AN: Hello again. I think I worked out some of the bugs with this. I fixed punctuation throughout and changed chapter 4 a little. I'm working on Chap 5 as we speak. Thanks for all who e-mailed me asking me to put this back. I'm something of a perfectionist, and just took it down to fix some problems I saw.
Disclaimer: Batman Beyond belongs to Warner Brothers, DC Comics, and all that jazz. Don't sue.
"Go."
"No chance. You've got me hooked now . . . you've gotta tell me how you did it."
Bruce Wayne, sitting at the helm of the Batcomputer, whirled, glaring balefully at his young protégé. "You're wasting time - your patrol ~should~ have begun 15 minutes ago. For all you know, there could have been a jailbreak at Arkham."
"Yeah, right. If that ever happened, the computer would be lit up like a Christmas tree." Terry McGinnis, suited up as the Batman, save for the cowl, leaned against the massive computer. "It's been slow for the past three days . . . I've even been able to get some studying in. Come ~on~, I want to know the end of ~this~ one. Now, let me get this straight: you and Robin - the first one - are in a burning building, Two-Face and his gang had split, the roof's caving in, you lost your utility belt, and you guys are big, big trouble . . . . and . . . and . . ."
"And we got out," Bruce said simply, swinging back to the computer. "Now ~go~. Start at the docks. This is the time of year Venom smugglers like to make their annual stop in Gotham. I'm expecting them any day."
"Now just wait a minute . . . sure you got ~out~, but ~how~?" Terry leaned close, his face wearing a pleading expression. "You tell me ~that~ and I'll get out of your hair."
Bruce looked over at him, his eyebrow raised slightly. "So that's ~all~ you want to know? How we got out of the building?"
"That's it." Terry nodded. "I mean, it seems impossible . . . cops couldn't help you, all the exits were blocked, right? But you got out, somehow . . . unless you're some kind of . . . you know . . . ghost or hologram or something." His smile vanished under the old man's glare. "Or not. Anyway, this could be a real learning experience for me . . . I mean, the next time I'm in that situation, I'll know that there's a way out."
Wayne shook his head slightly as he turned back to the screen. "It doesn't always work that way, Terry. Sometimes a trap is just that - a trap."
"I ~know~, but ~this~ was different," Terry replied. "You said yourself that you thought you and Robin were toast . . . but you escaped. So that means you were able to find an out where there ~shouldn't~ have been one. That's all part of being the Batman, right?"
"Part of it." His fingers glided over the keyboard as he established a link with the Gotham Police Department's central dispatching unit. "But not all of it. Not by a long ways."
"I know that. But it's ~big~ part of it. . . a part I know I have to get better at."
"You're learning," Bruce said gruffly. Terry smiled - it was as close to a compliment as the old man usually gave. "But another part of being the Batman is knowing when you're needed ~without~ being told." He glanced up at him. "That's ~another~ thing you need to work on. There's a disturbance near Tri-Gate Bridge. Police are being cagey about it over dispatch, so that means there could be real trouble."
"My cue." Terry pulled down the cowl, the mask fitting snugly to the contours of his face. "But we're not done."
"We're not?"
"Heck no. I'm not going to let up on you until you tell me how you did it." Terry walked toward the Batmobile. "This is something I ~need~ to know . . . if you're going to be helping me to be the best Batman I can be, I need to know your mistakes, yeah, but I need to know the successes, too. Right?"
Wayne looked thoughtful as the young man jumped into the cockpit of the car-plane hybrid. "Terry . . . part of being the best Batman you can being able to figure things out for yourself."
Terry paused. "I know that . . . but what good is having a mentor if he doesn't, uh, you know . . . ~ment~? There are things I should know, Bruce. Things only ~you~ can teach me."
"Perhaps." Wayne nodded. "But I don't think this particular situation is one of them. This is a new age, McGinnis . . . some of the things I was able to do when I wore the cowl would not - for lack of better word -- ~fly~ now. This is a very different world now."
"But a burning building is still a burning building, and no way out is still no way out, whether it's 20 years ago or 200," Terry argued. "Come on . . . I need to know how you pulled it off. I need to know! I need to!"
Bruce got up from the chair, his head bowed in thought. When he looked up, a small smile played on his lips, his eyes glinting mischievously. "You need to know? You really have that much of a desire to know?"
"Hey . . .my trick bag is getting a little low . . . there's always room for one . . . or a hundred . . . more."
"Fine." He nodded slightly. "You have three days to figure it out."
"Huh?" Terry's head popped out of the cockpit. "Three . . wait a minute . . . but - "
"Another function of a mentor is knowing when the mentee is ready to learn on his own," Bruce said. "If you truly want to know, you'll figure it out. And then you'll be able to use the knowledge you gleaned, knowing that you got it all by yourself. Trust me, Terry - there's no better feeling than that."
"Um, I know it's been a while since you've been on a date, but there ~are~ much better feelings than knowledge. Trust ~me~ on that one."
"Out." Bruce scowled, waving his cane menacingly. "Three days, McGinnis. You tell ~me~ how I did it."
"What if I can't do it in three days? I mean, I have a test coming up, and-"
"I have confidence in you." Wayne hobbled over to his worktable, under which Ace, trusted guard dog, was sleeping comfortably. "Besides . . . it's not as magical as you're making it out. You may even figure it out in less than three days."
"Okay, but worse-case scenario - what if I can't get it at all . . . then will you just tell me?"
"Maybe." Wayne picked up a soldering gun, flicking it on. "But probably not. Now are you going out or do I have to set the auto-nav again?"
"I'm going, I'm going," he said hastily, knowing Wayne wouldn't hesitate to override the Batmobile's controls so that he could guide it from the Batcomputer. And that was never a good thing. "Okay, okay . . . I'll try. Three days, huh?"
"Three days."
"Hmmm . . . wait! I think I got it!" He smiled in disbelief. "It just now came to me!"
"Is that right?" Bruce didn't look up from the steel rods he was melding together. "Well?"
"~You~ didn't do anything . . . you couldn't, 'cause you didn't have your utility belt . . . but ~Robin~ still had his. ~He's~ the one who got you out, right? He used his grapple to break through the roof and latch on to, uh, something, and he pulled you ~both~ out." Terry clenched his fist in triumph. "Yes! That's it, isn't it? Right? Isn't it? Bruce?"
"That would be a very logical assumption." Wayne nodded slightly. "Unfortunately, there's just one problem . . ."
His smile faded. "What? Don't tell me ~he~ didn't have his utility belt, either . . ."
"No, he had it . . . but he'd been knocked unconscious by Two-Face." Bruce was grim, rapt for a moment in the memory. "It turned out to be a very severe concussion. Robin didn't have any memory of the heist, the fire or that we'd ever been in any danger at all."
"Slagit. There goes that theory." He looked up at the cave's roof, still in ponderance mode. "Okay, how about this . . . Commissioner ~Gordon~ put up the Bat-signal, and when you guys didn't show up . . ." Out of the corner of his eye, Terry saw the old man's hand sneaking toward the button that would disable the Batmobile's manual control systems. "All right -- I'm going, I'm going, already!" Terry slid into the car, listening for the click as the shield snapped into place overhead, before he powered on and out into the night.
****
"All right, here's an easy one . . . Lithium." Maxine Gibson, computer whiz, confidante and best friend, glanced over her notebook at a brooding Terry. "It has three protons . . . four electrons . . . and the chemical symbol is . . . what?"
"I don't ~know~. I just can't figure it out . . ."
"Come on, don't melt down on me, McGinnis." Max scooted closer to him on the plush rug of the Gibson living room. "Lithium. Three protons, four neutrons . . . chemical symbol is . . ."
"Mmm . . ." Terry glanced up sharply from his own notebook, frowning thoughtfully. "X-pellets."
She blinked. "What?"
He considered a moment, and then shook his head. "Nah . . . that can't be it . . . the fire was too big for those . . . plus, I keep forgetting that he didn't have the belt. I've gotta remember the belt . . ."
"Ter, you're scaring me. What does a ~belt~ have to do with our o-chem final?"
"Sorry, Max. I just can't concentrate on this right now." He sighed and hoisted himself on to the couch. "I was just thinking that maybe Wayne used X-pellets -- extinguishing pellets -- to get the fire to die down enough for him and Robin to make a run for it . . . but the fire was way too intense for them to work. Slagit, this is tough." He slapped the armrest in frustration. "I've got three days to figure this out . . . ~three~ days, Max, and I'm stumped."
"McGinnis, if I were you, the only fire I'd be worried about is the one your butt's going to be in if you fail this test." The pink-haired girl rolled her eyes. "Besides, I still think the old man's slagging you about the whole thing."
"No way. We're talking about a guy who faced zombies, psychopaths, renegade synthoids and witch boys." He eyed her skeptically. "Why would he make up a warehouse fire? That's so tame compared to his usual roster of bizarreness."
"Let's look at the facts, shall we?" She moved his notebook aside and leaned close. "We've got a fire -- a big one -- in an enclosed place. Nowhere to run, right?"
"Um . . . not that I can think of."
"Everything in the place ~allegedly~ reduced to timbers, so there wasn't anything a person could hide in and make it out alive, right?"
"Uh .. . no, I guess not."
"And the building collapsed on itself minutes after the fire started?"
"That's what he said."
"Huge blaze, no cool gadgets, no help on the outside . . . so how'd he do it?" She folded her arms, looking at him expectantly. "Well?"
He shook his head. "No idea. You?"
"Of course I know." She swung around to face him. "There's only ~one~ explanation."
"And that would be . . .?"
"It's a scam." She got up from the couch and headed toward the kitchen. "It seems impossible because it ~is~ impossible. Never happened. Wayne set you up, and you fell for it."
"Max, you're ~wrong~. It happened." He ran a hand across his sweaty forehead. It was always so warm in Max's apartment. Heat was good for the complexion, she always said, and he had to admit that her smooth, dark skin was always flawless. "I can feel it my gut . . . besides . . .the old guy isn't big on idle conversation. I had to practically beg him to talk. This is big time."
"Look . . you said ~he~ said he wanted to you to figure this out on your own as some kind of test, right?" She tossed him a bag of Crunch-Os. "To see if you could draw your own conclusions without his help? Right?"
"Right, but --"
"Well, ~I~ think it is a test -- of common sense," she went on, resuming her seat next to him. "To see if you know when you're being fed a line . . . and I have to say, Ter, you flunked this one -- and if we don't get cracking on chem, that won't be the only test you fail this week."
"I saw the marks on his legs, Max. ~Burn~ marks." He held out the bag to her. "How do you explain those?"
"I don't doubt he's seen a fire or two . . . he was Batman after all . . . but the kind of blaze you're talking about would have left him with more than a few scars. Think about it."
He digested that in silence for a while. "I dunno . . . you don't know the old guy like I do--"
"You say that as if it's a ~bad~ thing."
"I just mean that yanking me around like this just really isn't his style." He stood and wandered aimlessly around the small room. "And he's the ~original~ Batman. Impossible to normal people was just another day's work to him. He did this; I know he did. I just wish I could figure out ~how~," he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "I have a couple of ideas, but the belt thing keeps throwing me."
Maxine shut her laptop with a sigh, knowing that there was nothing much she could do to turn Terry's mind back to their study session - as usual, his nocturnal activities came to intrude on school life. She didn't complain, however. Being around Terry was never boring, at least.
"Okay, I'll bite. ~What~ about his belt?" She shifted on the sofa, folding her long legs beneath her. "What was wrong with it? Too tight? Wrong color?"
"All right, you know how my utility belt is built into my suit? It can't be taken off . . . well, not easily, anyway. It's that way because some of the suit's functions are controlled by it." He rested against an armchair. "Like my camo option. Also, my belt's got other stuff in it, like X-pellets, some small-grade explosives and some bigger ones, smoke pellets . . . but some of the stuff Batman needs every day - Batarangs, bolas, and stuff like that are built into the suit itself."
"Right . . . it's like a 24-hour convenience store, but without the nachos."
"Cute," he said with a smirk. "Anyway, the point is, even if my belt got taken off somehow, I'd still be pretty all right . . . I'd have my Batarangs and other stuff, but more important, I'd have flight capability still - my rockets and my wings."
"So, if you needed to get out a building quick, you could fly up and bust through a window or something, or maybe make a hole in the roof? That'd hurt like heck, though."
"You get used to it." He shrugged, closing his eyes again. "Anyway, Wayne was in the ~old~ suit . . . you know, with the cape and all . . . and everything ~he~ had to help him out was in his utility belt - the grappling-hook gun, the X-pellets, even. And the belt snagged and got burned up pretty early on in the fight."
"So, no belt, no way to bust or cut his way out. Another point for my "it's bogus" theory."
"Robin had ~his~ belt still, thoug.," Terry opened one eye. "Bruce ~could~ have used his . . . but . . . he'd have to get to him first."
"What do you mean "get to him?"" She looked confused. "Where was he?"
"Knocked out cold on the other side of the warehouse," he replied. "See, that's how it all hit the fan in the first place. Two-Face had his guys all over the place. Robin and Batman were fighting all these goons in different parts of the hideout when the fire started. Robin got knocked out, but Bruce didn't know that at first. So all the time that he might have had to get out before the fire got really out of hand was eaten up when he was looking for Robin."
"A time-killing search." She nodded. "~Another~ point for my "it's bogus" theory."
"He might not have been that ~far~, but with the smoke and fire, Batman would have had a hard time finding him." Terry's other eye opened, and he looked pensive. "Plus, Robin was unconscious . . . he couldn't call for help."
"Unconscious partner?" She looked at him pityingly. "Oh, Ter. This thing sounds like a bad movie. Next you're going to tell me that the place was in such a secluded spot that no one noticed the flames, so the fire department had no clue until it was too late."
He grew quiet, blushing. "Um . . . well, it ~was~ a gangster's hideout. They don't usually set up in the middle of Gotham Market next to Giovanni's."
"All right . . I'll give you that." She conceded. "And the GCPD probably weren't any more on the ball back then as they are now. But I'm still not buying it.
"One sec . . . depending on how long it took him to find Robin, he still could have had time to make up a plan." Terry glanced around the room. "All right . . . let's say that this living room's the warehouse. From the couch to the vidscreen is the little area Bruce was in ~after~ the crooks had split. And it couldn't have taken him too long to get Robin, because the roof hadn't started to collapse yet, so let's say where you are right now is where Robin was. Pretend you're Robin for a minute --"
"What?" Her eyes went wide.
"Pretend to be unconscious --" He smiled at her dumbfounded expression. "It'll just take a second."
"Maxine Gibson - study partner, hacker and test dummy to one of the greatest heroes of modern time. It's a shame I can't put all that on my college applications," she said with a short laugh, laying forward on the chair, letting her arms, legs and head go limp. "How's this?" Her voice was muffled by the fabric of the chair.
"Perfect." He nodded his approval. "All right. So I'm Batman, and he's here, Robin's over there, flames are getting intense . . . he starts looking around." Terry moved slowly around the chairs, pretending to search for something. "The old cowls had UV lenses in them, so he could probably see through the smoke at least. Right?"
Max grunted a reply that Terry took as a yes, and he continued. "Okay . . . I'd say Batman finds Robin in less than five minutes. Maybe even less than three. The old guy could move back in the day." He stood over the chair in which Max was sprawled, facedown. "All right, so he finds him, picks him up." Terry stooped, sliding his arm carefully under Max's middle, careful not to let his arm drift too high or too low. He flipped her gently on her back. "Stops, checks his vitals -" He pressed his fingertips to Max's neck, feeling the steady beat of her pulse. "He figures out that Robin must have taken one upside the head, but he's alive. So he picks him up." Terry gingerly lifted the leggy girl, cradling her in his arms, careful to support her head and legs in equal measure. "So he's got him, and he realizes the place is close to going, so he grabs Robin's utility belt, and -"
"Wait a minute." Her head snapped up, startling him. "I just thought of something -"
"Max, you're supposed to be unconscious!"
"Well excuse my intact cranium." She stuck out her tongue. "But I just got an idea . . . you want to hear it or not?"
"If it has the words "fake" or "bogus" in it . . ." he began warily.
"No, no, the suits themselves. They were made out of heavy-duty material, right?"
"Kevlar," he nodded. "Able to withstand a good beating."
"Maybe even a fire?" She raised her eyebrows. "If Wayne ran fast enough, he and Robin might have made it out of there with minimal pain."
"Hmmmm." He stared up at the ceiling, trying to picture the action. Flames had engulfed the building, Bruce had said. So he would have had to run very fast through a wall of solid fire . . . maybe even more than one. "No, I don't think so, Max."
"Why not?" She sounded disappointed. "You think he might have tripped on his cape?"
"Nooo . . . just that the old suits weren't like mine," He readjusted his arms beneath the girl, amazed that the lithe, subtly muscled teen fit so well in his arms - just like his girlfriend, Dana, though Max was several inches taller. "My suit covers every part of me - top to toe. Bruce's old suit had a half-mask. Robin only wore an eye mask."
"Right . . . so?"
"If Bruce had to run through a fire, his face ~would~ have gotten burned, don't you think?" The blue eyes narrowed slightly. "And Robin's too . . . and the old guy doesn't seem to have a lot of face scars."
"Guy's a billionaire, Terry," she reminded him, squirming in his grasp. "Plastic surgery's like a sport for the rich. Um . . . you can put me down now."
"I don't know . . . sounds a little too easy. Why would Wayne have those scars erased and leave so many others? Oh, and we aren't finished yet . . . ~Robin.~" He grinned down at her and was rewarded with a sharp jab in the ribs. "Ow! Hey!"
"I warned you about calling me Robin," she growled at the raven-haired teen. "Geez . . . where is Batgirl when you need her? I bet if she'd been there, they wouldn't have gotten in such a mess."
"Hadn't made her appearance yet." Terry smiled as he thought of Barbara Gordon, Gotham Police Commissioner, tough cookie and former Batgirl. "So now you're beginning to believe that it ~did~ happen?"
"No . . . I still think it's bogus," she said. "But who knows . . . if the so-called warehouse was kind of small, ~maybe~ they could have made a run for it without too much fuss or muss. I don't know; I'd have to see the place. It's kind of hard to imagine this whole scenario in a place like my living room. But -- hey!" she broke off, as Terry suddenly set her on her feet, his eyes widening in delight. "What?"
"See the place. . ." he murmured softly. "Max, that's it! That's it!" He grabbed her and hugged her tight against his broad chest. "You are a genius!"
She staggered a little when he released her, smoothing her pink hair back into place. "A genius, huh? I don't like the sound of this."
"Two-Face's hideout was an abandoned warehouse in Old Town -- most of those factories were all built around the same time -- most of them had the same specs. A couple of them are still standing."
"At least until next month, when the revitalization project begins."
"Right." He nodded. "So I'll be just in time."
"Just in time to do what?" She gazed at him in alarm. "Ter . . . you're not thinking of doing anything . . . weird, are you? Oh wait . . . I'm talking to a guy who dresses up as a bat night after night. I withdraw the question."
"Tomorrow night, I'll drop in, get a feel of a place where could have actually happened," he said. "That way, I'll be able to figure out where everything was, like windows or skylights, doors and stuff . . . I'll have a rough estimate of how big the place was and how much ground Bruce could have covered. Yeah . . . I'll ~reenact~ the scene there - as much as I can, anyway. And if, after all that, I still can't figure it out, then I'll believe your theory that it never happened."
"Wait . . . how can you do that accurately," she said, placing her hands on her hips, "if you're in a souped-up suit that can fly and everything, and you have a utility belt that won't come off?"
"Easy . . . I just won't use any of the stuff the old Batman didn't have," he replied. "It'll just be me in the suit - no Batarangs, no wings . . . no nothing." He bristled at her disbelieving stare. "I'm serious, Max. I can do this!"
"Never mind if you ~can~ or not . . you're ~going~ to do it." She shook her head. "You're a piece of work, McGinnis."
"And you wouldn't have it any other way." He tapped the tip of her nose with a Crunch-O before popping it into his mouth. "I'll go after my patrol - I've been getting an earlier start on that lately . . . it shouldn't take that long."
"What are you going to tell the old man?"
"I won't tell him until after I get it worked out," he replied with a sly smile. "And I've found the off-switch for the links in the cowl, so he won't be able to monitor me. Besides, I plan to be in and out of there in less than 15 minutes. He'll probably be taking his tea break then."
"Well . . . sounds like you've got it all figured out."
"Not yet." He smiled slightly. "But after tomorrow night, I hope to. So . . . what time should I pick you up?"
"Huh?" She looked startled. "~Me~? What do you need ~me~ for?"
"I want this to be as authentic as possible, so I'll need a Robin . . . you do unconscious very well."
"No Robin." She waved him away. "Uh-uh . . . ~no~."
"Aw, come on, Max . . . I ~need~ you," he wheedled. "Please? It'll be fun . . . you'll get to be my "official" sidekick . . . for, uh, 20 minutes or so anyway."
"Wouldn't work. I don't have a Robin suit," she paused. "Thank goodness."
"You won't need one . . . just wear something you can move in," he said. "Something that breathes. You have a cape?"
"~No~," she laughed. "And if I'm unconscious, how much moving am I going to be doing anyway?"
"Hmmm . . . good point," he replied. "Well, wear whatever you want. What you have on is fine." His eyes lingered appreciatively over the form-fitting blue minidress she was sporting that day. "Actually, what you have on is perfect . . . you look really . . . um . . . nice in it. Why don't you wear more dresses?"
"Not my style," she replied. "But I'm behind on my wash. This is my sister's . . . and she'll want it back. No . . . I have something I ~could~ wear, and it'll fit in with the theme."
"Yeah?" He was curious. "What is it? Have I seen it before?"
"No . . . but you'll know it when you see it," she said with a wink. "And I've been dying to wear it. . ."
"Well there you go. We're set." He smiled in satisfaction. "Can you be ready at about one o'clock?"
"Ugh . . . a bad time. Leslie will be back in by then . . . and she's been staying up late." She looked chagrined. "How about if I meet you at Gotham Square, behind the fountain, and we'll go from there?"
"Well . . . all right," he said reluctantly. "But be careful - that's borderline Jokerz territory."
"I'll be okay," she assured him. "One o'clock at the fountain."
"Schway." He flopped down on the couch, frowning at his notebook, which still flashed his chemistry notes. "Finally, I come up with a plan that'll work . . . And Bruce thinks I can't figure this stuff out for myself," his voice dropped to a low murmur. "I'll show him. He'll see."
****
Disclaimer: Batman Beyond belongs to Warner Brothers, DC Comics, and all that jazz. Don't sue.
"Go."
"No chance. You've got me hooked now . . . you've gotta tell me how you did it."
Bruce Wayne, sitting at the helm of the Batcomputer, whirled, glaring balefully at his young protégé. "You're wasting time - your patrol ~should~ have begun 15 minutes ago. For all you know, there could have been a jailbreak at Arkham."
"Yeah, right. If that ever happened, the computer would be lit up like a Christmas tree." Terry McGinnis, suited up as the Batman, save for the cowl, leaned against the massive computer. "It's been slow for the past three days . . . I've even been able to get some studying in. Come ~on~, I want to know the end of ~this~ one. Now, let me get this straight: you and Robin - the first one - are in a burning building, Two-Face and his gang had split, the roof's caving in, you lost your utility belt, and you guys are big, big trouble . . . . and . . . and . . ."
"And we got out," Bruce said simply, swinging back to the computer. "Now ~go~. Start at the docks. This is the time of year Venom smugglers like to make their annual stop in Gotham. I'm expecting them any day."
"Now just wait a minute . . . sure you got ~out~, but ~how~?" Terry leaned close, his face wearing a pleading expression. "You tell me ~that~ and I'll get out of your hair."
Bruce looked over at him, his eyebrow raised slightly. "So that's ~all~ you want to know? How we got out of the building?"
"That's it." Terry nodded. "I mean, it seems impossible . . . cops couldn't help you, all the exits were blocked, right? But you got out, somehow . . . unless you're some kind of . . . you know . . . ghost or hologram or something." His smile vanished under the old man's glare. "Or not. Anyway, this could be a real learning experience for me . . . I mean, the next time I'm in that situation, I'll know that there's a way out."
Wayne shook his head slightly as he turned back to the screen. "It doesn't always work that way, Terry. Sometimes a trap is just that - a trap."
"I ~know~, but ~this~ was different," Terry replied. "You said yourself that you thought you and Robin were toast . . . but you escaped. So that means you were able to find an out where there ~shouldn't~ have been one. That's all part of being the Batman, right?"
"Part of it." His fingers glided over the keyboard as he established a link with the Gotham Police Department's central dispatching unit. "But not all of it. Not by a long ways."
"I know that. But it's ~big~ part of it. . . a part I know I have to get better at."
"You're learning," Bruce said gruffly. Terry smiled - it was as close to a compliment as the old man usually gave. "But another part of being the Batman is knowing when you're needed ~without~ being told." He glanced up at him. "That's ~another~ thing you need to work on. There's a disturbance near Tri-Gate Bridge. Police are being cagey about it over dispatch, so that means there could be real trouble."
"My cue." Terry pulled down the cowl, the mask fitting snugly to the contours of his face. "But we're not done."
"We're not?"
"Heck no. I'm not going to let up on you until you tell me how you did it." Terry walked toward the Batmobile. "This is something I ~need~ to know . . . if you're going to be helping me to be the best Batman I can be, I need to know your mistakes, yeah, but I need to know the successes, too. Right?"
Wayne looked thoughtful as the young man jumped into the cockpit of the car-plane hybrid. "Terry . . . part of being the best Batman you can being able to figure things out for yourself."
Terry paused. "I know that . . . but what good is having a mentor if he doesn't, uh, you know . . . ~ment~? There are things I should know, Bruce. Things only ~you~ can teach me."
"Perhaps." Wayne nodded. "But I don't think this particular situation is one of them. This is a new age, McGinnis . . . some of the things I was able to do when I wore the cowl would not - for lack of better word -- ~fly~ now. This is a very different world now."
"But a burning building is still a burning building, and no way out is still no way out, whether it's 20 years ago or 200," Terry argued. "Come on . . . I need to know how you pulled it off. I need to know! I need to!"
Bruce got up from the chair, his head bowed in thought. When he looked up, a small smile played on his lips, his eyes glinting mischievously. "You need to know? You really have that much of a desire to know?"
"Hey . . .my trick bag is getting a little low . . . there's always room for one . . . or a hundred . . . more."
"Fine." He nodded slightly. "You have three days to figure it out."
"Huh?" Terry's head popped out of the cockpit. "Three . . wait a minute . . . but - "
"Another function of a mentor is knowing when the mentee is ready to learn on his own," Bruce said. "If you truly want to know, you'll figure it out. And then you'll be able to use the knowledge you gleaned, knowing that you got it all by yourself. Trust me, Terry - there's no better feeling than that."
"Um, I know it's been a while since you've been on a date, but there ~are~ much better feelings than knowledge. Trust ~me~ on that one."
"Out." Bruce scowled, waving his cane menacingly. "Three days, McGinnis. You tell ~me~ how I did it."
"What if I can't do it in three days? I mean, I have a test coming up, and-"
"I have confidence in you." Wayne hobbled over to his worktable, under which Ace, trusted guard dog, was sleeping comfortably. "Besides . . . it's not as magical as you're making it out. You may even figure it out in less than three days."
"Okay, but worse-case scenario - what if I can't get it at all . . . then will you just tell me?"
"Maybe." Wayne picked up a soldering gun, flicking it on. "But probably not. Now are you going out or do I have to set the auto-nav again?"
"I'm going, I'm going," he said hastily, knowing Wayne wouldn't hesitate to override the Batmobile's controls so that he could guide it from the Batcomputer. And that was never a good thing. "Okay, okay . . . I'll try. Three days, huh?"
"Three days."
"Hmmm . . . wait! I think I got it!" He smiled in disbelief. "It just now came to me!"
"Is that right?" Bruce didn't look up from the steel rods he was melding together. "Well?"
"~You~ didn't do anything . . . you couldn't, 'cause you didn't have your utility belt . . . but ~Robin~ still had his. ~He's~ the one who got you out, right? He used his grapple to break through the roof and latch on to, uh, something, and he pulled you ~both~ out." Terry clenched his fist in triumph. "Yes! That's it, isn't it? Right? Isn't it? Bruce?"
"That would be a very logical assumption." Wayne nodded slightly. "Unfortunately, there's just one problem . . ."
His smile faded. "What? Don't tell me ~he~ didn't have his utility belt, either . . ."
"No, he had it . . . but he'd been knocked unconscious by Two-Face." Bruce was grim, rapt for a moment in the memory. "It turned out to be a very severe concussion. Robin didn't have any memory of the heist, the fire or that we'd ever been in any danger at all."
"Slagit. There goes that theory." He looked up at the cave's roof, still in ponderance mode. "Okay, how about this . . . Commissioner ~Gordon~ put up the Bat-signal, and when you guys didn't show up . . ." Out of the corner of his eye, Terry saw the old man's hand sneaking toward the button that would disable the Batmobile's manual control systems. "All right -- I'm going, I'm going, already!" Terry slid into the car, listening for the click as the shield snapped into place overhead, before he powered on and out into the night.
****
"All right, here's an easy one . . . Lithium." Maxine Gibson, computer whiz, confidante and best friend, glanced over her notebook at a brooding Terry. "It has three protons . . . four electrons . . . and the chemical symbol is . . . what?"
"I don't ~know~. I just can't figure it out . . ."
"Come on, don't melt down on me, McGinnis." Max scooted closer to him on the plush rug of the Gibson living room. "Lithium. Three protons, four neutrons . . . chemical symbol is . . ."
"Mmm . . ." Terry glanced up sharply from his own notebook, frowning thoughtfully. "X-pellets."
She blinked. "What?"
He considered a moment, and then shook his head. "Nah . . . that can't be it . . . the fire was too big for those . . . plus, I keep forgetting that he didn't have the belt. I've gotta remember the belt . . ."
"Ter, you're scaring me. What does a ~belt~ have to do with our o-chem final?"
"Sorry, Max. I just can't concentrate on this right now." He sighed and hoisted himself on to the couch. "I was just thinking that maybe Wayne used X-pellets -- extinguishing pellets -- to get the fire to die down enough for him and Robin to make a run for it . . . but the fire was way too intense for them to work. Slagit, this is tough." He slapped the armrest in frustration. "I've got three days to figure this out . . . ~three~ days, Max, and I'm stumped."
"McGinnis, if I were you, the only fire I'd be worried about is the one your butt's going to be in if you fail this test." The pink-haired girl rolled her eyes. "Besides, I still think the old man's slagging you about the whole thing."
"No way. We're talking about a guy who faced zombies, psychopaths, renegade synthoids and witch boys." He eyed her skeptically. "Why would he make up a warehouse fire? That's so tame compared to his usual roster of bizarreness."
"Let's look at the facts, shall we?" She moved his notebook aside and leaned close. "We've got a fire -- a big one -- in an enclosed place. Nowhere to run, right?"
"Um . . . not that I can think of."
"Everything in the place ~allegedly~ reduced to timbers, so there wasn't anything a person could hide in and make it out alive, right?"
"Uh .. . no, I guess not."
"And the building collapsed on itself minutes after the fire started?"
"That's what he said."
"Huge blaze, no cool gadgets, no help on the outside . . . so how'd he do it?" She folded her arms, looking at him expectantly. "Well?"
He shook his head. "No idea. You?"
"Of course I know." She swung around to face him. "There's only ~one~ explanation."
"And that would be . . .?"
"It's a scam." She got up from the couch and headed toward the kitchen. "It seems impossible because it ~is~ impossible. Never happened. Wayne set you up, and you fell for it."
"Max, you're ~wrong~. It happened." He ran a hand across his sweaty forehead. It was always so warm in Max's apartment. Heat was good for the complexion, she always said, and he had to admit that her smooth, dark skin was always flawless. "I can feel it my gut . . . besides . . .the old guy isn't big on idle conversation. I had to practically beg him to talk. This is big time."
"Look . . you said ~he~ said he wanted to you to figure this out on your own as some kind of test, right?" She tossed him a bag of Crunch-Os. "To see if you could draw your own conclusions without his help? Right?"
"Right, but --"
"Well, ~I~ think it is a test -- of common sense," she went on, resuming her seat next to him. "To see if you know when you're being fed a line . . . and I have to say, Ter, you flunked this one -- and if we don't get cracking on chem, that won't be the only test you fail this week."
"I saw the marks on his legs, Max. ~Burn~ marks." He held out the bag to her. "How do you explain those?"
"I don't doubt he's seen a fire or two . . . he was Batman after all . . . but the kind of blaze you're talking about would have left him with more than a few scars. Think about it."
He digested that in silence for a while. "I dunno . . . you don't know the old guy like I do--"
"You say that as if it's a ~bad~ thing."
"I just mean that yanking me around like this just really isn't his style." He stood and wandered aimlessly around the small room. "And he's the ~original~ Batman. Impossible to normal people was just another day's work to him. He did this; I know he did. I just wish I could figure out ~how~," he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "I have a couple of ideas, but the belt thing keeps throwing me."
Maxine shut her laptop with a sigh, knowing that there was nothing much she could do to turn Terry's mind back to their study session - as usual, his nocturnal activities came to intrude on school life. She didn't complain, however. Being around Terry was never boring, at least.
"Okay, I'll bite. ~What~ about his belt?" She shifted on the sofa, folding her long legs beneath her. "What was wrong with it? Too tight? Wrong color?"
"All right, you know how my utility belt is built into my suit? It can't be taken off . . . well, not easily, anyway. It's that way because some of the suit's functions are controlled by it." He rested against an armchair. "Like my camo option. Also, my belt's got other stuff in it, like X-pellets, some small-grade explosives and some bigger ones, smoke pellets . . . but some of the stuff Batman needs every day - Batarangs, bolas, and stuff like that are built into the suit itself."
"Right . . . it's like a 24-hour convenience store, but without the nachos."
"Cute," he said with a smirk. "Anyway, the point is, even if my belt got taken off somehow, I'd still be pretty all right . . . I'd have my Batarangs and other stuff, but more important, I'd have flight capability still - my rockets and my wings."
"So, if you needed to get out a building quick, you could fly up and bust through a window or something, or maybe make a hole in the roof? That'd hurt like heck, though."
"You get used to it." He shrugged, closing his eyes again. "Anyway, Wayne was in the ~old~ suit . . . you know, with the cape and all . . . and everything ~he~ had to help him out was in his utility belt - the grappling-hook gun, the X-pellets, even. And the belt snagged and got burned up pretty early on in the fight."
"So, no belt, no way to bust or cut his way out. Another point for my "it's bogus" theory."
"Robin had ~his~ belt still, thoug.," Terry opened one eye. "Bruce ~could~ have used his . . . but . . . he'd have to get to him first."
"What do you mean "get to him?"" She looked confused. "Where was he?"
"Knocked out cold on the other side of the warehouse," he replied. "See, that's how it all hit the fan in the first place. Two-Face had his guys all over the place. Robin and Batman were fighting all these goons in different parts of the hideout when the fire started. Robin got knocked out, but Bruce didn't know that at first. So all the time that he might have had to get out before the fire got really out of hand was eaten up when he was looking for Robin."
"A time-killing search." She nodded. "~Another~ point for my "it's bogus" theory."
"He might not have been that ~far~, but with the smoke and fire, Batman would have had a hard time finding him." Terry's other eye opened, and he looked pensive. "Plus, Robin was unconscious . . . he couldn't call for help."
"Unconscious partner?" She looked at him pityingly. "Oh, Ter. This thing sounds like a bad movie. Next you're going to tell me that the place was in such a secluded spot that no one noticed the flames, so the fire department had no clue until it was too late."
He grew quiet, blushing. "Um . . . well, it ~was~ a gangster's hideout. They don't usually set up in the middle of Gotham Market next to Giovanni's."
"All right . . I'll give you that." She conceded. "And the GCPD probably weren't any more on the ball back then as they are now. But I'm still not buying it.
"One sec . . . depending on how long it took him to find Robin, he still could have had time to make up a plan." Terry glanced around the room. "All right . . . let's say that this living room's the warehouse. From the couch to the vidscreen is the little area Bruce was in ~after~ the crooks had split. And it couldn't have taken him too long to get Robin, because the roof hadn't started to collapse yet, so let's say where you are right now is where Robin was. Pretend you're Robin for a minute --"
"What?" Her eyes went wide.
"Pretend to be unconscious --" He smiled at her dumbfounded expression. "It'll just take a second."
"Maxine Gibson - study partner, hacker and test dummy to one of the greatest heroes of modern time. It's a shame I can't put all that on my college applications," she said with a short laugh, laying forward on the chair, letting her arms, legs and head go limp. "How's this?" Her voice was muffled by the fabric of the chair.
"Perfect." He nodded his approval. "All right. So I'm Batman, and he's here, Robin's over there, flames are getting intense . . . he starts looking around." Terry moved slowly around the chairs, pretending to search for something. "The old cowls had UV lenses in them, so he could probably see through the smoke at least. Right?"
Max grunted a reply that Terry took as a yes, and he continued. "Okay . . . I'd say Batman finds Robin in less than five minutes. Maybe even less than three. The old guy could move back in the day." He stood over the chair in which Max was sprawled, facedown. "All right, so he finds him, picks him up." Terry stooped, sliding his arm carefully under Max's middle, careful not to let his arm drift too high or too low. He flipped her gently on her back. "Stops, checks his vitals -" He pressed his fingertips to Max's neck, feeling the steady beat of her pulse. "He figures out that Robin must have taken one upside the head, but he's alive. So he picks him up." Terry gingerly lifted the leggy girl, cradling her in his arms, careful to support her head and legs in equal measure. "So he's got him, and he realizes the place is close to going, so he grabs Robin's utility belt, and -"
"Wait a minute." Her head snapped up, startling him. "I just thought of something -"
"Max, you're supposed to be unconscious!"
"Well excuse my intact cranium." She stuck out her tongue. "But I just got an idea . . . you want to hear it or not?"
"If it has the words "fake" or "bogus" in it . . ." he began warily.
"No, no, the suits themselves. They were made out of heavy-duty material, right?"
"Kevlar," he nodded. "Able to withstand a good beating."
"Maybe even a fire?" She raised her eyebrows. "If Wayne ran fast enough, he and Robin might have made it out of there with minimal pain."
"Hmmmm." He stared up at the ceiling, trying to picture the action. Flames had engulfed the building, Bruce had said. So he would have had to run very fast through a wall of solid fire . . . maybe even more than one. "No, I don't think so, Max."
"Why not?" She sounded disappointed. "You think he might have tripped on his cape?"
"Nooo . . . just that the old suits weren't like mine," He readjusted his arms beneath the girl, amazed that the lithe, subtly muscled teen fit so well in his arms - just like his girlfriend, Dana, though Max was several inches taller. "My suit covers every part of me - top to toe. Bruce's old suit had a half-mask. Robin only wore an eye mask."
"Right . . . so?"
"If Bruce had to run through a fire, his face ~would~ have gotten burned, don't you think?" The blue eyes narrowed slightly. "And Robin's too . . . and the old guy doesn't seem to have a lot of face scars."
"Guy's a billionaire, Terry," she reminded him, squirming in his grasp. "Plastic surgery's like a sport for the rich. Um . . . you can put me down now."
"I don't know . . . sounds a little too easy. Why would Wayne have those scars erased and leave so many others? Oh, and we aren't finished yet . . . ~Robin.~" He grinned down at her and was rewarded with a sharp jab in the ribs. "Ow! Hey!"
"I warned you about calling me Robin," she growled at the raven-haired teen. "Geez . . . where is Batgirl when you need her? I bet if she'd been there, they wouldn't have gotten in such a mess."
"Hadn't made her appearance yet." Terry smiled as he thought of Barbara Gordon, Gotham Police Commissioner, tough cookie and former Batgirl. "So now you're beginning to believe that it ~did~ happen?"
"No . . . I still think it's bogus," she said. "But who knows . . . if the so-called warehouse was kind of small, ~maybe~ they could have made a run for it without too much fuss or muss. I don't know; I'd have to see the place. It's kind of hard to imagine this whole scenario in a place like my living room. But -- hey!" she broke off, as Terry suddenly set her on her feet, his eyes widening in delight. "What?"
"See the place. . ." he murmured softly. "Max, that's it! That's it!" He grabbed her and hugged her tight against his broad chest. "You are a genius!"
She staggered a little when he released her, smoothing her pink hair back into place. "A genius, huh? I don't like the sound of this."
"Two-Face's hideout was an abandoned warehouse in Old Town -- most of those factories were all built around the same time -- most of them had the same specs. A couple of them are still standing."
"At least until next month, when the revitalization project begins."
"Right." He nodded. "So I'll be just in time."
"Just in time to do what?" She gazed at him in alarm. "Ter . . . you're not thinking of doing anything . . . weird, are you? Oh wait . . . I'm talking to a guy who dresses up as a bat night after night. I withdraw the question."
"Tomorrow night, I'll drop in, get a feel of a place where could have actually happened," he said. "That way, I'll be able to figure out where everything was, like windows or skylights, doors and stuff . . . I'll have a rough estimate of how big the place was and how much ground Bruce could have covered. Yeah . . . I'll ~reenact~ the scene there - as much as I can, anyway. And if, after all that, I still can't figure it out, then I'll believe your theory that it never happened."
"Wait . . . how can you do that accurately," she said, placing her hands on her hips, "if you're in a souped-up suit that can fly and everything, and you have a utility belt that won't come off?"
"Easy . . . I just won't use any of the stuff the old Batman didn't have," he replied. "It'll just be me in the suit - no Batarangs, no wings . . . no nothing." He bristled at her disbelieving stare. "I'm serious, Max. I can do this!"
"Never mind if you ~can~ or not . . you're ~going~ to do it." She shook her head. "You're a piece of work, McGinnis."
"And you wouldn't have it any other way." He tapped the tip of her nose with a Crunch-O before popping it into his mouth. "I'll go after my patrol - I've been getting an earlier start on that lately . . . it shouldn't take that long."
"What are you going to tell the old man?"
"I won't tell him until after I get it worked out," he replied with a sly smile. "And I've found the off-switch for the links in the cowl, so he won't be able to monitor me. Besides, I plan to be in and out of there in less than 15 minutes. He'll probably be taking his tea break then."
"Well . . . sounds like you've got it all figured out."
"Not yet." He smiled slightly. "But after tomorrow night, I hope to. So . . . what time should I pick you up?"
"Huh?" She looked startled. "~Me~? What do you need ~me~ for?"
"I want this to be as authentic as possible, so I'll need a Robin . . . you do unconscious very well."
"No Robin." She waved him away. "Uh-uh . . . ~no~."
"Aw, come on, Max . . . I ~need~ you," he wheedled. "Please? It'll be fun . . . you'll get to be my "official" sidekick . . . for, uh, 20 minutes or so anyway."
"Wouldn't work. I don't have a Robin suit," she paused. "Thank goodness."
"You won't need one . . . just wear something you can move in," he said. "Something that breathes. You have a cape?"
"~No~," she laughed. "And if I'm unconscious, how much moving am I going to be doing anyway?"
"Hmmm . . . good point," he replied. "Well, wear whatever you want. What you have on is fine." His eyes lingered appreciatively over the form-fitting blue minidress she was sporting that day. "Actually, what you have on is perfect . . . you look really . . . um . . . nice in it. Why don't you wear more dresses?"
"Not my style," she replied. "But I'm behind on my wash. This is my sister's . . . and she'll want it back. No . . . I have something I ~could~ wear, and it'll fit in with the theme."
"Yeah?" He was curious. "What is it? Have I seen it before?"
"No . . . but you'll know it when you see it," she said with a wink. "And I've been dying to wear it. . ."
"Well there you go. We're set." He smiled in satisfaction. "Can you be ready at about one o'clock?"
"Ugh . . . a bad time. Leslie will be back in by then . . . and she's been staying up late." She looked chagrined. "How about if I meet you at Gotham Square, behind the fountain, and we'll go from there?"
"Well . . . all right," he said reluctantly. "But be careful - that's borderline Jokerz territory."
"I'll be okay," she assured him. "One o'clock at the fountain."
"Schway." He flopped down on the couch, frowning at his notebook, which still flashed his chemistry notes. "Finally, I come up with a plan that'll work . . . And Bruce thinks I can't figure this stuff out for myself," his voice dropped to a low murmur. "I'll show him. He'll see."
****
