Timecaster

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY-ONE

  FIFTY-TWO

  FIFTY-THREE

  FIFTY-FOUR

  GLOSSARY

  CAUGHT ON TAPE . . .

  The murderer looked exactly like me.

  His hair was darker than mine and slightly longer than I wore it. But everything else about him was identical.

  “You! You killed her!” Neil backpedaled, raising up his hands in case I was going to grab him and twist his head off.

  “I didn’t kill her, Neil.” I was shocked, but kept my voice even. “That’s just someone who looks like me. A disguise. Or someone with facial reconstruction. Might even be a clone.”

  Neil’s voice was shaky. “He’s your age. He would have had to have been cloned at the same time as your birth.”

  “Look, I’ll prove it isn’t me.”

  I zoomed out and switched the resolution from the visible spectrum to a preprogrammed wavelength and frequency, bringing up an electromagnetic radiation resolution. The effect was similar to old-fashioned X-rays. The killer and Aunt Zelda became phosphorescent skeletons. I used the joystick to focus in on the man’s wrist, then zoomed in.

  His chip filled the screen. A twenty-digit ID number, followed by the birth name.

  I paused it, and then got an even bigger shock.

  The ID number and the name were mine.

  “You killed her,” Neil whispered . . .

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  TIMECASTER

  An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Ace mass-market edition / June 2011

  Copyright © 2011 by Joe Kimball.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-51528-0

  ACE

  Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For Talon Ace Konrath

  Ecopunk—(ē-kō-puhngk)

  1. A subgenre of science fiction set in a green, utopian future, with a libertarian government. The opposite of nihilistic, authoritarian sci-fi, where no one smiles because everyone is so fucking oppressed.

  2. A narrative typified by high-tech gadgetry, over-the-top action, copious amounts of sex, gratuitous and often rude humor, and theoretical physics, taking place in a society that emphasizes personal freedom and respect for the environment.

  3. A Joe Kimball story where people get kicked in the groin a lot.

  Nothing is improbable until it moves into the past tense.

  —GEORGE ADE

  I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.

  —WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

  Time is on my side, yes it is.

  —MICK JAGGER

  ONE

  Chicago 2064

  Exactly nine hours and eleven minutes before I was charged with the complete destruction of Boise, Idaho, and the murders of the four hundred sixty-two thousand and nine people living there, I was mowing my roof and collecting the clippings like a good little taxpayer when I noticed a raccoon hiding in one of my hemp plants.

  Raccoons were on the endangered list. That meant if one took up residence on my city-mandated green roof, I wasn’t allowed to disturb its habitat. No mowing. No trimming. No planting. No gardening at all. Which meant instead of paying my weekly biodiesel tax in foliage, I’d have to pay in credits.

  I had no desire to part with my hard-earned credits. Or my wife’s hard-earned credits. That was why I cut off the lawn mower and pulled my regulation Glock 1MV Taser from my side holster and aimed it right between the animal’s adorable masked eyes.

  I’m not a monster, even though the world news would make me out to be one later that day. The Taser was meant for human-sized opponents, but I didn’t think it would kill the little guy. It would just stun him long enough for me to toss him on my neighbor Chomsky’s roof only six feet over. Worst that would happen was a little singed fur. Probably.

  The raccoon stared back at me without fear, like he knew he was protected by the government. The fine for harming an endangered species was considerably more money than the biofuel tax. But even if the creature didn’t survive, I could still throw it on Chomsky’s property. Then I could arrest Chomsky for its murder. Chomsky was a dick.

  Still, I hesitated. The raccoon grew bored with our staring contest, turning his attention back to the hemp bush. He began to snack on a large bud. I holstered
the Taser. Maybe if I left him alone, he’d OD.

  “Sergeant Avalon?”

  I turned. Neil Winston was standing on my roof, between a large hydrangea and some bamboo stalks. He was wearing a bathrobe and slippers. Though it was a cool sixty-five degrees, he had sweat on his forehead, and I resented what that implied.

  “What do you want, Neil?” My voice was hard, clipped, pure cop. He took a step back, but didn’t leave.

  “Victoria, uh, she said you might be able to help me.”

  I didn’t like what my wife did for a living, and didn’t like her clients. Neil was a skinny man with a big Adam’s apple, a few years older than me, a banker or an accountant or something uptight like that. Victoria respected me enough to not talk about her work, but I did routine background checks on everyone she associated with. Call me Mr. Concerned Husband.

  “Help you with what, Neil?” I could feel my shoulder muscles bunch up.

  “You sound, um, a little angry. Victoria said you weren’t a jealous man, that I could come to you without any fear whatsoever. I have to be honest. I’m feeling a little bit of fear.”

  I thought about the Taser, and allowed myself a small grin imagining what he’d look like flopping around on the ground, doing the million-volt boogie. He’d look pretty damn good, I decided.

  “That, uh, scowl makes you seem even scarier.” Neil took another step backward. “Sergeant Avalon, there’s no competition here. I’m a thin, homely, lonely little guy who has to pay a social worker for sex.”

  I hated the term social worker. It sounded like Victoria was helping poor people with their family problems instead of being a state-licensed prostitute. A state-licensed prostitute who made more than double my peace officer’s salary.

  “But you,” Neil blabbered on, “you’re a hero, you’re handsome, with large, intimidating muscles, you own a beautiful home, and you married a goddess. There’s no need to be jealous of me, Sergeant Avalon.”

  My wife bought the home with her savings, but the rest of what he said was close enough to true. It looked like Neil’s knees were knocking together beneath his robe, so I eased off the throttle a bit.

  “What is it you want, Neil?”

  “You’re a timecaster, right? I mean, well, of course you are. But do you still do it? Use the machine?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “All the time.”

  I hadn’t turned on the TEV in about eight months. No need to, with crime practically nonexistent these days. All I used it for was show-and-tell at grammar schools.

  “Well, I, uh, wondered if you couldn’t maybe help me with something.”

  I let my frown deepen. What errand did Victoria expect me to run for this poor shlub? Find his missing kitty? Discover who was peeing on his doorstep?

  “Help you with what, Neil?”

  “It’s my aunt, Zelda Peterson.” Neil’s voice got lower. “I think someone murdered her.”

  I sighed. Besides being thin, homely, and lonely enough to pay for sex, Neil was obviously fuct in the head. There hadn’t been a murder in the taxpaying sections of Illinois for more than seven years. There hadn’t been a violent crime in more than five. The closest thing to a crime spree these days was a parking ticket followed by pinching an apple from a street vendor.

  But since this was one of my wife’s clients, I responded with restraint.

  “You’re fuct in the head,” I told him.

  Believe me. That was restraint.

  “Look, Sergeant Avalon, I know it sounds crazy. I know nobody gets murdered anymore. Heck, there hasn’t even been a fatal car accident in as long as I can remember. That’s because of peace officers like you. Because of timecasters. Since everyone knows there are no more secrets, everyone is more careful. I was serious when I said you’re a hero, Sergeant Avalon.”

  If he laid it on any thicker, I could insulate my house with it. And, truth told, he appeared pretty shaken up. Normally, anyone who spent time with Victoria had a happy, satisfied look. A look I normally wore, except on the days she worked.

  “Why do you think she was murdered, Neil?”

  His eyes got glassy. “Aunt Zelda is the kindest person on the planet. Everyone loves her. I visit her once a day. We have coffee after work. Yesterday, I went to her apartment, and she wasn’t there. I let myself in and waited around for her to come home. She didn’t.”

  “Did you call her headphone?”

  “Aunt Zelda never got the implant. But she has a regular cell. I called it, and it was in her purse, in the bedroom.”

  “How old is your aunt, Neil?”

  “She’s in her seventies. But her mind is perfect, Sergeant Avalon. She wouldn’t go anywhere without telling me. She calls me when she goes to the corner download kiosk to buy a magazine, and that’s just a block away. Plus there was blood.”

  “Blood?” I was becoming curious, a hazard of my profession. I kept it from showing.

  “A few drops. On the sink.”

  “Any pets? Cat? Dog?”

  “No pets.”

  “You’re sure it was blood?”

  He began to shift his weight from one leg to the other. “It was definitely blood.”

  “If you’re so concerned, why not go to the Peace Department?”

  “I did. I spoke to another sergeant there, a man named Teague. He laughed me out of his office.”

  No surprise. Teague was a dick.

  “Was your aunt chipped?”

  “Of course. But she’s not showing up on GPS. Teague said maybe the chip shorted out. But they’re bioregulated, aren’t they? They run organically. They don’t short out. They just cease some of their functions when the host dies.”

  I thought about it. Having a chipped person not show up on GPS made this whole thing even more intriguing. A few years ago, a tanker sank, and they were able to find the bodies under four hundred feet of water. Chips eliminated the need for paper money, identification, and keys. Each one was unique to a person’s DNA, and operated as credit and keys only while the owner was alive. After death, they could no longer open doors or buy things. But GPS still worked.

  The only way to short out a chip was to destroy it on purpose, like the dissys do.

  “Please, Sergeant. I’m willing to pay for your time. Name a price, I’ll pay it. Any price. Ever since yesterday, I’ve been worried sick. I can’t think about anything else.”

  Worried sick, but he still managed to enjoy an afternoon with my wife. I glanced back at the raccoon still happily nibbling away. That was a vicious circle going on there. Eat marijuana, get the munchies, so you eat more marijuana. Maybe I’d be lucky and he’d pop.

  “Two months’ worth of foliage for my property size,” I said. “That’s my price.”

  He frowned. “I live in a condo, Sergeant Avalon. I don’t have a roof, just a little garden on my porch, and some kudzu in the bathroom. I could pay you the equivalent amount in credits.”

  “No deal. If you can’t get the foliage, you can come up here once a week and work my roof.”

  A fair compromise. He came here to get a little trim. Why not give a little trim back?

  “Done. When can we do this?”

  “Now is good.”

  “Now. Excellent. I’ll go get dressed.” He turned to leave, then turned right back around. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

  I shrugged. “Meet you out in front in ten.”

  Neil disappeared. I gave my little pot thief one more glance. “If you feel like dropping dead, please go next door to Chomsky’s roof.”

  The raccoon’s mouth was full, his cheeks puffed out with weed, but he probably wouldn’t have replied anyway.

  TWO

  Victoria was in a red silk kimono one shade lighter than her hair, and even though we’d been married for three years and had known each other for five, the sight of her still took my breath away. She was beautiful, sure. And it was natural beauty, not surgically enhanced. But the thing that drew me and countless others to her was how she radiated life. Vicki h
ad something beneath her superficial looks, something she exuded that made you want to be near her. Charisma times ten. And it had nothing to do with her being one of the last real redheads in the country.

  I walked to her in the kitchen, where she was at the sink, peeling the potatoes I’d dug up earlier, setting the skins aside. I came up from behind and wrapped my arms around her.

  “You’re going to help him?” she asked, dropping the spud and squeezing my forearms.

  “Yeah. He agreed to do our foliage for two months.”

  “You’re the last of the nice guys, Talon.”

  I considered nuzzling her neck, but figured it had been nuzzled only a few minutes prior. The thought made my arms tense up.

  “I didn’t mean to bring him over while you were home.” Victoria must have sensed my mood swing. She was good at reading people. “But the reason he wanted to see me is because he wanted to see you. He tried your office first. You weren’t there, so he made an appointment.”

  “So you guys didn’t . . .”

  “Of course we did. He’s a regular client, obviously very upset. I did my best to relax him.”

  I kept the jealousy down. I had no right to judge her. Victoria kept her relationship with her clients businesslike and professional. No kissing. Always protection. And since she married me, she drastically reduced her schedule. Women of her attributes could have been making four times the amount she did, but she worked only two days a week, and picked days when I was at work so I wouldn’t have to see or hear anything that might make me go on a Tasing expedition.

  Besides, the only reason I knew Victoria in the first place was because I was a former client.

  “Kiss me,” I said.

  She turned, my arms still around her. Her green eyes were wide, her pupils huge.