"The actual combat roster will be smaller than you think. We can't deploy everyone—this Earth still needs defending. I can't be dragged into a frontline engagement. Diana's strength also exceeds what a planet can structurally absorb. We don't know whether that environment is hospitable to Kryptonians, so our three heavy-hitting Kryptonians won't be in the first wave. Martian Manhunter is laser-focused on Earth right now; he isn't with the League. Unless enemies come to his doorstep, he won't move. So consider—" Thea counted off on her fingers.
"On top of that, the Green Lantern Corps will have no emotional supply in that universe. There are no power batteries over there to recharge from. The Seven Lantern Corps are major allies of ours, but without emotional fuel, they're basically just American grunts with shiny rings."
Batman's face fell. Four of the seven founding members were off the table; the only one left who could fight was Flash. "So you want regular superheroes to spearhead this?"
"Not going to happen. I'll work on the Lantern problem. They have to be part of this. We can't make blanket assumptions about that Earth's environment either. This is a preliminary plan—everything depends on scout results before we finalize. This is war, not street crime."
She wasn't telling the whole truth. At her current tier, certain things came to her as dim intuitions, reinforced by her time wearing the White Lantern ring. A lot of seemingly mystical phenomena had underlying rules. Every universe had its operating logic—and in this one, the law was justice. Justice must prevail. No matter how evil acted up, it would ultimately be defeated. That was the universal decree.
Earth-3's law was evil. Justice would fail there no matter how hard it fought. If the League launched a large-scale invasion, Thea would have to expend serious effort suppressing that world's will. That was the real reason she couldn't engage immediately.
But that kind of cosmology-altering disclosure served no purpose. She left Batman to brood and headed back to the White House.
Convincing her mother went impressively smoothly.
Honestly, when Moira had first taken the presidency, it had felt to her like being drafted into command during a crisis—troubled waters reveal the hero. The novelty faded fast. What remained was an avalanche of headaches, with crisis after crisis hitting her office. As President, she was running herself ragged.
So hearing the pitch—"keep the enemy beyond our borders"—she was fully onboard. Superheroes were still going to bog themselves down debating ethics, reputation, and a dozen other concerns.
As a politician, Moira carried none of that baggage. And the other side had sent an advance team. What was there to debate? Fight. Immediately. Now.
Talks with a handful of heavyweight senators went just as well. Politicians were under the same crushing pressure—every other week it was some alien invasion or supervillain rampage. Now what? A chance to take the fight to them? Support. Full support. Voters didn't care much about being on the side of justice—sure, justice was nice—but what they really wanted to know was that they were on the winning side.
Congress was easy. The military, predictably, had reservations. They didn't answer to voters, but if American soldiers took heavy casualties, the grieving families might literally come gunning for the brass. Gun laws being what they were, doctors and teachers already had to pack. Social pressure was already at breaking point.
Several generals were on the fence. That was where the real and fake Alfred came in. They had to be shown in no uncertain terms: if we don't shoot first, the other side is already coming.
Three days later, in front of the Pentagon, Thea welcomed Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth.
It was only then that Thea learned the old butler had not just been retired British paratrooper. He was a British intelligence officer—MI6. Foreign service. Theoretically, the famous 007 had been his colleague.
Thea was sorely tempted to ask whether his code number had been 006 or 008. Alfred had landed in the United States alone right after World War II, during the Great Depression, and embedded himself in the Wayne family for forty years.
The present-day Wayne family was thinly populated. In its prime it had been a dynasty among dynasties—the Waynes practically owned half of Gotham. Deploying an elite operative of Alfred's caliber for a decades-long infiltration meant the Brits had been playing an extraordinarily long game.
Too bad the sun did eventually set on the empire. Alfred had never been activated. Over the years, his bond with young Bruce had turned them into a father and son in all but blood.
"My background—it won't cause misunderstandings, will it?" Alfred asked quietly as they approached the doors.
Thea reassured him. Diplomatic relations between the two countries had long since evolved. He could retire comfortably at the Wayne estate.
Alfred's worry was entirely misplaced. The generals couldn't have cared less whether he'd been British intelligence.
His age certainly helped. You don't haul a man that old through a cavity search and an interrogation—not with Thea and Bruce standing right there.
The military was under even more pressure than the White House or Congress. If they couldn't protect civilians, what was the point of them? But natural disasters and alien invasions didn't respect command structures. Lois's father, General Lane, had served four years as Secretary of Defense and was visibly drifting toward nervous breakdown.
Of course they preferred striking the enemy to being struck by the enemy.
Hitting the other side while they weren't looking. Kicking down their front door. Killing, burning, pillaging. What better way to live?
But they couldn't just act on a rumor. The calculus had to be run. The intel had to be verified.
The evil Alfred had already been transferred to Pentagon custody. The military had its own interrogation methods.
Now, looking at the kind version of Alfred, several generals privately marveled. Parallel dimensions weren't news to them—but until now, the concept had felt distant and abstract. To see it embodied in a living person! A villain from a parallel dimension planning to invade, standing opposite a model citizen who had lived an exemplary life.
The two Alfreds were completely different in temperament, in bearing. But they were both highly capable. That much was obvious.
Top-tier operative of his era—Alfred couldn't be that diminished.
The generals got the picture. If the other side was coming for them, they had to fight. Better sooner than later. Still, the military was a support arm. The decisive force would be the heroes—and scouting was paramount.
Batman continued working on the reverse-channel problem. Opening the door wasn't actually that hard. The difficulty was opening it without alerting the other side.
Nightwing's job was covert scouting, not full-scale breach.
Progress was slow. After some discussion among the senior League, they pulled Luthor in too. His intellect couldn't be discounted.
Hearing they were going to invade another Earth, bald-headed Luthor was extremely interested. Showed up ready to help. Superman specifically emphasized that this was not an invasion—it was a defensive war to protect their home—and Luthor snorted contemptuously but didn't argue. Call it whatever you like.
With Luthor on the team—Batman, Mr. Terrific, and Luthor, three of Earth's greatest minds now working together—the reverse-engineering of the golden skull sped up dramatically.