“I never said which one,” said Antonio.
“Which—which government do you work for?” Ginny asked.
“We have a different master,” said Antonio. “I would not call it a government at all.”
Later, Ginny would describe what she saw as “otherworldly,” and perhaps this was correct. Perhaps the creature that entered the camp at that moment was not remotely of our world; yet the truth is, such things as we cannot imagine live among us. The geneticist J.B.S. Haldane said, “The universe is not only queerer than we suppose, it is queerer than we can suppose.”
Ginny was never certain whether the creature was the product of the gene manipulation that had created the lesser uplifted howlers, or if he was something else entirely. She suspected that such a thing as he could never have been made by clumsy human intervention.
Into the camp strode a six and a half-foot tall bipedal primate, with a magnificent black and white mantle of long fur surrounding his face. Thick ivory incisors jutted from his strangely human-appearing lips, and his eyes were not the black, gentle orbs of an ordinary howler, but disturbingly human, golden and brown, with clearly visible white sclera. These eyes were enormous, dominating his otherwise flat, dark primate face. His body was that of a thickly-set, furred man, with heavily-muscled arms and the thick thighs of a weightlifter. He wore a simple Mayan loincloth and a heavy gold torque around his collarbone, which held a thick cape made of black, brown and white feathers.
The Moskitia men stopped gathering artifacts and knelt. Antonio bowed his head.
“I give you Hun-Batz,” he said to the gaping scientists. “God of the Maya, king of the howler monkeys.”
Then Hun-Batz spoke. Ginny understood not a word, but she was astonished at the soft, mellow tone of his voice, utterly unlike the deep, rough cries of the howlers.
Hun-Batz was not rough in his movements, yet he turned and grabbed shivering, weeping Terry and lifted her by the back of her pink polo shirt until her face was level with his. He said several things to her in a tongue that Ginny later learned was Nab’ee Maya, the ancient Mayan language, mostly poorly understood by today’s Mayans, but understood quite well by Antonio Alvarez, who began to translate. The brief speech concluded with: “Leave now or I will tear the liver from your living body and feed it to the Jaguar Lord of Xibalba.”
After what she had seen, Ginny thought the chances were that the Jaguar Lord was as real as the Howler Monkey God.
“Jesus Christ,” Richard said, voice shaking. “Holy Jesus Christ.”
Ginny could not have said what possessed her at that moment, but she stood and walked to the side of the massive bipedal howler monkey. Gently she raised her hand. He regarded her for a moment with his enormous golden eyes, then blinked and nodded, a strangely human gesture. She touched the soft fur of his mantle, then moved her hand to his shoulder. He was real, and solid, and warm, his body temperature much higher than a man’s. He spoke a few words in the strange language.
“You may touch him,” Antonio said, though she was already doing it.
Down his long, heavily muscled chest, she ran her hands. Then her fingers traced the outside of his iron-like, lightly-furred thighs. “You’re real,” she said. “Real.”
Her mind could barely encompass what her fingers felt.
“Ginny, don’t!” Richard said.
Again the creature spoke.
“He will not harm her,” Antonio said.
The Moskitia men began to murmur. Ginny realized she was going too far, and reluctantly, stepped back.
“How—how is this possible?” Richard asked.
“What the fuck!” Mike said. “It’s standing right there—can’t you just take it for what it is?”
Antonio just grinned and shook his head. “You have some reports to complete, don’t you, Dr. Weyland?” he said.
“Reports?” Richard said, incredulous. Ginny was astonished to read his expression—he was actually jealous of her attention to Hun-Batz. Or perhaps he was jealous that the creature had allowed her to touch him, that she had been the one to do it.
“You will be documenting the curious behavior of the howler monkeys, and will conclude that a potential evolutionary change has occurred,” Antonio said. “On a very modest scale, of course.”
Then the Moskitia men ran forward, guns pointed. Bob, of course, was not content to have his fundraising system and whatever mad experiments Terri had been doing for whatever unconscionable payoff from mysterious government entities destroyed by a giant howler monkey god and jungle guerrillas. He’d gotten hold of his knife again. He lunged at Hun-Batz’s massive back.
The knife slashed through the cape and into dark fur and muscle. Hun-Batz turned, seemingly unaffected, grabbed the man’s head, and twisted, snapping his neck.
“What a dumbass,” Mike said as Bob, whatever sort of evil he had been, fell in a heap, his legs askew.
“I can’t say I’m sorry,” Antonio said.
Terri shrieked and tore at her hair. “It’s all ruined!” she cried.
“You somehow thought this would turn out well?” Ginny said. “You abused innocent animals and tried to pay for it by stealing precious artifacts!”
“Bigfoot God should rip out your liver,” Mike said.
“He should dump your body in a cenote!” Katie added. She had a big bruise on her cheek from contending with one of the two mercenaries. Ginny looked at them and found their expressions of freaked-out terror so comical that she had to laugh.
“Antonio,” Richard said. “What—what is going to happen?”
Hun-Batz appeared to understand the question. Stepping over Bob’s lifeless body without even looking down, he approached the Honduran and began to speak rapidly. Antonio nodded several times, then directed the Moskitia men to tie the arms of the mercenaries and, with the help of some of the smaller howlers, to restrain a hysterical Terri. As she saw the howlers approach, she began to scream hoarsely.
“We will take them to the beach,” Antonio said. “If they behave, we’ll leave them tied up. I’ll call one of my friends in authority in Brus Laguna and tell them we observed a drug shipment and dispute. That will keep them busy for a while.”
“I’m an American scientist! You would not believe who I work for! I will have your head for this!” Terri screamed.
Antonio smiled wryly. “Yes, well, feel free to try,” he said.
As they were led away by a squad of Moskitia fighters and howler escorts, Ginny turned to Antonio. “You knew all this when you brought me here?”
“Of course,” he said.
“You were just going to let us observe the howlers and conclude whatever we concluded? About the changes in their behavior?” Richard said. His dark eyes flashed; it was as if none of the previous two hours had occurred—such is the single-mindedness of the scientist.
“Yes,” said Antonio.
“But—that’s unethical! You’re a scientist! You have a duty to tell the truth!”
Antonio smiled. “Now when did you get the idea I was a scientist?”
“When—when you said you were from the University. In Tegucigalpa.”
“Yes, but that does not mean I am a scientist. My area of study is—”
“Comparative religion,” Ginny said.
“How did you know?” Antonio smiled a smile of genuine satisfaction.
“Lucky guess,” Ginny said.
“But I do have some instructions for all of you,” Antonio said. “From Hun-Batz. You must listen carefully. Do not be concerned about the howlers. We will care for them, including the ones who are impaired.” He gestured toward the three catatonic howlers, who had not moved a centimeter through the entire conflict.
“All right,” Richard said. “We’ll hear you out, but I can’t promise anything.”
“Man, do you want to hold on to your liver?” Mike asked. “Keep your head on your neck?”
“I think we should do as he says,” Ginny said, putting her hand on Richard’s arm
. He fell quiet, and they listened.
o0o
The Honduran Howler Monkey Project is a joint project of Francisco Morazán University in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, Iowa State University, and USAID, which provides funds for local researchers to train students in sustainable, non-invasive observation and recording of howler monkey behavior.
The US-based team is led by Dr. Richard Weyland, an independent scholar, and Dr. Virginia Baumann, chair of the Department of Primatology at Iowa State University. Observation teams are coordinated by Dr. Mike Taylor, Senior Research Fellow for the USAID International Sustainability Institute. Primatologists Drs. Katharine Taylor and Siobhan Gilbert supervise satellite observation camps at the excavations at Ciudad Blanca and along the coast near Brus Laguna.
Applications for the winter observation season will be accepted through October 1. Please forward applications to Dr. Virginia Baumann at [email protected] no later than that date.
o0o
Received at the Department of Primatology in Ames, Iowa, March 18, 2018:
Dr. and Mrs. Howard Baumann request the honor of your presence
At the marriage of their daughter
Virginia Baumann
To
Antonio Jose Maria Lopez y Alvarez
On Saturday, the Twenty-Third of June
Two Thousand and Eighteen
At six o’clock
At the Great Temple of Hun-Batz
Ciudad Blanca, Honduras
Mayan holiday attire preferred
About the Authors
Marie Brennan’s childhood dream of being a chemist didn’t last past the age of seven; her adult scientific efforts have been confined to digging up bits of dead people. “Comparison of Efficacy Rates” owes a great debt to Michael Briggs, husband of Patricia Briggs, for his essay on the difficulty of making usable silver bullets.
Amy Sterling Casil is a professional writer and college teacher. Her most recent book is Female Science Fiction Writer, a major short fiction collection. She is a 5th generation Southern California native, and has a colorful heritage on both sides of her family. In high school chemistry class, her lab partner refused to cooperate in experiments, repeating the motivational refrain, “Stupid American girl!” She was also informed by her college boyfriend, a top engineering student and Harry Harrison fan, “But you have to be smart to write science fiction.” She creates new life at her Southern California home on a daily basis.
Jeffrey A. Carver grew up wanting to follow in the inventive footsteps of Tom Swift, Jr., and later Tom Corbett of the Solar Guard, or a starman in the tradition of the Winston SF juveniles. When those jobs proved elusive, he did the next best thing and became an SF writer (The Chaos Chronicles, Eternity’s End, and others). About “Dog Star,” he says, “I’d been pondering how to tell a story about dark energy, a concept so cosmic as to seem impossible to tell in human terms. Somewhere in my unpredictable subconscious, this problem dovetailed with my recollection of a joke: ‘How many border collies does it take to change a light bulb?’ The answer: ‘Just me. And while I’m up there, I’ll bring that wiring up to code.’ Of course a border collie would wonder about cosmology. The dog in this story was based on a now-departed border-collie mix named, yes, Sam. Now I have another, Captain Jack.”
Brenda W. Clough has been writing science fiction and fantasy since the early Cretaceous period. She wrote “Secundus” because she was annoyed at what Louisa May Alcott did with Laurie and Amy in Little Women. She has a long unfortunate history of responding to unwarranted and gratuitous literary provocations from deceased authors with explosive creativity and monstrous inventions.
Chris Dolley is a New York Times bestselling mad scientist. “The Jacobean Time Machine” is a story that has been brewing in Chris’s brain for years. He talked about the candle clock experiment at a panel at Westercon in 2007, but it wasn’t until this year that he expanded the story — he was obviously living too slowly.
Mark J. Ferrari was born in the San Francisco Bay Area, and raised by a tap dancing librarian and a junior high biology teacher. Carnivorous plants, microbial taxonomy, and frog dissection were standard topics of conversation over dinner. Mark kept tanks full of reptiles, amphibians and marine invertebrates in his bedroom, and once successfully administered artificial respiration to an octopus. His first fantasy novel, The Book of Joby, was published by Tor in 2007. It was honored as a Booksense Pick, made Booklist’s ‘Top Ten’ for science fiction/fantasy in 2008, was a finalist for the Endeavor Award the same year, and was re-released as a mass market paperback in January of 2012. He has published several short stories in various anthologies, and currently resides in the Pacific Northwest.
Lois H. Gresh is the New York Times Best-Selling Author (6 times), Publishers Weekly Best-Selling Paperback Author, Publishers Weekly Best-Selling Paperback Children’s Author, and USA Today Best-Selling Author of 27 books and 55 short stories. Current books are dark story collection Eldritch Evolutions, horror anthology Dark Fusions, and paranormal romance Nightfall. She’s been nominated for the Bram Stoker Award, Nebula Award, Theodore Sturgeon Award, and International Horror Guild Award. Her story, “Mandelbrot Moldrot,” incorporates her lifelong interests in math, computers, biology, weird fiction, mad scientists, and blobs. It first appeared in Miskatonic University (DAW, 1996), and as a Golden Oldie, has been reprinted many times.
David D. Levine has been deeply involved in mad science (including but not limited to: mad social science, mad computer science, and mad structural engineering) ever since he built and animated a monster in his seventh-grade arts and crafts class. His story “Dr. Talon’s Letter to the Editor” in The Mad Scientist’s Guide to World Domination, anthology edited by John Joseph Adams, was the inspiration for Mad Scientist Week at the Book View Café blog, for which the story “One Night in O’Shaughnessy’s Bar” was written, and also became a Parsec Award nominated YouTube video. “One Night in O’Shaughnessy’s Bar” itself was prompted by a comment by Claire Brialey in the fanzine Banana Wings about the practicality of brass brassieres.
Nancy Jane Moore loves to read about science, but has never wanted to engage in the actual work of it, mad or otherwise. “Revision” is dedicated to the memory of Glenn Myers, who, though he wasn’t a mad scientist — he was a musician, a poet, a writer — shared their ability to hear different drumbeats.
Shannon Page was born on Halloween night and raised on a commune in northern California. At the age of seven, she wrote her first book, an illustrated adventure starring her cat. Sadly, that work is out of print, but she has since published stories in several dozen anthologies and magazines. She has two forthcoming novels: a hippie horror tale (naturally), Eel River, and an urban fantasy, The Queen and The Tower, book one of The Nightcraft Quartet. As for ‘mad science,’ having once worked in the offices of a UCSF molecular biology lab, Shannon can spell and pronounce steroidogenesis, oxidoreductase, phosphorylation, and hyponatremia, but still cannot tell you what any of them mean. She is a longtime yoga practitioner, has no tattoos, does not like caramel, cinnamon or raisins, and is an avid gardener at home in Portland, Oregon.
Madeleine E. Robins was in the process of raising her own Monsters when she wrote “Willie.” One dark and stormy night, after viewing “Frankenstein” for the umpteenth time, she realized that it was a story about parental responsibility (of which the Doctor, and his creator’s husband Percy Bysshe Shelley, had very little). As her own Monster slept in the other room, she took the opportunity to right this wrong.
Jennifer Stevenson never got past fruit flies in her mad pursuit of science, but she understands that frogs are way more fun. She loves to pit one scientist against another. Hence “Value for O,” where a wookie tries to mate with a lunar lander — er, a mathematician perfects his methodology with a biologist. In “A Princess of Wittgenstein” she gives a tin man a heart, a princess a blue arm, and lets two mad scientists out of five rediscover a magic that is distinguished by technology.
Copyright & Credits
Mad Science Café
Deborah J. Ross, editor
Book View Café Publishing Cooperative
October 15, 2013
ISBN: 978-1-61138-328-7
Copyright © 2013 Book View Café Publishing Cooperative
Publications:
Chris Dolley—The Jacobean Time Machine. Copyright © 2013 Chris Dolley. Book View Café Blog, 2013)
Marie Brennan—Comparison of Efficacy Rates for Seven Antipathetics as Employed Against Lycanthropes. Copyright © 2010 Marie Brennan. Running with the Pack, ed. Ekaterina Sedia, Prime Books
Jennifer Stevenson—A Princess of Wittgenstein. Copyright © 2009 Jennifer Stevenson. The Shadow Conspiracy, ed. Laura Anne Gilman and Phyllis Irene Radford, Book View Café Publishing Cooperative, 2009.
Lois Gresh—Mandelbrot Moldrot. Copyright © 1996 Lois Gresh. Miskatonic University, DAW Books.
Jeffrey A. Carver—Dog Star. Copyright © 2007 Jeffrey A. Carver. Diamonds in the Sky, ed. Mike Brotherton, funded by NSF, http://www.mikebrotherton.com/diamonds/?page_id=10
Brenda W. Clough—Secundus. Copyright © 2012 Brenda W. Clough. Gears and Levers, ed. Phyllis Irene Radford, Sky Warrior Books
Madeleine E. Robins—Willie. Copyright © 1992 Madeleine E. Robins. The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, reprinted in The Best From F&SF 45th Anniversary Anthology, 1994.
David D. Levine—One Night in O’Shaughnessy’s Bar. Copyright © David D. Levine. 2013 Mad Scientist Journal, http://madscientistjournal.org/
Nancy Jane Moore—Revision. Copyright © 2013 Nancy Jane Moore. Mad Science Café, ed. Deborah J. Ross, Book View Café Publishing Cooperative, 2013.
Shannon Page and Mark J. Ferrari—Night Without Darkness. Copyright © 2012 Shannon Page and Mark J. Ferrari. Gears and Levers, ed. Phyllis Irene Radford, Sky Warrior Books
Irene Radford—The Stink of Reality. Copyright © 2007 Irene Radford. The Future We Wish We Had, ed. Martin H. Greenberg and Rebecca Lickiss, DAW
Jennifer Stevenson—“Value For O.” Copyright © 2011 Jennifer Stevenson. Ear Candy (collection), Amazon Kindle
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