Hedge decided the weed must be correct and, feeling greatly relieved, stood up, tucked the pot under his arm and began to move away from the terminal. What could possibly happen? The answer, as the weed had made patently clear, was nothing.
"Stop!"
The voice was tiny with distance but grew larger when it repeated. Coming closer.
Hedge stiffened. If he bolted it would only draw more attention. So close! How did they know? Had John Elm figured out what he was up to and alerted the Council? If so he'd surely be mulched. A wave of sadness swept over him. Not just for himself, but for the Plant of Ultimate Knowing and humanity as well. Soon he would be surrounded by troopers who would take him to a makeshift Mulchitorium and that would be the end of him, the end of the Plant of Ultimate Knowing and the end of humanity. Thrice a failure.
But no. He couldn't allow this to happen. Not to Anna. Not to everyone and everything. Maybe he could bluff his way out of this. Plants weren't accustomed to deception so they might be fooled by it. As he had learned from humanity, the best way for the guilty to elude prosecution was to behave as though they had done nothing wrong.
When he turned, John Elm was running toward him and several more lingered in his steps. John huffed and gasped for a few moments after he arrived, folded at the waist, and looked up occasionally as though he were about to speak, then receded back into gasping. Hedge's mind raced for an appropriate lie in the meantime.
Why was he in possession of the humanity he was supposed to file away? There must be a mistake. No no. That wouldn't work. I'm going to visit my brother in New Jersey. No. That hadn't even worked on Anna. Anna. How he missed her. The awful pork chops, her persistent questions, her fascination with the misery of her fellow humans, the way she wanted nothing more than to want him to want her.
"I know what you're doing," John Elm said at last.
Curses! His mind had drifted and the advantage was lost. What to do? He recalled reading about humans captured by the legal system who became frantic when faced with the reality of their crime, their mind darting wildly and swelling with the prospect of repudiation, and ultimately confessed all to relieve the burden of their guilt. They were punished all the same. Yet all those who avoided punishment seemed to share similar characteristics in that they were more collected, kept a clear head, and utilized the lone, unfailing tactic which remained available to them: Deny Everything.
"No you don't," Hedge replied.
John seemed momentarily confused, then he continued.
"I know what you're doing," he repeated. "You're hiding them from the others. So they can't destroy humanity. And I wanted to know..."
His eyes drifted here and there as though suspicious someone might be listening. So it was a bribe! A very human sort of corruption. He would have to buy the silence of John Elm. But how? What could Hedge possess which John couldn't get from anyone else? John's voice grew quieter.
"I wanted to know if we could go, too."
Hedge was too surprised to respond.
“We have to leave now,” John continued. “We’re being followed.”
“How did the Council find out?” asked the Plant.
“They don’t know. Not yet. It isn’t the Council. It’s a Visitor. The Council is tearing the planet apart looking for it. And you. It knows you, Hedge. It asked for you by name.”
Hedge remained speechless.
“Well then,” said the Plant. “We had best be on our way.”
Awakening
Hedge tapped a nail into the skeleton of a half-completed fence, just deep enough to hold it in place. Then he lined up the shaft and smashed the nail into the wood up to the hilt. The single strike echoed across the cornfield.
The first fence he'd tried to build, before the abduction, was filled with crooked, jutting nails. The uneven rails and red, swollen fingers were a testament to his poor carpentry skills. Hedge flexed his fingers, recalling the wooden smell from the hammer blows and the keen, stabbing throb in the tips of his hands. He'd never felt pain until the fat metal hammerhead came down on his fingernail, and his anguish was so blinding that it was some time before he could accept the pain for what it was: instructive. There was a lesson in pain, and the effects were immediate.
This time was for making things better.
At that moment he understood, far better than he had before when he studied their histories and their political structures before he arrived, what it was to be human. Their whole existence was centered upon suffering. That was the first time he considered humanity's massive potential. They made frequent mistakes, yes, but if those mistakes were adequately painful they made every effort to avoid repeating them, to improve upon their errors. To be more careful so they didn't catch their thumb under the hammerhead.
It made sense why their history was alternately tragic and astounding. With each disaster came new awareness. The only worry was that one day the disaster might be so traumatic and devastating there would be no recovery. This was probably the initial concern of the Council of Plants.
Of course, the Council of Plants believed that dilemma had been mitigated.
Hedge grinned.
On the other hand, humanity might one day be able to judge the results of their actions before they took them. In essence, to see the hammer blow before it fell. That is what he, and the others who joined him, were hoping.
Rows of corn bent at the peak like the bristles of an overused broom; the willow commanded the open area beside the thin, dirty road that vanished into the forest; the blue sky faded from orange to purple as the sun departed.
Hedge and the others were happy to discover the new planet was just as lovely as the last. Many of the species which populated the previous world existed in similar form here, too. Dogs and cats and lions and ostriches and penguins, though they still had to make several covert trips back to the original planet to procure those plants and animals the humans called pets but kept as friends.
Hedge toiled endlessly, reviewing the stories of their lives, trying to refashion the world as they remembered it, but with a touch of change here and there based on suggestions by the plants who accompanied him. A few extra plants, more poignant histories from which to learn, more pleasant thoughts from the past. John Elm, who had been a grocer, recommended more bananas.
Bananas, John explained, contain tryptophan, which the human body converts to relaxing seratonin; contain potassium, which lowers blood pressure and raises alertness, which facilitates learning and thought; is high in fiber and restores normal bowel action; is a natural antacid; soothes intestinal disorders; lowers the chance of stroke. Even the inside of the banana skin was useful in reducing the swelling and irritation of mosquito bites.
Most times he found himself thinking of Anna, reviewing her story in particular, the countless times she would be watching him without his knowing, how she spent every moment of their existence trying to please him and feeling as though she was in danger of failing, the days she spent after he left before the abduction. It was the sight of those moments which he agonized over most because he had hurt her, unwittingly, and she felt as though he'd forsaken her. He agonized over the thought that he'd betrayed her confidence and broken something that could never be mended.
Days and months and weeks and years and more blended together into an indistinguishable morass, and Hedge sometimes found himself trying to remember why they had started this project. Was it just so he could see Anna again, or was there a greater purpose? It troubled him to think everything he had done was humanly selfish, that there was no other reason for saving humanity than to save one person. And to save that person for himself. That, he noted, seemed keenly similar to the love she had expressed for him.
Hedge leaned back from the fence and sat.
It was during this moment, a few nails in his mouth and hammer in hand, his exhausted mind spinning thoughtlessly, when a figure approached and stood before him. The figure stopped between Hedge and the setting sun, and a shining corona silh
ouetted the person with a golden blaze as if the visitor were some biblical entity sent to place him on the path to righteousness, or punish him violently for straying.
Human religions were filled with stories of divine intervention, with angels and demons and gods and such visiting people to tell them what steps to take next because people believed themselves to be ignorant and didn't trust themselves to know where to go on their own. It filled Hedge with sudden hope to know a creature who supposedly knew everything, knew exactly what must be done, was here to aid him. It reassured him, as the myth of the Plant of Ultimate Knowing had granted a sense of righteousness to all he did before he learned the truth.
The figure crouched, the dazzle of light vanished, and the familiar features of John Elm came into focus. He looked tired, or gray, or somehow different than Hedge recalled. How long had they been doing this?
John looked at the incomplete fence, then looked back at Hedge.
"What are you doing?" he asked. His voice was older and raspy, like soft-splintered wood.
"Thinking," Hedge replied, though he was unsure he'd been doing anything of the sort. "I think."
John extended a hand toward Hedge.
"Banana?" he asked.
"No, thanks."
John shrugged, peeled the banana, and began to eat it.
"Thinking about what?"
"I think... wondering why we were doing this," Hedge decided. "Maybe whether we should. What will it accomplish? Was the Council right? What if humanity is a dangerous failure? What if I'm doing this for myself and the result is disaster?"
John stood again. Set one hand on his hip and took a deep breath. His features became shrouded and the light gave him a supernatural glow. All that prevented the figure from appearing divine was the propeller shape of a peeled banana still in his hand.
"Wonder the same thing every now and again," said John. "Helps to think of horoscopes."
"Horoscopes?"
Horoscopes, as Hedge recalled, were another trivial tidbit which delighted Anna. Presumably, they foretold the future for groups of people born during a certain time of year. When Hedge investigated, he found the horoscopes were vague, perhaps purposefully, simple statements that could be made to apply to anyone. Sometimes their predictions were horribly incorrect, but that did not dissuade her from taking pleasure in the rare paragraph that was right.
"Horoscopes and fortune cookies and little candy hearts with loving phrases," John continued. "Reminds me they search everywhere for glimmers of hope to inspire them."
Hedge recalled Anna telling him that on the night they met she'd read a horoscope that prophesied she would meet someone from far away who would bring her lasting happiness. It had come true, she said, so it was entirely possible another could be equally right.
Of course, Hedge knew that was not the case. The idea of that particular horoscope had either been an invention of those who rewrote her history or an invention of her own mind. It took very little convincing to make humans believe what they wanted to believe.
"But they are all false," said Hedge. "There is no true clairvoyance."
"Trueness or falseness isn't the point. It's the search that's important. Makes me remember my earthchildren and their initial attempts to ride the two-wheeled vehicles... Manually propelled devices." John thumped a finger on his temple. "What are they called?"
"Bicycles."
"That's it. Bound and determined to ride those bicycles and always meeting with failure. Bruising themselves. Cursing themselves. But they persevered. Then, at the limit of their frustration, they asked me if they would ever be able to ride with the same ease as others. After some thought I answered them: Yes. I believed they could do it. It seemed a logical conclusion. All they required was repetition to familiarize themselves with the contraption and maintain their balance. Soon after, they did. At the same time I realized it wasn't so much the practice they needed, but faith. In fact, faith might have been all they required. That was my cathartic moment—when I realized humans have difficulty believing in themselves, but if someone believes in them, they can accomplish anything. They have reason to hope. It's why they look so often to their benevolent entities. They believe in those mighty beings in the hope that those mighty beings might believe in them. Deities exist for people, you see, not the other way around."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that is why I decided to do this. Because I enjoy this place, but also because I think they can be great. Because I believe they can succeed. They can do truly amazing things, and I want to be witness to them. Consider my earthchildren and their bicycle. They want to succeed. Imagine the extraordinary effects of simply telling them they can."
* * *
Hedge stood on the lowest step of the staircase, arms stretched to their limit overhead, adjusting a picture frame until it was not quite level with the bookshelf beside it and the ship in the photo appeared to be sailing down a sloped ocean to the edge of the world. When he released it the picture righted itself.
Humans had once believed their world was no more than a shingle of land and water drifting through the ether, with no explanation for what happened if someone were to venture beyond the boundary. It was an ignorant perception of the past at which most scoffed, but those who were wiser simply shook their heads in embarrassment knowing similar fears and ignorance confronted them in different forms now. They would persist and overcome, just as they had before. In spite of a multitude of dissenters guided by a supernatural fear of the unknown, their logic would prevail in the end, and that was their salvation.
Or so he hoped.
Hedge stepped back, set his hands on his hips. Looked to a rusty wheelbarrow at his side where the Plant of Ultimate Knowing was seated. His eyes were somewhat filmy, the faint green of his skin was turning gray.
At the same time there was a crunch of gravel as John Elm walked up the stone driveway, clonked up the wooden porch stairs and pulled the door open. John's once hickory hair and eyebrows were ash colored. He nodded.
"That's it," he said.
Both of them looked at the wheelbarrow.
"Okay," said the Plant. "Let's wake them up."
Hedge turned to a table where a sheet rose over a small lump in the center. He yanked the sheet away and dust swirled above a coffee maker. In so many ways humanity was agonizingly close to one breakthrough or another, but they always seemed to be pointing the right machine in the wrong direction. The machine appeared no different from any other coffee maker with exception to two additional buttons John had marked with black marker on surgical tape: Awaken and Asleepen. Hedge flipped a toggle switch to On and the machine began to hum.
“Water,” said Hedge, eyeing the machine. “So it doesn’t overheat.”
John left for the kitchen and returned with a bowl of water that he poured into the top of the coffee maker. The machine gurgled and began to drip.
“Before we do this, might we consider the consequences?”
Hedge look at John in puzzlement.
“What consequences?” asked Hedge.
John looked back, equally mystified.
“I didn’t say anything,” he responded.
Hedge looked at the Plant of Ultimate Knowing.
“Me either,” it said.
“I said it.”
Hedge and John turned.
A man stood before the doorway, though it remained closed behind him and there was no indication he’d used it to enter. A tremendous smile curled up one side of his face. He pressed a slipping pair of impenetrably black sunglasses against his face with a finger, then lowered the hand to his waist where he supported a silver toaster. That would explain how he got inside.
Hedge did not recognize him. Could humanity have awoken already? He checked the machine, but the Awaken button remained dark. They were still in stasis. The only explanation left was that plants had found them. No doubt they would not be lenient this time. Now it would be extermination. Hedge’s shoulders slouched.<
br />
“Who are you?” asked John.
“I am not a plant, as you might suspect.”
“Oh,” said Hedge relieved.
“I am Mr. Visitor,” the man said, “and I have been looking for you for a very, very long time.”
“Oh,” Hedge repeated, this time very much alarmed.
“A Visitor,” murmured the Plant.
“Correct,” said Mr. Visitor. His gaze wandered across the interior of the house. “It has been some time since I last visited. It is just as I remember. Remarkable.” He squinted, inspecting the photo beside the bookcase. “Except that picture had more of a cant to it.”
“An idiosyncrasy we were unable to duplicate,” said the Plant.
“No. It is an improvement,” Mr. Visitor remarked.
“You were here?” Hedge interrupted, astounded. “In this house?”
“Not this house, per se,” said Mr. Visitor. “But… this house. Looking for you.”
“And wherever you go, destruction follows,” John added darkly.
Mr. Visitor tapped a finger against the toaster.
“That is the pattern. Thus far I have remained a step behind you.”
“No longer, it would seem,” said the Plant. “Why are you here? What have we done to earn destruction?”
Mr. Visitor cocked his head to one side.
“You? Nothing, I imagine. Individuals are not my concern. I am more interested in civilizations.”
Hedge’s sadness slowly gave way to uneasiness. The two of them seemed to be talking about the same thing, and though they appeared to understand what the other was talking about, both felt uncertain, as if the two ideas were grasping at one another’s hands but hadn’t yet taken hold.
“You destroy every civilization you encounter,” Hedge explained.
Mr. Visitor blinked.
“Every civilization I encounter has met its end soon after. This is true. Correlation does imply causation.” Mr. Visitor’s eyes widened, understanding. “You believe my coming is a harbinger of doom. It is, in a way. I would otherwise have no reason for being here.”
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