“Such infestations can be survived, and in fact, the infestation itself is painful and disfiguring but not necessarily life-threatening, unless eggs hatch in vulnerable tissue, as I mentioned before, or if there are multiple infestations that result in significant blood loss. The problem is that the female miners often carry blood-borne diseases. Ten percent of them have a juiced-up version of Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, which is unpleasant but mostly treatable.
“But it’s estimated that between forty and forty-five percent of female miner ticks carry Shreve’s disease, which you’ve no doubt heard enough about to last you a lifetime. Shreve’s is the big bad wolf in our story. Symptoms manifest within forty-eight hours of a successful infestation and include blurry vision, nausea, and loss of feeling in the limbs. The disease is fast and deadly. Total paralysis, then death. All in a matter of days.”
He stopped and made another full circle, connecting eyes with each of the ten travelers. “That’s why we have the Stamp. Some say it’s archaic, or barbaric, but it doesn’t change the fact that we’ve not been able to eradicate these goddamn ticks from the face of the earth, and we still haven’t been able to create some kind of a foolproof defense against them, either, or an inoculation against Shreve’s. The microsuits help but have a five percent failure rate. Lotions and sprays have minimal to nil effect.”
He pulled a device out of his pocket. It was about the size of a cigar but stainless steel, with a little glass lip on one end and a button on the other. The projected image shifted into an animation of the device. “The Stamp is the single most effective tool we have against female miner ticks and miner tick infestations. As soon as you feel the itch, you place the mouth of the Stamp on the affected site”—he mimed on his own arm—“and depress the button.” He made an exaggerated motion of his thumb but didn’t press down. “You’ll hear a click, like a flint getting struck. And then you’ll feel some of the worst pain of your life. The Stamp thrusts a barbed hook through your skin, skewering the female miner tick, and then retracts it, capturing the tick in a chemical solution. Then a burner brands the wound, cauterizing it and killing any of the eggs in the perimeter, as well as disinfecting the blood-borne contagions the bitch might have left behind. The Stamp, my friends, has a ninety-nine-point-eight percent success rate if used within sixty seconds of initial burrowing.”
He stopped, letting that last statement linger. Edie knew what was coming next, and she swallowed hard, feeling as if her windpipe had constricted to a mere thread of opening.
“You will have to use this device if you go on this journey beyond the Salt Line. The question isn’t ‘if’; it’s ‘when.’ And that’s why Outer Limits Excursions requires each of its travelers to submit to the Stamp before beginning training. We don’t want to waste your time. And we don’t want you wasting ours.
“If you walk out of here today, you can still get a ninety percent refund of your package price. The penalty covers Quarantine cancellation fees and the time it took me to give you this entertaining presentation.” A few people smiled halfheartedly. “And if you decide you regret it down the line, you can reapply for a future excursion at a five percent discount.” The projection disappeared, and Andy crossed his arms. “There’s the door. The lovely Jessica is waiting in the front office with your paperwork, and she’ll even make you a cappuccino for your drive home.”
Edie sneaked a glance at Jesse. He was still hunched forward, still beaming. The Japanese couple in the matching vests had an intense whispered exchange.
“You may be wondering right now why you even came here in the first place,” Andy said. “You may be thinking, ‘Jesus Christ, why didn’t I just buy that condo at the beach, or book a week at Casinolake? What in the hell was I thinking?’” He placed his hands on his hips, emanating a cocksure vigor at odds with the ravages of his many scars.
“Here’s why.” Now he put his palms together as if in prayer, a canned gesture, rehearsed as his speech. “You know there’s a whole world out there we’ve run and hid from, because the going got a little tough. You know, for a few scars and a big wad of cash, that you can go see the things your great-great-grandparents took for granted, that are available to you now only in photographs or simulations. Sunrise from a rock precipice. A hawk circling over your head. Trout bellies in a mountain stream. You can listen to cold water dripping from the ceiling of a cave, and you can see deer flipping up their white tails at you before dashing between trees and out of sight. Right now, on this Fall Color Tour you’ve each paid a premium for, you can hike across hillsides covered in reds, golds, and oranges, the scale of which—I promise you—is like nothing you’ve ever seen before.
“I’ve risked my life and defaced my body because I believe those sights have value, and that connecting with nature—however dangerous it can be—is essential to the experience of being human.” Edie, despite herself, felt a stirring of tender pride, so acute that tears prickled her eyes. “But this isn’t for everyone. That’s a fact. So please, if your instincts are telling you to take off, take off. No judgment here. I like people who know their own minds and their own limits.
“If you’re ready for an adventure, though—if you want to know, for the first time, what it really means to be alive—stay.” He held up the Stamp, wagged it a little. “There is no pleasure without pain.”
Jesse started to clap. An excruciating second passed in which no one joined him, and then Edie remembered to move her hands, and most of the others followed suit.
Andy nodded along with the sputtering of last claps, then leveled his gaze, standing very still. There was a moment—a dozen seconds, twenty—of perfect silence.
“Anyone leaving?” he asked.
The travelers looked around at one another. Edie stared at the couple in the vests, then the young man who had run out of the room to throw up (he had returned, almost endearingly shamefaced, as Andy was finishing his demonstration of the Stamp), hoping—she realized—that someone would raise a hand, would declare “This is insane,” and then maybe the rest of them would have the courage to stand up and agree. Maybe even Jesse could be convinced. But no one moved.
“Well, then.” Andy grinned, brandishing the Stamp. “Who’s first?”