Chapter 28 – Water and Sand
Annetka and Zoe have been swimming most of the morning. It is close to noon when they walk back up the beach toward the greenhouse, dripping, squeezing water from their hair. Droplets of water shimmer and disappear as they fall through the air. Sunlight is everywhere, reflecting warmth and light from every facet of every surface. The women's tanned bodies glisten in the sun as they walk together up the beach, laughing and chatting about nothing but the joy of life.
Zeph sits with Jack and Snake on the patio furniture outside the greenhouse. Facing the beach, they watch the girls walk back towards them.
Zoe takes a seat on a beach towel on a chair next to Zeph. Jack hands her another towel. She uses it to dry her hair, patting it gently, then wraps the towel around her head.
Annie goes into the greenhouse and brings out some drinks. She passes the drinks around, then sits on a long beach towel spread out on a reclining lounge chair, pulling her legs up and leaning back. Snake offers her another towel. She places it around her shoulders like a cape and spreads her wet hair on top of the towel in front as she leans back again.
"Your hair will get sunburned," Zoe warns her.
"Don't care," Annetka answers, eyes closed. "It already is."
"Want some lotion?" Zeph asks Zoe, rummaging in a beach bag. He brings out a tube of suntan lotion and starts applying it gently to one of her hands. "Can't be too careful," he says, looking at her eyes as he caresses her hand.
She smiles at him flirtatiously, and he progresses in the application of the lotion to her arms, then proceeds slowly to the rest of her exposed skin.
Doug appears on the inland horizon, coming down toward the beach from the direction of the road, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, carrying a big beach bag.
He sets the bag on a table and takes a seat. The others smell food.
"Is that Chinese carry-out?" Annetka asks, still resting in the recliner chair, one arm lifted, elbow crooked across her closed eyes.
"It is," Doug answers. "Since you didn't get to eat it last night. Where's my drink? Everybody else has a drink."
"In the greenhouse," Annetka responds. "There's a big ice chest, without ice of course. Near the door. It's orange."
Doug gets himself a drink and returns to the table. "Lunch, everybody?" he asks, unpacking white cardboard cartons, paper plates and chopsticks from the beach bag on the table. The cartons are passed around. Annie leaves her lounge chair and takes a straight backed chair at the table. Everyone finds something sufficiently tempting to get them to start eating.
"So your Katrina have a new recipe for the cat food," Snake says, making it sound like a question.
"That's right," Doug agrees. "She's a wizard with the recipes."
"You have those recipes all written down someplace?" Snake continues after a minute. He takes another bite of the delicious spicy food and chews it in silence. Szechwan, he thinks. When another minute has passed and no one answers his question, he rephrases and extends it. "You have copies of those nice recipes, off site from that kitchen you got? Someplace safe, like a backup? Or it's all just inside her head? After another short pause he finally states the point explicitly. "It goin to be a very sad day for your Tea company if that pretty Katrina ever get hurt, if those bad men get a hold of the girl."
Doug looks at Snake and suddenly feels cold. "Some of the recipes I have," he answers after a few seconds. "Some of them are, as you say, inside her head."
Snake nods and shakes his head at the same time, as if to say "I thought so." He looks at Doug's eyes and waits for the light of understanding to appear.
"That's a bad idea," Doug finally announces his comprehension.
"Not safe for the girl," Snake points out.
Repressed panic falls on Doug. How could he be so stupid? If anybody realizes what they're doing and wants to stop them, Katrina would be an obvious target. He doesn't move, but his face must betray everything in his mind, because Snake soon tries to settle him down.
"No need to panic, brother," Snake says. "You call her on the phone. Tell her do what Bald Eagle does. Write the formulas in emails."
"Emails. That's good," Doug responds, visibly calmed. How can he have failed to think of this sooner? How can they all have failed to think of it? He hopes Katrina is safe, he knows she probably is, but his heart pounds as he pulls out his cell phone and tries to get a signal.
"Here, use mine," Zeph suggests, handing over his own phone. "I can always get a signal in these islands, at least so far. Talked to Katrina this morning in fact. She was still alive."
Doug takes the offered phone. Kat's name and phone number are already displayed on the screen. He presses the green call button.
No answer. After a few programmed ringing sounds, the Voice Mail comes on, inviting the caller to leave a message.
"Kitty? It's Doug. Call me," Doug says, then clicks the red end button.
"Thanks," he says next, handing the phone back to Zeph. Then he says nothing more, and the sounds of occasional sea bird calls occupy the auditory space, overlaid on the rhythm of the sea tossing itself against the shore. Each wave that strikes the sand diffuses a generous spray of clean ocean smell into the warm air.
After a few minutes, Annetka breaks the silence. "You said Katrina wants to keep the recipes secret," she points out. After the others have time to digest that remark, she adds, "I don't think email is very secure. Can you really keep secret files in cyberspace like that? I mean, and keep them secret." She ends the statement with her voice descending to a lower note, suggesting finality. With chopsticks she takes a single large cashew nut from the Kung Pao tofu and places it on the tip of her tongue, then chews it slowly.
Doug is shaken from his reverie by the social obligation to answer the lady's question. "We encode things," he answers flatly, as if stating the obvious. "For example she might write the word snow to mean powdered sugar, and ice to mean granulated sugar. And we parcel the messages. For example, she'll write standard spice mixture or basic herbal mixture as code for the active ingredient. Also she has a mixture of cinnamon, ginger, and what-not that she calls the apple spice mixture. The exact formula for the apple spice mixture is located in a separate place, and written in Spanish by the way. A hacker or eavesdropper would need to find separate references to find out what the apple spice mixture is. They'd have to get the formula for the basic herbal mixture from Baldwin. So we do take precautions." He pauses to eat some rice and vegetables.
When no one else picks up the conversation, he adds, "You're right that email isn't secure. In fact computers aren't secure. But neither is anything else when you come right down to it. Right now we just have the recipes -- the formulas -- scrawled on bits of paper, with a limited number of copies. We rely on the aforementioned encoding and parceling for secrecy. The problem, as Snake has so adeptly pointed out, is that a lot of the formulas are not yet written down. They exist only in Katrina's notes or in her head."
Doug watches Zeph as he tries Katrina's number again. The call goes straight to Voice Mail, and he puts the phone back in his pocket.
After most of the food has been eaten, Baldwin appears against the inland horizon, walking down toward the tables from the direction of the road. He goes into the greenhouse and comes back out with several drinks, which he sets on the table next to the Chinese carry-out cartons. As he takes a seat in a chair next to Annetka's, he touches her very lightly with a sweeping gesture from the back of her neck down the length of her arm. She shivers slightly with pleasure, and turns to look at him. He hands her a drink. She lifts a large cashew from the Kung Pao tofu with chopsticks and feeds it to him.
"Find out anything interesting?" Zeph inquires.
"The cat lady was infected," Baldwin answers, "but that's hardly surprising. What is news is the time line. Indications are that she had been harboring the parasite for at least twenty
years, maybe thirty."
"Twenty years?" Zeph repeats, sitting up straight and looking at Baldwin intently.
"At least," Baldwin agrees. "That means this thing could be a lot more widespread than we've been thinking, at least up north."
"So, epidemiologically speaking," Baldwin starts, then trails off.
"Yeah," Baldwin answers the thought. "We'd better go ahead with that vaccination program here in the islands."
"Is there any way it could have started up north and spread to the islands from there?" Zeph poses a question.
"Possible, but unlikely," Baldwin answers. "That island, L'Isle Barjot, is a perfect incubator. It has both parent species together, being eaten by the same predators. There's reported history of a prior outbreak. The way I see it, it almost certainly must have come from the island and been spread north by rats on ships -- merchant ships, banana boats, the tourist trade. The new model is that it happened quite a bit further in the past than we originally thought; and it can take a lot longer than we thought to becomes lethal. Clearly it develops rapidly in some individuals, like Katrina's Charlie, and in fact all of our other cases as far as we've seen. But in some people, like this cat lady, the terminal phase can take years, even decades, to develop. That would give such a person plenty of time to spread the parasite to new hosts."
"Which means it's more prevalent, more widespread than we thought," Zeph sums up the findings.
"Yup. That's what it means, all right," Baldwin agrees. He drinks most of his bottle of apple juice in one gulp, and gobbles up some scraps of rice and vegetables.
Doug takes out his own phone and tries again to dial Katrina. The Voice Mail message starts and he clicks off.
Baldwin gives him a questioning look.
"Katrina. Trying to call Katrina," Doug supplies the information Baldwin is missing. "You weren't here earlier, but Snake pointed out that we have an exposure with Katrina keeping recipes -- formulas -- in her head."
"You have some of the recipes, right?" Baldwin asks.
"Yeah, some. The point is, it makes her a target. If anybody figures out what we're doing and wants to stop us," Doug answers.
"Who would do that?" Zoe wants to know. "People still infected by the parasite?"
Zeph shrugs.
Doug moves his head in an indecisive gesture and also shrugs. "We're thinking that the parasite can affect people's brains in a parasite-serving way, right? And that it's affected the brains of party members, influencing them to make irrational decisions like shutting down all the public health services?" Doug asks.
"Yeah, that's right," Baldwin answers. "It probably is capable of that. You've all seen how the infected rodents walk right up to cats, essentially volunteering to be eaten. The parasite has affected their neurological function in ways that favor the parasite's survival and propagation. Clearly shutting down all public health services improves the parasite's chances of survival and reproduction. So, if a strain of parasite happened to evolve that happened to cause that effect, then that strain of parasite would have a clear survival advantage. It influences the host to act on its behalf. Yes."
"So," Doug asks, "Could it do something as specific as targeting an individual? Targeting Katrina? If it somehow realized she's a threat to its survival?"
"It isn't sentient," Baldwin answers, "if that's what you're asking. It doesn't realize anything. It applies nerve pressures and releases chemicals that influence the host to act."
"Sorry, 'realize' was the wrong choice of words," Doug responds. "I didn't mean to say that the parasite is sentient. Clearly it isn't sentient. It's not conscious. It doesn't think. It's not self-aware. I didn't mean to imply that. I'm not thinking it's some sci-fi thing from outer space. What I was thinking of was something more like an A.I. -- a computer with programmed artificial intelligence, like a chess playing computer or maybe something even more sophisticated. What I was thinking was that it might be able to detect threats to its existence and respond to them, the way the chess computer responds to threats on the chess board. Could the parasite do that?"
"I ... doubt it," Baldwin answers, skewing the word 'doubt' in an odd recursive way, as if doubting his own doubt. "It doesn't seem to be that selective, and we don't see any mechanism that would enable it to be. I mean, shutting down the public health services would be an impressive feat for a parasite, taken on its own, out of context. But the context is that all kinds of public services in general have been shut down. It's a sledgehammer, broad spectrum approach. The parasite influences the host to behave differently in very general ways, not to take specific targeted actions."
Baldwin continues to think about the question for a minute, trying to come up with an example or a metaphor. "It's like a mood-altering drug," he finally offers. "Consider an aphrodisiac for example. It might cause a person to be interested in behaving in a certain way, but it wouldn't be precise enough to determine the choice of partner."
"So the parasite might be able to turn its host into a homicidal maniac, but it couldn't actually pick targets?" Doug picks up the thread.
"Exactly," Baldwin says with finality.
"Any idea how I might talk Katya into moving down here?" Doug asks his friend, unreassuredly. "I'd feel safer with her here."
Baldwin laughs a little as he answers, "If I think of anything on that, I'll let you know."
They all sit together in relative silence for a while, enjoying the warm sea breeze, picking at the remains of the food. Someone brings out more drinks.
Baldwin takes a bottle that he thinks is probably the local light beer. "Speaking of Snake's ideas," Baldwin says, "He has another one." He pauses to take a sip from the bottle. It seems like beer. Taking another sip, he looks at Doug, who is watching him intently. "Snake's idea," he continues, "is that we put up a computer with a good internet connection out on L'Isle Barjot, with phone and Skype set up, so we can talk to Azacca."
"The old medicine man?" Doug asks. "Yeah, let's do it. Katrina was asking about him. Thought maybe he'd want an interest in Liberty Tea, maybe an advisory consulting role, stock options."
"Dunno," Baldwin answers, "but it would be nice to be able to contact him without going out there every time."
Doug laughs. "Definitely. Let's all go on Tuesday," he suggests. "We'll take the yacht. I've got some equipment on board that we can set up for him, at least I think we can. It'll mean I won't have it on the trip back north, but I can replace it once I'm back up there. And I've still got the ship to shore radio and the cell phone. Can everybody do Tuesday?"
Glances are exchanged around the group, with accompanying shrugs.
"Sure, Tuesday's good," Baldwin translates.
"Unless you want to do it sooner," Doug reconsiders. "We could leave tonight, or in the morning. I've got meetings with some guys in St. Lucy to talk about manufacturing, but we can reschedule that. It'd be good to get out to the island and talk to this guy. You know I've never met him. We should remedy that."
Again glances and shrugs bounce through the group. "Tomorrow after church," Zoe suggests. They all look from one to another in quiet agreement.
"Okay, tomorrow around midday," Baldwin tells Doug. "Shall we meet at the pier?"
The women look at the men, and the men nod. By custom women don't go to the harbor alone.
"I'll pick you up in the car," Zeph says to Zoe. "Around eleven thirty?"
Zoe nods.
Annetka and Baldwin just look at each other and smile. They plan to sleep in, or at least they don't plan to get out of bed early.