by John Hunt
“We few men have an awesome responsibility.” It was the old man talking. He had been quiet until now. “We have sacrificed much in order to do our duty. Money, certainly. Safety, freedom, society, choice, the luxuries of modern life. Yes, these too. In some cases,” he looked around the room, “we have sacrificed our marriages. None of us chose to be here. This was thrust upon us. The question has been raised again, should we not just murder these two men? As our situation gets more desperate, that question will occur again and again, each time with more urgency. We need to step back now. Each of us needs to go home. Search our souls. Is it our duty to murder innocent men?”
The leader spoke, “I recommend that we reconvene tomorrow evening, after we have each thought about this. Let’s decide the fate of these men, once and for all, tomorrow night.”
The others nodded in agreement.
The old man showed the others out and then went walking in the windy night. It was cold and damp, as it so often was. “Tomorrow night,” he muttered to himself, “we decide the fate of our souls.”
9. Exploring Paradise
PETUR HAD FALLEN asleep on that reclining chair in front of the inn and dreamed of the stunning brunette with luxurious legs. Although he couldn’t see her face, he could tell she was laughing at him. He did not know why she was laughing, and it gave him the feeling that something was amiss. He awoke and staggered in to his room and the comfort of clean sheets on a firm mattress.
The next morning came soon. A loud knocking on his door pulled him to the surface from a deep and black sleep. Petur stretched the night’s stiffness away. The knocking continued. He glanced at the digital clock, glowing red above the video monitor. It was already 9:30. He shook his head and opened the door. Joseph was outside, a broad smile on his face, dressed in a khaki summer safari suit and a hat. It was obvious he had recovered from the arduous flight and was eager to begin the explorations.
“Petur, it is time to start the day! I am an old man, with little time left. Breakfast is on the table, let’s get a move on!”
Petur nodded approval, and Onbacher let him have a few minutes to wake up. A warm shower helped him to arouse completely. He got dressed and joined his elder companion for a superb breakfast. Then they were off to explore.
Several electric golf carts were parked in front of the inn, “Guest House” emblazoned on their sides. The two men climbed into the nearest four-person cart, Petur swiped his Island Bank card through the reader — electronically transferring twenty milligrams of his gold stashed in the Bank vaults to the owner of the cart, and headed down the road toward the pier. Along the way were several branching roads, all as-yet unpaved, which led to housing units and various facilities buildings, parks, playgrounds, and the small school building still under construction. They passed the road leading to Science Hall, which Petur was eager to tour most of all.
It was only a quick trip down to the head of the pier, where they intended to meet their tour guide. Petur pulled the cart alongside a pile of scrap lumber and climbed out. A ship was alongside, with men busily working to offload her. A tall man with black hair and deeply tanned skin stood at the bottom of the gangplank, smoking a cigarette. He turned away from Petur to look out over the lagoon. Petur noticed him only peripherally.
Petur himself rotated in a full circle, taking in the scenery. Straight out from the sizable pier lay the channel to the ocean. To its right, to the northwest, was a thin and short rim of natural sandy breakwater that lay on top of an ancient coral reef. Moving his gaze more to the north, Petur could see the lagoon perimeter become wider and higher, increasing in size and in quantity of vegetation. Continuing to rotate, he saw the land several kilometers beyond the airstrip rise to a sharp volcanic peak, the top of which was masked by layers of mist. Between him and the mountain, he could see Science Hall protruding high above the trees. To the east and south of the mountain peak, and all the way to the open ocean, was acre after acre of dense jungle growth. There was no evidence that anyone had attempted to traverse that area yet. But there was a narrow dirt road which skirted the eastern rim of the lagoon and curved further eastward on the outskirts of the dense jungle, heading toward the ocean. He had no idea how far that road went — perhaps around the whole island. Finally he completed his rotation, again passing his eyes over a sandy low-lying breakwater — this one lying to the southeast of the lagoon entrance, symmetric to the other side.
Two men at the far end of the pier were walking toward them, smiling. One gestured in a quick welcoming wave.
“I have been eagerly awaiting your arrival, gentlemen,” said the larger man who wore a clean short- sleeved shirt and a tie. He had a thick German accent and a shaven head and was built of pure muscle. “Welcome! Mr. Bjarnasson, I understand that you are staying for good this time. Excellent.”
Petur introduced him. “Joseph, this is Heinrich Poll. He is Otto Wagner’s second-in-command, kindly on loan to us. Heinrich — Joseph Onbacher.” The two men exchanged firm handshakes and pleasantries.
“And this is Tim Bellamy, a former member of the American Merchant Marine, and now the lagoon pilot.” Petur introduced the man whose job it was to guide the great vessels in and out of the narrow channel. He was ultimately responsible for the safe passage of any ship arriving at the pier. He had long blond hair, light eyes, and a dark tan.
“Heinrich, you have done amazing things!” said Petur, augmenting the comment with a firm slap on the German’s back. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of work being accomplished this fast and expertly. How have you done it?”
“German efficiency, Mr. Bjarnasson.” He laughed. “Actually I was not expecting it to be this way. I was anticipating delays in obtaining supplies, shortages of workers and equipment, lack of power, and bad weather. But luck has been on our side.” The German’s command of English was outstanding, though his accent was deep.
“Well, it is due in no small part to your efforts, I hear,” interceded Onbacher. “Thank you very much. I hope we are paying you well!”
“Mr. Wagner pays me well, I assure you.”
Heinrich turned, laid a gentle hand on each man’s shoulder, and said quietly, “Things are well under control here, are they not Tim?” nodding to the lagoon pilot. Then he turned to Petur and Onbacher, “Allow me to give you the grand tour!”
Despite the weight of three passengers, the cart easily climbed the long paved road that they had come down earlier. The high tree branches grew out across the road here and soon obstructed their view of the quickly receding lagoon behind them. Heinrich took them up the long hill to the airstrip. Jack Gaimey’s Tiltrotor was out on the tarmac, already back from its quick visit to Pitcairn, far to the south. Just beyond the strip, the road became dirt again, and serpentine, as it wound its way up the increasing incline of the volcanic peak. They had moved partway around the mountain and were on its northern slope. There was more wind up here, and the breeze was cool enough that Joseph buttoned up his collar on his safari shirt.
They were quite high now, and had a spectacular panorama of the Pacific Ocean. Not far away, he could see the low brown shape of Paradise 5. Closer in, the implacable ocean waves, unhindered by the sandy breakwater that rimmed the lagoon, crashed earnestly into the obstinate rocky cliffs that forged the northern base of the mountain.
Around a sharp bend in the tree-lined road, a clearing appeared. Within it lay the telecommunications station. Still in its infancy, the facility was already well-equipped. A substantial satellite dish dominated the area, casting an oval shadow upon the structures that lay below it. Several smaller satellite receiver and transmitter dishes lay along the periphery of the great shadow cast by the primary dish array. The overall appearance seemed appropriate for a science fiction movie thriller. The cart pulled up alongside the base of the big dish and the men climbed out.
While the three men walked around the colossal array of antennae, Heinrich received a call on his pocket satellite phone. The brief conversation seemed to en
d well, as he continued on a relaxed stroll.
Petur pointed to the enormous dish above their heads. “Orbiting directly above our heads is the Island Project’s very own communications satellite. Heinrich just received a call on his personal phone. His phone sends and receives signals directly to and from that satellite. That dish provides us with practically unlimited bandwidth to the rest of the planet. We are setting up a cellular system here next.”
Onbacher asked. “How about that monstrosity there?” indicating the white domed cylinder.
“Inside there will be a five-meter reflecting telescope. Although we’re not particularly high in the atmosphere here, the air is so clear and the artificial light so low that this turns out to be a reasonably good site for an observatory.”
“If we are aiming for the stars, it is good that we can see them clearly,” Onbacher said.
“And it will provide us value someday, Joseph.” Petur was astounded by this man’s eagerness to invest and trust in Petur. Likewise, Otto Wagner seemed a limitless source of support. Although he continued managing his corporation and was not planning on spending much time on the island, he had talked up the Island Project with the best and brightest of his employees and had convinced several to join the project; Heinrich Poll, for example. Otto was in touch several times a week by videophone. Thomas Standall was recovering the knowledge of medicine that he had forgotten while tied up in business, eagerly awaiting his move to the Island.
Joseph Onbacher had already been retired for some time, and had turned his full attention to the Island Project. His greatest contribution, other than his fortune, was his extensive love for and knowledge of history. Even projects as noble as this one had failed frequently over the several millennia of recorded human history. This might not be an exception if they did not learn lessons from the past.
This was Onbacher’s first visit to the islands, and actually only Petur’s fourth, but this time Petur was staying. Onbacher had been looking forward to this for months, but he would not be staying. Onbacher had a large extended family, all of which loved him dearly. His wife was long deceased, but he had several daughters and a son. There were also five small grandchildren. Petur suspected that it was his concern for his grandchildren that prompted Onbacher’s earnest and vigorous support for the Island Project. It was for the children that all this gargantuan effort had been initiated.
Petur did not know the other financiers so well, although he had met all but one. One financier, a woman whom Petur had only talked with on the phone, was mysterious. It made him uncomfortable, but she had insisted that she was to remain anonymous. He had sent her a copy of his recruiting presentation, and had been keeping her well-informed of the progress on the Island. She in turn had provided millions of dollars, obtained via an account in a bank in Grand Cayman. Petur had been unable to ascertain how she had come to hear about the Project, but enough wealthy folk had been approached that it was not a big surprise that word would get out.
The additional investors included the founder of an enormous American computer peripheral manufacturing corporation, a sheik from Saudi Arabia, a doctor who ran a construction company in Malaysia, and the Chairman of the Board of a Japanese automobile conglomerate. There were fourteen investors, now — although some had timidly committed only a small percentage of their resources thus far.
The financiers had all met together only once, six months earlier, just as the pace of construction on Paradise 1 had increased drastically. Everyone except the unknown woman gathered at the Hotel Washington, two blocks from the White House. Petur and Isaac were there, as were Heinrich Poll and several of the leading scientists. Petur had become a master at creating impressive presentations, and this was no exception. It had been a particularly easy presentation, Petur recalled, because the subject matter spoke for itself — everything was going smoothly, in a timely fashion, and there had been no serious hitches. Several of the financiers had never met, but by the end of the weekend had become teammates, everyone taking the same possibly insane gamble.
Obtaining the money had been his greatest impediment. With that behind him, he could now rest comfortably in his faith that the incredible gathering of intellectual and entrepreneurial geniuses, all dedicated to the Project’s goals, would be able to make the theoretical and technological advances that could pull humankind back from the cliff edge.
Petur was roused from his reflections by the voice of Heinrich Poll, who was swearing loudly into his cellular phone; the enormous satellite dash was backdrop to his reddening face. Together with Onbacher, Petur walked over to the electric cart. Heinrich needed to get back to the pier and deal with the captain of the cargo vessel. Apparently some of the cargo had not been received in good condition, and discussions were underway as to how to deal with this problem.
“I despise this part of the job,” Poll said.
The trip back to the Guest House was much quicker than the slow drive up the mountain. Heinrich flew down the narrow and bumpy dirt path as if he were driving a BMW through the winding mountainous roads of Monte Carlo. But they made it safely, and Petur and Joseph settled down on the verandah to await their tour guide’s return.
The two men sat in white wicker rocking chairs, one on either side of the front door to the inn. Each rocked gently, enjoying the refreshing breeze and tranquility. Petur had closed his eyes and begun drifting to sleep when the springed door of the inn slammed shut. Petur opened his eyes slightly to see a man walking briskly down the staircase. He had dark hair and a deep tan. The man did not turn around. Even when he rounded the corner to turn down the main road he faced away, as if looking into the jungle growth across the way. He lit a cigarette before he disappeared behind the trees.
After a period of perhaps thirty minutes, Heinrich was back. They trotted to the cart, and headed to the next site of the tour. Negotiations with the Merchant Marine skipper must have gone well, for the German was smiling.
The next stop was Petur’s personal pride and joy, and he was eager to examine and display the extraordinary building to Joseph. Science Hall — the largest building on the island — was completed in less than seven months, attesting to Heinrich’s organizational abilities and owing to its ample funding.
The road, the only approach to the complex, was not yet paved. IIt was broad because it had handled hundreds of truckloads of supplies and heavy equipment. Ahead rose a structure of steel and cement, with a reflective surface of marble from South America. Although standing only fifteen stories above the ground, its cathedral-like towers, spires, and buttresses gave the feeling of reaching for the heavens. Yet it was not airy. It was solidly rooted. Enormous blocks of the local basalt anchored the structure into the surrounding terrain. The anchoring was more than just that, however. Petur knew that the tendrils of the building skewered deeply into the Earth. It was deeper than it was tall.
The two men, led by Heinrich, walked up the glistening stairs leading to the main entrance. A ramp was there too, not tucked off to the side as an afterthought, but right in the middle, on a par with the stairs. The glass doors of the entrance were reflective, and one could see nothing of what lay within until the door parted when they approached. Inside it was cool. Electric wires, unpainted surfaces, and thick layers of dust on the floor suggested that the building needed important finishing touches.
From the start, this was a high-tech building — more than it needed to be, even. Petur intended this building to be the symbol of the Island Project, representing the fullest use of current technologies, combined with dreams and solid business sense.
The entranceway of the building led to a large round stadium with sloping rows of chairs in perfect concentric half circles. It would easily hold nine hundred people. Although it certainly could function as a theater, it was primarily designed for large group discussions or town meetings. In the front of this amphitheater, rising out of the center floor, was a monolithic structure as a large video display . Each of the seats was wired electronically,
which gave access to the local island computer network and beyond. This was a meeting place for the Project staff.
On either side of the hall were elevators leading upward to various laboratories and offices, and downward to the special facilities requested by several of the scientists. One special elevator tunneled more than two hundred meters below the surface to the small laboratory dedicated to Evan Harrigan’s experiments.
The men then took one of the elevators to the top floor. As the three men stepped off the elevator, Petur knew this would be his favorite place on the island. It seemed as though glittering light was everywhere. Pink and purple and blue and green colors filled the air. They had stepped off the elevator into what seemed to be a fireworks display.
It was not a big floor, as it was the top of the pyramidal building. The walls were all glass, and they sloped inward toward the center. The ceiling was fifteen meters above their heads, and even the pinnacle was completely made of glass. It was hard to see the point where the walls of glass came together, for the brightly shimmering light of the afternoon sun was magnified and refracted by the apex of the roof — which was cut in the manner of an enormous, round, brilliant diamond — preventing even the shaded eye from seeing the exact structure. Tiny beams of light, intense enough to hurt the eyes if one gazed directly upon it, shot forth from the multifaceted surface.
It was an observation room and a dining area as well. It would be informal during the day, when the workers would eat their lunches with a glorious view of the ocean and surrounding islands. On weekend evenings, the room would be converted to provide a fine dining experience, again managed by Gustaf. As the sun set, it would emanate gentle tropical oranges and reds — as the other colors already had been refracted out of the sunshine by the rays’ long trek through the atmosphere. This was part of the great effort to make available on the island some opportunity to experience luxury. People who lived here would be a long, long way from anywhere.