The Green Brain by Frank Herbert Read Free Book Online Page B

…”
    â€œDo you suspect them?” Martinho glanced at his companion, noting the glower of concentration of Alvarez’s face. “They will not let us inspect their results.”
    â€œThe Chinese are paranoid. They leaned that way before they ever collided with the Western world and the Western world merely confirmed them in this sickness. Suspect the Chinese? I don’t think so.”
    â€œI do,” Martinho said. “I suspect everyone.”
    A feeling of gloom overtook him at the sound of his own words. It was true—he suspected everyone, even Benito here, and Chen-Lhu … and the lovely Rhin Kelly. He said, “I think often of the ancient insecticides, how the insects grew ever stronger in spite of—or because of—the insect poisons.”
    A sound behind them caught Martinho’s attention. He put a hand on Alvarez’s arm, stopped the shield, turned.
    It was Vierho followed by a slavecart piled with gear. Martinho identified a long pry bar there, a large body hood that must have been intended for Alvarez, packages of plastic explosive.
    â€œJefe … I thought you would need these things,” Vierho said.
    A feeling of affection for the Padre swept through Martinho and he spoke bruskly: “Stay close behind and out of the way, you hear?”
    â€œOf course, Jefe. Don’t I always?” He held the body hood toward Alvarez. “This I brought for you, Jefe Alvarez, that you might not suffer another hurt.”

    â€œI thank you, Padre,” Alvarez said, “but I prefer freedom of movement. Besides, this old body has so many scars, one more will make little difference.”
    Martinho glanced around him, noted that other shields were advancing across the lawn. “Quickly,” he said: “we must be the first there.”
    Alvarez rotated the control handle. Again their shield ground its way toward the fountain.
    Vierho came up close beside his chief, spoke in a low voice: “Jefe, there are stories back there at the truck. It is said that some creature ate the pilings from under a warehouse at the waterfront. The warehouse collapsed. People were killed. There is much upset.”
    â€œChen-Lhu hinted at this,” Martinho said.
    â€œIs this not the place?” Alvarez asked.
    â€œStop the shield,” Martinho said. He stared at the grass ahead of them, searching out the place—the relationship to the fountain, the grass marked by the previous passage of their shield.
    â€œThis is the place,” he said. He passed his carbine to Vierho, said, “Give me that prybar … and a stun charge.”
    Vierho handed him a small packet of plastic explosive with detonator, the kind of charge they used in the Red areas to break up an insect nest in the ground. Martinho pulled his head shield down tight, took the prybar. “Vierho, cover me from here. Benito—can you use a handlight?”
    â€œOf course, Johnny.”
    â€œJefe … you are not going to use the shield?”
    â€œThere isn’t time.” He stepped around the shield before Vierho could answer. The beam of a handlight stabbed down at the ground ahead of him. He crouched, slid the tip of the prybar along the grass, digging, pushing. The bar caught, then slipped down into emptiness.
Something touched it down there, and an electric tingle shot all through Martinho.
    â€œPadre, down here,” he whispered.
    Vierho leaned over him with the carbine. “Jefe?”
    â€œJust ahead of the bar—into the ground.”
    Vierho aimed, squeezed off two shots.
    A violent scrabbling noise erupted under the lawn ahead of them. Something splashed there.
    Again, Vierho fired. The blast pellets made a curious thumping sound as they exploded under the ground.
    There came the liquid sound of furious activity down there—as though there were a school of fish feeding at the surface.
    Silence.
    More handlights glared onto the lawn ahead of him.