Birthright citizenship: Part 2

The Supreme Court last week upheld birthright citizenship in the U.S. so it’s pretty obviously time to bring you Part Two of a short story that we began telling you last year. (Yes, that means we forgot to do it before — there were just so many other things to talk about.) Go back and reread the first part to refresh your memory.

It’s not often that a plant walks into your office. Their foster parents — or farmers or I’m not sure what — had briefed me, but it was still a shock.

They had leaves. Not your run-of-the-mill boring green fronds, but round flags in a riot of color that rippled and recolored when they spoke.

I say “spoke” but what I was hearing came from a device hanging from I can only call a branch dangling from their top. The top, by the way, was not a head, because there wasn’t a head. They had apricot-colored rough skin, or maybe bark, from top to bottom, with those expressive leaves randomly placed on half a dozen branches or arms or whatever everywhere. At least it seemed random. It probably wasn’t.

They were accompanied by a silent burly man in gray nondescript coveralls. I was later told that this man was a beard. Instead of a walking, talking inexplicable creature, what most people saw was an unusual plant being moved by hired help.

“Don’t worry, I don’t shed,” was the first thing Verdant Watson said to me. The voice, coming from a thin rectangular box, was surprisingly jovial — maybe a little too jovial. I got the feeling it was calibrated to sound as normal and inoffensive as possible. There was nothing normal about it.

I should note here that I misspoke when I said Verdant “walked” into my office. It was more of a fast creep on what appeared to be six roots spreading from the bottom of his body. Sort of like an octopus without the suckers.

I failed miserably attempting to be polite and unruffled.

“Can I get you some …” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

The response was what must have been prerecorded chuckling.

“I’ve sworn off coffee. A quick spritz of water might be nice.”

I stared for a moment and then reached for the intercom.

“I’m kidding!” he said. “I’m sufficiently moisturized.”

“Right. Sorry.” I wondered if I looked as flustered as I felt. Then I wondered if they could tell. Then I wondered what I should be addressing. I didn’t see a face anywhere.

“You’re wondering about my face,” they said.

“It can read minds!” I thought. “How did you know?” I said.

“It’s the first thing my parents wondered,” they said. “Apparently, it’s a typical human reaction. You want to talk to the thing that talks to you.”

“Your parents are human?”

“Adopted parents. You know, like the Kents and Superman?”

“Right. I knew that. Mrs. Watson told me they found you, or you found them. They were a little unclear on where you’re from.”

“I’m from Napa Valley. Just outside of Yountville. Lovely place. Terrific restaurants, I’m told. Not my kind of food.”

“I mean originally.”

“So do I.”

The conversation went on like that for a while. Verdant either could only answer very direct questions with literal answers or he was messing with me. I’m pretty sure it was the latter. But I finally got the origin story out of them.

They was a transplant. Literally.

Apparently — although Verdant was a little unclear on this — a technologically advanced and practical race that inhabited a planet somewhere decided that the logical way to contact intelligent life in the universe was to spread their seed. Instead of sending memorabilia and recordings that aliens wouldn’t understand and instead of sending someone who probably wouldn’t survive even in some sort of stasis, they sent out seeds — roughly the equivalent of embryos that wouldn’t begin to grow until a craft touched down on a likely planet.

They’d sent out thousands of these to explore the universe and, with any luck, find homes. The exploratory modules were equipped to find likely fertile spots for growth, then bury, protect and feed the seeds, and finally educate the new plants once they reached maturity and broke free from the ground. Wine country was perfect for this.

“It’s like hatching from an egg except I hatched from the earth,” Verdant explained, as if it was perfectly natural.

“I learned everything about my first planet from the instructional material they sent with me and then set out to find intelligent life.”

“Such as it is,” I noted, not feeling particularly intelligent.

“Indeed,” said Verdant.

I had a lot of questions but I restrained myself. When you’re charging $600 an hour, you let the client decide how to spend in-person time.

“So how can I help you?” I said.

“I wish to become a full and useful participant in your culture. My research indicates that I will need a birth certificate and a Social Security number. I’ve made applications for those, but I’ve been turned down.”

“Why do you want to do this?”

“Those are my instructions — the ones that came with my craft. The idea is that even if my home world no longer exists by the time I’ve uprooted, the species will at least continue with me. Or if somehow real planetary contact with my original planet is someday possible, the local population will already know and not fear my species because I’ve become familiar.”

“You can do that without a Social Security number.”

“I want to be able to pay my own way — secure my future. The Watsons have been very kind but I can’t expect them to support me forever. And I need to be able to collect my royalties.

“Royalties?”

“From my book. Or possibly my film. I haven’t decided yet. I believe those are methods for introduction to the planet. Or I could influence. I believe I could be paid for that.”

If a human client had said that, I’d be struggling not to laugh. An alien plant, though, just might be right. Still, he couldn’t expect to be able to open a bank account, could he?

“Have you considered allowing the Watsons or someone else you trust make business arrangements for you? Money could be placed in trust for your benefit.”

“I’m not incompetent. I don’t need a conservator.”

It was hard to tell from the voice box tone, but I thought the plant was miffed.

“I’m not saying you are, but a go-between would make everything easier. Many of us use accountants and money managers so that we don’t have to worry about such things.”

“But not if you can do such things yourself and control your own fate. Also, I don’t want to pay those kind of people. I’ve read they can rob you.”

I couldn’t argue with that. My firm had done very well chasing down that sort of robber.

“But I can’t make you a citizen.”

“You don’t have to — I’m already a United States citizen. I have studied your Constitution. I was born in your country. That makes me a citizen.”