The Legends of Forever by Barry Lyga (books to read for beginners .txt) 📕

“We need the vibrational energy from the speedsters to be perfectly in sync,” Mr. Terrific went on. He had stripped off his Fair Play jacket and tied it around his waist, wearing only a grease-smudged, sweat-stained T-shirt. In one hand, he held a torque wrench. His eyes gazed out from tired hollows. “If we tried to link together thousands of treadmills, we’d introduce subtle errors in the frequencies. So . . .”

He gestured to the massive treadmill.

“There is no way in the world,” Mick pronounced, “this is gonna work.”

“It’ll work.” This time, Sara startled. She’d sensed Owlman’s approach only at the last possible instant. She wasn’t used to anyone getting the jump on her.

The villainous Bruce Wayne, unlike Mr. Terrific, wore a healthy, wide-awake expression, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed with satisfaction. “This thing is going to produce so much energy that you’ll blast right through the Iron Curtain of Time.”

“And then what?” Mick asked gruffly. Sara snickered. She knew that tone in Mick’s voice. He wasn’t worried or concerned or afraid. He didn’t even really want to know what would happen next. In his endearingly nihilistic way, he was merely pointing out that getting through the Iron Curtain of Time was only step one in a plan that had a lot of blank spaces yet to be filled in.

“And then it’s up to you guys,” Mr. Terrific said, taking Mick very seriously. “We can’t predict who or what you’ll encounter at the End of All Time. It’s possible this is a one-way trip; there may be no way back through the Curtain.”

“Until we defeat the foe,” Superman said, gently gliding down from above them. “Then the Curtain goes away and we can come back.”

“Until.” Sara clenched her jaw and beheld the enormity of the treadmill. “Your optimism is . . .”

“Encouraging?” Superman asked, standing arms akimbo.

“Misplaced,” Owlman jibed in a gravelly voice.

“Touching,” Mr. Terrific chimed in.

“I was going for not entirely realistic,” Sara admitted. She planted her fists on her hips, realized she was mimicking Superman’s stance, and let them drop to her sides. “We’ll be lucky to come out of this at all. Heck, we’re lucky to get into it in the first place.”

Mick snorted. “Not sure lucky is the word I’d use.”

Barry woke next to Iris. He allowed himself three entire seconds to gaze down at her, drinking her in. The slope of her shoulder as it emerged from the tangle of blankets. The curve of her chin, the line of her cheekbone. Her coal-black hair spilling over her face; the whisper of her eyelashes.

Three seconds was a long, long time to the Flash. He inhaled her. He absorbed her. Every breath took days to anticipate and enjoy.

Iris, I’m not going to stop running until I know you’re safe. I swear it.

Slipping out of bed silently so as not to wake her, he made his way to the Cortex. Caitlin reclined in one of the chairs at the central workstation, a steaming mug of coffee held before her. Barry paused at the entrance. Since the moment Anti-Matter Man had ripped his way through to Earth 1 (had it been only a few days ago? It felt like centuries), the Cortex had been a chaotic bustle of activity, a beehive swarmed by drones under the command of a mad queen. Now it was quiet, unoccupied save for Caitlin.

“Any more of that coffee?” Barry asked.

Caitlin startled and almost spilled hot coffee on herself. “Barry!”

He apologized for alarming her, then went to retrieve his own coffee when she pointed to a percolator plugged in next to one of the transparent dry-erase boards. The aroma from the mug was delightful, but when he sipped, the brew disappointed.

“The coffee quality has really gone downhill around here ever since HR went walkabout,” he commented, settling into a seat next to her.

“Tell me about it.” Her voice was rueful. “If there was one thing that guy knew how to do, it was make an amazing cup of coffee.”

“To HR,” he proposed, raising his mug. They clinked cups, then drank in silence for a bit.

“It’s coming along, I see.” He gestured to the main screen, which showed satellite footage of the massive treadmill. The Earth 27 speedsters, working in shifts and following meticulous plans, had constructed the thing literally overnight and were putting the finishing touches on it now.

“Tell me something, Barry,” Caitlin said, studiously not looking over at him. “Is this going to work?”

“The treadmill? The science is as sound as anything else we’ve ever—”

“I don’t mean the treadmill, specifically. I mean any of it.” Staring down into her coffee. “You’re headed to the End of All Time without a plan or any sort of intel. Just the name the Time Trapper and a handful of superheroes with hope and a prayer. How in the world is this supposed to work?”

“We have the best strategic thinker in the world,” Barry told her, thinking of Oliver. “And a Kryptonian. Right there, I feel like 90 percent of all problems get solved. But you know how it is on Team Flash, Caitlin: We improvise. It’s what we do.”

“‘No plan survives first contact with the enemy,’” she said. It was an old Army saying she’d picked up from a med school buddy who’d served.

“Pretty much,” he agreed, and then cracked a broad grin. “Don’t worry, Caitlin. It’s all going to work out. You know how I know?”

“How?”

“Because it always has. How’s Madame Xanadu holding up?”

Caitlin drank some of her coffee. “She’s mending. Her mind is. . . flighty. I don’t think she’ll ever truly recover from losing her Earth 27 doppelgänger. It’s like there’s a piece missing, and she’ll be fine, but then occasionally she runs into that missing spot . . . and she just seems so lost.”

It made sense. Barry remembered losing his first tooth as a child. It hadn’t hurt all that bad—when it got really loose, Dad had suggested chewing gum, and sure enough, the tooth popped right out—and for the most