Page 68 - An Evening with Maxwell's Daemons
P. 68

Lost in the Jungle

          mission via airdrop under cover of darkness, launching an airplane
          from an aircraft carrier off the Atlantic coast of Africa. Two dozen
          men,  including  a  hastily-recruited  botanist,  parachute  into  the
          southeastern  part  of  the  colony  at  midnight  during  a  full  moon.
          They  have  one  week  to  report  their  findings,  via  the  shortwave
          radio one of the men carries. If no word has reached the Allies by
          then,  the  coordinates  of  the  village  will  be  firebombed  by  high-
          altitude planes to prevent the plant from falling into the hands of
          the Axis. After landing, they get their bearings in the morning and
          head for the village. En route they encounter neither Spaniards nor
          Germans,  so  they  decide  to  make  contact  with  the  locals  on  a
          friendly basis.”
            “The  Fang  villagers  they  meet  have  not  had  much  experience
          with the outside world, and are as curious about the Americans as
          the expeditionary force is about them. Language is a problem, but
          one  or  two  elders  have  enough  French  to  make  conversation
          between  the  groups  possible.  The  American  commander  passes
          around  a  piece  of  rubber,  and  asks  if  the  villagers  have  anything
          similar. That draws a blank, and the botanist suggests encouraging
          the  locals  to  show  the  visitors  what  they  do  have  in  the  way  of
          useful plants. So he and the best linguist go off with the elders while
          the  rest  of  the  team  amuse  the  curious  populace  with  their
          paraphernalia. Candy and cigarettes are a big hit, as anticipated.”
            “After a few hours, the inquisitive Americans and their amiable
          hosts return. The botanist is shaking his head and staring at a sheaf
          of dried stems and stalks in his hand. ‘Is it the rubber replacement?’
          asks the commander. ‘No,’ replies the scientist. ‘I saw nothing like
          that. The reports must be wrong. But here is something far better
          for humanity in the long run: a miracle cure.’ The Americans stare
          in disbelief. ‘Yes,’ says the botanist, ‘some of the phytochemicals in
          this plant—the watengi mbasira—when released by prolonged boiling
          in a pot with certain other roots, produce a substance these people
          use  both  internally  and  externally  to  treat  almost  every  sort  of
          ailment,  from  ulcerations  and  jungle  fevers  to  impotence  and
          toothache. And it works: I saw many patients doing quite well in
          various stages of convalescence. And I could see no side effects. It

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