by Edward Aubry
She had her back to me. I watched her reel in her line and cast it again. “You can see him. Why can’t anyone else?”
“Cognitive dissonance, if you like the jargon. I prefer to think it’s the universe keeping him out of trouble.”
Her voice was familiar, but not immediately recognizable. But really, how many people could she be?
“You seem to know a lot,” I said. “You’re not one of them time travelers, are you?”
“Shifty lot, them travelers,” she said. “I hear they lost one a while back. Went rogue. Canceled the whole damn program after that.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yepper,” she said. “Test pilot. They say it was the Time Madness got her.”
I walked over to her, and sat on the edge of the pier, my feet dangling in the spray.
“How long have you been out here, Andrea?”
She laughed. “You have no idea how it feels to see a familiar face. How have you been, Graham?”
“It’s Nigel, actually.”
“Like I don’t know that,” she said. “To answer your question, if by ‘out here’ you mean wandering time with no fixed abode, about thirty years.” I could see the prototype module now, strapped to her left wrist.
I pointed back to Carlton with my thumb.
“How many of those are there?”
“I’ve counted sixteen, myself. Kind of stopped keeping track of them when Athena took care of business. Sorry about that, by the way.”
“I’m okay,” I said. “Sixteen seems like a lot.”
“It was a lot when they were doing things. Now they just stare off into space. No one has any idea they’re there. They barely know it themselves. They have enough sense to steal food and clothes, and keep from soiling themselves, but that’s about it.”
I sat for a bit in reflective silence.
Finally, I said, “I’m a time nomad now.”
“I know,” she said.
“You looking for a sidekick?”
She laughed. “Hell, yes.”
We held hands, and flashed out.
traveled with Andrea for eighteen years. We went as far back as ancient Egypt, and watched the Pyramids being constructed from the safety of our cognitive dissonance cloud. We attended concerts by Beethoven, Louis Armstrong, and The Beatles. We watched the live news coverage of the first moon landing, and we stood on the deck of the Titanic, right until it started to tip. We ventured into the future as well, but as Andrea had discovered long ago, that direction was profoundly limited. We never managed to get more than twenty years beyond our starting point. My fifty-two year jaunt had been something of an anomaly, but was made possible by the technicality that I was just being moved from one past to another. There was never a real future involved.
At the end of that time, she retired. We set her up in a spectacular mansion with every manner of convenience, and private nursing care when she began to run down. After that, I was on my own.
Sometimes I would check in on the other versions of me out there. The one who replaced me in 2092 went the rest of his life without another unhappening, eventually becoming the professor I met in 2146. By then, he had overwritten some of that one’s memories, so the fact of manned time travel stopped being such a wonder for him. We stayed friends, but there’s only so much time one can spend with one’s self. Any of one’s selves. I have no idea what became of the Nigel from 2155 who set all of this into motion. If I understood the theory correctly, it seemed likely that the professor from 2146 would eventually merge with that one. Maybe his pain would be overwritten. Or maybe it would dominate. I chose not to find out. Whatever his destiny, I needed to distance myself from him. I needed to believe I did not have to become him.
Occasionally, I would get an unexpected visit from a younger version of Athena. These were usually by accident, extremely awkward, and confusing for her. She was not used to knowing less than I did. I wouldn’t say it was a substitute for healing the relationship we once had, now permanently fractured, but it was adorable, like watching an old home movie. She never stayed long, but every moment with her was a treasure beyond value.
I stayed away from Helen, or at least as far as she knew, I did. I kept tabs on her enough to know that when I left, she went on to be one of the driving voices in the Project. Apparently the entire time Athena had been taking her orders from them, one of the people giving those orders was her own mother. I wondered if that had any bearing on why they never did give her the kill order for Carlton.
When I learned of Helen’s illness, I finally broke down and traveled to her final week. I had no desire to encounter any of her family or friends, particularly our daughter. As it happened, sneaking into a hospital room did not prove much of a challenge. I sat with her while she slept, on several occasions. Once I held her hand when she woke. Her smile was exactly as I remembered it. I hoped mine was half as enchanting.
When she passed away, I made a conscious decision to drop all travel to the span of time coincident with her life. It was the only way I had left to respect her wishes. I did, however, leave frequent gifts on her grave.
I kept the ring box she gave me that last day. For years, it was my only true possession, the only constant object in my life. That last week, the very last time I went to see her, I planned to slip the ring back onto her finger while she slept. Probably not the most tasteful gesture, I know, but it was all I had. When I picked up her hand, the ring was already there. In all the time I carried the box, I had never opened it, imagining I would not be able to cope with the pain of seeing it. I opened it then, expecting it to be empty. It was not. In place of the ring was a tiny piece of black plastic. A child’s toy.
A miniature stingray.
As always, my perpetual gratitude goes to Guinevere Crescenzi, who will forever be the person who prodded me just the right amount at the right time to get me to start writing novels. Four books later, they are all her grandchildren, so to speak. Thanks also to Steve and Eliza Carabello, Katie Knapp, and Todd Yuninger, for carrying the torch of our writers group, and continuing to provide helpful insight, nitpicking, and generally calling me out when I write crap. Which isn’t very often. But often enough.
A special category of writers group gratitude is due to its other member, my wife, Annelisa Aubry-Walton. The support she provides, and the many forms it takes, cannot be overstated. Bonus thanks go to my daughter Delphi Aubry, apprentice editor and aspiring novelist. At twelve years old, she was already spotting errors and continuity glitches that dozens of adults missed. Two years later, I continue to rely on her keen eye and honest criticism, which is often some of the most mature feedback I get.
The number of beta readers who read the entire manuscript of Unhappenings was significantly greater than either of my first two novels, and for the first time, that group included current students of mine. Every single one of them contributed comments and questions that drove my revisions, and every one of them deserves recognition. So, many thanks to Dorian Hart, Jeanne Kramer-Smyth, Josh Bluestein, Andie McAuliff, Ellen Purton,Tamara Klinger, Ashley Stahle, Ana Carroll, Leeanne Leary, Kayla Zimmerman, and Katie Schweitzer. An additional nod goes to Matt Beck, who convinced me that a book I had always envisioned as a standalone story had genuine potential for a sequel. That next book is currently underway, and Matt will move to the top of its acknowledgments page when it sees print.
Finally, my highest order of gratitude this time is rightfully bestowed on Lori Bentley-Law, author of the fantastic novel Motor Dolls. Lori has been the coach I needed to keep me moving and keep me on target, as I have striven to return that favor for her own writing. Trading chapters of works-in-progress with an author as talented as she is has been a boon to my productivity. The two novels I have written so far under this buddy system are the ones of which I am most proud. As an added perk, her books are an absolute joy to read. It delights me to see them evolve, and to be a part of nudging her along. Thank you, Lori, for this partnership, for the quality
of your peer editing, and for sharing your stories with me. (PS: I have another chapter to send you…)
Edward Aubry is a graduate of Wesleyan University, with a degree in music composition. Improbably, this preceded a career as a teacher of high school mathematics and creative writing.
He now lives in rural Pennsylvania with his wife and three spectacular daughters, where he fills his non-teaching hours spinning tales of time-travel, wise-cracking pixies, and an assortment of other impossible things.
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Prodigy agent Nik Zhukov is sent on a mission to the underground city of Seattle, where he infiltrates a group of young revolutionaries and accidentally allows himself to feel like a normal teenager, a dangerous mistake which forces him to question where his loyalties truly lie when the all-powerful Council hands down an unthinkable order
Appetizer:
Book Cover
Title Page
Main Course:
Part One: Nigel
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Part Two: Graham
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Part Three: Helen
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Part Four: Athena
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
Chapter Eighty-One
Chapter Eighty-Two
Chapter Eighty-Three
Chapter Eighty-Four
Chapter Eighty-Five
Chapter Eighty-Six
Part Five: Carlton
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Chapter Eighty-Nine
Chapter Ninety
Chapter Ninety-One
Chapter Ninety-Two
Chapter Ninety-Three
Chapter Ninety-Four
Chapter Ninety-Five
Chapter Ninety-Six
Chapter Ninety-Seven
Chapter Ninety-Eight
Chapter Ninety-Nine
Chapter One Hundred
Chapter One Hundred One
Chapter One Hundred Two
Chapter One Hundred Three
Chapter One Hundred Four
Chapter One Hundred Five
Chapter One Hundred Six
Chapter One Hundred Seven
Chapter One Hundred Eight
Chapter One Hundred Nine
Chapter One Hundred Ten
&n
bsp; Chapter One Hundred Eleven
Chapter One Hundred Twelve
Chapter One Hundred Thirteen
Chapter One Hundred Fourteen
Chapter One Hundred Fifteen
Chapter One Hundred Sixteen
Chapter One Hundred Seventeen
Chapter One Hundred Eighteen
Chapter One Hundred Nineteen
Chapter One Hundred Twenty
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-One
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Two
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Three
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Dessert:
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Thank You for Reading
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