Page 95 - Psychoceramics and the Test of Fire

The Vorax

this country for years, for just such contingencies. I am here because
you have demonstrated a genuine concern for the poorest of the
poor—and have backed it up with practical solutions to age-old
problems of famine and devastated habitat. Leave it to us to decide if
we can afford your services—or, rather, afford not to have them.”
Avery scooted a bit closer to me, scraping his chair across the
floor to produce a note at which I ordinarily would have winced; but,
master of self-control as always, I winched my wince into a smile.
“Listen, Mr. Legge, your country, no matter how poor, is
undoubtedly rich in one resource: trash. I don’t simply mean garbage,
but every ounce of organic and inorganic waste containing
hydrocarbons. Some of it goes efficiently into composting, but for
decades the West—and now the industrial giants of the East—have
been forcefully promoting the export of synthetic goods to the Third
World in return for cash crops and minerals. The results have not
merely been economic dependence, famine, social disintegration and
environmental degradation, but huge suburban mounds of broken
utensils, obsolete appliances and items of personal and public use in
various states of decomposition and toxicity. These dumps also
contain heavy metals and medical waste, rendering them unfit for
human contact to remediate—assuming the will to clean up any of
these sites existed. They are a festering sore in the body politic, even
in the United States. Am I right?”
I had to agree, with just a trace of lingering skepticism sculpted
delicately into ever-so-slightly raised eyebrows and pursed lips. He
may have thought he was building up enough oratory power to
overcome my doubts; I knew he was really not bait wriggling at me
provocatively but the catch itself joyously swallowing the hook and
soon to be landed. I guess too many successes were beginning to
spoil me: having mastered the art of dissolving sales resistance to
what I was freely giving away to a limited sample of unhinged
humanity depressingly in need of it and barely able to contain the
conviction they deserved it, I was once again cruising along. Hazards
there could be, and dangers there had been, in dealing with these
brilliant cranks. Nevertheless, the game was worth the candle.
“So you see,” continued Goodman, in the triumphant tones of a
geometry student having crossed the pons asinorum on a dead run,
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