The Crest

Karl sat deep in thought in the front row of the Sandy auditorium. The events of the previous day blew his mind.

The trees communicated now on an unprecedented level, way beyond his expectations, it unnerved him at times.

Today was the Crefor commencement rite and the crowd gathered. Some things never changed; the enclave authorities still pressganged their youth into service; the need for defenders to protect the Crest remained as strong as ever. There would be more attacks on the enclave, different armies, all vying for control of good old Oeste Americano. If anything, the Greater Portland enclave now became the most coveted prize by those dark forces out in the great charred beyond. The German-born man thought about the situation in his surrogate homeland. What could be more Yankee than violence? What was more archetypal of the wild west than a shoot-out?

Out at the podium, Danielle spoke to the crowd of over four-thousand. She looked old. The job had taken its toll, her hair graying, her skin creased. The day was dark, but not overly bleak; a blistering wind blew outside.

“You, the Crefor graduating class of 2025, now take up duty on the Crest. We commend you, without Crefor, we would not be here today. The story of FORC is the story of science, and how Crefor defended that science. As you look out upon the dusty hills, understand that it was a closely fought battle, and your colleagues paid a terrible price. Today, we honor your service and the sons and daughters who died in that terrible battle. Today is also arbor graduation day in some respects. Soon, our trees will be planted across the hillsides, out beyond the enclave. Their growth will restore the land for future generations. But take a look around and thank God, because we came terrifyingly close to losing it all.”

Karl reflected on the word God in Danielle’s speech. Plants have always allowed us to commune with the sacred. We’ve used their psychotropic gifts to meet God.

Danielle continued, “With your protection, the seedlings will green the land again, enduring under the cruelest conditions. We thought no tree could do that, but they survived. Thank you again for your service on the Crest. Now, I’d like to present to you the deputy director of FORC, Dr. Karl Mueller, who will give you a special message.”

The audience clapped as Karl walked to the podium. He looked out at the crowd. “Why are you here, you may ask? I would like you to know that we at FORC communicate with plants, or should I say, the plants allow us to converse with them. It is not a psychic or a metaphysical medium we are using; it is science. The trees recognized that we humans were not only their nemesis, but their last hope in a changed meteorologic situation, that thing that we all call the Shift.”

He scanned the crowd. “I tell you this — after millions of years of evolutionary history, the trees grudgingly revealed their secrets, made contact, engaged with us humans. Why, you may ask? Because they felt it was in their best interest to cooperate with Homo sapiens. We call this co-evolution. We at FORC witnessed it all. I’d like to share something with you. We’re going to send a signal out to the hills, to the trees, in their language, the language of infrasonic. I’d like you to understand the breakthroughs we’ve made here.”

He gave the signal to turn on the loudspeaker. Out in the pavilion, a soft, steady, barely perceptible hum emerged from the speakers. The audience sat quietly, engrossed in the moment.

After a few minutes, Karl motioned to turn off the broadcast. Everyone in the building waited.

“Now, I’d like you to listen, carefully, — out there.” He pointed to the nursery.

Minutes passed, and eventually, a gentle clicking resonance came from the nursery. It rose in a crescendo then slackened.

Click, click, click, pause, click, click, click.

Click, click, click, pause, click, click, click.

The people in the auditorium were not sure what they heard; they listened attentively to the steady beat. It escalated and ebbed, like a chorus of cicadas during the summer season.

On and on the clicking continued while the listeners sat mesmerized, in almost a theta wave state, awe-struck.

Then the pulsing changed. Karl noticed the difference right away.

Soon, they all heard the switch to a melodic tempo. Karl’s eyes brightened. This is out of the ordinary, he thought.

The clicks from the trees became a soft refrain that echoed gently in the building. Something in Karl’s mind told him that this was the beat of a song, indeed, a melody he knew, but one that his logical brain could not accept. And then, as if by serendipity, the crowd in the auditorium began humming the familiar tune.

Karl knew it now. “My God, it’s Ode to Joy!” He said out loud.

More in the audience joined in, whistling the melody. The chorus of piping grew louder, there was joy in the air. The conscripts smiled as the opus echoed across the nursery.

The auditorium became excited now as the trees clicked in harmony with the human voices. People sang joyfully now, the synchronicity between humans and trees seemed perfect, unearthly. After another minute the pulsation eased, and then stopped. There was silence, absolute silence. The people in the auditorium sat dazed. Karl stood there, thunderstruck, unable to fathom what he heard. Then, in front of 4,000 people, the deputy director began to cry.