Part One The Vegan Menu
Robert Flose slid his bifocals toward the top of his nose, refocusing his tired eyes before squinting through layers of lenses. He tightened the gauge on the microscope, and his hand trembled as he waited anxiously for the result. The cells of a blade of grass lay trapped between two sheets of glass, the tiny molecules jiggling and swaying in the light.
Flose reached for a prong and held the end of his transmitter against the sample, and the screen lit up with narrow waves. He had modified the neurotransmitter to pick up the slightest tele-neuro energy, converting the currents into an advanced electroencephalographic reading. The data revealed shocking and provocative conclusions.
Beep. Beep. Beep. The frequencies rose on the screen as paper shot out from the bottom of the machine. A thick bead of sweat perched between the wrinkles of his forehead. He wiped it away with his fingers, hoping for the results to disprove his regretful hypothesis, but the results matched all previous samples.
Flose released a nervous sigh and began waving his head behind his shoulders to see if anyone else stood watching from the other lab. The room remained hollow and bare, and the botanist removed a small notebook from his dark pocket. The binding shook in his grip as he thumbed through the pages, stopping midway to write.
Sample 292, Pooideae, February 16, 2034:
The cells of grass show the same reaction as all other cells from various samples of plant life. As with bark particles, vegetable leaves, and flower bulbs, the cells communicate at a high level of cognition. Neurotransmitters and modified electroencephalographic technologies have allowed me to examine these waves, which produce higher intelligence than animal life, even among Homo sapiens samples. These cells are communicating emotions, beliefs, and past knowledge within a historical and sociocultural context. My research continues to conclude that my hypothesis is correct: plant cells express high levels of cognition and feel pain after being harvested—even as they are being consumed.
His pen stopped, and the botanist heard the cries of billions of lives in one second. He stared intently at the clock on the wall, the red hand clicking—one second at a time—and the doctor sobbed.
“Dr. Flose, is everything all right?” a fellow scientist asked, standing in the doorway.
“Oh, yes,” Flose said, wiping a tear from the peak of his cheek. “Just tired, that’s all.”
“Well, if there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”
“Of course,” he said. “Thank you.”
The door shut, and
