Collectivum

didn't take. The next one might. That'swhy."

  "You weren't sick?"

  "During the incubation period? I was sick. Plenty sick."

  Morgan shook his head thoughtfully. If she had been through theviolent illness of the parasite's incubation, she should now have oneof the squeaking little degenerates in place of a brain. The fibers ofthe small animals grew slowly along the neural arcs, replacing eachnerve cell, forming a junction at each synapse. There was reason tobelieve that the parasite preserved the memories that had been storedin the brain, but they became blended with all the otherindividualities that comprised Oren, thereby losing the personality inthe mental ocean of the herd-mind. Was it possible that if oneinvader were out of mental contact with the herd-mind, that theindividual host might retain its personality? But how could she be outof contact?

  "They're getting close to the door," she whispered.

  Morgan gripped his hatchet and waited, not knowing who would be thegreater enemy--the girl or the prowlers.

  "When the door opens, strike a match. So I can see to shoot."

  Morgan crouched low. There came a light tapping at the torn screen,then several seconds of silence. Someone pushed at the door. It swungslowly open.

  "Jerry?" called a faint voice. "Jerry--thet you in theah?"

  Morgan breathed easily again. An Orenian would not have called out."Who is it?" he barked.

  There was no answer. Morgan groped for the lamp, found it, and heldthe match poised but not lighted.

  "Come in here!" he ordered. "We've got a gun."

  "Yes, suh!"

  A shadow appeared in the door frame. Morgan struck the match. It wasan ancient Negro with a burlap sack in one hand and a bloodstainedpitchfork in the other. He stood blinking at Shera's shotgun and atthe lamp as Morgan lit it. His overalls were rainsoaked, his eyeswild.

  "Come in and sit down."

  "Thankya suh, thankya." He shuffled inside and slumped into a ricketychair.

  "What're you doing wandering around like this?"

  "Been a hunting. Yes, suh, been doing me a little hunting." He sighedwearily and mopped the rain out of his tight coils of graying hair.

  Morgan eyed the burlap sack suspiciously. It was wet, and it wriggled."What's that?"

  "'Ass my night's work," said the man and jerked a corner of the sack.It opened, and three Oren parasites spilled out with weak squeaks ofanguish.

  The girl gasped angrily. "They're still in contact with Oren. Killthem!"

  "Yes'm, they're in contact--but without eyes, how're they gonna knowwheah they are?"

  Morgan made a wry mouth at Shera. The old man was smart--and right.But he felt another uneasy suspicion. The old man said "hunting."Hunting for what--food? The idea twisted disgust in Morgan's stomach.

  "What're you going to do with them?"

  "Oh--" The oldster kicked one of them lightly with his toe. The pinkthing rolled against the wall. There were vestigial signs of arms,legs, but tiny and useless, grown fast to the body. The visitorglanced up with a sheepish grin.

  "I feed 'em to my dawgs, suh. Dawgs like 'em. Getting so my dawgs cansmell the difference twixt a man and an Orenian. I'm training 'em.They help me with my hunting."

  Morgan sat up sharply. "How many dogs you got, and where do you live?"

  "Fo' dawgs. I live in the swamp. They's a big hollow cypress--I got mybed in it."

  "Why didn't you move in here?"

  The old man looked at the place in the center of the floor where thedust outlined the shape of a human body. "Suicide," he muttered. Thenhe looked up. "'Tain't superstition, exactly. I just don't--"

  "Never mind," Morgan murmured. He glanced at the girl. She had laidthe shotgun aside and was lighting a cigarette. He tensed himself,then sprang like a cat.

  The gun was in his hands, and he was backing across the room beforeshe realized what had happened. Her face went suddenly white. The oldman just sat and looked baffled.

  "Can you call one of your dogs?"

  "Yes, suh, but--"

  "Call one, I want to try something."

  Shera bit her lip. "Why, Morgan? To see if what I said is true?"

  "Yeah."

  "I'll save you the trouble." She stared into his face solemnly andslowly opened her mouth. From beneath her tongue, a barb slowlyprotruded until its point projected several inches from her lips.Morgan shivered.

  * * * * *

  The Negro, who was sitting rigidly frozen, suddenly dove for hispitchfork with a wild cry. "Witcherwoman! Oren-stinger!"

  Shera darted aside as the pitchfork sailed toward her and shatteredthe window. She seized it quickly and held him at bay. The old manlooked startled. Orenians tried to sting, not to fight.

  "Hold it!" bellowed Morgan.

  Reluctantly, the oldster backed away and fell into the chair again.But his eyes clung to the girl with hatred.

  "She stung ya, suh?"

  "No, and she won't sting you." He gazed at Shera coldly. "Drop thatfork."

  She propped it against the wall but stayed close to it. "Okay,Morgan," she purred. "It's your show."

  "It's going to be yours. Sit down and tell us everything that happenedbefore you were stung and after. I want to figure out what makes youdifferent from the others, and why you aren't in liaison with Oren."

  She smiled acidly. "You won't believe it."

  "You'll tell it though," he growled darkly.

  She turned to gaze at the door. "Earlich had a little girl--by hisfirst wife. She got stung eight months ago. Before she ran away, shestung her pet kitten. I didn't know it. The kitten stayed with us._It_ stung me." She paused. "Here's the part you won't believe: beforeEarlich killed it, I was coming into liaison with the cat."

  "_God!_"

  "It's true."

  "Have you ever stung anyone?"

  "No. Earlich didn't even know."

  "Any desire to?"

  She reddened slowly and set her jaw.

  The old man giggled. "Wants ta sting a cat, ah bet, suh."

  She shot him a furious glance, but didn't deny it. They sat for a longtime in silence. Morgan lowered the shotgun, then laid it aside.

  "Thanks," she murmured, and looked really grateful.

  But Morgan was staring thoughtfully at the oldster. "Your dogs evertree a panther?"

  "Yas, _suh_, they're good at that!" He grinned and waggled his head.

  "Many panthers in the swamp?"

  "Lo'dy, yes--" He paused. His eyes widened slightly.

  Both of them looked suddenly at the girl. Her eyebrows arched, hermouth flew open. She put a frightened hand to her throat.

  "Oh _no_! Oh God, _nooo_!" she shrilled.

  Morgan glanced at the window, sighed, and stood up.

  "It's getting light outside. We better hunt some food."

  Morgan and the old man, whose name was Hanson, went out to prowl alongthe outskirts of the swamp. They returned at mid-morning with a stringof perch, a rabbit, and a heart of swamp cabbage. The girl cooked themeal in silence, scarcely looking at them. Her face was sullen, angry.Morgan turned while he was eating and saw her staring contemplativelyat the back of his neck--where the Oren-sting was usually planted.

  "Nobody's going to force you into anything, Shera," he said quietly."We won't mention it again."

  She said nothing, but stopped glaring at him. He wondered how much theOren organ had affected her personality.

  "Do you still feel the same--as you did a year ago?" he asked her."Any difference? Any loss of memory? Loss of function?"

  "No."

  "That means the alien organ exactly duplicates the neural circuits itsupplants."

  "So?"

  "So the rapport is the only special feature. Without it, you'reapparently still human."

  "Thanks." It was a bitter, acid tone.

  "I can't understand why the cat-business caused ... unless ... rapportis achieved by a sort of resonance--and you couldn't get it with a catand with humans too--"

  "Drop
it, will you!" She turned and stalked out of the shanty. At thedoorway, she broke into a run.

  Morgan looked at Hanson. Hanson waggled his head and grinned ruefully."That--uh--lady likes you, suh."

  Morgan snorted and went to the door. She was just disappearing into atangle of weeds that had once been an orange grove. He set off afterher at a quick trot. "Shera, wait--"

  He caught up with her at the edge of the swamp, where she was backingquickly away from