Ghostwriting

On the morning of March 26^th, Farmer Henry White woke up with a splitting headache, as he always did. He slapped the wide button on the wall beside him, sending a radio signal propagating out into the ether. The low, resounding vibrations that welled up from everywhere around signaled acknowledgement of the command. Soon, little robotic creatures were scurrying to and fro in the hallways, the reactor was ramped up to “daytime” levels, and the thick aroma of extra-strong coffee was wafting through the small house that stood atop (and neatly disguised) the massive, hyper-advanced underground complex he had carved into the prairie.

A few minutes later, on the neighboring plot of land, Farmer Radcliff Green’s eyes opened suddenly. The mushroomy, cat-like creature sitting on his chest had been batting his mustache-twirls, making it impossible to sleep any longer. He stroked the pet once before tossing it gingerly toward the thick cushion on the ground nearby. He sat up, stretched his arms high above and took a deep breath of the oxygen-rich air supplied by the hundreds of leafy green plants in the glass-walled room around him. He kept the edible veggie-producing plants along the outer walls, opting to have the good-smelling florals closer to his circular bed under the high dome in the center. The sentient plants were kept in a walled-off annex; their constant chattering would keep him up at night otherwise.

He slid his feet into a soft pair of slippers and headed out into his compound to start the day’s routine, careful not to wake any of his other hybrid creations before they were ready.

By ten A.M., farmer Green had arrived at the small conference center between his and White’s plots of land. The property line ran directly down the middle of the little building, and a small conference table sat exactly at the center.

Farmer Green entered flanked by something that looked like a cross between a mushroom and a rabbit. Behind them flocked a dozen or so rhino-horned chickens. Along with the visible hybrid elements, their DNA had also been spliced with chili peppers -- it gave their meat a real kick when it came time to “retire” them.

The farmer spoke to his assistant respectfully. “Bodo, I think I’ll have milk today.”

Bodo’s puffy white ears jiggled when he nodded and replied, “Right away, Radcliff. Warm or cold?”

Radcliff Green eased himself into the simple wooden chair. “Surprise me.” He spread his documentation before him on the table and began reviewing his notes for the meeting.

Just then, Farmer White entered through the opposite door in a self-propelled mechanical chair that sat on a seemingly magical cushion of bright, blue light. He was perfectly capable of walking, but he never passed up the opportunity to use one of his inventions.

He called out with a laughing shout as soon as he saw his neighbor, “Radcliff! Radcliff I finally got it working!” Instead of slowing to a halt, the chair suddenly lurched forward and looked like it might crash into the table. Farmer White’s eyes grew wide with panic and he pounded on the emergency stop button three times before the chair finally responded, sending him tumbling onto the floor.

Green’s lips tightened into a smile that he hid with his glass of milk. “Yes, Henry… that’s really something.”

A crowd of tiny, toy-like robotic creatures were all around White in a second’s time, dusting him off and pushing him to his feet. “Well, the hovering and moving parts work, anyway.” He found the chair and waved away two flying robo-toys that were trying to fix his hair.

When the chaos subsided, Henry White set his laptop on the table, and they were finally ready to start.

They both started talking at the same time, then both stopped, and then both motioned for the other to begin. They both laughed, and defaulted to their normal method of picking someone to start: rock-paper-scissors. Farmer Green won, and he began.

“This week, I propose a challenge in the domain of genetic modification.” He lifted a piece of paper with a detailed diagram so that his old friend could see, but Farmer White had already typed the words into his laptop and was clicking manically through images and articles, learning all he could in a sixty seconds, as was his habit before discussing new topics.

Green looked apologetically at Bodo, who had stayed up all night meticulously preparing the reference materials.

After a minute, White thumped his laptop closed and grabbed the cup of coffee that a robo-toy had set before him, took a gulp, and shook his head. “No fair. It’s all chemistry and bio-engineering. That’s your bailiwick! That’s your wheelhouse, so to speak. I can’t compete.”

Green nodded. “Yes, I have more experience than you in the life sciences. That’s why I’m proposing to take the weaker position.”

Farmer Henry White was interested, though he tried not to show it. He wanted to know exactly what they were talking about.

Farmer Radcliff Green explained, “You haven’t planted your southeast patch yet, have you?”

White hated that Green knew this – he had his toys on constant patrol to prevent Green’s spies from gaining this kind of valuable information. Still, he pretended like he didn’t care. “No, we still need to groom the rocks out – grew a lot over the winter.”

Green sat forward, showing a slight intensity for the first time all morning. “Leave the rocks. I have a new hybrid cabbage that should do well in any soil.”

White scoffed. “It’s hardly soil – it’s like gravel!”

Green smiled. “Perfect. I’ll plant your southeast field with my cabbages, and you can plant yours in your greenhouse.”

“I don’t have a greenhouse.”

Green knew this was a lie, but pretended he didn’t. “Oh, really? Well, I’ll build you one.”

White waved him off. “Nice try, Green. I’ll build it myself.” He narrowed his eyes. “So what’s the contest?”

“Simple comparison of output. Who can grow more pounds of cabbage in sixty days.”

“Any other conditions?”

Green pushed a paper with the details across the small table.

White read them softly to himself. “No watering? No fertilizer? No pesticides? No fencing!?” He looked up. “If they grow at all, the rabbits will eat them before you can say boo.”

Radcliff Green shrugged. “Well, we’ll see about that. In any event, that’s my proposal. What’s yours?”

Henry White was back to reading the details of the contest. “No, no… It’s nothing.” He finally looked up. “I’ll save it for next time. Not quite ready, anyway.”

Green wanted to make sure it was official. “So, you accept?”

White pressed the ‘record’ button on the control panel built into the table. A red light showed that the system was listening.

“March 26, Farmer Henry White. I accept project…” He found the information on the paper, “Radcliff Green-229.” He then looked up with a smirk. “I accept the crazy cabbage challenge.”

--

An hour later, Farmer Green was supervising his chili-chickens as they hoed up the rocky soil of Henry White’s southeast field, under the watchful eye of several of White’s spybot toys hovering overhead.

Farmer White himself was pressing cabbage sprouts into raised planters in his secret greenhouse deep below. He had never been a gardener – the planters had stood empty for years after several failed attempts at growing herbs for cooking, something that he was much better at (in fact, cooking was perhaps his greatest joy, and he often wondered if the only reason he was still friends with Green was the chance to get his hands on those chili-chickens from time to time).

Despite the contest stipulations, he was sure to add fertilizer and water the cabbages thoroughly – he had no intention of losing this challenge like he had lost the last three.

Before going to sleep, he gave orders to his toy-bot minions to “Get a handle on this gardening thing.” He intended for them to do some research, but they weren’t programmed to follow the spirit of his orders. They took everything very literally.

--

The next morning, Farmer White awoke to find a pile of wooden handles by his bed. His toybot minions seemed very pleased with themselves.

He decided to do the research himself.

--

6:42 AM, May 30^th – Mr. Malcom Hefthobble contacted authorities to report the sudden appearance of a perfectly planted row of cabbages in his backyard garden. A police officer dispatched to the scene confirmed the presence of six heads of cabbage neatly lined up along his fencerow. No evidence of trespassing or vandalism was found. Mr. Hefthobble denied an offer to remove the produce, saying he would “find something to do with them sooner or later.”

The day of reckoning had come. White had guarded his land very well, ensuring that none of Green’s “creations” had come to touch the experimental cabbage. It was therefore quite surprising when he went to check the southeast field to find that it was completely empty. He was sure the produce must have been eaten by rabbits or deer or something.

Farmer White made his way to the conference center in high spirits, trailed by toybots pulling wagons full of healthy-looking heads of green cabbage. He carried in his hands a tub of coleslaw he had made to celebrate his certain victory.

He was therefore very surprised to find Farmer Green in the conference room, seated in front of a mountain of cabbages far larger than his own. His jaw dropped, and he didn’t even sit down before speaking.

“What in the blazes!? Where did you get those from?”

“What, these? Oh, they just showed up here this morning.”

Henry White lowered himself skeptically into his chair. “Really…” He set the coleslaw down and pushed it away. He had lost his appetite.

Farmer Green couldn’t resist smiling. “So, I guess I win, unless you have more wagons coming.”

White waved at his toybots and they dutifully carted the cabbages away with dejected beeps and whistles. He crossed his hands in front of him. “So. Tell me how you did it.”

Green pulled a small booklet from his folder. He handed it to his old friend and spoke while White looked over the notes.

“Using a proprietary gene-splicing method I’ve developed, I mixed ordinary cabbage DNA with the genetic material of migratory birds. When they were ready to be harvested, they did the job themselves, and shuffled their leafy way back home, just as I encoded.” Green grinned with pleasure at his great success.

Farmer Henry White wasn’t a bioengineering expert, but he knew his way around a molecule; a working knowledge of chemistry was essential for his experiments in novel fuel sources for his toybot inventions. Looking over the notes, he thought he saw an issue.

“Radcliff… How can you be sure that only the migration-linked behaviors have been spliced? I mean, it doesn’t look like they’re growing feathers, but who knows what other avian features they might have inherited.”

Green had expected the question. “That was a concern from the beginning. If you’ll turn to pages four through eleven, you’ll see the results of some early prototypes. Test subject 44b was especially interesting.”

Farmer White flipped to a diagram showing a feathery head of cabbage perched atop a pile of green, veiny eggs and closed the book in disgust. “This, Radcliff, is precisely why I call your brand of engineering ‘witchcraft.’ All of these unintended consequences.”

Green smiled knowingly. They had had this conversation before. “Everything useful in human history has been the result of an unintended consequence, Henry, my old man. Did you know penicillin was an accident?”

“Not everything, Radcliff. The automobile wasn’t an accident. Space flight wasn’t an ‘unintended consequence’ of rocketry. My inventions are precisely what I made them to be.”

“And nothing more.”

Farmer White didn’t catch the insult. “And nothing more – exactly!”

Green let it go. “Well, I assume you’ll concede defeat.”

White had no choice – the evidence of victory was right before them. “I supposed I will.” He reached for the ‘record’ button.

Farmer Green stopped him. “But first, I’d like you to admit that you tried to sabotage me.”

Farmer White immediately thought his friend was talking about his breaking the rules on watering, fertilizing, etc., but he didn’t show his hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Green explained. “Six cabbages were missing. We counted very carefully.”

“Maybe they were eaten.”

Green shook his head. “No. I spliced in genes that produce anti-predatory pheromones. None of the other plants showed any signs of predation whatsoever. It’s extremely unlikely that only six heads of cabbage were completely eaten, all the way to the roots.”

White felt the weight of the possibility of being caught lift from his shoulders. “Well, I assure you I had nothing to do with it.”

Farmer Green didn’t want to let it go. “Now now, can’t we be honest with each other after all these years?”

White dug in, as well. “Trust me, Radcliff. If I was trying to cheat, I wouldn’t have settled for just six heads.” He thought for a moment. “Is it possible that they went off on their own.”

“No! Never. I programmed them perfectly.”

Henry White recalled something he had heard about birds once. “I believe it’s the case, in fact, that birds in an overpopulated community will break off an form their own colony.” He let it sink in for a moment.

“Well, I hope that’s not what happened! These are still experimental. If anyone were eat to them…”

“What?”

Green didn’t want to say it, so White said it for him. “There could be unintended consequences?”

As Farmer Green looked away, lost in thought, Farmer White pressed the ‘record’ button finally. “Challenge Radcliff Green 229 – result pending.”

--

Note to the reader:

One of the main issues with genetically modified organisms (GMOs) is the changes they can bring to the biosphere. GMO crops can out-compete non-modified (“normal”), plants resulting in a shift in the balance of organisms and reducing bio-diversity. This can affect the creatures that rely on plants (which is most of them!). The result can be a "monoculture," a vast area of a single organism, that is very susceptible to a disease or predator wiping all of the plants out. Monoculture vulnerability has historically been a problem with produce like bananas.

Another issue is socio-economic. One common GMO trait is the inability for an organism’s seeds to be re-planted. This forces farmers to buy new seeds every season, which is great for bio-tech company profits but bad for farmers. It dramatically changes the nature of agriculture, which has always involved keeping a portion of seeds to share and replant the following year.

A possibly even bigger problem involves new genes entering the world and having unpredictable results. It’s virtually impossible to predict all the ways that new genes can interact with existing genes, so it hasn’t been widely studied.

If you want to know more, <links for information // search terms>.