understand your concern," Tum said softly. "But they're used to working in the jungle. They'll be fine."
I glanced out the window. Through the stains and scratches, I saw dark clouds enveloping the sky. A steady rain shower poured from above, splattering against the pane. It was the first rain I'd seen in weeks.
Beneath me, shrouded in hazy sunlight, I noticed a sea of muted colors. Thick, green forest. The lighter greens and browns of a clearing. Trickling lines of blue water. Together, it formed one giant mass swaying gently from side to side, as if dancing to some hidden beat.
"Stunning, isn't it?" Miranda said. "Gives me goose bumps every time I fly over it."
"You've done this before?" I said.
"I give occasional sky tours of the jungle to raise money for climate change awareness."
"You must know a lot about it."
"The Lacandon Jungle is North America's last tropical rain forest. We're flying over part of the Montes Azules Biosphere Reserve. It covers about fifteen hundred square miles of jungle, indigenous settlements, and ancient Maya ruins. The Mexican government established the reserve in the 1970s and handed guardianship of it over to the Lacandon tribe." She smiled at Tum. "Our people."
Tum's eyes were wide open and he looked like he was in some sort of mystical trance.
Graham frowned. "You're both from the jungle?"
"Not just us," Tum replied. "The Maneros too. All of us were born and raised near Lacanjá. In fact, I still live there."
"How about you?" I asked Miranda.
She shook her head. "I moved away to pursue a degree in archaeology."
"Do you ever go back?"
"Well, I fly the tours and work at my dig sites. But I rarely get an opportunity to visit home these days."
I nodded. "So, you were surrounded by Maya ruins as a kid. No wonder you became an archaeologist."
"She's more than an archaeologist." Tum grinned. "In case she hasn't told you yet, Miranda is one of Mexico's most outspoken environmentalists."
"One doesn't grow up in the jungle without a deep desire to preserve it," Miranda explained. "And the ruins of my ancestors have been around so long they're practically one with the jungle. So, for me, the ruins and environmentalism are intertwined."
Miranda desperately wanted to play the role of environmental guru. But I sensed it was partly a facade. While she was clearly passionate about climate change, she seemed to have little interest in natural settings.
Tum, however, was the real deal. He radiated nobility. Not the kind of nobility that came with a title. Rather, it was mystical nobility, the sort of thing one would expect to find in an old wise man. One look into his eyes and you knew you were looking into the soul of someone who was one with the jungle, one with nature.
"So, I've got a question." Graham studied Miranda's face. "Do you really believe all that crap you say about climate change?"
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Climate change is a scam."
"You're a denier?"
"It's better than being a fool."
An amused look crossed her face. "Tell me, why do you consider climate change to be a scam?"
"The whole field of study—if you can call it that—is based on modeling. But weather is a chaotic system. It's impossible to model."
"Chaotic systems aren't random. Cause and effect still exist."
"Maybe so, but they become increasingly difficult to model over time. And since climate change is supposed to occur in the distant future, it can't be modeled with any accuracy. Besides, chaotic systems depend on perfect measurements of initial conditions, something that's impossible to obtain."
"Weather is chaotic, I'll give you that much." Miranda's voice took on an edge. "But consider this … if you go north of the equator, temperatures are generally warmer during the summer than during the winter. Snow and ice occur during fairly predictable periods of the year."
"So what?"
"So, chaos in weather is just noise. It can be averaged out of the system."
"No it can't," Graham insisted. "And that's