Future's so bright, I gotta wear shades

[moonshadows]

“You never change, Bruce,” the distinguished older gentleman said as Max entered the room, carrying a nearly-antique tea service.

The old man grinned, but it wasn’t a happy exprfession. “Neither do you.”

The teen watched as the older gentleman’s expression went from fond tolerance to concern and smothered affront. Huh. Looks like Mr. Kent’s been around the block with Batman enough to know when he’s just being grumpy, and when he’s being grumpy with a side of real contempt.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked.

Bruce ignored him, all attention on Max as she poured tea and fixed it according to the old man’s tastes, then politely did the same for his guest. “Thank you, Maxine,” he said almost warmly. “That will be all for the moment, but I may need you again soon..”

She bowed, keeping her expression professionally neutral. “Yes, Mr. Wayne.”

The bug on the bottom of the tray repeated the words and broadcast them to the earpiece perfectly. Max left the room, closed the door, and made her way back to the kitchen where Superman would be expecting her to go. Just in case he was watching.

“What do you mean by that?” Kent repeated almost as soon as the door closed.

“I mean,” the old man growled, “that you still haven’t learned to think ahead, or out of the box. I mean that you’re still stuck on might-makes-right, and you still think of power in terms of fists.”

Max really, really wished she could see Superman’s face.

“What are you talking about, Bruce?”

“You tried to recruit my son.” He let that sink in for a few seconds. “What you should have been doing is trying to recruit my daughter.”

“I guessed the kid was yours,” Kent said slowly. “He’s a chip off the old block. I don’t know how you did it-”

“I didn’t. Waller did.”

Grim silence. At least, Max assumed it was grim. She knew Bruce’s silence would be.

“Don’t touch her. It’s not your fight.”

“I won’t. But…daughter? I haven’t seen…haven’t heard…”

The old man’s voice held more than a tinge of smugness when he said, “See?”

“So you’re training her to be as stealthy and subtle as you used to be. I admit, the new team’s missing that element, but-”

“And you’re missing the point. I’m not training her to be a crimefighter. Come on, Clark. Think for a second. What was my real contribution to the Justice League?”

“The Watchtower,” Superman replied instantly. Max rolled her eyes. “No?”

 “No, Kent. What role did I fill that went empty when I left?”

The silence stretched. Max puttered around, making dinner preparations. Just in case he was watching.

“I did the thinking,” Bruce said finally, and Max could almost see Superman squirm like a child under the weight of the old man’s disappointment.

“Yes,” he replied slowly, “you did. You’re right, Bruce. I should have found someone who could see the big picture, but all I went looking for were strong fists and stout hearts. If your daughter is even half as quick-thinking and clever as you, then the Justice League needs her, and badly. Uh…she doesn’t have your charming personality, does she?”

Bruce snorted. “Very funny, Clark. No, she’s got all the people skills and almost none of the sharp edges. There’s just one catch.”

“What’s that?”

A clink as the old man set his teacup down. “You’ll have to ask her yourself, and I’m not telling you where to find her.”

More silence. Max swallowed giggles as she chopped vegetables for a stir-fry.

“Come on, Clark,” he half-teased, half-wheedled. “You were a reporter. Surely you remember how to conduct an investigation.”

“I’m out of practice.”

“You better get back in practice if you want to convince her to join the team.”

“Convince her? What-” He sounded surprised. Being a reporter must not have been the only thing he was out of practice with. “You told her, didn’t you, Bruce? You invited me here to set this up.”

“See? You’re already remembering how to think.” Bruce didn’t sound the least bit repentant.

“She knows I have to find her, and she knows what I can do, so monitoring what you say is no good because neither of you will give it away in your conversation.” Silence. “Is this because the Justice League tested Batman?”

“I said almost none of my sharp edges. This was her idea – not that I don’t approve of it. The rules are simple. You can use any resource the Justice League has available to find her-”

“Does that include you?”

Max silently applauded the question.

“I’ve given you all the help I can by telling you Waller is the one behind the Batman Beyond Project.”

“So what are the rest of the rules?”

“That’s it. You can use any resource available to the Justice League to find her, but I’ve said as much as I can. Good luck, Clark. Whether or not she says yes is going to depend on what happens between now, and when you find her.”

“I suppose it’s only fair,” Superman sighed. “Still, I won’t deny that someone with your sharp mind would be invaluable.”

“Stay for dinner,” suggested the old man. “Maxine makes a delicious stir-fry.”

Clark Kent thought about that for a long minute while Max ginned. “Okay.”

 

 

“You’re grinning, Max,” Terry said as he paused on the way to the Batmobile. “Why are you grinning, and should I be laughing with you, or running away from you?”

“The old man had a friend over for dinner,” she replied smugly, spinning idly in the console chair.

“He mentioned that.” Terry put two and two together. “Oh. Oh. What did you think?”

“I can see why the old man is so cynical.” She stopped the chair and watched Terry slide through her still-spinning field of vision. “He’ll probably want to talk to you.”

The other teen grinned. “I dunno about that. I might be too busy to talk. The old man works me pretty hard, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Speaking of which, you should get going – you have errands to run.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Terry said, pulling the cowl down over his head and leaping into the cockpit. “How long d’you think it will take the old man’s friend?”

“I’ve got twenty creds that say it takes him a month.”

The Batmobile powered up and streaked out of the cave. Over the vidlink, Batman grinned. “I’ve got another twenty that say you get fed up before that.”

 

“Amanda Waller?”

“Superman. What an unexpected surprise.”

Max wished she had popcorn. Not that she was hungry, but it was iconic and the revelation that her old man could, would, and had hacked the Justice League’s comlinks made this especially popcorn-worthy.

“Found your own key,” he asked from behind her, “or did you use mine?”

“Yours. Shh, he’s asking her.”

“-the whereabouts of Batman’s daughter.”

“Why, Superman, what makes you think I know that?”

Something slid into Max’s peripheral vision. When she glanced at the old man, he was grinning and holding out a bowl of buttered popcorn. Max took a handful and grinned back.

“I know you’re the one behind the Batman Beyond Project. It’s vital that I find her.”

“Laying it on a bit thick, Kent,” Bruce chided.

“Then I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific,” the black woman said in a tone of polite but absolute stonewalling. Clicks; keystrokes. “As you can see, almost half of the Project subjects are female.”

“I see,” grumbled Superman. “But what I don’t see are names and addresses.”

Click, click, click. “And you won’t. You see, the subjects aren’t aware of who their father is. To protect them, and their families, we keep their personally identifiable information separate.” The woman’s voice turned smug. “Although the project is a secret one, we still adhere to HIPAA regulations.”

Superman sighed. “Can you at least tell me if one of the…female subjects…is aware of who her father is?”

“I’m sorry.” Waller did not, in fact, sound sorry. “Even if that information weren’t classified, I would not be able to confirm anything. I was contacted by someone claiming to be Subject 91745-alpha, who demanded to know who her father was, but…”

“But what?”

“…but either it was a ruse by the original Batman, or she was in his presence. I can’t be certain that it was her; if it was, then she knows exactly who her father is and you should start with him; I assume you’re still in touch. If it wasn’t, then all I can tell you is that none of the subjects have contacted me, or anyone else on this project.”

Max could almost see the Man of Steel grit his teeth. “Thank you anyway. Enjoy your evening.”

She reached out to cut the feed, but Bruce grabbed her wrist. “Wait.”

“Superman to Watchtower.”

“Watchtower,” a female voice said.

“I’m on my way back.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Negative. I’m going to have to ask Batman.”

A new voice, a brash male, entered the conversation. “Are you sure this girl is worth it?”

“Her father doesn’t give praise lightly,” Superman answered. There was an edge to his words that made Max raise her eyebrows. “You know the value of having someone who can look at the big picture and coordinate, Warhawk. If she’s even half as good as her father, we need her and we need her badly.”

“But are you sure she can be trusted?” Warhawk pressed. “Why make us find her? Why not just approach us?”

“Mistrust breeds mistrust,” piped a young, calm, male voice. “Were she to approach us, even with such a glowing recommendation, there would still be doubts cast on her trustworthiness. By inviting us to find her, she ensures that we are sincere in our desire to welcome her to our team.”

The first female voice picked up the thread of conversation. “Besides, by seeking her out, she can get a sense for us while we get a sense for her. It’s like introducing two hellhounds by letting them sniff each other through a grate. I have to agree with Warhawk, though: are you sure we need her? Someone with no powers, not even the fighting skills Batman has? She wouldn’t be able to leave the Watchtower without one of us to protect her.”

“That just means we don’t have to worry about who’s guarding the Watchtower while we’re out,” Superman pointed out.

“My father told me stories about her father, Barda,” a new female voice cut in. “Many times, Batman’s quick thinking saved the day.”

“You didn’t hear the half of it, Mareena,” said Superman. “There was a time when I got thrown forward thirty thousand years. Batman figured out that, despite seeing me effectively get vaporized, I wasn’t dead.” He sounded fond of the memory. “He designed and built the first Watchtower, you know. It only fell out of orbit about a century before I arrived, and still had enough juice to recognize my comlink.”

There was a somehow tense pause. Max glanced at the old man, and was alarmed to see he looked alarmed, as well.

“No,” Superman half-whispered. “He wouldn’t – of course he would. Kai-Ro, run a check for-”

Bruce slapped the connection closed. “As informative as that was,” he growled, “we can’t risk using that again until he finds you. He knows that if anyone could tap into the League’s comlinks, it’s me – and he knows that I’m paranoid enough to have done it.”

“Got you all figured out, huh?” Grinning, Max grabbed a handful of popcorn. Bruce’s expression thawed into a wry smile.

“Well, I did figure out contingency plans in case any of the original Justice League ever went rogue…and I successfully waged psychological warfare on an alternate-universe version of myself who had done just that.” The old man glared at the half-eaten bowl of popcorn. “I’m not the only one Waller and her little organization toyed with cloning over the years,” he said with quiet venom. “To be honest, I’m surprised she both didn’t learn her lesson, and is still around to have not learned it.”

“Who did she-”

“Superman,” he spat.

In silence, she reached out for another handful of popcorn. “You and the Justice League did your jobs too well.”

Bruce laughed.

 

 

 

A week passed. That was enough time, she thought, for Superman to have scoped out everyone the old man talked to, everyone Terry interacted with. But no one approached her, and the lack of info on what they were doing was driving her nuts. Girding herself with the paranoia she’d inherited from Batman, she went shopping.

A small, cheap laptop, bought with untraceable creds. A stylish bag to carry it in. And, because she was thirsty, a smoothie. The kind with real fruit and actual yogurt.

Max went to the park.

The disks in her pocket had been copied from the Batcomputer’s files. They held self-contained scripts to route through the subsystems of fifteen different businesses – starting with a fast-food joint and ending with the Daily Planet’s main office in Metropolis – before onioning through half a dozen foreign satellites and then piggybacking on the Justice League’s comlink frequencies to weasel its way into their database. If they noticed the leak, and if they traced it somehow back through the satellites, and if they thought to look further than the media company, and if they traced the original signal, all they’d find was a fresh laptop bought with anonymous money. And a black girl with pink hair. Crap.

Max left the park.

As she was considering hats to foil satellite surveillance, she thought that maybe announcing herself subtly would be better than complete anonymity. She didn’t want to scare them, after all.

Wearing a Batman baseball cap (also purchased with untraceable creds), Max went back to the park.

The first thing she did was to use the old man’s root access to create a new authorization for herself. After all, if they found her, she didn’t want them thinking someone with hostile intentions had broken in. After a moment of staring at the blinking cursor, she typed 91745-Alpha as the username and gave herself root. Then she logged out. Was that enough for one day? Should she play it cool and wait to be sure they didn’t suspect anything, or press her advantage before they realized there’d been a breech?

Decisions, decisions. Max debated pros and cons until her smoothie was a cool, tasty memory. Then she logged back in with Bruce’s credentials. To her utter lack of surprise, when she went to set up a subroutine to copy all security access logs, there was one already in place. She downloaded the last month and scanned it to be sure she hadn’t been detected.

She hadn’t.

The current profiles of the League members were next. She debated doing a system search for her name, just to see if they knew who she was, but decided against it on the grounds that if anyone looked at the purged search history, they’d find her just by that.

Besides, they didn’t have Terry’s name on Batman’s profile.

That was enough for the day, Max thought as she closed the connection and removed the disks containing her scripts, the programs, and the data she’d snagged. Then she re-imaged the laptop and shut it off. She could read the data on her personal laptop later; if anyone traced her back this machine, it would be completely clean. Not even ghost data in the memory buffers.

 

The next day, armed with a double-chocolate soft-serve dip cone, Max went back to the park and pulled her Batman cap and clean laptop out of her bag. Her new credentials got her into the Watchtower’s files, and she settled in for a nice afternoon of reading. And copying, of course. She kept one eye on her security log scraper as she read, watched as other members of the League logged in and out. No one noticed her new account in the system.

The day after that, she brought headphones and tapped the comlinks, listening as she read. Still no alarms raised by her presence. She did hear Kai-Ro and Mareena discussing how frustrated Superman seemed to be getting with his inability to find Batman’s daughter, and Barda and Warhawk grudgingly admitted to each other that if they ever had to track down someone hostile, they wouldn’t have a chance.

On the fourth day, Kai-Ro asked Superman if he thought it was possible that Batman’s daughter would make contact with them remotely, but still require them to find her physically.

“If she’s anything like her father,” the Man of Steel replied thoughtfully, “she’s probably doing something like that already and we just don’t know it. Batman said he doesn’t know anything about his predecessor’s children, but the way he said it makes me think he was playing word games with me. I’ll try again tomorrow, out of uniform. Perhaps laying a few of my cards on the table will convince him to do the same.”

Max closed the connection, removed her disks, imaged the laptop, and shut it off. Once she was out of the park, she called her old man.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Wayne, I was thinking that Mrs. McGinnis has been working awfully hard this week,” Max said lightly. “Can I have forty creds to take Terry and Matt to Cheesy Dan’s after school tomorrow and give her a Friday night to herself?”

She could almost see Bruce’s smile as he said, “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Maxine. I’ll see if I can clear Terry’s schedule.”

“Thanks, Mr. Wayne.”

Boy, was she looking forward to tomorrow.

 

“You really think he’ll show?” Terry asked, soda in hand while Matt raced off to scope out the games.

Max glanced at the door, where Mr. Kent was hovering awkwardly. “Yeah, I think he’ll show.” While the undercover superhero approached warily, she grabbed another slice of pizza and sat back to watch.

“Terry McGinnis?”

“That’s me,” he answered absently, eyes on his brother.

“My name is Kal Kent, I’m a friend of your employer’s…”

“So’s half of Gotham,” the teen quipped. “That and three creds will get you coffee and a donut.”

Kent eyed Max warily, then jerked slightly as he recognized her. “Oh…Maxine, was it? I didn’t expect you to be here.”

Max took a long sip from her drink and considered her options. In the end, snark won out. “I’m helping Terry babysit his little brother so his mom can have a night off. Mr. Wayne likes for his employees to treat each other as if we were family.” She elbowed Terry lightly and grinned. “It’s pretty schway, having brothers.”

To no one’s surprise, Kent didn’t seem impressed. “That’s very…considerate of him. Terry, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions in private.”

Blindly, the teen shoved his soda at Max. “Hold this. MATT! GET DOWN FROM THERE, TWIP! Excuse me,” he tossed at the older man as he charged off towards an unrepentant Matt who’d managed to scale a part of the room not intended for climbing.

With a sigh, Kent sank down onto the other end of the booth’s bench. “Maybe I could ask you some questions,” he said with more resignation than hope. “What is your position, exactly?”

“I’m a home assistant,” she answered cheerfully. “I do most of the cooking and cleaning, I answer the phone and make appointments for Mr. Wayne – a lot of little things that a younger man wouldn’t have a problem doing.”

“Mm-hmm. And how did you meet him? I can’t imagine he put an ad in the paper.”

“Terry wound up in the hospital a while back,” she said slowly. “I went there to deliver his homework for his teachers, and found out that the stress of working for Mr. Wayne was a big part of what put him there. It made me angry, so I stormed the gate to Wayne Manor and gave Mr. Wayne a piece of my mind.” A sip of soda and a shrug. “He liked my attitude, he acknowledged that I was right, and he hired me on the spot. With me shouldering some of the more domestic workload, Terry’s not under nearly as much stress.”

“And what exactly are the duties he performs for Bruce Wayne?”

Kent was good, but Max knew a fishing attempt when she heard one. Eyes straight ahead. Focus on a point. Come on, Max, you can do this. Sip the soda, shrug. “Some driving, some errands…more than that, I couldn’t say. I’m paid too well to rock the boat, Mr. Kent.” She grinned. “But if you ask me, off the record, I think he’s cracking skulls for the old man.”

“Really?” He sounded too interested. “What makes you say that?”

Another shrug. “He was in a gang a few years back. Even spent time in juvie. He got a job by thrashing a handful of Jokerz who were going to mug Mr. Wayne or something. He goes out late and comes back later with bruises and scrapes the next day, doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on. He’s doing a little enforcement for Wayne Enterprises.” Another casual sip. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Of course not,” Kent hurried to assure her. “Has your employer had any other visitors recently?”

“Just you. He’s not what you’d call a people-person.” A wild idea bit her and she went with it. “How did you meet the old man, Mr. Kent? You don’t strike me as a native to Gotham.”

“Oh, uh…” Well, that was floundering if she’d ever seen it. “You know, it was so long ago I’m not sure anymore. Probably covering something he was attending.”

“Ah. That’s cool.” Sip the soda to swallow that grin, Max. “Reporter, huh?”

“Used to be.”

“I guess you’d know all the old man’s dirty secrets, huh?” Now the sly grin was appropriate, and she shot it at Kent. “What skeletons does he have in his closet? Exotic lovers? Does he have any illegitimate children?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” he shot back, grinning almost despite himself.

“So he does! Hah, I knew it!”

Kent tried, and failed, to keep his amusement in check. “No, he doesn’t. At least, not that I know of.”

And just like that, the undercover Man of Steel was back to being all business. Max glanced around as though checking for spies. “Is that why you’re visiting?” she asked eagerly. “You’ve got a lead on an illegitimate Wayne child and you’re scoping it out?”

Kent stared at her. She sipped soda, came up with nothing but dregs.

“No matter how I answer that,” he said slowly, “you’re going to interpret it as confirmation.”

“Yep.”

He glanced over at where Terry and Matt were now playing a racing game. “Well, I guess I’m not going to get a chance to talk to Terry today. Could you ask him to call me when he gets a chance? He’s got my number.”

Max sat back and peeled the pepperoni off a cooled slice of pizza. “Sure, no prob.”

“Well,” he said, standing up, “I guess I should be going. Nice talking to you, Maxine.”

“Nice talking to you, too-” don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it… “-Clark.” …crud.

No reaction. Kent nodded politely and left without a backwards glance. Max wasn’t sure if she was relieved or annoyed.

 

 

 

Monday afternoon found her back in the park – and so did Terry.

“Still nothing?”

Instead of answering, Max shoved a twenty-cred card at her half-brother.

Terry pocketed the card. “I see. So what now?”

“Breadcrumbs,” she ground out, angrily starting the programs that would get her into the Watchtower’s computers. “Breadcrumbs all the way to Grandma’s House.”

“Uh…I may not be all up on my fairy tales, but aren’t you mixing Hansel and Gretel with Little Red Riding Hood?”

“Nah. Invented a new one for Matt. Mixed up elements of a couple of them with the wolf as the hero. He’s really a werewolf who eats schoolyard bullies and defends Grandma from Jokerz who want to eat her Gingerbread House, which also gives him his werewolf powers. He breathes on the bullies and they turn into steamed vegetables.”

Terry sighed. “So that’s why he’s been running around with that stupid werewolf mask. Well, you have fun with your breadcrumbs. I’ll see you later.”

Max waved absently without looking up from her laptop. She’d been stealthy, she’d been subtle, and all it got her was frustrated. It was time to leave footprints and see who found her.

 

“There is an unauthorized user accessing our files,” Kai-Ro said over the comlink three days later.

Max watched her security log, noting the entries created as he looked at her account activity. She closed the file she’d been browsing and opened another one, as if she didn’t know she’d been caught. Footsteps from four comlinks as Superman, Barda, Mareena, and Warhawk dashed for the control center.

“Why didn’t the security alerts warn us?” Warhawk demanded, speaking for the others.

“Because the intruder is using credentials with root access.”

“Whose account has been compromised?” asked Superman as he entered the room.

“No one’s.” The young Green Lantern sounded almost apologetic. “The username is not one I have seen before.”

“Someone new?” That was Mareena.

“If Kai-Ro doesn’t recognize the name,” snarled Barda, “then it’s no one who has any right to be there. Tell them to take a hike!”

Max closed the second file and opened a third. After a moment, Kai-Ro accessed it and added a line to the bottom: ATTENTION UNAUTHORIZED USER. THIS IS GREEN LANTERN KAI-RO OF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE. YOU ARE ACCESSING CONFIDENTIAL FILES, AND I MUST ASK YOU TO CEASE THIS ACTIVITY IMMEDIATELY.

A grin spread slowly across her face and she cracked her knuckles. She could work with this.

OOPS. SORRY ABOUT THAT, KAI-RO, she typed. Then she closed the file and logged out of everything but the comlinks.

Three, two, one…

“It seems the intruder has exited the system,” the young male said in apologetic confusion as the other three joined him in the room.

“What? Why?”

“I did as you suggested, Barda. The intruder complied.”

Silence. Then Warhawk asked dubiously, “You just asked them politely to leave, and they left?”

“See for yourself.”

Clicking. “Well, I’ll be damned. What kind of intruder leaves when asked?”

“Wait…Kai-Ro, show me the username again.” Superman was silent for a long moment.

Mareena spoke up first. “Do you recognize it?”

More clicking. “If I can just see which account created this one…I should have known. Batman.”

“Batman was hacking into our system?” Warhawk sounded ready to bash something.

“Not the current one. The original. And really, it’s not hacking when his credentials are valid – but this confirms it.”

“Confirms what?” asked Kai-Ro.

“This username – it’s Batman’s daughter. I saw it once before, when I visited Amanda Waller. Damn, she’s good.”

“Are you going to explain, Kal-El, or are you going to sit there being cryptic?”

Max grinned at how irritated Barda sounded. Well, okay, she was grinning at the expression Superman must have been wearing, too.

“Amanda Waller was contacted by someone using this handle. Someone claiming to be Batman’s daughter. But she wasn’t certain if it really was the girl with the original Batman there with her, or if it was just Batman pretending to be the girl the whole time. But this account – a child account created with Batman’s original credentials as the parent account? And using the same handle? Not a coincidence.”

“What’s to say it’s not still the old Batman?”

“Not his style, Warhawk.” Surprisingly, that was Barda. “I fought beside the original a few times. He isn’t shy about announcing himself once he comes out of the shadows.”

“So what do we do?” asked Mareena.

Kai-Ro made a small sound. “Might I suggest a course of action? Her activity has been regular for the last several days. When she logs back in tomorrow, I will attempt to engage her in conversation. This is the first direct contact we’ve had with her, and although it was brief, I feel confident that she will respond positively to open communication.”

“But we still need to find her,” the Atlantean girl pointed out. “Even knowing that this is her doesn’t get us any closer to actually finding her.”

“Yes,” Superman said grimly, “it does.”

“I’m afraid I do not understand.”

“Amanda Waller was confident that the original Batman was present when she was contacted; I assume, Kai-Ro, that he referenced something that only the two of them would know. That means his daughter is in contact with him. I’ve checked out everyone he’s had recent contact with, and something Barda said jogged my memory. I think I know who she is.”

“Go on, Kal-El.”

“You said it’s not Batman’s style. Well, I’ve known him for decades, both in and out of the suit. He has a certain flair about him when it comes to pretending he’s not Batman, and I met a girl with that same audacious flair. I discounted her because…”

“Because…?” prompted Warhawk when Superman trailed off.

To Max’s surprise, the Man of Steel started laughing.

“If you could, perhaps, explain the source of your amusement,” Kai-Ro said in his soft, diffident way, “we could join you in your merriment.”

“Amanda Waller,” he chuckled. “It was right in front of me the whole time. She was right in front of me the whole time. The only clue Batman gave me was Waller’s name. Amanda Waller is black – and so is the girl I met. I can’t believe I let myself be so closed-minded. I discounted her because I didn’t think Batman’s daughter would be black. Well, that and she’s got her father’s flair at misdirection. To hear her talk, you’d never guess she’s this devious – but then again, Batman was every bit as misleading when he wasn’t in costume.”

“So, what?” Warhawk demanded, clearly not amused. “Do we swoop in as a team to go confront her, or wait for you to bring her here? I’m still not sure I want her watching my back.”

There was silence while everyone, Max included, waited to hear what Superman would say.

“We’ll wait for her to log in tomorrow and see if she’ll talk to Kai-Ro. Our next step will depend on that.”

Max cut connection to the comlinks, removed her disks, and imaged the laptop.

 

 

 

When she logged in, she wasn’t really surprised to see a chat invitation flashing at her. Sipping her smoothie and grinning despite a surprising surge of adrenaline, she clicked accept.

Greetings, 91745-Alpha. This is Kai-Ro.

Hello, Kai-Ro, she typed back. The comlinks were silent; she couldn’t tell who was there and who wasn’t, and she couldn’t risk checking the system for their locations. No doubt her activity was being monitored.

I was hoping you would be willing to converse with me today, instead of simply perusing our files.

I’d love to talk, Max typed. She really wished she knew who was there.

I’m so glad to hear that. Is there a name you would prefer being called, 91745-Alpha?

Angrily, Max took a big sip of her smoothie. That designation shaped my entire life until last year. It will do for now.

While I am happy to comply with your preference, I must admit to being curious about the significance of that designation.

Yeah, I bet you are, the teen typed, scowling. Superman didn’t tell you why Amanda Waller was involved?

The cursor blinked for a long moment. The comlinks remained silent. He did not. Is that information you are willing to share with us?

Us. He could be speaking for the League, or he could mean it literally: an indication that their conversation had spectators. Either way, this was something that had the right to know about her if they were going to work together.

Amanda Waller took it upon herself to clone Batman, replicating his DNA and injecting it into two dozen unwitting Josephs who sired Batman’s children on their wives. I was Subject 91745-alpha, determined to be “unacceptable” by her personally. The results on my family life were catastrophic.

Please accept my deepest sympathies, the young Green Lantern typed.

Thanks, Kai-Ro.

You embrace that designation, then, as an act of defiance?

Damn straight I do. I refuse to let that word shape me, and I refuse to roll over and go along with plans other people have for me or ideas they have about how they think I should be.

Then it was not Batman’s idea for you to join us?

My father supports it, she typed slowly, but it was my idea.

I beg your indulgence, but I must enquire as to why you would choose such a path when your father’s successor turned it down.

That made her laugh. The old man sure had them pegged right. The Justice League has never understood Batman’s reluctance to be a part of something greater. Even Superman never got it, although he humored my old man’s insistence.

I’m afraid I don’t understand, 91745-Alpha.

It’s simple: I’m not Batman. You’ll never recruit Batman, any Batman, because part of being Batman is making Gotham’s safety the first priority. Even saving the world is going to come in second, and he’ll only help out because the end of the world means the end of Gotham.

She sipped blueberries and frozen yogurt while that information sank in…or didn’t.

I know you don’t really get it, she typed when it was clear that she’d left him – or them – speechless. My father told me that supers and metas have a cognitive disconnect when it comes to normal people with that level of determination. Even Clark, who knew the old man for decades, never really got why he risked everything time and time again. He also told me that supers and metas fall victim to Ivory Tower syndrome if they’re not reminded regularly of what it’s like to not have powers, and how those with powers come across to us regular folk.

I am afraid your father is correct. I would gladly welcome you on our team, 91745-Alpha. In good conscience, however, I must inform you that my vote is only the second you have gained. Warhawk, Barda, and Aquagirl will all have to take your measure for themselves; I will not act as their proxy.

Max had a feeling she was going to like the green kid. Fair enough. Each of them is free to meet me here one at a time at this time in the Gotham Park, by the fountain, over the next three days.

How will they recognize you?

I’ll be the black girl with a laptop and a Batman baseball cap, I think I’ll be pretty easy to spot.

You make an excellent point. It was a pleasure speaking with you, 91745-Alpha. I hope that soon I will earn the honor of addressing you by name.

As long as your friends like me, you will. Good talking to you, Kai-Ro. Hopefully I’ll see you in person soon.

Max logged out, removed the disks, imaged the laptop, and wondered as she finished her smoothie which would be the first to check her out in person.

 

 

 

“Working on your valedictorian speech?”

Max didn’t look up from the empty text document that was the only thing open on the laptop. “Am-scray, Ter. I’m expecting company.”

He didn’t am-scray. “Hey, it’s cool. It’s not like I’ve never seen them.”

“Yeah, but they’ve never seen you. So unless you want them knowing what your pretty face looks like…”

“Eh, I’m sure Kent’s told them all abo-”

“No.”

“No? Max-”

She rolled her eyes. “He hasn’t even told them who the old man is. He takes his promises seriously, and he promised the old man that he wouldn’t tell. So unless you want them knowing…”

“Okay, okay.” Terry backed away, hands up. “I got it. I’ll see you later. Tell ‘em I said hi.”

Max watched as he strolled casually out of sight, then scanned the area. Moments later, a slim young woman in clothes that screamed ‘tourist’ wandered in, looking all around as if she were trying to find someone. Although she had to have seen Max, she gave no indication of it as she wandered around the fountain plaza. The black girl typed a few sentences quickly, watching through her eyelashes. Finally, the ‘tourist’ paused by her bench.

“Excuse me,” she said hesitantly, almost fearfully. “I’m supposed to meet someone here. A…friend of my father’s daughter. I mean, the daughter of my father’s friend.”

Max glanced up. Yup, that sure looked like Mareena. “Yeah? What’s her name?”

“I don’t have that information.”

“Hmm. How about her father’s name?”

“I don’t have that either, I’m sorry.”

“How about your father’s name?”

“Arthur,” she answered promptly.

Max pretended to do something on the laptop, then spun it around. “Is this her?”

HELLO, MAREENA, the screen read. I’M 91745-ALPHA. IS YOUR COMLINK TURNED OFF?

“Y-yes?”

“Good.” She closed the laptop and stuck it in her bag. “My name is Maxine. If we’re going to be working together, you can call me Max. Welcome to Gotham!”

“Thank you,” the Atlantean girl said with relief. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, you know. Kai-Ro wouldn’t tell us anything except that we would each have to meet you to judge you for ourselves.”

Max stood up, bag slung over her shoulder. “Well, that takes the fun out of asking if I’m living up to your expectations,” she teased. “By the way, Batman says ‘Hi’. Not my father; the new one.”

“Oh.” Mareena glanced in the direction Terry’d gone. “Was that him talking to you earlier?”

“What, the guy just before you showed up? Friend from school. We graduate next month and I’m a shoo-in for valedictorian. He wanted to know if I was working on my speech.” Max watched the other girl to see if she’d catch the evasion. She didn’t.

“I…see. Your surface world is strange.”

“What, you don’t have school in Atlantis? Wait, you’d probably have a private tutor anyway.” Max shook her head, then remembered she was still wearing the cap and stuffed it in her bag. “So, can I show you around? Or would you prefer to just grab a snack and chill here to talk?”

Mareena shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t have any of your…creds.”

Wow, talk about Ivory Tower syndrome. She draped an arm over the mergirl’s shoulders. “What, they don’t pay you in that fancy tower you got? No sweat, my boss is pretty generous for a crotchety old man. C’mon, smoothies on me.”

Gently, she steered her guest over to the ice cream shop and suggested flavors. Mareena didn’t say much until they were back at Max’s favorite bench, sipping fruity, frosty treats.

“Superman thinks we need you,” she said quietly, “but Barda and Warhawk aren’t convinced.”

Max savored a mouthful of mangoes and strawberries. “What do you think?”

“I think all three are too serious,” was the surprising answer. “We defend the world, yes, but my father lost his hand saving his life and that of my brother to head off a war with the surface world. We had kept ourselves separate too long, and it led to fear and mistrust. I have heard, too, the stories of when the Justice League kept itself too aloof and was feared and mistrusted. That is why our Watchtower is no longer a space station. Batman was often the voice of reason, I am told. We lack that voice now, the voice of one who stands with one foot in our world but remains human.”

“You need a constant reminder of who you’re protecting,” Max said softly. “My father tells me stories, too. More, since Superman started eyeing Batman.”

Mareena jabbed at her drink with the straw. “Do you think he’ll join?”

“Batman? Never. He’ll work with you if the world is at stake and you’re desperate, but Gotham is his home and his heart. It’s why your father would never join.”

“But I did.” The Atlantean princess’s eyes widened. “Oh. We are not so very different, then. Two daughters venturing where the sons may not tread.” She glanced at Max. “Uh…is Batman…?”

“The original Batman’s son?” Max sipped nonchalantly. “Yeah. It’s complicated, though. Keep it a secret, okay?”

“You have my word, Max.” Mareena smiled. “You have my vote, too. I hope we can be friends.”

Oh, yeah. Because friends with a superhero was totally something she’d always thought she’d do with her life. The black teen grinned with barely-contained glee. “Screw hope. Whether I get voted in or out, you and me, we’re gonna be friends and I pity any fool who tries to stop that. Now let’s go shopping.”

The Atlantean princess laughed. “If you insist.”

“Oh, I insist. Come on, girl. We’ve got to get you some surface-world clothes that actually look good on you.”

“You don’t like these?” asked Mareena ruefully.

Max gave her a teasing grin. “C’mon, Mareena. I shouldn’t have to lecture a princess about fashion.”

“Alright,” the mergirl conceded. “But when I bring you to visit my home, you’ll have to trust my judgment on your wardrobe.”

The casual way she said that took Max’s breath away. Maybe it was just a lifetime of ‘unacceptable’, but she was getting a peek into the kind of life she never dreamed of having, even with the old man as a father, and it was amazing beyond words. “Friends don’t let friends be fashion disasters, right?”

“Right!” Impulsively, Mareena leaned over and hugged the black teen.

Friends with an Atlantean princess. Wicked schway.

 

 

 

It’s going to be Warhawk, Max thought as she pulled the laptop out of her bag and tugged the Batman cap down to shade her eyes. He won’t want to be in the position of going last. You planned for this. You can do it.

The disks slipped into their slots. The programs fired up. The comlink in her ear was fifty years old, but turned on as if it had been yesterday and Bruce’s root access meant she could log on in hidden mode, eavesdropping with none the wiser. Barda and Mareena were sparring; she dampened their channels and sent them to the side where she could watch for volume spikes. Kai-Ro’s channel was silent, and the system placed him in his room. Superman had monitor duty, then. She toyed with the idea of messaging him, but why show her card if she didn’t have to? That just left Warhawk, and the burly warrior was en route to Gotham, as she suspected. Being friendly would win her no points with him; she had to hit hard and fast and prove her mettle.

In one window, she tracked his progress. In another, she pulled up a copy of her own profile from the Beyond Project.

ETA thirty seconds. Would he be discreet, she wondered? Would he shed his armor in order to approach on foot, or would he land right there in front of her and make a scene? Twenty seconds. He wasn’t descending. Fifteen seconds; she could just barely make the cover of the tall hedge if she ran. Ten seconds.

Max ran.

A winged shadow circled the fountain plaza, drawing curious looks from the handful of people in the area. He was looking for her rather than just busting up the pavement, which was a small mercy. Would he land and be mobbed by curious onlookers, or retreat and try subtlety?

Seconds stretched into one minute, then two. Max tapped the comlink, flicking it to Warhawk’s channel using the laptop instead of vocal commands.

“I’m sure they’re very impressed,” she deadpanned, “but I thought you were a hawk, not a vulture.”

The shadow retreated as he climbed back into the clouds. “Who is this?” he demanded once he was hidden again.

“Nine-one-seven-four-five dash alpha. Batman’s daughter.”

A pause that no doubt was his eyes narrowing. “You were supposed to be by the fountain. With a laptop and a Batman cap.”

“If you hadn’t decided to be as subtle as a bull in a china shop, that’s where I’d be. You may be comfortable in the public eye, Rex Stewart, but I prefer anonymity. Now, are you going to leave your armor on remote and meet me in your civvies, or am I going to have to reschedule you?”

A bark of laughter. “Fine. I’ll be down in a minute. Will you be there?”

Max grinned, feeling a surge of kinship with her old man. No wonder he liked doing the ‘I am the night’ thing. “I’m already there; you just can’t see me. Now stop stalling and get down here.”

Comlink connection closed, she watched the plaza until a burly man with close-cropped black hair and a skin tone remarkably similar to hers marched in, looked around, and sat sullenly on a bench. Moving as quietly as she’d been taught, Max slipped around the hedge that encircled the plaza and entered through the same opening he’d used, creeping down the pavement until she could plop down on the other end bench and throw him a smirk.

“Hey there, sailor,” she taunted. “You looking for a girl?”

Startlingly green eyes flicked up to her cap, down to the laptop clutched in both hands. “Maybe,” he replied cautiously. “Who wants to know?”

Max glanced at the information in a third window. “Fifty years ago, the Justice League voted on what course of action they would take regarding your mother’s actions against Earth. Your father abstained, and Superman cast the tie-breaking vote to allow her to remain. My father said that, in his mind, the result of the vote was never in any doubt. He voted ‘no’ in order to force Superman to come to terms with his conflicted feelings and welcome your mother back without any reservations.”

Warhawk’s eyes narrowed. “So?”

“My father was a formidable man in his prime,” she said steadily, meeting his challenging gaze without flinching. “But what made him such a valued member of the Justice League wasn’t his combat skills, or even his technological contributions. It was his mind: his ability to plan, to think, to put all the pieces together and see the big picture. Which is more important in a fight, the strength of a single blow or the ability to predict where the enemy will strike and where a blow will have the most effect?”

“I concede the point,” he said slowly. “I’ve seen video of your old man in action. I won’t lie, I wish you’d taken after him in terms of fighting ability.”

“Too bad,” she snapped. “I got his intellect and his determination, and if that’s not good enough for you, then maybe you should ask yourself why, of all the enemies Superman ever faced, it was Lex Luthor that was the most dangerous.”

The big man scowled. Max scowled right back.

“You know I could break you with one hand,” he rumbled, low and menacing.

“You do,” she retorted, every bit as menacing, “and Superman will break you.” Two flicks of a finger, and the comlink opened a three-way channel between her, Warhawk, and the Man of Steel. “Unless I am very much mistaken, Superman would not take kindly to you causing physical harm to the daughter of one of his oldest and best friends.”

“Warhawk, what are you-”

“I’ve got this, Clark,” she interrupted, eyes never leaving Warhawk’s. “Just making a point.”

Still menacing, he said, “You’re brave, for a girl with no powers.”

“I don’t have to have powers to have power, Rex. You want bravery? My father rode the first Watchtower down from orbit, using it as a guided missile to destroy the hyperspace bypass that would have destroyed this planet. The single, solitary reason he survived that self-appointed suicide mission is listening in on this channel.”

Silence.

“Would you do the same, Rex?” she asked in a quiet, intense voice. “Would you ride a space station through the atmosphere to save the world, even if you had the ability to fly away at the last second and save yourself? Would you have the courage to even conceive of such an enormous sacrifice, much less put it into play?” A pause, no more than a breath long. “Would you, Clark?”

“No,” Superman said softly. “As much as I try not to, I still place too much faith in my own abilities. I never would have thought of the solution Batman came up with, and I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I hadn’t tried to save him.”

“Thank you, Clark.” Another flick, and the connection dropped.

Rex Stewart squirmed under her gaze; there was no other word for it. She marveled at the sight, understanding viscerally for the first time what the old man had struggled to express: that supers and metas could be intimidated by a normal human expressing courage in the face of mortality.

“The difference between me and my father,” Max said into the uncomfortable silence, “is that I won’t be going out into the field. I’m not afraid to die defending Earth, but I’m not about to go throw myself in harm’s way, either. Think you can deal with having a fragile human teammate who actually stays out of danger?”

Slowly, he smiled. “You’ve got guts,” he said with more than a little admiration. “But you’ve got sense to go with it. Yeah, I think I can deal with you having my back from a distance.”

She smiled back. “My name is Maxine, but if we’re going to be working together, you can call me Max.”

“I’ve got to hand it to you, Max. You impressed me. Aren’t you a little young, though? I mean…isn’t your dad about the same age as mine?”

Max maximized the window with her Beyond profile. “See this? Me and about two dozen other kids were conceived by Amanda Waller injecting guys with nanobots that rewrote their reproductive DNA, replacing it with Batman’s. My mother and her husband were both black; having a half-white daughter shattered my family. I wanted to find my father almost my whole life. It took me until last year to do it.” She glanced at him. “All my life, I’ve been discarded and ignored because of the way I was born. I decided not to take that sitting down.”

“I know the feeling,” he said slowly.

“When I found him…I didn’t know that he hadn’t been involved. I yelled at him, blamed him for destroying my family. Turns out I got his guts as well as his brain. He’s been amazing. When the new Batman turned you guys down, I realized that I wanted to carry on that part of his heritage. I think you know that feeling, too.”

“Yeah, I do. Well, Max, you’ve got my vote. Lantern and Aquagirl won’t tell me how they voted, but this is one vote Superman won’t have to break a tie on.” He clapped her on the shoulder and grinned. “Don’t be surprised when you get voted in.”

Max grinned back. “I won’t be. I’m my father’s daughter.”

Rex laughed.

 

 

 

“Maxine Gibson?”

The black teen looked up in surprise. That sounded like Barda, but the woman standing there looked…completely at home in normal clothes. Like a regular woman in her physical prime. “That’s me,” she said warily.

The woman laughed. “Relax, it’s Barda.” She sat next to Max on the bench. “I spent many years living incognito on Earth between escaping Darkseid’s service and joining the Justice League.”

“I knew that,” Max said slowly. “It’s in your extended file. But how did you know my name?”

She laughed again. “I got here early and asked the vendors about you.”

“Fair enough, they could have read my name off the card…if I’d been using my personal cred card.” Max brandished the unmarked card, tone and expression both hard when she said, “I’ve been using unmarked creds.”

Barda met her challenging look for a long moment before inclining her head slightly. “Okay, you got me. The truth is, I figured out your father’s name years ago. Kal-El doesn’t keep contact with many people in Gotham. As the decades went by, the number who hadn’t moved or died went down. Then, one day, I saw Bruce Wayne on the news growling unhappily about something and I realized I’d heard that voice before: in battle. It was Batman’s voice. I don’t betray my allies, Maxine, and I have a lot of respect for Batman. So I kept his secret the way he keeps secrets – silently and without hinting that I even knew. When Kal realized you were black, I checked the phone book for everyone living in Wayne Manor and there you were.”

“Closer,” the teen said evenly, “but still not the whole truth.”

Again, both women engaged in a staring contest.

“You’re good,” Barda said finally. “I looked you up when Kal failed to get information from Amanda Waller.”

“And you didn’t share your findings with Kent.”

“He didn’t ask. That convinced me that we need someone like you on the team.”

“But you’re not convinced that you need me.”

“Even if you’re staying in the tower, I need to know that you have a warrior’s spirit. That you won’t falter in the face of whatever we face and fail us when we need you most.”

This time, it was Max who inclined her head.

“I learned that I was hated before I learned to read,” she said calmly. “I was clearly not the child of my mother’s husband. He resented me as the supposed proof of her infidelity and left. She resented me as the inexplicable cause of him leaving. My sister resented me for breaking up her parents. Then, after a few years, as the reason our mother killed herself. I was neglected and ignored, only my most basic needs taken care of. It’s a good thing I inherited my father’s voracious intellect, because I had to learn for myself how to do pretty much everything. I was left by myself for hours or days at a time, with no one to care if I lived or died and the knowledge that I was hated for not being the child of the man who should have been my father.” Max shrugged. “So I went looking. I learned how to hunt in the digital jungle, how to track and not be tracked in turn. I learned different skills, tricks, weapons to use and practiced until I was not merely proficient but a master of them. I discovered the secret files of the Batman Beyond Project before my old man did – of course, I had been looking long before he suspected it existed. When I found him, I confronted him over it. I didn’t know, yet, that he hadn’t been involved. That my wretched childhood wasn’t his fault. Instead of being angry that he’d been falsely accused, he took me in.”

Max stared off into the distance for a few moments, settling the dirty anger her childhood always stirred up.

“He’s a tough man; I don’t have to tell you that. He pushes me hard to learn everything from foreign languages to molecular biology to Thanagarian technology. He expects perfection and when I deliver, the most praise I can expect is a curt ‘good’ or ‘well done’ and maybe a grim smile. Normal people would be horrified with how he treats me, but I’m okay with it. Anything less strict would feel like coddling. I learned young that the world is a harsh place. The strong survive and the weak falter and fall behind. My father didn’t have to shape me into a weapon; I did that all by myself. All he did was give me a whetstone to sharpen myself against. I got impatient with Kent about two weeks ago and broke into the League’s systems. I’ve been reading everything, studying everything. Several days ago, I deliberately left my trail uncovered so that someone would find me, and I was listening in over the comlinks when Kai-Ro finally did. I heard you tell him to tell me to take a hike. I heard you say that it wasn’t Batman’s style to use a different identity.” She grinned as the older woman’s eyebrows climbed in surprise. “You want to know why I want to be on your team?”

“Tell me,” Barda invited, her tone half cautious and half a challenge.

“The old man and I discussed the future of Wayne Enterprises more than a few times. When I turn eighteen, I’ll be a legal adult and qualified to be a tissue donor for cloned organ replacements. I’ll ask to be tested as match for Bruce Wayne’s weak heart, and I’ll be a very good match. We’ve already determined that. Questions will be raised, records investigated, and that’s when the fertility clinic mix-up I forged will come to light. I’ll legally change my last name to Wayne. With me being his daughter, I could take over as CEO if I wanted. Be on top of the world, rolling with kings and presidents, millions and billions of credits at my fingertips and the fates of thousands of families all subject to my whims.”

The other woman was clearly unimpressed. “And?”

“Not my style. Too much attention on me, too much paperwork and red tape and routine, not enough variety and challenge. I take after my old man: I like working in the shadows. I like helping others. I like the thrill of new discoveries, new things to figure out. My father being who he is puts me in a position where I could potentially do a lot of good for Gotham by being the voice in Batman’s ear, the one who watches his digital back. But I can do more in the Justice League. I can help more than just Gotham – and I’ll have access to a lot more in the way of new things to engage my mind.”

She let Barda think about that for a minute, watching the older woman’s expression soften into something more thoughtful.

“Those are good reasons,” the warrior said with grudging admiration.

“There’s one more,” Max said grimly. “Amanda Waller, the head of the Batman Beyond Project, chose my mother and her husband specifically. She marked my profile as ‘unacceptable’ so that when I found it, I would be angry. I would redouble my efforts to find the people responsible for ruining the lives of my family, and I’d find her. With Batman’s intellect and a personal grudge, I’d figure out a better way to ensure Gotham always had a Batman. Amanda Waller’s goal was to have me take control of the Project. She bred me to be her replacement. I refuse. I won’t let anyone else decide my fate, and I won’t bow to what others think I should be. If the League decides against taking me in, I’ll set myself up somewhere and do what I’d be doing for you anyway. But you need me, and you’ll feel a lot better about me if I’m not an outsider.”

Barda met the subtle challenge in her tone with equal challenge. “And if you are not an outsider, would that cause you to hesitate should one of us be compromised and become a threat?”

“I already tell the old man off when he’s going too far; I’m not afraid to pull kryptonite on Superman if he’s acting irrational or just needs to be reminded of what it’s like to be vulnerable.”

“What about the rest of us?”

Max smiled, an expression she’d picked up from her father. “If you knew what the contingency plan was, it wouldn’t be much use, now would it?”

Barda said nothing, examining every inch of Max’s face and tracing the lines of her body as though sizing up a horse or a hellhound. Finally, she shook her head. “It’s a pity you’re not the physical warrior your father was, but you have his strength of will and his fierce spirit. You’ve convinced me, Maxine. I will inform Kal-El that I vote in favor of bringing you into the League.”

“In that case,” the teen said, relaxing, “call me Max. Only people who don’t know me call me Maxine.”

“I wish you had been my daughter, Max.” Barda said wistfully. “I have trained many, but none of my own blood.”

“I’m not opposed to some training, or having a surrogate mother.” Max shrugged. “I like being underestimated, and if worst comes to worst, being able to surprise someone who thinks the brainy one is an easy target sounds like my idea of fun. I’m not saying I’m anywhere near as good as Batman, but I’m not completely helpless – the old man made sure of that.”

“We’ll see,” the older woman said, but she was smiling.

 

 

 

Terry was waiting, as usual, when Max left the building at the end of the school day. As usual, she marveled that he was able to get out so much quicker than she was. It wasn’t like she was staying after or dawdling, he just…somehow managed to swim through the crowd and beat her to the corner by the parking lot.

“Going to the park again?” he asked as she threaded her way over to him.

Max opened her mouth to answer, and then a shadow that was not a bird or a plane zipped through a patch of sun. That idiot! Was he going to be so indiscreet as to land here, in front of everyone? That would put her at risk. It would put Terry at risk. There was no time to get the laptop out and get into the comlinks that way, she was going to have to risk vocal commands and be thankful that she and the old man had registered her voiceprint, otherwise this would never work.

“Max?”

“Quick,” she hissed, “give me verbal cover.”

“-can’t believe that geometry exam!” he exclaimed without missing a beat. “Question four was totally unfair, how are we supposed to-”

The black teen tapped her borrowed comlink in the act of running her hand through her hair. “Batman to Superman,” she murmured while nodding her head as if agreeing to Terry’s math rant. The channel clicked open. “Clark, what do you think you’re doing?” she asked sharply.

“Maxine?”

“Yeah, it’s me. And unless there’s a bad guy around that needs to be spanked, you better keep your caped butt up there. I’m in public.”

“I just wanted to make the offer in person.”

“Discretion, Clark,” she hissed through a fake thoughtful look while Terry went on about the lack of real-life applications for calculating surface area on non-Newtonian objects. “Does the word mean nothing to you?”

“You sound like Batman.” There was a fond smile in his voice.

Good for him.

“There’s a reason for that. Now, keep your butt up there and go say hello to the old man. We’ll be there soon enough. Batman out.” The channel beeped closed. “But you passed, right?” she said in the sort of desperate tone one uses when trying to get a word in edgewise and shut someone else up.

Terry did a good job of pretending to be dejected. “Yeah, I think. I’ll be lucky if I got a seventy.”

“Well, tell you what. Let’s go straight back and I’ll put on my pleading face and see if the old man will give you the afternoon off.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” he countered as they started walking towards their bikes. “I don’t want you wasting the pleading face for something minor like this. What was that all about?” he continued in a lower voice as the last student left earshot.

“Flyboy’s got slightly more subtlety than the twip does. If he’s smart, he’ll keep his mouth shut and pretend that meeting us downstairs was his plan all along.”

“Think you got accepted, then?”

Max put her helmet on and adjusted it, then waited until Terry’d done the same. “Sure sounds like it. Let’s go.”

Visors down, they kicked their bikes to life with nearly-identical grins and sped out of the high school parking lot.

 

“Watchtower to Batman,” Kai-Ro’s high, gentle voice said in Max’s ear. “I noticed you contacted Superman recently. Is everything okay?”

“Hey, Kai-Ro. My old man let me borrow his comlink until I get one of my own.” Max signaled for her turn as Terry signaled his a car length ahead of her. “This is nine-one-seven-four-five-alpha, but seeing as it looks like we’ll be working together, you can call me Max.”

“I am honored, Max, but my question remains: do you require assistance?”

“Nah, I just had to tell Superman that I didn’t want to talk in public. I’m on my way to a secure location now to talk to him.”

“Very well. Watchtower out.”

A soft beep indicated that the connection had closed, and Max grinned as she followed Terry around the curves and up the hill to Wayne Manor. The gate opened and closed automatically for them, the hangar-like garage door did the same, and the two of them came to a pair of neat stops in the last parking spot before the door. As soon as they had their helmets off, however, that door slammed open to reveal a very angry Bruce Wayne.

“Max! You better have a very, very good excuse,” he growled.

The black teen hung her helmet on the bike’s handlebars and stepped fearlessly out in front of him. “An excuse for what?”

That enraged him further. “Don’t play dumb with me! You know damn well what. I gave you that comlink in case of emergencies, not so you could use it as a toy!”

The fingers gripping the head of his cane tapped out a quick rhythm: first, first, last, first. Play along, fight back, wait for me to switch languages.

Max glared for all she was worth, hands on her hips. “You think I don’t know better than that, old man? You trained me, and now you’re not gonna trust my judgment?”

“You were reckless! Irresponsible! You endangered not only yourself, but Batman as well!”

“Bruce, wait, she-”

“Stay out of this, Ter,” Max interrupted, furious. The other teen subsided. “I did what I had to,” she shot at the old man, “and I’d do it again. No regrets.”

Bruce Wayne fairly shook with rage. “(He doesn’t understand this language,)” he snarled in Japanese. “(Don’t call him by name!)”

“(Has he arrived yet!)” the black girl shot back, still sounding every inch as angry as her old man.

“(He has! I don’t know what he was thinking, but you did very well.)”

Max clenched her fists and half-raised them, taking one step forward before yelling, “(So tell me why we’re holding this charade?)”

The old man’s eyes narrowed. “(You think you’re the only one who gets to test him?)” he growled as if delivering death threats. “(I have to make sure he’s going to protect my daughter.)”

“(So where is he?)”

Instead of answering immediately, Bruce began advancing on her. “(Any second now, he should come in to…)”

And just like that, Superman was suddenly behind him, one hand on his aged shoulder. “Bruce, it’s my fault, I- oof!”

“Shut up, Kent,” barked the old man, removing his elbow from the Kryptonian’s solar plexus.

“There’s your very, very good excuse,” Max spat, arms crossed. “Don’t blame me for having to clean up after you.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean,” the old man grated out.

“He’s your friend, Dad. (I thought you trained him better.)”

“(Don’t make me laugh! Not when we’re trying to convince him we’re angry.)” The last words were delivered in a tone of dire threat as Bruce continued moving towards her.

Again, Superman intervened – this time, standing squarely between them, facing his old friend and clearly defending the black girl. “No, Bruce,” he said calmly. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have tried to approach her in public. If you’re going to blame someone, blame me.”

Just like that, all the anger vanished like the act it had been. “Oh, I do, Clark. You were an idiot and I’m proud of Max for her quick thinking,” he said matter-of-factly. “I just had to make sure you’d protect her, even from me.” He smiled, an almost painful expression somewhere between fondness and self-depreciation. “I’m her father, I’m allowed to be protective. You can stop holding that laughter in now, Terry.”

The teen made a small, amused sound. Then a guffaw escaped. Then he laughed until he had to lean against the wall for support, spurred on by the look on Superman’s face. Bruce’s expression shifted to the quietly smug one Clark had seen countless times, and when he glanced behind him, Max was wearing a similar smirk.

“You played me,” Superman accused them, but there was no heat in it.

Bruce was unrepentant. “Yup.”

He turned to look at Max. “And you were in on it.”

“Nope. But he used the ‘play along, fight back, switch languages’ code.” She shrugged. “So I did.”

“The look on your face!” Terry gasped out.

“Breathe, Ter,” she called out, grinning again.

Superman turned back to his old friend. “You have pre-arranged signals for sudden arguments?”

“We do a lot of fighting. I can’t spar the way I used to, not with my heart, but I can keep her sharp this way.”

“Three months,” she mock-threatened.

Bruce rolled his eyes tolerantly. “Yes, I know.”

Terry straightened up, the last of his amusement falling off as he did. “And if not her, me.”

“Terry…have you thought this through?”

Superman looked back and forth between the two who answered to ‘Batman’. “Am I missing something?”

“Yes,” Max said. “But it’s nothing you need to worry about. Come on, let’s go in. I’ll make tea. Ter, you want a snack before you go out?”

The other teen didn’t even look up as Max led Superman past Bruce and into the house. “Just a sandwich, thanks. Yes, I’ve thought it through.”

“You know it will raise questions.”

“Max made sure there will be answers.”

“And you think your mother is ready for them?”

“She’s not blind, Bruce. She’s going to notice sooner or later.”

The old man sighed and closed his eyes. “I won’t argue. It’s not my decision to make. I just wish…”

“I know,” Terry said gently, moving closer to grip one shoulder reassuringly. “I wish, too.”

Max closed the door, giving them privacy as she led the way to the kitchen.

“He’s your brother,” Superman said softly. “Isn’t he. You were hinting that afternoon, hiding in plain sight.”

“Yup.”

He watched her dart around, efficiently getting tea ready while also preparing a hearty sandwich and making a deliberate effort to not look at him. “Are you upset about earlier?”

Max stopped what she was doing and closed her eyes. “No. I’m worried about Bruce, and about how Terry’s mom is going to react when she learns that her sons aren’t her husband’s sons. Me and Bruce, we’re almost like family to her and Matt, and both of us need that more than we like to admit. I’m worried that when the truth finally comes out, we’ll lose that. I’m worried about the strain it would put Terry through…and I’m worried what it will do to the old man.”

A thousand things flashed through Superman’s mind, trite words of comfort and false reassurances, but what stuck with him was the horrible, sinking feeling he got every time Bruce Wayne had ever put his life on the line with the calm acceptance of his own mortality, and the aching holes left by the deaths of his adoptive parents. In the end, he simply stepped forward and pulled his dear friend’s daughter into a hug. She didn’t resist, which was a minor victory, but she didn’t relax either. It was remarkably like hugging a small, skinny, female Batman. Which, he supposed, wasn’t that far from the truth.

“Thanks,” she murmured after a few seconds, and he let go.

“I know that no one will ever replace him,” Clark said gently. “But you and Terry will always have a family with the Justice League, if you want it.”

Max finished constructing the sandwich and began assembling the tea tray. “You need him as much as we do,” she said quietly, not looking at Kent. It wasn’t a question.

He answered anyway. “Yes. Bruce is…I owe him a lot, and it’s going to hurt even more when he’s gone.”

“He’ll be having surgery within six months. Heart transplant. Terry or I, or both, will be donating tissue to be cloned for the replacement.”

Superman recognized that crisp, emotionless tone. She really was a small, skinny, female Batman. “Does Amanda Waller know how much like your old man you are?” he asked without thinking.

Max glanced at him in surprise, then laughed. “The funny part is that she doesn’t know he’s Bruce. She doesn’t even really know Batman. She’s been working with an incomplete data set, trying to mold Terry into what she thinks Batman is, but she left me alone trying to mold me into another her – and by doing so, basically replicated the old man’s childhood only with herself holding the smoking gun.” She picked up the tray and headed for the door. “C’mon, let’s get this over with before Terry has to go out for the evening.”

Shaking his head at the irony, Superman followed. “So, got any plans for Waller that I should know about?”

“If you’re worried,” she said as she brought the tray to the small table by the couch, “don’t be. You know the old man wouldn’t tolerate anything too severe.”

Superman sat on the couch and accepted the cup of tea she poured him. “Somehow, that just makes me more worried.”

“Good,” Bruce said as he emerged from behind the clock, Terry following in the Batsuit. “That means you learned something from me after all. Thank you, Max,” he added as she handed him tea.

“Tea, Ter?”

“Nah. Just the sandwich.” Awkwardly, he perched on the other end of the couch and eyed the Kryptonian, then his early dinner. “Okay, am I the only one who thinks it’s weird to see him just sitting there drinking tea?”

“No, you’re not,” Kent grinned. “I usually drink coffee, but Bruce picked up some questionable habits from Alfred.”

The old man didn’t bat an eyelid at the gibe. “Max, get the kryptonite.”

“He’s joking,” Clark said confidently.

Terry swallowed his bite and said, “Are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely. He wouldn’t put the teacup at risk.”

Bruce just smiled. After a few moments, Max cleared her throat and held up what looked like an old-fashioned pocket watch. Clark slowly reached over and placed the teacup on the tray.

Still holding the small shielded container, Max fixed herself tea and sat in the other chair. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to ask me, Clark?”

“Oh! Yes. Max, you’ve impressed me and every other full-time member of the Justice League, and we would very much like to have you on the team. What do you say?”

“Quick recovery,” she commented idly to the old man.

“He’s had a lot of practice,” he replied.

Superman looked remarkably young and uncertain as he looked back and forth between them. “Max? Will you use your powers for good and join us?”

She grinned at Bruce. “Can I?”

He sipped his tea calmly. “I don’t know, Max. Taking care of a Kryptonian is a lot of responsibility. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

Terry stuffed his face to stifle laughter.

“I’m old enough for the responsibility!” Max pulled out the puppy eyes. “Please, Dad? Pleeeeeease?”

Bruce laughed, unable to keep the charade going any longer. “Fine. But not until after you graduate.”

“And not until after you recover from your surgery,” she said in an equally firm voice.

Kent looked relieved. “Not that we wouldn’t be thrilled to have you, too,” he told the younger Batman, “but it’s been made abundantly clear to me that you’re not interested.”

“Damn straight,” he muttered through bread and meat.

Superman pulled a comlink out of some secret pocket in his costume and offered it to Max. “Your very own,” he said with a grin. “So Bruce can have his back. Nine-one-seven-four-five-alpha’s a little long, though. Thought of a shorter alias, or do you want to use your name?”

Max thought about it as she tucked the shielded container away and accepted the earpiece. “Can I just go by Alpha?”

“I’ve heard weirder,” Bruce deadpanned.

“So have I. Alpha it is, and welcome aboard! …even though you’ll be part-time for a few months.” Superman retrieved his tea and took a sip. “I’m sure you won’t have a problem registering your voiceprint to that or working from home.”

“Speaking of work…” Terry stood up. “I better get to mine.”

Nodding goodbyes, he slipped back down into the Batcave.

It was Max who broke the silence first. “So,” she said cheerfully, “will you stay for dinner?”

Superman laughed. “She’s so much like you, and then suddenly…not.”

“Refreshing, isn’t it?”

“I was going to say disconcerting.”

Max rolled her eyes, trying not to grin. “Dinner, Clark. Yes or no?”

“I shouldn’t,” he demurred. “I told the team I wasn’t going to be gone that long.”

Bruce’s eyes never left Superman’s. “Max, my comlink.” When she handed it over, he fitted it into his ear and growled, “Batman to Justice League.”

“Max?”

“That’s not Max.”

“It’s him! The real one!”

“The first Batman?”

“Whoah.”

The expression on the old man’s face turned pleased and predatory. “Listen up!”

The channel went dead silent.

“Superman will be staying for dinner. No arguments, Clark! The rest of you are welcome to join us if-” He paused to stress the word. “If you can get here discreetly. No sonic booms, no showy circling, treat this as a stealth mission or you will regret it.”

More silence.

“But that means telling us where – who – you are,” Warhawk said in an uncharacteristically hesitant manner.

“Hmph. Barda can fill you in. You’re going to be working with my daughter, you’d figure it out anyway.”

Superman started at that. “Barda?” he asked, not quite hurt but definitely surprised.

“You don’t have that many friends in Gotham, Kal.”

“You could have asked her, you know,” Max interjected helpfully. “Saved us both two weeks of frustration. She is a resource the League has at its disposal. It would have been perfectly legal.”

Kent groaned and covered his face.

“What’s it going to be,” Bruce threatened, turning an offer into a command with dire consequences for disobeying.

“We’re on our way,” Barda answered crisply.

“Good. Batman out.” He didn’t bother removing the comlink. “Your future co-workers aren’t getting the grand tour this time, Max, so why don’t you go downstairs and register your new toy before they arrive? Check in with Terry, the usual. Clark’s wearing his I think you would be happier if you were more social expression, and I’d rather there not be any witnesses when I rain on his parade.” Steely blue eyes flicked to meet hers briefly, and he smiled. “It cuts down on the sulking afterwards.”

“Right.” Max stood up and gave her old man a brief hug before setting her teacup back on the tray. Moments later, she vanished behind the clock – and promptly pressed her ear to the wood.

“You’re not going to rain on my parade,” Superman said, voice slightly muffled.

“I’m not going to be more social.” The words were firm, absolute. “But this is going to open up regular communication between Batman and the Justice League – and between the Batcave and the Watchtower. Once Max moves out, that will leave me as the voice of the Batcave.”

“Either way, it’s going to be you getting your fingers back into the pies. You can’t deny that you’ve missed that.”

The old man made a sound that could have been disgust or amusement. “Someone’s got to teach my young spider where the lines of the web are, and how to read them.” A brief pause. “Max! Stop eavesdropping, get to work, and while you’re down there, send Gear a message that I need his skills.”

As she skipped down the steps, she wished she could see the look on Superman’s face. It was a small loss, though, she admitted as she remotely connected to the Watchtower mainframe and began the voice-registration process. Then again, compared to securing a position in the Justice League, just about anything was a small loss. She wondered if her guidance counselor ever thought that when he told her she could get into anywhere she applied, she would take that to heart and shoot for the stars. Three minutes until the guests arrived; registration was done and the old man’s message had been sent. Max grinned and punched up the Beyond Project emergency communication line.

WHO IS THIS? Waller demanded almost as soon as the window opened.

91745-ALPHA, MAXINE GIBSON. BY MYSELF THIS TIME.

The cursor flashed in what Max imagined was a sulky manner. HOW CAN I BE SURE OF THAT?

BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW THE COMMAND FOR THE OLD MAN’S ASCII ART. HE WON’T TELL ME.

Blink. Blink. Blink. FAIR ENOUGH. WHAT DO YOU WANT, MAXINE?

A BETTER WAY TO CONTACT YOU, she typed with predatory anticipation. It was bait the old woman wouldn’t be able to resist.

YOUR FATHER BYPASSED MY HOME SECURITY AND INTERRUPTED ME IN THE SHOWER. HE INTERCEPTED A SECURE LINE DIRECT FROM THE PRESIDENT. WHY ARE YOU ASKING?

BECAUSE I CAN’T SKIP SCHOOL TO DROP IN FOR TEA, AND YOU NO LONGER WORK FOR THE PRESIDENT. Pawn to d7, check. Would Amanda Waller go for the throat, or back off?

I SUPPOSE YOU HAVE A POINT. THIS IS MY PERSONAL NUMBER.

Max frantically entered the number into her phone as Mandy, stifling giggles. King to f8, pawn becomes Queen on d8, check. GOT IT. THANKS. IT’S BEEN LOVELY BUT WE HAVE GUESTS ARRIVING. YOU’LL HEAR FROM ME SOON.

I LOOK FORWARD TO IT, MAXINE.

“You shouldn’t,” she muttered smugly as she closed the connection and dashed back up the stairs.

The last week and a half of school was going to be torture. Maybe she should invite her sister and brother-in-law to graduation and spread the misery. Maybe she should invite Amanda Waller. Then again, better to keep her as far away from Terry as possible for her own health. But her sister…and having teachers go on about what a pleasure Max was in the classroom, and being valedictorian, and Bruce Wayne being proud of her, and reporters, reporters with cameras, taking pictures-! Max’s breath caught as the possibilities suddenly unfurled before her, and she stopped just short of the clock to catch her breath. She wanted a photo of herself with the old man, and Terry, and Matt, and Mrs. McGinnis. She wanted it so badly that it brought tears to her eyes, and it took all the control she’d learned from Bruce to compose herself and slip out into the living room before the Justice League arrived.

Schway wasn’t strong enough to describe how amazing her life had turned out, she thought as she hugged Mareena and shook hands with Kai-Ro. She wasn’t sure there was any word that could encapsulate how she felt. Song lyrics, maybe.

Future’s so bright, I gotta wear shades.

Yup. That was it. She’d have to request that at the graduation party. Barda was greeting the old man with admiration, and Rex looked more than a little in awe to be in the presence of the Batman his parents had fought beside for years. Superman was grinning like the proudest, goofiest dad in the history of goofy paternal pride, and it hit Max that this was the family Amanda Waller had given her by taking away the one she otherwise would have been born into – and it was only going to get better from here.

Well I'm heavenly blessed and worldly wise

I'm a peeping-tom techie with x-ray eyes

Things are going great, and they're only getting better

I'm doing all right, getting good grades

The future's so bright…I gotta wear shades.