by Winston Lyon
Where, indeed, was the hope of the world?
It rested with the scientific genius of Batman and Robin.
In the Batcave, wearing surgical masks, and surgical gloves and white doctor’s smocks over their uniforms, the Dynamic Duo were about to perform the most intricate operation of their careers—against desperate, nearly impossible odds.
For the purpose, they had constructed an entirely new device. It was a Supermolecular Dust Separator.
With the aid of this incredibly precise instrument they were going to attempt the infinitely complex task of separating and reassembling the molecules of dust that were so disastrously commingled.
Tension was apparent in the glint of Batman’s and Robin’s eyes behind their masks. But their hands were rock-steady as they performed the delicate, precise tasks preliminary to the actual attempt.
Robin checked the instruments. “Batcentrifuge at thirty-two thousand R.P.M.’s,” he announced.
“Increase the Angstrom force to Vector X,” Batman said.
Robin quickly obeyed. “Vector X, up one notch.” The Batphone flashed and beeped.
“Shall I answer it, Batman?”
“No. I’ll do it, Robin.” Batman picked up the phone. “Yes?”
Commissioner Gordon’s voice was almost quavering with nervous strain: “What progress, Batman? I have a whole corps of newsmen in my office. Every television network is represented here—waiting for you to flash the word. Is there any hope?”
Batman said calmly, “There’s always hope, Commissioner. You. should know that.”
“Of course, of course,” Commissioner Gordon said. “But you can’t imagine the excitement—all over the world. This may be the most dramatic moment in all human history. You can’t blame us for being nervous. Batman, do you think you and the Boy Wonder can separate that mingled dust and rehydrate the members of the Security Council?”
Batman said, “With all due modesty, Commissioner, if we can’t, heaven knows who can.”
“From the bottom of my heart,” Commissioner Gordon replied, “I know truer words were never spoken.
Stay on the Batphone a moment longer. I have a call I’d like to transfer over to you. The President wants to talk to you in person. Is that all right, Batman?”
“Well, only for a moment,” Batman said. “We have important work to do.”
There was a brief pause, then a familiar voice with a drawling Texan accent came over the Batphone:
“Howdy, y’all. How are you boys doing up there?”
“All I can say is that we have hope, Mr. President.”
“The whole free world is waiting, Batman and Robin. I want you to know that all of us here salute you—and wish you luck.”
“Thank you, Mr. President. I assure you that we intend to do our very, very best.”
“I won’t bother you anymore, Batman, until the final result is known. Once again, boys, I wish y’all the best of luck.”
The phone fell silent.
Batman said soberly to Robin, “I needn’t tell you with whom I just spoke.”
“No, Batman. I just hope we won’t let him down.” There was a bonging sound from the Supermolecular Dust Separator.
Robin said, “The Supermolecular Dust Separator is ready to start.”
“All right,” Batman answered. He turned the knobs on a linked relay machine. “I’ll activate the computer link and feed in the various ethnic and national factors…”
The computer began to whir. A chain of traveling lights moved across it in the direction of the Supermolecular Dust Separator. The Separator settled down to a steady hum as it began to digest the information.
Watching this, Robin said, “Batman, with the way the world is and all…don’t you think we might kind of reshuffle things a little?”
Batman was surprised. “Eh?”
“I mean, don’t you think we ought to try to improve on those factors…so that when the members of the Security Council are rehydrated, they’ll be better able to keep the peace and…”
Batman shook his head sternly. “No, Robin. It’s not for mortals like us to tamper with the laws of nature.”
He put his hand on Robin’s shoulder. “Indeed, in this very Batcave we had a ghastly example of what happens when one tries that. You recall what happened to the Penguin’s pirates!”
Robin’s eyes widened. “Gosh, yes. You’re right, Batman. When you put it that way…”
The computer link’s chain of lights suddenly ceased.
The Supermolecular Dust Separator thrummed with readiness for its incalculably difficult task.
“Here we go,” Batman said somberly. He threw the control lever.
For the space of two seconds nothing happened. Then the Supermolecular Dust Separator drew the mound of dust into its intake valve. On the control board lights flickered on and off, red and green and yellow. The red lights cut off some of the dust from entering forbidden channels, and the green lights allowed free passage. The yellow lights shunted some dust off into another section for further evaluation. The muted bonging sound began to repeat at more frequent intervals and beneath that the steady thrumming of the machine’s intricate vitals began to rise in pitch. Out of an ejection chamber particles of dust trickled into each of nine different tubes waiting in position below the spigots.
The pitch rose to an unbearable whine, and red lights flashed with increasing frequency. Now there were no yellow lights at all; the dust which had not been fully assayed was fed back into the machine and forced to travel new channels. Soon the board was almost all red lights with only a few green lights flashing. Then there was only one green light flashing.
The last green light went out.
Batman and Robin looked at the tubes in position beneath the nine spigots. The tubes were full.
“Separation accomplished,” Batman said. “Ready to rehydrate.”
Batman stripped off his surgical gloves. He crossed to the Batphone and picked it up.
“Mr. President…Commissioner Gordon…”
“Howdy, Batman…Yes, Batman…”
“The separation seems to be a success. We are ready to begin rehydration at any time. Where would you like the epochal event to take place?”
“Only one rightful place for it to happen,” drawled the President. “Right there in the good old United World Building where they were dehydrated in the first place.”
“An excellent idea, Mr. President,” Batman snapped.
“We will be there in exactly twenty-three minutes.”
Batman and Robin arrived on time. They hurried past the crowd of reporters, past the battery of television cameras in the corridors of the building. Batman was carrying a small satchel which was divided into nine interior, foam-rubber-lined compartments, each of which held one of the sacred vials.
In the United World Council Chamber, representatives of each of the nations that had suffered a loss were gathered. Represented were the United States, Great Britain, France, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, Germany, Japan, Italy, Albania, and India.
Batman opened his satchel, removed the vials, and placed each one in position on the Council seat in front of the plaque which represented the appropriate nation.
Meanwhile, as the distinguished crowd watched, Robin crossed to where a simple apparatus had been set up, according to Batman’s instructions, on the Council table.
This consisted of a central tank from which nine transparent tubes led out. The tank carried a supply of ordinary water. Robin took each of the nine transparent tubes leading from this tank and connected them to the vials on the Council chairs.
When he was finished, he nodded silently to Batman. Batman turned to the anxiously waiting crowd.
“A solemn moment, my friends,” he said sincerely. “A moment of dedication and humble supplication…”
In response each and every person present bowed his head.
Batman turned to Robin. “All right, Robin. Rehydrate! Turn on the water!”
Through the transparent tubing the water began to flow, tantalizingly slow, toward the waiting vials. There was hardly a murmur in the room as everyone watched the water approach its target.
The first of the tubes filled with water, then the flow stopped, and the second tube filled with water, and so to the third, and down the line.
When all nine tubes were filled with water, the liquid streams flowed uniformly out and down onto the vials of dust.
POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP!
Nine times came the sudden popping sound.
Before the amazed eyes of the onlookers, nine members of the Security Council sprang back into existence!
They returned looking exactly as they had looked when they were dehydrated. Complete even to their national dress and the smallest physical characteristic.
The Indian delegate was even as red-faced with anger as he had been at the instant of his dehydration.
In a corner of the room Commissioner Gordon, standing by, hastily picked up a special telephone:
“Mr. President, they’ve done it! It’s a success! A success!”
The words seemed to be taken up by everyone present in the room and repeated…“A success! A success!” It began as a low hum and quickly mounted in volume to a loud roar.
From the packed corridors outside the cry was picked up, a deep ground swell of thanksgiving:
“A success…A success!”
Unaware of the excitement around them, the nine delegates to the Security Council resumed their quarreling as though there had never been an interruption. One delegate began to bang his shoe on the table. Another clutched his neighbor. Two others almost wrestled in their dispute with each other.
Batman and Robin spotted it first.
Robin turned wordlessly to Batman. He did not need to ask the question. Batman looked at Robin and simply shrugged his shoulders.
A hush spread over the others in the room as they began to hear it too.
The nine members of the Security Council continued their bickering. They were shouting and disputing with each other exactly as before—only not quite exactly.
For now the English delegate was shouting in Russian, the Frenchman in German, and the American in Albanian!
And the delegate pounding his shoe on the table was not the Russian but the distinguished delegate from Japan!
The Russian delegate looked at him with impassive Oriental wisdom and tolerance, and drew a hissing breath between his teeth in approved Japanese fashion.
Commissioner Gordon slowly put down the phone he was holding. He replaced the receiver in its cradle while the President was still talking.
All of the other people in the room, with the exception of the quarreling delegates, turned now to look at Batman and Robin.
Batman managed a weak smile. “Who knows?” he inquired of the assembly. “This strange…mixing of minds…may be the greatest service ever performed for humanity.”
No one answered.
Batman turned to Robin. “Let’s go, Robin. Through the window with our Batropes. Our job here is—uh—finished.”
Batman and Robin moved through the jostling crowd toward the adjoining room. The crowd backed away from them. In the Council Room, someone opened the doors to the lobby. A huge crowd of reporters and television cameramen began to pummel and wrestle their way into the already packed room.
Batman and Robin reached the window and hurled their Batarangs. The ropes caught on a projecting corner of the rooftop opposite.
Batman and Robin swung out and away from the scene of confusion in the United World Building. Spectators in the street sent up a welcoming cheer as they saw the Dynamic Duo flash by overhead. In the light from the building behind, their shadows cast great dark reflections below.
When they landed on the rooftop, Batman and Robin looked back at the United World Building.
“I wonder if what happened really will work out for the best?” Robin said. “Perhaps now that each of those men share some part of the others, they will be better able to reach a mutual understanding.”
“Let’s hope so, Robin,” Batman answered soberly. “That’s beyond our province to know. Our work is complete. The plot of the four Supercriminals has been foiled—and they’re all safely back in prison again. We won’t be bothered by them again for quite some time.” Together the Dynamic Duo raced across the rooftop into the darkness.
One adventure was ended—but another was waiting. For Batman and Robin’s war with crime would never end until Gotham City harbored crime no longer.
