Read The Disestablishment of Paradise Online
Authors: Phillip Mann
The Disestablishment of Paradise (9 page)
Hera stood up. ‘Are you going to be in there?’
He shook his head. ‘I can’t. I’m booked to get down to Suva as soon as I leave here. Hope to find Elvira is still with us. But I’ll come back as soon as I can.’
Hera nodded. ‘Good. I’m glad. Give her my love.’
Stephenson held out his hand. ‘Good luck, Hera. Watch out for Diamond, he’s a dealer in dirt. Used to work on divorce cases. Now they use him as their hatchet man. And don’t go
waving your arms about when you’re talking. It makes you look . . . comic.’
‘Point taken.’
The door opened, revealing Kris. ‘Dr Melhuish. This way, if you please.’
Tania was there too. She had a funny expression on her face and shrugged when she saw Hera.
‘Can’t see what the fuss is about. A few candid memos. Nothing like the ones I used to send you and which you obviously destroyed. And they want to query our science, whatever that
means. We should be out in half an hour – and then we are going for a drink. Dr Kowalski’s orders.’
They were led down a long corridor with opaque office doors on either side. At the end was a lift, which took them down a floor to one of the transverse wings. This lift opened into the anteroom
of a small concert chamber.
People were milling about, and again there were reporters and cameras. Hera hurried past. ‘No comment’ was all she would say.
A balcony ran all the way across the concert chamber. Facing this was a small stage built on two levels. On the top stood a table with an ornate padded chair behind it. This was for the official
who would be conducting the hearing. Below that were two smaller tables which faced one another. One was for the ORBE representatives and the other for the Audit Unit. Below that, at ground level,
was a table for whoever was making the record. A woman already sat there, her hands folded.
Kris led Hera and Tania to one of the facing tables. It had two plain plastic chairs. Looking up they could see that the balcony was already quite full, with more people entering all the
time.
‘I thought this was just a meeting to answer some questions,’ said Tania.
‘It is,’ answered Kris.
‘So why all the people?’
‘There is a lot of interest in this case.’
‘So it’s a
case
now, is it, and not an inquiry?’ she snapped.
‘Sorry. Slip of the tongue. I’ll leave you now. If you need anything, I’ll be near the door.’
Arranged on the table was a carafe of water, a single glass, some blank sheets of paper and a pencil. The table facing them was similarly equipped, except that the chair behind it had a high
pointed back more suitable for a church.
‘All very theatrical’ was Hera’s only comment.
Hera heard her name spoken and glanced up at the balcony. There she saw the sullen and angry faces of William and Proctor Newton glaring down at her. Lizzie Pears was sitting away to one side.
She was concentrating on her nails, nibbling at them, her face blank. And what had she done to her hair? It was all spiky and seemed to have rags tied in it. Several leading members of the
Settlers’ Agricultural Association were also present, huddled together. Hera had the impression that they didn’t want to look her in the eyes. She looked away. Hera felt strangely
detached from proceedings, as if they were happening to someone else.
‘Now listen,’ said Tania. ‘Don’t let them rush you and don’t let them fluster you. They might try to do both. And if you get stuck, give me a nod and I’ll
step in. I’ve stopped bigger inquiries than this when I was in California.’
Hera nodded.
Stefan Diamond, carrying a large black legal case, entered and took his place at the table opposite. He did not look at the two women. Everything about the man was heavy, Hera noticed. Heavy
jaw, heavy brow, heavy stomach. She pitied his chair. Diamond settled himself, undid the button of his jacket, scratched under the jacket while he looked round the assembly with a somewhat
imperious gaze and then, finally, began to unpack the case. He set out his papers and folders carefully while gradually the auditorium fell silent.
Hera’s attention was interrupted by the arrival of the Space Council member in charge of proceedings. He was a dapper little man with receding hair and bushy eyebrows. He seemed a size too
small for the red legal gown he was wearing.
‘All rise,’ someone called. And everyone did.
The chairman sat down after nodding briefly to the assembly. There was a scuffling of feet and some coughing as people made themselves comfortable.
‘We’ll call this inquiry to order,’ said the chairman. He then went on to give a brief outline of the reasons for the inquiry – that certain allegations had been lodged
against the ORBE project management – and the protocols that would be followed. Questions would only be put by the representative of the Audit Unit, but there would be opportunities for
public comment at the end of proceedings and for Dr Melhuish to make a final statement should she so choose. He then invited Mr Diamond to begin.
Diamond rose to his feet and in a deadpan voice outlined the details of the audit that had just been completed. Hera listened with her head on one side. How different, she thought, was
Diamond’s account of the process from her own perception, and yet factually he was correct and she could not fault him there. And somewhere between it all was the truth, she supposed. She
found her attention wandering, looking at the mosaic pattern formed by the acoustic tiles on the wall.
‘Now, Dr Melhuish, do you recall making the following statement? “We must not confuse culture with civilization. Hunter-gatherers were just as clever as we are and probably had a
more coherent view of the universe, and their place within it, than we have. By and large they did not damage the landscape, taking only what they needed, leaving Nature to regenerate of her own
accord. It was with the coming of agriculture that the damage started. The first farms led to enclosures, to selective breeding, to the damming of rivers, the moulding of hills and ultimately the
desire to manipulate Nature rather than cohabit with her.” ’
Hera had to think hard. ‘Yes, I think those were my words. We were on a panel. Me and some others. We were students at the Institut des Hautes Études. Over thirty years ago. You
have
been digging deep.’
‘It would seem, then, that from an early age you were critical of farmers, indeed of agriculture in general.’
‘That panel, if I remember rightly, was dealing with environmental issues, trying to get at why things had gone wrong on Earth. I was merely pointing out a significant but sometimes
overlooked revolution that took place in the prehistory of Earth.’
‘I repeat. “It was with the coming of agriculture that the damage started.” Your words, Dr Melhuish. Moving on.’ Diamond picked up a sheaf of notes. ‘The following
is an extract from the founding charter of the Observation, Regeneration and Botanic Expansion project on Paradise. “The ORBE project undertakes to make its scientific expertise available to
help the settler agricultural sector in its efforts to create sustainable agriculture on Paradise.” You signed this document when you accepted the position, Dr Melhuish. We note that in your
application for a position with ORBE, you state that you can support “all aspects of the charter”. In view of your later record, Dr Melhuish, it would seem that you were being
circumspect with the truth, presumably in order to gain employment and, perhaps, to be near your mentor, Professor Shapiro.’
‘Objection.’ It was Tania. ‘Mr Diamond’s presumptions are misleading and irrelevant.’
‘Sustained. Mr Diamond, please restrict yourself to the facts.’
This kind of exchange set the tone for the inquiry.
Little by little, by cutting and pasting together comments made by Hera, Diamond was able to create the picture of a tyrannical wasp-tongued woman who was intolerant of the problems faced by the
descendants of the settlers and interested only in her own projects.
At first Hera tried to defend herself, pointing out the importance of context. But Diamond was not to be drawn; he simply ignored her and moved on. ‘Here is Dr Melhuish writing to an ORBE
project worker who answers to the name Pietr Z. It was written shortly after she had taken over the leadership of the ORBE project from her mentor and friend, Professor Shapiro. “No wonder
they call them aggies,’ she says. “Aggravating, agoraphobic, aggrieved and aggressive.” ’
‘That was a joke,’ said Hera wearily.
‘Yes, but at whose expense? And who was laughing?’ snapped back Diamond. ‘Or were you merely trying to continue the tradition established by your predecessor, Shapiro?’
Hera merely shook her head. There was hissing in the auditorium.
Tania leaned close. ‘Why does he keep making these digs about old Shapiro?’
‘No idea,’ whispered Hera.
‘Here’s Dr Melhuish again,’ continued Diamond, ‘this time offering advice to a new appointee who has had an argument with one of the members of the SAA. The recipient of
Dr Melhuish’s good advice, Dr Tania Kowalski, is the lady who has accompanied her here to this inquiry. I will read this memo in full, for it reveals Dr Melhuish’s hardening
intransigence towards the agricultural sector.’
Memo to Tania Kowalski.
You ask why the aggies are so difficult. They are having a hard time, no question, but underlying that is the traditional xenophobia which seems to spring up so easily in secluded rural
communities. This can be fuelled by jealousy, a sense of personal failure, a vision centred on the past, by insecurity and, of course, ignorance – all of which are true here. When reason
fails, men turn to strange gods. When things continue to get worse, they look for an enemy to blame. We are it. We give them solidarity. If we were not here it would be the Space Council or
they would start feuding among themselves and setting up little fiefdoms. But they never look within. Sad really, because the first settlers were men and women of vision, the pick of the bunch;
but that spirit has now dwindled and we are left with these secretive and suspicious people who have so upset you. Take heart, brave lady. The other problem is that they see themselves as the
true inheritors of Paradise and want something to hand on to their descendants. They resent us as interlopers. I once suggested that they should stop trying to farm but should just sit back and
enjoy Paradise and watch the forest grow. From their reaction you would think that I had suggested they ate their children. Also, like all ignorant people, they are frightened of our
knowledge.’
It took five minutes for the chairman to restore order after the reading of this letter. Hera sat silent, no longer staring at the wall but at a place on the ground some metres
in front of her. Even Tania was silent.
A newspaper report published the next day described Hera as sitting ‘hunched like a woman drunk or immersed in a compelling story, while the storm gathered about her’. Fatigue was
taking its toll. She was hearing her own words but remembering the occasions which gave rise to them. Hearing how easily Diamond’s flat delivery killed any lightness or wit. She realized too
that Jack Stephenson was right: she should have stayed on Paradise. ‘The big boys don’t play fair and they play for keeps.’ Who had said that?
‘You have nothing to say, Dr Melhuish?’
Hera roused. ‘You don’t tell the full story. Why not tell them about the time I stayed up all night and was midwife when the girl up there, Elizabeth Pears, was born?’
Diamond cut in smoothly. ‘No one doubts you have your fine and gentle side, but this inquiry is concerned with the standard of your leadership, your objectivity and the professional
decisions you made.’ He paused and then added. ‘However, in deference to Dr Melhuish’s demand that I tell the full story, I will now read the full text of her letter to Senator
Jack Stephenson concerning tourism.’ There was an immediate murmuring in the crowd, for the tourism issue had been, and in some quarters still was, a cause for dissension.
From Dr Hera Melhuish to Senator John Stephenson.
Dear Jack
Re Tourism Proposal
Thanks for keeping me informed on progress. I have just had a long and difficult meeting with the members of the SAA. The tomato crop we had high hopes for after starting
the seeds off world, putting the plants under polythene and hand pollinating every flower, has failed. Dova Rokka, on whose farm we had helped locate it, found out this morning. She brought
some of the tomatoes to show us. They had turned black. I cut one open and inside it was just mush and water. I’ve sent them for analysis of course, but I don’t think analysis will
help much. All I can think is that there is something in the air of Paradise that we can’t feel but the plants can.
Rokka and the rest took this badly. I had not realized how much they had pinned their hopes on a few miserable tomatoes. I think Rokka is ready to call it a day. She has
relatives on one of the lunar outlanders and is thinking of going there and starting again. However, she may not. Dai Tattersall has come up with a scheme, backed by the mad, bad Newton twins,
for developing their farms as tourist resorts. Apparently there is money available to back this scheme – private investment assisted with some Central incentive solas – and he is
all excited. He’s gone so far as to draw up some sketches. Honeymoon co ages on the Bell Tree Islands, Scout camps and the like in the Organs. You get the picture? What worries me is that
they have obviously been talking to someone at Central. They were very shifty when I pressed for details, and Proctor did his imitation of a mushroom and pulled his hat down over his eyes. He
probably has cute ideas about establishing a little white church on a little green hillside under fleecy little clouds. Over my dead body!
Up on the balcony someone shouted something and the chairman immediately stopped proceedings and warned that if there were any more disruptions he would consider clearing the
gallery. ‘Continue, Mr Diamond.’
I know we have been through all this a hundred times, but they don’t want to hear. What you are going to have to do, Jack, is get a protocol through the Space
Council. Something very definitive. An absolute prohibition on any commercial development. Especially tourism. I know you see the dangers as clearly as I do, but this idea has got to be stopped
now, stamped on hard, once and for all. So put your boots on. I’ll keep you informed if I hear anything new.
And while you are shaping up the anti-tourism proposal, give a thought to this. As you know, I firmly believe that there is a place for experimental agriculture on Paradise, but having the
two organizations – the SAA and the ORBE project – both concerned with the bio-development of Paradise really makes no sense. We pull in different directions all the time. It would
make a lot more sense for the agricultural sector to be put under ORBE control. Then we could keep an eye on it, get rid of the commercial supply imperative which weighs like a rock, and treat
agriculture as the experimental arm that it really is. The aggies would hate this, of course. They’d fight us like cats in a barrel. Already they talk about their ancestors as if they had
been here for centuries – and I quite like that. I feel the same way about Angelique-over-Io. But while Io is thriving and expanding, Paradise is not – and the dream they have of
handing on neat little pastures to their descendants just ain’t going to happen, not until we get a handle on the crop failures. Sorry I am going on a bit. Let me know if there is
anything I can do to help scotch the tourism plan and tell me what you think of my idea of making SAA part of ORBE.
Best wishes to Elvira when you see her.
Hera.