All the Time in the World

By Steve Husk

Would anyone know this is not the life they're supposed to have if they never knew they had another life to choose from?

Memories of living a peaceful and productive life are disappearing from conscious memory. Those few who still remember this life realize those memories contradict their dim existence within a bombed out community, where assassins from both the past and future are killing people one by one.

Former army sergeant Curtis Nystrom had a sad history of charting courses that punished those who tried to follow. He was catapulted fifty-eight years into the future, to this brutalized version of his hometown, in hopes he could see what others could not. Curtis realized he needed to learn the rules of time traversal in the hopes of uncovering and outmaneuvering the opponent who was behind these horrors. An opponent who could move to multiple points in time at once. A course Curtis needed to learn how to chart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steve Husk
• Release date: Mar 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215926536

Steve Husk

Some say Steve Husk is constantly going up against his demons and the many voices in his own head. Truth is, Steve has recruited most of them as his advisors. Some of them want to start a band with him.Steve is a retired software / web application developer and security control center officer. He currently works his writing (and sometimes music) craft in northern Virginia, USA.

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All the Time in the World

Book One of the series

Some Other Time

Steve Husk

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Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2023 Steven M. Husk

Cover art Copyright 2023 Steven M. Husk

All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the author’s page on Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Curtis couldn’t move his head to see the timepiece. Not that it mattered anymore. He stopped paying attention to this mistaken travel through the time dimension somewhere after the first fifty years.

Pinned in place between the forward-moving fringe of time, and the nothingness where the fringe was forever obliged to march towards. Yet...he felt no friction. No fatigue. No hunger. No sensations of any kind. An all-too-familiar sense of futility with his chosen movements, perhaps; involving himself in one more mission promising to give his disjointed life focus, yet having it punish him again for stepping too far away from where everyone else would go. Much of the last five-plus decades were spent regretting his agreeing to experiment with the Traverser in the first place, but those thoughts always led to a blind hope that the approaching 2063 would offer some sort of explanation as to why the Traverser did not project his image and his consciousness backwards to a past he already knew, but instead bullied his entire body forward to a future he was warned might not even exist.

Curtis sensed familiar movement to his right, barely within his peripheral. There were only three of the stalky creatures this time. Closer than before. Never any clearer. Dark blue bodies, bleeding into black, blurring into a distance that didn’t seem to exist. Thin lines mimicking the erratic movement of lightning, streaking up and down the creatures’ bodies...yellow, sometimes orange, sometimes a color too nauseating for Curtis’ sight.

These creatures were moving towards him. Conversing about him. Definitely studying him. Their speech, always echoing from some distant place, was louder this time. His mind could finally pick out some of what they were saying. Something about relaxing. No. About letting go. About letting go of his guard. Whatever that meant.

The tones changed. So did the words. A layer of uneasiness draped over Curtis. The aliens wanted him to feel that way. They wanted his uneasiness to darken into unhappiness. Irritation. Anger. Hatred. Hatred at himself. No. At someone else. He didn’t recognize the woman’s face he just saw in his mind.

The creatures backed away.

The voices went silent.

So did the uninvited anger.

The wall of blackness expanded backwards. Curtis could finally see depth.

Stars appeared above him. Overhead parking lot lights behind him. Disfigured silhouettes before him. Cracked and uneven pavement beneath him. Cold gusts went straight through his thin mesh football jersey and bit his skin. It made him shiver. He smiled anyway. After all this time of nothing, he could finally feel again. Wherever time took him, he was finally here.

Scuffling shoes against loose gravel broke the silence. Curtis snapped a look behind him. He saw a blue haze form in the background. In a blink, it surrounded him.

His entire body felt repeating stabs. It hurt too much to move. Gravity dropped him to one knee.

Seventy percent immobile!

First-wave scan shows no known weapons!

Curtis attempted to turn his torso towards the voices behind him. He barely caught a glimpse of someone pointing a glowing tip at him.

The blue haze brightened. The pain grew worse. Curtis felt himself topple over. The side of his face hit hard against the gritty asphalt. His stringy hair, uncut since the day he left the military, flopped across his mouth.

Immobilization complete.

Second-wave scan detects a Traverser!

But, with no weapon? This can’t be right. Extract a DNA sample. Find out who he is.

Curtis felt a stinging jab near the base of his neck.

What is your name?

Curtis struggled to move his head towards his captors. Is this the way Sevran Height’s finest treat their citizens---

Somebody kicked Curtis in the side.

What is your name, assassin?

Curtis struggled to draw a breath. Julius Bird, he lied.

DNA sample matches one of---oh, my god. The old man was right. This is the guy we’ve been waiting for.

Release him.

The stabbing ceased.

Curtis fought the urge to wallow in the numbness, and craned his neck upward. He saw at least a dozen men, faces tight from fitness and rutted with lines of hardship, dressed in dark clothing, and each training some sort of weapon on him.

Help him to his feet.

Two of the men shouldered their weapons, then reached down and lifted Curtis up by his forearms. Gently, for some reason.

A lean, dark skinned man, wearing a green jacket with a silver stripe across each shoulder, stepped forward. I apologize for the harsh treatment. We had to be sure of your identity. I’m First Lieutenant Isaac Jenks. Welcome to the Sevran Heights Energy Reclamation and Distribution Community. You might recognize these grounds as the former Baxter-Wallace High School.

Curtis’ eyes adjusted enough for him to see what the disfigured silhouettes really were. The south side of his alma mater was not much more than crumbled cinder and bricks.

Jenks held up his left arm and spoke into a metallic strap. Secure. Stand down.

Lights from the other side of the school blinked on. Curtis saw narrow rectangular beams where the outdoor basketball courts used to be, standing at fifteen foot intervals. The crossbeams contained notches and protrusions, and he even saw what looked like bare wire endings in some spots.

"You’ll soon find this isn’t the same slice of suburbia you