The arrivals area at Gatwick was packed with returning passengers waiting for their luggage to appear one of the many escalators. However First Class passengers were privileged; their luggage was hand delivered to the First Class lounge where several Pristine Atlantic employees were on hand to attend to their passenger’s every wish.
Richard and Julia arrived at the lounge looking exhausted, bereft of a good night’s sleep. Their tiredness disappeared in a cloud of surprise as they saw Alexander sitting next to a red uniformed clad hostess. He leapt to his feet on seeing his parents and rushed to them, arms spread wide, his face a picture of undisguised delight. He wrapped his arms around his parent’s waists and buried his head into the comforting gap between their bodies.
‘Mummy, daddy, you’re really back. I’ve missed you so, so, so much. Did you have a good time?’
Julia didn’t answer but, instead, bent down and kissed Alexander’s flushed face. Richard tried to do the same but was thwarted by the lingering length of Julia’s kisses.
‘Daddy, you’re next.’ He planted a kiss without embarrassment.
‘It’s so good to see you. Who brought you here to meet us?’ asked Richard, squeezing his son tight.
‘He did, that nice man over there!’ shouted Alexander and pointed at a man talking to a trio of red uniformed women.
William Ransome turned upon hearing the shout. He smiled his trademark smile, teeth gleaming.
‘What a welcome,’ he said. ‘Hope you didn’t mind me bringing Alexander to meet you?’
Julia smiled effusively. ‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘It’s very good of you, we didn’t expect it!’
Richard took hold of Ransome’s outstretched hand.
‘Thanks William, you are a true friend!’
Ramsome turned to face Julia. ‘Do you mind if I take your husband aside for a few moments? It won’t take long, and then I’ve arranged for a car to take you all home.’
Julia smiled again.
‘C’mon Richard,’ said Ransome, pointing. ‘I have a small office over there.’
***
Ransome closed the door to the office and motioned towards a desk; a chair behind and another in front.
‘Please, take a seat,’ said Ransome. ‘Tell me, how did it go, with Ramon that is?’
He sat down, his hands clenched tightly together.
‘We had a really interesting conversation,’ answered Richard, taking a seat. ‘He’s certainly clued up on the Mayans and it filled in a few blanks for me. The part about the 5,125 year cycles freaked me out a bit, especially since it came up before, when I was on Terra Nova. If what he said is true, we don’t have long to go until December 21, the end of the current cycle.’
Ransome stood up. ‘That’s exactly as Ramon explained it to me. But what can we do? Time is running out faster than we’re running out of options!’
Richard stood up. ‘There’s nothing to be done. It’s now become a waiting game. If the Mayans prophesies are to be believed, there are only seven months to go!’
Chapter Eighty
The dreams continued to invade Richard’s nights but this latest one was very different. The night after returning from their honeymoon, his sleep was disturbed by a dream so compelling, so terrifying that he awoke screaming, shaking, uncontrollably. Julia awoke, startled, pushed the bedclothes aside, scrambled out of bed, and switched the bedside lamp on.
‘What on Earth is the matter? You were screaming, loud, really loud! You scared the life out of me!’
The words tumbled from her mouth in a confused babble. She joined Richard on his side of the bed and sat down beside him. He was now leaning back on the headboard, legs bent, elbows on his knees, head in his shaking hands.
‘Can I get you something? A cup of tea? Water? Please Richard, talk to me!’
After a beat he looked up. His face was torn apart with shock.
‘Talk to me Richard,’ ordered Julia again. ‘Tell me what happened.’
Richard shook his head back and forth.
‘I had a dream,’ he muttered. ‘It was terrifying; the world was being destroyed by a never ending deluge of massive asteroids. They landed everywhere, like nuclear bombs, everywhere, dropping into the seas and the oceans, creating tsunamis. Four massive volcanoes erupting, floods, hurricanes, there was no escape. Cities, towns, continents, submerged, destroyed. Everything swept away, nothing left but water, covering everything. It was horrifying, so real I thought I’d...’
He burst into tears. Julia got on to the bed, placed a consoling arm around his shoulder, kissed his wet cheek. The bedroom door opened. Alexander came into the room.
‘You woke me up,’ he said, mouth turned down at the corners. ‘I heard screaming. Was it you who was screaming daddy?’
Richard straightened up, wiped his eyes on an edge of the bed sheet, and gestured for Alexander to join them.
‘It was me. I had a nasty dream. But it’s okay. It’s all over now.’
He looked at the clock on his bedside table.
‘It’s the middle of the night. Would you like to stay with us until the morning?’
Alexander nodded. ‘Yes please, but only if you don’t scream again.’
Richard managed a faint smile. Julia went back to her side of the bed. Alexander snuggled between them.
‘Your light,’ said Julia, clicking hers off.
Darkness enveloped the room.
***
The world’s weather in the month of April was notable for its unpredictability. Forecasters throughout the world were confused by the constant changes. Rain poured continuously where it once remained dry, droughts occurred in fertile lands. Climate change supporters were once again giving confident voice to their theories. The deniers were still denying but very few were listening.
Richard Moss, now fully convinced of the veracity of the Mayan prophesies, was no longer interested in persuading governments to change their profligate ways. He was convinced that attempts to halt climate change are not only expensive but totally pointless.
The time he spent on Terra Nova, now a slowly fading, contrasting, series of pleasant and unpleasant memories, only served to remind him that mankind was once again set upon a course leading to oblivion. There was nothing he, or anyone else for that matter, could do to halt mankind’s demise.
Now at home, and at his lowest pitch since his arrival back on Earth, he decided to call William Ransome.
His call was answered at the first ring by Ransome’s long term, loyal, secretary Emma.
‘Is that you Mr. Moss?’ she said, recognizing Richard’s voice. ‘I assume you want to speak to Mr. Ransome?’
‘Yes please, if he’s there and if he has a few minutes,’ answered Richard.
‘Let me see,’ came the brief reply. ‘I’ll put you on hold.’
Seconds seemed like minutes while the hold tone beeped away.
‘Mr. Moss, I’m putting you through now.’
Ransome’s voice was as bright and friendly as ever.
‘Hi Richard, would you believe I was about to call you?’ he said. ‘I’m about to leave for Brussels this afternoon; a meeting with a couple of EU bureaucrats who are nosing into my one of my company’s affairs. These unelected idiots need something better to do than look for problems that aren’t there. I’ll be giving them short thrift, believe me!’
He chuckled. ‘And how are you dear boy?’ His Old School background surfaced as he spoke.
‘Well, to be honest,’ answered Richard. ‘I’m feeling a trifle down in the dumps. I know what’s caused it and I’ve tried to suppress it but it is so overwhelming that I cannot shift it. It didn’t help when I saw a story in the paper today about a tornado in rural Britain. The countryside has been battered, fierce winds have uprooted trees and brought hails
tones the size of marbles; then a horrific report from Damascus in Syria where suicide bombers killed at least 55 people and wounded 400. The deadliest attack there since the uprising against President Assad began. The Mayan prophesies are becoming more and more evident by the day. The world’s in turmoil and... ’
Ransome interrupted.
‘Richard, please, listen to me. I understand what you are saying. I’ve been doing some more research and I agree the prophesies appear to be heading towards Armageddon when the degenerate people of the world will be obliterated on the final day of the 13th baktun, 21 December, 2012. However, in contrast, other reputable researchers say that the end of the 13th baktun may even be a cause for celebration and, in fact, it doesn’t mark the end of the end of the calendar. The notion of a Great Cycle coming to an end is a modern fabrication. Some Mayan scholars argue that, to reach the end of a cycle, was a just cause for a huge celebration. Ramon Elizalde, as you know, argues forcibly for the coming of the end of times unless mankind veers away from the destruction of nature, from wars, murder, greed, and hatred arising from the insane stupidity of competing religions, and mankind’s inability, unwillingness, call it what you will, to confront and correct the problem’s facing our planet.’
Richard now felt even more depressed.
‘It’s too late William,’ he said. ‘There is no time left. We have to face the fact that mankind’s behaviour cannot be changed; just as happened when our ancestors left a doomed Earth for Terra Nova, so it will be with us. It’s as inevitable as night follows day. We have to accept it is bound to happen and pray for a swift, painless, end.’
Ransome raised his voice when replying.
‘Richard, do me a favour. Take a look at this month’s Science magazine. There’s an article there about a recent discovery of the earliest known Mayan calendar. It was found in an ancient house at Xultun in Guatemala and there is, apparently, no mention that the world’s end is imminent. The hieroglyphs date from the ninth century, hundreds of years older than the calendars in the Maya Codices, which were dated from 1300 to 1521. And what’s more there is no mention that the Mayan calendar would end in 2012. What is due to end, according to the article, is simply another cosmic cycle. So, Richard, go out and buy the magazine, read and digest, put aside your dark thoughts and concentrate instead on completing your mission.’
‘Okay, I’ll get it,’ answered a chastened Richard. ‘And I’ll try to be my old self again. Thanks William, I needed someone to bring me back to my senses.’
He was about to put the receiver down when Ransome spoke again.
‘Oh, I almost forget. I had an amazing dream last night. It was all about me helping you to revitalise your efforts. It, the dream that is, was the reason I was going to call you.’
He paused.
‘Gosh, I’ve had vivid dreams before but nothing like this one. Must have been because of the several glasses of wine I had before I went to bed last night!’
Chapter Eighty One
May 31, 2012. The tension in the cupola in the ISS was palpable. More revealing photographs from Hubble showed clearly, the same cluster of huge asteroids still heading unerringly towards our solar system. Vitali Pushkin and James C. Thompson, two of the world’s most experienced astronauts boasting an impressive number of ISS assignments, were showing conflicting signs of awe and alarm. They appeared unable to determine what can be, needs to be, done to avoid a potential disaster occurring on a cataclysmic scale. Asteroids in their millions circulate within our solar system, and are not usually a cause for concern, but these were different. Their origin, their size, their apparent destination posed a series of unanswerable questions.
Scott Crawford, no less anxious but far less experienced, could only shake his head and mutter incoherently upon viewing these latest photographs. Upper teeth biting into his lower lip, he looked to his two colleagues for signs of assurance that the situation was not as serious as he assumed it to be.
Thompson, whose sense of humour irritated the dour Pushkin on occasion, was the first to react.
‘OK Scott, let’s assume they could be a problem. If these asteroids are indeed heading our way then it’s gonna be General Custer’s last stand magnified several million times! But hey, this is only good old Mother Nature up to her usual tricks. Like any woman, she can be gentle one minute, mean the next. We see examples of this every time the ISS circles the Earth. We see beautiful sunsets then the onset of terrible hurricanes. We see amazing eclipses, beautiful beyond our wildest dreams. And then we are confronted with volcanoes and tornados. That’s how it is man, and unfortunately it’s outside our control. What we have to accept and take aboard is that we are very, very, small inconsequential bits of matter in a very large and mysterious universe!’
Pushkin gave a snort of derision.
‘You Yanks are so blasé it makes me wonder how you got to what you are! These asteroids are big, big trouble. Nothing like it, so big, I have never seen. Forget General Custard, this will be more like the battle for Leningrad only a billion times worse. My instinct is to leave the ISS and get out of here before all Hell is unleashed upon us.’
Crawford smiled briefly while Thompson struggled to contain a belly laugh.
‘Vitali, you are right of course and also very amusing,’ said Crawford, consolingly. ‘It certainly helps me when I hear what you and James have to say, because it confirms that you are both just as concerned as I am. Look here chaps, by nature, us Brits are and always have been at our best when faced with adversity. So, let’s summon up the old Battle of Trafalgar spirit and confront this thing. What do you say gentlemen?’
***
Quintus Claudius Avitus, Noah Tullius Cicero, Amos Caelius Aquila and Publius Gratius Balbus were sitting around a desk in the Secretariat where a recent meeting took place to decide what could be done to assist Richard Moss successfully complete his mission. Quintus was anxious to know whether the decision to transmit a dream to William Ransome was having any positive effect. Missing, due to presiding over a meeting with three of his priests, was Jonah Decimus Canus. Quintus agreed that he be excused because of the need to finalise arrangements to celebrate a forthcoming holiday, an annual event known as Leviticus Day.
‘Unfortunately, Jonah will not be present today,’ said Quintus, sarcasm evident in his voice. ‘His priestly duties apparently take precedence over minor matters such as helping our descendents on Earth! Perhaps he will deign join us after he has approved the Leviticus Day arrangements.’
He paused and addressed Noah.
‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘If The Creator abandons Earth, what is the extent of our resources should the decision be to rescue certain individuals and bring them to Terra Nova? Can you tell me, realistically, how many could be saved and when should the endeavour commence?’
He paused again and looked reflective. ‘I do not foresee anything on the same scale as the numbers brought here by our ancestors, but if the number runs into the thousands, do we have the necessary means to accomplish something as extensive as that?’ Noah had anticipated that Quintus would raise these questions and, with foresight, had the answers already lodged in his brain.
‘Great Leader,’ he said. ‘I have given this matter a great deal of thought. The answer of course depends upon when we have to act. I have met with the Magus who have cautioned me not to be too ambitious in my estimates. They make the very significant point that newcomers will face a very difficult period of transition. They referred to the problems encountered by Richard Moss who, as I am only too aware, was driven to despair by his unfortunate encounter with Ezra. Consequently I believe our descendents will find the adjustment extremely difficult to cope with. We must remember that Earth’s inhabitants have evolved beyond the stage we have reached on Terra Nova. By that I mean our ancestor’s decision to recreate the Roman era and halt further progression at a point where damaging, negative values
begin to emerge. It is true that our scientific knowledge is way in advance of theirs, but our way of life is vastly different.’
Noah coughed, his throat suddenly became dry. He paused and took a sip of water.
‘I suggest we select only those who fit criteria we all agree upon,’ he said. ‘If you agree Great Leader, we should discuss this among ourselves and, if we reach a general conclusion, I can give you an estimate as to numbers. However when we commence the rescue is a question I am unable to answer at this time.’
Constant nodding by Quintus indicated he was in agreement.
‘Thank you Noah,’ he said, turning his attention to his two other ministers. ‘Amos, Publius, I would like to hear your opinions. Noah has made his thoughts very clear; can you please now express yours?’
Publius nodded. ‘We must impose strict limits,’ he said. ‘Otherwise we will be accused of creating trouble and unrest within our communities. I propose we only include those who will be of benefit to Terra Nova and its citizens. I would propose we select the best scientists, doctors, artists, entrepreneurs; people who add value to our lives. I am thinking in the low thousands, not millions!’
‘And you Amos?’ enquired Quintus. ‘What are your thoughts?’
‘We are aware of what has happened on Mother Earth when mass integration takes place, said Amos. ‘Different cultures, different religions, different languages; they lead to the formation of squalid ghettos where those from other cultures, other faiths dare not tread for fear of retribution. Consequently, I am with Publius on this. If we reach the stage where we embark upon a mission to save our descendants on Earth, I believe we must be careful not to go too far, in terms of numbers that is. Actually my recommendation goes somewhat further than Publius. I think the absolute limit should be one thousand persons. Any more and I believe we will be building up an over abundance of trouble for ourselves. Sorry if that sounds mean and callous but you asked and I have answered as I see fit!’
Quintus breathed a huge sigh and covered his mouth with the palm of one hand.
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