Chapter 22

First thing, Thursday morning, Doc signs me out of the hospital. I understand why they do it, but I think it was funny that Dr. Nowak pushes me in a wheelchair and has me transported to UVic in an ambulance. I arranged for the lab to be closed for the morning, so it is just Doc, a nurse that signed an NDA and me.

To start with, Doc explains how the test will progress. Typically a stress test takes 15 minutes, and all that is needed is for the patient to work strenuously for 8 to 12 minutes while hooked up to an EKG machine. We do things a bit differently. We have no clue what to expect, so we start walking and slowly progress, each test will be more strenuous than the last until I do a 15-minute sprint, or that is what we plan.

In my first life, I was a competitive freestyle wrestler. At a tournament, things are pretty hectic, and you only have minutes from the time your name is called until you are fighting. As a result, you don’t always head to the change room to change into the proper colour singlet. Often you stand off to the side and change in a crowd. There is no change room, so as soon as the briefing is over, I drop my pajamas, and change into the jogging pants and runners that I had sent to the lab yesterday.

The nurse gels up the contacts then sticks them all over my naked torso. Within a few minutes of Doc finishing his briefing, I am on the treadmill, ready to go. He has me start at a slow walk. I can’t see the readouts as the display is pointed away from me, but less than 5 minutes after I start, Dr. Nowak is making sounds of exasperation looking at the numbers. Casually turning my head to look at him, I ask, “What is it?”

“The numbers don’t make sense. Your blood pressure is slightly on the low side, but your heart rate is lower than the average person at rest.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Not if your body isn’t getting enough oxygen, but if that were the case, your heart rate should have picked up, and there would be other signs with your respiratory system.”

I came back in time before any of the damage was done to my respiratory system. It should be fine.

Ignoring the initial results, he has me start again, but at a brisk walk. At the end of the 12 minutes, he is shaking his head, saying, “This still isn’t right. Are you sure the machine isn’t out of calibration or something?”

“The pulse rate can’t get out of calibration, but the EKG was just checked out. Why? What is up?”

“At a brisk pace, you are only at 59 BPM. There is no way you are getting enough oxygen, but you aren’t tiring, and your breathing remains constant. We need to do this again but doing a full cardiopulmonary metabolic exercise test. I want to know your VO2 max and oxygen exchange rate.”

“Come on, Doc. You can’t keep me in the hospital forever, especially if the results show that I am better than the average.”

“There is something wrong with you, and I want to know what it is.”

“How about this? We continue with the test today. You let me go home, and I agree to do the CP metabolic test when we can schedule it.”

“Only if you agree to give me a sample of your blood weekly and have a nurse check your vitals five times a day.”

“You’re killing me, Doc. How about five times daily for the first week, and if nothing gets worse, we reduce the amount you mess with my schedule.”

“I don’t like it, but if I don’t agree, I suppose you will fight me.”

“Good, we are in agreement.”

We continue with the test, and at each stage, the numbers are even more impressive than the last. Dr. Nowak refuses to let me do the sprint for fear of it hurting me.

I am a bit upset when Dr. Nowak takes me back to the hospital, and instead of signing the release paperwork, he sends me back to my room until I can arrange for a nursing service to come by and take my vitals regularly. This means I miss Carol’s birthday. She was expecting it, but I was hoping to surprise her.

Friday, I get a hold of a home care service, but they can’t arrange anything until Monday. So I am stuck in the hospital until then.

Directly after school, Carol decides to visit. She comes into the room and gives me the usual kiss and hug greeting I get from my girlfriends. Then she crawls up on my bed and cuddles into me. I can see that she is about to cry, so I ask, “What is wrong, Honey Bunch? Isn’t the birthday girl supposed to be happy?”

“Dad and I had a talk last night. He had promised that for once I could have a party and invite all my friends over. We can’t afford it. I had to spend all day uninviting my friends. I thought we were done with being the poor family. I contribute as much as you will let me. I have even tried to cheat a few times, but Dad always catches me and gives me the money back. I don’t know what to do? To top it off. I just want to spend the day with you and Dahlia made me promise to spend the evening at the office, straightening out my paperwork. Apparently, she doesn’t like how I do requisitions.”

“Since I am out of here on Monday, let’s you and I sit down and go over your family finances. There is also a little matter of your birthday present.”

“Oh, what did you get me?”

“It is a bit big, so I couldn’t have it brought into the hospital, and you can’t unwrap it.”

She dries her tears, her intrigue distracting her from her worries. She demands, “Tell me what it is.”

“You know how we didn’t tear down all of the houses on the lake. We left the nicer ones standing?”

“Yes.”

“I thought it was time your family upgraded from the run-down place that you live in, to the house beside Dick’s.”

“REALLY!!!”

“Didn’t I say that the houses on the lake would be reserved for my executives?”

“Yes, but you haven’t offered anybody else one yet.”

“You are the only one that needs it. Besides, I’m not giving it to you yet. You need to earn it. I am willing to let your family move in with a rent to own situation. You will start with a reduced rent and will be able to increase it when you can afford it. Interest will be at 10%, but you will never owe more than the place is worth. To start with, rent will be less than the interest, so it is no different than a regular rental agreement until you can afford it. If you move out before it is paid off, then ownership reverts to me.”

She leaps on top of me and smothers me in kisses. We don’t do anything beyond that since we are expecting everybody else to show up. Nobody stays long. The real reason her Dad cancelled her party was because he was asked to, for her surprise party.

There are a barbecue and dance planned at the Langford Lake property. It is too cold for swimming. If the weather turns bad, Alva had her people clear out the cycle shop so the dance can be in there.

Dahlia and Carol are the last two to visit. It is barely 5 pm when Dahlia insists they leave. Playing along, I say, “Leave her be. It’s her birthday, and she shouldn’t have to work.”

Dahlia snaps, “She should have thought of that before she messed up all her paperwork. She needs to fix it and now.” She grabs Carol’s hand and pulls her out the door.

As they leave, I shout after them, “Happy Birthday.”

I kind of feel bad about her crying. I didn’t think she would cry, but I know the surprise will more than make up for it. She loves to dance but is still a tomboy, so the barbecue dance is perfect for her. It will also let her realize how many friends she has made over the last year. I just wish I could be there to see it.

Over the weekend, the girls have every minute of my visits planned. They still have their rotation of 2 hours each. The first 45 minutes spent with the two of us playing around. That is followed by 15 minutes of cleanup. The second hour is when others come to visit, mostly friends and family of that girlfriend.

For Carol’s second hour on Saturday, her family comes to thank me for the gift, house. I don’t tell them, but I bought their old lease so they won’t have any penalties for breaking it early.

Despite not needing to be in bed, I lie there as Carol’s family sits around me. Looking at her Dad, I say, “I hear that things are much better in your household, and the boys have all started taking school seriously.”

He ignores the comment about his household as he is embarrassed about how his sons used to act before Rachel straightened them out. He does comment about their schooling, saying, “They sure have. I never thought I would see an A on any of their report cards. Now it is as likely as any other grade. I don’t know what Rachel did, but I would sure like to thank her.”

“I hear that she is staying at Vic Gen at the moment. I would prefer it if you didn’t let her know that you found out from me. She is still mad at me.”

Not wanting to darken the mood, I change the subject saying, “Darcy, how come lately you haven’t hounded me about giving you a job?”

“I figured it would be a frosty day in hell.”

“Well, since you have matured a lot in the last few months, why don’t you hand in an application with HR. It will be up to Carol if she hires you, but we have plenty of other work. You would be on the same restrictions as your sister as far as exercise and schoolwork. I was also wondering what you would think about changing the lease so that your Dad’s rent is reduced, and you have to pay me rent for your room. It would only be a little, but it would help your family out.”

Mr. P doesn’t give him time to answer, saying, “I sure would love that.”

Darcy wavers a bit, “I don’t like the idea of paying rent. I’m only 16. But, I do want to help out. I was thinking something like I pay the electric bill.”

“It is your family business, not mine. Whatever you and your Dad sort out is fine by me.”

At the same time, both Gabin and Gene complain, “What about me?”

The rest of us have to stifle our laughs as I address the issue, “I’m sorry, but child labour laws will not let me hire you yet. Gabin, if you continue being the good boy that you have become, then on your next birthday, you can give me your application. Sorry, Gene. You have to wait two years.”

Telling me all the ways their lives have improved, the boys end up being too excited to be depressed about not being included. I hesitate to hire them when they turn 14. They are children and need to hold onto that for a while longer.

Monday, the forenoon is almost over before Dr. Nowak releases me from the hospital. He has an emergency with one of his other patients, so I am not upset with him. Unfortunately, it means that I can’t go with my spec ops team to search Couture’s house. Paul will not tell me what they have found. He claims it is a surprise and that I will, “Shit my pants,” when I figure out what it means.

Tuesday morning, I skip the morning bike ride with my team. Opting instead to have my spec ops team and the exterminators head to Couture’s early. We meet up with the fumigation team on route, and pile into the fumigation van.

Before we go inside, we have to put on a protective suit and gas mask. In my briefings, I was told of a secret room that we discovered, thanks to the notes Jen provided. That isn’t where Paul takes me. Instead, he brings me straight to Mr. Couture’s office. Half our team is copying files here while the other half is in the hidden room.

Nothing in the office is blackmail material. It is all legal paperwork, but it disguises Mr. Couture’s real intent here. I knew that he has only been in the Victoria area for six years, but nothing we found could explain why he came here until now.

From the 80s until I left in my spaceship, there were always myths and rumours of how US companies were responsible for a large portion of the lobbyists in Canada and they only ever worked against our interest. As many of you know, myths tend to be based on reality. My father’s family was heavily involved in the BC logging industry. Anybody involved in the industry knows it was the American companies that paid protesters and lobbied the government, which caused the Canadian companies to go bankrupt so the American companies could buy them out at pennies on the dollar.

Until now, nobody knew how they did it or why the natives helped them.

It started in 1984 the year after Mr. Couture came to Victoria. MacMillan Bloedel was to start logging operations on Meares island within a bay on Vancouver Island. Before they could begin, the Nuu-chah-nulth tribe blocked the road and claimed the island as their tribal park preserve. The problem with this is natives didn’t have preserves.

Despite what they would have you believe, they were not conservationists. In fact, the list of species they hunted to extinction is innumerable. I am willing to bet that you didn’t know that camels are not native to the middle east. They are native to North America. Camels crossed the land bridge to Asia, migrating to avoid hunters. As they adapted to living in the desert, they started growing humps. While they lived in North America, they didn’t have any.

They also hunted the horse to extinction, despite it being one of the more prevalent forms of wildlife. The list goes on.

The white man always remained ignorant to the ways of the natives. So, when a tribe nobody had heard of before started crying that their park was being destroyed, the bleeding hearts of the island believed them.

Why did they lie? There are two reasons. The first is that a large portion of natives were resentful and wanted to stick it to the white man any way they could. The paper in my hand explains the second, showing a payout to the Nuu-chah-nulth tribal council for 10 million USD.

MacMillan Bloedel appealed to the legal system and explained the situation. They were given a court injunction for their efforts, forcing the Nuu-chah-nulth to let them log as they paid for the rights to, and the natives had no claim to the land.

In response, in 1985, the Ahousaht and Tia-o-qui-aht tribes got their own injunction ordering MacMillan Bloedel to cease operations until the Nuu-chah-nulth could negotiate with the federal government to include the island in their treaty. Low and behold, the judge that signed that injunction is the same judge that Mr. Couture is extorting.

The native’s injunction lent credence to their lies, and more locals started to support them.

Similar protests and conflicts started erupting all over the island and the lower mainland. Each year from 1988 to 1991, the logging industry tried to form a coalition with the natives and the government to resolve issues, but every time the coalitions failed. Looking through the paperwork on his desk, it is easy to see why it failed. It is staggering how much he paid out to various people and organizations to cause the downfall of the honest attempts to appease people.

All of these payouts and subterfuge are not illegal. In Couture’s entire office, the only proof of unlawful acts is the payments to government officials, both federal and provincial.

In the end, the natives may have started the protests, but the white man took on the mantle. In 1993, 900 people were arrested in a single protest, not understanding how much harm their protests would have to the forests throughout the province. By 1994, not a single major forestry company of any kind was Canadian owned. The Americans owned almost all of it. American companies are not as conscientious. Instead of having trees milled locally, they haul them south where the cheaper labour is. Unfortunately, this spreads bug infections and diseases.

The spreading of insects had a secondary destructive effect that nobody anticipated. The bugs created air pockets within the trees. When the trees caught fire, they would explode, sending burning shards for hundreds of meters. In 2009 and 2010, the spruce beetle aided the destruction of 2700 square km of forest in fires. The military was called in to help support the firefighters. Considering only a few places in BC have a dry climate, that is an extreme amount of forest destroyed by fire.

To that point, every year, the province of BC would donate fire crews that weren’t otherwise occupied and equipment that wasn’t needed to help combat fires in California. In 2009 BC asked California for help because California had few fires, and most of their men and equipment were doing nothing. California responded by saying their men and equipment were all on standby, so we couldn’t have them.

In 2014 the pine beetle caused forest fires to destroy almost 3000 square km of forest. The Chelaslie River Wildfire alone destroyed 1331 square km.

Mr. Couture is, at the very least, indirectly responsible for all of this. It is more likely that he is directly responsible. Given the lives lost, animals killed, and animal habitat destroyed. I wanted to kill the fucker.

I have seen enough. I don’t care what else my team has found. Looking at Paul, I ask, “How much longer until we have copied everything?”