The Disestablishment of Paradise Read online

  ‘I reckon you’ve got two hours’ maximum working time before the tide changes. When the tide does turn, get out of it. Don’t play silly buggers. All right? Winch the barge up like I showed you and then climb up as high as you can and get round to where the strait narrows. Enjoy the view. When the surge comes it is one of the sights of Paradise. It comes right through here. A twenty-foot wave, breaking all the way. You won’t regret it.’

  With that Hera ran over to the small cove where they had moored the powerboat. She spread its solar panels and engaged the engine.

  ‘I’ll send the cutter back for you tomorrow,’ she called, and with a wave was on her way, skimming over the surface of the shallow straits. Low tide was a dangerous time and she stood on a toolbox to look out for the warning sign of waves breaking on water. A strong sea was running against her in the middle of the strait, but once she had bounced through that she rounded the headland where the calypso lilies trailed their long fronds in the water, and was gone.

  At the Calypso Station, itself no more than a radio point and a landing pad, she took the survey and survival (SAS) flyer and was in the air in minutes.

  The meeting got under way as soon as Hera arrived at ORBE HQ. Those section chiefs who were too far away were already linked by tri-vid, and could be seen in miniature, sitting atop their projection mats with backgrounds of desert or jungle or mountain peak behind them.

  All members of the ORBE project were field workers; all were used to living rough and taking care of themselves – and they were not unused to emergencies either. Hair pinned up or shaven-headed, stubble-jawed or bearded, they arrived as they were, in their work clothes, which could be anything from full protection suits if they were working amid dangerous plants like the sugar lilies or the umbrella trees, or in a variety of brightly coloured shirts and shorts if they had been in the fields or greenhouses. Hera was typical, her greying hair held back by a red bandanna and her trousers stained from contact with the dark green pancake wrack.

  She outlined the situation quickly, for there was little to say and no new messages had arrived. ‘So I wanted to talk to everyone. Get some feedback from you on how we ought to deal with this. We’ve faced emergencies before, and come out all right, but this is a bit more radical. Obviously, the first thing we need to do is get more info on what the proposal actually is. We don’t know what we are fighting until we know exactly what those monkeys on the Economic Subcommittee are suggesting.’ There was a murmur of agreement from round the table. ‘Right. But we must not just stand back and wait until they respond. We know enough already. We know the kinds of minds we are dealing with. We know that we are not loved by those who cannot see the trees for the timber. And if Ahab is right, we only have a few weeks, and that means that someone is manipulating the timetable behind the scenes. We’re on a war footing from now on, lads and lasses. We are going to need all the friends in high places we can get, so get your address books out. And let’s not be downhearted – we’ve fought ba les before, and have won, and we do have plenty of friends. So. OK. Any comments?’

  For most of the people at the table the news was such a shock that they were having trouble getting their heads round it. They sputtered rather than fired.

  ‘Surely what they are doing is unconstitutional,’ said Tania Kowalski, a tough-looking biochemist who had seen action among the dying sequoia of northern California, and who knew all about legal battles.

  ‘I doubt it,’ replied Hera. ‘These are the ones who write the rules. They’re all lawyers and accountants. They’ll be working within guidelines. The most we might be able to do is challenge those guidelines. But that takes time.’

  ‘Well, lodge a protest anyway,’ said Tania. ‘Let them know they’re in for a fight. We’ll sort out the details later.’

  ‘Point taken. Make a note, Hemi.’

  Peter Knight, a young specialist in land reclamation who had only been part of the ORBE team for a few months, raised his hand. ‘Can’t we get them out here? Just show them what we are doing. Take them round. Show them the Largo Archipelago where the MINADEC chemical dump was. What you’ve done there is fantastic. Get them to see it. Once they see what we are doing they’ll change their minds. We did that on Mirabai when we had a funding crisis and it worked.’

  Hera smiled a weary smile. ‘They’ll have done their homework, Peter. They’ll know all about Paradise. To them the situation is cut and dried. They’ll have looked at how much the Paradise colony costs in subsidies and maintenance. They’ll have weighed those against alternative demands for capital investment – new planets waiting to be opened up – and against the income and advantage derived from the present investment in Paradise. And that’s it. As far as they are concerned this planet is in deficit. A generation or two ago this would not have happened.’ She looked round the room and those who had spent longest working on Paradise, and knew its history, nodded. ‘But now?’ Hera looked at Peter Knight. ‘Here’s an irony for you, Dr Knight. The ORBE project owes its existence to a resolution passed by that same Economic Subcommittee almost thirty years ago.’ Peter’s surprise showed on his face. ‘Yes. Its origin was not to do with ecology – that was the slant that Prof Shapiro gave it. Originally the ORBE project was created to solve the problems that were developing in Paradise’s agro-economy. And that is why the Econ Com lawyers always think of us as troubleshooters – green marines, forest fixers, you name it.’ Hera gestured to the sky in disgust. ‘And you are absolutely right, Peter: they don’t know the full story about what we do on Paradise, but that’s not for lack of us trying to explain. We’ve had delegations and fact-finding missions by the bucketload. The last was just eight months ago.’

  One of the ORBE workers who had joined by tri-vid, Rita Honeyball, cut into the conversation. ‘Hera love, you could solve this problem in one hit. Do we have any good news on the Paradise plum? If we could give them a Paradise plum for breakfast they’d be eating out of our snapsa. They’d be falling over themselves to invest again.’

  Hera grinned. ‘Keep it clean, Rita.’ And then she turned and pointed to a tall spectacled man wearing the traditional white lab coat of a technician. ‘Moritz? What news on the plum? Have you got a miracle for us?’

  Moritz stood up and spread his hands. He spoke quickly but with a heavy accent. ‘Well. Progress we are making, yes. We know the toxins in the fruit yes, but . . . they change, they change so fast. Occasionally we have fruit without toxin. But plum next to it has double dose. How is done is a mystery . . .’

  ‘So the answer’s no, is it, Moritz?’ asked Rita.

  ‘Yes. No. It is.’ Hera addressed Peter Knight again. ‘So there you have it. The problem in a nutshell. Bio-forms mutating faster than we can keep up. We don’t know quite what’s gone wrong here but we believe that given time we can find out.’

  Hemi had been trying to catch Hera’s attention for some time. He seized his chance. ‘Message came in a few minutes ago. The shuttle’s just landing. It’ll take off as soon as you are aboard.’

  ‘Wish me luck,’ said Hera, looking round the sombre faces, and she picked up her papers from the table. ‘I’ll report back tonight.’

  ‘Before you go . . .’ the voice was a rumble and came from Pietr Z, a big man with a spade-shaped grizzled beard and long hair coiled in a knot held in place with a goose quill. No one could ever pronounce his last name to his satisfaction, so he had given up and just used Z. Pietr had been one of the founder members of the ORBE project. He was slowly spoken and could not be rushed.

  ‘Well I’ve got—’ began Hera.

  ‘You’ve got time to listen to what I have to say. From what you tell us, they may try to disestablish this lovely planet because it is not economic. It may or may not be, we don’t know. But if it is disestablished for economic reasons, that may be its saviour.’ Hera, who had been tapping the table with her papers anxious to get going, stopped and looked at him, as did all the others round the table. ‘Personally I don’t give a toss whether t
here are aggies here or not, as long as they leave the umbrella trees alone.’ He paused, tugged on his beard and glanced round with a fierce and angry look, leaving no one in any doubt about what he would do if someone did interfere with his beloved palms. ‘But if they do close down the commercial side, they could leave us intact. We could survive. We only cost a few beans, less than the Space Council’s booze bill, and perhaps without worrying about quotas we could even get more work done. So listen, young Hera. Don’t you go blowing up and getting stirred up and waving your arms like a windmill. You push for us to stay and ditch the rest.’

  There were nods of agreement from many members, though those who were involved most closely with the farming projects shook their heads. ‘We ought to talk to the farmers before we say anything,’ one of them called. ‘Have they been contacted yet?’

  But his voice was drowned out by Pietr Z, who had now stood up. ‘And one more thing. You take that ridiculous headband off and make yourself look pretty. Put a bit of make-up on like that lovely Captain Abracadabra. She knows how to dress for a party. She makes a man feel good just looking at her, eh boys? And you never know, she might just spring a tri-vid link on you and you don’t want to speak to the secretary general looking like Sinbad the Pirate. There, I’ve finished.’

  Some of the people looked away to hide their laughter. Hera’s lips pursed. And then she too smiled and nodded. The point that Pietr had made about the tri-vid was true. And it was well known that there was no love lost between Hera and Captain Abhuradin, the manager of the platform. ‘Thank you, Pietr. I’ll bear what you say in mind. Now I’m off to the powder room – for gunpowder.’

  And she left.

  While she could not, nor had she any desire to, emulate Captain Abhuradin, Hera did keep the shuttle waiting while she showered and yes, she did put some make-up on, as well as her dress uniform, which she had not worn for eight months.

  ‘How do I look?’ she asked Hemi. ‘Would Pietr approve?’

  ‘To hell with Pietr,’ said Hemi. ‘I’d take you out on a date any time. I’ve just had a call from up above, wanting to know where you were. They’re getting anxious.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘There was a lot of static on the line, but I told her you were busy but wouldn’t be long. Good luck.’

  Hemi watched her go. There was this to be said for Hera, he thought, sizing her up with the eyes of the young and hungry, She actually has no idea that she’s attractive. Slim, light of step, never has to diet – bit old for me, but hey, if I was fifty . . .

  The waiting shuttle was one of the small six-seaters – fast and economical. Hera lay back, felt the pop in her ears as the pressure doors sealed, and then was pressed back in her couch by the acceleration. When she stepped out onto the shuttle platform a few minutes later, the captain was waiting to greet her, poised and graceful as ever and with her long dark hair pinned up neatly.

  ‘At last,’ she said. ‘I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you. That young fellow who takes your messages . . .’

  ‘Hemi. He is my administrator.’

  ‘Yes, Hemi. Did he give you all my messages?’

  ‘As far as I know?’

  ‘Did he tell you I’ve booked a fractal link-thru to Space Central?’

  ‘No, he didn’t tell me that.’

  ‘Well I have. It’s in about five minutes. That was why I was getting worried. I didn’t think it would take you so long. I was dreading you’d turn up dressed in overalls and sandals.’

  ‘If I’d known there was a link-thru planned I would. You should have told me.’

  ‘Yes, I don’t know what happened there. I’ll check with my secretary. Anyway, as luck has it the times between here and Central are nearly in sync at present. They are bit ahead of us so they will all have had their dinner – which may be to our advantage.’ She paused, obviously relieved, and then added. ‘Well, you are here now. It’s a long time since I’ve seen you wearing your uniform. It suits you. You should wear it more often. Just a minute, you have your collar twisted.’ The captain insisted on straightening the collar and smoothing the shoulders.

  Hera twisted away. ‘You should have made sure I knew about the fractal link. Damn it. I may need documents . . .’

  ‘It is at their request. They want to tell us what is happening. And you won’t need any documents. It is not a hearing. And you’d better check with your young admin boy down there. Frankly, I found him quite unhelpful when I spoke to him.’

  The two women moved into the studio where the fractal transmissions took place and took their places opposite one another, facing the black animation mat where the figures they would be speaking to would appear. The technician in charge adjusted the chairs when they had sat down and made sure they were comfortable and within the fractal focus. ‘I’m holding signal now,’ he informed them. ‘Just do a quick voice test.’

  ‘Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pepper,’ said Captain Abhuradin.

  ‘All that is necessary for the powers of evil to triumph is for a few good women to do nothing,’ said Hera.

  ‘OK, great. We’re holding resonance; just waiting for them to join. In about a minute’s time.’

  ‘Who will we be speaking to?’ asked Hera, addressing the captain and trying to keep her voice steady and even.

  ‘The secretary general of the Space Council, Tim Isherwood, will be there, definitely. He might have called in one or two others. It won’t be a long meeting. I know he’s got something coming up later in the evening. You and I can talk afterwards.’

  A bell rang softly, and a moment later a light began to shimmer in the space above the tri-vid mat. Both women sat straight and still while the light grew stronger.

  ‘Counting,’ came the soft voice of the technician. ‘Five, four, three, two . . . . .’

  Two signals were meeting, one from the space platform above Paradise, the other from the Space Council in the giant space station called Central, which turned above Luna. Each signal was directly beamed to a fractal point not far from its own orbit – say, two seconds of light time distant. It was here that the signals were bent through another dimension, where they then met and joined in a never-never land. In a place of paradox. A place which only existed because the signals existed, just as they only found one another because the dimension existed. A place where nothing could ever reside, but which could be passed through. As in the quantum world below, so in the depths of interstellar space above.

  The shimmering light intensified and grew taller. Briefly it showed the figure of a man with punk-white hair, a clown face and wearing a shocking-green dress, but then the image flickered and reset itself. Hera and Captain Abhuradin found themselves in the offices of the Space Council. Facing them was a man in a long gown of cardinal red and with a face as black as ebony. He was staring straight at them but smiling at some joke that they had not heard.

  ‘I think I saw you before you saw me,’ he explained. ‘I have been waiting several seconds. You both look very charming, if I may say so. A pleasure to see you. Inez.’ He bowed briefly to Captain Abhuradin. ‘And you too, Hera. Now we don’t have very long so we will get down to business straight away. Obviously you have received the bad news and want more facts. But possibly it may not have come as a complete surprise. Am I right?’

  ‘It was a complete surprise, Secretary Isherwood,’ said Hera. ‘I can’t speak for Captain Abhuradin, but we at the ORBE project would have appreciated prior warning that the future development of Paradise was in question.’

  Still smiling, the secretary general turned to Captain Abhuradin. ‘And you, Inez?’

  ‘Rumours only, Tim. Just rumours. There are always plenty of them, but no definite word.’

  ‘Well, all colony worlds are under constant review, as you know, and Paradise is no exception. Indeed, its economic prominence in the past has meant that it has been one of the standards by which other worlds were judged. However, be that as it may. Hera, I think I can put your mind
at rest and say that the research undertaken by the Economic Subcommittee over the last two years has been very thorough and their decision has not been reached lightly.’ He raised his hand, for Hera had been about to speak. ‘Nor, may I say without wanting to prejudice any review hearings, is it likely to be overturned lightly in view of the generally worsening economic climate which confronts us and the increasing demands being placed on our limited res—’

  Hera broke in. ‘I am grateful for the assurance, Secretary Isherwood, that the committee’s work has been thorough, but wonder why, in being thorough, they did not feel it necessary to speak to us. We are, after all, on the ground in Paradise and would have been willing to help.’

  The secretary general nodded and smiled his affable smile. ‘Would you like to speak to the head of the Economic Subcommittee? Dr van Terfel is with me here. Perhaps an explanation will—’

  ‘I would like that very much,’ said Hera, her voice beginning to sound grim.

  Immediately Tim Isherwood beckoned away to his side and a woman stepped into view, joining him on the tri-vid mat. She was older, perhaps in her late sixties, but nothing in her manner or bearing suggested that age had impaired or mellowed her. Everything about her was neat and precise and hard-edged. Her blonde hair, naturally curly and with just a hint of grey, reached her shoulders. On her face were half-glasses with golden rims, and the eyes that peered over them were large and clear and had a cold intensity. She wore a dark blue suit over a pale blue shirt, and the only ostentation was a small silver brooch in the shape of a guillotine.

  ‘Dr Hera Melhuish, I would like you to meet Dr Hilder van Terfel, head of the Economic Subcommittee.’ The secretary general withdrew to the back.

  Both women smiled tightly at one another. ‘We have not had the pleasure of meeting before,’ said Dr van Terfel, ‘but I have heard a lot about you, Dr Melhuish. Now in what way can I help you?’

  ‘The lack of consultation is a matter of grave concern to all of us. In an event as momentous as a Disestablishment we feel your first step should have been to consult those involved, and we will be seeking an official review of the decision, which, as you must realize, prejudices our work at a most critical stage.’