Disclaimer:
Batman,
Batgirl, Bruce Wayne, Cassanra Cain, Betty Kane, and Wayne Enterprises
are all owned (and either trademarked or copyrighted) by DC Comics, an
AOLTimeWarner company. They are not mine, and I make no
claims of
ownership to any of them. The above image was done by C.
K. Russell,
one of the best artists I've had the pleasure of knowing.
PART ONE
They were coming for him. One now, but more would come later. Sometimes
alone. Sometimes in pairs. Always for him. That's why she was here.
"Hi, Cass," the smiling employee said. He was new. One of the latest
batch of people who were always coming. Needing to ask questions.
Needing favors. Needing help. "Is he in?"
"Yes," she answered.
"Great," he said, "moving toward the door."
"He's busy," she told him.
"I know," the employee said, still smiling, "this won't take a second."
His voice said it was quick, his body said something else.
Cassie reached out and grabbed his wrist, applying a great deal of
pressure to his pisiform bone with her thumb. The employee's knees
nearly buckle as a wave of pain shot up his arm. He looked pleadingly
at Cassie, his face a mixture of horror and confusion.
"He's very busy," she told him.
The employee nodded and started back away. She released his wrist after
his first step, and he then took off at a rather quick gait. Cassie
watched as he rounded the corner. The employee, the intruder, had just
disappeared around the corner when she heard the office door behind her
desk open.
"Did I hear someone out here?" her boss asked.
"Nothing important," she replied.
He looked at her for a moment before nodding. If it wasn't important,
than it wasn't worth the effort of getting her to expound. "Cool," he
answered. "Well, stay the course, don't let anyone in." His head
disappeared back into the office, the door clicking shut.
Cassie turned back to face the hallway again, watching for others to
come, to try to get past her. She knew they would come, and she knew
they would fail. Just let them come.
PART TWO: I Can Dream
Can't I
*ring*
*ring*
"I.T. department, Cassandra Cain speaking, please state the nature of
your problem."
"Uh, hi, yes. I was working on my reports for--"
*click*
"Did I just hear the phone ring, Cass?"
"Nope."
"You sure?"
"Yep."
"O.K."
*ring*
*ring*
"I.T. department, Cassandra Cain speaking, please state the nature of
your problem."
"I just called a minute ago, my computer--"
*click*
"I know I heard the phone ringing that time."
"Wrong number."
"Really?"
"Would I lie?"
"I guess not. O.K. Back to work!"
*ring*
*ring*
*ring*
"I.T. department, Cassandra Cain speaking--"
"Do not hang up on me! I am a very important person, and if you hang--"
*click*
"Wrong number again?"
"Are you busy or not?"
"Yeah, I am. Very, but--"
"Then work. I'm the secretary. My job."
"O.K."
*stomp*
*stomp*
*stomp*
"Are you Cassandra Cain?"
"Yes."
"Now listen here, young lady, you people down here may think you're--"
*smek*
*thud*
"That was a thud. I heard a thud!"
"If you're not going to work, I'm not either. You can answer the phone.
Going for a doughnut."
"Fine, I'll man the call desk for a while. Cass, who is this? Cass?"
PART THREE: eBay Is Not A
Problem
Lunch was not something for the faint of heart. There were all kinds of
traps and dangers that lay between the I.T. department and the
cafeteria. There were the accounting offices on the seventh floor. One
mistimed elevator trip, and one could find themselves trapped for hours
uninstalling and fixing things. There were the managers on the sixth
floor, who were rumored to be able to kill a human being with their
talk of automation. And then there were the developers on fifth...
The stories she'd heard from that department made her shiver.
No, lunch was not a simple thing when you worked in I.T., but that's
why I.T. people -- specifically the ones hired by Batman -- had
secretaries. Ninja secretaries!
The elevator was too dangerous to take, so Cass had opted for the
stairwell. It was five stories from her desk to the cafeteria, but that
was nothing for her. She slid down the railing from the eighth floor
all the way to the sixth, her stocking feet providing enough
slipperiness to keep her moving. It was only when a door on the fifth
floor opened that she hopped off the rails.
"...not getting all my email," a voice said. "Right after lunch, I'm
going up to yell at the new I.T. guy." The voice, accompanied by a
silent traveler, headed downstairs, oblivious to the secretarial shadow
that padded after them silently. "You'd think they could at least get
email right!"
"Someone almost sniped my eBay auction, and I didn't catch the email
because of those spam filters," the second person said. "If I don't get
to complete my 'Afterlife Avenger' collection because of that geek on
eight, he's going to get more than spam in his inbox." They both
chortled in unison as they stepped out of the stairwell and into the
cafeteria.
Cass followed them, catching the door just before it closed. They still
didn't notice her as they got into line.
These two were obviously the enemy. She knew, from countless gripes,
that 'eBay' was not corporate, not wanted, and therefore not an I.T.
problem. Any yelling they had planned would only be a distraction. That
meant she was authorized to Take Measures.
"Is there any lemon in this?" the first man asked. The cafeteria worker
shook his head. "I am extremely allergic to lemon. Are you sure." He
was. "All right," the man conceded. He moved down the line with his
partner, both still unaware of Cass.
She followed them as closely as she dared, maintaining her primary
mission of Lunch all while gathering as much intel as she could on her
opponents. Taking Measures was warranted, she decided, but it still
required stealth and strategy.
Cass watched as the two developers paid for their lunch and moved off
to a table. They clumsily tried to sit with a pair of ladies from the
secretarial pool, but quite efficiently managed to drive the two away.
Both looked a bit peeved, which was the opening Cass needed.
"Ma'am," the cashier asked, "would you like anything to drink with
those lunches?" Cass had been moving on autopilot, filling both lunches
as she watched her prey. She had, though, forgotten to get any drinks.
"Uh, yes," Cass replied, "two sweet teas." She watched as the cashier
began to fill the Styrofoam cups. "Could I have a lemon in mine?"
~~~
Cass set the boxed lunch on her boss's desk. She then dropped into a
spare chair and started to open hers. Her boss pushed his keyboard out
of the way, and began working his way into the box as well.
"You missed it, Cass," he said, unwrapping his fork as he spoke. "Bruce
just emailed me; one of the developers from sixth went into
anaphylactic shock in the cafeteria. An allergic reaction or
something." He finished unwrapping the fork, and then looked back up at
Cass. "Actually, you might not have missed it since you were there. Any
idea what happened?"
Cass shrugged indifferently. "Someone probably sniped his spam."
PART FOUR: What Hidden
Message?
Cass discovered through extensive research that the phone on both her
desk and her boss's worked much better when they were unplugged from
the wall. They never rang; never bothered anyone, and she didn't have
to hang up on nearly as many people. Occasionally some brave employee
would be brave enough to venture into the eighth floor area that
contained the I.T. department, but those were easy enough to handle.
"Hey, Cass!"
Most of the time.
Betty Kane was another matter. The blonde girl looked to be about
Cass's age, and like Cass, she was the personal secretary to one of the
I.T. department people -- although, Cass knew, Batman did not hire
Betty’s boss. There was something about the way Betty walked
that
bugged Cass, but the blond secretary never acted on whatever quirkiness
her gait belied.
"He's busy," Cass said reflexively.
"Oh, I know," Betty replied instantly. She waved her hand a little too
dismissively at the idea for Cass's comfort. "I actually needed your
help!" That seemed to be the truth.
"Why?"
"The old man needs printer paper," Betty explained. She was still
acting oddly, bouncing her head about as she talked. "The problem is,
it's a big box and it's on the top shelf. I need help getting it down."
Cass was about to suggest asking someone else when Betty intercepted
her thought. "I checked all the other offices, and no one's here."
Cass scrunched her eyes, inspecting Betty carefully. Any glance over
her shoulder would betray someone in the area who could help her. Any
extra swallowing would indicate she was exceedingly nervous and
obviously lying. Nothing leapt out at Cass. "O.K.," she relented.
"Thank you!" Betty clapped. She led Cass away from her desk, talking
happily as they walked down the hall. "Hey, Cass, did you know your
phone was unplugged? You may have missed an important call."
Cass shrugged. "I don't miss any calls."
"Oh," Betty said. She looked utterly confused for a second, but it
faded after a second. The continued in silence until they reached the
supply room. The supply room doubled as a secondary backup room. "It's
where important on-site backups are kept -- stuff we might need really
fast, but half off-site" was how it had been explained to her one day.
Cass wasn't completely sure what it meant, but she did understand that
the room was completely fireproof and possibly lead-lined.
"There it is!" Betty said. She pointed to a paper box resting atop a
shelf. The box wasn't that high up, Cass noted. "Someone's already been
in it," Betty said, explaining the missing lid, "and I'm just worried
it's off balance or something." Cass looked at Betty studiously for a
minute, something was definitely wrong. "If you'll grab that end and
balance it, I'll grab this end."
"Better idea," Cass said, "Stay back." She'd been in the supply room
before and knew the shelves were securely bolted to the wall. They
would easily support her weight. With a quick pull-up, she'd pulled
herself up to the top shelf. Her head was quite above the box and her
arm was about the yank it off the shelf when she realized two things:
First, the paper box was empty.
Second, Betty had used the split second distraction of Cass's jump to
slam the supply room door shut.
Instincts kicked in instantly, and Cass propelled herself off the self.
A half spin later, she was in front of the door, twisting the knob.
Locked. It was a trap!
"Sorry, Cass," she heard Betty giggle, "but we've got to have a little
word with your boss." She could just make out the sound of other people
beyond the door. Some were congratulating Betty, other offering up a
Hip-Hip-Hooray for the blonde. "Well, I had my own reasons" Betty
explained with an oily tone in her voice that easily penetrated through
the door, "I haven't been able to get my iPod to work all day!" Another
cheer went up, and the murmur of people began to die off as they walked
away.
For an instant, Cass panicked. Betty Kane had beaten her at her own
game. Her desk was empty, unguarded. Her boss was about to be overrun
with his mortal enemies: users. And she was locked in a fireproof,
maybe lead-lined, room helpless to stop them.
"Not helpless," she grumbled. The room was flameproof, but it certainly
was not Batgirl-proof! Cass eyed the boor knob for a second, lining it
up
in her sights, and then kicking. The heel of her shoe connected with
the knob, ruining the heel, but nicely dislodging the locking
mechanism. A quick, downward chop was all she needed to finish the job.
Success! She slammed the door open and burst from the supply room. Cass
literally ricocheted down the hall, building momentum as she pushed off
from each wall. By the time she reached the open area that comprised
her office -- and her boss's waiting area -- she had enough speed and
room to catapult over the crowd of users. She landed in a crouch in
front of the door, and glared at the mob.
"He's busy," Cass said flatly.
The crowd looked dumbfounded. They all eventually turned to look at
Betty, who was equally as confused. "How?" she sputtered. "You were
locked in!"
Cass stood up from her crouch and smiled, tucking a loose strand of
hair behind her ear. "I'm a very good secretary," she said calmly and
most certainly. "Much better than you."
PART FIVE: Every Batgirl
Needs A Boss
(sometimes)
Cass fought to keep her eyes open as she waited for the elevator. The
continuous, droning hum of the Wayne Towers north lobby didn't help
either. In fact the buzz of people was enough to lull her into a state
not unlike sleep. It was enough like sleep that she jumped, actually
startled awake, when her boss tapped her on the shoulder.
"Whoa, Cass," he said, "You okay?" He stepped up beside her, and
watched her for a moment. Cass was too sleepy to bother watching him
watch her. "Rough weekend?" he asked.
Cass thought back. Friday had started out slow, but picked up when the
Titans needed Robin. Then Riddler showed up, and had managed to capture
her and Batman. That kept the both of them busy until Saturday morning,
when they escaped. Then Oracle called for help with a case that had
kept her busy until Saturday afternoon. The open-air concert with
Brenda took up her afternoon, which led into Saturday night patrol.
Batman disappeared with the Justice League, leaving her alone in Gotham
until Sunday. Sunday, of course, was the day Riddler escaped from jail
and needed to be caught.
Cass counted in her head for a moment. She figured for the whole
weekend, she'd managed to sleep... She double-checked her figures. Yes,
the twenty-minute cab ride between home and Wayne Towers was it.
She lolled her head to one side, looking up at her boss. "Very."
"You look it," he said. "Why didn't you stay home?" he asked, sounding
genuinely concerned. Or perplexed. Cass looked at his face and decided
she didn't care.
"Work to do," she mumbled.
Before he could reply, the elevator dinged to announce its arrival.
Cass, boss, and several other people shuffled into the car. Cass
managed to get a place by the back wall, and leaned against it for all
she was worth. She heard someone ask which floor, and then her boss
answered eighth, then he added third.
"Hey, Cass, he said, "would you go on up and open up? I need to stop at
the cafeteria." He fumbled for a second for his keys, and finally
pulled them out of his jacket pocket. He handed the keys to Cass, and
added, "I need to stop at the cafeteria for a second."
"Fine," Cass answered. She accepted the keys with no outward emotion.
Cass nodded off again after making sure the keys were safely in her
pocket. She didn't hear her boss exit the elevator, and didn't even
realize when she reached the eighth floor. Someone, obviously headed
for another floor, nudged her awake enough that she was able to drag
herself off the elevator.
She was on automatic all the way to and beyond the office door. The key
got her inside, and then it went on his desk. She was about to leave
when she spotted the couch at the end of his office. The couch. She
stared longingly at the tattered sofa. It was so inviting; it looked so
comfortable.
"You're still here! Good!" a voice said. Cass startled awake enough to
turn and see her boss walk in the office. He was balancing two cups
atop a familiar green-and-white box. "He walked past Cass and set the
cups and box on the table next to his couch -- several computer
magazines fell to the floor when he made room for the box.
Unknowingly, Cass found herself moving toward the box. "Are those--?"
she asked.
"All yours," he answered. He opened the box to reveal a dozen, golden,
glazed doughnuts. "This is yours too," he said. He offered her one of
the cups. "Chai tea, right?" he asked. Cass nodded numbly as she
accepted the tea; the majority of her attention was still focused on
the doughnuts.
"Look, Cass," her boss mumbled, in a rare burst of dialogue, "you
obviously had a rough weekend. I know that day-in and day-out you keep
people out of here so I can work on Mr. Wayne's project," he used his
hands to form air quotes around the last three words. "But today, I'll
take the hits," he offered, "You crash here, on the couch. Eat
doughnuts. Sleep. Whatever."
Cass raised an eyebrow, watching him carefully. She was tired. The
doughnuts did look very good. And, most of all, the couch, she knew,
was soft and comfortable. "Sure?"
"Wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it," her boss said.
Cass smiled brightly for a second, summoning up the last of her
remaining strength. She reached up and patted her boss's wild, brown
hair. "Good boss," she whispered. Satisfied with her thanks, Cass
dropped onto the couch and set her tea next to the doughnut box.
She was sound asleep in moments, completely failing to hear her boss
speaking outside, "I'm sorry, she's busy at the moment."
PART SIX: Simple Answers
*ring*
*ring*
"I.T. department, Cassandra Cain speaking, please state the nature of
your problem."
"My computer stopped working."
"Find one that works."
"But--"
*click*
*ring*
*ring*
"I.T. department, Cassandra Cain speaking, please state the nature of
your problem."
"Yes, my harddrive seems to be full."
"Empty it out."
*click*
*ring*
*ring*
"I.T. department, Cassandra Cain speaking, please state the nature of
your problem."
"My monitor is black, and there's nothing on it."
"Turn it on."
"Oh, hey, thanks! That wo--"
*click*
*ring*
*ring*
"I.T. department, Cassandra Cain speaking, please state the nature of
your problem."
"Yes, hello. I called earlier about my computer that stopped
working."
"Did you find one that was working?"
"Well, no."
"Try that first."
*click*
*ring*
*ring*
"I.T. department, Cassandra Cain speaking, please state the nature of
your problem."
"The little red light on my printer is flashing."
"O.K. Unplug your printer."
"Hmm. O.K. Done."
"Is the light still flashing?"
"No, but--"
*click*
*ring*
*ring*
"I.T. department, Cassandra Cain speaking, please state the nature of
your problem."
"Yes. Look. My computer has stopped working, and I
want you
to come down here and do something about it. Now!"
"Fine."
*click*
"Hey, where are you going?"
"Seventh floor."
"Why?"
"To show someone how to find a computer that works."
PART SEVEN: Soder Like A Ninja
Soder and Zesti machines placed on every fifth floor of Wayne Towers,
with a special exception made for the cafeteria on third. If they were
on a floor they could be located right across from elevators, which was
on purpose to make restocking the quicker. The fifth floor actually had
somewhere around five machines spread out across the cubicle farm of
software developers, machines that didn't require money for a Soder. It
was a perk for developing software at Wayne Enterprises, free Soders!
Cass wasn't much of a soda person, but she was half convinced her boss
lived off the stuff. During any given week, she knew he consumed for
coffee and Soder than actual food. It was because of his love of Soder
that Cass found herself watching him repeatedly, melodramatically crash
his head against the Soder machine.
"They can't all be out," he
whimpered. So far every Soder machine they checked on every floor they
visited had the small red light lit next to every Soder button. "It's
only Wednesday. How can they be empty?"
"Because they get filled on Thursday," Cass answered evenly and
factually.
Her boss only let out some noise between a whine and a growl.
"We could check fifth," she suggested.
He let out the same plaintive sound.
"I could try fifth?" she tried.
His reply was a little less distressing. After a second, he let out a
deep sigh and stood up from where he was propped against the machine.
"I couldn't do that do you," he replied. "I'll go. If I don't come
back, tell my family I love them."
"Baby." She snatched the dollar out of his hand. "Mine, though," she
said firmly.
"Fine," he relented, "but grab me two Soders. O.K.?"
Cass shrugged and added a slight nod on the end. She turned and headed
toward the stairwell door, leaving her boss, who in turn moved toward
the elevator. Before entering the stairwell, Cass snagged a plastic
fork from the utensil island by the door. With the fork unwrapped, and
its wrapper disposed of, Cass prepared to ascend to the fifth floor.
"Good luck," her boss called.
Cass looked over at him and smiled. "Don't need luck," she replied,
"just a fork!" She showed him the white, plastic fork in her hand. The
look on his face was quite indicative that he failed to grasp her
meaning. However, the opening elevator door demanded his attention more
than his curiosity, so he waved and stepped into the waiting car.
Cass waited until his elevator left before turning back to the
stairwell door. With a push she passed through the door and headed up
to complete her mission.
PART EIGHT: Special Guest
Star
Things had quickly degraded from bad to worse.
Sneaking onto
the fifth floor had been easy. It was just a matter of waiting for the
floor to clear, then slipping in from the stairwell. Jamming the fork
handle beneath the crash bar had ensured no one would sneak up from
behind her.
From there she had snuck across the cubicle farm to
one of the Soder machines, which was empty. Hopping and sneaking across
cubicles, over desks, and behind printer cabinets had followed as she
checked two more machines.
No Soders. Only two left to check.
Those were the most dangerous. One was next to the elevators, which
meant anyone coming onto the floor would see her. The other was back by
the bathrooms, which was equally as unpredictable in human traffic.
She had picked the bathroom first. That at least had offered the chance
she might hear someone inside and veer off before bothering with the
Soder machines. She had easily managed to sneak over to the machines,
and glance inside each of the rooms. No one was there -- at least she
didn't hear any breathing -- which had given her the perfect chance to
check the Soder machine.
Success!
There was one Soder left.
One loud Soder, which bumped and clunked all the way down.
Cass watched in horror has a head popped up, over the edge of a
cubicle. It looked right at her and smiled. Another head popped up,
then another. Soon half a dozen of the sixth floor software developers
were looking over their walls at her. Each wearing an odd grin.
Cass froze in place, watching in grim horror as they all turned to look
at each other for a second. She could see on their faces, in their
eyes, and not least of all in the way they held themselves what was
about to come next. She steeled her nerves and made a decision.
"Hey, Cassandra, my printer needs toner."
She reached down and grabbed the dispensed Soder can.
"That light on my printer is still blinking.
Can firmly in hand, Cass shifted her weight, and pushed off toward the
elevators. There was one machine left to check. Her timing had to be
perfect.
"I think my computer has a virus."
It took
only seconds to cross the floor. As she passed the elevator, Cass's
free hand shot out and slammed the call button. She never stopped
moving.
"My connection is slow, would you come defrag my modem?"
The last Soder machine clunked as Cass's fist hit the Soder Cola
button, and she listened as a can ker-thunked its way down the trough.
She grabbed it, and started to turn.
Too late! The developers
were leaving their cubicles and walking toward her. Their stances were
determined and irritable, each wanting something repaired or
re-installed. There was no time to lose. Cass spun around and charged
for the elevator.
As she approached, the elevator bell dinged.
She glanced over her shoulder and stuck her tongue out at the
developers. Their faces fell for a moment, but as the car door slid
open their grim determination turned into joy.
Cass blinked,
confused. She turned around just in time to see what they were smiling
at. Shocked, she skidded to a halt. Inside the elevator an arm was
waving to Cass, and a face was smiling at her.
"What a
surprise," Betty Kane said. She stepped off the elevator, right into
Cass's path. As both feet touched down on the sixth floor carpet, the
elevator doors behind her slid closed. "What are you doing down here?"
Trapped!
The developers moved in closer behind her. Betty moved another step
toward Cass. She was officially pinned in on both sides.
Suddenly there was another, familiar ding. The other elevator, right
next to the first, opened its doors to reveal a sight that made
Cassandra grin.
"Cassandra, there you are," Bruce Wayne
cheered. He stepped out of the elevator, keeping one leg in the car,
and gently grabbed her arm. "I need a big favor from you!" He tugged
Cass into the elevator. As the doors closed, Bruce turned to the
developers and waved. "Sorry, guys, this is an emergency."
The
doors closed. To the security camera in the top corner, Bruce Wayne
never moved, but and for all intents Bruce Wayne vanished. All that
remained to Cassandra was Batman, wearing his silly Bruce Wayne costume.
Cass leaned back against the elevator wall and heaved a large, deep,
and heavy sigh. She checked both hands, and inspected the two Soder
cans. No dings, no dents, and any shaking would be gone shortly. She
was sure of it. The mission was a success.
"Thank you," she said to Batman.
He didn't answer at first. His eyes momentarily left Cassandra's face,
and looked at the cans in her hands. As his gaze returned to Cass's
eyes, Batman and Bruce Wayne collided. "You know," they both said, "we
have an entire refrigerator of those in the executive lounge."
PART NINE: I Said: Batgirl!
*ring*
*ring*
"I.T. department, Stephanie Brown speaking, please state the nature of
your problem."
"..."
"Oh, my. It won't come on at all? That does sound
bad. Let me transfer you right away!"
"..."
"Wow. Thank you. Good luck."
*click*
*ring*
*ring*
"I.T. department, Stephanie Brown speaking, please state the nature of
your problem."
"..."
"You haven't gotten email all day? That's horrible.
I'll
transfer you to him now."
"..."
"Thank you! Good day."
*click*
*ring*
*ring*
"I.T. department, Stephanie Brown speaking, please state the nature of
your problem."
"..."
"Seriously?"
"..."
"I'll transfer you immediately! He'll be able to help you
re-install your word processor. I can't imagine where those
icons
went."
"..."
"Thank you!"
*click*
"People here are so friendly here."
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! Cass, what's with all the--
Wait. You're not Cassandra!"
"No, sir. I'm Stephanie Brown."
"Where's Cassandra?"
"She was sick and took the day off."
"Oh. Well, stop transferring calls to me."
"But, you're the technician, aren't you?"
"Yes. So?"
"Aren't technicians supposed to fix these kinds of problems?"
"What's your point? Look, just stop transferring the calls."
*slam*
*ring*
*ring*
"I.T. department, Stephanie Brown speaking, please state the nature of
your problem."
"..."
"Hi, Cass! How are you doing?"
"..."
"Oh, it's going great! People here are so friendly!
Well,
most of them."
"..."
"Your boss is strange. He yelled at me for transferring calls
to
him."
"..."
"Cass?"
"..."
"I don't-- What are you laughing at?"
PART TEN: It Takes Balls
To Work Here
"We want the kind of mice without balls."
Cassandra stared at the accountant from seventh, trying to figure out a
way to answer his question that didn't involve fists. In the end, she
decided the truth was the best way to go. "Next month," she said, "when
you get your new computer."
The accountant sighed. "Can't you do anything before then?" he asked.
"A month is a long time to wait. The people on fifth and sixth both
have those new mice, and we're all sure on seventh that ball-less mice
would improve productivity."
Cass wasn't as well-versed as her boss was when it came to computer
terms, but she didn't need to understand all the complexities of
"productivity" to see that he was lying to her.
If this accountant had not been the sixth person from his floor
complaining about new mice, Cass probably wouldn't have cared. If those
six people hadn't been scheduled to get brand new computers in a month,
she would have let it go. He was the sixth person, though, and they
were getting new computers. Enough was enough.
"Fine," she grumbled, making a point to look at her own computer
screen. Her minesweeper game was much more interesting than the
accountant. "Go home. Ball-less mice tomorrow. No problem." She cringed
as her mouse clicked on a mine, ending her game.
"Wow, Cassandra," he said, "you are the best!"
The accountant spun around on his heel and headed toward the elevators.
He didn't hear Cassandra say, "I know I am." The irony probably
wouldn't have sunk in anyway.
~~~
*THUD*
"AAIUGH!" a pained voice cried out from somewhere near the elevators.
It was followed by a less noisy moan, and the sound of a body standing
back up. A second passed, and then another sound resonated down the
hallway.
*THUD*
"AAIUUGGH!"
Cass somehow managed to keep from breaking out laughing as footsteps
pounded toward her desk. His hand shot out to reveal several small,
grey rubber balls in his palm. "What are these?" his angry voice
growled.
"Mouse balls," Cass answered flatly.
"Are these from the seventh floor? Did you take these from every
computer mouse in the accounting department?"
Cass nodded. "Yes."
"Why would you do that?" he choked, "Why would you take out all of our
mouse balls, and then scatter them in front of the elevator?"
"To improve productivity," she replied. Then Cass smiled coldly and
added, "My productivity."
PART ELEVEN: Zhamboks
"A gift for you!" Starfire cheered.
In her hands, Starfire
held a smallish, black orb. The nearly featureless orb was only marred
from being perfectly smooth because of two blinking lights and hole at
the top of it. Otherwise, Starfire's gift could have easily been
mistaken for an over-sized marble.
Nightwing beamed back. "Star, this is awesome!" he replied. "You have
no idea just how long I've wanted one of these."
Starfire clapped in delight. "Oh, yes," she nodded, still grinning,
"the hints were many. I just hope you do not already have one."
"No, no," Nightwing answered. "I promise, I don't have one of these."
He paused to look at the orb. "One small question," he asked, "what's
its name?"
Starfire nodded. "On Tamara, we call them Zhamboks."
"Zhamboks," Nightwing nodded. "This is awesome. Thank you!"
~~~
"Got a present for you," Dick Grayson said. He snuck loudly into
Oracle's work room. Barbara turned to look over her shoulder at him.
"Catch." He lobbed something black at her.
Her hand deftly
snagged the flying, black object from the sky. "And this would be?" she
asked. Barbara turned the black orb over in her hands, examining it.
"Tamaranian," Dick answered.
"It's a little small to be a Tamaranian," Barbara replied with an added
dose of smarminess for good measure. "And, not that I have a
photographic memory or anything, but I seem to remember the people of
Tamara being more orange than glossy black."
Dick blew a small
raspberry. "Its Tamaranian technology," he amended. "Called a Zhamboks.
I figured everyone should have a Zhamboks."
"Okay," Barbara replied slowly, "well, what does a Zhamboks do?"
Dick gasped. "Does the all-knowing, all-seeing Oracle finally admit to
not knowing something?" he asked incredulously. "Has the impenetrable
fortress of Oracle at last been, well, penetrated?" His grin was too
big to be real.
Barbara rolled her eyes. "You don't know, do you?"
Dick's grin fell. "No," he admitted. "Starfire gave it to me," he
explained, "She said I'd been dropping hints about it, and seemed so
happy--"
"When doesn't she seem happy?" Barbara asked rhetorically.
"--I didn't have the heart to let her down." Dick looked somewhere
between genuinely distressed and honestly penitent. "I asked Cyborg and
Beast Boy, but they didn't know either. Cyborg offered to find out,
but..."
"You'd rather have a working Zhamboks you can't use
than a broken one that you could have?" she finished. Dick nodded.
"Leave it with me," she said. Her eyes closed to narrow slits before
she continued. "The Oracle does know all, does see all, and has a
Rolodex of engineers who ensure she keeps that reputation!"
~~~
"Sorry, Babs," Ted Kord said, "I have no idea."
~~~
"No, Oracle," Mister Terrific said, "I'm not sure what a Zhamboks is.
If you ever want to get rid of it, though, I'd love to take it apart."
~~~
All Batman said was, "Hnnn."
~~~
"Can I have this?" Cassandra asked.
Barbara looked over at the latest Batgirl. Cassandra was holding the
Zhamboks in her hand; she was also rolling it along her arm and across
her shoulders. If the Zhamboks was nothing else, it could at least be
an alien Hacky Sack.
"Technically, it belongs to Nightwing,"
Barbara said aloud. What she didn't say aloud was that he hadn't
bothered to check on it in over two months. "I'm still trying to figure
out just what that Zhamboks is." What she didn't even consciously think
was that the Zhamboks had been cluttering up her work area, rolling on
the floor, and hiding itself under tables for two months. But it he
wants it back," she continued, "I'll tell him you're showing it to
someone for me."
Cassandra rolled the ball onto the back of her
hand, and then launched it into the air. They watched as it flew into
the air, reached its zenith, and began to fall back down. Cassandra
snatched it from the air before it could hit the floor. In one, fluid
motion, she not only caught the Zhamboks but also shoved it into her
jacket pocket.
"Cool!" she replied.
~~~
The
black ball from Barbara was wicked fun. It was perfectly weighted for
tossing around. It was so smooth and hard that rolling it along
anything equally hard made the coolest warble-grunt sound. She was
amazed that Barbara didn't know what it was for.
Cassandra
pushed the black ball with her thumb and sent it rolling along her
desk, toward a stack of whiteout bottles she's borrowed from the supply
closet. A row of pencils taped to her desk made sure the black ball
didn't roll away, which wasn't too much of a concern, since she was
pretty good at aiming it.
The black ball struck the whiteout
bottles, knocking them offer. The momentum was enough to knock a couple
of the bottles onto the floor, but not so much that the ball jumped the
pencil taped to the edge of her desk.
"Strike!" Cassandra cried cheerfully.
A moment later, as she was picking up whiteout bottles and setting them
back up, the door to her boss's office popped open. He stuck his head
out, and the rest of his body followed shortly. "You're not on strike
are you?" he asked, eyeing both Cassandra and her desk.
"Ha!"
she chortled. "No, strike. You know," she said. Cassandra showed him
the black ball; it then proceeded to roll it across her desk. The ball
bumped into one of the whiteout bottles. "Strike!"
"Oh," he said. "I get it." He nodded.
"Want to play?" she asked. She offered the black ball to him.
He shrugged. "I guess," he said. He took the black ball from her hand,
which left her free to reset her adhoc pins. While Cassandra worked,
her boss began to examine the black ball. "Hey," he asked, "is this a
Jam Box?"
Cassandra looked at him. "Zhamboks," she corrected him. "It's called a
Zhamboks."
"No," he said, "it's a Jam Box." Her boss reached into one of
Cassandra's drawers and pulled out a pair of headphones. He offered the
ear buds to Cassandra, and proceeded to plug the jack into the hole
atop the black ball. When Cassandra had the buds in her ears, he
pressed one of the green lights. Immediately Cassandra's face lit up as
music began lightly chirping in her ears.
After a minute of
listening to music, Cassandra pulled the ear buds out of her ears. "So,
you going to bowl or what?" she asked.
PART TWELVE: Hostage
Crisis (on at
least one Earth)
Tim Drake was not a blonde. At least the Tim Drake she knew
wasn't a blonde, he had dark, jet-black hair that always stayed neatly
combed when he was Tim Drake, but somehow always stayed ruffled when he
was Robin. Cass always meant to ask him about that, because
it
was kind of funny. However, two things were stopping her at
the
moment.
The first reason was that obviously this was not Tim Drake.
Sure,
he looked like Tim Drake -- except for the hair -- but he didn't move
like Tim Drake. Whoever the look-a-like was, he moved with a
much
more sinister gait. His muscles were always tensed, ready to
lash
out if needed. He wasn't as aware of everything as Tim was,
he
was only aware of people.
So, it wouldn't have done much good to ask him about the hair thing.
The second reason Cass didn't ask was simply because she couldn't ask
him. Two rolls of duct tape around the wrists, ankles, waist,
chest, and mouth pretty much cut off all forms of legible
conversation. She could wave her hands at the not!Tim, but
that
wouldn't go very far getting answers about real!Tim's hair.
Cass sighed and studied the chair to which she was taped.
"Don't even thought about trying to get out," not!Tim
growled. He
peered out of the supply closet one last time, then pushed the door
shut. "That paralytic's good for at least another hour, and
that's an hour even for you." He stepped up right in front of
Cass, and looked down at her. "I know about you, Miss
Super-Ninja, and I took that into account when I doped those lemon
squares."
Cass chastised herself inwardly. She knew better than to take
snacks from Betty Kane, even really delicious lemon squares that were
left on her desk with an apology taped to them. It was the
oldest
trick in the book, and she had fallen for it.
The only thing that eased her conscience was the fact that those were
really good lemon bars. As soon as she escaped, beat up
not!Tim,
and knocked out Betty's teeth, she was going to ask for the
recipe. She wagered that Alfred would be willing to help her
fix
another batch is she asked nicely.
A small knock on the door caught not!Tim's attention. He
backed
up and opened it a crack. After seeing who was on the other
side,
he stepped back enough to allow them to come in the makeshift dungeon.
Cass rolled her eyes as Betty Kane stepped into the room. Of
course it would be her. Cass suddenly wished she could take
her
gag off; if she couldn't ask not!Tim about real!Tim's hair, then at
least she could get Betty's recipe. Cass grunted as loud as
she
could and nodded at Betty.
"Oh," Betty purred, "don't be upset, Cass. This isn't
anything
personal," she cooed, "just business." Cass grunted again,
trying
to bring her face and fingers together to pull the gag off.
"Geez, Cass," Betty snapped, "You don't have to go crazy."
Cass sighed. Teeth kicking first, then she would get the
recipe. Apparently that was how it was going to go
down.
She could live with that.
"Is he gone?" not!Tim asked.
Betty nodded. "I told him that Cass was on the seventh floor,
and
he took off after her. I took all the toner out of those
printers
this morning, so he'll be up there for hours fixing thing."
not!Tim rubbed his hands together, and whispered, "Excellent,
Betty." He turned to the closet door, and added, "Then let's
go!"
"Hold up," Betty said. She grabbed not!Tim's shoulder and
pulled
him back. "We can't leave her here," Betty said, pointing at
Cass. "She's psycho-crazy."
"The lemon bars--"
"No way," Betty shook her head, "I don't care what you say; we're not
leaving her."
not!Tim sighed. "Fine," he relented, "Keep watch in the hall,
I'll carry her." She moved around behind Cass's chair, bent
slightly at the knees, and slid his hands beneath the seat.
With
a quick, upward movement, not!Tim lifted Cass off the ground.
"Come on," he grunted at Betty.
She nodded and opened to door. The trio moved swiftly from
the
supply closet, past Cass's desk, and thanks to a borrowed set of keys
from her top drawer, into Cass's boss's office. As they
passed
the threshold into his office, not!Tim stumbled slightly. He
managed to recover his balance, but not before dropping Cass onto the
floor. The forward momentum, combined with the front-right
leg of
her chair getting caught on the carpet, tipped the chair and Cass over
onto their side.
"You okay, Timmy-pooh?" Betty asked not!Tim.
He brushed himself off. "Yeah, fine," he grunted.
Betty looked down at Cass and smiled, "Any bumps, Cass?" Cass
merely glared back up at Betty. "Guess not," Betty chirped.
While Betty grinned like an idiot at Cass, not!Tim made his way over to
Cass's boss's computer. He stopped to look at the desk where
he
was about to sit down. The top of it was littered with action
figures, old handheld computers, and empty Soder bottles.
not!Tim
looked up at Betty and asked, "Are you sure this is the computer Owlman
told us to hack?" he asked.
Betty nodded. "He said this guy was the keystone to taking
down
Wayne," Betty told not!Tim, "that if we could get into this guy's
systems, we could shut down Batman's corporate weaponry."
not!Tim shrugged. "Corporate weaponry," he
parroted. "If
Owlman thinks taking down Batman's business will work, who am I to
argue?" He reached into his pocket, and began fumbling around.
Betty slinked up to the desk, and leaned across. "Why, you're
Timothy Drake," she said slyly, "you're Night Owl!" not!Tim
leaned over and the two shared a rather steamy, if not disgusting from
Cass's angle, kiss. "You're the guy Owlman's going to owe a
huge
favor to once this works."
not!Tim finally dragged his hang out of his pocket, bringing out a boxy
device along with him. "And you," not!Tim murmured as he
plugged
the device into the workstation, "are Owl-Girl, the hot mama who's
going to be there to share it with me."
The two of them snickered for a moment before settling down.
not!Tim relaxed in Cass's boss's chair, and Betty perched on the edge
of his desk. After a minute of watching Cass, Betty hopped
off
the desk. She moved over to Cass, kneeling down next to her.
"I bet you're just full of questions, aren't you, Cass?" Betty
asked. Cass nodded as hard as she could. "Promise
you won't
scream if I take this off?" Cass started to shake her head,
promising; he she shook her head, saying she wouldn't scream.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Cass realized the irony of her
having a hard time communicating because she wasn't able to talk.
Betty seemed to take the nod-shaking as Cass intended it, because she
reached down and snatched the tape from Cass's mouth. "That
better?" Betty asked. Cass nodded.
"So, you want to know who we are?" Betty asked proudly.
Cass shook her head, "Nope."
"Oh," Betty mumbled, "You want to know what we're doing here then?"
"No," Cass told her.
"Where we're from?" not!Tim asked from across the room.
"Don't care," Cass said flatly.
Cass's apathy seemed to irritate not!Tim, because he stood up from his
seat and walked over to her. Betty stood up, she they were
both
looking down at Cass. "Then what do you want to know?" Betty
asked.
Cass simply asked, "What's the recipe for your lemon bars?"
PART FOURTEEN: Everyone
Needs... An Intern?!
Cassandra watched her boss fidget and squirm. He
was giving his lunch only a very small portion of his
attention. The rest was dedicated to listening as best as he
could to conversation going on between the software developer and
intern behind him.
Watching the developer and intern, Cassandra had picked up on the fact
that the developer was enjoying giving his lecture -- whatever it was
about -- a lot more than the intern was hearing it. Despite
various attempts from the blond intern to interrupt, the developer kept
on talking, much to the irritation to both the intern and her boss.
"And that," the developer said, "is why everyone who cares at all about
modern programming should learn to write in a static
language. Dynamic languages are just toys, and no one in
their--"
"That's it!" Cassandra's boss cried out. He stood up from
chair, and started counting on his fingers. Cassandra
watched, amused, as her boss counter-lectured the developer on, as best
as she could tell, computer languages. Everytime the
developer would raise a point, her boss would vehemently counter it.
This went on steadily for several minutes, drawing in other developers
and engineers from around the cafeteria. Each side would
argue, and the other would counter. As the top of the hour
got closer, and lunch times began to finish, the debate dwindled.
"Fine," the original developer conceded, "static and dynamic languages
aren't inherently better or worse." He muttered to himself
and checked his watch. "Come on," the developer said to his
intern, "let's go."
The intern shook his head. "You go," he said. "I'm
staying with him!"
"What?" the developer and Cassandra's boss sputtered at the same time.
"He knows way more than you do!" the intern said.
Cassandra's boss seemed at a loss for a good reply. The
developer, however, did not lack one. "You can't do
that. You're assigned to me. That's how it works."
"I don't care," the intern said.
The developer scowled for a minute, then his smile
brightened. "You know what," he said, "I think that's a great
idea. You stay with him. I'll make sure everything
is okay. Good luck!"
"Now wait a minute," Cassandra's boss cried out. It was too
late. The developer had made a break for the
stairwell Cassandra considered catching him, but something
made her pause.
Not just something, it was the intern. His face was beaming
as he switched tables, coming to sit with Cassandra and her
boss. It wasn't anything but an earnest excitement.
"Look, I appreciate the compliment, but I don't need an
intern. That's why I have Cassandra." Cassandra's
boss grunted as a two-inch heel dug into his shin.
"I know all about you two," the intern said. "Everyone talks
about what goes on in your office." Cassandra scrunched her
face slightly as the intern waggled his eyebrows
suggestively. "Everybody knows about how you tied her up in
your office, and how it was a wreck when security got there."
[See chapter twelve for an explanation - Editor]
"Now wait a minute, I don't know what you heard, but that was not--"
"They all call you the 'Pervy Admin,'" the intern said, grinning.
Cassandra shook her head, smiling. No one but Bruce, herself,
and her boss knew about not!Tim and Betty. She knew about the
rumors circulating Wayne Enterprises, and she also knew how oblivious
her boss was about them.
"Pervy Admin?" he muttered to himself.
He was about to reply, most likely to defend his name, but was cut-off
by the intern. "Anyway, now that's settled, and since I know your name,
Pervy Admin, and her name, Cassandra," the intern spoke, "let me
introduce myself!"
"My name's Naruto Uzumaki! And I'm going to be the world's
greatest hacker!"
[Sure, you ask, what does Naruto know about computers? Well,
I ask, what did he know about being a ninja in the first
episode? Answer to both: very little. - Editor]
Commissions
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