Young Justice belongs to its creators. I do not make any money with this.
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All the hits the enormous block of ice has sustained has made it lose a great deal of its transparence. Laughing, the guests hit the block from all sides, and catch the falling chips of ice with their glasses. There are several groups walking about in the club, chatting, looking distractedly at the decoration of the lavish place. Said decoration consists of enormous revolving panels depicting huge boats cutting through iced lands, polar bears, deserts of snow, and various others. There are also several flags plastered against the walls, and a huge map is painted on the floor, representing the Arctic.
Most of the guests are men, dressed in dark colours. Amongst the monochrome, the only thing that stands out, the source of brightness, is her: Maria Thorsten. Too blonde for it to be natural, her hair falls down perfectly straight. She wears a white, form-fitting Cavalone shirt, with a small red Jensen belt just under her bust, and a pastel skirt that descends down to her knees. Passing from group to group, a compliment and a smile for everyone, as well as stimulating conversation topics, it is easy to see why she is so well-liked. She plays the game well. Her self-confidence is such that all gravitate towards her.
I'm the only one that can see how her smile is sometimes a little strained, her laugh a little fake.
After twenty minutes of talking, she asks for silence with a gesture of her hand. All noise stops, and people turn to listen.
"The ice in your glasses comes from the Arctic. The block of ice at your disposition this evening was cut off from a large iceberg, floating in the sea. It was brought to you by boat." Exactly like we had practised, she pauses, and observes. Analyses. Smiles. And then, she allows herself to continue.
"Refreshing your cocktails isn't the only thing that the ice melt can do. It can also make you filthy rich. That is why I have called you here this evening."
The lights in the room dim, and a hidden projector shoots out a beam of light at the wall behind Maria. An image appears. A snowflake, with, written under it:
SNOW INCORPORATED
The logo has never looked better as it does now, viewed by such important people.
"You might have heard about it; the planet's warming up." She laughs, and the guests do the same.
Various images appear one after another. A flaming place full of pitchforks and horned, bipedal creatures. The skeleton of a fish, on a dry, cracked ground. People fighting gor a small bottle full of muddy water.
"They're saying the planet is dying, that the oceans are rising, that there'll be no freshwater, that the continents will just be one big desert… It's like every apocalyptic movie you see in the theaters. We're just missing the zombies." I hadn't expected many people to find amusement in that last part Maria uttered. I'm surprised they do.
"What I'm about to say goes against everything you've ever been told. Global warming isn't the end of it all. It's the beginning, it's an opportunity. Those that realize this will be the leaders of the future."
The speech is making an effect. Some, like Valentin Martin, head of Ernst & Young in Gotham, look incredulous. Others seem interested, even hopeful. However, my eyes pick up the rare few that haven't reacted at all; Anthony Roberts, chief editor of Saisonnier, who is known the be unflappable, and Lex Luthor, of Lex Corp. Anthony Roberts isn't much of a surprise, but Luthor's bored expression is unexpected, especially considering the fact that the speech is designed specifically to obtain his attention.
The next image appears. It's a map.
"The Arctic is melting. This summer, it's size was of 4.3 millions of km3, the lowest it has ever reached. In the sixties, there was two times more ice. The polar bear only has a few years to live, which is very sad. But this situation opens the polar seas to nautical traffic: cargo ships and tankers will soon be able to go from the east coast of the USA to China faster by taking that route, taking several thousand km off their current itinerary."
I am proud of her; Maria has captured the attention of Luthor. His gaze has sharpened, and he is wholly focused on her. I know better than to think myself victorious. With someone like him as an adversary, one can never be sure if they have won.
Maria will be happy once I tell her what has happened. When giving a speech, she is incapable of concentrating only on one person's reactions, and so usually relies on me to read the facial expressions of the important ones. I am her little black book, her wealth of knowledge, and she is the face of it all, that package that protects me from prying eyes. She is, despite her faults, a planner and a schemer the likes of which I have rarely encountered. Having lived like this for so long, it is sometimes difficult to remember that I am here with a purpose. I mustn't forget myself.
"...indeed, the North Pole is full of resources, such as oil, diamonds and various metals. Until now, the ice has made any attempts to retrieve the precious resources completely useless. With global warming, once the ice is gone, nothing will stop the undergournd's treasures from being exploited."
I realize I have been daydreaming, and that I missed part of the introduction on how valuable the Arctic is. Maria will probably scold me for my inattention. She likes to know as much as possible, and if I forget to observe something important, it could endanger our company, as we could make a bad decision based on too little facts. I am lucky she cannot fire me, even when I forget to do my job, or I'd be gone and replaced in a heartbeat.
The current image displayed behind Maria, a map depicting the Arctic, changes. Instead, there is now a picture of an iceberg, with a text on it's chemical components.
"Also, as you know thanks to the ice cubes in your glasses, the ice from the Arctic is freshwater. Global warming will give us access to that freshwater, at a time when we need it most."
She continues, talking about how many people die of thirst every second, how that extra freshwater could solve everything. She is winning them over with her utopic propositions, I can see it. Things are coming together nicely, and the guests seem convinced, or at least interested in investing. Then, come the questions.
Most of them are predictable. Maria tweaks the responses I prepared for her, and has no difficulty in answering. However, the interesting part start when Luthor begins voicing his own inquiries:
"What are your qualifications when it comes to evaluating the infinitely complex phenomenons that are the cause for today's climatic irregularities?"
Maria opens her mouth to answer, but is cut off by a stout, dark haired woman with a botoxed face. I recognize her as Rihannon Price, a journalist for a minor newspaper in Metropolis. I wonder how she managed to enter the club without an invitation. I will have to have a word with the guards, after this.
"Why only the Arctic, and not Antartica?" Price asks.
Luthor, annoyed at the interruption, turns to her with a barely-hidden glare.
"Because the South Pole is nothing more than a great scientifical base. The treaty of 1959 of Washington bans all military or commercial activity there. That only leaves the Arctic. Had you done basic research before attending this meeting, or had you read the brochure that comes with the invitation, you would have known that, like everyone here."
Guests around him nod, some even going as far as to hold up up the white and blue brochure. Price purses her lips, lowering the notebook she is holding.
"Now," continues Luthor, turning to Maria again. "Back to my earlier question. I wish to know more of the scientists you are employing to calculate the future climate changes…"
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"It is like you said; After a private conversation, he spoke of working for his group, the Light, and it seems fascinating. I hadn't believed you until now."
I smile. "I am happy it worked."
"As my main assistant, I had no trouble getting them to agree to let you come. They don't suspect a thing, so don't worry."
My smile widens. And you don't suspect a thing, either. What you think are my motives are in fact a web of carefully woven lies, designed to keep you in your place, and to keep the Light unaware of my motives.
I readjust my glasses. "Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow with the paper on project Svalbard."