The Disestablishment of Paradise

by Phillip Mann

  Worst of all were the agents who specialized in personal interrogation. These were led by a big heavy-jawed man named Stefan Diamond. He had eyes that stared and were unsmiling, a manner that always suggested that he disbelieved what he had been told, an ability to simply keep asking the same question time after time and a slowness in note taking that was clearly deliberate. His team were all cast from the same mould. They sat in on meetings, and the easy, candid and salacious back and forth of argument that had previously characterized such meetings came to an abrupt end. People started to talk like automatons, knowing that every word was being recorded. Or else they were heavily ironic and used the technical jargon of their discipline to confuse and mock their interlocutors. They referred to them as scatophaga, merdivora, escherichia and Symplocarpi foetidi. It did not make them popular but helped them feel a lot better.

  The same agents also began to interview individual members of the ORBE project. They asked about personal research work, about dealings with the agricultural sector, about how ORBE funding was distributed, and whether clear directives regarding their work priorities were received from senior management. All conversations were recorded with warnings that any false information or failure to disclose information could form the grounds for later action – though it was not clear what that action might be.

  Morale plummeted among ORBE personnel. Meetings between friends took place in greenhouses, or by the sea where there were no Auriculae aconitae listening.

  Hera, of course, came in for very close scrutiny and had the indignity of being suspended while on duty. She was locked out of her office and denied access to her files.

  One night Tania Kowalski was woken up by knocking on her door. Hera was in a terrible state, shaking and hardly able to stand. Tania’s first thought was that Hera had been raped. She brought her into the small lounge and sat her down and held her in her arms and rocked her and tried to make sense of what had happened. It was rape but not of the sexual kind – of the mind and sensibilities.

  That evening Hera had gone to her laboratory and discovered that someone, despite the big warning sign, had disabled the alarm and then turned off the power to the cryogenic units. All the bio-form samples dating right back to the early days of Paradise were now slush. The loss was irreplaceable. This could only have been deliberate.

  Shocked and distraught, Hera had returned to her shilo to find the front door open, a window smashed and there, hanging on the veranda by a cord, was a Tattersall weed. It had been trimmed so that the blue flower resembled a head, and four of its spiky limbs were like arms and legs. It was draped in some of Hera’s underwear. Grotesquely it turned in the light breeze.

  Hera, afraid to go into the house, had run all the way to Tania’s cabin.

  Next morning there was no sign of the hanging Tattersall weed and no one owned up to the damage in the deep-freeze lab.

  Hera stayed with Tania after that. And when she moved about New Syracuse she was always accompanied. The theory was that it was members of the Settlers’ Agricultural Association who had done these things and there was whispered talk of reprisals, which Hera tried to stop, but she felt the weakening of her authority.

  Then, with no warning, the audit ended as quickly as it had begun. The Audit Unit personnel simply packed up and took passage off planet without any explanation.

  The ORBE workers were left dazed, insecure and baffled. What had it all been about? Thousands of documents had been copied but none were of what you could call an incriminating nature – embarrassing possibly, comic frequently, scatological often and sometimes brutally frank. Simply the ephemera of busy, clever people.

  There were no financial irregularities. ORBE did work efficiently. They knew it; everyone knew it – and if some of its members were disrespectful and looked a bit scruffy, that was their choice. There was nothing untidy about their minds.

  But relations with the Settlers’ Agricultural Association dropped to an all-time low. Fights broke out, and the aggies, who had always had a certain contempt for the scientists, discovered what it meant to tangle with the range-hardened and self-sufficient men and women of the ORBE project, for they could give better than they received when it came to a fight.

  The only gleam of hope was that the Space Council had not yet ratified the Economic Subcommittee recommendation. A crucial debate was scheduled to take place just seven days after the audit agents had departed.

  On the day of the debate, the times between Central and Paradise were divergent. Using fractal time, dawn on Central was late afternoon on Paradise. As the day wore on, members of ORBE gradually gathered at their HQ. Not far away, in the Settlers’ Club, the members of the SAA held their own gathering.

  At five thirty in the evening the news came through. Everyone knew that the debate would have been fierce, but the news when it came was delivered in a flat and unemotional manner: ‘The Space Council after due deliberation has voted in favour of disestablishing Paradise. Action: immediate.’

  It was over.

  The news was a body blow. No, it was worse. It was an execution.

  Though Hera had tried to prepare herself, when she heard the news it made her physically sick and she had to retire to one of the toilets at the ORBE HQ.

  When she came out, some people had already left and had taken bottles down to the beach, there to vent their hurt and rage. Others sat red-eyed. That night Hera admitted herself to the small hospital in New Syracuse. Nervous exhaustion was the diagnosis, but they might just as well have said heartbreak or grief.

  And it was there, early in the morning of the next day, that she received an official summons ordering her to attend a disciplinary hearing at the Audit Unit offices on Central. Evidently there were questions she needed to answer. Allegations of misconduct. Irregularities had been found in her stewardship of the ORBE project.

  Had the universe turned to clockwork? Hera wondered, each day mindlessly bringing worse tidings. The hearing, which would be open to the public, was scheduled to take place in two days. Wearily Hera contacted Tania Kowalski, who agreed to accompany her to Central.

  On the day of departure Captain Abhuradin was waiting for Hera at the shuttle platform. This was not the captain that Hera was used to. Her face looked scrubbed and severe. Her hair was held back and her face lacked make-up. She was wearing fatigues with a black armband. The space platform was already noise with new people arriving to conduct the Disestablishment.

  ‘They did it,’ said Hera flatly.

  ‘They always meant to,’ answered Abhuradin. ‘Here, I have a letter for you.’ She saw a sudden look of fear cross Hera’s face. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not official; it’s from me. Something I’ve been meaning to say since . . . since the last time we met.’ She pressed the letter into Hera’s hands. After a slight hesitation, she leaned forward and gave Hera a light kiss on the cheek. ‘Good luck.’

  Hera endured a terrible passage through the fractal. Where, she wondered, and from what black depth of her psyche, did such nightmares come?

  The only shred of comfort for her was Abhuradin’s letter.

  Dear Hera,

  I said some terrible things to you after that meeting with Isherwood, and I am very sorry. I was very angry, but I rarely lose my temper like that. It has quite unsettled me. It tells me that my decision to quit the service at the end of the year is the right decision for me, though I have offered to stay on and perform the ‘last rites’ now that the Space Council has voted to proceed with the Disestablishment.

  This is a terrible day. Like you, I take no joy in anything at present. I am not sure what is going on, but I hope the bad things I predicted do not come to pass.

  I was rude to you, and for that I am deeply sorry, but I was also trying to tell you the truth as I see it.

  Captain Inez Abhuradin

  Alpha Platform-over-Paradise

  The letter came as a complete surprise to Hera. She found it difficult to accept that it was from a woman who until today she ha
d regarded as an enemy. How little she had known her. And how right the elegant Captain Abhuradin had been!

  Hera was still wobbly on her feet when she and Tania reached Central. It was half past seven in the evening, local time.

  An official from the Audit Unit, a strong-looking young man with cropped hair, was there to meet them. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m Kris. I’m your minder. I was one of the team down on Paradise. Nice place. Sorry to hear what’s happened. But that’s progress, eh?’

  Once through the security doors, reporters were waiting. They pushed their instruments in front of Hera‘s face and shouted questions. It was as much as Tania and Kris, assisted by one of the security guards, could do to shield Hera and get her into the safety of the lift leading up to the Space Council offices.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ said Hera when the sliding doors had hissed shut. ‘How did they know I was coming?’

  The young man shrugged. ‘This place leaks like a sieve when they want it to. Don’t worry. We’ve booked an apartment for you in the secure wing. You won’t be troubled there.’

  ‘The secure wing?’ asked Tania. ‘Isn’t that just for people on trial?’

  ‘And VIPs,’ said the young man smoothly.

  A soft ringing tone announced that the lift had reached the apartment level. From there Kris conducted them to a pleasant suite of rooms on the outer ring of the torus, from which they had a view of the cratered face of the moon turning slowly beneath them. ‘The hearing will take place at ten tomorrow, but I will come to collect you at nine. Breakfast will be delivered at seven thirty. You can make your selection by call-up. Have a pleasant evening.’

  The door closed, and Tania, who had a streetwise and suspicious turn to her mind, counted to ten and then tried it. The door opened.

  Kris, halfway down the corridor, turned and smiled.

  At exactly nine a.m. the next morning Kris tapped on the door. The two women were ready.

  Kris conducted them to the main office of the Audit Unit, where Stefan Diamond – unsmiling as ever – handed her some forms. With him was a man Hera had not expected to see, a friend, Senator Jack Stephenson.

  Jack Stephenson, formerly an Olympic swimming champion, was now an influential member of the Space Council, chairing several committees. He was also a loyal supporter of the ORBE project, and it was largely due to his influence that the tourism proposals had been so roundly defeated.

  ‘I came as soon as I heard they’d brought you over to Central,’ he said. ‘I’ve no idea what this is all about.’ He gestured around, including Stefan Diamond in the movement. ‘I imagine you have more pressing concerns than this, Hera.’ Then, in sudden irritation, he turned and addressed Stefan Diamond. ‘Get the women a coffee or something, man. And then, please, I would like to speak to them for a few minutes in private.’

  Stefan Diamond shrugged and gestured to Kris, who took their orders and then departed. ‘I would remind you that the hearing begins in thirty-five minutes’ time,’ said Diamond, ‘so you have about fifteen minutes.’ And he left.

  Tania picked up the papers Diamond had left on the table. ‘If it is all the same to you, I think I’ll take a stroll outside and have a squiz at these. Then I can brief you,’ she said. ‘You talk in private.’

  Jack Stephenson took a small electronic monitor from his pocket and placed it on the table between them. Immediately it began to flash and emit a polytonal signal, indicating that recording devices were operating. ‘And you can turn them off too,’ said Stephenson loudly. ‘And if I find out that any part of our conversation has been listened to, you’ll be answerable to the Disciplinary Committee, which I chair.’ Seconds later the monitor became silent and its light faded.

  Stephenson looked at Hera for a few moments. ‘Been tough, eh?’ She nodded. ‘I understand they got you out of hospital.’

  ‘It was my own choice,’ said Hera.

  ‘Well if I’d known, I’d have told you not to come. You could have told them to stuff it. Hell, there’s plenty of time for this kind of circus later. Not that it is relevant now anyway.’ He paused and sighed deeply. ‘I am so sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘So, very, very sorry. I thought we had the numbers. Just. It was a hell of a debate. There was blood on the floor of the chamber. I’ve never been through a session like it. It has absolutely split the Council in half. But they got us with a couple of abstentions, Apolinari and de Loutherberg – God knows who pressured them – and poor Elvira Estaing couldn’t be there. She was on her way but suffered a heart attack in Suva. She is still in intensive care.’ Hera put her hand to her mouth but said nothing. In her mind she was aware of another tick of the clockwork. ‘We really missed Elvira’s voice at the debate. I think she would have won over the abstentions. And of course smiling Secretary Tim cast his vote with the Lady Hilder party and that was it: fifty-seven to fifty-five.’

  ‘Can’t we appeal?’ It was said without enthusiasm.

  ‘I’ve already done so. But I don’t have any hopes. It was all so sudden and now positions are entrenched. In any case, the people on the Review Committee, all except old Ishriba, voted for Disestablishment. Times are changing. We are into a new phase of some sort. There is a lot of ignorance out there selling itself as pragmatism, and God knows where it will end. For the first time, Hera, I am really afraid for the future.’

  ‘Well, you did what you could,’ said Hera. ‘And thank you for that.’

  ‘The bad news is, and I am afraid I am getting cynical in my old age, that I think one of the reasons they have brought you here so quickly is to get you off planet. By the time you get back to Paradise the first demolition teams will already be on the ground. That’s how quickly things are happening. They probably thought you might stage a protest.’

  Hera made a sound, a quiet sound such as a cat makes when it is dying, a small involuntary keening which could almost have been a sound of love. Then she said, very softly, ‘Who is doing this, Jack? Who?’

  Stephenson shrugged and shook his head. ‘I have no idea. There may be one person or several people . . . One day maybe we will find out, but I am not sure that names matter now. You know, Hera, as days pass I seem to meet more and more people who don’t seem to like the light of day. People who are not comfortable with ideas like beauty or love or self-sacrifice, and for whom the only truth is what they can hold in their hand, the power they can wield, the advantage they can take. These people don’t have to talk to one another; they know one another by their smell. And what I fear most now is that these people, whoever they are, will come to control what is happening in space. And if they do, we as a race will make the same mistake as we always have. We will try to control by force what we could perfectly well live with by reason alone.’

  Hera had never seen Jack Stephenson so despondent.

  ‘Well, look at me,’ he said, rallying. ‘And I came here to offer you support.’

  ‘And you are, Jack.’

  There was a tap at the door and Kris brought in the coffee. ‘Just to let you know there are seven minutes until we have to go down to the hearing. I’ll be taking you down.’ He withdrew without waiting for a reply.

  Hera and Jack Stephenson were silent.

  Inside Hera it was as though all her emotions were colours and they were spinning round in her head. She did not know what she thought or what she felt any more. And then, apropos of nothing, she said, ‘There were people I knew on the fractal transit, people I’ve known for years. Some of them looked away when they saw me.’ She paused. ‘Isn’t that sad? I’ve had people be rude before, but they didn’t seem to want to know me. Why?’ She was silent for a moment. ‘And there were photographers waiting too. I felt like a criminal. None of us understand what is happening. One day we are told we are going to be disestablished. Then we are told we are going to be audited, and the next thing we know all these strange men arrive and start bossing us about as though they owned the place. I’ve never seen guns on Paradise before, except in the museum. Why guns . . .?
’

  ‘How did your people take it?’

  ‘Not well. But it got to me.’

  Stephenson nodded. ‘Well, the audit people were on a fishing expedition. As far as I can make out, a group of SAA members made a formal complaint direct to Tim Isherwood saying that funds were being misappropriated by ORBE and that they were not getting the level of support they were entitled to.’

  ‘What? Who were they?’

  ‘William and Proctor Newton and young Elizabeth Pears.’

  ‘I might have known! And Isherwood took them seriously. The Newtons are as mad as March hares. Proctor Newton hears voices, and no one can understand what William is talking about most of the time. As for Lizzie Pears . . . well, she’s just a mixed-up girl. Why didn’t Isherwood check with us first?’

  ‘Because he didn’t want to. He handed the matter over to the Economic Subcommittee and Lady Hilder handed it straight over to the Audit Unit, saying – and I quote – since there was “such controversy about the future of Paradise at present, please investigate the ORBE project thoroughly and report back as soon as possible”.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘Leaked memo. The powers of darkness are not the only ones with their angels, Hera.’

  ‘And have they found anything?’

  ‘No idea. They will have found the normal amount of dirt that lies in the crannies of any decent, well run, honest organization. We used to call it oil of discretion. But is your conscience clear?’

  ‘Completely. There was nothing to find. Tania Kowalski reckons it was a jack-up. She thinks they might have tried to plant something. She’s full of conspiracy theories.’