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

it even contained a breathing mechanism. Then I recalled the time when Batman, threatened with disclosure of his dual identity, had created a “Bruce Wayne” robot to take his place while Batman performed his deeds. Now, Mr. Wayne was using the dummy to fool me, the one person in the world entrusted with his most important secret! I was so baffled that I spoke the word aloud to the darkness:
    “Why?”
    Of course, madness was the Great Explainer of all mysteries, but the least satisfying. Even madness has method in it, and what lunatic reasoning could Batman have for this deception of his loyal servant? Irrational as it sounds, I felt a tinge of anger, and that emboldened me to make still another clandestine trip to the cave beneath Wayne Manor.
    I detected nothing out of the ordinary—if “ordinary” can describe the Batcave, a combination of computer room, laboratory, museum, and central headquarters. I understood enough of Batman’s methods to know that his starting point is often at his liquid-cooled Cray computer console. Its workings were a mystery, but on one occasion Batman, in another location, had needed some stored data in a hurry, and had instructed me in the technique of “booting” the device. I did so now, and I was in luck. There was a program still in memory, and it asked:
    Do you wish to see list again?
    I hesitated, then punched the Return key. There on the screen, appeared the following:
    PENTOTHYL DIAZINE
CHLOROPAM E.
ALPRAPROXIDE
TRITOPHENOZENE
    I was unfamiliar with the names, but they sounded like pharmaceuticals, perhaps prescribed by Dr. Lace? Surely Batman couldn’t take them all, although that might explain his erratic behavior. I had little time for speculation, because I heard the distinct whine of the Batcave elevator and realized that Batman was coming down!
    I confess to a moment of sheer panic. Batman never denied me free access to the Batcave, but I would be hard pressed to explain why I was tampering with his computer. I decided to hide. The first place of concealment that met my eye: the back seat of the Batmobile.
    It was not the most fortuitous choice because Batman went straight to the Batmobile and climbed into the driver’s seat. A touch on the dashboard, and the camouflaged door of the Batcave opened, the Batmobile engine growled, and with a burst of speed that made my ears ring, we roared off into the night.
    You can imagine the trepidation I felt, clad in robe and pajamas, at the mercy of a man who was almost certainly mentally unsound. After the department store break down, the emergence of Fatman, Batman, and Splatman, I could no longer deny that “Batty Batman” was the correct appellation for the former superhero of Gotham City. Who knew what lunatic visions were driving him now, or me, for that matter?
    The ride lasted no more than twenty minutes, but it seemed an eternity until the powerful vehicle slowed to a purring halt and grew silent. It was only when Batman left the Batmobile that I ventured to steal a glance at my surroundings. We were in the suburbs, in a parking lot behind a looming square structure with only one or two lighted windows.
    Finally, I made out a sign that read:
    PINE-WHATNEY CLINIC
Physician Parking Only
Violators will be prosecuted
    That sign was innocuous beside the one I discerned on the tall wire fence surrounding the building.
    WARNING!
ELECTRIFIED FENCE
DO NOT TOUCH
    Then, as if once again demonstrating the loss of his reasoning powers, I saw that Batman was preparing to scale that very fence!
    As I watched in horrified fascination, he removed an instrument from his belt that appeared to be a small snubnosed revolver. He aimed it at the roof of the building and fired a tiny grappling hook attached to a length of batwire. It draped right across that electrified fence, evoking a shower of sparks, but Batman began his climb just the same.
    To my great relief, nothing happened, It took me a moment to realize that Batman’s rubberized