Flash Page 8

  “Oh, man!” Barry gave Cisco a high five. “Finally, my life is a Hardy Boys book!”

  Caitlin furrowed her brow. “You’re not going tonight, are you?”

  “Sure, why not?” Barry said as he and Cisco exchanged eager glances. “It’s not that far out of town.”

  “An hour, maybe two,” Cisco added. “By car. Not by Flash. We can stop at Big Belly Burger for a little road fuel.”

  “I haven’t been to the observatory since third grade.” Barry started for the door. “We’ve got to go—for the sake of the investigation.”

  “A simple phone call wouldn’t work?” Iris leaned against the console with a suspicious cock of her head.

  “That’s too impersonal.” Cisco steamed past Barry, grabbing his arm. “Besides, you wanted Barry to have a rest. This is restful. Just a quiet evening at the observatory. We’ll let you know what we find. C’mon, man.”

  Before anyone could say another word, they were gone.

  * * *

  Joe checked his watch. “Well, I’ve got to get back to the office to finish up some paperwork, and make some calls before it gets too late.”

  Iris knew exactly what that meant. Back to work, drink more coffee, finish some work, start more work, forget the time, forget to eat… He wouldn’t make it home until the middle of the night.

  “Dad, you’ll eat dinner, won’t you?”

  “Dinner? Sure, Iris. I’ll find something.”

  “Dad,” she said firmly. “Dinner.”

  “Yes, honey.” Joe waved his hand as he walked out.

  Iris prepared to go, then realized she wasn’t alone. With a shake of her head, she stepped around the desk to take Caitlin’s arm.

  “Oh no,” she said. “You’re not staying here by yourself.”

  Caitlin’s expression reminded Iris of a startled cat.

  “But I have work to do.”

  “Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow,” she replied, and she hoped she was right. “We need to take a break while we can. You still have to eat, don’t you? You can’t do that here.” She frowned, then added, “Well, you could, but then you’d have no life, and it would be pathetic.” Iris tugged a bit harder, and Caitlin finally stood up. “Everything here is connected, isn’t it? You’ll know if something comes up. You’ll get an alert, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Look, Barry and Cisco get a road trip, so the least we can do is go to dinner.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Lord above…

  “Look, I’d bet you can’t even remember the last time you left this lab,” Iris insisted. “At least let’s go have a drink then.”

  Caitlin grimaced and stopped, as if struck by a bad memory.

  “I’d rather not.”

  Iris got her moving again. “All right, how about a workout at the gym? You’re a doctor, so you know how bad it is for your health, sitting all day at a desk. And with all the metahumans out there, staying in shape is critical. Besides, it’ll be fun to have some company.”

  Caitlin gave a resigned sigh. “Fine,” she said. “I suppose an hour or two won’t be bad. I’m at a dead end anyway.”

  “Sometimes stepping away from your work gives you a new insight,” Iris offered.

  “True.” The petite scientist brightened. “Let me get a change of clothes from the back. Usually I just work out here in the lab.”

  Iris nodded, followed her back to the locker, and stared at the lone treadmill standing there.

  “Girl, I’m going to show you what a real gym can be like.”

  * * *

  During the drive across Central City, they had to take several detours because of the washed-out roads. As time dragged on, Caitlin began to fret that she shouldn’t have left. Iris stopped listening when she started worrying about a cell culture that might spoil if she didn’t check on it.

  Finally they pulled into the parking lot of Iris’s favorite gym, Fitness Universe. It was crowded but not mobbed—most likely because of the storms. Modern pop music came from hidden speakers, and television screens showed the videos that went with the music. Men and women in skintight outfits occupied a variety of exercise equipment. The majority of them were in the peak of physical condition.

  Caitlin’s eyes went wide, and she blushed visibly. Her own outfit consisted of yoga pants and a loose-fitting M.I.T. sweatshirt. By contrast, Iris was wearing fashionable tights and a bright pink sports bra with headband to match.

  Pulling off her heavy blue sweatshirt, the scientist revealed a t-shirt underneath. Iris stared at it without saying a word.

  “What’s wrong?” Caitlin asked. “It’s been washed. Cisco gave it to me for my birthday.”

  “I could have guessed,” Iris said. “‘Let’s cuttle.’ What’s with the squid?”

  “They’re not squid. They’re—”

  “Hey.” A muscular man who had just stepped off the treadmill regarded her with a confused expression. “They misspelled cuddle.”

  “No,” Caitlin exclaimed, “they’re cuttlefish.”

  The man rolled his eyes and walked away.

  “It’s scientific,” Caitlin called after him.

  “Oh, come on.” Iris laughed and grabbed her by the arm. “Those two treadmills are free, and they’re side by side. We can talk while we run.”

  The machines were lined up along a glass balcony overlooking the weight room. As they got the treadmills going and found their paces, Iris noticed Caitlin trying to look everywhere except at the sweating male bodies. She leaned closer to her friend.

  “It’s okay,” she said, loudly enough to be heard over the music. “We may both be single, but we’re not dead. There’s no law saying we can’t appreciate the view.”

  “I suppose not.” Caitlin gave a self-conscious laugh. Her gaze drifted down to the ripped athletes, flexing as they lifted weights. “I guess it’s better than staring at a computer monitor all night.”

  “That’s the spirit!”

  “You know, I’m glad you forced me to do this.” Despite her nervousness, Caitlin’s expression had brightened considerably since they got out of the lab.

  “Me, too,” Iris agreed. “We both work hard, and we deserve a night off.” Iris dialed up the workout she’d programmed into her machine, then began to regret it as the ramp started to incline. “Oh, Lord,” she panted. Beside her, Caitlin huffed even louder.

  “Keep going,” Iris urged her.

  Though she continued to gasp loudly, Caitlin matched her pace as their legs pumped nearly in unison, keeping pace with the challenging program. After ten minutes of pounding steps, however, she started to falter, slowing down.

  “Don’t stop!” Iris shouted in encouragement. “Run like Grodd is behind you.”

  Caitlin’s pace increased abruptly, and her expression was so intense, Iris felt a bit guilty. After another five minutes of running, Caitlin put her feet to the side and collapsed over the monitor, clutching it like a drowning woman on a floating log.

  Iris’s program ended and she stepped off, leaning against her knees, sucking for air.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” she confessed.

  “I forgot to look at all the pretty men,” Caitlin lamented.

  Iris laughed through her pain, reaching for a bottle of water and handing one over. Caitlin took it gratefully and swallowed half of it in one long gulp. She looked back, her face bright with sweat.

  “How does Barry make this look so damned easy?”

  “I hate him,” Iris wheezed.

  Now Caitlin laughed. “Me, too. No one should not have to work out like this, and certainly not every day. It’s not fair.”

  “Even the Green Arrow has to use the gym.”

  Caitlin offered a mischievous grin. “Felicity Smoak told me she watches him work out. He has abs that are ungodly.”

  “Maybe we need to go visit her in Star City.”

  “Road trip for the ladies,” Caitlin declared.

  “I’m
in.” Iris finally straightened and moved away from the machine so someone else could use it. Caitlin followed suit. She placed the empty water bottle in a nearby recycling bin.

  “I’m still thirsty.”

  “There’s a juice bar. Let’s get something refreshing. We deserve it.”

  They showered and changed before heading for the small stand near the entrance to the gym. There they joined the other young professionals clustered together around the whirring blenders.

  Neither of them could make up their minds, so they let the juice barista surprise them. It wasn’t the smartest move. What they got were two drinks, one dark green and the other a dark red. They clinked their glasses together in a halfhearted toast and took a sip.

  Both girls grimaced.

  “Oh, God, is that beets?” Caitlin nearly gagged.

  Iris barely choked down a few swallows. She stared at the green pulpy contents and then looked back up at Caitlin.

  “Barry had like fifteen chicken cutlets the other night for dinner.”

  Caitlin let out a whelp of frustration. “I hate him!”

  “Buffet at Steak Corral?” Iris suggested. She was hungry now, and it wasn’t for a kale smoothie.

  “Oh, Lord, yes!” A smile finally emerged from Caitlin as she slammed her still-full glass on the counter. The two women made a quick exit, laughing arm in arm.

  12

  Not far from Central City a spur of mountains rose, undeveloped and still relatively isolated. The S.T.A.R. Labs van raced up the switchback road, kicking out gravel. Headlights played over merciless rock faces and then empty voids, back and forth as Cisco gleefully wrestled the wheel.

  Barry clutched the dashboard, and dug his toes through the insoles of his black sneakers. The van skidded at the edge of a crevasse before veering back to the rutted dirt track, and he slammed against the door.

  “Could you slow down?” he rasped. “We’re not exactly in a Formula One race.” He was appreciative to Cisco for a couple of hours of mindless chitchat about video games and movies, and whether Bigfoot could live in these mountains. He was grateful that Cisco hadn’t asked about the glitches and the blurring episodes. Even so, gratitude only went so far. Barry didn’t want to die in a fiery crash.

  The van swept through another turn and the headlights caught a white shape looming ahead as they emerged onto an open area devoid of trees. Cut into the side of the peak was an old-fashioned dome observatory. Compared to the great observatories like Palomar, this one wasn’t impressive at all—perhaps sixty feet high compared to Palomar’s one hundred and thirty-five. The once-white dome was mottled because of lost panels, and in some spots the structure’s framework was visible.

  The van ground to a halt and dust rose through the beams. Barry pushed open the squeaking van door and dropped to the rocky ground.

  “I can’t believe he lives here.”

  Cutting the engine, Cisco turned off the headlights. He stepped out to join Barry. The only sounds were the ticking of the cooling motor and their soft breathing.

  “Cue the wolf howls,” Cisco muttered. “Perfect place for a weirdo like Coolidge.” They crunched across the hard dirt toward a door. Barry knocked.

  “When you say he’s a weirdo, what do you mean?”

  “Well, he doesn’t like people knocking on his door for one thing. That’s clear enough.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Cisco pointed over Barry’s shoulder. About fifty feet away, a man stood in the shadows aiming a shotgun at them. Barry tensed, but didn’t act for fear of spooking the man. He wasn’t worried about himself, but anytime guns went off it was unpredictable. He didn’t want to take a chance that Cisco might be hit.

  “Dr. Coolidge? Hi. We’d like to talk to you.”

  The man didn’t budge. Neither did the gun.

  “Did we catch you on your way out?” Cisco asked. Barry smiled nervously, and willed his friend to suppress the snark.

  “We just want to talk to you,” he said.

  The shotgun shifted higher, and the man’s hand tightened on the grip.

  “Whoa!” Barry held out his hands. “We’re scientists, too. We work for S.T.A.R. Labs. My name is Barry Allen.”

  Cisco opened his jacket to show his S.T.A.R. Labs t-shirt.

  “That’s not really proof,” Barry whispered. “Anyone can buy those.”

  “They can?”

  “Sure. I’ve seen them online.”

  “Nice try,” the gunman snapped. “S.T.A.R. Labs closed after the particle accelerator exploded.” He gestured with the firearm. “So what do you want?”

  Barry kept his hands out. “We want to talk about the Singing Meteorite.”

  “Why?” Coolidge demanded. “You think I took it?”

  “No.” Barry was surprised at that. “The police know who took it. We know who killed Dr. Larson.”

  “I haven’t seen anything on the news about an arrest.”

  “It’s complicated. They’re metahumans.”

  “Oh. Those things.” The man lowered the shotgun.

  Cisco breathed out in relief. “Don’t tell me—let me guess,” he said. “The gun wasn’t even loaded, right?”

  “Wrong. What do you want to know about the meteorite, Mr. Allen?” He stepped out of the shadows so that his features were visible. He was an older man, likely sixty-five or seventy. He looked exhausted. His gray hair was thin and flying in all directions, and his beard untrimmed. He wore baggy corduroy pants and a thick cardigan complete with leather elbow patches. The only part of his ensemble that didn’t scream “professor emeritus” was the shotgun. He squinted at Cisco.

  “You’re Francisco Ramon, aren’t you?”

  Cisco gasped. “How do you know that?”

  “I’ve seen you before. Twice. You were at a session of the National Science Foundation seven years ago, and you asked a question about the feasibility of smelting operations in space.”

  Cisco put a hand to his mouth. “I did! I didn’t even remember that. But wait, you weren’t on that panel, were you?”

  “I was in the audience, and I have a good memory. Later Harrison Wells introduced me to you at a S.T.A.R. Labs reception, where I was eventually asked to leave.”

  “Now that I do remember,” Cisco acknowledged. “To be fair, you were pretty drunk.”

  “Yes, I was. I had five cocktails and three crab puffs. An unwise ratio. Would you both like to come inside?” Coolidge shuffled to the door and twisted the handle. It was unlocked.

  While it was a chilly October outside, the air inside the observatory was frigid. The space was dim, with only two bare incandescent bulbs burning in shadeless floor lamps. A dilapidated control panel made of steel and aluminum took up half of the circular wall. Holes and slots gaped open with wires hanging where dials and readouts had once been housed. Old-fashioned blackboards and corkboards covered the rest of the wall, along with framed photographs of celestial objects.

  Piles of paper and ancient three-ring binders littered countertops and desks the color of institutional olive drab. An impressive telescope dominated the middle of the jumbled space. It was currently aimed at the inky slot in the open dome where several bright stars were visible. A tracking motor kept the dome and telescope locked on a target, and the background hum was audible.

  “That is a thirty-inch Cassegrain reflector,” Coolidge announced. “When this observatory was built, it was the third largest reflecting telescope in the United States.”

  Cisco bobbed his head in genuine respect. “It’s a classic.”

  “Yes,” the astronomer said without enthusiasm. “Like a pyramid or Stonehenge.” He leaned his shotgun haphazardly against the wall.

  Cisco pointed at the eyepiece. “May I?”

  Coolidge extended his hand, then walked over to a decades-old coffee maker and checked an empty glass pot.

  “Want some coffee?” he asked. “Most people find it cold in here.”

  “Sure.” Barry waited behind Cisco for a
chance to look through the telescope, as he had done years ago when he was a schoolboy. The astronomer shook ground coffee out of a can into a filter, without measuring. He poured water into the coffee maker, ignoring the fact that half of it leaked out the back and dripped to the floor.

  “Mr. Ramon, you are looking at Object Six Two Five A two. It is a rogue asteroid. If it were to collide with Earth, all life would cease to exist within twenty-four hours.”

  Cisco straightened. “Is that going to happen?”

  “It is not.” Coolidge dropped a towel to the floor and pushed it around with his foot, mopping up the puddle that had formed.

  “Whew! That was a close one.” Cisco dragged his arm over his forehead in a burlesque show of relief, and then laughed. “Am I right?”

  “Hm.” Coolidge peered curiously at the engineer. “Wells told me that you were one of the finest minds he ever knew, or you could be, in any case. I have to assume he knew what he was talking about.”

  Cisco stiffened and his voice cracked. “He said that?”

  The astronomer kicked the wet towel under a desk. “Yes, but he tended to be smitten with his protégés. Until he wasn’t.” Coolidge wandered the work floor until he’d found three mugs, and returned to wait by the gurgling coffee maker. “So what do you want to know about the meteorite?”

  “Well,” Barry began, “it was the most unique object stolen from the Central City Museum. Its value is more scientific than monetary. So we’re wondering, is there something about it that a metahuman would want, badly enough to kill for it?”

  “I have no idea,” Coolidge said flatly. “Is there anything else, or have you come all the way up the mountain for naught?”

  Barry and Cisco stood silently for a moment.

  “Um… could we maybe take a few more minutes to explore the possibilities?”

  “You can take all the time you want, Mr. Allen.” Coolidge poured three cups of coffee. “I’m not sure why you need to waste my time to do it.”

  “If we could, let’s talk about your claim that the meteorite sang.”

  “It’s not a claim. It’s a fact.”

  “I’m not disputing it, but do you have any idea why the meteorite sang?”