June 3
Mood: Indescribable
Music: "I Think We're Alone Now" - Girls Aloud
Oy Vey! It's been a whole week since I had the time to sit down and write. But what a week it's been...I know you, citizens of the future, would just love to hear about it, wouldn't you? Hey, someone quiet that kid in the back! Honestly, why people bring squalling little children to a museum anyway...
Okay, so let's start at the beginning. Wednesday and Thursday of last week were crazy - I got nothing done, and spent the whole time on the phone with what seemed like every news agency in the city. Then GCU phoned - apparently my ticket, she be punched. They want me there full time starting in the fall. Scholarship and everything. I'll be excited later, I think, but for now I'm still a little hung up on all the people that died and the fact that they'll never have a chance to do anything else.
So, Friday rolls around and my phone rings again. I answer it with the same tired greeting I've used all week: "Montoya." To my surprise, the voice on the other end isn't a reporter. It's the computer repair place I brought my laptop into.
"Miss Montoya," the tech says. "This is Fred, from TopTech?"
"Right," I reply, only half paying attention. Then he gets my undivided.
"We found something...odd on your computer."
"Define 'odd.'"
"Well, when we first opened the case we could hear something start beeping. It was weird, since there was no power to the machine. We found the source, and it appears to be an extra component...from what we can figure, it's designed to power on the machine at certain intervals and transmit data to another location. It's stopped beeping now, but I don't know if that's a good thing or not."
My computer - my work one, I mean - beeps at me, but I don't look at it. "Can you tell where it's going? Or what it was sending?"
"No...honestly, we've never seen anything like this. It looks like someone's been spying on you." My computer beeps again, and I shoot a quick glance at it. The screen is black, except for four words. WE NEED TO TALK, it says, all in caps. I turn my attention back to the phone for a second.
"Can you remove it?"
"Easily - did you want the component back?"
"Yes."
"We'll have it done by tomorrow afternoon."
"Thanks," I manage half-heartedly before hanging up. I type 'who are you?' into the computer.
MEET ME TONIGHT. CLOCK TOWER.
'How do I know you're not Two-Face or somebody trying to finish the job from the docks the other day?'
YOUR MOTHER WAS THE QUESTION.
I freeze. There are only two people (other than Renee herself, of course) I can think of who know that, and one is dead.
'Is this Kate?'
NO. MEET ME TONIGHT. I'LL EXPLAIN EVERYTHING.
...
And so, like a sucker, I went. Alone. Without telling anyone about it. You'd think I'd be smarter than that, wouldn't you?
I get there and the place is deserted. Just as I'm thinking I've been well and truly played, the front door opens. On its own, mind. This is the part where any rational person would just leave, but if you've read this far you know I'm hardly a rational person. I wander inside, and a modulated voice guides me to a hidden door at the top of a long staircase. As I reach it, it opens in front of me. I walk in and find myself in some sort of lab complex. Computers and all sorts of other stuff I can't even identify line the walls. This beam of light zips through the room and passes right through me - I freeze in place, waiting to drop dead or something, but instead there's a quiet laugh from my left.
I turn, and from the shadows comes the earthly manifestation of the Goddess herself. The high-tech wheelchair she's in somehow enhances her beauty - makes it more regal, more dignified. Her auburn hair shines in the soft light, and her delicate silver spectacles bring out the green of her eyes. And that body!
Er...sorry about that. Back to the story now.
"Hello, Jessie," she says, and her voice suits her perfectly - throaty and incredibly feminine. "I'm sorry for all the cloak and dagger."
"Wow," is my very dignified response. I'm a master of the spoken word, can you tell? Fortunately she's kind enough to overlook it.
"My name is Barbara. Your mother worked with me once or twice."
I struggle to find my voice again. "She never..." I clear my throat. "She never mentioned you."
"She would have called me The Oracle."
"The...Oracle? She never said...all she told me was that the Oracle was some sort of computer genius who helped out heroes and..." I laugh, "I assumed it was some forty-something guy with bad acne and a chocolate fetish! I never imagined The Oracle would be as beautiful as you." The last is out of my mouth before my brain can clamp it shut. I curse inwardly, and for the first time the calm air that she's putting forward falters. She grins a little - almost shyly, as amazing as that is - and coughs.
"Um...well. Okay, so the reason I brought you here is to explain why I had that module put in your computer."
"I see...I'm guessing it's because you know my mom was The Question, and so you thought she might have sent me here on some sort of assignment. So you got someone you know to plant the thing and rifled through my files to see if there was anything relevant."
She blushes - increasing her cute factor to roughly a billion - and looks away. "That's about it, yes. You weren't supposed to find it, though - it was supposed to be active when you weren't in your apartment. Apparently it was defective...I should have just built the thing myself."
"So?" I ask teasingly, taking a seat on the edge of one of the metal tables. "What'd you find?"
"Frustratingly little." I smirk. "You don't even have a blog or anything, at least not that I can find."
"Nope. I have a handwritten journal. Mom taught me not to use the computer for important stuff."
She does this little head-tilt - like a cat, you know? And then she scowls. "That's what I get for bugging the computer of a detective's daughter."
"If there's anything you want to know about me, you just have to ask. I just have one condition."
"What's that?"
"That we not discuss it in here. It's freezing in here! Join me for a cup of coffee?"
She ponders the offer a little longer than I'd have liked, but in the end she smiles. "Sure. Let me finish up a few things in here - I'll meet you at the Starbucks down the road in about fifteen minutes, okay?"
"Deal." I take her hand and shake it thoroughly. She laughs and makes a shooing gesture with her hands. I take the hint and find my way back out.
True to her word, she's there in fifteen minutes exactly. I buy her a latte while she finds a table, and sit down across from her.
"So...what did you want to know?"
She smiles, the steam from her coffee fogging her specs. "Did your mother send you here?"
"Did she buy me a train ticket? Yes. Did she send me here on some nefarious undercover mission? No. I'm just here to work at the Tribune until I start my journalism degree in the fall."
"Yes, I saw your article - it was very impressive."
Now it's me that can't meet her gaze. "Thanks," I murmur. She reaches across the table and puts a hand on mine. I feel a warmth shoot through me, starting in my hands and landing up in my nether regions.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," she says softly, "and I'm even sorrier that you feel so guilty about it. But Jessie, there's absolutely nothing you could have done."
I don't know whether it's her words or the way she says them, but it's like she's turned a key in my chest and let out everything I'd been keeping in since the attack. I burst into tears, but she seems much less surprised at it than I am. She just navigates her chair around the table and pulls me into a hug. I don't know how long I cry on her shoulder, but when the tears finally stop both of our coffees are cold.
"I'm sorry," I mumble, swiping the sleeve of my top across my eyes. "I don't know where that came from."
"I do," she assures me, patting my hand. "It happens to everyone the first time. You feel guilty for being here while other people aren't. It's natural - but don't let yourself believe that it's in any way your fault."
"Thank you. I'm sorry I got your top all wet."
"No problem," she smiles. "Could I get you another latte?"
"No, I'll-"
"It's my turn," she insists with a wink. "You bought the first round."
When she returns with the drinks, she's whistling a familiar tune. "My mother used to sing that song," I laugh.
"Well, you have me to thank for that - I taught it to her."
"I wasn't thanking you," I laugh, "did you ever hear her sing?"
"Can't say that I did - and something tells me I should be glad." Her expression turns serious. "I have something else to ask you...but I can't ask you without admitting that I violated your privacy a little."
"Besides bugging my computer?"
"Yes," she looks at her lap. "That beam of light that passed through you when you walked into the room in the clock tower...it was a scanner of sorts."
"Of what sorts?" I ask her, honestly curious now.
"Pretty much everything...right down to your DNA."
"DNA? How could it be a DNA scanner if it doesn't take any blood samples?"
"It's pretty cutting-edge stuff...I could explain how it works, but that would get us off track."
Suddenly the implications of what she's saying sink in. "I think," I swallow, "I think I know what you're going to ask, but ask it anyway."
"Does Kate know you're her daughter?"
"No."
"Who did they get to do the genetic manipulation for them? And didn't Renee ever contact her to tell her that it worked?"
"I have absolutely no idea. It squicks me out to think of the two of them having sex, never mind the details of my conception. I remember hearing Renee talk about Cadmus at some point, but that may be apropos of nothing - I don't know that Cadmus does that sort of thing. As for the second part, no. Don't ask why, 'cause I couldn't tell you."
"Do you plan on telling her? I just want to know, because we still work together from time to time and I wouldn't want to let anything slip if you don't want her to know."
"I..." lost for a way to continue, I stall by taking a long drink of coffee. "I don't know yet. I just met her for the first time in my life. I don't know if I'm ready to drop that bombshell just yet."
"I understand - like I said, I just wanted to be clear on what I should say. I'm really sorry to have invaded your privacy like that - it wasn't any of my business."
"No," I growl in a mock-serious tone, "it wasn't. There's only one way you can make it up to me, or you'll be forever in my debt."
She raises her arms and assumes her best terrified look. "Anything - I'll do anything at all!"
"Let me take you out for dinner tomorrow."
She arches a dark eyebrow as her arms fall to her sides. "In a 'two friends having dinner' sort of way, you mean?"
"No...that's not exactly what I meant."
"Jessie...I'm a little old to be dating you. I mean, I'm flattered, but-"
"How about you let me decide that? You're beautiful, Barbara, and I'd really like the chance to get to know you better. I'm not asking you to move in with me or anything, just to have dinner and talk."
She chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip. "Okay," she acquiesces, "but it can't be tomorrow. I've got...some business to take care of. It may take a couple of days - could I call you next week and set something up?"
"Absolutely," I keep the tremor out of my voice - but barely. "Could I walk you home?"
"I think I can find my way," she laughs. "Take care on the subway, okay?"
"I've got Mr. Zap here," I show her the taser, and she nods approvingly.
"Good. Take care, Jessie, and I'll call you next week, okay?"
"You'd better," I growl, and she laughs again. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," she says, and the warmth in her voice has me smiling all the way home.
So...that was Friday. Not exactly what I was expecting when I found out my computer was bugged, but I couldn't be happier about it. The next morning, I called Renee that night and asked everything I could think of about her, without letting on that I'd actually met her.
Renee knew a lot about her, as it turns out. She used to be Batgirl, before a well-placed bullet paralysed her from the waist down and ended her tenure. Rather than wallow in it, though, she reinvented herself as Oracle, becoming a key source of information for heroes everywhere as well as founding her own group of superheroes. She really is amazing...
And later that day, I found out what business she had to take care of - there was a coordinated attack on Two-Face's interests around the city with her Birds of Prey involved, which meant that she was sitting in her room in the clock tower, making sure everyone was in their places at the right times.
The weekend was a blur, other than that - I got called in to work, so that ate up most of it, and the rest of it I spent shopping for groceries and the like, and mixing in a healthy amount of sleeping.
Monday, I got sent out for my first story since the pier thing. It was a nice, simple, community interest piece on a couple of Gotham's geriatric crowd, and it came and went in relative peace. Although, if those old birds had kept yapping any longer, I was prepared to stick my teaspoon in my ear and one of their rock-hard ginger snaps right up my nose, just for something to do...
Today I went out again, to cover a reported sighting of Batwoman. It turned out the guy was a meth addict looking for a quick buck selling a made-up story to the paper, but it got me thinking just the same. Should I tell mom who I am? If Barbara knows, then there's probably someone else out there who can figure it out. Should I tell her before someone does it for me? What will that do to our relationship? Urg...I hate being this serious.
In the good news column, Barbara called and asked if I could have dinner with her tomorrow night! Which means shopping for a decent dress...or perhaps an indecent one.
And that's the news of the week! Comments? Questions? Yes, you - the short one in the back. No, I don't know where the bathroom is - I'm an exhibit, not a tour guide! Any real questions? No? Okay - goodnight, then!
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