Bitter Oath (New Atlantis)

by Nhys Glover

  He had been fifty years into his second clone body when he Jumped for the first time. That Jump had lasted forty years. The only reason he’d come back was because his body was wearing out. For the next ten years, until he was forced to integrate with his next clone, he spent his time collating his findings from that first Jump. This became his pattern over the period: Jump to pre-industrial societies, usually in Northern America, research their ecology for ninety years, return to Start Point, and spent the last of the hundred years of each clone’s life collating his findings. Then he’d transition into a new clone, so he could Jump again.

  But this had been his last Jump. He was on his eighth and last clone, and his ninth life. No Consciousness could be integrated into a tenth body. He’d been told this just before going in, this time. So he’d left his return until the very last moment, because he wanting to make the most of his final time in-situ.

  And that last gem of knowledge seemed to be the central jewel of his impressive crown. A possible sighting of the larger cousin of the extinct giant Palouse earthworm (Driloleirus Americanus), a species that had only been found in the Columbia River Drainages of eastern Washington and Northern Idaho.

  There had been over 2,700 varieties of earthworms identified by the beginning of the 21st Century. By the end of that century, there’d been only a handful left. Without their ability to convert decaying litter into nutrient, the planet’s food sources disappeared. The soil began to die.

  For most of the last years, before the end of the Second Dark Age, scientists had begun to believe that the Holy Grail for saving the ecology of their dying planet was earth worms. Some were more valued than others, particularly those that survived in dry, hot and arid eco systems.

  There had always been talk of a larger cousin of the Palouse earthworm that could regenerate vast tracts of arid land in a comparatively short time, but no one had ever seen one. They were thought to have become extinct before the arrival of the white man to North America. The natives found them addictively tasty, and even though indigenous tribes treated the land well, on the whole, sometimes their need for food, especially in droughts, became their prime imperative. In that way, they wiped out species that could not be replaced.

  But this last piece of information was phenomenal. A white explorer, probably an early Naturalist, had made a drawing of these mythic creatures, and was reputed to have seen them with his own eyes. If Rene could find out where…

  He stopped himself abruptly. What would it matter if he did find them? Unlike adult humans, they weren’t allowed to Retrieve flora and fauna from the past. The Confederacy had a policy of maintenance. Because of the damage done by introduced species in the past, and the complexity of ecosystems, it was believed it was better to follow a hands-off policy. This meant allowing the damaged ecosystems to recover as they would.

  After all, there’d been five mass extinctions in the past. Theirs was only the most recent. And the ecosystems had always rebuilt themselves, hadn’t they? No one mentioned that it had taken thousands of years for that rebuilding to take place. Or that none of the mass extinctions in the past had occurred as quickly as this last one had. No one knew if the planet would ever heal itself again.

  It was Rene’s opinion, as it was of many of the world’s remaining ecologists, that it was their job to rebuild the ecosystems destroyed, by strategic repopulation from the past. Why use time travel to keep the human race going, when it was responsible for most of the destruction caused to the planet, yet refuse to do anything to assist the planet, on which they relied for survival, to heal? It didn’t make sense, and it certainly wasn’t ethical.

  It really didn’t matter to him personally anymore. Soon, he would be leaving the struggling, hypocritical human race behind for good. Part of him was glad death was approaching. It had been a long, long life, and a lonely one.

  He’d made a point of keeping relationships superficial while in-situ, because death would take those he cared for too soon. And here… well, people kept others at an emotional distance, as a matter of course. And his long absences kept even the acquaintances he had here, at an even greater distance. For them, he was a constant in their lives – an old man, for the most part, buried in his studies. For him, they were strangers he caught up with every ninety years, like a sailor on shore leave.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had sex. In his first one hundred and seventy five years he expected. Before Jumping. Certainly not in-situ, or in the ten years each time he was back. His body, when he came home, was too old for such activities.

  Thankfully, clones were undersexed. If not, his life would have been a living hell. As it was, he had been left free to focus all his attention where it was needed most – on his work.

  Turning off the shower, he activated the drier, and enjoyed this next pleasure. Most of his lives had been in primitive cultures where such comforts were unheard of. He happily left creature comforts behind for his work. But he couldn’t deny the pleasure coming back to them gave him. His old body would at least be comfortable in his last years.

  Summer 2330, New Atlantis GAIAN CONFEDERACY

  Over the six weeks since his return, Rene had heard the gossip going around. Now the statement made by the Retrieval Committee was being flashed to all Tablets.

  ‘The successful integration of a Consciousness past its ninth life, and into a different clone, also brings into question many of our previously held beliefs about the nature of Consciousness, and the part Willpower plays in the process.

  ‘Where life is static. Where change is tightly controlled, the vitality of life is lost. It is our new hypothesis that a Consciousness loses its will to live when it has exhausted all potential for growth. We have limited that growth in New Atlantis, and thus aided in our own shortened lifespans.

  ‘It has therefore been decided that new methods of revitalizing our community need to be instigated. We are interested in Cara’s proposal (the Retrieval of children). It has been gathering a great deal of support amongst the rank and file. It would require a great deal of careful planning, but the possibilities are inspiring.’

  New Atlantis was agog. Not only were the inhabitants finding out, for the first time, that they had always had a deadline on their lifespan, but they had now discovered that someone had not only broken their nine life limit, but had also defied the rule that no Consciousness could integrate with a cloned body not created from its own DNA.

  Jac Ulster had changed their world. And Rene felt the first optimistic stirrings of hope in his long, pessimistic life. Not only did this offer him a chance at continued life, but Retrieving children from the past meant a form of rebirth.

  If the Committee could be convinced that change was not only beneficial, but essential to the Confederacy, as the statement implied, then suddenly there was an opening for his plans. If he gathered the right support, enlisted people like Cara and Jac to his side, the possibilities truly were inspiring.

  Of course, there was work to be done, and there was no telling whether Jac’s example was just the exception that proved the rule. He would wait before he took the risk. If they were wrong, then he would lose eight years of invaluable prep time.

  There was time… and while he waited, and worked, he would research Ser Moolgaaff. The pronunciation would be wrong, as the Obejwe ear did not handle European sounds well. But he was sure he would be able to track down this mysterious white man, and then follow the source. If he had more than his nine lives, then he had all the time in the world to discover their Holy Grail, and bring it back to seed their future. All the time in the world…

  Spring 2333, New Atlantis, GAIAN CONFEDERACY

  Rene stood on the periphery of the crowd that had formed to support the women and children rescued from the 1942 Death Train. He felt his ancient heart warm at the sight, and tears welled in his half-blind eyes. This, more than any other change that had been wrought in the last three years, gave him hope.

  Over to the side, still dressed in
drab clothing of the 1940s, drenched to the skin from rain that had fallen somewhere else, somewhen else, stood the harbingers of change. They were three couples – all Bonded Mates – who had wrought this miracle. There was Jac and Cara, each catalysts in their own way. Then there was Faith, who had planned this current miracle. And Luke, her World War 2 Commando who had orchestrated the large scale Retrieval. Lastly, there was Julio and the unsuitable girl from 1968 called Jane, who had become the second person to integrate into a body that was not her own. She had proved that what Jac had done could be replicated.

  Rene’s cloudy vision focused on Jane for a moment longer than on each of the others. She was so incredibly beautiful! Her bright, copper-coloured hair shone in the sunlight, even though it was damp and bedraggled after their recent mission.

  An odd yearning inside him pulled him up fast. He envied Julio his mate.

  Shocked at this random emotion, he considered it closely. When, in the last 773 years had he ever envied a man his woman? Even in his highly sexed Original, he’d never envied a man for such a reason. There had always been plenty of women to go around. His good looks and wildness had assured him of that.

  So why now, after all these years? And why Jane?

  Her beauty? There were hundreds of beautiful women in this world. And thousands more in the lives he had lived, in-situ. Beauty meant nothing.

  Was it that sparkle in her eye that seemed to hint at a willingness to take on any challenge? Yes, that was partly right. But Cara also had that look, and he was not drawn as powerfully to her. Maybe he just liked redheads, he decided at length, when he could analyse his reaction no further.

  Whatever the reason, it was an intriguing phenomenon, especially in this aged body. And it was worth following up. Not to muscle in on another’s territory, although that might be fun in a younger body, but just to get to know the girl.

  Then images of his long succession of Midews popped into his mind.

  Yes, that was it! Those strong, wise women he’d purposely groomed, lifetime after lifetime. They were the holders of the collective wisdom and Medicine of their people. And Jane was one of them – though she didn’t know it.

  And she held answers for him, just as the Medicine Women of the past had held answers.

  There was still time for more answers …

  CHAPTER TWO

  20 June 1810, London ENGLAND

  Miss Livianna Mulgrave felt her chest expand with pride. All these eminent scholars were here to witness the first exhibition of her grandfather’s collection. Display cabinet after display cabinet in the new British Museum had been filled with his specimens and drawings. It had taken her years to collate the information and present it in this meaningful way.

  She wish he was here to see his life’s work admired in this way. Certainly, there had been papers written and published on his findings during his lifetime. But there had never been anything like the scope and comprehensiveness of this exhibit, which rivalled in its distinct way, Sir Hans Sloane’s own collection.

  Liv smiled nervously at her older sister Augusta, who, as a married lady, was seen as a suitable chaperone for her at such an event. They were two of only a handful of women in attendance at the occasion.

  ‘You have done grandfather proud, Livy dear. I am sure he is looking down from On High right now, smiling fit to burst.’

  Liv laughed softly, behind her gloved hand, so as not to appear unladylike. ‘Yes, exactly. I imagine him just so. And making outrageous comments about each and every scholar who passes by.’ She sighed sadly. ‘I miss him Gussie, even after five years, I miss him.’

  Augusta patted her shoulder gently. ‘There, there, dear. He had a good run: a full, adventurous and productive life, followed by death in his sleep in his own bed, at age 83. We would all hope for as much.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I am just feeling sorry for myself, I know. Without him, Foxmoor Manor just does not feel the same. Father is a dear, but he is always so serious and busy with his land and tenants. Aunt Hera is still my stalwart supporter, of course, but she grows feeble. And shortly, our baby sister, Portia, will marry and fly the nest. I will soon rattle around that monstrous, old house alone, like the poor spinster daughter I truly am.’

  Augusta laughed. ‘Darling, you may be a blue stockinged spinster at thirty years of age, but I can never see you as poor, alone, or as rattling around, with nothing to do with your time. You have just finished the most challenging and time consuming project of your life, to date. There will necessarily be an interim period before you find your next project. But next project there will be.

  ‘Maybe you will take an expedition to the Andes or down the Amazon. Without a husband to tell you nay, and the deep pockets of a doting, wealthy father behind you; the sky is the limit. Or you could always marry. There are still suitors out there just waiting for the first sign of encouragement.’

  Liv shuddered at the last idea. She had fought a lifetime of pressure to wed, from everyone except her grandfather. Now, when she was safely beyond marriageable age, and secure in her spinster role, she had no desire to stir that hornet’s nest again. Watching her mother weaken and die from one baby after the next, in the hope of giving her husband the son he needed to inherit his baronetcy, had been distressing enough. But then, to have her eldest sister, Claudia, die in childbirth at the youthful age of twenty, had been devastating. And the final incentive to avoid matrimonial bliss had been watching her next eldest sister become worn and old by 34, after giving birth to five children, one after the other, with barely a breathing space between them.

  And, though Augusta seemed happy enough with her physician husband, and was a little sad because she had not yet borne him a child, it didn’t weigh the scales back in marriage’s favour by much.

  Of course, the most pressing reason Liv had never married was because the right man had never come along. None of the dandies and rakes of her class had interested her. And any of the scientists or explorers her grandfather had introduced her to over the years, had all been married, or so smitten with their work that they had eyes for nothing else.

  No, she would never be one of those women who married for security or social standing. With a brain in her head, an education that outstripped most men of her station, and the wealth to support herself into old age, what need had she of a man?

  ‘Oh look, Livy, who is that handsome, young man with Lord Drumoyne?’ August interrupted Liv’s musings on marriage with a stage whisper that was loud enough to attract the attention of several men at the closest display cabinet.

  Liv dutifully followed her sister’s line of vision and came to a startling halt, as her gaze made contact with Drumoyne’s companion. Oh yes, handsome indeed! And well dressed, in the sober fashion of the times. But his prominent cheekbones, almond shaped eyes, and light brown skin marked him as anything but English.

  ‘I wonder where he is from?’ Liv said aloud, without realising it.

  ‘He does look foreign, does he not? But a gentleman, all the same. Young though. What would you say? Early twenties?’

  ‘Yes, I would imagine so. Although, if he is from the Orient, he may be older than he looks.’

  ‘Do you think he might be from the Orient? But he is exceptionally tall. I have heard that those from the East are remarkably short and slim.’

  ‘He is certainly not short. Drumoyne is nearly six feet, and he appears half a head taller again.’

  ‘And not slim. He fills out that frock coat’s shoulders admirably.’ Augusta giggled in a most unladylike fashion.

  ‘If you do not contain yourself, dear sister, I will tell your beloved husband where your eyes have wandered, and then where will you be?’ Liv jested.

  ‘My eyes may wander, but my heart remains focused on only my beloved Freddy. It might be amusing to see him jealous though… so do your worst.’

  ‘Cruel woman, to want to cause your beloved such disquiet.’

  ‘A little excitement never hurt any relationship of wort
h.’

  At that moment, Lord Drumoyne and his dark haired companion began to move in their direction. Both women stopped their banter and blushed.

  ‘They’re coming this way,’ gasped Augusta from behind her gloved hand.

  ‘Probably to ask about grandfather’s collection. You do remember that is why we are here, do you not?’ Liv grinned cheekily at her flushed sister, who was behaving more like a girl than a married woman. It pleased her no end.

  A moment later, the middle-aged Lord, with silver-white hair and expansive girth, was introducing them to the young gentleman.

  His eyes are not brown, as I expected. They are a quite startlingly blue. And they glitter with excitement and intelligence. Her heart missed a beat.

  ‘Mrs Darrington, Miss Mulgrave, may I present Lord Rene L’Angley, the youngest son of the Duke of L’Angley, late of beleaguer France, and now resident of the Americas?’ Drumoyne said, with his usual formal stiffness.

  The ladies dropped a courtesy as the young man bowed.

  ‘The United States of America, Lord L’Angley?’ asked Liv with interest. She would not have picked him for a Frenchman, although that might account for his height.

  ‘No, Miss Mulgrave, further north. In the territory still loyal to the Old World,’ the man replied, his deep voice at odds with his youthful countenance. And his accent was odd. Not French, although there was a slight inflection there, but not English either. Having met few citizens of the colonies, she was not sure what they should sound like. But the accent was clear and precise, and she found she was looking forward to hearing more of it.

  ‘What brings you to England, sir?’ Augusta asked politely.