As Victor told him his story, about how his family had run the trapline for so long even his grandfather did not know when it started, he wondered if his situation would offend him. And strangely, he felt no desire to offend this man. Contrary to his feelings that morning, he purposely downplayed the effect on his life, the grave offence that was committed against his family’s heirloom, protected so fervently for all those years from competing families, the wandering, vagrant trappers. He found himself unable to get angry, to voice his grievance clearly. Were it anybody else, he would not find this difficult. But to him this man before him was a different sort of man. He was powerful, he thought, but benevolently powerful. He would understand what it was that was happening, and whatever he did would be fair, just, and reasonable. He trusted him to do this.

The man stared at Victor silently for some time, nodding in understanding. For a brief moment he looked pained and uncomfortable. “This railroad,” he said, after a long, careful pause, “this railroad is bigger than all of us. For over a century, there has been a dream to link up with Alaska. But not only that—it’s an economic catalyst. This railroad is going to open up this land to towns, sawmills, and development. It’s going to provide benefits to society that are beyond your or my ability to comprehend. It’s going to produce jobs, opportunities, work, the modern age.”

“I know it is difficult to comprehend it. But the whole, you got to understand, is going to be bigger than any of its individual parts. And this is it. The greater good would not be realized if we never sacrificed our individual interests. This is the tragedy of collective action. If we never asked for individual sacrifices, we would never be where we are now.”

Just then a radio lit up, came to life, squelched and crackled. The manager got up, excused himself, grabbed the hand-set, and spoke into it. A tinny voice echoed out through the speaker. It was the tugboat operator, towing a barge with a rock-driller, a generator, and an earth mover strapped to its deck. The manager told him to drop it off at the landing and take out a load of logs that were decked there, big spruce too valuable to be turned into railroad ties. He talked about how the loader was broken, so some other way to move the generator off the barge would be required. He reveled in innovation, improvisation, jimmy-rigging. The opportunity to struggle against a challenge, like the railroad against the mountains, excited him immensely, although it was a silent excitement, something he let simmer and come to completion inside of him. He smiled at this particular challenge, looked out the window at the big clouds welling up on the horizon, and came back to Victor. He looked at him in his strange, indifferent, emotionless gaze, letting out the faintest of smiles.

“Listen,” said the manager, rummaging through a brown leather briefcase that he had, obviously distracted. “Have you ever been for a ride in a helicopter?”

Victor shook his head and the manager smiled. “Today’s your lucky day.”

They went outside behind the trailer, to a small clearing where a Bell Huey chopper sat next to some fuel barrels, its long rotor blades glinting in the sunlight. The manager checked some gauges, fired up the turbine, and let it warm up. “The first thing you got to remember,” yelled the manager over the metallic whine of the engine as they buckled up, “is that I don’t do this for just anyone. I’ll show you your trapline, your cabin, where the railroad is going to go. You’ll see everything up there. It’s going to cost a lot of fuel, but I think you should see it.”

Victor was too stunned to respond and could barely hide his surprise and excitement as they lifted off the ground. Soon the lake stretched away and the mountains assumed three dimensions. The whole landscape came alive and rippled in animated suspension. The manager relished the moment. It was like being the possessor of the sky and pulling this man into it. Like a god, he chuckled. It was a moment he would never forget, either. Thirty-five years in the future, he would talk about this moment. It was the time he traded a helicopter ride for a man’s trapline, who he never heard from again.