Lemuria by Burt Clinchandhill (epub e ink reader TXT) 📕

suitcase. “Well, let me know as soon as you hear anything.”

“That’s a promise. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Thanks for everything.”

“Always.” Monroe tapped him on the shoulder and turned the other way.

Bishop took a few steps, then felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, followed by his ringtone, the theme song from his favorite TV show: Dexter. Monroe recognized the music and turned back. Bishop put down his suitcase and took out his phone.

“It’s local,” Bishop called out, looking at the screen. “Bishop,” he spoke into the phone.

“Hi, this is Charly from operations,” a woman said. “I have a call for you, a man with an accent, but I didn’t get his name.”

“No problem,” Bishop said. “Put him through.”

“All right. One moment, please.”

Bishop put his phone on speaker and waved to Monroe, who immediately jogged over.

“Hello. This is Father Lamberto De Cremonese. I understand you are looking for a friend of yours?”

Chapter 24 –The Wedekind Experiment

South Bantam, Java, Indonesia, Two Months Ago

A few hundred feet outside of the Arca Domas, Mulder’s co-workers had set up their observation camp from where they monitored the Baduy. For the past three days, an almost continuous stream of hard rain had battered the researchers, their guests and tents. The drones were waterproof, but the rain kept knocking them off course and wreaked havoc with the sensors, making the data they collected unreliable. Since her arrival a week ago, Jennifer kept asking Mulder for a satellite phone to call home. She had requested, appealed and demanded access to a telephone, but Mulder hadn’t budged.

She spent most of her time in her tent. On occasion, Dr. Cotrina Ahlström summoned her to the mess tent to perform one of her experiments. The strangest thing, though, was that everyone was friendly and, yet, she knew she was a prisoner. She thought about simply walking away, but there was nowhere to go. She needed someone she could trust.

The drive through the wilderness to get to the camp had convinced her she would probably perish should she try to escape that way. Mulder had said so in so many words. “Remember,” he had said ever so friendly, “you’re about fifty miles—in any direction—from any form of primitive civilization.” He explained to her that should she go for a walk, she would probably run into one of the unfriendly tribes, and God forbid what could happen to her. He also tried to convince her that everything he said, and did, was for her own good and the good of humanity. And though she was a prisoner, she felt that he believed what he told her was true. She knew she needed to find someone she trusted to get out of this, but who?

“Good morning, Jennifer,” Dr. Ahlström called out from behind the table as Jennifer walked into the mess tent. “Please sit down.”

“Good morning,” Jennifer replied before sitting down in front of the doctor.

“How are you today?”

“Same as yesterday.” Jennifer sounded bored.

“Well, maybe today we can do something different.” The doctor slapped a stack of sealed plastic bags on the corner of the table.

“What’s in the bags?” Jennifer asked.

“Today, I would like to do a little experiment with you. It’s a variation on the Wedekind experiment. Ever hear of it?”

Jennifer shook her head.

“Have you heard of the sweaty T-shirt study?”

“Nope.”

“It was a study in 1995. Claus Wedekind, a Swiss biological researcher, determined that MHC—that’s short for Major Histocompatibility Complex—plays a significant role in the selection of sexual partners. MHC is a group of genes that codes proteins, present on the surfaces of cells, that help the immune system recognize foreign substances. You know, the same genes that are responsible for activating your immune system after an organ transplant.”

“You’re talking about rejection?” Jennifer asked.

“Exactly. The human body is made to reject foreign tissue. It doesn’t like it and tries to discard it when exposed to it. MHC, or as they are called in humans, HLA, Human Leukocyte Antigen, determines if your body likes or dislikes something external. Like a code for compatibility. If you have the same coded HLA genes, you are compatible.”

“And the bags?” Jennifer asked.

“Yes, the bags.” The doctor put them on the table between the two of them. “The experiment went something like this. A group of men wore the same T-shirt for two days and nights, without having used anything like deodorant or scented soap. After two days, the shirts were anonymously presented to a group of women, who were asked to smell them and point to the one they preferred. Now, from both groups, the HLA codes were determined before the experiment. When the women made their choice of a preferred sweaty T-shirt, it showed remarkable results. Most of the woman chose a shirt close to their own HLA. So, the experiment suggested that, at least in part, we can smell compatibility of potential partners.”

“Like an ancient caveman smelling a woman before clubbing her on the head to mate with her.”

“A crude analogy, but correct,” Dr. Ahlström confirmed. “It’s a talent we’re not accustomed to using consciously anymore.”

Jennifer looked at the bags again. “You said you had a variation of the experiment for me here today?”

“Yes. In these bags are T-shirts worn by people, uh, let’s say of different stature. What I want you to do is smell the shirts and describe to me, or write down some key words, what you feel.”

“We’re going to measure my... HLA, you called it?”

“No, but if your Jacobson’s organ develops in the way we suspect it does, you might smell certain emotions, or trades, that belong to the persons who wore the shirts.”

“And if my description of the persons is more or less correct....” Jennifer paused for a long moment.

“We just might be one step closer to proving that the modified G2 quiescent stem cells in your brain indeed devolve your Jacobson’s organ to a more primeval state. So, what do you say, shall we?”

“On one condition,” Jennifer agreed, causing Dr. Ahlström to squint. Up until now, Jennifer had always