3/15/2023 0 Comments Atari tokenAnd now he had a large and steady supply growing in the tanks, fully inoculated with the reovirus. ![]() He remembered the surge of triumph he felt when the little green node appeared on an agar-covered petri dish. And he had finally achieved it, not five weeks earlier. But he was channeling all his ferocious energies into one thing now-thoughts of tenure vanished, a leave of absence taken from the Museum. It had taxed all his abilities, his knowledge of botany and genetics. ![]() And the desperate creature would, if at all possible, find a substitute for the plant-the human hypothalamus being by far the most satisfactory.ĭespite his other trials, the supreme challenge had been growing the plant from a single fiber. Of course, death would intervene before that happened. Otherwise, intense pain, even madness, would result as the body tried to revert. But it was critical that the dose be maintained. Initially, large quantities of the plant would be needed to ensure sufficient reovirus to effect the bodily change.Once the transformation was complete, the plant need be consumed only in small quantities, supplemented of course by other proteins. The climax of their ceremonials was undoubtedly the induction of a new creature-the force-feeding of the plant to the unwilling human victim. The cult would have centered around the plant itself, its cultivation and harvesting. Chances are, the Kothoga only kept one of the creatures around at a time-more than that would be too dangerous. The creatures kept the enemies of the Kothoga at bay-yet they themselves were a constant threat to their masters. The plants were a curse that was simultaneously hated and needed. Kawakita could now visualize parts of the Kothoga's secret religion. Mbwun-the word the Kothoga used for the wonderful, terrible plant, and for the creatures those who ate it became. Proof, rather, that the monster was Whittlesey. A monster that would terrorize the surrounding tribes without terrorizing its masters that would ensure the security and isolation of the Kothoga forever. A monster that would keep out the road builders and the prospectors and the miners that were poised to invade the tepui from the south and destroy them. They must have attempted to do with this white man what they had failed to do with their own kind: create a monster they could control. Perhaps they brewed him a liquor from the plant's leaves, or perhaps they simply forced him to eat the dried fibers. He wondered what Whittlesey must have felt: bound, perhaps ceremonially, being force-fed the reovirus from the strange plant he himself had collected just days earlier. Kawakita effortlessly slid back the iron bar from the door and pulled it open. "Gratifying," he said slowly, as if tasting the word. And he alone knew where the life-giving fibers could still be found after the jungle was destroyed: He knew, because he had sent them there. Kawakita imagined the day it happened: the Whittlesey-thing, crouched in the jungle, seeing the fire come falling from the sky, burning the tepui, the Kothoga, the precious plants. I will have more for you on Tuesday, Kawakita said.īut then civilization came anyway, with all its terrors. He was small and wiry, and walked with a distinct roll to his shoulders. The rabbit serum tests proved that he would succeed. It could not be controlled.īut Kawakita would not fail. The legend told it best: the devil failed to keep his bargain, and the child of the devil, the Mbwun, had run wild. They had tried to control its power, but failed. ![]() What appeared to be a blessing turned out for them to be a curse. The Kothoga knew all about this plant, thought Kawakita. I think you'll find the results very gratifying." "Steep it in boiling water, that increases the concentration. Night was rapidly becoming his favorite time of the day. It had been a long day, and he felt bone tired, but he was looking forward to nightfall, when the sounds of the city would subside and darkness would cover the land. Kawakita closed the door and slid the bolt back in place. But not before Kawakita had found the fiber he needed. Margo herself had thrown it in the Museum incinerator several days after the disaster, as a precaution. But nobody had remembered to clean out Margo's handbag, which was notorious throughout the Anthropology Department for its untidiness. The lab where Margo had done the initial workwas now spotless, the plant press destroyed. The Secure Area had been painstakingly cleaned, and the crates had been emptied of their artifacts and burned, along with the packing material. All he'd needed was to find one of the fibers. Once he reconstructed what Frock and Margo had done with his program, everything else fell into place. He moved toward the door as quickly as the dim light would allow.
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