…and the Earth

       “…But where did I come from? Where did the seed come, from which I grew?” Rose fluttered her leaves and gazed restlessly over the small, sloping horizon of the asteroid, gilded by the setting sun. The mysterious vision of the flower-covered bower had not left her since morning when she had touched tender leaves of a baobab sprout. She couldn’t even be frightened properly by the fate of the asteroid. “I’m sorry, I don’t know.” The Little Prince clipped the last leaves from the baobab and dropped his hands in resignation. But the Fox peeked from behind him and blew a raspberry at the Rose: “From where the other roses grow, of course! Clearly not from a comet of baobabs!” The Rose snorted and wrinkled her nose out of a habit, as she did at almost any words from that insolent useless furball. “It’s a good thing that you can see the difference between me and a weed!” “Come on, you two,” the Prince intervened, as usual. “And I think there should be tigers on your home planet. Remember, I told you how you… or rather, the first rose bragged about her thorns, saying that she was not afraid of tigers. So, you must have an inherent memory of tigers.” The Rose stuck out the thorns and examined them, agreeing that such weapon would fend off any tiger. The Fox could not resist reminding her that tigers did not pose any danger to her because they did not eat grass. “Thorns, tigers… I like your homeland less and less every minute,” the Fox said disgustedly, shaking his paw as if he had stepped on that unwholesome planet. “And I also suspect there are no winds, since you’re so afraid of drafts.” “Fox!” the Little Prince said again but froze immediately without adding his usual please get along better. “I know,” he said suddenly after a few moments of silence. “This is Earth! There are hundreds of thousands of roses, and definitely some tigers, and fenced-off areas with no wind. Gardens with walls, for example.” “And, fortunately, tigers are quite rare,” the Fox grumbled again, but his cocked tail and ears showed that the idea inspired him too. “I remember how difficult it was to get through rose bushes to a chicken coop. Or was it a blackthorn? Oh, I’m getting nostalgic… Although, no, out of all the flora and fauna on Earth, I only miss the chickens. I don’t even want to think about the others.” “Great!” The Rose clapped her hand-leaves. “Then, you’ll have to tell me all about Earth, okay? I want to experience it in all its colors, like it was real. Dear little Fox, you were born on Earth just like me. But at least you can remember it, so it must be easy for, right?” “Easy as falling off a log!” The Fox immediately fluffed out its tail, put up on airs, and went in circles around with the dignified air of a scholar of all sciences. “So, Earth. First of all, it is incredibly vast. You can’t even move a chair to watch the sunset twice. You will have to wait for twenty-four hours for the next one. And the sky is blue during the day, if there are no clouds. If there are clouds, then it’s gray, and sometimes it rains or snows. Snow, by the way, is also water, just white, and looks like powder. There is absolutely everything on Earth, including roses, chickens, houses, gardens, and…” He suddenly frowned and shook his head. “Now that’s odd. I remember single images, sounds, smells… But my entire life on Earth in sequence? No. And nothing from the moment the Little Prince left until arriving here. Blank. Little Prince, do you remember? Did you come back for me, or did I set out after you? And how did we reach B612?” “Well, I remember meeting you, of course!” The Prince began counting on his fingers. “There was a garden with trees. Apple trees, I think. And paths. We played hide-and-seek in the woods. Or wait—no, not woods, but in that tall grass—what was it called?” “Wee… no, I don’t remember,” Fox shook his muzzle. “I don’t eat grass, its names mean nothing to me.” “Strange. You definitely told me its name… Weed? Weet? And where did I meet the Aviator? Yes, it was on Earth, but surely not where I met you. Some other place where no one else was, I think…” The Little Prince rubbed his temples but could recall nothing more. One might consult the notebook for clues, but ever since the Snake had been confined to one of its pages, the Prince avoided opening it unless absolutely necessary. “Sorry, my Rose, I can’t help you.” She stretched her leaves towards him, as if to stroke and comfort him. “Yes, it’s a pity I don’t know any more about the first Rose’s life than what you’ve told me—otherwise I might remember how you got back… Oh well.” She shook her petals. “Then there’s only one thing left.” The others stared at her. “Take me to Earth!” she announced and, having savoured the moment of attention, now relished in their stunned expressions. “You’re technically an immobile asset,” the Fox was the first to recover. “The first Rose kicked the bucket—er, wilted—precisely because the Snake took her for a ride!” “Fox, why are you upsetting her?” The Prince tugged his tail gently in reproach. “But he’s right, my Rose. I can’t possibly—” “You can!” Rose cut in. She was practically glowing with some inexplicable joy. “Last time, the first me probably was caught at unawares. And I’ll gather my roots properly and slowly by evening, and you’ll find a nice, sturdy pot and transplant me with care. Then you take me on the plane. I want to travel with you, see other planets too. You do remember the way to Earth, I hope?” “Yes!” The Little Prince beamed. “First past asteroids 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, then straight on after 330. Oh, I’d be delighted to show you all the wonderful worlds Fox and I have seen along the way!” “And I’d be delighted to spend half my days watering and indulging this shrub’s whims…” The Fox muttered. Both the Prince and the Rose hissed at him. “Alright, I agree—take her to Earth! Maybe then she’ll move back in with her parents… Oh fine, can’t I crack a joke? But why stop there? Shall we ask the baobabs to uproot themselves and join us too? They’ll overrun the asteroid while you’re out walking your thorn-bush. And I can’t possibly keep them in check—” he added hastily, terrified that his friend might leave him behind to keep the asteroid all tidy. “First, I’ve got paws, which are no good for pruning baobabs. Second, I’d like to see the homeland too. What if the hunters have disappeared and the chickens remain?” Naturally, the baobabs wouldn’t come out or speak to anyone, not even to the Prince. The Fox and the Rose were temporarily reconciled by their common problem: how could they leave B612 unattended? But the Prince just laughed, scratched his friend behind the ear, and promised to take care of everything. And so he went to the extinct volcano (also a pantry) to get a small shovel and a flowerpot, and also an extremely dangerous item intended to hold the baobabs in check while the dwellers were away. No, the sheep themselves were not dangerous, apart from knocking over a coffee pot or trampling down the grass. But they still had to be taken out into reality, and when an immortal, vengeful and cunning snake lurked on one of the notebook pages it might be… The prince held half of the notebook very tight as he blew the lambs off the last few pages. Yet almost immediately a familiar, toothache-inducing, ingratiating whisper echoed in his head. Oh, you’re using the notebook? Has something bad happened? If there is anything I can do to help, just ask. I can… After counting three sheep, the Little Prince closed the notebook and tied it with a bowstring for safety. Or I can give you a piece of advice. I’m older than the universe, I know everything… The whispering stopped when the Prince wrapped his notebook in a handkerchief. Then he took a deep breath. It’s all right. The sheep would nibble on baobab shoots for now, and the Prince and his friend and darling would make a nostalgic trip back to Earth, where new, exciting and, above all, safe adventures await them. *** The plane’s propeller blurred into a gleaming circle, the cosy little asteroid whizzed beneath the wheels and grew smaller below, whilst the Fox settled into his usual perch upon the wing. The Prince sat beside him once more, and the Rose in her pot was in the pilot’s seat. She’d insisted her glass cover be removed, and now the space wind played through her petals, whilst stars glittered in her wide, enraptured green eyes. The Prince admired her, yet still glanced dutifully at the numbers and plaques adorning the doors of the asteroids passing by. There was B325, its lavish gold-plated plaque crowned with scrollwork. Then B326, much the same, though the flourishes were clearly added later—and by no artist’s hand. B327 sported a rusted, lopsided sign with a bottle etched into it. A swarm of digits nearly obscured B328. B329 proved so tiny it lacked even a door—just a lone lamppost from which its tin numberplate dangled. The lamp itself had gone out. The Prince fancied he’d been here before, met someone… but who? The rock was scarcely large enough even for one person. We’ll arrive soon, the Prince thought spotting the last of this minor planetary cluster ahead. Not so minor, though; this bare stone sphere loomed larger than B612. Squinting, he confirmed the number: B330, adorned with lopsided patterns resembling a cartographer’s rendering of oceans and continents. Then a typewriter sailed past. The Prince nearly reached to catch it to return it to inhabitants of the last asteroid, but then other glinting specks swelled into view: a halved sofa, a bicycle wheel, a cascade of crockery, a one-eared stuffed toy rabbit, an old tree stump, a fence panel, a water propeller of some colossal vessel… “Doesn’t this strike you,” the Fox spoke up, eyeing the debris with suspicion, “as rather like the outskirts of that planet—Snake’s, may his name be cursed? It was also full of all manner of phantom clutter drifting about.” He got himself in the path of a soaring saucepan, but the decidedly non-illusory item gave him a solid thump in the ribs, nearly knocking him clean off the wing. The Prince barely managed to grab him by the scruff. “It’s real!” the Fox yelped, scrambling into the pilot’s seat beside the Rose. Slowing the propeller to a crawl, the Prince let the plane glide on inertia at a tortoise’s pace, batting debris aside by hand—thank goodness zero gravity made it effortless. The Rose squeaked every time something hard or pointy drifted too close, despite the Prince having clapped her cover back on. Finally, she piped up: “How much farther is it to Earth? And when does this dump end?” “Dunno,” the Prince admitted, peering between the floating junk. “This wasn’t here before… I think. We ought to be close. After B330, there’s a long empty stretch, but Earth is big, you can spot it from miles off.” Soon, however, the litter gave way to ever-larger rocks, and after a hefty whack to the plane undercarriage, Fox’s nerves got frayed. He began earnestly—and rather pathetically—imploring they turn back. The Prince hesitated: he’d promised Rose her homeland, but her safety came first. So he swung the plane round. After several heart-in-mouth moments, they emerged into relatively clear space. The Fox suggested skirting the debris cloud’s edge, but the Prince had a better idea. That plaque on the nearest asteroid had showed maps, hadn’t it? Perhaps the locals knew their geography and could give the directions. *** The plane touched down on the pockmarked, crater-riddled surface. “Ah,” the Fox remarked drily, “so when your Rose is aboard, you land like a feather, but when it’s just me, we crash like a sack of potatoes.” The Prince just laughed. “Oh, you ginger grouch!” The Fox sighed. Now his friend had the Rose in her pot to fuss over, ear scritches were off the table. One last joy remained: darting ahead to be the first to set paw on a new land. Off he trotted toward the scent of dust and old paper. Alas, the door handle was too high and too tricky for paws. The Prince, ever indulgent, let him enter first. Beyond lay a manicured green lawn dotted with toy-like mountains and ponds—and not a soul in sight. Fox sniffed the air and followed the musty trail to the planet’s shady side, where a vast desk groaned under maps and books. A man in spectacles, a crumpled hat, and an old-fashioned cloak scribbled in a colossal tome, too absorbed to notice the guests until the Fox sneezed (the paper reek was overwhelming). “Ah! Greetings, travellers!” The man doffed his hat cheerfully. “I do hope you’ve been to some interesting places. You see, I’m the Geographer. I record data on all worlds in the Universe, and you seem honest, trustworthy folk… and dogs.” “I’m a fox!” the Fox bristled. “My apologies. I’m not a Biologist.” “Hello!” The Prince stepped forward. “I’m the Little Prince, and this is Rose. It’s awfully splendid you write books about planets! We’ve stacks of tales to share—but first, might you tell us if we’re on the right track to Earth? And what’s that rubbish cloud near your asteroid?” “Earth?” The Geographer adjusted his spectacles and reached for a monstrously thick reference book under the desk. “Ah yes, it used to have rather a good reputation… Let me just check.” “Used to?” the Rose quivered, her leaves shaking. “Has it gone downhill, then?” “One moment, young lady—” The Geographer flipped rapidly through the book, his finger finally landing on a rather lengthy paragraph. “E-a-r… Hmm… No. Nothing of the kind in the index. As for the coordinates you mentioned—further sunward from my asteroid, between the orbits of Mars and Venus—you’ll find the solar system’s second asteroid-and-debris ring. Chronologically second, and the first if you’re counting from the Sun outwards.” “What? How? That’s dreadful!” All three erupted in chaotic protest, but the Geographer merely shrugged. “I am afraid I have no further details. No one ever comes from there to report. To think of it, where did I even hear of this 'Earth' from?…” “What?! It’s a jolly big planet, the size of Mars or Venus!” the Fox stood on his hind legs, front paws on the desk to glare into the scholar’s eyes. “Clean your spectacles and check that dusty tome again!” The Geographer side-eyed the impertinence but dutifully reopened the encyclopedia. “If you’re interested in planets of that scale, I may recommend Alpha Centauri B b or Gliese 581 e—” “Do they have roses?” the Rose piped up. “My apologies, young lady—roses are ephemera. I don’t catalogue them.” He said it gently, but the Rose still huffed and pulled a face. “Hmph. You’re just left out of some silly book,” the Fox muttered, though half-heartedly—he was still dazed. His gaze lingered on the sky where they’d failed to get earlier. “My whole blimming home planet’s vanished, and no one knows why…” “Maybe it’s my homeland too!” the Rose bristled, turning to the Prince for moral support. But he stood silent, brow furrowed, staring into space. After a beat, he thanked the Geographer with mechanical politeness and strode off, holding Rose’s pot tight. The Fox, sensing gravity in the moment, trotted after, unusually quiet himself. Once more, a door appeared from nowhere, spilling them onto the asteroid’s barren surface. At the plane, the Prince set the Rose down under the Fox’s watch and walked a slow circle around the machine, fingertips brushing its flanks. The familiar orange wings, the fuselage, the propeller—smooth, warm, faintly luminous against the starscape. It didn’t smell of metal or oil, but of adventure and strange, beautiful worlds. And once—that very first time—the plane had spoken to him in the Aviator’s voice. A voice that only seemed grown-up. A voice that had cheered him, given him hope. A voice he needed now. Aviator, please answer me!The Prince focused on memories of Earth’s distant lands, the broken plane. Aviator, are you alive? Are you safe? Did you get home? I can’t remember how we parted, and it’s so sad. It’s awful to forget a friend. Please—say something! But the machine kept silent. The Prince froze for a second, then suddenly sprang onto the wing and began rummaging through the instrument panel. “Oi, what are you up to?” the Fox asked, baffled. “There’s got to be a radio in here somewhere! Planes have radios,” declared the Prince, though without total conviction. He’d always flown the machine by his imagination, and the cockpit dials were mostly for show. “Twice before, I’ve heard the Aviator on the radio. Well, not in the plane, but from a standalone device, a box with an antenna.” “When? When? Without me, was it?” the Fox pricked up his ears. “Well, with you, sort of. But in a dream,” sighed the Prince. “First time was when we were stuck in the volcano back home, remember? Right at the start of our galactic wanderings. In a dream, the Aviator told me from a radio how to use the notebook. And the second time—” His face darkened. “When I sank into despair on Snake’s planet. But I have no idea where to find a proper radio in the waking world.” “I know! I know!” Fox’s tail bristled with excitement. “You were asleep, but I was wide awake. Scared stiff that you wouldn’t wake up, and in desperation, I tried fiddling with your notebook. It opened right to a page with a drawing of that box of yours. Couldn’t get the radio out, though—just heard crackling and static. No voices.” “Really?!” The Prince beamed, sliding off the wing to scoop the Fox into a jubilant hug, lifting him clear off the ground. The Rose pouted for a moment, then sighed. No use to envy the furball; she was too prickly and fragile for such boisterous affection. By the time the Prince set the Fox down, he was already carefully unfolding the notebook. He tried his best to clamp the back pages firmly as he flipped through, but at the very edge of hearing, Snake’s voice slithered out: “Oho, two visits in one day? Something truly dire, then? Do call if you need assistance. I solve all riddles…” The Prince pretended not to hear and sped up his page-turning. So many sketches… At last, he found it—the box with an antenna, tuning dials, and cloth-covered speaker. A breath, a flutter of ghostly white pages—and there, beside the plane’s wheel, a radio receiver materialised. Just like in the dream, save for one difference: instead of snatches of melody or chatter in unknown languages, the speaker emitted only static. “Come on, work! Please!” the Prince muttered, twisting every dial in turn. Rose and Fox held their breath, not wanting to distract him. Then—Fox definitely jumped—amid the crackles and hisses, another sound broke through. “Do not grieve, Little Prince,” came the calm, steady voice, fighting its way through the noise before vanishing again. “It is good to have a friend… even if one must die… I will not abandon you…” Then, only static remained. All three listened, barely breathing, for what felt like an eternity. The Rose gave up first. “Right, that’s enough! Let’s just say Earth is my homeland, but it’s far away, and everything’s fine there—we simply haven’t found it yet. I wanted to see it, but if the search might drag on or end badly… It’s just another one of my whims. I’ll forget about it by tomorrow. Better we go home to B612. How are the sheep coping, I wonder?” She prattled on because the Prince stood silent and still. “I promised to find your homeland,” he said at last. A wave of his hand, and the radio dissolved into the air. “And there’s still one way left to learn where it is.” The Fox blinked, then suddenly leapt up, fur bristling, and began darting in frantic circles. “Little Prince, no! Absolutely not! Rotten idea! No need to ask him—it’s obvious he’s to blame! He’s always to blame! You can safely pin any mess on him and never be wrong.” “Marvellously put, you walking fur collar!” The Rose chimed in support. “No, that’s not fair,” the Prince insisted stubbornly. “You can’t accuse anyone without proof. Not even a villain.” “Fine, you can’t,” Fox huffed, coming to a weary halt. “But why ask him? He’ll lie either way!” “He often tells the truth if it suits him or amuses him,” countered the Prince. “If he really had a hand in Earth’s fate, he’ll boast about it. And I’ll be very careful—I shan’t let him out. My Rose, I’ll need your glass cover to block the slightest draft.” “Oh, very well, take it,” the Rose sighed. “You’re right—we can’t be unjust just because our foe is foul. But I will be the one turning the pages. My tendrils are thinner than your hands—less chance of a wind gust sneaking under the glass.” And so it was decided. The notebook was placed under the cover in a deep crater well away from the plane, the three friends gathered round, and the Fox—fur standing on end—bared his teeth in advance. With great focus, the Rose slid a bare, lithe green tendril beneath the glass, flipped the heavy leather cover open. White pages fluttered, and what might have been a wisp of coal dust rose from one spread. When it dissipated, there on the page lay the Snake, coiled in inky loops. A yellow eye opened, blinked. “Oh, it’s about time,” he smiled (though he always smiled—it was rather his default expression). “Any troubles? Problems? Questions? You could’ve saved your time and come straight to me. Such distrust of old friends! Ah, Rose, my regards… and the fluffy one too! The whole family together, how touching.” “You’ve no friends, you overgrown worm!” the Fox snapped. “Here or anywhere!” The Prince gave Fox’s head a light pat—a signal to calm down—and refused to rise to the bait himself. He cut straight to it: “What happened to planet Earth?” “O-ho,” Snake smirked, slithering along the page’s edge. “What, you ask? I paid it a visit.” “I knew it!” The Fox hissed—rather impressively, for a fox—but the Prince pressed a hand to his head again. “How? Earth is enormous. You can’t destroy it through carelessness of a single person, like our little asteroids.” “True,” Snake conceded, narrowing his eyes. “Which is why I worked with hundreds of humans—for years, centuries even. And with your help, I finished the job.” “Oh, pull the other one!” The Fox was on his paws, nose nearly touching the glass. “My friend would never help you!” “Agreed,” the Prince nodded. “Not very plausible.” “Tsk! Oh, but he did!” Snake’s forked tongue flickered mockingly against the paper. “During our galactic jaunts, I often offered to send you home so I could finish destroying planets unimpeded. Only once did you agree, when we met on Earth.” “I don’t recall such a thing,” the Prince muttered, though not entirely convinced. “Of course you don’t,” Snake nodded, his coils shifting lazily across the page. “My bite… edits memories. Ah, and your chatty fur accessory got a dose too.” “Why on earth should we believe you?” The Fox flattened his ears. “Got any better theories for how you hopped from Earth to B612?” “Even if it is true,” the Prince cut in, “there’s a snag. I didn’t know you then—didn’t know what you were and didn’t get in your way… did I? How could my leaving help you?” “Fair point,” Snake conceded, spiraling tighter. “But accidents happen. You? I’d marked you for B612’s ruin. My bite should’ve left you in the slumber of despair, and your asteroid would’ve withered with neglect. I’m still baffled how you rallied.” His ink-dark tongue flicked. “Had I known your… resilience, I’d have sent you somewhere nastier. Then Earth’s unravelling hit a snag: the Aviator wasn’t meant to crash. His job was ferrying blueprints for an extremely powerful weapon so that both warring factions would’ve had it. A balance of terror to be tipped.” “The Aviator would never aid in creation of weapons!” The Prince’s fist struck the ground. The Rose tugged his sleeve before he could topple the glass cover. “Who asked him?” Snake’s voice dripped scorn. “A tool needn’t know its purpose. I chose him for his skill and luck. The documents would’ve reached their destination, but his engine failed. So annoying. Had he died in the desert, Earth’s doom might’ve waited a century. So I… adjusted his crash so that you’d spot his plane en route to me. No surprises after—you saved him, led him to the well, gave him heart. He made the delivery. Years later, during yet another world war, the losing side didn’t hesitate to use the weapon. Farewell dear Earth. Thanks ever so.” He paused. “You honest little things are pawns. I arrange you so your good leads to slaughter. Yes, some corrupted ones are needed too—scientists to build horrors, thieves to steal them, traitors to smuggle them, all convinced they choose. Good, evil? Just brushes for the artist who sees the canvas whole.” “Enough.” The Prince stood up. “Rose, close the notebook. We’ve heard all we need.” “With pleasure!” Her tendril darted toward the notebook. “You’re mistaken!” Snake’s voice sharpened beneath the closing cover. “Before Earth—before a thousand worlds—I visited Rose’s home planet. Imagine the aftermath.” “What?!” The Rose froze. “I’m not from Earth? Where’s my home then? Answer, you vile—!” The Prince lifted the notebook but hesitated to reopen it. “So. Where is this… Planet of the Roses?” “Oh, not so fast,” Snake’s voice slithered, thick with mockery. “Let me out, and I’ll show you the way.” “Got it,” said the Prince, fishing a length of a rope and a handkerchief from his pocket. “Not a chance. But cheers for the offer—we’ll cope by ourselves.” Under layers of fabric, the indignant hissing faded to silence. “Do you think he’d really not tell me where my home is?” the Rose mused, folding her leaves as she scanned the star-speckled blackness, as if the planet might wink back. “And how’d we force him?” the Fox cut in before the Prince could reply. He was still too edgy to smooth his fur properly. The Prince handed the Rose back her cover… and walked away—from his friends, from the asteroid’s door. The Fox made to follow, but the Prince caught and nudged him toward the Rose. “Stay with her, please,” he whispered. “I need a moment alone.” And he vanished behind the plane. The Fox and the Rose exchanged glances, peered after him, exchanged glances again. “Go after him,” the Rose said abruptly, surprisingly mild. “You’re letting me?” the Fox blinked, then remembered to scowl. “I can’t walk, you walking fur muff!” No retort came—the Fox was already trotting after the Prince, legs bent slightly in exaggerated stealth. The Prince sat behind the plane’s tail, knees hugged to his chest. “Fox, I asked you—” he began wearily, spotting the ginger blur. “Ignore me,” the Fox prattled. “Pretend you’re alone, and this is your wise inner voice talking. And this voice says: Good is not useless, not when the nastiest evil in the galaxy is trapped under a hankie. Dozens of planets we’ve saved are still spinning out there. Maybe not all, but more than none. Ignore that vermin. Remember—his victims were usually alone when his poison got to them.” “I know, my friend,” the Prince managed a smile, though not a merry one. “I don’t believe his crap about good and evil. Just… it’s sad, that’s all.” “Sure,” the Fox settled beside him, and somehow—out of habit maybe—the Prince’s hand found the scruff between his ears. “Never planned to go back to Earth,” the Fox mused after a pause. “But knowing I could made it feel close, even half a galaxy away. And if—” “If you know you’ll never see a friend again,” the Prince murmured, “that they’re gone, then—” “Then you hold the memory tighter,” the Fox nudged his ribs. “But memories are fragile.” The Prince lifted his hand, stared at his palm, flexed it. Empty. Until a ginger muzzle plopped onto it. “Friends don’t live just in memories,” the Fox winked. “Time together leaves marks. We grow into each other— with our habits, beliefs, the way you are. You can’t scrub that out. You have scraps of the Aviator left—his notebook, the plane. But you have his lessons too: never lose hope, go all the way. So he’s not really gone. If I’d stayed on Earth, I’d still be with you—in how you see with your heart, understand without words. Now if only I could teach you to joke in a crisis…” The Prince laughed, scooped his “tutor” into a hug, and buried his face in the orange fur. “Thank you, Fox. Now let’s go back. I can’t leave my Rose waiting.” “Too right,” the Fox pretended to grumble. “Best hurry before she creeps back to bully that poor Geographer for ‘plant discrimination’.”