The news that the plant restarted all the machines spread through the town at lightning speed. Most people didn't believe it, pointing out that it was more likely that somebody with a peculiar sense of humor decided to pull a prank. Others ventured less benign explanations, covering the entire range from alien conspiracies (apparently Jack was not alone in his search for extraterrestrial involvement) to the impending apocalypse.

Regardless of the explanation, all the town's folks were nervous, in equal parts due to the unexplained nature of the occurrence and its potential impact on the future of the factory.

Nobody managed to figure out how the vine got into the steam pipes, and even less on how it changed itself to survive in such a hostile environment, but the botanists finally managed to figure out what kind of plant it was. It seemed to be a distant relative of the Carolina Jessamine vine, poor man's rope, as they called it, at least that's what it started out as, before it mutated twice and shed its biological shell to evolve into a partly inorganic hybrid.

Despite all the hype around external intervention, alien, divine or otherwise, the scientific basis of what had happened to facilitate the evolution the plant into what it was now was quite self-explanatory, which made the cascading sequence of consequences even more difficult to accept, because, in people's minds, nothing this straightforward should have been allowed to radically change life as they knew it. The scientists' theory about alternate electron transfer between one side of the pipe and the other, transfer that put the pipe itself in a perpetual state of flux, became a very popular subject of conversation around the dinner table, and even young children became adept at reproducing it adequately, even if not understanding it completely. After a while, the concept of a plant that self-welds to metal stopped raising eyebrows in the community, even in its most skeptical of members.

The only entity not in the least affected by the commotion was the plant itself, which minded its chlorophyll driven life quietly, happy to thrive in its new environment. The production output went up another ten percent during the following month, but everybody was too spooked by the strange bio-mechanical monster to notice.

Overall nothing had changed, other than the impressive increase in the factory's output, nothing, that is, if one could bring oneself to ignore the giant presence in the middle of the floor, whose coppery-green mass of leaves, sprouts and curlicues filled up every nook and cranny between the pieces of machinery. Nobody could.

“I can't deal with this!” Tom blurted at the dinner table, frustrated, while Carol tried to maintain a pleasant family atmosphere, for the benefit of everyone's digestion.

“I'm sure it's not that bad, honey! What can it possibly do to annoy you, it's just a plant,” she tried to appease him.

“It's not just a plant! It's evil spawn, I tell you, the malevolent sprout from … you know where!” he said, remembering Carol's ban on mentioning evil inside the house. “Nothing alive should be able to thrive at three hundred degrees!” Tom fumed, even more irate. “Look at this! Look! Look! Have you seen this?!” he pointed to a burn on the back of his arm, burn that unfortunately didn't require an explanation. “I shouldn't be able to burn myself with foliage! Inside!” he ranted.

“Have you guys tried training it on a string?” Carol asked in an attempt to be helpful, unaware of the fact that the entire concept of interacting with plant life in the context of factory production was simply unthinkable to a technically minded person.

“No, Carol! We haven't tried training it on a string! Should I be mindful of any other gardening practices? Do we need to fertilize it on occasion? Prune it, to keep it healthy? Oh, wait! We can't prune it! And you know why? Because it's made of metal and sprouted by the unholy one himself to bring misery to our lives!” he ranted, exasperated.

“No need to take out your frustrations on me, I have my hands full around here too!” Carol protested, smiling reassuringly to the children. The girls rolled their eyes and returned to their side conversation, and Richard pretended not to pay attention, so he could get as much out of the discussion as he was able.

“I'm sorry, dear! We're all at wit's end. Yesterday we had clear out a whole section of storage before the menace found its way inside and wrecked the lot of it. It's like the cursed think has a mind of its own, I swear to you! After we were done clearing the space, the vine looped around itself and steered clear of the area altogether, and now we have to waste another day and move everything back,” he complained.

“Well, at least the output is not affected. Or the capacity,” Carol kept looking for the silver lining.

“It's not our capacity, it's its capacity! Only God knows what it will do next! How can you be so calm?!” he snapped at his wife again.

“What can I do? I offered you a perfectly good suggestion and you dismissed it!” Carol commented, resentful.

“What!? Build teepees?” he asked her.

“Keep it out of the way. I thought it was a good idea, but then again, I'm not the one with the burn on my arm,” Carol sulked, offended. She frowned at Tom, to express disapproval at his behavior, and then got up with a smile, asking. “Does anybody want dessert?”

“'Cause, God knows, pie will solve our every problem,” Tom mumbled under his voice, unable to help himself, and then said out loud. “Thanks, hon, just a small piece. I'm full.”

After dinner, Richard suddenly remembered he had to borrow a book from the library in order to finish his homework, and sneaked out to meet with Jack.

“Do you still have that stem?” Richard asked him, without any introduction.

“Yes. What do you need with it?” Jack asked, distracted. He was trying to figure out the schedule of the cheerful librarian, in the hope that they might be able to circumvent it in the future and thus avoid putting their foot in their mouth again. Every time she saw them she seemed to get another idea.

“I wonder if we could make it root. It propagates by cuttings, right?” Richard continued his thought process.

“Root in what?” Jack asked.

“Remember those hot springs, just out of town?” Richard said.

“That's like, ten miles away! Do you have to walk there?” Jack jumped, alarmed.

“Actually, it's three, I checked,” Richard countered his objection.

“It's not hot enough,” Jack threw another objection, because a three mile walk out of town wasn't his idea of fun.

“Says who?” Richard contradicted him.

“Says me. Besides, didn't they say the plant was a pest? Why would you want to make more of it?” Jack asked.

“Because it grows steel wire,” Richard said, surprised that his friend didn't see the wonderful potential of the unlikely hybrid. “Out of nothing,” he pressed his point. “Think about it,” he dreamed, eyes shining, “a bright new future for metallurgy!”

“Yeah, not feeling it, man,” Jack squashed his enthusiasm. “Those hot springs are kind of far, and there is always someone there, I don't know if it's worth the trouble. It's been a while, too, I don't know if that stem is viable anymore,” Jack tried to get himself out of this challenge.

“I can't believe you! After all the trouble you got me in, I ask you for one little thing, one! And you can't even do that! Come on, Jack, for me? Just this once!” Richard insisted.

“What are we going to do about the metal? What if it needs some to attach itself to?” Jack found another excuse.

“I know a junk yard not far from here. We can pick up some scrap metal there,” Richard came up with the solution. Jack kicked himself for coming up with this brilliant idea, because now they had added a trip to the city dump to their absurd attempt at helping metal self-replicate.

Jack had to give in to his friend's request, to get him out of his hair if for no other reason, and they set their plan in motion Saturday morning, bright and early, too early for Jack's taste. The fact that his reluctant effort at what he considered an absurd endeavor started knee deep in rusty sinks and half-devoured car carcasses didn't help boost his enthusiasm for it in the least, and he begrudgingly attended to his task, which was to find as many old pipes as he could, vowing never to get mixed up in one of Richard's projects again. After a couple of hours of intensive search, they finally started on their way to the hot springs, presenting a very odd view to the passerby, as they were carrying a ragged collection of metal rubble. With their faces covered in rust and their bodies overwhelmed by the quantity of metal scraps they were carrying, they looked like two little Tin Men, before being oiled, of course.

Richard was concerned about the amount of creativity they would require in order to make up a half-way believable story if they ran into someone they knew, but he didn't say anything to Jack, who was already upset, fact demonstrated by his sullen silence.

“It's not far now,” Richard tried to cheer up his friend, despite the fact he knew full well they had only cov