The Legends of Forever by Barry Lyga (free children's ebooks online .TXT) 📗

extinct. Brie, his technological genius sister, had developed the nanocircuitry and the synthetic aeronautics algorithms that made the bees possible. Bert had been at her side—sometimes literally, sometimes virtually—explaining the physics and anatomy of biological bees. She had incorporated his knowledge, using her genius and his to synthesize something never before seen—an artificial replica of life so perfect that it was indistinguishable from the real thing. Except for the improvements.

Probing gently with the point of a scalpel that had been honed to mere microns, he located the slight catch on the underside of the bee that opened its sealed inner compartment. Within lay the metaphorical heart of the mechanical “bug.”

Bert grinned to himself.

For you, Brie, he thought.

18

At the end of all that ever was and ever could be, the Time Trapper stood motionless before a holographic control panel that spun, twisted, and flashed on its own.

Here at the End of All Time, reality teetered on the precipice of outright ablation. The machinery at the Time Trapper’s disposal had been defunct and ruined millennia ago, and so the Time Trapper had reached back through history, summoning each component, stealing each tiny circuit, each diode, each power source from a moment when it would not be missed, then assembled the pieces together into the necessary machinery.

He—

(And the Time Trapper was not truly a he, just as the hours and minutes have no gender. Yet the first human the Time Trapper encountered—the captive speedster racing powerful circles to energize certain machinery—was male, and so the Time Trapper had chosen to think of itself as he.)

—had painstakingly connected the components, developing the circuitry and computerization that would bring his plan to fruition.

He took no pride in his work. The machinery was merely a means to an end. The machinery was a doorway to his machinations, to his glory.

With the self-designation of he and the completion of the machinery, something new tickled at the Time Trapper’s consciousness: an awareness of himself as himself. As a discrete, independent being.

With this realization came the emotion of satisfaction. The Time Trapper’s first experience with emotion.

Along with satisfaction came a new sensation: doubt.

There was a chance, the Time Trapper realized, an infinitesimal chance that he could fail. That his plan could come to naught. He realized this dispassionately, without self-recrimination or mortification.

And for the first time in his existence, the Time Trapper experienced . . . anger.

Those arrayed against him had no right to challenge him! He was the Time Trapper! The essence of all reality! The natural end point of All That Was! The short-lived specks of dust from the past had no claim to his victory!

And yet they rose up. And there was a chance—small but real—that they could prevail.

He thought. For the first time in his existence, he pondered. If he were defeated, what would that mean? Would he care any longer, if he were destroyed?

He decided it did not matter. Even if his enemies vanquished him, he still craved revenge.

Another new sensation to join the anger: a hollow yearning for vengeance. And since there was no one else to avenge him, he would need to avenge himself.

He pondered how best to achieve this goal. How best to assure his post-defeat victory. He would need an agent in the deep past to do his bidding.

As he had with his machinery, the Time Trapper reached out into history, stretching his temporal grasp. He found pieces here and there, the wretched discards of the long ago, bits of circuitry, forsaken and unmissed. Dragging them forward through time, he watched as they assembled themselves at his invisible will, forming a simulacrum of life, a robotic core clothed in synthetic flesh, imbued with staggering power.

His hypothetica dominium. Master of molecules. His retroactive, posthumous agent of revenge.

With a powerful burst of energy, the Time Trapper hurled his creation back through history, to where his foes would never find it. Should all reality not fall to the Time Trapper’s plans, the agent would activate.

And enact brutal revenge.

The Time Trapper laughed a mirthless laugh.

“Even if they find a way to defeat me, they will lose.”

19

In Central City, in the S.T.A.R. Labs Cortex, Mr. Terrific ran a hand through his hair and blew out an overwhelmed breath. He was still reeling from what Barry had described to him just now.

“Can you do it?” Barry asked. “Can you build the treadmill we need?”

“Wow. Uh. Wow. Yeah, it’s possible. I mean, throw enough time, money, and tech at something and almost anything is possible. But it’s gonna take a long time to design and build this thing.”

“We don’t have a long time, Curtis,” Oliver said with gruff earnestness. “The Multiversal crossovers are . . . are . . .” He trailed off and looked to Barry for the science of it.

“The crossovers are weakening the vibrational differences between universes,” Barry explained. “Eventually, all universes will occupy the same space in the same moment. And when that happens . . .”

Mr. Terrific gulped. “The entirety of reality will go bye-bye. Got it. No pressure or anything.”

“There are ten thousand speedsters at your disposal,” said James Jesse. They’d contacted him at the makeshift refugee housing nearby and told him about their plan, explaining the stakes. As the nominal leader of the Earth 27 refugees, he’d pledged their help. “Building it will be a snap. We just need the design and some guidance.”

Mr. Terrific nodded solemnly. “Got it. But just the design of it. And it has to work, perfectly. Or we might not get a second chance. Look, guys, I could really use another genius or two.”

“Happy to help,” Ray said, raising his hand. “But you’re right—the more the merrier.”

Iris sighed heavily.

“What?” Barry asked, putting an arm around her.

“I know where we can get one more genius.”

In the Pipeline, Barry, Oliver, and Superman approached the cluster of cells that held the Crime Syndicate of America. Power Ring had managed to pluck himself off the floor long enough to collapse on the bunk, where he lay facedown, groaning in his sleep. Superwoman had