Title Page
TERRA NOVA
David C. Garland
Publisher Information
This digital edition published in 2014 by
Acorn Books
www.acornbooks.co.uk
An imprint of
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
Copyright © 2014 David C. Garland
The right of David C. Garland to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Part One
Out Of This World
Chapter One
Ashdown Forest in East Sussex mainly comprises tranquil, undulating, open heath land criss-crossed by winding, narrow B-roads. The lay-by where Richard Alexander Moss parked his much-loved car, a 1995 Mica Blue BMW M3, on a dusky, late June evening is typical of those in the area; its surface comprising a melange of crushed Portland stone and decaying concrete surrounded by an open fenced enclosure affording breathtaking views over the ancient countryside. He wasn’t sure why he was at this particular spot at this particular time on this particular day except for a fast fading recollection of a vivid dream the previous night, the contents of which unwittingly drew him to this particular spot. He left the lay-by and walked slowly along a bare, meandering path that became increasingly gloomy, shrouded as it was by the opulent leafy branches of overhanging trees. Suddenly he emerged into an open grassed area the size of several football fields. The rays of the setting sun, painting the area a garish series of yellows through scarlet, caused his eyelids to squeeze into black slits. He shook his head from side to side, several times, before looking skywards.
An intense, blinding light in the darkening sky was descending slowly Earthwards. Richard stared, transfixed, at a sight he had often imagined but never, in his wildest dreams, believed he would actually witness.
UFO’s are Richard’s passion. It began about twenty-five years ago when, aged five, he first watched the video version of ET, The Extra Terrestrial. He empathised closely with the characters in the film, especially the leading role of Elliot since he was the same age and, like Elliot, he also had an older brother and a younger sister. His parents Katherine and Terry were divorced, as were Elliot’s. The close parallels between the fantasy of ET and the reality of his own life unquestionably fashioned Richard’s development. Consequently, he became an obsessive UFO geek. Neither outstandingly handsome nor painfully plain, his face was square and full of character. To be brutally honest he looked very ordinary, so much so that he could merge easily into a crowd and be totally indiscernible. He was of average height and weight with incredibly clear blue eyes, thick wavy brown hair flecked with grey and a lean, finely-honed, figure that spoke of fitness allied to healthy eating. One was reminded of Hugh Grant in a foppish kind of way. He always dressed in neat, clean clothing, caring nothing for the constantly fluctuating whims of fashion. In fact there was nothing extraordinary about him other than an exceptionally high level of intelligence that he deliberately concealed beneath an impenetrable, relaxed demeanour.
***
He wasn’t scared, all he felt was overwhelming, gut-wrenching, excitement. The blinding light had become less intense, more subdued. It had taken on a bluish, electric hue as the huge saucer-shaped craft hovered and fluttered before his eyes like a hungry dragonfly, eyes that were now opened wide with amazed disbelief. The craft gently touched down with a satisfying whoosh followed by a long, drawn-out sigh as if complaining the journey had been too long, too arduous. The smell of scorched grass mingling with an ozone-like aroma aroused him from the trance-like state into which he had subconsciously drifted.
He knew what was about to happen next. Without a sound a massive sliding door opened at the front of the craft, steps unfolded and reached out gingerly, tentatively, to finally settle with a satisfying squelch upon the verdant meadow. A mysterious grey vapour, reminiscent of early-morning fog rising from a cold lake, blurred the gap left by the open door. Shadowy figures appeared; he counted six humanoid forms slowly emanating from the gaseous cloud. They stood at the open door glancing around with seemingly mild disinterest as do experienced world travellers alighting after yet another long, boring, exhausting flight.
Six figures descended the steps one after the other and slowly approached Richard who was now standing spellbound, mouth agape, eyes wide, fearful, body shaking. The leading figure, taller than the rest, wore a dark blue, one-piece, buttoned overall, open at the neck. The roll-neck on his navy blue sweater hung comfortably around his neck adding to the appearance of calm informality. On his feet were black shoes, not unlike the black brogues Richard was wearing. His hair was cut in a modern style that would not have looked out of place in any pub or club in nearby Ambridge Wells, Richard’s home town. The other five were also dressed informally; in fact it was a lack of uniformity that set them apart. If he hadn’t known otherwise he would have thought they were the crew of a second World War submarine as portrayed in that heroic black and white film, We Dive at Dawn, starring John Mills. His overall impression of the six beings was one of calm, composed, unassuming professionalism
The outstretched hand was creamy white - otherwise there was nothing different about it. He could see veins, blue in places. There were four fingers and a thumb, the fingernails of which were immaculately manicured. Richard took the hand in his and shook, both the proffered hand and his own nervous, trembling body. Although not a word was uttered Richard “heard” the leading figure’s opening words.
‘I assume from your expression that we are not exactly as you imagined from your long study of extra-terrestrials.”
The words popped into Richard’s head as if they had been spoken.
“Do not be afraid, for we are not here to harm you. Just as Earth’s inhabitants are curious about extra-terrestrials, so are we curious about you and your version of mankind. We are here to determine what has happened on Earth since our forefathers left 5,125 years ago and whether any of the lessons we learned during our time can be passed on and acted upon, before there occurs a repetition of the catastrophe that was caused by our unwillingness to address and correct our mistakes!”
‘Jesus Christ.’ The words slipped, uncontrolled, from Richard’s wide open mouth.
The mouth of the leading figure widened into a broad, white-teeth-revealing, gap.
‘Not quite,’ he replied. ‘But your astonishment is understandable.’
Instead of the initial thought transference words were now being spoken. The punctilious accent reminded him of his old form master from the grammar school he left twelve years ago; the same intelligent, confident intonation. It had the immediate effect of massaging his extreme nervousness.
‘ ... however, please enter our latest means of inter-galactic travel and, I am sure, you will be even more impressed and astonished.’
The interior of the craft was not as his study and research had led him to believe. It was circular in shape and the colour of the sky on a soft morning sunrise, not quite pink, not quite blue but a heavenly tint that somehow seemed surreally appropriate. There were no signs of controls, no arrays of flashing lights, no familiar high-tech computer systems and no apparent windows. Just a series of flat-screen luminous monitors cov
ered with mysterious symbols resting on nondescript platforms in front of which were positioned white, high-backed swivel chairs.
Minimal or what? thought Richard as he surveyed the stark interior.
‘Yes, indeed, “minimal” describes it very adequately,’ answered the one he presupposed to be the leader. ‘This craft is the latest design, far in advance of the ones which were used to transport our ancestors to Terra Nova 5,125 years ago.’
Richard raised both eyebrows over gaping eyes.
‘I’m sorry, what did you say? Your ancestors left Earth more than five thousand years ago? That’s doesn’t make sense.’
The leader, for that is what he appeared to be, nodded slowly.
‘Be patient for you will become fully informed of everything you need to know in due course - but for now please accept without demur that which I am telling you, for it is most important that you understand where we are coming from, if I may put it in your vernacular!’
Richard shook his head.
‘This is bloody fantastic, impossible! I’ve studied everything, everything I could lay my hands on about space and extra-terrestrials, and I tell you I’m pretty clued up. But what’s this nonsense about your ancestors leaving Earth 5,000 years ago; do you take me for an idiot?’
The leader’s eyes widened. He shook his head slowly.
‘No I do not take you anywhere, at least not yet! All I am saying is, do not believe all you have read about extra-terrestrials,’ he said sagaciously. ‘The subject is pure, juvenile, fantasy.’
Richard snorted, then his lips broadened into a derisive sneer.
‘Huh, so the space craft that landed at Roswell in America with aliens aboard was just juvenile fantasy was it?’
A succession of nods from the leader indicated the apparent absurdity of Richard’s question.
‘Yes, I’m afraid that is exactly what it is. To be honest we have lost the odd space craft but never, ever on our frequent visits to Earth. The Roswell incident is known to us but we have serious doubts about its validity because study upon study by our most eminent scientists is unequivocal - intelligent life, as we know it only exists on your Earth and on our new version of Earth.’
He paused, noting Richard’s unconcealed distress resulting from his revelation.
‘Please accept my apologies for disappointing you but I am afraid your childhood stories of extra-terrestrials are nothing but that - childhood stories. It is certainly the case that my predecessors have made many visits to Earth over the millennia but, and you must believe me, there have been no crashes, no fatalities and no sightings. We have been most careful to restrict our visits to regions where habitation is sparse. The visits were purely for the collection of samples of plants and fauna that were omitted or not available when my ancestors left Earth for our new home.’
Richard now appeared even more stressed.
‘I don’t believe you,’ he snapped aggressively. ‘Roswell happened and could be proven if only the US authorities could be persuaded to release the evidence.’
Noah sighed the sigh of those who are privy to the truth.
‘I’m sorry to disillusion you but Roswell was part of a massive conspiracy, mounted by the US Government, designed not to squash the idea of UFO’s but to promote it. Flying saucers, alien abductions, crashed aircraft, underground bases in New Mexico, were all stories created by government agencies to provide an elaborate cover for highly-secret experimental aircraft and sophisticated weapons, from the eyes of foreign spies and, also, from its own citizens!’
Richard was about to leap to the defence of his strongly held convictions when the leader raised a warning, open palm, hand.
‘We will talk more about this later,’ he said quietly. ‘Your assertions are noted however. My name, by the way, is Noah.’
***
Noah Tullius Cicero can trace his ancestry to an unbroken line of scientists and early cosmonauts hosting an illustrious history of compelling scientific advances and courageous intergalactic exploration. His forebears were among the original settlers who left Earth for a new life on a virgin planet which became known as Terra Nova. He was proud, and quite often boastful, of being able to claim ancestors who were among those who helped plan and successfully complete a dangerous migration from a planet in imminent danger of extinction to another planet in a distant galaxy whose future was equally uncertain. Generation by generation, over the passing millennia, his ancestors had proven themselves worthy of inheriting the adulation and the honours which accompanied direct ancestry from the very first drafts of settlers.
His early years were spent at the best schools sharing an exciting childhood with his older brother Joshua and contemporaries which included, among others, Marcus Annius Verus, later to become City Prefect and Minister for State Security in Leviticus, the capital city of Terra Nova. Marcus was a good, loyal friend and remained so through the years leading up to the selection and subsequent election of Ezra Caelius Aquila to the position of Great Leader.
Due to his frequent journeys back and forth to Earth on missions to collect DNA from animals and fauna for transposition into new life forms on Terra Nova, his reputation grew exponentially until he came to be regarded as the most prestigious cosmonaut on Terra Nova. Consequently he came to the notice of Ezra who, once munificent to a fault, heaped honours and financial rewards upon him during the first two four-year terms of the Great Leader’s rule.
All that changed dramatically when Ezra’s third term as Great Leader led rapidly to the imposition of laws that altered and ultimately destroyed the ancient democratic processes that were so sacrosanct as to be held previously inviolable upon Terra Nova. Slowly Noah’s admiration and loyalty towards Ezra and his governance began to wane as he witnessed the steady decline of all that his forebears had struggled so hard to achieve.
Burgeoning thoughts and questions about the future of Terra Nova accompanied him on his most recent return to Mother Earth when his task was to seek, meet and transport a certain Richard Alexander Moss back to Terra Nova.
Once again Noah’s mission was successful. After Richard was primed to rendezvous at a lonely expanse of meadow-like ground in Ashdown Forest via a series of compelling dreams, Noah and his crew transported him to Terra Nova where he was scheduled to begin a course of intense study and indoctrination, the purpose of which was to prepare Richard for the critical task of saving his version of Earth from repeating the same ruinous mistakes before it became too late to rectify them.
Chapter Two
The blue BMW M3, its driver’s door still wide open, was found early the following morning by a man walking his two dogs over the forest. Of the driver, Richard Moss, there was no sign. BBC South East, the local television station, ran a short item in its lunchtime news broadcast which included interviews with family members, photographs of Richard on his own, others with his family and a poignant one of him lounging comfortably on the bonnet of his much loved car. The programme’s presenter Joan Rooney, coincidentally a close friend of the Moss family, fought to control her tears as she implored anybody who may have seen Richard to get in touch. A series of contact telephone numbers appeared on the screen.
‘I hope he gets in touch soon,’ beseeched his tearful 27-year-old sister Emily when interviewed by Ms. Rooney. ‘Richard has never done anything like this before; something terrible must have happened!’
His elder brother James’ reaction was more subdued.
‘It is against Richard’s nature to simply disappear. And I can assure you,’ he added light-heartedly, ‘that, even though he is an insatiable space geek and believes in extra-terrestrials, he has not, repeat not, been transported by aliens! I know, from his point of view, that something such as that would be way beyond his wildest dreams and far too implausible to even consider!’
Members of the Territorial Army, requisitioned from barra
cks sited on the edge of Ashdown Forest, plus numerous volunteers, fine-tooth-combed the area adjacent to where Richard’s car was found. Inadvertently discovered, via a zealous volunteer armed with a metal detector, were the remains of a Hurricane, a World War Two fighter plane, buried almost two metres under earth covered by a tangle of summer’s lush growth of grass, weeds and multitudinous wild plants.
‘It’s an ill wind that blows nobody some good,’ remarked the zealous man with the metal detector upon being informed that the remains of the pilot were found in the plane’s cockpit. Royal Air Force personnel eventually arrived and assiduously collected the remains for eventual burial in a military cemetery. ‘Now all we have to do is to find Richard Moss.’
Two members of the local police force eventually turned up, took some photographs and had Richard’s car towed away to a police pound. Nothing was found which could account for his disappearance. A few days later a short item appeared in the local weekly newspaper, The Clarion, under the headline, LOCAL MAN MISSING. Speculation as to Richard’s disappearance mainly centred upon a possible loss of memory. Richard’s parents, although divorced, made contact and commiserated with each other. If their actions and words provided any indication, they appeared to be set on a course leading to reconciliation. His best friends and workmates were equally mystified as to why a steady, basic, no-surprises kind of individual, would suddenly disappear without a trace. Charles Wilson, his boss at Alcan Enterprises, an Ambridge Wells based company in the information technology business, was his usual stoical self.
‘Richard is a very confident, self-assured man who knows how to look after himself. I believe, without a shadow of doubt, we will hear from him within the next few days and there will be a simple explanation for what has happened!’
That evening in Richard’s local hostelry, The George and Dragon, his friends offered toast upon toast for his safe return and none more so than Julia Brownstone, a very close, intimate friend. Jules, as she is affectionately known to those closest to her, unashamedly wept in her own company in order to avoid the inevitable, good-natured, ribbing that would inevitably accompany any public display of grief. She also avoided revealing the fact that her tummy was swelling slightly on a daily basis now that she was three months pregnant. She and Richard had agreed to marry before the birth but Richard’s disappearance has cast a dark, foreboding cloud over their plans and Julia now harbours interminable fears for their future and that of her as yet unborn child.
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