Timeline: Four years before Knightfall. Roughly two years before Dick Grayson leaves to become Nightwing
Chapter 5: Aftermath
Six weeks later...
Pathwarden examined the mud at the construction site. The light emanating from the palm of his hand was faint, but illuminated the ground enough for him to see what he was doing. Kensai waited. "In there," he said pointing toward the portable done up to look like a sample unit in the condo-to-be. "Four of them came this way. You think you can get in the back window?"
Kensai shook her head. "Too tight a fit. There are another two inside. How about I take the frontal approach, and you 'lase' a door somewhere else?"
"Two more? They were wearing work boots, then. Interesting. No, lasing'll take too long." He thought for a moment. "You go in first. Soften them up. I'll follow in five." He exhaled. "This makes me long for the good old days when you could wedge yourself through an eleven-inch square air vent."
Kensai grimaced. "The good old days where they took one look at the first-grader lisping out "drop thoth gunth or I'll hafta hurt you," and practically killed themselves laughing?"
"Right up until you punched them in an area... erhmm... below the belt."
"I was barely three feet tall," she protested. "How much higher do you think I could have reached? Anyway, those days are long gone. Ok, plan B looks like a winner. When you come in, photons blazing, just remember, I jump, I climb, I swing. You aiming high will not necessarily keep me safe, so take extra care you don't zap me."
"Or you'll 'hafta hurt me?"
Kensai pretended to think it over. "No, I'll just tell Umbra."
Pathwarden gulped theatrically.
Kensai paused a beat, before continuing. "At a time and place when Silver Dragon is sure to overhear." She almost regretted adding that last---it was just plain overkill.
Pathwarden groaned. "Why don't you just tell the big bad bat while you're at it?"
Natalie held up five fingers. "Shine zarkorcha cinquenta degres navastok, and tir'eh porque pas, brat. And ta'aseh mas brillante, ya don't ohevet mas des shpionuie."
Realization dawned in his eyes. Pathwarden immediately intensified the beam emanating from his palm as he whirled fifty degrees eastward to illuminate a familiar figure, standing several feet away.
Kensai half-smiled, as Batman squinted in the sudden light. Right, night-vision goggles had their disadvantages. "Telepaths don't surprise easy," she remarked, keeping her tone deliberately neutral. "Especially not a second time. Anything we can help you with?"
In answer, Batman gestured toward the portable. Pathwarden's jaw dropped. "Seriously? You're really asking for our help?"
"You offered. I accepted. If you were able to track the thieves this far, this soon ..."
"It's what I do," the younger man said quietly.
Batman filed the statement away for future reference. Pathwarden was evidently able to manipulate light, perhaps even create it. Assuming that the conversation he had just overheard had been fact, and not hyperbole, Kensai's older brother could also produce laser beams and photons. Yet, he was deliberately downplaying that area of his skill-set. Interesting.
Kensai spoke up. "Our intel has the four suspects from that safety deposit box break-in from night before last at First Gotham S&L holed up in there. No data on weaponry, but Pathwarden had a look at the scene and learned a few things."
"I guess you overheard about the two extra," Pathwarden continued. "I've found a few shell casings consistent with those used for M-16 rifles over yonder-ways. Looks like they were practicing, and, since there've been no reports of noise disturbances in this area it would seem to point to the use of silencers."
Upon hearing "yonder-ways," Kensai had begun to hum the Beverly Hillbillies theme, softly. Her older brother ignored her. Batman glared, and she stopped.
"That dovetails with the witness report," continued Pathwarden, "but then you already know that because you're Batman, and you weren't tailing us when you came out here, so why on earth am I wasting my time boring you with things you already know?" His voice had become higher as he spoke, ending on a plaintive note, which stopped a hairsbreadth from turning into a full-fledged whine.
Kensai poked him in the ribs. "Be good," she scolded. Turning to Batman she asked, "Are you carrying tear gas, by any chance?"
"No."
She sighed. "Neither are we. The only access point is too narrow for more than one person to enter at once. They've barricaded some of the heavier display furniture against the emergency fire exit. The front door is being blocked by a little guy with a big gun---well 'little' for you, anyway."
Pathwarden poked back. "No need to state the obvious, Frodo."
"Frodo?" She repeated in disbelief. "Can't you at least call me by a girl hobbit's name?"
"The only girl hobbits I can remember from LOTR are boring Rosie Cotton and annoying Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. You want I should call you by either of those, or you want to thank me for calling you Frodo?"
"Enough," Batman said. He pointed to Kensai. "You," he said, "go in first. Keep them occupied so they're focused on you, not the doorway. Alert your brother telepathically when you have. He pointed to Pathwarden. "Once she signals, you go in, I'll intercept anyone fleeing the scene."
Kensai nodded curtly, instantly professional. She moved off at an easy lope, swift, sure, and silent, toward the structure. Pathwarden turned to Batman. "I tend to bring out the worst in her. Banter and silliness aside, she's really very good at this sort of thing."
"I know." He hadn't forgotten the break-and-enter at Precision Electronics, two years ago, nor how she had transformed from a scared kid on a rooftop to a seasoned fighter in the blink of an eye.
"How's Phasma?"
"Better. The bandages came off last week. Sil wants her retraining for another week or so before she returns to active duty." He smiled. "I've missed her."
Batman grunted. "Kensai," he said after a moment, "the meaning of the name-- "
"It's a sort of Japanese warrior."
Batman favored him with a glower. "Usually devoted exclusively to one weapon. The few times I've watched your sister, she's seemed more—diversified."
Pathwarden exhaled. "There's a story of a man walking along the road, and he sees a fence with bulls-eyes painted on it. And right smack dead centre in the middle of each bulls-eye, and I do mean each and every bulls-eye, there's an arrow. Man can't believe his eyes. As he comes to the last target, he sees a kid, maybe ten or eleven with a bow and an empty quiver. Goes up to the kid and asks him if he's the one shot all those arrows. When the kid confirms it, the man says to the kid 'that's fantastic! What's your secret?' Kid says to the man, 'first I shoot my arrows at the fence ...and then I paint the bulls-eyes!'
"My kid sister found out that, technically, you don't necessarily have to be Kensai to a weapon—you can also be Kensai to a martial art discipline, or a body part. She decided to be Kensai to her judgment. And if she judges that she should be using her dagger, or her hapkido, or her telepathy, well, isn't she just—"
"Using her chosen proficiency."
"Bingo. I guess, end of the day," he paused, "night, day, whatever," she gets results. Matter of fact," he said, unsheathing a curved saber, "she's just gotten some. We're on."
He would have moved off, but for the blue-gauntleted hand on his shoulder. "That," Batman said grimly, "looks lethal."
"I don't kill," Pathwarden replied, evenly "though I'd rather you didn't tell the mooks. C'mon. If we don't step on it, there won't be any of them left for us."
Pathwarden had not been joking. Three fleeing perpetrators nearly crashed headlong into the two costumed men as they approached the portable. Pathwarden winked at Batman, before executing a series of leaps, punches, and body blows. It took Batman a moment to identify the younger man's fighting technique. He knew it, of course; he knew them all. Still, much like capoeira, Krav-Maga was not one of the martial arts that he encountered on a regular basis. He could have joined in at any time, but his purpose tonight was different. Besides, he thought as the second thug sprawled in an undignified heap over his groaning companion, Pathwarden did not seem to need any assistance.
"And now, Sir," Pathwarden said to the third, as thin rays of wavering light sprouted from tiny crystals embedded throughout his costume, "for fifty thousand dollars and a chance at the Ferrari, complete the following phrase: 'out of the frying pan'..." The effect of the undulating beams of light did, in fact, look something like flames. With a strangled cry, the thief wrenched desperately out of Pathwarden's grip to hurl himself blindly into Batman. Batman deftly cuffed the man's hands behind his back. Once the hoodlum was subdued, Pathwarden laid a solicitous hand on his shoulder. "You know, there was probably a smarter way you could have played that one," he said, shaking his head in mock sympathy.
Inside, Kensai was in the process of tying up the remaining three.
"Next time," Pathwarden said with a straight face, "you're backup."
Kensai barely glanced up. "Oh good, you found the ones I left for you," she remarked. "Just seat them over with the others, if you don't mind." As Pathwarden and Batman complied, Kensai fired a jumpline through a ceiling support strut. Catching its dangling end, she looped the cable around the wrists of the bound men, now seated in a circle. Once all were secured, she released the other end from her launcher, and fastened it around a sturdy wall bracket. Automatically, her hand slipped into one of her belt pouches and extracted a small spool with new jumpline cable—thin, strong as titanium but light, elastic, and durable—she didn't know what the stuff was made of, or how Umbra had gotten her hands on it. She pressed the spool into her launcher and heard the snap that meant that it was locked into place.
"Where are you headed now?" Batman asked abruptly.
"Unless Hindsight alerts us to a CIP" (Pathwarden pronounced it 'sip' then caught himself)—er, crime-in-progress, we'll probably head for downtown and start playing Tarzan," Pathwarden drawled. "Why?" He asked, a hint of excitement stealing into his voice. "Is there something big expected tonight?"
"There are no small crimes, only small crimefighters," Kensai quipped. Pathwarden half-raised a hand and opened his mouth to speak. "Don't say it!" she snapped. She had heard enough short jokes for one night.
Batman glowered. "Are you two finished?"
Kensai nodded, chastened. "Sorry." Pathwarden lowered his eyes.
"Poison Ivy is in Robinson Park. I'm on my way there, now. You two, head for Chinatown. The triads have been too quiet these past weeks. Something will be breaking soon. Maybe tonight."
"Why us?" Kensai asked, suspiciously. "You have Robin and Batgirl. You trained them. You trust them. We're nearly complete unknowns to you."
"Way to look a gift horse in the mouth, Squirt," muttered Pathwarden.
Batman shook his head. It was a fair question. "I trained them. I trust them. I taught them everything they know. But not everything I know. They know, primarily, Asian martial arts. The triads are experts in Asian martial arts. Other fighting techniques, such as Krav-Maga or Capoeira may put them off their stride."
"Or Savate," Kensai agreed with a smile.
A flicker of surprise showed through the mask. "You seem to have a penchant for the more obscure fighting arts," he remarked.
"Silver Dragon's idea," Pathwarden explained. "We've all studied, minimum, Judo, Karate, Jujitsu and Aikido, but she insisted that we each master at least one, shall we say, less conventional discipline. Most of us have taken on more than that by now. I mean, for starters, when one of us learns something new, we usually share it with the rest of the team. We each have our specialties, but we don't have exclusive rights to them."
He grinned. "Triads, huh? I'd better ask the rest of the team to rendezvous with us there."
Batman nodded curtly. He turned as if to go. "Batman?" Pathwarden called after him. He turned around. "Thank-you." Pathwarden said simply. "For trusting us."
Batman frowned. "Don't give me cause to regret it." The frown disappeared. "You do have the necessary skills to be doing this." He walked toward the spot where he had parked the Batmobile. "For now, I'll accept that you will be." The driver side door opened at his approach. "And," he added, getting in to the car, "you don't kill."
As the Batmobile sped away, Pathwarden and Kensai exchanged a glance. "Kensai stared at the ground. "Not anymore," she whispered. "Not for a very long time. And not again."
Two weeks later...
Callie found the envelope when she checked the mail, on her return from classes. It had all of their names on it, but no stamp or return address. Inside, was a handwritten note: Check your roof.
It was signed 'B'.
On the roof was a large packing crate. How in the world did he get... She checked herself. The man was a billionaire. The roof was flat. It wouldn't be that difficult to land a helicopter there. She looked around quickly to make sure nobody from a neighboring building was watching. Then she placed one hand on the crate and teleported down.
Fetching a hammer and crowbar, she pried it open. Looking inside she gasped. "Gang," she exclaimed, "come here!" As they tumbled into the room, Callie was pulling out costumes, similar in style and appearance to those which they already wore, but—
"They're Kevlar," Tabitha said, almost reverently, stroking the tunic meant for her in awe. A small, flat, plastic box was attached to the belt. She opened it to discover a number of shuriken, both stars and daggers. Taped to the inside of the lid was an index card, with a single word on it: Learn. Tabitha nodded. She would. There were sharp intakes of breath as other weaponry and equipment were lifted out.
As Cal took out her gauntlets, a folded paper fell from one. Picking it up, she unfolded it to read: This discussion is over. Again, it was signed 'B'.
A/N: The translation of Kensai's lines in fifth variant is: Shine your spotlight fifty degrees eastward and see why not, brother. And make it brighter, I don't like spies, much. (Yes, the Russian word for brother, is 'brat.')
