One of the reasons I
don’t enjoy chess? The endgame. At some point in the midgame shuffle,
after so much probing, trading of pieces, and battling it out for an extra
pawn, the balance of power tips. The final result is then a foregone
conclusion, at least on paper. There is nothing left but this pointless
chasing and maneuvering until you get the doomed king trapped in a corner:
menaced where he stands, menaced on all sides, with his own pawn blocking
his only square for escape. It’s a snooze. You might think a cat would
like the idea. The outcome of the classic cat and mouse contest is a
foregone conclusion too, nine times out of ten, and we enjoy that. Maybe
mice are just intrinsically more interesting than chessmen; I don’t know.
But I can say from personal experience that, winning or losing, I put the
end of a chess game right up there with a big turkey dinner, a lullaby, and
a snortful of chloroform.
The chess players in my
life obviously disagree. Eddie likes the endgame because (and I’m quoting)
“No ace routs Brainiest Ed.” I shared this with my traveling companion, who
I had dubbed Brubu. It was Batman inside the Atlantis spy corps’s
holographic shell, and while it might reproduce Ubu’s physical appearance
perfectly, I had seen its brow knit with all of Bruce’s
figuring-out-the-new-gizmo expressions while he got it up and running. After that, no matter how much it resembled Ubu, I kept on seeing Bruce.
Particularly now, since I was talking about Eddie.
We were in another plasma
sub, heading for the surface. Aquaman had the fish searching around
Kapheira, and they’d found the elevator system Ra’s set up to get his people
and prisoners into the sea base. I’d been chatting to get Brubu’s mind off
the fact that he wasn’t driving. Normally, he could have piloted the sub
just fine, but from inside the prototype Atlantis hologram, it was “an
unnecessary layering of unfamiliar technologies.” Too many unknown
variables, risk multipliers, etc. So the control freak gets to sit in the
passenger seat next to Kitty. I know he hates that kind of thing, so I was
doing my best to lighten the mood. You can’t go too far off “the case” at
this point with Batman; he likes to stay focused. Usually I like breaking
his focus, but that’s my fun. This was an anti-brooding exercise for
his benefit, so I stuck to Ra’s-adjacent subjects like chess. Going
up to the surface in a sub just to come back down in an elevator, it was the
kind of tedium you find at the end of a chess game, and I said as much.
“No ace routs Brainiest
Ed?” Brubu repeated with a scowl. “That’s an anagram for?”
“Bean counters are
idiots,” I smirked.
“He’s referring to the
academic chess players’ attitude that there comes a point where you have to
accept the inevitable and resign the game once you realize your position is
untenable.”
“Right. If you’re down
four pawns, both bishops and the queen, you’re screwed so…”
“So you concede. But
Nigma prefers to play on, because resigning ignores the possibility of your
opponent making a mistake.”
“Or a lot of mistakes,” I
corrected, “which in his experience they’re inclined to do. Let’s face it,
present company excepted, most people Eddie takes on are a lot dumber than
he is. No matter what their technical advantage, if he keeps them dancing
long enough, they’ll screw up.”
Brubu grunted.
“I’d think you’d feel the
same,” I guessed. “I mean, forget chess. Real life, if you played the
percentages, we would all be dead years ago. You, Eddie, Hagen, Joker—even
Kitty packing the old eight-life advantage. We all know from personal
gun-in-your-face experience that a foregone conclusion on paper is no
such thing in reality.”
“Y-yes,” Brubu agreed,
“and no. Chess is a war game, and playing an almost certain loss through to
the checkmate is the equivalent of making an enemy burn every farm and kill
every peasant in the kingdom. Of course they may still make a
mistake before it comes to that, but at what cost? A wise king will
sometimes surrender, make peace for the good of the kingdom, knowing in a
year or two circumstances will change, there will be opportunities to
reclaim what’s lost.”
“Okay, nice metaphor, but
the actual game stops at the board’s edge, right?”
“Says the jewel thief on
an undercover mission to take down Ra’s al Ghul?”
Selina never had a chance
to find out what that last remark meant. The sub had reached the surface,
and from that moment on, Bruce was gone and Ubu would remain in character
until the mission objective was complete. There were no guards to take out
on the platform, and nothing but buttons and levers inside the elevator.
Ubu was stoic, and Catwoman was… unsatisfied.
From Bruce’s POV, it was
a fine performance he was giving. It was Ubu as Batman had always seen him,
a few steps from Ra’s al Ghul’s side: serious, watchful, disciplined, and
alert. As the elevator descended, Selina couldn’t help contrasting this Ubu
with the one she’d ridden down with earlier. She decided that it wasn’t out
of character for her to give Batman an acting note. After all, the real Ubu
had tried to strangle her four times in their earlier trip to the bottom.
If this was that Ubu, she would get even by tweaking his nose. So… acting
note as nose tweak:
“You’re doing a lot
better this time, Ubs,” she said with a teasing smile. “Last time we
approached crush depths, you were positively green.”
“Silence, woman,” he
snarled. Then, under his breath, he added “Last time, I was the one in
chains.”
Despite this internal pep
talk, Ubu’s pallor whitened and his rigid, disciplined expression wavered
momentarily. He snuck occasional peeks at the ceiling…
Tmcra’s panel alerted him
as soon as the elevator began its descent, but he let it reach the bottom of
the shaft before taking any action, so that those inside, if unauthorized,
would have no hope of reaching the surface when ejected. Only when the
pressurized car reached the receiving chamber did he check the receiving
docket. He knew from the beginning of his shift that no arrivals were
expected, but he followed the prescribed procedures all the same.
Confirming that no arrivals were scheduled, he flicked on the camera to
demand authorization—and saw Ubu.
Ubu required no
authorization, for every DEMON down to the lowliest pit-stirrer knew that
Ubu’s word was only a half step from Ra’s al Ghul’s own. The doors were
opened at once—and Tmcra noted the bodyguard’s imperfectly concealed dread.
He noted it without judgment, for he shared it. Officially, a man had no
past before DEMON. He had no country, no family, and no name but the one
The Great One bestowed on his unworthy head. But even so, there were those
whose non-existent pasts included water, and those that knew only sand. The
ones from sand were… honored that they could add overcoming abject
terror to the services they rendered in the DEMON’s name. And they all
recognized others who were equally honored.
Tmcra’s colleague H’qai
offered to take Ubu’s prisoner to the brig, but Ubu refused. He announced her
status as though she were a person of some interest to the Demon’s Head: The Feline Consort of He Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken. A prisoner such as
this must be delivered to The Presence without delay.
Tmcra accepted the
statement at face value, but once Ubu and the prisoner had left, H’qai
snickered.
“Any time there is a
prisoner from Gotham, they wind up escaping,” he said cynically. “And that
one is the Illustrious Ubu’s alibi. He wants to make sure The Great One
sees her, in the flesh, before she can get away.”
Arthur had shown us
schematics of Kapheira before we’d left Atlantis.
Well, “schematics” is a
bit generous. What he showed us first were more like oil paintings,
artists’ renderings from the days when Atlanteans actually used this place
as a military base, and a few sketched floorplans that were so old and faded
that you could barely make out the lines separating the base from ocean, let
alone marking off hallways or individual rooms. I could feel Bruce
seething. Mount Psychbat was about thirty seconds from erupting when Arthur
laughed and said “But it isn’t every day we have the World’s Greatest
Catburglar working for us, and I thought something flashier was called for.
So I had the historians use the data from those pictures to make up this.”
He stepped through an
archway into a room out of Star Trek. In the center, on a raised platform,
was a three-foot hologram of Kapheira, a 3-D model we could slice open,
rotate on any axis and view from any angle.
“World’s Greatest
Catburglar is duly impressed,” I said kindly. And then, sensing that Arthur
only started with the oil paintings to needle Bruce, I added, “This is
almost as slick as the holograms in the Batcave.”
So anyway, thanks to
Arthur, we’d gone in with a fairly good idea where Ra’s would have set up
his throne room, and that’s where Brubu was taking me now. Strategically
speaking, there were about twenty war rooms that would have made better
sense, but this is Ra’s we were talking about. If he has a weakness (and at
last count, he had eighty-seven), it’s that kink for set dressing. He
doesn’t care about practical or strategic, he wants something Ra’s-worthy.
In Kapheira, that was the top tower with a wide port view of the whole base.
We were less certain
about the location of the brig, which was our priority for freeing the
hostages. I knew Brubu didn’t want to stay too long in one place or get too
chatty with any one minion, so we left the elevators as soon as we could,
and he stopped the next minion we passed in the halls.
“I was obliged to go
topside before the prisoners were installed,” he said brusquely. “Which
location was finally decided on for their storage?”
It was a bold move, just
flat out asking that way. If he was disguised as anyone less than Ubu, it
might not have worked. But given the disguise, and a certain knack Bruce
has for being bossy and domineering in the most casual circumstances, we got
our answer. The prisoners were in the West Tower, Level Three.
We went on our way
towards the probable throne room… when the lights went out.
Batman was too
experienced to be “pleased” or “satisfied” at this early stage. The mission
was proceeding as expected, and they were roughly one minute ahead of
schedule as far as learning the location of the brig. It was nothing to
begin congratulating themselves over—and, in fact, a less mature
crimefighter who did indulge in self-congratulation at that moment would
have had his thought interrupted by a tell-tale buzz a split-second before
the lights flickered out.
It did not escape
Batman’s notice that the buzz began when he’d walked exactly six paces into
a hallway in which there were no other minions, no doors, and no sightlines
from the hall they’d just left. He shifted his weight to deflect the attack
sure to come, but was startled when it came from four-degrees off the
expected angle. It was—ouch—just off enough that his shifted balance worked
against him, and rather than hurling his attacker over his shoulder using
the thug’s own momentum to propel him into the floor, he wound up…
“Ho, ho, ho. Now I have
a scimitar.”
Losing his weapon.
“Yippie kay yay, He who
triumphs over death and grave.”
To Tim.
Before Batman could
process this development, he was tackled at the waist. Propelled forward
and towards the floor, he registered several details in the split second it
took to twist out of the new attacker’s chosen trajectory and backhand her
into the wall:
- the second attacker was
female, about Selina’s height, and had some training
- in one style only, possibly muay thai, and not particularly good
- all of which argued against her being DEMON, which did not train
women (with one unfortunate exception)
- and anyone they did
train (with the same unfortunate exception), they trained exceptionally well
- she wore a mask, although not the kind he usually glimpsed on those he
backhanded as he twisted out of a waist tackle. It was more improvised,
from a black cloth tied around her head like a kerchief, like something a
pirate would wear.
In the second it took to
turn back and intercept Tim’s coming attack, he noted that Tim was wearing a
similar mask…
And a block later, that
Tim had finally recognized his fighting style…
They sparred for a few
seconds while Tim’s partner, who must be Dr. Meadows, picked herself off the
floor and (presumably) looked for an opening to mount a fresh attack. In
this leisurely period, Batman noted that Selina was smirking, and that,
while the hallway seemed free of cameras, Tim was not calling off the
attack. That meant they were either maintaining the charade for watching
minions or for Dr. Meadows. Either way, he couldn’t drop the hologram until
he could talk candidly with Tim.
Rather than wait for
Meadows to make her own move, he gave her an opening and defended with the
snapback punch normally reserved for bruisers, pulling back for momentum and
channeling the full weight of his body into the throw, then shifting the
forward motion upward the split second he hit her jaw like snapping a wet
towel.
Down she went… and in
some guilty recess of Bruce’s mind, he decided the Foundation would
underwrite her research for the rest of her career.
“Thank you,” Tim said
hoarsely. “First freedom I’ve had for days.”
“It’s safe to talk?”
Batman asked.
“Oh yeah, these four
halls see almost no traffic. That’s why I picked them to, uh, make our
move… rescue Cat. The surveillance and tactical has been really easy.
Demon 101, they’re doing everything like they always do. The hard part has
been convincing E.J. that we’re just that lucky: finding food unattended,
isolated minions to pick off, power drops n’ stuff.”
“This isn’t your first
escapade?” Batman graveled.
“No. Upside: I found an
alternative to the Trekkie. Die Hard.”
“I figured,” Catwoman
chimed in. “Ho, ho, ho, now I have a scimitar?”
“Yippie kay yay,” Tim
answered, waving the scimitar at her.
Catwoman laughed.
Brubu scowled.
“Okay, I know I shouldn’t
joke,” Tim said, “but you have any idea how many times I’ve heard the ‘oath
of loyalty’ in the last few days.”
I could feel for the kid,
but Brubu obviously didn’t.
“That mask isn’t the best
idea, considering,” he graveled.
“Well that would be the
Dread Pirate Roberta’s idea over there,” Tim said, pointing at Meadows’s limp
form. “I don’t think you appreciate how nuts that woman is, and how
challenging the last few days have been.”
“Actually I can,” Brubu
said grimly. “Even in an empty hallway, the two of you taking on Ubu was
far from prudent.”
“We figured Catwoman
would help,” Tim murmured.
“Enough,” Brubu barked.
“We now have four operatives instead of the planned three. When Meadows
wakes up, you’ll brief her on her part. Now, here’s what we’re going to
do…”
Tmcra returned to his
station with a grilled seahorse impaled on a skewer.
“You want?” he asked
H’qai.
H’qai nodded, but rather
than handing it over, Tmcra flicked the seahorse off the end of the skewer
with his thumb. H’qai caught it and, as he munched, he saw Tmcra wrap the
end of the stick in a napkin and run it along the ridges of his keyboard.
“Not again,” H’qai
grumbled.
“M’twa and F’gar always
eat at their stations,” Tmcra complained. “I don’t like the crumbs under
the keys.”
“Like it matters,” H’qai
said, shaking his head. “They have anything else down there? Starfish?
Crickets?”
“Chuanr. Scorpion. Broccoli.”
“I might go down later.”
H’qai said.
“You shouldn’t eat at
your station,” Tmcra sniffed.
The only answer to this
blatant hypocrisy was a meaty thud. Before Tmcra could turn to look, he
found himself in a boa hold. He just managed to glimpse H’qai’s unconscious
body before he himself fell to the floor.
As soon as the elevator
was taken, Batman touched a button on his utility belt, and a second on the
hologram control. The first sent a pulse to the two OraComs within range;
the second sent a signal to Atlantis…
With Tim’s help, Dr. Meadows slipped in
among the other scientists and began quietly spreading the word: the rescue
was coming, be ready to move…
Aquaman smiled wickedly. His part in this Batman-Demon endgame was the kind of clash he loved. If
it wasn’t a duty, it would be a pleasure. If it wasn’t a crucial diversion,
he would do it just for fun. Batman claimed he would need ten minutes,
eleven maybe, twelve at the most, but Arthur knew he could keep it up for
hours if necessary…
Catwoman smiled too, but
it wasn’t a wicked smile like Arthur’s. It was a sublimely contented
smile. Using her criminal expertise to help Batman, if there was any richer
cream, she couldn’t imagine what it might be.
Okay, it wasn’t exactly
stealing. Opening the keyhole for the Atlantean shock troops wasn’t exactly
your high-grade B&E on Fifth Avenue, burgling Tiffanys and coming away with
something sparkly. But it was like opening a safe, a very large, rock,
tulip-shaped safe.
Step 1: get to the
safe tulip. Wasn’t too hard. Six guards to be evaded, one taken out
with drugged claws.
Step 2: getting into
the tulip. I won’t sugarcoat it. I had to contort. I had to suck in, I had
to stretch up, and at one point, I had to do this thing with my hips that
should only be done around a stripper pole—by somebody else’s hips
around a stripper pole. But I got into the center of the thing, and after
that, it was just a matter of matching these carved marbles from Atlantis
with the corresponding symbol…
Batman disabled the Ubu
hologram and took a deep, satisfying breath as the lumbering bodyguard
vanished, revealing his normal shape and costume. The disguise had been
effective as far as it went, but now that he had to take out the phalanx of
minions guarding the scientists, a different mode was called for. He needed
to become proactive, a predator…
“Thermal imaging lenses
engage,” he ordered softly, and at once, the lenses snapped into place
inside the cowl, allowing him to see the heat signatures of men moving
behind solid walls. One advantage of the Atlantean base: built into the
side of a mountain as it was, there were countless outcroppings from the
original cavern walls extending over the man-made ones. They weren’t as
smooth as a Gotham gargoyle, but they were more plentiful. Batman grappled
up to the largest one to scan the area from an optimal vantage point.
As he counted up the
minions, Batman’s lips eased into a thin, satisfied crease that, in another
man, might have passed for a smile. As well trained as DEMON agents were
said to be, they shared one trait with the common street thug: they seldom
looked up. He watched their movements for several minutes,
noting the patterns: where they walked, how quickly, and where their blind
spots were as they moved. As in Gotham, as soon as he gleaned their
patterns, he could predict which man would soon be isolated.
When he identified one,
he leapt down quietly, crouched, and at the ideal moment, took the minion
down with a silencing chokehold…
His Majesty, Orin, by the Grace of
Poseidon, of Atlantia, Pacifica, and Dominions beyond the
Reefs, King and Defender of the Seas, Duke of Poseidonis, Sovereign of the
Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of Pontos… breathed.
“Valerina,” he said with
a hauteur his aide had never heard before, “place the call.”
Valerina took a long,
deep breath herself. The mechanisms before her had not been used in over
six hundred years. She swallowed, and painstakingly placed the first power
stone on a raised pedestal until the symbol cut into its surface began to
glow. Then she removed it and set it into the recessed bowl in the com
panel marked with the same symbol, and with a delicate white hand, she began
charging the next power stone.
Batman grimaced. The
last minion managed to bite him as he placed his glove over the guy’s mouth,
which didn’t slow the takedown or do his hand any actual harm, but it had
torn the glove and exposed bare flesh. Another bite, while unlikely, could
bring more trouble than it was worth. A new approach was called for.
He’d picked off about a
third of the guards, which was not enough to risk free combat, not in a
DEMON compound where they could summon a hundred reinforcements. He needed
to continue thinning their numbers silently and unobtrusively. He hoisted
this last minion, the biter, up to another outcropping big enough to hold
him, and draped him over it… Just in time. The pudgy one was just coming
around the corner. Batman leapt from his perch, using his cape like a
glider, sailing straight for the guy’s chest. Swinging both feet forward,
he slammed into the minion, knocking him out cold. Once again, he grappled
up to the outcropping with an unconscious minion in tow.
Normally, Batman would
allow the remaining henchmen, guards, or thugs to find their colleagues
unconscious. It spread terror and led them to make stupid mistakes. But
not here. Not with DEMONs. If any one of them sounded the alarm, it could
bring a hundred minions from throughout the compound. A hundred extra
minions between the scientists and the elevator. No, he had to keep picking
them off quietly.
Perhaps he could hide
under that floor grate…
Step 2-1/2: scraping.
This place was ancient. There were rings of recessed egg shapes inside the
tulip, each carved with the Atlantis equivalent of a rune. Theoretically,
all I had to do was place the carved marble-gems from Atlantis into the
recess with the same symbol. Except the niches were encrusted with dried
slime and who knows what. If I didn’t have claws, I would have been
screwed. As it was, it still slowed me down. Painstakingly scraping this
corroded rock gunk until I found the symbol.
That brought me to Step
3, at last, placing the first marble-gem. The rune on the stone and the
rune in the recess both started to glow as they came into contact, which I
interpreted as the first “click” finding a combination. Back to step 2-1/2,
scraping away at the next recess. One down, five to go…
This time, the best part
about getting the safe open wasn’t going to be getting anything out, but
what would be coming in…
Batman hung inverted on
the zipline from one of the higher outcroppings, like an oversized version
of his namesake. He waited silently until the tall minion was directly
below him, then zipped down, grabbing the man by the throat, and zipped back
up to his perch. A nerve pinch put an end to the struggling, while Batman
wrapped several lengths of Batline around the minion’s feet.
Thus secured, Batman
lowered the minion to dangle upside down in the path of the remaining guard,
who naturally rushed to see what had happened, what that minion-garbed
man-size cocoon was hanging in the middle of the hallway. As soon as
the conscious guard was directly underneath the unconscious one, Batman cut
the line, dropping the latter onto the former…
Ra’s al Ghul examined an
antique globe, squinting at two islands in the Pacific.
“Palau or New Guinea?” he
mused. “New Guinea or Palau?”
Before long, his
scientists would have produced their first fuel alterative. Since it was
supposed to be mined from the ocean floor, he wanted a spot far from his
present location. So, should his shield corporation be located in Palau
or… No, Palau became a little too chummy with the United States after
World War II, and was a little too chummy still for his liking. While Ra’s
intended to sell to other countries first, there was no telling at what
point exactly the Detective would interest himself in a developing
technology on the far side of the world. In Indonesian-controlled Misool in
the Raja Ampat province of New Guinea, it would be considerably harder for
him to glean information to connect an emerging energy consortium to DEMON.
Ra’s smiled contentedly
at the globe, when the light in the room changed abruptly as a panel on the
wall, that he had not even recognized as a viewscreen, suddenly sprang to
life. A royal crest of seashells held aloft by dolphins filled the screen,
which then, abruptly, was replaced by the scowling visage of Aquaman.
::Ra’s al Ghul,::
he pronounced with a commanding air Ra’s found annoying. ::You are
trespassing on the sovereign waters of Atlantis. Anything short of
immediate withdrawal will be deemed an act of war.::
Ra’s al Ghul smiled.
This was the kind of confrontation he liked best. Master to master, king to
king.
“You noticed our imperial
presence sooner than we expected, King of Atlantis. Your position, though
it comes sooner than anticipated, is, nonetheless… expected.”
The Demon’s Ego swelled
to fill the grandeur of the occasion, matching wit and wills with a monarch
who ruled four-fifth of the globe. The contest would be gratifying under
any circumstances, but today Ra’s had every tactical advantage, the position
he liked best when addressing any opponent of any rank.
“Your position is clear,
concise, and well presented,” he declared smugly. “My position: this base
is mine. It has my troops all over it, that makes it mine.”
::By what authority,
the tip of a sword? You’ll find that carries no weight down here, Demon’s
Head. The rule of LAW applies under the seas. My law. Atlantis law.::
“Unenforceable ‘law,’”
Ra’s sniffed. “Which is to say, a quaint local custom, like a folk dance
performed at peasant weddings. It is the inevitable error of the inherited
monarch: mistaking authority that fell into your lap by genetic accident for
true power. The admirable design of this base is such that taking it by
force is a practical impossibility. Your claims of ‘law’ are therefore
meaningless. You are not in a position to make demands of any kind. You
may, of course, tender a request, king to king…”
::King to… BECAUSE YOU
SIT YOUR ASS ON A VELVET CUSHION?! You don’t know the first thing about
leading men, Ghul, let alone ruling. A school of bluefins has a better
understanding of leadership, a lead tuna is born with a better grasp of the
job than you.::
As Orin railed on, Ra’s
caught an unexpected flicker of movement in his peripheral vision. Not
wishing to appear distracted, he shifted his weight and twisted his shoulder
forward, as if adjusting his cape. That gave him a momentary glance at the
strange movement, which turned out to be nothing more than…
:: Against three pods
of killer whales controlled by an alien intelligence… ::
Catwoman.
:: So don’t think any
so-called leader of ‘minions’ can intimidate me. ::
Strolling into his throne
room.
:: Pitting each man
against ten tons of Brainiac-controlled orca, with nothing more than a
shield and a sea-spear… ::
STROLLING into his
room with the studied casualness of a… of an actual CAT wandering
around looking for amusement.
:: Compared to
ordering a dozen brainwashed drones against one man with a utility belt. ::
She waved.
:: And losing every
time, I might add. ::
The look on his face was
priceless—what little I could see of it, anyway. At his best, Ra’s looks
like he’s covering some serious acid reflux. When he actually does have his
nose out of joint, not a pretty picture.
:: I’m talking about
what it MEANS to be a leader, Ghul, the tacit obligations that go with the
‘sir, yes, sirs.’::
Arthur had obviously
built up a head of steam. Which was the idea, of course, but I think he’d
transcended the role he was playing, and now he was just riding that wave of
righteous-crazed hero indignation.
:: My men know their
lives aren’t put in danger to gratify a whim or make a point, and that’s why
I command their loyalty and respect. I don’t give a damn what a trumped up
prawn like you thinks about kings and kingship— ::
Ra’s, in a fit of
grandeur befitting Shatner, swished his cape and turned to the side. From
Arthur’s point of view, I’m sure it was supposed to look menacing, sort of
Dracula ala mode. From my angle, it just seemed like he didn’t want
to look at me. Which meant the real diversion was working. Meow.
:: You’re not as good
at this as I thought you’d be, Ghul. After the first exchange of bellows,
you fall back into huffing and making faces. I don’t think you have the
stuff to speak for a kingdom. ::
Arthur’s part was great,
as far as it went, but even with Ra’s ego, there were limits. Holding his
attention in a king-to-king bluster-off might be enough when it was just
Batman picking off minions, but once I’d opened the keyhole and aqua troops
started storming the base, it was iffy. A king-to-king bluster-off alone
probably couldn’t hold his attention, but trying to keep up appearances in a
king-to-king bluster-off while the hated arch-nemesis’s girlfriend wanders
around your throne room… Even now it makes me laugh. If he wasn’t such a
creep, you’d almost feel sorry for him.
It didn’t really matter
what I did while I was wandering, so to amuse myself, I looked for the swords. Bruce has mentioned that, hype aside, the one thing that
actually does distinguish the hairdo from other villains is that Batman
never gets to punch him in the face. Joker, Two-Face, Scarecrow, Hatter,
eventually they all reach the end of the line, the henchmen are all lying on
the floor, and Batman gets to take out his righteous crimefightery anger on
their teeth. With Ra’s, every damn time when it gets down to just the two
of them, it’s fencing! Batman would love to punch him in the face,
but no. Ra’s gets up, out come the swords, and everybody’s on the deck of
an 18th Century pirate ship. So it occurred to me that, since I
was right there in the throne room, it would be a nice gesture. Early
birthday present for Bruce: find the swords, lock ‘em away in a drawer, and
just this once, Ra’s al Ghul, the self-proclaimed greatest Bat-foe, gets to
find out what it really means to take on Batman and lose. Hee hee.
:: Which means you’ll never be able to
hold on to anything you ‘conquer,’ Ghul. Oh, I’ve seen your
type before, dozens of times. Going to redefine the world and decree
everything to your liking. This is this, and that is thus, because I have
declared it to be, the end. A high tide later, nobody even remembers you. And all your decrees and declarations are nothing but a rancid puddle of
sand. ::
Finding the swords was no
problem. Cat burglar’s instinct. I knew they had to be in easy reach of
the throne, so he could be posed in all his “Ah, there you are, Detective,
how pleasant to see you again” pomposity. So I wandered over to the
throne, which brought two more magnificent cape-swishes as Ra’s seemed
determined to hide me from Arthur…
:: Atlantis could
surrender right now, Ghul, and it wouldn’t change a thing. In two migration
cycles, you’ll be gone. In four you’ll be forgotten. In ten, it’ll be as
though you never existed. ::
…and there they were in a
jewel encrusted footstool that was too low for anyone sitting on the throne
to rest their feet. It had no business being there unless it was a box for
something.
Ra’s was doing his best
to ignore the defilement of his throne room by the infidel feline
abomination. He could not allow a mere woman to inhibit his performance in
front of a rival monarch. He simply had to maintain an appearance of…
sword. She was… she was sharpening her claws on the blade of his…
this was intolerable.
:: I don’t feel I have
your full attention there, sir,:: the viewscreen scoffed. :: I would
think that with something as important as this discussion that your full
attention would be on the task at hand. I see now the kind of ‘leader’ I'm
dealing with. ::
Catwoman let out a low
whistle, and Ra’s flung himself forward on what he assumed to be the mute
button.
“Look, it’s not my place
to say,” Catwoman shrugged as the screen went dark. “But if you let him get
away with all that pontificating on a first encounter, that’s going to
define your relationship. I mean, c’mon, Ra’s. We’re talking about Justice
League heroes here. You don’t break their rhythm when they start laying down
the law that way, you’re always going to be the overhyped goatherd that let
Aquaman take him out for a ride.” She smiled pleasantly, and then
pointed to the panel behind him. “I think you hung up on him.”
Ra’s sputtered, but
before he could say more, the viewscreen hummed, and once again King Orin
scowled down on the throne room.
:: I see, so that is
how you play things, eh, Ghul? That is the best answer you can muster when
your sham philosophy is challenged and your paltry intrigues are exposed for
the sorry efforts they are? I begin to think Batman and the Justice League
have been giving you too much credit over the years. ::
“Hairdo,” Catwoman
agreed in a barely audible sing-song.
:: Egregiously
overestimated, that will be your epitaph, Demon’s Head. My armies will make
short work of this little invasion of yours. You can expect them at the
gates any minute now to wipe you from the ocean floor. ::
“Door’s open!” Catwoman
called out happily. Then she whispered confidentially at Ra’s, “that’s
where I was before I came here. Doors are my specialty,” and concluded with
an impish wink.
:: Although
truthfully, sending an army is overkill for an outdated cliché like you.
One well-trained squad will do. One squad of my best men, kicking in the
back door and taking you right there in the throne room. ::
On cue, the doors opened
and two lines of elite Atlantean Cetea marched into the throne room, weapons
drawn. As the first pair reached the middle of the room, they fanned out
slightly, as did the pair that followed and the pair following them, forming
a perfect arrowhead formation by the time the first two reached Ra’s al
Ghul. As the last two separated, perfectly framed at the very end of the
line stood… Batman.
Epilogue
Catwoman stretched out
luxuriously on the lush sofa in the diplomatic quarters she shared with
Batman.
“You look happy,” he
noted with a liptwitch.
“Oh I am,” she purred.
“So far, for a girl used to coming away with Catherine the Great’s emeralds
at the end of the night, crimefighting has been a bit light on the perks and
prizes. This was new. Seeing Ra’s face at the very moment of ‘checkmate?’ Meooooooow. That’ll hold me for a while.”
“It’s much more than
checkmate,” Batman said seriously. “In the past, Ra’s has always holed up
in these third world principalities or old Iron Curtain states where it’s
impossible to arrest him. The local law enforcement is either too inept to
hold him or too corrupt to even try. But here…”
“Here, ‘local law
enforcement’ is Arthur,” Selina smiled, completing the thought, and Batman
nodded. “So unlike when you catch up to him in East Turduckenstan, it
doesn’t end with shutting down his plot against NATO. You got to actually
haul his ass into a jail cell to pay for his crimes like any cheap thug.”
“I sense mockery in the
choice of words,” Batman said, raising an eyebrow under the mask.
“Some phrases will never
trip off my tongue, Lover. But where Ra’s is concerned, I do support the
sentiment. He was going to blow me up, he kidnapped sixty people and
murdered one of his own in cold blood. I don’t want to see him get away
with that: ‘Oh, no harm done,’ and we all just pretend it never happened.
No way, not good enough, not even close. I want to see him punished.
Partially because I’m a villain at heart, I hate his guts and I would enjoy
seeing him suffer. But mostly because if we make an example of him, then
maybe we don’t have to do this again three years down the line.”
Again, Bruce’s lip
twitched. She was more of a crimefighter than she knew, and he would have
told her so if only she’d take it as a compliment. Since she wouldn’t, he
just kissed her cheek and told her to finish packing.
He said I could take a
plasma sub to the surface and return to Gotham with Tim and the scientists,
or go back with him in the teleporters. Now, I’m no fan of the Justice
League, but a ten-minute layover at the Watchtower with Bruce versus a slow
boat to Gotham with Mr. Manure Methanator, “just one Foundation grant away
from making jet fuel out of pig poop?” No contest.
Valerina walked us to the
transporters—by way of the detention area being reoutfitted for a new, long
term resident. She said Atlantean jail cells were opulent by surface
standards, but with King Orin strolling in a couple times a week to “adjust
the pressure settings” personally, Ra’s was in for a rough couple of years.
“His Majesty has told me
of an ancient surface ruler, a Julius Caesar, who would shame his defeated
foes with gestures of mercy and friendship when he had every right to order
their deaths. This is the course of punishment King Orin has decided upon
for Ra’s al Ghul. Atlantean law does consider his crimes a capital offense,
but the king has never handed down a death sentence and says he will not
consider breaking the precedent for that… what is the term… ‘hairdo?’”
I could feel Batman’s
eyes on me, so I avoided them and changed the subject.
“Well, I certainly agree
with that,” I said brightly. “Death is really too good for him. But living
the rest of his days as a pet poodle when he used to be a man, that’s a
punishment that fits the crime, in Ra’s case at least.”
We were approaching the
teleporters, and I knew Arthur was waiting there to meet us when I heard his
laugh.
“A pet poodle, eh?
That’s good. I wish I’d thought of that. I went with ‘Clemency is the
prerogative of a true king.’”
“That’s good too,” I
winked. Batman glowered, like he always does when I wink at other heroes.
“Plus, once a week, an
attaché will visit him in his cell,” Arthur stated, in a brisk moving
on/summing up tone. “To talk about how he learned about Kapheira’s
existence in the first place.”
“To Atlanteans, every
conflict is a learning experience,” Valerina explained. “This crisis passed
without casualties, but if there had been Atlanteans injured or killed, we
would owe it to them to learn all we could from the experience.”
Batman’s head pulled back
suddenly, as if he’d been physically struck.
“You know, that’s one
thing Ra’s has never done,” he murmured. “Learned from his mistakes. You’d
think anyone who’s lived that long would… but no.”
“I imagine that’s what
makes him a hairdo,” Valerina said happily.
We said our goodbyes, and
I could tell there were a few telepathic exchanges going on behind the
verbal ones. When we were home in the cave, I asked Bruce what it was
about.
He told Arthur he should
hang on to that new assistant. She “had a lot more going on than the
previous ones.”
And Arthur said… Ditto.
“I’m sorry, Professor.
I’m not dropping any classes, but I am definitely changing my major.
Science just isn’t for me.”
“Tim, you haven’t
declared a major,” Professor Milpini said mildly.
“I know, but you and my
advisor had me on a science track, picking all these electives that would
dovetail into an applied sciences major, and I’m just saying I’m not doing
that anymore. My next elective is going to be a history of American film.”
“Tim, this is a mistake.
You’re making a very rash decision based on a, a one in a million
happenstance. Scientists do not routinely get kidnapped by international
terrorists.”
“Yeah, I get that,
Professor. But what I saw of Dr. Meadows and some of the others, I just
don’t think it’s my thing.”
“But you have a real
aptitude!” Milpini cried.
“A history of American
film,” Tim said happily, reading through the catalog of freshman seminars
available exclusively to honors students.
“To have delivered a
paper to the junior symposium your first semester!” Milpini wailed.
“Or maybe Introduction to
Journalism,” Tim read eagerly.
“An honorable mention as
a freshman. Invited to the senior symposium and introduced to the very
researchers you footnoted…”
“Hey, look at this
one—the Sociology of Superheroes. 3 credits. Afternoon lectures, I’d get
to sleep in. And no prerequisites.”
© 2009
The Sociology of Superheroes
3 Credits
No Prerequisites
Tim’s course load
isn’t done wreaking havoc on
the Bat-Family
in
Cat-Tales 59:
Do No Harm
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