Awakening from a severe head injury and amnesia in an allied hospital during World War I, "John Smith" quickly realizes he is not like other men. John can travel to parallel worlds, seemingly through the power of his own mind. In this first serial, he not only learns of his power when it is triggered in the stress of combat, but visits an Earth still trapped in the midst of an ice age. On the ice age planet, John encounters not only humans, but another species locked in conflict with them.
The John Smith, World Jumper series is written as an adventurous tribute to early planetary adventure stories, written near the turn of the 20th century and often published in serial format. It throws in a few twists to make it at least "remotely" plausible or at least entertainingly believable with developments in science since the 20's, and to add more potential depth to the story line.
It is published in serial format so that those with limited time to read can catch up on a weekly basis, using whatever form of electronic reader is convenient to them.
Give it a try, its free (for now)
Excerpt
The world you know is but one of many. I do not mean this in the sense that astronomers are beginning to discuss distant worlds around far away stars, possibly like our own or possibly not. The worlds I speak of are, how shall I put it, duplicates. Some of these realities seem closely intertwined, some only slightly similar to the Earth you know. But all are nearby, separated by the differences between them, for two identical or nearly identical objects cannot occupy the same space or same time.
The only way I can think of to describe these “Earths” is that they are like looking into a mirror, except that what you see is not a reflection, but another world. Add to that the myriad of depth visible, each scene behind the last, when you hold two mirrors facing each other, and you may be able to grasp the number of other worlds I am speaking.
I am neither a scientist, nor an engineer by trade, so if my description here or elsewhere is remiss in any empirical manner from reality the fault is mine alone. I can only describe what my senses tell me, or what my memory may recall from those more learned than I, who have attempted to clarify matters.
How do I then speak of such things even in my limited manner? I speak from experience. I do not yet know how or why I have been given the ability, but I can and have made the transition between worlds on several occasions. What follows is my attempt to record for posterity what I have seen and done so far. Not because I am in any way special for my abilities, but so that someday when the bridge or bridges between worlds become easier to cross, my simple musings might help those in an undertaking of far more significance than my own wanderings.
In any event, the places and events described herein are accurate as I remember them. If my memory is faulty, or fades with time, I offer, now, my humble apologies.
My story begins long ago. As I see the last of the Great War veterans of this Earth pass on, their names trickling into obscurity, I cannot help but regret that although I was there my name shall not be counted among them.
I am an amnesiac. I do not know who my parents were, or remember any of my childhood, adolescence, or early adulthood. My military record lists my name as John Smith, a name assigned as an alternative when too many John Doe’s were present at the morgue or in my case, luckily, the hospital. It has been my name, thanks to my Canadian nurse, since June 18th, 1918 when I awoke with no prior memories in a U.S. Military Base Hospital on the outskirts of Paris, France with a bandage wrapped around my head. I learned neither of the battle of Beleau Wood, nor that I had been found wandering that battlefield wounded and naked, for days after.
I am of average height and build, if a little on the athletic side. My brown hair becomes quite unruly if left long, and in keeping with longstanding military traditions I keep it shorn short, and my face clean shaven when practical.
That I am in the prime of life is all I can say about my age. I assumed I was in my early 20’s along with most of the other men I served with, but that assumption is quite probably false. In the decades since, I have not apparently aged one day. I remain as hale and hearty as ever, my face unlined by the passage of years.
If this un-aging is somehow linked to my abilities to cross worlds, learn languages remarkably quickly, and heal unnaturally fast, I cannot be sure, but I do think it highly likely. In any event, barring contact with someone who knows my past, the amnesia which blankets my memories stands as the single failure of my body to heal itself, and leaves any conjecture just that.
As to whether I am or was, prior to that long ago day, a soldier by profession I cannot swear, but since my proclivity towards skills related to soldiering seems readily apparent, such an assumption is as likely as any I can think of.
There is no one consensus as to the color of my eyes, but opinion ranges from blue to gray. It is of no matter to me, either way, as I seldom look at them. I have however, often caught people staring at me, as if to discern secrets locked deep within my psyche. Despite my claims at being quite ordinary in demeanor and thought, the few whom I have questioned on the manner insist there is some kind of depth to my gaze, an intensity mixed incongruently with a look of serenity. Try as I might, looking on my reflection at various times, I haven’t the slightest idea what they are talking about.
My first personal recollection is...
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