The Speaker for the Trees (7 page)

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 field 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.

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?”

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 far 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.

If it had to be
the latter, and Hedge suspected it would be, he hoped the Plant would be kind
enough to satisfy itself with the knowledge that it had turned Hedge away from
disaster rather than tell the Council his aim in coming here. It was these
hopes that pressed him forward.

There had been
only one plant in history convicted of treason. A plant for whom history had no
name. All that remained to commemorate the ignominious existence of the traitor
plant was its unthinkable and mortifying crime, which rang through history as
clearly as a church bell calling the penitent to its door on a solemn Sunday
morning. This plant had attempted to blow up the Council, insisting plants had
no right to dictate the existences of other species. The plant was captured,
put on trial, and sentenced to be mulched.

Hedge
shuddered.

Mulched. How
horrific. Moreso when he thought he too may share such a fate. Become nameless
and reviled by an entire species. And not so long ago the largest of his
worries was the consumption of a few pork chops. How he missed that distant
world more than ever.

Hedge passed
through the vaulted aperture in the front of what Hedge had thought a building
from a distance, but could see now that it was actually a heaping of crawling
vines shaped into a dome. It encased a broad area with the imperfect grip of an
overturned colander, allowing bands of light to slip through in thousands of
humming strands.