This is the End 2(3)

This story takes place over multiple episodes, with a release date every two weeks. Each episode is approximately 20,000 words.





FUNNY! SEXY! ACTION-PACKED!





Chicago 2064: Forecast the Past


Talon Alalon is a timecaster—one of a select few peace officers who can operate a TEV, the Tachyon Emission Visualizer, which records events (most specifically, crimes) that have already happened.

With crime at an all-time low, Talon has little to do except give lectures to schoolkids—and obsess on his wife’s profession as a licensed sex partner.

Someone is taking timecasting to a whole new level and using it to frame Talon. And the only way he can prove his innocence is to go off the grid—which in 2064 is a very dangerous thing to do.

Time is not on his side.

Featuring all of the action, thrills, and humor of other Konrath books, but set in an outrageous never-before-seen future, the Timecaster series is ecopunk on super steroids. Add in healthy doses of sex, some characters from Konrath’s previous books (Talon is Jack Daniels’s grandson), and a lot of outrageous ideas about technology, society, and politics, and Timecaster is a book that will appeal to anyone who likes to be entertained, even if they don’t dig on sci-fi.





Timecaster


J.A. Konrath





CONTENTS


Begin reading TIMECASTER

GLOSSARY | ABOUT J.A. KONRATH | EBOOKS BY J.A. KONRATH | OTHER RECOMMENDED TITLES

Copyright





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.