Atlas Jamison arrived at the demo logging site in a chauffeured Range Rover. He wasn’t a man to waste money on pointless luxuries, but this luxury left him free to work, so it was a necessity. Also, the car was practically a work of art. It was only twenty-four miles from the PL office in Scotia to this spot, but it had taken more than an hour to traverse, and Atlas was annoyed by how much of the trip was in the wilderness. The logging roads were so bumpy they drew his eyes repeatedly to the outdoors where the sun flashed black and white through the trees, making reading nearly impossible. He was more at home in the sunny, urban Houston landscape, humid though it was. Stepping into the woods was like stepping into a freezer, only it was dark and endless, and put a bad taste in his mouth. H
