IV-4
878 Words
“BUT THE MARTIAN LILY lives only one season ... ten months ... and then it dies,” Hugh protested. “The next season’s growth comes from seed. How could plants build intelligence? Each new crop would have to start all over again.”
“Not necessarily,” declared Scott. “Animals are born with instinct, which is nothing more or less than inherited intelligence. In mankind there are strange evidences of racial memory. Why couldn’t the plants do the same thing with their seed ... progress even a step further? Why couldn’t the seed carry, along with its other attributes, all the intelligence and knowledge of the preceding generation? That way the new plant wouldn’t have to start from scratch, but would start with all the accumulated knowledge of its immediate ancestor ... and would add to that knowledge and pass the sum total on to the generation that was to follow.”
Hugh kicked absent-mindedly at the sand.
“There would be advantages in that sort of development,” he agreed. “It might even be the logical course of survival on a planet like Mars. Some old Martian race, for all we know, might deliberately have shaped their development toward a plant existence when they realized the conditions toward which the planet was headed.”
“A plant society would be a strange one,” said Scott. “A sort of totalitarian society. Not the kind of a society animals would build ... for an animal is an individual and a plant is not. In a plant race individuality would count for nothing, the race would count for everything. The driving force would be the preservation and advancement of the race as a whole. That would make a difference.”
Hugh glanced up sharply.
“You’re damned right that would make a difference,” he said. “They would be a deadly race. Once they got started, nothing could stop that singleness of purpose.”
His face seemed to blanch under the tan.
“Do you realize what’s happening?” he shouted. “For millions of years these plants have fought for bare existence on Mars. Every ounce of their effort has been toward race preservation. Every fall the bugs carefully gather all the seeds and carry them inside the building, bring them out and plant them in the spring. If it hadn’t been for some arrangement like that they probably would have died out years ago. Only a few scattered patches of them left now....”
“But on Earth....” said Scott.
And the two of them, white-faced, stared at one another. On Earth the Martian lilies would not have to carry on a desperate fight for their very existence. On Earth they had plenty of water, plenty of sunlight, plenty of good, rich soil. On Earth they grew larger and stronger and straighter. Under such conditions what would be the limit of their alien powers?
With the lilies multiplying each year, growing in every fence row, every garden, crowding out the farmers’ crops, lining every stream, clogging every forest ... with swarm after swarm of the metallic bugs driving out into space, heading for the Earth ... what would happen?
How long would the lilies wait? How would they attack? Would they simply crowd out every other living thing, conquering by a sort of population pressure? Or would they develop more fully those powers of forcing animal minds to do their bidding? Or did they have, perhaps, even stronger weapons?
“Hugh,” Scott rasped, “we have to warn Earth. Somehow we have to let them know.”
“Yes,” Hugh agreed, “but how?”
Together, limned against the harsh horizon, they stood, looking across the desert toward the Martian building.
Tiny figures, dimmed by distance, scurried about the building.
Scott squinted his eyes against the desert glare.
“What are those?” he asked.
Hugh seemed to jerk out of a trance.
“The machines again,” he said wearily. “They’re getting ready to shoot another rocket out to Earth. It’ll be the last one of the season. Earth is drawing away again.”
“More seeds,” said Scott.
Hugh nodded. “More seeds. And more bugs going out. And the worst of it is that Earth doesn’t know. No man in his right mind on Earth could even dimly speculate upon the possibility of high intelligence in plant life. There’s no reason to. No precedent upon which to base such a speculation. Earth plants have never had intelligence.”
“A message is all we need,” declared Scott. “Just get word to the Earth. They’d root up every plant on the face of the entire globe. They’d....”
He stopped abruptly and stared out across the desert.
“The rocket,” he whispered. “The rocket is going to Earth!”
Hugh swung on him fiercely.
“What are you....”
“We could send a message by the rocket!” yelled Scott. “They always watch for them ... always hoping each one will carry something new. Some new thing from Mars. It’s the only way we can get a message back to Earth.”
“But they won’t let us near,” protested Hugh. “I’ve tried to get up close to the cradle when they were launching one and those machines always drove me away. Didn’t hurt me ... but threatened.”
“We have guns,” said Scott.
“Guns,” said Hugh, “wouldn’t be worth a damn against them. The bullets would just glance off. Even explosive bullets wouldn’t harm them.”
“Sledges then,” said Scott. “We’ll make junk out of the damn things. We’ve got a couple of sledges in the ship.”
Hugh looked at him levelly.
“Okay, kid, let’s get going.”
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- Writer
