A/N: I'm going with Wonder Girl's 'pre-reboot' powers and abilities, where applicable. At this point, I've long given up on trying to bring this AU into line with any canon events post-Infinite Crisis. It doesn't mean I won't introduce something into this fic from later in the timeline if it works and makes sense, but seriously speaking, all bets are off.

"No Contest" lyrics by Tim Rice and Bjorn Ulvaeus. Performed by Philip Casnoff and Dennis Parlato on the Chess original Broadway Soundtrack album (RCA, 1989).

You take care you don't let
Their shenanigans blind you
And you're wrong to forget
You've got your country behind you.

You're a fool if you think you can wave a flag
And inspire some dramatic action
If I want it bad enough then it's in the bag
If I don't you're a mere distraction.

—Tim Rice, Bjorn Ulvaeus, "No Contest"

Chapter 42—Shenanigans

"I don't like it," Laramie repeated. He took a bite out of his hotdog, ignoring the glob of sauerkraut that fell from the bun onto his plate.

Ortega shrugged her shoulders and tried not to snap at her colleague. "Fine. Don't come." She wished that Wayne were here to extend the invitation personally and hear everyone voice their concerns, even though, after Brenner's explanation, she understood why he wasn't. She tried to fan the sauerkraut odor away inconspicuously, but she suspected everyone's eyes were locked on her fluttering fingers. She wasn't going to turn her head to confirm it.

"Look," Laramie said, as a piece of his bun disintegrated, depositing more sauerkraut and a pickle slice onto his plate. "Wayne's inviting us all to his place to either beat up a bunch of kids or get beaten up by a bunch of kids. Neither way is going to end well. Besides, we've got a ton of material to review before Monday's classes." He picked up the food that had fallen and arranged it over the top of what was left of his bun. He wiped his fingers on a napkin.

"So, don't come."

"I'm picking up my kid from his mother's on Sunday and we're going to the Knights game. I don't know if I can afford to waste Saturday in Crest Hill, too."

This time, Norton and Brenner chimed in with Ortega. "Then don't come!"

Laramie surveyed his classmates, meeting each set of eyes in turn. "You're all going?" he demanded. "All of you?" He waved his hand unconsciously, and the pickle slid off again.

There were nods and murmurs of agreement. "But hey," Kotsopoulos shrugged, "if you don't want to join us, nobody's forcing you."

"Right," Laramie sighed. "And if I don't, I might be the only one in the class who won't pick up some pointers from Batman." He shook his head disbelievingly. "You're all going," he repeated. "Fine. Whatever. Wayne Manor, oh-nine-hundred hours, thirty cadets against seven super-powered kids." He rolled his eyes heavenward. "I wonder what could possibly go wrong?" His bun fell apart, leaving him holding two halves of the roll and the meat, while his toppings oozed over bread and fingers, before falling to the plate.

"Everything," Brenner shot back. "Just like what could happen after we graduate and finally get out on the street. Assuming we all graduate," he added in a slightly lower voice. "Might as well try to learn how to deal with it now." He zipped up his jacket, snapped it shut, and swung his knapsack over one shoulder. "Catch you all Saturday. Or not."

The others trooped off, leaving Laramie still shaking his head and staring at the mess that had been his lunch.

"What happens if something goes wrong?" Dodge demanded. "I mean, like, what if Rose maims one or two of them?"

Ravager whirled toward him so quickly that the weight that dangled from her white braided ponytail tie narrowly missed whipping Kid Devil in the eye. "Excuse you?" she demanded over Eddie's startled yelp.

Dodge flinched, but stood his ground. "Just a little," he gulped. "Like an ear or something."

Ravager turned beseeching eyes toward Wonder Girl. "Could I maim him? Just a little? Please?"

Wonder Girl shook her head as she struggled to look stern. "Harrier will probably restate this when he gets here," she said, "but word from on high—or, I guess, since we're talking about an underground bat cave, 'down low'—is that we don't dent the rookies. If we do, we get to explain it to Batman."

"Which one?" Static asked.

"I'm not sure and I don't think it's going to matter. We mess up, we get both of them on our cases. But we're not going to mess up. We've fought non-powered villains before and managed to take them down without killing them or landing them in the hospital. This shouldn't be anything new."

"Have you ever noticed," Miss Martian ventured, "that every time somebody says something like that, it usually turns out to be something new, after all?"

"Yeah, Cassie," Static said. "Sounds like you might have just cursed the unexpected into existence."

"Oh, for the love of—" Wonder Girl bit back an angry retort as the rest of the team burst out laughing. After a moment, she joined them. "Just be careful, guys. Don't hurt 'em too bad, but don't let 'em win, either." She grinned. "After all, we don't want anyone thinking that the Teen Titans are easy marks."

Lester Paxton had a lot on his mind. His marriage was disintegrating; he wasn't sure that Vivi had even noticed that he was missing. His lawyer wasn't particularly sanguine about the chances of avoiding prison. And the barrage of telephone calls from False Face weren't helping his stress level. And now, according to Scarecrow, it was common knowledge in the Gotham underground that he'd tried to double-cross one of theirs. If the criminals were harassing him now, while he was nominally free, what might they do to him if he were to end up sharing their cellblock? Worse. What if he found himself sharing an actual cell with one of them? He'd heard something a while back about overcrowding at Blackgate and how three—or even four—inmates were assigned to cells intended for no more than two. Surely, the matter had been rectified by now? He hoped.

Paxton tried to tell himself not to worry. Even if he were to be found guilty, he doubted he'd be remanded to Arkham, or even Blackgate. Most likely, he'd end up in some minimum security prison, teaching Introduction to Financial Planning to his fellow inmates, or some such.

Except that he'd never thought that hiring False Face to impersonate Wayne would leave him facing criminal charges in the first place. He'd misjudged the severity of his actions then. Who was to say that he wasn't doing so now?

Even if he did end up in some country club facility, it wouldn't change the fact that Gotham's more colorful citizens would know how to find him. And once he got out, there was no reason to believe that the harassment, the threats, and the blackmail would cease. And how would he ever be able to hold his head up again in polite society?

He closed his eyes for a moment, considering his options. Then he walked over to his book case, extracted a thin volume, consulted the index, and flipped to the relevant page. He skimmed the list, still not fully believing what he was thinking of doing. The bold header at the top of the page helped to bring it home: The United States has no extradition treaty with the following countries...

He shook his head. The Cayman Islands were not on the list. They were a tax haven, but they were also a UK holding. And they were far too close to the United States. He closed his eyes. Paxton had never thought it would come to this, but he wasn't sure how much more suffering he could take—from either side of the law. If he ran, the courts might try and sentence him in absentia, though they probably wouldn't chase him across international boundaries. Even False Face and Scarecrow would probably let him go. However, the courts, the US government, and the underworld probably weren't his biggest worries. Wayne had been a member of the Justice League. Wayne's son had been a Teen Titan. While theoretically, they answered to the UN or—in certain cases—the US government, practically speaking, those teams were accountable to nobody but themselves. They had members who routinely crossed international boundaries with neither a passport nor a second thought. He had to remove himself to some location where they wouldn't think to look and wouldn't stumble over him by chance. There had to be some remote place that was never targeted by megalomaniacal evil geniuses or invading aliens. And, at least this way, he'd never hear the whispers from his fair-weather friends when he showed his face in public.

He lifted his eyebrows at one name near the bottom of the list of countries. Like the Caymans, Vanuatu had favorable tax laws and a tropical climate. They spoke English there, too. True, they also suffered from cyclones and frequent earthquakes, but over the last few months, he'd achieved more than a passing familiarity with storms and upheavals. Maybe this was the answer for him...

The cadets arrived singly and in groups of two to four. Bruce ushered them into one of the ballrooms, where he'd set up a number of chairs in a circle. At Jim's urging, he'd also set up a buffet table to one side with fruit, cheese, crackers, and mini-muffins.

"Hey," Kotsopoulos demanded. "Where are the donuts?"

Without missing a beat, Bruce shot back, "I've decided to save them for after graduation. Meanwhile..." he pushed open the door to an adjoining kitchen and picked up the final tray from a stainless steel counter. "...Try a bagel."

Downstairs in the Cave, Tim listened to the voices above with mounting horror. He lunged for the computer and began frantically typing commands.

"What are you—?" Cassie started to ask, but Tim waved her to silence.

"Eddie," he urged, "double check me. Is this right?"

Kid Devil leaned over his shoulder. "Huh? You're running voice analysis? Why?"

"Just tell me if it's Bruce and if you're picking up any signs of duress or... or... possession. Or mind control. Something!"

"I knew it," Rose sighed. "Between college, heroing and co-leading a team, the pressure's finally getting to him." She flung an arm around Tim's shoulders. "But it's okay," she said, with exaggerated melodrama. "Let me show you how to relax, Timmy. I can be good for you. You'll see!"

Virgil clapped his hand to his mouth, trying valiantly to stifle his laughter. Dodge rolled his eyes.

"Um... Rose?" Megan ventured, "I don't think that's what he wants right now."

"Harrier," Kid Devil said, ignoring Rose and Megan, "voice checks out. It's him and if there's anyone else controlling him, it's not something the Cave sensors can pick up."

"But he..."

"He cracked a joke," Rose snapped. "People do that."

"But he doesn't."

"Except he did," Miss Martian pointed out. "And, before you ask me what you were about to ask me, I've already done a telepathic scan and it confirms your findings. It's Mr. Wayne."

"Great," Cassie said. "That means we can stop worrying about him and start worrying about how to take down thirty-odd cadets, one of whom happens to be the original Batman, without roughing them up to the point where they won't be able to make it to class on Monday."

"We've already been over that," Eddie sighed. "At this point, I think we're just going to get more stressed if we keep worrying and second-guessing."

"So," Miss Martian said, "I guess we just sit here and wait for our cue." She smiled brightly. "Can I log into Facespace down here? I want to check my feed."

Upstairs in the ballroom, Bruce handed out stapled photocopied booklets. "I've provided dossiers on the people you're about to face. This is, by no means, a complete picture. The information contained here is comparable to what a typical police file might hold concerning the average suspect in an investigation. Facts never tell the entire story, but they are a good starting point."

He smiled thinly. "There are seven files. Each one should take about five minutes to skim. I'll add another ten to that. In forty-five minutes, I'll invite the Teen Titans up here and I'll outline the parameters. Start reading."

"I guess," Tim said, looking a bit distressed, "this is how he intends to give them a fighting chance against us."

"Tell me he's not sharing his protocols," Rose muttered. "Just tell me he's not sharing his protocols."

Cassie smiled uneasily. "Come on, guys. This is Batman we're talking about. Since when does he share anything?"

"Since when does he crack jokes?" Eddie countered. He glanced over to the console, where Megan appeared to be playing some kind of match-three game. "Pull up a weather report. I want to see if hell's frozen over."

"Right after I free the cute baby animals," Megan said, not taking her eyes from the screen.

"Can't you be serious?" Dodge demanded. "Batman's telling them all about us."

Megan pushed her chair away from the console with a long-suffering expression. "Uh... no, he's not. He's telling them some things about us." She sighed. "Guys. They're nervous. I can sense it all the way down here. He's trying to calm them down so they don't freak out and forget their training." She looked at Cassie. "So now, they're going to know that your strength comes from your gauntlets and your speed is in your sandals. Were you planning on letting them get close enough to remove them?"

Cassie shook her head.

"And I know the range of a flamethrower and how high I need to fly to be safe from one. All Batman's doing is making sure that we don't... don't..." She looked at Virgil. "What's the phrase? 'Phone it in'?"

Virgil nodded.

"Thanks," she said. "After all," she grinned, "Are you telling me that we can't take down a bunch of academy cadets, even if they do know a little more about us than they did yesterday?"

"Don't get too complacent," Tim warned. "Bruce is one of those cadets."

Rose sniffed. "So, we take him down first."

There was general laughter.

"What? Seriously." Rose said, reddening. "He doesn't have powers. He's already told us he's not going to be packing any equipment beyond a regular police officer's gear. Yeah, he can plan for stuff and he can think on his feet, but we're going into a free-for-all. That's when plans go to hell. I'm not saying taking out Batman is going to be easy, but there are seven of us to one of him and we all know that he's not going to be hiding behind the other cadets, counting on them to protect him. If anything, it's going to be the other way 'round. We work together, we take him down, and the rest of the class follows."

Tim frowned. "You know," he said, "that's actually not a terrible idea. But if we're going to pull it off, then we need a better plan than 'Everyone charge him at once'."

"Do you have one?" Dodge asked.

"I think," Tim said slowly, "I might be starting to..."

The two groups sat awkwardly across the room from each other as Bruce laid down the ground rules.

"Each cadet will be issued one of these weapons," he said, lifting a sleek black firearm. "They fire light beams, not bullets. There are five settings."

He gestured to a stack of neatly-folded orange-and-beige coveralls. "When the beams encounter one of these suits, the point of impact will change color. Blue will indicate a superficial hit. Depending on the location of impact and your natural or," he glanced meaningfully at Wonder Girl, "unnatural defenses, you may feel nothing or you may experience a sensation ranging from a tingle to a light sting. Enough hits sustained to the same area in a short period of time will cause the area to change color. When the area turns purple, you will experience a mild shock and, perhaps, some numbness. If it turns red, you are officially out of the exercise. If you lose consciousness, your coverall will turn red. Report back here; there will be coffee and refreshments waiting." He nodded toward the Teen Titans. "These suits are for you. They are calibrated for your bio-signatures, meaning that those of you who are invulnerable will be able to sustain more 'damage' before your suits change color. Those of you who normally carry potentially lethal weaponry," his gaze lingered on Ravager for a moment longer than necessary, "will carry blunted practice versions of same. Or, if you wish, you may carry a light-beam weapon, either instead of, or in addition to your regular armaments. Harrier informs me that you all know how to hold back against non-powered opponents. You are expected to do so."

Dodge raised his hand. "Does that mean that you don't want us using our powers?"

Bruce shook his head. "I'm aware of your abilities, Dodge," he said. "To make it fair, should you choose to transport an opponent to the Astral Plane, you may do so, provided that the duration of their stay does not exceed five seconds. Moreover," he added, "from what Raven tells me, your control is sharpest when you are physically touching the person or object you mean to transport. As I'm sure you don't want a repeat of what happened with Scarecrow's thralls near the GSU campus..." he let his voice trail off meaningfully.

Dodge gulped.

"Um... sir?" Static raised his hand. "Uh, that was partly me," he admitted. "If I hadn't frozen everyone to the ground..."

Bruce nodded. "Then you know how to avoid ripping up my estate," he said. "I'm expecting a certain amount of wear-and-tear based on today's activities and you don't need to concern yourselves over that. However, should any part of my holdings end up on the Astral Plane, you'll spend your weekends here working to pay reparations." He raised an eyebrow. "That means that you'll either fix the damage yourselves or come up with the funds to pay a landscaping crew."

"Understood," Harrier said quickly.

"Moving along," Bruce continued, gesturing toward several piles of blue-and-beige coveralls, "the cadets will wear these. You'll find that they're a bit more durable than standard uniforms—roughly analogous to the SWAT team body armor currently in use by the GCPD. The same rules apply as far as the color changes when you are hit. Clear?"

There were nods and murmurs of assent from all assembled.

Bruce nodded back. "I assume that everyone is familiar with Capture the Flag?" Without waiting for a reply, he continued, "In your packets, you will find a map of the estate on the last page with your territories marked. You'll note that there is a wide expanse of unallocated territory separating you from the opposing team. This is a free zone." He waited for the nods from both teams before he continued. "Within your territory, you will plant your flag in a visible location. Once the exercise commences, you cannot move your own flag. With one exception," he added. "If the opposing team succeeds in capturing your flag, and you are able to retrieve it before they cross back to their own territory, you may then re-plant it in a different location, provided that the new location is also visible." His lips twitched. "Do not bury your flag, wrap rocks in it and sink it in a stream, transport it to the Astral Plane, digest it—"

"So much for my high-fiber diet," one of the cadets quipped.

Miss Martian giggled. Bruce glowered.

"Once you've reached your territory and planted your flag, each team is to set up a confinement zone for any prisoners that you may take. Allocate nine square feet for each potential inmate. You may mark this area by stakes or washable paint. You'll find both in the kits. You may also incorporate existing obstacles, such as fences or hedges. If you are captured, you can only be released from the confinement area if one of your team members is able to reach its boundary and physically take hold of you. While this will free you from the confinement area, note you will still be behind enemy lines and at risk for recapture. Obviously, any teammate who crosses enemy lines to attempt a rescue may be captured in the attempt. You cannot be captured within your own territory, but you can be attacked. You cannot capture others within theirs, but you can attack them. Within the 'free zone', it's no holds barred. When one side is able to bring the other's flag to their home territory, or when all members of a side have been captured or otherwise eliminated, the exercise is over." He paused. "One thing further. There is only one reason why points will not be deducted for killed opponents: there is an unequal number of participants on each team. I'm hardly about to suggest that the life of an academy cadet is less dear than that of a Titan, or vice versa. Were I to ascribe a penalty for a 'kill,' there would be no fair way to score it without cheapening the lives on one side or the other. Therefore," for a moment, Bruce's expression lightened, "I'll interject a degree of realism to the proceedings. When the exercise is over, those participants who score killing shots will complete a report of no fewer than three pages per casualty, justifying their actions, to be submitted to me before you leave." A fleeting smile crossed his lips at the collective murmur of dismay from both sides. "Are there any questions?"

There were none.

"Very well. Both sides remove to home territories and we'll commence in thirty minutes."

In the cadets' territory, Laramie was taking charge. "We're going to need a roof on the confinement area," he directed. "Remember, some of those kids can fly. We don't want them swooping down to engineer a prison break." He looked at Bruce. "Squad Leader, is there anything we can do to camouflage our brig?"

Bruce considered. "Not totally, no. However, if we set it up under those trees," he gestured toward a grove some yards away, "the branches are thick enough to partially obscure anyone beneath them. And they'll make enough of a roof to discourage aerial rescue missions."

"I'll take it." He frowned for a moment, thinking. "You've worked with those kids before? You know how they fight?"

"I trained their co-leader. I've worked with some members of the current team, though I haven't had an opportunity to observe how they function together."

"Right," Laramie nodded. "But you're probably going to be wisest to any tricks they might pull. That makes you my new head of security."

Ortega sniffed. "Who died and made you king?" she asked.

Bruce held up a hand. "Easy, Ortega," he murmured. Then, to Laramie, "You sound as though you have a plan."

For a moment, uncertainty flashed in the other cadet's eyes. Then he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. "Not yet," he admitted. "But I'm thinking that with thirty of us to seven of them, we can spare a few cadets for guard detail. With them, every guard they assign cuts their force by about fourteen percent. Every guard we assign? Less than three and a half. That's one advantage we've got out of the gate. Whether it'll be enough when we consider their meta powers is a different story."

"They don't all have meta powers," Brenner noted.

"No," Laramie smiled. "No, they don't, do they? Okay. Wayne, pick out three people for brig detail. Not Brenner, though." He turned to the lanky cadet. "I've seen your range scores. I'm going to need you in the field. Kotsopoulos, Ortega, you're both fast on the track. How about on rough terrain?"

Bruce smiled to himself as Laramie continued talking, thinking out loud, and asking for clarifications where needed. He'd been a bit concerned that the other cadets would be sitting around waiting for him to come up with a plan. He had several, of course, and would volunteer his ideas if asked, but he was glad that Laramie was showing some initiative. The cadet had clearly been paying attention to his classmates' skills and abilities. While he wasn't doing everything as Bruce would have done it, he was making intelligent choices and assigning the others to tasks that played to their respective strengths.

It was a good thing, too. Because Laramie's suspicions were dead right about one thing: even though Bruce had never worked with the current Teen Titans roster, he had some very good ideas about the way they fought. To say nothing of the way they thought...

"We're agreed, then," Tim said. "If Bruce so much as steps one foot out of his team's territory, Dodge 'ports him to the brig." He glanced at the blond boy. "You're sure it won't take you more than five seconds, right?"

Dodge nodded.

"Otherwise," Tim continued, "we zap him from the air."

Cassie raised an eyebrow. "Uh... we?"

"Hey, there's no 'I' in 'team'."

"No," Rose drawled, "but there is an 'm' and an 'e'..."

Eddie clapped a hand over his mouth, but couldn't quite muffle his guffaw. Tim sighed. "Wonder Girl and Miss Martian, if he stays on his base, he's all yours."

"Taking him out was my idea, you know," Rose said. "I think I oughta do the honors."

"Remember," Virgil cautioned, "three-page report."

"So worth it."

Tim rubbed at his mask and told himself that the itching sensation was all in his head. The spirit gum adhesive only bothered him when he was annoyed, as though his emotional irritation needed a physical complement. He also told himself that he was only imagining that his teammates were staring at him as he fought not to peel off his mask and scratch. "I'd let you," he sighed. "But then we'd be down a soldier before we even got started and there are seven of us to thirty of them. We know that Bruce will take any casualties on his side personally, but that won't change the fact that they can afford to lose a couple of people. We can't. So." He surveyed each teammate in turn. "Rose, Eddie, the three of us are going to defend our flag." He gestured behind him, where a scarlet banner hung plainly from a tree branch, some thirty feet high. "I want the metas taking the offensive. You can handle multiple opponents better than we can. Dodge," his expression was serious, "they have to know you can teleport in, grab the flag, and teleport out. Bruce didn't forbid it, which means he's got a plan to deal with you. Be prepared for anything."

"Or maybe he knows there's nothing he can do about it and he's hoping we'll think he's got a plan so we don't try it."

Tim tilted his head and regarded Dodge silently.

"Maybe?" Dodge protested.

Tim said nothing. He simply looked at him.

"Come on, it's possible."

Tim waited. Dodge finally dropped his eyes and thrust his hands into the pockets of his Dodgers uniform shirt. "Yeah, okay," he mumbled. "He probably does have a plan."

Tim ignored him. "Wonder Girl, when the exercise starts, we're going to need aerial reconnaissance. Fly over them, find out where their flag is and how they're defending it. I want to know where their brig is. I—"

Cassie held up her hand. "You do know that Ares is the god of war, right?" she asked. "He has taught me a thing or two about military tactics." Just then, a shrill whistle sounded. She smiled. "That sounded like my cue. Don't worry. I'll be back, quick as I can."

So saying, she rose into the air and took off. Tim watched her go.

"Right. While we're waiting for her to get back, let's shore up our defenses. As soon as we have her intel," he glanced at the three remaining metas, "you guys are up."

"So, on the plus side," Jim spoke under his breath as he typed his message into Skrype's SMS chat window, "all of this color war business is distracting him from missing his," he paused from speaking and typing for a moment, as he tried to figure out the best way to refer to Selina, "significant other," he typed finally, feeling that it wasn't quite what he wanted to say. 'Lady love' had been his first thought, but tone didn't always come across properly in a text message and quaint old-fashioned terms could sometimes sound sarcastic instead of sincere. 'Significant other' was accurate enough. He continued typing. "...and daughter."

After a moment, a new message appeared. "That's hard. Even when they've grown and flown." Before Jim could start typing a new message, the icon of a quill appeared on the screen. Martha wasn't finished. "You can tell him that he can call me anytime if he wants to talk to someone who understands."

Jim chuckled. "Martha," he said while he typed, "I don't think you know how many ways that suggestion is likely to backfire. First, he'll be annoyed that I'm talking about him behind his back. Granted, I'd still be typing this word-for-word, even if he were standing here now and reading over my shoulder." He frowned. No. Bruce wouldn't dare to... would he? After a moment, he added, (Bruce, if you have tapped my system and are reading this conversation, I meant every word I just typed!). Of course, Bruce was upstairs with his company, but that didn't necessarily mean that Jim's computer activity wasn't being duly recorded, to be reviewed at Bruce's convenience.

An emoticon lying on its back and kicking while laughing hysterically appeared on the screen. Jim smiled. "Second," he continued, "Bruce isn't exactly the kind who'll reach out to someone he barely knows and unload on them. Third," his smile grew broader, "my telling him you understand what he's probably going through is only going to lead to his calling up your boy and ordering him to call you more..." his eyebrows shot up. "...often. Or was that your devious plan from the start?"

This time, the emoticon that popped up on his screen sported wings and a halo.

Jim burst into laughter. Now how did he make that first emoticon Martha had used again...?

Wonder Girl flew slowly over the cadets' territory. She didn't like this. The tree canopy was thick and the cadets were nowhere to be seen. They should have been fortifying their positions or preparing to enter the free zone. For a moment, she wondered whether Batman had chosen this territory because it had access to some underground passage that would allow his team unimpeded access to the Titans' base. She thought better of it. Batman was doing his level best to make this exercise both fair and challenging. He wouldn't tell his people about any such tunnel without letting the Titans know of its existence as well. Whatever surprises the cadets might be preparing for their opponents, Wonder Girl doubted that Batman had shared any sort of 'insider information' with them. At least, she amended, information about the Manor grounds and security defenses. She wished she knew what had been in those dossiers.

She thought she saw a flash of police blue through the branches below and dipped lower.

Megan? she thought. Are you reading me?

The answer wasn't long in coming. Perfectly. What have you got?

A lot of natural interference. Wait. Their flag is past the trees, up against the edge of one of the bluffs. They must be counting on us to cut through the wooded area to get to it, but coming from the air, I don't have to. Let me just zoom over.

There was a silence that seemed to drag on forever, although it probably only lasted about a minute. It could be that they planted it there over Batman's objections. It could also be a trap. Be careful.

I wi—ARGH!

A beam of light shot through the tree canopy, nailing her in the torso. Startled, she dropped several yards, regaining her equilibrium at a height some feet below the tops of the tallest trees. Almost immediately, another light beam emerged from one of those trees, clipping her leg. Her concentration rattled, she plummeted, glad that her partial invulnerability protected her from being hurt by the branches as she hurtled past.

She landed on the ground, hard enough to knock the wind out of her for a few seconds. She got up, looked herself over, and noticed that there was a bluish-purple stain over her sternum. On her thigh, the stain was far more purple than blue. She grimaced. She'd taken two short-range hits. She wondered if her back was also stained.

"Don't move a muscle," a woman ordered, stepping out from behind a tree. She was training a gun on her. "Now. Put your hands on your head and kneel."

Clearly, someone hadn't read the dossier, Wonder Girl thought. "Like hell," she snapped, tensing her muscles and preparing to leap into the air.

Something snapped behind her and she spun about, overlooking the long branch that another cadet held directly before her ankles. She pitched forward, landing face down in a pool of brackish water. It stank. Coughing and sputtering, she sat up, only to find the woman and four other cadets surrounding her and brandishing their light guns. Overhead, more twigs snapped and a sixth cadet swung lightly down from a low branch. When she saw Wonder Girl, she sighed in relief.

"The information in your dossier said you could handle a fall from that height," she breathed, "but when you dropped, for a minute I wondered if there could have been a mistake."

Yes, there had been a mistake, Wonder Girl thought. She'd been overconfident and it had cost her. Still, she forced herself to smile at the sniper and shake her head. Nobody liked a sore loser and it had been a fair shot.

"Well?" The first woman asked. "Do you want to surrender now and take a chance you'll be rescued? Or would you prefer to gamble you can make it out of here before we zap your suit red?"

With a scowl, Wonder Girl raised her hands. One of the other cadets reached out and plucked her lasso from her belt. "Let's go."

"Don't you have to Mirandize me?" she demanded, as she managed to regain her feet without slipping in the mud.

"Only if we're preparing to interrogate you," another cadet replied calmly. When she turned to face him, he gave her a smile that was almost friendly. "Miranda only applies to testimonial evidence as defined under the Fifth Amendment. Sorry."

"It came up on a pop quiz last week," another one interjected. "So it's still pretty fresh in our minds."

"Oh," she said, flustered. "I thought you have to read it off if you're arresting me."

"Well, usually," the cadet holding her lasso admitted. "Because normally, we would want to question you in that case. But not here. Uh... shall we?" He placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah, sure," Wonder Girl muttered. As the cadets guided her through the trees, she tried to appear miserable and reluctant, even as she paid careful attention to landmarks along the way. She was still in mental contact with Miss Martian, which meant that she was currently in an excellent position to spy on the cadets' camp from below the tree canopy.

Maybe this hadn't been part of the plan, but her getting captured early on wasn't such a bad thing after all...

"Okay," Kid Devil said gently, as he guided two blindfolded cadets toward the Titans' brig. "There's a tree root just ahead. If you kick forward about six inches, you'll bump your feet on it." They did so, nodded, and stepped over it.

Harrier walked forward to greet them. "Report," he said, sounding not unlike his mentor.

Kid Devil squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. "Caught 'em about fifteen yards into our turf, by the horse pasture."

"Ah. Okay, you know where the confinement area is. And Kid Devil? Nice work. The blindfolds are a good idea."

"Um... it's not so they don't see where I'm taking them," Eddie replied. "You know how my armor's weapon system involves a 'bright light burst effect'? Uh... if they skipped that bit in my dossier, let's just say they know it now."

"We read it," one of the cadets growled. "We just couldn't do much to avoid getting blinded."

Harrier made a sympathetic sound. "It's happened to me a time or two also," he admitted. "Should wear off in a few minutes, though. Pro-tip if you end up in Special Forces one day: night-vision lenses are not always helpful."

"Ouch!" the other cadet exclaimed with a shudder.

Harrier smiled. "Carry on."

He reached out mentally toward Miss Martian. Well?

Letting Cassie guide me is working out well. And I don't think that they know I'm here; I'm disguised as a sparrow.

Smart, Harrier thought appreciatively. Okay. Listen. I need you to tell Cassie that she's actually of more use to us behind enemy lines. So long as there's no police brutality toward prisoners in custody, let her know that she can do more good where she is. Rose was right. Taking out Bruce has to be the priority.

I agree, Miss Martian replied. I just need to find him. Her tone was apologetic. It's not as easy as I'd hoped it would be. You see, J'onn taught him how to shield his mind from telepathic eavesdroppers. And he was a very good teacher.

And Bruce has always been a natural at keeping secrets, Tim thought with good humor. Keep at it.

Wonder Girl paced the confines of the rectangular area like caged tiger. It was ridiculous. There were no walls to hold her, no forcefields, nothing but four powdery white lines that looked like the same sort of stuff a person might use to mark a grass tennis court. "Any chance I can get a stool?" she asked.

One of the cadets—the one who'd explained to her about the Miranda rules—picked up a folding chair and placed it inside the rectangle. "We might need it back if we have a meeting," he said, "but you can use it for now. I'm Jeff, by the way."

"Wonder Girl."

"I know."

"Cadet Maleev," Bruce said, approaching from behind and startling him, "don't get too friendly. If this wasn't a training exercise, you'd need to view any attempt at fraternization or even conversation by a prisoner with suspicion."

Wonder Girl looked from Bruce to Jeff and deliberately batted her eyes. Bruce scowled. Jeff laughed.

"Just be on your guard," Bruce snapped, pivoting on one heel.

Cassie stuck out her tongue behind his back. Then her eyes grew wide.

As Bruce passed a large tree, a low-hanging branch wrapped itself around his throat and constricted. Jeff shouted in alarm, while more branches circled Bruce's torso, pinning his arms to his side. Two more cadets came running, in time to see the branches unwind and Bruce crumple to the ground, his coverall already turning a bright shade of red from collar to trouser-hem.

One cadet drew her light-gun on the tree. The tree vanished. Wonder Girl watched as a sparrow soared skyward, out of range of any weapons on the ground.

"Squad leader!" one cadet exclaimed, bending over Bruce, who was already starting to come around. "Are you all right, sir?"

Bruce seemed to take a moment to think about the question before he nodded and rose carefully to his feet. "Take charge for now, Maleev," he said. "Unless Laramie makes another choice when he gets here. Good luck." He began walking briskly in the direction of the manor.

Laramie came racing up. "What just happened?" he demanded.

Maleev shook his head. "We lost our ace in the hole," he said glumly. "What the hell are we supposed to do now?"