Investigation Time
Alfred led him through the mansion when they returned to it. Following that, they had a delicious dinner at the corner of a rather long table.
"I must say, Young Master, it is rather strange for you to be in costume while in the manor itself. Fortunately, we have no visitors today, as always."
"Do you want to have anyone over?" he asked. "I don't know anyone here."
"It... I must say, it would be nice, to put my skills to use for other things than simply dressing your wounds every time you are injured. Master Bruce appreciates my cooking and everything I do for him, but sometimes I feel like throwing a regular dinner party would be lovely. We have a cocktail and caviar event at least once a year so that his alternate identity can remind everyone he is a rich and selfish billionaire, but I was hoping for something more... genuine? intimate? To be honest, Master..."
"You can just call me Tiger. I think that's a nickname I had at one point." He looked down the table. "Never mind, that's another animal. Plus, I'm pretty sure it was a girl saying it."
"Trouble yourself not, I shall never once call you by a pet name. I only wished to say that it had been a long time since I had thought about it." Alfred looked like he very nearly had a change of expression for a moment.
"Do we have any friends apart from Nightwing?" he asked. "I kinda wouldn't be surprised if we don't. I seem like the kind of guy who isn't very popular with anyone."
"Well, they're not exactly friends, not at the moment, but... perhaps they would like to be," the butler said, seeming to dedicate genuine thought to it. "In addition to Master Grayson, I shall have to invite Miss Gordon and young Master Drake; he should be back from his excursion."
They must be all the people who are in on my little secret. Well, that saves me the trouble of having to act like I'm the other guy. His name's Bruce and that doesn't really sound like my name. I can't help but think my name is something people would use in a mocking tone more easily.
"What was I like growing up?" he asked. Alfred blinked a moment. "Sorry, I know that's out of the blue. I don't want to pretend to be like the other Batman... it's just that when I heard his name, I knew it wasn't mine. I knew I didn't spend my whole life hearing it. I knew it wasn't something I was trying to protect, a secret."
"I see. You figure that your true memories are having a difficult time coming to the surface because at some level it is a challenge to even make sense of our present reality. When presented with contrast, however, you can distance yourself from this body you are being convinced is your own."
"Yeah," he said after a moment. "You totally got it in one."
"I have mentioned that Master Bruce suffered a great deal in watching his parents die as a child, and he dedicated his life not to avenging them specifically, but in correcting the injustice. His initial reaction was... not the best, to be sure, but he learned over time that no matter what they would have wanted, the right thing for him to do was to serve the interests of justice from the shadows."
He knew he was supposed to be listening and comparing what he heard to what he felt his central nature was, but he could not help but be curious. It almost seemed like it was not working, because he knew for a fact that he had processed grief in ways that did not really make anyone better off. It wasn't my parents, though. I just heard that they died at some point.
"Do you think everyone else would mind if we had them over tomorrow?" he asked.
"It is somewhat short notice, but we have expected more promptness from them in the past, and I believe the situation warrants an explanation. We do not know, after all, how long it will take to resolve this." The butler sighed. "I suppose, though, that there is a chance that this is simply our new reality, and then we have all the more reason to have it out. If we never find out how you were replaced with Master Bruce, or some misfortune befalls him, then hanging on is all that remains."
"Yeah, I guess so. That makes me think of a song, but I think you wouldn't find it that funny if I brought it up."
"Oh, do, perhaps it will tell us more about your background."
"Well, it's by... it goes like 'hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way. The time is gone, the song is over...' It's weird, I can't remember all of it. I know it's an older song; it wasn't popular for my generation, but I must've known some older people."
"Interesting. I know I have never heard it before, and I would be in the age range, God preserve me. It complicates matters further that I also like to listen to music from back home."
"Well, I can check the internet or something. I think we should really be working on that thing I was supposed to be investigating when I got injured, that-"
"Mad scientist Zalmoxis?"
Something about it rubbed him the wrong way and he knew enough to take the opportunity to flesh that out. It's the phrase 'mad scientist'. I don't like it. I'll have to remember that.
"Yeah; I need to get back to that scene to investigate the wreckage. Was it far from here?"
"No, actually, he thought to remain hidden by setting up his infernal machinations out in the forested hills. Little did he know, there is more out here than reclusive billionaires." He thought for a moment as they walked through a grandfather clock in the wall. He really has his secret base behind a grandfather clock? I guess most of his guests are polite enough not to touch it.
"Do you think he might have known, though?" he asked. "It seems like a ridiculous coincidence. I guess I see how he could have done that on his own, but how do we know he didn't actually know there was something up with Bruce Wayne?"
"We do not; it is only something that was unlikely from the start. We have been reasonably good at keeping the secret; we have even arranged for side-by-side appearances with Batman, when some ally of ours has decided to aid us in that regard."
"Okay. I don't think I can let that go, though, not unless we actually track him down and get him to say something about it. Do we have a gadget for tracking people down?"
"Of course," Alfred said as they went down into the skull. "It weighs about three pounds-"
"And it's right between my ears, yeah, I know. For the record, I'm actually a really smart guy, just not always with this kind of thing. I don't think I did a whole lot of detective work."
"To hear Master Grayson tell it, you were something of a scientist. Perhaps the central concept is similar, provided we are comparing honest detectives with honest scientists. Use the evidence to discover the truth."
"I guess there's nothing to do but get over to the scene," he said. "Do we have any spare grapnel guns?"
"Of course. Master Bruce had a set of tools for every suit."
"Wow, he was absolutely made of money," he said, looking over all the other suits. "Wait, what's that one? It's actually pretty cool." The suit had a gold bat symbol, and unlike some of the others, lacked a cape. The eyes seemed somewhat larger than average and the belt that went with it was light.
"I'm afraid we did not equip that one for gliding purposes."
"Oh, that's not a problem, just get some of the same material up under the arms and you could pull off some sick acrobatics. Well, I could. I'll work on that when we get back; I'll take this with me to see if I could compare the different attachments."
"It seems you grow more accustomed to the different aspects of the job with the passing hour," Alfred observed. "To be honest, I did not quite know what I was doing when I allowed you out of the cave initially; I only had some vague notion that it was what Master Bruce would have wanted, most likely."
"He doesn't seem like the trusting type," Batman observed as they were walking out of the cave. Apparently it was within a reasonable distance.
"Again, most likely. He has instructed me on how to respond in the events of a number of different things that might happen to him, including enemies taking over his body for wicked purposes, but I do not think he ever imagined a hero would do it, nor that anyone would do it unintentionally."
"Yeah, I don't think I would've seen this coming either, to be honest," he said as he was looking over the grapnel gun. It was more or less exactly the same as the one on his belt. It'd be pretty cool if I could get these to fire automatically without having to hold them. If I'm holding them, I can't do anything else with that hand. He noticed that when he picked them up, in either hand, they connected to the suspension system in his entire costume; there was an electromagnet that activated and after a moment, it was safe to apply force to them. The steel cable could fire before the other end connected, because it was timed so that even if it got to full extension, the magnets would already be attached. The suspension system was much lighter and thinner, but it was basically a net of wires running through the costume like the bronze-plated high-tensile steel wires commonly found in automotive tires, though he had only been made aware of those due to the occasional blowout on a semi.
"I get the feeling that I didn't drive a lot," he said as they were walking. "I must've done a lot of work in a city and if I ever went somewhere in a car, it was a rare thing, like a family vacation as a child or a Sunday drive with a friend. I wouldn't have been driving in either of those cases."
"More than once, you have intimated that you were impecunious, a regrettably common predicament for research scientists. If, provided we manage to sort out your unique situation, you are interested, Wayne Enterprises is always hiring at competitive rates."
"Thanks, Alfred, that's really cool."
They said nothing more until they arrived at the scene, which appeared to be an underground lab in the middle of a forest. He really wanted this to be hidden, huh. Even if Gotham's supposed to be a corrupt city where you might manage to go a good while without getting caught for anything, I guess there are some things that still can't resist being discovered.
He was careful not to disturb the scene as he looked around, scanning things with the cowl. It was already after dark, so he was grateful for the advanced optics that did more than allow him to see in the dark. The primary machine, the one that his predecessor had managed to keep destabilize. He must not have been interested in seeing what Zalmoxis was going to do with it, but I guess I can't blame him; I wasn't there. He might have absolutely had to stop it right then.
As described, the core had collapsed, and much of the facility was destroyed in the resulting fallout. It was more of a tinkerer's lab than any sophisticated operation, and he knew he had seen such things before, but it was impossible to place. A thought occurred to him.
"So, does Wayne Enterprises ever lose track of anything?"
"No, not except the employees, when they leave for one reason or another. I continue to regret that we could not have done more for Victor Fries, but it appears all of our efforts to reform him have been unsuccessful."
"Batman tried to reform someone?"
"Perhaps it should be noted that he is not entirely heartless, young Master. He truly believes that there is some hope for Fries because his motivation is centered around his terminally ill wife, whom he has frozen until a cure can be found. His own condition requires him to remain at freezing temperature at all times."
"He went around robbing banks for more resources?"
"Banks and medical laboratories, though truly there is only the slightest of distinctions. Perhaps he acts out of love for her, but it appears he has only indifference for everyone else in the world."
He thought for a moment. Maybe not everyone is interested in getting a redemption arc, but I can definitely see it for this Fries character. I would at least like to know more about him.
"There's a book here," he said, picking up what remained of a cover of a book that had been badly burned after sifting through the wreckage. "This might be the only thing here that I can understand. The machine is destroyed; I can't even think about how I might reverse engineer it, not that we know we'd want to. I really don't know why Batman destroyed it or decided that there was nothing else to do, but I have to trust that decision; he knew way more about this than I do." He looked back at what remained of the book cover.
"I see. That is a decision I find easy to respect."
"I've got a Palinge- and it cuts off there. I don't know if there's an online copy for this; are there any libraries where we might find a copy of this book?" he asked. "I honestly wouldn't even know whether to look in the fiction or the nonfiction section."
"Indeed. Many of our regular enemies can scarcely the difference."
"They're insane?" he asked.
"There are other reasons why people have trouble telling myth from reality."
"Are they real blockheads or something?"
"No, they would be much easier to round up if they all had the intelligence of Killer Croc. I do not know if you came across this in your own studies, or in whatever endeavors that somehow compare to our own, but there are those who believe what they will, whether or not they make the decision on the spot. Perhaps someone convinces them with misleading evidence that they never investigate, or perhaps they convince themselves; most of the time it does not happen overnight. I suspect there are some who may well require medicine and treatment, but as long as they do not desire help, none can be provided; as long as they do not answer questions honestly and take what they are given, the correct medicines will never make it into their bloodstreams. All across the United States, there are many who have been declared to be criminally insane, and in most cases they act nothing like the villains we fight here in Gotham."
"I think I get it," he said. "It's not really that they're insane, and I wouldn't really know what insanity looked like anyway. Do you think they're pretending to be insane?"
"In some cases, that is possible. I suspect it is how they get out of capital punishment so frequently, and as long as Dr. Strange remains a respected psychologist, his diagnoses will continue to-"
"Strange?" he asked. "Did you say Doctor Strange?"
"I should hope you have not been employed by him, of all people."
"I know I've run into a man who called himself Doctor Strange. He lives in... well, he lives in the same city where I live. He's good."
"Then I assure you, we are speaking of two entirely different medical professionals. Dr. Hugo Strange is a monster far worse than any he has falsely diagnosed; he abuses his license and the almost mystical aura surrounding his profession, as well as the misplaced trust that everyone seems to award him. He developed a gaseous toxin known as Fear Gas for the sole purpose of experimenting on innocent people, who in many cases were convinced of their own insanity, and had the audacity to call it a treatment."
"That's..." he trailed off. It was a million miles away from what he would ever want to be allowed, but strangely he could see it happening. I must have known about corruption. Was I expecting this place to be less corrupt? "Oh, this might seem like a random question, but do you know of any places that don't struggle with corruption? I'm not saying I'm going to move there-"
"Metropolis is substantially less corrupt in many ways," Alfred said. "To think, it's only across the bay..." He shook his head. "A great ally of ours comes from the outskirts of that particular city and grew up with the notion that everyone was good."
"Well, I know I didn't come from there," he decided. "I was never under that impression."
After recording more of what they found there, they decided to return. When he realized that the butler must have retrieved him when he was injured, he thanked him, but it seemed the gratitude was so unexpected it was almost unwelcome. Maybe it's the kind of thing where his old boss demonstrated how much he trusted him by taking his services for granted. I don't think I want to do it like that, though.
When they returned, he decided it was time to get some rest, which worked out since he was tired enough. He left the suit in the cave and resolved to make some changes in the morning, though Alfred recommended that he spend an hour working out in the morning, like usual. Huh. It feels like that's not usual at all, at least for me. Once he was changed into a bathrobe, though, he felt wealthier than he had felt in the strange bat-themed suit that he had been wearing. He threw himself tiredly onto silk sheets and down pillows. What's the threadcount on this mattress? Can it be expressed without exponents?
He woke after a series of strange dreams. There were flashes of color, sounds that he could not quite distinguish, and the most unusual of feelings. One of the most consistent was loss. Somehow he knew that there was something or someone he had, that was then lost, and he might have found something else to do, but it changed something within him. Maybe those are formative memories or something. I thought I still had the effects of my formative memories, though. As he threw on some actual clothes, realizing that the billionaire had quite the selection in his closet, he realized that Alfred was right. There was no specific cause of memory loss that explained what he was currently experienced. It's got to be something more out of the box. Was it implied that we have a library? Why is it so hard to convince myself of the phrase 'we have a library'?
Alfred must be right about how I was 'impecunious'. I hope I remember that if I ever go back where I belong.
In the library, the butler had not only anticipated his needs with a plate of breakfast, but was going through the nonfiction section of their library.
"I followed the smell of books," he said. "I've always liked the smell."
"I sympathize. It appears I neglected to mention that you have an appearance as Bruce Wayne today."
"That's fine, I wasn't going. I don't think I could convince anyone that I wasn't the same guy. We're trying to tell the real Bruce that, not everyone in the world."
"I only mentioned it to ingratiate you on the fact that I am going to change your appointment."
"Oh, thanks."
Alfred raised his eyebrows again.
"You know, I figured you were going for 'put our service to ze test', but honestly I don't see it that way. I get that in a hierarchical society, there's a virtue in trust and loyalty, but I only know one way to be; I treat people the way I expect to be treated, so if you do something nice, I'm going to thank you."
"Master Wayne was not without gratitude," the butler clarified. "Some things simply go without saying. All the same, I understand."
"How would you like me to help?" he asked after a moment, as if necessary to clarify that he was changing subject. "Do we have the book we need?"
"Oh, no, heavens, it has always been said that the very best of libraries contain references to other books in other libraries."
"I know I said that I didn't think we would be able to find an online copy, but we could try searching for it at least. There might be some information about where we could find it."
"Regrettably, my initial search produced no results. It appears that in addition to being unavailable for purchase, the book is completely unknown. I have very little doubt, however, that the title is Palingenesis."
"I feel like I vaguely recall that term from a biology lecture at some point."
"There are more likely explanations. Speaking, however, of vague recollections, did you dream last night?" Alfred asked, noticing that he had finished his breakfast.
"Yeah, but it's hard to remember anything. I really don't know if those are real dreams or what. Sometimes when I'm in a dream, I start to remember things that didn't actually happen, and that kind of provides background for the dream."
"I see. Did anything useful turn up?"
"Yeah, actually. Also, I think I do want to go around out of my usual costume for a bit. I've got an idea for how we can get some information on the Zalmoxis guy. I don't think anyone would recognize me if I'm not dressed like a billionaire and I'm acting differently than usual."
"Exactly what is this idea, pray?" Alfred asked, lowering the book he was reading.
"It isn't praying. I'm going to ask people around the university if they could point me in the right direction. I know this guy who gave me some tips on that a while back, but I kind of had my own take on that."
"Young master, I am afraid I must caution against making public appearances. Though perhaps no one would expect to see Bruce Wayne in public, and it would be even less likely for him to be going around striking up conversations at Gotham University, there are those who would recognize you, and that will make things difficult in the long term."
He's right. If I ever go back to my old body and the real Batman gets this one again, he'll have that public appearance on his permanent record, so to speak.
"Well, I can't just do nothing," he decided after a while. "I'll take some extra measures to disguise myself, and in case someone does recognize me, do we have any fake ID?"
"Yes, quite a few more than a fraternity house," the butler said after sighing. "Incidentally, if you do inform them of our collection, I shall have to be most disappointed."