Paradox
Chapter Two
By: VincentM
"Damn."
Richie sat back on his knees, rubbing at his forehead as he reviewed the data on the screen in front of him. Robin, who had taken a seat in a rolling chair nearby, stopped his constant twirling and looked over at him. Batman stood behind him, unaffected by Richie's curse, arms crossed and still as a statue.
"What's the problem?" Robin asked.
Richie shook his head and grabbed another finger-food thing off a nearby plate that had been brought down to them by a very out-of-place English butler about an hour ago. He munched on it before answering. Snacking while he was working was a bad habit, he knew, but he didn't have the energy to worry about it right now.
"There's a flaw in the machine," Richie said, frowning.
Robin rolled his eyes. "We know," he said. "That's why we called you here to fix it."
"No, not that," Richie replied, standing up and pacing in irritation. "I mean, yes, the machine is broken, but that's not the problem. There's a fundamental flaw in the programming."
"Explain it," Batman said, the first words he'd spoken in almost three hours.
"It's sort of complicated," Richie warned him, pausing in his pacing.
"Try me."
Richie blew a puff of air between his lips, sitting back down on his helmet next to the machine. He put his chin in his hand and thought for several moments, trying to figure out a way to describe the problem so that the others would understand. Temporal physics was an unpleasant subject to most laypeople.
"Okay," Richie began slowly. "First thing you need to know is that history is immutable."
"Huh?" Robin said, already looking lost.
"You can't change the past," Richie tried again. "What's happened has happened. Nothing's going to change that. Even if you manage to go back in time and mess around with things, you can't alter what's already happened. If you did, we wouldn't be us and you'd end up with a paradox. History always works to correct itself."
Robin nodded. "So, what's done is done, right?"
"Right," Richie said, taking another bit of snack food and chewing it thoughtfully. An idea occurred to him and he held up his arm, bending it at the elbow. "Okay, imagine the past is your forearm. It's straight and there's only one path. Now, the present is your fist." He made a fist, looking between Batman and Robin. Robin nodded again, a little less sure this time, but Batman didn't even blink.
"The 'present' I'm talking about," Richie continued on, deciding he would take questions at the end, "is the exact moment in time Static was pulled into the future. Now, imagine in your fist your holding an infinite number of helium balloons attached to strings. Those strings are the paths to the future and each one of those balloons represents the exact moment Static arrived in the future."
"Why are there so many of them?" Robin asked, scrunching his eyebrows. "Isn't there only one future?"
"No, there are infinite futures," Richie replied. "Every decision you make, every decision made by the individuals around you, affects your future. All of these choices collectively derived accounts for an infinite number of final outcomes. Any one of those infinite futures is possible, but some of them are, by way of statistics, more likely than the others."
"I'm still not seeing the flaw."
"I'm getting there," Richie told Robin, wishing he'd quit interrupting. "The way this machine works, it sends a person to the most likely future possible. There are a couple of reasons for this. First of all, that future is the easiest one to pass a quantum signal to from our own and, more importantly, it reduces the risk that you're going to end up sending somebody to a future where the world is under nuclear winter or a massive asteroid has wiped out the ozone layer."
"That would kind of suck," Robin murmured.
"Yeah, it would," Richie agreed. "What's happened is, the statistics have changed. The outcomes have been altered. The future Virgil went to was the most likely at the time he disappeared, but that's no longer the case, because everything's different now. The most likely future had Virgil in it past the point where he disappeared, so wherever Virgil is, odds are, he's run into himself. In addition, the very act of bringing Virgil back from the future makes that future more unlikely, because Virgil would have intimate knowledge of that future and the ability to change anything he might discover is undesirable. I can't use the same pathway he was sent on to pull him back, because the numbers don't add up anymore."
"I think I'm lost," Robin said, scratching his head.
Richie sighed. "To put it simply, the math is bad, we can't retrieve him using the same formulas that sent him to the future in the first place, and this machine," Richie thumped it for emphasis, "was never designed to actually bring people back. It's a one-way ticket."
The room became deathly silent, Richie final words echoing off into the distance. Robin slumped down in his chair, looking distinctly unhappy. Batman, however, stared intently at Richie.
"Can you fix it?" he asked, his voice breaking the heavy silence around them.
Richie closed his eyes, letting himself dive fully into the math. He calculated future probabilities, using theoretical math barely touched upon by any of the most advanced researchers in the world. The numbers felt chaotic at first, then, slowly they resolved themselves. After several minutes, Richie opened his eyes, looking seriously at Batman.
"I can," he said, "but I need a few things." He stood up, stretching briefly, then put a hand on his hip. "Do you think Radio Shack is still open?"
While Alfred had offered to take them in the limo, Richie respectively declined. He wanted to get a feel for the city, never having visited Gotham before. Not knowing his surroundings very well made Richie slightly paranoid. It didn't take much for Richie to become paranoid these days. Virgil often teased him about it.
Instead, he road on the back of a motorcycle, being terrifyingly driven by Robin... or rather, Tim. Tim drove like a maniac. Richie was starting to understand why Batman never allowed him to fly the Batplane. He wouldn't let him touch his jet blades.
"Can you slow down?" Richie shouted over the wind. Tim didn't hear him, which wasn't a surprise, given their speed and the bulky helmets they were wearing. Forcing himself not to panic, Richie instead looked from side to side, taking in the city, even if it was happening by at lightening speed.
Gotham was very different from Dakota, which looked like Hickville compared to this massive metropolis. The sky was a deep red, no doubt from all the pollution in the air, and everything seemed gloomy, even the people they passed. When they traveled past poor sections, Richie didn't get the same feeling he did in his own neighborhood. He knew, from his own bored research, that there were distinct differences in the type of crimes committed between the two cities. In Dakota's case, the majority of the crime came from gang bangers, drug dealers, and, now, metahumans. Gotham, however, had a very high incidence of white-collar organized crime, committed Mafia style, and also had more than its share of dangerous psychotics who seemed to prefer attacking with a theme, such as clowns, plants, or hats, which Batman dealt with on a regular basis.
Maybe it had something to do with the pollution. Richie didn't know, but he thought it might warrant more research. He would think about that later, though. First, he wanted to have Virgil back safe and sound.
Finally, the terrifying ride ended, Tim pulling into a space right in front of a Radio Shack that had bars on the windows. They dashed inside, barely making it before they closed, and Richie gave an apologetic smile to the exhausted looking cashier, who looked positively pained at their entrance. Tim immediately made his way to the audio equipment, staring longingly at this and that.
Richie took to the back, perusing the shelves for the items he'd need. Wires, cables, batteries, various components, parts, and chemicals all found their way into his hands. He snatched a high-tech GPS locator, ceramic capacitors, transistors, and many other items that an average person would probably find no connection between. Richie knew what he was doing, though.
Arms loaded down, Richie walked up to the counter, setting down his purchases with a huff. The cashier raised an eyebrow, then raised the other when Tim arrived at the counter with an incredibly expensive, mini-DVD player. She didn't immediately start to ring them up.
"And how will you gentleman be paying for this today?" she asked skeptically.
Richie stepped back and deferred to Tim, who pulled out his wallet and waved a plastic, platinum-colored card in her face.
"American Express," he told her. "Don't leave home without it. Want to see my ID?"
She nodded and Tim handed it to her. Shrugging, she started ringing up their purchases. Richie watched with something close to excitement as the total rang higher and higher on the display. Beep after beep, the number went up, reaching a total far beyond anything Richie himself could ever pay for in about two years.
"That'll be two-thousand, eight-hundred, twenty-three dollars and forty-two cents," she said at last.
Richie balked, but Tim only shrugged, gesturing to his credit card. The cashier swiped it, looking surprised when the sale was approved, but making no further comment. She put everything into bags and handed them to Richie, who held them carefully.
"Thank you," the cashier said. "Have a good evening."
"Here's hoping," Tim said, dragging Richie out of the store. The sign on the door flipped over to 'closed' the second their feet hit the sidewalk.
"Jesus," Richie breathed, looking at Tim with awe. "You do know that's more than my parents make in a month and they both have full-time jobs."
"There are some advantages to being Bruce Wayne's ward," Tim said by way of explanation, carefully securing their purchases to the motorcycle.
Richie couldn't argue with that. Money, or the distinct lack of it, always seemed to be hanging over his and Virgil's heads. They scrimped by as best they could, squeezing every penny, stretching every bit of cash they could get their hands on to the fullest. They had to get creative sometimes - Virgil developed an amazing gift for sewing, finding himself repairing his costume constantly from the general wear and tear of super heroing. Richie spent the majority of his free time scrounging around in junkyards for the things he needed to build his inventions, only going to purchase items when it was an absolute necessity. Even then, he usually acquired them from shady deals made with less than reputable individuals who sold components out of the back of various cars. "Fell off the truck" specials made up most of their arsenal.
He knew, if they wanted to keep doing this hero-thing, they were going to need a steady cash flow. Richie had a few ideas on how to achieve that. Some of them wouldn't quite pass the moral code they'd adopted as Superheroes, though. The perfect bank robbery and various kinds of ingenious fraud would make them quick cash, but definitely not in a way either of them would feel comfortable with. Richie even entertained the idea, if they could hold out until he was twenty-one, that he could hit up Vegas and get himself thrown out of every casino for winning too much.
Richie never claimed his plans were practical.
But, that was neither here nor there. First things first - he wanted Virgil back, now. The items safely secured, Richie climbed back on the motorcycle behind Tim, putting on his helmet and wrapping his arms around the other boy. The engine revved up with a roar and Richie cringed.
"Go slower this time," he called, but either Tim didn't hear him or didn't care, because they were off like a speeding bullet before Richie could so much as curse.
To Be Continued...
A/N: Whew. Maybe two or so more parts to go. Thanks again for reading!