BACKTRACKER Milo Fowler (book recommendations based on other books TXT) 📖

alternate reality at the same moment in time. An identicalworld, only not so identical as you might—"

"Show me the BackTracker."

Mary looked at her with a flash of uncertainty in her eyes. Thenthe twinkle returned with another smile. "Of course, my dear. Don't tellme you've never seen it!"

Never.

Mary set the lighter down and reached into the inventor's clutter.As she did, Irena felt a tremor in her being, an intense awareness of themoment, that somehow events were culminating here, now, in such a way thatwould forever alter the course of her future. There was no going back fromthis. Not even if she wanted to.

The SYN's white hand held what looked like a child's plastictimepiece, only adult-sized. A wristwatch. Something no one in a Linked worldwould have any need for.

Steel clanged against steel, jarring Irena. Marydropped the watch onto the table and faced the bolted door at the end of theroom.

"That would be the boys," she sang, skipping away. Shechecked the vidscreen mounted beside the door's solid frame. "And they'vebrought home quite a feast, by the looks of it!"

Irena reached for the wristwatch and pocketed it, glancing atthe back of Mary's head across the room. She didn't think about it, didn'tdwell on the fact that she had no idea how the device worked—or if it worked at all. Something inside her saidshe would need it, that the next phase of her journey required it. Somehow, itwas going to bring her one step closer to finding the man she loved.

"Is that my girl?"

The voice tore through her like the blade of a rusty knife.Memories long-sealed broke forth within her, swirling with mixed emotions, bothlovely and hateful. She looked at Cyrus Horton, a complete stranger as he strodein from the darkness with a crate of wrapped food items in his arms. Thegrizzled hair and stooped shoulders seemed out of place; they didn't match theimage she'd kept in her mind all these years, despite her best efforts to berid of him for good.

Her father was an old man now. Strong, energetic by the look ofhis gait, but only his eyes were the same as she remembered: older than time,younger than a child's, grinning with the madness of true genius.

"Wide awake now?" He dropped the crate onto one of theother tables, crushing the components beneath it that might have been useful atone point in time. He fixed her with a warm smile and held out his arms, as ifhe expected her to run to him and embrace him after all their years apart.

Irena stood rooted. "What have you done with Cade?"

"Straight to business? Not even a hug for dear old dad?"

"Tell me what you've done."

His arms drifted downward, as did the creases on his face. Behindhim, Mary directed two other men—a large one with dark skin and one much olderand more decrepit than her father—with their crates, showing where to set themdown. They kept their eyes to themselves for the most part, but they glanced at CyrusHorton and his daughter. Mary bolted the door shut behind them.

"It's been a while," Horton said. "You look...good.A lot like your mother when she was your age. How old are you now? Twenty?Thirty? A grown woman, that's what you are. I'll be damned if I haven't losttrack of time." He kept his distance.

So did Irena. The hum of machinery around the perimeter of the roomheld the moment. Pinpoints of light on the equipment danced rhythmically. Deadmonitor screens stared at the scene before them, reflecting what they saw.

Horton attempted another smile. "It's so good tosee you, Irena." He took a step toward her.

"Answer me." She tried not to cringe away from him.

He parted his lips to speak, but said nothing.

"Shall I start putting things together?" Mary asked hercreator.

He whirled to face her. "Yes! Thank you, Mary. I'm sure we'reall famished—Irena, most of all. You'll find afairly appetizing spread in there," he gestured toward the crates. Then hegrinned, facing Irena once again. "You'vegotta love those Wayists. Always willing to lend a helping hand to the lessfortunate!"

"Too bad they don't know you're one of the richest men in thecity," she retorted, unable to restrain herself.

"At one time, perhaps," he allowed. "But that wasmany years ago. How long has it been, Irena? Ten, fifteen?"

"Try twenty."

"That long? Really? Wow... Guess I've been kinda busy downhere."

"With your SYNs and your time machines."

Horton's eyebrows lifted. Then his gaze narrowed, and he turnedtoward Mary. "How much did you tell her?" he asked with a playfulsparkle in his eyes.

Mary giggled and kept her head down, eyes focused on the wrappeditems she removed from the crates. "Just enough to pique her curiosity,Father."

"Is that so?" He returned his attention to Irena."Pretty neat, huh?" He jerked a thumb toward the others in the room."I made them!"

"So that's why you left us? To play God?" Irenaregretted the words as soon as they flew from her lips. Their past wasirrelevant. The only thing that mattered right now was finding Cade and gettingout—

"I know I hurt you, Irena. Both you and your mother." His eyes glistened."But you've got to understand... They were shutting me down! I had tocontinue my work—"

"I don't care. Really. Whatever you've done with yourlife—great. It's your life. But I want you to listen to me verycarefully." She lowered her voice and clenched her fists down at hersides. Her strength was returning, brought on by the fury raging within her—butshe had to remain in control. She couldn't appear weak, not now. She couldn'tallow the words inside her to exit in a torrent of accusatory screams andtears. "Tell me what you've done with Cade, or I'm going to smash everyone of your toys to bits in this stink hole of a secret lab."

"Dinner is served!" Mary chirped brightly.

The other two men converged on the table where Mary had set outtheir sandwiches and salads, and Horton turned to join them. Irena fought to keep her head clear, even as hunger needled herinsides.

"Did you hear me?" she raised her voice. The man who'donce been her father stared at her. "I'll do it. I'll break everything!"

He shook his