The Last Tree

by Denise Getson

  “I’ve spent time with Fig, and I’ve noticed that her … lashes … appear to operate independently of whatever she’s doing. I would compare it to how you or I breathe. We don’t consciously force ourselves to breathe; our minds just do it for us. It’s a reflex. I’m not saying Fig couldn’t eventually learn to control her filaments or whatever they are. I just know she hasn’t mastered it yet.”

  As everyone contemplates the implications of this statement, Thomaz addresses a question to Miranda’s mother.

  “Dr. Gallagher, exactly how did fruit bats perform pollination on flowers that were similar to these?”

  “Excellent question, Thomaz. At one time, there were over five hundred plant species completely dependent upon bats for pollination. Bats adapted long snouts and even longer tongues for penetrating the flowers.”

  “How long of a tongue are we talking about?” he asks.

  “Some bat tongues were as long as seventy-six millimeters.”

  “In your opinion, are Fig’s filaments long enough to accomplish the job?”

  “I haven’t specifically measured, but based on my visual observation, yes, I would say they’re long enough. The issue might be whether the pollen will attach successfully to allow transfer from one flower to another flower.”

  J.D. interrupts. “Dr. Gallagher, earlier Thomaz was telling us about different types of pollinators. The birds and bees and bats—they weren’t intentional pollinators, were they? For them, pollination was simply a side effect of another, more primary purpose.”

  “Correct. The pollinator’s primary purpose was to feed on the nectar. For them, pollination was a side effect of feeding, though we suspect the pollination was nature’s primary purpose. Unfortunately, the nectar won’t be interesting to Fig. It probably won’t even taste good to her.”

  J.D. turns to Miranda.

  “You know Fig the best. Do you think we can change her task and still achieve our result? Instead of asking her to pollinate the flowers, maybe we would ask her … and you … to help me and Kira clean the leaves of the tree. A few of us can go up into the tree and each take separate sections.”

  “You mean get her focused on something else and not on what her lashes are doing?” Miranda clarifies.

  “That’s my thinking.”

  She glances at her mother, but Dr. Gallagher’s expression is neutral. “This is uncharted territory, Miranda. But she clearly trusts you. In the spirit of scientific investigation ….”

  “I say we try it.” Miranda agrees.

  “Great,” says J.D. “I’ll collect the cloths. Can you talk to her? It may help her relax if the request is coming from you.”

  “Sure.”

  We all glance up at that moment to discover that Fig is now hanging upside down from the branch and trying to force the filaments into the flowers hanging below her. The filaments are not cooperating. Tamara and Miranda each let out a gasp. I clap a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

  “Fig, honey,” says Miranda, keeping her voice even. “I need you to not be hanging upside down from the branch. You could hurt yourself.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “There’s actually another task that requires your assistance. Can you stop what you’re doing for a minute?”

  “I’m making tree babies.”

  “Yes, well, it has occurred to Kira and J.D. that the tree might be happier if it had its leaves cleaned first before … er … before making babies. You see, they started to do this earlier, but they only made it halfway up the tree. Then we arrived and interrupted their work. They could really use our help.”

  Fig pulls herself upright on the branch and looks down at me. “Why do the leaves need to be clean?” she asks.

  “The tree breathes through its leaves, Fig,” I tell her softly. “And it feeds on the sunlight with its leaves. But when they’re coated in dust, it’s like having a nasty film blocking your nose and mouth, so you can’t eat or breathe.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “No, it’s not.” J.D. holds up the cloths he’s dampened. “Kira and I need help doing the upper part of the tree. You’re such a good climber, Fig. I think you may be able to reach places that are hard for us to reach.”

  “I’m a good climber.”

  “The best I’ve ever seen.”

  “Are you coming up?”

  J.D. grins at her. “I think we’re all coming up.” He turns to the group. “If you’re feeling up to it, grab a cloth from the bucket and find a position in the tree. I’ll go up and identify where we stopped working when you arrived.”

  J.D., Miranda, and I waste no time making our way into the tree. Fig receives a cloth, and we each take a different branch. Glancing down, I discover that Thomaz, Tuck, and Tamara have all grabbed wet cloths and are making their way into the tree. Meanwhile, a guard is setting lights around the base of the tree so we can see our way in the dark.

  Those poor camels, I think. Dr. Gallagher certainly loaded them down with a lot of stuff. I catch Thorne’s gaze. He’s used to having others do any menial or unpleasant tasks that don’t interest him. I wonder if he’s going to join us in cleaning the tree.

  He seems to read the question in my eyes and responds to my look with a snort of disbelief. “Seriously, Kira? Do you think I’d put myself in a position where you could knock me out of a tree? I prefer to keep my eyes on you from down here.”

  I shrug and turn my attention to Dr. Gallagher. “I’ll leave this task to you young people,” she says. “While you’re busy in the tree, I’m going to organize Plan B and Plan C protocols, in case this doesn’t work.”

  For the next few hours, seven sets of eager hands concentrate on gingerly wiping away layers of dust from the top of each leaf. Fig proves to be adept at it, and soon I’m no longer cleaning. I’m simply going up and down the tree, keeping Fig stocked with damp cloths.

  At one point, I pause to catch my breath and gaze at the sight in front of me. There is someone in each section of the tree, chatting and cleaning. Solar-powered spotlights shine on different branches, serving to attract night insects that buzz around the blossoms. That can’t hurt, I think, wondering if any of the insects have pollination potential. Even though everyone should be exhausted, it feels like a party. Expressions are happy, relaxed, purposeful. And Fig’s filaments, without her interference, are floating peacefully about the branches, testing the bark, stroking leaf surfaces and, thank goodness, even penetrating into the depths of the flowers that cluster above and below her. As Fig makes her way higher into the canopy, her lashes follow, delicately grazing each surface she travels.

  “I think it’s working,” whispers Thomaz, coming up beside me to rewet his cloth.

  “Yes. It appears intent or non-intent matters. Quantum physics teaches us that, doesn’t it? When we observe something, its behavior is affected, even down to the minute particle level.”

  “I’m not sure it’s exactly the same, but you make an interesting point. The pollinators were never in the flowers with the intent to spread pollen. They were simply attracted by a smell or a color which indicated to them something yummy was inside. The transfer of pollen was a side effect of their self-interest.”

  J.D. drops down from the tree to stand beside us. He gives my hip a nudge. “Do you think Fig’s the one I read about on the Nets?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Thomaz arches a brow in query.

  J.D. fills him in on the agricultural report he found online, which mentioned a resident of Aleph Territory with a gift for facilitating agricultural production.

  “It makes me wonder something,” I muse.

  “What?”

  “When species die out and biodiversity is lost, do you think this absence is somehow communicated across the remaining genetic networks? So if a bee or bat population is lost to the planet, a genetic switch gets flipped somewhere in another strand of plant or animal DNA to compensate with a similar function to the one that was lost?”<
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  Thomaz processes the thought but gives his head a shake. “I don’t think it works like that, Kira. But I do think genetic material is constantly making alterations in an effort to see what sticks or serves life and what fails to serve. The process of natural selection hasn’t changed. Those ‘switches’ are being flipped all the time. I think it’s just speeding up. Life—all life—is desperately trying to hang on in this wreck of a planet.”

  19

  After spending most of the night climbing up and down the tree, I wake the next morning exhausted. I feel the sunrise, ignore it, and roll over to bury my head in my arms. When I finally stagger out of the tent, it is midmorning. I am grumpy and groggy. I hydrate, then make my way to the enclosure to check on the tree. I find Dr. Gallagher there, working at her microscope.

  “Was the pollination successful?”

  Receiving no answer from the focused doctor, I approach the tree to see how she’s faring. The tree looks good—luminous, if such a thing is possible. The leaves are clean and shiny. The flower petals have closed, just as they did yesterday. I slide a look in Dr. Gallagher’s direction to see if her expression reveals a clue to her findings. It doesn’t. Pursing my lips, I step around the tree to see if I can get a better look from another angle. Dr. Gallagher has the remains of several flowers on the table, separated into pieces. What looks like another flower has been dissected and placed onto slides.

  Hearing a noise, I look up and find Fig perched in the tree.

  “Good morning, Fig.”

  “You’re a sleepyhead.”

  “Yes.” I grin at the little girl. “Do you want company?”

  Seeing her nod, I carefully make my way up the tree. Every muscle in my body protests the movement. Not too long ago, J.D. and I had spent every night walking toward a new destination. Now my body reminds me it doesn’t pay to neglect daily exercise.

  “You move like an old lady,” says Fig.

  “I feel like an old lady.” I grimace, gingerly making my way to a nearby branch.

  Two heads turn in sync when Dr. Gallagher calls up from the ground. “Fig, can you toss down a couple more flowers from those top branches?” She squints to where we’re sitting. “Oh. Good morning, Kira. I didn’t see you enter.”

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I’m monitoring pollination and fertilization activities within the flower.”

  “You mean it happened while we were sleeping?”

  “Depending upon the species, the interval between pollination and fertilization can be a few days or a few hours. I’m testing each hour to document the pace of fertilization for this particular tree.”

  “You’ve been here all night?”

  “Yes.”

  “What have you found out?”

  “It appears pollen grains are germinating approximately two hours after pollination. This has prompted the successful creation of tubes through the stigma. Now I’m tracking how long it takes the tube to penetrate the ovary to the ovule. If we’re successful, two sperm will be transferred from the pollen to the megagametophyte. Within the megagametophyte, one of the two sperm will unite with the egg, forming a zygote, and the second sperm will enter the central cell, forming the endosperm mother cell, which completes the double fertilization. Later, the zygote will give rise to the embryo of the seed, and the endosperm mother cell will give rise to nutritive tissue used by the embryo.”

  “Ah, thanks.” I lean closer to Fig. “Did you understand any of that?” I whisper.

  Below us, Dr. Gallagher lets out a sigh. “After fertilization, the ovary develops into a fruit and the ovules will develop into seeds, so that we might one day be able to reproduce this tree.”

  “Babies!” says Fig happily.

  “Yes, babies,” said Dr. Gallagher. “Now, can you please toss down a couple more flowers?”

  While Fig hurries to comply with Dr. Gallagher’s request, I ask the question that’s been brewing in my mind. “Should we try to pollinate more of the flowers tonight? Maybe you can do another one of those receptivity tests on the flowers after they open. We’ve only covered the top half of the tree.”

  “I agree. For the purposes of pollination, we want to achieve as much coverage as possible. If we’re successful with fertilization, we can then track fruit development and prune back as needed to ensure adequate resources are dedicated to the healthiest yield.”

  At that moment, Thomaz, Miranda, and J.D. enter the enclosure. I can’t help noticing that Thomaz and Miranda look very companionable together. Nature loves a good pair bond, I note wryly. Seeing Miranda, Fig clambers down and runs over to give her friend a hug. The night before, Tamara had shared with me that Fig’s mother died in the earthquake at Ash-Shatrah. She must have been a very loving person to have produced such an affectionate child. I watch Miranda brush her hand down Fig’s arm, then turn to find J.D.’s steady gaze resting upon me. His look sends warmth coursing into unexpected places.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “What have you been doing?” I ask him.

  “I was tending to the camels.”

  “And everything’s good?”

  He nods. “They’ve been exercised, fed a hearty seaweed breakfast, and hydrated.”

  I feel my own stomach growl and press one hand there to silence the grumbling. “Where are Tamara and Tuck?”

  “Still sleeping. I think the camel journey from Eden followed by a night spent cleaning the tree wore them out.”

  I send him a chagrined look. “Glad I wasn’t the only one. Thanks for letting me sleep in this morning.”

  “I know how grumpy you get when you don’t feel rested.”

  I stick out my tongue, then climb out of the tree to investigate what Dr. Gallagher is doing with the flowers. The doctor appears to be at a good stopping point, or at least less single-minded in her focus.

  “Dr. Gallagher, before you arrived, we were having a conversation about ancient tree myths, about the tree of knowledge and the tree of life. You believe these stories are metaphorical, right?”

  “Those stories may have evolved to be metaphorical, but I suspect at one point there was something more substantive behind their origin.”

  “Like what?” I ask in surprise.

  “Imagine this scenario. You’re a tribal elder on a spirit quest. You’re tired and depressed. Your joints hurt. Your skin is covered in a painful rash. And you have swollen and bleeding gums that make it painful to eat. This is what you wake up to day after day.”

  Fig wrinkles her nose.

  “Exactly.” Dr. Gallagher turns her chair to better face her audience. “One day on your journey, you come across a lemon tree. The fruit is unknown to you, but you taste it, and you don’t get sick. So you consume one of the lemons. It tastes sour, but something in your body responds to the new fruit. That evening, you sprinkle lemon juice on the piece of fish you’ve cooked over an open fire. You have a little bit of lemon a couple times a day, every day, for the remainder of your journey. One day, you wake up and realize you’re transformed, inside and out. You have energy. You’re pain free. Your skin appears healthy and rash free. Your gums are strong and you can chew without pain. Even your morale is lifted. You feel lighthearted and joyous.”

  “Did the fruit do all that?” Fig asks with a tone of amazement.

  “It did,” replies the doctor.

  “The man was suffering a vitamin C deficiency,” Miranda explains to her. “Our bodies don’t store vitamin C, so it has to be included in our diets, every day, in order to be healthy.”

  Fig’s lip begins to quiver. “Do I get vitamin C?”

  Miranda slips an arm around her. “Jamal and all the other cooks in Eden make sure everyone receives adequate vitamin C. You don’t have to worry.”

  “Today we understand the importance of a balanced diet,” Dr. Gallagher continues. “But back then, no one could have understood that one little element like ascorbic acid could play such a huge role in human health
. So to this tribal elder, retelling the experience to his family members, he might embellish the story by describing the tree he encountered as the tree of health or the tree of beauty.”

  “Or the tree of life,” I acknowledge.

  “Exactly.”

  “And who’s to say someone didn’t have a similar experience with another fruit?” I say, imagining the scenario Dr. Gallagher has described. “So this fruit was imbued with special powers by primitive people who made sense of the world as best they could with the limited information at their disposal.”

  “That’s all anyone can do,” she agrees, her eyes sweeping the group. “We sort through available information and find the explanation that makes sense to us. But whatever benefits a tree or its fruit may possess, I promise there is always a scientific explanation. It can still be transformative. It can still be a great story. But it’s not supernatural.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Gallagher. That makes perfect sense.”

  Thomaz interrupts. “Is anyone hungry? I’m hungry.” As we prepare to break for lunch, Dr. Gallagher motions to me. “Do you have a moment?”

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  “I want to speak with you about a sensitive matter.”

  Something in the tone of her voice has my body tensing. I look around for J.D., but he’s already stepped beside me. Cautiously, I nod. We stand silently for a moment, waiting for the others to depart.

  “I was wondering if I could impose on you for the benefit of scientific research.”

  I have a bad feeling. “In what way?”

  “I think it’s important to understand the genetic nature of your mutation, Kira. I was hoping you’d let me take DNA samples to share with a colleague at AgTech.”

  J.D.’s fingers slip into mine. He knows this is exactly what I’ve never wanted. I don’t want to be tested, studied, analyzed.

  Dr. Gallagher detects my hesitation. “Lukas told me your mother had the same gift. And it is a gift, Kira. It might be a type of directional selection. It could be beneficial to science if we knew exactly what alleles are involved ….”

  I can feel my face burning. “Why?” I respond stiffly. “So you can clone me? Do you want to make more little water-bearers that the UTC can microchip and control?”