Frank Herbert - The Green Brain

“Perhaps,” Joao said, but his tone said he didn’t believe it.

Joao returned his attention to the insect on the crucifix. “I don’t think our ecologists know all they say they do. And I mistrust our Chinese advisors. They speak in such flowery terms of the benefits from eliminating insect pests, but they won’t let us inspect their Green. Excuses . Always excuses . I think they’re having troubles they don’t wish us to discover.”

“That’s foolishness,” the elder Martinho growled, but his tone said that wasn’t a position he cared to defend. “They are honorable men—with a few exceptions I could name. And their way of life is closer to our socialism than it is to the decadent capitalism of North America. Your trouble is you see them too much through the eyes of those who educated you.”

“I’ll wager this insect’s one of the spontaneous mutations,” Joao said. “It’s almost as though they appeared by some plan… Find me something in which to capture this creature and take it to the lab.”

The elder Martinho remained standing beside his chair. “Where’ll you say it was found?”

“Right here.”

“You would not hesitate to expose us to more ridicule, is that it?”

“But Father…”

“Can’t you hear what they’ll say? In his own home this insect is found. It’s a strange new kind. Perhaps he breeds them there to reinfest the Green.”

“Now, you’re talking nonsense, Father. Mutations are common in a threatened species. And we can’t deny there’s threat to these insects—the poisons, the barrier vibrations, the traps. Get me that container, Father. I can’t leave this creature, or I’d get the container myself.”

“And you will tell where it was found?”

“I can do nothing else! We must cordon off this entire area, search out the nests. This could be… an accident, of course, but…”

“Or a deliberate attempt to embarrass me.”

Joao looked up, studied his father. That was a possibility, of course. His father did have enemies. And the Carsonites were always there to be considered. They had friends in many places… and some were fanatics who’d stoop to any scheme. Still…

Decision came to Joao. He returned his attention to the motionless insect. His father had to be convinced, and here was the perfect lever for the argument.

“Look at this creature, Father,” he said.

The Prefect turned a reluctant gaze on the insect.

“Our earliest poisons,” Joao said, “killed off the weak and selected out those immune to this threat from humans. Only the immune remained to breed. The poisons we use now—some of them—don’t leave such loopholes… and the deadly vibrations at the barriers…” He shrugged. “Still, this is a form of beetle, Father, and somehow it got through the barriers. I’ll show you a thing.”

Joao drew a long, thin whistle of shiny metal from his breast pocket. “There was a time when this called countless beetles to their deaths. I merely had to tune it across their attraction spectrum.” He put the whistle to his lips, blew into it, all the while turning the end of it.

No sound audible to human ears emerged from the instrument, but the beetle’s antennae writhed.

Joao removed the whistle from his mouth.

The antennae stopped writhing.

“It stayed put, you see,” Joao said. “It’s a beetle and should be attracted by this whistle, but it did not move. And I think, Father, that there’re indications of malignant intelligence among these creatures. They’re far from extinction, Father… and I believe they’re beginning to strike back.”

“Malignant intelligence, pah! ” his father said.

“You must believe me, Father,” Joao said. “No one listens when we bandeirantes report what we’ve seen. They laugh and say we are too long in the jungle. And where’s our evidence? They say such stories could be expected from ignorant farmers… then they begin to doubt and suspect us.”

“With good reason, I say.”

“You will not believe your own son?”

“What has my son said that I can believe?” The elder Martinho was totally the Prefect now, standing erect, glaring coldly at Joao.

“In the Goyaz last month,” Joao said, “Antonil Lisboa’s bandeirante lost three men who…”

“Accidents.”

“They were killed with formic acid and oil of copahu.”

“They were careless with their poisons. Men grow careless when they…”

“No! The formic acid was particularly strong, a heavy concentrate, and identical to that of insect origin. The men were drenched with it.”

“You imply that insects such as this…” The Prefect pointed to the motionless creature on the crucifix. “That blind creatures such as this…”

“They’re not blind.”

“I did not mean literally blind, but without intelligence,” the Prefect said. “You cannot seriously imply that such creatures attacked humans and killed them.”

“We’ve yet to determine precisely how the men were slain,” Joao said. “We’ve only the bodies and physical evidence at the scene. But there’ve been other deaths, Father, and men missing, and reports of strange creatures that attack bandeirantes. We grow more certain with each day that…”

He fell silent as the beetle crawled off the crucifix onto the desk. Immediately it darkened to brown, blended with the wood surface.

“Please, Father—get me a container.”

The beetle reached the edge of the desk, hesitated. Its antennae curled back, then forward.

“I’ll get your container only if you promise to use discretion in your report of where this creature was found,” the Prefect said.

“ Father!… ”

The beetle leaped off the desk far out into the middle of the room, scurried toward the wall, up the wall and into a crack beside the window.

Joao pressed the handlight’s switch, directed the beam into the hole which had swallowed the insect. He crossed the room, examined the hole.

“How long has this hole been here, Father?”

“For years. It was a flaw in the masonry… an earthquake several years before your mother died, I believe.”

Joao crossed to the door in four strides, went through an arched hallway, down a flight of stone steps, through another door and short hall, through a grillwork gate and into the outside garden. He set the handlight at full intensity, washed its blue glare over the wall beneath the study window.

“Joao, what are you doing?”

“My job, Father.” Joao glanced back, saw that the Prefect had followed and stopped just outside the garden gate.

Joao returned his attention to the study wall, washed the glare of light onto the stones beneath the window. He crouched low, running the light along the ground, peered behind each clod, erased all shadows.

The searching scrutiny passed over the raw earth, turned to the bushes, then the lawn.

Joao heard his father come up behind.

“Do you see it?”

“No.”

“You should’ve allowed me to crush it.”

Joao stood up, stared upward toward the tiled roof and the eaves. It was full dark all around now, with only the light from the study plus his handlight to reveal details.

A piercing stridulation, almost painful to the ears, filled the air all around them. It came from the outer garden that bordered the road and the stone fence. Even after it was gone, the sound seemed to hang all around them. It made Joao think of the hunting cry of jungle predators. A shiver moved up his spine. He turned toward the driveway where he had parked his airtruck, sent the handlight stabbing there.

“What a strange sound,” his father said. “I…” He broke off, stared at the lawn. “What is that?”