Today, however, the subject wasn’t baseball. “It never fails,” complained Sampson. “Whenever I have to make a big delivery on one end of town, the next one will be clear over on the other side. What do you have for me after lunch?”
Waters put down his book and his fried egg sandwich. He glanced at a clipboard hanging on the wire enclosure near him. “Just one,” he said. “Another big order from Bruce Wayne.”
“Jeez,” said Sampson, “that guy again! Well, I guess he can afford it.”
“That’s what I hear,” said Waters.
“He’s one of Jennings’ best accounts. I know for a fact that he gets as much electrical gear as some of the biggest factories and scientific outfits in Gotham City. What do you think he does with it all?”
Waters wasn’t terribly interested. He only shrugged and picked up his book again.
“I hope he’s around when I drop the stuff off,” Sampson went on. “That butler of his never gives me any trouble or anything, but when the Wayne guy himself is there, he always gives me a healthy tip.”
“Uh huh,” said Waters absently. He kept on reading.
“Listen, pal. How about if I give you a hand filling the Wayne order? The sooner you get done, the sooner I can run it out to his mansion. Then I’ll be done for the day. And I’ll tell you what: if he slips me a few bucks, I’ll come back here and split it with you. What do you say?”
Waters sighed. He was sure now that although he hadn’t finished eating, his lunch break had come to an end. “Fine.” he said. “Take one of those order form pages and find the electrical components in the bins. Bring them here to my desk because I have to check them all off.”
“Whatever you say.” Sampson slid the top sheet of paper free of the clipboard. Before he went to collect the parts, he switched on the maroon plastic AM radio above Waters’ desk. The radio had been forgotten and left behind by one of the shipping clerks who had quit his job at Jennings to go back to school. Waters never turned it on because he hated pop music, and the radio did not receive Gotham City’s FM classical music station. “Jeez, I’m getting sick of this song,” said Sampson, listening to Pat Boone crooning “Love Letters in the Sand.” Nevertheless, he left the radio on and went off in search of the electrical components Bruce Wayne had ordered.
Waters marked his place and closed The Hidden Persuaders. He watched Sampson wander off toward the vacuum tubes. “There should be a higher law,” he muttered. “Something that would bring to justice all the double-digit IQs like Sampson.” He took a deep breath and let it out, then stood and took the second page of the Wayne order. He began pulling boxes of resistors. He could tell that, once again, Wayne had ordered a small mountain of them.
Half an hour later, Sampson returned with a puzzled look on his face.
“This guy wants two thousand tubes,” he said. “What can anybody do with two thousand vacuum tubes?”
“He can build a radio the size of your garage,” said Waters irritably. “Maybe he has a crazy passion for Chinese music.”
“Anyway, we’re all out of some of these.” He showed the order form to Waters.
“You can substitute for most of these tubes. Where it says 2A3, you can use a 2A3W, and it will be even more reliable.”
“Yeah, easy for you to say, Waters. I haven’t memorized the code numbers of every tube in the world.”
Waters just stared at Sampson until he got himself under control again. “There’s a big yellow chart on the wall, right in front of you,” he said in a dangerous tone of voice, “and it gives all the tube numbers and all the permissible substitutions. It’s probably been there since before you were born. You’ve seen it every time you’ve come into the cage.”
Sampson grinned sheepishly, “I guess I never really noticed it before.”
“That figures,” said Waters sourly. “All right, I’ll finish the vacuum tubes. You work on the resistors.”
Sampson swapped pages with him and started to leave the shipping department. Then he stopped and turned back to Waters. “I always forget,” he said. “What do the colored bands on the resistors mean again?”
It was all Waters could do to keep from punching him. “Forget it!” he said. “I’ll finish the whole thing by myself. You just sit there and listen to the radio and don’t touch anything.”
Sampson shrugged. “All right, if you say so.” He sat down and began munching on Waters’ unfinished sandwich. “Listen,” he said happily, “they’re playing ‘The Banana Boat Song.’ ”
Late that afternoon, Bruce Wayne bent over his work in the Batcave’s superbly equipped laboratory. In addition to being in top physical condition to fight criminals on the streets of Gotham City, Wayne also found it necessary to keep current with all the latest advances in such fields as chemistry and electronics. What he had read in recent scientific journals had persuaded him that it was time to make improvements on the Batcave’s Crime Data Analyzer. Wayne was convinced that he could build a new computer that could store and process information with even greater speed and efficiency.
New technology meant learning new techniques, but Bruce Wayne—the Batman—was never dismayed by such a challenge. As the day wore on, he worked with intense concentration, unaware that both Dick Grayson, his ward, and his faithful butler, Alfred, were concerned about him. Alfred, in particular, was unhappy that his master had eaten little of his lunch and then hurried back to his experiment. He was worried that Wayne might be overtiring himself.
At four o’clock, Dick Grayson entered the Batcave and greeted the older man. “Gosh, Bruce,” he said, “I’m sorry that I couldn’t get out of that social engagement. I would much rather have been here, helping you with our project.”
Wayne looked up, startled. “Hello, Dick. How was the matinee concert?”
“I’ve never heard the Gotham Philharmonic sound better. I explained to everyone that you had an important business matter that prevented you from accompanying me. But now I’m ready to get to work. Oh, and Alfred said to tell you that dinner will be served promptly at six.”
Wayne glanced at his wristwatch and reacted with surprise. “I had no idea that I’d been working here so long.”
Grayson came closer to the workbench to see what Wayne was doing. “Tell me, Bruce,” he said, “what is that board? It’s plastic on one side, and copper on the other. Is it going to be part of the new BATIVAC Crime Computer?”
Wayne smiled. “Yes, Dick. This is the prototype of the sort of printed circuit I’ve devised for the BATIVAC.”
Grayson looked bewildered. “Printed circuit?”
“The printed circuit board will make building the BATIVAC much simpler. The plastic board will become the base onto which we will mount the necessary electrical components. After the board is properly processed, the remaining copper on the other side will serve as the ‘wiring.’ It will save us many hours of tedious wiring and difficult soldering. The BATIVAC will consist of hundreds of these printed circuit boards, and if a component or a circuit should fail, it will be much easier to remove the entire board and replace it with an identical one.”
Grayson examined the unfinished circuit board in admiration. “This is wonderful, Bruce,” he said, “but I suppose you won’t be needing me and my soldering iron anymore.”
Wayne laughed. “Oh, there will still be plenty of connections to make, Dick,” he said. “We’ll place the components on the plastic side of the board, with their leads pushed through properly spaced holes. Then it will be a simple matter to fasten them down to copper pathways on the other side with a bit of solder.”
“What about the excess copper?”
Wayne indicated the copper-clad side of the board. “I’m just about to remove it now. I’ve masked the outline of the circuit I want with a resistant ink. Now I merely dip the board into this pan of ferric chloride solution, which will etch away all the excess copper. When it’s finished, I’ll rinse the board in clear water and remove that resistant ink with lacquer thinner. All
that will be left on the copper side is a map of the circuit I designed.”
“Wow, Bruce,” said Grayson excitedly. “No more fumbling with copper wire!”
“Exactly, Dick. And this process will enable us to build our equipment more quickly and will reduce the overall size of it, too. We’ve entered the modern age of miniaturization. The BATIVAC will require several thousand vacuum tubes, and without miniaturization, it would take up much of the area of the Batcave.”
Grayson understood the possibilities immediately. “Maybe later we could build a smaller version of the BATIVAC for the crime lab aboard the Batplane. And think of the new miniature devices we could carry in our utility belts.”
“First things first, Dick,” said Wayne, amused by his ward’s enthusiasm. “And I think I’ve worked hard enough for tonight, although the sooner the BATIVAC is finished, the sooner all of Gotham City can sleep more securely.”
It would be many days before the BATIVAC was completed, but both Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson knew that there was no point in working to exhaustion. Together the two left the Batcave and went upstairs where Alfred had prepared them both a light but nutritious snack.
It was already after five o’clock when Bertram Walters drove the Jennings Radio Supply delivery truck up the long, curved driveway leading to Wayne Manor. Joe Sampson had said something that got Walters thinking, and when he’d finished locating all of the electrical components to fill Wayne’s order, Waters had volunteered to make the delivery himself. Sampson had only shrugged, thankful to be going home early. He hadn’t questioned why Waters would do him such a favor.
What Sampson had said was that Bruce Wayne bought as many electrical supplies as some of the largest factories in town. What did he do with it all? It seemed like too great a quantity for a mere hobbyist, someone who enjoyed puttering around in his basement workshop building homemade burglar alarms and electric-eye garage door openers. Unless, of course, Wayne were an electronics genius, just as Bertram Walters was. That seemed highly unlikely, too. Wayne was very well-known in Gotham City, but his reputation was as a wealthy playboy and socialite, not as a new Thomas Edison.
Waters switched off the truck’s engine, opened the door, and jumped down to the gravel drive. He had a few not-so-innocent questions for whoever came to the door, and if the answers to those questions suited him, Waters might soon be embarked on an entirely new career—one that promised to be much more lucrative than his current job. Holding a clipboard and a box of vacuum tubes, Waters rang the doorbell and waited.
“Yes?” The man who opened the front door wasn’t Bruce Wayne, whose photograph Waters had seen often enough in the newspaper. This must be the butler that Sampson mentioned, thought Waters.
“Jennings Radio,” said Waters, trying to sound bored.
“Yes, of course,” said the butler. He paused and examined Waters briefly. “Another gentleman usually delivers Mr. Wayne’s orders.”
“Yeah?” said Waters. “Well, today he didn’t.”
“Indeed, sir. Shall I sign?” he took the clipboard holding the invoice and packing list from Waters.
“Right. Top copy is yours.”
The butler was shrewed enough not to return the clipboard until he’d examined the invoice thoroughly. “Pardon me, sir,” he said at last, “but unless you have quite a few more parcels in your truck, this order is incomplete.”
“Yeah, well, the stuff’s on back order. It should be in tomorrow. I’ll make a special trip out just as soon as it comes in.”
“Thank you,” said the butler. “I’m sure Mr. Wayne will be most appreciative.”
“Uh huh. So tell me, this boss of yours, does he do a lot of electrical work around the house or what?”
The butler permitted himself a tiny smile. “Oh no, I wouldn’t say that. Everyone knows that Mr. Wayne certainly doesn’t need to attend to his own wiring difficulties.”
“Well, he sure orders enough junk. All those vacuum tubes and everything.”
“I believe, sir, that Mr. Wayne is planning to build a television set. He finds that sort of thing relaxing.”
“Then he’s not some sort of brilliant inventor, huh?”
Again, the butler favored Waters with a brief smile. “Oh, my goodness, no. He finds the plans in those home mechanic’s magazines, but to be brutally honest, he’s never yet finished a project. Now, good day to you, sir.” He closed the great oak door quickly and firmly.
Well, Mr. Wayne, you have a clever and quick-witted butler, thought Waters, as he headed back to the delivery truck. A television set with two thousand tubes! You’ll be able to tune in Mars if you want. But Waters was sure now that the components from Jennings Radio Supply would never form the inside of a television receiver. There was only one private citizen in all of Gotham City who would use such a great quantity of sophisticated electronic gear, and at the same time be so cautious about hiding the fact—the Batman!
Mr. Wayne, thought Waters as he drove the delivery truck to his own apartment, you’ll receive the remainder of your order tomorrow, but first I want to put my own stamp of approval on every single part. And then I’ll be ready for you when we meet at last.
Several weeks later, Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson were putting the finishing touches on the newly completed BATIVAC, the Batman Algorithmic Tabular Integrated Vector Analzyer and Calculator. They had both enjoyed constructing the mammoth machine because the practical experience had taught them a great deal about the latest developments in electronics and data processing. There still remained the task of entering Batman’s vast library of crime information. However, much of that was stored on punch cards for use with the non-obsolete Crime Data Analyzer, and the cards were also compatible with the BATIVAC. New information would have to be recorded on still more punch cards, and that job fell to the reliable Alfred, who, it should be obvious, was far more than a butler to his ever-vigilant masters.
Shortly before midnight, the red warning light far underground in the Batcave began flashing, indicating that the Bat-Signal was blazing through the night sky over Gotham City, invisible to Wayne and Grayson. They changed into their costumes as they raced to the Batmobile, as they had on innumerable occasions in the past. “I wonder what dangers we’ll face tonight, Batman,” said Robin.
“We’ll learn soon enough,” replied the Caped Crusader. “We’ll report first to Commissioner Gordon. There are no urgent calls on the emergency radio frequency, so whatever the trouble is, no citizens or police officers are in a life-threatening situation.”
“I suppose we can be grateful for that, but there are certainly plenty of other ways for crooks to cause trouble without using deadly force. And I’ll bet we’ve fought every one.”
Batman laughed ruefully. “Yet every time we think we’ve seen it all, Robin,” he said, “some misguided mastermind comes up with an entirely new avenue of attack.
“We’ve been shot at, gassed, and trapped in burning buildings. The one thing we’ll never have to worry about is being bored to death.”
They drove at high speed through the rain-slicked city streets. It was late enough that there was little traffic about. Just before they reached police headquarters, Batman glanced at Robin. “Something’s been bothering me about the Bat-Signal, Robin,” he said. “Have you noticed it, too?”
“It seems to be flickering, Batman. Do you think it needs repair?”
“That’s what I thought at first, but observe it carefully. The flickers aren’t occurring at random.”
“Gosh, you’re right! It’s a message in Morse Code! Let’s see: B-A-T-M-A-N-! Y-O-U A-R-E H-E-L-P-L-E-S-S A-G-A-I-N-S-T T-H-E A-W-E-S-O-M-E M-E-N-A-C-E O-F T-H-E P-O-L-A-R-I-Z-E-R-! But who or what is The Polarizer?”
“Perhaps the commissioner knows,” said Batman. He had an ominous feeling that although the city’s law enforcement chief had not seen fit to give the matter top priority, the case would soon prove to be one of the most bizarre and dangerous in the Batman’s long career.
Leaving the Batmobile in a parking place reserved for police vehicles, the Dynamic Duo went inside to meet with the police commissioner. They hurried into the building and up to the commissioner’s office.
“We got here as quickly as we could, Commissioner Gordon,” said Batman.
“Good evening, Batman, Robin,” said Gordon. He looked slightly perplexed. “Is there something I can do for you?”
Batman and Robin exchanged glances. “We came as soon as our warning light in the Batcave notified us that you’d activated the Bat-Signal, Commissioner,” said Batman.
Gordon stood up behind his deck and looked levelly at the costumed crimefighters. “I don’t know what you mean, Batman,” he said. “I haven’t turned on the Bat-Signal this evening. You know that the control switch is right here on my desk. I haven’t used it, and I haven’t been out of this room at all tonight, so that no one else could have used it, either. And even if the Bat-Signal had been operated without my knowledge, how could that help a crook in his criminal activity?”
“Hmm,” said Batman. “It may be just an electrical problem, but perhaps it’s something much more sinister. I think we’d better go up to the roof of Police Headquarters and examine the Bat-Signal itself.”
When they all arrived there, the rooftop was deserted, but the Bat-Signal was still flashing its message in Morse Code across the clouds over Gotham City. “What does it mean, Batman?” asked Commissioner Gordon.
“I’m not sure, Commissioner,” said Batman. “It seems to be a taunting threat, but I don’t know of any criminal who calls himself The Polarizer. Perhaps it’s just a demented hoax, but until we know for certain, we’ll have to stay on guard.”
“Look, Batman!” called Robin. “I’ve found a note.”
The Further Adventures of Batman Page 32