<<<25 July 2057, 01:29—Predator and Prey >>>

I wanted to go to Amazonia. I must keep reminding myself of that fact.

After sorting out our scientists and Bischo with regard to what could and could not be carried once we left the boat (Joe and 'Wraith were quite helpful in convincing our two human-haters that their physical condition precluded their toting what was essentially a full analysis laboratory overland in humidity approaching 100%), we set off for the border. I'm glad that I didn't have to get involved in that situation. My role seems to be keeping Bischo happy, which is fine with me since it means that I don't have to interact with the scientists. Things seemed to be going as well as could be expected, given the circumstances.

Things don't work out the way we plan very often, though, and this was no exception. After a lucky break (a football match that took most of the personnel guarding the border away from their posts) allowed us to attempt to float past said border unmolested instead of having to pass inspection, I thought that for once something was going to occur without incident. As usual I was wrong.

Dr. Sanders, who is the only one of the three scientists with an ego small enough to fit through the doors on the boat, decided to choose the very moment when we were floating under cover of darkness past the machine-gun towers to come on deck and ask what was happening. Naturally, since this was the worst possible time for something to go wrong, something did. He tripped, making a great deal of noise in the process. We managed to deal with the machine-gunners before they were able to take a shot at us, but things are going to be most unpleasant when we come back across. Once we got through and calmed Bischo down from his imminent apoplexy, I attempted to explain to Dr. Sanders, using the graphical evidence that had just transpired, that in matters of security it would be best if he and his colleagues would leave things to us. Dr. Fukuhama, a raving elf bigot if I ever saw one (not to mention a pompous twit) got in the middle and began loudly proclaiming his opinion on the matter. I'm not proud of the fact that I lost my temper, but he certainly deserved to be taken down a peg or two. My friends had to essentially drag me away from the confrontation before it got ugly, and Ocelot, of all people, gave me a talking-to about controlling myself. There was the irony of the day. I later apologised to Dr. Sanders, but I'll be damned if I'll apologise to that thoroughly unpleasant elf. I have no idea what went back and forth in the conversation he had in Japanese with 'Wraith, and it's probably for the best, I suspect. I intend to stay as far away from him as possible.

Continuing on our journey, we retired to various spots to wait out the trip until we could leave the boat and set off overland. Dr. Sanders and myself were up near the front of the boat, observing the local flora and fauna. It was he who spotted the two "logs" floating in the water, and a good thing it was that he did, because they weren't logs. Once I determined what they actually were, (a quick astral exam took care of that) I sent Sanders down to gather the others and shared my findings with Bischo and the team. I've never been in close proximity to a behemoth before, much less two of them. Bischo said they were called macareu down here, but there didn't seem to be a functional difference. They were big, nasty, carnivorous, and nearly invulnerable. That was good enough for us. Bischo didn't give much chance for our survival.

Fortunately, despite their doubts of our abilities, our scientists paid for competent security advisors. There were heavy casualties in the form of the boat (which one of the monsters attempted to ram--I took it out with a spell but its momentum still carried it forward with enough force to breach the hull), but we managed to deal with both the creatures. Joe was quite handy with his assault rifle, and the other one, as I said, succumbed to magic.

Even more fortunately, our ever-resourceful Joe had brought along two inflatable rafts, which were immediately pressed into service as scientists were thrown with no high degree of care into them. The sight of Ocelot barrelling upward from the lower decks with a scientist in each arm was one I would like very much to have on film.

We're now attempting, by means of my levitation spell and a couple of ropes, to make it to the banks. Somehow I don't think this is going to be the end of our troubles, but perhaps at least Fukuhama will shut up for awhile.