The Workings of Fate
Part Two: Drawing the Lines
Metropolis
The man known as Clark Savage III, Chairman Emeritus of the Hidalgo Corporation and Mayor of Metropolis, strode down the corridor toward the Conference Room. Like his famous father, he was tall and powerfully-built, with close-cropped blond hair, bronzed skin and piercing golden eyes. Also like his father, he was a polymath and a superb athlete. Unlike his father, who had been an adventurer, a crime-fighter and an explorer, this Clark Savage had been a sportsman, a Navy pilot, an astronaut, a business man and latterly a politician. He had been to the Moon, run a company and run a city. Now he was about to take the next step.
They were waiting for him. The Press, of course. At least, those who still reported news rather than making it up. His supporters; his wife, Dr Diana Prince, Clark Kent, CEO and Editor-in-Chief of the Planet News Corporation, Norman Osborn, current CEO of Hidalgo Corporation and Bruno Mannheim, his campaign director. Also present were the Bishop of Metropolis, the Commissioner of Police and a handful of other city officials, as well as a clique of specially-chosen and carefully-cultivated 'influencers'. Finally, and less welcome, though necessary; Lex Luthor, CEO of LexCorp, Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark-Wayne Enterprises and Dario Agger, CEO of Roxxon Energy.
"Thank you all for coming." Savage began. "Today is the culmination of a journey begun some thirty-six years ago. That was the year I went to the Moon as a proud member of the Apollo 19 mission. When I first saw the Earth from the Moon, I was awestruck by its beauty, its uniqueness. It was then that I understood, as I had not truly before, that it is the duty of each and every one of us to do our utmost to preserve and protect this priceless jewel of a world, and the fragile life that clings to its bountiful surface.
"The last decade, with its pandemic virus, its wars, its terrorism and civil strife, has again reinforced how fragile our lives are. How easily we slip back to the savagery of our ancestors.
"America, once the guiding light of civilisation, democracy and freedom, has fallen into chaos and confusion. Under the grim cloak of the St Marys' virus, crime, vice and corruption grow and spread.
"But we have the tools to hand to rebuild our country. Almighty God sent us His Son, two millennia ago, to teach us the ways we should live. The Founding Fathers wrote into our Constitution the means and rules by which the people are to be led in those ways. For I truly believe that as they wrote, the thought of God and His law was foremost in their minds.
"But men are weak, and we have strayed from the path. The politics of this land have become so corrupt that strong, decent men no longer care to serve their nation in Congress or the White House. We have been for generations ruled by the weak, the venial, or those in love with the new, the fashionable. Or simply those who wish to go down in history as the first to have done this or that.
"But now the strong and the decent can no longer stand mute and inactive. We stand on the brink of the abyss, and we must step back or fall!
"For many years I have sought out people who feel as I do. We have consulted together, sought answers, way and means. In the end, and despite my extreme reluctance to do so, we came to the conclusion that we ourselves must enter politics.
"When I first ran for Mayor of my beloved Metropolis, my only ambition was to see order and prosperity restored to my home. Now, my friends have made me see that this is not enough. That all of America needs, deserves, that same chance.
"It is to that end that I today announce the formation of a new political force in America. We are not a party -we do not exclude anyone on fine points of policy or economic ideas. We are a league -a collective of people coming together for mutual benefit, and the benefit of our country. We stand for justice -economic justice, social justice, legal justice, racial justice, Gods' justice. We are the Justice League of America, and as the head of that League, I shall run for President of the United States!"
Applause came from all the right places. So did the first, planted, questions.
"Sir, you mentioned racial justice. Does the League stand for racial equality?"
"It is a founding principle of this country that all men are created equal, and have equal rights. The League stands for and welcomes all Americans, of any colour or race, as long as they are loyal Americans. We will tolerate no bias or discrimination against Americans on those grounds."
"Mr Mayor, you say you stand for Gods' justice, but many people have differing ideas on what Gods' justice may be. How do you answer their concerns?"
Savage held up the old, leather-bound copy of the King James Bible that he always placed on the lectern before him when he spoke.
"This Bible was given to me by my father when I turned thirteen, just as his father had given a similar one to him, and I gave one to my son. This holy book is the unvarnished, true Word of God and it is by those principles that our country was founded and upon those principles I will base my actions as President, as I have as Mayor. There are those who have corrupted or misunderstood this Word. The corrupt Roman Church, the money-grabbing Evangelicals, the deluded Mormons. We have also allowed pagans and idolators to live among us. This must end. America must unite under the true Christian faith of the Pilgrim Fathers or be lost. Those who follow false teachings must not be permitted to spread them any longer!"
"Mr Savage?" This was Luthor. "What, then, is your view on LGBTQ rights?"
"Male and female created He them!" Savage thundered. "These so-called 'orientations' are nothing but voluntary perversions, a product of our decadence. The Law of God forbids them, so must the law of man.
"Yes, Miss Potts?"
"It's Ms Potts, Mr Mayor." Pepper reminded him sharply. "As President, would you resume diplomatic relations with the fascist dictatorship currently ruling the United Kingdom?"
"You appear to be living in a fantasy world, Miss Potts." Savage told her. "The Norsefire government was democratically elected. The Arch-Chancellorship was granted to Mr Sutler by popular vote in a legitimate referendum. If the opposition parties of Great Britain have been unable to unseat Norsefire in subsequent elections, it is clear they cannot be offering anything their people want!
"Adam Sutler is a man of integrity, faith and courage. I admire him. Party Leader Creedy is a man of action and I respect him also. If England prevails, it is because of them. Certainly, we should be close to Great Britain, as we once were, if only because it is the only stable nation in Europe."
"One more question, Mr Savage." Luthor chimed in again. "What, if any, action has been taken in response to the murderous rampage committed last night by the so-called Fantastic Four?"
"Investigations continue." Savage replied. "But it must be borne in mind that those who were attacked were engaged in deeply criminal activity – the importation of illegal narcotics. Again, I must stress that, despite the rumours spread by certain irresponsible sections of the media, these are not metahumans, nor are there just four of them. This is clearly a well-armed and organised group. They may be in the service of rival criminal groups, or they may be loyal citizens exercising their Second Amendment right to armed defence of their community. Until we ascertain the truth, we will not take pre-emptive action.
"Thank you all for your attention and questions. A printed statement will be published shortly, outlining the Justice Leagues' stance more clearly. My official Presidential campaign will commence next week. Good afternoon."
Gotham City
Commissioner James Gordon was an old-fashioned cop. He avoided public appearances where possible, preferring to concentrate on his job. When he did appear in public, he was often criticised for his lack of dress-sense, criticism he answered by saying "A cop should always wear clothes that he wouldn't mind somebody throwing up or bleeding over!". He still carried the snub-nosed .38 Special Smith & Wesson revolver he'd been issued when he got his gold shield. The new Glock-19 they'd given him in the 1980s still lay, in its case, locked in his desk drawer. He'd never opened it; he hadn't trusted automatics since his Army Colt .45 had jammed on him in a tight situation in Vietnam.
Gordons' office was also the only room in Police HQ where smoking was still allowed, if only because nobody quite had the nerve to tell him it wasn't! He was smoking a cigar now, its glowing tip showing up brightly in the dim light of his desk-lamp and the soft glow of the computer screen on his desk.
"You wanted to see me, Jim?" The soft voice came from nowhere. Gordon looked up and suddenly, where there had only been shadows, the Batman was there.
"Hi, Bruce." He said. "I got a message for you."
"From who?" The Batman seldom wasted words.
"Wilton Fiske." Gordon named the uncrowned king of the Gotham underworld, the Kingpin, as he was called. "He wants to meet you and Tony. Here's the when and where." Gordon pushed an envelope across the desk. "He says that you can come armed, but that he gives his personal guarantee of your safety, and that you know him to be a man of his word."
"That he is." The Batman allowed. "It's one of the reasons he's still alive and in charge. Did he say why he wants to meet?"
"Only that, and I quote, 'the matter transcends our professional rivalry'."
"Nice way to put it." The Batman said. "He always had a way with words."
Gordon gave a grim chuckle, then asked. "Will you go, Bruce?"
The Batman answered with another question. "Did you see Savages' press conference today?"
"I did." Gordon told him. "It made me sick to my stomach. I'm glad my Dad didn't live to see it. Everything he fought for being betrayed. You think that's what Fiske wants to talk about?"
"I'd put money on it!" The Batman stated. "His crime may be old-fashioned, but his politics are right up to date. As President, Savage would be as down on Tony and I as he would on the Kingpin.
"Do me a favour, Jim, and don't send your SWAT teams to the meet!"
Gordon laughed again, this time bitterly. "If I did, Fiske would know about it before the team commanders did! I do my best, but for every crooked cop I get rid of, two more pop up!"
"But you keep going anyway." The Batman said.
"I think of Sarah." Gordon said. "The rest is easy.
"Be careful, son. Both of you."
"We don't do careful, Jim." And with that, he was gone.
Metropolis
Every alarm in the place went off, the security units were scrambled and the omni-steel shutters slammed down. But by that time, Superman had bored down into the ground and smashed through the concrete and steel fortifications to the deepest level. Now he stood, arms folded, and stared at the man seated behind the desk in front of him.
"You could," Lex Luthor told him, "have just come to the gate. My people have instructions to let you in."
Luthor was a tall, slender man with a thin, intense face. His head was hairless, the result of the same accident that had cost him his left hand, it was with the black steel bio-mechanical replacement that he gestured to a nearby chair.
"Have a seat. I think that one will support you. I hope you didn't kill any of my people."
Superman ignored the invitation. His voice was a bass rumble, almost too deep to be intelligible.
"None of your henchmen reacted in time to get in my way. Don't pretend that you care about them."
"Oh, but I do!" Luthor's eyes flashed and for a moment his poise slipped. "They are my people, their families depend on them and therefore on me! That is a responsibility I take seriously."
Superman sneered. "It's a shame you don't take your responsibility to the law and your country so seriously."
Luthor relaxed again. "So I bend the rules a little -well, a lot, really. You and your three homies bend them a lot worse, so I hear! Hell, I've been doing this for twenty years, big guy, you and your gang have only been at it for a year, and you've already killed more people than I have! So, who's the bad guy here? You broke into my office, right?
"So to what do I owe the honour? Don't tell me, let me guess. Your boss didn't like my press release? Yes, I have figured out who you work for, it didn't take a genius, and I am one."
"If," Superman rumbled, "you and your company do not wish to become involved in politics, then that is understandable, indeed laudable. But if you, as you indicate, intend to oppose the aims of the Justice League, then when they win the election, you should not be surprised if your unpatriotic, un-American stance has consequences.
"Stand with the League, and benefit. Stand mute and be left alone. Stand against them, and suffer. Those are the choices."
"In other words," Luthor mused, "Hidalgo can't buy Lexcorp out from under me and Roxxon's staying out of it. I know Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne – they'll fight Savage as well. Between us, Stark-Wayne and Lexcorp have enough financial clout to mount a campaign that will, at the very least, make it a lot harder for Savage to get a majority in both Houses, even if we can't keep him out of the White House altogether. So he needs one of us to stand off at least. I suppose he's sent another of his goons to have a chat with Pepper? Good luck with that!
"I'll tell you what. You go back and let your boss know that, if he's a good boy and does as I tell him, I'll hand him the White House on a plate. But things get run my way, understand? Otherwise, I'll see him taken down!"
Superman stepped forward threateningly. "You don't seem to…"
A silvery metal wall slid down between them. Superman laughed and swung a terrific punch at it, then yelled with pain and clutched his hand. The metal was unmarked. He unleashed his heat beams. They played on the wall for a full minute, enough to make steel run like water, but the wall stood, and when he put his hand on it, it was barely warm. He stared hard at it for another moment, then leapt back the length of the room and flew at the wall full speed. There was a meaty thud, the sound of snapping bones, and a groan of pain. The metal wall was not even slightly dented. Clutching his right arm and shoulder, Superman left the way he had come.
Gotham City
Wonder Woman had met no resistance on entry to the Stark-Wayne compound. The gates were open and unmanned, no alarms were sounding. But steel shutters were closed over all the windows and doors. Not that these would stop her. She set off at a run toward the door, covering half the distance before something massive suddenly appeared in front of her. Without breaking stride, she moved to sweep it aside, but it somehow avoided her blow and responded with a punch that stopped her in her tracks and flung her several yard backwards.
Wonder Woman sprang to her feet to see what she was facing. A manlike figure some fifteen feet tall, massively built with a high-domed head and a masklike face. It spoke in a pleasant-sounding but stern tone.
"You are trespassing on Stark-Wayne property. If you have legitimate business here, please state it. Otherwise, you may leave now with no further action taken. If you refuse to leave, you will be removed. Resistance or aggression will be met with proportionate measures, up to and including lethal force. This is your only warning. Have a good day."
As it spoke, two more of its kind landed nearby, jet pods retracting into their bodies as they touched down.
Wonder Woman considered. She had been blindsided by the first one, that would not happen again. They were obviously powerful, but they were too big and heavy to be very fast. They were also robots, and unless they were being controlled remotely, would be limited in tactical ability. Even if they were remote-controlled, the pilots wouldn't be as fast, mentally or physically, as she was.
She took her shield from her back and braced it on her arm in case they had projectile weapons. Holding it in front of her, she charged down on the first robot, then turned aside at the last minute, leaping high in the air. One solid blow to the head should put these things out of action!
Then she was hit from the side, hard. The impact knocked the breath from her and hurled her some distance to land on the ground again. In the second it took to gain her breath and her feet, one of the robots was almost on her. How did something so big move so fast? She put all her power into a thundering punch. The robot staggered back but, incredibly, did not fall. Wonder Woman drew her sword – she would cut the legs from this thing, then take its head!
The sword opened a long gash on the robots' thigh, which closed and sealed almost immediately. A voice said calmly: "Disarming". Her sword was wrenched from her hand, seconds later the leather straps of her shield tore away from the rivets that held them and the shield flew away. Turning, she saw her weapons clinging to the outstretched palm of another robot. Then another voice stated: "Immobilising." And a net dropped over her.
No net could hold Wonder Woman! But as she moved to tear it off, numbness shot through her limbs, causing her to collapse. The feeling returned almost at once, but as soon as she moved, she went numb again and lost the use of her arms and legs.
One of the robots loomed over her. "If you move, the Immobiliser will react." It said. "If you wish to avoid discomfort, remain still. If you continue to struggle, permanent neural damage may be sustained."
Very well, she would bide her time. Then the robots drew back, and the tall, rangy figure of Pepper Potts came into her view.
"Wonder Woman, isn't it?" She said conversationally. "No, don't try to talk, sweetie, or you'll set the net off! Besides, I couldn't be less interested in anything you have to say. Now, you've probably come here with a threat or an offer from Mr Savage. Tell him to stick it, right where the sun don't shine!
"We call these guys Sentinels, and we have lots of them, so I think even Superhunk would have his work cut out for him if he wants to trespass on any Stark-Wayne facility.
"Sentinels, you are weapons free, Code 9!"
With soft whirring sounds, heavy guns deployed from the backs of the Sentinel robots onto their shoulders. Pepper grinned down at Wonder Woman.
"Those are 20 millimetre Gatling guns, they fire six thousand rounds of depleted uranium ammunition a minute. Now I know you can stand up to small arms fire, but I don't think you can handle that kind of power, can you? The vids I've seen show you avoiding anything heavier than an assault rifle.
"So in a minute, Larry, Curly and Moe here are going to switch off that net, give you your stuff back, and escort you off the premises. If you have the IQ of a beetle, you'll cooperate. If not, I'll send what's left of you back to Savage in a coffee jar. With a black ribbon, to be respectful.
"Next time, tell him to just email!"
As the Sentinels stopped at the gate, one of them called "Have a good day!" after her.
Blackhawk Island
Logan was a little surprised, but not displeased, that they'd acknowledged his callsign and allowed him to land. But he was still on alert as he climbed out of the hired plane onto the tarmac.
They've spiffied this place up since I was last here! He thought.
It was true. The handful of prefabricated hangars, the cluster of shacks and the rickety control tower he remembered were all gone, replaced by up-to-date, permanent structures. But the blue flag with its fierce black hawk emblem still flew, and the man approaching him was wearing a black and blue uniform, albeit a little updated. The wind carried the mans' scent to Logan: no fear, no hostility, but some excitement. A tall Black man with a shaven head, a neatly-trimmed beard and moustache and a patch over his left eye. He came up to Logan and saluted.
"Colonel Logan, an honour to meet you, sir!" He said warmly. "Colonel Nick Fury Junior, of the Blackhawks, at your service! I believe you knew my father?"
"You're Nick Furys' boy?" Logan asked.
"Yessir!" Fury replied. "He married my Mama when I was a baby. He gave me his name and his love and he taught me everything and that makes him my Pop and me his son! You got a problem with that?"
"Hell, no!" Logan said. "Why would I have? I just didn't expect to see Nicks' son here!"
"Me neither." Fury allowed. "I was all set to be career Army, like Dad. But then I lost my eye and the brass put me behind a desk. I coulda lived with that, but from there I started to see all the crap that was really going on! We all thought we were doing the right thing, that the orders came from people who knew what they were doing, you know?"
"I know!" Logan growled. "Sooner or later you realise that it ain't about doin' the right thing, about servin' the country or helpin' the natives. It's about makin' profits for some contractor an' makin' some Senator rich an' gettin' some Congressman re-elected. So you got out?"
"I got out and screw the pension!" Fury agreed. "But I had a rep by then, and in a week I had more job offers than I could handle. But the Blackhawks are still the best, so here I am!"
He was right, the Blackhawks were one of the oldest, and the best-regarded, private military contractors in operation. Logan had been there when the company was founded, in 1947, by the legendary Captain Bart Cunningham – 'Captain Blackhawk' – and a handful of veterans. Their aim then had been to help the 'right' side in the many small conflicts that had broken out in the wake of the Second World War. Since the 'right' side was rarely the 'rich' side, they had barely made a living at first. But later, as the Cold War developed, there was always money -usually from the CIA or US businesses – to hire the Blackhawks to fight against Communist-backed insurgents. So by the time the Cold War was over, the Blackhawks were established both financially and in reputation.
"I'm surprised my callsign is still good." Logan remarked as they walked toward the HQ building.
"Always has been, always will be." Fury told him. "Standing orders from Captain Blackhawk himself, never been changed.
"Mind if I ask you, why did you leave? Everybody here knew about you, nobody cared. You could've stayed. You could've taken over when the Captain retired."
"And left an old pals' son out of a job?" Logan asked with a grin. "No, I don't like stayin' anywhere too long. Bad enough watchin' your friends get old and die. You don't wanna watch their kids and grandkids do it, too!"
"Hadn't thought of that." Fury allowed. "Gotta be hard.
"So what brings you back?"
"You seen the news?" Logan asked.
"Yeah." Fury said. "Doc Savage was a legend to my Pop and his generation. But that son of his is bad news!"
"Damn right!" Logan agreed. "Listen, Fury, you know what I am, and you gotta know there's others like me out there, layin' low, keepin' safe. If Savage gets into the White House, he's gonna get his hands on an asset that'll tell him where they all are. That guy won't let 'em be, Fury. He's gonna want to control 'em, or kill 'em and they're stuck. If they fight back, ordinary folks are gonna get scared and there'll be a witch hunt. If they don't fight, they either die or spend their lives huntin' other people down. People who've done nothin' except disagree with Savage.
"I gotta do somethin' Fury! I can try on my own, but I figured I could ask. I got some money put by, if it comes to it."
"Hey, Colonel!" Fury said. "Once a Blackhawk, always a Blackhawk! You're one of us! You need us, all you got to do is ask!.
"So, what's the job?"
Metropolis
The complex below Hidalgo Plaza had been used by Savages' father as a workshop and vehicle storage. It had undergone considerable expansion and repurposing since then, and the office Savage met his key people in was far more luxurious than anything the old man would have tolerated. Right now, Savage was speaking to the man sitting on the couch.
"Are you sure you're fit, Kent?"
The media mogul shrugged. "We're both fine. He was pretty much healed by the time we got back here, it only took a little longer to finish the job. Worst part is that he won't heal unless I'm in there, and painkillers don't work on him. It was uncomfortable."
"No doubt." Savage allowed. "Diana?"
The dark-haired woman shook her head. "A few bruises and a hit to the dignity, Clark, that's all. Mind, if it hadn't been for that immobiliser net, she'd've gone on fighting, and maybe taken worse!"
"You speak as if your alter-egos were separate from yourselves." Savage noted. "I was promised that the constructs would be mindless!"
"If it's got a brain, it's got a mind!" This was the man known as Captain America. Without his mask, he was blond and ruggedly handsome, but his accent was clearly English. "When I was in Miracleman, I could feel him there, sort of. I mean, he was a lot brighter than me for one thing. When I was in that body I could speak about sixteen languages and I knew and remembered stuff I couldn't in my own body. But Miracleman was sort of passive, he didn't try to fight me or anything. It was like he was too powerful to have to be aggressive, and he didn't know how!"
"I got the opposite problem, kinda." Kent remarked. "When I'm in the big guy, I have trouble recalling things I know I know, if that makes sense. Today was the first time he got hurt, I wanted to back off after that first punch at the wall, but I couldn't stop myself flying at it. If theres' somebody else in there, he's aggressive and as dumb as a bag of rocks!"
"And she," Diana added, "is too proud and arrogant for her own good!"
Savage turned to a screen on one wall. "Gargunza?"
The man so addressed wore a full-face mask out of which a pair of ice-blue eyes stared. He shrugged.
"The question of which behaviours and so-called personality traits are learned and which are inherent, by which I mean genetic, is still an open one." He said. "We know, or at least the information we have leads us to deduce, that the Qys based their constructs upon genetic information gathered from specific species. If, therefore, certain behaviours are genetic, the constructs would have a tendency to display them. The Qys may have had sufficient discipline to overcome this, or it may have been part of their intention in copying other species.
"I would advise you all to practice the discipline necessary to exert and maintain control of your construct bodies. Except Sergeant Moran. In his case, Steven Rogers was brain-dead when we recovered his body, I inserted a construct replica of Morans' brain into the body before downloading his awareness."
"I see." Savage said. He turned to another screen, this one showing kaleidoscope type patterns in varying colours. "Will this cause any problems, Ultron?"
The pattern became spiky as the screen shifted to shades of yellow.
"Do I look like a therapist?" The Ultron AI asked. "If you're asking, will the constructs go rogue on their own initiative, then no. No experience, no memories of their own equals no personality equals no motivation. If you're asking me if your operators will go crazy, you're too late, they already are!"
The patterns changed to interlocking circles and shades of blue. "But since you're talking to me, you might want to know that the President is closing down Project Seeker."
Savage shared a look with his cohorts, then asked. "What's to be done with Subject One?"
"They're transferring him to Project Pegasus the day after tomorrow." Ultron said. "Overland, in a small convoy – three vehicles, a dozen men plus paramedics. Pegasus are slated to scan his brain a couple more times, then euthanise and dissect him."
"Fools!" Savage rasped. "There may be hundreds of thousands, millions perhaps, of Mutants around the world. Xavier is our best, our only, chance of finding and neutralising them all before they become a threat."
He was silent for a moment, then an odd trilling sound came from his mouth before he spoke again.
"Sergeant Moran, you will make contact with Brigadier Ross. Have the Thunderbolts ambush the convoy and seize Xavier. You will accompany them, in your own persona, and have a plane nearby. You, and you alone, are to take Xavier to the Fortress and secure him there. The facilities exist, I meant to take him there eventually anyway. Tell Ross the usual rates, with a three million bonus for completion."
"You don't want to use our people?" Moran asked.
"Not right now." Savage told him. "Using a PMC gives us deniability and distance. With our campaign commencing soon, we need to exercise discretion."
Gotham City
The caves were vast, the delvings of some prehistoric river, long since diverted. The air in them was clean, and there was fresh water to be found. Thus far, only those parts of them close to the manors had been fully explored. Those parts had been further hollowed out, and transformed into laboratories, workshops, hangars, garages, computer rooms and much else.
The man sitting at one of the workstations glanced up at a monitor and saw the sleek black car pulling onto the turntable. A few moments later, the Batman walked into the room and sat down nearby with a grunt, removing his cowl.
"Coffee's fresh, if you want some." Tony Stark told his foster-brother. "What did Jim want?"
Bruce Wayne got up, got coffee and sat down again. "Kingpin wants to meet with us."
"You think he's on the level." It wasn't a question. These two had grown up together, they knew each others' every tone, expression and gesture.
"He's got more to lose than we have." Bruce pointed out. "He's also got access to intel we don't. We can give him a hearing, I think."
"OK." Tony agreed. "But I think we'll wear our new suits."
"You've finished both of them?" The usually stoic Bruce sounded both pleased and excited.
"Come and see!" Tony invited.
The two outfits stood side-by-side in their cases.
The Batman suit was almost identical to the one Bruce was currently wearing. "You said you wanted to keep the look, so I did." Tony explained. "The main difference with this suit is that I've added graphene to the composite. That makes it a lot tougher, more bullet-proof, but quite a bit lighter. You've been complaining that the suits were getting too heavy, this should resolve that."
The suit of Iron Man armour, however, looked very different. Less bulky, more form-fitting, and…
"Hot-rod red?" Bruce said. "A little dramatic, wouldn't you say?"
"Stealth is your thing, not mine." Tony pointed out. "The armour, the whole idea of Iron Man, is heavy assault and fire support for the Batman. You deal with 'em inside, with small arms and the rest, but when they roll out the vehicles and the military hardware, then I'm there to handle it.
"This new suit doesn't use the solid metal like the old one. It's mostly a titanium-graphene mesh kept rigid by a strong magnetic field. It's got better flight capacity, it's faster, but it can still support my repulsor systems and tactical laser."
"What's the power-drain like?" Batman asked.
"There isn't any!" Tony said triumphantly. "I finally managed to get the arc reactor working and stable!"
Bruce was obviously thrilled. "You did? That's great, Tony! Your Dad would've been so proud -so would mine!"
Howard Stark and Thomas Wayne had met when they were both young men starting out on life. Howard had been a brilliant engineer, Thomas a chemist with few peers. They had become colleagues, and close friends, combining their skills on numerous innovative projects, and founding Stark-Wayne Enterprises with its motto "Making life better for everyone". Because of – some might say despite – their ethical business practices and extensive practical philanthropy, the company had become one of the major players in American and international business. They had both married, and their respective sons had been born within a month of each other. Both had built family homes in the hills outside Gotham – Neo-Gothic Wayne Manor faced Modernist Stark Lodge across a wooded valley which had been the boys' playground. The Starks were godparents to young Bruce as the Waynes were to Tony.
So when Thomas and Martha Wayne were gunned down by a mugger, it was only natural that the Starks should take Bruce in and raise him as their own. Bruce, who had witnessed his parents' death and been deeply traumatised, was also taken under the wing of his fathers' and foster-fathers' mentor, the aged, wealthy recluse Lamont Cranston.
But it had been to Tony that Bruce had turned when he had decided to begin his crusade against crime. Between them, they had expanded the cave into a headquarters. They had evolved the concept of the Batman together, his costume and equipment designed to complement the uncanny skills Bruce had learned from Cranston, once feared by criminals as The Shadow. Then had come the night when the Batman was cornered by a large gang of heavily-armed criminals. At the last moment, Tony had arrived, at the controls of a prototype armoured combat vehicle, to rescue him. That had been the beginning of Iron Man.
But neither had ever forgotten or abandoned the aims of their fathers. The arc reactor, with the promise of inexpensive, renewable, clean energy, had been the Holy Grail for Howard Stark as it had been for his son.
"Don't get too excited." Tony said. "This one is only big enough to power the suit. The vibranium is still the problem. Even a big reactor would only need a few grammes, but that's still a lot when the stuff is so rare."
"Give me time!" Bruce promised. "I'll find a way to synthesise it, or find a substitute.
"But right now, we better dress for our meeting!"