Frank Herbert: The Green Brain

“He always was melodramatic,” the elder Martinho said. “Look at the mess he made of things out there on the river. Of course, you had a hand in that. If you’d only listened to me, trusted me.”

“Now we have a hostage,” the Brain rumbled. “Now we can afford to trust you.”

“You’ve had a hostage ever since you put this pump in me,” the old man said.

“I didn’t understand the price you put on the individual unit,” the Brain said. “After all, we’ll spend almost any unit to save the hive.”

“Not a queen,” the old man said. “You won’t spend a queen. And how about yourself? Would you spend yourself?”

“Unthinkable,” the Brain muttered.

Slowly, Joao turned his head, looked beneath the giant face to where the voice originated. He saw a white mass about four meters across, a pulsing yellow sac protruding from it. Wingless insects crawled over it, into fissures along its surface and along the stone floor of the cave underneath. The face reared up from that mass supported by dozens of round stalks. Their scaled surfaces betrayed their nature.

The reality of the situation began to penetrate Joao’s shock.

“Rhin?” he whispered.

“Your mate is safe,” the Brain rumbled. “Changed like yourself, but safe.”

Joao continued to stare at the white mass on the cave floor. He saw that the voice issued from the pulsing yellow sac.

“Your attention is drawn to our way of answering your threat to us,” the Brain said. “This is our brain. It is vulnerable, yet strong… just as your brain.”

Joao fought down a shiver of revulsion.

“Tell me,” the Brain said, “how you define slave.”

“I’m a slave now,” Joao whispered. “I’m in bondage to you. I must obey you or you can kill me.”

“But you tried to kill yourself,” the Brain said.

The thought unfolded and unfolded in Joao’s awareness.

“A slave is one who must produce wealth for another,” the Brain said. “There is only one true wealth in all the universe. I have given you some of it. I have given your father and your mate some of it. And your friends. This wealth is living time. Time. Are we slaves because we have given you more time to live?”

Joao looked up from the voice sac to the giant, glittering eyes. He thought he detected amusement there.

“We’ve spared and extended the lives of all those who were with you,” the voice drummed. “That makes us your slaves, does it not?”

“What do you take in return?” Joao demanded.

“Ah, hah!” the voice fairly barked. “Quid pro quo! That’s this thing called business which I didn’t understand. Your father will leave soon to speak with the men of his government. He is our messenger. He trades us his time. He is our slave as well, is it not so? We are tied to each other by the bond of mutual slavery that cannot be broken. It never could be broken… no matter how hard you tried.”

“It’s very simple once you understand the interdependence,” Joao’s father said.

“Understand what?”

“Some of our kind lived once in greenhouses,” the voice rumbled. “Their cells remembered the experience. You know about greenhouses, of course.”

The giant face turned to look out at the cave mouth, where dawn was beginning to touch the world with gray. “That out there, that, too, is a greenhouse.” Again, it peered down at Joao, the giant eyes glittering. “To sustain life, a greenhouse must be maintained in a delicate state of balance by the life within it—enough of this chemical, enough of that one, another substance available when required. That which is poison one day can be the sweetest food the next day.”

“What’s all this to do with slavery?” Joao demanded, and he heard the petulance in his own voice.

“Life has developed through millions of years on greenhouse Earth,” the Brain rumbled. “Sometimes it developed in the poison excrement of other life… and then that poison became necessary to it. Without a substance produced by wireworms, that savannah grass out there would die… in time.”

Joao stared up at the rock ceiling, his thoughts turning over like cards in a file. “China’s barren earth!” he said.

“Precisely,” the Brain said. “Without substances produced by… insects , and other forms of life, your kind of life would perish. Sometimes just a faint trace of the substance is needed, such as the special copper produced by arachnids. Sometimes the substance must pass through many valences, subtly changed each time, before it can be used by a life form at the end of the chain. Break the chain and all die. The more different forms of life there are, the more life the greenhouse can support. The successful greenhouse must enclose many forms of life—the more forms of life, the healthier for all.”

“Chen-Lhu,” Joao said. “He could be made to help. He could go with my father, tell them… Did you save Chen-Lhu?”

“The Chinese,” the Brain said. “He can be said to live, although you abused him cruelly. The essential structures of the brain are alive, thanks to our prompt action.”

Joao looked down at the bulging, fissured mass on the floor of the cave. He turned away.

“They have given me proof to take back with me,” Joao’s father said. “There can be no doubt. No one will doubt. We must stop killing and changing insects.”

“And let them take over,” Joao whispered.

“We say you must stop killing yourselves,” the voice rumbled. “Already the people of your Chen-Lhu are… I believe you would call it reinfesting their land. Perhaps they will be in time, perhaps not. Here, it is not too late. In China, they were efficient and thorough… and they may need our help.”

“But you’ll be our masters,” Joao said. And he thought: Rhin… Rhin, where are you?

“We’ll merely achieve a new balance,” the Brain said. “It will be interesting to see. But there will be time to discuss this later. You are quite free to move… and capable of it. Just do not come too close to me: my nurses will not permit that. But for now, feel free to join your mate outside. There is sunshine this morning. Let the sun work on your skin and on the chlorophyll in your blood. And when you come back here, tell me if the sun is your slave.”

Frank Herbert, whose work has been compared to such widely varied writers as Aldous Huxley and Edgar Rice Burroughs, has been a newspaperman on the West Coast for many years. Both a writer and a professional photographer, he is also a student of subjects ranging from oriental religions to jungle botany and undersea geology. His rich background of experience includes work as a TV cameraman, radio news commentator, oyster diver, jungle survival instructor, lay analyst, and teacher of creative writing.

A Division of Charter Communications Inc.

1120 Avenue of the Americas

New York, N.Y. 10036

THE GREEN BRAIN

Copyright ©, 1966, by Frank Herbert

Part of this novel has appeared in Amazing Stories as a novelette entitled Greenslaves and is copyright, ©, 1965, by Ziff-Davis Publications, Inc.

All Rights Reserved

AN ACE BOOK

Printed in U.S.A.