![]() ![]() ![]() "Steep it in boiling water, that increases the concentration. The legend told it best: the devil failed to keep his bargain, and the child of the devil, the Mbwun, had run wild. They had tried to control its power, but failed. What appeared to be a blessing turned out for them to be a curse. The Kothoga knew all about this plant, thought Kawakita. And he alone knew where the life-giving fibers could still be found after the jungle was destroyed: He knew, because he had sent them there. Kawakita imagined the day it happened: the Whittlesey-thing, crouched in the jungle, seeing the fire come falling from the sky, burning the tepui, the Kothoga, the precious plants. Proof, rather, that the monster was Whittlesey.īut then civilization came anyway, with all its terrors. Kawakita effortlessly slid back the iron bar from the door and pulled it open. And then he had asked for the intermediate form. Kawakita had placed human DNA on one side and the reovirus DNA on the other. ![]() And the proof lay within his grasp: his extrapolation program. The creature, the Museum Beast, He Who Walks On All Fours, was Whittlesey. Kawakita remembered clearly the day everything came together for him. Proof, they said, that the monster had killed Whittlesey. The final piece of the puzzle fell into place when he remembered what that cop, D'Agosta, had mentioned at the going-away party for the FBI agent: that they had found a double-arrow pendant belonging to JohnWhittlesey in the creature's lair. "Keep the lights off," said Kawakita sharply. Then he slid the fibers into a Ziploc bag. Kawakita scooped up a small handful of fibers and weighed them, removing several, then dropping a few back on. The table was covered with drying fibers. There, a long table had been set up under dull infrared lamps. They walked to the far end of the warehouse. Night was rapidly becoming his favorite time of the day. It had been a long day, and he felt bone tired, but he was looking forward to nightfall, when the sounds of the city would subside and darkness would cover the land. Kawakita closed the door and slid the bolt back in place. A monster that would terrorize the surrounding tribes without terrorizing its masters that would ensure the security and isolation of the Kothoga forever. A monster that would keep out the road builders and the prospectors and the miners that were poised to invade the tepui from the south and destroy them. They must have attempted to do with this white man what they had failed to do with their own kind: create a monster they could control. ![]() Perhaps they brewed him a liquor from the plant's leaves, or perhaps they simply forced him to eat the dried fibers. He wondered what Whittlesey must have felt: bound, perhaps ceremonially, being force-fed the reovirus from the strange plant he himself had collected just days earlier. But when the Kothoga found Whittlesey, Kawakita knew there was only one possible outcome. Perhaps Crocker had killed the creature with the expedition's gun as the creature disembowelled him. Perhaps the creature had been old, or enfeebled. Whittlesey's accomplice, Crocker, had no doubt been found first. The Kothoga, laying eyes on a white man for the first time. In the close, comforting darkness, listening to the tranquil humming of the aquaria, Kawakita could guess at the drama that had played itself out in the jungle. He moved toward the door as quickly as the dim light would allow. I will have more for you on Tuesday, Kawakita said. He was small and wiry, and walked with a distinct roll to his shoulders. ![]()
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