Terra Nova

by David C. Garland

  Quintus paused again, wondering if his words had captured the moment.

  ‘Meanwhile,’ he continued.’ Our problem now is to convince Ezra that he is mistaken in his belief that one of his ministers is plotting against him. To achieve that, each and every one of us must prove his loyalty beyond question... ’

  He paused once more.

  ‘....and how do we do that?’ Quintus asked rhetorically.

  His voice resounded throughout the room.

  ‘Publius Gratius Balbus, our youngest and least experienced minister demonstrated great valour by offering his life in return for ours. For that we thank him and, more than that, it was encouraging to see how Ezra was noticeably impressed. Consequently we must do something similar in order to allay the Great Leader’s suspicions.’

  ‘And what do you think we should do?’

  Quintus was unsure which of the ministers had posed the question. He raised his chin and mouthed one word.

  ‘Immaculation.’

  An outpouring of shocked reactions filled the room. Enraged ministers, shouting, gesticulating, jumped to their feet. Fists were raised and shaken threateningly. The sound of heavy chairs scraping against the marble floor, added to the mounting clamour. Quintus, unshaken, stood his ground. He waited patiently for the commotion to cease before speaking in a voice which exuded authority.

  ‘By volunteering to undergo Immaculation, we will convince our Great Leader that death is preferable to dishonour. I ask you all to think deeply and seriously about my proposal for, believe me, it has been well considered. I recommend we adjourn this meeting now and reconvene at the same time tomorrow. In the intervening period you must consider whether to accept or reject my proposal. But I must warn you that those who choose to reject will be placed under deep suspicion and will face the consequences that will inevitably follow.’

  Chapter Thirty One

  Although life on Terra Nova under the rule of Ezra’s government was tolerable for those raised in moderately well off families, below the surface poverty and injustice fester. Hypocritical religious practices have replaced true worship, creating a false sense of well-being and an increasing disrespect and lack of devotion to The Creator and his works. Jonah Decimus Canus, one of the most highly respected priests on the planet has, of late, been wrestling with a problematic conundrum. He knows that Ezra’s rule is slowly but irrevocably destroying and contravening the religious doctrine that has nurtured and sustained the people of Terra Nova during the five millennia that have passed since their ancestor’s migrated from Earth. But he adheres to an unwavering belief that he has a duty, based on religious, democratic and moral concepts, to support the elected leader of Terra Nova until such time as the populace, through a long-established democratic process, elects an alternative government under a new Great Leader. But, of late, his loyalty has been tested to the very limit by Ezra’s increasingly dictatorial, omnipotent, style of governance.

  His closest friend, Obadiah Cornelius Scipio, whose failed efforts to reconcile the ideological differences between Ezra and his brother Amos were a constant source of disappointment to Jonah, was nevertheless empathetic to his inability to reconcile his tortured loyalties. His devotion to The Creator was such that he truly believed his faith had saved his life when he was in danger of being drowned at sea. Shortly after leaving a port on the coast of Canaan a week ago, a tempestuous storm struck the boat in which he was travelling. The boat was destroyed and sank. The entire crew was drowned. Jonah, however, was saved by a porpoise which suddenly appeared among the floating debris and carried him safely back to dry land almost a kilometre distant. That event was a salutary wake-up call because he knew he now had to make a choice between his loyalty to Ezra and his devotion to The Creator.

  The Atrium Trattoria situated at the corner of a narrow passageway adjacent to the Palantine Hill is a popular meeting place for intellectuals, writers, artists, lawyers, politicians and those from the higher ranks of Terra Novan society. Jonah and Obadiah are regulars at The Atrium. When they arrived and headed towards empty chairs arranged at one of the tables sited outside the café, it being a fine autumnal morning, they were acknowledged with welcoming nods and warm handshakes by many of the patrons already seated at the tables. Obadiah drew back a chair at the empty table, situated among several others that were already occupied.

  ‘No, not there,’ muttered Jonah. ‘Let’s go inside.’

  Obadiah crunched his eyebrows questioningly. He then followed Jonah into the dimness of the murky interior.

  ‘What was wrong with sitting out there in the fresh air and the warm sunshine?’ he asked.

  Jonah placed and then quickly withdrew a forefinger from his lips.

  ‘Ssshhhh - I need to talk to you - in confidence.’

  He motioned towards a table situated in the far corner, isolated from everyone with the exception of a long-haired, scruffy-looking, surly waiter. They took their seats and motioned for the waiter. Jonah ordered two jugs of ale. The waiter returned and roughly slammed the full-to-the-brim jugs onto the table causing some of the ale to splash over Jonah’s immaculate white robe.

  ‘You clumsy oaf,’ hissed Jonah. ‘Go and get a cloth and clear this mess up and, once you’ve done it, keep out of our way or, I assure you, you’ll have cause to be sorry!’

  Obadiah winced as he looked at the waiter’s shocked face.

  ‘What’s the matter Jonah’ he hissed. ‘I’ve never seen you in such a state, you’re obviously very angry. Are you feeling unwell?’

  Jonah didn’t answer, but waited, still fuming, while the waiter very carefully, very slowly, wiped the table dry and then returned, mumbling to himself, to stand impassively behind the bar.

  ‘No Obadiah, I’m fine,’ said Jonah, brushing forlornly at the dark brown stains blemishing his robe. ‘It is my faith and my loyalty that is being tested to their utmost limits and I fear it will eventually destroy me. As you well know I have devoted all of my life to The Creator and, latterly, to Ezra and his government. But now I am unsure, tormented is a more appropriate word, as to which direction I am heading.’

  He paused, looked around, and assured himself that the waiter was out of earshot.

  ‘Obadiah, you are my dearest friend and I know I can trust you to keep what I am about to tell you as strictly confidential.’

  Obadiah looked uncertain but nodded his approval.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, trying to convey assurance. ‘This conversation is between you and me and no one else will know of it.’

  Jonah drew in a huge draught of breath. Satiated, he squared his shoulders, sat up ram-rod straight and sank his teeth into his lower lip.

  ‘This is difficult,’ he began, after releasing his lip. ‘What I am about to tell you is against all that I believe but my conscience tells me it is the right thing to do.’

  He lowered his voice.

  ‘The fact is I want to talk to someone who is a member of Licentia ex Persecution!’

  Obadiah’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘Good God. I’m amazed. I don’t know what to say...’

  He shook his head slowly before continuing.

  ‘... LEP? What about your life-long beliefs and principles? What has caused the turn around? Is it Ezra and the way he has changed since his re-election?’

  Jonah smiled briefly, then urged Obadiah to silence by a forefinger held to his lips as the surly waiter appeared at the table with a demand:

  ‘You two finished - ready to pay?’

  Obadiah looked up and fixed the waiter with a stony stare.

  ‘No we are not finished and neither are we ready to pay. I advise you to disappear right now before I too lose my temper.’

  The waiter grimaced and turned around. He walked off and disappeared through a door into the rear kitchen area. Jonah watched him leave and shook h
is head.

  ‘You can’t get the staff these days!’

  Obadiah slapped his thigh as he laughed.

  ‘How right you are my friend,’ he said, wiping his eyes with the back of one hand. ‘But, enough laughter, let’s be serious! You were about to tell me why you are harbouring these doubts.’

  Jonah nodded.

  ‘I believe you have already guessed why,’ he answered. ‘Ezra has destroyed our cherished way of life and has led our people away from the well trodden paths laid down by The Creator. My devotion to The Creator is greater than my loyalty to Ezra, thus my decision was not a difficult one. But, Obadiah, I have now placed you into a position where you may be severely embarrassed by my request. In which case, if that is so, forget all that I have said and allow me to pursue my quest myself.’

  Obadiah glanced around the room, made absolutely sure there was no one within earshot, before replying in a whisper.

  ‘I’m not embarrassed, in fact I’m absolutely delighted. Jonah my dear friend...’

  He looked around again.

  ‘... I have something to tell you and it is undoubtedly more shocking than that which you have just revealed to me...’

  He hesitated briefly, ensuring Jonah was paying close attention.

  ‘... I trust you are ready for this?’

  He paused yet again, looking around, making doubly sure he could not be overheard.

  ‘I am already a member of Licentia ex Persecution and therefore, my dear friend, I welcome you to our organisation with open arms!’

  The surly waiter had now returned to his favoured position behind the bar. He saw Obadiah and Jonah embracing and ground his thick lips into a smirk.

  Damned upper class pansies, he thought. Can’t keep their lily-white hands off each other.

  Chapter Thirty Two

  The confidence felt by Richard upon awakening was plainly evident upon his face. His features no longer reflected boiling anger and irate aggression but rather something approaching calm serenity. The change in his demeanour was so obvious that it tempted Noah into remarking upon it.

  ‘Richard, you look so different! I can see a serenity in your face such as I have not witnessed previously. To what do we owe such a change?’

  Richard smiled.

  ‘I had a dream last night,’ he said. ‘Well, actually, I had several dreams.’

  He paused, noting a curious expression cross Noah’s face.

  ‘For a reason I fail to understand,’ he continued. ‘The dreams have left me feeling confident about my situation here on Terra Nova. It is as if a heavy load has been removed from my shoulders. The weirdest thing, and I’ve dreamed this before by the way, was a suggestion that I was not a product of my parents - that in fact my origins are from elsewhere. I don’t often remember my dreams, but these were so vivid that they were burned into my memory and, even now, I can recall them clearly, sequence by sequence. It would take too long to recount them in detail, but suffice to say they were similar to those I experienced before being brought to Terra Nova.’

  He stopped when seeing Noah smiling and nodding his head.

  ‘What is it Noah? This is serious! Do you know something I don’t know?’

  Richard’s short lived serenity was being put to the test. Noah didn’t respond.

  ‘Tell me what it is then, come on, damn well tell me.’

  Noah sighed.

  ‘Well, I suppose the truth had to emerge sometime...’

  He paused and sighed again.

  ‘Richard,’ he murmured softly. ‘Even though I’ve been sworn to secrecy prior to today, you now deserve an explanation. You will remember, I trust, when I told you about some outstanding individuals who made, and left, indelible marks during their time on your version of Earth? People like Thomas More, Mahatma Ghandi, Martin Luther King...’

  Richard’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  ‘Hey, hold on a minute Noah,’ he said. ‘The first two, yes, but you didn’t mention Martin Luther King. I can’t believe he was a Terra Novan - you would definitely have told me at the time! You know something Noah? It’s getting so I don’t believe a word you say!’ You’ll be telling me next that John F Kennedy was also a Terra Novan.’

  Noah smiled.

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. He was a great man but flawed in many moral respects. No, you will find that any of those whose origins are traceable to Terra Nova were faultless individuals with impeccable behaviour patterns - not unlike you my dear Richard.’

  Noah paused. Richard remained impassive.

  ‘Let me tell you about your dreams last night.’ said Noah. ‘They were designed to help you relax, to gain confidence and to prepare you for a revelation that I have now been authorised to relay to you...’

  He paused again.

  ‘Richard.’ he said calmly. ‘You too are a Terra Novan...’

  Richard straightened his back, shook his head and placed a nervous hand over his mouth.

  ‘... who was placed on Earth for exactly the reasons as those who came before you. However, we brought you back to Terra Nova upon reaching maturity with the intention of subjecting you to intensive schooling by the Magus. Unfortunately, this has had to be set aside because of the unprecedented crisis that has arisen coincidental with your arrival. Until the question of how to replace Ezra, his government and his supporters is confronted and answered, we are at a standstill as far as your further education is concerned... ’

  Noah paused. Richard appeared unable to formulate a reply.

  ‘... You have just cause to be shocked Richard,’ continued Noah. ‘But, at the same time, you should derive much comfort from the realisation that your origins emanate from Terra Nova, a planet technically far in advance of your own. Because of this you can become a major force for change in unimaginable ways when you return to Earth. You may well be the saviour of a planet heading for a repeat disaster. Its future will be directly related to your ability to change, to influence, to persuade those in the highest echelons of governments to listen and act.’

  The new found confidence Richard had felt upon awakening was now visibly diminished. A thousand questions thrust themselves to the forefront of his mind but he was unable to articulate a single one. He was frozen in a lonely world of his own and the thaw, if it ever occurred, was bound to be long and painful.

  ***

  The nineteen members of Ezra’s Council of Ministers were gathered around a large rectangular table in the Senate, the same table that was a passive host to a venomous meeting yesterday at which Ezra raged with hysterical fury at his browbeaten ministers. Quintus Claudius Avitus, Minister for Justice, was seated at the head of the table with Publius Gratius Balbus squirming uncomfortably to his left. There was a manic air of tension as the ministers gathered to consider and then agree a course which would help to dispel Ezra’s growing doubts as to their loyalty to him and to his omnipotent authority. Conversation was at a minimum as the last of the ministers took their seats.

  Quintus, the most senior member of the Council, called the meeting to order by rapping the table top with the edge of his short sword.

  ‘Gentlemen, I trust you have given thought to my proposal at yesterday’s meeting? To reiterate - every one of us will agree to undergo Immaculation in order to demonstrate to our Great Leader that death is preferable to dishonour.’

  He paused and looked, unblinking, at each council member in turn.

  ‘Those in favour please raise a hand.’

  The count was unnecessary. Eighteen hands were raised in unison.

  Quintus nodded his satisfaction, while also raising a hand.

  ‘Very well, I will convey the decision to our Great Leader but, be prepared, for I fear Ezra will accept that which we have proposed and will want to put our pledge to the test.’

  Cha
pter Thirty Three

  The second birthday of Alexander, the son of Julia Brownstone and Richard Moss, was a solemn affair, in spite of his Aunt Emily’s attempts to inject some lightness and laughter into the proceedings. Julia’s mother and father were there, so too were Richard’s parents who were seeing more and more of each other in spite of still living separate lives. Emily’s brother, James, happy that his parents appeared to be on course for reconciliation, was playing hide and seek with Alexander who shrieked with delighted surprise each and every time James suddenly appeared at different positions behind armchairs and other furniture sited in the family room. Alexander was now walking unaided and proving a handful for Julia who was wrestling with the commitment to her son and to that of her employer. The crèche she uses, situated close to her place of work, proved to be adequate, albeit overly expensive, but she nevertheless yearned to be with her son during her working hours which were interminable periods of thinking and longing, not only for her son but also for Richard Moss.

  Alexander’s resemblance to his father was astonishing. Poor Julia, she was constantly being told by family, friends and acquaintances that the little lad was the image of his dad.

  ‘He looks more like Richard every time I see him,’ said Julia’s mother Annie who was sitting in an armchair, watching with much amusement as James played with his nephew. ‘It must cause your heart to leap into your mouth you poor dear. And after all this time it looks as if the little dear will never know his father...’

  Julia’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘Mum,’ she gasped. ‘What are you saying? How dare you even suggest we won’t see Richard again? Of course Alexander will grow up to know his father. We have to be positive and I don’t want to hear you ever, ever, ever say such a thing again.’

  She paused, silver tears appearing on her cheeks. She picked the little boy up and hugged him to her.

  ‘I’m really upset you should say such a thing, especially in front of Alexander.’