Medusa (NUMA Files 8)

He caught up with Gamay and ran beside her.

“Good morning, Dr. Trout!” he exhaled. “Enjoying your run?”

“Yes, very much, thank you.”

“Good.” He clicked on his quick smile. “See you at breakfast.”

Mayhew stepped up his pace and continued past Gamay until he disappeared around a corner.

The legendary Florida humidity soon nudged the coolness of early morning aside, and Gamay returned to her room drenched in perspiration. She showered and dressed in a fresh pair of shorts, a tank top, and sandals, and she followed the sound of voices to the dining room.

Dr. Mayhew waved Gamay over to join the group she had met the previous night and pointed to an empty chair. The consensus at the table was in favor of the brie-and-tomato omelet. It was cooked to perfection, and served with homemade oatmeal bread.

Noting Gamay’s gusto, Mayhew said, “The

cooking here is one of the perks we insisted upon before marooning ourselves on Bonefish Key.”

He drained the rest of his coffee mug and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. Then he reached under his chair and handed Gamay a plastic bag with a clean lab coat in it.

“Ready for the tour, Dr. Trout?”

Gamay rose and buttoned herself into the coat.

“Anytime you are, Dr. Mayhew.”

He replied with the inevitable switched-on smile.

“Follow me,” he said.

They took an unmarked shell path in a direction opposite that of the nature trail and came upon a one-story cinder-block building painted a light mossy green. The air vibrated with the hum of unseen electric motors.

“Resource cultivation is done in this building,” Mayhew said. “It may look like a garage, but this lab is on the leading edge of biomedical research.”

The dimly lit building housed dozens of large, lighted fish tanks. A couple of white-coated technicians armed with clipboards moved from tank to tank. They paid no attention to the newcomers, except for a casual wave. The air was heavy with a wet, fishy smell.

“These seawater tanks are precisely maintained to duplicate exactly the habitat of the marine organisms they contain,” Mayhew explained.

“How many different organisms are you researching?” Gamay asked.

“Dozens of species and subspecies. Let me show you the current reigning star of the show.”

Mayhew went over to a tank that housed several vibrantly colored red blobs, each about the size of a grapefruit. Short, pointed tentacles surrounded their mouths. They festooned the rocks inside the tanks.

“Lovely,” she said. “This must be the sea flower that I read about it in the scientific journals.”

“The staff likes to give common names to the creatures,” Mayhew said. “Saves wrapping our tongues around Latin locutions. There’s the sea star and the sea blossom, and so on. Ironic, when you realize that these exquisite creatures are efficient killing machines superbly engineered to attract small fish close enough to sting and devour.”

“There’s another irony,” Gamay said. “Despite being poisonous, they may be able to cure disease.”

“Killing and curing aren’t mutually exclusive. Curare is a good poison that’s used in medicine. Botox too.”

“Tell me about the sea star, Dr. Mayhew.”

“Gladly. That little beauty is related to another sponge discovered in 1984. Harbor Branch Oceanographic was diving off Bermuda in the Sea-Link submersible. They found a piece of sponge in the sub’s suction tube. The sponge contained a chemical that in lab tests killed cancer cells.”

“I read about that in the scientific journals. An exciting discovery,” she said.

Mayhew nodded.