So here’s the kicker, anyway… I moved it!
Yes, I moved the entire plantation. I did a two-day sweep first to check their security rota, and it turned out I had a ten-hour window each day in which to act. So I set up a waterdrone factory and programmed it to produce enough devices to do the job in the time required. The cameras were sabotaged first of course, and then every whoofweed plant was carefully uprooted by a single waterdrone, and all 3.4 million of them are now migrating, en masse, to a new home. It will take a while to get there, as it’s quite a distance and waterdrones are not very fast with delicate loads, but… well, you get the picture. The whole damn thing has gone a bit Huorn on them (or Birnam Wood, if you prefer The Bard to Tolkien), and I’m beyond tickled. Of course, I diverted a few plants to another location, where I can pick them up once the heat is off and enjoy a personal supply of whoof for a year or two. I’m looking forward to chilling out.
Am I crazy? Actually, no. The only reason I dared go ahead with this stunt was that I discovered who was running the plantation. It wasn’t the dread Pintoffnya Clan after all, but someone I happen to know from my youth. I’m not going to go into details, but let’s just say I owe him a taste of his own medicine, and this is a sweet way to deliver it. Perhaps one day I’ll tell you the story.
Anyway, I’ve monitored the comms for the last couple of weeks, and there’s been a hell of a lot of interesting chatter – some of it extremely amusing! My old enemy was spitting mad at first, and tried to blame his mercenaries, who immediately told him where to stick it and left. That was stupid of him. But the next day he got a visit from the feds! I caught the encrypted broadcast containing the interview, and it was interesting. I could hear the relief in his voice clearly as he invited them politely to check the tip-off they’d received, knowing by now that they’d find nothing. Must have been bittersweet. He escaped a pretty bad rap, but he doesn’t know who helped him out. With any luck he’ll think it’s the Pintoffnyai, in which case he won’t dare interfere: believe me, I know. This guy’s a coward.
That leaves me with a few million whoofweed plants on the move under the Atlantic, and I’ve honestly no idea what to do with them all once they arrive in New York. All sensible suggestions gratefully received.
