New Atlantis Bundle, Books1-3

by Glover, Nhys

  New Atlantis

  Books 1-3

  Nhys Glover

  In this Bundle:

  Nine Lives

  The Dreamer’s Prince

  Savage

  Nine Lives

  A New Atlantis Novel

  Book 1

  Nhys Glover

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. With the exception of historical events and people used as background for the story, or those clearly in the public domain, the names, characters and incidents portrayed in this work come wholly from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental

  Published by Belisama Press

  © Nhys Glover 2012

  The right of Nhys Glover to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  This book is copyright. All rights reserved.

  Apart for any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without the written permission of the author.

  About The Author

  Nhys Glover is an Australian teacher, international presenter and author, who now lives and writes in the beautiful Yorkshire Dales of England. Here she looks out over Bronte Country, and is inspired to write romantic (and a little bit hot) tales of adventure that feed her Soul and inspire her readers. Please visit her website www.nhysglover.com to find out more about Nhys, her fascinating life and her many books.

  Chapter One

  June 11 2011, Westchester NEW YORK

  ‘Oh, God, I can’t do this!’ Cara Henderson exclaimed with a groan, as she attempted to lift her shoulders from the yoga mat while keeping her feet firmly planted on the floor.

  ‘Come on ladies, that’s the way! If you want a flat stomach you have to crunch your way to it!’ The twenty-something at the front of the room called out her pep-talk with exaggerated enthusiasm.

  ‘Her flat stomach has never been stretched by pregnancy… multiple pregnancies,’ Laura Wilkinson muttered, loud enough for her tortured friend to hear.

  ‘If I don’t do these crunches I’ll start to look like I am six month pregnant!’ Cara huffed a sigh when she finally reached her knees with her chest. ‘And what looks fertile and glorious at thirty looks frumpy and middle-aged at forty five.’

  ‘That’s it ladies, just one more crunch, just one more crunch!’ The instructor bellowed brightly.

  ‘Didn’t she say that five crunches ago?’ Laura moaned, as she pushed her sweating body into yet another sit-up.

  ‘Early onset dementia. She’s forgotten she said it five crunches ago.’ Cara found the breath to laugh at her own joke.

  ‘Terrible, really. The brain is always the first to go with these fitness types,’ Laura said, with a giggle of her own.

  ‘Do they actually have a brain?’

  The loud, aerobic music petered out as the instructor yelled for just one more crunch to finish up. Cara didn’t even bother trying again. Every muscle in her body ached, and she knew that the pain she was feeling now was only a prelude to how she’d feel tomorrow.

  Laura flopped back onto the mat beside her, groaning loudly. She wasn’t the only one. It was as if the room were filled with agonised souls in the throes of diabolical torture. The moans around them were loud and heartfelt.

  ‘I can’t believe we’ll be paying for this, if we join after the free trial. Are we masochistic or what?’ Cara flopped over onto her belly, and began levering herself up off the floor. The image of beached whale came to mind as she did so, but she held back mentioning it in case it made Laura feel even worse than she already did about her size.

  Laura weighed as much as Cara, but was five inches shorter, coming in at just over five two in stockinged feet. While Cara felt uncomfortable with the extra pounds she’d put on with the onset of early menopause, for Laura it was obesity that had her fearful for her health. Her doctor had told her that she was at risk of Type 2 Diabetes, and her heart couldn’t put up with the strain she was putting on it for very much longer.

  Cara reached down, and offered her best friend a hand up. Laura took it gratefully.

  Then, as they picked up their mats, and took them over to the growing pile by the door, they began planning their lunch treat. They’d promised themselves a healthy, delicious meal at the gym’s café if they made it through the aerobics class today.

  As they staggered out the door of the classroom they had to pass through the main gym, where the serious equipment for fitness enthusiasts was set up in neat rows in front of wall to wall mirrors. For a Saturday morning, the room was busy, and Cara couldn’t help glancing longingly at the athletic bodies jogging, rowing and lifting weights.

  ‘Oh, to be young enough to interest a toy boy like that!’ Laura whispered girlishly, indicating with a nod of her head a well-built young man on a treadmill.

  Cara looked in the direction she was gesturing, and saw a seriously stunning example of young male flesh. He was tall – well over six feet, with broad shoulders, muscular body, and well-defined six-pack abs revealed beneath sweat-drenched T shirt. His hair was a tawny reddish-brown, cut close to his scalp at back and sides, but with a long lock that fell artfully over his broad forehead into his eyes. A frown of deep concentration made the handsome face look mildly dangerous. And, the best part of the eye candy for Cara, not a tattoo in sight.

  They were just about alongside his treadmill when the young man’s legs seemed to give out under him. He dropped to his knees, and then slid off the machine as the rubber beneath him reached the end of the belt.

  Cara rushed to his aid, not even think about the embarrassment a young man might experience being assisted by an overweight woman old enough to be his mother.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked, leaning over to see if he was hurt. A pair of forest green eyes looked up at her in shock. He tried to speak, but all he managed to get out was a grunt.

  ‘Fumble Foot at it again?’ A deep, sarcastic voice shattered Cara’s focus, and she suddenly became only too aware how ridiculous she looked trying to offer assistance a jock.

  A burly instructor came over, and offered the fallen man his hand. The young man took the hand, and allowed himself to be drawn, none-too-gently to his shaky feet.

  ‘He may look pretty, ma’am, but he has the grace of a baby elephant and the verbal skills to match. Right, Fumble Foot?’

  The young man blushed, dropping his head, and hunching his shoulders. Cara hated to see anyone belittled this way, and she reached out to place a comforting hand on the young man’s golden arm.

  ‘It’s easy enough to lose your balance on those machines. Your instructor should have been monitoring you more closely. There are all sorts of OH and S issues associated with this sort of equipment.’ She snapped out the last part, as she threw a scorching glance at the meat-headed bully.

  ‘I’m…I…I’m okay,’ the young man stammered out, pulling away from her, and stumbling away toward the men’s change rooms.

  ‘Mother Henning that one will get you nowhere. He’s been coming in here every day for a week, and he can still barely put one foot in front of another. Or two words together, without stammering, for that matter. Not right in the head, I’d say,’ offered Meathead with a sneer.

  ‘Have you even heard of your legal responsibilities under Duty of Care?’ Cara snapped at him. ‘If he is disabled, the law is very clear on his rights and your responsibilities. You can lose your job, my friend, and worse. So start behaving like a professional or I’ll be filing a complaint with your Manager.’

  The shocked expression
on Meathead’s face was more than enough satisfaction for Cara. She hated people like this guy, who built themselves up by stomping on the weakest of their kind. If she had a dime for every story of abuse she’d heard over the years, she’d be a rich woman. As it was, working with autistic kids didn’t make her anywhere near rich.

  But she loved the work, loved the kids, for all they were some of the most difficult human beings on the planet. And she loved her life. She didn’t focus on what she no longer had, or what had been taken from her, she focused on the here and now, and was grateful for that.

  ‘Wow, you’re a real lioness when it comes to protecting your cubs, aren’t you?’ Laura said in awe, as they swept into the change room on a wave of adrenalin.

  ‘Yeah, well, jerks like that need the tables turned on them occasionally.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re on my side, because you’d make a really scary enemy.’

  Cara didn’t know whether to take Laura’s observation as a compliment or an insult. She didn’t like to think of herself as scary, or an enemy for that matter. She wanted to be seen as a nice person liked for who she was.

  As they were leaving the change room, so was the good looking boy from the treadmill. Cara couldn’t help stopping to speak to him.

  ‘Hey, hope I didn’t embarrass you back there. I jump in to help, even when people don’t really need it.’ She smiled at him, and her heart did a little dance as his clean, male scent hit her olfactory senses.

  Down girl, he’s not much more than a child! But her hormones denied the word ‘child’. This was very much a man, albeit a young one. And the woman in her recognised it.

  ‘It’s cool,’ the young man said with a shy smile. ‘It’s nice when someone cares enough to lend a hand, needed or not.’

  Cara blinked back her amazement. This was not the reply she’d expected. He was articulate and confident, with no sign of a stutter or other speech impediment.

  ‘Good, that’s good. Well, nice to have met you.’ She didn’t know what else to say as she roller-coastered back from mother-hen to insecure middle-aged matron in three seconds flat.

  Laura was looking at her strangely, sensing her awkward shift of perspective.

  ‘I’m Jac, by the way. Can I invite you ladies to lunch?’ He looked from one to the other of them. ‘I’d like to repay the kindness, and I hate sitting in the cafe on my own.’

  ‘I… that would be very nice, but you don’t have to…’

  ‘We’d love to!’ Laura over-rode her with a smile. Then she started up a lively conversation with their new friend as they headed for the trendy gym café that overlooked the lake.

  Standing in line at the cafeteria style food counter, Cara was very aware of Jac standing beside her. Even though there were several polite inches between them, she was sure she could feel his body heat warming her. And when he addressed questions to her, she loved the way she had to lift her head up to look at him. Being a tallish woman meant that most men where at eye level for her, and it was nice when she was forced to look up like this. It made her feel small and feminine, especially when the male towering over her was broad shouldered and muscular.

  ‘What do you do?’ asked Laura, as they sat down with their chicken salads and large coffees. There were no tables left that overlooking the lake, so they’d taken one nearest the exit.

  ‘Techy, I’m afraid. For IBM at Armonk.’

  ‘Really? Do you design software?’ Cara was suddenly interested in the direction of the conversation, rather than Jac’s long, artistic hands that were clamped tightly around a cup of black coffee.

  ‘No, hardware. State of the art stuff.’

  ‘Okay, that’s pretty impressive for someone your age. You probably make more in a day than I do in a month!’

  Cara laughed, trying to cover her inappropriate comment. What was wrong with her? Talking about how much he earned was so not PC. And she didn’t mean personal computer.

  Jack laughed with her, and shrugged. ‘I’m a nerd, what can I say? And I’m actually older than I look. Bane of my life. I still get carded at clubs.’

  Cara smiled. His genuineness was so appealing. It was almost as if he was happy sitting with two older ladies, when there were several leggy twenty-somethings eyeing him from other tables. He ignored the young women comfortably.

  Their meal was finished way too soon for Cara, but she could think of no good reason to postpone the inevitable. Gesturing to Laura to follow her, she finished off the last of her coffee, and stood up.

  ‘Thanks for lunch Jack, and nice to have met you,’ she said, offering him her hand.

  For a long moment he didn’t respond, and she wondered if he was going to refuse to shake her hand. Then, his arm came up jerkily, and his hand clamped onto her fingers. The pressure made her squirm with pain.

  ‘Ouch, sorry. Neurological condition. Hits at the most inopportune times,’ he said with a gasp of horror, as he released her hand, and drew back.

  She felt her heart give another little skitter. He was such an oddity. One minute he was an awkward teen, the next he was a sophisticated male, older than he looked. Then, in blink of an eye, he was back to being an embarrassed, damaged youth again. It broke her heart to see someone obviously so intelligent, good looking and ‘nice’, struggling with such adversity.

  ‘No big deal, nothing broken. Hopefully we’ll run into each other again…’ Cara smiled her farewell, as she hustled Laura from the café.

  ‘Boy, you have that kid wrapped around your little finger,’ Laura said, as they made their way to the parking lot. ‘He barely looked at anyone but you the whole time.’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot, he was just being polite.’ Cara put as much conviction into her reply as she could muster. The fact was, he had seemed more than passingly interested in her and what she had to say. And the nerves, or neurological condition, only seemed to manifest when he was dealing directly with her.

  She tried not to feel flattered by the attention. It was probably just that she reminded him of his mother. That had to be all it was. He couldn’t possibly be interested in her!

  Chapter Two

  Jac Ulster lay back on the hard mattress of his modest hotel room. He could afford better, but he didn’t like to waste resources. And when he looked around at this early twenty first century lifestyle he saw more than enough of that kind of waste going on already.

  He regretted what these people, with their out of control consumerism, were doing to themselves and their planet. His planet. But he could do nothing to stem the tide, just as he could not stop the German people from following Hitler, or lemmings running off cliffs.

  Changing history was complex, and it was thwart with danger. One wrong step and they could wipe out the genetic line of one of the founders of time travel. But then, without time travel, there would be no interference with that ancestral line. The founder would once more be born, and go on to master time travel again. They would then go back in time, alter the Continuum that ends the genetic line, and so on, ad infinitum. A temporal loop. Way too dangerous to mess with.

  Lifting his hand up in front of his face, he practised flexing his fingers. They were getting better. His fine motor skills were improving quickly. He’d even managed to eat his chicken salad at lunch without embarrassing himself. Pity there’d been that momentary glitch when Cara had offered him her hand in farewell. It only happened when he took his eye off the ball – lost concentration. His fine motor skills were not habitual yet. That kind of programming took time, and couldn’t be hurried.

  Setting Down four weeks before D Day, he’d used the first week to rehab his body at the gym Cara’s records said she’d joined eighteen days before D Day. It was here he’d meant to make first contact with her, when the time was right.

  It was harder to do the rehab he required without specialized equipment, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He was lucky it was this century, and not an earlier one where there was no technology to aid rehab. It was as close to what he w
as used to as would be available again for another century or more. The Second Dark Age was not long away.

  Seeing Cara today had been a shock. That was when he’d taken his eye off the ball the first time. She wasn’t supposed to have joined the gym yet. But, over lunch, he’d found out that she and her friend Laura were on a trial period, which would end in a few days. There was obviously no record in the system of the trial, only the subscription. That was the trouble with records. They only told half the story.

  So he’d made first contact ahead of schedule. Not ideal, but it seemed to be working. His obvious limitations seemed to appeal to her. If he’d thought it through, he would have realised that, given her career choice, she would be much more open to someone with a perceived disability than a perfect specimen. Much easier to build the rapport needed when on familiar ground.

  He’d got pretty good at manipulation over the last hundred and twenty years, and he’d make a pretty good salesman in this society, if he ever had to. But he didn’t like manipulating people, preferring to give them time to make informed choices where possible. Unfortunately, he couldn’t afford to waste time waiting for them to weigh up the pros and cons. Every day was one less for his body. And if he hated wasting resources on good hotels, he hated wasting the days of his bodies, more. Each body only had thirty years of shelf life for him. Waste a day, a week, a month, and that brought him that much closer to having to go through this god-awful readjustment phase again. Of course, that was no longer an issue anymore. He’d reached his limit.

  Sometimes, particularly in the early days of Jumping, he’d enjoyed spending time in other historical periods. It had been like a working holiday. He’d even waste a week here or there, to see the sites, and drink in the atmosphere.

  But standing in front of the clone tubes had brought him back to earth with a thump. The clones weren’t bred for him to have fun with. They weren’t toys, like fast, expensive cars were to this society. They were vehicles, work horses, to get the job done, which in this case was protecting their species from extinction.