The Case of the Toxic Spell Dump

Having done as much on the list as I could do, I tossed it back in my attache case, read for a while, and then got ready for bed. Through the thin wall of my flat, I heard the fellow next door howling with laughter at whatever ethemet program he was listening to.

One of these days soon, I figured I'd break down and buy an ethemet set for myself. They're based on a variant of the cloning technique that's put telephones all over lately. In the ethemet, though, they clone thousands of imps identical to a few masters. Whatever one of the masters hears, each done repeats exactly-provided you've chosen to rouse that particular imp from dormancy.

You can buy plug-in imp modules that let you choose from up to eighty or a hundred different ethemet offerings at any one time. More and more people all over the country are listening to the same shows, admiring the same performers, telling the same jokes. Unity isn't bad, especially in a country as big as the Confederation, and I don't deny the advantages of being able to pass on news, for instance, quickly.

So why didn't I have an ethemet set of my own? I guess the basic reason is that too much of what they spread is, pardon my Latin, crap. Not to put too fine a point on it, I'd sooner think for myself than get my entertainment premasticated. Go ahead, call me old-fashioned.

When I got to the office the next morning, the wizard was still working on the elevator shaft. No, I take it back; more likely, the wizard was working on the elevator shaft again.

What with everybody's budget being tight these days, the government isn't enthusiastic about overtime. I walked up to my office. Yes, I know it's good exercise. It also wasted the shower I'd taken just before I left home.

And on my desk waiting for me, just as I'd known it would be, was my second draft of the report on the spilled load of fumigants. I gave it a quick look-through. Not only had my boss changed about half of her revisions back to what I originally wrote, she'd added a whole new set, something she didn't often do on a second pass. And on the last page, in green ink that looked as if it would be good for pacts with demons, she'd written, "Please give me final copy this afternoon." I felt like pounding my head on the desktop. That cursed silly report, which could have been and should have been two words long, was going to keep me from getting any useful work done that morning. Then the phone started yelling at me, and the report turned into the least of my worries.

"Environmental Perfection Agency, Fisher speaking," I said, sounding as brisk and businesslike as I could before I'd had my second cup of coffee.

Just as if I hadn't spoken, my phone asked me, "You are Inspector David Fisher of the Environmental Perfection Agency?"-and I knew I was talking to a lawyer. When I admitted it again, the fellow on the other end said, "I am Samuel Dill, of the firm of Elworthy, Frazer, and Waite, representing the interests of the Devonshire Land Management Consortium. I am given to understand that yesterday you absconded with certain proprietary documents of the aforesaid Consortium."

Even through two phone imps, I could hear that capital "C" thud into place. I could also hear Mr. Dill building himself a case. I said, "Counselor, please let me correct you right at the outset. I did not 'abscond with' any documents. I did take certain parchments, as I was authorized to do under a search warrant granted in Confederal court yesterday."

"Inspector Fisher, that warrant was a farce, which you must realize as well as I. Had you fully implemented all its provisions-"

"But I didn't," I answered sharply. "And, in case you have a Listener on this call, I make no such admission about the warrant. It was duly issued in reaction to a perceived threat to the environment from the Devonshire dump. And surely you, sir, must admit examining dump records is not unreasonable in light of evidence showing, among other things, increased birth defects in the community surrounding the dump."

"I deny the land management consortium is in any way responsible for this statistical aberration," Dill replied, as I'd known he would.

I pressed him: "Do you deny the need to investigate the matter?" When he didn't answer right away, I pressed harder: "Do you deny that the EPA has the authority to check records to evaluate possible safety hazards?"

By now, I ought to be old enough to know better than to expect straight answers from lawyers. What I got instead was about a five-minute speech. No, Dill didn't deny our right to investigate, but he did deny that the dump (not that he ever called it a dump, not even once) could possibly be responsible for anything, even, it sounded like, the shadow the containment fence cast. He also kept coming back to the scope of the warrant under which I'd conducted the search.