Frank Herbert - The Green Brain

The vehicle flew only a short distance and landed on the river. It remains on the river with its thrusting force dormant.

But it can fly!

The first serious doubt of its information entered the Brain’s computations then. The experience was a form of alienation from the creations which had created it.

“The claim that the vehicle would not fly came directly from the humans,” the messengers danced. “Their assessment was reported.”

It was a pragmatic statement, more to fill out the report predicting the escape try than to defend against the Brain’s accusation.

That fact should have been part of the original report , the Brain thought. The messengers must be taught not to intervene, but report all details complete with weight-by-source. But how can this be done? They’re creatures of firm reflex and tied to a self-limiting system .

Obviously new messengers would have to be designed and bred.

With this thought, the Brain moved even further from its creators. It understood then how an action-of-mimicry , a pure reflex, gave birth to itself, but the Brain, the thing-produced-by-reflex , was having an inevitable feedback effect, changing the original reflexes which had created it.

“What must be done about the vehicle on the river?” the messengers asked.

With its new insight, the Brain saw how this question had been produced—out of survival reflex.

Survival must be served , it thought.

“The vehicle will be allowed to proceed temporarily,” the Brain ordered. “There must be no visible sign of molestation for the time being, but we must prepare safeguards. A cluster of the new little-deadlies will be conveyed to the vehicle under the cover of night. They must be instructed to infiltrate every available hole on the vehicle and remain in hiding. They must not take action against the occupants of the vehicle without orders! But they must stand ready to destroy the occupants whenever necessary.”

The Brain fell silent then, secure in the knowledge that its orders would be carried out. And it took up its new understanding to examine as though this were an autonomous fragment. The experience was both fascinating and terrifying because here, living within its single-self, was an element capable of debate and separate action.

Decisions—conscious decisions , the Brain thought, these are a punishment inflicted upon the single-self by consciousness. There are conscious decisions that can fragment the single-self. How can humans stand up under such a load of decisions?

Chen-Lhu tipped his head back, resting in the corner between the window and rear bulkhead, stared up at the melon-curve of moon lifting across the sky. The moon was the color of molten copper.

An acid-etched frost line ran diagonally down the window to the faired curve of exterior skin. Chen-Lhu’s eyes followed the line and, for a moment as he stared at the place where the window ended beside him, he thought he saw a row of tiny dots, like barely visible gnats marching across the window.

In an eyeblink, they vanished.

Did I imagine them? he wondered.

He thought of alerting the others, but Rhin had been near hysteria for almost an hour now since witnessing the death of their camp. She’d have to be nursed back to usefulness.

I could’ve imagined them , Chen-Lhu thought. Only the moon for illumination—spots in front of my eyes; nothing unusual about that .

The river had narrowed here to no more than six or seven times the pod’s wingspan. A shadowy wall of overhanging trees hemmed in the track of water.

“Johnny, turn on the wing lights for a few minutes,” Chen-Lhu said.

“Why?”

“They’ll see us if we do,” Rhin said.

She heard the almost-hysteria in her own voice and was shocked by it. I’m an entomologist , she told herself. Whatever’s out there, it’s just a variation on something familiar .

But this reasoning lacked comfort. She realized that some primal fear had touched her, arousing instincts with which reason could not contend.

“Make no mistake,” Chen-Lhu said, and he tried to speak softly, reasonably. “Whatever overwhelmed our friends… it knows where we are. I merely wish the light to confirm a suspicion.”

“Are we being followed, eh?” Joao asked.

He snapped on the wing lights. The sudden glare picked out two caverns of brilliance that filled with fluttering, darting insects—a white-winged mob.

The current swung the pod around a bend. Their lights touched the river bank, outlined twisting medusa roots that clutched dark red clay, then swung with the vagaries of an eddy to pick out a narrow island—tall reeds and grass bending to the current, and the cold green reflections of eyes just above the water.

Joao snapped off the lights.

In the abrupt darkness, they heard the whining hum of insects and the metallic chime calls of river frogs… then, like a delayed comment, the coughing barks of a troop of red monkeys somewhere on the right shore.

The presence of the frogs and monkeys, Joao felt, carried a significance that he should understand. The significance eluded him.

Ahead, he could see bats flicker across the moonlit river, skimming the water to drink.

“They’re following us… watching, waiting,” Rhin said.

Bats, monkeys, frogs, all living intimately with the river , Joao thought. But Rhin said the river carried poisons. Was there reason to lie about that?

He tried to study her face in the dim reflections of moonlight that penetrated the cabin, but received only the impression of gaunt, withdrawn shadows.

“I think we are safe,” Chen-Lhu said, “as long as we keep the cabin sealed and get our air through the vent filters.”

“Open only in daylight,” Joao said. “We can see what’s around us then and use our rifles if we need to.”

Rhin pressed her lips together to prevent them from trembling. She tipped her head back, looked up through the transparent strip across the roof of the cabin. A wilderness of stars flooded the sky, and when she lowered her gaze she could still see the stars—a shimmer of points, tremulous on the river surface. Quite suddenly the night filled her with a sensation of immense loneliness that was at the same time oppressive, holding her locked between the river’s jungle walls.

The night was odorous with jungle smells that the vent filters could not remove. Every breath was thick with baited and repelling perfumes.

The jungle took on a form of conscious malignancy in her imagination. She sensed something out there in the night—a thinking entity which could swallow her without a moment’s hesitation. The sense of reality with which her mind invested this image flowed over her and through her. She could give it no shape except immensity… but it was there.

“Johnny, how fast is the current along here?” Chen-Lhu asked.

Good question , Joao thought.

He bent forward to peer at the luminous dial of the altimeter. “Elevation here’s eight hundred and thirty meters,” he said. “If I’ve located us correctly on the right river, the channel drops about seventy meters in the next thirty kilometers.” He worked the equation in his head. “I can only approximate, of course, but it’ll be a six to eight knot current.”

“Won’t there be a search for us?” Rhin asked. “I keep thinking…”

“Don’t think that way,” Chen-Lhu said. “Any search, if it comes at all, will be for me—and not for several weeks. I knew where to look for you, Rhin.” He hesitated, wondering if he was saying too much, giving Joao too many clues. “Only a few of my aides knew where I was going, and why.”