Hekura Page 2

  He has beautiful eyes, she thought as he passed out of sight. That same sky-blue color as Terry's. She shook her head and turned back to the machine as she tried to ignore memories of her ex-husband.

  Soon-to-be ex-husband, actually, since he was too busy diving on shipwrecks along the Californian coastline and partying with college girls all night to sign the necessary paperwork to make it final.

  "Imaging metabolites?" Dr. Henri Rouillard's gentle voice interrupted her thoughts. A paunchy, balding, gray-bearded Frenchman in his late sixties, Henri was lead researcher at Hygeia's research center and had an extensive background in zoology.

  "The same as yesterday."

  He patted her arm knowingly. It wasn't the most exciting work, but it needed doing. Their efforts provided hope to millions of sick people—medicinal breakthroughs acquired from the bounty of the Amazon rainforest.

  "Take a break whenever you need one, ma fille."

  She smiled at the moniker. My daughter. The two had worked together for ten years—from the moment she'd graduated college. Months ago, when she’d finally broken down after a lonely bottle of wine and called Terry to ask for a divorce, her next call hadn’t been to her parents; it'd been to Henri. He was more than a mentor; he was her closest friend.

  "I'm fine. I just get distracted."

  He nodded.

  "You remember when Luciana passed? I accidently caught my sleeve on fire with the Bunsen burner."

  "Twice in the first week as I remember it."

  "Exactly. It taught me that there’s no shame in taking some time off—to process, to think."

  "That was different, Henri. Your wife of thirty years was taken from you. I wanted this," she said, tracing her finger along the spectrometer's monitor. "I really don't need any more time to think; I've thought about it plenty already. This wasn't a surprise, you know."

  When they'd first married, Terry had set the groundwork for their relationship by leaving her on the beach during their honeymoon while he went diving for hours. The ocean was his first love, and when given the ultimatum to choose between her and the sea, the sea had won. He hadn't hesitated.

  "Well, then get back to it!" Henri joked as he cracked an imaginary whip and turned back to his work.

  As the mass spectrometer completed its cycle, Olivia suddenly felt overcome by a wave of nausea. She pinched the bridge of her nose, looking at Henri's back as he hummed to himself and filled out a lab report. Would she still be standing here when she was his age? Exhausted and alone?

  Turning back toward her reflection in the window, Olivia began scrutinizing the outline of her body and the soft lines of her face. Most would consider her a beautiful woman, but for how much longer? She'd wasted the past five years waiting for Terry to change, and now she wasn't sure if her best years weren't already behind her. Though she knew it was vain to think her looks could so dramatically impact her appeal, she suddenly felt hollow and unfulfilled.

  Stepping out of the room, Olivia briskly traversed the hallway and entered the researchers’ break room. Filling a paper cup from the water cooler, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Wheeling around, surprised, she spilled her drink down her research assistant's shirtfront.

  The young man wiped at the spill. "Are you okay, Doctor? I noticed you left in a hurry; I wanted to make sure you were feeling all right."

  Christian Asbury, a shaggy-haired man in his early twenties and a molecular biology major at the University of California, Berkeley, had applied as an intern for Hygeia over his summer break. His academic records had reflected a largely mediocre collegiate career, but because Terry and Christian's uncle were dive partners, Olivia agreed to put in a good word to help land him the job. He was thin and plain in appearance, Christian still carried himself with the supercilious air of someone unaccustomed to hardship, someone who had never received any meaningful discipline.

  "That’s very sweet of you, Christian, but I’m fine."

  "I heard about you and your husband. I hope you know you can talk to me anytime."

  Caught off guard by his consolation, Olivia just smiled and nodded. "Thanks. How’s everything going for you? You seem to have settled in nicely."

  She noticed he’d begun trying to grow a beard, thin patches of blond hair poking out from his chin and upper lip.

  "I like it here. The weather’s nice, the work’s not too tough, and you and Dr. Rouillard are fun to work with."

  She laughed. "I hope you still feel that way at the end of the summer."

  "I’m sure I will," he said, staring into her eyes a moment longer than was appropriate. Olivia looked away uncomfortably.

  "We should probably get back to work," she said, ushering him toward the door.

  As the young man stepped into the hallway, the tall stranger Olivia had spotted earlier exited Dr. Senske's office in a huff. He took rapid strides down the hallway, bumping Christian's shoulder as he walked by. Her intern spun into the wall while the tall stranger continued walking without apology. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket, violently tapped one out, and slipped it into the corner of his mouth as he shoved through the double fire doors and left the building.

  "What a prick," Christian muttered as he collected himself and returned to the lab.

  Following the stranger's exit, Denver Senske opened the door to her office and approached the break room. Olivia felt a sudden tension as the small woman entered. Her supervisor was something of a terror around the office; Denver's mannerisms were abrupt and curt. She regularly used her sharp intellect to rebuke others for even the most insignificant mistakes.

  "Dr. Dover, may I have a word with you for a moment?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Olivia said, her voice unsure. She reassured herself as she stepped into her supervisor's office that she'd done nothing wrong, and there hadn't been any whispers of layoffs yet that year.

  Seconds later, the manager ushered Henri into the room and closed the door behind them. Sitting down behind her desk, Denver smoothed out the invisible wrinkles in her pantsuit as she began to speak.

  "I'm sure you're both very busy, so I'll get right to the point. We've encountered an issue with some incoming plant samples; you may have heard about the company plane that went down a few days ago."

  "I heard several of the crew were killed," Olivia replied softly. Word of the tragedy had spread quickly among the research staff. Though none of the researchers knew the airplane’s crew personally, it was the first of such misfortunes that had befallen the Hygeia community in years.

  Without looking at either researcher or acknowledging Olivia's comment, Denver continued, "The crash destroyed a small, precious shipment of Taxus bromelieaceae, a rare species containing extremely high levels of phytochemicals we believe can be leveraged to either mitigate the effects of or entirely eradicate most types of cancer. Doctor Dover, you were the one who brought it to my attention several weeks ago when one of the plants found its way into your sample collection."

  "I remember. It was only a partial sample, and it had limited totipotency. I'd told you we would need a more complete specimen for a plant tissue culture." Olivia fought back a shiver as ice-cold air blew in from a register in the ceiling directly above her.

  "Yes, well these were the specimens you'd requested." Denver breathed deeply through her nose and stared hard at the researchers before her without saying anything more.

  An uncomfortable silence passed over the room.

  Tapping her pencil against the aluminum desktop, the branch manager said quietly, "I've told the surviving pilot to return to our collection outpost and accompany the Yanomami tribesmen who found the plant to where this sample was originally located. My hope is that they've left some surviving from the last collection." She swept a finger over her right eyebrow, staring at the desktop anxiously. "Given the pilot's complete lack of knowledge in identifying plant life and his infamously cavalier attitude toward company policy and procedures, I think I'll send you two along to aid him and keep him in l
ine. It'll be an excellent opportunity for you to get some fieldwork under your belts, and in your case, Dr. Dover, it will give you a chance to clear your head."

  "Why do you feel I need to clear my head, ma'am?" Olivia asked, feeling her heart jump nervously in her chest.

  The small woman behind the desk grinned—a web of crow's feet lining the edges of her eyes.

  "I may be your supervisor, but I still come into this office daily. I hear about everything that goes on here, as well as in your personal lives. Rest assured, you'll survive without him."

  Clearing her throat uncomfortably and looking to Henri, Olivia smiled curtly. "Thank you, ma'am. It just wasn't meant to be."

  Denver looked as though she hadn't heard her. Standing up, their supervisor signaled for them to leave. "I would suggest you both set about securing as many instruments and as much equipment as you may need for the journey, immediately. Charge anything you don’t have to your company credit cards, and it’ll be taken care of. Take the rest of the day to pack your things. Your plane leaves from the company airstrip tomorrow morning at nine."

  The recollection of the stranger leaving Denver's office prompted Olivia to ask, "Was the gentleman in your office a moment ago the pilot we'll be flying with?"

  "Yes he was. I suppose I should have introduced you while he was here," Denver said, frowning. "His name's Austin Stewart. You should be able to find him at any number of local bars between now and tomorrow morning, should you need him."

  THREE

  With supplies hastily packed and prepared for delivery to the airfield the next day, Olivia and Henri went in search of their pilot. They'd agreed it would be in their best interest to meet and evaluate the man before they departed. Neither scientist had copious in-field experience; in fact, Olivia hadn't done any fieldwork since her doctoral program. The last thing they needed was to be led into the jungle by someone equally inexperienced.

  Searching with her smartphone for the bar nearest to the company airfield, Olivia gestured to her mentor every time they needed to turn. She rolled the passenger window down on Henri's Honda Civic, the red paint sun-bleached and giving way to rashes of orange rust, and let the warm breeze tousle her hair.

  She thought back to Denver's words—she should use the assignment as a chance to clear her head. Leaving the stark white laboratory and feeling the sunshine on her face had already improved her mood. Despite her uncertainties and nervousness, Olivia had become deeply excited about traveling into the rainforest; she'd grown up in the Patagonian foothills, fringed by the snow-topped Andes on one side and the waves of the Atlantic on the other, gone to school in concrete-laden Chicago, and upon her arrival in Venezuela, hadn't had a single opportunity to experience the Amazon beyond scrutinizing the plant and animal life that came out of it under the narrow lens of a microscope.

  Henri pulled the vehicle to a stop before a rusty Quonset hut with a pallet-wood sign nailed above the doorway, and killed the engine. Withdrawing a handkerchief from his front pocket, he dabbed daintily at the sweat forming on his brow.

  "With all the time we spend in the air conditioning, I sometimes forget just how warm it can be out here."

  "Just think," Olivia said, "you'll have to acclimate to being inside by the time we return." She waited for a smile from her mentor, but he seemed not to have heard her. It suddenly occurred to her as she watched him reluctantly slide from the driver's seat and amble slowly toward the bar's entrance that perhaps Henri wasn't as enthusiastic about leaving the comfort of the laboratories as she was.

  Strolling through the open door, the two approached the bartender, cloaked in a haze of blue-gray cigarette smoke.

  "Excuse me, but have you seen a man named Austin Stewart around recently?" Henri asked, waving a hand in front of his face to make way for breathable air.

  "Hombre blanco, um, alto, desaliñado…" Dover added, motioning to her cheeks to illustrate the pilot's unshaven face and disheveled appearance.

  "That’s not especially flattering," a man said from the shadows cloaking the building's back corner.

  "You do need a shave, hermano," another laughed heartily beside him.

  Standing and placing his beer on the table, Austin stepped into the dim light as he approached the researchers, the hard lines of his face accentuated by shadow. Without a jacket on, Olivia took notice of the man’s hard, sinewy frame: the body of a man who had clearly spent much of his life tasked with manual labor.

  "I take it you two are the ones coming with on this little fool’s errand Senske dreamt up?"

  Olivia verbally stumbled, taken aback by the pilot's negative attitude regarding their assignment.

  "Um, well, yes. That's why we're here. I’m Dr. Olivia Dover, and this is my associate, Dr. Henri Rouillard. We thought it would be appropriate to touch base with you before we departed." The researchers shook Austin's hand. It felt rough and calloused, but he had a gentle touch.

  "Chuffed. Care to join me and my mate for a pint?"

  "I don’t drink, but we’d be happy to sit with you for a moment and discuss the trip," Olivia said.

  That part about not drinking was a lie. She regularly imbibed with friends, and lately, whenever she began feeling sorry for herself, but she was turning over a new leaf with her separation from Terry.

  A new life.

  "To each their own. I hope you don’t mind if we continue without you; I just reduced a 200,000-quid aircraft to a smoldering monkey playground and lost two of my crew in the process. We're drinking a case in their honor. Please, take my seat, ma’am," he said, motioning to the chair. "This is my copilot, Jeremy Barreto."

  "Howdy folks," Jeremy said with a wave as he leaned back in his seat. The short, stocky, bronze-skinned Brazilian was handsome in a boyish way, clean-shaven and bright-eyed. A stark contrast to the weathered, exhausted-looking Brit.

  "I was sorry to hear about the crash," Olivia said as she sat down. "How are you feeling? I mean it's really miraculous that you survived, but you must be hurting."

  "I'm all right. A little sore, that's all," he said. He stopped himself only after unconsciously reaching a hand to massage the purple and yellow bruise spanning from his right shoulder to his thigh.

  "So you were hurled clear of the wreck?" Henri asked as he gingerly leaned against the wall and peeled his shoe up from the floor sticky with spilled beer.

  "Yeah, I stuck the ol' gal in the canopy and went through the windscreen."

  "That must have been a terrifying fall," Henri said. "The distance from the emergent layer to the forest floor can be over 60 meters."

  "Didn't make it that far, actually. I became lodged in the trees and spent the better part of three hours trying to climb down."

  "Extraordinary," Olivia said.

  "That's one word for it," Austin said, reaching for the half-consumed beer near her hand. Fumbling the bottle, he tipped it over, beer foaming and trickling over the edge of the table. "Bugger and blast."

  "A truly miraculous story," Henri said, ignoring the spill.

  "My friend here doesn't believe in miracles," Jeremy said, crossing himself, folding his thumb over his index finger to form a cross, and kissing his own hand. "He's wrong, but I suppose that's his choice to be ungrateful."

  "I believe in fortuitous circumstances and luck," the Brit replied, grabbing a handful of paper napkins and tossing them on the puddle. Clearly uncomfortable, Austin cleared his throat and changed the topic.

  "So you two are boffins, yeah?"

  "I have a doctorate in plant biology and conservation," Olivia said slowly, unsure if that was what the pilot had asked, "and Henri—Dr. Rouillard that is—is a leader in the field of biological sciences and zoology. Before coming to Hygeia, he was a professor and senior research fellow at John Hopkins University."

  Henri smiled sheepishly at his mentee. She'd said that last part with great pride and admiration.

  "Very impressive credentials," Jeremy said, thinly masking a hint of sarcasm as he raised his beer i
n their direction.

  Austin sniffed, drew a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket, and tossed them on the table. "So as I understand it, you two will set up camp at the landing area, and we’ll bring the samples back to you for confirmation before departure, correct?"

  "No, that’s not what we were told. We’re going with you into the field; that’s where we’d be most useful. We've been told to help you in identifying and collecting the sample," Henri said.

  "What? No. Look, I’m not dragging a couple of green wonks into that jungle. You'd last twenty minutes out there." Leaning forward and lowering his voice, the Brit continued, "The Amazon cares not at all about your academic or professional credentials, understand? It's a land as old as time itself—carnal and unforgiving. You cock up out there, even just this much," he said, holding his pointer finger just above the pad of his thumb, "it will kill you. And likely the rest of us, too. It's a place of immeasurable danger as well as vast beauty. No, you should do what you do best and sit behind your microscopes at the landing site. Leave the bush-cutting to me and Jeremy."

  Taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor, Olivia replied, "You underestimate our experience in the field, Mr. Stewart. We'll be entirely self-sufficient; your job will be only to deliver us to where you think the plants are and let us do our jobs." She felt a blush growing in her cheeks as she lied. She didn't look at her mentor, already knowing he was staring back at her with surprise.

  Austin slid his empty bottle across the bar and rolled a finger at the bartender for another.

  "You gumbies don't know what you're volunteering for. This isn't going to be a pleasant stroll through the garden. We'll be pushing hard through rough terrain, and there will be no amenities," he said, directing his stare at Olivia.

  "None will be necessary," she said. "Like I said, you lead; we'll follow."

  The pilot broke his stare and exhaled, as if to signify his reluctant acceptance of the situation. "I suppose we can manage that," he said. "And to think I expected Senske to task us with babysitting a couple of unseasoned lab rats. My profound apologies." Austin's voice betrayed a subtle mockery as he gave Jeremy a knowing glance. He wasn't making much effort to disguise his contempt for the researchers.