Chapter 10

'In conclusion, gentlemen, our precious ecosystem is drowning in our garbage, toxic waste and pollution. It is still not too late to do something to counteract the black tide of technology and consumerism that is poisoning our world. I must emphasise urgently to you the totally pressing need for a swingeing environmental tax. This tax would be used to pay for environmental cleanup initiatives and to fund further research. It would serve as a form of punishment for destructive companies who commit environmental crimes against the earth. I would like to remind everyone here, too, that we need the earth a good deal more than the earth needs us. Something must be done. An environmental tax is the only way forward.' He face shone with almost religious fervour.

Sir Anthony shook himself out of a harangue induced trance. 'Um, well, thank you very much, Dr Aha,' he grunted. 'Awfully good of you to cycle over here today to give us this frightfully stimulating presentation.' He scratched the side of his head vigorously and glanced at me. 'Uh, any questions, Dick?'

'Well, Dr Germen,' I asked, 'How do you propose that this environmental tax should be assessed?'

'Oh,' Germen replied happily, 'I think, an independent monitoring agency within the Government must be created.'

'Don't you think "independent" and "Government" are oxymoronic?' I asked.

'Moronic, certainly,' gibed Sir Anthony.

Germen smiled thinly. 'The agency would have to have very considerable powers,' he said. 'On the input side, the agency would monitor industry's use of unrecycled raw materials and assess the charge according to the amount of ecological damage caused by the extraction of those materials. Part of this tax should be directed back to the countries of origin for repair of their ecosystems. On the output side, the agency would monitor waste material and thermal and chemical pollution. They could tax directly on the assessed cost of cleaning up. I am positive that this policy would reduce the amount of industrial pollution dramatically and in a very short time.'

'Well, I'm sure that it would,' I agreed blandly. 'We will give your proposal serious consideration. Now, Dr Germen, you stated that enough tropical forests are being destroyed each year to completely cover the British Isles. May I ask where you obtained these figures on the current rate of world de-forestation?' I asked. I don't really know why I bothered to bait the poor man.

Germen fixed me with his earnest blue eyes. 'Those figures are widely accepted, Professor. Totally,' he said.

'Oh, yes, I've heard them before,' I replied casually. 'I am just trying to find out where they come from.'

'Well, I am sure that they were, uh, derived from timber export figures or some such completely reliable source,' he stated confidently.

'But did you derive those figures yourself, Dr Germen?' I asked blandly.

Germen looked extremely offended. 'They come from a totally reputable source, Professor,' he stated coldly.

'I'm sure they did,' I agreed. 'But from which source exactly?'

'Well, I'm sure I can't really say, off the cuff like this,' Germen said frostily. 'I will certainly look into it.'

'Yes,' I nodded. 'I would certainly appreciate that. Uh, well, those are my questions. Thank you.' Germen shot me a wounded look and collected his papers. Arthur read him the various Riot Acts and showed him the door.

'Oh, God,' sighed Sir Anthony heavily as the door closed. 'You know, Dick, it would almost be a relief to have some raving lunatic jump up on the table and argue the case for dumping raw sewage and nuclear waste in the middle of Hyde Park.'

I have to admit that I was beginning to get a bit tired of zealots, too, by then. All this eco-breast-beating might be fun, but it was really getting us absolutely nowhere we wanted to go. What I really wanted was some hard, irrefutable proof. I knew there was a problem, but I didn't have the facts. These people didn't have the facts, any more than I did. They seemed to be seriously confusing an admirable desire for personal asceticism with concerns about protecting the environment. 'They all mean well, Tony,' I said.

'I'm a really very delicately balanced ecosystem, too,' complained Sir Anthony. 'And I think I am going to shrivel up if I hear even one more plant-devouring do-gooder explain patiently how a butterfly farting in the Amazon can cause hail and thunderstorms in Kensington.

I snorted, stretched back in my chair and cracked my knuckles. 'Speaking of breaking wind, Tony,' I remarked, 'I saw an absolutely breakthrough study some while back about bovine methane emissions.'

'Indeed?' he murmured politely.

'Seems that cows let off about a billion pounds of methane each year,' I said.

'Good God, that's it!' cried Sir Anthony dramatically. He stood and planted his knuckles on the table. 'Something must be done immediately, Dick! We must inform the Prime Minister, at once. Farting cows are cause of all the world's problems. Arthur!' he shouted, 'Where's the Red Phone?' He collapsed, roaring with laughter, into his chair. 'Ho, ho, ho!' he bellowed.

That got a few laughs. 'But look, Tony,' I asked, 'Aren't you a bit worried?'

'Bloody worried, old boy, not half,' he replied solemnly. 'The FT100 Index was down 43 points by mid-morning.'

'Seriously, Tony,' I insisted, 'Aren't you the least bit worried by all these storms and droughts we've been having over the last twenty-odd years?'

Sir Anthony had one of his rare totally sober moments. 'Well, of course, I am, my boy. Worried sick. I'm not a complete buffoon, you know.' He shifted his belly nervously with his hands. 'The problem is that we don't know if all these things mean anything or not, dammit. We had those Met chappies in again and they wouldn't take a definite stand on it, would they? So, as scientists, how can we?'

'But surely, Tony, serious climate deterioration is much too big a problem to gamble the lives of five billion people on?' I asked. 'What harm would it do if we pull back on consumption of fossil fuels? If we insulate our houses better? If our cars use less petrol. If industries belch out less gas and heat? If we recycle everything?'

'Can anyone tell us with certainty what good will it do?' Sir Anthony asked wearily. 'What genuinely hard proof have we got? I'll tell you what we've got, Dick: absolutely none.'

'But cutting back on consumption and pollution certainly can't do any harm, can it?' I asked.

'Oh, it certainly won't, Dick.' He slapped his belly and grinned. 'And the Government will be simply delighted to toddle off to an irate electorate and tell them, "Stop the economy, we want to get off! The Government will be just overjoyed to go tell the Americans to get off their flabby backsides and walk around for a change. They'll be absolutely thrilled to tell China, India, the Third World and Eastern Europe that, after fifty-odd years of living the good life, we fat cats have decided it might possibly be very bad for our poor old earth if they have a little nibble of la dolce vita, too.'

'All right, Tony,' I said, 'I guess I can see your point. So why are we bothering to listen to all these concerned environmentalists? They haven't got any hard facts either.'

'No,' agreed Sir Anthony, 'But they want to tell someone important in the Government how worried they are about everything. And that's us, Dick.'

'In that case, what we're doing's just a waste of time then, Tony,' I protested.

'It's not a waste of time, Dick,' said Sir Anthony patiently. 'Most assuredly not a waste of time. It keeps trouble makers and us off the street. Anyway, who knows? Maybe one of them might even have the information we're looking for.'

'This isn't a time for cheap cynicism, Tony,' I snapped.

'I paid a very high price for my cynicism, my boy, you may be sure of that,' he replied glibly. 'And there's always a time for it, too.'

'So, chaps,' interrupted Arthur, trying to keep us on the straight and narrow as usual. 'Exactly what are we going to tell the new, new Minister this afternoon? He's going to expect to hear something new to pass along to the PM. The Government wants to do something visible. But remember, any proposal must be concrete, yet not cause public alarm.'

'So how about going for more research funding?' I suggested.

'Only if it comes from private industry,' reminded Arthur. 'You know the policy, Dick.

'That's getting to be a bit of a tired old recommendation by now, anyway,' objected Sir Anthony. 'It's certainly not one that's going to fire the Minister's imagination, in any event. Especially since it's not exactly delivering the goods for the Government now, is it?'

'God, you guys don't half creep to the Government,' I sneered.

'That's what we're paid to do, old boy,' replied Sir Anthony blandly.

Arthur looked hurt. 'It's our job to carry out Government policy, Dick,' he said. 'Whether we approve of it or not.'

'Isn't that just another species of "I vas chust following orders"?' I snapped.

'But, Dick,' said Arthur, 'The Government is the elected will of the people.'

'Letting the people give power to other people who spend their lives seeking it sounds totally fucking crazy to me,' I observed. Arthur looked as if he might well burst into tears, so I decided to change the subject. 'Well,' I asked heartily, 'What about this environmental tax thing, then? It seemed to make a good deal of sense to me.'

Sir Anthony rolled his eyes. 'The costs will be absolutely enormous, Dick. They'll just be passed straight on back to the consumer. Can you imagine what that'll do to inflation?' he asked.

'It's being passed on to their bodies now, Tony. Can you imagine what that'll do to their health?' I mocked.

Sir Anthony puffed his soft cheeks out to a remarkable degree, like a frog in mating season. He blew a wet plopping sound. 'Well, I'm telling you, Dick, an environmental tax is a lead balloon from the Government's point of view,' he said dismissively. 'That stale old idea's been kicking around for years and it's still just as half-baked as it was when it was fresh.'

'You're always so bloody negative, Tony,' I said.

'It's my job, Dick,' he replied loftily. 'I'm just like a solicitor. He'd probably rather not defend a red-handed-guilty child murderer, but if he takes the job, it's his duty to defend his client to the best of the abilities for which the client pays.'

I glanced sideways at him. 'I thought it was supposed to be to the best of his abilities, period,' I said.

'Well, I do think "period" is taking things rather a bit far,' countered Sir Anthony.

'Well, have you got any brighter ideas to trot before the Minister than an environmental tax, then?' I asked gloomily. I stared at the bushes being jerked around wildly by the wind.

'Nope,' replied Sir Anthony placidly, folding his hands upon his paunch.

'Sorry, Dick, but no,' said Arthur, wagging his head.

We sat and looked glumly at each other for a few seconds. 'Look,' I said, 'At the very least we could do something to prepare the public better for what to do in a natural disaster. I could have used it when the roof came off my house, I can tell you.'

Sir Anthony looked interested. 'Like civil defense, you mean?'

'Yes, something like that,' I said.

'Hmmm, yes,' Sir Anthony mused. 'Plucky little Britain with its back against the wall, yet again.' He slapped his hand down on the table. 'I like that.' He ripped off his glasses and pointed them at the ceiling. 'England alone against the Hunnish elements!' He intoned dramatically. 'Environmental defence measures, hmmm,' He nodded happily at Arthur. 'Oh, yes. The public might just go for that. Make them feel as if they're doing something. You know, like whitewashing the widows against radiation, crouching under tables with their heads up their bums.'

'Are you sure about this?' asked Arthur dubiously.

'Of course, Arthur, it's a fantastic idea,' he cried enthusiastically. 'Britain always thrives on adversity. It's the good times we really can't handle.'

'Well, I suppose there's some truth in that,' agreed Arthur.

Sir Anthony leaned back in his chair and spread his arms wide. 'Hold it, chaps, hold it. I've got it!' he yelped with delight. 'Look, we'll do this really crass TV advert. Fantastic! Here it is, chaps. Opening scene to this really voluptuous blonde, in a tight little red sweater. Her face is shining with terror.' He tilted back his head and let out a shrill, falsetto shriek. 'Aghhhhhhh! Run for your lives!' he shrilled in a panic-stricken voice. 'Run for your lives! It's the end of the world!' His voice pitched low, 'This advertisement was brought to you by the Friends of the Earth. Ho, ho, ho!' he bellowed.

* * *

I guess it probably doesn't sound all that funny now, but we nearly bust our guts laughing at that. Tony could be really droll, after you got over hating him at first sight. He could be an egregious old toad, of course, but he was full of a bizarre kind of fun, too. I'm pretty sure now that his only reason for shafting me on the Alarm report was to see me jump and make a fool of myself; like a little boy dropping an ice cube down someone's back. Thinking back, he must have been responsible for bringing me back to COCE or at least agreeable to it. Perhaps he was testing my metal a bit, too.

You could discuss the most outrageous topics with Tony by the hour: the bright side of genocide, the psychosexual effects of judicial hanging, the stock market and the like. But never anything personal. I worked with him, on and off for years, but I never had the faintest idea if he was married, if he was gay, if he didn't care or even where he lived, if anywhere. Funny, isn't it?

Oh, yes, Lizzie, we really did act like a bunch of silly schoolboys in the Cabinet Offices sometimes. It was our way of blowing off steam. Even dull old Arthur had his funny little Goon Show routines. It was only the women who were always serious. Painfully po-faced pains in the ass, most of them. Well, you can't really say it was all the fault of silly men pratting and posturing about, Lizzie. After all weren't our two top leaders women? Fat lot of good they did us. Isn't it dear old Mother Earth, not Father Earth, who's shafting us this very minute?