The Further Adventures of Batman by Martin H. Greenberg Page A

all too vulnerable, but so was his body. I sped to the site of Gotham City Towers.
    Speed was impossible, however. Every street within a twenty-block radius of the skyscraper was clotted with people and vehicles. It was an irresistible attraction: not just a potential jumper, but a jumper who was surely the most famous individual in Gotham City. Perhaps now they would learn if their “superhero,” like Superman, could fly; or perhaps their thirst for gore would be satisfied by the sight of Batman’s crushed and bleeding body. As you can see, I entertained the most morbid thoughts as I finally came within viewing distance of Gotham City Towers. There, as promised, was Batman, sitting nonchalantly on the ledge, holding a white object in his blue-gauntleted hand.
    I didn’t know what the object was until Batman, apparently satisfied with the size of his audience, got to his feet and lifted it to his lips. Then his voice boomed out through the bullhorn, chilling me to the very marrow.
    “Ladies and gentlemen! Introducing . . . Splatman !”
    I knew what was going to happen next, but my mind refused to believe it. Batman stood on his toes, fanned out his batwing cape and dove gracefully into the air. For a single breathtaking moment he was poised in midair, almost as if he really could fly like the nocturnal creature he emulated—but gravity won the contest. A collective scream of horror and dismay rose from the crowd as Batman plunged toward them from that great height. The police and fire squads, their rescue equipment still aboard their respective vehicles, looked on helplessly. As for myself, I could only close my eyes and pray for my master’s immortal soul.
    Suddenly, time seemed to stop!
    I didn’t realize what had happened until another astonished cry from the spectators caused me to open my eyes and see Batman suspended above the ground as if caught by a stop-motion camera. His precipitous flight to oblivion had been halted abruptly. The almost invisible batwire tied to his leg had stopped him less than six feet from the pavement; a man of lesser strength would have had that leg torn from its socket by the sudden impact. Batman merely laughed at the “success” of his practical joke, and leaped lightly to the ground. Then, with a farewell wave to the stunned crowd, he hurried to the waiting batmobile and was soon tearing down the street, his wild laughter fading with the roar of the engine.
    There was a videotape of the event on the six o’clock news that night, and the facetious commentary by the newscasters indicated that they shared the same opinion as the rest of the world: Batman was certifiable.
    It wasn’t the only item on the telecast. There was also a related story on the upsurge in crime in Gotham City, and a taped interview with Mayor Donovan, who stated flatly that he still had complete confidence in Commissioner Gordon; there would be no request for his resignation. Even though I was relieved for the Commissioner’s sake, there was still something about the development that troubled me.
    That night, I decided that I would risk my entire relationship with Batman by breaking a sacred rule. I was going to ask Mr. Wayne a direct question about the situation.
    I couldn’t sleep that night. I was sure sleep would never come until I had unburdened myself. I tossed aside the bedclothes, slipped on a robe, and went to Mr. Wayne’s door. I didn’t bother to knock; I simply walked into the room. It was in darkness, illuminated only by the pale moonlight that fell across his sleeping figure. He stirred slightly as I approached, and for a moment, I almost lost my nerve. Then I spoke softly.
    “Mr. Wayne?”
    There was no answer, but my determination was so great I decided to waken him at all costs. I touched his shoulder lightly and realized . . . I wasn’t touching flesh!
    Swiftly, I drew back the covers and saw that I had been deceived by a cleverly constructed dummy, an artificial man so lifelike that