Batman no mans land, p.24
Batman: No Man's Land, page 24
“That’s the way it has to be,” Batman said, turning away.
She moved to follow, demanding his attention. “Dammit, look at me! Your way! The only way and nothing else will do! I bow to you or I’m nothing, is that it?”
Nightwing had moved around in front, interposing himself between Helena and the Batman. His expression was pained, and he reached out to stop her.
“Huntress, think—”
“Keep out of this! You may submit to him because you want to,” she snapped, moving around Nightwing as he grabbed at her wrist. With her free hand she pushed her next words at Batman, who once again was facing her, his expression stoic, jaw set as if cut from glacial ice. “But I don’t take orders and I certainly don’t take them from you!”
“That’s the problem,” Batman said.
“No, not mine. Not anymore!”
“Huntress,” Nightwing said softly.
She yanked her wrist free from his grip, not bothering to look at him, glaring at Batman. “Don’t touch me,” she said.
Nightwing backed away, silent. For a long moment none of them said anything more, and Helena realized that her eyes had begun watering, that tears were starting down her cheeks, and the humiliation that had, for a moment, been buried behind her rage, reared up again. She turned away, putting her back to both men, moving to the window.
“I won’t be what you want, Batman,” she said, and her voice surprised her, thick and low, and she had to clear her throat before she could say the rest. “Don’t ask me. I can’t.”
“Then stay out of it,” Batman said. “You’ll only get in the way.”
She felt his cape brushing past her, saw him disappear through the window the way a shadow flees from the rising sun. Nightwing followed, then stopped halfway out, one foot still in her apartment, one already on the fire escape.
“Helena,” he said softly.
“Get out,” she said simply, suddenly empty, suddenly utterly tired. “Just … go away.”
Nightwing opened his mouth, then shut it, and then he was gone.
Helena stood alone in her apartment, watching the shadows cast by her single candle dancing along the wall and floor. She brushed at her eyes with the back of her hand, felt her heart slowing. Then she remembered the humiliation again, and it all came back, as savage and present as before. Fingers almost shaking, she pulled at the collar of her suit, freeing the cape, finding the snaps that hid the zipper along her shoulder. She yanked, pulling the shell of Batgirl away from her own skin
She saw the Huntress costume laid out on the couch, where Batman had placed it.
She stared at the costume on the couch for a long time.
I won’t be what you want. . . can’t.
Then stay out of it. You’ll only get in the way.
I can’t do that, either, she finally thought, and began to change clothes.
Nightwing caught up with Batman a block away, where he found the other man standing motionless atop the ruins of Vincenzo’s Fine Foods, staring down at the city. Swallowing his frustration, Nightwing vaulted up to where Batman was waiting, settling gracefully beside him. He followed the gaze, trying to spot what Batman was looking at, and after a second realized that Batman was looking at nothing in particular, but rather the city as a whole.
“You handled that well,” Nightwing said, dryly, and when Batman didn’t respond, added, “You can’t push her like that and expect her to just play along.”
“I know,” Batman said.
“Then you know she won’t ‘stay out of it.’ She’ll go rogue. She won’t stop.”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I know that tone. That’s the ‘I have a plan’ tone.”
“Yes.” Batman paused, and when he resumed, his voice surprised Nightwing, because it no longer sounded the same. It no longer sounded like Batman.
It sounded like Bruce Wayne.
“I made a mess of it, Dick,” Batman said, softly. “I tried pretending things were the same, that only the terrain had changed. I knew what I was working for—Gotham’s redemption—but I didn’t know how to get there. What’s happened in the last couple months, with Gordon, with Two-Face, it woke me up.”
“I don’t know what happened with Gordon and Two-Face,” Nightwing said.
“It’s irrelevant right now.”
“But that’s why you finally summoned us?”
Batman nodded, setting his shoulder square once more, and Nightwing knew that the moment had passed, that nothing more would be revealed. He resisted the urge to press, to make Bruce say more, admit more. But he knew better than anyone how pointless that would be. Bruce would share what he wanted to share, when he wanted to, and that was that. It didn’t matter if Dick was angry or feeling taken advantage of. It didn’t matter that he resented like hell being made to witness the humiliation of Helena Bertinelli. It didn’t matter that he’d known damn well what was up the moment they’d arrived at the apartment, the apartment he remembered better than he thought he would.
Bruce was finished for the time being. Anything more would have to wait.
“Let’s go,” Batman said, already throwing his jumpline for the next roof. “Oracle’s waiting.”
ORACLE
PERSONAL
Entry #477—NML Day 256
0049 Zulu
Dear Dad—
He apologized.
Batman apologized.
Not in so many words, of course, and not in such a way that you could take it to the bank if you were so inclined to try. But he admitted to being wrong, and that’s about as rare a thing as … well, as if you were to admit you were wrong.
Robin arrived first, and I introduced him to Cassandra, gave him the short explanation of who she was and why she was in my inner sanctum. They took to one another pretty well and pretty quickly, and it made me remember how young Cassandra really is.
About an hour later. Nightwing and Batman showed up, and the moment they came in I could tell it hadn’t gone well. I knew where they’d been, and I knew what they were doing; Batman had been kind enough to let me in an a small part of his plan, since he needed my help—and permission—to accomplish it. As a result, I knew that Batman would be paying Huntress a visit; that he took Nightwing along with him was unexpected, but not, on the whole, surprising.
Batman stayed quiet while I introduced Nightwing to Cassandra. Nightwing was suspicious of her, and even a little bit hostile at first, but it was clear that his real anger was for his mentor. I could see it in his posture, that he was willing to argue, that nothing Batman said was going to be just taken at face value.
“I need your help,” Batman said.
Took the wind right out of Nightwing’s sails, let me tell you. Left Robin absolutely speechless.
Batman asking for help.
I saw it cross their minds then, saw it on both Robin’s and Nightwing’s faces. The unspoken conclusion; if Batman needed their help, the situation must really be bad.
Then Batman went on.
“I thought I could do this alone,” he said. “I was wrong.”
Nobody said anything. Even Cassandra seemed to understand that something important was being said.
“No one person can do this alone,” Batman said. “No Man’s Land is too big, too dark, and too wild to be tamed by any lone will. I thought that I could play the game by the old rules, that if I was a gang lord, a warlord, who was bigger and badder. I could save the city. All I needed to do was to rule stronger and better than the rest of the gangs.
“I didn’t understand what that decision would cost me, and now I know that the price is too high, the compromises required too great. I cannot, I will not, fight on their terms any longer.
“We’re changing the rules from now on. The only way to bring Gotham back into the light is for us to work together.
“All of us.”
Understand, Dad, I’ve known Batman for a number of years now.
I have never in all that time heard him say as much at once. I doubt that I ever will again.
It was quiet for a while after Batman stopped speaking, Robin and Nightwing exchanging glances. Then Nightwing indicated Cassandra, who was still waiting patiently.
“By us you’re including her?” he asked.
Batman nodded. “You can trust her,” he said, and then he proceeded to explain why that was the case.
He told them everything he had learned about Cassandra. He told them about Cain, about how the assassin had raised her to be the perfect fighter, the ultimate killer. He told them about her rebellion, her revulsion at having been trained to murder, about her commitment to life. Batman explained that Cassandra had rebelled against Cain, and fled from him, coming to the No Man’s Land in the hope that he wouldn’t find her here. He explained that Cassandra had worked for me since the start of the year, as one of my agents and couriers.
“She is as well trained, as well disciplined as any of you.” Batman said. “She will never take a life. She will never surrender a fight. She would rather die than see an innocent be hurt.”
“You’re so certain,” Nightwing said.
“Of her abilities, absolutely. Of her heart positively.”
Nightwing looked unconvinced.
“I agree with him.” I said. “You can trust her. She saved my father’s life, twice. I can vouch for everything Batman has said about her. She can do the job, she knows what it takes.”
Nightwing crouched, bringing himself to eye level with me, searching my face. “Babs?”
“She has my blessing, Dick.” I said.
That was what did it, I think, because Nightwing sighed and almost smiled. It was easier for him to accept my opinion on the subject then Batman’s, for some reason. Maybe because he understood where this was going, and he understood where it put me. We were talking about another Batgirl, and he knew me well enough to have guessed my reaction to the last one.
“Give it to her,” Batman told me.
I took the bundled costume from where I’d stowed it beneath the console, handing it over to Cassandra. She took it hesitantly, eyebrows raised with the question.
“Honor it,” I said. “It is a sacred trust. Remember that.”
She nodded reverentially, then stepped out of the Control Room to change. While we were waiting for her to return, Batman explained his current course of action.
“We bide our time,” Batman told us. “A plan is in motion. For it to work, the rest of the players need to make themselves known. We won’t win Gotham back by simply working our way down the island, breaking heads. We need more than that, influence from the outside, and I am reliably informed that is coming.”
“No kidding’?” Robin asked.
“Bane is in the city,” I said.
The stunned looks I got from Robin and Nightwing were almost gratifying. Both remembered what had happened the last time Bane had met Batman in Gotham, and their memories were justly bitter ones. It had taken more than a year for Batman to recover from his injuries, and a lot of heartbreak and anger was still wrapped up in the memory. It wasn’t something I wanted to dwell upon, either, not wanting to follow the thoughts to the resentment at the end of the line. Batman could walk again, was as strong as he ever was, and for that I was sincerely grateful.
No reason we should both spend our lives in wheelchairs, after all.
“Why is he here?” Nightwing demanded. “What’s Bane after?”
“Trying to grab some land for himself?” Robin asked.
“I’ll handle Bane.” Batman told them.
Nightwing rounded on him. “You’re not going up against him again, not alone!”
“I don’t intend to.” Batman said. “Your concern is noted. I’ll be careful.”
“I’ll come with you.”
He shook his head. “You and Robin and Cassandra, I’ve got very specific tasks in mind for you. You’ll start by cleaning up the West Side, shutting down the minor gangs still working there. Oracle will give you the briefing as soon as Cassandra comes back.”
“She’s back,” Robin said.
We turned to see her, standing in the doorway, dressed in the costume. It was based on my original one, but I’d modified it for the No Man’s Land, even going so far as using the same mask design that Huntress had adopted. The whole outfit was coal black, so dark that the cape seemed like a liquid shadow hovering behind her. Only the belt and the symbol on the chest stood out, each in their yellow. I’d kept those colors muted, though, the bat itself only in outline rather than the yellow disk that Batman himself wore.
“Ready?” Batman asked her.
Our new Batgirl nodded.
It was hard to catch, and I think the others missed it. I didn’t. Batman, for a second, smiled.
“Let’s get to work,” he said.
THIRTY-TWO
BANE KNEW WHAT SHE THOUGHT OF HIM, and he was eager for the opportunity to prove her—and her unnamed employer—wrong. When he had come to Gotham the first time, he had come with the sole intent of destroying the Batman, his self-manufactured demon, his nemesis. He had come to claim what he felt was his destiny, his legacy—that of being the greatest man, the most powerful man, in the world.
This time he had no such motivations. This time it would be professional, and he would show Miss Mercy Graves that when Bane was hired to do a job he did it completely, and he did it well.
It was a matter of honor as much as pride, and both mattered to him more than anything else in his world, now. More than money or women or status or infamy. He was, he felt, the epitome of the self-made man; in fact, it had been precisely that which had made the Batman the object, at one time, of his hatred.
Bane had been born at the bottom of life’s pit, as far as he was concerned, robbed even before he was born, of his future. In his native Santa Prisca, one of the many minor Windward Islands, the law was brutal and archaic, and it visited the crimes of the fathers upon the sons. In his case, that had been almost entirely literal. His father had been found guilty of a capital crime while Bane was still growing in his mother’s womb. As such, after his father’s execution, she too had been sentenced to prison, and it was into the prison, into custody, that Bane was born. He came into the world to suffer for his father’s crimes, sentenced to spend the rest of his life behind bars.
The prison life had been brutal, his mother dying when Bane was only eight years old, finally broken, beaten to death by the warden who no longer wished to avail himself of her charms. That hatred then passed entirely to him, and Bane was forged by the harshest reality he could imagine for anyone. That he survived was miraculous. That he thrived was unbelievable.
Bane taught himself to read, and he read everything he could. Half his time behind bars he lived in his mind, honing it the remainder he lived in his body, growing stronger. Before he was in his twenties, he ruled the prison’s inmates. He had already resolved to escape.
The opportunity came with the men in white coats and their illegal experiments—the project they called Venom. Selected for treatment, Bane received controlled dosages of the Venom itself, a drug that was part synthetic steroid, part pure adrenaline, and as addictive as anything in creation. It took his enormous strength and amplified it.
But Venom robbed him of his mind, ultimately, driving him to the insanity of addiction.
Then he had escaped Santa Prisca, his eyes turning to Gotham….
Ancient history, now. He was his own man again, free and in command of his destiny, and if there was any question of that, the payment he would receive for the job he was to do in Gotham would remove it. Finally, he would have the control he wanted, and he would punish the wicked.
He would visit the crimes of the fathers upon the sons.
But that would come later. For now he had plastique to mold and detonators to assemble, weapons to load, and body armor to tailor.
* * * * *
“How is it coming?” Miss Graves asked.
“Almost prepared,” Bane answered. Now that they were in Gotham, they spoke English, and Bane was careful with his diction, enunciating each word precisely. “Another hour. Then I will be ready. I will begin tonight.”
“Good.” She stopped at the table where he had set out his charges, taking one and examining the wiring on the detonator. “Recursive, very nice. Timer and remote detonator.”
“I thought it would be best to plan a redundancy.” Bane finished soldering the last connection, setting the iron down and then flipping off the electrical generator. Miss Graves had been able to supply everything he had required, almost effortlessly, and when they had arrived in the No Man’s Land, he had been pleased to see a workshop already prepared for him.
She had surprised him by insisting on accompanying him into the No Man’s Land, and his protests had fallen on deaf ears. His opinion of women in general had never been very high, and he had thought, at first, that Graves would be a liability, following along only to make certain Bane did as he had promised.
She had quickly proven him wrong outside of the No Man’s Land, though, when they’d been stopped by a random National Guard checkpoint. Miss Graves had rolled down her window, presented her license with a smile, and then produced a pistol. She had fired four times, one shot for each of the weekend warriors, all to the head, then exited the car and begun moving the bodies away from the road almost before Bane had realized what had just transpired.
Clearly a woman to be reckoned with.
She had led them into the island via a tunnel from the northern part of Gotham County, and Bane had seen the signs of recent work, had known the tunnel was a new addition, quite possibly prepared for their use alone. It gave him confidence that their employer was sincere in his support.
Bane snapped the nine-volt battery into place on the detonator, then used a voltage meter to check the connections. All lights were green. From over his shoulder, he heard Miss Graves make a small sound of approval.
“I’ll be away most of the night,” she said. “I have other business to attend to. If you have any trouble, we’ll meet back here at dawn.”
