Pleased he had been able to chase off these strange competitors for Hitler’s brain, the Wizard stroked his hooded chin.

. . . MAY PRODUCE VARIATIONS, POSSIBLY NOT APPARENT FOR YEARS LATER . . .

“I’ll give you 18,000 pounds for what you’ve got in that box,” the Wizard said to Ffogg.

“I think the way to resolve this might be to properly publicize this object and then accept bids.”

King Tut contented himself by listening to more of the broadcast. “And speaking of Londinium, the long-running rumor about the preserved brain of Adolf Hitler has popped up again. The latest version has the brain going up for sale in a secret underworld Londinium auction.”

“Liberated, to be more accurate!“ replied Tut. “Just in the last hour, the Joker and I have staged a jailbreak.”

AS WE DID NOT LEARN PREVIOUSLY . . .

At the Stopwatch Belfry, lights were dimmed in the late Bruce Wayne's office. The spacious room’s sole illumination came from seldom-used orange ceiling lights.

“Here's another change in the timeline – and it’s within your own department, Chief Gordon,” said Professor Nichols, glancing up at Barbara. “The Police Headquarters inventory of Batman film clips now includes an extra item. In contradiction to previously recorded history, there’s a new, 40-year old bit of footage labeled ‘Caped Crusaders escape King Tut’s bomb attack.'"

Everyone looked over at Professor William Mackelroy. The former King Tut smiled sheepishly.

“I’m afraid I can’t be of much assis – no, wait. There was one instance where I issued orders from prison, to an employee by the name of Florence of Arabia.” Mackelroy looked over at Dick Grayson, who was standing nearby. “I directed her to buy some landmines and leave them for you to drive over.”

“I don’t recall it,” said Dick, “but if I had a nickel for every time someone’s tried to blow me up . . .”

“Here’s another alteration,” said Lisa Wayne, scanning her late husband’s computer. “Originally, the Joker first teamed up with Catwoman when she picked him up at his release from prison. Now, the records state it was the other way around: she was picked up by the Joker following her escape. They were seen by you, Barbara, as they drove by your father’s office.”

TWO DIFFERENT OUTCOMES! TWO DIFFERENT REALITIES!
DO WE EVER DARE RELY ON OUR SENSES AGAIN?

“This is so strange,” Barbara said, rubbing her temples. “I think I remember being in Daddy’s office when he learned the Joker was about to be set free . . . but I also recall looking out the window and being shocked to see the Joker free - and with Catwoman.”

Dick Grayson gave a lopsided grin. “That’s just senility setting in, Babs.” She smacked him on the shoulder.

“What you are experiencing is your memory shifting to accommodate the new history,” said Professor Nichols. “Although the end result still leads us to this spot, details of the route our lives took to arrive here are changing. In another moment, the only version you will recall will be the ‘new’ history.”

The Seamstress frowned. “That tears it. We’ll need to upgrade to Condition Red.” She flipped a pair of wall switches. The dim orange lights were promptly replaced by red lights, bathing everything with a ruby glow.

Barbara threw a hand up in exasperation. “We can just turn the lights out altogether if history gets hit with any more changes.”

The Seamstress looked at the widow Wayne. “Maybe you shouldn’t have made that payment on the funeral just yet. I can’t understand how our 2010 is still holding together.”

“Our fragile house of cards still exists, albeit on shaky ground,” agreed Nichols, glancing at the walls as if expecting them to collapse. “We can only hope Robin Beyond is counteracting the changes as we speak.”

********

DECADES BEFORE, IN GOTHAM CITY . . .

At “Florence of Arabia’s Belly Dancing School,” the bearded Suleiman the Great rubbed his hands together. “This is gonna be a breeze, boss. Now that you own the lot adjacent to Wayne Manor, you can just sit back and drill underneath his property.”

“Don’t get cocky.” King Tut raised a warning finger.

“What do you mean? Wayne must have a dozen acres, easy. He’s not gonna notice our mining operation until we’ve drained every ounce of Nilanium out from under him.”

“There is more to Bruce Wayne than meets the eye,” Tut growled. “We need to take precautions . . . fortify our borders. Anyone who crosses onto my new property must pay a heavy price.”

“I have just the thing,” said Florence of Arabia. “I knew those spare landmines I bought in Londinium would be worth hanging onto. He sets foot on one of those and . . . kaboomo!”

“Perfect!” said the Commander of Cairo. “Suleiman, you accompany my lovely Queen of the Nile out to the border of the property. Lay all the remaining landmines. I will have zero tolerance for trespassers!”

His underlings turned to leave. “Oh . . . one other thing,” Tut said, pointing at Florence. “You run a belly-dancing school. Don’t you think it’s about time you donned your harem girl garb?”

“Aw, poopsie, I’ll get it all dirty digging. What if I promise to change into them as soon as I get back?”

Tut gave a curt nod and dismissed her with an angry wave.

Robin the Boy Wonder jogged towards the boundary of Wayne Manor. Reaching the edge of the property (the new edge of the property), he took a long look around. ‘Why would King Tut want to legitimately purchase a lot out here?’

“Hellllp!” cried a woman’s voice. Robin whirled and charged in the direction of the scream. Over a rise, he spotted the woman, a gorgeous brunette, trying to break free from her assailant. A bearded man dressed in Arabian garb was standing in a hole. One hand still held the shovel just used to dig the hole, the other was shaking the unfortunate lass by the arm.

“Unhand her!” Robin demanded. Suleiman the Great immediately came at the Boy Wonder with clenched fists.

>POW!<

Robin’s left hook rattled Suleiman’s teeth. Suleiman responded with a haymaker of his own, but it glanced off Robin’s shoulder.

>SMACK!<

Robin’s second punch knocked him into the dirt hole. Suleiman was senseless before he landed.

Robin turned to accept the thanks of his rescu-ee. “It’s all right now, ma’am.”

Swinging the shovel like a baseball bat, Florence of Arabia caught the Boy Wonder square in the forehead.

>KLONG!<

Robin was lifted off his feet by the blow. He landed in the hole on top of the likewise unconscious Suleiman.

Bat to the Future

by HONK!

FOR YOU, TWO FULL WEEKS HAVE TRANSPIRED
BUT FOR ROBIN, THE BOY WONDER,
ONLY FIVE DAYS, FOURTEEN HOURS, HAVE PASSED!

STRUNG BETWEEN TWO BANKS OF THE MINIATURE “DeNIAL RIVER,”
HE FINDS HIS EXISTENCE IN PROFOUND JEOPARDY!

HIS LIFE HANGS IN THE BALANCE,
DEPENDANT ON THE WHIMS OF THAT SCOURGE WE CALL EROSION!

Strapped and suspended above the water, Robin the Boy Wonder strained to keep his eyelids open. He was barely aware of his captor’s booming voice across the room.

“Put it at the top of the ramp, boys!”

King Tut chortled as his men pushed a massive granite box through the main door. Weighing in at many tons, it was decorated with depictions of half-naked human bodies attached to antelope heads. The henchmen strained to push the box up a short ramp to a platform in the center of the room. Once in place, they dragged several hoses in and hung them dangling in the box. At a command from Tut, the hoses began disgorging a steaming, clear fluid. The container slowly began to fill.

“Now, how is our guest doing?” Tut strolled away from the sarcophagus and over to the Boy Wonder. He leaned forward, as if evaluating a turkey in the oven.

“Robin? Hellooo?” Tut stroked his short beard. “Hmm, disappointingly non-responsive. Give him some bread and water in another hour.”

Suleiman the Great gestured at Robin. “Boss, I’m all for elaborate deathtraps, but this is ridiculous! This is going to take forever!”

The portly pontiff pointed. “You just tend to that sarcophagus and leave the Boy Wonder to me.”

Florence peered inside the granite box. “Say, boopsie, why did we steal this sarcophagus instead of all the other priceless stuff in the museum? If you average it out per pound, this must have been the least valuable thing they had!”

Tut smiled knowingly. “Remember, whether discussing ancient crypts or disposition of sworn enemies, your liege possesses knowledge you do not.”

The fluid from the hoses had almost filled the sarcophagus to the top. To Florence’s discomfort, the Nabob of the Nile initiated a slow process of disrobement, shedding layers until he was down to one tent-sized union suit.

With help from Suleiman, Tut heaved himself over the side of the sarcophagus.

“Turn off the water hoses!” Tut gently lowered himself into the steaming water.

“Ahhhh! Now that’s what I call a bathtub.”

At the other end of the room (and comfort spectrum), Robin felt drops of sweat dripping from his brow. One by one, they plopped into the water that loomed mere inches from the tip of his nose.

At an elegant restaurant, the waiter bowed to present the menu to a lovely patron. The woman was none other than Princess Sandra of Molina (formerly, Sandra Carlson of Brooklyn.)

“What a pleasant surprise to see you here, your Highness,” cooed the silver-haired waiter.

“I rarely go out these days, what with all the crime in the city,” she said, examining the menu. “Luckily, Mister Freeze was reported in Londinium, so I shouldn’t have to worry about being robbed by him this week.”

“We would be more than happy to lock any valuables in the safe.” He smiled as she started to pull several baubles from her purse.

A dapperly dressed gentleman stopped in his tracks. “Princess Sandra! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” With his lovely date in tow, he veered over to her table. “Could you use some company?”

“Please, Mr. Burke,” she replied, replacing her jewelry in her bag and gesturing at the vacant seats.

The waiter sighed and disappeared. He returned moments later with additional menus. He tapped Burke’s blonde bombshell date on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Miss. There’s a phone call for you.”

“How do you know there’s a call for her, if you only know her as ‘Miss?’” asked Burke.

“Oh, sweetie, I come here all the time,” the gorgeous blonde interjected. She patted him on the shoulder as she departed with the waiter.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here, Queenie,” the waiter whispered to the blonde, “but Princess Sandra is my pigeon. So kindly butt out.”

“I didn’t plan on sitting there,” Queenie hissed, glancing back over her shoulder. “My designs are one hundred percent on my playboy date. You keep your mitts off my dupe and I’ll do the same with yours.”

“Agreed.”

She smirked. “So, the once-esteemed Mister Greenleaf is reduced to haunting restaurant tables to make some bread.”

“I suppose you know of more profitable job opportunities?”

“I might. A certain funny super-villain will be granting himself an early release in the next few days.”

“How can you be sure?”

“He was recently shortchanged on a deal in Londinium. He’s very motivated at the moment . . . and I have it on good authority that, once free, he’ll be looking to employ someone new to help spread city-wide panic.”

Greenleaf rubbed his chin. “Is he putting on his own production of War of the Worlds?”

Queenie smiled. “In a manner of speaking. He’ll need someone to contact Gotham City’s most influential cats – and their relatives – and convince them there’s an invasion from outer space about to happen.”

“That doesn’t sound like it would pay any better than my current position,” Greenleaf said.

“Don’t be too sure. If this plan works, this super-villain will have more money than he’ll know what to do with.”

Still wearing the period clothes given to him by Professor Nichols, the disguised Robin Beyond approached Barbara Gordon’s apartment complex. He tried the front door, but a sign on the glass informed him it wasn’t due to be unlocked until 6:00 a.m.. The lad, known in his civilian identity as Marty McGuiness, glanced at his handheld and saw it was 5:52 a.m.. He adjusted the headband that was making his forehead itch and paced around in front of the building.

Commissioner Gordon made it a practice to drive past his daughter’s apartment building each day, going both to and from work. Today he spied a young man wearing a tye-dye shirt and carrying a backpack. The teenager was standing at the main door and bobbing his head around for a better look inside. The Commissioner frowned and wheeled his Buick around in front of the building.

He rolled down his window. “Young man!”

Marty jumped and turned to see a conservatively dressed man in a car beckoning to him. He stuffed his hands in his torn jeans and nervously walked over to the Buick.

“Are you lost?” Gordon asked, looking the youth over. He noted the long pause before the lad answered.

“No, I live here . . . but I lost my key.”

“Really. My daughter lives in this building, and I could have sworn I’d met all the building’s tenants. What is your name?”

“Uhh . . . Marty.”

The Commissioner took on a slightly pained expression. “Do you have a last name, Marty?”

‘Hey, I’ve put plenty enough research into this time period to pass as a typical teen!’ Marty told himself.

“Uh . . . hey, peace, man!” he said, flashing a smile and the peace sign. “Hang loose!”

From the man’s reaction, Robin Beyond could see he wasn’t converting him. He glanced at the interior of the car and saw a police siren sitting in the passenger seat.

“Which school do you go to, son?” asked Gordon.

Marty frantically tried to recall how long his 21st century school had been around. It seemed like it was pretty old.

“Uhhh . . . Obama High.”

He heard the sound of a key unlocking the front door behind him. He glanced at his handheld and saw it was, in fact, 6 a.m..

He turned on his heels and ran. “Later, Daddy-o!” he called over his shoulder.

As he pushed open the main door of the complex, he could hear the Commissioner’s car door slamming shut.

“Halt! Police!” Gordon charged into the complex after the short hippy.

Robin Beyond was blessed with the good fortune to have an open elevator waiting on the ground floor. He wasn’t positive how it worked, but by mashing a number of buttons, he got the doors to close just before the Commissioner reached him.

Barbara Gordon had emerged from a hot shower and had just sat down in front of her mirror to begin brushing her hair. A loud banging on the door upset her morning routine and set her pet parrakeet squawking.

Barbara moved swiftly to the door. “Who is it?”

“It’sRobinBeyond.Letmein!!”

Barbara gasped, not having considered her time-traveling sidekick might visit her in her civilian identity. She unlocked the door and had to step back to avoid being nailed in the face by the door and/or run over by the frantic boy. Robin Beyond slammed the door, locked it and clung to the door knob, looking about wildly.

“What going on?” Babs asked.

“The police are after me!” he whispered.

“Why?”

“I don’t know why! I told some old coot I live here! Can you tell him I’m your roommate?”

Barbara was appalled. “Certainly not!”

Another fist pounded at the door. “Barbara?!”

“It’s my father,” Barbara whispered, pointing to another room. “Hide under the bed.”

Thinking he’d heard “lie on the bed,” Robin Beyond rushed in to Barbara’s bedroom, got under the covers and pretended to be asleep.

Barbara cracked open the door to her apartment. “Why, Daddy, you scared me! Why the early visit?”

The Commissioner barged in to the apartment. “There’s a juvenile delinquent loose in the building! He acted like he’s on drugs, so I decided to make sure you were safe.”

“Thank you, Daddy, but are you sure it’s not just a new tenant? A couple of people have moved out recently.”

“This was no tenant, believe me.” The Commissioner’s eyes narrowed as he focused on the frantically-flapping Charlie. “What’s got your parrakeet so excited?”

“Perhaps he’s molting.” Barbara knew she must sound unconvincing.

The Commissioner prowled around Barbara’s living room. “Some drug-addled hippy running amuck in the halls while my daughter is trying to leave for work . . .” he said, checking the window locks and behind the curtains. “Just the thought of it makes my blood boil!” He paused at her bedroom, facing her as he pushed the door open.

Light from the living room spilled into the bedroom. Over her Dad’s shoulder, Barbara got a good look at Marty. He was lying in plain view, under the sheets of her bed.

“Daddy!” she raced up to seize his elbow. “I appreciate your concern, but I have to leave early today, so you’ll just have to trust me when I tell you I’m perfectly safe.” Putting her arm around his shoulder, she steered him back towards the front door.

The Commissioner took the hint. “I do apologize for delaying you this morning, dear. Do be careful today.”

“I will, Daddy. I’ll talk to you tonight.” She waved as she closed the door behind him.

Robin Beyond was behind her, congratulating her, before she had a chance to turn around.

“Jumpin’ Jillikers, that was close! And you were great!”

“What on earth did you think you were doing in there?!”

“Later, okay? Right now, Robin the Boy Wonder is in some kind of Egyptian deathtrap!”

“Egyptian?” Her eyes darted back and forth. “Then . . . King Tut must be behind it. Do you know Robin’s condition?”

“He’s real bad off and won’t last long. Let’s go!”

The two crimefighters crept quietly towards Florence of Arabia’s Belly Dancing School. The Miracle Minor and the Dominoed Daredoll crouched in the shadows, searching for signs of activity within the storefront.

A sign out front declared the establishment closed. “’Closed due to stomach flu’ – a likely story,” Batgirl said. “Several tons of sand was purchased on a single day last week and the orders were all delivered to this address.”

“And I didn’t even need Sailor Pluto to tell me where to look,” said Robin Beyond, pulling his red cowl down into place. “This is one of the rare times in your career where the villain’s moll had a business in her underworld name, operating in plain sight!”

“You’re back in your crimefighting gear. Are you planning to do some head-busting in there?” Batgirl nodded towards the building.

“No offense, but as soon as the Boy Wonder is safe, I am outta here.” Robin Beyond swept his hands in a ‘had enough’ gesture. “That’s assuming Pluto doesn’t pop up with another hole in the temporal dike she needs plugged.”

“That’s a pretty big if! I don’t blame you for being ready to return home.”

“I can’t let everyone see me in my secret identity when I re-appear in the future. So it’s not just a case of short-timer’s fever.” He latched up his utility belt. “It’s probably best for the timeline if the crooks in there are defeated by Batgirl, instead of ‘Stranger Boy From the Future.’ Do you think you can handle all those goons by yourself if I soften up the room?”

Batgirl looked at him quizzically. “I’m sure I can, but what do you mean?”

He extracted a marble-sized pellet from his belt and hefted it in his glove. “I think this situation calls for a little Bat-Bardment!”

The pair rose from their crouch and took a running start for the front door. Batgirl reached it first and launched into the door with a sidekick. Drawing his arm back, Robin Beyond heaved the tiny Bat-Bardment through the open doorway.

Inside, the sand dunes had receded to such an extent the water in “DeNial Valley” now reached the prone Boy Wonder’s nose. Each panting breath from the unfortunate lad’s mouth blew ripples into the water.

Across the room, King Tut was lounging in his new bathtub, his eyes closed in contentment. A metal pellet bounced several times and rolled across the floor. Tut had just become conscious of the sound when the Bat-Bardment exploded right in front of the platform on which the sarcophagus rested.

>KLA-BOOM!<

The sarcophagus was blown from its base. It came crashing down to the floor on its side. Tut’s round head slammed against the unforgiving granite.

Lowering their heads, two burly Tutlings charged towards the front door. A sudden flood of water gushed from the mammoth bathtub, sweeping their feet out from under them. Slipping and sputtering, they tried to resume their fighting stance. Too late, they saw Batgirl sailing towards them out of the smoke.

>POW!<

She high-kicked Tutling number one in the forehead.

A forearm came across her neck from behind. Suleiman the Great pulled Batgirl’s head back against his chest, his arm pressing down on her windpipe. As she wrestled with his grip, Tutling number two came charging towards her, fist cocked. Batgirl elbowed Suleiman in the stomach and simultaneously bent forward. Suleiman was pulled forward also, right into the path of the oncoming fist.

>WHOCK!<

Batgirl felt his grip fall away as Suleiman dropped like a sack of potatoes. She spun, grabbing Tutling number two’s fist before he could pull it back. She flipped him over her shoulder, bringing him crashing down on the overturned sarcophagus.

>BUNG!<

Florence of Arabia snatched up Tut’s metal scepter. Assuming a batting stance, she brandished it in both hands. Batgirl watched as the harem-garbed harlot charged. Batgirl forced herself to wait until the last possible second, before dropping under the swinging scepter. The momentum of the charge and force of the swing propelled Florence on past. The Dominoed Daredoll pulled her knee forward as Florence brushed by, then rammed it backwards.

>WHOCK!<

Her heel lashed up into Florence’s chin, sending her instantly to slumberland.

The smoke from the blast cleared and Batgirl could see that no conscious villains remained. Robin Beyond joined her in the quiet chamber. They immediately lifted the pole from which the Boy Wonder hung from and moved it free of the miniature river, then gently set it on the floor.

“He’s out cold,” observed Robin Beyond as he helped undo the straps. “What the poor guy must have been through . . .”

“I wish King Tut were still conscious so I could knock him out again,” Batgirl said. “Now, I’d better the Boy Wonder to safety, and get you out of here before the police get a look at you.”

As darkness fell, Batgirl accompanied Robin Beyond back to the surf of Gotham Point.

“I have to hand it to you,” she said, as they strolled along the edge of the water, “you stuck around the rest of the day to see if Sailor Pluto was going to show up with more history for you to repair.”

The Miracle Minor looked around apprehensively as he programmed his hoverboard. “Well, no offense, but if Pluto tracks me down three days from now with a new problem, the answer is going to be ‘no.’ I can’t believe she hasn’t shown up with another assignment. The timeline must actually be restored now.”

Batgirl shook her head. “This Pluto knows everything and can show up anywhere she wants, but she’s powerless to do more than cheerlead from the sidelines when it comes to correcting history.”

“Yeah! While you were out there risking your neck on the race track,” Robin Beyond agreed.

“She carries herself like some type of warrior. I wonder if she’s hurt or injured and that’s why she can’t provide more help.”

“You know what I think? I think maybe she’s dead; it’s just her ghost we were talking to.” He placed the hoverboard in the shallow surf.

“It was very nice working with you,” Batgirl said. “Say hello to me for me.”

“I sure will!” He rubbed his chin as he waded out into the surf. “I wonder if she’ll have the same memories of this past week as you?”

The Miracle Minor waved goodbye and then carefully placed both feet on the hoverboard. He allowed it to carry him out towards the open ocean, building up a head of steam with every second.

The hoverboard was soon moving at an astounding rate . . . 84 miles per hour, 85, 86, 87, 88—*

********

In the 21st century, a waiting figure stirred as the time machine monitor began to beep.

“Incoming time-leaper” flashed a read-out on a computer monitor.

A gloved hand punched several buttons on the control console. It then pushed a lever to the lowest setting.

In response, the flashing message changed: “Temporal transfer blocked!”

********

Batgirl watched Robin Beyond speed across the ocean’s horizon for the final time. A brilliant white, round aperture lit up the water’s surface, then winked out as quickly as it appeared.

Batgirl wistfully turned and trudged back towards the parking lot. A boom from across the water, accompanied by another flash, made her whirl back around. The silhouette of a youthful form toppled backwards out of a blindingly bright light and flopped lifelessly into the ocean. She didn’t need a better view to know who it was.

She raced to the water’s edge, calling out Robin Beyond’s name. The only sound that answered was the gentle roll of the surf and the sound of waves lapping up on the shore.

With determined resolve, Batgirl plunged into the surf. She paused a moment when the water was up to her waist, before diving forward into the dark sea. The heroine swam towards where she imagined Robin Beyond had landed. She sliced through the water with quick, strong strokes.

A pair of shapely legs appeared briefly above the water as she kicked straight up in the air. Then her inverted figure disappeared beneath the surface of the waves.

********

Inside the time machine Doctor Shaw had borrowed, four renegade time travelers prepared for their return home. Shaw confirmed they’d arrived back at P.R.O.B.E. headquarters and began the routine of powering down the console.

Her henchman Dan threw a lever on the control console and the door swung open. Fred held a large jar up to the darkness that lay beyond the open doorway.

“Welcome to the 21st century, herr cerebellum!” he said. Inside the jar bobbed the brain of Adolf Hitler.

“This brain will eventually be going back to swinging Londinium to resume its rightful place in history,” Elizabeth Shaw cautioned. “The tricky part will be to use it without revealing it’s in our possession.”

“I say, let’s announce we have it and demand a billion dollars not to freeze Gotham in its tracks!” proclaimed Daniel. “The authorities won’t risk refusing us.”

“That’s exactly the sort of stunt we can’t do under any circumstances,” warned Shaw. “That would incur Clock King’s wrath, and believe me, he’s one person we don’t want to alienate.”

The foursome disembarked from the phone booth-shaped machine, stretching their tired muscles. Hy fumbled around in the dark for the lights. As soon as the large room was illuminated, two things became quickly apparent.

First, although the room looked much like the one they had left, there were numerous differences in the fixtures and the arrangement of the furniture. Second, multiple fists were knocking on the back door, accompanied by shouting voices.

“Doctor Shaw!”

“Doctor Shaw, could we have a word with you?”

“A moment of your time, Ms. Shaw!”

“What the…? What are all these people doing at the back door?” Dan wondered.

Hy peeked out between the slats of the blinds. “There’re reporters out there, with cameras and trucks and satellite dishes!”

Dan pulled a gun from his jacket. “They know about the brain! Let’s get out of here!”

“Follow me,” said Shaw, snatching up the blanket-covering off a couch.

Covering the brain’s case with the blanket, they snuck out a side window, which put them in a vacant alley.

Twelve minutes of side-street maneuvering brought the group to Oak Street, one of Gotham City‘s main thoroughfares.

“I haven’t spied a newsman in several minutes,” said Shaw. “Now, let’s determine what all the excitement is.”

They tried to appear casual as they strolled into an appliance store and headed for the television section.

Skipping the ones tuned to scantily-clad teenagers, they spread out down the aisle looking for news broadcasts.

“Here’s the news,” said Fred, “but, it’s in Spanish.

“They’re all in Spanish. Wait, here’s one with English.”

A familiar face beamed out from the screen. “This is Vicki Vale, with a live update. Infamous super-villain the Clock King today tried to abscond with the legendary Londinium clock ‘Big Bill.’ The famed criminal genius planned to blast Big Bill into outer space by attaching giant rockets to its base. The plot was foiled by ace crimefighter, Bat-Mite. Clock King was pronounced guilty on the spot by Bat-Mite and sentenced to spend three years as a potted plant, a term which began immediately upon his apprehension.”

The camera switched from a shot of potted daffodils to a file photo of Clock King. “Take a good look at that face, Vicki,” anchorman Barry Brown cracked. “You won’t be seeing it for at least three years!”

“Hey, that’s not Clock King!” said Daniel.

“What’s going on?” growled Fred. “Who is that guy?”

“Emm, I’m not quite sure,” Liz said, biting her lip.

Looking around, they noticed the other shoppers seemed to be gawking at them, Doctor Shaw in particular.

Barry Brown’s report continued up on the screen. “In related news, suspicion continues to deepen over the strong ties between Clock King and the P.R.O.B.E organization. P.R.O.B.E.’s leader, Doctor Elizabeth Shaw, had already been subpoenaed to testify before a grand jury, and now faces additional questions.” Doctor Shaw’s mouth slowly dropped as a still photo of her (sporting a hairdo she’d never worn) appeared on-screen.

“Things continue to go downhill for the once-prestigious doctor amidst rumors of heavy drinking. Last week, her son was hospitalized for a drug overdose. Doctor Shaw’s latest sighting has people wondering if she won’t be far behind. Although we can’t show the footage for obvious reasons, Doctor Shaw was observed gallivanting around town, clad in a mini-skirt – sans underwear.

“Observers were initially puzzled by Doctor Shaw’s decision to remove her panties – particularly since she chose to wear them on her head - until it became apparent she was using them for a hat to try to conceal she had just had her head shaved.”

“No way!” shouted Daniel., turning to Shaw “You turned into some ditzy trollop while we were gone!”

“I feel sooo sorry for her children,” Vicki Vale sighed. “Now, getting back to the real news…”

Shaw tried to coax up an explanation for the existence of another Liz Shaw in the present, but noticed Fred and Daniel were backing away from her.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Anywhere! We can’t accomplish anything with you! You’re a laughing-stock,” said Fred.

“Wait! Don’t you see what’s happened? I told you to be careful not to change history.” She gestured at the TV screen. “This is the result! The only way to sort this out is for you to accompany me in the time machine back to swinging Londinium and recreate what was supposed to happen.”

“What’s supposed to happen?” asked Hy.

“The bloomin’ deep freeze, of course!”

Daniel shook his head. “Nothing has gone right since we let you talk us into this. You’re just a really bad career move!”

Shaw was forced to wander after the hoodlums to continue the conversation. “I’m the only one who can operate the time machine! Without me, you’re stuck for good in this bollixed time stream!”

With several shoppers turning to watch the strange exchange, the trio of henchmen broke into a trot. “If we stick with you, we’ll be facing a future that makes this one look like a birthday party!” Fred called back. “In this reality, we can make a lot of money with this thing.” He wiggled the jar in his hands.

“Nooo!” Shaw was unable to keep up with her treacherous henchmen, and had already lost sight of them when she emerged from the appliance store.

********

Robin Beyond slowly opened his eyes. With great effort, he lifted his head to take in his surroundings. Before his head dropped back to the pillow, a painful groan escaping his lips, he was able to deduce he was lying in bed (minus costume) in Barbara Gordon’s apartment. He could hear his hostess out in the living room.

“Yes, I believe you, Professor Greenleaf, but I’m very busy right now.” Barbara started to close her door on the white-haired man in the hallway.

“I am bringing you the most important news of your lifetime, Miss Gordon! It is an invasion from Mars!” Greenleaf gesticulated wildly. “We do not have the technology to stop them!”

“As I’ve said, I promise to tell my father. Now, good night,” Barbara said firmly. She closed the door and returned to the bedroom.

Seeing her guest had awakened, she took a seat beside the bed. “How do you feel?”

“Bad. How do I look?” he responded, his voice raspy.

She lifted a glass of water to his lips. “Not that bad . . . for having a broken rib and burns over the front of your body. Do you remember what happened?”

Robin Beyond swallowed slowly as he tried to think. “I remember making the leap to 2010, but . . . instead of returning to Professor Nichol’s lab, it felt like I ran into a brick wall. I held on long enough to switch into neutral to compensate. Did you recover the hoverboard?”

He was relieved to see Barbara reach to the side and lift his hoverboard into view. It appeared functional at first glance, but upon further inspection, he spied a crack in a small fin along the base.

He groaned. “The Cax Flupacitor reactor is damaged and offline.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means . . .” He swallowed painfully before continuing, “. . . that it will still go 88 miles per hour, but there’s no power supply to ignite a time travel burst. So I’m probably stuck here permanently.”

“Oh, don’t give up. Perhaps we can locate a comparable power source locally.”

Robin Beyond winced. “Does Gotham City have a nuclear power plant with plutonium?”

“They’re planning one, but . . . no.”

“Is the world’s biggest waterfall in Gotham City?”

“No.”

“Can you get me to within a mile of the sun’s surface?”

“No.”

“Can you predict when and where a lightning bolt will stri–”

Barbara held up her hand. “Okay, that’s pretty negative thinking, even for a young man who’s been burnt the color of a rotten banana. It’s important we think positively or we’ll never get you home. Don’t you think the future might send someone back to help you?”

“To help me?!” Robin Beyond shot up from bed, before he yelped in pain and fell back to the pillow.

“Jumpin Jillikers! Don’t you get it?” he wheezed through clenched teeth. “Someone from my time sabotaged my return trip! There’s a handful of people in 2010 that I’m reliant upon to make this trip possible, and one of them wants me dead!”

She pointed a determined finger at him. “You stay right there and recuperate. I’m going to find a way to get you home!”

********

Fred, Hy and Daniel crowded around the door of the darkened shop.

“But it really is the brain of Hitler!” Fred said, holding the brain’s case up to a peephole in the door.

“What do I care?” hollered back the proprietor.

Dan had known their visit would be challenging the moment they’d seen the sign announcing “Honest Gabe’s House of Toys.” He maneuvered in front of the peephole. “We will pay you handsomely to build a weapon that’s fueled by this brain.”

“Unless you want a wind-up dolly powered by Hitler, you’re at the wrong place!” Gabe called out. “Now beat it or I’ll contact Bat-Mite!” The candy-cane shaped peephole slammed shut.

The trio turned away glumly. “What could have happened to Honest Gabe?” wondered Hy. “He’s become honest!”

“I had a feeling you’d be here,” a voice called out. The speaker was Elizabeth Shaw, who was stomping across the toymaker’s parking lot.

“The whole lot of you don’t have enough know-how to do anything with that brain except beg someone to build something. I should be thankful you didn’t paste a mustache on it and try to sell it at a pawn shop!”

“Beat it!” growled Dan. “We’ll do fine without you.”

“Without me, you’ll never get back to the reality that you call home! If we go back and set history right, then we’ll be able to take the brain to present day – the correct version - and do what we were planning.”

“Your idea to fix everything is basically going back to swinging Londinium and hang around the one man that Batman and Batgirl are after,” Daniel pointed out.

“But I can handle the Caped Crusaders!” Shaw yelled.

“Hah!” They turned away and started off.

There was a moment’s hesitation before Shaw’s next words. “I know Batgirl’s secret identity! If you stick with me, I’ll let you in on it, too!”

The men stopped and looked at each other. They grudgingly retraced their steps.

“Okay, spill,” said Daniel.

“Not right now,” she said. “Your appalling sense of loyalty indicates you’ll just bugger off if I tell you . . . but accompany me back in time, help me square history, and I’ll not only tell you; I’ll take you to her apartment so you can see for yourself.”

********

Upon hearing the Boy Wonder was in the Gotham General emergency room, Batman had rushed to be by his young protégé’s side. There he stayed until the doctors had finally declared Robin out of danger.

“The prognosis is for a full recovery,” Batman informed local law enforcement at Police Headquarters. “Gotham City’s top medical minds are overseeing Robin’s care.”

“Thank heavens!” said Commissioner Gordon. “I shudder to consider the outcome if Batgirl hadn’t come to his aid when she did.”

“Yes,” Batman admitted. “We’re once again indebted to our burglary-battling bachelorette. Robin has lost an alarming amount of weight, so he’ll be confined to bed for several days.”

“His absence comes at an inopportune time,” said the Commissioner. “Things went awry again during the retrial of the Joker and Catwoman. Although we managed to hold on to Catwoman, the Clown Prince of Crime made his escape . . . and Warden Crichton informs me the Joker was seen congregating with known mad scientists during his brief layover at Gotham State Penitentiary!”

“Batgirl’s assistance will no doubt be called upon frequently as Robin recuperates.”

Gordon stroked his chin. “There’s another matter that has been troubling me, Batman. I caught a mod ‘hippy’ lurking around Barbara’s apartment building. With a burst of speed, no doubt narcotics-induced, he managed to evade me.”

“You believe Barbara was the reason for his presence?”

“I don’t know, but she’s been a frequent target of criminal attention since returning from college, and I’m worried. I was able to identify this hippy by first name only – Marty - but I’ve put an APB out for his arrest.”

Commissioner Gordon leaned back in his chair as he continued. “Last night, as I lay awake, I recalled an acquaintance I made on my voyage back from Londinium. An eccentric gentleman and I were making idle conversation when I remarked about my hair receding. He immediately offered me some unknown pill, stating that if I took it, I would never have to worry about hair loss again.”

“You turned him down, I trust.”

“Of course, but later I wished I’d kept the pill to test it. Barbara came upon the two of us chatting and snapped a picture of him for her travel scrapbook. Last night I put two and two together and realized there might be some connection between the hippy suddenly running amuck and the arrival of this pill-popping fellow to Gotham City’s shores.”

Chief O’Hara cleared his throat. “Show ‘im what the woily devil looks like, sor.”

The Commissioner produced a photograph of an elderly man wearing a black cape.

“Never has a penchant for malefaction been so plainly evident in a photo,” Batman decided. “I’ll keep a sharp lookout for this one. In addition, as things stand, this ‘Marty’ must be considered a danger to himself as well as to society. My sympathy for his wretched state will not deter me from hunting him down and subduing him.”

The phone rang. “Oh, that must be the update I requested on King Tut,” Gordon said as he moved behind his desk to grab the phone.

“You’ll forgive me if I have more pressing demands than word of King Tut’s well-being,” said Batman, waving. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

Batman returned to the trusty Batmobile, waiting for him at the bottom of the steps to City Hall. As he pulled into traffic, he looked back and glimpsed a strange, elderly man wearing a black cape.

‘So! Our aging pill-dispenser reveals himself!’ The little man was one block behind, having just disembarked from a city bus with two teenaged girls.

Immediately, a moral dilemma arose. ‘He’s behind me; no way to legally intercept him without circling the block,’ thought the Caped Crusader. He turned right and circled the block as swiftly as city ordinances would allow.

The objects of his suspicion hadn’t taken ten steps from the bus stop when a man in a business suit approached them. Calendar Man made a furtive “no go” signal with his hand as he passed Mary McGuiness. She was puzzled to see him; she’d planned nothing more for the outing than socializing about the Munsters’ trip to England. Mary gave a tiny nod of understanding as Calendar Man passed.

“Say, I’ve always wanted to eat here,” Mary exclaimed, grabbing Marilyn by the arm and gesturing at the nearest establishment. “This place is supposed to be a gas.”

“I haven’t been gassed in ages.” Grandpa Munster said. “Count me in.” The trio stepped inside the eatery.

The Batmobile turned on to the street again, but found no sign of the doddering drug-pusher. Forced to question whether he’d actually seen the man in the photograph, Batman shook his head in resignation.

The Munster/McGuiness party merrily sat down to eat, unaware their lunch date had nearly been spoiled by accusations and acrimony.

Inside his office, the Commissioner thanked his caller. “That was the president of Yale University, Chief O’Hara,” he said as he hung up the phone. “Our eminent professor of Egyptology has completely returned to normal.”

“Let’s hope his alter ego has returned to the alter in ancient Egypt!” declared O’Hara emphatically.

The men looked up as Barbara Gordon came bursting in the office. “Daddy, have you heard the latest rumors? All of Gotham City is buzzing about an imminent invasion of flying saucers!”

“Well, now, Gotham is usually buzzing about something, Barbara,” replied the Commissioner.

Chief O’Hara pulled some binoculars off of a desk. “But let’s take a look anyway, Commissioner.”

The Commissioner held out his hand. “Let me see those.” The three moved to the office window and gazed upwards. “Well, let’s see. Mm hmm,” Gordon said, scanning the skyline. “All I can see is sky, clouds, and a few birds. Let’s see what you can find, Chief.”

The Chief adjusted the binoculars. “Well, there’s a blimp trailing some joker’s used car advertisements.”

LOOK AGAIN!

IN THIS FLYING SAUCER, THE JOKER IS PLANNING AN INCREDIBLE INVASION OF GOTHAM CITY!

Inside the craft, the Joker sat proudly at the center of a wide instrument panel. He was spouting a steady stream of technobabble. “As soon as the range-sweep radar/scanner picks up the tracking pulse amplifier, we’ll spin back into the sub-stratosphere, where I will issue my demands that will have not only Gotham City, but the world, at my feet!”

Over Nimpah, Molino, and Moldovia, cruised the bizarre, disc-shaped object. It hovered in the skies over each municipality, seeding fear and hopelessness . . . but it always moved on, without setting down. That is, until it reached Londinium.

Several months earlier, the Joker had journeyed to Londinium to recover several rare objects from Bookworm. Upon completing the long voyage, he was informed by Bookworm that, considering one of the items was a vial of unexplained phenomena, the price had just doubled. Since he’d only brought the amount originally agreed upon, the Joker had been forced to accept the vial or nothing.

Now he had returned to Londinium, and it wasn’t as a tourist. His flying saucer set down in the middle of Barnaby Square, opposite Bookworm’s Londinium flat.

Pedestrians scattered. Panicked motorists abandoned their vehicles. The Joker and two of his men marched without delay into Bookworm’s apartment building. Worried the spaceship outside his window was capable of vaporizing the building, the Bookworm reconsidered his demands and returned the key to the Joker’s custody.

Waving to the shocked faces peering from surrounding windows, the Joker strode back through the city square, re-boarded his spacecraft and lifted off into the heavens.

CURIOUSER AND CURIOUSER!

NOTHING LIKE THIS HAPPENED THE LAST TIME I NARRATED THIS ADVENTURE!

Once again on course for America’s East coast, the Joker chuckled. The seeds of his terror campaign were bearing fruit.

“Invert the compressor radial ratio. Energize the tandem aileron,” he commanded, “while I turn up this interplanetary microphone. Heh hehh heh! In forty-six and three-eighths seconds, we’ll be over Gotham City, where I will deliver my ultimate ultimatum!“

He stashed the prized key in a console compartment and turned to a diminutive henchman. “Come in low as we near the main Gotham City water reservoir, would you, Verdigris? There’s a good man. Now, as we pass over it, crank that handle to your right.”

“What’s that do, boss?”

“It will sprinkle a fine powder below – powder that will give Gotham City’s residents the time of their lives!”

A cloud of powder erupted from beneath the saucer. It dispersed quickly, and was invisible to the eye as it slowly descended into the water reservoir.

“Fine, fine,” smiled the Joker. “Now, warm up the broadcasting amplifier. While I deliver my city-wide address, you keep an eye out for interfering lawful types.”

One henchman was already looking into the stratascope. “Far out! Check it out, Joker. Some hot-dogger is giving you a run for your money in the surfing department.”

“Ehh? Impossible! The sudden change in altitude has scrambled your senses.”

“No, boss – look down there!” The henchman moved aside to give the Joker a look.

Several miles below, in the middle of a raging river, sailed two costumed figures on a hoverboard. Batgirl kept her arms wrapped around Robin Beyond, who floated in and out of consciousness. She scolded herself for the stiff dose of Bat-Pain Reliever she’d given him so recently.

“Are you still awake?” Batgirl yelled above the roar of the rapids. “I was supposed to jump off at that last bend in the river!”

“Sure, I’m okay,” he responded weakly. “Go ahead and dive off anytime. I can take it from here.” He pulled his heels up out of the river and placed them firmly on the hoverboard. She was about to release him when he sagged in her arms again.

She gave silent thanks that the hoverboard was capable of providing most of the balance needed to keep them upright. Even with Barbara Gordon’s surfing experience, Batgirl would have little hope of navigating the rapids on a tiny board while supporting the wounded youth. “Robin Beyond! If you don’t stay awake long enough to trigger the explosion on the current regulator, the power lines over the gorge won’t overload, and none of this will work!”

Batgirl saw a circular shadow pass over them from above. She looked up and her jaw dropped. A huge, silver saucer swooped up into the clouds and came around for another pass.

“It’s a flying saucer!” she yelled. “Perhaps that’s people from your time coming to retrieve you!”

The Miracle Minor’s head fell back against her shoulder so he was looking straight up. “Nooo, too old,” he said. “No one still flies around in saucers in 2010.”

Sailing upward through the sky, the Joker squinted into his magnifying stratascope. “Bless my breast coat! It’s the impudent Bat-Chick! And who is that with her?”

He erupted in giggles. “It’s some new Bat-Brat! Let this be a lesson, men. If you don’t wipe out Bats the moment you encounter them, they multiply like rabbits! Now, let’s give our surfing show-offs a little unidentified flying welcome, shall we?” He rubbed his hands as he stared at the array of control buttons at his disposal.

The saucer zoomed down at the surfing duo, swooping closer than previously. Batgirl wobbled on the hoverboard, but managed to maintain her balance.

“Oh, no! As if we didn’t have enough problems!” she yelled. “We’re coming up on the power lines. Are you ready?”

Receiving no response, she repeated herself. She pulled his head back by the Bat-ears to check on him. His eyes were shut. “Robin Beyond! The regulator!”

His head lifted from her bosom. “Regulator - got it,” he mumbled. He waved a hand feebly. “Don’ worry. I’m on it.”

Robin Beyond shakily raised his arm, aiming his handheld at a tower obscured by surrounding forest. Focusing for all he was worth, he haltingly punched a three-digit sequence into the handheld.

The echo of an explosion boomed across the valley. On his instruction, Batgirl had already strapped the remaining Bat-Bardments to the transformer tower responsible for regulating the current. With the mechanism out of commission, a massive surge would shoot through the wires closest to the transformer, providing an electrical burst that would fry the lines to bits within seconds.

“Good!” Batgirl called out. “Now, we’ll need to get the conductor wire up to hook the power lines. Ready?”

The Miracle Minor lifted the handheld again, and stabbed at it with his other hand. Given that his finger wasn’t even hitting the handheld, Batgirl questioned whether the code was being properly input. Between the jostling waves and his tentative grip on alertness, the three digit code was now proving a major challenge.

Batgirl saw a temporary widening of the channel several hundred yards ahead. Just beyond hung a set of high tension power lines. Stretching the width of the channel, these lines were now a few seconds away from receiving the spectacular surge from the transformer.

“There!” the Joker cried, pointing at the main viewscreen. “The riverbank widens enough for us to glide right over the water! Watch this!”

He slammed the impulse accelerator lever. The UFO’s occupants felt their chairs fall away beneath them as the saucer plummeted towards the river. With the Joker’s wild laughter filling their ears, they clung desperately to their seats.

“Cowabunga, baby!” the Joker howled, shaking a fist. “Get a load of this wave!”

The saucer continued its plunge, but began to level out as the channel widened.

Wind buffeted Batgirl’s face. The high tension wires loomed before them. White-hot sparks shot from the lines as the voltage suddenly increased exponentially. Robin Beyond was still jabbing away at the handheld, sometimes hitting buttons and sometimes not.

“One hundred yards and closing!” she called. “What’s the code?”

“939!” he called back.

Seizing his right hand and pulling it up to her face, she released her hold on his waist. She pecked in the code, then grabbed his waist again before he could topple sideways off the board.

She heard a whirring beneath her as a thin conductor wire sprouted from the base of the hoverboard and rose in the air. The dangling power lines loomed before them, now almost directly overhead. It appeared the hook at the end of the rising wire would not reach the power lines in time.

‘Looks like Robin Beyond won’t be going home,’ she thought, accepting the inevitability of failure. Then she saw a massive round shadow overtaking them and a renewed motivation blossomed within her.

“Oooh, this one looks like a cruncher, Batgirl!” the Joker shouted inside the saucer.

The force of the descending saucer caused a topographical effect resembling a parting of the waters. Waves billowed outwards from the saucer’s approaching path. The Joker grinned as a massive wave overtook the small figures on the tiny board.

A flash of light startled the saucer’s occupants. The Joker blinked in surprise, then again in disbelief. Batgirl and the hoverboard were gone.

“Power lines!” a henchman cried out.

The saucer hit the overloaded wires, snapping them like rubber bands. In that instant, a surge of jiggowats crackled through the vehicle. The console gave a loud pop under the Joker’s fingers and belched smoke. Equipment in the cockpit, for the most part, started blowing up.

“Hoo!” the Joker exclaimed. “The subspace accelerator is malfunc . . . hoo hoo! The matter convertatron is overloa . . . the multiglide tachometer! The tandem aileron . . . the altitudinal inst . . . ! Hoo!”

“We’re going down!” a nearby voice translated.

All sets of eyeballs in the saucer widened as the river consumed the entire viewscreen.

********

In the year 2010, a lonely figure sat under shelter on a windswept beach. The Seamstress, crimefightress extra-ordinaire, tirelessly scanned readouts from the temporal activity monitor. The latest result, as with all the earlier ones, showed zero activity.

“Cassandra Wayne! Nobody’s seen you in days.” The approaching speaker was a statuesque woman in her sixties.

“Doctor Maker,” said the Seamstress. “Even if we’re alone, watch what you say. You’re one of the few who knows my secret identity.”

“I’m your analyst. How could I successfully help you resolve your issues without knowing about a second identity?” replied the doctor. “Finding you out here proves you need my help more than ever. How long have you been here?”

“Strange as it sounds, I’m haven’t been watching the time.”

“You’ve been here out here days if you’ve been here a minute.” The analyst shook her head. “I’ll bet you haven’t slept three hours since Robin Beyond left – still berating yourself for letting him go on this mission.”

“It was my responsibility. I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to the little shank-button.”

A red light lit up on the computer machine’s display: “Incoming time-leapers.”

“Bat-Mite be praised!” cried the Seamstress. “He’s made it back!”

A light appeared out in the distance. The silhouette of a figure appeared in the middle of the flash, whose illumination proved as brief as it was brilliant. Amidst the darkening, choppy waters, the Seamstress could make out the outline of the figure.

“He will make it to shore, won’t he?” asked Doctor Mary Maker. “He’s wavering a lot out there.”

The Seamstress waved off the concern. “Considering this weather and his lack of hoverboard experience, that’s no surprise.”

The two waited patiently for the approaching hoverboarder. “We’ve plenty to talk about at our next session, particularly after the way you’ve beaten yourself up this week,” said Doctor Maker. “Just how much of your life are you going to pour into guilt issues over your family?”

The Seamstress pointed back behind them. “We have company, doctor. Kindly save it for later.”

Professor Omaha Mackelroy was jogging up towards their beach fortification.

“I just received word from the temporal monitor at Wayne Industries,” he said, puffing from both excitement and exertion.

The Seamstress clapped the Professor on the shoulders. “He did it! Robin Beyond’s return means he has successfully preserved the timeline.”

Mackelroy looked at her as if she was mad. “He may have preserved the current timeline and destroyed a future one! Didn’t you see the printout?” He pointed to the temporal monitor. “It said ‘time leapers’ – plural! He brought someone from the past back with him!”

Flabbergasted, the three gazed out at the approaching surfer. They now discerned Robin Beyond was facing them, but sagging in unconsciousness.

“A costumed figure behind him is holding him up!” noted Doctor Maker.

Batgirl was almost too exhausted to notice the chilly winds blowing over Gotham Point. On one hand, she felt deeply relieved to successfully return Robin Beyond to his time period. On the other, she wanted to ensure she wasn’t delivering him straight into a second trap.

Three people awaited her on the beach. One was a tall, fit crimefightress dressed in blue, the contemporary version of herself, she supposed. The other two people were of advanced years, which came as a surprise. After first meeting the fifteen-year old Robin Beyond, she’d harbored the suspicion everyone in the future was put to sleep by the time they reached thirty.

She felt the hoverboard slow, followed by the crunch of sand underneath as it hit the beach. The trio rushed over, the dark-haired, costumed girl reaching her first.

“What’s happened to him?” She opened her arms to receive the lad.

“Hold on!” Batgirl ordered, backing away, her arm held out in front of her.

“How on earth did you get here, young lady?” demanded Professor Mackelroy.

“First, you tell me who was working your time-travel apparatus three days ago.”

The blue-costumed woman furrowed her brow in growing aggravation. “There’s two monitors: the main one at Wayne Industries, and this Gotham Point auxiliary station. Different people – including me – have been monitoring them.”

“Well, which one of you sabotaged Robin Beyond’s original return attempt?”

The Seamstress turned back towards Doctor Maker. “Who is this? Is being in the future freaking her out?”

“Her name is Batgirl,” answered Professor Mackelroy. “She fought crime alongside Batman in the 20th century,” He stepped towards Batgirl. “No one here wants to hurt the boy. Our civilization is depending on him; we have to revive him.”

“I didn’t bring him forward in time just so someone could kill him upon arrival!” Batgirl said, clinging to the Miracle Minor. “Who are you, sir? You look vaguely familiar.”

“My name is Professor Omaha Mackelroy, and I –”

>SMACK!<

Batgirl’s haymaker punch was stopped in mid-air by the Seamstress’s palms, just shy of the Professor’s jaw.

The Seamstress stepped in between the two. “Professor Mackelroy is with Wayne Industries! He hasn’t been possessed by King Tut in decades!”

“This situation is much more important than your quaint, obsolete agenda, Batgirl” insisted Mackelroy. “Unless you’re able to instruct us on correcting our timeline – which I highly doubt – all of existence is riding on Robin Beyond’s report. Now, please . . . hand over that boy!””

‘What will it take for you to trust us?” asked Doctor Maker.

Batgirl considered her terms. “I want to you to take me to . . . Batman, Robin . . . Commissioner Gordon . . . Bruce Wayne, or his butler, Alfred.”

The trio looked at each other. Mackelroy shrugged. “Well, it is a public ceremony.”

“Ceremony for what?” asked Batgirl.

The chiseled features of Bruce Wayne gazed up lifelessly from the bottom of the casket. A long line of mourners filed past. Batgirl tried not to look shocked as she viewed the corpse of a friend thirty years older than she was accustomed.

Everything thus far about her stay in the 21st century had been unsettling. On the ride back from Robin Beyond’s intensive care unit, she passed numerous unfamiliar buildings along a route that should have been very familiar. She found the fashions and hairstyles curious, to put it mildly. Everyone on the planet, it seemed, owned a handheld, and most of them had it to their ear.

Guiding her through the line of mourners was Richard Grayson. The Seamstress had taken Batgirl directly to Grayson, knowing he was now the only individual on her list still living. Upon first encountering her, the middle-aged Grayson looked like he’d seen a ghost, but he recovered quickly and invited her to attend the funeral.

“We’ve got a little time before the service begins,” said Grayson. “Let’s head over this way.”

Batgirl fell in behind him. “Tell me, Dick, when was the last time you saw Batman or Robin?”

His eyebrows shot up. ‘Holy Backward Progress! This Batgirl comes from a time when she didn’t know our secret identities! Better not change that.’

“Well . . . I can’t say exactly,” he answered carefully. “Both have been retired an awfully long time.”

They entered a small room and approached a female mourner dressed in black. “Here’s someone with whom you may be acquainted,” Grayson said.

Upon hearing Grayson’s voice, the woman turned around. Barbara found herself confronted with an aged version of herself! She saw shock mirrored on the older Barbara’s face as she laid eyes on her youthful counterpart.

The time machine popped back into existence on a familiar spot. The street at one time had led to a decrepit amusement park. Almost two decades later, it was no longer the refuge of Asian immigrants, but the counter culture set. Some long-haired youths relaxed on street curbs. The appearance of the time machine attracted no attention, save a few comments of “far out.”

“You’ll see. This’ll be a doddle.” Doctor Shaw stepped from the machine and marched down the street without giving her surroundings a glance.

Daniel stopped in his tracks. “Hey, this isn’t Londinium! I thought we were going back to where we left off.”

“We’ve landed several months after the date we departed Londinium. Even if we’d gone back to square every detail there, some loose end could have unraveled events by the time we progressed to this date . . . and compared with what happens two days from now, everything else pales in importance.”

“Which milestone is this?” Hy asked.

“Gotham’s Deep Freeze, of course. You see, the Joker managed to manufacture a key and vial that could accelerate or freeze time. When Batman confiscated the vial and key, the Joker hired Bookworm to follow the Dynamic Duo to Londinium to retrieve them. Bookworm succeeded and turned the items over to Lord Ffogg. Since Ffogg had just robbed a United States Embassy, he was soon apprehended and extradited to America. It’s widely believed the vial and key – as well as the brain you hold in your hands - were somehow passed from Ffogg to the Joker while they were together in Gotham State Penitentiary, although such benevolence on Ffogg’s part is hard to fathom. Lord knows where the Joker got the notion to integrate Hitler’s brain as part of the contraption, but it essentially served as the ‘booster pack,’ super-charging the outcome.

“Although he was never convicted of the crime – he was still in prison when it took place – everyone assumes it was the Joker behind the Deep Freeze. As soon as Doctor Cassandra busted him out of prison,, he handed the vial, key and brain off to one of his underlings, setting in motion a plan he intended to personally oversee: blackmailing Gotham City for millions, in exchange for not setting off his device. However, he hadn’t counted on being apprehended within just a few hours. In punishment for the prison break, Warden Crichton had the Joker thrown in solitary confinement, with no way of reaching his compatriots to call the whole thing off. Thus, he wound up the unintentional architect of Gotham City’s greatest calamity.

“And in conclusion . . .” said Fred, who was wearying of this time period already.

She spread her arms to convey the obviousness of the answer. “We’ll simply loan Hitler’s brain to the Joker! We follow him after Doctor Cassandra’s prison break long enough to discover his hideout, present him with the brain, and let the Deep Freeze occur. As long as we depart this time period before the freeze, we’ll just jump forward to the conclusion of the city’s hibernation, pinch the brain, and . . . we’re off to the present!”

“Umm . . .” Hy pointed to the ground.

Elizabeth looked down to see a newspaper’s front page lying at the side of a trash bin. The top headline was in very large font.

---

JOKER DECLARED DEAD
Flying Saucer Recovered from River Bottom

---

Several flower children looked up with curiosity at the lady shrieking beside the trash bin.

Daniel studied the article as he waited for Shaw’s scream to end. “Wait, they never recovered a body. He could still be alive.”

“He’s dead,” said Fred. “Everything on this caper that could go wrong has gone wrong.”

Doctor Shaw recovered her composure. “Just a slight setback,” she claimed, to her men’s incredulity. “Just have to buck up and carry on.”

“How?” said Hy. “We were counting on the Joker to provide this huge disaster!”

“Simple. We’ll just recreate it ourselves.”

“Yeah, right,” Hy scoffed. “We still don’t know who Batgirl is.”

“Let’s just kill two birds with one stone, then, shall we?” Shaw rubbed her hands together and set off down the street.

********

Chief Barbara Gordon could hear the argument before she reached the door of her office. Batgirl and Professor Nichols broke off debate as she entered the room.

“Keep it down or Commissioner Montoya will come ask about the ruckus,” said Barbara.

The Professor looked at the Chief and pointed at Batgirl. “You need to send her back to her own time. She’s insisted on hanging around the hospital, right out in plain sight of the patient’s mom, Mary.”

Barbara was thunderstruck. “Doctor Mary Maker is Robin Beyond’s mother!?”

“No, no, Mary McGuiness. Here we take pains to ensure Robin Beyond arrives at the hospital in his civilian identity, and we’ve got Ms. I’m-From-Another-Century constantly hovering over him.”

“I already explained why he can’t be left unguarded,” Batgirl said.

“The Seamstress is happy to stand watch over him . . . and her presence doesn’t raise any questions. Don’t you realize how much you’ve tampered with the future since you’ve arrived? We don’t need a visit from some Batman Beyond coming back to tell us to stop screwing with his history.”

Barbara let out a snort. “Batman Beyond.” She chuckled. “Well, I’m sure Batgirl won’t mind keeping a lower profile.”

“How?” cried Batgirl. “I haven’t done a blessed thing since I’ve been here!” She made a sweeping gesture with her arm, accidentally smacking the back of it against the digital Most Wanted Felons display.

“Ouch!” Chief Gordon exclaimed, shaking her hand. She looked up in surprise at Batgirl. The Chief intentionally stubbed her toe against the leg of her desk.

“Ouch!” Batgirl cried, grabbing for her boot. Her eyes widened inside her cowl.

“Fascinating,” Professor Nichols opined. “I knew there must be some ramification of meeting a past version of yourself. Since both of you are the same individual, you seem to experience each other’s acute physical sensations.”

Chief Barbara rubbed her head. “Do me a favor,” she said to Batgirl. “While you’re here, don’t start any fights you can’t end in one punch.”

“Why does he know our secret identity?” Batgirl asked, sounding mildly irritated.

Chief Barbara sighed. “That must have slipped out in discussing our current crisis. Don’t worry – it isn’t widely known.”

“Well, don’t forget,” cautioned Batgirl. “We still have a traitor to unmask. Oh, speaking of which, have we uncovered anything new about King Tut’s alter ego?”

“Professor Mackelroy has been reformed for decades. There’s nothing to investigate,” Professor Nichols insisted.

“I don’t mind doing some old-fashioned pavement-pounding,” said Batgirl. “Leave it to me.”

Nichols glowered at her. “Let me give you a brief course – Preserving The Timeline 101: Don’t go outside. Don’t stand in front of the window. Don’t initiate contact with strangers. Any questions?”

Chief Gordon cleared her throat and picked up some photos from her computer printer. “As far as suspects, here’s what I’ve found. This is a photo of Queenie back when she worked for the Joker. Remind you of anyone?”

She produced an 8x11 of Queenie wearing a skintight evening gown her bosom seemed about to rupture.

“That’s Doctor Maker, all right,” said Batgirl.

Professor Nichols examined the image. “Hot . . . diggity,” he concluded.

Batgirl turned to the time-travel guru. “Don’t you have someplace else to be?”

“Well, I suppose I could run some age-progression analysis on this photo for you,” said Nichols. Without waiting for encouragement, he took the photo and bustled out of the room.

“I checked, and Queenie’s legal name really is Mary Maker,” said Chief Gordon.

“No wonder the Joker wanted to recruit her,” said Batgirl.

“I haven’t been able to confirm her professional credentials; I suspect they’re all falsified.”

“Turning to Mr. Freeze, a/k/a Otold Shivel, he went to work at Einhorst laboratories straight out of school. He found his niche working on extending the shelf life of perishable foods. Prior to the war, his work attracted some attention, even rating one magazine article on this side of the ocean. Look . . .”

The Chief handed Batgirl a printout of the ancient article, complete with a photo of the self-assured scientist.

“So, he was a fan of Adolf even before he became Chancellor,” Batgirl noted. “If Hitler’s cranium was near and dear to him at this stage, imagine how enthusiastic he would be about working on the real thing.”

Chief Barbara continued. “Backing the right candidate probably helped his career during the coming German political upheavals. He was assigned as the number two man in the Third Reich’s cyrogenics program . . . but there’s no information whatsoever on what became of that project. Info is even sketchier following the end of the war.

“Several years after Hitler’s death, the U.S. Navy receives a tip that Shivel is being smuggled into Gotham City. They do some snooping, and find nothing. In fact, I found only one reference to his name anywhere in any records from that timeframe.”

She plunked another photograph down on her desk. “This fellow was arrested on charges of fraud and extortion. Among his few possessions were a valise of magic tricks and publicity shots. On the back of this one was scrawled Doctor Shivel’s name - and the directions to an abandoned amusement park’s chamber of horrors ride.”

Batgirl studied the shot. “Who is he?”

“We don’t know his name. He carried no identification. His clothing was hand-made; the only things in his pockets were a blackjack and a whoopee cushion.”

Batgirl looked from one photo to the next. “So, where does all this leave us in our quest for Mister Wayne’s killer?”

Chief Gordon bit her lip. “Hmm . . . I’m not sure. I can’t allow you to scour computer records – that would tell you too much about your future. However, you can interview the Seamstress when she returns from the hospital, and find more about her ties to Doctor Maker.”

Batgirl started to protest, but decided she couldn’t win an argument with herself. As Batgirl departed, Chief Barbara rubbed her chin, pondering her best course of action.

Finding the answer elusive, she reached up to her bookcase. She removed a volume entitled Chief O’Hara: Year One.

As she did whenever she was stumped with a case, she flipped the book open to a random page and began to read.

"July 31st," began the entry. "Mother M'Krea, working this police whistle is a tricky business. Got to stay calm when suspects run off, or I'll just keep blowing the dratted thing out of me mouth. Tonight, I skip supper and practice blowing until bedtime."

TIME IS RUNNING OUT, DEAR READER!

HAVE YOU DEDUCED THE IDENTITY OF BRUCE WAYNE’S KILLER?

********

Wearing something resembling a cross between a swimsuit and a raunchy burlesque outfit, Queenie scampered over to answer her phone.

“Queenie!” a voice screeched on the other end of the line. “Matriarch of my heart! Make me the happiest clown in town and tell me you have it!”

“I’ve got your key, Joker. That compartment you stashed it in survived the crash.”

“Hoo hoo! My resurrection from the grave is complete – my box finally reunited with its key! I can just imagine the expression on Linseed’s face when he has to ask the governor for one million dollars to prevent a month-long immobilization of the financial district!”

“Didn’t you say something about freezing the whole city for years?”

“Oh, that was wishful thinking. I had an inkling a Mister Ffogg would be arriving from Londinium with a cranium to incorporate with the vial and key, but that did not come to pass. Which reminds me, the key and vial aren’t stored where they’re in contact with the magic box–”

“I’ll check – be right back,” she said, bouncing up the stairs to the second story.

“–because that might inadvertently set them off and root us in our tracks before we get to make any demands,” he explained to the vacated receiver.

Unaware she was being watched from the roof of the house across the street, the blonde moved to the wall of her bedroom. She removed a painting, exposing a wall safe. A bushy pair of eyebrows across the street narrowed, watching through binoculars as Queenie twirled the combination lock.

She cranked open the small door and removed her recently-purloined key. She pushed the vial and box to opposite ends of the safe, then carefully replaced the key inside. She closed the safe and returned downstairs.

“It’s cool, baby,” she cooed into the phone. “Oh, did you hear? Your friend King Tut let his respectability addiction take control again. Doctor Cassandra freed the entire super-villain wing of the penitentiary, but Professor Mackelroy refused to leave his cell.”

“Oh, such a pity. I always suspected he might fall off the wagon again. So, all the super-villains are presently free?”

“No, the plot only lasted a few hours. Even with everybody getting invisibility pills, the Terrific Trio had no trouble recapturing ‘em.”

“Hoo hoo! What a debacle! That makes my spaceship crack-up look like a decent showing.”

“When are you going to announce to the world you survived the plunge into the river?”

“Ehhh, the security of my hideout leaves something to be desired. Dear Maria was sweet enough to provide me with a room at Ye Olde Benbow Taverne, but this’s the first place they’d look if they knew I was still alive. Of course, were someone to dump her inspector boyfriend, I could lay low with her.”

“You should thank your lucky stars I’m keeping him around! If it weren’t for Inspector Burke, I never would have been able to get near that spaceship and your little key. Anyway, he’s heading back to the West coast right after the big law enforcement convention next week.” A doorbell sounded in the background. “Oh, that’s him now. Got to run.”

“I will contact you tomorrow,” the Joker promised.

Sitting in a dark car down the block, Elizabeth Shaw picked up a walkie talkie and pressed the button. “What’s going on there?”

From his post behind the bushes lining Queenie’s property, Fred responded. “Some guy just went up to the front door . . . she’s letting him in.”

Queenie left Inspector Burke alone in the foyer for a minute, then reappeared, carrying a huge cake.

On her way home from Police Headquarters, Chief Gordon stopped by the Stopwatch Belfry. She found Dick Grayson grimly boxing up the contents of his late mentor's desk. She quickly brought him up to speed on the latest developments.

"Gosh, Babs, you must be getting close," he said. He hefted a box full of plaques against his ample stomach and carried it over to a storage closet. "Sounds to me like Doctor Maker is the prime suspect."

"With her medical credentials turning out counterfeit, I'd have to agree," she said. "The main problem with that theory is she doesn't have access to Wayne Industries, from where the attacks were carried out."

"You don’t think Cassandra Wayne would have given her the code to enter the building!" he called from the closet.

"I can't imagine Cassandra is complicit in her father's murder - or in trying to disrupt Robin Beyond's return." She noticed Grayson's handheld lying out on his desk.

A repeating message was running across the tiny display:

Barbara blinked and stared in disbelief. She was so shocked she didn't hear the approaching footsteps on the carpet. She started to turn, but a meaty fist smashed into the side of her head!

She landed hard on the carpet, stunned, but quickly rolled onto her back. Dick Grayson stood over her, menace etched across his round face! He reached over, grabbed the far edge of his desk, and, with a grunt, tipped it over.

Despite her upraised arms, the heavy fixture slammed down on Barbara’s ribs, pinning her to the floor.

Satisfied, he turned his back on her and sauntered to the closet.

"Dick . . . you?" she gasped, wriggling in pain.

“Hah!” he called back. “This mindless meddler never realized his flabby body has been carrying a roommate all this time.”

The voice became strangely deeper, huskier, as it continued. “Every Egyptian schoolboy knows the Ba, the part of the soul containing a personality’s essence, lives on after death. Just as the Khaibat–”

“The dark side of your personality . . . your evil shadow,” Barbara interrupted with great effort.

“Ah, you’ve studied this, have you not?” The voice chuckled. “The Khaibat is the Ba’s reflection, and thus never ventures far from it. But both the Ba and the Khaibat are capable of separating from our bodies.”

Through a crack in the closet door, she could see him donning a red and white robe.

“This departure is known to occur during the death of the corporeal form,” he continued. “Not so well known is a spell can be cast to trigger this transformation during life, as well.”

Wincing in several forms of pain, Barbara groaned, “I can’t . . . believe it. After all these years, you’ve become a murdering traitor!”

“You shall address me . . . as the Moon God of Thoth, the Ruler of the Lower Nile, the Sultan of the Sand Dunes!”

Grayson waddled out of the closet. He was now wearing a pharaoh’s headdress in addition to the flowing robes. Barbara could only gaze in amazement. The clothes were unmistakably King Tut’s.

Grayson’s teeth flashed in a sinister grin. “During those bygone days when I held the Boy Wonder under my control, I involved him in a ritual as old as the sands of the Sahara. I removed the Ba and the Khaibat from my body and I placed them in his. I released poor Professor Mackelroy from my influence, abandoning him to doze in the bathtub and await the inevitable capture.”

He paced over to where Chief Gordon lay pinned under the desk. He leaned his weight against an upended corner, pleased with Barbara’s responding display of agony.

“From that day forward, the spirit of Great Tut lay dormant inside Mr. Grayson’s subconscious, awaiting the appropriate time to re-emerge. Now the time has arrived. The King is on the comeback trail, baby!”

He slowly placed his shoe on her neck and began to bear down.

At the sound of a chair clattering onto the floor, he looked behind him. Batgirl stood in the doorway, doubled over in pain and clutching her neck.

“Get off . . . me!” she gasped.

An arm emerged from behind her back and with one quick motion, hurled a small, dark object. Dick Tut tried to duck, but the Batarang ricocheted off his noggin. He toppled sideways to the floor.

Still gasping for breath, Batgirl rushed forward and pushed the desk off of Chief Gordon, before falling to her knees. All three combatants lay there groggily for a moment, trying to shake off their impairments.

“I was alone . . . and suddenly felt my ribs being crushed,” Batgirl panted, helping Chief Barbara to her feet. “Then I remembered how we share acute sensations and realized from where – make that ‘who’ - the pain was originating.”

An unexpected roundhouse from Dick Tut clipped her on the chin, sending both women reeling across the room.

Chief Barbara would have fallen again, were she not able to steady herself against a wall. “We . . . can’t duke it out with him,” she called.

The possessed Grayson bulled forward, but Batgirl backpedaled, weaving away from his swiping grasp.

Doctor Mary Maker strode briskly into the room. She removed her leather gloves, unaware of the mayhem swirling around her. “Did you get my call? That Lisa Wayne is starting to ask ques–”

She had to jump out of the way to avoid the dodging Batgirl, who was closely followed by the stampeding Tut.

“They’re on to us!” growled the resurrected ruler. “You get Chief Gordon!”

Needing no further encouragement, Doctor Maker leapt across the room at Barbara. She grabbed the Police Chief by the hair and jerked her head back and forth.

Batgirl instantly felt flashes of pain emanate from alternating sides of her head. The painful distraction provided Grayson with all the opportunity he needed to deliver a body check that sent Batgirl flying. Chief Gordon collapsed backwards in a similar fashion at the same instant.

Batgirl jabbed a kick at Grayson’s gut and tried to scrabble away from him. He grabbed onto her ankle before she could get far.

The woman formerly known as Queenie pulled a short dagger from her belt. She straddled the fallen Barbara and attempted to plunge it into her heart. The Police Chief grabbed the descending wrist.

“You’ve only yourself to blame for your downfall,” Tut said as he dragged Batgirl around the carpet. “I knew from the start this time travel nonsense would only lead to trouble. I vowed anyone journeying back to the time of my Khaibat transplant would not return to tell the tale.”

“What are you talking about?” said Batgirl, having missed most of Dick’s exposition. “Are you the one who killed Bruce?”

“Oh, that was purely for financial considerations. With the confounded Mister Wayne out of the picture, control of Wayne Industries falls to Dick Grayson.”

He gathered her in his meaty arms and enveloped her in a bear hug. Lifting with his mighty gut, he hefted the dazed daredoll off her feet. Arms that had, on more than one occasion, pulled Batgirl from danger now squeezed the breath from her.

Pressing down relentlessly with the knife, Doctor Maker began wearing down Barbara’s resistance. The trembling blade slowly descended towards a madly-thumping heart. Maker pulled up slightly, then directed her weight directly behind her knife hand.

Barbara jerked the descending hand sideways. The blade plunged into the side of Bruce Wayne’s oak desk. Barbara drew her arm back and threw her fist into the side of Maker’s jaw. Seeing it take the desired effect, she repeated the action.

Barbara gasped in response to the inexplicable sensation of her ribs being slowly crushed. She managed to crawl to all fours just as Maker yanked the dagger free of the desk. Chief Gordon threw an arm forward as if searching for a perch, then brought her elbow driving back into Maker’s noggin. The former Queenie flopped senselessly to the floor. Barbara looked around wildly for the cause of her breathlessness.

Chuckling in the unmistakable voice of King Tut, Grayson was swinging the lighter Batgirl around like a rag doll. Her legs kicked the air, to no avail.

Chief Gordon tried to stand and failed. Her mouth gaped wide, gasping for air that refused to go down her lungs. She used the desk to pull herself to her knees and looked around for something to throw. Even as blackness clouded her vision, she couldn’t bring herself to hurl Maker’s dagger.

Batgirl winced, the agony in her ribs unbearable. She opened her eyes and saw her older self hurl something in her direction. Even overcome with pain, she retained the presence of mind to duck. Grayson found his view of Batgirl’s red hair replaced with that of a heavy book spinning end over end. Chief O’Hara: Year One smashed into his nose, snapping his head back. His grip on Batgirl loosened and she squirmed down out of his grasp.

Even as she sucked in mouthfuls of air, she rolled to her side and jammed a sidekick up into the great belly above. Tut was jarred off his feet and landed hard on his rear. He crawled away to regroup. An open door beckoned nearby, but he found Chief Gordon blocking his path.

“You’d let history be rewritten, jeopardizing this whole existence . . . just to conceal your guilt!” Barbara said through clenched teeth.

“I did what had to be done!” he protested. “My henchgirl in yesteryear - Florence of Arabia – overheard discussion amongst the winning bidders for Hitler’s brain.”

He placed a foot on the carpet and started to rise, but Barbara’s karate chop to his neck knocked him to his knees again.

“Ow! Florence heard them say they were time travelers! “

Scrabbling across the carpet like some great land crab, he settled into a defensive position, his back against the wall. “Don’t you see? Every bit of history since that auction may be wrong! For all you know, this Sailor Pluto is requesting we correct history in a way that will erase us from existence!”

“I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Bruce Wayne,” said Chief Barbara.

Breathing heavily, Grayson lowered his head and charged like a water buffalo.

Batgirl kicked his ankle out from under him and tackled him to the carpet.

While he bellowed in discomfort, Chief Gordon went over to Bruce’s desk and lifted a bronze bust from it.

“Now, Mister Shakespeare,” she said to the bust. “My recollection is, all you have to do to banish King Tut’s personality is to hit him just right on the head.”

Enraged, Tut pounded his fists on the carpet

“King Tut,” she said, raising the bust overhead, “Meet William Shakespeare, Eradicator of Evil Spirits, Discarder of Demons, Remover of Rogue Rulers!”

>CLONK!<

The first rays of light were just spreading over Gotham Point. Considering the extremely early hour, a sizeable group had turned out to see Batgirl off. Although he still sported a bandage around his ribs, Robin Beyond was recovering nicely and on hand to say farewell. Also present were the Seamstress, Lisa Carson Wayne, Commissioner Montoya, Chief Gordon, Professor Nichols, and Professor Mackelroy, to whom Batgirl could not apologize enough (although not for lack of trying.)

Batgirl made a short speech, thanking her hosts for their assistance and hospitality. “I’d love to stay to get to know you all better,” she said, “But I don’t belong here and it’s high time I get back home.”

Professor Nichols held out a hoverboard. “We’re giving you this hoverboard to enable your return to the 20th century, but you must promise to destroy it when you are back to your era. Preserving it would pose the risk it would, at some point, be discovered, creating a sudden leap in technology for your civilization.”

“Or worse,” said Professor Mackelroy, “some villain – say Queenie or myself in the Tut persona – could stumble across it and use it to warp history for their greedy ends.”

“I appreciate you entrusting me with it,” replied Batgirl, “and you can be sure I’ll dispose of it responsibly. Speaking of Queenie, did she ever confess to her complicity?”

“She didn’t need to,” said the Seamstress. “That witch manipulated me like a thimble. In the days just before the murder, she suddenly started stressing the importance of family during counseling sessions. Contrary to what she’d advised before, she harped on my debt to my parents and how they’d always stand by me in my time of need.”

“Obviously, setting the stage for Bruce’s death right before the start of your mission,” observed Lisa Wayne. “She came up with the one sure way to disrupt your trip to the past.”

“Lucky for us all the Miracle Minor here was up to the task,” the Seamstress said, gesturing at Robin Beyond.

“Is there any hope for Dick?” asked Lisa Wayne.

“I’m optimistic he’ll return to normal, as soon as he gets a Khaibat-ectomy,” said Chief Gordon.

Commissioner Montoya pointed at Barbara. “Por suerte el Jefe Gordon fue capaz de apresar al asesino antes de que Robin Beyond fuera eliminado." Everyone nodded in agreement.

Batgirl’s eyes scanned the beach. “What are you looking for?” asked Lisa.

“I know.” Robin Beyond grinned. “You’re wondering when Sailor Pluto is going to pop up!”

Batgirl nodded. “I was half expecting her to shown up by now, even if just to berate me for winding up in 2010.”

“I think this means everything’s fixed and we can all relax,” said Robin Beyond.

“As soon as Batgirl is back in her proper time,” added Professor Nichols.

“On that note, I’ll bid you all farewell,” Batgirl said with a wave, padding down to the water’s edge. She placed the hoverboard in the ocean and daintily stepped onto it. It gently carried her out to deeper waters, then began to build speed. She twisted her torso towards the shore to take one last look at the person she would become years from now, then turned back to welcome the past.

*Music swells*

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