Short Story: Saving Private Rhino
© 2015 C. Henry Martens
Rhinoceros In Kruger National Park
Image courtesy of suwatpo at www.freedigitalphotos.netHot. Dry grass, no longer green but sun-bleached a golden yellow and as dry as dust, stands shoulder high to the big, grey animal grazing beneath the sparse acacia trees. The preserve, owned in a philanthropic trust as a tax write-off, bakes under the African sun.
A small sound invades the concentration of the rhino, and she lifts her head as though to look around. Almost blind in the shimmering air that bends her visual cues, she is more likely scenting the air. She flaps her ears to rid them of flies, and dust forms a halo about her head. The tiny breeze blows it away slowly, toward the direction that drew her attention. The man with the silenced rifle goes unnoticed, downwind, and stands motionless under the disabled scrutiny of the chewing beast. He waits, and as she finds nothing to be concerned about, she drops her head to pick at the meager offerings once more.
Lifting his prize, the native African with the finely made but inexpensive weapon opens the burlap bag and drops the two chunks of horn inside. In his mind he is already spending the six hundred dollars he will receive. He has many relatives, they are all in need, and the money will not last. He knows he will have to hunt again soon. Looking back over his shoulder as he melts into the landscape, his thoughts are of getting caught, no concern at all for the many high protein meals the carcass could have provided.
The trip with Gisell into the Camargue, to the isolated cabin with the covered porch, had gone well. They would be living together as soon as she could sublet her Paris apartment. The lab knew nothing, and the two lovers would try to keep their relationship invisible. It was complicated working with an ex, but even moreso with two. Still, Marc smiled. Life was progressing and the past weekend excursion capped a week of great news. Getting the results from his private research had prompted his impulsive confidence and the sudden invitation from Gisell. He would do anything for Gisell.
The science Marc had become involved in was his own affair, he thought. Certainly he had not noticed any subtle manipulations from his love as he looked into her endless eyes. The company knew nothing about it, and would have disapproved had they known. Culturing genetically modified company fungus was one thing, but culturing and using company equipment on toe fungus… with no monetary gain… was another.
The trick was to add a mild irritant to the genetic structure of the mold and at the same time make it contagious to only two species. One, the rhino, with contagion occurring through natural contact, and the other a contagion through being ingested by human beings. The irritant would live in the rhino’s keratin horn as it grew, bothering the beast as a small itch that was impossible to scratch and eventually ignored. On the other hand, the fungus infecting the processed horn would make its way into the medicinal supplies of the East, and soon a classic epidemic of mild heartburn would follow any horn products that were swallowed. If that wasn’t enough to dissuade users, they would experience the opposite of what they desired by taking powdered horn. The irritant would pass from them with some stinging, through the urethra, and infect their partners. Soon those women would be turning down any advances due to discomfort during sex. They could be cured, but the source of the infection would eventually be pinpointed, and there would no longer be any reason to take a horn from a threatened species.
The science was much more complicated than the idea, but gene splicing had evolved, and Marc wasn’t afraid to work extra hours. After almost three years he delivered the fully developed mold to Gisell, and she infected one of the rehabbed rhinos at the sanctuary where she worked. From there the rhino passed his malady on to his paddock-mates. No one noticed, even with all of the testing done before the animal’s reentry into the wild. Neither Marc nor Gisell would know how many rhino would acquire the fungus, or how fast, but the process had begun. Any offspring born to infected mothers would acquire the fungus in their earliest encounters, and their horns would be infused as they grew. By the time they were adults their horns would be worthless for any man-made use.
Throwing the blood-soaked bag onto a scale, the middle-man grumbled. His profits were taking a hit recently due to the new fungus problem. The Asians were so picky and were now insisting that all horn be inspected before money changed hands. The bag came off the scales and the villager looked expectant. The man with the wallet explained that he would have to perform a new test, and he was relieved that the hunter had already heard of it. The buyer had made it policy to tell hunters to leave their weapons at home. There had been bloodshed over product being turned down.
The band saw sliced through the two horns like butter, from tip to base, dividing them. The foggy spots of golden mold were immediately apparent, and as the buyer raised them up to place them under the eyes of the hunter, the man’s face dropped. He knew his days in the heat were wasted, and this was the third time in a row. He wondered what he could get for the rifle. Maybe he should invest in some seed, because this line of work was becoming increasingly expensive.
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Rhinoceros In Kruger National ParkImage courtesy of suwatpo at www.freedigitalphotos.netHot. Dry grass, no longer green but sun-bleached a golden yellow and as dry as dust, stands shoulder high to the big, grey animal grazing beneath the sparse acacia trees. The preserve, owned in a philanthropic trust as a tax write-off, bakes under the African sun.
A small sound invades the concentration of the rhino, and she lifts her head as though to look around. Almost blind in the shimmering air that bends her visual cues, she is more likely scenting the air. She flaps her ears to rid them of flies, and dust forms a halo about her head. The tiny breeze blows it away slowly, toward the direction that drew her attention. The man with the silenced rifle goes unnoticed, downwind, and stands motionless under the disabled scrutiny of the chewing beast. He waits, and as she finds nothing to be concerned about, she drops her head to pick at the meager offerings once more.
Lifting his prize, the native African with the finely made but inexpensive weapon opens the burlap bag and drops the two chunks of horn inside. In his mind he is already spending the six hundred dollars he will receive. He has many relatives, they are all in need, and the money will not last. He knows he will have to hunt again soon. Looking back over his shoulder as he melts into the landscape, his thoughts are of getting caught, no concern at all for the many high protein meals the carcass could have provided.
The trip with Gisell into the Camargue, to the isolated cabin with the covered porch, had gone well. They would be living together as soon as she could sublet her Paris apartment. The lab knew nothing, and the two lovers would try to keep their relationship invisible. It was complicated working with an ex, but even moreso with two. Still, Marc smiled. Life was progressing and the past weekend excursion capped a week of great news. Getting the results from his private research had prompted his impulsive confidence and the sudden invitation from Gisell. He would do anything for Gisell.
The science Marc had become involved in was his own affair, he thought. Certainly he had not noticed any subtle manipulations from his love as he looked into her endless eyes. The company knew nothing about it, and would have disapproved had they known. Culturing genetically modified company fungus was one thing, but culturing and using company equipment on toe fungus… with no monetary gain… was another.
The trick was to add a mild irritant to the genetic structure of the mold and at the same time make it contagious to only two species. One, the rhino, with contagion occurring through natural contact, and the other a contagion through being ingested by human beings. The irritant would live in the rhino’s keratin horn as it grew, bothering the beast as a small itch that was impossible to scratch and eventually ignored. On the other hand, the fungus infecting the processed horn would make its way into the medicinal supplies of the East, and soon a classic epidemic of mild heartburn would follow any horn products that were swallowed. If that wasn’t enough to dissuade users, they would experience the opposite of what they desired by taking powdered horn. The irritant would pass from them with some stinging, through the urethra, and infect their partners. Soon those women would be turning down any advances due to discomfort during sex. They could be cured, but the source of the infection would eventually be pinpointed, and there would no longer be any reason to take a horn from a threatened species.
The science was much more complicated than the idea, but gene splicing had evolved, and Marc wasn’t afraid to work extra hours. After almost three years he delivered the fully developed mold to Gisell, and she infected one of the rehabbed rhinos at the sanctuary where she worked. From there the rhino passed his malady on to his paddock-mates. No one noticed, even with all of the testing done before the animal’s reentry into the wild. Neither Marc nor Gisell would know how many rhino would acquire the fungus, or how fast, but the process had begun. Any offspring born to infected mothers would acquire the fungus in their earliest encounters, and their horns would be infused as they grew. By the time they were adults their horns would be worthless for any man-made use.
Throwing the blood-soaked bag onto a scale, the middle-man grumbled. His profits were taking a hit recently due to the new fungus problem. The Asians were so picky and were now insisting that all horn be inspected before money changed hands. The bag came off the scales and the villager looked expectant. The man with the wallet explained that he would have to perform a new test, and he was relieved that the hunter had already heard of it. The buyer had made it policy to tell hunters to leave their weapons at home. There had been bloodshed over product being turned down.
The band saw sliced through the two horns like butter, from tip to base, dividing them. The foggy spots of golden mold were immediately apparent, and as the buyer raised them up to place them under the eyes of the hunter, the man’s face dropped. He knew his days in the heat were wasted, and this was the third time in a row. He wondered what he could get for the rifle. Maybe he should invest in some seed, because this line of work was becoming increasingly expensive.
Click HERE to receive these blog posts in your inbox.
www.readmota.com
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