Fairhaven Chapter 5

COP30

Read chapter 4 here

4.00 pm, Friday, November 6, 2026
Malaysia Airlines 141 – en route to Sydney

Global average temperature: 1.4°C above pre-industrial levels

Tengku Marina Zainal, with flashing, dark eyes, dressed in the exact clothes that would be expected of someone from her background, turned away from the first-class view out the window of the Boeing 777x, and toward the woman in the next seat. Her expensive outfit chafed; she would be happier in overalls and rubber boots. 

‘We shouldn’t be flying to COP31. We should be walking, or sailing, or something. We should think about the optics, if nothing else.’

Her companion’s attire revealed a more frugal budget. She replied, ‘It would take months to sail from Malaysia to Sydney. Not to mention the fact that your sister and your brother-in-law have the yacht this week.’

‘Stop being so practical, Elizabeth,’ Marina pouted, and took a moody sip of her coconut drink. Here on an international flight, far away from anyone who would judge her, she still could not bring herself to taste alcohol. ‘I’m 39 years old; I’m too old to be reasoned with. Plus, I get enough rational arguments in my scientific work. What I want is irrational action.’ 

Elizabeth remained calm. ‘Unlike you, Marina, I can’t afford not to be practical. We are there to represent the interests of our community of businesses, and I’m there to ensure you get everything done that you need to get done.’

‘And remind me what these interests are, again?’

Elizabeth tapped the large, in-seat entertainment screen, turning off the latest blockbuster, from the new Orac Studios, and gave Marina her full attention. ‘Growth and shareholder value. Which, I should remind you, are what keep the Zainal family office solvent. Don’t forget, I’m 39, too, and it is my job to be reasonable.’

Marina smiled. ‘It’s your job to further the aims of the Zainal family, and at the moment, those aims are to take a hard look at the real situation we’re in, and help us find a way forward so that we’re still successful in the next generation. I’ve learned something from being the black sheep of this family; while you were in business school with Amir, I was working on my dissertation in the Cocos Islands. I learned that it takes more than business to keep the planet solvent. We should be treating Earth as a service provider, one that gives us water, land, food, and air; but at the moment, we’re a terrible customer. We’ve never settled a single invoice.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The entire premise of what we are doing is flawed. Every time we talk about growth, all I can see is the Cocos people. They speak a Malay language, and from a legal point of view they are part of Australia. But the difference between their lives and how the rest of Australia lives – between our lives in Kuala Lumpur and theirs in their village – it’s intolerable. Growth to them means someone coming to take away their livelihood and devastate their fishing grounds, while they get nothing.’

‘There are different ways of achieving growth.’

‘We should find a different way, then.’

‘Hm.’ Elizabeth tapped the elaborate entertainment screen again, resuming the movie.

‘You know at this meeting, they are going to propose that governments cut all subsidies to oil and gas companies. And everyone in the family has been telling me it’s impossible. Among other things, we have massive assets tied up in offshore oil platforms. You told me yourself that they’re going to demand cuts of 10% emissions every year, from this year, every year, until we get to net zero. And then they want us to go net negative.’

As she answered, Elizabeth regarded the screen in front of her with a steadfast gaze, where a blue-and-white logo was twirling as the opening credits appeared. ‘That’s why we’re going there, to explain the economic consequences of such a move. There’s no way it will work. You know that as well as I do.’

‘I have another idea. Will you help me?’

‘You know what I’m going to say.’

‘Yes, yes, “As long as it furthers the aims of the Zainal family!” I assure you, it will. My granddaughter is going to be telling people about how this all started.’

‘All right,’ Elizabeth smiled. ‘Then let’s hear it.’

7.00 pm, Sunday, November 8, 2026
Sydney, Australia – COP31 

Three aides, briefcases in hand, scurried to keep up with the sour-faced Prime Minister of Canada as he strode through the crowd.

‘He found the sandwiches too expensive, maybe?’ Marina observed. There had not yet been a COP conference where the catering was anything close to acceptable, and this one was no exception. Elizabeth laughed. 

A photographer was attempting to wrangle two heads of state and the executive director of a multilateral agency into a photo against the playful, rainbow-coloured backdrop. Every time she had them in position, a new person came out of the crowd to distract them, by shaking hands, starting up a new conversation, or requesting their own selfie.

A group of protestors outside the glass double doors were chanting incomprehensible slogans. The two women glanced at each other and shrugged their shoulders. Elizabeth put a hand on Marina’s shoulder. ‘We’ve got to get over to the symposium. Do you want to grab a coffee first?’

‘No. This event has the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted. Maybe it was better last year in Brazil. Anyway, it’s too late. It will make our jet lag worse.’

They walked for several minutes to the conference room, their paces matched. ‘When do you think we should announce?’ Marina asked after a long silence. 

Elizabeth waited before answering. ‘I don’t think we should make commitments we can’t keep.’

‘We have before.’

‘It’s different this time.’

Marina remained silent until they arrived. ‘All right.’

‘All right, what?’

‘Your advice is good, as always.’

She nodded, and held open the door for Marina, who sailed through. Elizabeth persisted, ‘We’ll announce it when we have projects to show.’

‘It is my intention to have that happen sooner than you expect.’

9:00am, Monday, January 4, 2027
Oil Platform – Natuna Sea, 18 kilometres from Vietnamese border

The once proud, bright yellow structure was streaked with corrosion and long lines of rust stains, like dried blood from old wounds. Marina was grim as she regarded the scene.

The landing area on the lowest deck was broken, with walkways and handrails missing. The smell of oil lingered, perhaps from subsurface leaks. The only sound was the waves as they passed the legs of the platform.

The platform was small, big enough for no more than 30 workers. Somewhere above her were the accommodation block, control room, and workshop. She was not optimistic about there being anything left that hadn’t been stolen.

Below her feet, shafts of bright sunlight pierced deep into the clear blue water. Shoals of fish flitted between the platform legs.

It doesn’t look like much, she thought to herself, but the Sea Orchards will be our future. 

10.00 pm, Wednesday, March 10, 2027
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia – Grand Hyatt Kuala Lumpur

Marina was the only one at the dinner table not queasy from overindulgence. Every year, her mother’s Ramadan Buka Puasa celebration became less of a religious observance, and more of a way to overwhelm guests with her generosity. Still, it was hard to resent the satisfaction surrounding her, heightened by the weeks of fasting that preceded the meal. She turned around to appreciate the magnificent city view, glittering many stories below and extending to the horizon.

‘And what are you up to these days?’ her cousin Amir asked, as he picked his teeth behind a napkin. ‘We haven’t seen you in town for ages.’ Marina noticed that his jowls were more obvious than ever. Not that she was one to criticise. With all the time she spent out of doors, her skin was as rough as sandpaper.

‘I’ve been down south, working on my offshore project. The Sea Orchards.’

‘Oh, yes, with the fish!’ Amir’s mother trilled, her face flushed from the exertion of doing justice to the extravagant dinner. ‘What extraordinary ideas you have.’ She took another chocolate. ‘Your mother must have picked up these delicious little sweets when she was in Switzerland last week. They’re marvellous. So, is everything going well with your little project?’

‘Yes, although we are still in the start-up phase.’

Amir’s father intervened. ‘It’s past time you got involved in our philanthropic activities, Marina, so we’re all happy to see you putting aside your hobbies and working on a charitable venture. But I wish you would choose something in our family’s core giving areas. You know, your aunt is still looking for help with her scholarship program.’

Marina thought of what she wanted to say, cast it aside, and allowed herself a brief smile. ‘I’ve been working for the Department of Fisheries as a marine biologist for the past fifteen years. It’s not a hobby. And this new project isn’t a charity, although we do expect to help the fishermen displaced by the Fairhaven project.’

Amir sat back in his chair with a philosophical frown, and commented, ‘The fishermen do have a valid point. Their traditional space will be lost when the Fairhaven project is complete.’

‘Yes, but they need to change – they’re not only the injured party but also the perpetrators. They’ve been trawling, dredging, overfishing, and polluting from their fish farms.’

‘What a dreadful business,’ Amir’s mother clucked, reaching for another chocolate. 

Marina pressed on. ‘Most of the catch from the flats is already small. It’s about developing a way to fish that ensures the long-term abundance of the wider fishery area.’

Amir’s father clasped his hands over his substantial midriff. ‘If you need any help, let me know – remember, the Penang vice-governor is my mother’s brother-in-law.’

For a moment, Marina thought of asking then and there for a permit to conduct a trial she’d been thinking of; however, she already had a reputation in the family, and they would look at her askance if she went into all the details of her oddball project at a Ramadan Buka Puasa dinner. Instead, she thanked her aunt’s husband and changed the subject. 

The ‘little’ project was, indeed, little more than an idea, at least for now. She had secured the use of one of the family’s inactive oil platforms. She had also set up the initial group of rope pillars. But it would take time for fish to discover the new location, and still more time for them to become established in their new habitat – and she could not afford to scale the project without the benefit of additional primary research. 

Her own dissertation, conducted on the Cocos reefs, already formed the principal basis of the initiative: she was wagering that if an artificial habitat could be set up in one of the ‘deserted’ areas of the ocean, a new ecosystem would form around it. It happened often enough on the sea floor, when shipwrecks, fallen pieces of equipment, and bits of doomed aircraft acted as the nucleus of new reefs. Marina wanted to duplicate the effect, vertically, at the 10m to 20m depth, using oil platform legs and buoyed ropes. 

It could take ages for the ecosystem to develop. Yet giving it a boost with extra nutrients would be too risky, since it might cause a dangerous algal bloom. She had seen the damage runaway blooms could do along shorelines.

If she was successful, however, all the areas chewed up by trawlers could be rehabilitated on the same scale at which they were destroyed, and then tended and farmed by the coastal fishermen who had lost so much to the big commercial operations. Redundant and retiring oil platforms would all become part of her new system, deterring trawling and providing habitat. Platforms would be cut into pieces and planted in designed and managed areas.

She wished she could talk to Elizabeth about it, but it would have been impossible at a dinner like this one. From her mother’s point of view, Elizabeth was no more than an employee. She would have to find another time.

Read chapter 6 here