"Your powers are much less than your dreams of reason would have you believe."
-Jurassic Park (Michael Crichton)
Part 1 - The Only Simple Thing
"Bring the bird and the bat will follow. It's that simple."
Melvin Carver could almost hear his employer's voice now, barely a whisper above the current and very real drone of the airplane's engines and the dull, constant thumping coming from somewhere in the back, vibrating through the small plane, a fierce demand for the captive to be set free.
Simple. Ha!
Carver would have to get his employer a dictionary once he got paid.
It hadn't been simple to figure out how to draw the Batman out in the first place. And to get the bird had been even harder. Carver had hired petty criminals to break into banks and jewelry stores for more than a week. They had been consistently halted by Batman, but there was no sign of the bird.
It had been a waiting game. Carver had wondered where the bird might be since he clearly wasn't on the street. It had never once occurred to him that these people might well be living normal lives by day.
Melvin Carver certainly didn't. He was the same person, day or night, with the same objective. To be challenged, and get paid for succeeding. Pale, tall, thin, balding and pushing forty, Carver didn't look like an adventurer or risk taker. If anything, he resembled an accountant in his semi-expensive, slightly rumpled suits, suede shoes and carrying his signature black brief case.
The thumping became louder, more insistent. Carver wondered what, exactly, the captive thought he was accomplishing. The thumping was not accompanied by the cliched vocal demands to be let out, but it otherwise sounded like someone pounding futilely on the metal door.
Building the container had not been simple, either. Carver had been forced to spend money before having gotten his pay, and he didn't like it one bit. It had been a trial to find someone who wasn't overly talkative and interested in asking why Carver wanted a human-sized compartment with a lockable door built into the cargo area of his plane.
Actually, human-sized was a slight exaggeration. Carver had experience as a trapper and he knew that the best way to confine an animal was not with steel bars or strong rope, but a small space. The container was thirty-six inches deep, twenty-four wide and twenty-six tall. It was bigger than Carver had wanted, but he wasn't sure how big his 'animal' was before capture and they couldn't build the container after catching him, so Carver had ordered it built a little on the large side.
After all, this wasn't an animal, but a human being. This wasn't like carrying a crocodile which, given a few inches of wiggle room, could bodily smash its way out of just about anything.
Getting the ventilation right hadn't been simple either. There needed to be air, Carver's employer wanted the cargo still alive and kicking on arrival. But the ventilation needed to be done in such a way as to provide no avenue of escape. There could be no screws accessible from the inside, no sharp edges, nothing which could be pulled apart or otherwise detached. It had to be solid.
Carver had not allowed the builder to skimp. He knew well that Batman was a renowned escape artist and it was no stretch of the imagination to assume his sidekick was every bit as proficient. Perhaps even more so, being as he was much smaller than Batman.
The little imp had been carrying a vast array of small items on his person. Rendered unconscious at capture, the bird hadn't put up a fight when his utility belt was removed, nor when Carver searched him. He'd found more than one set of lock picks, hidden in multiple places. One in the bird's left glove, another in the right boot, still another sequestered where the cape and suit connected at the shoulder. And that hadn't been all he had. Robin had been carrying birdarangs, a small knife in his left boot, several smoke pellets in different places, and a few things Carver wasn't sure what they were, all neatly keeping with the Bat and Bird theme. It had been no simple matter disarming Robin.
Carver wasn't certain that he'd gotten everything, though he'd looked thoroughly, even searching through Robin's hair for anything unexpected. He'd found a small needle hidden there, along with another very small pair of lock picks at the edge of the mask. Carver couldn't imagine what the needle was for. Possibly a weapon of some kind. It wasn't very big, but Carver knew that wasn't necessary. If you could hit a nerve cluster, that might well disable your opponent. It might also be used to paralyze, stuck in the right spot. But Carver hadn't heard of Batman or the bird using such methods, so it seemed unlikely.
It had taken so long to take away the boy's toys that he had started to rouse by the time they were ready to lock him inside the plane. By the time they were trying to stick him in the container, Robin was ready to fight back. Though his ankles were bound and his hands tied behind his back, the bird was far from completely helpless. He had his whole body to work with.
Carver was reminded of trying to put almost any animal in a crate. They somehow seemed to blow themselves up bigger than the space they were going to be stuffed into, flipping and twisting and contorting into shapes which simply did not fit into the container.
Robin did the same. He refused to fold up and thrashed in the grip of Carver and the two men his employer had sent to assist him. It was soon evident that Robin, half the size of Batman, was nevertheless immensely strong.
He had thrashed wildly and kicked strongly with his legs, alternately flopping like a fish and writhing like a snake. More than once he went crashing to the floor, which elicited more than one grunt as the wind got knocked out of him. Then Carver and his men would pick Robin up again and resume trying to stuff him into the cage, which increasingly seemed too small for what was being put inside it.
At one point, Robin had thrown his head back and his skull had cracked against Carver's teeth, splitting his lip and chipping at least one tooth. It had also jolted Carver's head. He'd lost his balance and fallen down, and his neck ached where it had been forced to strain to hold his head up when Robin hit against him. There was a bruise on Carver's chin where Robin's head had also connected.
One of the other men had kicked Robin in the side in retaliation. Carver had set the man straight. You don't get revenge on a creature trying to survive, to escape capture. You must respect something with so tenacious a desire to be free. Besides, such retaliation is wasting energy unnecessarily. And, with a struggle such as this one, you may need every bit of it before the day is through.
Robin had been on the floor at that point, glaring up at Carver. Robin knew who the leader was. It wasn't surprising. Even animals understood the leader of the pack. More than once, Carver had been stared down by the most ferocious predators on the planet, who had picked him from a crowd as the source of their torment.
"I don't see why we can't just drug him again," one of the thugs had grumbled.
"The first dose was higher than it should have been," Carver had replied critically (the thug had been the one to measure it out), "Another shot of it might do damage. Our employer would not approve of that. And, by the way, you will be explaining any injury our cargo obtains, especially that bootprint you're bound to have left in his side."
Robin looked like he wanted to know who their employer was, but he didn't ask. Instinct must have warned him that Carver wouldn't have answered. Besides, he was panting by this point, beginning to tire from this struggle. Robin had no energy to spare on idle chatter and stupid questions.
Carver was actually pleased to see how much Robin was fighting. Such struggling indicated that Robin felt it was his only chance at escape. It would have been most disconcerting if he had quietly submitted to being stuffed into the small, dark chamber reserved for him.
Though the fight was almost over by that point, it was still not simple. Robin wasn't like a cat, which you could grab by the scruff and render immobile. He wasn't like a reptile or bird who could be made helpless by covering its eyes. But, like an animal, there didn't seem to be anything he would not do to escape. The first time Robin had been dropped on the floor was the result of his having bitten one of the thugs on the hand. Carver would be glad to be rid of these dolts.
He could have told them that putting their hands in biting range was a bad idea. People tended to think only animals bit and that the human bite was too weak to do any real harm. Robin had drawn blood, and probably could have cracked bone if he'd been trying. It only took about eight pounds PSI to break some of the bones in the human hand, and even an average human definitely had enough jaw strength for that.
"He bit me!" The man had wailed after dropping Robin on his head.
Robin spat blood out of his mouth. He looked like he was disgusted, but there was no doubt in Carver's mind about whether he'd do it again.
"Wash your hands sometime, will ya?" Robin had growled.
That had been his final wasted breath. Since then, he'd had nothing to say. He'd just fought.
He had lost, of course. It was inevitable. But it had been no easy victory for Carver.
No, there had been nothing simple about this whole endeavor.
And then the plan, which had been carefully laid out and executed flawlessly up to that point -the plan that had included having to spend time and money trying to draw both bat and bird out into the open- the same plan which had been flexible, allowing for every possibility... that beautiful plan had gone straight to Hell.
Yes, they had intended for Batman to follow them. But he wasn't supposed to get there until after they took off. They hadn't expected him to follow the bread crumbs so swiftly, so surely. It had suddenly come clear why Robin had been fighting tooth and nail when it was obvious he couldn't win.
He had known. How could he possibly have known? It didn't matter. He had known Batman was coming for him, that every second they spent on the ground brought Batman that much closer to them. That was why he had fought with every bit of strength and endurance he had, why he had used every trick he knew to avoid being stuffed in what amounted to a glorified metal box.
They had finally gotten him inside and locked him in there, whereupon he had set to kicking the door with his feet- which was the cause of the steady thumping. As they were preparing for liftoff, Carver had seen Batman enter the hangar, silent as a phantom.
For the first time, he'd been grateful for the stupid buffoons his employer had sent along. They were dumb enough to do as he asked when he told them to go take care of Batman. Carver knew they were little opposition for the vigilante, but they would slow him down long enough for the plane to get airborne. And that was all Carver needed.
He expected Batman to tag the plane with a tracking beacon, and that wasn't a problem. Batman would still have to go get his own flying machine and so he'd have to follow them all the way to their destination. There was absolutely no way he could catch up or stop them.
The plan was for him to follow.
They were three hours into their flight, only an hour from touchdown. The banging in the back had stopped briefly from time to time, then started up again. Each time the captive seemed to have redoubled his efforts, finding a new reserve of strength from somewhere. Carver was surprised.
Usually, once an animal figured out that it was making no progress, it would stop. Most animals wouldn't exhaust themselves. They'd fight and struggle and flail for awhile, but they would soon realize the futility and cease, conserving their energy. They might start up from time to time, just to see if circumstances had changed while they were resting, but they wouldn't fight ceaselessly.
Carver had figured the bird must be at least as intelligent as an animal. He couldn't even begin to imagine what the Boy Wonder thought he was accomplishing.
In reality, all the struggling in the world wouldn't help him now. They were high in the sky, and a very, very long way from Gotham. Even if he could get out of the container, even if he could overpower both Carver and the pilot, even if he could fly a plane, Robin could have no idea where they were.
No matter how dumb he was, surely Robin wouldn't be so foolish as to try and fly a plane over unknown airspace, with no idea where the next airport might be.
"Looks like we've got trouble," the pilot said.
More trouble? Carver grit his teeth and looked over at the pilot, who pointed up ahead. Sure enough, though the sky they were flying in was largely clear and growing lighter as dawn approached, the air up ahead was thick with dark clouds. Lightning flashed around inside the clouds, making them appear eerily solid and then momentarily making them disappear in the bright afterglow.
"Can we fly over it?" Carver asked, "Or maybe go around?"
"In this bird? Are you kidding?" the pilot retorted, then added, "Strap in. We're in for some turbulence."
I hope our passenger doesn't get airsick, Carver thought.
He didn't need that problem on top of all the others.
A minute later, they were in the clouds.
It was a bad storm. The wind howled through the air, carrying with it swarms and swirls of thin half-melted ice, which shattered against the little airplane. Clouds scurried across the sky, dark and heavy, blotting out the dim predawn light. The airplane started to buck and pitch, fighting against the fury of the storm. The storm was bigger than Carver had anticipated.
"Can we fly through this?" Carver shouted into his headset.
"What?" The pilot yelled back.
"Should we turn around!?" Carver practically screamed.
"Too late!" The pilot told him, pointing towards the fuel gauge without looking at it.
A fresh burst of wind seemed to catch the plane in its vile grip, shaking it and trying to spin it in the air. The pilot fought the controls and the little plane struggled to comply with his unreasonable demands...
Robin could not see out and therefore couldn't know about the storm, but he sure knew something was up. Inside the metal container, Robin was bounced around like a pinball inside the cramped space. More than that, folded up as he was, each time he hit put strain on his muscles. When he slid one way, his feet banged into the wall and his knees were forced up so that the hit him in the chin. He felt like his back was breaking. Then he'd slide the other way and his head would collide with the opposite wall.
If he could only just get his hands free...
What the heck did that pilot think he was doing?
A/N: As usual, I'm going to say this story is probably AU, though not especially intentionally so. As always, this story is completely written. As per usual, I will upload one chapter per day (Barring anything out of the ordinary. I will attempt to give readers a head's up via A/N). This was written for my entertainment, and is being published for yours. If you find yourself not enjoying it, then you should feel perfectly free to stop reading. Heap praise or criticism upon it, whichever may suit you best. Or say nothing about it at all, if you would prefer.