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    Jumpers: SQUAD, #1
    Jumpers: SQUAD, #1
    Jumpers: SQUAD, #1
    Ebook70 pages58 minutes

    Jumpers: SQUAD, #1

    By S. G. Basu

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    About this ebook

    Ben is someone else. Only, he doesn't know who. 

    All Ben wants is to find out who he was before the Spasm—a cataclysmic solar event—wiped his memory.

    Ben's search takes him down a path he didn't expect to tread and leaves him at a crossroad.

    Is Ben ready to be the hero destiny is intent on making him? Or will he choose the ho-hum way out?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDreamweaver Press
    Release dateMay 8, 2016
    ISBN9781533701787
    Jumpers: SQUAD, #1
    Author

    S. G. Basu

    S.G. Basu is an aspiring potentate of a galaxy or two. She plots and plans with wondrous machines, cybernetic robots, time travelers and telekinetic adventurers, some of whom escape into the pages of her books. Books have been an important part of Ms. Basu's life. Even before she had learned to read on her own, she spent hours wandering in the stories her mother read to her. Soon enough, she was weaving a tapestry of magical tales of her own. Once upon a previous life on planet Earth, S.G. Basu trained to be an engineer, and her interest in science and her love of engineering shows up time and again in her books. She shares her home with a large collection of Legos, a patient husband, and resident inspiration and entertainer, her daughter. Find out more about the futuristic worlds she creates at sgbasu.com.

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      Book preview

      Jumpers - S. G. Basu

      One

      November 05, 2054

      By evening, I had watched Amy die three times. That was too much bloodshed in a day, even by my standards.

      At the moment though, Amy was safe. Bathed in the red-and-green mood lights of the bar at Red Pimientos, Amy Alexandra Cohen was absentmindedly stirring her drink. She would die again, in less than fifteen minutes, executed by a smooth-talking Mr. Brill.

      One more of the same?

      Mason, the bartender, grinned toothily. His hair, sleek and shiny, stood up like barbs on his head. Mason reminded me of a porcupine. I wondered how much hair gel he used every day. A whole bottle? More?

      Mason’s stubby fingers, tapping the countertop in a steady rhythm, picked up pace. His smiling eyes scanned my face, slowly narrowing as flickers of impatience set in. One more, right?

      Yeah, the same, I replied, turning a little to look at Amy once more.

      She hadn’t budged. I didn’t expect her to. Pale blonde hair framed her fine-boned, somewhat-ethereal face and sprawled down to her shoulders. Her slender fingers churned a stirrer through her sparkling drink. An air of loneliness hung around her, one she was trying hard to hide. She didn’t know that staring fixedly at her drink only made it more obvious.

      Amy brought the glass up to her shapely lips, sneaking a furtive glance over its expansive rim. She caught me looking. Instead of turning away as I anticipated, she held my gaze for a second before dropping it coyly, the corners of her mouth curling a little.

      Damn it! She’s enjoying the attention.

      Suppressing a frown took a good deal of resolve. This was not like Amy at all. For a girl who had spent her whole life on a farm in the middle of nowhere, someone who wrote lengthily of her fear of social interactions on her weblog, this was quite a move. The boldest she had been in the three times I’d watched her.

      Why the sudden bravado? Had anything changed from the last time? I drove the thought away. Perhaps she was not as meek as I had thought. There was only so much you knew about a person when viewing them through a pair of binoculars and sifting through their electronic tread.

      I meant to shoot a quick glance, didn’t think Amy would be waiting. She caught my eye and smiled.

      What the heck has happened to this girl?

      Flashing a careless smile back, I looked down at my drink. Counting trapped air bubbles in the chunky piece of ice at the center of the heartwarming amber seemed like the best idea.

      Can’t engage with a subject, I repeated a few times in my head. But how was I supposed to keep watch if the subject was hell bent on making a pass at me?

      Hey, look out, someone yelled.

      Thud! Crash!

      The sound of a crate of glasses smashing against the tiled floor shook me by my bones and made me shudder. The polished countertop seemed to wobble under my palms, an obvious aftereffect of making too many jumps in a day. My eyes were tired, just like the rest of me. Blinking a few times stabilized the scene, but this day had already stretched too long.

      I took a swig of my drink and peered askance at Amy, hoping she wouldn’t be lying in wait. I couldn’t turn away as quickly as I had planned. My heart did a somersault—a shaky, unsteady one—but not because of something Amy did.

      It was another girl sitting next to my subject. Her skin was the color of nutmeg, and her dark kohl-rimmed eyes almost made her irises glow. She wasn’t supposed to be here.

      Pulling my radpod—the electronic personal valet of the present times—out of my pocket, I checked the time. It was 6:15 p.m. Since yesterday, I had been jumping forward to this exact time to observe the taking of Amy. Scouting—my name for the exercise—was going into the future looking to map an incident. Just the way I did it for every other case, I had carefully observed everything leading up to the crime, in this case the killing of Amy in an alley not too far from here. Three times I had come here to memorize Amy’s actions, every step she took in the one hour before meeting her eventual death.

      This girl wasn’t here the first time I visited from the past, or the two times after that. Had I missed her somehow?

      No. I don’t miss things so easily.

      And a girl as sinfully gorgeous as this one was difficult . . . no . . . impossible to miss. My mind rushed, practically prancing, to measure those perfectly proportioned curves, an exercise made all too easy by the black dress that seemed molded to her body.

      I glanced, stealthily enough I hoped, down her never-ending legs, which

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