Read The Disestablishment of Paradise Online
Authors: Phillip Mann
Hera reached out and touched the dead umbrella sapling with her fingers. That small touch changed its balance and it collapsed forward across her arm, fell into the marsh and slowly sank. They
would all fall in the coming storm. Paradise was cleansing itself.
Still bemused, Hera glide-walked her way down the path towards where a clump of weeds stood tall amid the former seed-beds. As she approached, she saw one of the weeds jerk stiffy and then
become still again. She was immediately on her guard, remembering the energy wave that had shaken the plants on her first night alone. She regretted the loss of the machete.
But as she approached, she noticed that the weeds were growing in clusters. What’s more, they were gathered round the places where the umbrella spikes had been planted, as though feeding.
Despite the urgency of her situation, Hera’s curiosity got the better of her. She approached warily. Gently she lifted one of the tangled arms of a and was able to peer into the space within
the plant. Her face was very close to one of the big blue flowers, but it was not its perfume that made her heart race.
Within the cluster of plants she had expected to see the pump working and a dead, black stump. But the pump was gone, broken by a branch, and the flow of nutrient had stopped. In its place,
growing vigorously, was an umbrella tree spike. It was already quite tall. Tough-looking roots had grown laterally out from the stem and had wrapped firmly round the lowest branches of the for
support. Higher up, the spike of the umbrella tree was partly open, like the mouth of a fledgling in the nest, and thousands of small fibrous roots had grown out from the mouth and pierced the
upper branches of the weeds. Where these entered the trees they had created running wounds. Even as Hera watched, one of the wounds bled sap which dribbled down and was hungrily absorbed into the
root. Not only was the umbrella spike using the weed for support, but it was feeding upon it. The invader was itself invaded.
Symbiosis is common in Nature, but where was the advantage to the Tattersall? To Hera’s eyes it looked as if the weeds had deliberately set themselves up here in order to help the umbrella
spikes. But (and it was a big but), if they had grown here deliberately then it suggested altruism, and that was distinctly rare in nature.
Hera could see that the weeds were no longer vigorous.
She touched one of the thorns and it was soft, like the thorn on a young rose. The plants would undoubtedly die as the umbrella spike drank their sap. Then presumably new and bigger weeds would
take their place, to be devoured in turn. She looked down. They were already there, new weeds, springing up.
How many weeds would have to sacrifice themselves before the young umbrella tree began to create its own sap? Thousands. But that did not matter. There
were
hundreds of thousands in the
nearby hills. The umbrella trees would survive. What she was witnessing here could be replicated wherever the star-shaped waterborne seeds of the umbrella tree could lodge and where there was a on
hand to serve as wet nurse.
Carefully Hera lowered the branch of the weed and stepped back. The implications of what she had seen for the future of Paradise were enormous. Paradise was looking after its own.
‘Priority warning.’ The voice of the SAS was loud in her ear.
‘Emergency rescue procedures will commence in one minute.
Imperative return to base.’ The storm was building with alarming speed. The Kithaeron Hills were already blotted from sight. The whole world was becoming abnormal.
‘I’m on my way,’ shouted Hera. ‘Begin take-off procedures. Be ready to lift off as soon as I’m inside.’
She ran down the walkway. The weeds gave her some protection, but when she came out into the open she could feel the full bluster of the wind. The talking jenny rose and fell in waves.
The sky was a jumble of lowering clouds which seemed to move in two directions at once.
She came to the place where two paths joined. Brilliant flashes of lightning were followed moments later by a tearing crack of thunder, as though the sky was filled with stones banging together.
In front of her she could see the SAS, its blades turning steadily, its beacon flashing. It was rocking on the platform, tilted by the wind.
Then the first rain started, and it came like arrows. More lightning, almost above her now. Two flashes met horizontally, and at the point where they collided a brilliant violet star was created
and slid slowly down the sky while the thunder roared and rolled.
The walkway was now heaving up and down in the waves and she was sure it would tear loose before long. She could no longer walk upright so she crawled, gripping the mesh with her fingers.
Only about fifty metres to go
. The wind veered round and came from behind, pushing her while the mesh heaved and strained. Then she was climbing, pulling herself up onto the pitching
landing platform and running crab-like for the door, which stood open. She threw herself inside, shouting, ‘Go, go, go.’ The door slammed and the engine roared and Hera was pinned to
the ground as the SAS lifted and banked and ran before the wind, its twin rotors hammering.
This was the worst journey Hera had ever experienced. She scrambled into the shower cubicle but could do nothing but hold on while the SAS dipped and dived and shuddered. She
managed to slip her arms through the webbing of a safety harness and grip tight. Once the SAS dropped, like a stone down a well, but the autopilot, responding faster than any human, brought it
round and into the wind, and its engines throbbed and the whole craft shook, but it began to gain height again.
This was what the SAS ships were built for, and why the automatic landing and navigation computers were so expensive. Every circuit would be involved as Alan calculated probabilities and stress
factors – always mindful of the vulnerability of the small speck of life that stood, braced and frightened, in the shower cubicle. The engine beat its way through the storm, occasionally
dipping, but always rising again and slowly gaining altitude.
Once they took a broadside hit, as though struck by a wave, something that came swirling out of the dark clouds, but that marked the beginning of the end of the storm for them. Thereafter the
buffeting, while still considerable, gradually diminished. Hera was able to make her way up to the control room. She found they were very high. Higher than she had ever flown before in an SAS.
Perhaps at the limit of what an SAS could accomplish. Looking down, she could see the storm racing below her, like a wide grey river containing within it curling black eddies. The SAS was flying
across the tops of the clouds, following a diagonal path. ‘Where are you making for, Alan?’ she asked.
The reply took the form of a change in the navigation screen. The screen flickered erratically, but she could see they were heading down the rift valley and would seek shelter behind the St
Louis Mountains. A place called Damien’s Gully was highlighted. It was close to the site of one of the early homesteads where an emergency landing pad was located. Then the screen cut
out.
‘Are we badly damaged?’
There was a pause and the Alan’s peaceful voice spoke. ‘Small damage, so far.’
‘How serious?’
‘Nothing I can’t fix. Nothing structural. Some circuits.’
‘Will we make it?’ There was no answer. ‘Ignore that question.’
They flew on in silence. The buffeting now ceased altogether as they moved away from the storm and began to descend.
Music started, but it was scratchy and the tones were all wrong.
‘Nice try, Alan, but stop it.’ The music cut out. ‘So tell me, Alan.
What is the damage? What happened?’
There was a long pause. When Alan’s voice came it was slow.
‘Detailed report. Servo coupling links to FIX 387-8 slave monitor malfunction at—’
‘Hey,’ cut in Hera. ‘I didn’t mean that. Cancel it. Just give me the broad picture.’
There was another long pause and then Alan’s voice, speaking normally, said, ‘I think you would say we were lucky.’
‘Lucky? I thought you autopilots didn’t deal in luck, just probabilities.’
Long pause. ‘Very well,
you
were lucky. If you had been a few minutes later, the 95 per cent probability is that I would have been blown off the landing pad and into the mire.
There is a 99 per cent probability that I would have been rolled by the wind, and although I am strong, I cannot take off when I am on my side in water. Without me to shelter you, there is a 75 per
cent probability that you would have been drowned. But that game is dead, because it did not happen. We were struck by lightning, several times, but our chances of survival improved with every foot
of altitude we gained.’
‘We dropped suddenly.’
‘Inversion trap over the Kithaeron Hills. We fell to within fifty feet of the ground. But I found good air. And we climbed up and entered the storm again. That was when I lost the domestic
circuits.’
‘Did you send out a mayday?’
‘Yes, when I thought we would crash.’
‘So they will be sending a rescue team from the—’
‘I cancelled the mayday when I knew we were safe.’
‘Good.’
They lapsed into silence. Hera decided she could take a little more human warmth and adjusted the Alanstyle settings accordingly. When she asked, ‘What is our ETA at Damien’s
Gully?’ it took a while for Alan to reply, and the voice was still slow, but warmer.
‘Well, if I keep constant speed, and there are no more problems,
I should have us down in about half an hour. I’ll need an hour of shutdown for repairs, and we could be back on our way by evening.
That is unless you want to stay . . . .’
‘I’ll decide later.’
‘Whatev—’
‘Can I take a shower?’
‘Yes, but the water will be cold. Sorry.’
‘I’ll cope.’
‘And don’t ask me to make a hot cup of tea.’
Hera had not realized how dirty she was until she saw the water on the floor of the shower. It was brown from the talking jenny. The mucus from the umbrella trees had dried
like rubbery glue, and when she pulled it off, she found that her skin underneath was blotchy and puffed up. This was nothing new and there was a lotion in the first-aid cabinet that she could rub
in.
The cold water flowed onto the back of her head, dividing her hair and coursing over her shoulders. What relief that brought! She had had two lucky escapes this day – several more if Alan
was to be believed. And she had made one momentous discovery. Not bad for a second day. That deserved a celebration. She closed her eyes, turned and lifted her face to the water and let it pour
over her eyes and nose.
That movement, while she did not open her mouth, reminded her of the dead umbrella plant she had seen. Remembering this brought her what she later came to call a ‘moment of small
enlightenment’. She explained this as follows.
It may have been simple reaction – relief at being safe – or the fact that I had witnessed something that I thought was close to a miracle, but the faces of
those two plants, the dead one I had sat before in such sadness, and the magnificent live one that was growing with the weed . . . well, both fused in my mind. For a moment I became, as it
were, both of them. That, in turn, became my moment of small enlightenment, for suddenly I saw them as two alternatives. The polarity sparkled before me: one side spiralling up to infinity and
light, the other coiling down to darkness and death. Darkness and light. Hope and despair. Yes or no. Knowledge or oblivion. There are so many ways of saying it. I saw then that it is all in
the choosing and oh I wanted life and love and to be part of this great tumultuous change that was taking place on Paradise. It quite overpowered me.
And then it was gone, as a vision, but the memory lingered on.
Moments later Hera was working lotion into the angry red blotches on her skin and humming when she heard the change in pitch as the SAS dropped lower and then the bump as they landed.
The voice of Alan came to her.
‘Closing down . . . Suggest . . . food in freezer. Repairs now . . . No distractions.’
‘Point taken. Will do. Let me know when you are finished.’
There was no reply. Alan had gone.
One by one she heard the fans stop and the gurgle as the water pumps lost pressure. The doors slid open and locked and then the lights blinked out.
Hera did not bother to get dressed, but just threw a wrap around her shoulders. Through the open door she could see the warm sunlight and smell the crushed brevet where the SAS had landed. To
stretch on that bright blue and green carpet would do her good, she decided. She had a lot to think about. So, having collected what she needed from the dark kitchen, she stepped outside.
Again in her own words:
I was feeling giddy. Safety after danger does that, you know. And being naked outdoors was fun too – nice but naughty, and not something I did normally. I spread a
tablecloth on the brevet and set out a glass and plate and some cold food and, of course, one of the bottles of wine that Mack had given me. I did everything with great deliberation.
Everything, even the most trivial act, the pulling of a cork, the coldness of the bottle when it accidentally touched my thigh, everything seemed filled with significance. I was safe. I was
alive. I was not a young woman – but I felt young.
They had landed in a clearing above the river. Looking down, Hera could see the meandering Damien Stream and the ruins of an old shilo. A watermill was still in place and
turning, though whatever it had been built to drive was long gone.
Hera poured the wine and ate some fruit. She lay back in the sun and wondered for the first time for quite a long time – and somewhat to her amusement – what it would be like if she
had a man on hand to share things with. But then, with that fond thought in mind, as she lay back, glass in hand, enjoying the fact of being alive, naked and longing, from nowhere it seemed . . .
the planet spoke to her.
We are approaching an important moment in Hera’s story – a moment which was the cause of heated discussion between us. Here are the very words that Hera spoke as I recorded them,
sitting in the calm of my study.