Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. All is the property of DC Comics. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

Artificial Scion

Chapter One: Space Lab

Timothy Drake, current working alias Alvin Draper, gripped his seat's armrests and told himself that there was nothing to worry about. Sure, he was sitting on top of thirty metric tons of chemical propellant. But these shuttles ran all the time -okay, they ran semi-regularly. Every two weeks. Between Earth and Cadmus' satellite facility, Space Lab. Yeah. They were real creative with the names. The point was, these things ran all the time!

But frequency did not prove safety. All it took was one slight miscalculation in the math.

Escape velocity is the square root of 2GM over r. Where G is the gravitational constant, M is the mass of the body you are escaping from, and r is the distance from the center of the gravitational body. Escape velocity for Earth was 11.2 kilometers per second. That was where the large quantities of highly volatile propellant came into play.

Tim grit his teeth as the shuttle gave a slight jolt. That would be the primary rocket disengaging and the secondary thrusters firing. The shutter had three main thrusters. The primary which shot the rocket like a plume of fire into the sky. When their propellant tanks were expended, the thrusters then broke off of the main body and fell back to Terra so that their added weight did not drag the ship back down. The secondary thrusters then took over and followed the same process. Fire, propel the rocket, expend fuel, break away and fall back to Earth. The third and final thrust came from the shuttle itself.

Those did not come on until the shuttle reached 11.2 kilometers per second. Until it was already well on its way to space.

Since Earth did so much trade with other planets like Tamaran, Thanagar, and Krypton, Batman made sure that each and every one of his proteges had some experience with space travel. Billionaire Bruce Wayne, in his infinitely opulent lifestyle, payed for each of his boys to take a space cruise. So, this experience was not new to Tim. But he had never been fond of space travel.

He knew to much about the physics of it to be completely comfortable with it. Dick thought it was all good fun. Tim thought Dick was bat-shit-crazy.

But he tried not to focus on that. Put it out of his mind that he was being shot into a vacuum with the power equivalent to a hydrogen bomb, or that the only thing separating him from being succeed out into that vacuum was a pressurized tin can. That the air he was breathing was filtered through various purifiers. That a micro-meteor could punch through the hull, depressurize the cabin and kill them all. Damn you space travel!

Tim could jump off skyscrapers. He could swing from impossible heights onto moving vehicles. Stare down gun barrels and smirk. Preform any number of dangerous, life-threatening, feats. But space travel... that scared him.

'Don't think about it.' Tim reminded himself, forcefully pushing those thoughts out of his mind. 'Focus on the mission. You're doing this for a reason. Review mission objectives.'

Sneak aboard Space Lab under the assumed identity of a maintenance technician. Maintenance techs worked on two week rotations, so once Tim got there, he would remain there for two weeks. Hopefully, that would be enough time to complete all objectives. If not... well, then Bruce can send Dick, since he thought space travel was so fun! Or Steph, or Cass, Jason... Oh, hell! The old man should just go himself. After all, this mission was a favor for his friend. Bruce Wayne knew the Kryptonian Ambassador socially. Tim Drake and Red Robin did not.

'Stay on the mission.' Tim reminded himself.

Once on Space Lab, use cover as technician to splice a tap into their computers. Sift through various project files and locate human-kryptonian gene splicing experiments. Discover what Cadmus did with the DNA samples donated by the Kryptonian Ambassador and his human wife (if possible). Copy all available files, back them up to personal PDA. Report back to Earth.

Easy, right?

Sure. It sounded easy on paper and two weeks was way more than enough time to accomplish those goals. But that didn't mean that it actually was easy. For two weeks he would be trapped on Space Lab. If anything went wrong at any point, he would be completely on his own. The tap could be discovered. Or when he actively hacked into the file to locate the specific information he was looking for. Or his download could be detected and tracked back to whatever terminal he used. Then he would be cornered. Trapped.

In space.

Why the hell wasn't Bruce the one doing this!? Ambassador Kal-El was his friend!

And Kal-El didn't even intend to get Batman Inc involved. As Tim understood it, Kal-El was just venting to his friend, not asking the man funding Batman Inc -cough, cough- to have his people look into it. All Tim knew was that he was in the cave one night, refilling the pouches of his belts, minding his own business, while Bruce -still in the suit he'd worn to the gala that evening- pored over the computer doing research on the genetics laboratory.

That was when Dick and Damian got back in. Dirty, and exhausted. Damian gave Tim the obligatory insults in passing as he stripped off his costume and made a B-line for the stairs back up to the house -most likely intent on a shower. Dick, on the other hand, pulled his cowl down, leaned over the back of the original Dark Knight's chair and just had to ask, "Ooh, is this a new case? Something juicy?"

Bruce did not deign to respond. He just continued his preliminary recon on Cadmus. An innovative genetics laboratory, originally based in Metropolis. Significant achievements included 'the Habitat'and successful human cloning (still very controversial). Within the past year, Cadmus unveiled a new laboratory in stationary orbit, their Space Lab. It was there that they proposed to explore inter-specie gene splicing with an emphasis on human-alien hybrids.

As Earth traded with other planets more and more, inter-species marriage become progressively more and more common. Sadly, those couples could not have children. While most races through out the galaxy might look very similar to one another, two arms, two legs, etc. That did not change the fact that they were still of two complexity different species and could not procreate together. Ambassador Kal-El and his wife Lois had each offered samples of their DNA to the project to that end. But then, Cadmus cut off all communication with them. That was what he was venting to Bruce at the gala.

'Whoa!' The cabin gave one final jerk as the secondary thrusters were jettisoned. Tim felt lighter in his seat, the drag and pull of Earth's gravity no longer exercising its grip on his body. They were in space now. The only thing keeping him from floating out of his seat and drifting about the cabin was the harness crossed over his chest. The Red Robin pulled the straps tighter while he ran through some of the breathing exercises he'd learned for meditation, practically forcing himself back into something resembling a state of calm.

To his left another one of the techs on his shift yawned -actually yawned! The bastard! And pulled out a magazine, cool as a cucumber. As if this were just any other 747 flight from New York to Miami. Then again, do this twice a month regularly and after long enough what's terrifying and exciting becomes mundane. Tim hoped he never became accustomed to space travel. Complacency lead to mistakes, negligence, accidents and death.'Just keep focusing on the mission. You've got a job to do.'

After some digging, it turned out that several couples who had volunteered their genetic material had similar stories. Clearly, Cadmus was up to something slightly less than noble up in their isolated Space Lab.

But all Dick saw was the the word 'space', and suddenly he was excited.

"This looks important." He began, stating the obvious and mundane. "Especially since the Kryptonian Ambassador is involved. It could start a war. We should totally send someone to investigate."

Bruce did not sigh in exasperation at the former Nightwing and current acting Dark Knight, but he did turn his chair around and steeple his fingers, regarding his eldest ward critically. "You're absolutely right, Dick." He said. "Kal-El's father holds a position on Krypton's Ruling Council. If he were to share this incident with him, purely for comfort and support from family, and Jor-El were to take the matter to the council chambers, it would most definitely make Earth's diplomatic relationship with them tense."

"So, you're gonna send someone to investigate." And it was wrong how excited he sounded.

"I am." Bruce nodded. "And I know just the man for the job..." Dick beamed proudly. "Tim, clear your calendar for the next two weeks, plus three days prep-time."

The Red Robin's hand slipped fastening the clasp on a pouch and its contents went spilling all over the work table. "Excuse me, what?"

That was what brought Tim to this point. Sitting strapped into an almost airline style chair, restraining harness crossed over his chest, wearing the uniform of a Cadmus maintenance tech, his hair artificially colored, with contacts in his eyes so that 'Alvin Dapper' didn't resemble Timothy Drake-Wayne, and being shot into space.

Personally, he blamed Dick.

But he got his revenge. With Timothy Drake-Wayne suddenly taking a leave of absence from the company, that meant that Richard Grayson got hit with all of his paperwork, on top of his own. Tim smiled an evil smile when he remembered that. Dick hated paperwork. It was one of the reasons why he left the Bludhaven PD -to much paperwork, he never imagined a job as a police officer required more typing and filing than actual action. Ah... live and learn.

The spiraling wheel of Space Lab was coming into view now.

A white and grey ring spiraling around a central stationary, cylindrical, core. The core cylinder sported a tail, extending far enough below the ring to allow for shuttles to doc. It was this tail-doc that Tim's shuttle was silently but speedily coasting towards. He hoped the pilot was adept at space-born docking. The shuttle hatch and station's hatch had to be lined up perfectly for an airlock to form. Otherwise the transfer tube would depressurize and anybody on either side would be sucked out into the void. It wouldn't be the sudden change in pressure or the lack of a breathable atmosphere that would kill them. It would be the freezing temperatures of space -three degrees Kelvin. Death would be instantaneous.

God! Tim hated space travel!

He watched Space Lab grow closer in his tiny airplane-sized window. The ring had a radius of two-hundred and ninety-eight meters, with a circumference of a little less than two-thousand meters. Okay, Tim was doing the math, so lets be exact. One-thousand eight-hundred seventy-two meters. Thirty meters wide. A hundred meters deep. The core cylinder was five-hundred sixty-three meters long and eighty meters wide. At the moment, to Tim's naked eye peering through his window it appeared to be three centimeters in size and steadily growing bigger at the rate of one millimeter every four seconds. From that, the Red Robin could estimate the shuttle's speed.

Tim estimated that if they continued at their current speed, they would reach the station in two hours. If they did not decelerate, they would crash into it and most likely die. If they began decelerating to close to the station, they bounce off of Space Lab, knocking the satellite just enough to change its orbit while the shuttle went spiraling off towards Jupiter. But if the pilot got everything just right, their forward motion would stop before they even touched the outer shielding. Not even a love tap. The pilot would then use a series of mini-thrusters aligning the flanks, hull, roof, forward and aft segments of the outer shell.

Maintaining the speed Tim estimated, it would have taken them two hours to reach Space Lab. In the end, it took them three hours and forty-five minutes.

He jumped when the shuttle made contact with the station's doc. The first sound to come from outside of the ship since leaving Earth's atmosphere. The sudden jerk of his body bouncing Tim between his seat and his harness. If it wasn't for the harness he would have gone flying off through the cabin with no other forces acting on him to slow or stop until he made contact with one of the walls. Newton's most basic Laws of Motion. An object in motion will remain in motion until another force acts upon it. Tim loved science. He hated space.

The other techs in the cabin hid smiles and snickers behind their hands. Damn it all. The objective was to remain invisible. Not make himself the center of attention. Well, that plan was shot to heck! Lets all look at the new guy, still hasn't gotten his space legs. Har har. Really, Bruce should have sent someone else. Anyone else!

Tim tightened his grip on his armrests and forced his body back down into its seat.

"Easy there, Draper." The man on his left, the one with the magazine from earlier, offered a humoring smile. "This ain't like the sims they got at MIT. There's no kill switch to bring the grav back to Earth-norm if you go flyin'."

"I know." Tim nodded. "This is not my first time in zero-G."

And it really wasn't. Bruce made sure of that. He had experience moving in a zero gravity environment. How to dust for prints, swab for GSR, DNA, chemical residue, etc. Even zero gravity combat. That had not been fun! Tim was pretty sure Damian could have killed him if Dick hadn't pulled the little demon brat off.

When the air lock hissed as it sealed and the green light signifying that it was safe to pass through flickered on, the cabin lights went up and everyone began unbuckling from their seats and floating towards the airlock. Using the backs of the seats like the rungs of a ladder, pulling themselves towards the airlock. Tim waited until the cabin was clear to unbuckle his harness but did not push out of his seat. He took a deep breath, just hovering in place, no forces acting upon him. When he was sure he had himself under control, that was when the Red Robin started to move.

He may not enjoy space travel or zero gravity, but he had been trained to move and work in it and so that was what he did. Making slow, controlled movements. First reorienting himself. One hand still holding the armrest so as not to go flying off, he turned himself over so that he was facing his chair. Like the others did, he pulled himself from seat to seat as if climbing a ladder. But he paused at every seat that had been occupied, to collect hair from the seat backs or swab for sweat or epithelial cells from the arm rests. This was not a main objective, but Bruce did want to know who worked on Space Lab and how many at any given time. The hairs and swabs were all sealed in carefully labeled evidence bags. He wouldn't need to deal with them until he got back planet-side two weeks from now.

That task completed, he entered the transfer tube.

It was only one meter long. Made primarily of concussion glass, a composite of terran space-glass used by NASA and kryptonian crystal-tech. It was clear as glass, but strong as reenforced steel. A mesh of nylon netting covered the inside of the tube for people to pull themselves along with. If it weren't for the meshing, Tim might have thought he had stepped outside into the void.

He took a deep calming breath. There was air. There was pressure. The temperature was perfectly agreeable to the human condition. Tim pulled himself along the nylon meshing until he reached the other end of the lock. Opening the door release, he slipped inside and could not have been happier to be sealed inside an enclosed space again.

Someone slapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, Draper, you made it!"

Just arrived and already he was drawing more attention than he wanted. Yeah. Bruce really should have sent someone else.

...

Experiment 13 hovered in the chamber that had been his home since he first became conscious several month ago. There was no gravity in his chamber because he was in the dead center of the station. No spin. He knew this because he heard the scientist talking about it on the other side of the glass.

One of the six sides that made up the cube that was his world was a giant mirror.

According to the scientists on the other side, he should be able to see through things. But as much as Experiment 13 tried, his eyes never were able to penetrate the walls of his little world. He could hear through them, though. His hearing was excellent. He knew every scientist by their voice, breathing pattern and heartbeat.

Roquette was the one in charge of his project. She was female as evident by her voice and the fact that the others used the female pronoun when speaking about her behind her back.

Spence was another female. She was in charge of the security of his project. From the tone of what he overheard, she was the one meant to subdue him! That was something that confused Experiment 13 since all he'd ever known was inside these six walls and immediately on the other side of the mirrored wall. Why would he want to harm all he'd ever know since he first became self-aware?

A man named Westfield came and went. Sometimes staying for long hours to discuss Experiment 13's progress with Roquette, other times just popping in for a brief report. His visits did not follow a regular schedule but they had become more and more frequent of late. Westfield was apparently anxious to move the Project to the next stage -whatever that was. Experiment 13 never knew when he was going to show up and when he did, it was the most excitement he would have in his tiny inclosed life.

He knew their names and heartbeats. Even details about their lives outside of his little world. He would overhear their conversations, gossip about children, spouses, neighbors. Things he only understood as concepts. Knowledge and information that had been implanted in his brain before he gained consciousness.

Although, Experiment 13 would be lying if he said that these concepts didn't intrigue him. Perhaps that was why Spence was here. To make sure he did not try and leave to see these things. He was strong. They preformed regular tests of his strength, endurance, invulnerability and other things. They never told him why. He was not meant to understand. But he did know that these were things that they themselves could not do.

They could not see through solid objects or bend bars of various metals with various tensile strengths, maintain physical activity for hours without becoming tired, or withstand things such as having projectiles shot at him from firearms. But he could do all these things. He had something they called 'hybrid genetics'. He was created by combining twenty-three chromosomes from an Earth-human cell and twenty-three from an alien cell. In his case, a kryptonian donor. It was because of his kryptonian donor that he could bend metal and was invulnerable against everything they'd thrown at him thus far. But it was because of his human donor that he had another ability.

A power the geneticists that created him had not foreseen and still had not made up their minds about. They were still trying to measure and map its full scope. They called it 'tactile telekinesis'. It was a type of psychokinetic ability that allowed him to move objects with his mind after he touched them with his bare skin. Or to probe certain things so long as they were making contact with him. It was an invisible and ephemeral power based in the corporeal sense of touch. Tactile telekinesis.

Perhaps that was the reason Roquette was denying Westfield's promptings to move forward. She didn't want to move to the next stage until she had a better understanding of her subject's abilities.

His chamber's intercomm crackled for a moment before none other than Roquette's voice asked, "How are you today, Kid?"

Experiment 13 didn't know why he didn't inform her that he could hear them just fine through the walls without need of the intercomm. Perhaps he was afraid that if they knew he could hear them, they wouldn't speak as freely. Roquette certainly never shared any of their reasons with him. Why he had been created. Why they were measuring his abilities. Why he was kept isolated in this chamber. What Westfield wanted with him. All he knew was that he was created from combining the DNA of two different species and because of that, he had special powers.

"Same as every day, Doctor." He replied, holding down the comm button on the mirrored wall as he spoke. "Board, with nothing to do."

...

Barracks, bathrooms (thank god!), and mess were all located within the inner most level of the ring. The station's spin simulated a gravitational pull so that people could walk almost normally without bouncing through the corridors. The furniture and equipment was still bolted or strapped down in the event that something stopped the spin and the gravity went out. The beds in the barracks sported harnesses similar to the seat-belts from the shuttle ride over.

Tim hated sleeping in a low gravity environment. He was practically counting the days until the mission was up and he could set foot back down on solid terra once again.

He got his first opportunity to for the computer tap on his third 'day' aboard Space Lab. 'Day' referring to a twenty-four hour cycle based on Eastern Standard Time back on Earth. It was a standard software update and hardware check on a terminal on level three of the ring. No one batted an eyelash at a maintenance technician bent over an open access panel. Software updates were every six months and hardware checks every six weeks or as needed. Standard procedure was to check the hardware before any new software was updated.

Tim used the standard issue wire-cutters from his main-tech kit to strip the insulation from the feed line that connected the individual terminal to the station's main hub. The wire exposed, Tim gimmicked in an encrypted wave transmitter. It would communicate with his personal PDA and his personal PDA only. If anyone attempted to crack his encryption without using the appropriate sequence of keywords, they would end-up instead downloading a list of every book written by Robert Kane and a cute little virus that would leave their computers singing 'Nanananananananana' until they found a way to clean it out.

With the tap in place, Tim could begin copying all Space Lab's available data. It would take all of his two weeks to copy all of the station's hard-drives and at least six muti-terrabite jump-drives to save and transport it all. Tim brought ten with him just in case the files were larger than anticipated. He could monitor copy status from his PDA at any time, but switching out the drives would have to be done in privacy so as not to arouse suspicion -in the bathroom, or if his barracks-mates ever gave him seven minutes in the room alone.

His hacking to find the specific information Bruce wanted would also have to be done in private. Unless he wanted to have a porn file open in another tab to explain to all his barrack mates why he was always hunched over his PDA so conspiratorially.

...