The Disestablishment of Paradise (8 page)

On the day of the debate, the times between Central and Paradise were divergent. Using fractal time, dawn on Central was late afternoon on Paradise. As the day wore on, members of ORBE gradually
gathered at their HQ. Not far away, in the Settlers’ Club, the members of the SAA held their own gathering.

At five thirty in the evening the news came through. Everyone knew that the debate would have been fierce, but the news when it came was delivered in a flat and unemotional manner: ‘The
Space Council after due deliberation has voted in favour of disestablishing Paradise. Action: immediate.’

It was over.

The news was a body blow. No, it was worse. It was an execution.

Though Hera had tried to prepare herself, when she heard the news it made her physically sick and she had to retire to one of the toilets at the ORBE HQ.

When she came out, some people had already left and had taken bottles down to the beach, there to vent their hurt and rage. Others sat red-eyed. That night Hera admitted herself to the small
hospital in New Syracuse. Nervous exhaustion was the diagnosis, but they might just as well have said heartbreak or grief.

And it was there, early in the morning of the next day, that she received an official summons ordering her to attend a disciplinary hearing at the Audit Unit offices on Central. Evidently there
were questions she needed to answer. Allegations of misconduct. Irregularities had been found in her stewardship of the ORBE project.

Had the universe turned to clockwork?
Hera wondered, each day mindlessly bringing worse tidings. The hearing, which would be open to the public, was scheduled to take place in two days.
Wearily Hera contacted Tania Kowalski, who agreed to accompany her to Central.

On the day of departure Captain Abhuradin was waiting for Hera at the shuttle platform. This was not the captain that Hera was used to. Her face looked scrubbed and severe. Her
hair was held back and her face lacked make-up. She was wearing fatigues with a black armband. The space platform was already noise with new people arriving to conduct the Disestablishment.

‘They did it,’ said Hera flatly.

‘They always meant to,’ answered Abhuradin. ‘Here, I have a letter for you.’ She saw a sudden look of fear cross Hera’s face. ‘Don’t worry. It’s
not official; it’s from me. Something I’ve been meaning to say since . . . since the last time we met.’ She pressed the letter into Hera’s hands. After a slight hesitation,
she leaned forward and gave Hera a light kiss on the cheek. ‘Good luck.’

Hera endured a terrible passage through the fractal. Where, she wondered, and from what black depth of her psyche, did such nightmares come?

The only shred of comfort for her was Abhuradin’s letter.

The letter came as a complete surprise to Hera. She found it difficult to accept that it was from a woman who until today she had regarded as an enemy. How little she had known
her. And how right the elegant Captain Abhuradin had been!

Hera was still wobbly on her feet when she and Tania reached Central. It was half past seven in the evening, local time.

An official from the Audit Unit, a strong-looking young man with cropped hair, was there to meet them. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m Kris. I’m your minder. I was one of the
team down on Paradise. Nice place. Sorry to hear what’s happened. But that’s progress, eh?’

Once through the security doors, reporters were waiting. They pushed their instruments in front of Hera‘s face and shouted questions. It was as much as Tania and Kris, assisted by one of
the security guards, could do to shield Hera and get her into the safety of the lift leading up to the Space Council offices.

‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ said Hera when the sliding doors had hissed shut. ‘How did they know I was coming?’

The young man shrugged. ‘This place leaks like a sieve when they want it to. Don’t worry. We’ve booked an apartment for you in the secure wing. You won’t be troubled
there.’

‘The secure wing?’ asked Tania. ‘Isn’t that just for people on trial?’

‘And VIPs,’ said the young man smoothly.

A soft ringing tone announced that the lift had reached the apartment level. From there Kris conducted them to a pleasant suite of rooms on the outer ring of the torus, from which they had a
view of the cratered face of the moon turning slowly beneath them. ‘The hearing will take place at ten tomorrow, but I will come to collect you at nine. Breakfast will be delivered at seven
thirty. You can make your selection by call-up. Have a pleasant evening.’

The door closed, and Tania, who had a streetwise and suspicious turn to her mind, counted to ten and then tried it. The door opened.

Kris, halfway down the corridor, turned and smiled.

At exactly nine a.m. the next morning Kris tapped on the door. The two women were ready.

Kris conducted them to the main office of the Audit Unit, where Stefan Diamond – unsmiling as ever – handed her some forms. With him was a man Hera had not expected to see, a friend,
Senator Jack Stephenson.

Jack Stephenson, formerly an Olympic swimming champion, was now an influential member of the Space Council, chairing several committees. He was also a loyal supporter of the ORBE project, and it
was largely due to his influence that the tourism proposals had been so roundly defeated.

‘I came as soon as I heard they’d brought you over to Central,’ he said. ‘I’ve no idea what this is all about.’ He gestured around, including Stefan Diamond
in the movement. ‘I imagine you have more pressing concerns than this, Hera.’ Then, in sudden irritation, he turned and addressed Stefan Diamond. ‘Get the women a coffee or
something, man. And then, please, I would like to speak to them for a few minutes in private.’

Stefan Diamond shrugged and gestured to Kris, who took their orders and then departed. ‘I would remind you that the hearing begins in thirty-five minutes’ time,’ said Diamond,
‘so you have about fifteen minutes.’ And he left.

Tania picked up the papers Diamond had left on the table. ‘If it is all the same to you, I think I’ll take a stroll outside and have a squiz at these. Then I can brief you,’
she said. ‘You talk in private.’

Jack Stephenson took a small electronic monitor from his pocket and placed it on the table between them. Immediately it began to flash and emit a polytonal signal, indicating that recording
devices were operating. ‘And you can turn them off too,’ said Stephenson loudly. ‘And if I find out that any part of our conversation has been listened to, you’ll be
answerable to the Disciplinary Committee, which I chair.’ Seconds later the monitor became silent and its light faded.

Stephenson looked at Hera for a few moments. ‘Been tough, eh?’ She nodded. ‘I understand they got you out of hospital.’

‘It was my own choice,’ said Hera.

‘Well if I’d known, I’d have told you not to come. You could have told them to stuff it. Hell, there’s plenty of time for this kind of circus later. Not that it is
relevant now anyway.’ He paused and sighed deeply. ‘I am so sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘So, very, very sorry. I thought we had the numbers. Just. It was a hell of a debate.
There was blood on the floor of the chamber. I’ve never been through a session like it. It has absolutely split the Council in half. But they got us with a couple of abstentions, Apolinari
and de Loutherberg – God knows who pressured them – and poor Elvira Estaing couldn’t be there. She was on her way but suffered a heart attack in Suva. She is still in intensive
care.’ Hera put her hand to her mouth but said nothing. In her mind she was aware of another tick of the clockwork. ‘We really missed Elvira’s voice at the debate. I think she
would have won over the abstentions. And of course smiling Secretary Tim cast his vote with the Lady Hilder party and that was it: fifty-seven to fifty-five.’

‘Can’t we appeal?’ It was said without enthusiasm.

‘I’ve already done so. But I don’t have any hopes. It was all so sudden and now positions are entrenched. In any case, the people on the Review Committee, all except old
Ishriba, voted for Disestablishment. Times are changing. We are into a new phase of some sort. There is a lot of ignorance out there selling itself as pragmatism, and God knows where it will end.
For the first time, Hera, I am really afraid for the future.’

‘Well, you did what you could,’ said Hera. ‘And thank you for that.’

‘The bad news is, and I am afraid I am getting cynical in my old age, that I think one of the reasons they have brought you here so quickly is to get you off planet. By the time you get
back to Paradise the first demolition teams will already be on the ground. That’s how quickly things are happening. They probably thought you might stage a protest.’

Hera made a sound, a quiet sound such as a cat makes when it is dying, a small involuntary keening which could almost have been a sound of love. Then she said, very softly, ‘Who is doing
this, Jack? Who?’

Stephenson shrugged and shook his head. ‘I have no idea. There may be one person or several people . . . One day maybe we will find out, but I am not sure that names matter now. You know,
Hera, as days pass I seem to meet more and more people who don’t seem to like the light of day. People who are not comfortable with ideas like beauty or love or self-sacrifice, and for whom
the only truth is what they can hold in their hand, the power they can wield, the advantage they can take. These people don’t have to talk to one another; they know one another by their
smell. And what I fear most now is that these people, whoever they are, will come to control what is happening in space. And if they do, we as a race will make the same mistake as we always have.
We will try to control by force what we could perfectly well live with by reason alone.’

Hera had never seen Jack Stephenson so despondent.

‘Well, look at me,’ he said, rallying. ‘And I came here to offer you support.’

‘And you are, Jack.’

There was a tap at the door and Kris brought in the coffee. ‘Just to let you know there are seven minutes until we have to go down to the hearing. I’ll be taking you down.’ He
withdrew without waiting for a reply.

Hera and Jack Stephenson were silent.

Inside Hera it was as though all her emotions were colours and they were spinning round in her head. She did not know what she thought or what she felt any more. And then, apropos of nothing,
she said, ‘There were people I knew on the fractal transit, people I’ve known for years. Some of them looked away when they saw me.’ She paused. ‘Isn’t that sad?
I’ve had people be rude before, but they didn’t seem to want to know me. Why?’ She was silent for a moment. ‘And there were photographers waiting too. I felt like a
criminal. None of us understand what is happening. One day we are told we are going to be disestablished. Then we are told we are going to be audited, and the next thing we know all these strange
men arrive and start bossing us about as though they owned the place. I’ve never seen guns on Paradise before, except in the museum. Why guns . . .?’

‘How did your people take it?’

‘Not well. But it got to me.’

Stephenson nodded. ‘Well, the audit people were on a fishing expedition. As far as I can make out, a group of SAA members made a formal complaint direct to Tim Isherwood saying that funds
were being misappropriated by ORBE and that they were not getting the level of support they were entitled to.’

‘What? Who were they?’

‘William and Proctor Newton and young Elizabeth Pears.’

‘I might have known! And Isherwood took them seriously. The Newtons are as mad as March hares. Proctor Newton hears voices, and no one can understand what William is talking about most of
the time. As for Lizzie Pears . . . well, she’s just a mixed-up girl. Why didn’t Isherwood check with us first?’

‘Because he didn’t want to. He handed the matter over to the Economic Subcommittee and Lady Hilder handed it straight over to the Audit Unit, saying – and I quote – since
there was “such controversy about the future of Paradise at present, please investigate the ORBE project thoroughly and report back as soon as possible”.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘Leaked memo. The powers of darkness are not the only ones with their angels, Hera.’

‘And
have
they found anything?’

‘No idea. They will have found the normal amount of dirt that lies in the crannies of any decent, well run, honest organization. We used to call it oil of discretion. But is your
conscience clear?’

‘Completely. There was nothing to find. Tania Kowalski reckons it was a jack-up. She thinks they might have tried to plant something. She’s full of conspiracy theories.’

‘She might be right.’

‘But the Newton twins and Lizzie Pears. I mean to say . . . I know they’re odd, but not wicked. The aggies can be a pain – suspicious, always wanting more, never satisfied
– but now they are hurt as much as the rest of us. I suppose they want someone to blame, and have chosen me. Misplaced anger. They can’t blame God, so they blame us.’

‘Well tell them that. Stick to your guns.’

‘What guns? I’m tired, Jack. I’m achy. I’m confused. I don’t think it has really sunk in yet, what’s happened. I don’t have much fight left in me right
now. I just want to get it over and get out.’

At that moment the monitor on the table squawked. ‘They are telling us time’s up,’ said Stephenson and pushed his chair back.