Page 46 of Factory Controller

“Stay here, in the village. Join the tribe. Build our own hut, have lots of children…nothing to do for the next hundred years but hunt, make love, and lay in the sun. Tell me that doesn’t sound nice.”

It does sound nice. His lips trail along my neck as his hand gropes my chest. He teases my nipple through the tank top, squeezing gently while his hot breath caresses my skin.

“Trent,” I say with a sigh, turning around in an effort to keep my wits about me. “Trent, this is serious. You’re asking me to make a major life change here, and, while it does sound wonderful, I’m not sure I can go through with it.”

His face falls into disappointment. “Why not?”

“Because I have a duty to perform.” He rolls his eyes and spins around to pace across the floor.

“To the Factory.”

“No, it’s not about them anymore. After all I’ve been through on what was supposed to be a simple auditing job, I’d say I don’t owe the Factory a damn thing. Seriously, almost getting killed was enough to pay back my Favor, I’m sure. No, the duty I’m talking about is the one I owe the children.” Trent turns to look at me. “I can’t just sit back, relax, and live my life knowing that those children are suffering. I’m not put together like that, Trent. Are you?”

Trent’s eyes grow distant as he digests my words. “No. No. Now that you put it like that, I’m not put together like that, either.”

“Not only that, but can you imagine what would happen if those awful mercenaries were to descend on this village? It would be a nightmare.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Trent takes a deep breath, lets it out through his nose, and lifts his gaze to meet mine. A grin splits his handsome face. “Well, all right, Heather. Let’s get you back to Macapá, shall we?”

Parting from the village is harder than I’d imagined. There’s a lot of crying, and not just from me. The children in particular cling to me, staring at me with their puppy dog eyes.

“Trent,” I say between sniffles. “Can you translate for me?” I want to say something to all of them and only the medicine man and a couple of elders speak Brazilian.

He nods, shouldering a pack of supplies provided by the villagers. “What do you want me to tell them?”

“Tell them the only reason I’m leaving is because other children are in danger. Otherwise, I would stay.”

Trent smiles. “I’ll do my best.”

He passes on my message. I’m not sure if the children understand fully or not, but they wipe their tears and act like they do.

The Chief insists on sending several of his warriors with us as an honor guard. Just in case of jaguar attack, or whatever other perils may come. I’m grateful for their presence as we head out into the hot sun.

I take one last look at the village, realizing I’m going to leave a piece of my heart behind here, forever.

“What’s the matter?” Trent asks.

“It’s just so hard to leave,” I say. “It feels like I’m leaving part of myself behind.”

“That’s because you are,” Trent says. He touches my chest, just over my heart. “But you’re also carrying a piece of the village with you, and it’ll be there until the day you die, always ready to offer comfort.”

I sigh, shaking my head in disbelief. “When did you get to be a philosopher?”

“I can’t even spell the stupid word,” he says with a grin. “C’mon. Let’s go save some kids.”

TRENT

We set off from the village when the sun still hangs low in the morning sky. My pack straps cause some discomfort to my jaguar-ravaged shoulder, but the stitches have long since healed. Now, it’s just going to hurt for a while until everything evens out again.

I think back to what Heather said about leaving a piece of herself behind at the village. I couldn’t agree more. There’s a well of sadness in me as I consider that I may never visit that particular village again. Ever.

The villagers know a better way around the washed-out trail, naturally. We rejoin the trail much faster than when I was in charge of navigating.

We continue on after a short repast, traversing the trail as it winds about the forest. The boles of ancient trees, brimming with a shell of fuzzy green moss, form the pillars of a cathedral to nature in all its splendor. The four of us move through the woods with a kind of silent reverence reserved for religious ceremony.

In the Amazon, if you’re looking for signs of civilization, you need look no further than pollution. We’re hiking through the rainforest, and out of nowhere a tireless bike frame rests against a tree trunk.

As we grow closer to the city, we come across more artifacts of modern society. I step over a hubcap which is mired halfway in the dirt. Heather wrinkles her nose in disgust at a bag of dirty diapers, torn open and festering in the sun.

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