“And this?” Jennifer pointed at the row of monitors.
Stromberg pushed a key on one of the keyboards, and all the monitors came on. “From here, we monitor the movement of a series of individual tribe members. We have drones in the air over the area of the shabono most of the day and night. The drones are equipped with the most sophisticated cameras and sensors money can buy. You see here?” He pointed to the first monitor. “Here you see a live image of the shabono.” The screen displayed a crisp image of the shabono’s round rooftop.
“Are those....”
“Indeed, they are,” Stromberg confirmed. “Miss Porter, meet the Mashco-Piro.” Jennifer bent down to the screen to take a closer look at the moving dots. “Here,” Stromberg pushed some keys, and the image zoomed in. In the center of the screen, a darkly tanned man with black hair, carrying a stack of green leaves on his back, moved around. “The computer will now follow this man and keep him in the center of the screen.”
“Only this man?” Jennifer asked.
“Yep. Take a look at this.” He turned to the second screen. On the display, the numbers one to twenty-five were displayed. Some of them were stationary, while others moved around. “This is what we call the happy few.” Stromberg sounded proud. With the push of a button on the keyboard, the numbers appeared on top of the live image of the shabono. “These are the twenty-five tribe members that we carefully selected for our research, including males, females and children. We follow their every movement, analyze patterns and determine their function and social status in the group, and of course, any changes over time. The computer can identify each person individually from the rest.”
“Ingenious,” Jennifer complimented. “You can also track them at night?”
Stromberg switched on two other screens next to each other. On the first, a green-colored image of the shabono appeared and on the second, the same image, only this time in bright blue, red, orange and green colors. On both screens, the same numbers, from one to twenty-five, appeared. “Infrared and thermal vision. At night, we use infrared, the green one here, to see. But from the sky, we lose sight when the tribe members go inside the shabono, or move from the clearings to beneath the treetops. That’s when we use the thermal vision over here.”
“Impressive. How does the system distinguish one tribe member from the other?”
“Simple. Every person has their own heat signature. Your body temperature might be ninety-eight point six, but that’s an average. When measured over the surface of your body, your temperature will vary slightly in different areas of the body. This gives you a unique pattern a sensor can read.”
“But body temperature is not a constant,” Jennifer remarked.
“Very good.” Stromberg clapped his hands. “But, what is constant is the variation between the different areas of your body. So, if your temperature, let’s say at your forehead, rises zero point five degrees, so will the temperature of your lower leg. Here, let me show you.” Stromberg opened a small suitcase on the table and removed what looked like a plastic pistol, like a barcode reader used in warehouses. He pointed the device at her. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
Starting at her head, he slowly moved the beeping scanner from the top of her head down to her ankles. “Please turn around?” He scanned her again from top to bottom. “That’s it,” he said after a series of long beeps. He put the scanner in a holster next to the monitor and typed on his keyboard.
“There you are,” he said, as the image on the monitor with the thermal vision zoomed out. On the screen, the image of the three cabins appeared. There was movement all around, and a group of people setting up tents next to the cabins revealed that the picture was live. Above the center cabin, the number twenty-six appeared. “And there you are literally.” Stromberg pointed at the number.
Jennifer moved to the open door in the cabin and waved an arm outside. The number had followed her movement, and now she looked at a waving arm outside. “Incredible.” She shook her head. “As long as you don’t expect me to poop outside.”
Stromberg smiled. “We have nice facilities back in the woods.”
“Shouldn’t someone be watching these monitors?” Jennifer asked.
“All the data is automatically stored, and we have algorithms installed that pre-analyze everything. This way, we only have to work with compressed data.”
“How are we doing in here?” Mulder called out from the door opening.
“We’re doing great, I think,” Stromberg answered.
“Impressive operation you’ve got here,” Jennifer added.
“Thank you,” Mulder replied. “Well, out here, the tents are set up, and dinner’s being prepared as we speak. We like to finish up before sundown, at around six. We have to use as little light as possible in the evening, and also make limited noise. So, if you want, there’s fresh water in your tent—the orange one. You can freshen up before dinner if you want to.”
“That’ll be great. Thanks. And thank you for the tour, Mr. Stromberg.”
“Please call me Martin.”
“Will do,” Jennifer replied.
***
As the sun set over the Peruvian rainforest, the last empty dishes were cleared by the contracted crew of local Peruvians. On the long table in front of the cabins, the scientists and Mulder’s team had enjoyed a festive dinner.
“That was a lovely diner,” Jennifer told the woman who cleared the table. “What was it?”
“Aji de Gallina,” the woman replied. “Chicken stew with aji amarillo peppers and boiled potatoes.”
“They made it especially for you, as their guest,” Stromberg added.
“It was delicious. Thank you,” Jennifer acknowledged the woman who gave a bow and moved away backward.
“Who’s up for a coffee and a pisco?” Mulder called out. “It’s just brandy,” he said, winking at Jennifer. “But everything sounds so much better in a foreign language, don’t you agree?”
All hands went up, and Mulder passed out the glasses and a bottle of pisco while Stromberg poured the coffee.
“Sugar and cream are in the treasure chest.” Stromberg pointed to a small wooden box in the center of the table. “So, tell me, Jennifer, how are you doing? Is it your first day in the tropics?”
“As a matter of fact, it is not. I visited Africa many times before, for both pleasure and work, but I’ve never visited South America before, except for the beaches of Acapulco. And I’m feeling great, thank you. It always takes some time getting used to the heat, but that’s about it.”
“This is your first visit on your tour of the isolated tribes?” Stromberg asked.
“It is, and I can tell you, it’s the best outfit I’ve seen so far,” Jennifer answered, smiling.
“So, two days here and then on your way again. Where are you going next?”
“Indonesia,” Mulder intervened. “Java.”
“Also hot and humid.” Stromberg smiled. “So, Jennifer, forgive me for asking but how is your, um... you know,” he asked, clumsily, tapping his head.
“Cheers,” Mulder interrupted, raising his pisco.
“Cheers.”
“Nastrovje.”
“Proost.”
“Skol.”
“Salud.”
The men and women around the table sighed after knocking back their piscos.
“You don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable,” the middle-aged, white-haired fair-skinned lady at the table said to Jennifer.
“Thank you, Cotrina,” Jennifer replied. “But I don’t mind. I’m doing great. As a matter of fact, most of the time, I don’t feel any different than before my treatment.”
“And the other times?” Stromberg asked, widening his eyes.
“The other times, like now”—Jennifer’s eyes pierced Stromberg’s—“I can sense someone’s compulsive need for information solely for the use of gossiping and building his self-esteem.” Her mouth curved into a smile.
; Everyone around the table burst into laughter.
Mulder poured himself another pisco and knocked it back again. “That’s my cue.” He slapped the empty glass on the table. “It’s been a long day. I’m turning in early, reading a little, and then plan to get a good night’s sleep. I advise you to do the same,” he said to Jennifer. “Tomorrow, we’ll continue the tour and take it from there.”
“Good idea.”
“Me too.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Everyone got up and found their way to their cabins or tents.
***
After only a few hours of sleep, Jennifer had woken up to the first-day awareness of new sounds in a strange environment. As long as she could remember, it had always taken her a few days to adjust to a new environment before she could sleep through the night. This night wasn’t any different.
When she woke up at night, she somehow always had to use the toilet. Thankfully, she remembered the route that Mulder had pointed out earlier that day. Armed with a flashlight, she’d found the small building that was tucked away about a hundred feet into the woods without any problems. Leaving the facilities, she noticed the night sky over the clearing. She turned off her flashlight and looked up. The moon was almost eclipsed, so literally millions of stars and planets lit up the heavens, a breathtaking sight she recalled from her trips to Africa.
Looking at the pale white, faint band of light, she remembered her teacher from when she took a summer course in astronomy. He taught her that the Milky Way actually meant galaxy. The root of the word comes from the Greek and Latin words for milk, more specific, the scientific name for the sugar in milk, galactose.
I need to get back to sleep, she thought and switched on her flashlight again. Nothing happened. She clicked the button a few times. The light flashed faintly but never came on. Not now. She looked ahead of her to the path disappearing into the dark forest.
As soon as she took a few steps onto the path, the little light that came from the stars disappeared and the night was pitch black. There was no light left burning in the camp, so in complete darkness, there was no way to orient herself, other than to try to follow the path. Carefully, step by step, she dragged her sandaled feet over the track, trying to avoid obstacles. For a minute or two, she found her way carefully, putting one foot in front of the other.
Suddenly she stopped. What was that? Voices? She tilted her head in the direction of the sound. Thank God. They were voices indeed. For a moment, she wanted to shout out but figured her voice would carry far and who knew who or what she would wake. Instead, she followed the path in the direction of the voices that became clearer with every step. When she could almost understand what the voices were saying, she saw a flickering light through the trees. She noticed another clearing ahead, but she didn’t recognize her surroundings. Where was she?
At the edge of the clearing, she looked across, where the forest seemed to end at a large rock formation. In front of the structure, she saw two men leaning against the rocks, smoking. She tried to understand what they were saying, but they were too far away. She decided to approach them, but as soon as she lifted her foot to step into the clearing, both men turned, and she noticed rifles hanging from their shoulders. She quickly took a step back into the darkness. As the men turned their backs to her, a flashlight lit up, and they seemed to disappear into the rocks.
The clearing was empty again, and the night silent, except for some nocturnal animals that cried in the distance. For a long moment, she thought about what to do. She pushed the button on her flashlight again, and when nothing happened, she smacked it a few times against her other hand. Still nothing. Shit. She took another look across the clearing, and when she was sure there was no one in sight, she decided to cross it. Tiptoeing, she came to the other side, where she noticed an entrance into the rocks.
In the distance, she heard voices and saw a shimmering light coming from around a bend inside the cave. She decided to take a look, and followed the path, her hands guiding her along the rock face. Where the trail took a sharp turn, a brighter light appeared from around the corner. Faint voices sounded from farther away, so she decided to take a peek. She carefully stuck her head around the corner. A small room with a few tables in it was lit by a single LED light—designed to look like a vintage oil lamp—hanging from the ceiling. She decided to take it a step further and moved into the room.
A small bench around the corner held a row of flashlights. That might come in handy, she thought, so she took one. On the wall, she recognized a copy of Ernst Haeckel’s ‘Hypothetical Sketch of the Monophyletic Origin.’ Then she heard the voices again. They seemed to come from another pathway on the other side of the room. She carefully moved across the room and into the dimly lit corridor. After some ten feet, on the right side, an entrance to another chamber appeared. She looked into the empty room. In the center of the room, a transparent plastic tent about fifteen feet wide and fifteen feet long was assembled. She recognized the model of the canvas from a visit to a Doctors Without Borders camp in Sierra Leone during one of her stays in Africa. They were called inflatable isolation modules. This one seemed to be empty, so she snuck inside the room. Through the plastic, she saw an empty bed and some medical equipment next to it.
In contrast to the room itself, the tent seemed a sterile environment. A large sign at the zipper door read, “Shoes,” probably as a reminder to put on medical shoe covers before entering. She left the room again and decided to look further down the corridor, to determine where the voices were coming from. She passed another room with an empty tent in it, then went to a room that was better lighted. She looked around the corner. This time the tent was well lit, and two men, dressed in blue protective clothing and facemasks, bent over the bed, preventing her from seeing what or who occupied it.
She couldn’t understand the mumbling from behind the masks. A plastic bag hanging from the side of the bed seemed to fill up with a clear fluid. As she rose on her toes to try to look into the bed, one of the men stepped aside. Jennifer gasped and slapped her hand to her mouth, muffling the sound. On the bed a darkly tanned woman with black hair lay flat on her belly. On her tilted head, Jennifer recognized a breathing mask, and a tube ran from just below her neck to the bag on the side of the bed, dripping fluid into it. An intravenous drip ran from a stand on the other side to her arm. They were draining some kind of fluid from her. She slapped her back against the rock-faced corridor. I need to get out of here. As silently as possible, she ran through the halls back to the clearing. She looked and listened for a second, and when she didn’t see or hear anything, she quickly passed the clearing before switching on the flashlight she took. She took off into the forest again, finding her way back.
Chapter 20 – Santet Susuk Konde
South Bantam, Java, Indonesia, The Present
For hours, the stretched Beetle drove from the Kanci–Pejagan toll road in the east to the Cikampek-Palimanan toll road in the west. An hour ago, the nearly sixty-year-old German car had left the asphalt road and was now punished by the unpaved dirt road, Jalan Tanah.
Ignatowski bumped his head again on the handrail attached to the car’s roof. “Don’t you think it would be a good thing to invest in seatbelts?” he called out to the front.
“No worries, sir. We are almost there,” the driver shouted back.
“Not a minute too soon,” Lindsey added.
“I think this is it.” Bishop noticed a sign that read, “Perkebunan Teh,” as the car turned onto a remarkably flat road.
After a minute, the Beetle stopped in front of a large yellow concrete building with a large sign above the door that read, “Kantor.” Groaning, they all got out of the car and stretched their arms and legs.
“Next time we fly.” Ignatowski cracked his neck.
“Agreed.” Bishop stretched his arms into the air.
“Men!” Lindsey stated, pretending to be unaffected by the drive as she strolled toward the office. “This way?”
The office door swung open, and a tiny, tanned Indonesian man walked out raising both arms. “You made it,” he called out. “Come,” he said, gesturing as he walked around the building. Looking back, he urged them to follow him. “Come, come.”
At the back of the building, a small terrace overlooked the vast fields filled with green tea plants.
“Please sit down.” He pointed to the teak wooden chairs. “Tea?” Without waiting for the answer, he poured three cups of tea from a pot brewing on a candle. They sat down at the table. “I’ve been expecting you. Welcome to the Perkebunan Teh Chakra Kanaan, The Canaan Chakra-thee plantation,” he said, translating. “My name is Yohanes Kadek, but please call me Jonnie. I’m the owner of the plantation.”
“Wow,” Lindsey nodded. “Great place.”
“Almost one thousand acres with over one hundred thousand tea plants,” Kadek boasted.
“What are those colored lines over there in the distance?” Bishop asked.
Kadek laughed. “Those are the... um, what you call them... tea pickers, I believe, yes? The tea pickers are about the same height as the tea plants, so from a distance, you only see their bright-colored rice hats, those conical pointy hats made of straw.”
“So, those are all people?” Lindsey asked.
“Yes. At any time, there are about five hundred people working the fields. How’s your tea?”
They sipped the dark tea.
“Hmmm.”
“Good.”
“Excellent.”
“So, my friend Kuwan Mansoer spoke highly of you and asked me to help you. You know, Kuwan and I studied together at the Indonesian Institute of the Arts in Surakarta. I guess he stayed the closest to his study. I wanted to be a photographer but ended up taking over the tea business from my father. Kuwan told me you wanted to visit the Baduy.” He frowned. “Why?”
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