Semiosis Page 33

  Other plants notice the fire, and the locustwood trees have spread the news. Now is the time to fight. My heritage as a bamboo is of ruthless war-making, but I will not commit atrocities like my ancestors.

  Monte has gone to the fippokat hutches. Adult kats gather around him while juveniles cower in burrows. He sings to them, “Guard and defend, little ones, time to fight, protect, and attack,” a grim tune they have been trained to respond to, and the kats, like any animal, can defend themselves. “One, two, three, go!” he says, and kats scatter.

  Orphans are blundering through the streets, trying doors, all locked and barred so far. Pacifist fighters can subdue the orphans, I am sure of it, if we can formulate a plan and coordinate our efforts.

  Why did Cedar fail to protect Lucille? Even now, she is attempting to take command, ordering fighters to go on patrol and kill all Glassmakers on sight. Perhaps she was afraid. I am afraid, but I will put my fear to use. I cannot run away, so I must fight or die, as all plants will do, and we are not patient. I can see everything and must think bigger than Cedar can. I will create order within the city again and control the animals. I must create predictable behavior as fast as possible, for I cannot control chaos.

  An outpost to the southwest says eagles are less than a day’s hike away. If they smell Lucille and Marie, they may hurry. Eagles seek animals roasted in forest fires.

  Bartholomew, Piotr, and others arrive at the Meeting House. Piotr has See-You’s majors with him. See-You knows the orphans better than I do; knowledge will be crucial for control.

  “Warmth and sunshine,” I say. “Bring all friendly Glassmakers to the Meeting House. I will question them, and they must be protected. Cedar must organize patrols. I observe Glassmaker orphans in all parts of the city. She should protect Pacifists rather than hunt down orphans. Pacifists are the hunted. She must hurry.”

  A house near the kitchen is occupied by a young father and three small children. The wife has joined the fighting forces; the father, who injured an ankle two days ago, remains with the children, and the youngest begins to cry. Orphans hear, and four gather at the door, which is strongly barred, but one has an axe and begins to chop.

  That noise, in turn, attracts ten or twenty fippokats; they move too fast to count. They leap out, kicking like lions, but in coordinated acrobatics that fill the air with crisscrossing clawed back paws. The orphans flee, but not before one is injured. Kats chase them, but they scatter when an orphan turns and swings a scythe. The kats fought cleverly and bravely, but the next incident may be tragic. Patrols must begin immediately.

  But at the Meeting House, Cedar argues: “I should be giving orders. I should be handling the defense.” She strikes a table with her fist.

  “This isn’t your decision,” Bartholomew says in a calm voice, although he stands stiffly, repulsing her symbolic violence. They are fighting each other when they should be protecting Pacifists. Carl seems to be organizing patrols without authorization, and I am relieved to see it.

  “Then whose decision is it?” she says. “A plant? He’s co-moderator so we can control him, not the other way around. We know how to fight and we need to fight.”

  “He is moderator now,” Bartholomew says. “He knows what’s happening, and by now you should know what he can do.”

  Bartholomew is correct. I can do much. I cannot drug the orphans now, but the past success holds promise, like a seed.

  “I want all the Glassmakers out of the city,” she says. “There are no good Glassmakers. All of them. Out! Do you hear that, Stevland? Glassmakers. Out.”

  I survey the faces and stances of other humans, and I suspect a few agree with Cedar. The humans have experience with individual murder but not with the extermination of an entire species, so they may not grasp the atrocity of Cedar’s proclamations.

  The orphans have used scent communication to converge on a single home. Kats lead Monte there, and he coordinates harassment, and a pair of archers join the attack, but they can do no more than delay a group that size. I say, “Cedar, fifty orphans are attacking Flora’s home.” She looks astonished, then rushes out. Most of the fighters have already left under Carl’s direction.

  I consider the lessons. The fire may have been a diversion, a way to lure fighters from their homes so that the orphans could regroup and attack undefended families. If so, then I have discovered predictable behavior, and this is the soil to grow the seeds of a plan. My humor root adds that all I need now is water, and it is right. I must find the means of control. Once I have that, I can try to end the crisis. And yet, the eagles have moved much closer, so there may be another crisis soon.

  Piotr and several archers escort See-You and her family toward the Meeting House. These Glassmakers move as a coordinated group in a cloud of scents, protecting themselves from attacks from all directions. A major scouts ahead and the rest follow, the air alive with whistles and words and puffs of communication. Another major hears a rustle and pauses, signaling the others. The group turns as one to face the challenge: fippokats. Workers shoo the animals and hurry along. Piotr and the archers exchange looks of astonishment at the efficiency of the family’s movements, a feeling I share. But the orphans can also employ that level of efficiency, which will make them even more formidable.

  The pineapples send a message reminding me that their contract includes protection from predators. I intuit a seed in that message. Earlier tonight the pineapples sent me isoprenes, a compound that could be the basis for many useful substances, including the scents the Glassmakers use for communication.

  “Welcome, See-You,” I say as she enters the Meeting House. Most Pacifists have formed squads to patrol the streets, but the few that remain in the building cheer her, raising weapons in salute, and her majors return the gesture. I am pleased. I want as many Glassmakers alive as possible. That is the only civilized action.

  “I wish communicate with orphans,” I write in Glassmade.

  “Worthless.”

  “I wish tell-them lies.”

  She considers that for a second. “I will help.”

  “I wish send-them from city with scent.” This is my plan, although it needs much elaboration.

  “You speak baby talk. Not good enough.”

  She is wrong, she has to be wrong.

  Plaid Blanket has led several orphans into the bakery. Now they are stacking sacks of flour in my grove next to the bakery. Flour is very flammable. They must not burn me again.

  “You will teach-me.” I write slowly, carefully, despite my alarm. “I need to know now. Show me warning.”

  She moves close to my stem. “You be-you too confident. I will show you alert.” Aliphatic ketone 2-heptanone, a pungent smell, easy enough to reproduce.

  Another female, Buzz, and her family arrives, and she asks many questions and spreads many scents. See-You answers. The discussion gets too complicated to follow, and I do not have time for their quarrels.

  The orphans seem about to light a fire in my grove next to the bakery when they pause. Plaid Blanket sniffs. I strain to identify a scent, and I identify many, among them the alert ketone, and methyl alcohol, meaning come. The orphans run away—correction, run toward something. Toward Violet’s house. Other orphans are there, and Bellona. They move silently. The air is heavy with scents, including citrus-scented limonene, a terpene. An elderly man, his young grandson, and several neighbor children are inside. The other adults are out fighting, and the old man and children will be unable to defend themselves.

  I interrupt the argument between See-You and Buzz. “Perhaps you tell-me this,” I say, and produce limonene. The Glassmakers in the Meeting House jump and huddle together.

  “You say-us attack,” See-You says. “You say you attack-us.”

  “Plants no scent-talk,” Buzz says.

  “Bartholomew,” I say, “the orphans plan to attack Violet’s house.”

  He gestures at a young girl with an extraordinary and powerful singing voice. She goes to the door to exclaim t
he news. See-You gestures at one of her majors, who rushes to her side to guard the girl on the street. See-You also made a scent, the terpenol compound citronellol, a flowery odor.

  “Perhaps you tell-me this,” I say, reproducing the citronellol.

  “Defend,” See-You says. She shows me flee, a balsamic smell, the monoterpene hydrocarbon beta-pinene. That makes sense. It and the alarm scent are lighter-weight chemicals than limonene, and naturally a message of go away or alarm would be more useful over a larger area than attack. She goes on to explain some rules of grammar, how certain scents must be accompanied by others. I must learn this accurately or the orphans will suspect a trick.

  The female Gray-Eyes and her family arrive. The smells in the room send them into a near panic, and Gray-Eyes, suspicious and slow-witted, starts to quarrel with See-You.

  My grove in the forest to the northwest observes that the city’s lion pack has noticed the troubles in the city. Lionesses have begun to pace and males to roar. Another grove, to the southwest, says the eagles are yet closer. They have smelled the smoke. Eagles and lions are enemies, and both could make things worse.

  I have flowers near Violet’s house. The petals ordinarily produce geraniol, a fragrant alcohol; quickly I switch the output, remove a water molecule and rearrange the chemical bonds, and send out beta-pinene. The stamen usually produces nerol, a citrus scent, and the chemistry is a bit trickier, but I subtract three carbon atoms and four hydrogen atoms, in the process removing and replacing the oxygen atom, and it is 2-heptanone. The chemicals are lightweight; even on a cool night like this one, they boil away as fast as I can make them. I will see if I can communicate well enough to lie.

  Bellona and the orphans sniff and hesitate, and majors pace about, searching for the source of the warning. They all fidget, uneasy, and Bellona edges away from the house. Then, from down the street, Cedar shouts: “There they are! Let’s go!” Kats creeping in the bushes leap out and kick at orphans’ legs, knocking some of them over. The flee scent becomes stronger; the orphans themselves must be making it. They run off.

  This is a key achievement. I have used Glassmaker scent language to control their behavior. The Pacifists are fighting back. We have a means to subdue the orphans and restore peace.

  The argument among the females is getting more heated in the Meeting House. Bartholomew gestures at me. He is concerned. I think that I can smell fear; at least, I guess that methanethiol, the smell of certain rotting plants, conveys an unpleasant emotion.

  I tell Bartholomew to get out a jar of truffle he had hidden in the bureau that houses legal documents. He occasionally drinks truffle when no one is looking. It is a troubling habit, but the ethyl alcohol may relax the Glassmakers.

  He seems unhappy. “You see everything, don’t you?”

  “Truffle has many medicinal properties,” I say. I am aware of the social value of lies. Truffle should be banned, but that will never happen.

  He takes out a small jar. See-You edges closer. He lifts the cork. She sniffs. He pulls a small glass out of the bookcase and pours a bit. “I’ll show you how it’s done. Here’s to friendship!” He swallows the contents, pours more, and hands it to her.

  She sniffs it suspiciously, takes a sip, and coughs. Buzz and Gray-Eyes have pushed in close, curious. They sniff and chitter.

  “Pour some in a flat plate,” I say. “The scent will suffice for them.”

  They relax, or at least they perceive a strong message from Bartholomew to feel comfortable. I hope the scent will overcome the lies I will disseminate outside the building.

  I have fully formulated my plan: I will release flee scent starting at the east side of the city. The wind will carry it west. I will release defend and attack ever westward, drawing them toward the west gate. I will ask loyal plants to the west of the city to release the scents also, and will order the gates opened. I will coordinate the Pacifist fighters to drive the orphans out through the west gate.

  I tell this to Bartholomew and the females. He raises the cup in salute. “Excellent.” But he does not drink. He pats the girl singer’s head. “We’ll get the word out.”

  “You be-you big liar,” See-You tells me. I hope this means she thinks I can succeed.

  The plan has weaknesses I have not communicated. We must keep the orphans from reentering the city, and that will not be easy. Eagles are coming, and perhaps they will distract the orphans. Or perhaps not. Perhaps they will not arrive. Perhaps they will join with the orphans. Perhaps the lions can help us. Many things could happen. Humans speak of crossing a bridge when they come to it, but I want to regain control immediately, I want to foresee the future now. If I fail, I will lose everything. Everything.

  The orphans have begun destroying all they can as they pass through the city, smashing baskets and jars and slashing at clothing hung up to dry. The noise and motion help me locate them.… They are effectively everywhere, since they can move so fast. I begin to emit ketones and beta-pinenes from my groves along the east wall and ask the tulips and lentil trees east of the city to do the same. “Helper chemical. Pests go, pruners stay.” Perhaps if I build a wall of scent around the city, the orphans will not try to reenter when they are driven out.

  The girl calls out: “Drive the orphans to the west gate and out.” Fighters hear and cheer. They wanted a plan. They do not know how desperate it is.

  I have centered my attention on my planning root, and meanwhile the fighting has been intense in the streets. I count three orphans dead or too badly injured to move, and nine more injured, but that leaves approximately forty ready to attack, and the truth is that the orphans have the advantage with speed and communication. They are beginning to learn the terrain and to coordinate their movements. They create running ambushes faster than kats and bats can detect and issue warnings to help the humans, faster than I can exude a useful scent, faster than humans can react.

  Even as the girl is singing out the plan, Cedar’s patrol is surrounded by orphans rushing out from behind houses, six orphans against five humans. The Pacifists call for help, but the orphans complete their attack and flee before help arrives. Only one human is left standing, and the rest, including Cedar, are injured or dead.

  I move the wall of scent west fifty meters, then another fifty meters, the fruity-flowery scent luring them toward the west gate. The faster the better, because the situation is no longer chaotic: the orphans are clearly winning. They, too, have developed an effective strategy. A house is on fire well west of the line of scent, and if I follow my plan, I cannot prevent events like that to the west of the scent because the orphans have free rein there. Anything can happen.

  Another human patrol is ambushed. The noise of the struggle causes a boy, Fabio, to open the door of his home. Two orphans rush in even as more arrive to finish off the patrol, then they, too, enter the house.… The noises and scents are beyond description and sorrow, and occur at a pace that signals deliberate cruelty.

  Patrols listen for the announcements from the Meeting House, but at times the girl cannot step outside to make them because orphans are too close. Bellona has realized that the girl is relaying information, and broadcasts scents to gather an attack against the Meeting House. I hurry to move the flee scent farther westward, engulfing the Meeting House. Bellona is confused, but finally turns to look for a new target, and there are many to the west of the scent line. It is now past midnight, and eagles continue to approach.

  A patrol and an orphan ambush fight to a draw: one dead on each side, all injured. I move the scent westward again.

  Elsewhere, orphans drag Fabio, bleeding, from his house and use him as a shield against arrows. The archers hold their fire, but the kats love children, and they attack, kicking around the boy, although they cannot do this with their usual grace, and two kats are clubbed to death. They continue to attack anyway. The orphans use their claws to blind and torture the screaming boy even as they hold him in front of themselves for cover. They break into another home and set fire to
it, and finally a major takes the boy by the ankles and swings his head against a stone wall. They run off. The boy has not died instantly, but he will die soon, very soon. The humans are forlorn, and if I could wail like them—

  I see this, the information travels from root to root, and each root is transformed. A wave that had been forming in many roots coalesces into a single realization. The orphans, like slugs, are not suitable for domestication, but for a different reason. The nature of a slug defies domestication. The orphans probably could be domesticated, but they do not deserve domestication.

  I will not have animals like those in my service. Slugs are mere scavengers, and in their own way necessary. Orphans have done what I have pledged never to do, what I pledge never to permit. Their acts exclude them from civilization.

  I must respond. But I will not ask the humans to help beyond the minimum. I will bear the guilt, and I have ancient methods at my disposal.

  I contact the lentils near the west gate, which are in bloom and eager to help.

  “We must kill the pests,” I say.

  “Yes, kill,” I hear thirty-eight times. They would agree to anything, and besides, they are plants. To them, pests must die, even when they are large, intelligent animals.

  “What I ask is complex.”

  “Kill.” “Kill.” “Kill.”

  “I need you to make scents to attract the enemies of the pests.” I show certain proteins like myosin, and lipids including oleine. This is the smell of cooking meat, and it will attract the eagles. The lipids are the most complex.

  “I can’t make these,” is a common response.

  “A small number of molecules will suffice.”

  “I don’t know how.” “I don’t have enough sulfur.” “Is that a molecule? It’s so big.”

  One by one, I teach, but it is hard, very hard, not because the lentils do not learn, but because I wish to kill right now, not later.

  I hope the eagles will kill for me, but they may or may not be enough, and I want complete extermination. I contact the irises that guard the springs.