CHAPTER 34: THE RACE BEGINS
Snart's latest report covered the checkpoint table like a war map—Legion movements across six eras.
The London basement felt smaller with intelligence reports scattered across every surface. Snart had been thorough—too thorough, maybe. Dates, locations, observed personnel, estimated objectives, threat assessments. The kind of analysis that took weeks to compile, compressed into dense handwriting on period-appropriate paper.
"You've been busy," I said, scanning the overview document.
"You're paying me to be busy." Snart leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching me process. "Figured you'd want the complete picture rather than dribs and drabs."
The complete picture was troubling.
[LEGION OPERATIONAL ASSESSMENT — SNART COMPILATION]
[PRIMARY OPERATORS:]
[— EOBARD THAWNE: COORDINATION, TEMPORAL NAVIGATION]
[— DAMIEN DARHK: ENFORCEMENT, MYSTICAL SUPPORT]
[— MALCOLM MERLYN: INFILTRATION, FINESSE OPERATIONS]
[OBSERVED ACTIVITY: 6 ERAS, 14 INCURSIONS, 3 CONFIRMED ACQUISITIONS]
[TARGET PATTERN: SPECIFIC ARTIFACT HUNTING — CONSISTENT WITH SPEAR OF DESTINY FRAGMENTS]
"They're not competing for territory," Snart said, reading my expression. "Not directly. They're hunting something specific—those Spear fragments I mentioned. Each incursion targets a location where fragment evidence suggests hiding."
"How do you know about the fragments?"
"I listen." His smirk was sharp. "Darhk talks too much when he thinks no one's around. Mentions 'the Spear' like it's a holy relic. Which, technically, it is."
The Spear of Destiny. My meta-knowledge filled in the details Snart couldn't see. The weapon that had pierced Christ's side, scattered across time after its power proved too dangerous to consolidate. Each fragment carried reality-altering potential. Assembled, the Spear could rewrite existence itself.
And the Legion is collecting the pieces.
"What's their success rate?"
"Three confirmed acquisitions out of fourteen incursions. Either they're having trouble finding fragments, or they're testing the waters before committing to retrieval."
Three fragments already in Legion hands. How many total? My memories of the show were fragmentary on the specific count—four, maybe five pieces scattered across history.
"The locations they've hit," I said, spreading the reports across the table. "What's the pattern?"
Snart moved to stand beside me, pointing at specific entries. "Revolutionary War—they spent three days searching Independence Hall before extracting something from a hidden vault. Medieval France—a monastery with documented mystical artifacts. 1940s Berlin—though that one might have overlapped with your recent adventure."
"We were in Berlin for the temporal augmentation facility. Did they hit the same site?"
"Different facility, same city. They were after something in the Reichstag, not the research district." He paused. "Though the timing suggests they might have been watching your team's operation."
Watching us. The implication settled uncomfortably. If the Legion was monitoring Legends missions, they might have noticed my... unusual activities.
"Any indication they know about my organization?"
"Nothing definitive. But Thawne is smart—scary smart. If there were patterns in your behavior that suggested independent operations, he'd eventually notice."
I stared at the map Snart had assembled. Legion movements formed a web across time, each incursion leaving traces my agent had documented. They weren't building an empire—not in the territorial sense. They were gathering tools.
But their hunting creates opportunities.
The thought crystallized slowly, taking shape through my enhanced processing.
"The anomalies they create," I said. "When they raid an era for fragments, they destabilize the timeline. Someone has to clean up afterward."
"Usually the Legends," Snart agreed. "Sara's team follows the aberrations, fixes what the Legion breaks."
"And when the anomaly resolves..."
Understanding flickered in Snart's eyes. "Annexation opportunity. You can claim the aftermath of their operations."
"Exactly." I traced the Legion's pattern on the map—each incursion point a potential territory waiting to be claimed. "They're not competing for real estate because they don't think in territorial terms. Thawne wants the Spear; he doesn't care about building infrastructure. But every battle they fight, every timeline they disrupt, creates resolved anomalies I can annex."
"Parasitic expansion." Snart's smile widened. "I approve."
The strategy had elegance to it. The Legion would continue hunting fragments, creating chaos wherever they went. The Legends would follow, resolving anomalies and stabilizing timelines. And I would position myself to claim the cleaned-up territories while both sides focused on their immediate objectives.
Profit from my enemies' work. Grow in the shadows of their conflict.
"New assignment," I said. "Track Legion fragment hunts in real-time. I need locations before the Legends arrive, so I can prepare annexation protocols. And I need estimates on resolution timing—when the anomaly will stabilize enough to claim."
Snart pulled out a notebook—more period paper, maintaining his cover. "What's the priority order?"
"Eras with high resource potential. Military classifications are valuable; mystical even more so. The 1940s is already claimed, so anything adjacent—1930s, 1950s—would complement my existing territories."
"And if the Legion targets an era you're already developing?"
The question deserved serious consideration. My two territories—Ancient Egypt and 1942 JSA—were both high-value eras. If the Legion decided a Spear fragment was hidden in one of them, I'd face direct conflict.
"Then we defend," I said. "But prioritize intelligence over confrontation. I'd rather know they're coming than fight them unprepared."
Snart nodded, making notes. "One more thing. The third player I mentioned—the future organization—they've increased their observation activity. Whoever they are, they're paying close attention to the Legion-Legends conflict."
The Time Bureau. Still forming, still watching. I didn't know enough about their early operations to predict their moves, but their presence added another variable to the strategic landscape.
"Continue monitoring them too. Any indication they're preparing to intervene?"
"Not yet. Pure observation so far. But they've deployed additional assets to key temporal locations. Someone's building a network."
Someone else is building a network. The thought was both comforting and concerning. At least one other faction understood that temporal infrastructure mattered. Whether they'd eventually become competitors, allies, or enemies remained to be seen.
I gathered Snart's reports, organizing them for later review. My stomach growled—I'd transited to London without eating, and the checkpoint's limited supplies didn't include anything appealing.
"You look hungry," Snart observed.
"I'll eat on the Waverider."
"The gin here is terrible, but the pub three streets over has decent pie." He paused. "If you can spare an hour for actual human interaction."
The offer surprised me. Snart wasn't the type for casual socializing—our relationship was professional, contractual, defined by obligations rather than friendship.
"Is there something you need to discuss privately?"
"Maybe." He shrugged, affecting casualness. "Or maybe I just think my employer should occasionally act like a person instead of a resource allocation algorithm."
Human interaction. When had that become optional rather than default?
"One hour," I said. "Then I transit back."
The pub was crowded, loud, and exactly the kind of establishment where no one paid attention to strangers having quiet conversations. Snart ordered for both of us—meat pies and ale, the universal currency of Victorian working-class dining.
"The contract thing," he said, once we'd found a corner table. "The resurrection, the progression system, all of it. I've been testing the edges."
"I know. The reports mention you pushing boundaries."
"Not complaints. Verification." He took a drink. "I can refuse orders—you told me that, but I needed to confirm. I can operate independently without constant oversight. I can make decisions about my own development without running them by you first."
"That's by design. Good employees need agency."
"Right. But here's what I'm figuring out: you're not just building an organization. You're building a family of sorts. A weird, contractual, resurrection-enabled family, but still."
The observation caught me off-guard. "That's not how I'd characterize it."
"Sure." Snart's smile was knowing. "You recruited someone who died for their friends. You gave them immortality and purpose. You're investing in their growth without micromanaging their choices. That's not corporate management, boss. That's the foundation of something else."
Something else. The phrase lingered.
"What's your point?"
"My point is that you should think about what you're actually building. Because the people you recruit—the future agents—they're going to form loyalties. To you, to each other, to the mission. And loyalty like that..." He shrugged. "It's stronger than contracts. More reliable, but also more dangerous."
"You're warning me about something?"
"I'm telling you that when this organization grows—and it will grow—you'll have people who'd die for you. Again." He met my eyes. "Make sure you're worthy of that."
The words echoed Ray's concern from the German mission: There's a difference between being focused and being cold.
"I'll keep it in mind."
"Do that." Snart raised his glass. "Now finish your pie. You have an empire to build."
The Legion thinks they're alone in the timeline. Shane's empire will grow in their shadows.
But the warning lingered as I transited back to the Waverider, and my interface pulsed with a new alert: aberration detected, 1776, American Revolution. The Legion was already there.
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