Malpry looked at the book which lay on the grass.
“It’s in that, ain’t it?”
“Never mind that. Gault’s orders were to help me get the heart-cuttings.”
“He didn’t know about the dran.”
“Taking the dran will kill the specimen. You can’t—”
Malpry stepped toward the book. Pantelle jumped toward him, swung a haymaker, missed. Malpry knocked him spinning.
“Don’t touch me, Creep,” he spat, and wiped his fist on his pants leg.
Pantelle lay stunned. Maipry thumbed the book, found what he wanted. After ten minutes, he dropped the book, picked up the blaster, and moved off.
* * *
Malpry cursed the heat, wiping at his face. A many-legged insect scuttled away before him. Underfoot, something furtive rustled. One good thing: no animals in this damned woods bigger than a mouse. A hell of a place. He’d have to watch his step; it wouldn’t do to get lost in here. . . .
The velvety wall of the half-buried trunk loomed, as dense growth gave way suddenly to a clear stretch. Malpry stopped, breathing hard. He got out his sodden handkerchief, staring up at the black wall. A ring of dead-white stalks sprouted from the dead tree. Nearby were other growths, like snarls of wiry black seaweed, and ropy-looking things, dangling—
Malpry backed away, snarling. Some crawling disease, some kind of filthy fungus— But—
Malpry stopped. Maybe this was what he was looking for. Sure, this was what those pictures in the book showed. This was where the dran was. But he didn’t know it would look like some creeping—
“Stop, Malpry!” Pantelle’s voice spoke sharply, near at hand.
Malpry whirled.
“Don’t be so . . . stupid . . .” Pantelle was gasping for breath. There was a purpling bruise on his jaw. “Let me rest . . . Talk to you . . .”
“Die, you gutter-scraping. Have a nice long rest. But don’t muck with me.” Malpry turned his back on Pantelle, unlimbered the blaster.
Pantelle grabbed up a broken limb, slammed it across Malpry’s head. The rotten wood snapped. Malpry staggered, recovered. He turned, his face livid; a trickle of blood ran down.
“All right, Creep,” he grated. Pantelle came to him, swung a whistling right, his arm bent awkwardly. Malpry lunged, and Pantelle’s elbow caught him across the jaw. His eyes went glassy, he sagged, fell to his hands and knees. Pantelle laughed aloud.
Malpry shook his head, breathing hoarsely, got to his feet. Pantelle took aim and hit him solidly on the jaw. The blow seemed to clear Malpry’s head. He slapped a second punch aside, knocked Pantelle full-length with a backhanded blow. He dragged Pantelle to his feet, swung a hard left and right. Pantelle bounced, lay still. Malpry stood over him, rubbing his jaw.
He stirred Pantelle with his foot. Maybe the Creep was dead. Laying his creeping hands on Malpry. Gault wouldn’t like it, but the Creep had started it. Sneaked up and hit him from behind. He had the mark to prove it. Anyway, the news about the dran would cheer Gault up. Better go get Gault up here. Then they could cut the dran out and get away from this creeping planet. Let the Creep bleed.
Malpry turned back toward the ship, leaving Pantelle huddled beside the fallen tree.
* * *
The Yanda craned external oculi to study the fallen creature, which had now apparently entered a dormant phase. A red exudation oozed from orifices at the upper end, and from what appeared to be breaks in the epidermis. It was a strange creature, bearing some superficial resemblance to the familiar host-creatures. Its antics, and those of the other, were curious indeed. Perhaps they were male and female, and the encounter had been a mating. Possibly this hibernation was a normal process, preparatory to rooting. If only it were not so alien, it might serve as a carrier. . . .
The surface of the fallen creature heaved, a limb twitched. Apparently it was on the verge of reviving. Soon, it would scurry away, and be seen no more. It would be wise to make a quick examination; if the creature should prove suitable as a host . . .
Quickly the tree elaborated a complex of tiny filaments, touched the still figure tentatively, then penetrated the surprisingly soft surface layer, seeking out nerve fibers. A trickle of impressions flowed in, indecipherable. The tree put forth a major sensory tendril, divided and subdivided it into fibers only a few atoms in diameter, fanned them out through the unconscious man, tracing the spinal column, entering the brain—
Here was a wonder of complexity, an unbelievable profusion of connections. This was a center capable of the highest intellectual functions—unheard of in a host creature. Curious, the tree-mind probed deeper, attuning itself, scanning through a kaleidoscope of impressions, buried memories, gaudy symbolisms.
Never had the Yanda-mind encountered the hyper-intellectual processes of emotion. It pressed on, deeper into the phantasmagoria of dreams—
Color, laughter, and clash-of-arms. Banners rippling in the sun, chords of a remote music, and night-blooming flowers. Abstractions of incredible beauty mingled with vivid conceptualizations of glory. Fascinated, the tree-mind explored Pantelle’s secret romantic dreams of fulfillment—
And abruptly, encountered the alien mind.
There was a moment of utter stillness as the two minds assessed each other.
“You are dying,” the alien mind spoke.
“Yes. And you are trapped in a sickly host-creature. Why did you not select a stronger host?”
“I . . . originated here. I . . . we . . . are one.”
“Why do you not strengthen this host?”
“How?”
The Yanda-mind paused. “You occupy only a corner of the brain. You do not use your powers?”
“I am a segment . . .” The alien mind paused, confused. “I am conceptualized by the monitor-mind as the subconscious.”
“What is the monitor-mind?”
“It is the totality of the personality. It is above the conscious, directing. . . .
“This is a brain of great power, yet great masses of cells are unused. Why are major trunks aborted as they are?”
“I do not know.”
There was no more information to be gained here. This was an alien brain indeed, housing independent, even antagonistic minds.
The Yanda-mind broke contact, tuned.
There was a blast of mind-force, overwhelming. The Yanda-mind reeled, groped for orientation as the impact from within its own mental terrain shook its ego-gestalt.
YOU ARE NOT ONE OF MY MINDS, it realized.
“You are the monitor-mind?” gasped the Yanda.
YES. WHAT ARE YOU?
The Yanda-mind projected its self-concept.
STRANGE, VERY STRANGE. YOU HAVE USEFUL SKILLS, I PERCEIVE. TEACH THEM TO ME.
The Yanda-mind squirmed under the torrent of thought impulses.
“Reduce your volume,” it pled. “You will destroy me.”
I WILL TRY. TEACH ME THAT TRICK OF MANIPULATING MOLECULES.
The Yanda cringed under the booming of the alien mind. What an instrument! A fantastic anomaly, a mind such as this linked to this fragile host-creature—and unable even to use its powers. But it would be a matter of the greatest simplicity to make the necessary corrections, rebuild and toughen the host, eliminate the defects—
TEACH ME, YANDA-MIND!
“Alien, I die soon,” the Yanda gasped. “But I will teach you. There is, however, a condition. . . .”
The two minds conferred, and reached agreement. At once, the Yanda mind initiated sweeping rearrangements at the submolecular level.
First, cell regeneration, stitching up the open lesions on arm and head. Antibodies were modified in vast numbers, flushed through the system. Parasites died.
“Maintain this process,” the tree-mind directed.
Now, the muscular layers; surely they were inadequate. The very structure of the cells was flimsy. The Yanda devised the necessary improvements, tapped the hulk of its cast-off body for materials, reinforced the musculature. Now for the skeletal members. . . .
The tree visualized the articulation of the ambulatory mechanism, considered for a moment the substitution of a more practical tentacular concept—
There was little time. Better to retain the stony bodies, merely strengthen them, using metallo-vegetable fibers. The air sacs, too. And the heart. They would have lasted no time at all as they were.
“Observe, alien, thus, and thus . . .”
I SEE. IT IS A CLEVER TRICK.
The Yanda worked over the body of Pantelle, adjusting, correcting, reinforcing, discarding a useless appendix or tonsil here, adding a reserve air storage unit there. A vestigial eye deep in the brain was refurbished for sensitivity at the radio frequencies, linked with controls. The spine was deftly fused at the base; additional mesenteries were added for intestinal support. Following the basic pattern laid down in the genes, the tree-mind rebuilt the body.
When the process was finished, and the alien mind absorbed the techniques demonstrated, the Yanda-mind paused and announced:
“It is finished.”
I AM READY TO REESTABLISH THE CONSCIOUS MIND IN OVERT CONTROL.
“Remember your promise.”
I WILL REMEMBER.
The Yanda-mind began its withdrawal. Troublesome instinct was served. Now it could rest until the end.