“And the Tupinamba told us that before this happened, the white men had returned to the Tapajós.” That was where, a few years ago, Henrique had taught the Tapajós Indians how to tap rubber.
“Describe these white men, if you can. Especially what your scouts said about their leader,” said Henrique grimly.
* * *
The next day, gifts for the Manao Indians were lowered in the spy basket, and Henrique and Maria rode it back up to report to Captain Neilsen.
“My best guess,” said Henrique, “is that they are led by Bento Maciel Parente the Younger, who is a scoundrel of the first order, but also a good woodsman. And very well connected, his father having been the captain-major of Grand Pará. I presume that he was sent out to restart the rubber tapping in Tapajós.”
“But how did he know how to do it?”
Heinrique shrugged. “Perhaps he was sent encyclopedia descriptions. Perhaps he tortured the Tapajós until they showed him the technique. I know the rubber trees there are rich in latex, so we should collect their seeds. We just need to use this airship to destroy Bento and his men.”
“Impossible,” said Captain Neilsen. “First, this is not some kind of aerial dreadnought. We have no bombs, no cannon, no rockets, no volley guns, just a few small arms. Second, my orders are to facilitate your mission, but only to the extent commensurate with the safety of this extremely expensive airship.”
“It seems very strange to me that so expensive an airship would sail without any armament,” said Henrique.
“My dear sir, you have walked the entire deck of this gondola. Have you seen, heard, or even smelled the slightest hint of a substantial weapon of any kind? We don’t need armament because when we are six hundred feet in the air, no enemy can touch us. At least, none that I know of.”
Henrique looked down at his feet for a moment, then glared at Captain Neilsen. “I accept your word. But we could still sail to the Tapajós, trade weapons for seeds with the natives there. Bento Maciel Parente can shake his fist at us as we pass overhead, but it’s almost four hundred miles to old time line Santarem, at the mouth of the Tapajós, and we can fly that distance faster than he can paddle it, even with the Amazon current helping him.”
Captain Neilsen scratched his chin. “But why go to the trouble? Aren’t the right kind of rubber trees available here?”
“Yes, but all we know is their yield of the moment, since we arrived,” said Henrique. “And we are at the end of the tapping season, so the figures are unpredictable. On the Tapajós, I know how each tree performed, day in and day out, for a whole season. We can go straight to the best producers and collect their seeds.”
“You are certainly correct that we can outrun a bunch of canoes,” Captain Neilsen admitted. “But it will take time to make contact with the Tapajós Indians, especially since the appearance of this airship would probably scare them out of their shoes, if they wore them! Moreover, the trees you’re most interested in may have already dropped their seeds, or not be ready to oblige you for another week or two. That’s time enough for the Portuguese to paddle down to us. And isn’t it likely, if the Portuguese have resumed your old tapping operation, that they left soldiers there to keep the Indians working?”
Henrique sighed heavily. “Very likely.”
“Then it seems to me that the value of a trip to the Tapajós is outweighed by the danger to the ship. Not to mention the risk that if Parente arrived while you were on the ground, I might have to abandon you!”
“Of course I could not let Maria take the risk. But I could go down alone.”
“I will need your help getting plantations started,” said Maria. “Please, Henrique, don’t consider this further. At least, wait until we see how much seed we can collect here before doing anything rash.”
* * *
Bang!
Henrique and Maria exchanged looks, and moved cautiously uphill toward the sound. This wasn’t foolhardiness; their ears, tuned by experience to the sounds of the rainforest, recognized that what they heard was not a gunshot, it was the noise made when seeds burst from a ripened rubber tree seed pod.
The tree’s genetic blueprint called for the seeds to be flung as much as a hundred feet away from their parent, carried off by the rising waters, and at last to germinate miles, perhaps many miles, away.
But the sound had been heard by other creatures, and they had their own genetic blueprints, which told them to consider the “bang” to be a dinner bell. Some of the seeds fell into the water, where they were eagerly snapped up by the tambaqui and other fish. The tambaqui mostly fed on falling fruit, but its favorite meal was the rubber tree seed. Indeed, the Indians could trick it to the surface by imitating seeds falling into the water, and then harpoon it.