Wealth of Time Series Boxset

by Andre Gonzalez

  “Chris called me warm,” Martin said, bolting upright in his seat.

  “Because you are. One thing you should understand is that Chris and I are simply minor characters in this world of time. Time travel is simply one aspect, and one that both him and I know almost everything about. That’s why there’s a war—we have two drastically different approaches to how this gift should be used and shared.”

  “What does this have to do with me being a . . . Warm Soul?”

  Martin had no desire to hear another explanation of the war—he wanted to know why everyone used him like the rope in a deranged game of tug of war.

  “Beyond time travel, there are others with different abilities. There are some who can freeze time. And on the flip side of that, there are others who can resist the freezing of time.”

  Martin’s eyebrows elevated to his hairline. “What do you mean by freezing time?”

  “When time is frozen, everything comes to a complete standstill. You can be in the middle of a run through the park, and be frozen mid-stride. We could freeze in the middle of this conversation, and the thing is, we would never know it—well, I would never know it. You would.”

  If Martin scrunched his face any more it would fall off his skull. “Are you saying I’m immune to this?”

  Commander Strike nodded, her ponytail bobbing joyfully.

  “Wouldn’t I have noticed that everyone around me was frozen?” Martin asked.

  “Not necessarily. This isn’t something that happens often. Not yet, at least. There are only a handful of people in the world who can freeze time, and even less who can resist.”

  “Why me? What did I do?”

  “That’s one question I wish I could answer. We don’t have any knowledge on how this actually works. As far as we know, it’s all random. We’ve conducted studies on those who can resist time, and have found no similarities across subjects. You said Chris mentioned this to you?”

  Martin squirmed in his seat, uncomfortable that he had such a unique ability. His dreams of going home to a normal life were shot. Although, maybe he could leverage this situation for his personal gain. Strike hadn’t said it yet, but he had something they wanted.

  “He didn’t mention it directly—I was eavesdropping on his conversation. He called me warm right before I ran away and escaped.”

  She laughed. “That’s right. They said you walked right out the front door. It amazes me how someone so smart can be so stupid.”

  Martin stared blankly across the table. “So what is it exactly you want from me?”

  “We want you to be a Road Runner. To fight on the right side of history.”

  She let her words hang in the air, pressuring Martin to speak next after a few awkward seconds of silence.

  “How do I know you’re on the right side?”

  Commander Strike stood from her desk and paced along the back wall, rubbing the bottle of scotch as if debating to pour a glass or drink straight from the bottle.

  “Tell me everything Chris has told you about his plans.” She tossed her hands in the air. “Go ahead.”

  “Well, he never tells me much. He told me some of the rules for time—”

  “I don’t care about that. Tell me about his plans for the future.”

  “I can’t say he’s told me anything. He’s mentioned that he has counterparts on every continent. . .but that might have been the Road Runners who told me that before Chris came and busted me out of the hotel. The last couple days have been a blur.”

  “That’s exactly my point. I can tell you everything about our plans as the Road Runners, where we’ve been and where we’re going.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Our main reason for existence is to keep Chris and his friends from ruling the world. It is true that he has counterparts on every continent, even Antarctica. And they’re all as equally bought in to their mission of taking over the world. It’s why they’re on each continent. They’re slowly manipulating every country’s government to the point where they have rule over those countries by planting their own people in positions of power.”

  “So, they’re like the New World Order?”

  “You could say that, except this is real. Their movement is called The Future Revolution, and they call themselves the Revolters. They’re real, and they’re powerful. They travel throughout time to learn what can make each government fall, and how to manipulate people into believing what they’re selling.”

  “Which is?”

  “No different than anyone else who makes empty promises: a better world, a better future. Every action they make, every word that is spoken, has a direct purpose behind it with a specific goal at the end. Their end goal is to rule a world where there are no people who can think for themselves, and it’s frightening. They’re succeeding, in fact. But that’s the beauty of there not being linear time—we can always inflict change in any era and save the future from itself.”

  “Is there a point in time where you see an end to this war?”

  She crossed her arms and frowned. “There’s not necessarily a time where the war ends, but there’s a time where it becomes obvious that The Future Revolution rules a majority of the world. What year is it in your current time? 1995?”

  “No, 1996 is what I traveled back to, to save my daughter. I’m from 2018.”

  She nodded as if she should’ve known this. “The takeover has already begun by 2018. The world is going mad by then. It’s one of our main eras of focus.”

  “And you want me to help stop it from happening?”

  “Yes. We’re just not sure how yet. We have so much to learn about time freezing that we won’t put you in a situation that we don’t even understand. One thing I can promise you is that every decision is made methodically and we never put a Road Runner’s life at risk. Unlike Chris who rotates through his soldiers like it’s World War One all over again.”

  Martin processed this information with care. Aside from their encounter in his mansion bedroom, Chris had never discussed plans of any sort, and left many answers vague. Martin had always sensed the old man was hiding something, even back when they had first met.

  “Be honest with yourself, and with me. What has Chris done for you? Did he deceive you into a better life by granting you time travel? Hurt your family? Try to lure you into comfort with a luxurious life?”

  Martin looked to the floor and nodded. “He’s done all of that.”

  “That’s what he’s done to all of us, one by one. Every Road Runner received their Juice through Chris—there’s no other way, although we think we’re getting closer to reverse engineering it. The point is, you’re not alone, and it’s why we believe so strongly in our mission of taking him down. There are people who will fall for anything and get sucked into Chris’s tricks. The rest of us become Road Runners.”

  Martin smiled at that last line, the ultimate sales pitch.

  “I’m not going to stand here and make you empty promises for agreeing to join us. We’re not going to deposit $100 million dollars into your bank account in exchange for your soul. Any dipshit with the Juice can find a way to make easy money. We believe in helping each other build a life that you can be proud of—whatever that means to you.”

  “I like everything you’ve said, but I really need to think things over. I didn’t ask to be sucked into this, and I’m honestly not interested in joining a war that never ends. I have a sick mom at home—thanks to Chris—and I just want to be with her.”

  “I’m not going to argue with that. We can get you on a plane back to Denver in 2018 within the next hour. All I ask is that you give this serious consideration. And keep one thing in mind: you’re never going to be able to watch from the sidelines. The secret is out about your gift. Even if we let you walk, Chris won’t be so understanding. He’ll come after you and make you his prisoner. And if you reject us, we don’t really have the resources to protect you. As much as you hate to hear it, you’re going to need to pick a side, or one will be
picked for you, and it will never be us who force the matter.”

  Martin’s heart beat a little faster. He didn’t know for sure if the Road Runners truly would leave him in peace, but he had no problem believing that Chris wouldn’t.

  “I’ll consider this. You have my word. But I really do want to get home to my mom.”

  Commander Strike nodded and smiled. “Alright, then. I’ll have Bill and Julian take you to our private jet. Do you know where the Chop House is in Denver?”

  “The restaurant? Yeah.”

  “When you make your decision, go to the parking garage behind the restaurant. Go to the stairwell and go as low as you can and wait. I’ll have someone meet you there so we can discuss your decision.”

  Chills broke out down Martin’s back. How big is this underground network? It’s like an entire society living in another world.

  “Okay. I can do that.”

  “Perfect. I look forward to seeing you again. I’ll grab Bill and Julian and let them know the plan. We’ll be in touch.”

  Commander Strike left Martin alone in the room, leaving him in silence to ponder what the rest of his life would now look like.

  81

  Chapter 26

  Commander Strike followed her word. She left Martin alone in her office for ten minutes before Bill came knocking to retrieve him.

  “Jet’s being fueled and will be ready when we get there. Any last questions for the Commander before we leave?”

  Martin shook his head.

  “Alright then, let’s head out.” Bill gestured for him to stand.

  When Martin stepped out of the office, a few of the Road Runners tried to sneak a peek at him. They made it less obvious than when he had arrived, but they all eventually caught a glimpse of the secret weapon.

  Julian waited in front of the elevator, pacing back and forth like a guard.

  “Let’s get Mr. Briar back home,” Bill said.

  The three stepped into the elevator, and stood in the same positions as when they had arrived. “Pretty cool place, huh?” Julian asked as the elevator door cut off the view of the underground headquarters.

  “Yeah. It’s crazy to know this is all going on.”

  “You should see some of our other locations: swimming pools, racquetball courts, all kinds of amenities. It’s hard to get those kind of things all the way up here in Santa’s land. Besides, the Commander doesn’t think we should be playing when we’re so close to Chris. That’s really the only reason for this location, to follow his every move.”

  “Was his mansion on one of those screens?”

  Bill laughed. “One of those screens? Try half of those screens. We watch that house like a hawk.”

  “Have you ever seen the inside?”

  “No. We’re hoping you’ll tell us about it later. Whether you join us or not.” Bill said this last line in a how-dare-you-consider-rejecting-us tone.

  “How many Road Runners are trapped in that house?” Martin asked.

  “At least fifty. We want to know about the basement…”

  “I didn’t get to see it—wasn’t exactly exploring the place—but I think that’s where they’re all being kept.”

  “We sent in some people, undercover, to try and learn about the inside of the place. They were all volunteers, but Chris snuffed them out as liars and we’ve never seen them again. We just assumed they were dead. We’ve recently implanted tracker devices into Road Runners—for reasons like this.”

  “But no one volunteers to go into that house any more,” Julian cut in. “If we could get just one person to go, we could know for sure if our people are being kept prisoner or being killed. But it sounds like you may have the answer to that question.”

  Martin shook his head as the elevator door opened back into the outhouse on ground level. “But I don’t. I just know about the existence of the basement. When I was listening to Chris’s conversation, he said if I didn’t oblige I’d be sent to the basement. I still don’t know what that actually means, but it sounds like a prison of sorts.”

  The men stepped back into the freezing Alaskan air where the car they had arrived in waited. Bill returned to his position behind the wheel as they all filed into the car.

  “We’d love to sit down with you sometime and draw all of this out. If we even had a rough sketch of what the inside of the house looks like, it might be a game changer.”

  “If you guys have such intense surveillance on the house, why don’t you just shoot Chris when he steps outside?”

  Julian giggled. “If it was that easy, we would. He’s not mortal. All of us are, even all of those who work for him are, too. But he’s not. We’ve shot him, square in the head. He just plucks the bullet out of his skull like it was an annoying piece of hair and laughs.”

  “And this is why we have so many eyes on him. There has to be a way to kill him, we just don’t know it yet.”

  Martin slouched in the backseat. As open and honest as the Road Runners had been, it sounded as if they were still light-years behind Chris. There were too many questions unanswered. How would they ever win a war that way? The sales pitch back in Commander Strike’s office suddenly felt unstable, a cheap attempt to get Martin to join their circus of the unknown. Their entire operation was built around killing a man who, quite possibly, couldn’t be killed.

  They drove in silence for the next ten minutes, Julian occasionally whistling a tune.

  “We’re here,” Bill announced as they turned into a lot of hangars. Most were empty as they drove to the far end where a small blue jet waited.

  “Are you guys coming with me?” Martin asked.

  “Afraid not. We have lots to do here, especially now that we know about this basement. We’re going to have a long talk back at headquarters about what we can do with this information. And you’re going to have a relaxing flight back to Denver. Be sure to take your Juice after you land to get back to 2018.”

  “We’ll leave you here, but go check in with the pilot. I believe Wendell will be flying you tonight. He’s a great guy.”

  “We’ll see you at another time hopefully,” Julian said.

  Both men reached a hand over the center console and Martin shook each. “It was great meeting you guys, thanks for rescuing me.”

  “The pleasure is all ours,” Bill said. “Best of luck with your decision.”

  Martin left the car and strode to the jet where a portable staircase welcomed him, much like it had on Chris’s plane.

  I could get used to this life.

  A young African-American man stood at the top of the steps and waved. “Come on up.”

  Martin climbed the steps, feeling he should have luggage, but remembering his suitcase and belongings were in 2018, and somewhere in 1919 was a briefcase in an abandoned room at the Brown Palace.

  Sonya, Goddamnit.

  After checking in with his mom when he arrived home, his next priority would be an intense crying session. Or maybe a fit of rage. He could visit the shooting range to blow off some steam. He couldn’t fault Sonya for what she had done, but he didn’t have to accept it, either.

  “Good evening, Mr. Briar, how are you today?” the man asked, sticking out a hand. “My name is Wendell and I’ll be flying you to Denver.”

  “I’ve had better days, Wendell, but I’m doing well.”

  Wendell patted Martin on the back as he stepped into the plane. “Well, we can certainly help make things better. I have a full bar, and a decent-sized menu.”

  The plane was half the size as Chris’s, but still housed plenty of luxury. It wasn’t built to carry two dozen Revolters, but rather a half dozen Road Runners as six reclining chairs graced the sides along the windows. Toward the back was the bathroom next to the aforementioned bar. Again, everything from the decor, like the sleek trim lighting around the ceiling, to the general vibe in the aircraft felt like it was from 2018 and not the 1980’s.

  “Get comfortable. It’s roughly a five-hour flight.” Wendell checked his watch.
He dressed like any other pilot Martin had encountered. “We should be landing in Denver at 5:30 A.M. local time.”

  “What time is it now?”

  Martin had left his watch at the Brown Palace and his cell phone in 2018. It could have been 3 A.M. for all he knew.

  “It’s 10:30 here in Alaska, and I get the sense they’re going to have a late night at the headquarters. Commander Strike sounded excited and flustered. No one gets any sleep when that happens. Anyway, we’ll get going shortly. It’s just me, you, and Leanna. She’ll be tending to you if you need anything. She’s also a certified pilot, so can take over if I have a heart attack.”

  Wendell howled at this, too young to worry about a heart attack. The pilot pushed a button on the wall that closed the plane’s door, and worked his way into the cockpit.

  Just one drink before bed. Lots to do tomorrow.

  Martin crossed the open space and sat in the front row seat furthest from the door. Within minutes they rumbled along the jet way, and elevated into the night sky. He’d never meet Leanna, as he fell asleep three minutes after take-off.

  82

  Chapter 27

  Martin didn’t wake when the plane landed, and if Wendell hadn’t poked him back into consciousness, he might have slept for the next ten hours. His nap in the mansion felt like decades ago as his body demanded every second of shuteye.

  But he was now back in Denver, and somewhat back to reality—whatever that meant anymore.

  Wendell had opened the plane’s door where a new flight of stairs waited.

  “Thanks for the flight,” Martin said, groggy and bleary-eyed.

  “The pleasure is all mine, sir,” Wendell said as he stood by the door waiting for Martin to deplane. “Happy to fly a friend of the Commander any time.”

  Martin wished Wendell a good night and descended the stairs. They were in the middle of nowhere, creating a brief spark of panic that vanished as soon as he remembered it was still 1981.

  Downtown Denver glowed in the distance. “Home sweet home.”