The Disestablishment of Paradise

by Phillip Mann

  She placed her palm flat and could feel a slight vibration in the beast. There must be hundreds of small pumps working in there all the time, or the beast would slump. I wonder how she copes when the moons are full and pulling together. She’ll feel them inside her. Oh yes, she’ll feel them all right. Hera looked down at where the trunk-sized feet of the Dendron were pressed into the soil. She knelt and disturbed the soil with her fingers. Just under the surface she could see tiny white roots which fanned out all round the foot and dived down. Perhaps that was what it was doing now. Growing down, bedding down. Those roots definitively answered one question: it was waiting to divide. Waiting for its prince to come with shining armour and a swift sharp sword.

  The stream flowed between the twin legs. Steadying herself with a hand against the front of the leg, Hera stepped down into the quickly flowing water, which rose to her hips. She waded out to the middle of the stream and stood between the legs, looking up. It was a very deliberate move. The memory of her dream was vivid, but not overpowering. The inside of the arch was darker than she remembered – a mixture of blue and black. But then all Dendron differed, didn’t they? ‘But this?’ she murmured. Within there, deep inside the dark arch, would be the living wishbone, oil-rich, tough as spring steel, smooth as ivory and ‘smelling of primroses’.

  Hera made herself walk right under the Dendron. What a private space she was in. She examined the twin codds – good name for them. She liked that name. They arched right into the body with great folds, like a concertina. They would have to be able to work independently, she realized, one blowing while the other sucked. And be able to reverse quickly too. That must be how they managed the twin trunks right up to the cherries and Venus tears. Sometimes, like when the beast was walking, they’d have to work together like one single bellows. What power! To be able to shift as massive a thing as that great black stump! And where was its consciousness? For it was inconceivable that something as organized as this could just be . . . just . . . be. Or had she got that all wrong, and just being was a higher wisdom?

  At that moment the codds obligingly gave one gulp, and she could hear the strive and gurgle of fluids within the Dendron as they began the long surge through its body. Hera reached up and was just able to touch the bottom fold of the codds, but she immediately snatched her hand away in surprise, for the dark matted fibre was warm and moist. And why should it not be warm? Fluid moving under pressure gets warm. And what better place for a safety valve? She smelled her fingers, and it was just the rich ooze of the plant. Must remember to tell Mack about this the next time we drink wine, she thought mischievously. She washed the sticky juice from her fingers. Then she waded on further and touched the stool. It was like stone, hard and cold from the river. She walked round the stool and out into the daylight. One last look at the rounded rump of the beast – no anus of course – and the shimmering crest that could carve and crush. It had not moved. And she was done.

  ‘OK, Mack,’ she called, ‘I’ve had my little tour. You can come out now. Sorry I got ratty. Let’s decide what we’re going to do. It’s putting down roots. It will be dormant now for a little while, but then the anguish will start up again unless we’re able to bring it some relief. Are you OK?’

  While Hera was making her tour round the beast, Mack had moved up the stream, which meant he was also upwind of the Dendron. He’d been upset by Hera’s sudden outburst, but he’d understood too. This was her moment. How would he feel if he’d been invited to take down something as beautiful as, say, the Parthenon, and someone had come along and pissed against a pillar? He’d do more than give them an earful.

  He was not just being fanciful in thinking of the Dendron as a building. To him there was something monumental about it. Still as the Sphinx, but living too. And Hera was right: he had to get past stupid knee-jerk reactions if he was going to do anything to help. He’d been surprised, that was all. Surprised that such a human sound, as he thought, could come from a creature so inhuman. But already he was adapting to it, getting the relative proportions sorted out, working out how it moved, looking for danger points. If it reared now, he would be frightened, but he would watch it carefully too.

  Mack watched Hera step into the stream and walk right under the creature and knew it would take a lot to get him to do that. He was too aware of the weight pressing down. But his thoughts were complicated by his unthinking assumption that the Dendron was male. It was the codds that worried him, for they were altogether too like a giant scrotum. No doubt Hera was remembering her dream. The irreverent thought came to him that if ever the happy day came when he and Hera made love, he hoped she did not expect him to perform like a Dendron . . . but he wouldn’t mind trying.

  Mack moved further away. He moved to the side, up the hill, and lay down on the ground. Out here, sitting with his arms round his knees, staring at the twin trunks, he could see the cherries and the discs of pale mineral fancifully called Venus tears. Their tinkle reached him faintly.

  He studied the Dendron, trying to see it whole. He tried to imagine the strong springy structure that gave it shape. This ‘wishbone’ thing that Hera talked about. He would have to study her drawings again if he was to make sense of it. Because it didn’t make sense. There was more to it than just a few springy bits of bone. But if he could work out its logic – why, then it should be no more difficult than dismantling an old building with all its stresses and weaknesses. As long as it did not die on him, or shake him off or start to run. Best not to think of that. Now, if he had his team here . . . Young Annette would already have shinned up one of the legs and be calling for ropes. Polka would have her eyes on the tears, thinking of earrings probably. And Dickinson . . .? It was hard to know what Dickinson would do; he was a strange one. He’d probably climb up and sit on its rump and wish he could ride it.

  At that moment the Dendron gulped and the codds heaved. Mack was reminded of the time he had seen a baby kick in its mother’s stomach. His thinking turned over and he began to think of the Dendron’s codds as a womb, of the beast as being female. Of course, he knew it did not have a womb, but he shifted from thinking of it as male and something that he had to battle against, to it being female and something which he needed to help through its own battle. Such a little shift, really, but he felt altogether easier in his mind.

  Mack wished his team could see him now. They would be wondering what he was up to. Hell, what a show this would be. And then he thought of the tri-vid camera mounted on the SAS. That could send signals up to the platform. Why not? Let them share? They might even have some good ideas to help him.

  It was at this moment that Hera called to him, and waved. He roused and went to join her. ‘Satisfied?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes and no. I want to get started.’

  It was hard to believe it was only just after midday, so much had already happened. They had eaten with a growing sense of urgency, and were now planning.

  Mack had studied Hera’s sketches, puzzling over them, trying to work out what was missing because there was a lot missing. He’d had her relate again and again what she could remember of Marie Newton’s description of a severance and he sat with his head in his hands, trying to imagine the sequence and understand it. He quizzed her for details that just were not there. And she was getting tetchy having to say ‘I don’t know’ or ‘There’s no evidence that . . .’ or ‘If only.’

  Why had the crest been chopped off first? He’d assumed that it was to do with disarming the Dendron, but there must be more to it. And why did the Dendron doing the cutting pay such a lot of attention to the big cut down to the codds, when it would have been simpler and safer and faster to cut away the main body closer to the front legs? So why . . .?

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Hera, for the hundredth time. ‘You’ve got your blessed pendulum. Why don’t you ask that?’ She stood up and crossed to the window of the SAS and looked out at the Dendron, which had still not moved except that its crest had lifted slowly to full and now stood stiff and
erect.

  ‘I will when I need to.’

  Hera was impatient to get started. She felt the seconds ticking away. She dreaded the moment when the Dendron would scream again – for that was how she now saw it – and she wanted Mack up there, on its back, axe in hand and chopping or whatever demolition men did, so that it would know that relief was at hand. But Mack was so slow! So slow and plodding.

  Had she been able to read his mind, she would have seen that Mack was not being slow and he was certainly not plodding. As the problem of how to take down the Dendron became more real to him, so he was becoming professional and objective. He was actually coming to grips with the problem in a deep way, and this, to those who knew him, was manifesting as a change in his manner, a deliberateness. This she misunderstood. Mack was thinking about all sides of the problem, sounding out the logic, and not least among his worries was whether he could manage on his own. Hera’s quickness of temper was irritating him, because it wasted energy and might lead to mistakes. His feelings for Hera were not involved in this. His love was a constant flame, but he seriously wondered if she was capable of helping, because she didn’t seem to understand what was involved. She seemed to think he just had to wave a magic axe or something and it would all happen – well, there was no magic in demolition, just ruthless logic, some luck and the careful application of controlled and unremitting strength.

  ‘Can we just get a move on, Mack? Make a start. Marie Newton says the first thing to be cut is the crest.’

  ‘You know the real problem, Hera? We don’t know where we are in the Dendron’s cycle. If I went in there and started chopping away at the crest, we could trigger disaster. That Mayday woman didn’t understand what she was seeing. There’s more to it. And we have to work that out. What stage is our Dendron at right now, if we compare it with the story? Has our Dendron just come out of the sea? No, we know it is more settled. But by this stage did the Dendron in the story, the one she calls Mustard, know that help was there? Yes, it did. Does our Dendron know we are here and want to help it? We don’t know. It might, it might not. So how do we trigger that understanding? It is all in the first approach. Marie Newton says, if you are remembering it correctly, that the crest on the one that was going to be carved—’

  ‘Mustard.’

  ‘Yes, Mustard, did not go down until Mustard had been touched by the other Dendron. That’s what is important. Only when it knew the other Dendron was on hand and ready to do business did it give up its pressure. That’s what we have to do first. Right now it’s under full tension. I know about it putting down roots – you’ve already told me that a hundred times. I know it has farted and voided! But that was just a burp. Look at the bloody crest, woman. What’s holding that up? Wishful thinking? No, it’s pressure. The Dendron’s confused. All it knows is that it needs to be split open. Right? So what we have to do is to relax it. Let it know that help is here. Then it’ll relax, and then the crest’ll come down. Then, and only then, can we start cutting. So how do we convince it to give up its pressure? How do we get to that?’

  ‘You’re the demolition expert.’

  ‘Right. I am. So listen. From what you told me, something happened after the Dendron put its horns between the horns of Mustard. They touched cherries or something, and I think that is what our gal down there is waiting for. Are you with me?’ Hera nodded. ‘OK. Now there is one other thing, and I want to get it cleared up now so we don’t have any misunderstanding later on. Who is in charge? Who’s the boss up front?’

  ‘Mack, I just want to get moving. I don’t want to waste time having a stop-work meeting in a logging camp. You can be boss man if you like. I just want us to do something.’

  ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘I just—’

  ‘Will you just listen, for God’s sake? If this were a job on a demolition site, I wouldn’t have someone like you near me. I’d kick you off the fucking team so fast your arse would reach the moon before you did. And the reason I’d do that is because I can’t rely on you. You’re too used to having your own way. You’re a bully when it comes to decisions. And you’ll do the wrong thing in a crisis. You’ll think clever, or you’ll argue the toss, or you’ll get stirred up and shitty. You’ll take more time being looked after than you’re worth. You’ve never worked in the real world. I have, and I can take orders better than you. I’m talking about survival. If you’re the boss and you say stop, even if I’m in the middle of a chop, I’ll do my best to stop, because otherwise it might be my last. But we’ve got to know that we can trust one another. I’m not talking about master and slave; I’m talking about knowing where we stand. And I’m putting you in charge. I’ll take my orders from you. Your call.’

  ‘Mack I . . . This is silly.’

  ‘I’ve given you a starting point.’

  ‘Mack, why are you doing this? You’re manipulating the situation.’

  He turned away in anger and then turned back. ‘Clever people! For an intelligent woman you’re pretty bloody stupid sometimes. You’ll argue about who carries the bucket while the house burns down. You’re in charge. Make a decision.’

  ‘I don’t want to be in charge. I want us to work together.’

  ‘Oh, we can work together. But when the ship is sinking, who says jump?’

  ‘OK. OK. I understand, Mack. I don’t want to be in charge. You know about all of this better than me. You are in charge. You’re the b— Sorry. You’re in charge. You give the orders. There.’

  He looked at her and she could not read his expression. She did not know, but in those moments Mack was deciding whether to go ahead and try to do this job on their own, or whether to contact the platform, explain the situation and have Abhuradin send his team down. He’d have Hera locked up if need be, to stop her getting in the way. Hera did not know until later how close she came to losing that battle. But perhaps something guided her for she said, finally, ‘Mack, I do understand. I’ve been on dives in the dark with just a line to communicate. And you are right. It’s in the crisis when it counts, isn’t it? I won’t let you down. I’ll jump when you say. And I’ll try to shut up too.’

  He grinned. ‘Fat chance of that.’ But there was no smile when he said, ‘A deal?’

  Hera nodded. ‘A deal.’

  ‘Well, if I’m an honorary research assistant, I’m going to make you an honorary demolition worker. Do this.’ He spat in the palm of his hand, and held it out. She looked at him and saw he was serious. She spat in the palm of her hand, and they closed hands. ‘See you on the other side,’ said Mack.

  ‘See you the other side, Mack.’ They released. ‘Other side of what?’

  ‘What do you think?’ And then she understood and was grateful to be trusted with someone’s life.

  ‘So what do we do now, boss?’

  ‘I’m going to chop down one of those tall trees over there and trim it. I want you to take the SAS up and fly round the Dendron, but I want you to land every few metres or so with a thump. Pretend you’re a Dendron, right. Get a good rhythm. Shake the earth a bit. Let it know in its roots that you are here and stamping round. But don’t get too enthusiastic and break the bloody SAS cos we’re going to need it to get out of here. Then we’re going to drop the log down between its horns, rock it about in a friendly way and pull it out and see what happens. See if she gets the message.’

  ‘What about the cherries?’

  ‘I’m working on that.’

  And so they did.

  Hera woke Alan and explained what she wanted. ‘Practice landings in a difficult terrain. Show me what you can do. Let me feel us shake the ground.’ Minutes later the SAS lifted and flew round the Dendron, maintaining a radius of about a hundred metres, giving the earth good periodic thumps using its heavy-duty skids rather than the wheels.

  The other rhythmic sound in the valley came from Mack. The tree was quickly felled and he soon was trimming it with the axe, giving his muscles a warning of things to come. He left a few small branches sticking o
ut about two thirds of the way up its trunk. For better or for worse, these would serve as the cherries. While chopping he had had a clever idea.

  Mack was developing a theory about the Dendron, but he could not have explained it to Hera. He imagined the flow of fluids through the codds and round the giant body, and this suggested a generator. He guessed that the Dendron might carry a high electrical charge. Two Dendron touching might share their potential, and this could have all manner of effects from setting things on fire to raising consciousness. At the very least the Dendron in the river would know that something was happening. And if he triggered the release . . . well, then he could move on to stage two.

  Satisfied with the trimming, Mack ran an extension cord he had found in the SAS tool cabinet up the length of the trunk and tied it in place near the small branches. Then he cut off the plug, bared the ends of the wires and nailed them into the branches. He was going to give the Dendron a different kind of shunt to the one described by young Sasha.

  When he was ready he signalled to Hera and she brought the SAS over, bounced it once near him for good luck, and then landed so that its skids were astride the log. Mack attached the smaller top part of the log to the meshlite rope of the hoist. The SAS hammered into the air slowly, lifting the log, dragging it and its electric cables towards the Dendron, which all the time had never moved or given a sign of life, except for the occasional gulp.