ETA: The Trial of Logan Gruver
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About this ebook
Logan Gruver doesn't mean to commit the first murder in history—it was an accident, he swears. But now, he has introduced violence millennia early, escalating humanity's destruction, and is about to go on trial for the first time-travel murder ever.
All Logan wants is to find purpose in his life, stuck in a house with abusive parents who are always comparing him to his deceased sister, and trapped in a stalemate banking job where he feels invisible. So when he wins a shot at traveling five million years into the past as a volunteer guard, Logan jumps on the opportunity. His newfound freedom is a breath of fresh air. He even finds love with a charming traveling journalist, Giselle. Unlike anyone he's ever met, she challenges him to learn more about himself, and the two grow closer as they journey into the past.
Then the curious duo discovers the organization they traveled with is keeping a massive secret: humanity will mysteriously go extinct in the future, and no one knows why. These vacation getaways to the past are actually an attempt to restart humanity, five million years prior. The bigger problem: the attempt isn't going to work.
While trying to save both past and present, Logan makes a grave error that ends in a murder that was never supposed to happen. Now the entire timeline is on the brink of destruction, and Logan may have to make the ultimate sacrifice to save mankind.
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ETA - Ibrahim Ashmawey
0 • THE PROLOGUE
Everything we thought we knew was wrong .
The earth isn’t flat.
The universe does not revolve around us.
Black holes aren’t impenetrable.
And time travel isn’t just the stuff of science fiction.
Then there was a discovery; one that changed the course of human history. A discovery that started the chaos that ruined my life... and everyone else’s: the Canvas of Time.
What it was, no one understood. What we did know was that this Canvas was an invisible, cosmic sheet that covered all our known existence. Inside the Canvas, time exists. Outside, it doesn’t. Outside, nothing exists. It turned out that our universe as we knew it was limited after all.
But that wasn’t the best part. If you pass through the Canvas and back into it from a different angle, you travel through time. It was a fascinating discovery about the Canvas, but it didn’t really matter since the perimeter of the Canvas was too far for us to reach.
But before science could truly begin to fathom what this discovery meant, the general public did what they did best: they panicked. Religion, politics, and Hollywood all blurred together as no one knew truth from fiction. Crowds marched to government buildings with "We are doomed,
Beam me up, Scotty, and
Humans failed. Give the planet to the apes" posters.
For the most part, the discovery made people afraid. Afraid to think about what it could mean for them now, their pasts, and their possible futures. And fear makes people do unexplainable things. Hence... World War III.
Eventually, we realized the discovery of the Canvas actually meant little to nothing to humanity. It was like discovering gravity; it was always there from the beginning, we just understood it better. It didn’t stop the war from continuing, however. As always, people start off fighting about one thing and end up fighting about another.
But it was many years later that something in our solar system shook things up. Something that wasn’t there from the beginning and actually did mean a lot to humanity. A black hole suddenly appeared in our solar system. Once again, the whole world was caught off guard. Where did it come from? How did it not instantly destroy us? Would our time slow down? Why didn’t it suck us into its eternal abyss?
But one day, a video changed everything. An online influencer was hosting a debate in Central Park discussing if the black hole was truly a black hole or a hoax, when an unidentified little girl passing by interrupted the debate: I have a question,
she blurted. Is the black hole a hole in the Canvas of Time?
The vlogger didn’t appreciate the interruption. Nor did he realize at that moment the gravity of the question. But it’s always the things that almost go unnoticed that change humanity. A Yale professor who saw the video immediately published a paper proving that the little girl’s hypothesis was actually valid. Suddenly, the fighting ceased, and everyone thought the same thing: does the black hole bring the perimeter of the Canvas closer to us? Can we possibly use the black hole to travel through time?
An invitation to venture into the unknown. How could we resist?
So all humanity put their differences aside, worked together, and used the black hole, this gap in the Canvas of Time, to research, discover, and further the human condition.
Actually, no, none of that happened. Would have been nice if the discovery of the Canvas of Time had changed things. But the third world war ended as all do, with one country having the majority of the power, and that party took complete ownership of the Canvas, the black hole, and time travel as we know it. Humanity tore into factions of opinions, and the only thing we could agree on, the one unarguable truth, was that everything we thought we knew was one hundred percent wrong.
1 • THE START
The Then: January 3 rd , 5,564,000 B.C.
Location: Near present-day Beaver Creek, Montana, USA
I’m sorry.
Such simple words. Simple enough to ponder. But saying them took a heavier toll on me than I could have imagined. Saying them felt like climbing a mountain only to have it tumble under me before reaching the top. In fact, it was the first time my lips had ever stumbled upon the ancient syllables. I dusted them off, knowing I would visit them frequently after that day. And because of that simple utterance of those two primeval terms, or perhaps entirely unrelated, a thickness grew in the back of my throat.
I tried to swallow against the sandpaper dryness on my tongue. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t sleep, but I couldn’t stay awake. All I could do was apologize, though it would never help.
I was a murderer.
And when you destroy a family, when you eliminate a name from the roster of the living, there is little one can do to make it right. And this murder was unlike any other. This murder didn’t just kill one person, it ruined the fabric of existence.
I am Logan Gruver.
And I wanted one thing and one thing only: to fix what I did.
At the time of this event, I was eighteen years old. As my case was the first of its kind, I hadn’t a clue about how my crimes would be answered. What kind of punishment existed for the first crime a human ever committed? It was a monumental day in human history, a tipping point for us creatures of ritualistic modus operandi.
The courtroom where I stood was small and round with cold adobe walls. There were only two lights: one above me, shining at my face, and a halogen lamp near the judicial bench where the Interim Judge presided. A plump man in a black robe eyed me unavailingly, looking back and forth between me and his paperwork. His full, round face was devoid of emotion, giving no hint of how much longer I would be standing in silence. I felt dizzy, like the room was swirling around me. I stretched my neck. The dome-like curvature of the ceiling only made me dizzier.
I’d heard it numerous times: when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. My clock was still ticking, at least for the moment. But, as I continued to stand, switching my weight from one leg to the other and waiting for the judge to speak, memories flashed in my mind like a storm of old photos. They were all I could see. My suppressed childhood. My rebellious adolescence. My abusive father. My silent mother. My dubious career. Giselle. My Giselle.
I’m so sorry, Giselle Hudson, I thought to myself, easier than having to actually say it aloud. Even though she couldn’t hear me, I felt better afterward. As if how I felt was at all important. After what I had done, I didn’t deserve to have feelings, let alone express them. And just thinking of Giselle made the bottomless pit of despair in my stomach grow deeper. It was a dark void, thriving on my deteriorating soul.
Hm,
the judge mumbled. Mhm, mhm.
He flipped through the same papers for the millionth time. I couldn’t help but feel he had no idea what to do with me. Hm.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to escape that infernal courtroom where I had been standing for God knows how long.
I closed my eyes. But as soon as I did, I saw hers. That’s when I realized escape wasn’t an option. Giving in, I stared into her mesmerizing eyes and swam in their many colors. Like the rings of Saturn, multiple magnificent shades all lovingly hugging a perfectly centered abyss. Looking into her eyes was like watching the constellations swimming and the stars dancing.
She smiled at me, despite all that had happened. Giselle was just that kind of person. If I told you nothing but that she was smiling, it would be enough to know her down to her core. Her ability to radiate elation in the direst of times found its way into my heart, where she’d nestled and made herself a home over the past month.
And while she was smart—a compulsive self-improver—and ripely self-aware, she’d been wholly oblivious to how important she was. Arguably one of the most important people in the history of our race, her life shaping the future of billions. If only I could see her. To apologize. To beg for her forgiveness. To look into those eyes, just one more time.
Logan Gruver,
the judge finally spoke, interrupting my daydream, you have been charged with second-degree murder.
I opened my eyes, surrendering to reality. The first murder or death of any kind in The Then.
That’s what they called the past, where we were. The Then. Unsophisticated but unique. More than five million years back into the heart of the Pliocene epoch. As the gravity of your actions has exceeded expectations, you will be sent to The Now on an emergency carrier shuttle escorted by two guards.
The Now was what they called the present time. Again, unsophisticated, but it worked. There were only two periods in which humans were allowed to exist: The Now and The Then.
That is, until I came along.
Upon your arrival, you will be given a trial by jury in a court of law.
Just like that, the Interim Judge had finished his job. In The Then, judges never had to rule or arbitrate; they only had to decide where a case would be tried. Since mine was the first case of its kind, The Now it was. It was an odd feeling knowing that my case was the first in all humanity. Until that day, in all twenty-five years of traveling through time, no one had ever died on a trip to The Then. There was no precedent for what was to come. So, the judge signed my transport papers at his judicial bench, a formality.
The judge then scratched his engorged belly. He handed the papers to the only escort available. Everything was limited and designed to be efficient in The Then, including people and their jobs. There was one judge with two guards, one escort, and one bailiff. Just enough resources for the TTG tour groups. The TTG, Time Trek Group, was an organization formed by the United Nations, and with a coalition of over thirty member countries. They created month-long time-traveling trips they touted as a life-changing course.
Life-changing was right.
Maybe my father had been correct all along. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to The Then. He had always told me humanity wasn’t ready for this sort of traveling. He told me it would be the end of me.
The escort abruptly yanked me by my shirt collar and secured handcuffs around my wrists, their clanking echoing in the small room. The metal was cold, but his hands were colder. I had never seen handcuffs in person before, only in movies. As the icy metal slid on my skin, I couldn’t help but remember all this was happening megannums before I had actually been born. It made the tingling sensation against my skin all the more surreal. Almost as if it wasn’t really happening.
The judge relaxed back in his chair, hit the play button on his small music player on his desk, and listened once again to Bing Crosby singing away. Giddy yap, let’s go, Let’s look at the show.
Again, the escort yanked at my collar. This time, I was happy to have my trance interrupted. If I wasn’t thinking about Giselle Hudson, I deserved to be reminded. Call it a self-imposed punishment that was sorely needed. Always.
The escort led me outside the courtroom through a semi-circular door. Leaving that arctic room did little to help me escape the cold of the escort’s hands on my skin. The moment we crossed the threshold, a saving ray of warmth as it fell across my face was a welcome feeling. Like opening a warm oven on a cold winter night. I dragged my tired legs through the sand for what seemed like hours. I squinted my eyes against the blinding sunlight but, as soon as my sight adjusted, I raised my head, looking for my enemy; the invisible Canvas of Time.
Where was it? Where was the mysterious entity commissioned with protecting us, the greatest scientific revelation of the century? The object that had begun the entire chain of events, leading me to this exact moment.
If only the Canvas of Time hadn’t been discovered.
The escort pulled me forward. I stepped into a vast, empty region, like the mouth of a barren desert with no signs of civilization. The sand in The Then wasn’t like the moist, flowy sand in The Now. It was hard, dry, and scaly like reptile skin. There was more to The Then than sand, of course; there was also an exorbitant amount of paradisal beauty. But now, hard, dry dirt was all I could see. Gritty desolation to match my dead soul inside.
Cold air made its way across the desert in vigorous gusts of wind. In the middle of nowhere, the escort stopped and bent down to dust sand off the spot beneath his feet, exposing a steel-handled trap door. He grabbed the handle and lifted it up. A screeching, metallic sound filled the air. Below lay a hole as deep as a twisted imagination could perceive. Even amid all I was going through, I was impressed by how well the door had been concealed. The Then constantly surprised me with the many secrets it held.
The escort aggressively pushed me toward the mysterious dark abyss. You’d think I would have seen it coming; why else would he have opened it? But alas, there were simply too many things on my mind for me to realize I would clearly be pushed in. My thoughts began to pace with the gusts of the wind around me.
What would happen to me? What would happen to humanity? Were my parents still alive? Did they even still exist? How about my friends? What did they think of me? Would I once again be able to visit my small hometown? A town where people still knew each other. They still smiled. They still spoke to strangers. How about my entire country? My species? Giselle Hudson; what about her? But most of all, what on earth was in that pit?
A sharp nudge stabbed me in my lower back, and I fell at least ten feet before landing on my side. Immediately, nothing but darkness. Darkness befriended by desolate cold once again. It was a cold that came from within and no amount of shivering or rubbing my arms could do anything to help me. I sang to myself, We’re snuggled up together like two birds of a feather would be.
My chest shook from the cold, inhibiting any further singing, not even in my head. I exhaled, knowing if there were any light, I’d see the last bit of warmth exit as it left my decaying soul.
As the icy darkness enveloped me, I had one last wish: to save how my name, Logan Gruver, would be remembered. I had done something I could never take back; something that changed the course of humanity forever. And though I couldn’t excuse my actions, and though I would accept my punishment, I feared the truth might go unknown. Which was why I has to take it upon myself to fix this... to save humanity.
Make no mistake. The establishment was angry. They were furious because of what I had disturbed, and the ramifications that had, not because I killed someone.
2 • I AM LOGAN GRUVER
My name is one of the few things I don’t mind inheriting from my family. Only recently did I understand Shakespeare’s question, What’s in a name?
I used to always think that nothing was in a name. A few arbitrary syllables chosen by others in an attempt to distinguish you from the rest of the world but ironically firmly connecting you to a group of otherwise random people called ‘family.’ But the depth of the question had relentlessly escaped me. Until now.
Who I am is as important to this story as the story itself.
The aesthetics: I am a white guy with a sandy tan, six feet with none left over, slightly larger than average build, athletic enough, and cocoa-brown wavy hair. My eyes match my hair. As for my personality, the only statement I can make with full confidence is this: I don’t like who I am as a person. And I do not believe anyone who knows me genuinely does either.
It’s difficult to decide the best place to begin my story, but choosing the right moment is crucial. After all, catch only a glimpse of a dolphin’s tail as it dives deep and you’ll never know you missed a mermaid.
Going back a few weeks, before I traveled to The Then or even joined the TTG, I interned at a Wall Street firm as a Junior Trader.
So it was this cold winter day; the kind of day you wore long underwear beneath your pants and constantly cleaned the winter off your feet. Every building in the bustling Financial District of Manhattan was adorned with faux shrubbery, red-and-green tinsel, warm music, and the smell of nutmeg and cinnamon. I exited my firm’s building and was met with Bing Crosby’s Sleigh Ride
playing from a street cart full of roasting chestnuts. Bing sang, Our cheeks are nice and rosy... snuggled up together like two birds of a feather...
As I began my walk home in the blistering cold, I lifted the collar of my Chesterfield coat to block the wind, tightening my black-and-red checkered scarf around my neck.
I had just presented a proposal to my boss on a new trading method to help the younger generations begin investing earlier. It was something I’d been developing since before the internship and would have done a lot of good for a lot of people. I say would have
because it was shot down due to the initial low profit margin. I couldn’t have been more disappointed. I’d always wanted to do good for others, not just make a crap ton of money. Since a young age, I’d felt it was our duty to help humanity with whatever tools we possessed. And I could have really done that had my proposal been accepted. It could have helped young adults strive for generational wealth.
Actually, that’s not true. None of that now. I have not always wanted to do good.
I have always wanted to appear to do good.
To be able to say that I do good.
For others to think that I do good.
Maybe, to feel...
My cell phone rang. It’s Gruver,
I snapped.
Logan Gruver. You have been selected to participate in the next TTG launch,
a recording said. You have been emailed a ticket for a flight tomorrow morning to Beaver Creek, Montana, to the TTG International Headquarters for induction and training. Goodbye.
A moment to change the Fates.
There are moments in life when the only proper response, the only action to take, is to pause. In the bullfighting of olden Spain, a pause was seen as an opportunity for refuge and renewal. It was believed that, in the midst of a fight, a bull could find his own personal space of sanctuary in the ring. There, he was able to reclaim strength and power. This place, this inner state, was called his querencia. So long as the bull remained enraged and reactive, the matador was king and in charge. Everything changed, though, if the bull could find his own querencia. Then, he could gather his strength, and his fear would dissipate. From the matador’s perspective, at this point, the bull was most dangerous, for he had tapped into his greater power.
Thus, my querencia and the analysis of my situation commenced. I had submitted my name along with my two best friends roughly five years earlier, and never once did I wonder what it would be like if we were chosen. Simply because it was such a long shot and so incredibly competitive.
But on that cold December evening, I was chosen. How much different would my world have been if I’d never received that call? What if I had never even signed up? What if I had missed the call or never heard the voicemail? What if... what if...?
I could keep going through the what-ifs, but it was a moot point. What happened, happened. Kismet. Ordained, as I believe. You see, most things on earth follow laws—the physics of life. If I eat too much, I will gain weight. If I invest wisely, I will make money. If, however, I was driving safely down the street on a clear night and I was struck by lightning, well, nothing could have been done to stop that.
Does my story fall under that which is within my control? Is my fate predestined or is what happened to me a consequence of my own actions? I honestly don’t know the answer, even having lived through it.
I lifted my gaze for a cab—not one in sight. Given what had just transpired, it was unfortunate, but I had to go see my parents. Their house, where I’d grown up, was roughly twenty miles outside the city. As I peered down the busy street, the wind carried tiny bits of snow that quickly made their way into my mouth. I squeezed my lips shut as I checked my phone to make sure I did in fact have an email from the TTG with a plane ticket attached. It was there, but still no cabs.
It took me a few seconds to realize something was going on... people were celebrating. Flocks of bodies danced in the middle of the street, cars stopped, yells and laughs flew from one sidewalk to the next. One man was dipping a woman in the middle of the street. Where had I seen that before?
A cab finally stopped in front of me. I hopped in and told the driver the address before asking, Any idea what’s going on, boss?
He responded by turning up the radio. It was the president of the United States speaking.
Once all bases on the Asian and Eastern European fronts are officially disarmed, we will mark the end of the Final War,
he said, his husky voice dripping with pride.
Hell yes, brother. We won the war! Hell yes!
the cabbie said to me. Or maybe he was saying it to the president. I was too confused to respond. Won the war? Those words repeated in my head. Won the war. No one won, everyone lost. They called it The Final War. It wasn’t a name based on fact, just wishful thinking.
The last reported number of casualties is over two hundred million souls. My fellow Americans, this is the third world war we have endured as a nation,
the President continued. "I call upon all the nations of the world to let this be the last war! Let us learn from the past as we set sail for the future. Throughout our history, we have seen wars have