William Meikle: Infestation

“Will it be enough?” Banks asked.

Svetlanova replied how she thought Mac might have wanted her to, in her best Glaswegian accent.

“Fucked if I know, Cap,” she said.

As he once again boarded the Lucky Lucy , Dr. Hank Newstead reflected again on the smell permeating all around him. There were lots of rivers throughout the world, lots of pristine places that were resisting the encroachment of man, but the Amazon somehow managed to smell unique among them all. Sure, there was the lush greenery and smell of exotic growing things, the sharp scent of fish and murky water and things growing and living beneath the sometimes calm and sometimes roiling surface. But there were also other things, things that could be found nowhere else in the world. There were the pungent odors of flowers and plants that could only be found here, and a deep, almost incomprehensible odor wafting out of the flood waters flowing among the roots of the trees.

All of it was a far cry from the stale, antiseptic scent of labs and academia he was surrounded by when not in the field. And even though he was uncountable miles away from his mailing address, that ever-present smell made him feel truly at home.

“Newstead, you’re doing it again,” Morgan said.

Hank blinked several times, bringing himself back to the moment. “Doing what again?”

“Doing that brainy, ‘I-smell-a-thing,’ hippy-dippy shit you do.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do. Every time you come back to the Lucky Lucy , you stop and do that and look like a fool, all while making us late. So are you going to get your ass back to packing up the boat, or what?”

Although anyone else would have interpreted Captain M. Morgan’s words as gruff and angry, Hank had worked with him so often in the past that he was able to recognize the fondness hidden underneath his words. Morgan was somewhere in his fifties, and while graying hair and thick gray beard reflected that, no one would have otherwise guessed his age correctly based on his toned, rugged body, the product of a lifetime spent ferrying people just like Hank up and down the Amazon River in search of whatever scientific specimens. Morgan had been the first captain Hank had ever hired for an expedition fifteen years ago, and even though Hank had spent half that trip wanting to throttle the aggravating man in his sleep, there had never been any question about hiring anyone else for future expeditions. Captain Morgan knew the Amazon, and he knew how to get them out of predicaments most people wouldn’t have imagined. If you hired Morgan, you got an attitude, but you also an untold amount of skill and experience.

Which was quite the opposite of the other people currently crowding around Hank on the dock. He had five students, interns, and undergraduates with him this time, more than he was used to for an expedition like this, and already he was regretting it. As expeditions went, this was going to be pretty routine, and he’d thought that meant he could use that as a learning opportunity for a few of his students. He’d forgotten, however, what it was like being out in the field for the first time, the uncertainty, the awkwardness, the sea-sickness. Already one of the students was throwing up over the side of the dock, and they hadn’t even gotten on the boat yet.

As Katherine caught her breath between heaves, her boyfriend Stu rubbed her back and cooed soothing things to her, all while trying to hide the fact that he desperately wanted to laugh his butt off at her predicament. Katherine was the one Hank had specifically invited, given her crazy-high intellect and exceedingly young age – she was only nineteen, yet already an undergraduate – and when she had asked if Stu could come as well, Hank had initially been doubtful. Then he found out that Stu came from a well-to-do family of professional catamaran racers, and Hank had figured it would be good to have another person on the boat that knew how to hold his own on the water. Katherine, apparently, was not as used to the water as he was. Just the slight movement of the dock upon the river had already made her sick to her stomach.

Rounding out the group were Jasmine, Hank’s mousy little teaching assistant, Randy, a young colleague of Hank’s from the Folger Institute of Amphibian and Reptilian Studies, and Erin. Erin was one of Hank’s students, and if pressed, he would have told everyone that Erin was simply here because she had shown such an intent interest in the trip. In truth, Erin and Hank were in a relationship that straddled the edge of ethical lines between teacher and student. Erin’s interest in herpetology was actually minimal. She was here only because Hank needed to work out with her exactly where their relationship was going, and to see if they could find a way to do it without any major ethics violations.

Erin was the one who went directly down the dock and immediately stuck out her hand for the captain to shake. “Hi! Erin Gershwin. Hank has told me a lot about you.”

Morgan, obviously taken aback by the tiny blonde’s friendliness and forthrightness, did something Hank rarely saw him do with anyone else: he actually reached forward and took her hand, giving it two quick pumps before letting go, as though he thought the human contact would result in some kind of flesh-eating disease if he held on for too long. “A pleasure, I guess,” he said. Morgan looked back to Hank. “Everything you sent ahead is already aboard. Get your people on already so we can get the hell out of here.”

“Don’t you want to be introduced to the rest, first?” Hank asked. He couldn’t help but smile. This question had become something of a tradition between the two of them whenever they were starting an expedition, as had the answer that Morgan was about to throw at him.

“Introductions are for people who plan on screwing at the end of the night,” Morgan said, not even bothering to look at Hank as he gave the customary response. “And I’m not going to screw over a single one of you.”

As the captain went about his business doing the final preparations on his boat, Randy came up to Hank and spoke quietly to him. “Dr. Newstead, this guy looks about as trustworthy as I can throw him. We should find someone else.”

Hank scowled. “Not only do we not have the time to look for anyone else, but I’ve lost count of the number of trips I’ve made with Captain Morgan. I trust him more than I trust some of my own family.” And certainly more than I trust you , Hank thought, although he didn’t dare say it.

“Captain Morgan?” Randy asked incredulously. “That’s seriously his name? Sounds more like…”

Randy apparently hadn’t noticed the captain coming up behind him until Morgan cleared his throat. “Sounds more like what?”

“Uh…”

“No, go ahead. Make a joke about my name. I don’t mind, but only on one condition. It has to be one I’ve never heard before. If I have, then I’ll break your arm.”

Randy blinked. “I’m sure you wouldn’t really…”

He stopped when he saw that both Hank and Captain Morgan were nodding solemnly.

“Um, I think I’ll just skip the joke for now,” Randy said.

The captain put a meaty hand on Randy’s shoulder, gripping it with enough force that Hank saw Randy wince. “Good man,” Morgan said, then wandered off again. Once Randy was dead certain that the captain was again out of hearing range, he spoke again. “I would have never approved of this guy if you had asked me first.”