About the Book
You never escape your past
Andi Lloyd is more comfortable than most with interstellar travel, but she’s not prepared for the perils and peculiarities of a world she has all but forgotten—the planet Earth. As the Surveyor undergoes repairs, her brother August receives a message with news that will send both of them across the world to a place he never wanted to visit again.
Neither of them are prepared to be thrust into a world of political intrigue amid the tangled forests and crumbling ruins of Austria. They aren’t prepared to encounter wild animals and endure cross-country hikes. And they definitely aren’t prepared to face it all alone.
But despite the dangers they must press on into the unknown to find a way to save Andi’s life, to decide the fate of Earth itself—and to rescue a lonely girl who just happens to be their little sister.
About the Author
J. Grace Pennington has been telling stories since she could talk and writing them down since age five. Now she lives in the great state of Texas, where she writes as much as adult life permits. When she’s not writing she enjoys reading good books, having adventures with her husband, and looking up at the stars.
Even when I lived on Earth as a child I had never spent this much time outdoors. The Doctor was more the homebody type and I followed in his footsteps, preferring science and reading to camping or hiking.
Crash, while adventurous, preferred for his adventures to take place far above the ground, whether that was in the sky or outside our solar system.
This, though, was soothing to my soul. Over time a combination of the sun and the walking warmed me enough so that I no longer felt like shivering. Brown leaves crinkled beneath our feet. Detailed green foliage and gentle insect sounds calmed my nerves until again I was almost able to forget about Langham’s, Crash, Ursula.
“This is nice,” I said after awhile.
He only nodded, the visible tension in his shoulders in no way relaxed by our surroundings.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine.” He kept weaving his way through the trees, alternating between studying the map and focusing on the trail ahead.
“What’s wrong?” I persisted.
He stopped and turned around, surveying me steadily for a moment.
Then, “What’s the last place in the universe you want to be?”
I thought about this. “I don’t know… I can’t… really think of any place.”
“The last person you want to see, then.”
I instantly knew my answer, but hesitated.
“It’s okay,” he prompted, looking me steadily in the eyes.
“Our father,” I admitted, lowering my gaze to the leaf-covered forest floor.
“Okay. Well, think about how that thought makes you feel. That’s how I feel being back in Austria.” He shifted his backpack and turned
away to start walking again. “I always said I’d never come back.
Especially not to Vienna.”
I paused a moment, watching him shuffle away, then rushed to catch up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugged. “What good would it do? We have to go. I don’t have to like it.”
Poor August. So polite, so timid, so ready to cave to others in everything, so silent about his own personal demons—because what good would addressing them do?
“Why?” was my next question as we crunched over the leaves.
He shrugged again but must have known I wouldn’t let him off that
easily, because after a second he said, “I… grew up here, you know.
Just outside Vienna. We’d go there sometimes, for errands, or just family outings. Me and Dad, you know. He was terrible, but… he was also good, sometimes. I don’t like to remember either one.” He glanced at me. “I know I’m pathetic.”
“You’re not,” I murmured.
He fixed his gaze on the way ahead again. “Maybe not. After all, nobody likes to face their gestern. I guess I’m not any different.”
“Yeah. It’s German for ‘yesterday.’ Something one of my philosophy professors used to say. ‘Nobody likes to face their gestern, but nobody can escape it.’”
J. Grace Pennington is offering three great giveaways! One is the CD she listened to while she wrote Gestern. The other two are a signed paperback of the winner’s choice. You can enter here: