Frank Herbert - The Green Brain

Chen-Lhu hoped she’d hear the secrecy in his voice, get off this subject.

“You know how I got in here,” Joao said. “If anybody thought to look for me… where’d they look?”

“But there’s a chance, isn’t there?” Rhin asked. Her voice revealed how desperately she wanted to believe in that chance.

“There is always a chance,” Chen-Lhu said. And he thought: You must calm yourself, Rhin. When I need you, there must be no problems of fear and hysteria .

He set his mind then to the way Joao Martinho must be discredited if they reached civilization. Rhin’s help would have to be enlisted in this enterprise, of course. Joao was the perfect scapegoat and this situation was made to order—if Rhin could be persuaded to help. Naturally, if she proved obstinate, she could be eliminated.

Midnight came to the cave above the river chasm before the Brain received its next report on the three humans and their floating vehicle.

Most of the conversation reported by the dancing messengers revealed only the tensions and pressures of the humans’ circumstances. The humans realized, at least unconsciously, that they were in a loose trap. Most of this conversation could be set aside for later evaluation, but there was one matter for the Brain’s immediate attention. The Brain felt something approaching chagrin that it had not anticipated this problem with its own logic.

“Enough action groups must be dispatched at once,” the Brain ordered, “to accompany the vehicle but stay out of sight in the adjoining growth. These action groups must be ready to fly over the river whenever needed and hide the vehicle from any searchers or chance passersby in the sky above them.”

One of the pod’s stub wings brushed vines along the shore, awakening Joao from a light doze. He glanced back through the gloom to see Chen-Lhu alert and staring.

“It is time for you to awake and take your watch,” Chen-Lhu said. “Rhin still sleeps.”

“Have we been touching the shore very much like that?” Joao whispered.

“Not much.”

“I should put out that sea anchor… Vierho made.”

“That would not prevent us touching the shores. And it might snag on something and delay us.”

“Padre covered the hooks on the grapnel. I don’t think it’ll snag. Wind’s upriver right now, will be until morning. A drag in the water like that could speed us up.”

“But how will you put it out there?”

“Yeah…” Joao nodded. “Better wait until morning.”

“It would be best, Johnny.”

Rhin stirred restlessly.

Joao snapped on the winglights. Twin shafts of illumination leaped out to the jungle wall, revealed a cluster of sago palms in front of a screen of caña brava. The lights began to siphon in two flows of fluttering, darting insects.

“Our friends are still with us,” Chen-Lhu whispered.

Joao turned off the lights.

Rhin began breathing in ragged gasps as though she were choking. Joao gripped her arm, spoke softly: “Are you all right?”

Without coming fully awake, Rhin felt his presence beside her, experienced a primitive demand for his protective masculinity. She nestled against him, murmured, “It’s so hot. Doesn’t it ever cool off?”

“She dreams,” Chen-Lhu whispered.

“But it is hot,” Joao said. He felt embarrassed by Rhin’s obvious need for him, sensing that this amused and pleased Chen-Lhu.

“Towards morning we should get a little relief from the heat,” Joao said. “Why don’t you sleep for awhile, Travis?”

“Yes, I’ll sleep now,” Chen-Lhu said. He stretched out on the narrow gig-box, wondering: Will I have to kill them? They are such fools, Rhin and Johnny… so obviously attracted to each other, but fighting it .

The night breeze rocked the pod. Rhin nestled closer to Joao, breathing deeply, peacefully. Joao stared out the windows.

The moon had gone down behind the hills, leaving only starlight to block out dark shadows along both shores. The hypnotic flow of dim shapes filled Joao with drowsiness. He concentrated on staying awake, peered through the black, his senses strained to the limit.

There was only the movement of the river and a hesitant rocking motion from the breeze.

The night awakened in Joao a sense of mystery. This river was haunted, peopled by the ghosts of every passenger it had ever carried, and now… by another presence. He could feel this other presence. The night was hushed with it. Even the frogs were silent.

Something barked in the jungle to the left. And Joao suddenly thought he heard a nerve beat of log drums. Distant… very distant: a still-vibration more felt than heard. It was gone before he could be sure.

The Indians were all cleared out of the Red , he thought. Who could be using drums? I must’ve imagined it; my own pulse, that’s what I heard.

He held himself still, listening, but there was only Chen-Lhu’s breathing, deep and even, and a small sigh from Rhin.

The river widened and its current slowed.

An hour passed… another. Time seemed dragged out by the current. A weary loneliness filled Joao. The pod around them felt fragile, inadequate: a corrupt and impermanent thing. He wondered how he had trusted his life to this machine high above the jungle when it was so vulnerable.

We’ll never make it! he thought.

Chen-Lhu’s voice, a low rumble, broke the silence: “This river, it is the Itapura, for sure, Johnny?”

“I’m reasonably certain of that,” Joao whispered.

“What is the nearest civilization?”

“The bandeirante staging area at Santa Maria de Grao Cuyaba.”

“Seven or eight hundred kilometers, eh?”

“More or less.”

Rhin stirred in Joao’s arms, and he felt himself responding to her femininity. He forced his mind to veer away from such thoughts, concentrated instead on the river ahead of them: a winding, twisting course with rapids and sunken limbs. It was a track menaced for its full length by that deadly presence which he sensed all around them. And there was one more peril he had not mentioned to the others: these waters abounded with cannibal fish, piranha.

“How many rapids ahead of us?” Chen-Lhu asked.

“I’m not sure,” Joao said. “Eight or nine—maybe more. It depends on the season and height of water.”

“We will have to use the fuel, fly across the rapids.”

“This thing won’t stand many takeoffs and landings,” Joao said. “That right hand float…”

“Vierho did a good job; it’ll suffice.”

“We hope.”

“You have sad thoughts, Johnny. That is no way to face this venture. How long to this Santa Maria?”

“Six weeks, with luck. Are you thirsty?”

“Yes. How much water do we have?”

“Ten liters… and we have the little pot still if we need more.”

Joao accepted a canteen from Chen-Lhu, drank deeply. The water was warm and flat. He returned the canteen.

Far off, a night bird called, “Tuta! Tuta!” with a fluting voice.

“What was that?” Chen-Lhu hissed.

“A bird… nothing but a bird.”

Joao sighed. The bird cry had filled him with foreboding, like an evil omen out of his superstitious past. A flux of night sounds pulsed in his temples. He stared out into darkness, saw a sudden witch light of fireflies along the right shore, smelled the wind from the jungle like an exhalation of evil breath.

The near hopelessness of their position pressed in upon him. They stood at the edge of the rainy season, separated from any sanctuary by hundreds of kilometers of whirlpools and chasms. And they were the target of a cruel intelligence which used the jungle as a weapon.

A musk perfume lifted into his nostrils from Rhin. It left him with a profound awareness that she was female… and desirable.