All Flesh Is Grass and Other Stories

by Clifford D. Simak

"I got involved," I told him.

  "They moved me out," he said. "They evacuated everybody. I'm in a motel just east of Coon Valley. I'm going to move over to Elmore — the motel here is pretty bad — but before I did, I wanted to get in touch with you."

  "I'm glad you did," I said. "There are some things I want to ask you. About that project down in Greenbriar."

  "Sure. What about the project?"

  "What kind of problems did you have to solve?"

  "Many different kinds."

  "Any of them have to do with plants?"

  "Plants?"

  "You know. Flowers, weeds, vegetables."

  "I see. Let me think. Yes, I guess there were a few."

  "What kind?"

  "Well, there was one: could a plant be intelligent?"

  "And your conclusion?"

  "Now, look here, Brad!"

  "This is important, Alf."

  "Oh, all right. The only conclusion I could reach was that it was impossible. A plant would have no motive. There's no reason a plant should be intelligent. Even if it could be, there'd be no advantage to it. It couldn't use intelligence or knowledge. It would have no way in which it could apply them. And its structure is wrong. It would have to develop certain senses it doesn't have, would have to increase its awareness of its world. It would have to develop a brain for data storage and a thinking mechanism. It was easy, Brad, once you thought about it. A plant wouldn't even try to be intelligent. It took me a while to get the reasons sorted out, but they made good solid sense."

  "And that was all?"

  "No, there was another one. How to develop a foolproof method of eradicating a noxious weed, bearing in mind that the weed has high adaptability and would be able to develop immunity to any sort of threat to its existence in a relatively short length of time."

  "There isn't any possibility," I guessed.

  "There is," said A1f "just a possibility. But not too good a one."

  "And that?"

  "Radiation. But you couldn't count on it as foolproof if the plant really had high adaptability."

  "So there's no way to eradicate a thoroughly determined plant?"

  "I'd say none at all — none in the power of man. What's this all about, Brad?"

  "We may have a situation just like that," I said. Quickly I told him something of the Flowers.

  He whistled. "You think you have this straight?"

  "I can't be certain, Alf, I think so, but I can't be certain. That is, I know the Flowers are there, but…"

  "There was another question. It ties right in with this. It wanted to know how you'd go about contacting and establishing relations with an alien life. You think the project…?"

  "No question," I said. "It was run by the same people who ran the telephones."

  "We figured that before. When we talked after the barrier went up."

  "Alf; what about that question? About contact with an alien?"

  He laughed, a bit uneasily. "There are a million answers. The method would depend upon the kind of alien. And there'd always be some danger."

  "That's all you can think of? All the questions, I mean?"

  "I can't think of any more. Tell me more of what's happened there."

  "I'd like to, but I can't. I have a group of people here. You're going to Elmore now?"

  "Yeah. I'll call you when I get there. Will you be around?"

  "I can't go anywhere," I said.

  There had been no talk among the others while I'd been on the phone.

  They were, all listening. But as soon as I hung up, Higgy straightened up importantly.

  "I figure," he said, "that maybe we should be getting ready to go out and meet the senator. I think most probably I should appoint a welcoming committee. The people in this room, of course, and maybe half a dozen others. Doc Fabian, and maybe…"

  "Mayor," said Sherwood, interrupting him, "I think someone should point out that this is not a civic affair or a social visit. This is something somewhat more important and entirely unofficial. Brad is the one the senator must see. He is the only one who has pertinent information and…"

  "But," Higgy protested, "all I was doing…"

  "We know what you were doing," Sherwood told him. "What I am pointing out is that if Brad wants a committee to go along with him, he is the one who should get it up."

  "But my official duty," Higgy bleated.

  "In a matter such as this," said Sherwood, flatly, "you have no official duty."

  "Gerald," said the mayor, "I've tried to think the best of you. I've tried to tell myself…"

  "Mayor," said Preston, grimly, "there's no use of pussy-footing. We might as well say it out. There's something going on, some sort of plot afoot. Brad is part of it and Stiffy's part of it and…"

  "And," said Sherwood, "if you insist upon a plot, I'm part of it as well. I made the telephones."

  Higgy gulped. "You did what?" he asked.

  "I made the telephones. I manufactured them."

  "So you knew all about it all along."

  Sherwood shook his head. "I didn't know anything at all. I just made the phones."

  Higgy sat back weakly. He clasped and unclasped his hands, staring down at them.

  "I don't know," he said. "I just don't understand." But I am sure he did. Now he understood, for the first time, that this was no mere unusual natural happening which would, in time, quietly pass away and leave Millville a tourist attraction that each year would bring the curious into town by the thousands. For the first time, I am sure, Mayor Higgy Morris realized that Millville and the entire world was facing a problem that it would take more than good luck and the Chamber of Commerce to resolve.

  "There is one thing," I sad.

  "What's that?" asked Higgy.

  "I want my phone. The one that was in my office. The phone, you remember, that hasn't any dial." The mayor looked at Hiram.

  "No, I won't," said Hiram. "I won't give it back to him. He's done harm enough already."

  "Hiram," said the mayor.

  "Oh, all right," said Hiram. "I hope he chokes on it."

  "It appears to me," said Father Flanagan, "that we are all acting quite unreasonably. I would suggest we might take this entire matter up and discuss it point by point, and in that way…" A ticking interrupted him, a loud and ominous ticking that beat a measure, as of doom, through the entire house. And as I heard it, I knew that the ticking had been going on for quite some time, but very softly, and that I'd been hearing it and vaguely wondering what it was.

  But now, from one tick to another, it had grown loud and hard, and even as we listened to it, half hypnotized by the terror of it, the tick became a hum and the hum a roar of power.

  We all leaped to out feet, startled now, and I saw that the kitchen walls were flashing, as if someone were turning on and off a light of intensive brilliance, a pulsing glow that filled the room with a flood of light, then shut off, then filled it once again.

  "I knew it!" Hiram roared, charging for the kitchen. "I knew it when I saw it. I knew it was dangerous!" I ran after him.

  "Look out!" I yelled. "Keep away from it!" It was the time contraption. It had floated off the table and was hovering in mid-air, with a pulse of tremendous power running through it in a regular beat, while from it came the roar of cascading energy. Below it, lying on the table, was my crumpled jacket.

  I grabbed hold of Hiram's arm and tried to haul him back, but he jerked away and was hauling his pistol from its holster.

  With a flash of light, the time contraption moved, rising swiftly toward the ceiling.

  "No!" I cried, for I was afraid that if it ever hit the ceiling, the fragile lenses would be smashed.

  Then it hit the ceiling and it did not break. Without slackening its pace, it bored straight through the ceiling. I stood gaping at the neat round hole it made.

  I heard the stamp of feet behind me and the banging of a door and when I turned around the room was empty, except for Nancy standing by the fireplace.


  "Come on," I yelled at her running for the door that led onto the porch.

  The rest of them were grouped outside, between the porch and hedge, staring up into the sky, where a light winked off and on, going very rapidly.

  I glanced at the roof and saw the hole the thing had made, edged by the ragged, broken shingles that had been displaced when the machine broke through.

  "There it goes," said Gerald Sherwood, standing at my side. "I wonder what it is."

  "I don't know," I said. "They slipped one over on me. They played me for a fool." I was shaken up and angry, and considerably ashamed. They had used me back there in that other world. They had fooled me into carrying back to my own world something they couldn't get there by themselves.

  There was no way of knowing what it was meant to do, although in a little while, I feared, we would all find out.

  Hiram turned to me in disgust and anger. "You've done it now," he blurted. "Don't tell us you didn't mean to do it, don't pretend you don't know what it is. Whatever may be out there, you're hand in glove with them." I didn't try to answer him. There was no way I could.

  Hiram took a step toward me.

  "Cut it out!" cried Higgy. "Don't lay a hand on him."

  "We ought to shake it out of him," yelled Hiram. "If we found out what it was, then we might be able…"

  "I said cut it out," said Higgy.

  "I've had about enough of you," I said to Hiram. "I've had enough of you all your whole damn life. All I want from you is that phone of mine. And I want it fast."

  "Why, you little squirt?" Hiram bellowed, and he took another step toward me.

  Higgy hauled off and kicked him in the shin. "God damn it," Higgy said, "I said for you to stop it." Hiram jigged on one leg, lifting up the other so he could rub his shin.

  "Mayor," he complained, "you shouldn't have done that."

  "Go and get him his phone," Tom Preston said. "Let him have it back.

  "Then he can call them up and report how good a job he did." I wanted to clobber all three of them, especially Hiram and Tom Preston. But, of course, I knew I couldn't. Hiram had beaten me often enough when we were kids for me to know I couldn't.

  Higgy grabbed hold of Hiram and tugged him toward the gate. Hiram limped a little as the mayor led him off. Tom Preston held the gate for them and then the three of them went stalking up the street, never looking back.

  And now I noticed that the rest had left as well — all of them except Father Flanagan and Gerald Sherwood, and Nancy, standing on the porch. The priest was standing to one side and when I looked at him, he made an apologetic gesture.

  "Don't blame them," he said, "for leaving. They were embarrassed and uneasy. They took their chance to get away."

  "And you?" I asked. "You're not embarrassed?"

  "Why, not at all," he told me. "Although I am a bit uneasy. The whole thing, I don't mind telling you, has a whiff of heresy about it."

  "Next," I said, bitterly, "you'll be telling me you think I told the truth."

  "I had my doubts," he said, "and I'm not entirely rid of them. But that hole in your roof is a powerful argument against wholesale scepticism. And I do not hold with the modern cynicism that seems so fashionable. There is still, I think, much room in the world today for a dash of mysticism." I could have told him it wasn't mysticism, that the other world had been a solid, factual world, that the stars and sun and moon had shown there, that I had walked its soil and drunk its water, that I had breathed its air and that even now I had its dirt beneath my fingernails from having dug a human skull from the slope above the stream.

  "The others will be back," said Father Flanagan. "They had to get away for a little time to think, to get a chance to digest some of this evidence. It was too much to handle in one gulp. They will be back, and so will I, but at the moment I have a mass to think of." A gang of boys came running down the street. They stopped a half a block away and pointed at the roof. They milled around and pushed one another playfully and hollered.

  The first edge of the sun had come above the horizon and the trees were the burnished green of summer.

  I gestured at the boys. "The word has gotten out," I said.

  "In another thirty minutes we'll have everyone in town out in the street, gawking at the roof."

  17

  The crowd outside had grown.

  No one was doing anything. They just stood there and looked gaping at the hole in the roof, and talking quietly among themselves — not screaming, not shouting, but talking, as if they knew something else was about to happen and were passing away the time, waiting for it to happen. Sherwood kept pacing up and down the floor.

  "Gibbs should be phoning soon," he said. "I don't know what has happened to him. He should have called by now."

  "Maybe," Nancy said, "he got held up — maybe his plane was late. Maybe there was trouble on the road." I stood at the window watching the crowd. I knew almost all of them.

  They were friends and neighbours and there was not a thing to stop them, if they wanted to, from coming up the walk and knocking at the door and coming in to see me.

  But now, instead, they stood outside and watched and waited. It was, I thought, as if the house were a cage and I was some new, strange animal from some far-off land.

  Twenty-four hours ago I had been another villager, a man who had lived and grown up with those people watching in the street. But now I was a freak, an oddity — perhaps, in the minds of some of them, a sinister figure that threatened, if not their lives, their comfort and their peace of mind.

  For this village could never be the same again — and perhaps the world could never be the same again. For even if the barrier now should disappear and the Flowers withdraw their attention from our Earth, we still would have been shaken from the comfortable little rut which assumed that life as we knew it was the only kind of life and that our road of knowledge was the only one that was broad and straight and paved.

  There had been ogres in the past, but finally the ogres had been banished. The trolls and ghouls and imps and all the others of the tribe had been pushed out of our lives, for they could survive only on the misty shores of ignorance and in the land of superstition. Now, I thought, we'd know an ignorance again (but a different kind of ignorance) and superstition; too, for superstition fed upon the lack of knowledge. With this hint of another world — even if its denizens should decide not to flaunt themselves, even if we should find a way to stop them — the trolls and ghouls and goblins would be back with us again. There'd be chimney corner gossip of this other place and a frantic, desperate search to rationalize the implied horror of its vast and unknown reaches, and out of this very search would rise a horror greater than any true other world could hold. We'd be afraid, as we had been before, of the darkness that lay beyond the little circle of our campfire.

  There were more people in the Street; they kept coming all the time.

  There was Pappy Andrews, cracking his cane upon the sidewalk, and Grandma Jones, with her sunbonnet socked upon her head, and Charley Hutton, who owned the Happy Hollow tavern. Bill Donovan, the garbage man, was in the front ranks of the crowd, but I didn't see his wife, and I wondered if Myrt and Jake had come to get the kids. And just as big and mouthy as if he'd lived in Millville all his life and known these folks from babyhood, was Gabe Thomas, the trucker who, after me, had been the first man to find out about the barrier.

  Someone stirred beside me and I saw that it was Nancy. I knew now that she had been standing there for some little time.

  "Look at them," I said. "It's a holiday for them. Any minute now the parade will be along."

  "They're just ordinary people," Nancy said. "You can't expect too much of them. Brad, I'm afraid you do expect too much of them. You even expected that the men who were here would take what you told them at face value, immediately and unquestioningly."

  "Your father did," I said.

  "Father's different. He's not an ordinary man. And, besides, he had some prior knowledge, he had a
little warning. He had one of those telephones. He knew a little bit about it."

  "Some," I said. "Not much."

  "I haven't talked with him. There's been no chance for us to talk. And I couldn't ask him in front of all those people. But I know that he's involved. Is it dangerous, Brad?"

  "I don't think so. Not from out there or back there or wherever that other world may be. No danger from the alien world — not now, not yet. Any danger that we have to face lies in this world of ours. We have a decision we must make and it has to be the right one."

  "How can we tell," she "asked, "what is the right decision? We have no precedent." And that was it, of course, I thought. There was no way in which a decision — any decision — could be justified.

  There was a shouting from outside and I moved closer to the window to see farther up the street. Striding down the centre of it came Hiram Martin and in one hand he carried a cordless telephone.

  Nancy caught sight of him and said, "He's bringing back our phone. Funny, I never thought he would." It was Hiram shouting and he was shouting in a chant, a deliberate, mocking chant.

  "All right, come out and get your phone. Come on out and get your God damn phone." Nancy caught her breath and I brushed past her to the door. I jerked it open and stepped out on the porch.

  Hiram reached the gate and he quit his chanting. The two of us stood there, watching one another. The crowd was getting noisy and surging closer.

  Then Hiram raised his arm, with the phone held above his head.

  "All right," he yelled, "here's your phone, you dirty…" Whatever else he said was drowned out by the howling of the crowd.

  Then Hiram threw the phone. It was an unhandy thing to throw and the throw was not too good. The receiver flew out to one side, with its trailing cord looping in the air behind it. When the cord jerked taut, the flying phone skidded out of its trajectory and came crashing to the concrete walk, falling about halfway between the gate and porch. Pieces of shattered plastic sprayed across the lawn.

  Scarcely aware that I was doing it, acting not by any thought or consideration, but on pure emotion, I came down off the porch and headed for the gate. Hiram backed away to give me room and I came charging through the gate and stood facing him.