only one left. I'm sure you can picture the scene. A bunch of the important people from the island got together in council and had a chat. Someone like me was telling them it was foolish to cut down the tree, as they needed the fruit to survive. They probably discussed the pros and cons for hours but in the end they came to a decision. They cut down the last tree and you know what happened?"
"What?"
"They all died."
*
Looking out over the cliff, breathing in the sea air and letting the sounds of the waves calm him, John felt a strange sense of satisfaction. He had failed to convince the council, but it was OK. Any race or species willing to cut down the last tree wasn't worth saving. And besides, he was a scientist and what was about to come would certainly be something that no one had seen before: the end of the world. It began with John looking up at the most amazing sight: the moon was falling from the sky.
