“If it worked,” Bruce said. “It doesn’t.” He flipped a switch on the control panel. The core hummed to life, glowing brightly from within. Lit gauges registered a sudden surge of energy.

Then the device went cold. The gauges dropped back to zero.

“Ignition, yes,” he stated. “But no chain reaction.”

She didn’t believe him.

“You’ve built a lot of security around a damp squib.”

He gazed at her stonily, but remained silent. She thought she understood his reticence.

“About three years ago, a Russian scientist published a paper on weaponized fusion reactions,” she commented. “One week later, your reactor started developing problems.” You don’t have to be a nuclear physicist to see a connection, she mused. “I think your machine works.”

Wayne peered at her intently.

“Miranda, if it were operational, the danger to Gotham would be too great.”

“Would it make you feel any better,” she asked, “to know that the Russian scientist died in a plane crash six months ago?”

This did not seem to reassure him.

“Someone else will work out what Dr. Pavel did,” he argued. “Someone else will figure out how to turn this power source into a nuclear weapon.”

“Then why show this to me?” she asked.

“I need you to take control of Wayne Enterprises…and this reactor.”

She was aware of his current financial difficulties. How could she not be?

“And do what with it?”

“Nothing,” he said firmly. “Until we can find a way to guarantee its safety.”

“And if we can’t?”

“Decommission it,” he said. “Flood it.”

She was dismayed by the very idea.

“Destroy the world’s best chance for a sustainable future?”

“If the world’s not ready, yes,” he replied.

She stepped closer to him. He caught a whiff of an exotic perfume.

“Bruce, if you want to save the world, you have to start trusting it.”

“I’m trusting you.”

“Doesn’t count,” she said. “You have no choice.”

But he wouldn’t let it lie.

“I could have flooded this chamber any time over the last three years,” he said. “I’m choosing to trust you, Miranda, and that’s not the easiest thing for me.” Intense eyes implored her. “Please.”

She nodded.

Fox cleared his throat, politely intruding on the moment.

“Excuse me,” he said, “but we have a board meeting to get to.”

* * *

The board of directors had convened an emergency meeting. Lucius Fox, as CEO, sat at the head of the long oak table, while Bruce Wayne occupied the other end for the first time in years—and possibly for the very last time.

John Daggett rose to address the board. He appeared even more arrogant than usual.

“I’d like to point out that we have a non-member here,” he protested. “Highly irregular, even if it is his family name above the door.”

All eyes turned toward the last surviving Wayne. Douglas Fredericks, one of the board’s senior members, spoke up. He was a dignified older gentleman with a mane of snowy white hair, who had seldom been afraid to speak his mind. Bruce had always respected his honesty.