Chosen Chapter 16: Discoveries, a mask fanfic

Chosen

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Chapter 16 : Discoveries

Scott, standing nearby, noticed something odd regarding the visitors. "Dad, look at the marks on their backs. They're the same as Melusine's." The elder Trakker walked around to where Scott stood and looked. Sure enough, the skin of the natives was tattooed and over-painted with the same six eye-spots Melusine had on her upper back—black circles with variously colored centers.

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Sector placed a smear of Melusine's blood onto the scanner pad and started the computer working on it. Meanwhile Melusine had gone to lie in the live well, and had playfully tried to pull Burns in with her. The two were giggling and wrestling and sloshing water all over the floor of the laboratory. Sector though was completely engrossed in the data the computer was generating and couldn't care less. After a while Melusine let her mate go, and the sopping wet Burns became intrigued with what the scientist was finding so interesting. "Well?" he queried.

"Some unfortunate news for you Mr. Burns."

"About what?"

"Well, you might want to sit down for this, but have you and the missus considered adoption?"

Burns stared blankly, and then began laughing realizing that this was another of Sector's jokes. "I see."

"The DNA's completely different." He looked over at Burns, still keeping up his deadpan. "It seems your wife is a fish. No chance of any children."

"What?!" Burns gasped, playing along. "A fish!? She told me she was from Minnesota!"

"She could be...lot of lakes up there."

"Confluence ahead!" called Trakker, coming suddenly into the laboratory.

"Matt. Come look at this. I just did a DNA scan of Melusine. Fascinating."

"And?" He went to the computer.

"Turns out she's from Minnesota."

Trakker gave him the same blank stare that Burns had pulled out a moment before, but then began laughing.

"Hey, you stole my joke," grinned Burns.

Meanwhile Melusine had reached out from the live well and was pawing at her mate's ankles.

Trakker noted Melusine's playful behavior. "...And I think she's hungry. She'll be glad to get out."

"I'd better go get her some bars and hotdish," laughed Burns as he reached down to her to pull her out of the live well.

Trakker laughed along with him, but Sector didn't understand what was so funny. "A Minnesota joke," smirked Trakker on noticing the Englishman's puzzled look.

Hayes, piloting the boat while the hired man slept, stopped the Red Sunset and rang the bell. The group in the laboratory had moved to out to the stern deck, and Melusine, knowing the drill all too well now, dove into the water. Burns, wet already, stepped out of his water-mocs and peeled off his dripping shirt. Then he dove in after her. Before he'd even surfaced he felt Melusine's hand close around his wrist and pull him through the water. How different this was from the first time he'd gone overboard with her.

He held his breath, pinched his free arm at his side, and crossed his ankles to keep his legs together, streamlining himself to make her job easier. She was good about giving him opportunity to breathe and she brought him often to the surface. And after a while she let him go and he bobbed upwards. Melusine continued into the mouth of the tributary, her rapid movement just below the surface creating a wake above her.

And this time she went leaping from the water, arching her spine into her backwards dive, and disappearing again beneath the surface. They had seen her do that before, a sign of great joy and excitement.

Treading water where she had left him, Burns felt her huge hand again encircle his wrist as she swam past at high speed, nearly yanking his arm out of its socket as she headed for the boat. Normally she would tow him to the stern, but this time she abandoned him fifty feet from the Red Sunset. The next thing he saw was Melusine launching herself from the water and leaping to the second floor veranda where she hauled herself over the rail and burst into the pilot cabin. Anxiously, even desperately, she ran in front of Hayes and pointed eagerly at the tributary.

A translation from Maria was completely unnecessary.

Hayes rang the departure bell and Melusine tapped the handle of the throttle, making doubly sure Hayes understood. "I know! I know!" he said. "I just have to make sure everyone's on board before we leave." He stepped out of the cabin and immediately spotted Burns in the water just reaching the ladder at the prow. "Anyone else go for a swim too?" Hayes called to him.

"Just Melusine and I."

"Your girl's hopping around up here like a polecat chasing frogs. I think we've found the right river."

He took a walk around the veranda, scanning the water, Melusine on his heels. And satisfied that no one else had left the boat during the short stop, he ran the bell again and started up the engine. The fishwoman still hanging over his shoulder, he turned the boat up into the tributary, Melusine following every movement as if he might not have understood. And as the Red Sunset eased into new waters she hugged Hayes and kissed him on the cheek happily. And then she tapped her hand again on the throttle, encouraging him to go faster.

"Eager little beaver, aren't you?" Hayes chuckled and he pushed the cruising speed up a few knots.

Having noticed the abrupt change of course, Trakker and Sector came into the pilot cabin, passing Melusine as she left, most likely heading for the live well.

"Dusty, what's up?"

"Mrs. Burns insisted we go this way, and I think she would have thrown me overboard and driven the boat herself if I hadn't."

With that statement Sector was immediately bent over the chart studying what lay ahead on this new course.

"I guess we've found the right tributary then."

"Well it's not a large one, but it is interesting," announced Sector. "Lago Teresino is just ahead. And further upstream are Lagoa Preta and Lagoa Azevedo. There are four indigenous preserves along it and its own two tributaries. Three marked villages..."

"Will we be heading into Peru? I know we're not that far from the border."

"Nope. The rivers here parallel the Juruá and the Purus but don't extend as far as they do.

Trakker went over to look at the map for himself as Sector stroked his finger along the length of the blue line. "Lagoa Preta..." said Trakker quietly as he studied the indicated area. "There's a bit of irony."

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The Red Sunset continued up the river, chugging along slowly through the night. And when daybreak came in golden splendor, Melusine was more active than ever. The hours seemed to pass by slowly for her, and she was constantly jumping in and out of the water. Normally she would swim with Burns or Scott at this time of the day, but currently she was preoccupied with the journey up this tributary. She was so excited she could barely lie down for her late-morning to mid-afternoon sleeping phase. And when she woke she was immediately out of the live well and into the water, diving off of the stern and heading rapidly upriver ahead of the Red Sunset.

A few more miles along the course and the Red Sunset was met by two dugout canoes, two men in full native array seated in each. They came up to the ship and boarded at the stern and were met by Sector, having spotted them from his laboratory. "Welcome, Gentlemen. How may I be of service," he greeted them politely.

The four men greeted him with an odd salute, crossing their wrists and letting their hands hang limply in front of them. "You speak English?" questioned the one who appeared to be their leader. He seemed fairly young, and his skin tone and eyes seemed somewhat lighter than those of the other men.

"Yes, and French if you prefer."

"We are here to inform you that you are entering the Lagoa Preta Cultural Protection District, and that travel by outsiders within the district is strictly controlled by local jurisdiction."

"I see," Sector responded, rather surprised at the big words and formality of the speech. "Well we were just heading up the river." A few of the others had come downstairs to look at the arrivals, the natives looking splendid in their feathered headdresses and painted skin and assorted weaponry. They had not come aboard unarmed—all four carried machetes, bows, and quivers of arrows. But beyond this, they were nearly naked save for their loincloths and a pair of shorts on one.

And on looking closer, Sector noticed that beneath the face paint, the leader of the party was definitely Caucasian. When questioned on this, the man laughed, the cold announcement falling to the wayside. "My name is Tom Delaney. My grandfather, Dr. Delaney, is the administrator of the Lagoa Preta project here."

"An American?"

"Yes, and my parents are American and Dutch. I just spend more time living with some of the local tribes here...my wife's a native girl."

"Would it be possible to meet with your grandfather? We're much interested in this project."

"I think so. He's at home now."

Two of the Indian men had been looking at the diving fins hanging on the wall, and now they talked to Tom in the local lingo. There seemed to be some interest in obtaining them, and they asked their leader to translate. "They want to know if you would trade for the fins. These fins are much desired by the men in this area for swimming," explained Tom.

Trakker came down the stairs and stood next to Sector. "Tell them they are welcome to those two pairs. Consider them a goodwill gift from us."

"They will trade. We do have some things of value here to tourists."

Trakker waved his hand. "No need. We've got other pairs for our use."

"Are you certain?"

Trakker nodded.

Tom translated to the men, who were very excited. Trakker went to the wall and took down the two pairs of fins and placed them into the men's hands. They nodded repeatedly and thanked him, and then they insisted on giving Trakker one of the bows and its quiver.

"Mr. Delaney," Trakker addressed the young man, "What are these markings?"

"Oh? Those?" He turned his head hard and hunched his shoulder forward to look at his own. "Those are just a tribal marking here. Men who have proven themselves responsible members of the tribe are allowed to wear them."

"And what do they represent?" queried Sector.

Tom looked a tad uneasy, but then smiled. "They're the fingerprints of the River God. They symbolize the connection of the people to the river."

"Fascinating," replied Sector, shooting Trakker a look.

"I see you have a small boat there," Tom said, quickly changing the subject. "You can follow us up the river to the houses. My grandfather's there and so is the Protection District headquarters. It's best to leave this big boat here for now."

"Certainly."

The men thanked Trakker again for the exchange of gifts, and the four locals clambered back into their canoes and began to paddle upriver.

As the men left, Trakker and Sector pulled the motorboat up to the stern for boarding. "Those markings, Alex. We're so close," he said breathlessly. "I wouldn't be surprised if Melusine is already home."

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Sector and Trakker followed the canoes in Sector's boat through the curves of the river. Here the land was so flat every five miles on the water amounted to only one or two as the crow flies. In half an hour they reached a wide sandy bend where the land behind it had been cleared of trees. Several buildings on tall stilts sat in the cleared area around which grew grassy lawns and kitchen gardens. Several goats, attended by a young native boy, grazed without concern. Chickens ran free. A large sign at the riverside proclaimed "Lagoa Preta Cultural Protection District Headquarters" in Portuguese, Spanish, English and French, announcing that this area was a step beyond the usual indigenous preserves peppering the Amazon basin. On the far side of the sandy area the river appeared to widen into a large lake studded with islets.

The two canoes beached on the sandy area and the men got out. Sector and Trakker followed suit. Tom ran ahead to one of the buildings while the three others escorted the newcomers to a large gazebo where they sat and waited. Tom soon returned, an older man in his company. "Gentlemen, I welcome you to Lagoa Preta. How may I be of service?" asked the older man quite genially as he entered and leaned on his cane.

"Are you Dr. Delaney, the administrator?"

"I am. I see you have some awareness of the project?"

Trakker went easily into diplomat mode. "Your grandson has given us some information and told us that travel is restricted beyond this point. Doctor, I'm Matt Trakker." He held out his hand in greeting and Dr. Delaney shook it. "My foundation holds the Paranari Protection and Sustainable Development Grant up along the Rio Negro."

"Ah, so as another grantee, you can understand the importance of what I'm about to ask you. The area beyond this point is sacred to three local tribes and it is their unanimous wish that outsiders do not proceed unescorted past here." The geniality had given way to business.

Trakker nodded. "Completely. I won't ask for the self-guiding tour in that case," he said lightly.

"What brings you to this part of Amazonia, Mr. Trakker?" Delaney asked.

"Oh, just a little jungle cruise to see some areas of the basin we haven't before." He gestured at Sector. "Dr. Sector here is studying some of the larger fish up in the northern areas and their interrelations with the riparian populations," he said

Delaney's eyes suddenly brightened and much of his defensive stance disappeared. "A fellow ichthyologist. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance." He extended his hand to Sector.

"A pleasure to meet you as well," smiled Sector, knowing full well what Trakker was leading the old man into.

"Dr. Delaney, would it be permissible for us to anchor here for the night before we turn around and head back downstream? Perhaps we could invite you over for supper. We do have a fantastic cook aboard our boat."

"And I have been saving that bottle of gin for a special occasion," added Sector, speaking to Trakker but with the comment aimed at the doctor to sweeten the invitation.

"Gin?" The man's eyes lit up again. "I've not had gin for at least a decade."

"Well then, you'll have to join us and we'll make it a special occasion. There's tonic to go with it as well."

"I think I've been persuaded to join you," laughed Dr. Delaney. "I'll bring the limes."

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Chosen continues in Chapter 17: Lagoa Preta

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M.A.S.K. and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of DIC Enterprises, Inc and Kenner Toys. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.

This fic is dedicated to Ben Chapman (1925-2008), Ricou Browning, and Tom Hennesey (1923-2011)

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