New World Man

"How do we outrun every military on earth?"

"We go back in time!"

"Oh sure. Obviously."

"It's actually quite simple once you stop insisting that it's impossible."

George Durham had been living a boring life until his old college friend, world-renowned genius inventor Heath Horner, appeared with an offer he couldn't refuse. Overnight, he found himself as the right-hand-man to one of the world's richest, and most mysterious, men: traveling the globe, bedding exotic women, and participating in a series of increasingly dangerous schemes.

When a particularly ambitious effort to free a war-torn African country from its brutal dictator goes wrong and they find themselves on the run from the combined military might of the world's superpowers, Heath reveals that their salvation is at hand thanks to his recent perfection of time-travel technology. In the blink of an eye, George finds himself in pre-Columbian North America, grappling with the most ambitious, and audacious, plan in history. As the reality of his mission sinks in, not to mention the challenges of living over five hundred years in the past, he begins to realize that his future holds but two possibilities: die forgotten in a past no one will remember, or change the course of the whole of human history.

New World Man is the tale of an unremarkable man who, with the help of a growing number of beautiful companions and some of the most amazing technology imaginable, attempts the impossible in an effort to prevent the unthinkable.

Author's Note:

All sensuality (on page or otherwise) takes place between characters who are eighteen or older.

This novel is a work of romantic science fiction. It features plenty of sex, violence and impolite language; plus a perspective on the impact of European imperialism which does not align with the traditional white American conservative worldview. Proceed with caution.

Copyright © 2023 Jake Lazarus

All rights reserved.

This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the author (except for the use of brief quotations in a review).

This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, business, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

One

"Pardon. Je ne parle pas Français," George Durham stammered to the frustrated customs official. "Parlez vous Anglaise?"

The official sighed and said, "What is the purpose of your visit?" in unaccented English.

George smiled triumphantly and said, "I'm on vacation."

"Really? And just where do you intend to go on this vacation?"

"I'm not sure. It's a spur of the moment thing and I just wanted to kind of go exploring."

"In Cote d'Ivoire?"

"Sure. I've always heard about the Ivory Coast in the news, and I decided to visit and see what all the fuss was about."

The official sighed resignedly and muttered, "Let me see your papers."

George quirked an eyebrow and said, "I already gave you my passport."

"I was referring to your proof of evacuation insurance. Or have you not been informed of your State Department's recommendations on traveling here?"

"Oh, they're just being overly cautious. I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Your funeral," the official shrugged as he stamped George's passport.

George shouldered his backpack and proceeded through the immigration office at the surface port and out onto the busy street. He donned his sunglasses and hat, in deference to his red hair and extremely pale skin and gazed around to take in his surroundings. It took only moments for him to spot several groups of young men eyeing him hungrily. He glanced skyward, almost as though lost in thought, before nodding approvingly and stepping up to the curb to scan the street for his ride. He waved several taxis that slowed next to him on before finally climbing into the back of an ancient elongated German sedan.

After the car set off, he pulled out his phone and texted:

just got picked up

everything going according to plan

The trip was a lengthy one and the taciturn driver did nothing to liven up the ride. George contented himself with watching the bustling city fade into flowing grasslands. Everywhere he looked, he saw the evidence of crippling poverty which was only heightened by the ubiquitous roving bands of heavily armed young males. He continued to glance skywards as the trip stretched into its second hour.

George was pulled from his reverie as he felt the car lurch to a stop. A quick look around told him that they were parked before a tall iron gate and surrounded by armed soldiers. He said, "What is the problem?"

A soldier standing beside the car tapped on the window with the business end of a pistol. After a moment's hesitation, George pressed the button to lower the barrier.

"Mr. Durham?"

"What is the meaning of this?" George snapped in irritation. "You know very well who I am."

"Please exit the vehicle."

"What for? I'm here to see your boss, not you. Pass me through immediately."

"I think not. You will submit to inspection for contraband."

"Meaning you intend to rob me? You really think it's worth blowing up the deal between our respective bosses for a used cell phone and a few hundred dollars?"

"Le Général is certain your...boss...as you say, will be more than willing to negotiate reasonably for the return of his good friend."

"Don't do this," George replied despondently.

"You are concerned he will not secure your release?"

George heard faint, high frequency buzzing which was rapidly getting louder. He sighed wearily and said, "Not exactly. Last chance to release me, Colonel Kouame."

"How do you know my name?"

"We know everything about you, sir. How long you've been with the General; how you buy the loyalty of your men with threats of assigning their sons to the most dangerous units; even just what you look for in the young boys whom you force to share your bed."

"How dare you," the colonel seethed as he stuck his pistol beneath George's chin. "You'll beg me for death before the day is out."

"No," George replied sadly. "I won't."

He looked back toward the car as he made a demonstrative thumbs down gesture with his left hand. The buzzing became deafening, and he heard soft grunts burst from the lips of the armed men surrounding him. Moments later, he heard the thumps of their bodies hitting the ground. He looked around to find all of the men laying lifeless, their faces a mask of terrified agony.

"Stupid bastards," George muttered.

Before he could even consider his next move, his phone rang.

"Believe me now," the caller said by way of greeting.

"Did you have to kill all of them?"

"If I hadn't, I assure you the Colonel's aide-de-camp was prepared to follow through on his superior's threats. We have thousands of intercepts from the General's entire inner circle. Nothing will ever convince them to relinquish the power they believe they hold. Even had you succeeded in convincing the General otherwise, his lieutenants would have immediately assassinated him and taken his place. This is about power, pure and simple. The plight of their citizens means nothing to them."

George sighed and said, "It doesn't seem like we have any choice, my friend. How do you propose to get me out of here."

"A helicopter will be there shortly to return you to the Executor. Be safe, my friend."

***

George watched the ship his friend had dubbed the Executor grow in size as the helicopter approached. The erstwhile supertanker was surprisingly hard to spot, thanks to the paint scheme which made it so easy for the eye to miss the enormous ship in the background of the endless ocean. The process of landing on the ship in motion always seemed to him such an unnatural act, and George was content to concentrate on his phone until he felt the aircraft jolt slightly as it touched down.

As he debarked, his eyes locked in on Anais, his best friend's concubine, sunning herself on the ship's expansive deck. She was difficult to miss, thanks in no small part to her pinup-worthy body on full display. The deck crew pretended not to see her, no doubt out of fear of what would occur should they be caught ogling their boss's devastatingly beautiful companion, but George felt no shame in taking a moment to appreciate her nude form. He knew well his friend's jealousy was limited to touching, not looking.

George entered the superstructure and headed straight for the lift. He rode up to the penultimate level, just below the bridge, and exited to the foyer. He was greeted by the sight of his friend's personal assistant, Rachel. She stood and smiled tolerantly at George, an expression which he returned not without difficulty. While not remarkably short for an American woman, she still topped out at more than three dozen centimeters less than his admittedly towering height of just a shade under two meters. Their difference in stature made the task of not glancing down the front of her casual sundress at the canyon of cleavage created by her massive breasts a Herculean effort.

She greeted him in a high-pitched, child-like voice which always gave George the willies, "Mr. Horner is expecting you."

She reached beneath the lip of her desk and the door behind her opened noiselessly. George proceeded through the door, ignoring the way it closed just behind him and audibly latched. The room he had entered never failed to impress him, either in its opulence or its dimensions. It was several times the size one would expect from a typical head of a multinational corporation and was filled with an eclectic combination of priceless artwork and the types of posters one would expect to find in a college dorm room. The back wall was entirely transparent, giving a view over the bow of the ship. Also comfortably in view, George realized as he approached his friend, was Anais' sunbathing spot.

Seated at a desk which would have dwarfed an SUV was his oldest and best friend, Heath Horner. Had he been standing; Heath would have come only to George's shoulder even though he massed at least sixty kilos more than his friend. He had a well-trimmed beard which matched his Caesar-styled brown hair. He was dressed expensively in a reasonably successful effort to conceal his bulk and projected every bit of the power George knew him to wield.

Heath gestured for George to sit before saying, "Well?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"That I was right, of course."

"Fine," George allowed. "You were right. So...now what?"

"We complete their liberation. Taking out that ridiculous Colonel and his sycophants was a start, but that self-styled General must be removed before those poor people will ever be free."

"There must be another way besides just taking them all out."

"I welcome your tactical input, George," Heath replied tolerantly. "But I've had our best computers working on this problem for weeks and, absent an army, they insist that assassination is the only way of freeing that country."

"So, what happens when the people discover that their dictator, and all his subordinates, have mysteriously died simultaneously from what any reasonable autopsy will insist is a heart attack? You don't think they'll be suspicious?"

"I think they'll be overjoyed at their freedom. If you'd spent your entire life being ground under the heel of a ruthless dictator and you suddenly found yourself with the freedom you'd prayed for every day of your now formerly-miserable existence, would you question how it came to be or would you thank every God you could think of for your salvation? Honestly, George, I'm a little confused why you're opposed to this."

"Because you're talking about killing hundreds of people, Heath. I get that it's for the greater good, but that's still pretty intense."

"You're right," Heath admitted. "I really tried to find a better way, but there just isn't one. If it helps assuage your conscience, we're talking about a group of people who are genuinely some of the worst that humanity has to offer. You yourself mentioned that pederast Colonel's loathsome tendencies."

"I know."

After a pause stretched between them, Heath sighed and said, "I meant what I said. If you can think of a better way, I'm truly all ears."

"I know you've already decided to do this. Why are you so concerned with my opinion?"

"Because you're the only person in the world who will tell me I'm wrong." He waved his hand at the windows behind him and continued, "They're all terrified of me, God knows why."

George chuckled ruefully and said, "Perhaps it's the army of deadly drones you control. Or the fact that you are, for all intents and purposes, the emperor of this floating country you've devised."

"Whatever the reason, those assholes would say, 'Capital idea sir!' if I suggested we have all the toilets flow backwards every new moon. I need your counsel, my friend. You're my good conscience."

George smiled comfortably and nodded his head toward the windows. "Is that why you don't flip your shit when I take a peek at your girl?"

"That woman!" Heath sighed. "I swear she's trying to goad me. When we're alone, she's as shy as a church mouse. But I tell her she can't go shopping in Monaco today and all of a sudden, she's sunning herself in sight of the entire crew wearing nothing but a sly smile. She'd love nothing better than for me to keelhaul someone for ogling her spectacular tits, just to prove she's got some measure of control over me.

"But you know me better than that, my friend. You can stare at her all you want. Hell, you can retire to your cabin and jerk off to the sight of her until your arm cramps up. Same with the lovely Rachel out there. But..."

"I know," George finished. "No touching."

"Indeed. In any case, what happened to that lady friend you picked up in Johannesburg?"

"Turns out she was susceptible to seasickness," George replied lamely.

Heath grinned at him wickedly and said, "This ship hasn't listed so much as a degree in more than a fiscal quarter. I suspect her unease might have been focused elsewhere."

"Perhaps," George allowed. "Not many women are keen to go from getting picked up in a bar to living on a private ship a hundred kilometers from land in a few days. If we ever stayed anywhere more than a few hours, I might get a chance to actually form a relationship with someone."

"Why would you need a relationship? Those are far more trouble than their worth."

"Says the man who has two beautiful big-titted women eager to warm his bed."

"Indeed. Say the word and I'll have my agents search the globe for a willing, and large breasted, concubine for you."

"No, thank you. I'm looking for more than just getting my dick wet. I want to form a

connection

with someone."

"Whatever for?" Heath said with a wicked smirk. "You've got me."

"You're right," George grumbled. "But unless you've made several policy changes around here while I was gone, you still don't put out."

Heath's bark of laughter was loud enough that Rachel lifted her head questioningly outside his door.

Two

George was roused from a deep sleep by the profoundly unpleasant feeling of seasickness. He managed to stumble into the head before emptying his stomach. After several thousand weeks of agony, which his suddenly untrustworthy watch insisted was only seventeen minutes, he staggered back into his stateroom and slumped onto the recliner which was near the floor-to-ceiling windows. Peering out over the bow of the ship, he could see that they were making modest headway through what appeared to be reasonably calm seas. Confused about the unaccustomed motion, he reached blindly for the phone sitting on his side-table and keyed in the number for the bridge.

"Bridge. Officer of the watch Navo speaking, sir," an annoyingly cheerful voice answered.

"What's wrong with the stabilizers?"

"Nothing."

"Then why did I just fill the sink in my quarters with partially used Swedish meatballs?"

"Mr. Horner instructed us to deactivate all non-essential systems which are computer controlled. We are navigating manually."

"Christ."

"Shall I send a stewardess to tidy up your quarters?"

"That won't be necessary."

"Will there be anything else, sir?"

"No," George replied wearily. "Thank you."

He hung up and slowly dressed before steeling his resolve for what promised to be an interminable trip to Heath's Command Center. A room which, unfortunately, did not enjoy the benefit of exterior windows.

Ten minutes later, he arrived at the guarded door deep within the bowels of the ship. He was admitted without a word and proceeded into what was arguably the most technologically advanced room in human history. It was perfectly round with a domed ceiling and the entirety of the exterior was capable of displaying video from up to a thousand sources simultaneously. The center of the room was a series of round tables configured for gesture-based control of not only the display, but also the array of super computers around which the ship had been built.

Heath was standing before one of the aforementioned tables, making occasional flicks with his fingers as he watched the wall along the aft section of the room. George looked in that direction to see a vast selection of views which all were taken from a few hundred meters off the ground.

Heath noticed George as he approached and looked up with a cherubic grin on his face. "Good morning!" he enthused.

"Why. Are the Stabilizers. Off?" George grunted in a desperate attempt to avoid succumbing once again to his nausea.

"Are you joking?" Heath responded brightly. "Look at this. You think it's easy controlling over a thousand drones simultaneously? I needed every bit of computing resources available."

"You couldn't have warned me?"

"Quit your bitching. If you're so miserable, take one of these," he held out an unmarked bottle of pills.

"What are these?" George said weakly as he took the bottle, even though he knew the chance that he would take one were at least fifty-fifty even if it could cause him to grow a third arm.

"Anti-nausea pills. Except, unlike the ones available commercially, they actually work. You chew them."

George took one and tossed it into his mouth. It tasted remarkably like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as he chewed it up and the churning of his stomach vanished almost before he finished swallowing.

He stared at Heath and said, "That's incredible."

Heath smiled triumphantly and said, "I know, right?"

"I assume you're proceeding with the liberation?" He received a nod in reply before continuing, "How's it going?"

"All assets will be in place in a few minutes. We're waiting for confirmation on the location of the last few hostiles."

"How many?"

"We've only got four left that we don't have eyes on."

George sighed and said, "I meant, how many are you targeting?"

"Eleven hundred and eight."

"Fuck," George breathed.

"I thought we were aligned on this," Heath grumbled.

"We are. I'll stop my complaining. How long until you get eyes on the rest?"

Heath gestured with his eyes to the screen. George's gaze was quickly drawn to the only few windows in which the picture was anything other than a static view of the top of a structure or encampment. As George watched, the screens seemed remarkably similar to a first-person shooter with the video quickly dashing through hallways and stairwells. He knew the images were coming from Heath's Yellow Jackets, drones no bigger than his hand which had a range of several hundred meters and were capable of delivering live video in addition to their primary, and much more deadly, objective of delivering a tiny liquid payload subcutaneously.