The Speaker for the Trees (6 page)

A heavy silence
fell. The idea of being human for any reason was surely distasteful. That all
the plants here were restricted to flowerpots or the dirt to which they were
rooted seemed to be evidence of that. There wasn't much purpose for a plant to
move around, but Hedge couldn't bear the thought of being restricted to a vase
or a patch of dirt having experienced the limited mobility that allowed him to
travel to any dirt he chose.

Hedge detected
this urge to argue and realized it was one of many human traits he had acquired
in his time amongst them.

"This is
an example of what humans refer to as Flippancy," Hedge said quickly.
"They are a very sarcastic species, and for this reason it is sometimes
difficult to understand what they mean because often, such as when they are
being flippant, they mean just the opposite of what they say."

"A telling
piece of information," said Stingfruit gruffly. "Please answer the
question."

"Because
my location was largely rural I did not come into contact with a great many
humans."

"Then what
of those you
did
meet? What was your understanding of them?"

Hedge thought
of the diner and the vindictive Garry Thorne, how they swarmed upon Scud like
fire ants. He thought of the television, always spewing doom and frightening
Anna. Hedge’s experiences could easily serve as encapsulated encounters with
the whole of humanity. They were nasty and dangerous. Yet Hedge could not bring
himself to tell the Council such a stark and brutal truth.

"They did
not appear to have any plans for galactic conquest," Hedge answered. That,
at least, was true. Humanity was largely decentralized. They joined together in
factions, but hadn't mustered their collective might, and thus their
achievements were muted. "However, I am sure there is much more to learn
and would be glad of the opportunity to continue in this role."

There were
murmurs and grumbles from the Council as they conferred with one another.
Stingfruit spoke again.

"Yes,"
he said. "A sentiment shared by a number of your peers."

"Indeed,"
agreed another. "It is a most suspicious phenomenon, this desire to
return. One that cannot help but make us wonder if the humans have infiltrated
our system of spies in order to save their species from certain ruin. A ruin, I
might add, they richly deserve. Perhaps a few humans are posing as plants that
are posing as humans and intend to report to their masters. Foolish though they
may be, there are quite a lot of them, so the probability is very high that one
of them could insert themselves into our network by chance or design."

"Most like
by chance," said another.

"Are you
such a counterspy, agent Hedge?" asked Stingfruit.

It was probably
because Hedge had spent so much slow time in the presence of humanity that the
gravity of this question did not penetrate immediately. He stood several
moments before realizing he was suspected not just of treason, which was
stunning of its own accord, but of being human as well.

"Me? A
counterspy? I don’t think so. No, no. Of course not. Why should I wish to spy
upon my own kind? We have done nothing worthy of scrutiny, have we? I just want
to assist in the fashion that I am best able."

There was
murmuring amongst the plants for a few moments before the chairplant spoke to
him again.

"Very
well, Hedge. While your prolonged exposure to humanity has clearly dulled your
judgment and made you argumentative and
flippant
, as you say, we believe
you."

"However,"
said still another, "though we appreciate your services, you will not be
returning in such a capacity. Humanity has been deemed too reckless, and will
be liquidated."

So it was true.
Hedge felt his insides plummet.

"Liquidated?
Why?"

"Humankind
is not a pleasant race," explained the chairplant in a sighing, faintly
agitated tone which made it seem as though it had done so several times before.
"On a grand scale, their history is laced with war and social unrest. On a
small scale they exhibit a general intolerance of one another, resulting in
various levels of criminal behavior, including the murder of their own kind.
This sort of behavior is unacceptably hypocritical for a species which deems
itself sentient and civil. Behavior that we believe is a direct consequence of
having forward-facing eyes."

Hedge wasn't
certain he'd heard correctly.

"Forward-facing
eyes?"

"Yes,"
said Stingfruit. "They simply cannot help themselves."

"I don't
understand."

Another plant
made a blustery, throat-clearing noise. It too was on the lowest level. A
short, drooping tree no taller than Hedge, with foliage that reminded him of a
thick, brushy mustache. It made another noise and Hedge saw its leaves flutter
where the words passed. Certain it had the attention of the chamber, the plant
spoke.

"It is a
scientific fact that those creatures with forward-facing eyes use this feature
to hunt prey, using the depth perception it permits them to pinpoint their
lunges. Whereas those creatures without eyes, or with eyes on the sides of their
head, are passive and use their panoramic vision to elude stalking predators
who have forward-facing eyes. Those with eyes on the sides of their head
consider their surroundings more thoroughly, while those with forward-facing
eyes pick a target and plow blindly toward it, oblivious of how this approach
disrupts their environment."

A much taller
plant beside the mustache plant, with a long, pale trunk and a few sharp leaves
at the top, continued.

“All they see
are objectives and obstacles to be met or overcome or obliterated as they
rumble forward in a straight line, over, under, or through. Nor do they ever
see the havoc they leave in their wake, the forward-facing eyes fixed already
upon their next objective. This aggression has led to recklessness in virtually
every aspect of their society, playing a notable role in their technological
progress. Reckless advancement is their most reliable method of discovery,
learning more through accident than ingenuity, diving wildly forward in pursuit
of success rather than taking stock of the effects their experiments have upon
the world around them."

Here the
chairplant resumed control of the argument.

"Their
frequent use of thermonuclear devices and particle accelerators not just in
times of war, but also experimentally out of lunatic curiosity, is extremely
disturbing. They are not just a danger to themselves, or others, but to
Everything. It is for that reason that we
must
intervene."

"There is
only one solution," said a plant near the acme.

"We must
protect the universe."

“One cannot
trust those with forward-facing eyes.”

The voices
sounded from several places now as numerous plants added their input.

"It is our
duty to every creature, every system, every grain of matter that we do so and
do so thoroughly. When a branch dies, before it becomes filled with insects or
infection to poison the rest of the plant we cut it off. The universe itself is
a plant. So it is with a species that poses a threat to the universe."

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.