*klang, klang, klang, klang!*
Lifting the bar of steel from the anvil, I stepped over to the forge and slipped it in among the coals, placing my foot on the treadle to power the blowers, and listening to the ancient song of fire and earth. Satisfied by the colour of the metal, I walked back over to the anvil and resumed my hammering.
Even in a city like Gotham, you can still find a decent forge available. This one belonged to an artist who worked in wrought iron, but he was out of town, and was happy to hire it out to a fellow craftsman. With a small gratuity, of course.
As it turned out, Wayne Industries (not that I was supposed to know that) was very interested in ceramite and plasteel.
Sweat beaded on my body, stripped to the waist as I laboured, the familiar vibrations and the rhythm of the hammer helping me concentrate. The visions continued: they were hard to piece together, harder to translate into something rational. It seemed the metaphysical makeup of the DCU was even more complex and chaotic - little 'c', not big 'C' - than the 40K universe, and it made precognition much harder. Still, meditation helped, and the best sort of meditation was the kind that actually accomplished something in the meantime.
Even through my meditations, I didn't completely zone out, and I felt the approach of a massive soul presence. So I wasn't surprised when the door to the workshop opened.
"Now that isn't something I have seen often in Man's World," came a melodic voice, and I looked up to see a vision of martial beauty. Dressed in red, blue and gold, she was about my height, and her brief costume showed off her muscular, athletic form. Presumably it had magical protections that guard her limbs, I reasoned as I paused, walking over to a nearby quenching barrel of oil. Thrusting the steel into it, I waved away the steam and pulled it out again, examining the metal. Nodding in satisfaction, I lay the blade-to-be on the anvil and put away the hammer.
"It's rather more common in rural areas, or specialist shops like this one," I offered, picking up a towel to wipe off my face, hands and chest. "Not many in big cities like New York or Washington, but they're still about if you know where to look." Tossing the towel aside, I slipped on my flannel shirt. "That, at least, is the same here as it is back on my original Earth."
She smiled, a lovely expression. "I have fond memories of spending afternoons in Io's workshop, watching her bring life to iron and create beauty. There is nothing quite like the smell, the sound, the feel of a smithy in use." She walked over and touched the forge, heedless of the temperature. Logical, given her supernatural resistance to all kinds of damage. "Sadly, it is rather rare in these days of industrial complexes and factories."
I shrugged. "Mass production is more efficient, and cheaper. You fought during the Second World War: do you think the Allies would have won if their aircraft and tanks were forged by hand in small workshops?"
She shook her head, her star-shaped earrings glittering in the forge-light. "No, but that hardly means that art should be forgotten, simply because it is harder."
I grinned. "On that, my lady, we can agree." I offered my hand, and she took it. I felt the immense strength in her grip, but also her complete lack of the drive to show it off. "Adam."
"Diana, please." She glanced at my project. "A fine looking blade."
I shrugged again. "A work in process. I really should be starting from the ore, but this is more for fun and practice."
"Sensible," she agreed.
I took a moment to open my perceptions, and I was impressed by what I saw. Resembling in part something between an Eldar Wraithlord and a Primarch, she was a massively powerful soul inhabiting a body that was magically transmuted clay. To my wyrdsight, she was a stunningly bright emanation of glorious colour, as beautiful psychically as she was physically ... and as powerful.
"Batman explained your background ... and your encounter with the Joker," she continued, picking up the piece of steel I had been working on. "Many in your position would have simply killed the Clown."
I shrugged. "Thus far I haven't killed anyone. Despite his derangement ... he's just a man. I had no need to kill him."
She turned to face me, tapping the future blade against her palm. "Then why injure him?"
"Because I had learned from his minions' minds that he was extremely dangerous to others, and had a tendency to escape captivity, often," I reasoned. "A lengthy stay in a hospital's secure ward would provide the opportunity to organise somewhere more secure to keep him."
She pointed the blade at me. "You're lying."
Crap: don't forget, this is the Spirit of Truth you're dealing with. Even without the lasso, I noted the coiled golden rope hanging from her belt, She's not going to be bamboozled easily. I sighed. "Alright. Honestly? From what I saw of his mind, I knew that he was, and always will be, a threat. Not to me, personally, but to humanity. His drive is for wanton cruelty, destruction, chaos and madness. If he was facing a button with a sign on it that would cause the Earth's destruction, he would press it without a moment's hesitation, a grin on his lips." I crossed my arms. "The least I could do was to slow him down a bit in his future endeavours."
She held my gaze for a few moments, then nodded. "That was truth. For the record, I recognise that you were quite capable of reducing the Joker to a thin mist of organic particles: some would call your actions merciful." Then she hesitated. "Not everyone in the League would agree, mind you."
I nodded. "I can live with that."
Placing the steel back onto the anvil, she turned to head towards the door. I couldn't help but note the way her uniform hugged her perfectly formed ass, the firm muscles of her thighs as she walked. She stopped and looked over her shoulder (I raised my eyes at just the right moment to avoid being caught ogling her). "Coming to lunch?"
***
Lunch turned out to be an Italian place down the street, and they had a nicely spiced pasta sauce. People largely ignored - except for the occasional lustful glance tossed Diana's way. Even though she had changed into civilian clothes, she was still a stunningly beautiful woman. As far as anyone knew, I was a very lucky teen having lunch with a slightly older friend: for some reason, wearing a cream sweater and jeans was enough to make people fail to recognise her face. Weird, but it seems to be a DCU theme.
"Batman tells me you're considering a heroic career," she said in the middle of her own meal. We had discussed smaller matters, like the shared experience of joining an unfamiliar world, but it seemed it was time to move onto weightier topics.
"It seems appropriate," I said, sipping my tea. We were speaking freely, thanks to a small gadget in Diana's purse helping to keep our conversation private. Yes, she carried a purse in her civilian identity. No, she didn't make a big deal about it, so neither did I. "I have considerable powers that could be put to use defending the people of this world. I could simply live off the royalties of my technology, or even become an industrialist, but ..." I shrugged. "For now, I will pursue the more direct approach towards making the world a better place. Besides," I smiled, "At the moment, I don't even have a legal identity in this world: a little hard to start a business without ID."
"The League is working on it," she said, tasting her wine. "While not entirely without precedent, your situation is quite unusual. Still, since we operate under the authority of the United Nations, we do have some influence."
If I knew a little less about international politics, that would likely reassure me a bit more, I mused. "In any case, I do appreciate the efforts the League is going to in order to help me." She made a shooing motion, but I continued. "I had almost literally nothing when I arrived here: I fully intend to ensure it was effort well spent."
***
"An interesting young man," Diana said as she walked down the Watchtower hallway with two of her closest friends. "Young, and ancient. Patient, but driven. Powerful: definitely powerful."
"But is he dangerous?" asked Superman as he walked on her right.
"Extremely," answered Batman from her left. "J'onn says he's never felt a human mind with a fraction of his power, and that was from across the city. Combined with his skills and knowledge, he's most certainly a threat, and that is without his technical knowledge. The question is: who is he dangerous to."
"You want to bring him into the League," stated Wonder Woman, halting in place, the men pausing with her.
"He's far too young, and inexperienced," agreed Superman.
"We're already planning on recruiting Robin, Aqualad, Kid Flash and Speedy, at least on a probationary level," continued Batman, his tone even. "And experience he has, at least - technically, if he's honest about the range of his knowledge and skills, more than all of us combined."
"It's not the same thing," argued the kryptonian. "Downloaded memories, vicarious experience? It's no substitute for the real thing."
"Nevertheless, it would give us a chance to keep Adam where we can keep an eye on him: imagine if Lex Luthor or Vandal Savage got access to someone of his power."
They stood in silence for a moment, considering that possibility. None of them liked the image.
***
"Woah, too slow, man," Robin chuckled as he leapt over me, avoiding my blow. I was impressed: he was clearly at or near the limits of human strength, speed and agility, given his age. Spinning about, I lashed out with the other fist, and almost grabbed hold of his cape. "Whoops, missed again!"
I stepped back, settling myself. We were on the roof of an abandoned warehouse, with plenty of clear space around us. It was a perfect position for a little light sparing: I had agreed not to use my powers - including my strength - while he was limiting himself to no weapons or gadgets.
I was holding back, massively, of course.
"True, but you haven't landed a strike either," I bantered back, enjoying myself nevertheless. "Let's face it: we have two extremely different styles of fighting: yours concentrates on misdirection, stealth, ranged attack and acrobatics, while mine -" I snagged a hand out and caught his wrist as he was darting in for an attack, likely trying to catch me distracted, and threw a punch in return ... halting an inch from his face - "is somewhat more direct." I let him go and stepped back. "Different skill sets."
Deciding to switch things up, we moved into a more conventional routine, strikes and counter strikes, more to work on technique than to score hits. Despite his size and reach disadvantage, Robin's form was excellent.
"There is no way you just learned this," complained Robin as we moved back and forth, hands, knees and feet moving faster and faster. "It took Batman years to teach me these moves!"
"Benefits of psychic flash education," I offered with a shrug, before breaking off to retrieve my water bottle. Taking a gulp, I offered him an drink, but he took a small flask from his belt instead. "You've been doing this a while?"
"Since I was nine," agreed Robin, leaning against a brick wall.
First sighting of Robin was in 2006: he's only thirteen? Fuck ...
"Time well spent: Batman is a good teacher," I complimented, and the kid nodded back.
"The very definition of tough but fair - and the Batcave has all the best toys."
I bit back a laugh. Only until I get started. Taking another swallow, I capped my bottle and clapped my hands. "Right: let's try this again." Deciding to up the ante a little, I increased my speed as I launched myself at Robin.
"Oooh, cra-"
A/N: Changes largely to the Trinity dialog.
Part 4
July 2, 2010
"... it's gonna be so awesome, Adam: think about it! Me, Kid Flash, Aqualad, Speedy, all of the Justice League's sidekicks finally getting the recognition we deserve, finally being inducted into the League properly!"
I smiled as I worked on the circuitry of my armour's cogitator. The highly complex and deceptively advanced equipment was vital for fully functional power armour, and three months after arriving on the DC Earth I was finally almost ready to power up my first real suit. Oh, it was a bit of a kluge, and I had to substitute some of the less advanced components with conventional technology, but Imperial tech was endlessly adaptable, especially when you actually understood the first principals involved. "All, hmmm? I wonder how Troia would feel about hearing that," I referenced Diana's protoge, Donna Troy.
Robin snorted from where he was perched casually on a pile of equipment cases. My workshop, in a secure facility that was owned by a subsidiary of a shell corporation of an LLC of a ... well, you get the idea: it was basically Wayne Industries property. The patents they were registering on my behalf were starting to make some serious money, and while I had recieved considerable royalties, most of it had been ploughed back into producing more tech. The workshop (and associated well-appointed sleeping quarters) were a gift from a grateful benefactor. Bruce knows how to keep his golden egg laying geese happy ... and under control. I can live with that ... for now. "Troia's barely a newbie, and she's already quitting."
"Taking time off to concentrate on school is hardly quitting, Robin," I chided, but ignored the Boy Wonder's smack talk. He was aggressive, intelligent, driven and endlessly enthusiastic: if I had gene-seed available, I would be trying to convince him to become my first Astartes.
One thing at a time. Walk, before you can run. The Emperor bided his time for millennia: you can wait a few years.
"Whatever. It's still gonna be rad. I mean, it's the Hall of Justice, for crying out loud!"
"Ah, yes, the pretty building in D.C. with the huge golden statues, museum and guided tours every hour, on the hour," I chuckled, lowering the breastplate and stepping back from the slab that held my almost complete armour. "Remember if you will that the League operated for years in a concealed mountain base for years before they moved to the Hall: you think having their cover blown made them less security conscious?"
Robin chuckled. "Oh, and just because your idea of a perfect base is twenty stories down under layers of armour plating and bedrock has nothing to do with that conclusion?"
I shrugged. "Also, less likely to result in civilian casualties if and when my enemies attack. Of course, given access to teleportation technology, the physical location of their command centre is largely irrelevant." Unfortunately, my teleportarium is years away from operability, even if I manage to compensate for the lack of the Warp.
As it turns out, instead of manipulating Warp energy, my psychic powers let me tap into a section of the realm called the Bleed, the plane that exists between realities. Honestly, it wasn't all that different from the Warp in principal, if a lot less dangerous to one's soul. It also meant that I had to adapt my tech to suit local conditions. Plus side: once I get starships into production, we won't be using Hell as a means of FTL travel.
"But you don't mind if I keep being a little excited about it, do you?" he asked cheekily, and I bowed with a flourish, offering my ascent as I put away my fine work tools. "Cool. So what do you have planned for the Fourth?"
I chuckled. "You do realise that on my parallel, I'm from Australia? Your little celebration of a group of elderly white slave owners deciding they didn't want to pay their taxes means very little to me," I joked, and he poked his tongue out at me. "But seriously, Diana's invited me to the Embassy's reception, and the fireworks should be impressive, at least. For the rest of the day, I'll probably be binging on some bad TV shows." Unfortunately, the local equivalent of Netflix was barely getting started, and this parallel was lacking a lot of my preferred viewing options. Sadly, in a world of actual aliens, gods and monsters, science fiction was less popular than you'd think. Still, I still had period dramas to enjoy.
Don't judge me.
"So while we're seeing behind the curtain at the Hall - or wherever - you'll be either veging on the couch or hobnobbing with a bunch of overpriced suits: I can live with that," quipped Robin as he flipped off the crates in a casual display of acrobatics that I'd need to cheat to replicate. Pausing to straighten his cape, he grinned at me. "Sure you don't want to come? Wonder Woman would probably be willing to sponsor you!"
***
"I would," agreed Diana as she parried my swing, then propped her red-booted foot against my chest and shoved me flying backwards across the training hall.
Rolling to my feet again, I held my sword in a practiced high guard, holding myself low as she and I circled one another. The Themysciran embassy, by virtual necessity, included a large room for martial practice by the Ambassador, her guards, and any other residents who felt the need to punch, kick or swing sharp metal objects at one another. Presumably, it had been a ballroom before it had been sold to the Amazons. "I'm honoured by the offer," I said honestly, before advancing, my blade moving in a complicated pattern that Diana matched with the practiced ease of a professional swordswoman. "It's an - expression of - trust and - confidence," I continued, as our swords struck back and forth, before we disengaged again. "But I'm not ready. Not yet."
She lowered her sword, grounding the blade, and I followed suit, acknowledging the pause in the bout. "Your humility does you credit, but your skills are hardly lacking." Regular sparring matches with Wonder Woman had proven that, at least: our strength levels were generally comparable, and she was far more experienced a combatant than Robin.
Besides, it was an opportunity to get sweaty with one of the most beautiful and powerful women on Earth: not something to be sneered at.
I shrugged. "Not humility: practicality. I'm still putting together what I would regard as a basic set of arms and armour, I'm still adapting to the local culture and history, and, well, my methods are still somewhat more final than a lot of the League is comfortable with."
She smiled. "I can emphasise with that: last time I was in Man's World, we were fighting a brutal war against an evil dictatorship. Adjusting to modern heroism was ... not simple. Still, I'm sure I can ask the rest of the League to extend you a similar position."
I shook my head. "Again, thank you, but no. Besides," I grinned, "While the sidekicks are being bored out of their minds with procedures, protocols and red tape, I'll be dressed to the nines and spending time with a gorgeous Amazon princess." I breathed on my knuckles and polished them against my sweat-stained shirt. "I just had a suit tailored and I must say I look fabulous," I joked.
Diana shook her head in tolerant amusement as she walked over to a weapons rack and hung up her sword. "I suppose that has something to do with your sudden increase in height?"
I was hardly surprised that she noticed that I had grown six inches in the last month. "Just a little biokinesis: my armour is intended for someone of a somewhat greater stature than myself, and it's just easier to change to fit the suit than change the suit to fit me." I stooped to retrieve my swordbelt and sheathed my blade. I was still proud of the finished product, with a stylised Aquila cross guard, similar to an Astartes fighting knife. "The difficult part was adjusting to the concept of July being hot: back home, this is the coldest part of the year."
***
"... and in other news, notorious bank robber and costumed villain Leonard Snart, aka 'Captain Cold,' was apprehended in a spectacular fashion by Central City's own Flash and his sidekick, Kid Flash. The Scarlet Speedster and -" I turned off the TV with a tweak of telekinesis as I concentrated on adjusting the bow tie that topped off my suit. Come on, 'Adam', admit it: even without the Emperor's gold obsession and preference for tacky, over the top decorations, you're a complete peacock, under your skin. I paused, admitted it to myself, and moved on.
Deciding I was ready, I warped the Bleed energies and teleported myself hundreds of miles to Washington D.C., to the exterior of the Embassy. Other guests and armed guards flinched at my sudden appearance, but I just smiled and adjusted my jacket, casually approaching the entrance, nodding to the Amazons on guard in their polished panoply. They nodded in return, one of them (Arana, a cute brunette who was older than the New Testament but looked like a nineteen-year old actress in a sword-and-sandal flick) winking as I passed.
Moving through security, I entered the main ballroom, taking in the sight of elegantly dressed men and women, mostly in traditional suits and dresses, but occasionally Amazons in beautiful chiton and sandals or Atlantean envoys in fish scale mail. There was even the imposing figure of Ferdinand, the bull headed kythotaur ("I'm not a Minotaur, thank you very much!") who served as the Embassy's head cook, fussing over the buffet table. He gave me a respectful nod, which I returned.
"Adam!" came a familiar voice, and I smiled to turn and see an attractive woman, brown haired and in her early thirties. "I'm so glad you could make it!" She reached up and smoothed down my lapel in a motherly fashion, her fingers tracing over the golden Aquila I wore pinned to my jacket where some would wear a flag pin.
"Wouldn't miss it, Helena," I responded, taking her hand and bowing over it, kissing her knuckles genteelly. "How are you finding the Smithsonian?"
Helena Sandsmark, archaeologist, mother of a precocious blonde and (unbeknownst to her) former paramour of Zeus, smiled beatifically. "Marvellous, of course: the new exhibit is going to be incredible, largely thanks to the Embassy's help!" She giggled. "The translation assistance alone was worth it: more than one linguist is going to have to withdraw their award winning books after learning that their thesis' were based on ... somewhat inaccurate data."
I smiled. "The one with the -"
She nodded, a sly expression on her face. "That's the one: last I heard, he was arguing with the board at Harvard, insisting that the Amazons intentionally falsified the translation just to spite him -"
"- because he's male," I nodded. "Has anyone explained that Amazons aren't actually misandrists?" I had visited the Embassy enough to learn that despite their reputation and long period of isolation, most Amazons didn't actually mind men, they just didn't consider them relevant.
Others, like the lovely Arana, actually find us fascinating.
"If they have, he didn't listen. Anyway, having first person accounts of pre-dark-age Helenic culture is an incredible source: did you know that while Helen over there isn't the one from the Trojan Wars, she actually knew the famous one?" I glanced over to where a young looking brunette was laughing with an actually young woman in a Marine captain's dress uniform. "Well, met her once or twice. And actually visited the palace of Knossos while it was inhabited?" Her eyes were wide and her face flushed, the passion of a scholar who could finally grapple with mysteries her occupation had long dismissed as unsolvable. "It's big, really big," she finished.
"I look forward to visiting when it opens," I assured her, before looking around the party. "I don't see Her Highness: is the Princess intending to make a grand entrance?"
Helen's face fell. "Unfortunately, no: she's not coming. The League called her in: something about a dark wizard's plot to block out the sun." My expression must have been amusing, because she giggled. "Don't sweat it, hon: it's the sort of thing the League is very good at dealing with. Diana should be back before the night is out, with a heroic story to tell. You just enjoy the party."
I nodded, shaking my head as I realise, once again, this was a world that faced Armageddon as often as that of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but with a lot more heavy hitters available to fight the good fight. Remember: this is a universe where the deck is stacked towards the Good Guys, for the most part: they've seen off alien invaders, demonic incursions, would-be world conquerors and extra-dimensional threats. The League is actually good at what they do.
Of course, they could be better, if they had better support and - no, that's for the future.
***
It was after midnight when I teleported back home, after helping to escort an inebriated (and somewhat over-affectionate) Helena to a taxi, when I received a signal on my phone. Frowning, I pulled the device out of my pocket as I pulled my tie loose with my free hand. It was a simple alert code that Robin had given me, without context. I paused, and reached out with my mind, seeking Robin's familiar thought patterns. For a moment I couldn't, which worried me, but then I felt his faint, almost muffled presence. What the hell? Some kind of ... telepathic blocking? No single mind could ... Focusing harder, I forced my way through the barrier and touched his mind.
My eyes snapping open, I ran for my workshop, stripping off my jacket as I moved, tossing it aside heedlessly.
A/N: Minor dialog changes.