Paradeisia: Origin of Paradise

by B. C. CHASE

  “Yes,” Doctor Giordano said. “I do.”

  “I want to cure this virus,” she swore, “not throw up our hands in defeat!”

  “But think of what this could become... If it gets away from us, which I think it very well might do, consider the stakes. How can we possibly work on containing it if we're busy digging mass graves? I just...have a gut feeling that this will totally overwhelm us—and fast. Sure, we gotta find the cure, but right now we have the chance to save two million lives. We cannot blink at the chance.”

  “Digging mass graves?” Karen repeated his words dubiously. “Guy, I think you've had a little less sleep than you're used to. We're nowhere near that point. I agree, proactively treating with iodine could be a solution if it gets out of control, but not now. We have to be rational.”

  “We should tell the people what's happening and let them choose.”

  Karen started shaking her head, “No, noooo—“

  “We need to give them the option.”

  “No, Guy, no. Just be calm, let's find the cure, and stop it dead. That's it.” She sighed, “With Towson under quarantine, we'll control it.”

  Towson, Maryland

  Wesley's mother was still under observation at the hospital. Wesley was at the grocery store to pick up a couple puddings and comfort foods she liked, as well as a sandwich for himself.

  When he had arrived at the store, it had been nearly empty. Now, as he waited for the woman at the deli to finish wrapping his sandwich, he saw an increasing number of people running up the aisles. The lady handed him the sandwich and he said, “Thanks.” When he turned around to grip his cart, a frantic man pushed it out of his hands and ran away with it. Wesley shouted at the man at first, shocked, but then gaped in disbelief as he saw that the canned goods aisle directly adjacent from him had filled with people who were feverishly emptying the shelves. He looked back at the lady at the deli, “Are you guys having a sale?”

  She shrugged incredulously.

  Almost in a haze, Wesley walked from the deli towards the dairy section. He asked a woman who shoved past him what was going on, but she didn't respond. When he reached dairy, he noticed that the refrigerators that held the milk were empty. Every last bottle of every kind of milk had been taken.

  An older man jogged up beside him, his arms full of goods. He swore in aggravation, “The milk's gone already?”

  Wesley said, “Yeah... Can you tell me what's going on?”

  “You haven't heard?” the man panted.

  “No.”

  “Towson is being quarantined. Nobody in or out.” He nodded, “Makes you wish you had stocked up like those doomsday wackos, doesn't it?” He said, “Good luck, my friend.” And with that he took off.

  Antarctica

  A giant dome that allowed light in but kept the wind out had taken shape over the site, an inhospitable glacier far inland. If nothing else, the effort would produce strides in making Antarctica habitable—habitable being a very broad term.

  In the 1970’s, the lowest temperature on earth had been measured nearby, a mind-numbing -128.6 degrees Fahrenheit, and the dome did not succeed in warming the place much: it was more useful at keeping the sudden, furious winds at bay.

  Passing him with an electric hum was a bus-like vehicle laden with eager, camera-snapping passengers; another load of the press. They had been summoned from all over the world to witness this. The camera crew for the government’s reality show had followed him around for two years now. It was a necessary evil, just like the physical maladies he had suffered since his arrival.

  He had been daily afflicted by bloody and chapped lips, chafing dry skin, eye twitches, and nose bleeds. But he was grateful for those paltry annoyances: in the beginning, it had been much worse.

  For the first few weeks, he had lost his appetite, he couldn't sleep, he frequently vomited, his joints ached, and his ears hurt. He had lost about eight pounds since he came. But the astonishing thing was, his symptoms were no worse than for anyone else new to this part of the Antarctic. Mankind was not meant to come here.

  The site on the glacier was at a high elevation, so, to his body, oxygen was scarce. Even now, almost a month into his residence, he breathed heavily as he walked towards the dome exit.

  When he was inside the dome like he was now, he wore gloves, boots, and a snowsuit complete with a hood.

  The door of the dome was the size of a highway tunnel entrance, and as he approached the air became crisper, dryer. The sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue, and he could see the speck which he knew to be a thirty-foot twin propeller plane as it approached.

  He walked out to the strip, his boots crunching the packed snow beneath them. Then he waited for the turboprop to land, taking in the horizon's distant craggy peaks which never failed to inspire awe no matter how many times he saw them.

  The plane finally bounced down on its skis. They never shut off the propellers when they landed. Instead, it was as brief a stay as possible, then a quick takeoff; otherwise the engines would freeze. It took some time for the crew to open the hatch and a stair to be driven up, but, finally, the people he was waiting for emerged.

  He had found Antarctica to be surprisingly mountainous, and beautiful. He vividly recollected his first helicopter flight from a ship flotilla to China's coastal research station, named Zhongshan. The pilot had steered them directly through a magnificent archway over the deep navy of the churning sea. It was a giant monument created by the collapsing glacier, with warm orange sunlight glistening off one side while contrasting blue dimly glowed in the shadow of the other.

  Ahead, he could see the waves crashing against the white shore where the myriad of tiny penguins endlessly waddled up and down in front of giant ice-cliffs. There were sea lions, too, basking in the sun or sliding down icebergs, trying to catch one of the swimming penguins.

  Established in 1980 and intended as a long-term endeavor, Zonghshan had consisted of only several small structures and housed a mere sixty people at most. Now, a veritable city had been erected in its place to support Ming-Zhen's research effort, making one forget how very remote and isolated it actually was.

  From Zhongshan, it was a near three-hour plane ride to the inland site. Aircraft could reach the site for only five months out of the year. During this period, from October to February, the sun shined twenty-four hours a day. This was the Antarctic summer—averaging -22 degrees. Antarctica was the driest land mass on earth in terms of precipitation—a desert, in fact.[6] The snow piled up in huge glaciers over many years. The glaciers slowly moved out to the coast and broke off into the sea.

  His seat was jarring, his breath formed little puffs, and the turboprop engines rattled the plane like a tin can, but when he stood up to look over the pilot's shoulder, the view out the windshield was spectacular. Over land, the mountains were endless stone peaks covered by ice and frost. He marveled at the clarity of the air. The sun somehow seemed closer than he was used to and the snow below was blinding as it sparkled with the reflection.

  The landscape of ancient Antarctica, complete with lakes and, it was suspected, even rivers, was below the ice cap. The largest of these bodies of water was Lake Vostok: the site they had chosen. East and slightly south of the center of the continent, it was the size of Lake Ontario. The average temperature of the water was probably -3 degrees, but it wasn't frozen; the immense pressure applied above it and geothermal warming that occurred somewhere in the lowest part of the lake prevented that.

  And the lake was indeed deep: the third deepest in the world. Although covered with over two miles of glacial ice, Lake Vostok was visible from space because, in contrast to the surrounding area, the ice above it was almost perfectly flat. Having been covered since the poles froze, it was now as it had been thirty million years ago (or however old it was). It was a time capsule.

  To Doctor Ming-Zhen, this was intriguing enough. But there were two even more provocative features to the lake. One was that radar showed there to be an island of so
me sort in the center. The other was a “magnetic anomaly” measuring sixty-five by forty-six square miles.

  They were not planning to explore either of these things, however. They were too far away from the drill shaft. Someday, though, if their initial dive was successful, and with some modifications to the sub's navigation equipment, perhaps someone would explore them.

  When his plane landed, he was greeted by a charismatic, large man with celebrity-worthy white teeth, a thick beard, and big gloves. He exclaimed warmly, “Welcome to the dead zone! I am Ivan Toskovic. Good to meet you after so long.”

  Doctor Ming-Zhen's stoic demeanor caused the other to slap him across the back and laugh heartily, “Smile, my friend! I am not Ivan the Terrible!”

  As they boarded the electric transport, Doctor Toskovic explained that, long ago in 2012, he had been a young researcher at the Russian Vostok station to the east. Now, he had been seduced out his professorship in Saint Petersburg to head up operations here for the Chinese, chosen due to his experience.

  “In 2012 we did not have nice big dome,” he said, making a sweeping motion as they entered the giant structure. The dome's chief purpose, as Doctor Toskovic explained, was making the drill operable through the Antarctic winter. Its secondary purpose was keeping its inhabitants from freezing to death, “although,” he said with a wink, “some days we lose one or two.”

  The vehicle whirred down a well-used track in the snow from the entrance to the residential area, a large cluster of rectangular, windowless metal boxes surrounding a large community building. There, they disembarked and Doctor Toskovic introduced him to the cafeteria, a bustling hall with metal tables and noisy chairs. “You like food from cans?” Doctor Toskovic asked him. “Good, here you eat like prince!” As they sat down for a meal of soup and fresh rice, Doctor Ming-Zhen noticed a tattoo on Toskovic's arm.

  “What your tattoo say?” he inquired.

  Doctor Toskovic grinned mysteriously, “It only means I know more than you. My little 'badge of honor.'” Then he proceeded to detail the Russian experience with Lake Vostok, a history that Doctor Ming-Zhen already knew to be fraught with peril.

  Despite protests from all over the world because of fears of contamination, the Russians had spent twenty-four years drilling through the two miles of glacier towards the lake, and their borehole was smaller than six inches wide. By the time they neared the surface in 2012, they were averaging only about five feet a day, a dismally slow rate. It was at this time that the scientific community was stunned by horrifying news. The Russian team had disappeared.

  There had been three days of radio silence with no one hearing from them, and the worst was feared. Scientists warned of the danger: the pressure difference could have sent a powerful geyser up through the hole. As the days dragged on to five and then seven, the internet was ablaze with speculation, especially among conspiracy theorists. Had an unknown bacteria swarmed up from the lake to infect them? Had they been removed by some government agency that did not want them to reach the lake? Had they been abducted by space aliens with a secret base hidden in the lake (the magnetic anomaly)?

  “Of course there was nothing to any of these rumors,” Doctor Toskovic laughed. “We were so busy and excited that we couldn't bother to answer radio.”

  When Doctor Ming-Zhen heard this, he was leery. How could they be so busy that even one person could not bother to answer increasingly distressed calls over seven days?

  At any rate, the Russian team did succeed in reaching the water, and a geyser did not kill anyone; in fact, the up flow from the pressure actually helped them to acquire samples. They were able to obtain these from water that froze inside the borehole several hundred feet up from the lake surface.

  Doctor Toskovic himself carried the samples to Saint Petersburg, and the voyage was so long that it wasn't until 2013 that they were able to experiment with them. What they ultimately discovered baffled the imagination.

  They found DNA, DNA representing thousands of species.

  Most of these species were bacteria, but eukaryotes (single-celled organisms with a nucleus) and over one hundred multi-celled organisms were found, four of which were associated with mollusks and fish (in such roles as aiding in digestion).

  [7] Amazingly, it was said a species entirely unknown to science had also been found, although nothing more on this subject was ever mentioned.

  It was known that the DNA could not have survived millions of years floating in the lake. Therefore the alternative was that the samples represented a living biology that presently occupied it, leading one of the excited Russian scientists to make the extraordinary claim that “living fish” might be found there. The statement was quickly retracted, but the damage was done: doubt was cast on the findings and the entire team suffered the consequences. The scientific community used the press to seriously question all of the findings, saying the DNA were contaminants, and eventually all of the Russians were shamed into silence.

  Doctor Toskovic disclosed to Doctor Ming-Zhen that he himself had found his role as a scientist castigated since then; at conferences he was shunned and he found it difficult to publish papers in respected journals. Research money or partners were suddenly scarce. Thus he spent most of his time in Saint Petersburg lecturing rather than doing any practical research. And he had never returned to Antarctica until now. He was eager for the chance to redeem himself.

  “You and I, we are alike, I think,” Doctor Toskovic said, his face serious. “We both make discoveries, they don't like, call fraud, career fall to pieces. Now we have chance to show them truth.”

  After dinner, they left the hall to walk down an aisle of barracks to Doctor Ming-Zhen's new “home-away-from-home,” as Doctor Toskovic called it.

  His quarters were six feet by six feet, but he was relieved to see he did not have to share a bunk. There was a single, twin-sized cot, a lightweight desk, and a metal chair. As far as enjoying the comforts of home, though, Doctor Toskovic summed it up best: “You like bed of nails? Good! Here you sleep like infant!”

  Doctor Toskovic left him to settle into his quarters for the night. The bathroom was in a building about thirty steps from his bedroom, so his trip to eliminate was not a pleasant one. Then he slipped under the bedding with most of his layers still on and found the cot to be just about as comfortable as Doctor Toskovic had promised: jagged wire pressed into his back. He would have slept on the floor (his bed at home was almost as hard as the floor), but that would have been colder.

  As he tried to sleep that first night, he thought of what the Russian had said. It was true: they were alike. They were both on a mission of redemption. And Doctor Ming-Zhen had learned his lesson: this time he wanted the scientific community to be without doubt that if he discovered anything, it was 100% legitimate.

  That is why he was here. There would be no robot submersible: a person had to enter the lake and witness it with his own eyes. This was the only way to remove all doubt.

  It was also 100% dangerous.

  In the cold darkness, he felt very alone and missed his family. He felt a pang of guilt. A very straightforward man, he didn't agonize over the choices he made. But this one had become a thorn in his flesh almost the moment he decided to go. Anyone who was not very intimate with his wife would never have known that she was troubled: she did not scold or criticize him, she simply had moments where she could no longer restrain her emotional turmoil and she would stare into space as a silent tear navigated down her cheek. She was not ignorant of the tremendous risks, and although she had supported his initial efforts to redeem himself, she had not realized then that this would ultimately place him in a life-jeopardizing submersible in Antarctica.

  It was the very danger, however, which made it a matter of duty, he thought. He could not send people down there if he was unwilling to go himself. After all, this mission was the brainchild of his conception.

  There had doubtless been a contest to see who would be the first on the moon. Lake Vostok was no less
remote, and, depending upon what, if anything, was discovered there, the man who first entered it would be immortalized in history.

  He was suddenly very nauseous. As much as he detested the idea of braving the frigid air, as his stomach churned and his mouth filled with saliva, he knew it was inevitable. He kicked off the blankets and ran out the door, blinking in the light and realizing that it was still totally sunny out. He remembered that there were twenty-four hour days here this time of year... Well, that would make it easier for him to see to sweep over the vomit that showered out of his mouth.

  That first unpleasant night now a month behind him, he watched as the door of the plane opened and his family blinked as they stepped out into the frosty air. His daughter, Li, pointed and waved to him from the top of the staircase. Made rotund by an apparent suitcase-full of pants and coats, she struggled to make her way down the steps.

  His wife, Boa, held her by the hand, but when they finally reached the ground, Li could be contained no longer and broke free from her mother to run into his arms. This girl was the only thing in the world that caused Doctor Ming-Zhen to fully break from his stoicism and smile from ear to ear.

  Hugging his daughter with one arm, he drew Bao close with the other. She had a broad face, short neck, and upturned eyebrows. Her thick, graying hair protruded out from under a large cap, and her cheeks were rosy with the cold. Tears streamed down her face, but she said nothing.

  “I told you I would come to you in Zhongshan,” he scolded, then kissed her forehead. “It is much colder here than the coast.”

  “I could not wait, not one minute more,” she replied softly, her voice breaking. Her tears had already frozen on her eyelashes.

  He squeezed his family happily. “Let's get back on the plane before you turn into snowmen.”