The Disestablishment of Paradise

by Phillip Mann

  It is with sadness that I record that Sister Hilda died just fifteen days before the publication of this volume. May she rest in peace.

  We return to the living Hera, recovering on Anchor Hold.

  6

  Count Down to Vigil

  To Hera, the period between her attempted suicide and her first night alone on Paradise seemed a ‘long, dark, necessary journey’. During that time she had more or less given up direction of her own life. In retrospect, it seemed to her like a life being lived by someone else.

  Be that as it may, to us that ‘journey’ is filled with paradox and mystery. I am aware that many things need to be explained in this chapter. I am also aware that many things cannot be explained. One of the differences I have discovered between writing fiction for children and this fact-based documentary writing is that fiction can be made consistent, reality can not.

  For the first time we begin to see clearly that the life of this woman who has been pilloried for being a ‘mystical scientist’, is itself patrolled by mystery. Why and by whom remains unknown. And perhaps the questions are more important than the answers for the moment. We will begin with questions.

  At what point did Hera’s life begin to change and shape her for Paradise? Was it when she applied for a position with ORBE? Or when she decided to write the preface to Professor Shapiro’s little book of wisdom? We could probably pick any one of several points of entry and all would lead us inevitably to the conclusion that there were forces beyond her control shaping her life. For the most part they retain the mask of the ordinary, by which I mean that they have acceptable causes and predictable effects. However, as we come closer to Hera’s solitude on Paradise, strange events manifest and the normal rules of life begin to change. For a start, comedy begins to take over from tragedy.

  It is two days after Hera’s failed suicide.

  Sedatives have had a disastrous effect and Hera has spent the days collapsed in her bed with a headache like ‘the worst black hole of a hangover’. Hera has a massive thirst for cold water, but even the clink of ice cubes in the glass is like the detonation of cannon between her ears. Urination, necessary frequently, is achieved crouched over that ancient symbol of civilization, a chamber pot. Anchor Hold maintains interesting links with tradition so that the humble and human is never lost from sight. During the crouching, Hera, much to her embarrassment, is supported by one of the junior sisters, who sits vigil with her. Meanwhile, the room moves as though viewed from a swinging pendulum

  On the morning of the third day, always auspicious, Sister Hilda hobbles into the room, her stick in one hand, a letter in the other. It is a genuine old-fashioned letter and it has been delivered by fractal transmission. It bears the impress of the Space Council and, although stamped confidential, has been opened.

  ‘I opened it by mistake,’ says Hilda with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Sorry.’

  Hera, for whom the world is now becoming more stable, acknowledges this with a small sober nod and removes the pages. She reads.

  Memo to Dr Hera Melhuish

  Anchor Hold-over-Europa

  With regard to the ongoing Disestablishment of Paradise, I am authorized to offer you the position of interim director of the ORBE programme. Your duties will be to oversee the welfare of the departing staff, the termination and completion, as far as possible, of current experiments and the elimination of any dangerous experimental materials. You will be reinstated on full pay (plus holiday allowances) for the duration of the Disestablishment process. A speedy reply would be appreciated and should be addressed to T. Vollens, Office of the Secretary General.

  The letter bore the official stamp of the secretary general.

  T. Vollens was not a name that Hera recognized, but she did not consider that significant since staff changes were frequent in the Space Council. T. Vollens, whoever he or she might be, was clearly an administrative assistant.

  After discussing the matter with Sister Hilda, Dr Melhuish replied from her bed. She accepted the appointment, subject to her body healing satisfactorily, and added just one personal and highly significant request. This was that she be allowed to stay on Paradise ‘alone if needs be’ during the period between the departure of the last shuttle and the final evacuation of the shuttle platform over Paradise. During a Disestablishment there was always a gap of several months between the two events. In explanation, Hera maintained that with the use of an SAS flyer she would be able to use this ‘grace time’, as she called it, to complete some personal projects. She added that she would not expect to be paid for this work.

  As directed, she addressed the letter, ‘For the attention of T. Vollens’.

  It is important to understand that, since the ordeal of the hearing, Hera’s sense of commitment to Paradise had strengthened. She wanted to find out what had gone wrong there. This, she now believed, could best be accomplished alone.

  Before accepting the letter for transmission, Sister Hilda perched on Hera’s bed and stared deeply into her eyes. Her gaze was of flint. ‘You are not thinking of trying to kill yourself down there on Paradise, are you, Miss Melhuish?’

  ‘No. I give my word. I’m a big girl now, Sister Hilda.’

  And so the letter was sent.

  Dr Melhuish had no real hopes that her wish to be alone on Paradise would be granted. It was, as she confessed to me, ‘the last sad endeavour of a wounded woman’. So it was with a mixture of sadness and hope that, two days later, Hera found herself holding a letter of reply, again transmitted by fractal delivery, and again from T. Vollens.

  This letter had not been opened, and Sister Hilda lingered at the door to find out the news. The envelope was large and it contained a sheaf of documents. Hera spread them out on her bed. The letter was quite different in tone from the previous one. It thanked her for her work, expressed the hope that she was feeling better and made clear Theodore Vollens’ pleasure that Hera had accepted the position of interim director. Accompanying the letter was residency certification allowing her to stay down on Paradise during the grace period. Another document authorized the use of a Delta-class SAS flyer – these being the most modern type available. There was a booklet of supply and services request forms made out in her name. With these she could commandeer essential supplies from someone named Ernest de Lava, who was the newly appointed Disestablishment marshal. A copy of the documentation plus a covering note had been sent to Captain Abhuradin, who would be administering the Disestablishment from the space platform. All documents were authorized by Theodore Vollens, and all had the official stamp of the secretary general.

  As you may imagine, Hera sat for a long time reading and rereading this material.

  Following her instincts, Dr Melhuish did not reveal this letter or mention it to anyone except Sister Hilda. However, she did try to contact Mr Vollens at the Space Council only to be told that there was no one called Vollens working there.

  So here was a mystery. At first Dr Melhuish suspected a hoax. A cruel one and an absurd one, but no more cruel or absurd than some of the things she had witnessed. But who would take the risk of perpetrating a hoax such as this? After much deliberation she contacted Captain Abhuradin via a fractal voice link and asked her very casually whether a new posting for her had come through. Inez Abhuradin, who sounded hassled, confirmed that she had indeed received an official letter informing her that Hera had been appointed interim director of ORBE with authorization for her to stay on the surface after the departure of the last shuttle.

  ‘Is it genuine?’ asked Hera.

  ‘Well it has all the right signatures and a priority coding and the salary provisions are correct so, yes, it looks bona fide to me. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I just wanted to check on the surface arrangements,’ said Hera hurriedly.

  ‘Yes, I thought that was a bit strange too. Are you sure you want to go through with this, Hera? It is a lot they are asking of you, especially in view of all that has happened. Solo on a planet, even with us up here, can be a ve
ry lonely place.’

  ‘I’m sure I’ll cope,’ said Hera, and then she added, ‘but for personal reasons I’m not letting people know.’

  ‘Very sensible,’ concluded Abhuradin. ‘I think you must protect yourself.’

  And there Hera let the matter rest. She speculated, though, about Abhuradin’s words, ‘It is a lot they are asking of you.’ This made it sound as if the order had been presented to Abhuradin as an initiative from the Space Council and not a request from Hera. Mystery on mystery.

  And there is more. While preparing this book I consulted the archives at the Space Council to obtain copies of the papers allowing Dr Melhuish to stay alone on Paradise. No such orders could be found, though the transcripts of the hearing and the letter of suspension were present in Hera’s file. Hera’s copies were lost on Paradise. Captain Abhuradin’s copies had disappeared with most of the other files relating to Paradise when the barge containing them was by chance mislabelled and shunted into the garbage trajectory in the direction of Leo’s Eye, the name of the sun that shines on Paradise.

  So who was Theodore Vollens? Was there ever anyone called Theodore Vollens? Did Hera have a guardian angel in the Office of the Secretary General? Or did Timothy Isherwood feel remorse for something?

  The mystery remains a mystery.

  Ten days of rest was enough for Hera.

  With her arm strapped up and her stitches out, she bade farewell to Sister Hilda and took passage for Paradise. But before departing she contacted Captain Abhuradin and arranged to disembark as discreetly as possible. This proved easier than she had feared since Alpha Platform-over-Paradise was frantic with hundreds of people coming and going. No one took notice of a small woman wearing the overalls and mask of a shuttle cleaner as she shuffled through the arrivals gate on Alpha.

  The Disestablishment was in full swing. Cargo shuttles were in continuous twenty-four-hour service, as were the much smaller and faster personnel craft. Inez Abhuradin arranged for Hera to travel down to the surface with one of the demolition crews, and it was thus that Hera first met Mack. It was not auspicious.

  ‘Been in the wars, lady?’ he said, noticing her arm in a sling

  ‘You could say that,’ she replied and turned away.

  And that was the limit of their conversation.

  Mack shrugged. He was quickly coming to the conclusion that most of the people on Paradise were touchy and odd.

  Safely down on Paradise, Hera went straight to the ORBE HQ. The building was full of crates and cases and tired people who looked as if they had aged in the brief time that she had been off planet. No one had warned them that she was coming; not even Hemi the administrator had been told.

  So when Hera walked into the ORBE HQ and said, ‘Hello, everyone. I’ve been appointed interim director,’ her announcement was greeted with a surprised silence. This was followed by muttered greetings and some enquiries about her health. Then people found urgent things to do elsewhere. The truth was that many felt betrayed by Hera and considered she had let them and the whole ORBE enterprise down. They did not want to be associated with mystical science or the ridicule and anger that had followed the inquiry. Hera took this hard.

  Only Hemi made her welcome.

  He sat her down in his office, which was in a state of chaos, and brought her coffee. He made her show him where the stitches had been and describe what had happened. Finally, he said, ‘I would have made you more welcome. Got a cake or something. I’ve only just now heard from old Ahab about your appointment. That’s why we weren’t ready for you.’

  ‘I didn’t want it announced before I got here. I thought it would be better this way. And I certainly didn’t want a cake.’

  Hemi smiled. ‘Yeah, well, you know what I mean. I’d been starting to wonder what to do with your things . . . hoping to hear from you . . . but now I suppose you’ll see to everything.’

  ‘I’m interim director, that’s all. Appointed to take care of the close-down.’

  Hemi nodded and shrugged but did not smile.

  ‘You don’t seem very pleased.’

  ‘No, it’s not that. It’s just that this place . . . now . . . it’s like a body without a heart. Everyone seems angry or else they’re always linking up off planet. I’ve probably blown next year’s budget with communications alone.’

  ‘Well, is there anything for me to do?’

  ‘There’s forms to sign – performance certificates, equipment sign-off registers – but hey, Hera, it’s nothing really. Nothing I can’t cope with.’

  ‘So what are you saying, Hemi?’

  ‘I’m saying I think you should take a holiday. This place’ll break your heart else. Go out to one of the islands. Swim a bit. Get some sun. I’ll stay in contact. You can take your old SAS. I’ll fix the books. Write it off.’

  ‘You are very kind. I was told I was receiving a new one.’

  Hemi looked surprised. ‘First I’ve heard of it. But hey, what’s new?’ Then he looked at her almost shyly. ‘And there’s a bit more too, eh? You know when you appointed me administrator?’ Hera nodded. ‘Well I told you then I didn’t know much about plants and science and things, but I knew how to organize. I hope you’ve no regrets about appointing me. Perhaps I could have protected you better, but—’

  ‘I’ve no regrets at all. In fact, you were one of my best appointments.’

  ‘See. I’m not sure what’s going on round here now, but I hear things. And, well, what I want to say is, with me, with my people, we have no problems with the idea that trees have souls and spirits. One of our gods is Tane Mahuta, Great Lord of the Forest. And if that’s what is upsetting them buggers up there,’ he raised his eyes, ‘then I’m with you, Hera.’

  Hera was about to reply when Hemi stood up. Being well over six feet tall he towered over her. But he bent down towards her and before she could move, he pressed his nose against hers firmly and flatly. ‘Kia kaha, kia m[#257;]ia ahakoa te huarahi ka wh[#257;]ia e koe.’

  ‘What does that mean, Hemi?’

  ‘Not easy to translate, Hera. But . . . . “Be strong. Be confident. Despite the path you have chosen.” That’s about right, eh. Goodbye, Hera.’

  In the next few weeks the people who had called Paradise home began to move off planet. And as the offices and houses were cleared, the men with the sledgehammers and crowbars moved in.

  Hera, having followed Hemi’s advice, set up her own living quarters at one of the research stations on a distant part of the planet. The place she chose was called Monkey Terrace Station. Originally this had been a supply depot for MINADEC workers, but it had then been taken over and refurbished by the ORBE project. The station was set back from a ledge of rock above a long stretch of water called Big Fella Lake. It stood amid a stand of ancient monkey trees – hence its name.

  MINADEC workers had chosen names which reflected the way they saw things. Monkey trees had the unusual characteristic of sending pairs of fibrous roots down from their upper branches on the downwind side. Finding the soil, the roots dug deep and hardened. As the trees grew they gradually leaned and the roots took the weight. So it was true that, from a distance and with a bit of imagination, the trees could look like a giant ape hunched on the ground with both arms forward as though ready to run. These trees gave the station protection from the cold winds in the winter and pleasant aromatic shade when the summer sun was high. The view from the terrace looked straight across the lake to where tall dipper palms reached out over the water and rose and fell steadily. Beyond them were gentle hills of deep forest called the Scorpion Hills, and it was here that a large Dendron peripatetica had been observed by one of the first MINADEC survey teams. The Dendron was heaving its way down to the water and they watched it as it waded right through the lake – hence the name, Big Fella Lake. Far beyond the Scorpion Hills, and just visible on a clear day, were the white but smoky fumaroles of the Chimney. So, all in all, Monkey Terrace Station was quite an historic place, and normally it was very peaceful.

&n
bsp; It was here that one morning Hera was wakened by the clatter of two craft coming in low over the lake and preparing to land. She pulled on a pair of overalls, quickly coiled and pinned her hair and slipped her feet into the soft meshlite survey boots that she wore for outdoors work. Not elegant, but so what? She didn’t really want visitors, and her greatest fear was that someone would arrive to tell her that the order allowing her to stay had been revoked. By the time she ran outside, the two flyers had landed. One was a wide-bayed demolition transporter, and it had settled on the beach below the terrace and there created a small sandstorm. Men wearing the blue and green of demolition workers were already jumping down onto the beach and starting to unbolt their cutting wheels and portable generators. They were led by the tall solidly built man we have already met, Mack.

  The other craft was a brand new Delta-class SAS flyer. It had come swooping in over the house in a display of virtuoso flying and had settled on the station landing pad. The pilot who stepped out was none other than Captain Abhuradin in person. That lady, elegant as ever, greeted Hera as she came out of her door. ‘Well there you are, Dr Melhuish. Special delivery. One Delta-class SAS flyer that answers to the name of Alan. You must have friends in high places. This is one of the newest models. Arrived yesterday. So I thought I’d bring it out myself and see where you were and how you are and what you are doing. I thought you’d be pleased.’