Frank Herbert: The Green Brain

And Martinho thought: There—I’ve spoken my thoughts in a way this devious man will understand .

“I indulge myself,” Chen-Lhu said. “A small bit of relaxation to welcome a newcomer to our staff.” He arose from the divan, looked down at Rhin. “Rhin, I’d like you to meet Senhor Joao Martinho. Johnny, this is Dr. Rhin Kelly, late of Dublin, a new entomologist in our office.”

And Chen-Lhu thought: This is the enemy. Make no mistake. This is the enemy. This is the enemy. This is the enemy .

Martinho bowed from the hips. “Charmed.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Senhor Martinho,” she said. “I’ve heard of your exploits… even in Dublin.”

“Even in Dublin,” he murmured. “I was favored, but never so much favored as in this instant.” He stared at her with disconcerting intensity, wondering what special duties this woman might have. Was she Chen-Lhu’s mistress?

Into the sudden silence came the voice of a woman at the table behind Rhin: “Snakes and rodents are increasing their pressures on civilization. It says so in the…”

Someone shushed her.

Martinho said, “Travis, I do not understand it. How can one call such a beautiful woman Doctor?”

Chen-Lhu forced a chuckle. “Careful, Johnny. Dr. Kelly is my new field director.”

“A roving director, I hope,” Martinho said.

Rhin stared at him coolly, but it was an assumed coolness. She found his directness exciting and frightening. “I’ve been warned about Latin blandishments,” she said. “You’ve all hidden a piece of the blarney stone in your family trees, so I’ve been told.”

Her voice had taken on a rich throatiness which made Chen-Lhu smile to himself. Remember—this is the enemy , he thought. “Will you join us, Johnny?” he asked.

“You save me from forcing myself upon you,” Martinho said. “But you know I’ve some of my Irmandades with me?”

“They appear to be occupied,” Chen-Lhu said. He nodded toward the entrance, where a cluster of the gauzy women had enfolded all but one of Martinho’s companions. Women and bandeirantes were finding seats at a large blue-vent table in a corner.

The lone holdout shifted his attention from Martinho to his companions at the table, back to Martinho.

Rhin studied the man: ash-gray hair, a long young-old face marred by an acid scar on the left cheek. He reminded her of the sexton in her Wexford church.

“Ah, that is Vierho,” Martinho said. “We call him the Padre. At the moment, he is undecided who to protect—our brothers of the Irmandades over there or myself. Me, I think I need him most.” He beckoned to Vierho, turned, sat down beside Rhin.

A waiter appeared, slipped a translucent bulb containing a golden drink onto the table in front of him. A glass tube protruded from the bulb. He ignored it, stared at Rhin.

“Are the Irish ready to join us?” he asked.

“Join you?”

“In realignment of the world’s insects.”

She glanced at Chen-Lhu, whose face betrayed no reaction to the question, returned her attention to Martinho. “The Irish share the reluctance of the Canadians and the North Americans of the United States. The Irish will wait a bit yet.”

The answer appeared to annoy him. “But… I mean Ireland surely understands the advantages,” he said. “You’ve no snakes. That must…”

“That’s something God did by the hand of St. Patrick,” she said. “I don’t fancy the bandeirantes as cast in the same mold.” She’d spoken in quick anger and regretted it immediately.

“I should’ve warned you, Johnny,” Chen-Lhu said. “She has an Irish temper.” And he thought: He’s putting on an act for my benefit—devious little man .

“I see,” Martinho said. “If God didn’t see fit to rid us of insects, perhaps we’re wrong in trying to do this for ourselves.”

Rhin glared at him in dismay.

Chen-Lhu suppressed a surge of pure rage. That devious Latin maneuvered Rhin into this position! Deliberately!

“My government doesn’t recognize the existence of God,” Chen-Lhu said. “Perhaps if God were to initiate an exchange of embassies…” He patted Rhin’s arm, noted that she was trembling. “However, the IEO believes we’ll be extending the fight north of the Rio Grande Line within ten years.”

“The IEO believes this? Or is it China’s belief?”

“Both,” Chen-Lhu said.

“Even if the North Americans object?”

“They are expected to see the light of reason.”

“And the Irish?”

Rhin managed a smile. “The Irish,” she said, “have always been notoriously unreasonable.” She reached for her drink, hesitated as her attention was caught by a white-clad bandeirante standing across the table—Vierho.

Martinho bounced to his feet, bowed once more to Rhin. “ Doctor Kelly, allow me to introduce one of my brothers of the Irmandades, Padre Vierho.” He turned back to Rhin. “This lovely one, my esteemed Padre, is a field director of the IEO.”

Vierho gave her a tight little nod, sat down stiffly at the limit of the divan beyond Chen-Lhu. “Charmed,” he murmured.

“My Irmandades, they are shy,” Martinho said. He resumed his seat beside Rhin. “They’d rather be out killing ants.”

“Johnny, how is your father?” Chen-Lhu asked.

Martinho spoke without looking away from Rhin. “The affairs of the Mato Grosso keep him much occupied.” He paused. “You have lovely eyes.”

Again, Rhin found herself disconcerted by his directness. She picked up the golden bulb of his drink, said, “What is this?”

“Ah, that is flierce, the Brazilian mead. Take it for yourself. There are little points of light in your eyes to match the gold of the drink.”

She suppressed a quick retort, lifted the drink to sip it, genuinely curious. She stopped with the glass tube almost at her lips as she caught Vierho staring at her hair.

“Is it really that color?” he asked.

Martinho laughed, a surprised and oddly affectionate sound. “Ahh, Padre,” he said.

Rhin sipped the drink to cover a feeling of confusion, found the liquid softly sweet, filled with the memory of many flowers, and with a sharp bite beneath the sugar.

“But is it that color?” Vierho insisted.

Chen-Lhu leaned forward. “Many Irish colleens have such red hair, Vierho. It’s supposed to signify a wild temper.”

Rhin returned the drink to the table, wondering at her own emotions. She sensed a camaraderie between Vierho and his chief and resented the fact that she couldn’t share it.

“Where next, Johnny?” Chen-Lhu asked.

Martinho darted a glance at his brother Irmandade, returned a hard stare to Chen-Lhu. Why does this official of the IEO ask such a question here and now? he wondered. Chen-Lhu must know where next. It could not be otherwise .

“I’m surprised you hadn’t heard,” Martinho said. “This afternoon I bid-in the Serra Dos Parecis.”

“By the great bug of the Mambuca,” Vierho muttered.

Anger showed in the sudden darkening of Martinho’s face. “Vierho!” he snapped.

Rhin stared from one to the other. A strange silence had settled over the table. She felt it as a tingling along her arms and shoulders. There was something about it that was fearful, even sexual… and profoundly disturbing. She recognized the reaction of her body, hated it, knew she could not place its source with any precision this time. All she could say to herself was: This is why Chen-Lhu sent for me—to attract this Joao Martinho and manipulate him. I’ll do it, but what I’ll hate most is the fact that I’ll enjoy it .

“But, Jefe,” Vierho said. “You know yourself what was said about…”