The Disestablishment of Paradise

by Phillip Mann

  According to his calculations, the main body he was standing on should now slump down to the stream. But it didn’t. Instead it started to straighten and lift. Mack was not sure what was happening. The lifting might just be a temporary easing, and he waited and watched. But it didn’t stop.

  Mack slung the saw over his shoulder and began to climb, wedging his feet into the pipe holes and heaving himself up on whatever he could grasp. Hera, meanwhile, had no idea what was happening and kept spraying the trench until she saw Mack’s arm and head appear. The body of the Dendron continued to lift.

  Mack shouted, ‘Hera. Cut the water. Get down off the Dendron.’

  ‘What’s wrong, Mack?’

  ‘Jump! Now!’

  Hera threw the hosepipe down the side of the Dendron, and as she did so, she saw the escape ladder slip sideways, pushed by the rising body of the Dendron.

  ‘Jump for the stream!’

  This time she did not hesitate. She jumped straight down, entering the water with a splash. She felt her feet touch the bottom and pushed up strongly, breaking the surface close to the bank and away from the sharp tines of the crest. Three strong strokes and she was at the side and able to pull herself up and out of the water in a second.

  Mack, meanwhile, had climbed out and lowered the chainsaw to the ground. He too was preparing to jump. But the Dendron lurched, and he lost his balance and fell into the trench that they had cut along the back of the Dendron on the first day. At this angle it was like a slide, and though he grabbed for the edge and did manage to catch some fibres, they tore loose and he continued to slip. He tried desperately to wedge his body across the trench, but it was too steep and with a cry he fell into the hole above the codds. Since the moment of severance this had filled with the white wriggling flukes, and there was nothing for him to hold on to. Mack might still have been able to clamber out, but the Dendron was gulping wildly and beginning to droop again. Then, as Mack was reaching desperately for something to cling to, the membrane above the codds gave way. To Hera it looked as though he had been pulled from below. His upper body and head and arms vanished down into the dark hole of the codds, and she heard him scream.

  Hera ran onto the platform Mack had built that morning under the Dendron. She could tell where he was struggling inside the great bellows. But she knew this was the strongest part of the codds, used to rough treatment, and there was no way he could tear it.

  The electric chainsaw had landed nearby. Hera ran over, grabbed it and climbed back onto the platform. She reached as high as she could and made a long raking cut. Part of the sagging codds fell open and water and flukes came tumbling out. Mack was still moving and this told her where he was. He was trying to make it to the gash. She moved along the platform and slashed again, trying this time to cut through the pleats of the codds. Mack’s boot appeared and she could see where the other foot was kicking. But then the Dendron gulped one more time and the boot vanished. She had no choice but to cut blind. She made the cut as shallow as she could and heard a muffled scream. She moved to the side and cut again. This time Mack’s arm appeared. She seized it and pulled, putting all her strength into it. Once the elbow was out Mack was able to grip the side himself and pull. Hera moved as far away as possible. She started the saw again, hoisted it as high as she could, and plunged it deep, raking it from side to side. She must have cut something important, for the codds began to tear apart of their own accord and with their last strong gulp Mack was ejected.

  He slithered down onto the platform. His entire body was covered with the wriggling white flukes. He twisted and turned as he tried to claw them from his face, but his arms and hands were covered and they were in his mouth too. Hera grabbed him by one boot and pulled, and pulled again, dragging him slowly across the slippery platform and onto the bank. There he writhed, trying to pull flukes of his skin.

  The compressor was still chugging and Hera, quick thinking as ever, chased the hosepipe, which had fallen into the stream, found the nozzle, pointed it at Mack and pressed the trigger. At this range the water must have seemed like being punched, but it worked, and the jet prised the flukes free from Mack’s skin and sent them tumbling into the stream. She hosed his hands, arms and neck and he was able to pull the flukes from his face. She hosed his legs, and when he staggered to his feet, she hosed his back. They were in his shorts too, and he pulled them off and picked the flukes off one by one while she hosed his buttocks.

  His body was bloody. It was as though someone had pressed bottle tops into his skin until they drew blood. On his thigh was a more serious cut where the chainsaw had grazed him. But the cuts didn’t bother him. Mack had reached a point of frenzy. He picked up the chainsaw and went back onto the platform, ignoring the flukes still writhing about. He hacked his way into the Dendron. There was no finesse. He raked what remained of the codds with the saw, and then tore the pieces away by hand, throwing the bits into the stream.

  Next, he heaved himself up inside the cavern of the Dendron and cut at a membrane which he now knew contained the deeper parts of its brain. He was rewarded with a cascade of the flukes, larger ones this time, and darker coloured, which tumbled over his shoulders. Hera was behind him and hosed away any that attached. He climbed on, right into the beast. He cut the sides and he cut the top; he cut down and he cut across, and all the time the small wriggling creatures came tumbling out.

  Finally Hera heard the chainsaw rasp against the hardness of the stump. The saw stopped and Hera heard Mack call, his voice echoing, ‘Hera! Do you want to see?’

  Hera stopped the hose. Mack’s arm came reaching down out of the Dendron and hoisted her up. ‘It’s all right now: I’ve got rid of most of them. It was a nest. Just here, and that’s all that’s left now.’ He pointed at a large white open-mouthed worm which grew out of the dip in the middle of the stool. It groped around blindly like an arm without finger. Hera recognized one of the roots of Paradise. This was larger than most she had seen. When the Dendron tore free to go walkabout, the root went with it. ‘Do you want to finish it, or shall I?’

  For an answer Hera took the saw and placed its tip at the place where the wavering root rose from the stool. One brief burst and the whirling blade severed the root, which fell to the platform, twisted as it rolled and fell into the river. ‘Sic transit gloria mundi,’ she murmured. ‘Now, what about the little ones?’

  ‘I’ve not finished yet,’ said Mac. ‘Last job.’

  He climbed out from under the newly dead Dendron, which was slowly collapsing, went straight to the tool chest and selected the heavy axe he had sharpened on the first day. Then he collected the ladder, which had fallen to one side, and set it up so that he could climb up to the twin trunks, which were still joined, forming an arch over the stream.

  Hera followed. She picked up his shorts. Thought for a second and then threw them away into the stream. Why distract a man with something as trivial as clothes?

  ‘I’m going to finish this bloody job now!’ said Mack as he propped the ladder up against the arch. ‘I’m so steamed up I reckon I could tear these two apart with my bare hands.’

  With that he climbed the ladder, the axe poised over his shoulder. He positioned himself between the trunks and began to chop. Splinters of wishbone flew, and within five minutes he had cut a trench round the fine dark line which marked the place where the two trunks were joined. It was a growth line, slightly jagged, as though joined by a master carpenter. He touched it lightly with the sharp blade and saw the fibre peel back. The trunks were straining apart.

  All he now needed to do was cut a V straight down and the Dendron would do the rest. Mack made two clean cuts. Satisfied that his line was good, he started again. He struck a rhythm. Chips of wishbone flew again.

  Hera watched. It was the first time she had ever seen a man such as Mack taking full pride in his strength. He was totally absorbed. Naked too. Primitive and casual with his beauty. She saw the way he lifted the axe so that he didn’t waste energy, and the way he le
t the weight of the axe do most of the work but guided it just at the moment of impact so it stayed true. Periodically he turned and attacked the other side of the arch so that the two sides did not get out of balance. She was intrigued by the different patterns of muscles that stood out during the course of a single swing of the axe – it was the artist in her – and she found herself thinking of some of the statues she had seen of athletes – wrestlers, discus throwers and the like, and of the ancient Celtic warriors who ran naked into battle, confident of rebirth. Surely Mack was descended from them.

  Some ten minutes later, Mack paused. ‘Getting near now. Get that wine open?’

  ‘It’s already breathing,’ she called.

  ‘So am I, and thirsty.’ He started again. After some four cuts, he stopped. ‘Come round the front and watch. This is it. This is what we call the butcher’s cut. The axe will find its own way out.’ He positioned himself carefully, legs spread, shoulders relaxed, and raised the axe. He brought it down fiercely, not cutting sideways but straight. There was a cracking sound and Mack hopped onto one side of the arch and held on to the trunk. The cracking grew stronger until, with a bang, the entire joint tore apart. Slowly and gracefully, the two sides of the arch that had been joined for so long straightened and found a new balance. As they did so, the trees shook and the Venus tears rang out.

  Hera clapped her hands. And although she and Mack couldn’t have heard them, all the people at the space platform Alpha-over-Paradise, riding high above the planet, cheered too, for the scene was being projected in the dining room. And further afield, far, far, far away, in the crowded main debating chamber of the Space Council, representatives who a short time ago had voted to terminate the ORBE project now put on a brave face as the people about them went wild with jubilation. Was Theo Vollens somewhere there? I feel certain he was: if not in person, then sipping champagne in spirit.

  Estimates vary as to how many other people were watching from the inhabited worlds that day. I know I was – in this very studio where I am now sitting writing – along with many, many millions of others, at a conservative estimate.

  And there was Dr Tania Kowalski, keeping her excitement in check, saying, ‘Of course, it is early days yet and the severance is just complete. But all seems to have gone well. Both the new Dendron-to-be seem stable, the trunks have a balanced curve and they are well bedded.’ And then she added, ‘The Space Council is to be complimented for its foresight and wisdom in allowing Dr Hera Melhuish and her research assistant to complete this important project. We hope to speak to representatives of the Space Council shortly,’

  Mack and Hera knew none of this. Mack climbed down and Hera met him with a glass of wine. But before he could have that she kissed him and that was the first kiss they had enjoyed in and of and for itself. Simple pleasure.

  It was much later. Evening sunshine still filled the small valley, but clouds were gathering in the hills, and Alan was predicting rain.

  During the afternoon Mack had taken the SAS up and dragged the remains of the Dendron’s body across the clearing to where the trees started. On the way he had crushed a few Tattersall weeds, in true Dendron fashion. Now the Dendron’s remains could liquefy in peace. Hera had hosed down the stool to get rid of any soft matter. The stump, where the Dendron’s ‘brain’ had been hidden, now contained a small pool of clear water. The stream was running clean too. Mack had steeped himself for an hour in its cool water and his cuts were dressed. And Hera and Mack were now sitting at their table and feeling proud of themselves.

  Hera, after a long struggle with her conscience, was about to confess to Mack that the scenes shot by the camera had had a wider audience than just Dickinson and Tania. In fact Dickinson and Tania and the whole demolition team were standing by to talk to Mack in case he was upset. The space-wide broadcast was over, though the camera was still turned on and recording. Dickinson was hoping to be able to set up a reverse link so that Hera and Mack would be able to see the people on the shuttle.

  Hera had just filled Mack’s glass and uttered the time-honoured phrase ‘There’s something I want to tell you’ when they heard a scrabbling sound. It came from a stand of Tattersall weeds which they had flown over when they first saw the Dendron. Mack stood up guessing it might be a weed on the move.

  There was more noise, and then a thick hairy limb, bigger than anything they could have expected, came probing out from the trees. It had thorns like claws and the thorns dug into the ground. Another limb followed it and it too dug in. Both contracted, scratching the earth, and the uprooted body of a giant Tattersall weed dragged into view. It was the one they had seen at the mouth of the valley three days earlier. The similarity to a giant spider was undeniable.

  They saw the tree draw itself together. When it released, more branches were thrown forward, three or four this time, all in a powerful but uncontrolled way, like puppet arms. Any other plants in their path were simply knocked down. They dug in and dragged, and even before this movement was complete, more of the limbs of the plant were coming at them, creeping forward and plunging their thorns into the ground. Ungainly and uncoordinated though this movement was, it nevertheless had urgency. Two more casts and it would be upon them.

  On the top of the SAS the camera swivelled and focused. Moments later, one of the limbs flung forward and crashed down in front of it.

  Mack grabbed Hera and together they ran to higher ground, to the place where they had slept. When they turned, they saw one of the heavy arms strike the SAS, buckling its roof and the rotor blades and cracking the windows of the control cabin. The tri-vid camera was sent spinning over the ground and ended up in the stream. Then the body of the tree, with its giant ball of root matter, was dragged right over the SAS flyer, which rolled, crushing its rotor blades and solar panels, to end up on its back, its tail in the stream and its siren howling mournfully.

  The giant Tattersall weed moved on for two more casts. Then it righted itself and settled some twenty metres from the two new trees. It prepared to set down its root.

  They saw the squirming white root emerge and enter the earth. The ball of side roots settled over it. On either side the long heavy branches rested on the ground, steadying it. ‘Like an old man squatting on a pot’ was Mack’s description. Finally, its bright blue flowers came out and they could smell its fragrance.

  PART FOUR

  Paradise Menacing

  27

  Love – a Transcript

  We are at another turning point, and our story becomes, for a while, internal.

  Unlike the Dendron, where one became two, with Hera and Mack two are becoming one.

  But, as with Romeo and Juliet, we see that the best laid plans can be overturned. The Michelangelo-Reaper, which we have only encountered once so far, will shortly move from the shadows and become important.

  Hera and Mack looked down from their small exposed campsite. They watched the Tattersall weed as it se led near the twin trees. It trembled once as its roots dug deep, and then it became still. Mack picked up a stone and, with the unerring eye of a demolition worker, threw it high and hard so that it bounced off the branches of the Tattersall and then tore one of its flowers.

  ‘What’s that in aid of?’ asked Hera. ‘Are you trying to provoke it?’

  ‘Just wanted to see if it had any more kick in it. It’s done enough damage already.’

  ‘I don’t think that old man’s going anywhere fast. That climb completely knocked the stuffing out of it. I think that Tattersall weed’s settling down for a long, long rest. They’re not really equipped to go charging about.’

  ‘Well, I don’t trust them.’

  At that moment there was a rumble of thunder. Looking across the valley they could see that rain was already falling. They also noticed that more Tattersall weeds were on the move, dragging themselves down to where the twin trunks swayed in the gathering breeze. Already there was quite a congregation of Tattersalls, and Hera, remembering what she had seen at the umbrella tree plan
tation, was under no doubt that they would be offering the trees whatever help they needed, whether sap or physical support.

  Olivia You must have been terrified.

  Hera I think we were more shocked than terrified. But with the rain coming we had to move quickly. We crept down the hill to the SAS. If we met a Tattersall on the move, we simply dodged round it, but they were not bothered with us.

  Olivia Was there anything left to salvage? I thought the SAS was crushed.

  Hera It was. The craft was completely ruined. The fluid drive mechanism had fractured and the roof had been torn open when the rotor blades were ripped off. The cabin was half in the stream, but we could still climb aboard. All the electric circuits were dead, except for the siren, which had its own small battery and which Mack silenced with a fist.

  We salvaged what we could: backpacks, clothes, a tent, food. The distinction between needs and wants became critical. But we were more fortunate than many. The SAS was a survival craft, remember, and the problem was not what we needed, but what we could carry. Mack found the small fixed-band radio, which seemed none the worse for being soaked, but its batteries were almost flat. I located a solar charger and a small stove. We carried everything back to our camp.

  The first thing we did was erect the tent. The clouds were coming down from the hills and then the rain arrived. We simply threw everything into the tent. Then we sat in the tent, huddled together, and watched as the light fell and the mist gathered about us.

  And that was frightening, because we could hear sounds down by the river. Scraping sounds. The Tattersall weeds were on the move, but we couldn’t see them. Fear focuses one’s mind wonderfully. I reasoned that our tent was set well back and close to where the dense trees began, and no Tattersall weed would make its way through them. And I reasoned too that the Tattersall weeds were not actually aggressive. Blundering, yes. But as long as they did not blunder our way, we were probably safe.