The Speaker for the Trees (8 page)

He felt himself
shaking with the understanding that he would soon be in the presence of an
awesome creature whose existence spanned eons. Its knowledge penetrated
everything: physics, chemistry, botany, philosophy. There were rumors it could
see through time, and certainly it could read Hedge's thoughts as plainly as
Hedge could read roadside billboards: 3 miles to next Rest Stop; 5 miles to
next Act of Insubordination and Treason.

The thought
that all his secrets would be laid bare in such stark fashion frightened him.
Not just because they were his private thoughts which no one should know, but
because of the realization that he had secrets when, as an honest and open
plant, he shouldn't. The Plant of Ultimate Knowing would see he cared entirely
too much for the humans and judge they had turned him from his true purpose. Or
worse, it would delve into his mind and learn the Council was right, that Hedge
was a human interloper trying to save his kinsmen, even though that wasn't
entirely true. There was only evidence enough to support its trueness.

It had been a
mistake to come here, Hedge realized. The visit would only bring disaster. The
Council may be wrong, but Hedge lacked the evidence and intellect to turn them
from such a course.

He turned back
down the path but found his way blocked by the towering form of a garden
acolyte as it moved toward him. The foliage on either side was too thick to
press through without damaging it. The acolyte had no eyes, no face, only a
thick green trunk with a great gathering of tendrils at the base that writhed
slowly like an octopus flexing faintly to keep itself level in the water. It
did not attempt to care for any of the plants on either side of the path, it
simply remained, too large to go around.

Hedge would
have to find a different way out.

He resumed
following the path and after a few steps his heel sank into soft dirt. At first
he thought he'd gone off the path, but soon realized he'd wandered into a cloister
of some sort where several of the paths converged and the soil was rich and
black. Unlike the rest of the garden, this patch was absent of plantlife but
for a solitary fat stalk as big around as his head that thrust out of the
ground.

The stalk arced
high over Hedge and his neck craned back to take in the rest of the plant. A
single leaf curled away from the trunk like the peel of a partially opened
banana, and the top was dominated by the huge, brown-budded face of an enormous
sunflower that hung over him like a dormant showerhead: the Plant of Ultimate
Knowing.

Light and fast
as he was able, Hedge made for the nearest open path. As he approached, another
acolyte stepped out of the growth and stopped on the path, filling it. He moved
toward the next, but an acolyte was already emerging. As he looked around the
clearing he saw that all the paths had been filled by silent watchmen. There
was no way out.

Hedge fumbled
with the toaster.

Why have you come?

The voice
boomed through the garden, slow and powerful like a rhinoceros plowing through
the soft husks of dead trees, emanating from everywhere and hammering Hedge's
mind with thundering boldface. Startled, the toaster fell out of his hands.

Hedge knew he
was trapped. The plant was surely already peering into his mind, reading the
long scroll of his thoughts as they unspooled from the typewriter: Run, Hide,
Anna, Bees. Full of mortification and despair, pity and frustration.

He opened his
mouth to respond, stooping for the toaster as he searched for the proper words
to use for a creature who had been extant for so many eons, realizing banter
and trite speak would be tiresome and that he should just get right to the
point. Then paused.

Something was
amiss.

The domed
enclosure was appropriately arcane and awe inspiring, the air stank of a moldy,
sodden swamp. Bees hummed in majestic monotone as they moved from plant to
plant, giving the dome a pastoral air that reminded Hedge of earth-home, his
ears filled with the sound of a choir that could sing just one note, but
performed it with soul-stirring flawlessness. Everything seemed fitting. With
exception, he decided, to the Plant of Ultimate Knowing. There was something
overblown and conspicuous about the copious amount of detritus and mood. There
was too much
atmosphere
. It was what humans called a Contrivance, where
the situation was arranged to generate a preordained opinion. This, the
cavernous room, the abundance of plantlife, the size of the Plant of Ultimate
Knowing, was designed to create Awe.

Hedge knew it
was the negative influence of humanity which brought him to this suspicious
conclusion but couldn't resist the impulse to see this line of thought through
to the end.

Contrivance was
a clever way of saying Lie, and Lie was deception. Deception was intended to
take one from the course of truth, and it was the deception that troubled
Hedge. Why would he be led from truth and what was the truth that was being
hidden from him?

The problem
wasn't so much with the chamber, but that the Plant of Ultimate Knowing didn't
belong in it. If the plant was indeed all knowing it would not only know the
question but have an answer prepared. Couldn't the plant see his thoughts?
Extrapolate his reasons for being here simply through the tilt in his gait, or
the slant of his brow or the timbre of his voice? It was the Plant of
Ultimate
Knowing after all, not the Plant of
Mostly
Knowing or the Plant of
Kind
of Guessing
.

So instead of
presenting his question to the Plant in a humble fashion as was befitting a
plant of its prestige, Hedge found himself being what most humans tended to be
when they were in a situation where they were disadvantaged or dubious:
Impertinent.

"Aren't
you the Plant of Ultimate Knowing? Shouldn’t you know why I’m here?"

The Plant was
unfazed.

It was a rhetorical question

Still, Hedge
was suspicious.

"So?"
asked Hedge.

So, what?
the Plant replied.

"If you
know why I’m here, provide me with a solution."

There was a
pause, a low rumbling as though the plant were muttering to itself, then its
voice regained its imperious volume.

It is traditional to formally voice
your question to the Plant of Ultimate Knowing

Oh.

"I have
been asked by the Council to place humanity in storage, which will essentially
end their civilization. I know I should simply obey, but there is something
intangible, a sense of discomfort in this solution, that tells me the Council
may be in error. Surely humanity is wretched and miserable and antagonistic,
but their good features at the very least equal their bad. They care for their
elderly..."

Only in the hope that they will be
cared for when they are elderly. It is merely roundabout selfishness. A way of
performing so others might duplicate what they deem kindness. They are apes,
after all, who learn through imitation

"But there
are many other examples of their altruism that are undertaken simply to content
themselves with the knowledge that they have done what is Right. Surely no
species that seeks Rightness, in spite of their frequent inability to find it,
is worth eradication. Is there an alternate solution to propose to the Council?
What is that proposal and how do I get it to them? What must I do?"

The Plant
pondered for a moment, as though considering the question, which seemed
unnecessary, again, because it was a plant of Ultimate Knowing. There really
shouldn't be a process, just an answer. This was very strange.

The long stalk
began to stoop, bending in thought or trying to listen to a very quiet voice
over the steady drone of the bees.

"Hey,"
called a small voice from behind Hedge.

He looked back
to a row of bushes running along the edge of the enclosure where it seemed the
voice originated, but saw nothing. An acolyte stood nearby, silent and still.

There was a
creaking sound as of an old, oaken door straining on its hinges. The great
Plant was straightening. It had his answer.

You ask what you must do. the answer
is, you must do nothing

"What?
Why?"

You must do as you are fated. As I
gaze into your future I see your fate is to do nothing. Doing other than
nothing will only get in the way of fate, which cannot be gotten in the way of,
and thus you would exhaust yourself needlessly. Nothing is all that you can do
because it is all that you shall accomplish

"But if we
are all pulled along by fate and no one acts, how does anything happen?"

No one acts unless they are fated to
act, thus fate acts through them. You must only act if you are fated to do so

Hedge's mind
spun as he tried to follow the tangle of words.

"How am I
supposed to know if I'm fated to act?"

You will simply act

"But how
do I know that's fate, and not my decision? How do I distinguish when I am
complying with fate from when I am getting in its way?"

There are no decisions in fate. Only
actions which are fated

It was
possible, being this was a Plant of Ultimate Knowing, that this logic made
perfect sense to all-knowing plants who spent all their time in deep and
important thought. At the same time, were a plant so all-knowing, it would seem
obvious to such an intelligent plant that Hedge had no idea what the Plant was
trying to tell him and would attempt to explain in much simpler terms.

Since this did
not appear to be the case, Hedge felt compelled to express his confusion in the
way most humans expressed themselves when they did not understand something.

"What?"

There is no more I need say

With that the
Plant of Ultimate Knowing began to sag, retreating into thought or slumber, and
it was clear the Plant would have no more to do with him.

Hedge felt
heavy on the inside, though he'd not eaten anything but the mouthful of dirt
outside the Council chamber in the past two days. The Plant had not met any of
his hopes, neither posing a different plan to save humanity, nor justifying the
Council's decision. Suffice to say, Hedge was extremely disappointed and
distraught to discover the most ancient Plant in all the cosmos, known for its
wisdom and knowledge, was either unwilling to help, or more worrisome still,
did not know how.

"Hey!"

Again the voice
came from the bushes, more insistent this time, so Hedge made his way toward
them through the soft dirt of the clearing. He searched about for the source of
the voice, pulling apart branches, glancing up at the stoic acolyte in
suspicion, then turning in place to scan his surroundings. All he saw was more
acolytes, flitting black specks of bees and the useless Plant of Ultimate
Knowing.

"I know
why the decision disturbs you."

This time Hedge
was certain the voice came from the bushes, but still couldn't see where.

"Down
here."

Below the
bushes, hidden beneath thick, scratchy branches and thumbnail leaves, was a
small, rudimentary plant no larger than Hedge's outstretched hand. Two small
red leaves stood at the acme of a threadlike stem—a simple weed. Was this the
plant speaking to him? He lay down on his stomach and poked the weed with a
finger.

"Stop
that," said the weed, annoyed.

"Why does
the decision disturb me?" asked Hedge.

"Because
you know it is fundamentally wrong," the weed explained. "You know it
is wrong to decide the fate of an entire species, to cast a verdict of doom
upon that which does not meet your approval, yet you have been brainwashed into
obeying every command given you by the Council and endorsed by the Plant of Ultimate
Knowing. Duped by a governing body who has manipulated the truth with the
singular purpose of maintaining its iron grip upon the universe."

There was
something greatly amiss with this weed. Very simple in appearance when compared
the to far more complex plants and organisms growing around it, such as the
acolytes and bees and much larger trees and bushes. Like the Plant of Ultimate
Knowing, this weed too seemed greatly out of place, though in a much different
fashion, and the difference fascinated him. It seemed to hearken back to a time
long before the elaborations of evolution, to the earliest forms of plantlife.

"Who are
you? What are you doing here?"

"Hiding."

Hedge's gaze
darted around in suspicion, but there was no movement elsewhere. The acolytes
were perfectly motionless and the great Plant was quiet, its knowledge spent.

"From
what?" he whispered. "The Plant of Ultimate Knowing?"

"That
empty, pedantic puppet?" sneered the red-leaved weed. "No. My past.
When those preposterous dopes accused me of treason and sentenced me to be
mulched."

Hedge took an
involuntary gasp of air, sucking loose dirt into his throat and sending him
into a fit of choked coughing.

"You...
tried," Hedge coughed. "Blow up..." Cough, cough. "Blow
up... Council? How are you here? You were destroyed!"

"I made no
such attempt. A disgusting, filthy fabrication to sully my image. Fortunately,
I eluded them and avoided destruction, though that didn't prevent them from
spreading the lie. Destroying me would make it easier to insert their marionette
into the role of Plant of Ultimate Knowing because they knew how important it
was to have one. A Plant of Ultimate Knowing brings a very
religious
form of comfort. Someone is watching over us, is there to catch us when we
fall, guide us back to the path should we go astray. Why fear anything if the
almighty, in all their wisdom, condones your actions? Even better when it is
they who make it dance."