“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?”