by Barry Lyga
He settled for grabbing a solid steel crowbar and twisting it into a pretzel shape instead. It had seemed so easy…. He’d understood the basic theoretical physics for time travel for weeks now. He just lacked a way to put his knowledge into practice. But he still needed some very expensive components. And with his Blue Freak costume shredded, he couldn’t just …
“Kyle,” Erasmus said with a gentleness that surprised Kyle, “what are you thinking? Talk to me.”
“I’m thinking that I need to ask for money for Christmas this year,” Kyle said. He fumed. Christmas was a month away! Why couldn’t his family be Jewish? Hanukkah was right at the beginning of December this year, only a week away!
“That’s not what you’re thinking,” Erasmus said. “Your heart rate is elevated. Your breathing pattern has deviated from normal by one percent. You’re upset.”
“Of course I’m upset! I want a time machine and I can’t have one!”
“Right. But why do you want a time machine?”
Kyle sighed with exasperation. “We’ve been over this before. If I can travel back in time, I can record Mighty Mike’s arrival on Earth. Then I can show it to the world and prove he’s an alien and that will force him to tell the world why he’s really here.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Kyle marched over to his shelf unit and plucked a video camera from the bottom shelf. “What about this? I fixed up the old camcorder last week. Why else would I do that?”
“Kyle, you based me on your own brain patterns and logical development. I think almost exactly the way you do. I know what you’re really up to.”
“Oh, really, short circuit? Then why don’t you tell me, if you’re so smart?”
“Absolutely,” Erasmus said with infuriating and self-assured calm. “You want to travel back in time to the Mad Mask’s attack and change things so that you never needed to erase Mairi’s memory. That will, in your estimation, expiate your sin and release you from your guilt.”
“Shows what you know. That’s totally not what I plan to do,” Kyle lied.
“Kyle, I can tell when you’re lying.”
“I’m sure you believe that.”
“Your plan would not work in any event. The past is fixed. You can’t change it. Everything that has happened … has happened. It can’t be altered.”
“Oh, yeah?” Kyle sneered. “Figured that out based on all the time travel you’ve done?”
“It’s simple logic. If you could change the past so that you never erased Mairi’s memory, then you would never have had a reason to go into the past in the first place. Your success would erase the reason for your trip.”
“Time paradox nonsense,” Kyle said. “Time isn’t set in cement. If I change the past — when I change the past — the rest of the universe will be altered, but my memories will still be the same because I’ll be … I’ll have been out of sync with the universe when the change happens. Happened. Will have happened.” Verb tenses had clearly not been designed to take into account time travel. Kyle figured he would have to get around to reinventing verb conjugation one of these days. Someone had to do it.
“Paradox isn’t nonsense, Kyle. In fact, most theoretical physicists agree that even if you could travel through time, you could only go forward —”
“Everyone is traveling forward in time. One second at a time. That’s no big trick.”
“— and furthermore that even if you could go into the past, you would only be able to travel back as far as the moment the time machine was actually switched on —”
“Most theoretical physicists have IQs under two-fifty. Why should I listen to them? They can’t even properly visualize thirteen-dimensional space. They haven’t harnessed dark energy.”
“Neither have you.”
“I could, if I had the proper equipment.” Kyle sighed and put the camcorder on the top shelf, next to the jar of dirt and … and …
“Whoa,” Kyle whispered.
“What? What is it? Based on your inflection and intonation, I assume you’ve had some sort of epiphany.”
Kyle stared at the Mad Mask’s mask, those conjoined, off-center half circles of black wood, that gleaming ivory tear.
This wasn’t the only such mask in the world. There was another.
“Ultitron …” Kyle said softly.
The Mad Mask’s ten-story-tall killer robot, Ultitron, had an identical mask for its face, so that the world would know that the Mad Mask was behind it. (Not that it helped — the idiots who ran the world still thought that Kyle had put together the robot.)
And right now, Ultitron’s deactivated robotic “corpse” was still junked exactly where Mighty Mike had left it: on the site of the abandoned coal mine on the outskirts of Bouring. The Army had been guarding it for the past few weeks while a team of scientists picked their way over and under and through it, trying to figure out what made Ultitron tick. They never would, of course, because Ultitron had been powered purely by the Mad Mask’s psychic ability to control machinery and electronics.
But in the meantime …
“Ultitron?” Erasmus asked. “What about Ultitron? It’s … Oh.” Because Kyle and Erasmus thought almost exactly alike, it took Erasmus only a moment to realize what Kyle had realized.
Ultitron was junk, true, but it was high-tech junk. There was a wealth of components and parts to be scavenged there. Pieces of technology and raw materials just there for the taking.
Kyle’s Azure Avenger costume was in shreds, but he still had the Mad Mask’s mask. He was wearing a plain red T-shirt and blue jeans. Nothing identifiable or unique.
He slipped the ebony mask on. “Come on, Erasmus. We’ve got work to do.”
“Work? What kind of work?”
“We’re going Dumpster-diving.”
At the time capsule burial plot, the crowd surged forward, desperately curious to see what appeared to be the legendary Lost Time Capsule of 1987. Mairi was almost crushed in the ensuing rush forward, but she managed to worm through spots in the throng and make her way to the front of the mob. From here, she had an excellent vantage point on the stage. She fished in her pocket for her tiny video camera. This was something worth recording!
“Please remain calm!” Sheriff Monroe said into the microphone. His words said “Please,” but his tone said “I’m about ten seconds away from drawing my gun.” A few deputies on the scene tried to keep the crowd from rushing the capsule. Mighty Mike stood near the capsule, puzzled.
“Seriously, folks,” the sheriff said in that tone of voice he usually reserved for when Kyle did something prank-y and annoying.
Mairi zoomed in on the capsule with her camera and stared at the screen. The capsule looked legit, but how could she be sure? It’s not like she had a book titled Images of Time Capsules from the 1980s. But the design of the time capsules used in Bouring hadn’t really changed much in the past few years, so why would they be different even that long ago? Time capsules were pretty simple things — you stuck stuff in them and buried them underground.
She tried to remember what her mother had told her once about the missing time capsule. Her parents had been the same age back in 1987 that Mairi was now, and the story of the missing time capsule had buzzed the air of Bouring like curiosity-seeking bees for weeks, eventually passing into the territory of town lore and mystery: The night before a time capsule burial, the capsule was always left safely in storage at the sheriff’s office. That year — 1987 — the sheriff at the time (Sheriff Monroe’s father, Milton Monroe) had locked it up in his office as usual. The next morning, it was gone. No sign of forced entry. Nothing.
A search ensued, but the time capsule was never recovered. And so the hole dug in the spot for 1987 had been filled in without a time capsule, and beginning the following year, it became standard protocol for a deputy to sit with the time capsule all night.
So … someone had stolen the capsule in 1987 and then … buried it in the wrong spot?
But why? And how?
How could someone have buried it ten feet down before someone else noticed a hole being dug? And how —
The mayor’s voice snapped Mairi out of her thoughts of the past and brought her back to the present. The deputies and Mighty Mike had managed to keep the crowd from rushing forward any more, though the noise of chatter and excitement kept building.
“Folks!” the mayor boomed from the microphone. “Folks, please! I understand how excited you all are! I think we’re … It’s pretty amazing. We came here to bury this year’s time capsule and instead we’ve found one we thought lost forever.”
If someone had stolen it, Mairi wondered, why? What was the point of stealing it and hiding it? If Kyle had been alive way back in 1987, she would assume it was one of his weird pranks. But what was the point of a prank no one understood? Why steal a time capsule? They weren’t good for anything. Unless …
“I know that the people of 1987 intended for this to be opened awhile from now,” the mayor went on, “but this is a special circumstance, as I think you’ll all agree.”
Unless there was something inside the time capsule, something that the thief didn’t want anyone to see. Could that be it?
“So I think that — as long as no one objects — we’re going to go ahead and open this time capsule right now.”
The crowd roared its approval.
Mairi said nothing. She was still thinking. Was there something in there that the thief wanted hidden? But then why not just take it out of the capsule? The thing was welded shut, but if you were going to the trouble of stealing it, would it be that much more effort to open it?
So then in that case, maybe … maybe …
“They put something …” she whispered. “The thief didn’t want to take something out. He wanted to put something in!”
“Mighty Mike, we don’t seem to have a cutter here,” the mayor said, chuckling, “so could you do the honors?”
What could someone put into a time capsule that they had stolen? It had to be something horrible, right? Which meant that …
On the screen of Mairi’s video camera, Mike tilted his head.
“Do what to the honors?” he asked.
“Don’t do it,” Mairi tried to shout, but only a whisper came out. Something bad was about to happen. She could feel it in her throat, her tongue, her lips — all had gone dry and thick and useless.
The mayor laughed expansively. “Could you just open the time capsule?” she asked.
“Don’t!” Mairi shouted, her voice finally returning. “Don’t!”
But no one heard her over the crowd noise, and Mighty Mike grasped the top of the time capsule in his child-sized but incredibly strong hands. With a single wrenching twist, he ripped off the nose-cone. Mairi had a perfect, up-close view of it on her screen.
The crowd bellowed as though with a single, thrilled voice.
And then something exploded and the world went white for an instant. Mairi could see nothing, could hear nothing….
And then she saw a blur. A green-and-gold blur, like the colors of Mighty Mike’s costume —
It was Mighty Mike. Flying toward her, reaching out, screaming —
“MAIRI!!!”
Kyle soared over the town of Bouring, bearing due west toward the old coal mine. A billion years ago — back when Kyle’s parents had been kids — Bouring had been a coal town. But the mine had been shut down a long time ago; it was now nothing more than an open sore on the face of the local ecology, cordoned off by ten-foot-high fencing topped with razor wire. There were lots of impressive-looking signs that said things like NO TRESPASSING and DANGER! but Kyle didn’t care much for the signs. He had actually come out to the coal mine the first night he’d discovered his superpowers, testing his strength and speed in the relative privacy of the mine, where no one would care what happened when he unleashed his full strength.
Now the signs were augmented with new ones. Government warnings. Military warnings. Violators will be shot on sight, etc.
Yeah, they could shoot at Kyle all they wanted. Bullets just bounced off.
He hovered over the coal mine, high enough up that none of the guards down below could see him. Ultitron lay there like a broken toy. A broken ten-story-tall toy. Its arms — ripped off by Mighty Mike — lay over to one side, as though Ultitron had dropped them somewhere and couldn’t remember where.
It was getting close to dusk, and from here it appeared as though most of the scientists and lab rats and government geeks assigned to pick through Ultitron had knocked off for the day. There was only a small crew near the left arm. Other than that, there were about a dozen armed guards in a standard formation around the fence.
No one was looking up.
Morons.
Kyle drifted down slowly, not wanting to catch anyone’s eye.
“Kyle,” Erasmus said suddenly.
“Not now.”
“But I’m picking up something on the police band. There’s —”
“I said not now.” And then Kyle did something he rarely did: He switched off Erasmus. He didn’t need distractions right now.
Ultitron loomed larger and larger in his view as he descended. He expected a shout of alarm at any moment, but it never came, and soon enough he was concealed behind the massive bulk of the robot.
His memory was better than most computers’ these days, so it was no big deal to recall the “shopping list” of components he’d come up with back at home. Fortunately, he was also able to remember most of the schematics to Ultitron, so he would be able to get to the right places inside the gigantic structure and not waste a lot of time fiddling around, looking for —
“Hey! Hey, you!”
Kyle sighed. Oh, man — he really didn’t want to have to mess with the military.
Again.
“You’re kidding me!” Kyle raged, shooting straight up into the sky.
“What’s happening?” Erasmus asked. Kyle had switched him back on as soon as the guard called out to him.
“Block their signals!” Kyle shouted. “All military frequencies! Now!”
“But what about —”
“Just do it!” Kyle screamed, visions of entire platoons and brigades bearing down on him and firing up at him scrolling through his mind. “Block all military and police frequencies in the entire town!”
“I already did it,” Erasmus said rather snottily. “I did it as soon as you asked me to. Well, ordered me to is more like it. I react in microseconds, remember? But we need to talk about the police band that I —”
“Make sure that’s blocked, too. I don’t want them switching to a local frequency.” Kyle spun in midair and swooped down. Below him, the guards were converging around the (un)lucky one who’d spotted Kyle. Suddenly, a flurry of bullets came at him, a reverse rain of lead.
Kyle dodged the bullets. They couldn’t hurt him, but he didn’t want to crack the mask he wore. Or get holes in his clothes. His mom wasn’t a genius, but even she would probably wonder why he had bullet holes in his favorite jeans when she did the laundry.
“Condition red! Red!” a soldier screamed just as Kyle flicked him twenty feet with a tap from his right hand. The soldier groaned and tried to get up, then collapsed, unconscious.
More armed guards rushed at Kyle, still firing, even though they had to know it was pointless. More shouts of “Condition red!” into the shoulder-mics they all wore. But no help was coming, thanks to Erasmus’s jamming frequency.
Kyle counted them quickly. Good. All of the soldiers were here, focused on him. None of them were running away to get help in person. They figured they would get through on the radio. By the time they realized their mistake …
“The police band is down now, as you ordered,” Erasmus said, insisting on interrupting Kyle’s fight. “But you need to know: Something’s gone wrong at the time capsule burial.”
“This is the sound of me not caring,” Kyle said. “We have more important things to worry about.” He sidestepped a bullet, then another, th
en another, making his way to the soldier who was firing at him. At this speed, the bullets were like fat little slugs just hanging in the air, barely moving. Kyle actually flicked one away with the tip of his index finger. Kyle had to give the soldier his props: There was a kid moving toward him at superspeed, and the guy just stood his ground and fired. Pretty brave.
Kyle thunked two fingers against the soldier’s helmet. BONGGGG! The guy passed out. He would have a heck of a headache when he woke up, but would be otherwise unhurt.
But that was just one soldier, and there were more than a dozen here, all of them converging on Kyle, now coordinating tighter and tighter bursts of gunfire. If he took these guys out one at a time, he’d be here forever. And Kyle had more important things to do than to play Dodgebullet with the U.S. Army.
So he lifted one foot and stomped the ground.
The ground rumbled and shook like a miniature earthquake, radiating out from Kyle’s superpowered stomp all the way to the soldiers, who suddenly started dancing like they’d been zapped with electricity. The gunfire stopped.
Kyle spun around like a top and a burst of wind peeled away from him, knocking down everyone in its path. Before the stunned soldiers could regain their feet or their weapons, Kyle was on them at superspeed, knocking each one out cold with a carefully placed, superstrong finger-flick.
“Now for the scientists …” he muttered, flying over the hulk of Ultitron and in the direction of the left arm, where the science guys clustered in a terrified huddle, as if jamming themselves closer together would provide some kind of safety.
Kyle hovered over them for a moment. He had figured he would just knock them out like he’d knocked out the soldiers, but all of a sudden that seemed … wrong. The soldiers had been shooting at him — getting physical with them was appropriate and fair. Heck, they were soldiers; they got paid to have people get physical with them.
But these guys … These poor guys who thought they knew science (no one knew science like Kyle knew science) were just cowering there like mice backed into a corner by a lion.