"Dinah, you listening in?"

"Right here, Boss-Lady."

"Quit calling me that."

"What? Boss-Lady? You do all the computer stuff, and now, you get to run around the world, too. I'm just here to press the OK button."

"And nothing would get done if you didn't," Barbara reminded her. "Besides, I need you to be Oracle, if anyone calls in with an emergency. But speaking of the OK button, did the transfer go through?"

"It said 'Transfer Complete' and I pushed the OK button," Dinah told her, through the little Oracle symbol earrings she wore.

"Good, now don't touch anything else until I tell you."

"Yes, Ma'am!"

Barbara sighed. "I'm in Monaco, now."

"I've never been to Monaco."

"I promise, the next time there's a coup, junta, or revolution, you'll be the first person I call."

"Wow."

"Now," she went on, before Dinah had a chance to make a sarcastic comment, "I'm on my way to the Hotel sans Pareil. There's going to be a party in the Sans Souci ballroom tonight. The grand opening of a new software company, if I'm not mistaken. I'm supposed to meet my contact there."

"You aren't going to take your laptop to the party, are you? I mean, that just screams, 'I'm a geek!'"

"Actually, yes, I was. I got a new case for it, to match my dress and everything. It's really quite attractive."

"I hope you're kidding, because if you aren't, I'm going to have to call the Fashion Police on you."

"Of course I'm kidding. That just might look a little suspicious."

"How will you be sure you don't get duped on the disk, then?"

"I won't get the disk tonight. At least I hope he doesn't want to give it up, tonight. I'm counting on a second meeting."

"Ok, well, wear the necklace anyway, in case I need to do anything."

"Ok, Dinah. Don't worry." Barbara smiled to herself, knowing Dinah couldn't see her.

"Good afternoon, Ma'am. Welcome to the Hotel sans Pareil. Please enjoy your stay."

"Thank you," Barbara told the doorman, wheeling her way past him, into the luxurious lobby. The lush carpet instantly encumbered her wheels, making the trip to the concierge's desk more of a struggle than she'd expected. She sighed and pushed harder, letting her well-toned arms take the strain. She sighed again, upon encountering the desk. The top edge was just about level with her hairline. "Excuse me," she called.

"Yes, Ma'am!" The concierge hurried around the desk to talk to her, face-to-face. "I'm terribly sorry, what can I do for you, today?"

"I'd like to check in," Barbara said, wryly. "I have a reservation."

"That's right," Barbara told him, with a quick smile.

"Excellent. \The airport sent your luggage ahead; it's waiting for you in your suite."

"Your suite?" Dinah squawked from Gotham. Barbara casually cupped one hand over her ear.

"My name is Henri. Please call me if you need anything," the man assured her. He glanced over her, taking in her upswept hair, the sleeveless top that showed off her toned arms, and her slim pants. "I apologize for the inconvenience of the carpet. Perhaps I can assist...?"

"No handles," Barbara told him, airily. "I'll be fine, Henri, but thank you." She waved a hand at him as she rolled off, following the waiting bellboy who was holding her keycard.

"Quite welcome, ma'am," Henri called after her. He watched after her, admiringly. They just didn't make women that classy anymore.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Yes...ah, you must be Dr. Fledermaus."

"Was he cute?" Dinah asked, playing with the little stuffed Batgirl and Nightwing dolls sitting on the corner of Babs' workstation.

"You have the most one-track mind I have ever--no, I take that back," Babs said, brushing an escaping wisp of hair back into her french twist and tacking it in place with a bobby pin. "You have the most one-track mind when it comes to men that I have ever encountered."

"Could be worse," Dinah reminded her, idly. "I could be a one-track jewel thief, like the pussycat, or a one-track vengeance nut, like Huntress, or one-track God-only-knows-what like Tall, Dark and Grouchy."

"If you're talking about Batman, it's justice," Barbara told her, quietly, checking her reflection in the mirror.

"Ah." To her credit, Dinah didn't press. "What's your contact's name?"

"Dr. Fledermaus," Babs said.

"Fledermaus. That sounds German."

"It is. My translator program told me it meant 'flying mouse.'"

"Huh." Dinah was silent for a moment. "Yuck. Hope he didn't pick that one out himself."

"It might be an alias. Not that you would know, 'My name is Dinah Lance; call me Dinah Lance.'"

"Oh, c'mon, Oracle. Who am I protecting? Not like you, who has a dad and half the Bat-family to keep safe." Dinah slid down in her seat, moodily, propping her broken ankle up on the console and bouncing the two dolls together, making them kiss. "Besides, if Lian keeps insisting on calling me 'Gramma Canary,' it might actually be a better idea to introduce myself."

"Good point. How do I look?"

"How can I tell?"

Barbara flipped open her laptop and touched the screen. "Go to the connections screen and press the two-way viewer button," she instructed Dinah. A couple seconds later, Dinah's face appeared on the screen.

"Oh, Babs, honey, you look wonderful." Dinah's smile lit up her whole face. "I wish you hadn't dyed your hair...but you look so pretty! I don't think I've ever seen you in makeup, before!"

"Well," Barbara said, suddenly all business, except for the tinge of pink on her cheeks. "I guess I'd better get going...hey! What are you doing with my dolls?"

"Um...later, Oracle! Gotta call coming in! Catch you later!" Dinah waved and cut the visual.

"Black Canary!"

No answer.

Barbara blew air out through her teeth. "I'll get you," she promised the air around her. "Just you wait."

Barbara swirled the champagne in her glass and ran her finger around the rim, trying to make it whistle. She remembered these parties, and she remembered they were boring. She just never remembered them being quite this boring before. Maybe it was because she was more grown up. Maybe it was because the allure of party dresses and sparkly jewelry had dimmed. Maybe it was because she couldn't dance anymore. Then again, she mused, maybe it was because she didn't have Dick Grayson making fun of the hors d'ouvres and whispering irreverent observations about the other guests in her ear. She sighed and set her glass aside. The software company would probably be a profitable one; it had some good games. The operating systems were nothing special, though; she had tested them all out months ago, and hadn't found anything noteworthy. It had certainly dimmed her interest in the displays set up upon the perimeter of the room. She still had half an hour before she was scheduled to meet the mysterious Dr. Fledermaus, who had promised to wear a light blue handkerchief and cummerbund, and a top hat. Not too many top hats in the room, she noted, looking back to where she had set her champagne. It was gone. Henri's staff was much too efficient, she thought, grumpily.

"You look to be lacking a dance partner," came a deep voice behind her.

"I--excuse me?" Barbara twisted around, as a large man walked around her chair and pulled out a seat in front of her.

"I'm sure I would injure you more than you already are, should I even attempt a dance," the man continued, "so I thought I would suggest a glass of champagne and a little conversation, if that's agreeable with you."

"Oh, I'd say quite agreeable," Barbara replied, charmed by his casual acceptance of her situation. And, she saw, with satisfaction, he was wearing a cummerbund and handkerchief of a pale, steel blue. No top hat, but perhaps that had been confiscated at the coat check.

"Oh, excellent," the man smiled at her. "But tell me, first, what's a pretty girl like you doing at a shindig like this? Please tell me you're not some technogeek's arm candy."

"No," Barbara replied, a real smile seeming to plaster itself on her face. "I'm something of a technogeek myself...in fact, I had to be talked out of bringing my laptop with me."

"Oh, I was absolutely fobidden," the man replied, quirking a smile.

"Oh, really?" Barbara asked, flirtatiously. "Was your wife laying down the law?" Oh my gosh, she thought, suddenly panicked. I'm flirting. Good grief, where did that come from?

"Oh, no," the man replied. "I'm not married."

His eyes were hazel, Barbara decided, and his hair light brown. Probably in his early thirties.

"Really?" she said. "Why not?"

"I can't dance," he replied, eyes sparkling. They shared a laugh before he turned serious, again. "So, what do you do in the world of the technogeeks?" he asked, leaning forward slightly, and clasping his hands together.

"Mostly databasing and um...dispatching," she said. "Actually, right now, I'm in the market for a very valuable program. Sort of a...pet project of mine."

"Really? A special project, you say?"

"Yes, I call it the Trapdoor program."

"Hey, I heard a guy at the food table asking about it a little while ago. Oh, geez, I haven't even introduced myself. I'm David Carlson."

"David Carlson?" Dinah echoed in Barbara's ear. "I thought his name was Flying Rat." Flying Rat...that sounded familiar to Barbara, and darn if she could remember why with Dinah rattling on in one ear and David Carlson talking in the other.

"Augusta," she replied, when she realized David was asking her name. "Augusta Dupin. You know, David," she said, hurriedly, trying to buy herself some time to think and find this Dr. Fledermaus, "I could really use that glass of champagne right about now."

"Oh, of course. Forgive me," he said hurriedly, standing. "Now don't go running off anywhere while I'm gone."

"Of course not," Barbara assured him, smiling brightly. The second he was out of earshot, she turned and rolled quickly to the food table. There! On the corner of the table, waving a little pastry-rolled hot dog--Dick's favorites, she thought fondly--was a slim man in a black tuxedo, complete with tails, and a top hat, his handkerchief and cummerbund a bright, robin's-egg blue. The hat was pulled low over his forehead, and he had a long handlebar mustache, pencil-thin and curled high at the ends.

"Excuse me, Dr. Fledermaus?" she called, skirting her way around the table. "Dr. Fledermaus!"

"Ms. Dupin? Madmoiselle Augusta Dupin?" replied a heavily accented voice. Dr. Fledermaus' smile was wide as he ducked around people to meet her. Wide and so white, he might as well have that trademark GLINT that made him...

"Dick Grayson?"

"Babs? What are you doing here?"

"I am so stupid," Barbara muttered, dropping her head to her hand. Fledermaus! Joker had always called Batman the Flying Rat. Surely, the 'Flying Mouse' was really a bat!

"No kidding," Dick commented, his pseudo-accent gone. "You should never, ever read Edgar Allan Poe late at night."

"What?"

"Augusta Dupin? I read 'Murder in the Rue Morgue' too."

"Hey, at least I managed to come up with something without watching 'The Tick!'" She twirled her finger by her cheek. "And what's with that thing? You look like a reject from the Perils of Pauline."

"Hey, this is my sinister mustache," Dick protested, twirling his facial hair menacingly. Well, sort of menacingly. "And why'd you dye your hair black? I hope that stuff comes out."

"What? You don't think I look like Huntress?"

Dick promptly choked on his little hotdog roll.

"Don't forget to breathe, Boy Blunder."

"Wait!" Dinah yelled into her ear. "What happened? I went to order those cute little figurines from QVC and I come back and you're hooking up with Tall, Dark, and Handsome, Junior!"

"So what is this thing you're looking for?" Dick asked, having recovered suffienciently to choke out another question.

Barbara quickly measured the situation and decided Dinah would have to wait. "You mean you don't know?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I thought I was going to buy it from you."

"Yeah...'bout that..."

"Babs? Are you listening?"

"So you don't have it?"

"Every mook in Bludhaven is after some disk. The last guy I tracked it to had his last appointment with a guy named Vachierra. I saw Vachierra had an appointment with an Augusta Dupin, and thought that if I could get an appointment with her, I could figure out what she was after, and therefore, what all the fuss is about."

"Oracle, you're doing this for revenge, aren't you?" Dinah complained.

"I can't explain here," Barbara hissed to Dick. "Let's go up to my suite and I'll explain the whole situation to you."

"Well, that certainly solves the problem of 'your room or mine,'" Dick quipped, tipping his top hat.

"And just so you know, that get-up is ridiculous," Barbara told him, with a grin.

"You dissing the threads?" Dick asked in mock indignation.

"Come on, Boy Wonder," she replied, tossing a wink over her shoulder as she turned her chair. "Let's blow this popsicle stand."

"Sounds like a plan to me." Dick snagged one last hot dog roll off the table and started to follow her out of the ballroom.

"Oh, wait, Augusta! Hold on, I have someone I want you to meet."

Barbara sighed and slowed her exit, allowing David Carlson and an older, dark-haired man to catch up with them. Dick laid one hand protectively on the back of her chair and pretended to miss the scathing glance she directed at him.

"Augusta, I was only gone a moment, and I wanted--Oh. Dr. Fledermaus. You're already here. Have you met Ms. Dupin, already?" David Carlson looked confused. "I guess it's hard to stay away from the prettiest girl in the room."

"Met her?" Dick replied, lightly, his mind racing with possible escapes from this conversation. "I married her!" Whoops, wrong escape.

"Did he just say what I think he said?" Dinah shrieked in Barbara's ear.

"What? You're married?" David Carlson blinked at them, looking, for all the world, like someone who had just learned little hot dog hors d'ouvres don't grow on little hot dog hors d'ouvres trees.

Dick Grayson was a dead man. He knew it, and Barbara knew it. But first, they had to get out of there.

"But...there's no ring..."

"Computer work, *mein Freund,*" Dick responded, quickly, his accent back in place. "One false spark and your finger's toast. I..." He glanced at Barbara, quickly, and his eyes caught the gold Oracle charm that dangled from her necklace. "I gave her the necklace she's wearing tonight."

"Oh," Carlson replied, leaning in to study the charm closer. Dick promptly swatted him with the gloves he still held in his right hand.

"Not so close, if you please," he demanded, haughtily.

"Oh, um, I'm sorry." He gazed at them, sadly for a moment. "But you have different last names..."

"Would you want a last name like Fledermaus?" Babs spoke up this time. "It's absolutely horrendous!"

"Simply unthinkable," Dinah sympathized.

"Now, if you don't mind, good sir, it's been several weeks since my wife and I have seen each other, and we'd like a spot of time to ourselves."

"To make some whoopie," Dinah suggested cheerfully.

"Oh, yes, of course. Oh, no, I mean, wait!" Carlson pulled his previously-ignored companion forward. "I'm sorry, I wanted to introduce you to Mr. Rourke. Mr. Rourke, this is Dr. Fledermaus, and Augusta Dupin...ah, Fledermaus. Um, this is Mr. Rourke."

"Charmed," the tall and thin Mr. Rourke droned, bowing from the waist.

Dr. Fledermaus put his hand out to shake the older man's, pushing his hat back from his forehead, where it had slipped down, yet again.

"Oh, excuse me," Carlson said, suddenly, looking over his shoulder. "I see someone I have to say hello to. I"ll be back in a flash."

"Dr. Fledermaus, is it?" Mr. Rourke was studying the younger man's face. "I believe we've met before?"

"No, no," Dick covered, in his fake German accent. "I do not believe we have encountered each other, before. What company did you say you worked for?"

"I didn't" He smiled, briefly. "Perhaps...not in this arena." He turned from Dick to take Babs' hand and kiss it gently. "And Ms...Dupin. How charming." He studied them both for a moment, unnerving them to no end.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm afraid we were on our way upstairs," Dick told him. Barbara reached over and put her hand on his arm, sharing his suspicion of the man.

"Of course. Don't let me keep you. Please," he added, over his shoulder as he stepped away. "Give my regards to the Detective."

Dick was after him in a heartbeat, shouldering through the crowd, ducking carelessly waved champagne glasses and emphatic gestures, but he came up empty. The man was gone.

"What was that?" Barbara asked when he returned to her side.

"Upstairs," he muttered, under his breath. "Now."

They hurried from the ballroom, but were detained in the lobby by Henri, the concierge.

"Mademoiselle Dupin! You look lovely, tonight! And Dr. Fledermaus? How are your accommodations? I trust everything is to your liking?"

"Tres magnifique," Barbara replied, flatly.

"Actually," Dick cut in, draping an arm around the rather stiff and proper shoulder of Henri the Concierge. "We need the name on Ms. Dupin's room changed to Dr. and Mrs. Fledermaus, and the records backdated, as well."

"We're married, now," Barbara added, sarcastically.

"Of course, sir," Henri agreed, with an incline of his head. "And congratulations, madame. Should I cancel your original room, sir?"

"No..." Dick twirled his fake mustache thoughtfully. "I need you to book that one to...um...Al Thomas."

"Right away, sir." Expertly slipping from Dick's casual arm, Henri made his way to the main desk, intent on fulfillng Dr. Fledermaus' request, leaving Dick and Babs to reach the elevators unaccosted.

"Wow," Dick commented, as the doors closed. "That guy just managed to out-Alfred...Alfred."

"Very subtle," Barbara agreed. "He didn't even comment on your lack of accent."

Dick colored slightly and became inordinately interested in the elevator buttons.

"That man, Mr. Rourke..." she started, "was he who I thought he was?"

"If you were thinking Ra's al Ghul in a better disguise than either of ours, and that was your final answer, you win a million bucks," Dick affirmed.

"Dinah, did you hear that?" Barbara frowned when there was no reply, and lifted her pendant. "Dinah? Are you there?"

She got nothing but silence. Dinah had found something more interesting to occupy her attention.

"Gah!" All the air in Tim Drake's body suddenly became property of Barbara Gordon's living room, as his stomach ran into Dinah Lance's knee. Despite this anaerobic development, Gotham City's latest Robin lived up to his legacy, and managed to use the upward momentum of the kick to flip backward, landing on his feet a safe distance away from his mysterious attacker. He snapped his retractable bo staff to full length and danced in a circle in the dark room. Dinah snapped into a quick cartwheel, intending a double kick to Tim's face. What she hadn't counted on was Tim being less than five-and-a-half feet tall. He bent at the knees, grabbing her ankle--fortunately for her, the one still in proper working order--as it flashed over his head, and throwing her away from him.

"You've been trained by Lady Shiva," Dinah realized out loud, landing on one foot. "That's one of her moves."

Tim didn't reply, thinking it better to stay silent and in the shadows. Besides, he recognized that voice. Now, he just had to place it. Not Helena. Not Catwoman. Obviously not Lady Shiva, herself. If it was, he'd be dead by now, anyway, he reasoned. He circled, gingerly, ready to risk an offensive. He planted the end of the bo staff and swung his body around, aiming both feet where the voice was emanating. Unfortunately, for him, she was ready for him, ducking his legs, then grabbing them from behind and swinging him into a wall, where he crashed against a protrusion. The lights came on. The protrusion was the lightswitch. Tim blinked, trying to adjust to the light before his adversary.

"Robin?"

"Black Canary?"

"Good grief, kid, I could have killed you!"

"Yeah, right." Tim rubbed his neck, which was a little sore from his collision with the wall, and nodded at her foot. "Nice cast."

"Broken ankle," Dinah explained, sitting down in the nearest chair. "And I'm not the one who ended up kissing wall."

"Yeah, yeah." Tim glanced around. "Where's Oracle?"

"Babs is in Monaco with your big brother. I get techie duty until she gets back."

"You're Oracle until she gets back?" Tim clarified.

"That's what I said," Dinah said, somewhat testily.

"I thought Babs said you couldn't program your way out of a paper bag--uh, never mind."

"Oh, really?" Dinah tried to look fierce, and failed under the reality of her situation. "Oh, all right. She was being nice. Anyway, I'm Dinah Lance."

"I'm Robin."

"Look, kid, I joined the JLA when I was 19. I know Bruce Wayne wears bat ears at night, and I've known your buddy Dick Grayson since he was wearing those scary short pants."

Tim snorted, in an effort to keep from laughing out loud.

"So are you going to tell me what to call you, or not?"

"I guess," Tim gave in. "I mean, since you know about Bruce and Dick, and Babs. My name's Tim Drake. But you can't tell Oracle. She doesn't know, and well...it's sort of a game, now."

"Drake, huh?" Dinah looked thoughtful. "My mother's maiden name was Drake. Hey, you want some slice-and-bake? Babs has some in the fridge."

"She trusts you with an oven?"

"Shut up, twerp. Who needs an oven?"

"Nice digs," Dick said, surveying Babs' room, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Let me guess...it was on Blockbuster?"

"Sure was," Babs affirmed.

"Don't try to tell me he didn't miss it."

"Oh, he missed it, but fortunately I don't have to worry about him, anymore. I'm worried about Dinah."

"Oh, I'm right here."

"Dinah? Where were you?"

"Being hospitable. You've got company."

"I do? Who?"

"What's going on?" Dick asked, unable to hear Dinah's half of the conversation.

"Some kid in red and green. Claims he knows you."

"Oh, Robin?" Babs smiled. "He's my bitch. Do with him what you will."

"Does that mean I can send him to pick up my Chinese? Keen! Canary out!"

"He's my bitch; do with him what you will?" Dick mouthed to himself, vaguely horrified.

Babs sighed. "It's a good thing I can look up everything on my own," she grumbled, flipping her laptop open.

Dick glanced around the room, still shaking his head to dislodge the mental image of Tim playing frond-waving slave boy to Babs' Cleopatra. There was a lot of floor space in the room, and plenty of room for her wheelchair to manuever. Of course, this meant all the standard chairs had been removed from the room. Nothing to bump into, of course. And nowhere to sit, except the bed or the floor.

"No shoes on the bed, Grayson."

She was as good as Alfred, Dick mused, kicking off his dress shoes, and settling on the bed as a frenzy of key-clacking sounded from the other side of the room.

"Well, I can't find a Mr. Rourke, a Ra's al Ghul, or any of his usual aliases registered at this hotel, nor any hotel in this city..."

"What do you think Henri would do if he walked up and registered under Ra's al Ghul?"

"He'd say, 'Very good, sir' and hand him a room key," Babs replied, distractedly as her hands flew over the keyboard.

"But *Ra's al Ghul!* What was his mother thinking?"

"What was yours thinking when she started calling you Dick?"

Dick shut up.

"Ah ha...I've got a reservation on a pleasure cruise leaving tomorrow morning. Mr. Raoul Rourke. Try saying that three times fast. You think he's our man?"

"If he doesn't have it, I'm sure he's after it, just like we are. What is this thing we're looking for, anyway?"

"Dr. Charles Manheim created the ultimate hacker's dream: a virus that dissolves passwords. He infected the Department of Defense computers to test it, and when he realized what he had, he recorded his findings in a voice log and mailed it to a colleague. Then, he set to work on an anti-virus--something to restore the security of the agencies he'd broken into."

"Guess he never found it or we wouldn't be here, right?" Dick was stretched out on the wide bed, chewing on the mints left on the pillow.

"Right. Dr. Manheim was mysteriously killed by a hit-and-run driver, presumably drunk. I sent Dinah to recover the disks with the three parts of the virus. She got one. I got one from Senor Vachierra in Seville. And one part's still out there."

"Can't you just destroy the other two disks?" Dick asked, knowing there must be a very good reason not to, or Babs would have done so, already. "Make the virus incomplete?"

"No can do, former Boy Wonder," Babs replied, finally closing the laptop and turning toward the bed. "First of all, it's too easy to reconstruct a virus from a partial. For a good programmer, that is," she added, dismissively, and Dick knew without bitterness that he was most definitely *not* of that select group. "But that's not the case, here. This particular virus consists of three separate programs. The first makes the passwords...flexible. They're still there, and still putting up a good front, but they're susceptible. The second part gives the user access to the affected passwords. It's like one of those instant swipe keys. Bingo, you're in. I call it the window virus And, the last program lets you build walls inside the system you've invaded...you change the real passwords, but you can't tell from using them. For instance, you could log on and type in Elinore, and--"

"Hey! How do you know my password?"

"Oh, c'mon, Boy Wonder." Babs' eyes twinkled. "You haven't changed that thing in the last four years."

Dick gave up with some inarticulate grumbling and lay back down on the bed.

"Anyway, like I was saying, when the first two programs were in use, you could still get into everything, with your password, and never know that anything was wrong, but unfortunately, so could anyone with the second program. If the third program was in use, you could type in Elinore, and POOF. Nothing. No Solitaire, no Free-Cell, no Battle Hamster, no email, no porn sites..."

"Hey! I've never played Battle Hamster. Do you have that?"

"Richard, Richard, Richard..."

"So which two disks do you have?"

"We're missing the actual virus. I have the window program and--hey! You're eating my mints!"

"What?"

"My pillow mints! You ate them! Give them back!"

"Give them *back?* Back from *where?* My intestinal tract? That's *disgusting!*"

"Then go get the ones from your room!"

"No! Barbara, you don't even eat them!"

"But I like that they sit on my pillow!"

"What if I sit on your pillow?"

"You are not a mint."

"But I taste like them, now."

"Well..."