Frank Herbert - The Green Brain

Joao felt all his consciousness concentrated into the terrible intensity of sight. He saw directly out an opening in the cabin side where no opening should be—a millrace chute, a black cavity of water, solid spray, damp green shade along a scarred cliff. He looked directly down into a frothed spiral of current as the pod tipped. His hand was numb where he clutched the wheel. His shoulder ached.

A brown turtleback of current rolled over directly in front of the opening. Joao felt the pod slide up onto that smoothness with a deceptively gentle gliding motion, saw the river drop away beyond.

She can’t take any more , he told himself.

The pod nosed down, faster and faster. Joao braced himself against the dash. He saw a green-brown wave curl upward past a shattered wing stump—up… up… up…

The pod smashed through it.

Green darkness and water cascaded into the cabin. There came a screech of metal. Joao felt the tail slam down, lifting him into washed twilight. He clawed his way toward the seat, dragging Rhin with him, saw Chen-Lhu’s arms still wrapped there, water pouring from the torn side of the cabin. He felt the tail section rip across rocks as the pod shot across another boiling mound of water.

Glaring sunlight!

Joao twisted around, half blinded by the brilliance. He stared past a torn hole where the motors had been, looked back up the gorge. The roaring noise of the place blasted at him. He saw the insane waves, the violence, and he thought: Did we really come through that?

He felt water around his ankles, turned, expecting to see another crazy descent of rapids. But there was only a broad pool—dark water all around. It absorbed the turbulence of the gorge and for all that violence showed only glistening bubbles and the swift spreading and converging of current runnels.

The pod lurched under him. Joao staggered in the water, clutched the right lip of the cabin, looked down at the remaining wing which appeared to float just on the surface of the river.

Rhin’s voice broke across the moment with a shocking tone of normality: “Hadn’t we better get out? We’re sinking.”

Joao tried to shake off his feeling of detachment, looked down to see her seated in her seat. He heard Chen-Lhu struggle upright behind her, coughing, saw the man loom there.

There came a metallic gurgling and the right wing dipped beneath the surface.

It occurred to Joao then with a twisted sense of elation that they were still alive… but the pod was dead. Elation drained from him.

“We gave them a good run for their money,” Chen-Lhu said, “but I think this is the end of the line.”

“Is it?” Joao growled. He felt anger boil in him, touched the bulge of Vierho’s big blunderbuss pistol in his pocket. The reflex motion, the foolish emptiness of it, brought a wave of crazy amusement into his mind.

Imagine trying to kill those things with this gun , he thought.

“Joao?” Rhin said.

“Yes.” He nodded to her, turned, climbed out onto the edge of the cabin, straightened, balancing there to study their surroundings. A damp spray mist from the gorge blew across him.

“This thing’s not going to stay afloat much longer,” Chen-Lhu said. He looked back up the chasm, his mind suddenly refusing to accept what had happened to them.

“I could swim to that point down there,” Rhin said. “How about the rest of you?”

Chen-Lhu turned, saw a treeless finger of land jutting into their pool about a hundred meters downstream. It was a fragile tentacle of reeds and dirt poised on the water and backed by a high wall of trees. Long dragging marks slanted along the mud below the reeds into the river.

Alligator sign , Chen-Lhu thought.

“I see ’gator sign,” Joao said. “Best stick with the pod as long as we can.”

Rhin felt terror rise in her throat, whispered, “Will it float much longer?”

“If we hold very still,” Joao said. “We seem to’ve trapped some air under us somewhere—maybe in the wing and that left float.”

“No sign of… them here,” Rhin said.

“They’ll be along presently,” Chen-Lhu said, and he was surprised at the casual tone of his own voice.

Joao studied the little peninsula.

The pod drifted away, then returned in a back eddy until only a few meters separated the partly submerged wing’s tip from the muddy shore.

Where’re those damned alligators? he wondered.

“We’re not going to get any closer,” Chen-Lhu said.

Joao nodded agreement, said, “You first, Rhin. Stay on the wing as long as you can. We’ll be right with you.” He put his hand on the pistol in his pocket, helped her up with the other hand. She slid down to the wing and it tipped farther under until stopped by the mud below the shore.

Chen-Lhu slid down behind her, said, “Let’s go!”

They splashed ashore, their feet sinking in mud when they left the wing. Joao smelled rocket fuel, saw its painted whorls on the river. The reed embankment lifted ahead of him with the tracks of Rhin and Chen-Lhu in it. He climbed up beside them, stared toward the jungle.

“Would it be possible to reason with them?” Chen-Lhu asked.

Joao lifted the sprayrifle, said, “I think this is the only argument we have.” He looked at the rifle’s charge, saw it was full, turned back to study the remains of the pod. It lay almost submerged, its wing anchored in the mud, brown current lapping around and through the torn holes in the cabin.

“You think we should try to get more weapons out of the pod?” Chen-Lhu asked. “To what purpose? We are going nowhere from here.”

He’s right, of course , Joao thought. He saw that Chen-Lhu’s words had set Rhin to shivering uncontrollably, and he put an arm around her until the shivering stopped.

“Such a lovely little domestic scene,” Chen-Lhu said, staring at them. And he thought: They’re the only coin I have. Perhaps our friends will bargain—two without a fight for one to go free .

Rhin felt calmness return. Joao’s arm around her, his silence, had shaken her more than anything she cared to remember. Such a little thing , she thought. Just a brotherly-fatherly hug .

Chen-Lhu coughed. She looked at him.

“Johnny,” Chen-Lhu said. “Give me the sprayrifle. I’ll cover you while you try to get more weapons from the pod.”

“You said it yourself,” Joao said. “To what purpose?”

Rhin pulled out of Joao’s embrace, suddenly terrified by the look in Chen-Lhu’s eyes.

“Give me the rifle,” Chen-Lhu said, his voice flat.

What’s the difference? Joao asked himself. He looked up into Chen-Lhu’s eyes, saw the unblinking savagery there. Good God! What’s come over him? He found himself obsessed by the man’s eyes, their glaring impact, the almond frames for rage.

Chen-Lhu’s left foot shot out, caught Joao’s left arm, sent the rifle pitching skyward. Joao felt his arm go numb, but fell back instinctively into the stance of the capoeira , the Brazilian judo. Almost blind with pain, he dodged another kick, leaped to one side.

“Rhin, the rifle!” Chen-Lhu shouted. And he stalked after Joao.

Rhin’s mind refused to function for a moment. She shook her head, looked to where the rifle had fallen butt first into the reeds. It pointed skyward, its stock in the mud. The rifle? she asked herself. Well, yes, it would stop a man at this range. She retrieved the rifle, brought it up with mud and torn reeds clinging to its stock, aimed it toward the two men dodging and posturing as though in some weird dance.

Chen-Lhu saw her, leaped backward, crouched.

Joao straightened, clutching his injured arm.