The Infinity Mirror
The laboratory hummed with a sound that Arthur Winslow could feel in his teeth. It was 1925, and the machine before him—no, not a machine, never a machine, that word was too small for what she had built—sat in its cooling bath of liquid nitrogen, its heart no larger than a playing card but its mind infinite. Evelyn Cross stood beside it, her dark hair falling across her face in the way that...
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