New Atlantis Bundle, Books1-3 Page 3

  But the look of pleasure and excitement on Cara’s face, as she took his arm and led him through the milling crowd, made it bearable. Her soft, curvy body pressing up against his, as they navigated through the crush, had his new body responding in a familiar, if uncharacteristic manner.

  Getting physically aroused was usually the last part of a new clone to come on-line. Sometimes, it took years before he felt comfortable enough in a body to experience such a response. He’d always put it down to the clone’s sterility. Without the biological urge powering testosterone, certain urges were irrelevant. Unwanted.

  But here he was, less than two weeks into the new body, and he was hard and wanting.

  He fought the desire to pull Cara against his hips, and use the contact to heighten his pleasure. She would be horrified to know what she did to him. It would be enough to drive her away. This was not the sort of woman who would think the attentions of a much younger man were exciting. It was more likely she would be offended.

  They inched their way to an empty table close to the dance floor. There were already a few showy dancers strutting their stuff out on the teak parquet flooring. Watching them made him feel all the more out of his depth. Even when his body was comfortably his, he never felt confident enough to dance. That required a level of inhibition he had never possessed.

  ‘You look worried,’ Cara said, close to his ear. He could feel her breasts pressing against his arm, and his arousal twitched in response. This was definitely not a conscious reaction, he decided, as sweat broke out on his forehead. His body’s response to Cara’s closeness was totally unexpected and unwanted. Being sexually attracted to a Target was inappropriate and against Protocol. But whatever was happening to him was beyond his control.

  Certainly, he’d always liked full figures like hers. There was something womanly about them. The androgynous girls at the gym, some of them sporting artificially large breasts, didn’t do anything for him. He belonged to a different time, when media didn’t promote the virtues of one body type over another. The clones came in all shapes and sizes, and were valued for their diversity. His personal preferences were just that, preferences. And should not be relevant, in his current role, he tried to remind himself without much success.

  What had she asked him? Oh, yeah, something about being worried. About his reaction to her? That would be a big YES. But that was not what she meant, and he knew it.

  ‘No, not really. I just feel a bit uncomfortable. I don’t like crowds.’ He decided to be as honest with her as possible. There was too much game playing going on, without him trying to be someone other than who he was. And besides, she actually seemed to like who he was.

  ‘Oh no, why didn’t you tell me! We’ll leave now. Come on.’ And she was ready to do just that, even though she obviously liked being here and wanted to stay.

  ‘Let’s go out there on the dance floor while there aren’t a lot of people dancing,’ he offered instead.

  What’s wrong with me? I’m offering to be centre of attention while my unco-ordinated body treads on her toes. What am I thinking!

  She seemed to be wondering the same thing, as her pretty blue eyes, lightly accentuated by makeup, stared at him in disbelief.

  ‘If you’re worried I’ll make a fool of you…’ he began.

  ‘No, god no, Jack. I just thought you might feel exposed out there.’

  ‘Won’t know if I never try.’

  She smiled uncertainly, and stood up, offering him her hand. He got to see her full figure from a different angle now. The pretty blue dress, with its flared skirt, really accentuated her small waist and rounded hips and stomach. His arousal throbbed, and he wondered if every person in the room would notice his predicament when he got out on the dance floor. At least his black jeans and untucked black shirt covered his offending member.

  He stood up, and took her hand, allowing her to lead him out into the relatively empty space of the dance floor. The upbeat number came to an end as they arrived, and the band started playing something slow and sexy. She smiled her sympathy, and offered him her arms. He stepped into the dance pose, feeling like he was entering the lion’s den.

  Dear God, does she have to press herself against me like that? And that funny little confused look that just crossed her face. She knows. She felt it. Damn, how did I let myself get talked into this?

  ‘You okay, Jack? We can go, if you like.’

  ‘No, no, I can do this. Go ahead. What do I have to do?’

  ‘Let’s just do a bit of a two-step to start, hey? Get the rhythm? Relax into it a bit.’

  ‘’Kay.’

  ‘Pull me in closer. See, my feet are between your feet – one of yours, one of mine, one of yours, and one of mine. That makes it possible for our hips to stay close and in alignment. Keeps us moving together. Now, you take a step forward with your right foot, and I’ll step back with my left…’

  He brought his focus to her instruction, and moved his foot forward. Her thigh, pressed to his, moved with him. Suddenly, images of her beneath him, moving with him in a different dance, flashed into his head. For a moment, his legs nearly went out from under him. But Cara must have felt it happening, because she quickly lent him her strength long enough for him to regain control.

  ‘Good. Now bring your left foot forward to align with your right foot.’

  He did as she told him, and realised they had mastered their first step. He smiled broadly, totally impressed with himself.

  ‘Good going. Okay, now all we’re going to do is do that backwards. I’m going to step forward, and you’re going to step back, so we’re back where we started. Okay?’

  He nodded, too intent on getting this right to try to speak. How did he ever get control of these bodies? He felt like he was in a vehicle with sloppy steering and no brakes.

  They managed the move back with comparative ease, and when Cara smiled at him he felt as if he’d won the Olympics. He’d actually run a race at one of the original Olympic Games. He’d been five years into that body at the time, and it had responded well. He hadn’t been desperate about running naked, but he’d gone along with it. That’s what you did in-situ; go along, fit in, and blend into the background.

  He felt more naked now, holding the beautiful Cara in his arms, than he had that day. There had been no bothersome erection to contend with, back then.

  Now that they had mastered the steps, Cara started to get him to pay attention to the music. ‘Just let the music tell you when to step. There’s a beat. Can you feel the beat? Slow… that’s it. You got it.’

  She took a step back on the beat, and he followed. Then she stepped forward, and he followed. Soon, he was feeling it, and she was gently giving him control of their movements. He took it with pleasure, moving them backwards and forwards, as the oh-so-sexy music provided the rhythm.

  When the sax player did a solo, the plaintive sounds made his heart ache. With a jolt, he realised that he was having the time of his life.

  The music ended, and the band moved into an up-tempo number. More people started filing out onto the floor, and the pleasure of the moment evaporated. Time to go!

  Cara must have thought so too, because she led him from the floor over to a dark, quiet corner away from the crowd. Jac felt himself relax for the first time since they’d entered the club.

  A pretty waitress came over to take their order, and when he asked for a beer she politely requested to see his ID. Pulling a pained expression, for Cara’s benefit, he displayed his state-of-the-art forgery for the waitress’ approval. Then Cara ordered a wine spritzer, and the girl disappeared, leaving them alone, sitting close together in the nook that could have been designed just for them.

  ‘Thank you, Jack. I can see how hard it’s been for you. And I really appreciate that you put yourself out like this for me,’ Cara said, leaning in toward him. Her eyes were dark and soft, like still pools at midnight, and he had the strangest sensation, as if he was falling into them.

  How it happene
d, he didn’t know. One minute, he was getting lost in her eyes, and the next, his lips were touching hers, without conscious thought. And for one delicious moment, she responded. And he revelled in the sensation – the softness of her lips, the little gasp of pleasure, the clean floral scent of her, and the aching tenderness that flowed between them.

  Then she drew back, and covered her mouth with her hand.

  ‘Sor…, sss…orry. I dddidn’t m… mean that,’ he scrambled to apologise. He’d totally lost verbal control, as he fought to deal with the intense emotions seething through him.

  What was happening? His body couldn’t just take over like this?

  Throwing a horrified glance in Cara’s direction, he noted that her eyes were filled with compassion. And she was leaning in to place a gentle kiss on his cheek, speaking soft words into his ear. ‘You have no idea how flattered I feel, right now. It was the nicest compliment I’ve had from a man in more years than I want to remember. Probably more years than you’ve been alive. And that’s the problem, Jack. That’s the problem…’

  Suddenly he was furious. Rage surged up from nowhere, drowning his embarrassment and confusion. It washed over him like a red tingling tide, blocking out all rational thought. She was treating him like a child, and he was anything but. The absurdity of the situation infuriated him.

  It was time she understood who I really am. It was time she knew that this kid’s out-of-control body isn’t me!

  He climbed awkwardly to his feet, his temper making conscious control of his movements almost impossible. Grabbing her hand on the second attempt, he pulled her, none-too-politely, toward the exit. She followed along without a struggle.

  When he had her far enough down the street, away from the noise and milling patrons of the club, he stopped abruptly, and turned to her. She looked up at him in wordless confusion, fear flickering at the back of her eyes.

  Stop now. Don’t do this! He ignored the cautious warning.

  ‘You’re right. There is an age difference between us, Cara,’ he snapped, looking down into her upturned face. Her big blue eyes were wide with shock.

  ‘I’m glad you un…’ she started to say.

  ‘Let me finish,’ he interrupted with a slash of his jerky hand. ‘I am three hundred and twelve years old. You’re what - forty five? You do the math. I am way too old for you!’

  He couldn’t remember the last time he was so furious. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her, and hold her against his aching arousal. This kind of loss of control was so uncharacteristic; he didn’t recognise himself any more.

  ‘Jack, don’t be silly. There’s no need to make a big deal out of this. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. It wasn’t my intention.’

  He did grab her then, giving her a little shake to stop her talking. Stop! Don’t do this!

  ‘You’re not listening to me, Cara. I’m not offended; I’m just damned frustrated by having to play this game with you. I’ve been telling you half-truth from the first moment I met you. I’ve had it!’

  He drew in several deep breaths, trying to keep control of his language faculties and his hold on her shoulders, at the same time. Both required more energy than he could muster, even though Cara had gone completely still under his hands.

  ‘I was born on July 26 2088 in New York City. When I reached thirty two, the last of the great plagues wiped out my whole family, and pretty much every one else, too. The planet had been on the edge for sixty years by then, wars, pollution, pandemics, and natural disasters. We’d been lucky to get that far.

  ‘By the time the plague was finished with us, there were only a few hundred thousand people left on the whole planet. And, most of us who were left weren’t doing well. Our immune systems were compromised. What was left of the world government gathered us together in the least damaged parts of the planet, and they told us about cloning. How they could manufacture a new body for each of us, and put our Consciousness into it.

  ‘This body you see here, Cara. This is number nine for me. I traded my first model in at age thirty two, and I’ve been upgrading to a new body – just like this one – for the last three hundred years. Or two hundred and forty years, if you’re talking time-line specific.

  ‘So, no, you aren’t too old for me. If I’d got this Target a few weeks ago, you’d be staring at a fifty year old man. I damn well wish you were staring at a fifty year old man!’

  He let Cara go, falling back against the wall of the nearest building, the last of his adrenalin-fuelled energy fading fast. It was early in the evening, and most of the party crowd were yet to head out for the night. It was quiet. Too quiet. All he could hear was his own raspy breaths.

  ‘I’d like to go home now, please. I can take a taxi. But I need to go home.’ Her voice wobbled.

  For a few fractured moments, he stared at her, knowing he had no way back from this. Maybe he’d sabotaged his efforts so he didn’t have to tell her. But there was more to it than that. Something weird was happening to his usual rational control. He shouldn’t feel like this, behave like this.

  This isn’t me!

  ‘Okay, I’ll get you one,’ he said, when the silence had gone on too long.

  He felt strangely dislocated, as if he wasn’t in his body at all; but floating somewhere above it. Or around it. It was probably due to putting too much pressure on the new connection too quickly. The stress was threatening the integrity of the amalgam. He needed to get back. He needed to abort, and get back before he C & Bed!

  He hailed a passing cab, and opened the door for her. There was nothing he could think to say. Every chance he had of convincing her to step away from this life and join another, three centuries into the future, was shattered. To her, he was a crazy man. And, even to his own ears, he had sounded that way.

  ‘Call me tomorrow,’ she said, handing him a business card. ‘I want to know you’re all right.’

  He wanted to cry. The tears were welling up, and he had to blink hard to clear them. She thought he was crazy, and yet she was still worried about him. Still wanted to help him. He couldn’t decide if she was insane or angelic.

  As the cab pulled away, he watched it. Then his vision blurred, and he felt the hot tears running down his cheeks.

  No Cara, I’m not all right. I’m anything but all right.

  Chapter Four

  Cara climbed the stairs to her second floor apartment in a kind of trance. She felt numb, in the same way she’d felt numb when the police had come to tell her about Bill and Billy. Numb.

  She undressed, hung her blue dress on a hanger, washed the makeup off her face, brushed out her hair, put on her summer nightshirt, and climbed into bed. Then she just sat there – trying to think, trying to get the energy to turn off the light. Trying to be normal.

  But she didn’t feel normal. She felt shattered, from the inside out. There was no fear, although the rational part of her brain told her that she should have been afraid. Schizophrenics could be dangerous to themselves and others. If their delusion was threatened, they could get dangerous. If the voice in their head told them to hurt someone, they often would.

  That her gorgeous, intelligent Jac was mentally ill, devastated her. That he lived in a world where such sad delusions were his reality, hurt her. Would she have walked away from Billy, if he’d developed schizophrenia? No, she wouldn’t. She would have supported him, and hoped that there would have been other people, friends, who would also have helped him.

  She desperately hoped Jac called her tomorrow. Once the shock passed, she would be able to think clearly. She would know what to do to help him. There were people she knew who could get him the sort of help he needed.

  Finally, she was able to reach over and switch off the light. But she didn’t sleep. And the night became an endless loop of tragic moments that had defined her life.

  She saw her ten year old self standing in Laura’s pink bedroom, her little portable radio playing ABBA’s ‘Knowing Me, Knowing You’, as she worried that her parents w
ere late picking her up.

  Next came Laura’s mum’s face, as pale as a sheet, kneeling in front of her as she told her that there had been a car accident.

  Why was it always car accidents that took those she loved from her? Such a sudden, unreal ending, leaving a door open for the possibility that the dead might still be alive, just waiting for the perfect moment to pop back in and say, ‘Surprise, got you a good one this time!’

  That was why she’d had to see Billy’s body laid out at the funeral home, when it was his turn. To kill the hope that would have tortured her for years to come. He wouldn’t be coming back. Dead. Really dead. Bill had killed her son in that car crash, and his own death was not nearly payment enough for his negligence.

  Then her mind flashed to her twenty two year old self, standing at her grandmother’s grave, listening to a lone singer chorusing, ‘Nearer to Thee My God’, and feeling afresh, the utter loneliness of that moment. This death was not sudden. This death was long and protracted, and a mercy when it finally came. But it still left her shocked by the finality of it. The emptiness of it.

  The loop of tragedy continued: This time she saw her thirty-five-year-old self sitting in the kitchen of the home she shared with Bill and Billy. Bill’s most recently spurned girlfriend was telling her all about his affairs with her, and four other women, over the years of their marriage. The bleached blonde with double D breasts – such a caricature of the ‘other woman’ – was calling her ‘pathetic’ for putting up with his infidelities all those years. The numb incomprehension of it. How could she not have known?

  Billy’s face, when she told him his father was moving out.

  Billy’s face, in that coffin six years ago.

  Jac’s face, as he watched her get into the taxi – so lost, so alone. It was his resignation that had made her reach out to him – the sense that her rejection was an all-too-familiar experience for him. No one deserved to feel so resigned to their lonely fate.

  Ten year old Laura, waving goodbye at the curb-side, as the taxi took young Cara away from everything she’d ever known. Resigned to her fate…