Higher Cause

by John Hunt

  The pilot dropped the Tiltrotor to within thirty meters of the island’s rough ground. The tallest point on this island was just over twenty meters high. It was the smallest of the island group, as well as the shortest; not much more than a dirt-covered rock. It was a perfect place to set aside for the more destructive experiments that the scientists might devise.

  Paradise 5′s lack of life was a mystery. It seemed to have had the same geologic origins as the other islands in the group — all born in a cauldron of fire emanating from a deep burr-hole in the Earth’s mantle, over which gradually slid the enormous slab of crust that was their foundation. It was reasonably close to the other islands, all of which had ample vegetation, and surrounded by the same pink beaches. There was just no vegetation. None at all.

  A few stone throws to the west of Paradise 5, the water changed color suddenly — from a crystal-clear, glowing aquamarine, to dark green-black. The expanse reached out to the western horizon. Onbacher pointed down and called up to the pilot.

  “Why the sudden change in the water?”

  Jack Gaimey put his right hand up in the air, diagramming the topography of the undersea terrain below them. He indicated a sudden, severe drop-off at the place where the dark water began. “The depth drops from less than thirty meters to more than two thousand within a distance shorter than my grandmother could throw a stone. Some of Wagner’s German engineers discovered it when they came out to survey this island. I was surprised myself. I must say that has to be the biggest cliff on Earth!”

  The group of islands had long ago moved away from their ancestral burr-hole, and at the surface little would remind anyone of their fiery genesis. But the evidence was there for anyone who might look deep down in the waters beneath. Far below and invisible from the surface, steaming plumes of jet-black sulfur compounds poured through funnels that seemed to grow as mushroom stalks out of the very narrow crust of the oceanic tectonic plate. Surrounding the funnels lived a menagerie of strange creatures that passed their time in the utter darkness of the depths. A dense growth of algae thickened the surrounding waters with a mass of life, unbeholden to the shining light of the sun whose beams never penetrated to these depths. Sulfur was their diet. Giant tubeworms, blind fish, albino crustaceans, and thousands of other fantastic creatures fed, in turn, on the algae and the higher levels of the food chain. Separated forever from the surface by a massive intervening layer of cold water, it was as if these strange creatures evolved on another planet.

  Petur said, “That is one of the vital components of this place, Joseph. The water temperature gradients here will provide the primary source of our electric power.”

  “Is this where the OTEC is to be positioned?” asked Onbacher.

  “Not right here. We need it closer to the main island for now. This same drop-off extends southeastward past Paradise 3, nearly as close in to the shore as here. It’s there that we plan to put the OTEC.”

  “I have yet to figure out how this OTEC thing works,” said Onbacher. “I just haven’t had the time to look into it. I must really trust you, to be putting all this money into something that I know absolutely nothing about.”

  Petur replied, “You had the vision to support it, Joseph. The rest is in the hands of the engineers. The OTEC is just a simple source of electricity. I will go over it more when we land. Believe me, I have lots of good diagrams I can use to show you.” He patted his lightweight laptop computer, nestled snugly between his feet.

  “Why does that not surprise me?”

  The airplane had turned again and was now heading east, back toward the big island and the airstrip. Jack Gaimey steered the aircraft low over the runway, which was still under construction, and then out toward the eastern portion of Paradise 1. There was no tower to contact for permission to land, so the overfly was the agreed-upon method to assure that the runway and helipad were clear. He gently turned around, returned to the well-marked pad at the edge of the airstrip, and efficiently manipulated the tender controls that adjusted the propellers to the vertical. The plane seemed to rock like an infant in a baby swing as it settled into a hover and then gently nestled down on the tarmac. They taxied into a nearby hangar and once inside, Jack Gaimey shut down the engines. The sudden silence came as an unexpected and most welcome reward to the passengers, who had been exposed to the constant decibels of air travel for over a day.

  Petur unlatched the door, pushed it open with his foot, and climbed out into the hot and stifling air inside the metal building. The place was thick with the exhaust from the engines. Onbacher had slipped from the rear of the plane and out the back of the giant aluminum shed almost before the rotors had stopped spinning. Petur was pleased that the elder man’s bladder would no longer be hindering his pleasure during his initial moments on the island.

  Jack Gaimey had pulled the suitcases out of the Tiltrotor’s boot, and now silently drove up alongside them in a battery-powered golf cart. “Climb in, I can get you to your quarters within four minutes.”

  But Onbacher shook his head, saying, “I think I need to walk, if you don’t mind.”

  “Good idea,” said the pilot. “It’s down the road there — you will see a sign for ‘Guest House.’ They’ll be expecting you. Me, I have to head back out in a couple of hours. Promised I would visit my friends on Pitcairn.”

  “You get around, don’t you?”

  “I try!” Then Jack Gaimey pressed the accelerator and pointed the cart down the road. He was around a corner and out of sight in seconds.

  Petur and Onbacher walked alongside the airstrip, turning left down a wide road. It was one of the few paved roads on the island, and clearly one of the most traveled. Tall trees with bare trunks and broad palm fronds lined the route. A look deeper into the forest further in from the road revealed a significantly less tamed region of thick and wildly overgrown underbrush, each plant vying desperately in a constant and selfish fight to claim one small bit of sunlight.

  The sun was warm, but the cool breeze from the sea had no difficulty in reaching the two men, even as far inland as they were. It was nearly a perfect temperature for the brief walk to their quarters.

  “Well, this is exciting, isn’t it?” Onbacher stated. “I vividly remember my first impression of you standing at my door in Alexandria. You seemed so young to me. Full of vim and vigor. I thought then that you were worth the risk. It is hard to believe that all this has actually begun.”

  “This is the easy part, Joseph. Building houses and laboratories and recreation facilities on a remote island is an exercise in management — that’s all. The real beginning is when we get the scientists and entrepreneurs to actually come up with something that can help us. Until then, your money is not generating any real return of any kind. But, there are so many encouraging projects planned that you would think one would come through for us. We only need one big hit for things to start rolling.”

  Onbacher chuckled. “One big hit will be a major accomplishment though, given the level you are thinking of. You are talking about a big hit that can could potentially change the world.”

  Petur kicked a small round rock forward down the road. “Yes, that’s right. Actually, as you know, the hit we are looking for will have to change the world. Fortunately we have the people and the resources and the motivation, and we are creating the right environment every day.”

  “Who is working on the most likely projects, would you say?”

  The rock he had kicked was slightly off to the side of the road. Petur angled over to kick it again. It was as if they were having a conversation about collecting baseball cards.

  “You know I cannot answer that. I only have my own insights. And it is the spontaneous thinking of many people, alone or freely interacting, that determines the best course. But if you want my admittedly biased opinions, you can have ‘em. Most importantly, perhaps, is my sister’s nuclear fusion work. And Evan Harrigan is at the point of a breakthrough in finding the particle he has been seeking, which can distort the ge
ometry of space. Isaac thinks that Harrigan has a chance of making a key technological breakthrough. Says it will be like harnessing the power of magic. Then, of course we have the OTEC under construction. When that starts pumping out oodles of electricity, it too will be an important contribution, although perhaps not the big hit we really need. Then there are some projects possibly never presented to you involving laser power transfer, force field creation, and several others. Each, if successful, could change the way the world operates, and create the vast new wealth that is needed to avoid the impending collapse.”

  Onbacher sighed, saying, “I hope I have invested in the right projects.”

  Shuffling his feet, Petur lined up his right toe to kick the round stone once again and commented, “You have been immensely valuable, as you know full well. Soon it will be time for you to reap the rewards of what you have sown.”

  “When will people start arriving?”

  “Next week. They start arriving next week. Joseph, it’s going to begin soon.”

  Several dirt driveways, each leading to a house, branched off from the road. The houses were completed, but the landscaping had not yet started. The supporting infrastructure of fiber optics and pneumatic tubes was still under construction. This infrastructure would facilitate communication between the homes and the worksites. Scientists could do much scientific work from their homes if the communication pipelines were wide enough. These pipelines would also connect the island with the rest of the world. It was vital to the Island Project because many more individuals would work off the island than on it.

  They approached the Guest House — large, attractive, and Victorian in design, like a Welsh inn. The scientists would have even more amenities on this remote island than they were accustomed to at home.

  They walked up the staircase and crossed the expansive verandah to the entrance. Petur glanced over his shoulder as he opened the screen doors for Onbacher. The view of the lagoon struck him. One could see everything on the bottom of the sea through the azure water. The pier was busy with a cargo ship landing.

  Inside, it was cool and comfortable. The manager of the inn, a restaurateur who Petur met in San Francisco years earlier, had volunteered to join the Island Project if it ever got off the ground. When it did, Petur offered him a position. Now he greeted the two men enthusiastically.

  “It is good to see you, Gustaf,” said Petur. “Have you settled in well?”

  “Wonderfully, Mr. Bjarnasson. This is truly Paradise. It is like a dream come true, you know.” Gustaf beamed from ear to ear, evidently as happy as could be. He seemed especially excited now that Petur and Onbacher would be staying at his inn.

  Gustaf had them sign the guest book, which Petur noticed had entries from many earlier visitors — architects, designers, engineers, pilots, captains, and others. Another hotel facility near the pier accomodated visitors who wanted to save money. It too was very nice, Petur had heard. Many regular and visiting construction workers stayed at that facility, at the request of the cost-conscious corporations for which they worked. This island was not designed as a utopian socialist paradise. People would pay for their own expenses here. There is no such thing as a free lunch.

  Petur presented the desk attendant with his Island Bank card, which was perhaps the most common way that residents tracked and exchanged money when they didn’t want to carry hard currency around. Gustaf then guided the two men to their respective rooms, where each found their luggage waiting. The rooms were large and comfortable, well-appointed, and pristine. Petur’s room was directly above the lobby, with the same view of the lagoon as the verandah. Onbacher’s accommodations were down the hall, on a corner, overlooking both the lagoon and the large central academic structure, which the construction workers called Science Hall.

  Petur was eager to go out and explore, and examine each of the new buildings. He planned to save Science Hall for last, for it was the core, the physical structure that would be central to the Island’s purpose. But the tour would have to wait, for he had promised Joseph he would postpone it until after the older man had adequately rested from the long flight. It would soon be dark, though, and the tour would not take place until tomorrow.

  That evening, Joseph and Petur had a quiet dinner at the inn’s fine, quaint restaurant. Petur was amused that a building only a few months old could have a “quaint" restaurant within it. But the architects were good — very good.

  Their dinner, created by a chef who had come with Gustaf from San Francisco, was magnificent and substantial. The bill for the dining was likewise substantial. The dinner was well worth the six pre-1965 silver US quarters he paid. But because these quarters had kept their value against inflation because they were made of silver, they worth much more than their face value. These coins were just one of the many currencies people accepted on the Island. A few would even accept paper currency from the nations of the world, but the paper currency wouldn’t buy very much and was always quickly sent back to its country of origin to trade for gold or silver or some other needed commodity.

  After dinner, Onbacher retired to recuperate from the flight. Petur, painfully abiding by his promise to postpone the tour, put a chair from the verandah up on his shoulder and carried it down to the flat area in front of the inn — a flat area that would one day be an expansive grassy lawn. He sat back in the chair and stared at the night sky.

  As he gazed, his ability to perceive the dimmer stars slowly improved. The number of lights in the sky gradually increased from a few hundred to many thousands. The Milky Way revealed itself as a prominent band of white, so congested with stars that it almost choked the sky. Petur marveled at the vastness of the universe, as he had so many times in his life.

  He imagined an astronomer in a distant galaxy with an infinitely powerful telescope. The astronomer might randomly pick out the Milky Way from the thousands of galaxies in its neighborhood. Focusing in on this spiral galaxy, he would search for stars with planets encircling them. There were millions to choose from, densely packed at the center, spread more thinly at the periphery. It would take eons just to locate the planet Earth. But after he did, he would focus down through the atmosphere of the shining blue planet, seeing continents and oceans. More finely tuning this extraordinary telescope, he would scan the land areas.

  If, by some strange wonder of statistics and probabilities, he searched at just the right time — not too early, not too late — he would find evidence of civilization — burgeoning cities, bustling with human activity, creating faint glowing lights on the planet’s surface. Continuing his search, he would scan the oceans, identifying by sheer luck a tiny island in the middle of the largest ocean on the planet. Concentrating his efforts there, he would see individual structures, seemingly under construction. From among the six billion people on the planet, he would choose to view a single man, lying on a reclining chair on the grass outside an inn, staring upward toward the heavens and toward him. Using the finest calibration equipment available, the astronomer would magnify the image of the man’s face gazing back at him. It was a handsome face, with prominent and strong bones, capped with bright blond hair. The eyes had a color similar to the planet itself, a shimmering blue.

  Petur looked upward at the night sky and winked one of his blue eyes at the distant astronomer.

  “Bjarnasson and Onbacher are in the Paradise Islands.” The leader stated plainly. There was silence from the others. Seven oranges lay in the bowl in the center of the table. Each person stared at the bowl. This sort of news no longer astounded anybody. The frame of reference of the seven men around the table had changed greatly in the last nine months. No longer could they sit back and observe. They had gone from a defensive posture to a strongly offensive one. Every day there was something to be done.

  The youngest and most impatient of the group spoke first. “And just what are we going to do now?”

  The man directly opposite had a shaggy beard, just beginning to gray. He replied. “We are working hard on this.
All is going according to plan.”

  “According to plan? I don’t believe so. Not at all.” The young man shook his head assertively. “You — we — have made plans, yes. But each is risky, each relies on too many variables. What if they fail?”

  There was no answer. So he continued.

  “We are in the process of overthrowing a government. This is no small matter. Do you think such a thing is any more ethical or moral than murder? I say again that we should have killed them both, long ago.”

  The leader interrupted. “Yes, perhaps it would have been best. But once we march down that road, our noble purpose loses it nobility. We become evil. Our job is not to destroy, but to protect humanity.”

  The young man said quickly, “But we are failing to protect. Onbacher is on Paradise 1. Hundreds of people are on their way. How long do you think it will be until someone finds it? How long?”

  “Why are you so certain it will ever be found?”

  “Sheer numbers,” the solemn man across from the leader interjected. “It will happen accidentally.”

  The leader said hopefully, “It will take long enough for such an accident to happen. We can proceed with our plans. Bjarnasson and his group will be out of the Pacific within two years.”

  “That could be too long. Much too long.”

  There was silence from the rest of the table, each man perhaps contemplating the future. After several moments, the leader spoke again. “Murder. Assassination. Would it have been right to kill Hitler before he began exterminating the Jews? How about Stalin? How do we define right and wrong? Gentlemen, these issues are addressed in our religion. As the situation worsens and the risk heightens, will we as a group be able to maintain our code?”