CHAPTER ONE

Occupation

Robin stared through one of the empty slivers in the venetian blinds over the window, his expression blank and grim as he watched the air ships circle what remained of Jump City, their red searchlights beaming down onto the empty, rubble-filled streets. In the center district of the city he could make out the rising Imperial Tower that had been built within the first months of the takeover. Dark, cylindrical, and made from a combination of hard and bio-materials, it's thousands of lights were glowing like an anthill infested with fireflies in the night.

Robin bit the inside of his cheek. His stomach lurched with the depressed worry that had settled in his belly and never left after months of moving from place to place, dodging the “authorities” and spending restless nights in abandoned or decimated buildings. Tonight he was in what had once been a law building, five floors of dusty carpets, lonely offices, and overturned desks. He had tried his best to avoid the skeletons and decaying bodies that still inhabited the place; some lay in the hall, while others were pinned beneath filing cabinets or caved-in ceilings. It was a macabre hide-out, but if he ignored the the places with the most bodies he could almost pretend that they weren't there at all.

Robin had made his latest temporary “base of operations” in a small office room on the fourth floor. He'd set up a few blankets in the corner to sleep in, and his humble supply of food was resting in a desk he had wiped clean with his cape. On the desk was his laptop, and a backpack where he stored the meager selection of gadgets that wouldn't fit in his belt.

He missed home. Robin had never been particularly attached to Wayne Manor's elegance or size, but it he'd had a family there, a place where he was taken care of and could always feel safe. Robin had never thought about it before, but looking back with a tightened chest, he knew now that his life in the manor had been happy and without complaint.

Robin turned away from the window and walked to the desk, his footsteps soft and light on the gathering of dust that coated the floor. When he first moved in he'd managed to find a broom to sweep most of it out, but that had only gone so far and it resettled anyway. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a can of peas—the only food he could carry had to be in cans or prepackaged bags—and removed a birdarang from his belt, stabbing one sharp edge into the top of the can. There was a pop as air was release through the freshly-made hole, and he drew the bladed weapon along the edge, arm tight. Carefully, he placed the aluminum lid with its corrugated sides into the next drawer. It was already holding lids and empty cans from previous nights. Licking the inside of his mouth in disgust, Robin removed his gloves and started to eat the cold peas, fingers slipping out of the thick liquid and shoving them into his mouth.

Yeah, he definitely missed Alfred's cooking. Eggs sunny-side up, with sides of hash browns for breakfast; a thick ham sandwich with slices of fresh tomatoes, wavy dark green lettuce, and a layer of tangy mayonnaise for lunch; and salisbury steak and creamy mashed potatoes for dinner, accompanied by actual cooked peas to devour along with it. Robin could go without many of life's pleasures without complaint, but even he couldn't happily scarf down meager portions of uncooked peas and carrots and collard greens night after night without wishing that Alfred was here to ease the hunger that never went away...or at least wishing that Alfred was still alive.

Robin had been in Jump City when Alfred died, easing himself out from beneath his mentor's protective but oppressive wing. It was during one night of prowling the Jump City streets that he saw the bright lights fill the sky. At first he thought, almost childishly, that they were shooting stars.

Everything changed that night. He had barely survived the invasion. Entire blocks had been destroyed; people filled the streets like frantic lemmings. Screams, and the deafening blasts of periodic explosions, all ran together in a chorus of terror and chaos. It never seemed to stop. The voices from above were telling the city that this was happening everywhere, that the mighty forces of Tamaran were upon them, that surrender was their only option, that during this demonstration of the fleet's might most of them would still be alive.

After the bombings were over he tried to piece his shattered reality back together, tried to ground himself. He had lain hidden for two days under slabs of upturned concrete—a decision that had saved his life when he saw others taken out by a fiery shock wave that had extended from a block over. When Robin finally emerged he wandered aimlessly, staying out of sight as best he could. When he found someone as confused as he was he tried to help the person if they needed it, but he hadn't been able to answer their questions. The only thing that Robin knew was that he had to get back to Gotham. There was no way he was going to get through this without Batman.

Of course, that had soon turned out to be impossible. Once the bombings finished the Tamaranian army flooded the streets, gathering up stragglers and returning “order” to the city. They killed or captured looters and burned the dead bodies, sending thick columns of smoke into the air and releasing the horrible stench of burned flesh. Robin had tried to fight them...once. Six half-clothed, armored humanoids with orange skin had been gathering up stray children at the time, intimidating them with their electric-tipped spears and bladed weapons. Crying and begging, the kids were literally picked off the ground and deposited into an armored hover craft. Robin's rage had flared, the one Batman had always warned him about, and he sprang out of his hiding place and attacked. That was when he learned that Tamaranians weren't just well-built...they were alien powerhouses. Robin had barely escaped. A flash bomb had given him enough time to run, and he'd been running ever since. If he'd been an ordinary citizen they might have let him go and be lost to the smoky rubble, but the new government that was quickly making itself at home had declared all superheroes to be seized, first priority. Robin didn't know how many heroes or vigilantes had already been gathered up, but his status as Batman's sidekick, and one of the only heroes in Jump City, had made him a prime target.

After five days he managed to return to his hide-out, which was mostly caved in, and get through to Batman after applying the only repairs he could afford to waste time on to his communications equipment. The two had talked for a total of seven minutes, and it was through Robin's mentor, the one he had left in silent anger, that he learned exactly what was happening.

Tamaran was a planet in the Vegan system. Its people were a race of warriors that spread their influence to neighboring planets, colonizing and expanding their empire through force. Earth was next on their list—the planet was abundant with resources and contained a multitude of potential annexed subjects. At least, that was the kind version the Tamaranians used to described slaves and prisoners. Jump City had been only one of many worldwide cities to fall in the first few minutes of invasion.

As Robin talked with Batman, he learned that Wayne manor had been reduced to a shell, raided and destroyed, and the Batcave was almost as bad. Alfred had been killed in the first few minutes—the royal brigade sent there hadn't cared about him and executed him quickly. Batman was on the run just like his adopted son was, and he told Robin to wait in Jump City for him, to avoid the Tamaranians as long as he could until Batman could come and they could make plans together. Robin had nodded, trying to keep his face devoid of any weak emotion, but he had wanted nothing more than to break down and beg for him to hurry, to apologize for leaving, to touch the small screen on his laptop and tell Batman that he was afraid and needed him now. But he had kept his cool as best he could, pretending that his face wasn't twitching and his shoulders weren't trembling.

They broke contact and Robin loaded what he could into his backpack, then left before his signal could be successfully traced and he would have a dozen Tamaranian guards to deal with. He barely made it out before they showed.

Batman never came from him. Robin heard fleeting news from time to time—that Green Arrow had been captured in Star City, that the Lantern corps were trying with little success to combat the Tamaranians where they could in space surrounding the earth. Then one day, the impossible was announced over one of the enormous vid-screens that had been set up around the city—Batman had been killed resisting capture.

Robin swallowed the peas, forcing them down a throat that was suddenly very tight at the memory. He'd dropped to his knees when he heard the news, in shock. He stayed there on the ground for longer than he cared to remember. He'd cried, actually cried, small trickles of tears leaking from behind his mask and slipping down his cheeks. For days afterward it didn't seem true. When Robin finally accepted it, he almost turned himself over to the authorities—there didn't seem any point in fighting anymore. But he snapped out of that destructive thinking before long, and forced himself to put Batman out of his mind. He wouldn't survive if he didn't keep a grip. He could mourn properly later...when all of this was over somehow.

Robin finished his dinner, and tipped the can up, drinking down the juice and swallowing the remaining peas floating around inside. The liquid trickled down the corners of his mouth but he didn't stop until the can was empty. Then he neatly set the can into the drawer with the others, taking a moment to organize them before shutting them away.

That was when the explosion ripped through the building. Robin fell back, his shoulders striking the carpet in a cloud of pale dust, as a loud boom echoed up from below, shaking the entire building. He got to his feet almost immediately, scrambling wildly and kicking up more dust, looking around him for signs of crumbling walls or fire. There was none. Whatever had just imploded had been small...small enough to cause only minimal damage...

...but probably more than big enough to make an entrance.

Robin grabbed his backpack, throwing it over his shoulders. This wasn't the first time his hiding place had been discovered. Hopefully it wouldn't be the last. He turned and headed for the window, reaching to his belt and pulling out his grappling hook. A red light blazed through the covered window and seared his eyes, forcing him to stumble back as the light seared his eyes. Robin fell against the desk blindly, staggering along its edge as he moved away from the window. Robin blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to get rid of the large spots that took up most of his vision, and his hand blindly fumbled at his belt. After a few seconds he had two birdarangs in his left hand and three electric disks between in the fingers of his right hand.

They'd found him.

Robin cursed bitterly under his breath, but he'd known it'd only be a matter of time before he would be found or forced out of hiding. As his vision returned he positioned himself firmly in front of the door, squinting through the harsh searchlight that had bathed the entire room in red.

They were outside the building in the air, and judging from the explosion they were also downstairs—and unlike a human squad they wouldn't have to take time to run up the long flights of stairs to reach him. They'd be here in a minute, tops. He was trapped. Trapped in a small room and soon to be surrounded by huge, burly savages with superhuman abilities.

“Hu'man, tru'aat nuu ava'a d'al!” a loud, magnified voice commanded through the window. Before Robin could even attempt to make sense of the words, the door was broken down. He let out an adrenaline-laced shout and hurled his birdarangs at the first warriors that came into the room.

Unlike the good old days, when he would throw the weapon to stop a thief or knock out a villain, these throws were meant to slice. The first birdarang cut the bare shoulder and grazed a neat red line along the neck of the first warrior, and the other 'rang embedded itself in the second warrior's chest. Yells of pain pierced the room, but were drowned out as more Tamaranians flew in, weapons in their sinewy hands and vicious expressions on their faces that made them look demonic in the lighting. Robin backed away and hurled his disks at the oncoming horde. The disks hit a few of the aliens in the crowd and exploded in hot electricity. Robin closed his eyes and couldn't help but smirk fiercely as he heard the screams.

His advantage didn't last long. The window crashed loudly in as more warriors burst in from the ship outside, casting the venetian blinds completely off the wall. Glass shards struck Robin's body, stinging against his face and arms as they cut into his skin. He spun to take on the new threat but the biggest in the group tackled him as he turned, pinning him bodily to the floor.

“Ava'a!”someone screamed. “Aka'a ni tru'aat rutha'n!”

Robin struggled beneath the weight of the alien, but he was held down with no effort and couldn't free himself. He growled and reached for his belt, but received a blow across his face.

“Bekta!” the one holding him down ordered, standing up and dragging Robin to his feet by his cape. “Bekta rutha hu'man!” He jerked Robin's cape roughly and threw him onto the floor face first. Before Robin could stand up the blunt ends of their staffs were striking his back. Robin's body seized up against the assault but there was no way to fight back. He didn't know how long it was before they stopped, but his nose was streaming blood and the rest of him felt like a disjointed mess of pain. They grabbed him roughly and cuffed his hands behind his back in thick metal, and Robin was unable to bite back a wordless protest at the pain that went through his arms and shoulders.

“Arah X'halia Koriand'r ik Kommand'r,” one said as they marched Robin out of the room. Robin tried pull away from them, tried to fight back despite his injuries like Batman would have done, but a staff to the face put him down.

TO BE CONTINUED