Seeders: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

complex beings with their own form of consciousness, but people tend to think of them almost like machines, with communication abilities more analogous to a light switch than a living organism. My experiments prove that plants can learn, remember, and respond as well as any creatures with a nervous system.”
    Dr. Beecher’s research had in fact shown that plants communicate in ways similar to social beings. His first experiment involved five hundred specimens—tomatoes, string beans, and corn—set in rows according to species, with some intermingling. The test group, made up of ten tomato plants, was subjected to a mixture of sugar and alcohol, which is known to elicit the same response as if the plants were exposed to drought conditions—specifically closure of the stomata, to prohibit water loss.
    Jules found that within a few minutes of the test group responding, the closest neighboring tomato also began to close its stomata, even though they were not exposed to the treatment. Somehow, the message traveled quickly across the species, as though they were all shouting to each other in a common language, Prepare for drought! Prepare for drought! Within an hour, all two hundred tomato plants had responded to the call.
    Remarkably, two hours later the other species of plants, the string beans and corn, began closing up the stomata in their leaf cells as well. Jules reasoned they had taken extra time to translate the message, as though it were in a foreign language.
    Even more astounding was a follow-up experiment in which Jules attempted to find the anatomical source of the plant signals. Using sensitive acoustical equipment placed underground, he discovered that the roots of the plant were making a clicking noise, a kind of chatter that registered at 220 hertz. It seemed there was a pattern to the clicks among the tomato plants, while the corn and string beans had their own unique pattern. When Jules recorded the clicks and played them back underground, he found that the roots of the plants all grew toward the sounds, and not just any clicks but only those specific to their species. Jules had opened the possibility that plants use a form of language to communicate with each other.
    “You must have been surprised at your findings,” Wired said.
    “More excited than surprised,” Jules replied. “We’ve known for centuries that plants communicate with each other. Take the poplar tree, for instance. When attacked by hungry caterpillars, not only will it produce a chemical repulsive to the insect, it will cue the surrounding trees to do the same. Although, in the case of poplars it’s by chemicals released through the leaves. We see the same thing with most plants. That lovely smell of fresh-cut grass is actually your lawn screaming.”
    “That’s interesting, and a bit disturbing,” Wired said, jotting notes on a tablet. “So plants have several ways of signaling alarm.”
    Jules noticed Schroeder watching from the next table. He gave a wink and a small thumbs-up, and Jules began to relax. “Right now my belief is that plants communicate through a combination of chemicals and sound, but there could be other means we’ve not yet explored.”
    “Like telepathy?” The shabbily dressed man from the Enquirer brought the conversation to a halt. He was leaning back in his seat, rolling an unlit cigarette between his fingers.
    “Sorry?” Jules said softly.
    “Didn’t you work on some nutty experiment in the seventies, and then publish results that were never proven?”
    Jules felt his heart skip a beat. He couldn’t tell if the reporter was kidding, but he had apparently done some research. “Are you referring to my years at Oxford?” He grinned and turned to the woman from Wired, who somehow seemed an ally. “I’m sure we’re all guilty of a few dreadful research papers.”
    “I read your latest book.” Enquirer reached into a tattered cloth bag and pulled out a hardcover copy of The Human Delusion: Man’s