Page 47 of Factory Controller

“How does this stuff even get here?” she asks.

“During the rainy season, the river swells way past its banks. This rubbish was deposited by the river during a flood.”

“And people just chuck their garbage into the river?” Heather is aghast. “I thought the people of the Amazon had respect for the environment.”

“Some of them do, like our tribe,” I say, gesturing at the escort. “Others, not so much. The people who live in the cities don’t have the luxury of living green. There’s no trash trucks coming once per week to clear it away. You either pay someone to ferry it downstream to a landfill for you, or you burn it, or let it pile up…or—”

“You chuck it in the river.” Heather sighs. “No one should have to live this way.”

We come upon the city, a settlement whose name has changed so many times you get different answers depending on whom you ask. It’s not exactly a thriving metropolis. Many of the streets are made of packed dirt, and while the buildings are modern, they seem to be in a universal state of disrepair.

“I hate to say it, but…” Heather’s voice trails off.

“What a dump?” I heave a sigh. “These people are trapped between two worlds, the ancient and the modern. On one level, the modern world offers its miracles and everyday convenience. On the other, it doesn’t jibe very well with living this deep in the rainforest.”

I gesture loosely all around. “This place is luckier than most, because it has a road connecting it to the highway system. Even that’s not enough to keep it from slowly dying.”

This is where we and our honor guard part company, so we make our goodbyes. One of the tribesmen hands me a woven cloth sack with something hard inside.

“Thank you,” I say, bowing my head gratefully for the gift.

“What’s that?” Heather asks.

“I haven’t the foggiest, but it would be rude to check before they leave.”

Our guards take their leave, and we move to the shade provided by the swollen timbers of an aging building. I fumble with the drawstring until I get it untied, then peer inside of the bag.

“Holy shit.”

“What? What is it?” Heather peers over my shoulder, squinting to see inside of the bag. “Is that a gemstone?”

“A ruby, to be exact. It looks like it has a flaw in it, but it’s still probably worth a couple grand, at least. Depending on market exchanges, of course.”

“Why did they give it to us?”

“They’re trying to make sure we make it to Macapá. Bless them, because cash is king in a town like this.”

“And we’re both broke.”

“And we’re broke.” I chuckle and retie the string tightly. “Come on. Let’s go try and find a ride to Macapá.”

Heather stares down at herself and sighs. “Look at us. We look like refugees from a plane that exploded and then crashed in the mud.”

“To be honest, we don’t look much different than everyone else here.”

She opens her mouth to admonish me for saying such an insensitive thing, but then closes it when she realizes I’m not wrong. The denizens of this little town are rough, hardscrabble, and looking to hang onto what’s theirs. Most of them don’t bat an eye at us. Thanks to weeks of living in the sun, we’re more tan than they expect Americans to be.

A young boy runs up to us and starts babbling on in Portuguese.

“Hey, mister, you need something? Your clothes look like crap, my grandma can mend them for you, cheap.”

“Thanks, kid, but I don’t need a tailor—”

“What about a place to rest, then? My cousin has a room. It’s not much, but you can have it. Cheap.”

“Um, sorry, we really can’t stay,” Heather says.

“What about food? My sister has a fried cricket stand. Tasty fried crickets. Cheap.”

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