The Emperor's Talon

Chapter 10: The Prince of Gotham

Alfred came to himself first. "The nerve of those men!" he exclaimed, "is it not more or less common knowledge that the Talon was Emperor Palpatine's personal assassin, a weapon against his political enemies?"

Dick shook his head. "They can say anything they want too. To most of the galaxy, the Talon is a mere myth that sprang from the mysterious dark event surrounding the birth of the empire. Where the Talon's loyalties stand is irrelevant to the average citizen. They only know the ghost stories, and stories as you know, can evolve to fit the situation."

"I take it that Palpatine set things up this way intentionally," growled Alfred.

"Naturally," Dick snorted, "he's as slippery as a bucket of eels."

Alfred could see that Dick had been quite shaken by the Holo-news program as a whole. He'd been watching the boy closely with one eye the whole time. The image and training video they'd played had wracked him internally; Alfred saw right through the mask of calm Richard had worn through the interview. And since it didn't look like Dick was up for lightening the mood himself, Alfred decided that he would try his own hand at levity to shake the boy out of whatever memories he was trapped in. "You're much handsomer than in the picture, Master Richard. What's your secret? Sun-tan lotion?"

Dick laughed. "Nah, face-masks."

"Might I suggest that you share your beauty secret with Palpatine?"

"Wouldn't do him any good. The Holo-news crew gave up on doing his make-up years ago."

Bruce inserted himself into the conversation. "Alfred might have a good point."

"About the Emperor's dire need of beauty treatment?" inquired Dick, quirking an eyebrow.

"No," answered Bruce flatly, "about the picture of the Talon looking nothing like you. This news footage could work to our advantage."

"How so sir?" demanded Alfred.

Bruce pulled up the image again onto the Batcomputer's display screen. "All of Gotham will be looking for a boy with amber eyes who looks like he crawled out of his grave for revenge. Dick on the other hand, has bright blue eyes and his skin has a healthy glow as long as he maintains normal body temperature and distances himself from the Dark Side. The contrast is great enough that getting his paperwork through as my ward should be laughably easy."

"Wouldn't it be suspicious if you go public with me now? I mean, all this talk about the Talon might mean people put two and two together," Dick objected.

"I think not," said Bruce, "the trick to hiding in plain sight is doing the unexpected boldly. It's time to make our move."

The Jericho, Hyperspace:

"We're exiting hyperspace," Boba Fett announced. Outside the Jericho's cockpit viewport, the stars elongated into parallel beams of light as the ship seemed to appear from thin air just outside Alvorine's orbit. "Approach vector coordinates coming in now."

"Good," said Slade walking into the cockpit. He readjusted his eye patch and slid into the co-pilot's seat.

"I can't believe we made it two weeks in this flying bathtub without killing each other," Boba laughed darkly, "you might not be the worst partner in the world, after all."

Slade regarded the younger man with intense annoyance. "I suggest you focus on our objective rather than on heckling me."

"Where's your sense of humor old man?" Boba demanded as he punched the sublight thrusters and banked the control yoke towards Alvorine's atmosphere.

"I don't have one," Slade answered flatly, "we're allies, not friends."

"No need to remind me of that, Sour-puss." The younger bounty hunter refocused his eyes on the planet's surface; angling the Jericho into the correct approach vector and keeping the small craft from burning up upon entry into the atmosphere. Looking askance at his companion, he asked, "anything we should know before we make our way into Gotham?"

Relieved to be talking business, Slade opened his data-reader. After a moment of silently reading and skimming headlines, he spoke. "There haven't been any sightings of the Talon in over two weeks. The Empire is pulling out half of the Storm Troopers in Gotham City to search the rest of the planet."

"Well what else is new?" scoffed Boba, "Storm Troopers are probably the most ineffective combatants I've ever encountered. It's no wonder they haven't apprehended the Talon yet."

While he didn't disagree with his associate's assessment of the Storm Troopers, Slade Wilson was more apt to look at the larger picture. "The Empire is trying to help lure the Bat and the Talon into the open for us. If half the Storm Troopers are off on a wild bantha chase, our quarry will be lulled into a state of complicity and carelessness."

Boba waved his hand dismissively. "Sure, sure. What else?"

Slade returned his attention to his data reader. He stroked his white goatee in obvious interest.

"What?" demanded Boba.

But Slade just continued to stare at the headline in front of him; "The Prince of Gotham: Bruce Wayne adopts his Cousin's Son, Richard Wayne." Under the headline was a picture of Billionaire Bruce Wayne and a blue-eyed boy with raven hair. Slade's good eye zeroed in on the boy in the picture. The resemblance between Richard Wayne and the Talon were uncanny despite the obvious discrepancy of their eyes, complexion, disposition, and identification papers. But after two weeks of obsessive study, Slade was confident he was an expert on Talon; and- in his professional opinion- this warranted further investigation.

"What?" Boba demanded again. He was obviously irritated.

"Nothing," answered Slade, "my eye was just caught by a Holo-news reporter in a red dress." He didn't see the need to reveal everything to his associate. True they were partners, but they were also bounty hunters with separate reputations. Slade hadn't survived this long without learning that some information was better kept to himself. His investigation of Richard Wayne might prove to give him a valuable edge.

For his part, Boba only snorted. He didn't believe Slade for a second, but he kept his suspicion to himself. "Twenty minutes to touchdown."

Gotham City, Avlorine:

Richard Wayne- alternatively known as Dick Grayson- tried to keep a pleasant smile plastered on his face as he and Bruce walked down the steps from Governor Vox's office. Bruce had falsified records, bought the loyalties of certain off-world factions, and expedited the paper work to get Dick's new public identity legalized in record time. As far as the public was concerned, he was Richard Wayne, Bruce's cousin's son, and heir to Wayne Enterprises. It hadn't taken long for the Holo-net to name him "the Prince of Gotham."

A Holo-net reporter named Summer Gleason shoved her microphone in Bruce's face. "Mr. Wayne, how did you plan to take care of a child? Are you still going to continue your midnight exploits?"

Dick looked up at Bruce in alarm. Did this woman know about Batman? But Bruce laughed seemingly unconcerned. "Well Summer, a playboy doesn't reform easy; but I think we'll be just fine."

Another reporter jostled for position before Summer could pose a follow-up question. "Sir, can we get another shot of you and Richard?" Dick tried not to look like an ewok-in-the-headlights as Bruce smiled obligingly. He felt a strong arm around his shoulders and they both smiled into the camera. After a few pictures were taken, they continued their decent down the marble stairs. Pushing their way through the rest of the swarming reporters, Bruce and Dick finally made it to the sanctuary of the Bentley where Alfred was waiting for them.

Dick slid into the back seat followed by Bruce. "Quite the stir you caused, Master Bruce," Alfred commented dryly from the front seat.

"If I never see another holo-news camera in my life, it will be too soon," groaned Dick. He slouched in his seat and looked down at his expensive new suit. He preferred combat gear to the stuffy outfits of high society. Kevlar body armor, shields, and weapons belts were more comfortable than ties, slacks, and loafers in his opinion; but then it was probably a matter of one's upbringing and consequential preferences.

"Take us home, Alfred," ordered Bruce.

"With pleasure, sir," replied the old butler. The anti-grav repulsors engaged. The speeder lifted off the ground; and in one smooth motion, soared off into the city's air traffic lanes.

Dick stared out the window, beyond the traffic and building, and off into the horizon where Avlorine's red sun was just beginning to set. He thought that maybe he could see the forest of black trees where he had first found himself that night he ran away from his life as the Emperor's Talon. That first night when he had decided to put his past behind him and run headlong into a new future seemed so distant now. The urgency, the angst, the fear, and the snow felt as if they had somehow morphed into a dream; it was as if it had all been an illusion of the Dark Side. Never in a million years had he expected to end up here- as Bruce Wayne's adopted heir- when he'd made that first decision to run.

"What are you thinking about?" inquired Bruce.

"Lots of things," Dick answered cryptically.

Bruce nodded. "There's a lot to think about. I didn't see any of this coming that night I found you unconscious outside the city."

Dick winced. "Hey, I saved your hide twice since then, so I think we're even." Alfred smothered a laugh in his handkerchief, while Bruce merely snorted. "But actually Bruce, there's something I want to talk about."

"Oh?" Bruce leaned back in his seat and folded his arms over his chest.

"Yes. I want to go out on patrols with you."