Terra Nova

by David C. Garland

  ‘It’s good to see you,’ he said. ‘But are you okay; you look a bit down?’

  ‘I’m fine. It’s just that I’m not sure any more, about my task that is, and whether I can continue with it.’

  ‘Not sure? That’s very unlike you Richard. What has happened to make you unsure?’

  The science journal was open at the article that had grabbed Richard’s attention.

  ‘Have you read this?’ he asked.

  Ransome nodded.

  ‘Yes, before the magazine was put out in reception. It’s very interesting and has added considerably to my doubts about the veracity of global warming. The believers will be up in arms about it but it’s a considerable boost for the deniers! To be honest, I still hover between the two camps and will remain so until irrefutable evidence is produced, one way or the other. That’s the way I have conducted my business life thus far and I’m not about to change now.’

  Richard sat down in one of the armchairs. Ransome took the other.

  ‘I should have asked more questions,’ said Richard.’ while I was on Terra Nova that is, about the reasons why their version of Earth was destroyed. I was stupid and kind of assumed it was due to global warming because no one made it clear, if they really knew the cause that is! I’m definitely leaning towards the Biblical End of Days, coupled with nature’s wrath at the outrageous way humanity conducts itself. Everything is about greed, envy, self aggrandisement. Sleazy politicians who don’t give a damn about anything except filling their pockets at the expense of others. Bankers are being awarded unbelievable amounts of money, while the poor man in the street is struggling to pay his way. Every day the newspapers are full of stories designed to keep us cowering under a cloud of fear. They tell us Iran is about to produce a nuclear weapon and has a rocket with the capability to reach the UK and beyond. Israel is on high alert, ready to destroy Iran’s nuclear ambitions before the unthinkable happens. Iraq is enveloped in a quagmire of murder and strife, with the Sunni and Shia schism resulting in mass killings by both factions. And then there’s Afghanistan! What can be said, except after thousands of fruitless deaths, it’s obviously a lost cause! Believe me William, the world has no future whatsoever. No matter what you and I think we can do, we might as well chuck it in!’

  Ransome, serious, shifted uneasily in his seat.

  ‘Let us not overreact Richard.’ He paused. ‘Okay, I have to agree things are going from bad to worse. But, on the plus side, our rejuvenated media blitz is having some encouraging results. There have been peaceful demonstrations around the world. Governments have to take notice. They must react after people are making it clear there is a need for immediate action to remedy all the ills you refer to. So, don’t throw in the towel yet; at least not until our efforts are proven to have been in vain.’

  He paused again.

  ‘Richard my friend, I have a great deal of respect for what you have achieved. No matter what, we must not let it go to waste.’

  Chapter Seventy Six

  The nuptiae between Esther Pius Oppius and Noah Tullius Cicero was a lavish occasion.

  It began with a joyful celebration, combining legal, religious and social matters. The marriage mirrored the way in which nuptials were conducted in ancient Rome. The Oppius and Cicero households were formally introduced and taken to view a house where the married couple would commence life together. The cost of the wedding was the bride’s family’s responsibility but, since the Oppius’s wealth was legendary in Leviticus, it didn’t obstruct the carefully laid plans for one of the most opulent marriages in Terra Nova’s recent history. The actual date was chosen with extreme care, due to a number of religious tenets that have to be respected. During the engagement ceremony, which took place before the actual wedding, Noah handed his bride-to-be a gold ring. They joined in prayers to The Creator, seeking His blessing for a long, happy and productive marriage! Esther was reticent about the word “productive” being included, but Noah merely smiled and held an upright finger to his lips, adding a secretive “shush” for good measure.

  On the day of the wedding Esther entered St. Peter’s Cathedral, looking beautiful in a white wedding dress and veil made from the finest of materials. Her father, Julius Augustus Oppius, walked by her side, his right hand acting as a platform for his daughter’s left hand, while her younger sister Rebecca trailed in their wake, holding the gown’s lengthy train safely aloft. The Cathedral was filled to capacity with excited relatives, friends, and colleagues. At the end of every row stood beautifully fashioned arrangements of white lilies, displayed in the most ornate of porcelain vases. Standing by the altar, a welcoming smile lighting his face was Jonah Decimus Canus, High Priest and close friend of the Oppius and Cicero families. Noah was standing below the steps to the altar, unmoving, awestruck by the grandeur of the occasion.

  Jonah waited for Esther to climb the three steps to the altar. Once there, he motioned for Noah to join them. They were smiling gloriously as they clasped their right hands, as custom dictated. Jonah asked for a verbal consent between the bride and groom, thereby fulfilling the legal requirements of the marriage. The religious element was fulfilled when the congregation rose as one to join in prayers to The Creator. The social element would be addressed later with the wedding ceremony, the exchange of gifts and the statement of the Latin phrase “Ubi tu Esther, ego Noah” - “Where you are Esther, there I Noah, will be.”

  Quintus Claudius Avitus, the Great Leader, was in attendance. It was he who took Esther’s hand at the close of the ceremony and led her towards the Cathedral’s exit, where well-wishers threw flowers and grain. A procession of attendants formed behind Esther as she walked slowly, elegantly, through the streets lined with curious onlookers, towards her new home. Noah had already gone ahead and was now at the house, eagerly primed to receive his new bride. On arrival she was carried across the threshold by two of her attendants. Noah, standing in the inner hall, greeted his bride with the broadest of smiles.

  Esther approached him and kissed his receptive lips. She looked happy, glowing, radiant.

  ‘You are truly beautiful,’ whispered Noah as they drew apart. ‘I am so blessed.’

  Esther smiled. ‘And you are the noblest of the noble for agreeing to marry me. Our love will grow and you will be rewarded with a child... and surely more will follow!’

  They kissed again, held hands, and walked towards the darkness of their bedroom where the ultimate social act, that of consummation, took place.

  ***

  That night Richard Moss’s sleep was consumed by an emotional, unusual dream. Ever since his return to Earth he had become accustomed to recurring dreams of forthcoming doom, portents of nature’s wrath, and prophetic signs that Earth is in the End Times. This dream, however, was joyous in the way it showed the marriage of Esther Pius Oppius to Noah Tullius Cicero. It ignored news of a baby forming in Esther’s womb but, instead, showed the sparks of burgeoning love between the couple. Richard received a great deal of pleasure as a consequence and woke the following morning feeling pleased, delighted by the knowledge that two of his closest friends on Terra Nova were now joined as one. He eased himself carefully out of bed making sure Julia, who was still peacefully asleep, remained undisturbed.

  He descended the flight of stairs to the kitchen and checked there was sufficient water in the electric kettle before pressing the on switch. Two mugs were standing, ready for use, on the work-top’s multi-coloured marble surface. He plopped a tea bag into each, reached into the refrigerator for a carton of milk and paused, thinking, waiting for the kettle to boil.

  Esther and Noah! Now that’s a match made in heaven!

  The loud hiss of steam escaping the kettle’s spout roused him from his revelry. He poured the scalding water over the tea bags, waited until the water turned dark brown and then added milk. He spooned the tea bags out of the mugs and tossed them into the nearby waste bi
n.

  Whoops, forgot the sugar!

  A teaspoon of brown sugar was dropped into each steaming mug. He used the same teaspoon to stir. Walking back up the staircase, a mug held precariously in each hand, he heard Julia call his name.

  ‘Be quiet Jules, you’ll wake Alexander!’ he hissed.

  Dark spots of tea dripped onto the beige carpet as he entered the bedroom.

  ‘Don’t worry Jules, it’ll clean up,’ he said perkily. ‘And don’t look so surprised! Anybody’d think I never make the tea!’

  Julia, still in bed, smiled condescendingly.

  ‘Thank you Richard. Now will you come back to bed? I want to tell you about a really strange dream I had last night!’

  ‘Must’ve been good. What was it about?’ he said, climbing into bed.

  Julia waited until Richard settled and then snuggled onto the pillows stacked up against the bed’s headboard, steaming mug grasped in both hands.

  ‘Well, there was this fantastic wedding. Everyone was dressed in the kind of clothes I saw in my school’s history books, you know, just like they dressed in ancient Rome! The bride was really beautiful and the groom! Wow, what a looker, George Clooney and Richard Gear rolled into one! Anyway they got married and then they met again inside this lovely house, where they went into the bedroom.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘It went dark. Then that was it, I think!’

  Richard stroked pursed lips.

  ‘Hmmmm, that’s strange because I had the same dream!’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Yes, scene by scene. Then, just like yours, it became dark.’

  Julia sipped her tea. She looked pensive.

  ‘I think there’s a message there,’ she said, a twinkle appearing in her eyes.

  ‘And that is?’ asked Richard.

  ‘You and me, us, we should get married!’

  Chapter Seventy Seven

  The wedding took place on an unexpected, warm, day in mid March. The temperature was in the mid 70’s. Great care had been taken to ensure there would be no press coverage. The name, Richard Moss, has become synonymous with worldwide celebrity but today it would be different. Only close family and friends were invited. A wedding photographer was hired on the strict understanding that he must not divulge who, when, where and at what time the wedding was taking place. William Ransome, whose media empire should have been covering the story from every angle, was invited. His promise to cooperate in the media blackout was unnecessary but was offered nonetheless.

  St. Mark’s Church in Ambridge Wells was the setting. Located in a long, prestigious, winding road in the western edge of the town, it was the same church where Richard, his brother and sister were christened. Ageing Vicar, the Reverend Simon Chance, had performed all three christenings and now, here he was, conducting the marriage of Richard Moss to Julia Brownstone! Today was destined to be one never to be surpassed in the lives of the Moss and Brownstone families. Not only was the wedding taking place but there was also a long awaited christening; that of Alexander, their beloved son!

  The bride arrived in Richard’s BMW M3, finally back on the road after being completely renovated after years of confinement in the Kent County Police pound. Driving the car was Julia’s father, Arthur, who looked as proud as the proverbial peacock when alighting from the car. Richard’s Best Man, brother James, stepped forward from the expectant flurry of people standing at the entrance to the church. He approached the car and smiled at Julia. Fortunately, the passenger door opened easily.

  Richard had James practice opening it several times yesterday, to make sure there would be no embarrassing glitches at the church. One of the local BMW garage mechanics, Mike Oldfield, a friend of Richard’s, had earlier fixed the door which had developed an infuriating habit of sticking rubber upon rubber. But today it was fine. Julia took hold of her future brother in law’s outstretched hand and alighted, decorum intact, smiling radiantly. Her veil moved in the slight breeze, embracing the contours of her face. The silken, white gown, figure hugging above the waist, flowed voluminously to the freshly swept pavement. Its train was picked up, confidence oozing, by Alexander who was impeccably dressed in a traditional page boy outfit.

  The organist’s reverberating rendition of “Here comes the Bride” accompanied Julia and her mini-entourage to the altar, where Richard and his brother were standing.

  James looked around. ‘Wow, she looks beautiful!’

  His whisper carried not only to Richard but also to the front pew where the Brownstone and Moss families were seated. The remark brought smiles all round.

  Reverend Chance conducted the marriage ceremony and the christening with practiced ease. The only dry eyes were those of Alexander who was now sitting on the front pew, Brownstone grandparents to his left; Moss grandparents to his right. It was encouraging to see Katherine and Terry Moss appearing comfortable in each other’s company; their broken relationship remaining steadfast on the road to reconciliation.

  Mounting the pulpit, the Reverend Chance surveyed his audience, gave a slight throat-clearing cough and glanced briefly at a sheaf of notes. He looked up and addressed his attentive audience.

  ‘This is a remarkable coming together of two persons born and bred in our beloved town of Ambridge Wells. I say “remarkable” because of a miraculous event which transported Richard Moss to a planet in a distant galaxy, to learn of its amazing, historical association with Earth. Then to be assigned a monumental task; that of saving our planet from a repeat of the disaster that led our ancestors seeking refuge on a virgin planet known as Terra Nova. Since returning to Earth Richard has traveled the world, meeting with the high and the mighty, in an effort to call a halt to a repeat of the events which destroyed the previous version of Earth. To their utmost credit Richard, his wife Julia and their son Alexander, have borne their respective crosses with grace and dignity.’

  He paused, and then placed the palms of his hands together.

  ‘Please join me in a prayer for the successful completion of Richard’s assignment. Let God be at his side, to give support, to provide him with the strength and courage to overcome the insurmountable obstacles that are barring his way.

  Through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.’

  ***

  William Branston’s wedding present was way beyond Richard and Julia’s wildest dreams. They are aboard a Pristine Airways plane bound for Branston’s private island in the Caribbean. The journey had been long and tedious but their destination was now in sight. Excitement mounted as the pilot announced the plane’s descent was underway.

  ‘Look,’ said Julia, looking through the window to her left. ‘The ocean, it’s so blue, it looks transparent. I can actually see the bottom, the different coloured sands, coral reefs! It’s like looking at a beautiful painting.... Richard, we are so lucky!’

  Richard smiled.

  ‘Yes, William is a very generous man.’

  He saw a smiling steward approaching.

  ‘Do up your seatbelt Jules before the steward gives you a hard time!’

  A chauffeured limousine from the airport to Branston’s house added to Julia’s excitement. Narrow, winding roads enclosed by voluminous palm trees, a never ending profusion of multihued flowers, bougainvillea, wisteria and other exotic plants. Every now and again amazing views of the distant ocean appeared as the limo swung around a succession of acute bends.

  The house was breathtaking. Perched on the summit of a craggy cliff, it personified Julia’s idea of the perfect Caribbean hideaway. The views were absolutely staggering. Translucent water in the huge swimming pool sparkled in the pink to crimson rays of the setting sun. The spacious interior provoked a succession of ooh’s and ah’s. More gasps escaped their mouths as they were escorted to one of the house’s seven bedrooms. Their guide, Ramon Elizalde, a stout, craggy, middle-ag
ed man, was one of Branston’s several permanent staff at his Caribbean retreat.

  ‘Senor, Senora, make yourselves comfortable,’ he said in an accent which reminded Richard of that spoken throughout Latin America, a region he had visited several times during his ongoing mission. ‘Dinner will be served at eight o’clock.’

  Chapter Seventy Eight

  The following morning they awoke refreshed after a dreamless night’s sleep. Breakfast was served on a beautifully laid table sited under a white awning, only a short distance from the shimmering swimming pool. The strident tone of a telephone interrupted as they prepared to eat the sumptuous food before them. Ramon appeared from the interior and approached the table.

  ‘Excuse me Senor, it is for you. Mister Branston wishes you to speak.’

  Richard followed Ramon inside. It was dusky, cooled by three swirling ceiling fans.

  ‘The telephone is over there,’ said Roman, pointing towards an antique desk squatting alone in a corner of the room.

  ‘Hello William,’ he said, after placing the receiver to his ear.

  ‘Richard my friend, how are you settling in?’

  ‘We are completely overawed. Everything is absolutely beautiful.’

  ‘That’s great,’ answered Branston. ’I assume you’ve met Ramon? Oh, silly me, of course you have, he answered the phone! I want to suggest, when you have time that is, you have a chat with him. He has a very interesting background. Born and raised in Mexico, he studied the country’s ancient history and its archeology at one of Mexico City’s foremost universities. Been on lots of excavations, that sort of thing. Do me a favour. Ask him to tell you what he knows about the Mayan civilization! His knowledge on the subject is phenomenal and based on proven facts rather than flights of fancy. ’