Disclaimer:

None of the characters or settings in this story belong to the authors; said characters and settings are the property of whichever parent company owns DC Comics. The authors would truly LIKE to own Nightwing, at least for a night each, but sadly that's not the case. So instead, we just borrowed him for a little playtime, trusting that DC and its parent won't mind if we return him undamaged.

-X- -X- -X-

Authors' Note:

This story was co-written by Alteva101 and Zathara001. You can find our solo stories elsewhere on this site.

Both of us are serious continuity sluts when we're writing fanfiction. We try to stay as close to canon as possible, and when we choose to violate it, we want to know exactly what we're violating and how and why. This note is for all the other continuity sluts out there…

Dick's timeline: The story takes place after Nightwing #15, and after the Nightwing/Huntress Limited Series, but before the Outsiders series.

Donna's timeline: The story takes place between Wonder Woman (second series) issues 136 and 139, while Diana is still Goddess of Truth.

And it goes AU from there, pretty much right away.

Guest stars: Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Batman, Arsenal, Hippolyta, a whole bunch of Amazons, the Justice League, and one who'll remain a surprise…

Hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it.

-X- -X- -X-

Dealing with the gods is a lot like dealing with the Justice League, except there are more female gods than female Leaguers.

I grew up in the company of women, so I should feel more comfortable here than at League meetings. But I suspect the League, though mostly male and not all human, would understand Donna's problem more readily than these gods. The Leaguers understand the human longing for companionship. In contrast, each god, all too human in some ways, is more an icon of some particular virtue than a complete person.

Though I share their godhood, in this I am not their kin. I still understand the full range of human need.

The carved stone of Olympus reminds me of my home on Themyscira, except that no Amazon architect could have built the multi-angled space the gods call home. From my platform -- and really it can be called little else -- I look down on the roofs of palaces, up toward column-ringed gardens, and sideways to luxurious gathering spaces. Each god or goddess competes for presence. Hera's stately hall dominates the space above Aphrodite's opulent bath. Artemis' forests encroach on the practice fields of Ares where heavy banners snap in a breeze that blows only there.

I have so far refused to carve out a similar dwelling place for Truth. Perhaps standing on this tiny blank circle of stone is my way of maintaining humanity in this strange world. I feel alone here, as I never have on Earth. In this moment, I know how my sister Donna would feel if all her long life left her was our Amazon home.

Athena soothes the owl on its perch beside her. "The goddess of Truth's request has merit."

"It may," Ares shoots back, his words as accurate as his blade. I keep the thought to myself. "But there is no man on earth who merits the sister of a goddess."

"I wouldn't say that." Aphrodite flicks bathwater at one of the half-dozen gorgeous young men attending her, giggling.

"Your definition of merit is lacking," Ares retorts.

"And your definition is not a woman's." Hera's quiet voice carries the power to still even the god of war. "Young Donna has suffered greatly. The right companion might well ease her hurt. Still, the wrong one will only bring her more pain."

"Is suffering sufficient reason to reward?" Apollo asks from his couch. His fingers idly pluck the lyre resting on his lap. "Soul-sister-self of Diana this Donna may be, but she does not acknowledge us, except in the most perfunctory manner."

"She can choose a companion from among her Amazon sisters." Artemis emerges from the concealing shadows of her forest. As always when the subject of men arises, her expression is bitter. I know some of the hurts she has suffered, but I suspect, not all. "She should not need a human, or a man."

"Or our aid," Apollo adds.

"If she were as fully Amazon as I am, you would be correct, Artemis." I am a goddess too. I have the right, and in this instance the duty, to argue with them. "But, she is not me. We have not been the same since I was twelve."

"Perhaps, Diana, you will explain the logic behind your request? Not all of us here are as familiar with Donna as you are." Of all the gods who have been sculpted by human and Amazon alike, Athena is the only one who maintains as classically neutral an expression in life as in stone. This cold, distant aspect makes me shiver, even when I sense she supports my cause.

"When I was twelve," I begin, "and the only child among thousands of adults, I yearned for a companion my own age. The sorceress Magala created a doppelganger of me as a playmate."

It's hard to face the truths that ride on the back of these memories. How selfish I was and how little I valued the girl who would become my sister. How careless I was of her that I allowed her to vanish into prison and darkness without a thought. The sorceress said she'd dissipated and I allowed that to stand rather than search for her. "Neither of us knew, as we played together, that the wandering spirit called Dark Angel planned to use me for revenge. My mother, Hippolyta, defeated Dark Angel during Earth's Second World War, and Dark Angel sought to drive her insane with grief. I was the intended victim, as I said, but it was Donna whom Dark Angel kidnapped just six months after she had been created."

"That you feel guilt and indebted to her we all understand. But it is not yet clear why those feelings should sway us." Apollo is a passionate god, but he will temper his passion with reason as cold and impersonal as Athena's visage when it suits him. He calls this balanced thought. I would call it whim were I not trying to persuade.

"The debt is one of justice, therefore we all carry it." I have to gather my thoughts and make this argument based on reason rather than merely the love I feel for my sister, though such passions have swayed the gods before. That was when their -- our -- power was far greater than it is now. It will cost them to grant this gift. "Donna suffered thousands of lifetimes, each more painful than the last. In each one she lost people she loved dearly. Yes, we saved her and brought her home. Yes, we made her whole and she is about to be granted the full rights of a princess among the Amazons. But, Dark Angel's plan was deeper and more insidious than any of us then understood."

They lean closer. They like mysteries. "All those lifetimes spent among humans made Donna more human than Amazon. Life among her sisters will never be enough for her. She needs contact with the world outside Themyscira. And, being immortal when they are not, she is doomed to suffer a thousand more lifetimes of pain when each generation of friends and family die."

I make a point of looking each of them in the eyes before continuing. "My mother, who has ever been most worthy and faithful, Apollo, now loves Donna. She will suffer with her daughter through all these lifetimes as well, impotent to ease her child's pain. And Donna herself will grow bitter, angry. Dark Angel will win despite our efforts. This is wrong. The gods cannot allow it."

"You make a persuasive argument," Apollo admits. I'm surprised to hear him say it, but I have forgotten that Greek argument balanced emotion and reason in equal parts. "But there is a danger you've not considered."

"What danger, Phoebos?" From the corner of my eye, I see Artemis stiffen and frown.

"God-gifts are potent. We give them rarely, lest they be abused. When they reach Earth we are powerless to control them."

"Aye," Athena says slowly. "In the past, such things have been misused."

I know some legends, not all. Truth tells me they speak of some specific crime and would hold Donna accountable for the faults of one long dead. "Donna is as trustworthy with such things as I am."

"Even so," Apollo says, "accidents can happen."

"Accidents aside," Ares interrupts. "How will granting immortality to one worthless human prevent the Amazon queen's pain?"

I must speak truth, but without insult. Heracles himself never labored so hard. "Within my living memory we have seen what happens when one with great power loses connection to his true soul. Ares, you yourself nearly destroyed the world. Fear of loneliness stayed your hand. What will stay Donna's if you force her to be alone?"

"We could kill her." Artemis fingers the string of her great bow. I quiver when I realize she prefers that solution. The discussion of gifts abused has put her in a foul mood. I suspect she may have been the victim of that hidden crime, but I don't know.

It is her challenge I must refute, and I am ready. "You would kill an innocent and reduce our worshippers even further, huntress? Regardless of how little your brother values her devotion, Donna recognizes and honors the gods. And it is wrong to kill the guiltless. Give her an immortal companion. Increase y-- our followers, not just now, but by every child they create."

There are no more words. I have made my plea, and now I await their decision.

"You speak with wisdom, Diana," Athena says. Her owl has settled and appears to sleep. I know better. "As I expect, from one to whom I gave that gift."

I appreciate how quickly she supports me, but her support alone is not enough. No one of us is allowed to grant the gift of immortality unilaterally, save the king of the gods.

"I would grant this request, if a worthy suitor can be found." Hera is slower, and more cautious, but as queen, her agreement eases my heart. I begin to think this effort is not in vain.

"Suitor?" The scorn in Artemis' tone stops my hope before it has fully formed. "She needs none, nor will I assist in granting any human such power."

"Nor shall I." Apollo crosses his arms and turns his head away. I think his stubbornness is more in support of his sister than from conviction -- unless Donna refused his advances sometime in the past. I suppose that is not impossible.

"Three to two," Ares announces. "Done."

"Three to three, Ares." Athena seems to enjoy correcting him. Her impassive demeanor has not changed, but I would swear I see a hint of a smile. "Diana is goddess in her own right and has a vote as well."

"Still done," Ares says. "We are tied, and a tie falls against the petitioner."

"Not yet done. The lord of the underworld has yet to vote," Athena points out. All eyes turn to the tomb-like darkness that surrounds the iron hall of Hades. He stands, stony and still, as he has since this meeting began. Beside him, his wife glows gently, pale as a ghost in the land of the dead. "What say you, Hades, to granting immortality to the one the Amazon Donna could love?"

"Elysium awaits his arrival." His voice is chill and hollow, and I think none of us gods avoid a shiver in our minds, even if we do not show it. "What reason have I to refuse his entry there?"

And my heart sinks. But then, Persephone rises on tiptoes to whisper in Hades' ear. I cannot hear her voice, but I see the single word her lips form. Love.

The dread god's expression has softened, and he looks down at his wife, smiling. To the assembly he says, "I vote in favor."

"Four to three in favor," Athena announces. "The decision is made."

"I am always forgotten." Aphrodite pouts. She rests her perfect arms on the edge of her marble pool, allowing one of her attendant men to soap them.

"I meant no slight, Aphrodite," Athena says. "But you did appear to be enjoying your bath."

"Indeed I am. And yet I have an opinion. Immortal life would be tediously dull bound to only one man. Let Donna enjoy the favors of many men, life after life. She will learn to enjoy it, as I do."

"Tied again." Ares sounds satisfied. "And none else present to vote."

I should have called for Poseidon, or perhaps Hermes, both of whom have supported me in the past, but there is no point in berating my poor planning. I feel the truth beating on me. My failure now means my sister's pain, just as my childhood carelessness allowed her to be taken in my stead. Zeus help me, I don't know what to do.

A clap of thunder answers my silent plea, and Olympus itself shifts to accommodate the arrival of the king of the gods. His golden throne is covered with carvings of bulls and eagles. It sits on a dark rolling cloud that surrounds the houses of the other gods. I wonder at the threat that gray mist carries, for all the gods all grow still as it approaches them. A glance downward tells me even my platform is surrounded by the mist, so I remain silent, cursing my stupidity.

The cloud at the base of my platform blackens as Zeus turns his attention to me. "It appears that you are trying to coax gifts from us, young goddess. Gifts that will benefit one who does not worship us."

"It was not Donna's choice to be taken from Themyscira, to have her memories of her true home wiped away, to be tortured," I reply. "But she is returned now, and did you not observe the ceremony by which my mother welcomed her home? Donna gave all thanks to the gods, then. She is loyal, and now that she remembers us, she will worship us, as I did when I was but an Amazon."

Zeus nods, lifting my fear. But, when he speaks, his voice remains a storm, unpredictable and dangerous. "And what of the young man who receives this gift? What guarantees do you make for him?"

I think of Kyle, his generosity, his open heart, his courage and loyalty. He has impressed the Justice League and the Titans despite his youth. Even Batman -- stoic, implacable Batman -- respects him. It will be difficult to find anyone more deserving of the gods' gift than he, and he is already accustomed to giving his loyalty and service to alien beings who, while not gods themselves, wield nearly as much power. I am confident when I say, "None of us will take away any mortal's freedom of will. But he will know from whence his gift comes, and he will not be ungrateful."

Zeus falls silent, considering perhaps, for several moments. "You speak well of the one Donna might choose. But words are only noise. Your sister will prove her worthiness in her choice of mate, as will the young man in his time. However, you Diana, as petitioner, must offer more. What will you sacrifice for your sister's happiness?"

It is on my lips to say, "Everything," but that would be most unwise. The gods can be quite literal. I consider for a moment, and offer the one thing they cannot expect. "My godhood."

"A wise decision," he replies. Before I can reconsider, a silver bowl full of clear liquid appears before me. The threads of Zeus' clouds rise around me. They pass through me, through the bowl, which glows slightly golden for a moment, and then I stand as frail as a mortal among gods.

I reach for the bowl. It vanishes before my hand touches it, reappearing at Zeus' side.

"Not yet, daughter. The gods, at my command, will blend further gifts into this draught, blessings for him who tastes it, and guidance for your sister in her choice. If she understands and honors us as you claim, she will choose well."

"You are testing her." It's not a question.

"Gifts are always a test." Zeus smiles, and I quiver more than I did at the thought of Artemis killing Donna. My gift for truth is not diminished by my loss of godhood. It has shown me what he would have preferred to hide.

This test is also a trap -- not just for Donna, but also for Kyle, and yes, for me as well. I cannot see the trigger or the cage, but I know the god who set it. No Olympian ever gives gift or test for the good of a human alone. And Zeus is more self-serving than most. He wants something from Donna, and I was too blind -- perhaps my own divinity was blindly selfish -- to see the danger when I asked for this gift.

Whatever the king of gods wants, whatever he plans, he intends to win this game he has begun. Like the video games Cassie sometimes plays, this is only the first level. The worse challenge comes later. And I fear I will not be able to help Donna when she comes to it. I can only hope Kyle will.

"Her lover will need my gift," Aphrodite rises from her bath and stretches out her hand for the chalice, "if Donna is to be satisfied with him forever."

The chalice remains where it is, resting on the arm of Zeus' throne.

"You have already blessed him," Zeus tells her.

"That is possible," Aphrodite admits. "I do try to be generous."

The king of the god smiles down at me and I feel very small. "Understand, Diana, if Donna chooses wisely, this will be a great blessing. But, if she chooses poorly, it will prove a curse instead. Bide now, Princess-once-goddess. Enjoy the ease of Olympus while we craft this gift."

I nod, and the council dissolves around me, leaving me in a courtyard with a fountain and white marble benches. The tranquil setting does little to calm the nervousness that has grown since I realized there would be no gift, only a deadly danger.

I wish I could move back through time and rescind my request. Better that Donna live a life of loneliness than endure whatever the king of the gods has planned for her. But, I could not bend time even when I was a goddess. Nor can I refuse Zeus' false blessing. To do so would be to insult them all and bring retribution more swiftly and more harshly.

But, there is some reason for hope. Donna is smart and brave. Kyle is inventive if nothing else. Whatever Zeus wants from Donna, and I can only think he means to use her to his own ends and most likely to her death, I have to believe Donna and Kyle together will discover the way to turn the god's game to their advantage and win.

I trust Donna. She will choose well. She must.

-X-

Bludhaven drove everyone crazy. That was the only conclusion Nightwing could come to as he watched Benjamin 'Benny' Bianchi saunter down the street free as the proverbial canary despite being into Blockbuster's machine for about four grand. Crime lords didn't come to this city to get soft, so crazy was the only other option for why Blocky let Benny go after dragging him off the street a month ago.

The crooks in town were good at looking over their shoulders for the likes of Blockbuster, wary of drive by shooters or other thugs. But they weren't used to dealing with a vigilante. In Gotham, the bad guys studied every shadow, nervous, half-expecting Batman to spring from the smallest crack. The smarter ones even looked up toward the rooftops. That habit hadn't formed in Bludhaven yet -- which meant Benny only watched the street for cars before turning into King Street.

It was three blocks to Bianchi's boarding house by the main streets, but a narrow alley cut the distance in half. Benny would like that for a couple reasons. His pockets were full of take from the rigged game he ran down on 12th, and he'd want the fastest way home. He'd like the shadows, and the space was too tight for those passing cars that made him nervous. For Nightwing, the alley offered a good interrogation spot, something Benny wouldn't consider in his route evaluation.

Nightwing leapt to the next rooftop, diving into a roll and regaining his feet smoothly. It was good to be back in action, in almost his top form. Even a week ago, he'd wondered if his body would ever purge the psychotropic drugs that the infamous Dr. Crane had forced on him.

It had been three weeks ago, right after Blockbuster nabbed Benny Bianchi. Nightwing had been closing in on Bludhaven's new crime lord with the dubious assistance of one Inspector Soames, but just before he could break the case, Soames showed his true colors and got the drop on him. Nightwing had woken up -- if you could call it that -- in the sadistic care of Dr. Crane, the Scarecrow. And the next few days had been lost to an ugly psycho-torture illusion.

Crane used drugs and hypnotic suggestion to conjure a horrible life for him -- trapped in a pointless job, poor, weak and inferior in every way to a next-door neighbor conveniently cast as Bruce. Crane's poisons found his every insecurity and brought them to the surface. Even at his lowest, Nightwing had never felt quite as worthless as he had in those nightmares.

Eventually, he'd recovered himself, defeated Crane, and in the subsequent investigation, discovered the identity of Bludhaven's new crime lord -- Roland Desmond. Blockbuster. He'd known the city was doomed, but Blockbuster was the sort of nightmare a place didn't wake up from. Blockbuster was violent, unpredictable, a storm of destruction packaged as a man, a nightmare that made Crane's drug-induced nightmare almost pleasant.

Pleasant. He mulled the word over, surprised to find that it actually described some parts of the nightmare. In that illusory life, he'd had kids, a wife. Those only existed so he would care when Crane ripped the dream life away, but for that brief time the family was his. He'd loved them. Those brief moments of joy had reminded him why life was worth fighting for. Now that he was whole and strong again the portions of nightmare that lingered in his mind centered around being married to, of all people, Donna.

Why Donna? That was the question he picked at like it was a healing wound.

Nightwing knew how Crane worked. Find the weakest point, find the worst moment, then use that to pry the subject's mind apart. So, there had to be a reason why the dream gave him Donna as a wife rather than Kory, or Barbara, or even Helena, hell -- any woman he'd actually slept with. Unfortunately, any reason he constructed for Donna's presence in his dream offered more confusion than illumination.

"Crazy," he muttered as he tailed Benny from King to Carpenter. "This city is getting to me, too. I didn't expect it so soon."

Finally, Benny turned into the alley that joined Carpenter to Brideway. Like all Bludhaven alleys, the passage was dark, garbage-strewn and stank all the way up to the rooftop. Nightwing ran a couple of steps ahead of his mark and vaulted off the roof onto the broken pavement below.

Benny was one of those seedy hoods who liked to wear his shirts tight and his jeans low enough to exaggerate a belly suspended halfway in its journey to fat. He wore too many rings, probably assuming that they made him look tougher than he actually was. A stereotype, that was Benny. But tonight he looked rattier than usual. He hadn't changed his clothes for at least a week, maybe since his capture. He reeked more than the alley. He also didn't notice he had company until Nightwing stepped right in front of him.

"Benny! Where you been, man?" Nightwing caught hold of the hood's arm in case he was stupid enough to run. "The 'Haven hasn't been the same without you."

"Nuh -- Nuh -- Nightwing."

"Aww, you remember me. Tell me what else you remember, Benny. Like where you've been, what you've been doing. And why Blockbuster let you go."

"What makes you think I got anything to do with him?" Benny tugged in a half-hearted attempt to free his arm, before a bout of sneezing thwarted even that frail effort.

"You owe him four grand from that little venture with the horses that went sour. And he's not in the business of forgiving debts." Nightwing's hand tightened on Benny's unusually scrawny bicep. "So why'd he let you go?"

"I paid my debt." Benny had less fight in him than normal. In fact, Nightwing thought, he looked more exhausted than afraid. "I swear on my sister's ... ah hell, I just swear. I don't know nothing."

"Where'd you get the money, Benny? Four grand plus interest isn't easy to come by."

"Paid in labor." Benny sagged a bit. "I'm tried, man. Sick. I got to get home."

What kind of labor left a man with less muscle than he started with? Batman would've intimidated the rest of the information from Benny, if not beaten it out of him, but that wasn't Nightwing's style. He preferred the whole get-more-bees-with-honey thing, when he wanted bees that buzzed, that is. "You can rest as soon as you tell me about the job you've been doing for Blockbuster. Come on, Benny, give me something to go on."

"Okay, okay." Benny coughed and slapped his chest as if to clear it. A fine dust rose from his shirt. "It was in the old Kreder mine. I don't know what the big man wants down there, I swear. He just had a bunch of us digging in the place. Maybe he plans to give the governor lung cancer."

There was more, Nightwing could sense it, but he wouldn't learn it if Benny collapsed in his arms. "Go home, Benny," he told the other man gently. "Sleep it off. We'll talk again."

Nightwing watched Benny stagger down the alley for a moment, then reached for his grappling gun. In the glare of a single functioning streetlight, his black glove glittered white.

It took a moment to bag the sample. Asbestos, probably, since that was the only thing ever mined in Bludhaven, but you never knew for sure. He sealed the bag and stuffed it into a compartment on his wristguard.

Overhead, at the very corner of his vision, a shadow caught his attention. Though he hadn't heard a sound, he marked the position of the intruder on the rooftop even as he spun, a wing-ding in his hand ready to fly.

A woman stood above and to his left, nothing but a black shape against the light-polluted sky, but that was enough. Nightwing felt the battle tension leave his body and he returned the wing-ding to its place. He recognized Donna by her silhouette alone.

"There you are," she called down. "I thought I heard your voice, but couldn't see you."

"Yeah, well, shadows are my friends." He brought out the grappling gun and seconds later stood beside her on the uneven shingles. "Playing tourist in Bludhaven?"

"Because the setting is so ... aromatic." She wrinkled her nose, half-teasing. Then she lifted her chin, met his gaze squarely. "I have a puzzle, and I need your help to solve it."

"Not the Times crossword puzzle, obviously." Nightwing retracted his jumpline. "Nor, I'd guess, something we should be talking about openly."

"Probably not."

He'd planned to pursue more leads on Blockbuster's new amnesty program, but Donna's expression told him she was near desperation. He'd seen that look on her face scarcely six weeks ago, right after Terry and her son died, too. That was before Crane's nightmares laid him low, before he'd imagined himself as her husband. He shook free of those memories. Whatever Donna needed would come before investigation, and certainly before his own personal confusion. "I can be back at my place in ten minutes. How's that?"

"I'll let myself in if I get there before you." She didn't have to thank him. The relief in her eyes said it for her.

-X-

The hacker known as Mouse felt trapped by her new employer. Here she sat in Mr. Desmond's home theater, a space five times larger than the one her father had built in their White Plains basement, and she still felt crowded. Desmond used up all the air around him, making her struggle for breath. He soaked up the heat too, it seemed. The room felt like a refrigerator. Her fingers were growing numb and clumsy.

Her thoughts strayed to her parents' house back in Westchester County. She'd hated that den of suburban banality where she'd been too white and too bright to ever be dangerous or cool. Then she'd met Giz -- her dark techno-wizard, her nosferatu, her Mephistopheles.

He'd been an outlaw on the information highway while she was just a brown-haired, Methodist chick from the 'burbs. He'd told her they would steal the world, become legends, a cyberspace version of Bonnie and Clyde. And she'd loved him from the moment he stole her away from home. She'd been sixteen.

She was now twenty-three and Giz sat beside her, blowing on his own hands whenever he thought Mr. Desmond's attention focused elsewhere. Mouse wished she dared smile at him, perhaps for his comfort, perhaps for her own.

They'd seen the world. They'd been outlaws. But, her years with Giz had not prepared her for this task that never seemed to end in Desmond's stark, modern, evil house.

She glanced over at Desmond, whose massive hand covered Giz's shoulder. Her husband's face had gone white with fear. She'd never seen him this way before. He didn't expect to live through the night. Mouse feared he was right.

How long had she sat freezing in this theater, her every keystroke snapping like a klaxon in the hollow room, her failed attempts flashing on the huge screen at the far end of the room? She really needed to keep her mind on the job. Numb-fingered speculation was not a healthy occupation when their massive employer was growing impatient.

"How long?" Desmond asked. His fingers flexed and Mouse swore she could hear the bones grind in Giz's shoulder.

"How much do you understand this process, sir?" Mouse tried to make her voice sound polite. What she wanted to shout was, 'Do you think I'll work harder if you kill him?' Did Desmond comprehend the difficulty of what he'd asked her to do, or did he just expect immediate results because he was big and powerful and had money?

"I understand results."

"Right, sir." She'd already searched every conventional database for references to Johann Kreder. He'd been one of Bludhaven's most prominent citizens back in the 60s when the city had been as wealthy as its northern neighbor, Gotham. Before that, Kreder had been an artifact hunter for Hitler and spent most of his time scouring the Middle East and other locations for items of occult importance. It wasn't a very prestigious line of work, Mouse thought, but it had kept Kreder out of Europe for most of the war.

Further, Kreder had disappeared after an expedition to the island of Delos. He'd simply vanished in 1943 and then turned up in Bludhaven just in time to ride the asbestos boom in the 50s. Rumors bordering on legend had it that he'd stolen something from the Nazis and been forced to go into hiding until the war ended.

The rumors didn't end after Kreder moved to Bludhaven. In a foretaste of things to come, he'd not only owned the largest asbestos mine in the area, he'd also been the head of a criminal syndicate. More recent rumors suggested he'd had a special way of eliminating all those who opposed him.

In fact, Mouse had confirmed every rumor Mr. Desmond had brought her and Giz at the start of this hack. Still, he wasn't satisfied. Now, Desmond expected Mouse to pull the specs on Kreder's special weapon out of nothing. He wouldn't accept that the information didn't exist.

"If you had an image of the weapon, sir, that would help." Mouse had hacked a facial recognition program a while back. She'd added some code and could now use the program to compare all sorts of images clandestinely. She and Giz had cleaned up with fences using that program. But, it was useless if Desmond didn't know what the weapon looked like.

"If I had a picture of it, I wouldn't need you," the big man growled.

And that would suit Mouse fine, but she couldn't voice the thought. "I just meant--"

"Try the Oracle's database again."

Mouse swore there was a growl behind the monster's order. Before she could protest, Giz shot back, "She can't hack that."

Her husband's hands continued to move across his own keyboard. But he'd always been her backup, not a front runner. This was on her head.

"I thought you were supposed to be the best." Desmond's voice rose dangerously.

"Nobody can hack it," Giz said, trying to sound calm. "Look, most hackers work off of social engineering weaknesses. They meet the other programmer on a message board or forum, for example, learn something about him. You run it like any other con. But Oracle -- dude, Oracle's a rumor built on a legend built on a fairy tale. Nobody's ever met him."

"So do it the old-fashioned way. Do the math."

"Mathematically, it's not going to happen," Giz said.

Desmond growled, and Mouse hurried to explain. "There's no way of knowing how large an encryption key this Oracle person has used, but we can reasonably assume it's more than 1024 bits, which is 128 characters, so the number of possible combinations is 128 to the 46th power. Do you know what the word for that many numbers is? Googol. Not the search engine."

"If anyone has the information I need, it's Oracle." Desmond accentuated every syllable as he spoke. His upper lip twitched as if it wanted to snarl.

Giz chuckled at the insistence. "Then maybe you ought to post to Usenet groups offering to buy the information from him."

A roar exploded out of Desmond. Mouse watched as the giant man pulled Giz out of his chair. Giz's laptop went spinning. Her husband landed on the floor. Desmond's huge foot rose, then fell. Mouse felt a shriek pull up from her throat, rattle past her teeth. The sound of bone snapping accompanied the crash of the computer. And then all she could hear was the blood in her ears, and Desmond's heavy breathing. Giz made no sound at all. She was afraid to look at him.

"Crack it," Desmond said. "Before I run out of bones to break."

Ohgodohgodohgod. Mouse couldn't give in to the hysteria that engulfed her. If she did, neither one of them would leave this room alive.

She turned back to her keyboard, frantically searching her memory for any bit of information she might've heard about Oracle.

There was nothing. Nothing. Nobody had ever used the name Oracle in any forum or board she'd visited. Her eyes squeezed shut in a vain attempt to hold back tears. But, the darkness behind her eyelids only amplified the mental replay of Desmond's outburst -- crash, crunch, no screams. Then she blinked.

No, there hadn't been anyone using the handle Oracle, but once, a year or so ago, there had been a Delphi. Think, Mouse! What about Delphi?

Her fingers moved over the keyboard again, and after a moment, a snippet of conversation filled the room.

"Hecate is also darkness, a goddess of the underworld. Poseidon is also lord of horses. Apollo is light, and music, and healing. It's more complicated than it first seems." The voice belonged to a woman. Before them, on the massive screen, she materialized as a long-haired brunette with her back to the camera. She took something small and glittery from a handsome, dark-haired man.

"Bulls, too, for Poseidon, right?" the man asked.

"What's that?" Desmond studied the screen.

"Something from the Oracle," Mouse hedged.

"You breached the database?" Desmond's question held none of the savagery she'd grown accustomed to from him. Instead, he seemed distracted by the couple on the screen.

"No, I got past the first round of blocks. Think of it like breaching the outer wall of a fortress. There are more walls, tougher walls. And there may be other security measures that will dump us at any second. I'm recording, so whatever we get, we have."

Mouse prayed to the god she didn't believe in that Desmond would be satisfied with whatever discussion she'd found. It had nothing to do with Kreder, or the mines, but he seemed fascinated by the crystal vial the man twirled in his fingers.

"What is this? When did it happen?"

Mouse tried not to let her sudden relief show in her face. Like a dog catching a new scent, Desmond had focused on the vial instead of the mine. She checked her display. "Live. There's a few second delay due to transmission time, but it's happening now."

Desmond smiled. "Show me as much as you have."

She backed the video to where her hack started, and replayed it. Then, as Desmond watched the screen, she slipped from her chair to kneel by Giz. He was breathing, but shocky. His right leg had been crushed above the knee. She saw blood spotting his trouser leg, but it wasn't a flood. Maybe his artery hadn't been severed. Maybe they would get out of this.

He'd promised her once that they would go to Hawaii and lay on a beach for a month. Just as soon as they pulled a big job. "This was it," she whispered in his ear. "The big hack. This was it."