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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?
Iam 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.
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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 inaddition to some kind of fungal
consciousness?
I wonder if different growthsare 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.
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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.
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