6 comments/ 3887 views/ 1 favorites The Botanists: An Adventure By: Hypoxia Author's note: This pre-1890 historical romance tells of actual notable people. All sex involves live humans aged 18+, even the whores AFAIK. The text contains casual racism and sexism and very little explicit human sex; if you object, stop reading. Plant sex is pretty muted too. Stilted speech patterns are intentional. Views expressed are not necessarily the author's. Information may not be totally accurate, but I try. Many thanks to NaokoSmith for suggestions and edits. The Botanists: An Adventure "M'sieur, madame, this way s'il vous plait." The maître-d' escorted them to a quieter corner of the establishment. Clemens's rants dwindled to a dull roar. They dined simply and sparingly; neither were gourmands. Oysters, of course, and sole broiled in herbs, with asparagus greens and baby potatoes, and a dry Chablis from the Valley of the Moon. Light custard for dessert, with a glass of Napa sherry for each. They barely noticed the elegant food and drink. Conversation trumped victualing. They talked of life during dinner. T.S. pulled a notebook and maps from his dispatch case after dessert. They sipped brandied coffee and studied his material. "You're going back to the Channel Islands -- when?" "The MINERVA steams in two days. She will divert to San Miguel Island before docking in Santa Barbara. Ten days later she will take me to Santa Rosa Island. Ten days after that, to Santa Cruz Island for ten days, and then return here. Not nearly enough time but that is the best I can arrange." "You will be back here next month?" "Yes, and then we can organize a brief expedition into the Diablo Range. That's not far and certain pockets have not yet been surveyed. Here..." He pointed at locations on a map. She leaned close to study the details. Well, also to lean against his muscular shoulder. "Yes, I can arrange a survey then. We'll steam to Monterey and requisition a wagon from the Academy's station there, then head east..." Her finger traced the map route. Her restrained breast pushed into his arm. Both noticed. Neither commented. Neither backed away. The bells of St Mary's rang midnight before T.S. escorted her from their table. The crowd at the premier table was drunker and louder. Someone was trying to sing, and failing. Samuel Clemens was unconscious. Glamorous Lily Langtry looked bored. The late hour made a stroll inadvisable; The City's night streets were dangerous. T.S. hailed a hansom cab for the brief ride up Dupont Street. They necessarily pressed close on the narrow seat. She held his arm. He dismissed the cab and walked M.K. up her steps. She took his hands in hers. "Sir, I... This has been a most productive evening." Her voice quivered in time with her heartbeat. "I expect that we shall work together well." Her lips brushed his cheek as Chan Li opened the door. She quickly straightened. "Indeed, ma'am. I look forward to our future studies. Good night." He tipped his derby to her. She stood still, watching him, until Chan Li's giggle broke her trance. She flushed, frowned, and hastened inside. The door closed after her. He considered the lonely hotel bed awaiting him. No, he was not yet ready for that. He walked the few blocks to Madama Martinez's tidy whorehouse. He would take a girl who looked nothing like M.K. He would not think of M.K. while he fucked a substitute, not a white woman. He would not obsess over M.K. That is what he told himself. Chan Li helped her mistress prepare for bed. She was not gentle. "You still horny," she sniffed. "You not get man yet. How long you going wait?" M.K. sighed. "Li, I am lost," she admitted. She did not cry herself to sleep. Sleep escaped her for hours. Her eyes only moistened. The storm was within her mind and soul; little leaked out. The Botanists: An Adventure They had taken the steamer south from San Francisco to Monterey because they had the time, and T.S. could afford the fare, and certain sensitive papers had to be hand-delivered to Captain Webb. They returned by train because it cost nothing and was much faster and more direct if less scenic. Free train fare? Let us recognize the renown M.K. had already achieved. She forged many expeditions in the Southwestern deserts thanks to the generosity of the railroad companies. She enjoyed the privileges of a general pass allowing her "to ride on anything from Pullman to engine." The railroads exploited her reputation for publicity. She exploited their infrastructure for science. Yes, a good quid pro quo, this for that. T.S. stared at her embossed pass. "You can go anywhere! I like that in a woman." She laughed. Luís deposited them and their equipage at the California Northern Rail Road depot in grubby Hollister (60 years before the infamous Hells Angels riot) and returned to Monterey. The botanists sat together in the passenger coach as if husband and wife. Public displays of affection were frowned upon in that era. Hand-holding showed their closeness, as did her leaning on his shoulder while she dozed, and even while awake. They reached The City just after noon. A hansom cab from the Folsom Street station hauled them to the Academy where they deposited their survey gear and notes. They spoke with the necessary staffers. Hiram Cole ostentatiously escorted them to the street. They faced each other, holding their carpetbags of personal trifles. "This has been a most wonderful time, sir. May I ask you to my rooms for tea?" "Indeed you may, ma'am. I am not yet ready to take to my lodgings." "Sir, if I may be forward... I would invite you to share my apartment. I have an extra room..." A signal moment of truth, of decision. "I would be honored, ma'am. But are you indifferent to public reaction? Do you care about tongues wagging at the Academy and in the damned press? You are not exactly an anonymous non-entity. People will notice. People will talk." "Accompany me, sir." She stepped out toward her home. He walked alongside. "I am aware of my reputation and my position. I am aware that some think I have worn a widow's weeds too long. I do not think changes in my personal life will much affect my professional life; I control many influences. Gossip will not damage that. She took a breath. "I am ready for change, sir. Are you ready for that?" She stopped in the middle of the crowded sidewalk. He froze, too, inches from her. Walkers flowed around them, a colorful mongrel flood of international puzzlement. Their unencumbered hands reached for each other. Their fingers danced. "I would be honored, ma'am." Their eyes telegraphed messages. They walked on, hand-in-hand, carpetbags swinging beside them. Chan Li stifled chuckles as her mistress and her man entered. Her grin nearly tore her face apart when T.S. posted a note to his former lodgings asking that his belongings be delivered to 525 Dupont Street. She happily arranged the guest room for a man. For this man. For her mistress's man. Chan Li lit a fire under the water tank and arranged towels, laughing quietly, satisfied. T.S. bathed first, a quick hot scrub with his favorite rough-milled lye soap, the only stuff that expelled every ugly grain from his dirt-encrusted pores. He worked slick suds into his thick hair, still glossy, still deep black at his age. An amazing avalanche of muck poured from his head. The dark flow startled him. "I need a better hat," he thought. He drained and scoured the tub. "Don't leave too much evidence," he thought. He excused himself while M.K. bathed with Chan Li's assistance and walked down the block to a barber for a close shave and tonsorial trim. Days in the wild left a man scruffy and untidy. He judged such would not be suitable in this lady's home. A clean-shaven and sparkling T.S. met a sparkling-clean and vibrant M.K. in her parlor. He wore clean city clothes; she was resplendent in a favorite green dress and jacket. They settled on the spindly Oriental couch. Chan Li brought jasmine tea. They set their field notes on the low side table, a Mandarin masterpiece, and reviewed their survey. This and that. Fill blanks in the botanical dataset. Propose classifications. Yada yada. They pushed aside tepid tea and dusty documents. Their hands found each other, as did their eyes. And their mouths. They ignored Chan Li's giggles around a doorway. They could have returned to the Palace or another fine restaurant but Chan Li insisted they eat at home that night. She cooked something fresh and healthy and spicy, with fish and vegetables and fresh noodles and whatever, accompanied by more fragrant green tea and and yet more giggles. Chilled white Chablis came later. Cold alcohol takes time to penetrate stomach linings. They were in no hurry. Chan Li lit candles and poured more wine. The evening passed much too quickly. Energy levels dropped. Bells rang the inevitable twelfth hour. Their lean bodies nestled easily together on the slender parlor couch. M.K. stirred. "Time is late, sir. I must retire." "Time is... almost here, ma'am. The time will be soon." She held him close. She kissed him deeply. With tongue. With hands on his shoulders, on his back, and then holding his head tight against hers, mouth to mouth, desperately tonsil-dancing, tasting each drachm of his essence, his manly aura. Lost in him. Ruined. She pulled back. "We are in danger, sir," she whispered. "We are damned," he replied. "But I fear no fiery pitchforks." "Will you take to your bed, sir?" Her eyes nearly bled. "Will you take me to your bed, ma'am?" His eyes smoked. "The time is now, I believe." Her internal clock spun forward. The time for anticipation had passed. Remember their "first date" at the Palace? They had 'dated' many times since then. No, she did not "put out" on a first date, or even a second. But she was tempted. And now... now was the time. Their first night was incredible. Following nights were even better. They taught each other much about their bodies; they fit perfectly, eventually. She told him what she wanted. He obliged. She screamed quietly. Chan Li giggled often, reveling in their lust. And T.S. replenished his stock of Reverend Treynor's Miraculous Protectors. Condoms seemed a prudent idea until and if they married. The guest room was a convenient place to store his modest belongings. More arrived, with time. He settled in for life with her. But he never slept in the guest bed. He never needed to. Chan Li sometimes complained to herself about her mistress's untidy and sweat-smelling bedroom. Oh, the extra work! But she was almost as happy as M.K. The Botanists: An Adventure He suckled one breast, and the other. "Are the penalties worth the rewards?" "Pardon my French, sir, but FUCK YES! Would you rather be anywhere else?" He pulled her mouth to his. Their tongues battled. Their hands stroked. He spoke. "Pardon my French, ma'am, but FUCK NO!" He pulled her closer. And closer. Sancho the burro patiently ignored the noisy rutting humans. They slept naked in the open most nights; their tent was rarely needed in California's dry Mediterranean summer, mostly at higher elevations to ward off night's chill. They otherwise spread a thick padding on the ground with covering blankets at hand. Body heat and animal friction kept them warm. They walked onward through the quake-shattered zone. The Caliente Range (hot). The Carrizo Plain (barren). The Temblor Range (shaky), named after earthquakes. And then joining El Camino Real, the old Spanish royal road, at vinous Paso Robles, and trailing the way's long dry valleys northwest to Soledad's mission and Salinas's marketplace... and a jaunt back to overlooked Monterey. It was not their first re-visit. "Return of the prodigals, it seems," Charleton Webb quipped. Dinner's debris had been cleared from the dining table. Captain Webb and the botanists held full flagons of steaming spicy drinks. A forlorn foghorn echoed past the open small-paned window's marbled glass. "It has not been so long, Captain," M.K. retorted. "Wild horses and Pacific typhoons cannot keep us away from Señora Morales's wonderful food." The cook's domain was just past a doorway. She overheard. She beamed. M.K. was skilled at manipulating people. For good cause, of course. Like great food. "When will the Academy start exploring the Monterey submarine canyon?" The station master had a personal interest in expanding his operations. M.K. shrugged and sipped her spiced rum. "The Executive and Finance committees have been rather vague. I intend to press them when we return but we face severe technical obstacles. We need submerging craft better than those John Holland has produced. We need survivable undersea cameras and lights. Lacking those, boats can only scoop-up bottom samples at measured, well-sounded depths. Underwater flora promise to be as engaging as surface plants but they are much more difficult to access. "When will things happen? Who knows? We could start bottom-sampling in the foreseeable future. It would not be too costly. "I am sorry, Captain, but deep exploration is a far-future project. I have much closer concerns such as restructuring the Academy and catching-up on taxonomizing a huge backlog of unsorted collections. Those are related; I cannot perform all the analyses myself. I need rigorously-disciplined assistance. That means better training, expunging the pre-Darwinian mindset. People must understand that every variety is NOT an example of special creation." She took another sip. The station manager looked alarmed. "Restructuring the Academy? Does that mean looking for inefficiencies, shutting down operations, that sort of thing?" She laughed and patted his strong hand. "Worry not, Captain. Restructuring means expansion. We need more research stations to support our work. Do not look for another job; do not be surprised if your budget increases in the next year or so. But you did not hear that from me." She smiled innocently and finished her rum. "You may hear many rumors. Do not believe any of them. The Academy is due for major changes. Stay alert and you will do just fine." One of the station's visitors' cells accommodated a bed large enough for two that did not creak too loudly. Sleepers in other rooms were not too disturbed by their noise. Respectable married couples are allowed some leeway.