BACKTRACKER by Milo Fowler (books to read in your 30s TXT) 📗

A simple cigarette lighter. An antique. Horton was said to bequite the eccentric, and standing there that day in the local precinct'sevidence chamber, Lennox couldn't have agreed more.

"Don't really know what it does—besides the obvious."Sergeant Armstrong had chuckled, his lumpy face mapped with red splotches likesmall continents. Too much hard drinking over the years. He would have gottenalong well with Lennox's alternate. "Government agents, Blackshirts morethan likely, are supposed to come by for it later today, take it into custody.They're a little pissed we found it first. Like every rat hole we raid is theirjurisdiction? But I don't get what all the hullabaloo's about. Then again, Idon't have to." He'd winked broadly. "I'll soon be workin' on my tan,won't I?"

Lennox had nodded, holding the device in the palm of his hand."That you will, Sergeant." He turned the lighter over in the glowcast by a single bulb dangling from the ceiling. The polishedsilver gleamed. He flipped off the cap, and the flame leapt upward. "Haveyou tried it?"

Armstrong shrugged his massive shoulders, muscle padded beneathlayers of loose flesh. "Don't smoke, none of us. How would thatlook?"

Lennox smiled in the light of the flame. "I suppose youcouldn't very well arrest yourselves."

Armstrong laughed too loud at that. Nervous? Perhaps due to thegiant mandroid standing behind Lennox, blocking the doorway with eyes glowing,staring down at the police sergeant like a predator biding its time.

"Don't much care what it does. Not natural, the work done bythat Horton fellow. The governors were right to shut 'im down,that's what I say." Armstrong cleared his throat, kept his eyes fromwandering toward the mandroid. "All that fiddling with the fabric ofreality and what-not. Unnatural stuff. Playing God, when you come right down toit. Nobody's got that right, no sir."

Lennox stared into the flame. He waited, wondering what wouldhappen next.

But nothing did. And after a few moments of heating his retinas,he closed the cap and pocketed the lighter.

"Thank you, Sergeant. It has been a pleasure doing businesswith you. My associate—" He gestured at the mandroid. "—will makesure you get out of town in one piece." He chuckled at the sergeant'sexpression. "Not to worry. Soon you'll be on that island of yours, faraway from any pissed-off government agents." He stepped toward the door,and the mandroid moved out of his way. "But if you ever find yourself backin NewCity, be sure to drop by The Pearl. Drinks on the house."

Armstrong grinned wide and fearsome, his bloodshot eyes crankedinto slits. "Thank you sir! You are a true gentleman, and that's afact!"

Lennox had returned to The Pearl on one of those rare occasionswhen the penthouse wasn't full of beautiful people and synthetics. He'd clearedthe glass wall and collapsed into one of the recliners. Below, the usual glitzand glamour filled the dance floor. In his hand, clinking and flaring as heflipped the cap on and off, the item he'd bought off Sergeant Armstrong fornearly a hundred million credits.

Was it more than it appeared to be? At the time, he hadn't beensure. The thought crossed his mind that he'd been conned. But no. Armstrong mayhave been a fool, but he wasn't that stupid. Or suicidal. No one crossed GavinLennox.

This was one of the Horton devices the Blackshirts had beenordered to collect and bury. It had to be more than met the eye.

Lennox opened his eyes with a start. He was still at The Pit. Tormentscreamed as loud as ever. The zombies were doing their thing, as were theghouls, loading up on mainline injections between their wild escapades on thecouches. Nothing had changed.

The subdermal plug behind his ear pulsed. That's what had wokenhim. He collected himself. This could be it. First contact with the CyrusHorton of another reality.

He tapped the plug and his vision was consumed by a white expanseas far as he could see. He logged-in and set his pass-images to shufflerandomly.

"Thank you for using LinkCom," greeted the perfect,beautiful face of the virtual operator. "How may I assist you?"

"Receive call."

"Of course." A broad smile, calm, inviting. Perfectteeth between glistening lips. "You have an incoming call from an unknownsource. Unfortunately, only audio is being transmitted. Would you like toproceed?"

"Yes." It would be like Horton to preserve his privacy.Yet he'd appeared in person at The Pearl. Another sign that version of him hadbeen unhinged.

A long pause.

Then: "Mr. Lennox." A woman's voice.

He hid his disappointment. "Yeah. What do you want?" Heyawned, reminding himself again that this versionof Gavin Lennox was a little rougher around the edgesthan his counterpart at The Pearl.

"Is he there?" The tone was careful, like she washolding her cards close, not wanting to give anything away.

He sniffed, nonchalant. "Who?"

"The BackTracker." So much for being cautious. "Ishe with you?"

She must have seen the message he'd posted on that site devoted toBackTracker speculation. Plenty of chatter there about an illegal temporal displacement device created by agovernment scientist who'd fallen from favor. Horton—it had to be. Therewas just as much talk about a rumored superhero whocould change the past. Apparently, they shared thesame moniker: the time traveler and his time machine.

Lennox was prepared to dig the device out of the man's very heart, ifneed be. He would do anything to possess it. Influence the past, and you expandyour influence in the present, the future. Beyond NewCity, beyond the Revival.Lennox had his sights set on much bigger game: becoming the richest, mostpowerful man in the world, for starters.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said.

"Have him Link up if he's really there."

"Who are you?"

"Irrelevant." She was taking control of thisconversation, whether he liked it or not. "If you know the whereabouts ofthe BackTracker, then meet me outside in the alley a minute from now. If not,you needn't bother."

The operator's face reappeared. "Call terminated. Would youlike to review your charges?"

Lennox tapped the plug, and his view of Torment's mayhem returned. Hestood, pausing before taking a step forward. Why should he meet this strangeroutside? He had nothing to gain by it. He didn't have what this woman wanted.She'd already called his bluff, seen through the lie he'd posted