The Disestablishment of Paradise (3 page)

I am saddened to report that the log of the
Scorpion
, as well as other early visual recordings of Paradise (including details of its subsequent commercial exploitation) were lost in the
catastrophic fire which destroyed the entire Proxima MINADEC-over-Phobos torus. The rumour, widely believed at the time, was that the fire was the result of arson, and though this was never proved
it is a fact that the directors of MINADEC (once the Mineral and Natural Resource Development Company) were under investigation for tax evasion and improper use of their prospect licence. The loss
of these early records is irredeemable, and one can only lament that, as with Hera’s own documentation, the records of Paradise have an awkward habit of vanishing.

Within months of the
Scorpion
’s visit, the planet was being opened up commercially. MINADEC had a fifty-year licence for all its activities.

The miners, prospectors and lumberjacks that MINADEC sent to Paradise, while we know they visited and left their mark on almost every part of that planet, left few written accounts –
graffiti apart. Their culture was essentially oral. It thrived at the well head and the pit face, round the campfires and in the mess huts. And, like so much else of value, it died with them. We
have some of their songs and drawings and letters – and of course there are the eye-witness accounts written by young Sasha Malik, whose works we will dip into later. Many of the names used
by the prospectors and miners became established. Thus the two moons which liven the night sky are called Gin and Tonic. The continents were named after certain distinguishing features. Chain, for
instance, when seen from the air, can be seen to be a long thin continent with many promontories and inland lakes. Hammer and neighbouring Anvil require more imaginative interpretations to see the
likeness. The continent called Horse has one large headland which does, somewhat, resemble the head of a horse, and Ball is, well, Ball is circular, and that is all that one can say. Some islands
are named after composers, some after the names of settlers, some after hometowns on Earth (such as New Syracuse), and some features, like Baby Cry Falls, record important events such as the birth
of the first child on Paradise.

Upon expiry of the commercial licence, Paradise was thrown open to agricultural colonists. Among these, one couple, Mayday and Marie Newton, wrote a daybook, in which they set down in homely
detail the day-to-day life of the pioneer farmers. These men and women, apart from being visionaries with an urge to build families and create a new world, and who shared a common love of Paradise,
were all trained in the basic arts of survival. They could both butcher and nurture. But by the time of their arrival I suspect that Paradise was already turning against invaders.

Despite their best efforts, agriculture on Paradise became harder as the years passed, and no one could explain why. During the first fifty years of colonization, the animals – initially
imported in embryo and raised with care – failed to prosper and eventually the last goats and horses died out.

Fresh seed stock was brought in from Earth but this too, after initial success, gradually failed. Fruit would not set and seeds would not germinate, or when they did were sickly. The formation
of the Observation, Regeneration and Botanic Expansion project was the result of efforts to bring scientific expertise to bear on this problem.

The failure of ORBE to make any significant difference to the agricultural situation was initially blamed on the lack of suitable equipment. Later it was claimed that its founder, Professor
Israel Shapiro, was only interested in his own research and had no real sympathy for the agricultural colonists’ dilemma. From my reading, I would say that that is putting the matter mildly.
He made it clear on numerous occasions that he found the presence of the ‘aggies’ on Paradise irksome.

On the death of Shapiro, Dr Hera Melhuish became head of the ORBE project. She held this position for eleven stormy years. But even she, despite many initiatives, could not halt the gradual
agricultural decline.

And so we come to the fatal year: the year of Disestablishment.

When we enter her story, Dr Hera Melhuish is feeling well pleased with herself. After months of debate she has managed to defeat proposals which would have opened Paradise to
tourism. Moreover the ORBE project research, if not spectacular, is stable and well funded. Her own programme of native out-planting is going well. Her delight in Paradise is as great as that of
Marie Newton or the young Estelle Richter, though her aims are vastly different.

And now she is doing what she most enjoys: ‘working in the garden’ as she called it. It is a fine sunny morning and she is outside, her sleeves rolled up, tending the plants of
Paradise.

Hera was working at the southern tip of Royal Straits, at the dangerous place where the island of Lennon comes closest to the steep cliffs of Horse. It is dangerous because of
the rip tide that comes roaring through the narrow strait when the two moons of Paradise are pulling together. This is, of course, also a time of extreme low tide, and that was why Hera and her
student assistant were there. They were trying to establish a new submarine seedbed for the spongy green pancake wrack which had once been common in that region but was now, like so much else, in
decline.

The work was going well on that fine sunny morning when the peaceful routine was broken by the shrill
bleep-bleep
of a high-priority call demanding attention. The student worker, on
shore and unpacking supplies at the time, took the message. It was from Hemi Katene, the administrator at ORBE HQ , and he was asking to speak to Hera urgently.

That lady was some fifty feet out from the shore, down on her knees, leaning over the side of one of the flat-bottomed barges used for marine work. She was reaching out, her arms brown in the
clear water, and trying to attach a cable to bolts bedded in a rock just under the surface. The boat bobbed under her, striking her uncomfortably under the arms and splashing water up into her
face. Reluctantly Hera was coming to the decision that she would have to don a wetsuit and plunge fully into the water.

‘Tell him I’m busy,’ she called through clenched teeth and without looking up. Time was short as this particular rock only became accessible at extreme low tide.

‘He says it’s urgent,’ called the student worker, raising the radio phone above her head and waving it.

The loop in the cable passed over the bolt head and Hera began to screw it tight. ‘OK, I’m coming,’ she called, ‘Be there in a mo.’ She completed a twist where
strands of wire were sticking out sharply – they had already scratched her arm – and snipped off the pointed parts and twisted them under. Satisfied, she loosened the anchor rope and
started to pull the barge back to the shore. ‘This’d better be good,’ she said as she climbed out onto the rocks and accepted the phone. ‘You go out there and take over.
I’ve got the first two ends tied but we need to secure the central piece. And watch out for the bloody wire ends.’

The student set off and Hera climbed up to where she could sit on one of the rocks and dry out in the sun. ‘Hello there, Hemi. This is Hera. What’s the trouble?’

‘Yeah, sorry to bother you, but it’s pre y important, eh? I’ve just had a call from Captain Abhuradin. Priority alph—’

‘She’s not still going on about that tourism proposal is she? I thought we’d scotched that one.’

‘No, no. This is something else. No details as yet but, according to Abhuradin, she’s just received a message from Space Council head office. Evidently the Economic Subcommittee has
just come out of a long session. They’ve passed a resolution suggesting that three planet colonies be disestablished – and we are one of them.’

‘What?’

‘Yes. The recommendation is due to be discussed at a full Council meeting in a few weeks and if it is passed then it will be actioned immediately. Part of the new fast-track
initiatives.’

‘But they can’t just—’

‘I know, that’s what I said. But it is definite. Old Ahab’s no happier than you are. She wants to see you as soon as possible. This afternoon if you can get back here.
There’ll be a shuttle waiting.’

Hera was silent for a moment. She didn’t trust snap announcements like this. In her experience, they usually meant that someone had been plotting for quite a while and now was striking
fast to minimize resistance. The fact that it was the Economic Subcommittee that had come up with the proposal made matters worse. That committee had become more militant of late, the result of a
change of head, a new broom sweeping clean. Some woman (Hera had been told her name but had forgotten it), a hardliner by repute, had taken over. No doubt they had been stewing over the latest
production statistics for Paradise. ‘When did Abhuradin hear the news?’

‘Just a short time ago, she said.’

‘She hasn’t been sitting on it?’

‘Look, I’ve no idea. But I don’t think so. She didn’t sound happy, I can tell you that.’

‘Does anyone else know?’

‘No. Don’t think so. Alpha coding, so that’s just us. She didn’t want to tell me, but I told her you were out in the field and probably wouldn’t respond unless you
knew what the fuss was.’

‘Yeah. Good lad. OK. I’m on my way. Call all the heads of departments in. Tell them to drop whatever they are doing and, if they are within three hours’ flying time, to get
back to HQ pronto. If not, tell them to stand by for a tri-vid link. Don’t tell them what the issue is. I don’t want a lot of gabble on the airwaves until we’ve had a chance to
talk. I want a quick meeting before I go up top. And you start gathering statistics. Usual stuff – number of out-plantings, endangered species, economies of scale and so on. And get on to the
hospital too; get any info you can on how the anti-toxin programme is working.’

‘Will do.’

‘I’ll give you an ETA as soon as I’m airborne. We’ve got a battle on our hands, sunshine.’

She broke contact.

The student working out on the barge called across the water to her: ‘Bad news?’

‘I’ve got to get back to HQ ,’ answered Hera. She glanced at her watch. ‘I’m going to have to leave you here. You’ll have to camp out overnight.’

The student grinned. ‘Suits me,’ she said. They had planned to camp anyway, so the tents were already up and there was food.

‘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.