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Vaster Than Empires	By : bitterapple Category: CSI > General Views: 3479 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Author: bitterapple

Archived: ask permission before archiving

Rating: NC-17 OK, a little plot, but not that much

Pairings: M/F, M/alien, F/alien

Characters: Grissom & Sara

Beta: She knows who she is, and how much I love her

Author Notes: Hokay people, this is weirdness in the extreme, and not
exact science either. To be brief, this is far in the future;
Grissom and Sara are scientists living on an asteroid used to study
life-forms from planets that are under exploration. He is a
xenoentomologist and she is an astrophysicist. No crimes
involved.

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. I don't profit from
'em. Don't sue me.

CHAPTER ONE: THE SECRET LIFE OF PLANTS

“It’s just a
plant,
Sara,” Grissom said calmly.
Sara regarded the object
in question with disfavor. It loomed in the centre of the A44
biodome, looking to her like nothing so much as a huge jungle gym
draped with smooth tendrils, all done in a terracotta red. In fact,
though she knew it was capable of movement, it seemed more like an
abstract sculpture of ceramic than a living thing.
“Gris,
you’re a
xenoentomologist. Not a botanist.” She folded her arms,
unable to
help checking to make sure that the faint sparkle of the forceshield
was still in place around the...plant.
“Not a certified
botanist,” he corrected, smiling the serene little smile he
got
when presented with a fascinating new puzzle. “But I learned
quite
a bit at my father’s knee.”
Sara had to admit that
he
was right, even if she only did it in the privacy of her own mind. The
elder Grissom had kicked around the fringes of known space, wife
and child in tow, and she knew that Gil’s voracious mind
would have
soaked up whatever his father had to offer.
“Still. This
isn’t
your bailiwick,” she felt compelled to point out.
“Won’t the
actual, official botanists
get pissed if you start messing with that thing?”
It
wasn’t really the reason she was trying to talk him out of
it, but
she figured the argument was worth a try.

“The
official botanists don’t want to touch it,” he
countered, eyes
still fixed on the plant. “You read the reports coming back
from
A44. They are as remarkable for what they omit as for what they
state.”
He
sighed. “Centuries of progress, and we’re still
hindered by
ridiculous social taboos.”

“They’re
there for a reason,” Sara noted. Most of the plant life from
A44
came in the redder shades, but this one still seemed to stand out to
her. As though it were trying to be obvious.

“Of
course they are, but they have no place in science.” Grissom
cocked his head and shot her a wry glance. “None of them
would
come straight out and admit that they liked it.”
Sara
snorted. “I can’t blame them. It had to be
embarrassing.”
He
nodded in concession, but continued. “It’s also
interesting to
note who participated in repeated experiments, and who refrained from
them.”

“Oh,
come on, Gris, now that’s just wrong,” Sara
protested.
He
turned one hand up. “I suppose you’re right,
I’m not a
psychologist either.”

“My
advice is to leave the thing alone,” she said shortly.
“We don’t
know enough about it.”
She
turned on her heel and left the biodome, doing her best to ignore his
murmur behind her, and having little success.

“Then
we should learn.”

She
couldn’t sleep that night. Insomnia wasn’t that
infrequent an
occurrence, but normally she simply had an overabundance of energy.
Tonight...
Sara
slipped out of bed, leaving Grissom behind; he was used to her
comings and goings, and didn’t stir, even when she leaned
over him
to savor the soft sound of his breath. Pulling on a shirt, she
padded out of the bedroom to the terminal in the main room, and sat
down in front of it.
Only
the screen’s glow lit the room as she called up the data on
the A44
flora. A44, apparently designated something unpronounceable by its
inhabitants, was an undeveloped world; the dominant species was
intelligent but only at an aboriginal stage, so exploration was
limited, but teams were gathering information nonetheless.
The
flora and fauna of A44 generally displayed extreme adaptability, but
other than that, little had been found as yet that was truly
remarkable...except for the Plant.
Sara
wondered irritably when she had started capitalising the damn thing
in her mind. It had several designations, one a string of characters
that categorised it as belonging to such and such a world, continent,
genus, etc.; one the “local” name, which was also
unpronounceable
to human vocal chords; and one an unofficial nickname that the
explorer team had given it.
The
Venus plant. It sounded perfectly innocuous, Sara thought grimly,
until one started considering the etymology and history of it. But
then, I’m a physicist. Words aren’t my bailiwick
either.
Nor
was botany, but when Grissom got an idea in his head, it took a lot
to pull him off-course, and if she wanted to talk him out of this she
needed all the information she could get.
He
was right, too. The xenobotanists’ reports were masterpieces
of
doubletalk and euphemism, resorting to bare statements when that
wouldn’t suffice--vague statements. Sara scowled at the
screen,
then on impulse looked up the anthropologists’ reports.
Paydirt.

After
a fashion. The anthropologists had no direct encounters with the
Venus plant, but they had collected information about it from the
locals. Quite a bit of information.
Village
17-Q90 has a complex ritual surrounding the Venus plant,
one
report stated. When fruiting
season arrives, three adult members
of the village are chosen, apparently by lot, one of each gender. They
are secluded in three small buildings near the shrine; we have
yet to discover what determines the length of the seclusion period,
but it appears to be no more than five planetary days. Then, at the
sun’s apogee, all the capable adult members of the village
accompany them into the forest, to the site of a Venus plant.

Here also we are not
yet certain how a particular tree is selected, but it may have
something to do with the pheromones produced by the plant. The three
chosen remove their clothing, and walk into the embrace of the plant.
Here
Sara stopped for a moment, unnerved. They
just walk up to the
thing and let it grab them? She
shivered. Those pheromones
must be strong stuff.
She
returned to the report. The
Venus plant immediately restrains
them with its thicker tendrils, lifting them off their feet and some
eight or ten metres into the air. It then produces specialised
tendrils and proceeds to mate with them in the manner of their own
species.
The
chosen seem to be
aroused by the proceedings, as do the watching villagers. When the
plant is finished, it sets the three back on their feet and slowly
curls in on itself. The chosen, who seem drained by the experience,
are clothed by some of the villagers and taken back home. They are
kept in seclusion for two more planetary days, and then return to
their normal routines.
The
report said nothing more about the Venus plant, but when Sara
compared it against the xenobotanists’ reports, she was
surprised
to find that the plant in question fruited and died within hours of
the ritual--withering away to dry stalks but leaving several
watermelon-sized seeds behind. One report noted that several of the
indigenous people came back a few days later and took the seeds away,
but didn’t state what was done with them.
Sara
scowled harder, and made a mental note to point out the discrepancies
to the A44 administrator. These
teams aren’t properly
coordinated.
But
her displeasure at sloppy work melted away into worry, and an odd
fascination that she didn’t want to admit. The data that the
botanists were leaving out was much clearer now. A
Venus plant
must have gotten hold of some of them at some point. But how did
it...
Well,
the plant life was as adaptable as the animal life there. And
the locals are lung-breathers, even if they’re not
carbon-based. Pheromones...maybe the thing figured out how to adapt
itself for
humans.
It
wasn’t a very comfortable thought.
She
read further. One botanist exploring far from indigenous habitations
had reported similar behavior in the Venus plants with some animals,
though the plants were smaller; apparently the plant could exude a
range of chemicals. It must
need something from, well,
sex--something that makes it fruit.
But
what?
Sara
knew her chemistry. The animals that the botanist had reported the
plant luring in were relatively closely related to the aborigines of
A44, as humans were more closely related to foxes than to lizards. It
could be that they’re producing the same chemical, or similar
ones, and the plant uses that as a trigger to fruit.
But
it wasn’t her field, nor was she on the ground to explore the
hypothesis; she was on a biodome asteroid with her husband, studying
astrophysics as he was studying bugs.

Except
that her husband, her beloved, stubborn mate, was fascinated by the
thing.
I
wonder if I could expose the commander’s snotty little
chihuahua to
it. Would serve the monster right.
But the idea, as amusing as
it was, was both unethical and impractical; the dog was spayed.
A
yawn surprised her. Sara shut off the screen and pushed away from
it, and went back to bed. As she pulled the sheet up over her
shoulder, Grissom rolled over and wrapped a sleep-warm arm around her
waist. “You okay?” he mumbled into the nape of her
neck, still
three-quarters unconscious.
The
familiar scrape of his whiskers was tremendously reassuring.
“Fine,”
she answered, and let his embrace lull her to sleep.
She
dreamed of terracotta-red fingers stroking her gently all over, and
his voice in the background, reciting poetry. It wasn’t
disturbing, though she thought it should be.
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Vaster Than Empires