Pete, after spewing the last hateful molecule away, reversed his tiny fibre engines, and began to draw in. He drew in all sorts of things, as the days passed. A lot of minerals, and just enough water to float them in. Mostly, Pete's growing hunger sought out iron. Pete didn't know why he wanted iron, any more than a smoker knows why he wants another cigarette, but Pete's interest in iron was as intense as any smoker's in tobacco. Above the ground, he grew very few inches larger, merely broadening his dark, green spiral leaves a bit to catch the tiny amount of warmth he required for growth. But beneath the soil, as with any tuberous plant, his roots were spread in a rough circular spoke-like pattern that reached about ten miles in every direction. Pete Senior, had he tried to dig his plant up, would have been very much surprised to find he could not do it. But he didn't try, so his life went on as usual, with no surprises, which is the way he preferred it, so he was happy enough. It wasn't until his paper had been duly published, and botanical cronies had shaken the dust from their whiskers and toddled around to see this enviable possession, that something of the root structure was discovered. "Seems to spread underground," one remarked. "Kind of a lunatic crab-grass," another jibed. "Sure you're not pulling our leg, Merrill?" said a third. "Seems a bit stunted." "Gravity," said Pete Senior. "Not used to it yet." Then they all had coffee and cake, shook hands with Pete Senior, and went to their homes and laboratories. By this time, of course, at the farthest reaches of Pete's root network, duplicate Petes were popping up above ground, quietly and unostentatiously (Pete stood barely five inches high), and much like their parent. They, too, began sending out spoke-like root networks. Some of them, stronger than others, sent roots for a radius of a hundred miles, others for a few leagues and no more. Eventually, Pete Senior reached an age where his body cells died more rapidly than they were replaced, that is, he achieved old age, and he passed from his life, leaving a wife, three children, and an unpaid fertilizer bill. Pete himself, by now was pulsing considerably faster. In fact, incredibly faster, after his once-a-century contraction of short years before. His pulse rate was now in the neighborhood of ten per second, which is a pretty good increase. It soon reached hundreds per second. And his offspring weren't far behind him either. Since the whole planet was now as interwoven with Pete-type networks as the inside of a baseball with string, this constant vibration--which slowly began to beat in a united concentration--began to make itself felt. People started to complain about it. * * * * *