He felt something on his right leg, just above where the jungle boot met the fabric of his pants. Looking back and down, he saw half a dozen of the black tendrils touching his upper calf. Several were unmistakably pointed in his direction. Their tips, he could see clearly now, were hollow. Tubes designed and equipped for spraying lethal sticky maroon powder at any potential predator.
Slowly, very slowly, he withdrew his fingers from the vicinity of the damaged basidiocarp. As he did so, the black rhizomorphs straightened, the threatening tips pointing skyward instead of toward him. They did not, however, withdraw back into the rotting log from which they had emerged. Instead, they continued to feel his leg just below the knee.
“Come along, Hasa,” urged Masurathoo. “You are delaying our departure.”
Jemunu-jah was eyeing the human more intently. “What is going on, Hasa? What you looking at?”
“I've found something. Or it's found me. I'm not sure yet.”
“Found something?” The Sakuntala took a long nimble step toward where the human was starting to sit back down. “Found what?”
“I don't know.” He glanced quickly in the Sakuntala's direction before returning his attention to the busy rhizomorphs. “Maybe some of your forest spirits.” Keeping his movements slow and predictable, he sat down on the large log that had served as the center of their encampment. Rising hypnotically from the wood, more and more of the rhizomorphs emerged to inspect his body. Some of them were unusually thick, even by the standards of Fluvan fungal growths. A few were giants of their kind, as big around as his little finger.
Seeing what was happening, Jemunu-jah's pupils expanded and he started to reach for his gun. Hasa was quick to wave him off.
“Leave them alone! They're not hurting me. They're just—” It was hard to voice the words that seemed simultaneously appropriate and impossible. “—checking me out.” He indicated the dead herbivore. “They killed that small browser. Look at its mouth. It's the same stuff that killed the mokusinga.”
Keeping wary eyes on the swaying, probing rhizomorphs, Jemunu-jah knelt and Masurathoo folded himself to inspect the deceased herbivore.
“Never know pannula to do such a thing before,” Jemunu-jah finally commented.
“Different species, maybe,” was Hasa's response. “I've certainly never seen a macromycete quite like it.”
When Masurathoo looked up, both of his trunks were half-retracted. “Coincidence,” the Deyzara insisted. “You not saying, human, that we were deliberately saved from mokusinga by a fungus?”
“I am saying that we were saved by one. By this particular species.” Hasa sat quietly as tendrils now swayed back and forth in front of him like waltzing eels while dozens of others that had emerged from the rotting log continued to poke and prod his seated form. Their touch was incredibly gentle. “Whether it was deliberate or coincidental is what I don't know.” He chuckled. It was, Masurathoo noted, a sound most uncharacteristic of the human.
“Saved by a mushroom.” Hasa glanced back and up at Jemunu-jah. “Do the Sakuntala have a name for this type of growth?”
His lanky companion moved nearer. “Pannula. We do not eat them. They have bitter taste. They hardly ever encountered near towns.”
“Fond of their privacy, maybe.”
Masurathoo was following the human's line of reasoning, and he did not like it. “Permit me to inquire, Hasa, if you are claiming some sort of consciousness for this . . . this . . . fungus.”
As he did always, Hasa was clearly enjoying the Deyzara's discomfort. “I'm not claiming anything of the sort—yet. But consider: Something saved us from the mokusinga. These tendrils are inspecting me instead of trying to enter my body. Admittedly, that kind of work is usually done by mycelium and not rhizomorphs, but it's still evidence of some kind of restraint, be it directed by intelligence or instinct. And what about that feeling I've been having for days and days of us being watched?”
Pushing back the hood of his rain cape, Masurathoo stepped forward. “In this I fear most strongly that I must be at variance with you, sir. A fungus possesses neither intelligence nor instinct. Nor does it have anything to ‘watch' us, or anything else, with.”
“The Viisiiviisii is full of surprises, bug-eyes. Say it ‘perceives' rather than ‘sees.' ” As he spoke, several of the inky rhizomorphs had risen high enough to begin investigating his lips.
“Be careful.” Jemunu-jah's fingers itched to draw his weapon. “Remember the poisonous residue that killed mokusinga!”
“If this plant wanted me dead, it could already have slain me a dozen times over. Or it could have let the mokusinga do the job.” Inquisitive black tendrils touched his lips, felt of the soft flesh. They tickled. And the feeling of being observed, even in the absence of anything recognizable as eyes, was more compelling than ever.
Masurathoo's breathing trunk twitched. “Those may have been examples of similar but different species.” He gestured with a flexible arm. “They lie two days' trek behind us. This is a different gathering of growths, in an entirely new location.” He indicated the attractive purple-reddish fruiting bodies that sprouted from dead wood nearby. “These are other pannula. Surely you are not claiming an ability for different individual growths to communicate over distance in addition to some kind of fungal consciousness?”
“I wonder if different growths are involved.”
As Hasa spoke, two of the questing tendrils took the opportunity to slip inside his open mouth. Jemunu-jah tensed. The rhizomorphs investigated for a few seconds, tickling Hasa's palate, tongue, and the insides of his cheeks before withdrawing. Finished their exploration, he wondered, or found the human oral environment not to their liking?
“Please not to take offense, sir, but you are not making any sense.”
Fascinated, Hasa raised his right hand and spread his fingers wide. Questing rhizomorphs immediately rose to match the gesture, one or two tendrils making contact with each of his elevated fingertips.
“To rise this far above the wood it's emerging from,” he said as he moved his hand slowly from side to side, “this easily and effectively, these rhizomorphs must be supported by a much larger mass buried deep within the host tree or, more likely, in the ground itself.”
Jemunu-jah gestured downward. “There no ground here, Hasa. Ground here is many kel below top of the water. Pannula lives in trees and deadwood, not ground. Leastways, all pannula I know.”
The human replied while continuing to play touchy-feely with the inquiring rhizomorphs. Nearby, ghostly white mycelium had begun to infiltrate the body of the dead herbivore.
“How can you be so sure about that, Jemunu-jah? Have your people ever dug one up? Not part of one, but a whole one, to see how far the spawn and the hyphae actually extend?”
The Sakuntala's snout twitched. “Why would anyone want to do such a thing? All pannula taste bad. Probably this kind also. Stringy stuff in trees and wood probably tastes worse. Be a big waste of time and energy.”
Hasa nodded. Opposite him, black tendrils bobbed in mime. “Probably just as well no one ever tried it with one of these. The pannula in question might have taken offense.” He was studying the weaving tendrils intently. “We've already seen what it can do when it takes offense.”
Masurathoo badly wanted to sit down and rest but could not quite bring himself to do so. The image of sharp, piercing white filaments painlessly penetrating his backside and then rapidly expanding to infest and rot his entire body from the inside out was one he could not shake.
“I daresay that you are trying to make a point, Hasa, but I fear to confess that it continues to escape me.”
“Locating, identifying, and finding uses for these kinds of growths are my business, finger-face. I'm thinking that maybe these pannula are analogous to similar fungal organisms on Earth. Very large organisms. In fact, they're the biggest living things on the home world of my species.”
Jemunu-jah eyed the nodding strands with new respect. “How big?”
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“Big enough so that these rhizomorphs and mycelium could all be part of a single organism.” He glanced at the dubious Deyzara. “This here wouldn't have to ‘communicate' with those that killed the mokusinga if they were all part of the same organism. Big enough so that these basidiocarps,” and he indicated the tripartite fruiting bodies nearby, “and the ones we saw at the place where we were attacked by the mokusinga could all be reproductive bodies sprouting from the same individual source.”
The Sakuntala mentally retraced the ground they had covered during the past couple of days. It was not great, but it was substantial. “That very difficult to believe, Hasa.”
“I've studied organisms like this. With all due respect to the accumulated practical knowledge of the Sakuntala, your kind haven't.” He turned thoughtful. “One variety is called Armillaria ostoyae. It lives a more restricted life than your pannula, living mostly on tree roots. For a long time, my kind didn't recognize it for what it was because by far the bulk of it existed below ground. It took a long time for people to understand that the fruiting bodies and mycelium they were seeing were all part of a single gigantic life-form. One Armillaria was found that covered five square kilometers.”
Masurathoo performed the quick calculation, translating human units of measurement into those of the Deyzara. “That is not possible!” he finally declared, rolling his eyes.
“It is not only possible; it is,” Hasa assured him. Thrusting his hand sharply to his right, he brought it quickly back to his left as the tips of the ebony tendrils sought to match the movement. They continued to follow the lead of his darting fingers wherever he thrust them. “It's sure as hell no less possible than the fact that I'm sitting here in the middle of the southern Viisiiviisii playing tag with a fungus. Of course, to be certain, DNA samples would have to be drawn from multiple outcrops.
“Think about it. Something like an Armillaria is perfectly adapted to life on Fluva. It can live on live trees, deadwood, and in the ground, safe beneath and protected from predatory browsers by the varzean flooding. Its hyphae can reproduce above the water during the Big Wet and on the ground in the short season when the water recedes and dry land lies exposed. Its size means that predation by browsers that can survive its defenses only damages a small portion of the main body. Even if every fruiting body and all the mycelium aboveground were to die or be eaten, the main body of the individual would remain safe beneath the water.” Drawing back his right hand, he watched as the black tendrils followed. When he pushed it forward, they retreated.
“If the pannula is anything like Armillaria, it probably spreads slowly and lives a long time. A very long time. Possibly thousands of years. That might even be long enough to develop some kind of rudimentary awareness.”
Masurathoo let out a disdainful snort through his speaking trunk. “A Eurmetian shumai has awareness. That does not mean it is intelligent.”
“A shumai wouldn't go out of its way to save us from attacking mokusinga, either.”
“We don't know that what happened.” Jemunu-jah's observation reflected reasonable caution. “Could have been coincidence.”
“Could have been,” Hasa conceded. “It also could be coincidence that the pannula simply decided the mokusinga were a threat to it, and we just happened to be in the area. Just like that little browser was a threat to it and we're not. But it sure as hell doesn't explain why these rhizomorphs are following my hand movements and checking out my body without trying to make a meal out of me, or out of any of us.”
“Awareness,” Masurathoo repeated, “is not intelligence.” But despite what he felt strongly to be true, the Deyzara was beginning to waver.
“Why these,” Hasa asked aloud, indicating the weaving tendrils, “and not those?” With his other hand he pointed down at the dynamic white mycelium. “I'll tell you why. Because fungal rhizomorphs are specialized. Some are dedicated to breaking up soil to make it easier for the mycelium to spread. Some are committed to entering wood to begin the process of rot. That's on the worlds I've visited. The rhizomorphs here—they could be specialized for other functions as well. Defense, for one thing. For another—perhaps consciousness. A detailed examination of the entire organism's cellular structure would be very edifying.”
“If what you contend contains even a modicum of validity, sir, then why,” Masurathoo observed somberly, “have these pannula in all these thousands of years not tried to make contact with the Sakuntala?”
The human favored him with that infuriatingly mordant smile of his. “How do we know they haven't?” He turned the same expression on Jemunu-jah, who was no less pleased to be on the receiving end of it. “Awareness and intelligence are a two-way proposition.”
Both ears flicked forward. “Are you implying that Sakuntala not smart enough to realize when they are being talked to?”
“Hey, the Viisiiviisii is your ancestral home. You big-ears evolved having to watch out for much more overtly threatening nasties. Maybe this one particularly highly evolved strain of pannula did try to make contact with your kind once or twice over the millennia. You knock on somebody's door for that long and they continue to ignore you, eventually you're going to get tired of trying. Or maybe the pannula, if they are real slow maturing, are just reaching the point where they feel able to try to make contact.” He shrugged. “Or maybe they just weren't interested in making contact with people who regarded their manifestations of consciousness as belonging to unnamed ‘forest spirits,' and chose to wait for some real intelligence to come along. Like me.” Ignoring their simmering indignation, he continued to play finger tag with the agreeable rhizomorphs.
Swallowing his resentment, Jemunu-jah moved to peer over the human's shoulder. “If by some chance you right and pannula is somehow some kind of sentient, how we make contact? Pannula is fungus. Has no eyes, no ears, no mouth. Only filaments.”
“That might be enough. In ancient times, there used to be humans who couldn't see, hear, or speak. That didn't mean they were any less intelligent. They learned to communicate solely via touch. Maybe all this species can do is respond to my hand and finger movements, but it's a start.”
Masurathoo felt that his credulity was on trial. “I beg to point out, Hasa, that such mimicry can be accomplished by many different species from a number of worlds that are not classified as intelligent.”
“I'm sure it can be, but how many brainless mimics would rise to the defense of visitors in peril?” he argued.
“I still think coincidence.” Jemunu-jah was not swayed.
“Still could be,” Hasa admitted. Rising, he brushed debris from his rain cape. “So let's put it to the test. If the pannula did intentionally save us from the mokusinga, then it has our best interests at heart—even though it doesn't have one itself. If it is intelligent, then our little sojourn here may represent the first formal contact between it and my species. Whether it wants anything to do with either of your kind remains to be seen.”
“You flatter yourself unreasonably.” Masurathoo found himself unable to take the continuing veiled insults any longer without articulating a response.
“We'll see.” Hefting his pack and swinging it up onto his back, Hasa started back the way they had come.
“That is the wrong direction,” Jemunu-jah reminded him.
“I know.” Having paused and turned around, Hasa was grinning more broadly than ever. “So I've been told.”
Jemunu-jah blinked eagle eyes. “Heesa; I just told it to you.”
“Not just you.” Raising an arm, the human gestured. “Look.”
Sakuntala and Deyzara turned. Every one of the black tendrils that had previously been standing erect and weaving slightly from side to side was now lying flat with its tip pointing due north.
“They have fallen down,” Jemunu-jah commented. “It means nothing.”
“No? Let's see.” Retracing his steps, Hasa halted beside the cluster of prostrate rhizomorphs. In response to his renewed proximity, they immediately straighten
ed. After playing with the bobbing, ducking tips for a couple of minutes, he stepped back again. As they began to lie down once more, he moved forward and deliberately pushed them flat so they faced in a southward direction. Retreating, he turned once again to retrace his previous course.
Behind him, the rhizomorphs slowly lifted themselves and adjusted their positions until all were once more facing north.
“What do you think now?” he asked triumphantly.
“The alignment could be due to other factors,” Jemunu-jah insisted. “Direction rain is coming from, position of hidden sun, current temperature. Could be many factors involved.”
Hasa nodded. “Or, having our welfare—excuse me, my welfare—in whatever a pannula uses for a mind, it could be pointing the way toward the village we've been trying to reach, assuming that would be the nearest place of safety for us from marauders like the mokusinga.”
Where a human could only cross its arms, Masurathoo was able to entwine his. “I am not going to proceed through this horror of a landscape on the basis of directions provided by a fungus.”
Hasa glanced at the third member of the party. “How about you, fuzz-face?”
The Sakuntala wanted to grab the human by the throat and shake him. That, he reflected, would have been the reaction of an uneducated Hata-nau or perhaps one of Aniolo-jat's rabid followers. He, on the other hand, was civilized. Though every time he patiently absorbed one of the human's obnoxious jibes he found himself wishing it were otherwise.
Standing capeless in the rain, he finally thrust both ears forward. “We have been going that direction anyway.”
“No, we haven't,” Masurathoo objected immediately. “We have been moving more to the east.” A twin-digited hand indicated the prone tendrils. “Those . . . things . . . are pointing markedly to the north. If we follow their ‘direction' we could end up entirely missing the village we seek.”
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