PART TWO:
"Impulse"

"Impulse?"

The thirteen year old saluted. "Hi, Red Robin, or should I call you Tim Drake? Nice place here. I've always wanted to visit, but it's so run down where I come from. Nice to see it in its prime. Glad I could make the time. Ha! Time! Get it?"

Drake got the time reference joke. Impulse was from the far distance future, from the thirtieth century. From what Drake could recall, Impulse had an interesting but complex linage. Impulse was the offspring of both an Allen and a Thawne. In the twenty-first century, the here and now, and through the distance future, from what Flash learned in his dealing with Zoom (the Reverse Flash), the speedster lines were sworn enemies. How two rivals got together in the vast future to have a child was beyond him. Maybe later he would ask for a breakdown of Impulse's family tree, but not now.

Drake looked at a clock on a near-by wall, then rubbed his eyes with a hand. With the initial shock over, his tiredness began to overwhelm him again, and he yawned. "While it's nice to see you, what are doing here?"

"I had planned to come a little later. Yup, mistakes do happen. But I miscalculated slightly in the Speed Force." He shrugged. "Funny thing, time travel. So many different twists and turns and alternative time jumps. Had to get it right. But I missed the timing just a pinch and arrived earlier than anticipated. Sorry to wake you."

Drake yawned again. "No worries. You actually did me a favour. I shouldn't be sleeping anyhow, I have too much to do." He swivelled in his chair back to the console and went back to work, typing code, and collecting data.

Impulse's presence was instantaneous and Drake felt the whisk of a breeze through his hair as the speedster came to stand immediately next to him. He wasn't startled.

"Whatcha doin'?" Impulse asked, looking at the screen, lifting up his visor. "Data input? Boring to the max!"

Drake typed as he spoke. "A hard drive crashed. I'm collecting fragmented memory to restore back to its original state." Impulse was smart, so he knew exactly what the process entailed, so it didn't need to be explained further.

"Ok — still boring," Impulse said with a childish grin. "Got any classic games on this thing? And I mean, really retro?"

Drake gave him a solid no. The Batcomputer was a serious piece of hardware, not for games. Even though it had one of the most powerful processors in the world, it wasn't for online gaming. Or, at least, that's what he told everyone else. Every once in a while, when he was alone, he would sneak an hour or two of on-line, virtual reality community gaming in. He didn't like violent games, so he went directly for the 4K CGI SIM concepts.

Impulse crossed his arms. "You're no fun, Grandpa Barry was right. You need to remove that stick and chill."

Drake's mouth went agape. He had been accused of being too serious sometimes, mostly by either Kon-el or Jason, but to hear that from Barry Allen (the Flash)? Or was the kid just saying that because he said no to him? Since the kid was from ten centuries into the future, maybe it was another Barry Allen?

Drake suddenly felt annoyed. He preferred to be left alone to do his work. "Listen, Bart…" Bartholomew Allen the Second was Impulse's real name, "I have work to do." Then he stopped, recalled something almost as an afterthought. "But there is something you could you do me."

"Sure, name it."

Drake told him the location of a corner store than was still open this late at night, it was 4am. He needed a fresh supply of Red Bull energy drinks. Bart gave him a concerned look and informed him too much of that stuff wasn't good for the heart, it elevated blood pressure to unnatural levels for prolonged periods of time — much like hyperbolic steroids. Such energy drinks were banned in the future because too many people were overdosing. Drake understood the risks. He didn't have "natural speed" like Bart, so he opted for the next best thing to help him stay awake.

"Got money? I know this culture still uses paper currency."

"Cash? Who really uses cash anymore?" Drake reached into his wallet and pulled out a swipe card with the Batman emblem on it. It was used by the Bat Family in lieu of cash for emergencies. It was linked to a special, encrypted account, known only to a select few.

Bart's eyes lit up as he held it up in both hands in admiration. "Ooo…Do you get frequent Bat Miles when you use it?" Drake gave the speedster a look of disbelief for that joke. Bart pursed his lips. "Tough crowd, no jokers around here, I see," he said. "Ha! Get it?"

Drake, straight-faced, asked him to hurry.

"Ok, that was funny," Impulse said. "Like my grandpa always says: I'll be back in a…me."

And Bart raced off, exiting from whist he came.

Drake let out a heavy breath, then poised his hands over the keyboard once more. Finally he could get back to work without being interrupted. But he only got a few lines of code out before the small speedster returned with two plastic bags. The bags looked heavy for the kid, but Impulse was super strong. And for a moment, Drake wondered if Impulse and Jon Kent (Superman's son) every fought, who would come out the victor?

Drake was stunned. "Did you buy out the entire store?" There were six cases of Red Bulls, each case had six cans.

"Yup, all they had," Bart replied. "It came to just under Seventy Bat Dollars. I got a weird look from the clerk. He asked if my parents knew I was out this late. I told him I was a space alien and needed the drinks to fuel my spaceship and I found this Bat Card on the side of the road — and when the card worked, he was okay with it. Oddly enough, in this time era, he didn't look the least bit shocked in that even though I meant it as a joke."

"Yeah, I know. People are so desensitized to these kinds of things these days that its almost second nature to expect them, just like violence on TV. Thanks for going to the store for me." Drake ripped open a box and took out a can, opened it, and gulped it down. Bart cocked his head and told him to take it easy. Drake said he was fine. Then he asked the speedster, "By the way, what's the purpose of your visit, Bart?"

"I wanted to speak with Nightwing. I mean, Dick Grayson. Is he here? Sleeping? I never checked the House." Drake corrected him. It was called Wayne Manor, it wasn't a House.

"He's sleeping in his room. He's staying here while the building where his apartment is in being fumigated."

"That's nasty," he said, sticking out his tongue. "I don't like bugs. Got a little 'insect' back home that ticks me off from time to time called Inertia. He's my cloned brother, Thad."

"Not the same thing, but I get the analogy. Damian can be a real pest sometimes, too."

"Why doesn't Grayson live at the Manor?"

"He's been thinking about moving back in. It would be easier for everyone, but he hasn't decided yet. He likes his freedom, though, to come and go as he pleases without Mother Hen hoarding over him."

"You have a chicken running around the Manor? That's pretty cool! Do you find eggs everywhere?"

Drake rolled his eyes. "Mother Hen: As in Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne butler," Drake explained. "Or that's what we off-handedly call him. He looks after all of us like a parent."

"Oh, like a real mother, I get it. My parents were killed by President Thawne in my time era, so was my entire family."

Drake didn't know what to say to that other than, "I'm sorry."

Bart seemed to brush it off, as if it were ancient history.

"What do you need to talk to Dick about?" Drake asked. "Is it important enough to wake him up right now? He's been pretty busy with a lot of stuff lately and he hasn't had time to rest. This is the first time he's been able to sleep undisturbed. And with some of the nightmares he's been having, any sleep is good sleep for him."

Dick Grayson suffered from reoccurring nightmares, in his dreams he relived some of the horrors he'd experienced in crime frighting over the years. It was a form of PTSD. It could only be managed, not cured.

"Semi-important," Bart said. "But it can wait. It involves something that happens in my time."

"Ten centuries from now?" Drake finished the whole Red Bull, fully awake now. Then he asked, "What's the problem? Maybe I can help? I'm told I'm a smart guy." He smiled loftily.

"Nah, you can't help with this. It involves Grayson directly. But before I say anything else, I need to confirm something with him before I divulge anything more about future events. You know the deal, right?"

"Yeah, I understand."

To be continued…