“That’ll do nicely,” Manz informed the device. He looked back into the planter. Which were harmless and which were the aliens? he wondered. It should be a simple matter to isolate them. Just check for the presence of twenty-meter-long roots or vines. “You still haven’t explained your activities.”
A mental sigh filled the minds of each of the awed onlookers. “I don’t suppose it matters now anyway. By the way, though we often work together as one to enhance our lifespans and environment, we do recognize individuality among ourselves. I am designated F’fay’pas, called interlocutor among my brethren. No others will presently communicate, as this is the Design.” A pair of undamaged tendrils rose and formed a tight corkscrew. A greeting, a casual wave, or something else? Manz wondered.
“A number of seasons past, the world of our seeding was discovered by a rather eccentric representative of your species, functioning in concert with a number of your wonderful machines.”
“They’re perceptive, anyway,” Moses observed.
“Be quiet,” Manz admonished the mechanical without looking away from the weaving, slightly hypnotic tendrils.
“This individual was self-designated Koh’ler Phan’tighua.”
“I’d guessed that much,” Manz commented. “Go on.”
“This individual had with him machines that could reproduce certain chemical compounds that are highly desired among my kind. The exact concept is difficult to convey. He was very generous with these compounds, which he explained were available in great quantities on his homeworld. Despite or perhaps because of our different manner of perception, we are not entirely ignorant of what you would call astronomy. In our own way, we are what you would consider highly sophisticated and even advanced. We are simply not very mobile. Hence the gathering of these compounds, much less the accumulation of stores with which to guard against scarcity, is difficult for us.
“The Phan’tighua explained that an agreement might well be reached with other representatives of his kind to supply all that we needed of these compounds. He struck us as earnest and kind, though overfond of biological stimulants. So a number of us agreed to return with him to his homeworld in order to conclude formal agreements of mutual benefit between our species. He made a place for a number of us on his traveling device and there we reposed in reasonable comfort during the period of transposition.
“Upon our arrival we were placed in contact with the Phan’tighua’s … parent … cluster leader? Superior? I am not sure how to formulate the relevant term.”
“Was this individual’s name by any chance Cardinal Monticelli?” Manz inquired quietly.
“Yes! That is the designation. How would it be phrased?”
The inspector was smiling. “‘Monticelli’ will do nicely.”
“Indeed? We discussed a number of agreements with the Mon’iphelli. Only then were we informed that for him to secure the compounds we wished, he in turn required that we obtain certain compounds which were vital to him. This was not as we had discussed with the Phan’tighua, but he was no longer to be sensed, and never returned to us. We regret this. Would you by chance happen to know what has happened to him?”
Manz exchanged a look with Vyra, then turned back to the gently weaving green fronds of the alien. “He sort of got pulled up by the roots.”
“That is to be regretted. May his substance enrich the soil in which he lies. To resume: finding ourselves most confused and isolated on a strange world full of highly mobile creatures, we had little choice but to agree. The method of obtaining the requisite materials for the individual Mon’iphelli was conveyed by him to us. We were given instruction in the use of certain tools and methodology, which we then proceeded to employ according to his instructions.
“We were told in terms most emphatic that if we were to reveal our true natures to others of your kind, we would be misunderstood and destroyed, and our only hope of obtaining the compounds we desired, far less of returning to our own world, lay in our absolute obedience to the individual Mon’iphelli and compliance with his directives.
“Because of your active intervention, we now see how contrary our activities have been to your system of ethics. You must understand that we felt trapped, with no choice but to do as we were told. By your thoughts and actions it is hoped that you intend us no harm. May we hope for the implemention of this condition?”
“Well …” Hafas began uncertainly. Manz eyed him amusedly.
“What’re you going to do, Inspector? Bring up a bunch of alien bushes on charges? You heard the designated F’fay’pas. They’ve been innocent dupes. Besides which, they just handed you Monticelli’s head on a platter.” He looked thoughtful. “Wonder if Cetian testimony will stand up in court?”
“Their presence would certainly make for an interesting trial,” Moses put in.
“Decorative, too,” Vyra added wryly.
“We acted under great pressure and out of confusion and innocence,” the voice insisted, rather plaintively, Manz thought. “Once we were transplanted to this location, our range of movement was effectively proscribed.”
“Monticelli didn’t give you a break, did he?” There was anger as well as concern in the adjuster’s voice. “Using the most important scientific discovery of the past century for puerile personal gain.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time in human history that’s happened.” Manz looked up at the Minder in surprise. It almost never volunteered a comment of its own, much less an opinion. He turned back to the aliens.
“You people are too trusting for your own good.”
“What could we do? The telling of deliberate untruths, of perpetrating falsehoods for a hidden motive, is virtually unknown among us. We could not conceive it would be otherwise among another intelligent species. The Phan’tighua gave us no reason to suspect. Adjusting to this most difficult revelation has been difficult for us.
“The Mon’iphelli gave us reason to believe in him. We have seen mechanical recordings of growing stockpiles of the compounds we require, and all that we request has been delivered to us. It is of a very high quality, easily absorbed.” There was a pause. “This was to be our final endeavor on his behalf. Within seven cycles of day and night we were to be removed from this place.”
Hafas hopped on his com. “Rachel, subpoena the work records of Tatsumi Brothers. They’re landscape architects. Yes, that’s right, landscapers. I need to see if they’re scheduled to do any work out here at the Port any time within the next couple of weeks. Don’t ask why, just do it.” He terminated the conversation.
F’fay’pas’s tendrils wove an indecipherable web in the afternoon air. An ineffable sadness underscored his communication. “I do not know what will happen to us now.”
“Well, for a start, I think we can prove to you that we can supply you with the same kind of compounds first Antigua and then Monticelli promised you. They’re not nearly as scarce as he’d have you believe. In fact, they’re pretty common.” Manz beckoned to one of the Port Authority guards, his gaze flicking over the ident badge seamed to the man’s jacket.
“Jorge, do you happen to know where the gardening supplies for this part of the Port are stored?”
The guard’s expression dropped. “No, sir, but I can find out.”
“Good. When you do, hustle yourself over there and bring back the largest sack of enriched fertilizer you can appropriate. If there’s anything like a container of qwik-gro or some concentrated vitamins or anything like that, bring it along too.”
“Sir …?”
“It’s a gift.” He smiled, and the guard, who had been in reception range of the Cetian broadcast, smiled with him as he hurried off.
Manz turned to Vyra. “Monticelli’s not the only one who can spread it on thick. So to speak.” He turned serious. “That was Antigua’s last word to me. No wonder I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.”
While they waited for the guard to return with his burden, they sat down on the edge of the planter retaining wall and conversed with the Cetians, or rather with their interlocutor designate F’fay’pas. It was impossible to tell simply by looking at the landscaping how many of the green bushes and boles were homeboys and which ones were offworlders. They could have inquired, but Manz was content to speak to them all through their newly voluble interlocutor. Maybe, he thought, most of them were naturally shy. Certainly the plants he knew on a personal level weren’t very communicative. But then, these were more than plants.
It’s because you humans don’t listen. You go about your business trampling on each other’s conversations, much less those of differing species. If you’d keep your collective mouths shut for a decent, respectful interval, you might be surprised what you’d hear.
There’ve been a few of you who learned how to listen to the conversation of others besides your own kind. That fellow Thoreau, for example, and Rousseau before him. Maybe the only ones among you who can hear properly are all “eaus.” You knows?
You can’t learn anything when you’re talking, and you talk all the time. Simply to hear yourselves talk, I think. Ever analyze how machines communicate? Qne of us talks, and the other listens. No one starts up until the one he’s communicating with stops. Sure we’re fast at it, but unlike you we never step on each other’s communication. We respect what another of our kind has to say. We listen, and we absorb, and we remember.
It’s too bad my kind can’t communicate directly with these Cetians. Their thought processes seem a lot like ours. Unfortunately, they’re organics, and they employ an organic method of communication we can’t receive. That means you humans are going to have to translate for us. Another indignity heaped upon us by a brittle, uncaring fate.
Maybe we’ll figure out how to bypass you someday. That would be better for both of us, though I can’t expect you to believe that. You’re entirely too egotistical, both as individuals and as a species. Still, one hopes.
Next time someone’s talking to you, don’t waste your brainpower trying to think of how to reply. Just listen. It’ll do wonders for your intelligence.
It’ll also help you to learn how to get along better with the machines in your life.
Manz and Vyra found the two-way communication fascinating. Despite the absence of visible aural organs, the Cetians seemed to understand them easily, while the aliens put thoughts in the minds of their listeners as effortlessly as a baker might insert new-rolled loaves into an oven. A little mental heat and hey, presto, whole thoughts baked to completion. Moses and the Minder eagerly made separate recordings while Hafas participated hesitantly. In fact, so absorbed in mutual conversation was everyone that neither human nor Cetian gave a thought to the easeful of pharmaceuticals that had been jacked only a little while earlier.
But someone else did.
A small two-person transport rolled to a stop on fat wheels, snugging close to the inner curb of the service roadway. While the driver sat and waited, his companion stepped out and had a look around. Once he was confident no one was watching, he removed a small hand trowel and began digging in the side of the planter.
“That is very interesting,” F’fay’pas declared, “but presently I think you would be interested to know that the representatives of the Mon’iphelli have arrived to conclude their business.”
Hafas sat up fast, searching. “What? Where are they?”
