The Way Back #31

Helena took to sledding like a duck to water. The course was safe enough—Bruce had made sure that he and Clark had banked plenty of snow at the bottom of the hill and piled it into a low wall that would keep the sled from shooting into the hedges bordering the meadow. It wasn't the best packing snow, and they'd had to make the wall a good two feet thick to be effective. On the other hand, it was excellent for landing—soft and powdery. Helena had plunged in face-first, and then picked herself up laughing—and completely covered in snow. Then she had grabbed hold of the wooden sled and tried to drag it back up to the top of the hill.

Bruce went forward to help her. Halfway up, a thought occurred to him. "Watch her?" he asked Jim. Without waiting for an answer, he strode off toward a nearby shed.

He wasn't entirely sure of the condition he'd find it in. He'd packed it away and hadn't thought about it in years. It would serve him right if the wood had rotted or warped by now. When he pulled away the drop-cloth, however, he could see that the sled appeared to be in fine condition.

It was wooden pull sled with stainless steel runners, designed to carry an adult's weight. Bruce examined it more closely, making sure that all the screws were intact, and that none of the slats were cracked or splintered. Satisfied, he lifted it up and made his way back to the hill, just in time to see Helena coming down.

She let out a squeal of delight when she saw what Bruce was holding. "Big sled!" She exclaimed. "I want!"

Bruce smiled. "I thought you might. Come on. We'll use it together."

Jim wrapped his scarf around the lower part of his face. "I'm going to head back now," he said. "The two of you might be too active to feel the cold, but I'm starting to freeze out here."

Bruce frowned. "We could go in with you—"

"And spoil her fun?" Jim shook his head, smiling. "I'm fine. Be back in an hour, and I'll have some cocoa ready."

"Well, if you're sure..." Bruce smiled down at his daughter, who was tugging impatiently at his hand.

"Positive. See you in a bit."

--

Martha was making up a casserole when Jim came in through the kitchen. 'Making up' seemed to be entirely accurate, as there was no cookbook in evidence. She greeted the former commissioner cheerfully, turned on the sink, and began scrubbing a carrot.

Jim picked up a peeler from the table. "How many potatoes do you need?"

Martha considered. "Start with four, I suppose. We can always add more if we need to."

Jim nodded. "This isn't much of a vacation for you, is it?"

She laughed. "I haven't been to Gotham since I was a girl; and even though my son has been running off on assignment at all hours, I've seen more of him these last few days than I generally do in a year." She reached for another carrot. "I like to cook, Jim. I always have. Mercifully, I haven't needed to do any cleaning beyond washing up after myself." She smiled. "Actually, I think this is the first real vacation I've had in years."

Jim didn't say anything for a few minutes. He finished peeling the potatoes, cut them into chunks, and placed them in a small mixing bowl. "Celery?" he asked, seeing it on the table.

"Three stalks in two-inch pieces, on the diagonal, if you don't mind." She paused. "Thank you."

"A pleasure." He took a breath. "Martha... I...I was wondering whether you wanted to go into the city a bit later. I'm told that City Hall outdid itself decorating Old Gotham this year. It might be worth seeing."

Martha set down the carrots. "Are you... asking me out?"

Jim hesitated. "If it's too soon, I understand. And if it's not too soon, but it's not me," he snorted, "I suppose I can understand that, too. But the way I see it, if we can sit up and talk 'til all hours, and not run out of things to say... and if we can also sit up 'til all hours and not feel that we need to have anything to say at all, well, it seems to me that there might be a relationship worth exploring." He paused. "Or maybe it's just wishful thinking on my part," he said, looking away.

"We could head off around three," Martha said softly. "That should give us enough time for a bit of sightseeing before dinner."

Slowly, Jim turned back to face her.

Her smile was almost shy. "Maybe it's wishful thinking and maybe it isn't," she admitted. "We've only just met, and of course I don't really know you well. But talking to you feels like talking to a friend I've had forever, and there aren't very many people I can say that about." She took a deep breath. "Right now, I can't say whether that friendship stands a chance at becoming anything more... but I'm willing to take the opportunity to find out."

Apprehension gave way to relief as Jim smiled back. "Well, then. I'll bring my car around to the front at three."

"I'll be ready." She reached for the parsley and began chopping it absently. She was still smiling.

--

Barbara was hard at work at her console. Something was bothering her. The trail that Dick had asked her to explore had seemed to end with MAZE, but for some reason she couldn't quite put her finger on, it felt to her like there was something she'd overlooked. Only the security alert jerked her out of her thoughts.

She looked at the window behind her and smiled. "Cass! Come in." She took in the younger woman's expression. "What's the matter?"

Cass took a deep breath. "GED. Why..." She hesitated. "Why didn't you tell me I could have... help?"

Barbara blinked. "I thought we were helping you," she said in confusion. "Tim tells me you've been showing a lot of improvement with the language arts part. If you're not getting the math, I could—"

"No. Help when I... take the test." Haltingly she explained what Dr. Arkham had told her earlier. "He's right?"

Barbara nodded.

"Why not tell me?"

Barbara thought for a moment. "I don't know," she admitted finally. "I guess, partly because you didn't ask... but I should have suggested it."

Cass shook her head. "Wouldn't have listened," she said with a twisted half-smile. "Afraid you'd think... I was too stupid to... um... write test without help."

Barbara took a deep breath. "Do you think that I'm too stupid to walk?" she asked quietly.

"What?"

She repeated the question. "I mean, most people my age can handle it. Heck, Helena can walk, and she's not even two, yet. So, if babies can walk, and I can't, does that mean I'm not bright enough?"

"No! You can't walk because your legs don't work. Nothing... stupid. Only stupid is if you... believe that!"

Barbara grinned. "And you have trouble reading because there's a part of your brain that doesn't process information the way other people's do. And just like I have ways to get around my paralysis—like this chair, or like my customized van—you're finding ways to get around your reading problem."

"I do read. Slowly."

"And I can get around with the chair, within limits. My point is that the problems you have with reading are completely separate from your level of intelligence. That being said, if you need extra help to take the test, I'll make sure you get it."

Cass hesitated. "I need doctor note," she ventured.

"I'll put in a call to Dr. McLeod in the morning."

"Dr. McLeod?" She'd almost forgotten him.

"Hey, he's the one who assessed you in the first place." Her smile grew wider. "Bet he'll be thrilled when he hears how far you've come in such a short time."

Slowly, Cass smiled back.

--

"MAZE is an international espionage agency, Dodge," Batman explained. "Mostly, they trade in information, although they've also been known to serve other functions, such as smear campaigns and assassinations."

The blond boy nodded. In the bright lamplight, the flickering nimbus of mystic power that kept him from being pulled to the Astral Plane was barely visible.

"Recently," Batman continued, "we've uncovered evidence that they've taken an interest in hi-tech as well. From what we can tell, they had a mole in S.T.A.R. Labs, who passed on the specs of your father's research—among other things."

Dodge's head jerked up at that.

Batman nodded. "What I presume happened was that they shopped that information around until they found a potential buyer who offered them a certain sum for a working prototype. Since there wasn't one—at least not one that they knew of..."

"They kidnapped my Dad," Dodge finished. His jaw set stubbornly. "I want them."

"I thought you'd think that way," Batman nodded. "Word is that they're also behind a bio-weapons lab in upstate New York. That's where I'm headed tomorrow." He leaned forward, his expression serious. "If you're going to come with me, there are a few things that I need you to understand. First: there is no proof whatsoever that the people we're going to fight are the ones who were involved in your father's murder. MAZE is a multinational organization with an estimated eight thousand members. I'd say the odds are frankly against it. Second: I'm not offering to take you with me because I approve of you wanting revenge. I don't. In fact, if you forget yourself and run off half-cocked, this will be the first and last time that you ever accompany me on a mission. I'm inviting you to come with me primarily because, with your physical form residing mainly on the Astral Plane, you should be immune to any viruses or other biological weapons that we might encounter. If facing the organization that turned your life upside-down gives you some sort of closure, that's great—but I'd be asking you to come along, regardless."

"Then, how come you're making such a big deal over who they are?"

Batman's lips set in a grim line. "Because if Yoda had told Luke that Darth Vader was his father in the first place, odds are that Luke wouldn't have lost his hand in that fight."

"What?"

"How about, 'if you found out about it later, and then discovered I'd deliberately kept it from you, you'd go ballistic'?" His expression softened. "Raven tells me you've made a lot of progress. A long time ago, you said you wanted to join me. She thinks you're ready. Are you?"

Dodge nodded. "Let's roll."

A tiny smile played on Batman's face. "Get some sleep first. We're heading for the Outsiders' HQ first thing in the morning."

--

If Dick had entertained any notion that Dodge had grown calmer in the past few months, he was quickly disabused of the idea the next day. The younger boy was practically dancing on his feet when they approached the entrance to the Outsiders' base of operations. "If you ask Cyborg for his autograph," he deadpanned, "I will never bring you here again."

Dodge wilted for a moment. Then, with a mischievous smirk, he asked, "How about Halo's?"

Dick's lips twitched—which spoiled his glower.

"Please place your right hand on the glass for identification."

Dick blinked, but after a moment, he obeyed.

"I am unable to obtain a clear reading. Please remove any material that may be obstructing my scan."

Under his cowl, Dick rolled his eyes, but he pulled off his glove and set his bare hand on the glass plate.

"Batman. Your identity has been confirmed. Please wait."

A moment later, the vid-screen located just above the panel blinked on and Cyborg appeared on the monitor.

"No retinal scan?" Dick asked.

"We're an interplanetary team," Cyborg said hoarsely. "Not all of us have retinas. Palm scan picks up a lot more than fingerprints—" Cyborg coughed violently. One metallic hand flew to cover his mouth.

"You okay?" Dick asked with some concern.

Cyborg shook his head. "There's a flu bug going around. Thunder caught it and decided to share it with the rest of us. I thought it missed me, but," he covered his mouth again as another paroxysm of coughing seized him, "I woke up like this." He put a hand to his forehead. "I was hoping it was one of those things where you feel lousy when you get up and then better as the day wears on, but no luck. Sorry, Batman," he spared a glance for the other person standing outside, "Dodge. I didn't mean for you to come out here for nothing, but I guess you two are going to have to tackle this one on your own."

Dick pulled his glove back on and nodded understanding. "Take care of yourselves. We'll be back before you know it."

--

Their first stop was the Devereux mansion in nearby Sands Point. "Well, this is a break for us," Dick said with a low whistle.

"What?"

"She's relying on electronics to keep trespassers out."

"But that's bad," Dodge protested. "Isn't it?"

Dick shook his head. "Only electronics." He grinned. "Well, let's see." He hit his comm-link. "O? Do we do this the easy way, or the fun way?"

There was a chuckle on the other end. "Your 'easy' is my 'fun'. Give me five minutes. And I probably don't have to mention it, but I'd do a quick spot check on your position and make sure that there aren't any cameras pointing your way."

"On it." He looked around, frowned suddenly, and tossed a batarang over one shoulder. There was a muffled crack. "So much for the lens," he muttered. "Let's just hope she doesn't have an army on the grounds checking the feed." They waited tensely, but there was no activity from the mansion. It was nearly ten minutes before Oracle gave them the 'all-clear'.

"So, what are we looking for, anyway?" Dodge asked.

Dick turned to him slowly. "We left Gotham over four hours ago, and you're only now thinking to ask that?"

"Sorry."

He sighed. "We can't just bring her in without evidence," he said, relenting. "I doubt we'll find an accounting entry that reads, 'paid to John Doe for the murder of Todd Smith, one million dollars', but I hope we can come up with something. Can you teleport us in?"

Dodge hesitated. "It'll probably be safer if I go in and then unlock the door," he admitted.

"Okay. Commence when ready."

A few seconds later, he was stepping into the foyer.

A cursory search of the first floor yielded nothing worth mentioning. The same held true for the bedrooms on the second floor. It was when they entered her private study that they hit paydirt—in a padlocked display case.

"A menu from... um... Fruits De Mur... an empty bottle of vermouth, a lock of hair, an earring, a fountain pen, a check book... I don't get it," Dodge protested. "Why put this junk in the case?" All at once, his face twisted with revulsion. "Ugh. Is that a finger? I'm gonna puke."

"On the Astral Plane, if you don't mind," Dick rejoined. "And to answer your question, they're trophies. Oracle's done her homework. Fruits de Mer was where her father ate his last meal. Her husband died after a few too many drug-and-alcohol cocktails. The hair is from Leroi Tomas, a fashion model who tried to walk out on his contract. That's a nose-ring, not an earring—from Sean Rossiter. She was having an affair with him, until he decided to go back to his wife. The pen—"

"Okay, I get it. Everyone she killed, she keeps something. So... do we call the cops?"

"Close. We can't go running to them with a story about how a respected fashion designer keeps stuff like this in her den. This isn't Gotham. They won't get a warrant based on our say-so." He pulled a clear plastic bag out of his utility belt and a pair of tweezers. "Here. Reach through the glass to get that stuff out of there, but since I'm not sure whether your Astral form will leave fingerprints, don't use your bare hands. We'll stop by JSA Headquarters—they've got more cred with NYPD than we do. Then? We're going to take a drive to upstate New York and intercept Devereux at her work, before she has a chance to realize what we're up to and make a break for it."

Dodge hesitated.

"Dodge? Get the stuff in the bag, and let's get out of here."

The boy stood unmoving for a moment. Then, slowly, he began to comply. Dick noted that, although he left the finger for last, he didn't utter a word of protest.

--

Barbara stared at her display for another moment. She knew what she was seeing, but she magnified the photograph another notch, just to be positive. Then she opened a channel to Dick. "B? It's O. I think I found something."

An instant later, Dick acknowledged. "Hit me."

"I'm sending an old photo to the Batmobile's onboard computer. Are you driving?"

There was a pause. "Yeah, hang on. I'd better pull over to have a look. Rest stop in three miles; I'll park there."

It was less than five minutes before Dick's voice came over her channel again, but it seemed like longer. "Okay," he said. "I'm opening the file." There was a pause. "Cyrillic lettering on the sign in the background, so I'm guessing it's either Russia or, at the very least, the people in the photo are Russian..." His voice hardened. "Hold on. The woman on the far end... that's Heloise Sinclair, isn't it?"

"Yes. That photo is from 1991. It was taken in Haeju, North Korea. That is Russian equipment. The guy with the moustache just to the right of center is Doctor Arkady Nikolaev. In 1990, he was a leading virologist, affiliated with the Zagorsk Virological Center, just outside Moscow. When the Soviet Union collapsed, he disappeared."

"And ended up in North Korea?"

"Looks like." Barbara frowned. He had to have spotted the other emblem by now.

"Okay," Dick said. "So, we have a Russian virologist, an American infectious disease specialist, and two apparent members of the League of Assassins caught on film while meeting in North Korea in 1991. My Russian is rusty, but I recognize the words for 'caution' and 'danger', especially when they're in bold red letters." He took a deep breath. "Biological warfare." There was no hint of uncertainty in his tone.

He had spotted the LOA emblem. Barbara nodded. Then she remembered that they weren't on a vid-phone and Dick couldn't see it. "In 1989, Zagorsk was home to a stockpile of over twenty tons of weapons-grade smallpox. Russia maintains that, after it abandoned its bio-weapons program, all of that was either destroyed or transferred to the VECTOR institute in Koltsovo." She let out a long breath. "And no, there's no outside confirmation on either point—not whether they've abandoned that line of research, and not whether they did actually consolidate all their smallpox stores at VECTOR. But in 1991? Right when the Soviet Union fell? If you want to know how plausible it is that some of those stores made their way out of the country, the simplest response is 'very'."

Dick was silent for a moment. Then, "If you want me to speculate about R'as's involvement, all I can say is that this photo was taken about fifteen years before the Clench hit Gotham. When you take his longevity into consideration, fifteen years is probably nothing to him. I'm guessing that he thought about using smallpox, but at some point decided to go with something else entirely." He let out a slow breath. "So, Dr. Sinclair has a connection with the League of Assassins."

"There's more," Barbara swallowed hard. "The LOA is bankrolling MAZE." She waited for it to sink in.

After a moment, Dick said shakily, "Then I guess it's probably a good thing that I have a biohazard suit in the trunk and a smallpox immunization in my medical file. I think Bruce even gave me a booster when I was in high school. Yeah, he did—I remember now; my arm was sore for a week." He took a breath. "Thanks for the heads-up, O. We'll be careful."

--

Dodge eyed the chain-link fence dubiously. "I thought there'd be guards patrolling or something."

"If the League of Assassins is involved," Batman replied, "we might not necessarily see them." At his companion's puzzled look, he continued, "They can hide in plain sight."

"Cool. So they're like ninjas?" There was no reply. Dodge looked around. Now, where had Batman got to...?

"Thank you for not comparing them to Bats."

Dodge gave a start. Batman seemed to have materialized out of thin air. "How did you dothat?"

"Years of practice. I know you did it earlier to get into the mansion, but how comfortable are you with teleporting blind?"

The youth blinked.

Batman sighed. "If we have to fight our way in, we'll risk alerting the researchers that we're here. We're outnumbered. Probably outgunned, too. I'd rather not waste our strength on the flunkies and give the real top brass time to get away—or destroy the evidence. Your teleportation gives us an edge. So, I repeat: how safely can you teleport to a location you don't know?"

Dodge considered. "I guess I could do it that way," he said slowly, "but it might be better if I go to the Astral Plane, case the place, and then come back for you."

Dick smiled. He'd been debating whether to make that suggestion, and was glad that he hadn't. The boy was beginning to think. "That's an idea," he said. "How much time do you need?"

"I don't know. Maybe twenty minutes?"

"Take an hour. Locate Devereux and take note of how many people are working with her, and whether they appear armed. Then find a spot nearby where you can teleport me. I'm thinking of something like a storeroom... maybe even a supply closet. Don't worry so much if the door is locked—I can take care of that. The main thing is that I don't want to push open that door and find fifty armed people surrounding the entrance." He sighed. "Okay. While you're off doing that, I guess I'd better get the hazmat suit out of the trunk and suit up."

--

On his return to the Batmobile, Dodge took one look at the hazmat suit and fought back a laugh. "You have bat-ears on your space helmet?" he managed.

Dick pursed his lips. "One day," he said shortly, "you may take a marketing class. They'll teach you all about product branding. We're not going in undercover—we want them to know who we are. I can either wear a nametag, or I can modify the helmet. You tell me what works better. Besides," he muttered under his breath, "it's the only way the thing fits over the cowl."

"What's in the pouches?" Dodge pointed to the two bags strapped securely to his waist and anchored by additional straps to his thighs.

"Everything I could transfer from my utility belt for easy access. Report."

"Okay, okay. I found her. There's a lab two levels underground. She's in charge, but she has four people helping her. They're all wearing hazmat suits," he smirked, "with no pointy ears," he sobered instantly, "but they've got that same emblem you showed me before, so I guess they're ninja scientists?"

"Take a breath, Dodge," Batman said dryly. "And not necessarily. It's likely that they are, but it's also possible that they're just using R'as al Ghul's surplus. I'd bet a hazmat suit isn't something she can pass off as next spring's hot new look. Did you get close enough to find out what she's working on?"

"I saw a label on a file drawer. I think it said... orth...orthopox virus! That was it. What is that?"

Batman felt a chill pass over him. "It's the scientific classification of a specific genus, or 'family' of pox viruses—one of which happens to be smallpox."

Dodge blinked. "But nobody gets that anymore!"

"That's the problem right there," Batman explained. "The reason nobody gets it anymore is because they managed to vaccinate most of the world's population against the disease. But, because it doesn't occur naturally now, they stopped the vaccination programs decades ago. Which means that, if someone were to let it loose today..."

Dodge went white. "How... how bad would it be?"

"The most common strain had a forty per cent mortality rate. There were two other—much rarer—forms that were virtually one hundred per cent fatal. And let's just hope she isn't working on mutating a strain to make it vaccine-resistant."

"But... wait. You said smallpox is only one of the viruses in that group, right?"

"Yeah. But it might be the only one that can wipe out humans. Ever heard of anyone getting camelpox?"

"Chickenpox."

"Good comeback, but that one's actually part of a completely different genus. Anyway, I doubt she'd need a hazmat suit for any of the orthopoxes except smallpox. So unless we find out otherwise, we need to assume that's what we're dealing with. Raven tells me your tether to the Astral Plane makes you immune; given that you're incorporeal on Earth, the virus has nothing to hook into. Since I don't have that advantage, I need you to tell me if you notice anything breaching my suit."

"Thought you had the vaccine."

"Yeah, but if she's trying to engineer a resistant strain, that might not help me."

Dodge swallowed.

"You ready?"

He managed a jerky nod.

"Okay," he said, "Let's do this."

--

At first, it was relatively easy. A chokehold dispatched one of the two Assassins guarding the lab. Dodge disappeared into a portal with the second. When both emerged a moment later, the guard was white-faced, shaking, and offering no resistance whatsoever.

"Do we lock 'em up?" Dodge asked as he tightened a second set of plasti-cuffs on his captive.

"No time. Leave 'em for the cops. Or R'as. He doesn't like it when they fail." The guard went even paler at that. Batman smiled grimly. "Let's go."

They passed through a shower room and a suit room before coming to a steel door with a red biohazard symbol on it. Batman swallowed. "There should be a decontamination shower past this point," he said. "Use it. If there's the slightest chance that you aren't totally immune, this might help. And my suit isn't exactly sterile at the moment—I don't want to bring anything else in with me."

Dodge nodded. "First time I ever took a shower in my clothes," he said gamely.

Batman ignored that. "Dodge, before we enter decon, I'm going to pull down my face-shield and seal the suit. It'll muffle my voice, so if you have any questions, now's the time."

Dodge pointed to the steel door at the opposite wall. This one had a black biohazard symbol on it. "Is that...?"

"Yep."

"Do you need to put those on?" He gestured toward the row of galoshes on the shelf next to the door.

"No. The lab workers put them on to protect their feet, in case their normal shoes have holes in them." Batman replied. "If I even suspected mine did, I'd switch 'em out for a pair, but mine are all right." He took a deep breath. "Okay. If anything hits the fan, Devereux is your target. If you get a clear shot at her, you get her to the Astral Plane and..." He broke off. "Do you have a way of confining her there?"

Dodge nodded. "I just make a protective field, like I do for me when I go there. Except I anchor it and don't put in a door."

"Okay. Do that and bring in Raven. I'll take care of the League. Also, if you see them trying to shred files or wipe data, grab what you can. Make a few trips if you have to—we need to know exactly what they've been doing here. And if you see anyone leave—Dodge, this is important—intercept them before they get outside." His jaw set. "Normal procedure is to take a second decon shower when leaving the lab—to make sure nothing leaves with you. If they're trying to run, odds are extremely high that they won't."

"Got it."

"Okay." Batman pulled down his face plate and closed the front seal. It snapped shut automatically. Then he entered one of the shower stalls and activated the spray.

Dodge was waiting for him outside. Dick tilted his head to one side in a questioning gesture. Dodge nodded. He was ready. Batman took a last deep breath and pulled open the door.

--

The screaming was the first thing they registered—shrill and ear-splitting. An instant later, they understood why. The lab was made up of three large rooms, which led into each other. The first room contained fresh equipment—Petri dishes, test tubes, droppers and slides, among other things. However, the walls of the second room were lined from floor to ceiling with cages. Each cage housed at least one monkey. Batman was able to identify over a dozen species without trying. Some were alert, some were listless, and some were extremely active. Many seemed to be healthy enough, but others—particularly the listless ones—appeared to be in pain, and some bore evidence of lesions and pustules on their skin.

Through the entrance to the third room, they could see several people in hazmat suits, hard at work. Either they found it hard to hear through their helmets, or they were used to the noise from the cages, for not one of them looked up.

Batman gestured to Dodge to move slowly. Whatever it was that the scientists were working on, he didn't think it was a good idea for any of it to spill.

One of the monkeys, a large macaque, was hurling himself at the bars. Batman halted his advance for a moment to regard it. Enraged, the monkey flung himself more forcefully against the cage door. Dick gestured to Dodge to keep moving.

A heavy steel sheet suddenly slammed down, blocking the way into the innermost lab. At the same time, a second sheet sealed off the way they'd just come. Then, as Dick watched in horror, the door of each cage slowly began to open.

Many of the monkeys ignored them completely, but the big macaque was not one of them. Neither were several large chimpanzees. They were on him in an instant, clawing at his suit, tearing at his helmet. He saw a gash appear in his sleeve—the chimp had torn through the first protective layer, but hadn't breached the Kevlar core. That extra protection was yet another reason that he'd insisted on using the customized suits; had this been a standard issue suit, a breach like this could have been deadly.

"Dodge!" Batman yelled as the macaque leaped for him, "Get us into the inner lab!" He hoped the boy could hear him.

"Batman!" Dodge's voice came faintly. "Get. Them. Off. You! If. I. Port. They. Come. Too!"

Wonderful. Well, even if he could have done it in the suit, he doubted he could out-acrobat a dozen aggressive monkeys. He did his best to fight them off, but they were swarming him. He didn't know how much the suit could take. His gloved hand fumbled at the pouch fasteners, and as soon as they came loose, he reached in and pulled out a handful of smooth small balls. "Close your eyes and stop your ears!" He yelled. Then he screwed his own eyelids tightly shut and tossed the flash-bangs.

The suit protected his ears from the worst of the blast. The monkeys weren't as lucky. As one, they jumped away and retreated to the far corners of the room, shrieking and whimpering. Someone grabbed his arm and he looked down to see that it was Dodge. The boy was holding onto him with one hand, while tapping his head with the other.

Thanks for the vote of sanity, kid, he thought, fixing Dodge with a scowl. Dodge pointed first to the door by which they'd entered, and then to the door ahead. Batman's scowl deepened as he pointed to the innermost door. Dodge shrugged. An instant later, they were standing on the other side of the steel plate.

--

The researchers started as they materialized. Four of them laid down their equipment and advanced. They carried no weapons. They needed none.

The other researcher spared them a glance, then immediately went back to the computer. Batman's eyes narrowed. He gestured to Dodge. Even if it wasn't Devereux, he'd lay odds that whoever this person was, they were attempting to purge the records of their experiments.

Dodge didn't hesitate. As one of the Assassins charged him, he vanished—only to reappear several yards away, next to the last researcher. He seized the scientist's arm in both hands. An instant later, Batman was alone with the League of Assassins.

They advanced toward him in unison, surrounding him in a semi-circle, backing him against the steel door. Batman considered his options. He wasn't carrying batarangs on him, nor any other sharp objects. He hadn't wanted to risk nicking a suit. Of course, that was one more disadvantage: the Assassins would have no compunction about nicking his. No gas—the suits had their own air regulators. He'd used his flash-bangs on the monkeys... Wait! He'd been carrying two canisters of the stuff, even though each had been almost too long to fit into the pouches. Of course!

Batman twisted away from a wicked kick aimed at his mid-section, caught his assailant's leg, and spun, smashing the Assassin into one of his companions.

Then he pulled out a canister of sticky foam and sprayed the contents over the two prone men. The other two tried to rush him, but he rammed the butt end of the empty canister into the solar plexus of one, and drove an elbow into the gut of the other. Two well-flung bolas later, they, too, were out of action.

"O? Can you hear me?"

There was only static in response. With all the shielding around the lab, he wasn't overly surprised. With a mental shrug, he unplugged the computer and turned the tower on its side on the lab table. He took a small screwdriver out of one of his pouches, and unscrewed the side access panel. It took him less than a minute to remove the hard drive and deposit it into one of the pouches in an airtight, sterile plastic bag. Now how was he going to get out of here with the monkeys roaming free in the next room? He scanned the walls quickly, looking for another way out. He smiled as his eye lit upon a door sealed with brown duct tape. Above it was a sign that read 'Crash Door'. He had just found the fire exit. He took a running dash at the portal and slammed into it with his shoulder. The tape gave, and he found himself standing in a long hallway. There was an arrow pointing him toward another decontamination shower room. He sprinted in the direction it indicated. He'd done it. He and Dodge had shut down a bio-weapons lab while bringing in a known murderer. They had done it with no deaths and no injuries. It had gone off without a hitch.

He was smiling as he stepped into the shower and a mix of water and Lysol poured over the suit. The smile froze, and then vanished entirely when he became aware of a trickle of moisture streaming down his face. Horrified, he turned the handle to shut off the flow and, with shaking hands, unsealed his helmet.

One of the bat-ears was missing—doubtless wrenched off by one of the monkeys. There was a small hole in the helmet where the ear had been. So, that was what Dodge had been trying to tell him, back in the monkey room. Dick pulled off one of his gloves and reached up to touch the cowl ear. His hand came down on a second hole—and his own hair. He heard his heart thud in his chest. What exactly had he been exposed to?

His heart was still pounding as he changed into one of the clean suits hanging in the next room. The Batmobile was a sealed environment, but he wasn't going to risk contaminating anyone on the way with who-knew-what.

--

Alone in the car, Dick took a slow breath. "O? Are you there?"

"Hiya B," Babs greeted him cheerfully. "In case you're interested, the New York County DA's office has just issued an arrest warrant for Heloise Vanessa Devereux. And I imagine that there are some other counties that are going to want jurisdiction."

"Babs," Dick said hollowly, "I need to know what she was working on. I..." He took another breath. "I had a breach in my containment suit. Send Dodge or Raven over and I'll send you her hard-drive. Just make sure you put it through decontamination first."

There was a sharp intake of breath. "Acknowledged. Are you...?"

"I'm fine, so far."

Dodge materialized in the front seat. Dick handed him the hard drive wordlessly. Dodge took it and vanished.

"I have it," Barbara said. Her voice was steady. "I'll let you know when I have an answer."

"I'll wait."

It was nearly two hours before Barbara contacted him again.

--

"Don't tell me," Dick forced a smile into his voice. "You have good news and you have bad news."

Silence.

"Babs?"

"I... okay. Yes. Sort of."

"Babs, whatever it is, I can take it. Just..." He swallowed. "Just tell me."

"Okay. She was working with three different pox viruses: smallpox, monkeypox, and cowpox."

"Wait," Dick said. "Cowpox? That's the vaccine, isn't it?"

"The original. The one in use up until general vaccination was discontinued was a variant called kinepox, but close enough."

"And it was ordinary smallpox? Not a mutated strain?"

"As far as I can tell."

Dick brightened. "Babs, that's good news! I told you before: I've had the vaccine. I'm fine."

He waited to hear her relief. Instead, he heard a sob. "Dick, when did you have your last booster?"

Dick thought for a moment. "It was right before high school, so... I guess, fourteen years ago. Why?" Then, alarmed, "Babs? Are you... crying?"

"Dick." He heard her fighting for control in every word. "The smallpox vaccination only lasts five years. After that, the protection starts to fade. After fourteen years... Dick," her voice faltered, "you... you're back to square one."

As her words sank in, Dick slumped back against the cushioned seat of the Batmobile. He closed his eyes. There was a roaring in his ears as his heart started to pound again.

"Dick?"

He took a deep breath. "It... sounds like I'd better drive to the nearest hospital, then," he said faintly.

That was when a new, familiar voice broke into their conversation.

"No," Bruce was emphatic. "Dick, come home."

To be continued!!!!

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