The Capgras Paradox

By Jamie.B Ernstein

In the dramatic follow up to Children of Persephone, the exploration of humanity’s new planet begins. Yet the discoveries made bring both terrifying challenges and cruel temptations, that shatter the previously congruent beliefs of the community. And as illness and injury cause inconsolable loss, is it just coincidence when the answer to their prayers appears, just when all hope has been lost? A precious and unheralded gift that will lead the species to either salvation or oblivion; or both.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jamie.B Ernstein
• Release date: Sep 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005232016

Jamie.B Ernstein

Father of two boys who love reading and storiesI work as a Family Doctor by day, writing by night

Book preview

About Jamie B Ernstein

Jamie lives and works as a Family Doctor in New Zealand, where he has shared a home with his wife and family for nearly three decades. Originally from the U.K, he spent most of his formative years in London and Sheffield, before moving to New Zealand.

Other books by Jamie B Ernstein

The Eyes of The Jaguar God

The Search for Tamm

The Scorpion Odyssey

The Last Jew of Kabul

Children of Persephone

Connect with Jamie B Ernstein

Blog http://jaguargod.blogspot.com

Facebook: Jamie B Ernstein

To my wife, Leanne

A gift

List of characters

Murray Dunshea – bush ranger from Fiordland, Aotearoa (formerly New Zealand)

Dr Siobhán Hanrahan – Obstetrician from Sheffield, England. Married to Dr Dipak Mendonça

Dr Dipak Mendonça – Family Doctor from Sheffield, England. Married to Dr Siobhán Hanrahan

Sunita Hanrahan-Mendonça – oldest child of and daughter of Siobhán Hanrahan and Dipak Mendonça and mother of Persephone Hanrahan-Mendonça

Persephone Hanrahan-Mendonça – daughter of Sunita Hanrahan-Mendonça and the now deceased Mr Sun.

Josh Hanrahan-Mendonça – son of Siobhán Hanrahan and Dipak Mendonça

Mr Sun – founder and head of Sun International, who both funded and led the move to Persephone. He committed suicide after being discovered as the father of Persephone Hanrahan-Mendonça

Marcel Dupree – French astronomer and father of two teenage girls, Francoise and Margot.

Max Bamford – farmer and partner of Shaz Ahmed, from Hathersage, England

Shaz Ahmed – clinical psychologist, part-time farmer and partner of Max Bamford, from Sheffield, England

Lhakpa Jangchup Rinchen – the XVIII Dalai Lama, from Tibet (male)

Major Ziv Chait and Major Tamar Bloch – security specialists, from Israel (both female)

Mei Lin Chanwai – teacher from Xīn Province, China (formerly known as Uganda)

Ne Zha – adopted child of Mei Lin Chanwai

Vladimir and Nicole Ștefănescu – brother and sister team of builders, from Romania.

Natalie Plesniewski – English seed expert

Svetlana Mikhailov – Russian gymnast (female)

Guan Wěi – Chinese gymnast (male)

Mudiwa Machiwenyika – water and irrigation expert from Zimbabwe (female)

Buyisiwe de Jong – policewoman, enforcer and dog handler from Johannesburg, South Africa

Yibanthi and Jabulile de Jong – younger sister and brother of Buyisiwe

Mapoza, Ibubesi, Meshindi and Sizwe – Buyisiwe’s dogs (troupes).

Peter Chen – fishing expert from Aotearoa.

Timoteo and Alandra Fernández López – brother and sister Peruvian chefs

Panthea Chichgar – wife of Timiteo and sister of Mani

Mani Chichgar – brother of Panthea, tinkerer, from Yazd, Persia

Mauro Figueiredo de Souza – Brazilian biologist (male)

Matheus Henrique de Souza – husband of Mauro and biochemist (male)

Joao Pedro de Souza – son of Mauro and Matheus

Maria Luiza de Souza – daughter of Mauro and Matheus

Valentina de Souza – daughter of Mauro and Matheus

Harpal Singh – 3D printer expert from India (female)

Monica and Fong Sun – daughter and son of Mr Sun

Sonya Smith-Tyrie – Australian Nano-drone and drone expert

Ziggy Overmath – Hydroponics expert from Zurich, Switzerland (female)

Dr Tia Parker – Emergency Physician from Sheffield, England (female)

Allesandro Bianchi, orthopaedic and general surgeon from Verona, Italy

Manuel Hernandez – nurse from Spain, who died as a result of the wormhole’s closure.

Veronica Hernandez – Spanish nurse and widow of Manuel Hernandez

Krihisiwa and Bushika – Unrelated male and female members of Yanomami tribe, from northern Rio Negro, Amazonas, Brasil

Melissa Fernando – computer technician from Phillipines

Angelee Kanónhsase – Canadian climbing expert

Niamh O'Doherty – Irish cartographer

Liselle Lagisque – Heliciculturist from Nouvelle Caledonie and mother of Janot

Janot Lagisque – son of Liselle

Augustus Augy Schneider III – artist, musician and entertainer from Eastern American Republic and father of Janot

Seimata Tangis – geologist from Tanna Island, Vanuatu

A Capgras delusion is a psychiatric disorder in which a person is said to hold a delusion that someone close to them, like a friend or a family member, has been replaced by an identical imposter

Prologue

Despite the look of divine serenity on its perfect face, mixed with that eternal satisfaction of its sacrifice, Murray still stared at the statue with a hatred that even he couldn’t describe. That face, so smooth and perfect, like porcelain, merely mocked him. It offered a heaven that he neither believed in nor cared for, such was his mood, while the black eye he nursed was still freshly swelling from when his father had punished him for his blasphemous refusal to join him today. Here, at the Dunedin Church of Christ. Here at the one place that should offer him a sanctuary from the violence and abuse that his home life brought him. Here, at the home of hypocrisy and in his mind, the home of an evil that festered all of religion, together in one place.

The punch had hurt. He had known that it was coming. He had expected it; almost welcomed its familiar sting. It had knocked him clear across the kitchen floor and into the pantry door, further injuring his back with a rosy bruise.

But now, all he thought about was revenge. Sure, at thirteen years old, he was never going to be physically powerful enough to take on his father. He knew that. But he also knew that he was growing rapidly and one day soon, he would take it no more.

He dreamed of grabbing his father’s diabolical fist in mid air, with his own muscles rippling in glorious action, as he then shoved the evil straight back in his father’s shocked face. He could almost taste the sudden realisation in those eyes. First there would be anger. An anger that would have overwhelmed him, other than the fact it was this uncontrollable irascibility that caused the punch to be thrown in the first place. But then the anger would be replaced by a new emotion. One that would change everything for both of them. Fear.

As he imagined that first look of fear in his father’s eyes, he let loose a sinful grin that the statue of Jesus before may have interpreted as enlightenment, the sudden realisation of the joy of discovering Jesus and all that he and his church had to offer. But no. This was a far more of a malign smile. One that was the antithesis of turning the other cheek.

The hymn that echoed around the building brought a bright light of devotion into his father’s eyes, as his croaky, alcohol-riddled voice struggled to hit the higher notes. But he nevertheless sang with joyous gusto, as if the louder he sang, the more forgiveness he might reap.

Walking around these walls, he wailed, "I thought by now they'd fall.

But You have never failed me yet.

Waiting for change to come.

Knowing the battle's won.

For You have never failed me yet."

Then, when the chorus broke out, his father raised his hands up to heaven in exultation to the glory of God and Jesus and how that meant he would be forgiven. It was truly cathartic.

"Your promise still stands.

Great is Your faithfulness, Your faithfulness.

I'm still in Your hands, this is my confidence.

You've never failed me yet."

As the hymn came to an end, they both sat back down and the statue was once again hidden behind heads and shoulders. But Murray knew it was there, watching him, testing him and accusing him. He shifted further to the left, so he could see it through the gap between the two believers in the seats before him.

There were two reasons that he couldn’t resist staring at the statue. The first was obvious. It meant that he didn’t have to look at his father and yet again see the contempt, nay, the disgust that his eyes revealed. Mostly, he thought that these emotions were aimed at him. But as he had grown older, he wondered if they were aimed just at much at himself. Did he hate himself? He should do, he thought.

But the second reason was more complex. More confusing. He hated that statue and everything it represented. And yet, he was drawn to it at the same time. It’s promise was tantalising.

He watched as several people stood and raised their arms high to the heavens, extolling the utter joy they felt at being taken under the wings of Jesus’ eternal forgiveness. His promise. Murray smiled bitterly as they screamed out their devotion and he felt a confused mixture of jealousy and pity.

So he stared at the statue and admired and loathed the smooth, perfectly white skin, the loin cloth hiding his untouched private parts and the neatly trimmed beard. All classic renditions of the Jesus Christ that the western world prayed to, but Murray hated. It was Velázquez‘s Christ, but carved instead of painted. But it had the same classic contrapposto posture as in the painting, with both arms displayed in the gentle curve of crucifixion, as if out for a morning stroll, while the minimal loincloth revealed as much of his otherwise nude body as possible, without revealing his true nakedness, and thus, his perfect, unblemished and divine skin.

That night, he lay awake and listened to his father’s angry tears in the room next door. He knew that they would come. They always did after he’d given Murray yet another beating. And each time, Murray would lie there, in the small flat in South Dunedin, listening and hating him even more for his weaknesses.

Since the sea levels had risen, South Dunedin had become marginal land at best, a mosquito infested swamp at worst. The unforgiving Pacific Ocean flooded annually and damaged buildings were rarely repaired these days, as it simply wasn’t worth it. But those houses that remained were cheap and the rental they paid was all his father could afford.

Well, soon you won’t have to worry about me anymore, thought Murray, as he plotted his escape yet again and anticipated the joy it would bring him. His only regret might be not seeing the look on his father’s face when he had gone. But he could imagine it too clearly. He knew every inch of that weathered mask, every evil line and craggy wrinkle. And he knew that once he had left, he would never, ever return. He would never go back. Never see that face again. And never let that man, that creature from the depths, lay a hand on him again. And likewise, he also knew that Jesus would never again stare down on him with those judgmental accusations. He would be lost to both of them forever.

Good riddance, he called out slightly too loudly, before pulling the covers over his head and cowering in fear, in case his father had heard him and was about to come in and investigate. Because then he would face yet another beating and he wasn’t ready just yet for that glorious day when enough was enough.

He never did get to catch that punch in mid air. Nor anywhere. That was a dream that was never going to reach fruition. But he did keep one of the promises he made to himself, as within a year, he had packed up his meagre belongings and walked away.

He had waited until after a warm, midsummer midnight, when his father had yet again cried himself to sleep, fresh from his final assault on his son. Indeed, it had been one of the worst beatings ever, as the emboldened boy had tried to fight back, only further enraging his disbelieving attacker. As a result, and with the knowing support of Jesus on his side, he had taught his son a lesson that he deserved, with all the fury that a vengeful God could muster. But despite three broken ribs, a black eye and broken nose, the determined Murray limped silently out of the back door and climbed gingerly over the back gate while trying not to wince in pain, to a new world and a new life. He never once looked back. And he never went back.

Even after signing up for the Persephone adventure, many years afterwards, he never bothered to find out what had happened to his father.

One of the gifts that a new life in the bush had given him, was forgetting. And humility. And these two had given him the ability to move on. Not quite to allow forgiveness, for that was clearly an impossible dream. But to use his new life for good. To use it to mould a new reality for himself, with new morals and a new love for the land that humanity alone could never give him. In the bush, he belonged and no-one was there to tell him how useless he was. Not a soul preached to him.

And there were no statues of Jesus to persecute his many guilts.

Even Murray, on that fateful day in the Hollyford Valley, when he had accepted the crazy offer from that intimidating blonde giant, recognised the irony in helping save the very species which he so despised. A species that he had spent as much of his life avoiding as much he could. And especially, the so called Gods that this species worshiped with such undeserving adoration and dedication.

But three things would never change. He would always hate his father for the violence and the love-deprived upbringing that he had provided for his only son. He would always hate the Church for its lies and hypocrisy. And he would always hate Jesus Christ himself and everything he represented.

Now, safely banished to Persephone, he was safe from all three of them forever. Or so he hoped.

Chapter 1

Away

It was a strange feeling of conflicting emotions that flitted around Murray’s head as he battled the steady breeze, as he fought to keep the vessel piling upwind and away from the Island of Eden. As the sleek syntho-plastic catamaran tacked its way westwards, he felt the thrill of adventure once again. Just him versus the elements. No rescue. No excuses. The honesty was invigorating and he could almost smell the glory of discovery, tantalisingly lost somewhere in the murky distance ahead. The hidden promise of Pangea.

The huge landmass itself was lost in the low cloud and rain that had continued to deluge them all for the last few weeks, but he knew it was there, somewhere and it was his target.

They had all argued about its name, but Pangea had ultimately won the hearts of the people in the end. Named after the supercontinent of Earth’s history, before it broke apart into the seven continents of the modern era (although that naming was now over 400 years ago), it somehow seemed right that this new continent should be given the same name. And since no other reasonable suggestions had been forthcoming (New China, New Russia, Greater Vanuatu), Pangea had been accepted as the mainland next to which their island of Eden lay.

Relief was also there as well. As he tightened the mainsail to eke out every bit of power from the steady breeze, allowing the hulls to cut their way through the light chop, he admitted to himself that his release from the clutches of humanity had allowed him to breathe again. Alone, away from people’s lies and individual agendas was an existence that sat easily with him. It was, after all, the life he had chosen and it had always served him well up until now.

And yet, there was a part of him that was new. An unusual and reluctant acceptance that he was now part of a community that had both accepted him with all of his insecurities and faults, as well as nurtured him. They had welcomed him home with loud processions of joy and listened to his stories and his adventures like he was the Messiah himself. The Politburo had also listened and accepted his opinions without judgement and truly, for the first time in his life, he knew that he belonged.

And so regret, in this odd form, was certainly a new emotion for him to juggle, confusingly intertwined with all of his old guilt, his hatred and his anger from his past life.

As he ducked his body down low and pulled hard on the tiller, which rapidly twisted the vessel in a tacking manoeuvre that viciously swung the sail around, he briefly lost his balance and found himself floundering face downwards on the netting, but still gripping the tiller tight. He unglamorously pushed himself up with one hand and regained his composure, berating himself for his loss of concentration, as he adjusted the tiller to regain the preferred heading.

Perhaps he should have recognised his conflicting emotions as the cause of his error. But Murray had little time for emotions, despite the fact that his mind was swirling with them.

As the heat of the day multiplied, the breeze that had allowed him to cut smoothly away from Eden, died off and his progress became stilted. The rain, thus denied of its powerhouse, simply dropped from the heavens rather than flying with venom into his face, making the sailing far easier, but less thrilling by a long way and clearly, less productive.

This slowing of pace allowed him more time to take in his surroundings. Behind him, the last outline of Eden was fading into the misty rain, while somewhere up ahead, he knew land would appear. But not yet. Still, he ideally preferred not to spend a night on the water, alone and at the mercy of both the sea and the elements and whatever both of them might contain. So he ploughed on as best he could, leaving a small trail of bubbles behind him, which sank back into the small wavelets and troughs that otherwise surrounded the boat.

Up ahead, he made out some large shapes, swooping in circles of thick, grey sky. More pteradons perhaps? He strained his eyes to try and fathom what lay ahead, but distance and the elements left nothing but blurry and indistinct shapes and suspicions. So he pulled out his binoculars and tried to focus on whatever lay ahead, but the constant movement of Pania, his catamaran, made their use all but impossible and eventually he gave up and ploughed warily onwards instead.

The distance closed surprisingly quickly and soon he was faced with at least thirty huge pteradons, swirling in random circles over an area as wide as a football pitch. But as he neared, it soon became clear that these pteradons were quite different to the insect catching variety that he had first met on the island and indeed, he had discovered. For a start, they were all tinged with a startling scarlet stripe of feathers down their backs, as if they were wearing a rain jacket, leaving their grey wings exposed to the elements. Their heads too, were bright red, with only their pitch black, piercing eyes breaking the strong intensity of rouge. Yet, they also had huge wingspans that allowed them to swoop effortlessly in the wind for as long as they chose, to stare down at what the ocean depths hid.

What alarmed Murray most about them, though, were their beaks. Unlike the hammerhead-like baskets of the Eden Pteradons, these had sharp, pointy beaks. Much like a terrestrial pelican, they also had a fold of skin below their beaks that acted as a pouch to both catch prey and allow water to drain out. Clearly these were predators of more than insects and they were circling for a reason. He was instantly alert to their potential threat, as each bird was huge and while he was fairly sure he was too large to be a true prey, the pteradons might not know this and want to investigate. After all, they had, on all evidence, never seen anything like him or his boat before. But there was no avoiding them now, as they swooped over such a wide area. So he carried on towards them and hoped-like-hell that he wasn’t too interesting. Even so, he unclamped his pistol, now relieved that Ziv had finally convinced him to take one with him.

Then, eerily, the water changed colour. Instead of the greyish, muted grey of a cloudy Persephone day, the water turned greener with a million tiny bubbles. He peered down through the netting and after initial confusion, realised that the green colour was caused by a type of fish. Each fish was painfully flat, with one eye that looked upwards, out towards the sky, while, as he would find out later, another eye on the underside that could stare down at the depths. But bizarrely, each fish, perhaps a metre in length and breadth seemed able to grip onto its neighbour with strangely modified fins that reminded him of monkey’s feet, so that a huge mass of floating fish joined together like a giant, living raft, many hundreds of metres across.

As Pania glided through them, they parted easily, so that the vessel never once hit any of the fish.

Clever, he thought.

Then he spotted pteradons swooping down and pretending to attack the living raft. As each swooped down, the flat raft would part, so that the giant flying reptiles would abort their attack at the last second.

Really clever, Murray muttered. The up-facing eyes were clearly used as an alarm system for flying predators. He wondered if the down-facing eyes were doing the same thing to avoid similar predators from below.

But the more he watched the strange dance of flying reptiles and separating and closing raft of fish, the more he realised that the pteradons were working to a plan. They weren’t aborting their attacks, more using them to seperate and scare the fish. He observed as they managed to seperate a small group of fish off of the main raft.

Very, very clever, he muttered in awed admiration at the tactics each side was employing in the ancient battle of predator versus prey.

Now that the small group had been isolated, they had less eyes to offer protection and less mass to make predation difficult. The swarm dived down with new gusto and took little time in ripping the fish to pieces. It was a bloodbath, impressive in both its cleverness and ingenuity, yet cruel in its brutality.

Murray wondered if the fish were edible and tried to net some, but they easily parted to avoid his efforts and he became increasingly frustrated. He released the sails, stopping the catamaran in its tracks and tried a rod, but once again, the fish seemed disinterested and he had not even a hint of a bite.

He played his final card and tried to shoot one with bow and arrow and finally, even these clever fish couldn’t move at the speed of an arrow. The green creature frothed in the water in agony and Murray was able to bring the boat around and grab the arrow and fish.

It was surprisingly heavy, bearing in mind it was so thin, but over a metre wide. But what did shock Murray was the lack of any features. There was no mouth, anus or gills. Just green on the upper surface and a pale yellow on the underside. It’s edges had several claw-like fins that were clearly used for gripping other fish. But they were otherwise featureless.

What do you eat? he wondered.

He thought for a long time, as he prepared a piece of the flesh and cooked it using his small thermo-heater. The flesh was delicate, but bony, but clearly edible, and yet the upper skin was totally different to the lower skin. In fact, if he didn’t know any better, he’d say the upper side tasted like seaweed.

Then the idea hit him.

It feeds by photosynthesis! He was amazed. Clearly, the fish had no digestive system, but was fed by sunlight. That would explain the green on its upper side, but not on its underside, which was much tougher and more used for camouflage than feeding. This would make the giant rafts of fish like giant solar-panels, absorbing the suns’ rays and fuelling the fish to grow bigger and stronger.

He wondered if they even swam, or whether they just floated randomly, like jellyfish back on earth.

He was lost in thought and wonder when he heard a shrill cry from overhead, just at the moment when a large shadow cut off the already subdued light.

Shit, he cried as a huge pteradon, its wingspan far wider than his entire catamaran, tried to land on the mast. It’s huge talons gripped down on the relatively flimsy pole and as the mast took its weight, the whole vessel began to tip sideways. Murray dropped the fish and desperately grabbed for the tiller, but the weight of the creature only increased, forcing the tipping motion to accelerate catastrophically.

Before he knew it, Murray was under the water, as his whole world was turned upside down and liquid. In that half a second of chaos, he looked up to see the raft of fish open up around him and the boat, but also the utter darkness that lay below them, as they totally blocked out any light from above. Further, there were millions of tiny fish cleaning their undersides and a whole new world existed unseen, just inches from the surface.

Then he kicked his legs and forced his way back to the surface, before taking a huge and desperate breath. Scanning the new world order, he spotted the catamaran a short distance away, but lying sadly on its side, while the equally surprised pteradon was wheeling away in disgust at its disappointing attempt at landing on the strange phenomenon.

He swam with gusto through parting fish and managed to clamber back on board the upturned vessel and swore until he felt better.

He spotted his bow, floating only a metre away and dived back in to retrieve it. But the cooker was gone, along with his fish dinner.

Shit. The gun…

It had already sunk down to the murky depths and lost forever. He felt both forlorn and guilty at the same time. And very angry with himself for not being so alert and letting a huge monster sneak up on him like that. But all the berating wasn’t going to achieve anything and so he gripped to the hull to get his breath back, before locating the rope and leaning back with all of his weight to right the vessel.

In this manner, he was cool and efficient, having practised this manoeuvre many times and soon the vessel was once again floating upright, even though he himself was back in the water.

Let’s get out of here, he thought to himself, as he clambered back on board the dripping netting and untangled rigging and ropes.

He looked up to see other inquisitive pteradons swooping past and he shouted and waved threateningly at the huge creatures, which fortunately did the trick of discouraging their interest, for now at least. But the whole escapade had taken up far more time than he wanted. So with the fickle winds, he continued the search for Pangea, steadily but warily, now continuously checking for dark shadows from above.

Chapter 2

Pangea

By evening, the grey shape of land was clearly visible in the distance, but if he continued now, he would arrive after dark, which wasn’t a viable option in his book. So Murray made the decision to lay anchor at sea and spend a night on the catamaran itself. This wasn’t too worrying, as he knew he had time to find a sheltered spot close to the shore. What did worry him though, was the pteradons. What if they attacked him at night? If they capsized him in the darkness, it could be fatal. Yet instinct suggested that they were day time creatures who had no advantage to attack their prey at night and would likely not be nocturnal as well.

But contrary to those reassuring thoughts, if the pteradons weren’t nocturnal, what was? Fear of the unknown is a deeply rooted human trait that is hard to shake off.

Much like Eden, this part of Pangea seemed to have long bays of wide open breaches, backed by thick rainforest, while the rocky outcrops gave life to massive banks of frothing, writhing kelp-like seaweed, which clung impressively to rocky reefs, as the sea itself drove its long limbs into a tormented fervour.

He tracked eastwards, hoping to find more shelter, but as the muted light dimmed, he had to settle for a wider bay than he would have liked. Still, he put down the anchor about two hundred metres off-shore and settled in for a bobbly night aboard the catamaran.

Sleep came in short fits and bursts, as the gentle soporific bobbing of the vessel was countered by the night time sounds of the living jungle. Unlike on Eden, the Pangea night was filled with loud whoops and shrill screams. Twice he heard deep rumbles, like a giant cat was rubbing up against his boat and purring in delight. But the thick cloud above blocked any illumination from any of the seven moons of Persephone and the darkness was thick, impenetrable and terrifying. Murray felt like a tiny and insignificant dot on the massive ocean and also compared to the huge expanse of land and rain-forest that lay before him. His vulnerability meant a deep sleep was impossible, as his mind forced him to stay alert for imaginary dangers that lurked above, below and beyond.

Close to midnight, he awoke to an eerie blue light all around him. He climbed out of the hammock and stared at the remarkable phosphorescence that surrounded both his vessel and the whole bay. Perhaps they were plankton like creatures? He didn’t know, but the water around him glowed with turquoise patches of strange light that shimmered mesmerisingly in the gently swaying waters of the bay, much like an aurora.

Now awake, he stared at this rare beauty, until strange and worryingly dark shapes cut through the light, dispersing it cruelly before the lights abruptly went out. Then another patch would reappear, only to have its glorious shimmering extinguished by further dark shapes moving at predatorial speed. The whole show was like a ballet and spellbinding, but did little to bring much needed sleep.

Dawn brought some relief. The night had been long and tiring and he was keen to get onto land where, despite the noises of the night, he hoped that he might feel safer. Though he quite fancied himself as a sailor now, he was never comfortable at sea and was always relieved to leave the alien world of water for good old, dry land.

Yet the first hint of dawn brought yet more concerns. The morning mist vaguely revealed a large, dark and mysterious shape, moving slowly along the beach. A figure large enough to be extremely worrying. He carefully watched as it moved carefully along the beach, from right to left. And then it was gone. The light increased as the mist tried desperately, but unsuccessfully to lift and he strained his eyes to try and see more of the creature, but it seemed to have melted back into the jungle.

Fuck it, he shouted, angry at himself for having lost the gun. Suddenly, its loss seemed far more devastating than he had previously imagined. But at least he had his back-up, his bow and arrow, as well as his machete, so he wasn’t totally lacking in weapons. But that creature looked mighty big.

After a fishy breakfast, the morning light glowed brightly enough to consider landing, but in view of the latest sighting, he travelled further around the bay, before aiming Pania straight at the wide, sandy beach.

The welcoming sound of hulls scraping against coarse, black sand greeted him, as the catamaran landed. But Murray stayed still, watching and waiting as the stern still bobbed gently in the small waves. For now, it seemed that he was alone. Just him and the blackfly, which had already found him. And the rain. That never seemed to go away.

After applying Mauro and Matheus’s insect repellant to his few exposed parts, he lifted the rudders up and then pulled the boat up onto the sand. He marvelled at how light it was, with the syntho-plastic hulls almost weightless. Indeed, it was this lack of mass that had so easily capsized the catamaran when the pteradon had clung to her mast and once again, he recognised the conflict between speed and stability that had challenged Mani’s design process.

He had the choice of anchoring Pania in the bay or pulling her up on land. Both options had their pros and cons, but the thought of swimming out to her really didn’t thrill him, especially after Augy and Fong’s experiences back on Eden, not to mention the dark shapes of the previous night. So he made the decision to pull the vessel high up on the beach, leaving two unusual tracks in the sand behind them. He then dismantled the mast and tied it up on the netting before driving an anchor pole deep into the clinging sand in case a particularly high tide washed up and tried to steal Pania away. That would be catastrophic.

Then he prepared for his departure. He had already filled his pack with all that he imagined he might need, yet preferred to travel as lightly as possible. Yet another conflict without answers. But the pack was still heavy with a combination of food and equipment. Yet, in essence, he was ready to roll.

A brief hesitation, that represented his leaving the nest, or cutting of the umbilical cord even, revealed a nervousness that he had only really felt previously on his initial exploration of Eden, all those months ago. But now, he knew that there were other creatures here, many of whom were likely to be unfriendly at best, predators of human flesh at worst.

He decided to head along the beach initially, towards the headland, from where he could lay a repeater. Of course, he was banned from using the repeater unless in case of an emergency and even then, it was to be discouraged. But to lay a system of repeaters now might be very useful in the future. Secondly, they were excellent navigation aids as he could triangulate off of them.

The wide beach was only gently sloped, but the black, volcanic sand was soft and clawing, so he moved towards the lapping ocean’s edge, where it was firmer and easier to cross.

The appearance of footprints made him stop in his tracks. They were huge and very concerning. But as he looked closer, he realised that footprints was the wrong term. They were clearly made by a large creature, but some of the prints looked like claws, while others were more like someone had dragged their elbow into the sand. Perhaps one type was the front limb, the other rear-limb prints. Either way, the creature was large and Murray looked nervously inland. The jungle seemed dark and forbidding and a shudder ran through his flesh. Instead he looked out to sea. It was another typical steamy day, although the rain was unusually light this morning. That happened sometimes, but the sprinkling never lasted, as the torrential rain always returned.

He could see a flock of pteradons in the distance, surely terrorising another pod of flatfish. But beyond, there was only grey, with Eden hidden behind the endless low cloud that shrouded their new world for half the year.

Finally, he reached the rocky outcrop and clambered up until he was looking back onto the same beach and Pania half hidden in the bushes. Looking ahead, he could see another long beach on the far side of the outcrop, disappearing towards the mists. But beyond, he spied another rocky outcrop not too dissimilar to the one on which he stood. Peering into the haze, he could just make out yet another large headland even further in the distance.

Excellent, he thought to himself. All along, his plan had been to try and follow a river inland, much like he had done when exploring Eden’s interior. It offered some security, with only one side to defend, whilst also offering endless fresh water, which in this heat was invaluable. Perhaps that gap between headlands heralds a river? he wondered.

It took more than two hours to cross the long beach, cutting across two small, shallow rivers on the way, before picking his way around the next rocky outcrop and rounding the corner. Here, the forest came right down to within touching distance of the sea.

But the journey proved invaluable, as the sight of a long fjord-like valley disappeared to his left, as if someone had cut through the mainland with a knife and scraped up the missing land on the edges.

The valley was far too long for him to see the other end, but he felt sure that there must be a river of some sort at its zenith and that was potentially a route that he could take.

He returned to the safety of Pania, with his first morning on Pangea having been survived and ate a light meal of fish before considering his options.

Well, here goes nothing.

And with that, he stepped into the totally different world of the steamy jungle. It really was like a different planet. Within seconds, the sound of wind and waves had been sucked dry by the land of trees and although the undergrowth was initially thin and easy to penetrate, it soon closed in on him and the going became tougher. His machete became invaluable, as he oft had to cut his way through bushes and vines that blocked his path. But all the while, he tried to keep the nearest of the small rivers on his right, which was slow and languid in its lower reaches.

He fought his way through a particularly difficult patch, with sharp and angry bushes wielding knife-like thorns, blocking his way completely, when to his surprise, he stepped out onto an open area. No, not an area, but a path.

Instantly aware, he stayed as still as he could and listened and watched. But other than the relentless buzzing of insects and the continuous drips of water thudding against leaves from the canopy above, all was silent.

A path would be the nearest term for what was really an area that something or someone had trodden down to flatten the vegetation. So either it had been made by a multitude of creatures, or the creatures were very large and powerful. Or possibly both!

Yet now gifted with a much easier way of travelling, he was faced with the dilemma of whether or not to use it. Clearly, by following the path he could travel considerably faster than if he were to continue slicing his way carefully through the clawing vegetation. And yet, the path was clearly in regular use, going by the state of the vegetation that had been regularly crushed below it and he had no desire to meet the path’s creators any time soon.

He decided it was a good time to rest anyway and so clambered back a few metres from the path, to where he had just come from and sat and ate dried fish, while keeping an eye and ear out for traffic. Nearby berries also added to his snack.

But, after half an hour, the path remained deserted and the spider-ants incessant nipping and itchy calling cards made relaxing almost impossible, not to mention the continued frenzied attacks by the blackfly that were always worse when he stopped moving. All in all, it made for poor relaxation and constant edge. As a result, he rapidly packed up and made the unilateral decision to stick with the path, for now, but to be doubly attentive to any sounds that may suggest he was sharing it with someone or something else.

A sudden, but alerting rustling to his left revealed a short, stumpy lizard, perhaps one; no, two metres in length, which was clearly far more terrified of him than Murray was of it. It froze, as it ploughed out of the undergrowth using the classic lizard side-to-side motion, with gusto, then stared warily at the strange mammal that now faced him. It’s plain green skin dripped with moisture, while its stunted spines seemed more for show than protection.

Unusually for such lizards, it had huge eyes, suggesting it was happiest at night or in the darker parts of the undergrowth. It opened its mouth threateningly, but revealed the teeth of a forager, not a predator.

Murray was able to relax immediately and slowly moved to grab his camera, tucked away in a pocket. But the lizard was having none of it, and with sudden decisiveness, bolted to the right and back into the dense undergrowth, leaving no sign of its presence other than a brief memory.

Stunted lizard, Murray decided, which seemed a fitting name for the creature. But its presence confirmed his suspicions that just like on Eden, this land was dominated by lizards and neither he nor any others had yet spotted any mammals other than what they had brought over from Earth themselves.

Onwards he travelled, moving easily along the well trodden path, allowing ease of passage through the otherwise dense undergrowth. However, after a couple of hours, he realised that the path had taken him well away from the river, which was not the plan. Where it would take him he had no idea, but he decided that he had pushed his luck enough and instead of continuing along the path, he swung to his right and back towards where he hoped the river could be found.

Once again, the going became much tougher and although the land was flat and otherwise bereft of obstacles, he was hot and exhausted and in need of some respite.

For once, his timing was good and he soon broke out into low scrub, which eventually led to an open grassy plain and the river itself.

He’d been travelling for hours and the suns’ muted glows were high in the sky above. Time for a rest again. After scouting the area, he laid some motion detectors to cover the jungle side of his lunch area and then relaxed down for some provisions on the river’s edge. It flowed by languidly, with raindrops tinkling pleasantly on the otherwise smooth surface. Fish regularly jumped as the water seemed alive with creatures and insects, so he decided to try and catch some fresh protein.

Here, the river was similar to the Hathersage area and so he suspected the fishing would be too.

It took very little time to rig his line and catch a red for his lunch. No alligator-like creatures seemed to be lurking around at the moment, but he was always wary and had his machete and bow and arrow always handy.

The fish smelt titillating, as he roasted it over an open fire, but worrying that the smell might carry and attract the curious and the hungry, he extinguished the fire as quickly as possible and ate faster than he would have liked. Still, red always tasted fantastic and he now had a warm and full stomach.

The question in his mind now was whether to push on, or to set up camp here and explore more locally. He was familiar with this type of vegetation and he had food and fresh water too, as well as fish that could easily be caught. He also reckoned he’d travelled about 15 kilometres inland, which was a good start. On the other hand, he was here to explore as much as possible and thus moving on was probably what he should do.

He weighed up the pros and cons and decided to spend the night here and then explore locally.

His first chore was to set up a safe shelter. Thanks to the skills of Harpul on the 3-D printers and the training of Angalee, he was able to throw a syntho-plastic microfibre rope up a nearby conifer. Weighing only a few grams,