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Katalin Nagy

Katalin Nagy, Author of The Birth of Races I was born in Budapest Hungary. I left Hungary when I was 23 and came to Australia as a refugee. Learning English and being a mother took up much of my time. Eventually I completed a Bachelor of Health Science in Complementary Medicine and now for the last eight years I’ve practiced as a naturopath and nutritionist. I am married with a very supporting husband and an adult son. I have two beautiful oriental cats spoiled by the whole family.


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The Birth of Races by Katalin Nagy Hidden Motives by Katalin Nagy

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The Birth of Races by Katalin Nagy
Many centuries in the past, a fraction of humanity left the Solar System to settle in their new home forming a united empire, the Federation. The accidental finding, by Firl and his friends, of an alien digging on one of the Federation settlements, led to the discovery of altered human genetic material in a number of people visiting the site.

Soon Federation is torn apart by political and personal turmoil caused by the friction arising between the affected and the non-affected. The affected split to form the Elites, eager to find out about their alien heritage and the Morphiks, keen to embark on their own evolution. Eventually Federation breaks up and in its place three separate empires form populated by the three races.

Word Count: 84000
Buy at: Smashwords (all formats) ~ Barnes and Noble ~ Amazon
Price: $4.99

Hidden Motives by Katalin Nagy
It has been many years since Simon moved back to Earth to take up a position in the Zone’s police force, after his relationship with beautiful Solace came to an abrupt end.

Lucy is forced to leave her sheltered life behind and move to Newtown. When they meet, Simon is reluctant to let love once more take hold within him, but when Lucy becomes the target of a man with a truly evil purpose, Simon summons all his knowledge and courage to save her.

Suspenseful, romantic murder mystery set in the newly populated Central Australia, with people of unexpected courage and friendship.

Word Count: 85722
Buy at: Smashwords (all formats) ~ Barnes and Noble ~ Amazon
Price: $ 4.99


The Birth of Races

Chapter One

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Captain—Getting drunk with the crew!”

Firl pushed his face just far enough from under the covers to squint at Veta, standing opposite his bed, watching him with a prim expression on her pretty face. Assigned Chief Health Authority to the ferry convoy, she was a stickler for rules; and in his and the crew’s opinion, in need of some special male attention.

“What are you doing here?” Clearing his throat and running a thick tongue around his teeth, he sat up, making no effort to cover his body. He pressed his hands to his throbbing temples, grimacing with pain.

“I am making sure personally that I interpreted your readings correctly. They indicate you are in pain. Do you have a headache, Captain?”

Firl squinted at her between his hands. “Go away, Veta,” he said, rising unsteadily and waving a waiting servbo aside, heading to the bathroom. The squat servbo skimmed after him, settling near the bathroom entrance, ready when needed.

Confused at the sudden feelings the sight of his body caused, Veta quickly left the room without further comment, wishing the doors were conventional. She felt like slamming something.

The convoy of four freighters carried supplies and equipment, and delivered merchandise between Federation Settlements and the outer colonies. Garry Hablock, the Federation-appointed inspector, contracted to investigate the routine renewal of Seven Belts and Halem Company’s mining license, was accompanying them to C-3. The inspector often travelled the route with Firl’s convoy and was well known to Firl.

Firl grabbed a chance to have some coffee, before meeting Veta and the inspector near a shuttle bay.

A jovial and fleshy man, Garry sought out whatever entertainment he could on the normally monotonous trip. Discovering Veta, a recent addition to the crew, provided all the distraction he needed on this trip. He stood a few steps away from Veta, openly admiring her figure. Seeing Firl, he winked, angling his head in Veta’s direction.

Any other time, Firl would have found his candid appraisal of Veta amusing. Right then, however, he was too hungover to care. He strolled past and the two of them trailed him into the waiting shuttle.

Veta strapped in near Firl, pushing her harness clips into place with unnecessary force. Irritably, she waved away a servbo gliding over to check on her. The inspector strapped in next to Veta, still gawking at her, oblivious to her frustration. “Captain, you will be suspended if you continue this behavior,” she said, energetically readjusting her straps. She turned to glare at the man seated beside her. “Inspector, if you don’t mind, stop staring at my breasts.”

Smiling pleasantly, the inspector looked up into her face. “I’m sorry, my dear, I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just they are hard to avoid.”

Veta’s head snapped around to Firl, who was snorting, then said, “You must admit that was funny.”

“I am sorry you find it amusing, Captain.”

“You take yourself too seriously, Doctor.”

“The health and safety of the crew are my responsibility. You’re endangering both.”

Officially, Firl’s was the higher title, but he couldn’t pull rank over Veta. She reported directly to the company and the Federation authorities.

“Lighten up, Doc. We had a little fun last night. That’s all.” He turned his head carefully toward her and, seeing her tight lips, he could not help but add, “You should have been there. You know how much we all appreciate you.”

He heard a snigger from the inspector that stopped suddenly when Veta’s head snapped back in his direction. Personally, he was thankful for the ensuing silence; and a short time later they settled at the port on C-3.

“Here we are.” Firl unstrapped himself. “I’ll meet you back here in a few days, Doc,” he said to Veta. “Inspector, follow me please.”

Veta scowled at him and then at the inspector, who was again ogling her breasts.

Firl mentally shrugged. The inspector was a pig, but Veta’s curvaceous body invited attention. Her physical appearance was totally at odds with her prudish attitude—but he didn’t want to think about her now. His head still throbbed.

“Inspector, this way,” he called, leading him to a waiting dock-cab and stating the destination as the Department of Company and the Federation Relations. He held the door open. “They will look after you, as usual. We will see you again at departure.” And since the man seemed reluctant, he gave him a light shove, shutting the vehicle door almost on his heel.

Finally alone, Firl looked around. The artificial sun glared down from the sky of the dome of C-3; the traffic appeared thinner than normal. The darkened glass panels of empty offices surrounded the building of Port Administration. When he stepped into Marten’s office, the other man interrupted a consultation to greet him. Firl flinched when Marten stepped up to him and slapped him on the back affectionately.

“Good to see you, Firl,” he said.

“It’s good to see you, too.” Firl sank into one of the seats in the room.

Marten signalled a servbo to bring some refreshments, offering Firl a glass of clear, yellow liquid.

“Sit and relax for a while. I won’t be long. Some assholes just don’t understand deadlines,” he muttered, turning back to his desk.

Grateful, Firl sat, idly listening to Marten. They had been friends since Marten took Firl under his wing during the younger man’s maiden journey. Both Firl and Lara worked under Marten’s Captaincy at the time, but after Marten and Lara partnered, they took a position on C-3, just opened for mining. That was twelve years ago.

Back to The Birth of Races
Hidden Motives

Chapter One

So far not many of us can explain the phenomenon of our fellow men’s success. I mean, why does our neighbors’ garden seem always greener? Even if we were to discover during a neighborly visit that a closer look reveals it is full of thatch, yellow spots and black beetles, the overall impression, as we peer over the fence is that of a lush, green lawn. Some may say it’s only an illusion; others may define it as pure green envy.

Hermann Pope was actually almost blue, choking on his green envy. Standing on his porch, he shaded his eyes against the grey glare of the sky. The clouds gathering promisingly in the last hours emptied their burden onto the lawns and gardens across the road. His own lawn remained mostly dry with only a few drops splattering over the dusty yard, the wet borders stopping only a few steps away from the low fence dividing his property from the street. The shower soon slowed to a quiet drizzle, rays of sunshine winking through the thinning grayness in the sky. Even from where he stood, Hermann was sure he could see the blades in his neighbor’s garden turning greener, pushing up, toward the sun. Looking closer, he swore he saw his own lawn become yellower, dust gathering around the tufts.

Hermann Pope worked at a local hotel, Heaven, one of a mid-priced hotel chain in Newtown, a bustling city in inland Australia. Central Australia, thanks to the extensive canal systems established during the early twenty-first century, had become a substantial organic region, called the Zone, on Earth. Population within the Zone approached ten million, the descendants of hard-working pioneers who put up with the harsh, dry conditions while establishing the canal systems.

Sometime at the beginning of twenty-first century, due to changed weather patterns, the North-East parts of Australia had become wet territories with huge rainfalls all through the year. The Central and South-West states had dried up, with no significant rainfall recorded for at least half a century. A country divided by the threat of drowning or burning, the states and territories had to pull together. At an enormous cost, a canal system was created, criss-crossing South-West Australia, bringing life back to the parched lands, generating new life and fertile lands. The new region of Australia quickly populated by the refugees. In a world where food security became a major ground for negotiations, the idea of producing purely organic food on a large scale seemed wasteful. But soon, the green measures employed within the Zone paid off. The Zone had become self-sufficient and, with plenty of surplus, exported food, not only within the country, but to the rest of the world.

At Heaven, Hermann worked primarily as a handyman, but his job included supervising a team of two women cleaners. Each one of those women drove a better car than he did. He listened to their endless chattering about their full lives; they had kids to drop off at schools, birthday parties to organize and relatives to visit. They had partners, went for holidays, cooked great meals, and shared leftovers for lunch. Hermann smelled their food, while he ate his regular lunch of hot chips and buttered fish from the local fish shop. He just knew, given a chance, he would have been happy with either of these women.

Hermann Pope lived in the house where his parents had lived most of their lives. His father, dead for many years, had suffered a massive stroke while he watched one of his neighbors pull onto his driveway in his new car. A car he himself dreamed of owning. His mother, who survived his passing only for a few years, had died recently, leaving Hermann a house full of clutter and a cold kitchen full of gadgets.

At 33 years of age, he could have been handsome, with straight brown hair, dreamy brown eyes, a long straight nose and dimples at the corners of his lips, visible when he smiled. Not that he ever felt the reason to smile much and when he did, the dimples stayed hidden within the excess flesh spreading across his features. Although tall, he couldn’t hide the extra weight he carried laboriously in the wake of his quick and trim-bodied group of women. Not so much shy as socially backward, his attempts to befriend any female resulted in a baffled or anxious flick of their eyes in his direction, and hurrying away from him.

Hermann Pope yearned. For some rain, for some company, a better job and pay, for a better car, a clean house, a better life; for that exact, but elusive capacity of all others around him, to possess greener grass.

Lucy Windblown held onto the strap of her shoulder bag, enduring the jostle of the crowded bus. She eventually found herself pressed against a wizened man; one foot painfully crushed, and an elbow in the back of her neck, forcing her head and chin forward. Despite the discomfort, she considered herself lucky. At least she made it onto the bus.

Arriving home after another day of unsuccessful job hunting, she looked forward to a hot cup of tea with Plum, her tabby cat, on her lap. They lived with her Aunt Mary, in her cottage. Plum shared her meals and her bed, and to Aunt Mary’s amusement, she even enjoyed a little tea just like Lucy, white and sweet.

The pain in her foot subsided to numbness and she managed to shift her head resting against the elbow behind her. An only child, she had lived on the farm she was born at, some hour’s drive from Newtown. In all her twenty-four years of life, she had not visited Newtown or any other city. A strand of dark blonde hair fell over her face, and she managed to work her free hand up to brush it aside. She wore one of her mother’s tops, it fell loosely around her slender body. Hazel eyes set in her oval face puzzled over the view the occasional opening in the lurching crowd afforded her through a window, at the cars and houses passing by. It had taken most of the time since she’d arrived at her Aunt’s cottage to sort through what she had seen, the sheer number of people, and all so full of purpose.

Her parents, gifted with her late in their life, had died a few months before in an accident when the roof of the supply shed, in desperate need of repair, had collapsed on top of them. Lucy had been peeling potatoes for their dinner at the time and was too late to help them. Their unexpected deaths forced her to enter the outside world. She’d laid out their bodies, said a prayer, and after due notification, investigations and permits from the authorities, she’d buried them under the big gum tree they had loved so much.

Not sure what else to do, she contacted her Aunt. She packed hers and some of her Mum’s clothes, a wedding photo of her parents, and Plum in her little carrier. Her Aunt arrived to pick her up just as she’d finished tidying the house. Together they locked the doors and windows, holding onto each other while they spoke their final words over the passing of a father, and a mother to Lucy and a sister to Mary. Lucy had straightened her head and whispered good bye to her childhood, while the farm vanished behind a bend in the road.

Her Aunt took her home to the cottage she lived in, near the heart of the city. The moment Lucy entered Newtown; her life took on an entirely new dimension. She remembered a story her Mum told her often when she was a little girl, about a princess who fell asleep and slept for a hundred years, to be woken by a kiss. Shifting in response to the rocking bus and human pressure, her heart full of grief for her old life—she longed to awaken.

Back to Hidden Motives