Suddenly, a barrage of academic studies of opaque origins revealed a surprising truth: the real lungs of the planet, where 70% of the oxygen was generated, were explained by a single, absolutely unknown tree, the pastebo.
This news proved two things: One: Nothing man did had climatic consequences. Two: The responsibility for bringing the planet to the brink of ecological disaster lay with that scarce tree that no one had ever seen before.
The studies were as conclusive as they were ambiguous. The tree was very old, a whopping three hundred million years old. Although it processed oxygen like few others, there were also very few of them globally. In addition, their location, quantity, and distribution were almost unknown. Studiesand legends began to proliferate about this statement. Statistics and maps were on display, but also superstitions. That the tree grew solitary and unnoticed in African and Amazonian jungles; that he was tall and solitary, and of almost fossilized wood; that despite its antiquity, no one could say whether it reproduced or declined. It was also said that it did not bear fruit, but its leaves were aphrodisiacs, and that encouraged an illegal trade that put it on the verge of extermination. That its boiled fruits provoke visions that lead to madness, or to a mystical wisdom. That its hard wood cannot be worked, but he who carries a splinter drives away his demons.
In short, no one had ever seen the pastebo, but everyone knew everything about it. The conclusion was obvious. If the tree was so important to the planet's breathing, men couldn't breathe a sigh of relief until they had it under control. It was necessary, and urgent, to search for him, to find him, and to place him in custody and study. The first to get moving were the flamboyant mega-billionaires, the fathers and sons of the technological revolution. They no longer needed to take charge of the ecological disaster, nor did they have to travel to another planet to breathe easy. It was enough to continue doing the same thing, but with the pastures in his garden. They rushed to find them, to prepare epic expeditions the world had not seen since the nineteenth century. This also set in motion the governments of the places where the grass was supposed to grow, who with some logic said that if the trees were there, they would stay there. And there were those who said that the urgency was to multiply it in state farms, and those who said in private farms. And others said that breathing was a right, and that a pasture should shelter each and every one. And those who said that he who aspired to breathe, should water the tree with the sweat of his brow.
As it was, the world held its breath and bared its teeth. At the end of such confusion, only two things became clear: the human capacity to believe anything, if it relieves them; and the human inability to coordinate any global action, if it is sensible.