had a feeling he might go along with her plan.
Then she sensed resistance in him. Hostility. She girded herself for the inevitable combat.
“Your intentions are noble,” Wayne conceded. “But with no diesel fuel for heat, no coolants to preserve food . . . millions of people would die of cold and hunger alone.”
Pamela shrugged. “Acceptable losses in a battle to save the planet.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I disagree. I’ve always believed people come first, Doctor Isley.”
By then, the crowd of media types had returned. They were all in a tizzy about the telescope. Fools, Pamela thought.
Frustrated, she turned to them. “Mammals!”
They looked at her with varying degrees of surprise and curiosity.
“I beg your pardon?” said a distinguished-looking television reporter.
“You’re so smug in your towers of stone and glass,” Pamela went on. “So ignorant of Mother Earth and her ways, so blind. A day of reckoning is coming. The same plants and flowers that saw you crawl from the primordial soup will reclaim this planet.
“Earth will be a garden again,” she told them. “Somehow, I will find a way to bring your man-made civilization to its knees. And there will be no one to protect you. No one.”
She expected consternation, even fear. What she got was laughter.
“You must be new in town,” replied Gossip Gerty. “In Gotham City, Batman and Robin protect us. Even from plants and flowers.” Her eyes twinkled as she turned to Bruce Wayne. “Speaking of which . . . will the delicious Miss Madison be your date tonight at the Gotham Botanical Gardens?”
The billionaire cleared his throat. “You mean the Flower Ball, of course.”
“Of course,” Gerty confirmed.
It was as if they’d forgotten about Pamela and her warning. Dismissed her like some annoying little bug.
“Well,” said Wayne, “although my foundation is hosting the event, I regret I’ll be unable to attend. But I trust the rest of you will enjoy yourselves. Thank you all for coming.”
He turned to Pamela. “Good day, Doctor.”
She grabbed him by the sleeve, unable to contain her anger any longer. “Tell me,” she rasped. “Would you warm faster to my pleas if I looked more like Miss January here?” With a jerk of her head, she indicated the lovely Julie Madison.
Wayne didn’t answer. He just took his arm back and moved away, trailed by the press. Pamela glared at him.
Suddenly, she had an idea. Maybe she’d just picked the wrong event to crash—and also the wrong way to crash it.
But she’d rectify that error soon enough.
CHAPTER EIGHT
F reeze remembered it as if it were yesterday.
As he watched, Victor Fries and his wife Nora turned to one another on their wedding altar. Looked into each other’s eyes. And kissed.
It was a deep, passionate kiss, much to the embarrassment of the presiding clergyman. But they didn’t care. They were in love.
Abruptly, the scene switched. Fries and his wife were playing with a puppy in a field somewhere. Upstate New York, he thought—or was it New Hampshire? It was the height of summer, judging by the brightness of the light and the cut of their clothes.
What was the dog’s name again? He thought for a moment. Sunshine? Sunspot? Something like that. It was getting harder and harder for Freeze to remember such things.
His old self got up and left the video frame for a moment, grinning like a Cheshire cat. When he came back, he was still grinning. He handed Nora something. A long, slender jewelry box.
Her eyes grew wide as she opened it. “Oh, Victor,” she said, “it’s beautiful. I can’t believe you—”
At a loss for words, she held the contents up for the camera. It was a snowflake necklace, made of platinum and diamonds—the same one she wore in her icy tomb.
Nora placed the chain around her neck, closed her eyes, and basked in the warm, summer sun. It glinted in her hair, striking highlights. The dog leaped suddenly into her lap, probably wondering why
Then she sensed resistance in him. Hostility. She girded herself for the inevitable combat.
“Your intentions are noble,” Wayne conceded. “But with no diesel fuel for heat, no coolants to preserve food . . . millions of people would die of cold and hunger alone.”
Pamela shrugged. “Acceptable losses in a battle to save the planet.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I disagree. I’ve always believed people come first, Doctor Isley.”
By then, the crowd of media types had returned. They were all in a tizzy about the telescope. Fools, Pamela thought.
Frustrated, she turned to them. “Mammals!”
They looked at her with varying degrees of surprise and curiosity.
“I beg your pardon?” said a distinguished-looking television reporter.
“You’re so smug in your towers of stone and glass,” Pamela went on. “So ignorant of Mother Earth and her ways, so blind. A day of reckoning is coming. The same plants and flowers that saw you crawl from the primordial soup will reclaim this planet.
“Earth will be a garden again,” she told them. “Somehow, I will find a way to bring your man-made civilization to its knees. And there will be no one to protect you. No one.”
She expected consternation, even fear. What she got was laughter.
“You must be new in town,” replied Gossip Gerty. “In Gotham City, Batman and Robin protect us. Even from plants and flowers.” Her eyes twinkled as she turned to Bruce Wayne. “Speaking of which . . . will the delicious Miss Madison be your date tonight at the Gotham Botanical Gardens?”
The billionaire cleared his throat. “You mean the Flower Ball, of course.”
“Of course,” Gerty confirmed.
It was as if they’d forgotten about Pamela and her warning. Dismissed her like some annoying little bug.
“Well,” said Wayne, “although my foundation is hosting the event, I regret I’ll be unable to attend. But I trust the rest of you will enjoy yourselves. Thank you all for coming.”
He turned to Pamela. “Good day, Doctor.”
She grabbed him by the sleeve, unable to contain her anger any longer. “Tell me,” she rasped. “Would you warm faster to my pleas if I looked more like Miss January here?” With a jerk of her head, she indicated the lovely Julie Madison.
Wayne didn’t answer. He just took his arm back and moved away, trailed by the press. Pamela glared at him.
Suddenly, she had an idea. Maybe she’d just picked the wrong event to crash—and also the wrong way to crash it.
But she’d rectify that error soon enough.
CHAPTER EIGHT
F reeze remembered it as if it were yesterday.
As he watched, Victor Fries and his wife Nora turned to one another on their wedding altar. Looked into each other’s eyes. And kissed.
It was a deep, passionate kiss, much to the embarrassment of the presiding clergyman. But they didn’t care. They were in love.
Abruptly, the scene switched. Fries and his wife were playing with a puppy in a field somewhere. Upstate New York, he thought—or was it New Hampshire? It was the height of summer, judging by the brightness of the light and the cut of their clothes.
What was the dog’s name again? He thought for a moment. Sunshine? Sunspot? Something like that. It was getting harder and harder for Freeze to remember such things.
His old self got up and left the video frame for a moment, grinning like a Cheshire cat. When he came back, he was still grinning. He handed Nora something. A long, slender jewelry box.
Her eyes grew wide as she opened it. “Oh, Victor,” she said, “it’s beautiful. I can’t believe you—”
At a loss for words, she held the contents up for the camera. It was a snowflake necklace, made of platinum and diamonds—the same one she wore in her icy tomb.
Nora placed the chain around her neck, closed her eyes, and basked in the warm, summer sun. It glinted in her hair, striking highlights. The dog leaped suddenly into her lap, probably wondering why
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