I looked back at the flowery monstrosity. "You try herbicides yet?"
"I'm surprised at you, Mr. Mann. What you're suggesting is xenocide."
I glared at the general. The Confederation's policy may appear progressive to the public, but I knew the military employed an aggressive speak softly and big stick approach in dealing with new worlds: Hit it with the big stick first then try speaking softly to it second; an effective Machiavellian tactic.
"Yes, we tried it already," he admitted. "Three times. They've adapted and managed to counteract the poisons each time."
Can't beat em and the planet is too important to ignore.
I sighed. This was going to be a long assignment.
"Where would I find the bar?"
****
I signaled to the bartender for another shot of whiskey, my third, cursing my immediate superior for tricking me into accepting this assignment. He promised he would submit me for an Earth position if I could establish contact. He was eager to get rid of me. I was cocky, and I had a problem with keeping my mouth shut. At my honoring party for my part in making a treaty with the Tunish, I got drunk and boasted the Corps would be nowhere without me, promising I would be 'running the dump' in a month—not very wise when most of the people at the party were my superiors. Since then, the Corps utilized my talents by transferring me to every backwater post it had. News of my idiotic display, and success as a 'fish talker', preceded me everywhere I went. Darvolock was supposed to be my ticket out of my self-made purgatory. I had to hand it to my boss for finding an impossible task for me to complete.
I downed the shot and went back to nursing my fourth beer when a man with a metal arm sat next to me.
"Mr. Mann?" he said while offering his good hand for a greeting. "I was told I'd find you here. I'm the stations xeno-ethnobotanist, Daniel Smyth."
"Plez-sure," I slurred. "What happened? Got too close when feeding the fern?"
"In fact I did. One of the plants wrapped a vine around my forearm. I lost a pint of blood and my ulna and radius disintegrated before I freed myself."
I sat up, embarrassment spurring momentary sobriety. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean … "
"Don't mention it," he said while he signaled the bartender. "But take my arm as a warning. Don't trust the Tulips. They bite."
I dug into my pocket and popped a sobriety tab. Saying stupid things while I was drunk was my trademark, and the last thing I needed was to collect a fresh batch of enemies the first day on the job. The tabs had an effective lifespan of ten minutes, so I knew I'd be swaying again very soon.
"Did I hear you right?" I asked when he scooped up the shot of golden liquid the bartender set before him. "It ate your bones inside your body?"
Smyth nodded, then downed his drink. "They like calcium, and iron, and a lot of other chemical compounds Earth plants wouldn't touch. Damnedest species I ever came across. Like locusts except they do eat everything."
Visions of a melting lander danced in my head. A chemical compound predator. The galaxy had no shortage of species that would subsist on metals and acids, but never had I come across one that could absorb anything. I was sure chemical engineers and xeno-biologists would be curious to know how, but the how wasn't going to help me.
"Why would plants eat metal?"
Smyth shrugged and reached for the beer the bartender slid down the counter his way. "A topographical survey confirms the planet's surface doesn't have much in higher elements, so the Tulips hoard it when they find it. Don't know why, it's not like they're hiding plant cities underground. The best theory we've come up with is it's an evolutionary redundancy. An autopilot reaction they haven't kicked, yet."
I sipped my beer and looked at the impossibly green world in the lounge's observation window and frowned. How ironic that the most valuable piece of real estate in the galaxy was off-limits because of a weed.
"Why would the plants be hoarding iron?" I asked. "This planet is supposed to have a strong magnetic field. Shouldn't it be loaded with iron?"
Smyth nodded. "Tons of it, all of it at its core. Scans of the surface show it's covered in peat moss, bogs, plants, but hardly any metals."
"No volcanic activity?"
"Oh yeah. It has three active ones. The only spots on the planet that aren't green."
I sipped my beer and gazed at the green world below. A planet without metal covered by a species that can't get enough of it. It didn't make any sense.
****
I set up shop with a view of the prisoner and spent the next three weeks pawing over bales of reports. Darvolock proved to be an enigma of a planet. Dan was right. Despite its strong magnetic field, the surface appeared to be almost devoid of metals. It had continents but not much for mountains. The surface was caked in decaying vegetation hundreds of meters thick. If O'Sullivan's men could ever establish the twin bases on opposite sides of the planet, they would have to scrape away all the swamp scum and import the material needed to build the power pyramids for wormhole generation. But first an understanding needed to be reached with the natives, and I wasn't having much luck.
Plants were not my thing. An old live-in girlfriend once bought a bunch of them to liven up my apartment. They all died a week after she left; a fitting metaphor for our relationship. The Tulips (I had gotten used to using their slang name) proved to be tougher to figure out than I hoped. I attempted a dozen tactics to reach our prisoner—negative stimuli, positive stimuli, sound vibrations—it reacted the same way every plant I ever knew reacted, by sitting in its dirt and soaking up all the artificial sunlight it could.
Their anatomy showed they were nothing more than an ordinary plant. They lacked crucial organs—like a brain—higher life forms needed, but their actions proved they were as dangerous as any predator discovered. It was their strategic capability that concerned O'Sullivan the most.
I watched recordings of previous expeditions. O'Sullivan's men would try a new tactic with each attempt. Early success would turn to complete failure every time. The Tulips would be waiting when they landed—acting like innocent sunflowers bathing in the blue rays of Spica—then all hell would break loose. While replaying one disastrous battle, I noticed a small red flower bloom from a leaf of a Tulip.
I called Dan. He shrugged when I showed him it. "Pollinating. You see the dragonfly thing? They're attracted to the red variety. The Tulips have been known to bud up to five different types of flowers. Each one attracts a different insect species."
"Is that common?"
"No, but I wouldn't read too much into it. The different flowers could be their way of cross-pollinating so they don't interbreed."
I replayed the film, grimacing as I weighed Dan's conclusion.
"Not buying it?" asked Dan.
"I know of a dozen emerging intelligences that rely on other species to help them breed, feed, and defecate. The galaxy has no shortage of species that will exploit the labors of a lower intelligence for their own benefit."
"Like man and horse?"
I pointed at him and smiled. "Good example, but there are better ones. There is a feline/marsupial race on Altair Five that exploits an herbivore to build their shelters for the brutal winters. I'm wondering if we're viewing the works of a puppet master species, one hiding in the shadows."
Dan frowned then shook his head. "I doubt it. If you don't count the Tulips, those insects represent the highest form of life on Darvolock."
"I can't count the Tulips."
"Why not?"
I leaned back into my chair and retrieved a holographic-anatomical schematic of our prisoner.
"They don't have the wiring for a higher intelligence. They lack a nervous system. Nothing in them can carry the electrical impulses required for higher thought."
Dan looked at the plant then narrowed his eyes at me. "I'm not sure I can agree. The Yuplin is a species that have nothing like our brains, yet they're considered intelligent."
I punched up a schematic of a Yuplin. A hairy and squat creatu
re without a neck replaced the Tulip. It had long arms they used for yanking out grass and pulling down leafy branches for it to feed. Short, thick legs were needed to support its bulky body. The creatures lived under an orange sun and lumbered about with all the enthusiasm of a grazing cow. If it wasn't for the duck-billed mouth, you'd have a hard time identifying its head.
"True, the Yulpin don't have a central processing unit like ours." I pointed at the glowing lines of bio-electrical energy intersecting throughout its body. "But they do have a network of nerves to carry electrical impulses. Their nervous system doubles as their brain. The Tulips have nothing, so aren't capable of intelligence. They're plants."
"My specialty may be in plants but I know a nervous system doesn't define the intelligence of a species," said Dan. "There are plenty of creatures that have a complex nervous system that aren't much brighter than an earthworm."
I shook my head. "The nervous system isn't what makes the intelligence, but it is the requirement for intelligence. It's like the old electrical grids of Earth when power plants generated electricity for civilization. The electricity traveled along power lines. It's the lines that the Tulips … "
I stopped.
The lines. Long strands of copper; metal.
I dug for a geological survey. "Anyone else find it odd how a planet with a strong magnetic field has practically no metal on its surface?"
Dan pursed his lips and shook his head. "It wouldn't be the only one. Could be the way it was formed. More than a few cooled with all the heavier elements pooling at the core."
"Not when they have active volcanoes and continents that drift." I showed him the topographical survey. "Look. No mountains. I recall reading a chemical analysis of several Tulips, they all had trace elements of metals in their anatomy."
Dan shrugged. "So? That wouldn't make them unusual. We have trace elements of metals in us. Our blood is loaded with iron."
I arched an eyebrow at him. "And your bones have calcium."
He looked at his metal arm. I punched up a recording of a particular disastrous expedition. The soldiers wore heavy-G suits, ripping Tulips out from the roots as they attempted to swarm them. As always, what looked like a promising strategy turned into catastrophe. Water began to seep from the ground and pool around the heavy-G-suited men's feet. They started to sink. Vines crept around their shoulders and pulled them in. A man drew a cutting laser. The shades of silver formed over vines that were targeted, slowing the effect of the laser. I froze the frame and zoomed in.
"Look closely," I said and advanced the recording, extra slow. Silver leaked from the skin of the vine, crinkling like aluminum foil. "When I saw this, I couldn't help but think how this looked like the lining of a spacesuit. Now watch what happens when the laser strikes it."
A white flame burst from the silver skin. It changed color. Green, then a brick red, a bright orange that was followed by a hot blue.
Dan leaned in, a puzzled expression was on his face. "That's odd. What does it mean?"
"I'm not anything close to an expert but I believe laser cutters cut at a constant temperature. Those flames reminded me of an experiment a chemistry teacher of mine performed long ago." I rewound it back to the orange flame. "That's what the flame looked like when he put fire to calcium."
Dan manipulated the vid for a moment, studying the flames.
"Assuming you're right," he said. "Calcium is a poor flame retardant. Why would the Tulips use it?"
"Trial and error," I said, as I took note of all the insects flying within the battle zone in the recording. "It's how evolution operates."
"Not that quickly it doesn't," countered Dan. "But intelligence can. Trial and error solutions are a mark of sentience."
I nodded. "Yes it can be, but I'm not convinced who is performing the trial and error experiments. I have a hunch on how to find out. Does this station have a device that can detect weak magnetic fields?"
"I don't know. I'm sure the engineers can make a scanner that can do the job. What are you hoping to find with it?"
I stood and stared at the prisoner plant in the next room. "A nervous system."
****
The Chief Engineer was skeptical when I explained what I needed. He was quick with excuses, complaining about how busy they were while promising to get on it as soon as he could. I thanked him then marched to General O'Sullivan's office. A working low-yield magnetic field scanner was delivered to my doorstep in six hours. Just for the fun of it, I sent it back with instructions to increase its range. Two hours later, a technician came back with an improved model. I asked if he could stay behind to operate it. Before he could protest, I called the general and Dan to let them know the experiment was ready.
The tech linked the scanner to the station's holographic mainframe. A 3D representation of our prisoner rotated in my office. Glowing lines intersected and ran all through the Tulip.
"What are we looking at?" asked the general.
"A nervous system," I said.
Dan kneeled, tracing the paths of the brightest pathways with a metal finger. "How could we have missed this?"
"You didn't," I said. "You said you found traces of metal in them, you just mistook it as part of their basic chemistry."
"This is how they use iron?" asked the general. "To create nerves?"
"Some of it is iron." I pointed at a bright pathway Dan had become enamored with. "This I suspect is copper or maybe gold. They make a better conduit than iron. Think of this as an electrical grid that runs on bio-electrical energy, a substitute for an organic nervous system."
"So you're saying this is what happened to our ships?" asked O'Sullivan. "To create a network of nerves?"
"Oh no. There may be a little bit of our material in our friend, but I'm sure what we're seeing here came from Darvolock itself."
Dan stared up at me. General O'Sullivan looked just as baffled as he did. He turned to face the xeno-ethnobotanist.
"I thought this planet had no metal."
"Not now it doesn't," I interjected. "It's been mined out."
I walked to the port window and tapped on its glass, pointing at the green world below. "Look at it, sir. The entire planet, every square inch, is covered by a single species. It's changed the weather, eliminated seasons, exterminated all its rivals; did it all over an entire world. Now, imagine if every Tulip had as much metal as our friend here. They picked this world clean."
The general turned from the window and studied the hologram. "How the hell could a plant know it could use metal as a nervous system?"
"Evolution." Dan's eyes were wide.
I could see the realization of my proposal hitting all at once.
"A distant ancestor likely absorbed chemical compounds that were toxic to an herbivore. Over time, that ability adapted and turned them into master chemical engineers and the dominant species of the planet." Dan turned to look at the Tulip in the next room. "And it's going to be their downfall."
It was my turn to be stunned. "How so? They reached the pinnacle of evolution. Their actions proved they're capable of adapting to anything thrown their way."
Dan shook his head. "Their actions proved that they're starving for essential minerals. This world is overpopulated, way overpopulated. They probably haven't the ability to control their numbers and they won't be able to sustain their levels much longer. This world is on the verge of an apocalypse never seen before."
I saw a glimmer of hope in O'Sullivan's eyes. "When?"
"It won't be tomorrow," said Dan. "Or in a year. The soonest? A few decades. Maybe ten thousand years on the outside, but collapse it will."
The general pointed at the base of the holographic Tulip. "What's going on down there?"
The Tulip's roots glowed with activity. The magnetic field detector showed it to be alive with electricity.
"That must be its brain," said Dan.
"I'm not so sure," I said. "Wasn't it part of a larger root system? I recall in a report that they had to cut it away fr
om one."
"I believe they did," said the general. "What are you thinking?"
I turned and smiled at the technician who had been standing behind us quietly, listening to us the entire time. "I'm thinking engineering needs to build us another scanner."
****
We watched from the safety of the station as a scanner-equipped lander hovered meters above Darvolock's surface. The floor of the jungle, through the enhanced image, looked like the jumbled mess of wires you would find in an ancient electronic machine.
"It looks like one big brain," said Dan.
"Is that what we're dealing with?" asked O'Sullivan. "A single entity?"
"Looks like that is the case, sir," said Dan.
"Not so fast," I said. "You see all the insect activity? I noticed in other vids how they swarm whenever a ship of ours is on the scene. From orbit, they're nowhere near as thick."
"So?" countered Dan. "Just look at all the electrical impulses below the surface. Tell me that isn't complex thought we're seeing. All the Tulips are connected. It's a collective mind. I'd bet my salary on it."
"If the Tulips are all connected then why would they need insects for pollination?"
Dan opened his mouth then closed it, apparently thinking about what I said.
"There is an emerging species on Hatrac 4," I continued. "They have a high percentage of conjoined births—one in five. Some of their children are joined at the brain yet each half has their own independent thoughts. To communicate, they have to talk to each other."
General O'Sullivan waved a finger at the holographic jungle floor. "Then what is all this?"
"I am only guessing, but if Dan is correct about the Tulip's mineral shortage, this could be part of a highway for essentials. Chemical compounds relocated to where they're needed. To move so much material would require energy. I'm betting this is the power supply for a complex conveyor belt."
That sparked an argument between Dan and me. The general listened to us spar for a full minute before he decided he had enough.
"I just want to know one thing," he shouted above our raising voices. "Can you talk to it?"
I pursed my lips together and thought for a second. "I don't know, but I have a theory. I need bugs."
Grantville Gazette, Volume 64 Page 18
