Based on the notes of Blaire Faraday.
Everything turned more chaotic after they read the contract to us. They would pay for all our expenses for the travel and the relocation costs. Seemed to have done it many times before. However, we were to leave our residences and move full-time to the base, which was in an undisclosed location away from the jurisdiction of human nations. This seemed, to an outsider, an unnecessary precaution, but they explained to us the reason behind it; whether it was under the British Crown, or the American Empire, or wherever, the artefacts could be on risk of being weaponized.
—We are just recovering from the Great War, and most of us have absolutely no intention of starting another one by rekindling the flames— Mr. Athenida said—. Terra Nova was chosen and created with this purpose in mind.
—We’ve been trying for years to have a reliable place, but this means the location needs to be kept in a need-to-know basis— Mr. Frederiksen added, his German accent was gone—.
I signed. Nothing really attached me to England anymore, and given the salary and condition were better of what would’ve made in a year of working as assistant curator at the museum. A decade of years of this and I could retire, restore the Academy, start over like I hoped. Leslie did the same, and in her face was a mixture of determination and worry, like when you try to look tough but just keep frowning and tensing your lips. The other guy, who the Board refer to as Wayne, seemed to have the same blank resolution I had.
—Wonderful. You’ll have until Friday to sort your affairs. A train would be waiting for you, and the other applicants of this region, from King Cross Station at six in the afternoon—Sanders pointed, taking the contracts and giving each of us an envelope—. There should be enough money there for your expenses this week, and the tickets for the train.
—This includes a stay somewhere? —Leslie asked, looking at the envelope without opening it, and shifting her weight from side to side—. Because…
—Yes, Ms. Holmes, it does. We are painfully aware of what happened. We tried to find you, but you fled the station before we could.
With that, the meeting was adjourned. The Board needed to sort things with the next batch of applicants who were coming early the next day, probably under similar paths than they used with us. So, we went outside, with nothing much to do there. Wayne made himself scarce, bolting through the door, and a couple seconds after, Leslie and I did the same.
—Do you know any hotel? —she asked me while we were walking to the bus stop— Last night I slept on a bench on Hyde Park…
—You can stay with me. My flat is not the great thing, but I have a spare bed.
—Okay, thanks.
—You know what? —I looked up; it was beginning to rain— I’m not in the mood of being soaking wet. For once, I can pay a cab.
The rest of the week went as how one could imagine. I let my landlord, Mr. Najjar, that I wouldn’t be using the flat after that month. Sold most of the furniture, but my books, trinkets and whatnots were shipped back to my family home. Even though the museum people wanted me to work for them, and waited until I was back for my things to tell me, I let them know I was taking a long trip to reflect on life. Technically, I wasn’t lying. During this time, since Leslie was a newcomer to the country, having arrived the day prior to the interview following another lead and spending all her money to do so, remained inside the flat, helping me with inventory of what was for sale, what was being sent to my family’s, and what was coming with me to Terra Nova.
On Friday, about a quarter to six, the cab stopped in front of the massive entrance to Kings Cross Station. On a good day, there were thousands of people walking outside and inside. On a bad day, like during the War, the place was abnormally empty, pretty much like a tomb. On this day, however, there was a healthy middle ground, with a couple hundred plaguing the entrance, resting sites, and platforms. Everything there smelled like the veins of the British Empire: Coal. From twenty yards, the place has that unmistakable stench.
Turned out, as soon as we saw the ticket, the place on them had changed. It was no longer Kings Cross, but the next-door station, St. Pancras. With that we had to run with our carts to get to the platform right on time.
Platform 3 had a “Special Service” for us…for us and the other 40 people who had to travel from everywhere in Europe to reach the, well, wherever the hell we were going. On the sides of each car, which were of a light yellow, were the words “RAIN-Falcon Railway Co.” painted in a deep purple. A group of fifteen people on yellow-purple uniforms were checking our tickets and sending us to the different cars, as well as to dissuade curious bystanders. We were separated; Leslie was sent to one at the second half of the train, closer to the dining cars, and me to the third one from the locomotive.
—It’s going to be a couple hours, I’ll see you in Southampton— she said, ushered away by a man in yellow-purple uniform—.
The cars were nice; the one I was in had three cramped bedrooms, a shared bathroom and a place with a couple of benches and a round table with a couple of magazines and an ashtray. Didn’t really understood why they had to get bedroom cars for a one-and-a-half-hour trip to the coast. Hey it’s their money, they can do whatever the heck they want with it.
I was putting my things in one of the rooms when the train whistled and began moving on the tracks. The doors from the other bedrooms opened, and I realised I wasn’t alone in the car.
On the smoking area with the benches, a short man was reading a magazine in Spanish. He was lean, had a bushy dark-brown beard, and a couple of age spots on his hands. He looked up with his round glasses and stood up to greet me.
—Sorry, I get a bit sick in moving vehicles— he dried his hand on the inside of his pocket before extending it to me—. I’m Doctor Munoz.
—Faraday, a pleasure.
—So, what was your life before this?
—Working in a museum, nothing special or fancy. You?
—I worked in Madrid, helped with the epidemy after the War.
—Spanish flu?
—The British called it that because we weren’t afraid of saying there was an epidemy. My friend Dr. Maranon said that.
—Sorry, I didn’t knew.
—It’s okay, it’s not the first time I heard it. Still annoys me, though, but it’s no fault of yours.
The other bedroom door, the one further from us, opened. From it came a strikingly tall woman in a white and blue dress, with a matching hat. She walked to us, opening the blinds with a flick of her finger as she walked, and sat at the table, where immediately lighted a cigarette on its holder.
—Good afternoon! —she greeted us.
—Good evening— Dr. Munoz looked a mixture of flabbergasted and confused—, hey, I know you from somewhere.
Yeah, from the magazine you have in your hands. Her face was printed on the cover. Everyone who was someone knew who she was. Millionaire, inventor, entrepreneur and socialite. The fair-haired woman smiled and pointed to the table with her holder, where a couple of the magazines had her face, name, or both.
—Ursula DeLuca.
—Faraday, Munoz— I quickly said; my eyes were fixed in her hat—. I…I think something in on your head.
—Yes, sorry— she pointed to the band of the hat, which opened its eyes and wiggled towards her finger—. This is Foglia, my tiny friend.
Her “tiny friend” was a small snake, with its scales of the same blue colour of the details of Ms. DeLuca’s dress. Her small bright pink eyes looked at me, Munoz, DeLuca’s finger, and then closed again, camouflaging itself back to be the hatband.
—She’s inoffensive. Not venomous or anything, but has the bad habit of mimic herself.
—You happen to have a cigarette with you? —Munoz asked, not completely paying attention to Ms. DeLuca.
She gave one to him and we both continued chatting about her snake, which, by the slow movement in the hat, was sound asleep. The conversation turned into me giving a small tour on the British customs, as a cart with a complete tea service entered, pushed by no one, and I, automatically, began to serve the cups and pour the tea in them. The tea set had the logo of the RAIN-Falcon company, a golden diamond, with the letters “RF” stylised inside it. They reminded me to the ones we had back at home; my father painted porcelain, and we had cups with our initials. His were the same as the ones of the company, Ryan Faraday – Rain-Falcon.
—It’s been a tradition for more than a century, to have tea and finger sandwiches while we talk about transcendental things, like croquet— I said, handing her a cup—.
—I don’t know a single thing about croquet.
—Me neither— agreed, putting sugar in my cup—. To be honest, I don’t get the whole tea thing, but my mother was obsessed with it. Don’t even like the taste of this thing; been drinking it since I was a child, and it’s still…disgusting.
She laughed, and her voice made the glasses tingle. Doctor Munoz looked up and accepted the cup before going back to reading his magazine, but his voice came through it from time to time.
—I agree completely— he added—. I can’t have anything hot; it doesn’t sit well with my stomach. Do we have ice there?
—Afraid not. I can go ask the people at the dining car— Ursula said, standing up—.
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