Hummingbird Salamander(13)
They feasted on a particular kind of flower, “Solanaceae flowers in the Schizanthus genus (commonly called ‘Poor man’s orchid,’ or, in Spanish, ‘maripostia’) that occupy stream valleys at mid-elevations in the Andes.” These flowers contained powerful alkaloids hallucinogenic to humans and had affected so much of the birds’ evolution. Remarkable details. Their very head shape had adapted to “better carry pollen between immobile flowers, and, in turn, the flower cups have adapted to fit the hummingbird’s bill.”
The forked tongue of S. griffin efficiently laps up flower nectar. The coevolutionary pairing has also impacted the flowers, as their color, size, orientation, and nectar content are adaptations to better seduce birds to visit and then disperse the flower’s gametes to a fertile mate. Schizanthus flowers will release the entire anther (a male reproductive segment) onto the hummingbird’s head to promote successful pollen transfer for these ornithophilous plants.
The flowers never select or meet their mates, those partnerships are at the whim of the avian matchmaker, but the female S. griffin is most intentional about selecting her mate. Females have complete agency, and mating males must win their affection by being artists of many talents—a singing, dancing, and beauty competition all in one.
* * *
Singing, dancing, beauty competitions. How to process this ethereal touch, this intel so at odds with my job, my life?
Hadn’t the hummingbird been a kind of miracle?
Hadn’t it diminished us not to see this as a miracle and protect it?
[19]
The next day, or the day after that—some of it blurs—my spy on Larry’s computer sent an alert. A malicious attack. Rebuffed by security. A closer look revealed the attack had been a distraction while an unknown entity had rooted around in his files. Masked which files, exactly.
Evidence of this second thing pulsed on the screen like a dangerous lure. In theory, anyone sophisticated enough to breach our security should also have been able to erase evidence of information extraction. This intruder hadn’t. Instead, the trail stood out in stark relief. A hellmouth. I wouldn’t follow it. This time, it wasn’t the convoluted path back. The answer to the question “Who?” wasn’t worth walking into a trap.
I sat back in my chair, feeling light-headed. Did I need to inform Larry or Alex of the breach? But I couldn’t, not without admitting I’d bugged Larry’s computer. I went round and round, rationalizing … no action. And, in the end, I decided Larry should be okay. IT did routine checks on employees to make sure their information hadn’t been compromised. If this was truly malicious and weaponized, IT would find out soon.
In the middle of me thinking this through, Allie walked in with her report on Silvina. As she handed me the folder, I felt a twinge of concern for her.
“Have IT check your laptop for malware,” I said.
Allie stopped short at that. “Why?”
“Just do it. The latest batch of clients makes me think it’s a prudent precaution to check for intruders more regularly.”
“Okay,” she said, drawn out, slow, staring at me, as if for some secret sign or symbol telling her more. “There wasn’t much, by the way.”
“Much?”
“About Silvina. Enough, maybe. But more about her family than her. Her family’s not just rich but influential—the storage palace is just one property they own in the area. Vilcapampa Enterprises. They run it like a family business, but it’s international. Operates in forty countries. Which made me think they wouldn’t blink at having a data scrub done.”
The kind of task we performed for clients. To protect their reputation. A scrabbling panic that maybe Silvina knew me through the company I worked for. Dim, depressing thought. But, later, when I checked: no. Not true.
“Possible,” I said, dropping the folder on my desk. Trying in my awkward way to seem casual. “Thanks again.”
But Allie wasn’t done.
“I didn’t know you were asking me to research a terrorist.”
Then I did look up. “What?”
“Animal rights activist who fought against wildlife trafficking. Murdered people down in Argentina. A bombing. At least, that was the claim. She even had a manifesto.”
I could understand her confusion. Usually, the moral ambiguity or ethical confusion came from a different impulse. Robber barons and tech bros. Wall Street. The killing a remote sleight of hand. Indirect.
“Manifesto?”
“Yeah. Read something like ‘Liberation for the Earth, at any cost. Liberty or death—death to those who oppose.’ I translated it from Spanish. Very uplifting.”
“A lot of talk, maybe?”
Allie folded her arms, considered me. “Like I said, she went on trial for murder. For terrorism. Acquitted, but still … And she had followers. May still have followers. Like a cult. Even people, from what I could tell, who might not like someone digging into their private business.”
I considered that, nodded. “Got it. Thanks again.” Wanted to leave it at that. Tried to put on a poker face.
But I was stunned. I hadn’t known. Hadn’t guessed. Because the hummingbird was so beautiful.
Terrorist? Murderer?
“Should I send flowers?” Allie was still standing there.