The Speaker for the Trees Read online

  The blustery plant took up the speech again.

  "We are not only going to have to eliminate humans, but also anything else that might evolve into one, including apes, cheetahs, whales, meerkats, kangaroos and koala bears."

  When they were quiet again the chairplant spoke.

  "You understand why we must do this. You were there. You should know best of all."

  When Hedge considered, it was true. The majority of humanity was foul and unpleasant. Garry Thornes aplenty, filling diners and church pews alike. But what about the Scuds and Annas and other such rarities? Was it right to extinguish those few bright spots for the sins of the many? On the other hand, was it okay to spare all the foul corruptions for the sake of a few?

  He understood the rationale behind eliminating humanity. It made perfect sense in his head. But his heart wasn't in agreement, which made little sense because Hedge did not have a heart and was governed by logic rather than blind emotion. It was a distinctly human notion, one of many Hedge found difficult to understand, because the brain was the dominant nerve mass in the human body, not the heart. The heart did not serve any role in the process of decision making, it merely pounded blood and sewage through miles of intricate piping. Still, he couldn't suppress this lingering sensation of doubt. He wasn't convinced this course of action was correct, and it bothered him that he didn't wholly agree with a Council which had governed the cosmos for ages uncounted.

  His mind raced in search of images in their defense. A flash of inspiration or a courtesy paid to plant life by humanity. Maybe they weren't fully understood. He had to save them so they could be further studied. Had to save them so he could get back because it didn't feel right here, didn't feel natural. It occurred to Hedge that plant though he may be, he was not like the others, there was really only one place where he belonged, and soon it would be gone.

  For whatever reason his mind flashed with the image of those silly people in the diner, not speaking to one another, but gathered at the counter, still faces fixed on a tiny black and white television while men in body armor ran about in formations, fighting over a wedge of rubber called a football. Hedge could scarcely tell who was who or what they were trying to do on the tiny screen, but every so often there would be a great cheer or a sigh of utter despair.

  Sports befuddled him.

  "We can't," Hedge blurted.

  "Can't what?" asked a plant from somewhere behind Hedge. "We can do anything."

  "Shouldn't, then," he responded, and looked around the room to gauge the reaction.

  Mumblings and sounds of general agitation rumbled through the chamber.

  The tendrils of the chairplant tightened on the edge of the counter and pulled itself toward Hedge.

  "Shouldn't what?" it asked in a daring tone.

  "Shouldn't destroy them," Hedge clarified.

  Until now it had seemed that many of the plants in this forum had allowed their attention to wander, speaking quietly to one another until this encounter was over. After all, they had already done this several hundred times over without a flutter. Now something was changed. Someone was challenging the decision of the Council, and Hedge felt the entire weight of the room shift to bear on him.

  "Oh? For what reason should we allow them to go on? What purpose do they serve?"

  The response had been instinctive, thoughtless. Now that it was done he could not take it back. But Hedge knew the human impulse often proved correct without knowing how or why, or having an immediately apparent reason. And because he knew he was right he was certain there must be a reason. All he needed to do was figure it out.

  "Because I..."

  At that moment he understood their silly obsession. Why they suffered when their team did poorly and exulted when it did well. It was an investment of hope and faith in something wholly beyond their control, and there was nothing so gratifying as having blind hope or silly faith rewarded with success because success was not guaranteed, but willed into being through the sheer force of devotion.

  "... I want them to do well."

  It was a bold, honest, and passionate statement. And, Hedge knew immediately, the wrong thing to say.

  The chairplant settled back into its place.

  "Yes. We have observed similar sympathies in others of your position."

  Emotion was generally understood to get in the way of sound judgment. It delayed action when action was most necessary. Such as when Hedge had cornered a mouse in the living room that had been tearing out the stuffing of the living room couch and pooping on the kitchen countertop. He had paused for just an instant, considering the fact that this animal was simply existing in the only fashion it knew how, with no hint of the dismay it caused others. In that instant, while Hedge locked his gaze with the beady orbs of the insignificant rodent and considered the perspective of the tiny creature as it faced oblivion, it dashed away and was gone.

  Yet Hedge had not regretted the hesitation. In fact, he felt relieved by its escape. He knew it was unlikely, but perhaps this brush with death would serve as cathartic moment for the mouse, at which point it would amend its ways and realize the strife it caused Hedge. The next morning, as per the routine, he found a handful of couch stuffing strewn across the living room floor and a liberal sprinkling of mouse pellets on the countertop.

  "So, you understand, then?" he asked.

  "Certainly," said the chairplant. "A universal flaw that will be corrected in future attempts to evaluate weaker cognizant species after the annihilation of humanity. That will be all, agent Hedge. You may leave. We will find a new role for you to play since there will be no use in emulating people. Until that time, enjoy the planet whence all plants derived."

  Hedge's shoulders slouched. He had failed.

  "No," interrupted a powerful voice from the council. When Hedge looked for the source he found it originated not from a single plant, but a clump of daisies growing from the rotten log of a fallen tree. Their many voices joined into a chorus that was both musical and commanding at the same time. "We have heard similar stories from a great many agents now. Perhaps this notion of sympathy has merit."

  There was a rapid flurry of hushed discussion, flapping of branches and shaking of leaves as the plants argued, so involved with one another they made no attempt to communicate through the devices, and Hedge had no idea what was being said.

  In one final flurry of sound punctuated by an orchestral blast of noise from the daisies the argument came to a close and there was a sudden silence and a few leaves danced through the air and settled beside Hedge.

  Stingfruit seemed disgusted.

  There was no facial expression Hedge could read, no mashed eyebrows or downward arcing scowl, but there was a certain air of defeat and indignation that wafted from the plant like the chilly mist which made him shiver when he pulled open the icebox.

  "Very well," it grumbled. "We have conferred. We will not destroy humanity. They are a curious species full of innovation. Surely the empathy which has infected so many cannot be a fluke. Nor are humans clever enough to have inspired such... feeling... so deliberately. But they remain a danger that must be dealt with."

  Hedge might have danced if he knew how and were his body suited for such activity. It was a strange, overwhelming sense of pure elation that built inside him like too many pork chops, and Hedge felt if he didn't release them he might burst. This was a new sensation for Hedge and because of his inexperience he had no idea how to release the pent up energy. All he could do was emulate the fashion in which he had seen humans expressing their most extreme joy, eyes welling as emotion overrode their brains.

  Hedge straightened, stretched both arms into the air above him and balanced on his toes. A single word rang from him and crashed against the contemplative silence of the chamber.

  "Touchdown!" he cried.

  All was quiet in the chamber as the echoing shout bounced up and down through the room, slowly expending its energy like the funny ball that hopped erratically on the playing fi
eld before coming to rest beneath a heap of bodies.

  The pause continued until Hedge's elation waned and he began to feel self-conscious about the outburst, knowing they didn't understand and should they ask he would not be able to explain it to them.

  Mercifully, rather than inquire, the daisies took over the dialogue.

  "Rather than eliminate them and repopulate their planet, we will send a task force to store them. You will be part of this task force, since your passion for them has clearly reached a crescendo that transcends understanding. We are certain your interest will ensure that nothing goes awry."

  The joy and relief of victory was extremely brief.

  Storage! That was little more than eternal imprisonment, locked in stasis in the great vaults where various odds and ends the plant Council found potentially useful or briefly fanciful until they were forgotten.

  "But..."

  "There will be no more argument," said the daisies. "Our flexibility has limits. We have given you as much opportunity as we were able. An intelligent agent will make the best of this new opportunity."

  True. He had certainly pushed his luck as far as it would go. There had to be another solution. But what?

  There was only one thing to do when one required answers beyond their own reckoning: consult the Plant of Ultimate Knowing.

  Forked

  Scud knew the visitor was different from the moment he stumped through the door with a crooked smile on his face and a toaster in his hands. He had an air of mystery and deception about him, just like Hedge. The visitor must have sensed his understanding because he made straight for Scud, even as he emptied the dirty dishes from an abandoned table.

  “Hello. My name is Mr. Visitor.”

  “Hello, Mr. V… V… Mr. V…” Scud sighed. “Hello.”

  “I was wondering if you could help me. I’m looking for someone… unique.”

  Scud’s eyes flicked toward a corner booth where Garry Thorne suddenly perked.

  “You’ll want M… Mr. Hedge, then, s… sir,” he whispered.

  “Look at that!” shouted Garry Thorne from the corner of the diner. “If old Scud ain’t the most popular shithead in town!”

  “Tell me about Mr. Hedge. What makes him unique?”

  Behind the visitor, Garry had risen from his seat. Scud clutched the bin of dirty dishes tighter.

  “I’m n… not sure I should t… tell you. You m…might be dangerous. Are you dangerous?”

  “Extremely,” said Mr. Visitor. “However, to not provide me with the information I require would be equally dangerous. Not just for yourself, but everyone here. Everyone everywhere.”

  Garry approached them, fishing for a pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket.

  Scud spoke in a hurried whisper, anxious to be free of this attention. Things generally went badly for him when he was the subject of attention.

  “He’s from another p… planet, for one. And he’s a p… plant. You should g… g… go.”

  “Go? Is that all?”

  Garry stepped up beside Mr. Visitor, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth.

  “Yeah, Scud. Can’tcha see this fella wants to talk with ya? Prolly cause you’re so cute!”

  Mr. Visitor turned to face Garry.

  “I understand you are trying to be of assistance, but your skills in discourse are painfully lacking. Please return to your seat where you will be less distracting.”

  Garry stiffened, then jabbed a finger into Mr. Visitor’s chest. Mr. Visitor looked down at the finger in fascination.

  “What did you say, you shiny piece of fuck?”

  Mr. Visitor regarded Garry with an expression of bemusement.

  “The first part of your question seems rhetorical. My proximity and volume are such that you should have no trouble hearing. The only remaining explanations are that your hearing has been impaired or that you are a fool. Your vocal pitch may be a symptom of impairment. I will attempt the message at a higher volume. YOU ARE A DISTRACTION. DISTRACTION IS WITHOUT VALUE. YOUR EXISTENCE IS THEREFORE, BY ASSOCIATION, WITHOUT VALUE. THIS IS A BASIC MATHEMATICAL PRINCIPLE YOU SHOULD UNDERSTAND UNLESS YOU ARE A FOOL. ARE YOU A FOOL? PLEASE OFFER SOME SIGN THAT YOU COMPREHEND OR I MUST CONCLUDE YOUR STUPIDITY IS ABSOLUTE.”

  Garry’s face had gone entirely red as Mr. Visitor spoke. When he finished, Garry snatched a fork from the table and brandished it before Mr. Visitor.

  “I am going to fuck your goddamn eyes out!”

  Garry reared back and drove the fork into Mr. Visitor’s cheek. The tines sank in up to the handle. To Scud’s surprise, no blood came out and Mr. Visitor’s expression did not change. Judging by the way the redness drained out of Garry’s face, he must have been surprised as well. Mr. Visitor batted Garry’s hand away, the fork still lodged in his wooden face, then turned to Scud.

  “This human does not appear to have a properly functioning mind. Please wait here. I will be only a moment.”

  Mr. Visitor turned abruptly away again to Garry, who stood his ground, though he was visibly shaken by the fact that his blow had had no effect. His eyes were wide and his legs wobbled beneath him.

  “What the hell are you?” asked Garry.

  “A messenger,” said Mr. Visitor, striding toward Garry. Mr. Visitor’s voice did not change volume, but it reverberated nevertheless. “I am a harbinger of destruction. You should return to those you cherish in anticipation of annihilation, unless you prefer that I render you unto oblivion now. Broken-minded fool though you may be, I will permit you this choice.”

  As he spoke, he stepped toward Garry, who stood his ground until the two met. Mr. Visitor moved forward inexorably, like an avalanche in slow motion, and Garry was forced to give ground. Garry watched the fork waggle as Mr. Visitor spoke to him, all the while being herded toward the exit.

  “It is my wish that you depart. You will depart and allow me to proceed. My will shall be realized for it is greater than yours. You will depart and grasp the significance of my being here when I am urgently needed over there, and how this distraction rankles me. Your efforts to unhinge and oppress do your species a great disservice at a critical moment. You shall not be missed should you suffer obliteration.”

  With the conclusion of this speech, Garry’s back met the door and it swung open behind him.

  Garry gave Mr. Visitor a long, withering look that he shifted briefly to Scud. He pushed a potted plant off its perch by the entrance in a final act of unprovoked malevolence, spit a thick wad at his feet, then left.

  Satisfied, Mr. Visitor turned on his heel and stood before Scud.

  “Thank you for h… helping me,” said Scud.

  “Nevermind that,” said Mr. Visitor, the fork bobbing up and down as he spoke. “You must help me before I can truly help you.”

  Scud didn’t pay much attention to what Mr. Visitor was saying, distracted by the waggling fork. Odd that Mr. Visitor was so strongly opposed to distraction, yet didn’t notice the fork hanging out of his cheek. Without thinking, Scud reached up and pulled on the handle. The fork slid out with ease and Scud dropped the utensil into the bin of soapy water with the other silverware.

  “Thank you,” said Mr. Visitor. He paused to massage the holes in his cheek. When he had finished they were gone. “Now. Where can I find Mr. Hedge?”

  In the Garden of the Plant of Ultimate Knowing

  The garden where the Plant of Ultimate Knowing dwelled was immense, with massive clumps of flowers and shrubs growing in great bumps, and trees gathered in tight buttes, all rolling into the distance like the rumpled surface of a shoreless ocean. Each time Hedge thought he'd figured out where the garden ended he saw a faint bit of motion from an acolyte moving on a faraway crest. It was like trying to detect the far wall of the infinite sky, or tracking down the source of a rainbow—each time he thought he had it, it would take another step out of reach.

  Hedge followed a weaving path of stiff vines through the boundless garden, toaster in hand. There was a lump of building not f
ar away and, as the only structure in view, it seemed logical to assume he would find the great Plant there.

  Numerous acolytes wandered through the garden, mobile forms of plants that tilled the dirt and squirted the grounds with water. They appeared unaware of Hedge, which was all right with him. A human might stop and stare, then mumble a few disapproving words to an associate. It wasn't malicious. They were naturally suspicious and careful about the disruption of their comfortable, familiar environment.

  The trip here required little alteration to the toaster. Just a slight turn on a screw with his thumbnail to realign where he was with where he was going, a quick jolt like the jerk from a dog reaching the end of its lead, then he was here, ears faintly jangling as though he'd brushed the porch windchime, the aroma of burnt bread in his nose.

  He could very well have transported himself directly into the presence of the great Plant, but, quite frankly, Hedge had no idea where the Plant was or what it looked like.

  In truth no one seemed to know much about the Plant of Ultimate Knowing. They knew it was ancient and omniscient, but outside of knowing it resided in the great garden on planet Plant, nothing. Not what it looked like, not where it came from, not even the last remarkable statement it had made. The notorious Plant was shrouded in mystique, straddling the boundary between reality and mythology like Confucius or Buddha or Jesus. The idea of the great Plant was so close to perfect it filled the faithful with hope and left the cynical groping for truth. Everyone had heard of it, everyone knew its counsel was sought in times of great indecision, but no one seemed to have met it.

  At least puzzling through the mystery of the Plant's location allowed the enormity of what he was doing to build slowly rather than crash upon him in a quick, thundering smash. Searching for the Plant would provide time to gather his thoughts, determine how best to phrase his question, and most importantly, give him time enough to come to his senses and reconsider.

  Speaking with the Plant on this subject could easily be considered treason and he hoped the Plant of Ultimate Knowing would either sympathize with the plight of humanity and explain how Hedge could save them, or at the very least convince him the Council was right. It was the great Plant of Ultimate Knowing that suggested they study humanity in the first place.