Aethon Arises (Endless Fire Book 2)

by R E Kearney

  Bouncing on her seat, Rita shouts, “Wepa (All right)! Now, we celebrate. I’m in a fervor for Maelo Chicken Fever. I’m buying the beer!”

  CHICKEN FEVER

  Sweet smelling, savory smoke swirls and spirals, singing a song of delicious delight. Seducing scents summon Robert. He is starving. Sniffing, smelling, searching, Robert discovers a hungry man’s heaven in a simple, tin-roofed, square, half-open, block enclosure – a chicken cooking coop. Enslaved by his senses, he stares in salivating disbelief at row after row of plump poultry riding eight long spits, round and round, slow roasting to exquisite perfection above beds of sizzling embers.

  “I do not believe that I have been this excited about tasting a food since the time I ate my first peameal bacon sandwich at the Carousel in Toronto’s Saint Lawrence market.” Robert exclaims, as he steps into line to order. “This is real meat! Not that lab-grown, processed protein that I normally eat, but real meat.”

  “Their sweet potatoes and yucca are also fantastic.” Rita edges in line in front of him, dragging Zhou along behind her. “Follow me. I know what’s best, so I’ll order for us. Ok? You two just follow me and be prepared to carry your heaping plates. No meal is small here.”

  Since Rita is taking control of procuring their meals, Robert is now free to enjoy the people, the music and the life enveloping him. First, he notices everyone’s Aethon badge is proudly and prominently displayed on their chests. He smiles. All of them beam green, but only his glows. He struggles to prevent himself from shouting, we found the cure.

  Robert watches a small girl, waiting with her parents, begin wiggling and dancing to the Reggaeton tones embracing her. Without realizing it, he is soon wiggling and swaying, too. Robert cannot escape the infectious combination of hip-hop and Jamaican dance beat pumping out of large speakers hanging in every corner of the open-air restaurant.

  Puerto Ricans live loud. Riding atop the music is a layer of laughter and lies, rumor and recrimination – cháchara (chatter). The rhythmic, cacophony consumes Robert. His mind swoons in the suffocating smells and sounds.

  “Gracias, buen provecho (bon appetite)!” The woman behind the counter shouts over the music and chatter at Robert, as she swings her arm, motioning for him to move ahead.

  Startled awake, Robert hurries toward Rita and Zhou. At the end of the serving counter, he waits his plate. Half of a chicken, slices of sweet potato, a large serving of yucca, plus some vegetables Robert does not recognize, piled high into a food mountain flooding over his plate. Both of his hands are required to transport his weighty feast to their table. Rita has already arrived, deposited her dinner, and departed to acquire their promised beers.

  “Finally, we have something to celebrate.” Rita announces as she hands Zhou and Robert their beer bottles.

  Robert tips his bottle toward Zhou and Rita. “As we say in Toronto - Cheers. Or, if you rather, as we say in Quebec - a votre santé.”

  Zhou lightly taps Rita’s bottle and nods. “Ganbei (drink up),” She toasts in Mandarin.

  But when she taps Robert’s bottle, she looks at him directly with worry in her eyes and her personal warning. “Xún xù jiàn jìn”.

  “One step at a time”, is the statement, Robert hears from Zhou via his inner ear translator. He eyes her quizzically. She avoids his questioning gaze to concentrate on tearing into her plate of food. Is it her hunger hurrying her or something else? Her chomping decimation of her dinner is not a pleasant sight.

  Robert focuses his attention on his own plate. Rotating it, he deliberately studies each delicacy. Leaning forward, he sucks in the tantalizing, tempting aroma of the chicken. Unlike the lab-grown poultry portions he routinely consumes when his body demands protein, this hunk of hen excites his every sense. It dizzies him.

  With his fork and knife, he surgically carves the chicken’s breast and then slides a slice of meat into his mouth. He does not chew, but allows it to lay upon his tongue so its juices can caress his taste buds. Slow-roasted flavor is baked into every fiber.

  This chicken is a traditional masterpiece created today just as it has been for centuries. He closes his eyes, chews slowly to capture the flavor and finally swallows. It is divine.

  His second bite is enjoyed with the same relish, as is his third and his fourth. When Robert opens his eyes to taste his next bite, he meets the disapproving glares of Rita and Zhou. While he is savoring each succulent morsel, they have grazed their way across most of their plate. Ignoring them, he selects a slice of sweet potato as his next taste treat. He smells the sweet potato slice, as if he is a sommelier chasing the bouquet of a fine wine.

  “Are you about finished?” Rita asks impatiently.

  Robert waves the forked sweet potato slice like a magic wand across his body. “I remember Hippocrates taught that you should let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food. So, I’m allowing this food to heal my Manchineel pains.”

  Zhou pushes away her plate. “Are you planning on living here, Robert? I’m itching to analyze my Manchineel samples. Just because some diluted sap killed the Aethon DNA strand in your badge, is no guarantee that it will work on anyone else. But, I cannot learn anything about that here. Every minute we sit here is another minute less that somebody suffering Aethon in San Juan may have to live.”

  Rita is growing equally impatient. “I know this is a special taste treat for you, and normally, I am quite willing to spend the afternoon here eating and drinking and enjoying the music. But, there are lives at stake. People are depending upon us. Shengwu and Peter are depending upon us.”

  Humiliated, Robert apologizes. “Sorry, sorry, I lost myself in this unbelievably, delicious meal. I’ve never tasted anything like it before. Está pasao (It’s awesome)! Most of my meat is printed in a protein processing lab and is tasteless.”

  “Yes, it’s awesome. But we must go. Bring it with you.” Rita collects her meal remains along with Zhou’s for disposal and leaves for the exit.

  As Robert carefully prepares his food for transporting to enjoy in the glider, Zhou energizes her PCD and accesses her research lab at the Instituto. Concentrating more on her PCD than her walking, Zhou stumbles along behind Robert. She watches his legs and reads simultaneously. He is stepping precisely, so he does not lose one speck of his precious banquet from his plate. His feet are her guides.

  From their table, winding through the other diners and into the street, Zhou does not remove her attention from her PCD and Robert’s heels. She is intensely engaged in preparing to examine possible relationships between Aethon genomes and Manchineel genomes. Abruptly, Robert halts. Zhou only stops when her forehead bumps into his back.

  “If my conjectures are correct…because it’s all conjecture until we analyze it in the lab…Manchineel could be an almost free treatment for Aethon.” Zhou tells Robert, with her head resting against his spine and her eyes glued to her calculations.

  “Zhou…” Robert flexes his back nudging her head attempting to gain her attention and stifle her talking.

  “Do you know that there are Manchineel trees in Florida, Robert?” Robert slides to the side, leaving Zhou standing alone. “More than in Puerto Rico.”

  “That would make it accessible on the mainland close to Tennessee and Kentucky. It could be…” Searching for Robert, she raises her eyes from her PCD to discover a pneumatic pistol pointed at her head.

  “Shut up.” Robert murmurs.

  “…almost free…” She continues, mumbling into silence.

  “Almost free, eh. Well unfortunately for you, that’s not really good for us.” A tall man dancing his laser aiming dot across Zhou’s forehead declares in a threatening growl.

  Rita, Robert and Zhou are standing face to face with the two men from La Parguera. The ominous warnings of the Voleurs flood Robert’s mind. These two men are almost certainly here to kill them.

  Zhou steps away from Robert toward the two men. Since Robert did not warn her, she does not grasp that anything
she says is putting them in peril. Naively, she is expecting the two men to celebrate her good news.

  Smiling broadly, Zhou points toward Robert’s Aethon badge. “Look at how his Aethon detection badge is glowing. Just a little Manchineel tree juice did that. Now, I need to return to San Juan to do more research, but it’s possible that just a few drops of Manchineel sap can knock out Aethon. If I’m correct then with Manchineel trees here, in Florida and the Virgin Islands, people can be protected for pennies. Isn’t that great?”

  The glowering expressions of the two men confuses Zhou. Nervously, she asks again, “Don’t you think that’s excellent news? I mean I think we can save a lot of people. Don’t you think…?”

  “Yes, we know all about it. We heard your conversations with that freak, Pion.” The man nearest Rita snarls at Zhou. “That’s exactly why we’re here. You talk too much. We’re here to shut you up, so only our employers know your excellent news.”

  “I don’t understand. You’re not going to help all of those people with Aethon? You’re just going to let them die? You can’t let them die…” Zhou pleads. “…not when we have a cure.”

  “Oh, our employers will help save people from Aethon. But, they will be the right people. People who can pay. Medicine for the masses no longer exists.” The man rubs his thumb and index finger together indicating money. “You have to pay to play in today’s game of life. If you can’t pay then you can’t play. Game over.”

  The man with the pistol smirks. “It’s a billion dollar deal, lady. A deadly disease, a desperate public and nearly free Manchineel. Almost one hundred percent profit. But, we can’t allow you to spread the word and save the Sists. The Sists must continue to suffer, because it’s only when they’re afraid that the people with the money buy our medicine. Fear is medicine’s best salesman. Our employers will make a killing by not stopping the dying.”

  While Zhou is holding the men’s attention, Robert notices Rita stealthily activating her forearm-embedded PCD. After triggering her PCD, she sneaks her left foot back and then her right foot. Clank. She smacks an empty bottle knocking it onto its side. Rattling, the bottle rolls down the street.

  “Stop right there!” The man without the pneumatic pistol grabs Rita’s arm and yanks her back.

  “We’ve talked enough. Why don’t we take a little walk in the trees over there?” The tall man waves his pistol toward a path that leads into the wooded area behind Maelo’s.

  With his pistol pushing against Zhou’s back, forcing her to walk close to Robert’s side, the tall man herds them off the street, down a slope and into the thicket. Squeezing her arm, the second man drags Rita along behind. In the brush, the path quickly narrows.

  Robert keeps his eyes moving, searching for Palo Bronco trees or Dumbcane hoping to employ their stinging nettles as a weapon. But, he sees none. They do not grow here. This is not the rain forest.

  “Robert, why are you still carrying your chicken plate?” Rita shouts at him from behind. “Why don’t you share your delicious meal with your friend?”

  “Excellent suggestion.” Robert counters. “I think I shall.”

  “Yes, you shouldn’t let it go to waste.” Rita persists.

  “Would you like some chicken?” Robert offers, maneuvering his plate between the man and Zhou and upward closer to the man’s face.

  Instinctively, the man glances down. Robert slams his plate up into the man’s face. The bare chicken bones slice deep into the man’s cheek and eye. Robert drops the plate, grabs the man’s gun hand and rams his knee against the back of his elbow, shattering it. Screaming, his arm twisting backward with the end of a bone peeking through his skin, the man drops his pistol and falls to his knees. Robert rams his extended fingers deep into the man’s throat. Snap. Crack. Pop. Silence.

  Behind him, Rita is driving her man to the ground. A violent kick against the side of his knee ruptures his right leg. He buckles. Her knee crushes his nose. Spewing blood, he slumps against a bush.

  “I think you may have killed him, Rita.” Robert concludes, after he kicks the bottom of the man’s shoe without a response. “Where did you learn those moves?”

  “Dance class.” Rita smiles and nods toward the man Robert crippled. “You didn’t do too bad yourself. Where did you learn that elbow crushing action? I’ve never seen anybody’s arm bend backward that way before. Appears to be suffering a lot of pain.”

  Robert pulls the man’s pistol out of the dust. “A dead Russian taught me that move in Ethiopia. After he knocked out four toughs, he told me that Americans rely too much on their weapons instead of their wits. I believe he was correct.”

  Her hands shaking and her voice quivering, Zhou hesitantly asks, “What are we going to do now?”

  Rita points back the way they came. “You need to leave. Take your samples to San Juan and create some magic Manchineel medicine. Robert and I will keep guard on these two fellows until Negocio’s people arrive. Isn’t that right Robert?”

  Robert nods his head while waving his hand for Zhou to leave. “Yes, we’ve wasted far too much time. Please go. Go now. Save Peter.”

  “I should be in the lab at the hospital when you return, Robert. I would appreciate your assistance. I will definitely need some samples of your blood, so try not to die.” Zhou turns and jogs away, out of the brush.

  “I will join you there as soon as I can, and trust me, I will try my best to follow your advice concerning my death.” Robert calls after her.

  With a groan, the man Rita crippled regains consciousness. He opens his right eye and gingerly touches his broken nose. His left eye is swollen shut. He spits out some blood and a tooth.

  “You’re going to die!” He snarls at Rita through his swollen lips, as he lunges at her.

  Rita easily steps out of his reach. “Collera o Coyera (good for nothing dumbass)! Stupid American! I don’t believe you’ve learned your lesson. Do not provoke Puerto Rican women. We’ll gut you in revenge for things you haven’t even done yet.”

  Rita points to a large leaf centered directly above the two men. Glued to the leaf’s underside is a six inch by three inch, cream, honeycomb nest surrounded and covered with paper wasps. “Robert, if you jump can you reach that leaf?”

  “Yeah, no problem.” Robert practices hops to measure his reach.

  Rita slides past Robert moving several feet away. “Ok now, in a moment, I want you to jump, slap the top of that leaf as hard as you can and then run back here with me. Ok?”

  “Ok, but why?”

  “Don’t ask, Robert. Just do as I tell you.”

  With a skip and a jump, Robert leaps and slams his hand against the top of the leaf. Perfect! The leaf with paper wasp nest ridden by a horde of enraged wasps crashes to earth between the two men. Robert hits the ground running. Safely out of the wasps’ reach, he joins Rita.

  A veil of furious wasps cling and sting the men’s heads and faces. They scream and swat and swat and scream, but they are broken and cannot flee. They have no escape. It is torture. The more they flap and flail, the more the wasps attack, burying their stingers in them again and again.

  Robert shudders at Rita’s fiendishly, mocking chortle. She is relishing every stinger’s stab. Every shriek of pain feeds her hunger for vengeance. Death is dancing in her eyes.

  “You are always quoting somebody, Robert. Well now, you can listen to one of my favorite quotes. This is my warning for all of these Americans that come to Puerto Rico to cause us harm.” Rita points at the writhing, groaning men. “Stieg Larsson wrote that to exact revenge for yourself or your friends is not only a right, it's an absolute duty. Well now, I’ve done my duty.”

  PROMISE PETER

  “Rub some on him! Now!” Shengwu commands Zhou. “Give me that!”

  “No! Too much of it could kill him.” Zhou wrestles Shengwu’s hands from a small bag of Manchineel sap.

  Tears flow across Shengwu’s face dropping like rain upon comatose Peter. Shengw
u clasps her hands together pleading, begging Zhou. “Don’t you see? He’s already dying. You must help him. Please. Please save him.”

  “I’m very wary of this stuff, Shengwu. I must test it first. It won’t take me long, I promise, but I need some of Peter’s blood to determine a safe dosage. Just a little blood and a little time. That’s all I want.” Zhou forces a venipuncture blood collection kit into Shengwu’s hands. “If you want to help save Peter, get to it. Do it now. Don’t wait for a nurse-bot.”

  Shengwu rotates the kit in her hand. She is reluctant. She considers taking Peter’s blood an unnecessary waste of time for a little boy with so little time left.

  Zhou pushes open the room exit. “As soon as you have Peter’s blood, bring it to the lab. I’ll be there preparing the test media.”

  In the lab, Zhou discovers Robert napping. He is draped across an empty table wearing his dirty, sweaty clothes. He stinks of the day.

  Zhou sets her bag of Manchineel sap on the table and shakes Robert awake. “Where have you been? I expected you hours ago.”

  Jerking awake, Robert hops off the table. “I came as soon as I could. Straight from Maelo’s. There were some unexpected complications with the two men.”

  “Complications? What kind of complications?” Zhou removes two test kits from a cooler and places them on the table next to the Manchineel bag.

  Robert frowns. “Actually, Negocio’s security people required some explanations. Since the faces and lips of our two attackers were too swollen for them to talk, telling their tale fell to us. We didn’t want security to know we were responsible for their wounds, so we had to create a convincing cover story. After all, paper wasps aren’t capable of crushing a man’s larynx, then shattering his arm and another man’s knee and nose before they sting them into Anaphylaxis shock.”

  “Paper wasps? I don’t remember seeing any wasps.” While Robert is distracted and talking, Zhou begins extracting a test sample of his blood. “But yes, I imagine the two men’s injuries would be difficult to explain. So what story did you concoct?”