Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.
Tomorrow
Chapter Three: Then a Step to the Right
The woman, Red Arrow, lead the trio on a winding path through the broken city, keeping low, running with her knees bent, carefully picking a path over up-turned concrete, fallen street lights, collapsed bypasses and other less easily identifiable rubble. The former District of Colombia, Bart explained in a whisper, was right on the border of the Commander's territory and while he did technically claim it as his own (because he wanted access to the Hall, Pentagon, Anacostia-Bolling air and naval base, as well as a few other old USA resources), but the fact of the matter was that it was just to far away from his Territory Seat in Gotham to be maintained.
Bart seemed to talk about this Commander a lot. Of course, that could simply be because they had just escaped one of the Commander's operatives –the mysterious Nightstar- and were currently skirting the border of his territory. But Tim felt that there was a little bit more to the Commander than what the speedster was telling him. The problem was, the Boy Wonder was forty years removed from the situation and didn't know the current dialect of sub-text. He couldn't get a read on the figure of the Commander. He couldn't tell if he was malevolent or simply ambivalent. Tim decided it was safe to rule out benevolent –no one in this post-apocalyptic setting could afford to be benevolent.
After a while it became apparent that their path was taking a distinctive southward turn and Bart asked, "Are you taking us the long way to Mine Town Unincorporated? Because this sure as heck ain't the direct rout!"
Red Arrow did not turn when she replied, "As much as I would like to see Auntie Art and Uncle Cam, no. We've got a camp set-up not to far from here. The Demon's got us watching the fallen Watchtower. Apparently, Batman and Nightstar both have been in and out of the thing almost since you left –trying to salvage what they can for their Commander, no doubt."
There was so much information in the one reply that Tim almost froze in his tracks. If Kon, walking behind him, hadn't nearly tumbled into his back at the slight pause in step, he probably would have frozen.
"Woah!"
"Everything alright back there?" Red Arrow turned. The whited-out slits of her mask narrowing in suspicion.
"We're fine." Tim answered quickly –but not too quickly, that would have just raised suspicious, not alleviated it. "Skywalker just tripped over his feet. He's good now."
Kon, thank goodness, was smart enough to not say anything contradictory and he even waited until the woman had turned back around and resumed leading them out of the city before he asked Tim about it.
"Did you hear what she said?" Replied the Boy Wonder in a whisper in a voice so low only a kryptonian could hear it.
"Yeah, Watchtower fell out of the sky and they're trying to salvage it." Kon's whispered reply didn't sound impressed. Of course, with no one to maintain it, there were really only three things that could happen to the space station. One was that it would just float up there forever, one more disused satellite clogging the finite space around the planet. Second was that it would be flung out of orbit and lost in space forever. The third option was that its orbit would eventually decay over time and the station would fall back to Earth. The demi-kryptonian didn't really get what was so shocking about that.
"Yes," Tim hissed, "but more importantly, instead of rushing to salvage it these guys have staked it out and are watching others salvage it. What does that tell you?"
Kon was silent a moment, thinking. Then, "I donno, what's it supposed to tell me?"
Tim just sighed and shook his head. He knew Kon wasn't an idiot. In fact, the demi-kryptonian was rather smart, he had to be to be able to hold all that Cadmus programming that was still contained within his thick kryptonian skull. But sometimes… sometimes he could be so very, very dense.
Or maybe Tim was just expecting to much from him. The little Robin had learned long ago that his brain worked light-years faster than most people's. He noticed things and made connections that wouldn't otherwise be made between things. People, places, events. Hell! He had managed to figure out Batman's and the first Robin's identities just by piecing together newspaper clippings and looking at body-types in pictures for cripes sake!
So, while a normal person might hear that a group of people was observing a salvage instead of salvaging it themselves, they might not think much of it, or they might think they were just being curious, or nosy, or trying to stay informed. But in this end-of-the-world setting, where resources where scarce and all the more precious because of it, it told Tim something different entirely. Reasons why people watch other people? To catch them doing something incriminating, or to learn what they might be planning. Since the justice system in the time would be ambiguous at best, Tim decided on learning their plans. Why then, do people want to know other people's plans? Why, to ruin them, of course!
What it told Tim was that Bart's little group of nomads did not like the Commander and were scheming something against him.
Once again, he thought of Bruce. He would be seventy-seven by now –to old to be Batman. But Red Arrow said that 'Batman' was one of the ones working for the Commander. Was the 'Commander' Bruce then? The new 'Batman' Dick? Why would Bart and Red Arrow be at odds with them? And who was 'the Demon' she mentioned? The only person Tim knew about who sometimes went by 'the Demon' was Ra's al Ghul. But, no, no, no! He did not think Bart would team-up with him! Okay it was true, the Boy Wonder had only known the speedster from the future for a few months and a lot could happen in forty years. For all he knew, Ra's could be one of the good guys now.
'Not enough information.' He reminded himself. He didn't know enough to form any solid hypotheses. All he had were feelings and hunches. No concrete facts.
"Here we are." Red Arrow stopped in front of a pile of rubble that was near indistinguishable from every other pile of rubble in the area. Indistinguishable, up until she braced one foot on half a broken cinderblock, wrapped both her hands around a protruding copper pipe, and pulled. A segment of the pile swung up to reveal narrow passage slightly bigger than a manhole. "Allen, you go first. Then the new guys. I'll seal the door behind us."
And box them in between herself and however many others were hiding down that rabbit hole. Tim silently approved of her caution. It was the kind of security measure he imagined Bruce would instate –never show a stranger your back, especially not just within the open doorway of your own hideout.
Tim and Kon followed Bart down the passage, crawling because it was so small. It sloped at an angle, Tim would guess about thirty degrees –maybe less, it certainly wasn't more than that. After several feet, the passage opened out onto a wider passage. It looked like an old subway tunnel, but the track was stripped away, the service lights pulled from the walls, anything that could have conducted power or was made of metal was gone. Tim heard the draw of a bowstring behind him and looked to see Red Arrow with a bolt notched in her.
"Keep moving." She said. "That way. Bart can lead you."
"And you'll be watching our backs." He smirked.
"Very closely." She nodded without humor.
"You're so friendly and trusting." Kon remarked. "You remind me of someone I know back home."
Red Arrow was not impressed; she drew her bowstring tighter and fixed her aim squarely on his orange-clad chest. "For all I know, Skywalker, you could be a mole."
Kon shook his head, suppressing an amused smile. "Yup, definitely remind me of someone."
He turned around and they followed the speedster down the tunnel.
They turned at two different intersections, Bart leading them in the general direction of where he remembered the Watchtower had fallen before he left. Demon had talked about wanting to salvage the tower for the food and weapons; the dehydrated protein packets and fast-burn lazer canons. But it seemed like the Commander beat him to it. Oh, Demon must have just loved that! Man, was Bart glad he hadn't been around when that hit the fan.
Eventually, the tunnel led them to an old station. A dull amber light growing out of the dim. At first Tim thought it was torchlight, that the old service light fixtures had been converted into wall-scones and lit on fire. He then damned them for their stupidity to light fires in so enclosed a space, suck out all the oxygen and asphyxiate them all. Idiots!
But as they drew closer, Tim saw that it was not a series of fires, but just one small fire lit under a wheel. The rising heat from the fire spun the wheel like a turbine. From the makeshift turbine ran a wire and from the wire hung the dull amber lights that he had mistaken for torches. They flickered inconsistently like candles, but they lit the corridor and they burned no air. Tim nodded with silent approval. If they could spin a turbine, they could generate power, if they could generate power they had electricity. It really was amazing the things humans could achieve given sufficient motivation. He cast a sidelong glance at his half-alien friend; he doubted either Kon or Clark would have thought of it.
They followed the lights several feet to the station. A veritable tent city was erected on the platform, but before any of them could climb up from the non-existent tracks they were again stopped. Quite literally frozen in place.
A blast of frigid air hit their feet and Bart, Tim and Kon were all frozen in place, ice forming about their feet. Another woman stepped out from where she'd been lurking in the shadows. Her skin was as white as freshly fallen snow, but not in the charming 'fairy tale' kind of way. Her long hair, pulled back in a tight pony-tail at the nape of the neck and bushed out like a squirrel's tail, was an almost equally pale shade of blue. Even if she hadn't just frozen their feet in place, just looking at her told them 'ice-powers'! There was only one thing disorienting about her appearance (not to say that most things since they arrived in this time were disorienting, but this was the disorienting thing about her, specifically), she had Artemis' face!
This woman was the spitting image of their former Teammate Artemis Crock! That is, if Arty were an ice-user and about twenty years younger than she should be in this time.
"I don't recognize you three." She said in a voice that was almost Artemis' but slightly different. "You have three seconds to tell me who you are and what you want! 1…"
"Hi, Icicle." Bart mumbled as if greeting a lamentably familiar play-yard bully.
She blinked pale blue eyes at him. "Bart? What are you doing here? I though Nathan sent you to the past! Who're they?"
It was then that Red Arrow came up behind them. "Hey, Isa." She smiled. "I picked them up at the Hall. Bart says they're 'Skywalker' and the 'Scarlet Pimpernel'."
"Never heard of them." Icicle, whom looked like Artemis scoffed. She made a dramatic wave of her hand and the ice around their feet dissolved. "If Bart brought you, he can introduce you to the Demon. He likes to vet everyone before they join."
"Join?" Kon blinked at Ice-Artemis. "Join what?"
"Um, yeah… about that…" Bart muttered at his side.
Red Arrow hopped up onto the platform next to Icicle and spread her arms wide. "Gentleman," she said. "Welcome to the League of New Shadows!"
"Excuse me!?"
.
tick-tock
.
The Demon was not his chosen handle. It was a name derived from the titles 'the Demon's Grandson' and 'the Demon Child', which were given to him by the members of his father's household (and certain extended friends). He had been a Robin and he should be the Batman, the title was his by right. But it was denied him.
In his mid-thirties, some might view him as the allegorical exiled prince striving to reclaim his father's title and kingdom that were stolen from him. But the Demon did not entertain such romanticized and utterly absurd ideas. He was not a prince. His father had owned no kingdom. He was simply a man wanting to take back what was his.
At present, he was working towards doing exactly that. Meeting with his informant, the one operative he had in the usurper's household.
"Its lucky I was already out investigating something." Commented the Informant, green eyes bright and energetic as ever. The Demon would never say it out loud, he did not believe in wasting breath on frivolous statements of the obvious, but he thought those eyes were the most beautiful he'd ever seen. "Otherwise it might have been difficult to explain my absence to the Commander."
"I hate it when you call him that." The Demon growled in irritation but took her hand all the same. Intertwining his white-gloved fingers with her slender gold ones, he raised her hand and brushed his lips against it.
"Would you prefer I call him 'Uncle' around you instead?" The Informant smiled, full round lips curling upwards mockingly.
"Beloved, I wish you wouldn't delight in vexing me so." His voice was without infraction when he said this, but even if it went without auditory expression, his Informant could hear the mingled annoyance and affection behind it.
She heaved a heavy sigh. But the Demon couldn't tell if it was one of real and true exasperation with him, or an attempt to draw his attention to her very generous and admittedly perfectly shaped breasts. Neither would have surprised him, but in the end, the Demon decided that it didn't really matter. They had met here for a purpose and while he did begrudgingly admit that it was lamentable that they didn't get to see each other as much a they both would have liked, it was a necessary separation to achieve their goals. Goals that they should stay focused on and not allow themselves to be sidetracked by their baser impulses.
"Fine, fine. You're always so cold to me…" She pouted in a way that was –for lack of a better word- adorable, and the Demon committed the image to memory for later use when he was back at the New Shadows' base, in his tent –alone. Her pout was more for show than anything else, cute as it was, and she quickly abandoned it to give her report. "The Commander has had us salvaging zetta-field generators and space-displacement drivers from the Watchtower. Also, specific hard drives that contain software programs, most notable of which is the old Sentry program."
"I remember it." The Demon nodded. Then, "What does he want with the zetta-generators and S-D drivers?"
"He has this man working for him, making something." The Informant brushed a strand of long dark hair behind her ear and the Demon found himself suppressed the urge to close the space between them and stroke his own hands though her impossibly long cloud of hair. "They call it the Time-Sphere. And he's set-up the Sentry program in the Nest to only scan for temporal disturbances."
The Demon was silent a moment, processing this. It sounded like the Usurper was not only building a time machine of his own, but also trying to track other attempts at time travel as well. Thank goodness Neutron had already sent Allen to the past before all this started going down. Loath though he was to admit it, the Demon knew that the Usurper was clever and intelligent enough to stop their plans if he knew the full scope of them. Or… perhaps his sudden interest in time travel was a direct result of Allen's little trip back in time…?
In all honesty, the Demon had thought the idea was complete bunk when Neutron and the speedster first presented him with the plan. He only gave his consent for them to follow the project because it kept Allen out of his hair –something that was usually near impossible to do- and then, when they had succeeded in creating a working time capsule and Allen had gone back to the past it was like heaven had opened up, angels sang, and the Demon thanked the powers that were for finally ridding him of the nettlesome little nuisance. To be completely honest with himself, the Demon didn't care if the little speedster succeeded in his mission or not, he would be content if he never saw Bartholomew Allen the Second again.
"There's one more thing before I go." His Informant said, drawing the Demon from his thoughts. "Just today, the Sentry program picked up a temporal disturbance at the crater where the old Mount Justice base used to be."
"What?" He looked up, his dark blue eyes meeting her luminous and infinitely green ones.
"I went to check it out." She continued. "I found three people there. At first they were up in the air, surveying the area I guess; then they went to ground and sped off before I could get to them. They were all in colors but I didn't recognize any of them."
The Demon pursed his lips. New colors appearing out of the blue was cause for wary caution at any time. But now… when he was so close to realizing all his plans… The Demon saw the proverbial wrench and imagined it wasn't long before it got thrown. He would need to reexamine his stratagems and plan extra contingencies. Always more contingencies. If he leaned nothing else from his father it was that one must always plan for every contingency. You can't know what's going to happen, but that doesn't mean you can't still prepare for it.
"Is that all?" He asked.
"That's it." She nodded.
"Then… you should go before he starts to notice your absence." But the Demon did not let go of their intertwined fingers.
She floated a few inches in the air and gave his hand a light tug. "Was there anything else you wanted to say?"
He dropped her hand as if she'd given him an electric shock. "Don't be ridiculous!"
She smiled knowingly. No longer held by him, the Informant climbed in altitude, but paused again when he did finally add…
"And, Beloved… Mar'i, please be careful." The Demon gazed up at her with an expression most would believe was foreign to his face, but the Informant had seen it a remarkable number of times. The lamentable thing was that he caught himself to quickly and hid the expression all to soon. "Tt, it would be exceedingly inconvenient for my plans if he discovered you before my end-game."
Mar'i smiled down at him. "Same to you. It would be really annoying for me if anything happened to you, too."
"So, we have an understanding?"
"Oh, I think its safe to say I understand you better than most."
.
tick-tock
.
The Commander groaned at the jerk of the grapple line and the strain of muscles that were not as young and vigorous as they used to be. But to spite the burn in his tendons, the old man could not help but smile at the rush of air, yank of the line and pull of G-force. He delighted in the feeling of familiar motion. For one brief moment his eyes fixed on the horizon where the decaying towers of the city clawed up at the ever-bleak sky and he felt like it was many years earlier, on another night he had been swinging over the city…
'This is my flying!'
'Yeah, lets see if you still say that when your line snaps and you fall.'
'I won't fall. You're here to catch me. You always catch me.'
'And I always will.'
The Commander flicked the thumb trigger that would release the line just before the snap-back could pull him away from his intended rooftop. His landing was not as graceful or even as smooth as they had been in his youth, but grace and poise had stopped mattering a long time ago. Now all that mattered was that he made the landing unharmed and able to continue. …Because no one would catch him if he fell. Not anymore…
No! He would not think about Superman. It was by his own making that Superman wasn't here to catch him anymore, he hadn't been for a long time, and in the end… in the end he arrived to late to stop his fall. A flash of silvered steel in dim light. A spurt of fresh blood from an open well, dark and red. Backwards… falling backwards into strong arms clad in blue spandex… To late. All to late.
'My god! You knew this would happen?'
To late. He didn't catch him. Didn't stop his fall. Just held him in the final moments as darkness overtook him.
He didn't remember saying anything, but there was so much he wanted to say. Laying there in Superman's arms, bleeding all over that obnoxiously clean blue suit, his killer standing over them, sword reflecting the dim light… He didn't know it then –watching himself, he was to young, to inexperienced, hadn't yet gone through the life that lead to that moment, just didn't know, but there was so much he wanted to say. 'I forgive you.' 'I'm sorry.' 'I wish we were partners again.' 'I never told you, because you never listen, but…'
Damn it! He was thinking about him again! With a conscious effort the Commander forced his thoughts away from the Superman and how that obnoxiously young face had looked in the dim light.
'My god! You knew this would happen?'
Yes, Superman, he knew. And if you had been in the room with them, you would have known too. Maybe you would have shown up sooner, done something to help, maybe even prevent it…
Damn it! Stop! The Commander extended his collapsible bo-staff and vaulted to the next roof, then the next one after that. Familiar motion. A familiar city. Familiar tools. Hell, even a familiar mission, only viewed from the other side. Finally, he reached the building he wanted.
The old Gotham Gazette building. It was abandoned long ago during one of the civil wars after the Apokoliptan invasion was finally repulsed. It was stripped of anything useful by scavengers and sat dormant for almost a decade before the Commander met Rip Hunter.
Rip was not the type of person the Commander tended to trust. He was cryptic and secretive like most of the Commander's own bat-clan, but he hid it under a layer bizarre humor, goofy remarks and just overall a flippant attitude. But, the Commander remembered Rip from before, so while he was not the sort of person he usually tended to trust, he knew he could trust the man for at least the one thing he needed him for. The Commander commissioned him for a job almost the moment they met.
It was Rip whom chose to set-up shop in the old Gazette building. He mentioned some non-sense about newspapers and living history, or something. It hadn't been important. What was important was what the building now held –the Time-Sphere. The machine that would allow him to send his younger self and the younger Superman back to their own time.
The Commander slipped in through a window left open for that specific purpose. His long cape cascading in behind him, draping over his shoulders and pooling at his feet. It gave the image of a dark fluid shadow drifting in like the ominous specter of death. (Only the Commander did not speak in all capitals or ride a white horse named Binky. It was a shame really, if he did, it might improve his public opinion.)
Rip was bent over a worktable, fiddling with something that was most definitely not a component to the Time-Sphere.
"I told you I wanted a report from you by nine." Growled the Commander.
Rip looked up, a flicker off annoyance flashing over his boyish face before instantly being replaced with jovial smile. "Oh, sorry 'bout that. Time got away form me. But I caught it and brought it right back!"
The Commander grit his teeth and tried not to snarl with irritation. "How is your progress on the Time-Sphere? Is it almost finished?"
"Define 'almost'?"
"Tomorrow!" This time the Commander did snarl. "I need it completed and ready by October twenty-fifth of this year, twenty fifty-six. You might have all the time in the world, Rip Hunter, but I'm working within a deadline!" –literally.
Rip smiled an ironic smile, almost as if he understood the private double entendre that only the Commander could know.
"It'll be ready when you need it." He said cryptically.
The Commander knew it would be; he remembered it was. But he still wanted to hear it. He needed the reassurance. To spite the fact that he already knew what was going to happen, he couldn't just relax and let things play out, and not just because of how they ended. The Commander was the type of person who couldn't leave things to other people as a general rule; it hadn't been so bad when he was younger. But over the years he was forced to learn the hard way that if he didn't do something himself, it might get done, but it wouldn't get done right. It all boiled down to control. If the Commander felt he was in control, then he was safe.
It was a huge effort to begin delegating important tasks to Mar'i and McGinnis. But he knew it had to be done. He wasn't going to be around forever.
To Rip Hunter, he said, "It better be." Then vanished out the same window from which he had entered.
It had been a long time since the Commander last patrolled his city. That was one of the jobs he usually delegated to McGinnis now. But as he left the old Gazette building he was struck by the realization that this just might be the last time he would get to patrol his city. Gotham. His city. Where he was born. Where he was raised.
Gotham had already learned to survive disaster long before the Apokoliptan invasion. A devastating virus known only as the Contagion swept the city early on in the Commander's career as a Robin, then a second outbreak a few years after that that seemed pick-up where the first one left off. But no sooner had the city recovered from the second onslaught of the virus than the state of Jersey was rocked by the cataclysmic 7.6 earthquake with its epicenter not ten miles from the Gotham down town. To add insult to all these injuries, the good ol' U. S. of A decided, in their infinite wisdom, to declare the city a No Man's Land and excommunicated it from American sovereignty. …And all that had even been before the Commander joined the Team as Robin.
The government did eventually come to their senses and Gotham was begrudgingly welcomed back as the proverbial 'prodigal son'. But the people of Gotham learned their lesson. They learned how to survive when times turned desperate and so when Apokolips invaded, when they pierced the earth with their volcanic shafts and the skies darkened and the air filled with ash, the rest of the world panicked. But Gotham just shook her head and said, 'Well, that's new.'
The Commander vaulted to the adjacent roof, then the one next to that, then the one next to that, until he finally came upon buildings tall enough to use his grappling cables on. In the days before the invasion and for some time after, the grapple lines were gas powered and could be propelled higher and farther than a man could swing them. But the gas packs were canisters of super-condensed CO made by Wayne Tech. During the many civil wars that followed the invasion the company collapsed into ruin, their factories destroyed or abandoned, its materials and supply routs cut off, its resources stolen by other factions. Much of what once was, was lost. The Commander, Dick (may he rest in peace), and the Demon (the then Robin) learned to adjust and adapt.
Swigging the grapple line in a circle, faster and faster with each pass, the Commander worked up its speed and momentum before releasing the cable and letting it fly through the air. The grappling hook caught on the bent and twisted remnant of what might have been a rot iron railing for a veranda. It didn't matter what it was, just that it would hold the Commander's weight multiplied by the force of his swing. …Because no one would catch him if he fell.
A few good tugs on the line to test its sturdiness, then the Commander was off. Swinging through the air, over the rooftops of his city. Reveling in the familiar feeling. His version of flying. He flicked his thumb over the small trigger that would release the grappling hook before the line's recoil could snap him back and slam him into the side of a building. Mustn't die before his time, oh no.
The Commander landed roughly, gritting his teeth as leg muscles screamed in protest. He really was getting to old for this.
He looked down the side of the building into the waters of Gotham's Finger River, then up the bank to the power plant they had constructed there. Built right over the water, using the river's current to spin the turbines. Of all the makeshift plants in the city, it was the one the Commander was most proud of. It generated the most power, but only for a single purpose –the Finger River Plant was devoted to the Robinson Park Farmland. It lit the artificial solar lights that made it possible to grow anything in the forsaken world of ever night.
Once again extending his bo-staff, the Commander vaulted his way over the roofs along the river bank to the plant. The whirring-hum of the plants three turbines could be heard from several houses down, a soft whisper that grew in intensity as he drew nearer, like the underscoring rhythm of symphony. The commander could only imagine what it might sound like to someone with Superman's sensitive hearing. Maybe great roar?
He was thinking about him again.
One final vault with his staff, and the Commander was on the roof of the power plant. It spanned the river from bank to bank and was a perfect bridge for people of the roof-hopping persuasion like himself. A light spring and a bit of a jump later he was standing in the old Robinson Park that had been converted into farmland to feed the city.
Late summer corn rose in front of him, tall and green, swaying slightly in the breeze, the rows illuminated by the bright yellow solar lights placed every six feet. The smell of wet earth and corn filled his nostrils and the Commander suddenly felt like he was looking at a different field, at another time, an early evening under an open Kansas sky.
'Isn't it just so awesome? I mean, I grew this!
The Commander forced the memory away. Superman always had been good at growing things, at making things, helping things thrive. He was not so talented. He couldn't make things thrive, he could only help them survive.
"I don't usually see you out and about." Commented a voice behind him. "What brings you out of the Nest?"
The Commander turned. "Hello, Pamela." He said, and nodded to the field. "I was just dropping by to check on your kids."
"Don't be cheeky, Commander." Pamela Isley, former villainess known as 'Poison Ivy', and holder of a Ph. D. in botany smiled a humorless green-lipped smile at him. At the age of seventy-two she was no where near as conventionally attractive as she used to be, but she still possessed the same mine-controlling pheromones that had made her such a formidable villain to begin with. Sometimes, the Commander wondered if that was the real reason he'd placed her in charge of the Robinson Farmland project instead of running her ass out of town like Mar'i suggested he should have.
"I'm never 'cheeky'." He said. Then added, "Harvest is scheduled for next week."
"I know." She nodded stiffly.
"Are we gonna have a problem again?"
The Commander had placed Dr. Isley in charge of the Robinson Farmland because of her knowledge and talent with growing and the results spoke for themselves, no one else managed to produce crops as strong and healthy as she did. But, when it came harvest time, the Commander had to have Nightstar restrain her so that they could actually reap the life-giving sustenance they had grown. Mar'i kept saying Isley was a liability and that they should cut her loose. But the Commander kept her around because she produced the best results and in this world, competence was a near indispensable necessity.
"No." She growled out.
"Good." He nodded. "Enjoy the rest of the season."
He left the park.
It was hours later, after the Commander returned to the Nest and was scribbling down as much as he could remember of the past forty years in a book of 'Spoilers' that Nightstar finally returned.
The Batcave, along with most of Wayne Manor, was destroyed in the invasion and so Dick had moved the bat-clan's base of operations to the remains of the monolithic Wayne Tower. They set up their base in the top three floors, the five floors underneath those were converted into living suits for the family and close friends, beneath that were suits for other allies not so close or not as trusted, then there were several floors untouched, used mostly for storage. The ground floor was converted into MASH camp, originally run by Leslie Thompkin in the early days. Now it was maintained by volunteers.
The name 'Batcave' couldn't apply anymore and for a long time the base had gone without a name. Then someone, the Commander wasn't quite sure who, coined the name 'the Robins Nest', and that stuck. As the years past, the name was shortened to just 'the Nest', and that was what people called it.
Mar'i swaggered in through a roof access door, cloud of black hair wafting behind her.
The Commander turned his chair around and crossed his arms over his chest. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Out." She replied simply. "Since I was already there I thought I'd do a boarder sweep before I came home. Sorry, if you thought I was gone to long. But if you want someone who can fly from Rode Island to Maryland and still make it back by lunchtime, maybe you should finally make-up with Superman."
He ignored the twinge of feeling her comment roused in him. He wouldn't make-up with Superman, the man never listened to anything he said, never gave him an opportunity to explain himself and the Commander wouldn't give him the same curtsey. The difference was, however, Superman didn't need to explain for the Commander to understand, he knew why Superman reacted the way he did. But Superman could never fathom why the Commander did what he did without the help of an explanation –an explanation he never had the opportunity to give. So, no. They would never make-up.
"You're trying to distract me by exploiting an emotional weakness." He said, then feigned an approving nod in an attempt to cover-up just how deeply the mere mention of his former friend affected him. "A good tactic, on most people it works well. But that doesn't change the fact that you went out without a radio while the Comm-Set was down. I don't think I need to tell you how dangerous that is, Mar'i. Your father entrusted your safety to me when he died, don't dishonor his memory by acting so rashly. You are to old for this."
"Please don't talk to me like I'm a child, Uncle." Replied Nightstar, crossing her own arms over her chest. "I am an adult and have been for over a decade. Most women my age have husbands and children by now."
"Most women your age don't have your responsibilities." The Commander reminded her. Then he sighed in resignation, just reminding himself of one more thing he felt guilty over. He stood from his chair and crossed the room, placing his gloved hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry I've asked so much of you. You and McGinnis both. Goodness knows I've heard him complain more than once about not having enough time to spend with his lover Dina."
"Dana." Mar'i corrected.
"Whatever." The Commander waved dismissively. "The point is, I've asked a lot from you –sometimes, maybe to much- but you and McGinnis have never disappointed me. I'm proud of you. And when I'm gone I want you to be happy."
If her green eyes flashed in sudden alarm, the Commander either did not notice or misinterpreted it. Either way, the expression was there and gone in an instant, covered up by innocent confusion. "Are you going somewhere, Uncle?" Then a coy smile. "What do you know that I don't?"
"Lots of things, Mar'i, lots of things."
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"Nathan!" Bart startled both Tim and Kon with his sudden outburst. He rushed forward and jumped up to drape his arms around a bald man in his mid sixties. "Look at you. Your scar's gone! And you're not wearing a collar anymore!"
"Bart?" The man blinked at the overly energetic speedster. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, that's a long story." He replied flippantly. "But look at you! When I got back and saw the ash-clouds I thought I failed and nothing changed, but if you don't have your powers anymore then I did succeed at something. This is great!"
Nathan patted the speedster on the back with stiff affection, as if he weren't used to such physical intimacy. Then his gaze shifted and he noticed Tim and Kon for the first time. "Who're your friends?"
Tim stepped forward before the Superboy could answer. "Sorry. I'm the Scarlet Pimpernel." He said. "And this is Skywalker. We're new."
"I'm Nathaniel Tryon." He tried for an awkward handshake, made all the more difficult by Bart whom refused to let go of the man. "Skywalker, huh?" He looked Kon up and down, taking in the bright orange jumpsuit, the plastic toy lightsaber hung as his belt, the white helmet with rose-tinted visor and red Rebel alliance insignia. "You seem a bit young to be a Star Wars fan."
"I, uh… My big brother got me into it." Replied the Superboy hesitantly, as if he didn't quite know what he was supposed to say. It was a true enough statement, but from what he'd seen of this future so far, he would hazard a guess that DVDs were a thing of legend and no one had seen a movie in a very long time.
"So, how'd you meet our little Bart?" Asked Nathan as if he already guessed the answer.
There was a beat of silence.
Then, "Allen!? What the hell are you doing back here!?"
They all turned at the man's voice.
He was slender, but well muscled. Approximately mid-thirties. Dark hair. Dressed head to toe in white with a black domino mask covering his eyes. A utility belt like one of the ones the bat-clan wore was around his waist and he carried a sword. A Japanese style katana.
Now, Bart did let go of Nathan and took a slight step in front of Tim and Kon, a poor attempt at subtly placing himself between his friends and the newcomer. "Oh… hi, Demon."
The whited-out slits of the Demon's domino mask narrowed at the speedster before his gaze shifted to the two behind him. "I don't know you."
"I'm Skywalker, and this is the Scarlet Pimpernel." Kon was quick to answer, a friendly smile on his face.
This did nothing to alleviate the Demon's suspicious demeanor. He placed one hand on the hilt of his sword as if in readiment to draw. "The Scarlet Pimpernel… I used to know someone who liked that book. And I didn't know anyone under the age of thirty knew what Star Wars was anymore… And you arrived with Allen…"
"Listen, Demon, I just think you should know-" The speedster was cut off mid-sentence by the swing of a blade, the flash of silvered steel in the dim light and the crack of stressed plastic.
Superboy's plastic X-wing helmet fell away in two pieces that clattered to the floor. He blinked at the sword blade resting on his forehead in shock. No one had even seen the swing, just a flash of steel.
"Superman!" Red Arrow and Icicle breathed in mirrored shock.
"What? I'm not Superman."
"No." The Demon agreed. "If you came with Allen then you're from forty years in the past." He withdrew the sword from Kon's face, but made no move to re-sheath it. "I have no quarrel with you, clone. But if you're the Superboy…" the blade drifted over to Tim "…then you must be Drake!"
Tim was saved from the sword strike by Bart grabbing him by the mid-section and jerking him out of the way.
"Oh, this is just to perfect! Now I can kill you before you have the chance to usurp what's rightfully mine!"
Tim was back on his feet in a moment, bo-staff extended, ready for defense. "I have no idea what you're talking about!"
Kon was by his side a second later and the Boy Wonder felt his TTK field envelop them both. "What's going on? We haven't done anything to you!"
"No." The Demon agreed. "Drake hasn't done anything yet. But he will."
By his side, the Boy Wonder tugged on the Superboy's bright orange sleeve. "Kon, we're in an enemy camp, surrounded by hostile agents. We don't know all their powers and we don't know what's going on. Lets get out of here."
"But-" The demi-kryptonian protested.
"Run! Now!" The Robin insisted. "Just do what I say and we'll get through this!"
So, the Superboy lifted the Boy Wonder into his arms and sped off through the train station, over the tent-city on the platform and down the tunnel. Back out the way they came. But the moment they were back out in the ash-choked air, the froze.
However just a ways away from them, clad in a solid blue unitard, red boots, red belt and red cape wafting in the wind, the S-shield in red and black on his chest was… another Kon.
"Hi." Said the tights wearing doppleganger. "I don't want to sound cliché when I say this, but Demon's got kryptonite down there so… Come with me if you want to live!"
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