Time Jacker by Aaron Crash (best free novels .txt) 📗

during a famine. He had distractingly big, square teeth, almost too big for his mouth. His thin lips didn’t do much to hide them. All in all, he was pale and sickly—on his best day, Tolliver looked like he was already halfway dead.

It was just one more reason Roy didn’t like the man. At nearly fifty, Roy still kept in shape and kept the muscle on, and every morning began with a series of punishing exercises. When the Grim Reaper finally took Roy Boss for keeps, he wanted the muscle to punch that skeletal cocksucker right in his bony face.

Tolliver looked off. Roy could feel the tension in the air, more than usual.

“You didn’t answer my message,” the gaunt man said, spit gathering at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey, Ennis,” Roy said, keeping his distance. It was just the two of them in the hall. “I get way too many messages from you. Which one are you referring to?”

“Communication is key at a company like this!” Tolliver roared.

Roy was right to stay back. His adversary was coming unhinged.

“That’s what they say in all the business books.” Roy touched the watch on his wrist, which was tied directly to his synthetic heart. If it stopped beating, then...well...shit would happen. He’d made arrangements with Joyce on Plymouth. He’d never met Joyce in person, no, since the Plymouth Gate was a one-way trip. Plymouth wasn’t in the Milky Way Galaxy. It was...someplace else.

Roy had friends who worked for Kriss Devlin Stargates. Even they couldn’t figure out the tech of the Plymouth Gate—it was exit only. That allowed Joyce to send him his monsters, but it didn’t permit him to go and visit her.

Joyce was nice enough, but she offered few details about herself, her world, or her company. Or maybe the company was the world? That wasn’t clear either. And the way Roy paid his most important vendor was downright strange. Then again, the universe was a kooky fucking place.

Roy grinned at the CFO. “I probably should’ve answered that message since you’re clearly upset. What did it say?”

Tolliver was breathing hard, and his hands were balled into fists. “You need to take the Charter’s deal. You need to give them access to Plymouth.”

The Charter—as close to a galactic government as existed—wanted to use Plymouth’s monsters as soldiers.

Roy wasn’t against the idea...better to use monsters than people. However, the Charter’s Military Command wasn’t offering him enough money. They wanted him to be a patriot. Roy was a gamer first, businessman second, and not much of a patriot at all. He kept planets full of people busy with jobs they loved—that was enough patriotism for one man.

“Yes, I read that message, Ennis. We’ve gone over this. The Charter isn’t offering enough money. Not nearly enough. And I’m not sure my friends on Plymouth are going to play ball.”

Tolliver stomped forward, turned, and stomped back to where he’d been. Another turn. “So you’re cutting executive salaries instead of taking the deal? All of our salaries?”

“Mine too.” Not that Roy ever really reached into the reserve. He’d been paying himself five dollars a year for a decade now, and he’d cut that down to a single greenback. Dungeon Core I had made him immediately, stupidly rich. Other parks followed—America Core, Caesar Core, Bushido Core, and Dungeon Core II. Dungeon Core III would be his sixth world, and the best. His critics kept expecting the monsters at the gaming worlds to snap and murder continents full of gaming tourists. Of course, that never happened. The A.I. came with an anti-sentience setting. Even though it had been over a thousand years, people still remembered the lessons of Westworld, both the movie and the TV show.

“You’re spending too much on DC III!” Tolliver yelled. “My salary shouldn’t finance your delusions!”

“My delusions made us all rich,” Roy countered, frowning. If it came to throwing punches, he could take Tolliver. Something else was going on, though. Something wasn’t right.

Roy heard footsteps. With the acoustics, he wasn’t sure if they were behind him or coming from Tolliver’s end of the hallway behind the turn there. Somehow, that suddenly seemed very important.

“Our latest gaming world,” Roy corrected. “VentureForge has a motto. Do you remember what it is?”

“I know the fucking motto!” Tolliver sent spit flying.

Yep, Roy took another step back. “Say it with me, Ennis. The games come first. Then the people. Then the profits.”

Ennis pulled out a level-two electric pistol. It was designed to kill flesh and not blast through walls, which was handy on a space station.

Roy wasn’t all that surprised. He reacted quickly. Charge a man with a gun. Run from a man with a knife. Or that was what Roy’s father said.

Roy struck Tolliver with his shoulder and drove the man back against the wall. He grabbed the ePistol and twisted. That should’ve broken Tolliver’s finger. Instead, silver-blue energy leaked from underneath the old man’s skin. Tolliver had gotten an enhancement procedure done, clearly. It was expensive, dangerous, and slightly illegal, though the Charter didn’t care much about what any individual did as long as it didn’t affect entire planets.

The old man threw Roy back. That was when the clattering footsteps appeared from behind him...two of Roy’s admins, Jack and Phyllis. Both loved their jobs—the games, the people, the profits, the whole deal—though Phyllis was set to retire in the next six months.

The two admins were shocked to see the CFO armed and about to gun down the CEO of VentureForge right in the halls of their corporate office.

Tolliver raised the pistol. “No witnesses.”

He squeezed the trigger. Jack shrieked as the energy melted through his chest. He fell to his knees and slumped over.

Tolliver shifted his aim.

Roy wasn’t about to let Phyllis die. No, she didn’t have the kind of contingency plan that Roy had. That was one thing about Roy Boss—he had contingency plans for his contingency plans. You layered your strategies, and you didn’t cut corners doing it.

However, his PLAN B—capital letters—hinged on those Plymouth engineers. And Joyce