"Tsu, Smarin, Torl ... even the village itself ... were all imaginary—not something we thought we saw, but solidified mental projections of the thoughts the natives had gleaned from our minds."
"I'm just beginning to see the real value of your talents, Cliff."
"Thanks," Rowley acknowledged briefly. "If we have the right to exclude inferior cultures from contact with us, a superior culture must certainly have an equal right to exclude us from contact with theirs."
Spliid wagged his head, half smiling. His pipe had gone out and he puffed at it without effect.
"I've been waiting for you to tell me who these 'directors' are," he said.
Rowley grinned. "You won't believe this. The directors needed something to keep their play actors busy ... some logical occupation of their time. What could they find more logical—to them—than taking care of trees? Because the directors themselves are the trees—the living, intelligent forest of Hume. Fantastic, isn't it?"
Spliid sighed as if deeply gratified.
"If it weren't for one thing even more so, I'd say it was the most fantastic thing I ever heard of."
"What's more fantastic than intelligent trees?"
"Human beings," said Spliid.