The Disestablishment of Paradise

by Phillip Mann

  He had, however, one last question: ‘Is helping the Dendron the big adventure my granny told me about?’

  Though he always tried to keep his expectations neutral, it was with some surprise that he received the answer no.

  22

  Dendron!

  They were flying high and fast.

  Mack had marked on the map the exact place where he believed the Dendron to be. He had repeated the dowsing cast that morning and Hera had seen with her own eyes the authoritative way the pendulum changed.

  Now the desert named Ching-ling was unfolding beneath them. The arid brown dunes were as clear and firmly sculpted as ripple marks on a beach. Every night the winds came up and the dunes shifted slightly, burying anything that could not escape. One river entered from the south and fanned out into the sand before disappearing underground. This had provided the last green they had seen. Occasionally they passed over sharp rocky mountains, which cast long, distinct shadows over the sand.

  Far in the distance, but becoming clearer by the minute, were the tall mountains of north-west Horse. It was somewhere there that they would find the Dendron.

  ‘Reaper below,’ called out Hera, and switched the view screen to magnification.

  They looked down on patterns in the sand, but these were not like the labyrinth or spider-web they had seen the previous day. These patterns swirled and coiled out across the desert sand as though drawn by a child. But still they had a focus – though it was not at the centre. A small ring of standing stones surrounded and hid the Michelangelo in their midst. As they watched the desert roll past beneath them, the pattern in the sand suddenly changed. New valleys and dips appeared, sand rose in spirals and a ripple of light spread out from the centre.

  ‘Just letting us know it’s aware of us,’ said Mack.

  Hours passed, and then, far in the distance, amid a maze of ravines and tumbled rock, they saw what seemed like a wavering line imprinted on the desert floor. At first they thought it might be the remains of a MINADEC water channel, but as they drew closer they could see it was not a single line but a series of small craters, each containing a small pocket of shadow. Hera took the SAS down to a hundred metres. Though she had never seen the spoor of a live Dendron, she knew what to look for. ‘Look, Mack,’ she said steadily. ‘Look. Look. Look. There. We’ve found it. That’s the mark of its stamp.’

  To Mack it looked as if someone was planning to build a fence and had dug a series of post holes. They came wandering up from a deep ravine and entered the sandy desert between two massive pillars of rock. The fence maker must have been drunk, as the holes were not in a straight line, but wandered all over – even sometimes doubling back and crossing themselves. Between the holes were trail marks where something had been dragged and there were smaller impressions to either side.

  But Mack’s attention was on the ravine over which they were now drifting. It was sheer-sided, as though the roof of a subterranean cavern had fallen in at some distant time in the past. Smooth meandering pathways showed where water had flowed, perhaps quite recently, though now it was dry. Mack also saw the shadow of caves in the depths, and steep-sided overhangs. His guess was that there could be any number of interesting things hiding down there.

  Away in a corner at the very bottom of the ravine was the merest hint of a spiral pattern, which ran along the floor and up one of the cliff faces. Another of them, he thought. They’re everywhere! Wherever there’s action!

  Hera was busy guiding the SAS, following the tracks. They were not recent and she frequently lost them where the sand had drifted over them. But the general movement was in the direction of the foothills, and so a small time spent scouting in a circle was all that was needed to find the prints again.

  The rounded dunes were giving way to stony terraces, which emerged like the backbone of a buried creature. Twice they came to places where the Dendron had obviously stopped for a while. Stamp marks formed a ragged circle, and the ground was scored and torn where the Dendron had scraped at it.

  ‘I’ll make a guess,’ said Mack. ‘I’ll bet that’s where it was broadcasting. I think it was looking for water. Look how it has torn up the ground and kicked those boulders aside. And there, look. What did I tell you?’ Unmistakably, where the Dendron had stamped as hard as it could, crashing its stump into the desert floor, there was now a pool of clear water, visible only because it reflected the sky. ‘I bet it sat there for a few days, thinking things over.’

  Finally, as they were approaching the hills, the footprints vanished. The ground became flat rock, and not even a Dendron left a trace here.

  They flew on slowly and came upon the first signs of vegetation – low plants which crept into the desert and had wide black leaves. Mack pointed out where several had been flattened and others torn out of the ground.

  The stone plateau gave way to cliffs of shale and they could see where the Dendron had tried to climb and had slipped down, not once but several times. ‘Why did it try to climb there?’ wondered Mack. ‘That’s the hardest place of all. If it had come a mile east it could have easily got up that ridge, couldn’t it?’

  ‘Perhaps it wasn’t bothered about finding the easy way.’

  ‘Perhaps it was crazy! What’s it weigh do you reckon? Hundreds of tons! Whatever it is, that’s a hell of a lot of Dendron to go heaving about. Given the amount of climbing since its last stop, it would be getting pretty tired by now. That’s when things make mistakes: animals, plants and machines. Once fatigue sets—’

  He never got to finish. The sky suddenly darkened in a way which they recognized. Hera screamed and clutched her ears. At the same moment Mack felt as though he had been clubbed from behind. Both heard a roaring, as though sky and earth were about to be slammed together or torn apart. They braced themselves for the onslaught and then . . . were left hanging. There was no sudden peal of bells or roar of thunder. Instead they felt what Mack later described as ‘pins and needles in the head’. And that too gradually faded.

  They looked at one another, both afraid, both like people who had felt an earthquake tremor and now awaited the main shock. But there was nothing. Just a hollowness which had its own kind of energy.

  Finally, speaking softly, dryly and without emotion but very distinctly, Hera said, ‘From all the evidence we have, it seems that we have just been spared . . . or protected.’

  Mack could not speak. He was standing very still and with his eyes closed, but he nodded. Hera continued: ‘I think we were shielded because we are here, and useful. Let’s hope so.’

  Then, tight-lipped, she took the SAS up higher. She could still feel the presence in her mind, but she was under no illusions. The Dendron, raw and untutored, had cried out as it would have cried out had a thousand other Dendron been in the region. It was a cry of pain and desire, innocent as a knife. But what, she asked herself, had intercepted that cry? What had absorbed it and made it palatable to their minds? If not the Dendron, then the only other creature she could think of that might be able to do such a thing was the Janus-faced, dark and formidable Michelangelo-Reaper.

  She guided the SAS up and over the shale bank. The place where the Dendron had finally torn through the top of the shale was just beneath her. Now the vegetation became more dense, and some distance inland they came to a pool of grey water. The SAS hovered, and its rotors made the surface erupt into small frothy waves. A river emptied into this pool, but since no water flowed from it, they presumed the river continued underground. Facing them were three heavily wooded ravines which came down from the foothills in a broken zigzag pattern. Hera had expected to see the telltale web of a Michelangelo, but there was nothing except the camouflage jumble of bush and tree. The path of the Dendron, however, was unmistakable. It had marched straight through the lake and had entered the middle ravine, crushing everything in its path.

  Hera guided the SAS up into the ravine, following the Dendron’s track. Below, the stream tumbled white over rocks. After many twists the ravine gradually
opened into a narrow valley and this led up to the first plateau. Looking back, Hera could see the desert behind her. It was shimmering in the sun, and the shadows were a dark blue. They had already risen some 500 metres.

  In front was another lake, and here the water ran clear. A colony of talking jenny lay crushed and torn in the middle of the lake, a sure sign that the Dendron had passed through, and recently too. At the edge they saw a delicate lily, its flowers just opening.

  It would have been a peaceful scene, except that facing them at the end of the lake was a huge Tattersall weed. Its blue flowers glowed and glared in the sunlight. Some long heavy hairy branches rested on the ground and in the water. Taller branches reached out to the sides as though barring the way. Even from this distance, Hera could see the thorns at their tips. They were in clusters, black and curved. In all her time on Paradise Hera had never seen a Tattersall weed like this. Things were changing, evolving quickly.

  Mack stood at her elbow. ‘Might have known we’d find one of those buggers hanging about.’

  They could clearly see the stamp line where the Dendron had left the water. Hera guided the SAS along the margin of the lake and directly towards the Tattersall weed. The Dendron had stamped on past it, breaking and crushing some of the lower limbs. Mack nodded in approval.

  As they approached the Tattersall weed, they saw it move. It began to wind up slowly, dragging its branches in so they tore the soil. ‘Go high, Hera,’ said Mack. ‘There’s something mad about it. Even for this mad place.’

  They passed high over the tree. It did not lash out at them, which was what Mack had expected, but some of its giant flowers opened and closed quickly, and that was disturbing in its own way.

  They entered a gently rounded valley which climbed on into the mountains, but not steeply, and here the vegetation was lush. The stream flowed quickly between dark banks, and where the Dendron had stamped were pools of clear water.

  The valley widened, but a spur, jutting out from the side, hindered their view of its higher reaches. The top of the spur was crowned with a monkey tree which crouched as if ready to spring. Tattersall weeds grew beside the stream and up the slopes.

  Hera guided them round the spur, following the river, and they entered a wide wooded canyon where the stream tumbled over rapids. There she brought them to a stop, hovering in the air.

  They had found it. The Dendron. It stood just a few hundred metres in front of them, surrounded by the blue of Tattersall weeds. They both stared, for whatever they had imagined, nothing had prepared them for this.

  Olivia So tell me, what was it like?

  Hera Unbelievable. You can see as many pictures and tri-vids as you like, but nothing compares to the real beast, in the flesh. It was majestic. Beautiful. It filled up my mind like it filled up the space. It was standing side on to us, its front legs astride the stream, and its stump buried deep in the water. It stood as though on display. The classic pose, like the statue that used to stand at the shuttle port in New Syracuse, but that was only a quarter of the size of this one, or less. The only things that moved were its twin tapering trunks, which flexed back and forth slowly, as though feeling the air. To be honest, I hardly dared look at it. I felt crushed by it.

  Olivia And Mack?

  Hera I glanced across at him and he was standing with his mouth open. I think we were both used to the velvet green of Paradise . . . or of flowers like the shyris or the Tattersall. But here was a Dendron in all its gaudy pride. He had not expected the colours: the black of the stump, the blue of the back and the red of the twin horns. Or the music.

  Olivia Music?

  Hera With every move, even the slightest, the Venus tears rang.

  Olivia And the crest?

  Hera The crest was folded down. But as we watched it opened. I think it was to acknowledge us. Mack thought it might be a challenge. But I said, ‘Nonsense!’ It was honouring us. Have you ever seen a peacock open its tail?

  Olivia No.

  Hera Shame. It was sort of like that. But the quills were not feathers, they were serrated blades, hard as ivory and so sharp! The shadow of the crest fell right over us as it lifted. And that broke the spell. I took us up high, just to be on the safe side. But then, as we looked down, we saw the whole creature shake and shiver, and I thought, It thinks we are leaving it in pain. And so I took us back down and landed just up the hill from where it waited.

  They climbed out of the SAS and stood looking at the Dendron. Slowly it closed its crest of blades and they heard a ruffling sound as it did so. Then it slowly moved its twin trunks, first to one side and then to the other, until the tips were just touching the ground. After which it straightened again.

  ‘Why is it doing that?’ asked Mack.

  ‘It’s saying hello, or welcome. I think it was a message, Mack.’

  Mack pondered. ‘You’re sure it knows we are here?’

  ‘It knows! And it’s waiting for us. This is it, Mack. Payback time!’

  ‘Payback for what?’

  ‘Saving me.’

  23

  First Close Encounter

  If the Dendron was aware of them it gave no further indication, except perhaps that its crest lifted partially and then locked. The codds were quiet except for the occasional small gulp. The heave up the slope must have taken its toll. It would need to rest, and with a Dendron a rest could mean a complete close-down before it was roused again by its need to divide.

  Cautiously, they made their way down the slope and approached the Dendron. The sense of its living presence as they came under its shadow, combined with its stillness, was unnerving. They stopped while still some distance away and faced the great arch between its front legs.

  Mack looked closely at the sweep of the Dendron’s arch. He saw the way its curve might suggest the sensitive place in a human where the neck meets the back or, more crucially, the place where the thigh curves in and down. He looked at the soaring twin trunks and the codds – so suggestive and yet, if Hera was to be believed, nothing to do with sexual organs. Mack thought too of the story of Redman, and wondered how the hell that man had had the guts to get right up under a beast like this when it was charging. Ecstatic or not, symbol of sweet fulfilment though it might be, to Mack a Dendron at full stamp was the very stuff of nightmares.

  But other things distracted him. At close quarters the stench of the Dendron was almost overpowering. He couldn’t believe they always stank like this, otherwise there would have been more comment. What was it that young Sasha Malik had said – that they smelled like pineapples? Mack put his lips close to Hera’s ear. ‘If that’s what pineapples smell like,’ he whispered, ‘then I never want to try one.’

  ‘It’s not what pineapples smell like,’ answered Hera, also whispering. ‘Sasha got that one wrong. She’d never tasted a pineapple. That’ll be its sap. And it does smell strong, I agree. If you imagine that smell diluted then it would be OK, but I think something is wrong. It could be all part of its condition. We’ll find out.’

  Hera didn’t want to say more. She wanted to dwell in the moment. Being close to the Dendron, the enigma of the creature increased. In the literature the ‘sap’ of a Dendron was described as a viscous green liquid. She imagined it now, pulsing through its body, passing through membranes, driven by that great bellows. Someone had once calculated that the pressures inside the Dendron were enormous, every movement being a transfer of fluid. No living creature could contain them, but here it was. She murmured, ‘I wonder what it does to relieve the pressure? It’ll have some venting mechanism, or cooling system. Steeping would help it but . . . No wonder they don’t like to get too far from water. That trip over the desert must have been hell for it. There’d be a build-up of impurities and that could account for the smell.’

  Mack nodded but said nothing.

  Then they heard a sound not unlike that of a talking jenny. Mack frowned. It came again, but much louder, and moments later the sides of the Dendron shivered and dark green sap began to
ooze from its rough blue hide. It ran down its sides and dribbled into the stream. There was a sound like soapy hands meeting in a slap and the green sap stopped. ‘What did I say?’ said Hera. ‘That must be it equalizing pressure.’

  Mack shook his head and turned away, fanning his face with his hand. ‘It’s just air and water, Mack.’

  ‘So is a fart.’

  ‘Oh, pull yourself together. No Dendron has been seen on this planet in living memory. You’re privileged to stand here. And if it wants to fart, it can fart.’

  ‘I know. I know. It’s just when I was growing up . . .’

  ‘Well, grow up some more. Seize the moment. Look with understanding eyes. I don’t want to hear any more silly ideas or schoolboy humour. For all you know, the Dendron might think you stink, or worse. What you are looking at just did you the honour of farting in your precious presence. This Dendron is one of the most efficient engines you’ll ever meet, and it’s alive and you’re going to have to help it. Soon. And with honour, and with care, and with love.’ The sudden flash of temper subsided. ‘Now. Just give me a few minutes. I just want to be on my own.’

  Hera moved away. And she deliberately breathed deep. To her the smell was distinct and sharp, not of putrefaction and not like the talking jenny. It was a smell of life and dark mystery, a smell to get to know. Anyone who fouled that concept deserved what they got!

  She shrugged off the anger. She didn’t want it to spoil these first precious moments of encounter. Couldn’t Mack feel the energy of the beast? What a strange man! So earthy and capable, and yet so easily distracted by something so childish. She looked at the swell of the Dendron’s back and the great crest stark against the blue sky. What a beautiful thing it was, so perfectly balanced, so economical and clear in its lines. And practical!

  Hera walked deeper into the shadow of the Dendron, then she made herself walk close. Its presence was wonderful and terrifying and she knew what Sasha had meant when she said she was thrilled by the energy of the creature. Hera could feel it too, as though inside her. She stood right beside one of the front legs and looked up, staring directly up the swaying, tapering trunks to the flags, which still hung limp. It made her dizzy, just looking. She touched the fibre of the leg with the tips of her fingers. It was hard, like frozen string, but prickly too where the tough strands had broken off. They must be shedding their bark all the time, she thought. Bark. Hm. Can it feel me touching it, I wonder, like I can feel a fly on my hair? She reached up and touched the place where the fibre started to turn blue, and that was softer. Still strong, but softer and more pliable. Almost like meshlite. It was able to stretch too.