Calculator finds Deathstroke, and Bart gets serious (for a minute)
"Slade." Noah Kuttler's voice echoed through Slade Wilson's ears.
Wilson sighed, and opened his eyes slowly, rising from a deep concentration. "What is it?"
Wilson sat perched on the roof of the Vauxhall Opera House. From 30 stories up, the dark cityscape of the Gotham River docks, and further beyond, the choppy tides of the river itself lay before him. Things were more…palatable when you stared at them from above.
Cool air rushed in from the Atlantic . Coupled with the cloudless night, Wilson felt a slight chill—even with the suit and cowl covering his body. It was…relaxing. Except for Kuttler.
Built into his cowl, if it could be called such, Slade Wilson had an earpiece communicator. A relic of technology he'd purloined from a battle with Robin—the first one—some years ago. With some tinkering, he improved it beyond Batman's original design. That minor tinkiering had increased the earpiece's usefulness over a great range; allowed access not only to police bands, but also an easily accessible link to the Calculator's main lines as well as Oracle's by channeling the satellite signals through a wirelss router concealed in his belt.
Deathstroke--when he wanted to--had veritable tabs on the entire world.
"Where are you?"
"Around." Wilson gained a small satisfaction from speaking in monsyllables. Calculator was by anture an inquisitive creature: always asking questions and clawing at coattails.Like the poor bastard who hangs aorund the more popular kids in elementary school.
"And Harper?"
"I gave him a pass. Somebody beat the shit out of him."
"That's a problem?"
"No. But if I can't have at least one of the originals what's the point?"
"Originals?"
"Grayson. Harper. West. The original Titans—the ones that matter anyway," Wilson said darkly.
"Alright, fine. How long will it take you to get back to Gotham ?"
"I'm already here," Deathstroke said heavily, impatience wearing on him.
"Uh...huh," Calculator said, caught off-guard. "Where are you? Exactly."
"The Vauxhall. It's a night with Chopin. You'd like it."
"I'm sure. But for right now, we need you. Luthor wants you to intercept Superboy at the airport."
"Right."
"How soon can you leave?"
"Stand by," Wilson said. He craned his neck up and stared into the darkening sky, and listened to the faint sounds of Chopin echoing through the roof. Therapeutic. To a point.
The black clouds rolled in from the Atlantic like a heavy sheet. Further out, in the waters of the Gotham River , a motionless sheet of rain draped over Blackgate Isle
"Deathstroke?" Calculator's voice pierced the silence. Chopin's music faded out.
"Twenty minutes."
Deathstroke tapped his ear lightly, and the communicator clicked off. In an instant he somersaulted over the parapet, into the darkness of the Gotham streets.
His name is—was—Eobard Thawne. The Reverse-Flash. A real scum.
No one knows quite how he did it, or why, but during the time when my grandfather, Barry Allen was The Flash, Thawne came to the 20th Century from his home in the 25th using his own technology and a Flash uniform resembling Barry's.Thawne wanted to duplicate Barry's speed, then travel back in time to meet him, only to find upon touring the Flash Museum…that he would become Barry's greatest enemy. More driven and inspired by it than anything else, Thawne set out to vindicate the evidence. He wanted to stake his claim in this century as the Fastest Man Alive.
Sometimes, I swear to God, I don't understand the attraction to whole "Reverse" angle. Get an original idea, Zolomon!
Anyway…
Taking on the identity of what he called The Reverse-Flash, he began to travel to the 20th century to battle the Flash. His knowledge of Grandpa Barry's identity enabled him to strike by killing his wife—my grandmother—Iris.
Eobard Thawne had been watching my grandpa for years, and Barry returned the favor. He'd had enough. So the next time the Reverse-Flash showed up, Barry was ready. On the day of Barry's wedding to Fiona Webb, Thawne returned from the future—as maniacal as ever—intent on killing Webb.Grandpa Barry saved Fiona, but in the process broke Thawne's neck. Professor Zoom was dead.
A lot of people say Grandpa Barry went over a line the day he killed Eobard Thawne. I wasn't there; I don't know what happened. I'm only running on what Wally's told me.
Wally told me the trial was everywhere. All the networks carried it. It was insane. Oddly enough, I guess, Grandpa Barry was acquitted. It doesn't make sense to me in some weird way.
By rights, Grandpa Barry should have gone to jail. Why didn't he? Eobard Thawne died, and Barry Allen killed him.
Time travelers are always hard to kill though. Really, how do you kill a man who can see it coming? Thawne could come back. Show up on Wally's doorstep, just looking for Linda. Hell, even Grandpa Barry isn't technically dead. I sorta think of it as…relocated.
But they always come back, these villains. With some kind of vendetta, looking to do wrong and hurt people.
Why they do it….I don't know. Not really sure I wanna know.
But it's our job to stop them. And I'll do what I have to. I'm not gonna be pushed around anymore.
At any rate...I reach Gotham in just under three minutes. By the time I get to the Davenport Towers , Robin is already waiting for me. He's fast becoming like Batman I suspect. Creeping in and out of any situation like the freakin' Boogeyman. Hell, maybe he already is Batman. He's lost his dad and his girlfriend—both inside a four month period of time.
What do you think that does to a person?
I admit I've never had to deal with…so much loss. Biggest life-changer for me was leaving my own time—like Thawne—with my grandmother Iris. I came to 20th century Keystone City to "learn" how to use my super-speed. Oh man…what a time to be alive (yikes).
I'm Bart Allen. Kid Flash. Yeah buddy, glad acceptance of the Flash mantle. It's…what I want to do. Sometimes I wonder about Conner and Tim. What do they want to do? Why does Tim dress up like a moving target every night and put himself in harm's way.
I do the same. Hell, we all do. It's what we do, I guess.
I gather up some bank speed on my way across the Vincefinkel Bridge , to the point that I blaze through town and don't even throw up dust. It's a trick I've learned from Jay and have since come to perfect ('cause I rock).
The Davenport Towers come up fast, rising into the black of night like glass cathedrals. In the wake of the No Man's Land, Lex Luthor—back when he was still reputable, if ever—had a major hand to play in Gotham 's rebuilding. He fused the old gothic architecture with the futuristic. The critics jumped on as usual, loving Luthor and whatever scraps he threw 'em.
Typical.
I speed up, getting enough speed to run up the side of the building. It's a neat trick. Spelunking without the hooks, trying to work against friction.
"You're late," Robin says as I somersault over a parapet and land in a crouch a few feet in front of him.
"And you're being a box of chocolates."
"Can it. We've got a situation."
"Alright, Corporal, where shall we begin? Dust for prints? Cavity Search?" Humor. She is my mistress.
"No," Tim says bluntly. Something's up his ass. "I can't find him. I know he's in town; you said so yourself. I just can't get a lock on him. He's either turned off his tracer or it's gotten lost. Probably in transit."
"Tracer?" I ask, genuinely surprised.
Tim looks away, to the sky and a cold front rolling in off the Atlantic . "I have tracer signals on all of the Titans." He's not ashamed of it. Part of me reasons that he shouldn't be.
"Not exactly a homing device. A microwave frequency designed within the circuitry of your earpieces. A little device I whipped up on a slow night a few months ago."
"And you're tracking Superboy's?"
"Yes, but with some difficulty. He moves considerably slower than you do—"
"Fastest Y-chromosome alive," I say proudly, straightening up, and puffing my chest out like a military man at attention. Except I'm not getting assaulted with words by Lee Ermey. Heh.
"Right," Tim says dismissively. "But if he's in the air, the satellite would have trouble triangulating a position."
He reaches around to the back part of his belt and pulls out a small cylindrical…thingHe holds it in his right hand and punches in numbers on the small keyboard. The video screen lights up a warm green color and Tim watches a single red dot phase in and out of visibility for a few seconds. It courses its way around in a broad ellipse. It's like some kind of new age etch-a-sketch. Neato.
Tim starts muttering, recriminating himself for not being able to find Superboy: "Where are you, Conner?"
"What about Luthor. Do you know where he is?" I ask, half patronizing. Of course Tim knows where Luthor is. He hangs out with Batman. He always knows. Tim puts away his Conner-monitor, and stares coldly at me. It's like it's his thing. Superman does the flying thing. Tim…stares at people. A boy with a hobby.
"No," He says, almost disappointed.
"Alright," I say, and pause for a moment. "Uh…"
"What?"
"The microwave frequencies or whatever you called 'em. How long have you had them on us?"
"Bart—" He says, probably expecting me to go crazy over being watched. Sure, I am. But I understand why he's doing it.
"I'm just asking," I say, throwing up my hands defensively. "I'm not…against 'em. I understand why we have them"
"I appreciate that," Tim says calmly, still focusing on finding Conner. "And besides, if one of you ever got in trouble, I'd have no way of finding you. Not without the tracers."
"Yeah," I say with a little grin. Nice to know someone cares. "Have you found him?"
"Jesus," Tim mutters to himself.
"What is it?"
"He's at the airport. A few miles north of here. Go."
"What about you?"
"I've got my own ride," Tim says as he heads to the edge of the roof. Next thing I know he takes a Greg Louganis off the parapet…out of my site.
"Funny," I say, and jet down the side of the building. Constant acceleration plus my own super-speed kicking in get me up to about 80 miles an hour. Just enough to carry me out of the city, head towards the airport, and leave little damage behind (heh).
Continued...