The Disestablishment of Paradise (39 page)

‘What are you doing, boss, while I’m giving my . . . er, sister a thrill?’

‘Attaching the electric shock leads to the generator. We want to wake her up, don’t we? So when you’re ready, Doc.’

Hera was amazed at how easily she took orders – it was quite nice to be spoken to in the language of the team.

She eased the SAS up and she eased the SAS down. She watched the log in the cleft as she rocked it. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Mack rejoined her in the cabin. ‘All set
below,’ he said. ‘How’s she like it? Any change? Any reaction?’

‘Nope. Just tell me, Mack, apart from the obvious, what makes you think the cleft there is a sensitive place? More sensitive than the codds, for instance?’

‘Dendron divides there. That’s the biggest junction in its body. That’s where one becomes two. That’s where it knows it’s a Dendron, like you know you’re a
woman. Forget the codds. The codds are just a machine. Dispensable. Remember that Mayday woman’s Dendron – it just ripped Mustard’s codds out and threw them away. I reckon that
with a Dendron the more tender you are at the beginning, the easier everything gets later. This is where it starts to give up its consciousness. Trust the Buddha! OK? Here we go. If she isn’t
primed with that she won’t fire at all. Ease back now. Start to drag. Nice and slow. Keep it steady, steady. Keep it on line in the cleft. Don’t twist the trunk or it’ll come out
of the groove. Great. Wait till the little branches reach the cleft then hold steady. Lovely. Lovely. Lovely. Oh, you sweetheart! Stop there. Now let’s see what happens.’

Mack had brought a transformer with him into the control room. He edged it to 25 per cent and they saw a spark jump from one of the cable ends to the top of the left-hand cleft.

Hera was about to protest, but she bit down hard. She looked up at Mack, at the sweat on his brow and the intensity of his glare at the Dendron.

‘Now take it,’ he said and pushed the charge up to 50 per cent. ‘Any movement?’

‘No movement.’

‘Take your revs up but hold position.’

Hera gunned the engine but changed the pitch of the rotors so that they absorbed the change. They shifted slightly in the air. ‘Hold her steady!’ Mack pushed the transformer up to 75
per cent. Lightning danced from the cables to both sides of the cleft and back. Sparks flew. But still there was no movement from the Dendron. ‘Come on, you bugger, do something,’
shouted Mack, and he pushed the transformer to maximum. Thin fingers of blue electricity fluttered up the twin trunks, and red fibres on the cleft smoked and caught fire. ‘Give me full power.
She’s almost there, I know it. I know it.’

Hera took the engine to full and red warning lights flashed on the control panel. Alan began to speak but she overrode him with one sweep of her hand. Then suddenly the power cut. The burned-out
cable fell away from the Dendron.

‘Ease off,’ shouted Mack. ‘Hold steady but pull back to safety.’

Hera throttled back, and one by one the warning lights went out.

‘OK. Back up. Pull the trunk out. Slack off the cable just before she falls.’

The trunk, burned and still smoking, pulled free from between the twin horns of the Dendron and fell down with one end in the river.

‘You can land if you like, Doc,’ said Mack. ‘Let’s look and see what damage we’ve done. But don’t turn the motor off. Keep her running. We might have one hell
of an angry Dendron wants to kick our arse.’ They watched.

Then Hera pointed. The flags had moved independently for the first time. They had lifted and then fallen again. But then the crest twitched, as though hit by a sudden breeze. It closed suddenly
and then immediately opened again. ‘She’s getting up steam,’ said Hera. And no sooner were the words out of her mouth than the Dendron shook as a mighty energy was released and
green sap began to pour from every orifice. It came from holes in the Dendron’s side. A wave gulfed from the cleft and poured down between the twin trunks. Heavy green fluid poured like oil
from the tip of the twin trunks, down and over the cherries and the Venus tears, and fell in heavy drops down into the stream.

‘She’s been holding that in a long time,’ said Mack. ‘No wonder she stinks. Maybe’s now she’ll smell of primroses.’ The crest opened and closed again
with a crisp slicing sound, and more juice flowed and this was a darker green.

‘Clearing her tubes,’ said Hera, and Mack nodded.

‘Yeah, best thing,’ he said. ‘She’d have died in another day or so. Maybe had one more run in her. What do you reckon?’

Hera nodded. ‘So now there’s just one last thing.’

They watched as the crest opened one more time, and then slowly twisted to the side and lowered open and flat. The sharp tines dug deep into the soil beside the river, and all movement
stopped.

Hera cut the engine. The rotors turned more slowly and then reversed briefly and came to a standstill. ‘You did it, Mack. She knows we’re here and we’re going to help.
You’re a clever fucker, aren’t you?’

Mack shrugged. ‘Just an ordinary day at the office, Doc. Come on, let’s go and get us a drink. She can rest now. She deserves it. What a relief! She had me worried there.’

The codds gulped quietly.

‘Now I need to do some research.’ He turned his granny’s ring on his finger and slipped it into the palm of his hand. ‘Mind if I have a bit more
hair?’

Hera, who now wore her hair in a pony tail, took a few strands and pulled them out. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Keep a few for good luck.’

‘I will. And now if you’ll excuse me I want to work a bit on my own. I’ll tell you all about it later. But I need to keep my mind uncluttered for a while. OK?’

‘You’re the boss. I’m going to spend a bit of time down by the river. I’ve a feeling that’s the right place for me.’

Mack wandered round the Dendron but kept quite a distance from it, muttering to himself, occasionally taking notes and always with his little pendulum oscillating in his hand. Once or twice he
stopped and kneeled down with his ear to the ground; sometimes he lay flat on the brevet with his arms and legs spread.

Hera, meanwhile, maintained a vigil of her own, sitting in the shadow of the crest where it dug into the soil and letting her mind ride with the easy consciousness of the Dendron. It knew they
were here. In her memory Hera revisited some of her memories of the green time, and was content.

Just briefly she heard a ringing of bells as from a distance and felt a shadow pass over her, and the codds beat twice, strongly. ‘Easy,’ she murmured. ‘Easy.’ And she
reached out and touched the hard crest, rather as one might encourage a shy but willing horse.

Then she heard Mack calling and roused herself. The sun was low. Mack had returned to the SAS and was preparing some food. His silence was heavy, like a man containing bad news. But Hera knew
better than to ask.

That evening Mack remained quiet and thoughtful during the meal. Occasionally he grunted to himself, or said ‘Hmm’ as though listening to an internal dialogue. Hera sat quiet, biting
back her impatience. But when she moved to clear the plates he stopped her. ‘What’s going on up here, Mack?’ she asked, gently tapping him on the forehead. ‘Can you share,
or are you too worried and tired?’

‘A bit of both. I’m trying to work out what we do tomorrow.’ She noticed that Mack had arranged his fork and spoon and plate in a pattern, as though using them to think. And
when he spoke, he addressed them. ‘See, there’s one big difference between me and the Dendron that did the chopping with that Mayday woman – what was her—’

‘Marie Newton. Yes?’

‘And that difference between us is time. The Dendron could work quickly. Proper equipment. Knew what it was doing. It took . . . what? Little more than twenty minutes from first chop to
final sever. But it’s going to take me a couple of days, and that’s if I have good wind and decent help.’

‘Did I do all right today?’

‘You did fine.’ He stopped and looked up at her. ‘Let me just tell you one thing, for next time you’re working on a demo team. It’s considered bad form to ask
questions like that. Because you’re part of a team. Now don’t go looking upset. You weren’t to know, and you’ll learn. But if you do want to pay someone a compliment, or say
something personal or friendly even, do it in a backhanded way so they don’t feel embarrassed. Like when you said to me, was I enjoying myself when I nearly fell off the Dendron. That was
spot on. I knew you were watching. I knew you were there. And I knew you’d be down in a flash if I was in trouble. OK?’

‘That wasn’t a compliment, Mack, I was—’

‘You paid me the compliment of caring. Same difference. Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to tell you.’ His focus returned to the table. ‘Now, taking two days over the job
wouldn’t matter, except I think there’s a question of life and death involved. What I’m thinking is that with this fission business, there must come a moment when the old body
dies and the new bodies take over. And if they don’t overlap properly, you get three deaths, and it’s – what was it that kid said – “Curtains, bon-bon” for all
eternity. So where, I ask myself, does the old Dendron – the big gal we’ve got sleeping down there – where does she keep her life? Put that another way: at what point does the old
Dendron have to die so that the new kids can live? My worry is that if I rip out its codds tomorrow before I’m ready to split the other two off, they’ll all die. So we have to try and
keep them all alive until the last cut of all. So how do we do that? Logistics really.’

‘Well, where do you think she keeps her life? In the cherries and tears?’

‘No, it’s not in the cherries, or the tears. My guess is they are wanting to become independent. They’re part of the new life. They don’t want to be worried by the old
girl any more.’

‘Gotcha,’ said Hera. ‘They’ll be going through a pretty complex adaptation of their own right at this very second.’ She thought for a moment, and then tapped the
table with her finger. ‘I’ve had an idea. You remember I mentioned the front two legs have already rooted?’

‘Yep.’

‘Well, they’ll be getting all sorts of information from the roots, won’t they? About being a new young Dendron – how you ring your bells and shake your cherries and
contact the nearest Tattersall weed, and—’

Mack sat up straight. ‘There’s a thought. They’ll be trying out their voices while the old part of them is still alive but dormant. But if the old part wakes up before the job
is done – can you imagine! If it broadcast that pain! Hell, they’d need the protection of all the Michelangelos in the region and then some. Us too.’

‘Is that what you felt today?’ asked Hera.

‘Of course. There’s been a Michelangelo hovering about for a while now.’

This was news to Hera, for she had felt nothing except for the one flicker and she’d thought that came from the Dendron. ‘How do you know it’s a Michelangelo?’

‘Just do. For one thing, it makes it impossible to dowse. Its patterns are just too powerful. I can’t get past them. It’s friendly, for want of a better word. At least at
present. And it’s taking a keen interest in things here’

‘Oh.’ Hera wondered what else Mack might have picked up. The man opposite her was suddenly stranger to her, more unknown, but not a stranger. He was still Mack. ‘So, going
back,’ she continued, ‘if its life is not in the cherries, what about the wishbone? That’s what people shot at when they went hunting.’

‘Yeah. That was its weak point. That stopped it being able to move. If you shot it in the wishbone you’d cripple it, but not kill it. You could strip it of its wishbone, and still it
wouldn’t die. Dendron take a long time to die, I’m thinking. Years, probably. They have to be killed properly. Quickly. Efficiently. Like that galloping Dendron killed Mustard in that
Mayday woman’s story.’

‘And if they aren’t killed properly?’

Mack looked at her. ‘My guess is that if a Dendron isn’t killed properly, it will war with itself. It will want to sever, like our gal down there, but it can’t move. All it can
do is cry for help while with every passing day the need to sever and die gets stronger.’

‘Like being in perpetual labour, with no hope of a birth.’ Hera shuddered.

‘You can imagine them screaming their pain, can’t you? We heard it. Just a bit of it.’

‘Getting louder as the years slip past. Because it could take years, couldn’t it?’

‘One voice becoming three as the young ones get stronger.’

‘And still no one comes. God, that’s terrible. God, imagine it. All that screaming. One day I’ll show you Dead Tree Spit, Mack. There’s a Dendron that took a long time to
die. You can still see it.’

‘Aye, we’ll visit it. When this is over, one way or another.’

Hera sat very still. Then she said, ‘Mack, I want you to promise me something. If we can’t make it separate, we mustn’t let three lives linger. It’s all, or
nothing.’

Mack nodded. ‘So that’s our problem, Hera. Where does it keep its life? I need to know so that I can kill the old one quick when the young ones are becoming independent. Or I kill
them all. That’s why I’m quiet. I’m thinking. Can’t do too many things at the same time, you know.’ He stood up. ‘I’m going to sleep outside tonight. Look
at the stars and see what they have to say. Tomorrow’ll be a big day, one way or another. Tomorrow we’ll start to disestablish the Dendron. Who’s on dishes?’

‘Alan.’

Mack grinned and left her to it. But he was back in a moment. ‘One other thing, Hera. I had a thought. We’ll be shifting the SAS right up close to the Dendron tomorrow and
there’s a mobile tri-vid mounted on it. I’d like to open a link up to my team on the platform. They’ll be interested to see what we’re doing, but more important they might
have some thoughts that’ll help.’

Hera stopped, and then she beamed. ‘That’s a brilliant idea, Mack. Why didn’t I think of it? I think my brain’s going to sleep like the Dendron. And they can record it
too, so that if anything happens to us down here, there’s a copy.’ She paused and added, ‘You know, there’s one thing I don’t understand, Mack.’

‘Just one? And what’s that?’

‘I’m thinking about what we were talking about. With all the pain the Dendron must have been broadcasting, I can’t understand why the Michelangelos didn’t come like a
swoop of avenging angels and simply wipe everyone out. They could have treated the human invaders like a pestilence, and got rid of them.’