Bitter Oath (New Atlantis)

chapter THREE


Spring 2334 New Atlantis, GAIAN CONFEDERACY

Rene stepped back into Start Point eagerly. With a quick greeting to Anders, he hurried from the cavern, intent on researching Sir Hugo Mulgrave more fully. The line of data mentioning his exhibit at the National Museum in 1810 had necessitated a visit to that time. But it had been meant simply as a fishing expedition. He hadn’t expected it to net him these kinds of results. But, within a few days, he’d been able to verify that the Ser Moolgraaff the Obejwe had referred to was, indeed, Sir Hugo Mulgrave. And that his drawing perfectly matched the description of the legendary creature his Midew had spoken of with such awe.

Now he had the year of the expedition, and with some more sleuthing, he would have the details of Mulgrave’s journey. If he couldn’t locate the ship, the date and harbour he arrived in, then he would visit Foxmoor Manor and read the journal of his journey for himself.

The thought of seeing Livianna Mulgrave again was tempting enough for its own sake. Very tempting.

With a light-hearted laugh at the uncharacteristic direction his imagination was taking him, he entered the lift and waited the several seconds it took to transfer him to the surface. As he began striding along toward the moving pathway, which transported citizens out through the different precincts of the city, he took special notice of the pristine, colourful gardens and classical architecture that surrounded him. He had been gone only a few days, and yet this place seemed different somehow. Better. With a start, he realised the optimism that had been warring with his life-long pessimism, over the last few year, was finally winning.

He had found the trail that would take him to the legendary giant earth worm. And once found, he would be able to Retrieve live specimens for his experiments. These new developments weighted the scales heavily toward the positive. For the first time in his exceptionally long life, he felt they might just be able to save their beleaguered planet.

When he had finally been given the go ahead to experiment with Retrieval, not long after the Retrievers brought back the 150 women and children from Poland, he had started Retrieving fast reproducing specimens, to see whether the enforced sterility time travel wrought on humanity was evident in other species. Over a series of months, he had been able to Retrieve and reproduce life forms from single celled organisms right up to small mammals, such as mice. The genetic codes had remained intact and the lifespan seemed unaffected by the journey.

The news had excited the government and scientists everywhere. Others had joined his new branch of the Retrieval Program and a special research facility had been set up next to the Retriever’s headquarters. Naturalists from all fields were lining up for training, so they could become part of the new program.

So now he was certain, if he could find samples of the living worms, he would be able to bring them back alive and capable of reproducing. He would also bring back samples of their soil habitat and replicate it in New Atlantis, to see exactly how these creatures worked their magic. If research on the giant Palouse earthworm (Driloleirus americanus) was accurate, then the creature’s ability to burrow deep into the soil was the key. They could burrow right down to the water tables, and then come back up to the topsoil, to evacuate their moist faeces. This would provide the much needed moisture arid soils required for regeneration.

He remembered the moment he had seen the drawing in the glass display case, just as it had been described to him by his Midew. The exaltation he had felt had been hard to contain, and had morphed into determination when he was introduced to the pretty granddaughters of Mulgrave. Determination became aggression, as he sought to gain access to Mulgrave’s personal journal of the expedition. His behaviour had bordered on impolite, for that society, but he hadn’t cared. If he couldn’t track down the ship, port and date of Mulgrave’s arrival in Canada in 1750, he would have to read the journals to get the information. And he would do almost anything to get what he wanted.

The idea of going to Yorkshire to see Livianna Mulgrave again left him strangely breathless. It wasn’t that there was anything outstanding about her appearance. She looked like every other prissy miss of the time, her golden blonde hair tortured into ridiculous ringlets, her body wrapped in yards of washed out fabric that did nothing for her pale, slightly freckled skin. At least the Regency era had done away with the corsets and other dire torturous pieces of female apparel. And they wore no makeup, which was another blessing.

But for all Livianna’s average appearance, there had been something about her that had drawn his eye, even before she was pointed out to him as Mulgrave’s curator. It might have been the soft laughter he’d heard coming from that corner of the quiet room. Or the pleasing blush her cheeks seemed prone to. Or could it be the liquid brown eyes that reminded him of a fawn’s. Whatever it was, he had been drawn to meet her.

Then, when he realised that she was no typical ninny of that time, but an intelligent, articulate and educated woman, his interest had increased. And when she had looked deeply into his eyes, it was as if she saw right into his soul. It had been disconcerting, that in-depth scrutiny. But oddly rewarding. And he still carried that image of her in his mind, popping up at odd moments when his preoccupation with his research waned for a moment.

He half hoped the computers would not be able to locate information on Mulgrave’s journey. Seeing her again would be a bonus.

With light steps, he strode along the moving walkway toward the new research facility. And just as he left that path and started walking along between the Retriever’s buildings, he heard someone call his name.

Rene stopped and looked around. Coming toward him at a graceful jog, was Jane NewSW, her glorious hair blowing behind her like a bright copper cloud. He smiled.

‘Rene, how did it go? Have you found your mythical worm?’ she asked with a gasp, as she reached his side. Her perfect, porcelain skin was flushed with exertion, and the flecks of gold in her green eyes sparkled with interest.

‘Not mythical, anymore. It is now safely within the realm of legend. I have found my white explorer, and I have seen his drawing of the giant earthworm. It is everything I had hoped for, and more. His granddaughter has given me permission to read his journals, if I cannot find a record of his journey by other means.’

Jane tipped her head to one side and studied him closely. ‘What’s different about you? You’ve got a lightness about you I’ve never seen before. And your walls are down.’

‘My walls?’ He had to laugh. Jane was the closest thing to a friend he now had in New Atlantis, but she still seemed like a very young girl to him, at times. But he had been right about her being his Midew. And he had become her pet, just as he had been pet to so many medicine women in the past.

Jane had been the one at his side when he underwent his ninth transition, early than planned. Her assurances that he had the strength of will to make it, had given him the confidence to see it through. With everything opening up for him at the time, he’d been terrified by the thought of cutting his lifespan short, if the transition had failed. But her optimism and strength had been just what he needed. And now he had his youth back, and all the energy he needed to carry his plans to fruition.

‘Yes, your walls. And don’t look at me so innocently. You know what I mean. You intentionally keep people at a distance. Your colleagues see you are superior and unfriendly, but I know you aren’t either. You’ve just got thicker and higher walls than most of the Old Timers. I thought it was because you were so old, but now I’m not so sure. You suddenly seem to be as young as this new, drop-dead-gorgeous body of yours.’ Her expressive eyebrows wiggled suggestively at him.

He laughed again, feeling every bit as young as she observed him to be. ‘Watch it, kiddo, or I will be duelling your Bonded for you! Drop-dead-gorgeous, indeed. Who came up with such a saying?’

She nudged him in the shoulder with her fist and she pulled a funny face. ‘No duelling with Julio. I have enough trouble with his jealousy as it is. I tell him you’re just a friend, but he still gets pretty damn prickly.’

He threw his arm over her shoulder and drew her in so he could drop a kiss onto the top of her bright head. ‘No duelling, I promise. I know your heart belongs to that flashy Brazilian. I would not have a hope of winning you away from him, no matter how ‘drop-dead-gorgeous’ I am. I think it’s my preoccupation with bugs and worms that puts you off.’

Her arm had come around his waist and, for a moment, she held him close. Then she stepped away and looked up into his eyes. ‘So now that the flirting is done with, it’s time for sharing. Tell me about the worm hunt and what has put that twinkle in your eye.’

They began to walk along the path toward his research centre. ‘It was all so easy. I Jumped to a few days before the exhibit opened at the new British Museum and made the acquaintance of a suitable Lord at the gaming tables, where I lost a small fortune. The man was so impressed with my losing streak, and my fake pedigree, that he invited me to stay at his club for a few days, and proceeded to introduce me to suitably influential people. My tragic French background didn’t go astray. They hate Napoleon and the Revolution, so émigrés from that violent time are taken under their proverbial wing. Especially if they were wise enough to get out of the country with their fortunes intact.

‘Drumoyne accompanied me to the exhibit and I made quick work of finding just what I was looking for. The worm was beautiful! Don’t laugh you scamp! Worms can be beautiful, if they can regenerate the land. The man was even more useful when he introduced me to Mulgrave’s granddaughters. Livianna, the spinster granddaughter, was the curator of her grandfather’s collection. She invited me to Yorkshire to read his journals, so I can go in search of the creatures for myself.’

‘You’re talking like them, Frenchie. How long were you there?’

His mind went blank for a moment. How long had he been gone? It felt like years. But it had only been a little under a week. ‘It’s these clothes and hair. You feel obliged to be verbose and delicate when wearing them.’

She looked at him again, letting her eyes give him the once over. ‘It suits you. Although, I think I’d have preferred you in buckskins and paint. Did you ever go on the warpath in any of those Indian lifetimes?’

‘I made a point of always being a slave, so I wasn’t recruited into the warrior ranks. I had no desire to die in-situ. Or kill someone who might prove historically significant.’

‘It seems funny to think of Indians having slaves. They always seemed such free spirits in the movies.’

‘They were, and slavery was nothing like it was in the southern states of the US. I was part of the family, in much the same way as a guard dog or horse would be. They looked after me because I was valuable.’

‘And you never married an Indian Princess?’

‘No. Though there were times when it was encouraged, especially when they wanted to adopt me into the tribe so that I could fight with them. But I claimed I had no interest in women, or men for that matter, so I was able to stay…’

‘Behind your wall,’ she interrupted. ‘Which brings me back to why the wall is coming down. I can feel it. What’s changed, other than finding the trail of your magical worm?’

Her ability to see beneath the surface was a gift she shared with the many Midew he had known. At this moment, he found her ability disconcerting and unwanted.

‘I have no walls, Janey. More than that I cannot tell you…’

‘Tell me about the granddaughter. You called her a spinster. Does that mean she was old and thin, with a horsey face and spectacles?’

He laughed as he headed through the glass doors of the Regeneration Centre, and continued on down the corridor toward his laboratory, with Jane in tow. ‘Not old, not thin, and no glasses.’

‘Pretty?’

‘Yes. But more importantly, intelligent.’

‘Ah… what colour were her eyes?’

‘Brown, why?’

‘Hmmm…. Interesting.’

‘What is interesting? That I know the colour of her eyes? I am an expert observer, please remember.’

‘What colour are Cara’s eyes?’

He frowned and tried to picture Jac’s Bonded. She had white-blonde hair and golden skin, so it stood to reason her eyes were blue or grey, but he couldn’t say for sure.

‘How about that biologist on your team… Clarrice is it?’

‘Yes, Clarrice. No, I have no idea what colour her eyes are. So I am not as observant as I claim to be, is that what you are intimating?’

‘No. I just find it interesting that you know the colour of this spinster’s eyes, that’s all. Forget I mentioned it.’ She looked mischievous, and all he could do was shake his head in amused disgust.

‘Do you drive Julio to distraction, like you do me?’

She laughed and stopped in front of his door. He opened it and beckoned her in.

‘Nope, can’t come in. I’ve got my own work to do. Just wanted to get an update for the gossip mill. What’s the spinster’s name again?

‘I do not think I told you. Livianna… Livianna Mulgrave.’

‘Okay, thanks, that’ll do it then. See you later! Don’t be a stranger.’

And before he could say more, she was off, trotting back the way they had come like a leggy filly at her first race. He shook his head and grunted with amusement. Julio was one lucky son of bitch!

But, as quickly as that habitual thought came, it was immediately replaced with another. This one was accompanied by an image of inquisitive, brown eyes, a light dusting of freckles across an upturned nose, a wide mouth always on the verge of smiling, and a small, firm chin that had a slight dimple. The man who won Livianna Mulgrave would be an even luckier son of a bitch.

Damn Jane! Now she had him analysing his own responses to the spinster. He wasn’t interested in the woman. He was never interested in women. And that’s the way he liked it. It didn’t mean anything that he’d remembered the colour of her eyes. Nothing at all!

He consciously switched off that line of thought, and focused on his quest. With impatience, he seated himself at his terminal and called up the data on shipping manifests between London and Canada for 1749, 50 and 51.

If the occasional researcher who poked his head into Rene’s office, noted he still wore his 19th Century clothing, no one commented. They all knew what it was to be preoccupied and a little eccentric. And Rene was known to be both in spades.

It wasn’t until later that night that Rene finally returned to his unit in the dormitory precinct, to shower and change into his New Atlantean attire of white classical tunic and sandals. As he stood watching the moon rise over the mountain from his little balcony, a glass of fine, white wine in his hand, his thoughts turned once more to Livianna Mulgrave. What would she look like by moonlight? What would it feel like to kiss those laughter-ready lips in the moonlight?

He heard a soft ping from his Tablet, and he hurried back inside. He had set it to automatically dispatch information relevant to the Mulgraves as it was unearthed. This incoming info might be anything.

Mentally called up the new data, he watched as the screen was suddenly filled with the birth and death records of the Mulgrave family. Without analysing his actions, he focused on Livianna, the fourth of eight daughters born to Sir Hector Mulgrave. Her birth date was given as 20 January 1780. There was no record of marriage. She died 28 October 1810. Cause of death – a riding accident.

The explosive pain in his gut had him doubled over and gasping. In a little over four months from the time he met her, that lovely, brilliant woman would be dead. A promising life cut short. The unfairness of it left him feeling hopeless and furious.

But he was the first one to acknowledge that life was rarely fair. He’d learned that the hard way, over his nearly eight hundred years of existence. But this last bitter pill seemed more unfair than any other. That such a bright spirit was extinguished so early was a disservice to the world.

Rene consciously forced Livianna’s image out of his mind and requested the rest of the data. The shipping manifest for the ‘Genevieve’ appeared. Hector Mulgrave had taken passage on it from Portsmouth in May of 1749. The ship docked at the St Lawrence township twelve weeks later. That was a slow voyage. He knew that the crossing could take anything between seven to twelve weeks at that time. And it was always a hardship, even for the wealthy who could afford the best quarters.

So Mulgrave arrived at the end of the summer of ’49. He must have remained in St Lawrence for the winter months, preparing his expedition. Then he probably set out after the Spring thaw to traverse the rest of the river into Lake Ontario. From there he likely followed the northern shores of the Great Lakes west.

All Rene needed to do was be there at the docks when he first came ashore in ‘49. With the right financial incentive, he should be able to talk his way onto the expedition, when it left in the spring. Of course, he would not have to make the awful Trans-Atlantic journey. Nor would he remain in St Lawrence through the winter, thanks to the wonders of time travel. And he would leave the expedition as soon as he’d located the earthworm.

He should feel elated, now that he had confirmation of the expedition that would net him his prize. But, strangely, he felt nothing but sadness.

Jane had been right, Rene suddenly realised. He did have walls. They’d been down, just minutes ago. And he knew this because he could now feel them back up in place again. The lightness of the last few days had been replaced once more by the heavy weight of a lifetime of melancholy.

Her eyes are brown, Jane. And I might have loved her, given half the chance. But now he knew her D Day, and it was not from a disappearance that might give him hope. Her death was clear cut, with no ‘get out of jail free’ card in sight. Furthering their acquaintance would only mean heart ache he didn’t need. There would be no visit to Yorkshire in July of 1810. He would never see Livianna Mulgrave again.

He threw his Tablet across the room, and watched it smash into a thousand pieces.