Gabriel's Stand by Jay B. Gaskill Page A

white man may one day discover, our god is the same god. You may think that you own him as you wish to own the land but you cannot. This earth is precious to the Great Spirit, and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its creator. The whites, too, shall pass; perhaps sooner than all other tribes. Continue to contaminate your bed, and one night you will suffocate in your own waste.’”
    â€”—
    Snowfeather was late for class. A few minutes after leaving the University Club, Snowfeather paused, immediately irritated by the small, intense, self-important woman who was standing in her path.
    â€œI’m Louise Berker,” the woman said. “And this is Cynthia Thomas,” she added, pointing to a taller, more severe looking woman with tangled, brown hair.
    Like I’m supposed to care? Snowfeather thought. “That’s nice,” Snowfeather said aloud, trying to step around Berker. The Thomas woman moved in her way. Give me a break! Snowfeather scowled and slipped past this even more irritating woman only to face Berker again, who was trying on a smile.
    â€œI’m really sorry if this isn’t a good time,” Berker said with the insincere charm of a spoiled diva who has just been annoyed by a waiter.
    â€œI’m so sorry,” Snowfeather said, matching Berker’s insincerity, “but it is not a good time. I am running late.”
    The other woman stepped aside but Berker held her ground. “Just a moment of your time, please ,” Berker said. Snowfeather slid past the annoying woman and continued walking. “I promise that you won’t regret it,” Berker said, while striding to keep up. “Our organization is very impressed with how you are handling yourself at these demonstrations.”
    Snowfeather slowed, turning to give Berker the penetrating appraisal her father would have. Her flash assessment: Berker was a borderline case. The first impression, the one the woman projected was cordial and responsible, but there was a darker shadow. Helen suspected that Louise Berker was one of those beauties whose cold heart had subtly robbed her of normal human appeal. Dad would say that her feathers were clipped but not her talons . That this woman is charged up with…what? She reminds me of an obsessive compulsive runner between races … or … someone possessed.
    â€œThank you,” Berker said. She was probably in her mid thirties, and Snowfeather heard the faintest trace of a German accent. Great, she thought, another condescending European wanting to recruit a nice Injun.
    â€œI have just a minute,” Snowfeather said. “What is your organization?”
    â€œEnvironmental Opinion Associates.”
    Berker was trying to be personable, but it was a doomed effort. Like a sociopath pretending to cry at a funeral, Snowfeather thought. And she isn’t used to this, she is used to giving orders .
    â€œWe’re a bit on the environmental fringe, some say.” Cynthia Thomas offered.
    No doubt! Snowfeather thought. This one is a radical nerd , a self-important subordinate, a minor player with delusions.
    â€œI’m also head of a group dedicated to the protection and restoration of Mother Earth,” Berker added, resuming control of the conversation. “We plan to succeed no matter the cost.” Berker’s implied ruthlessness was thinly concealed by her pleasant, conversational tone.
    Snowfeather had stopped walking. Oh crap! Not another true believer! Ruthless as they come, I’ll bet . Snowfeather could hear her father’s warning voice: Watch out for the nutters who self-medicate with anger.
    â€œWe are the Women’s League for Earth’s Restoration.”
    â€œIt does sound fringe,” Snowfeather said out loud. But she had become curious about this woman, Berker. There was a distinct smell of ruthless energy seeping through her charm veneer. As Snowfeather had reluctantly decided to engage, she