The Magical Bat 5:
#include stdDisclaimer.h: Batman, Catwoman, Alfred, Babs, Dick, Lucius Fox, and the others, are DC Comic's toys, as are John Stewart and the rest of the Lantern crew. Hogwarts, Albus, Minerva, the Weasleys and the others in the Potterverse belong to the fabulous JK Rowling. The Morton family is used with the permission of GITM. I'm just playing with their toys, and they'll be put back later. Everyone else, they're mine. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Copyright 2009 Kara Anne Kalel karanne AT gmail DOT com. All rights reserved. No money is made, and no infringement is implied or intended.
This is a sequel to my stories:
The Bat & the Cat, redux, The Magical Bat (I), Magical Bat: Road Trip (1.5), Magical Bat II, Magical Bat: Training Trip (2.5), Magical Bat III, Magical Bat: Business Trip (3.5), Magical Bat IV, and Magical Bat: Bad Trip (4.5).
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For disclaimers, please see above.
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Chapter 1: 1 ~ 15 September 2002
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Sunday, September 1, 2002: 00:00:00 (GMT)
Terran orbit, GEO docks, MV (A) Manhattan,:
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Eleanor watched her ship's computer terminal tick over, and glanced across the table at Karen, who whispered, "We're committed now." They heard a final 'clank' and watched out the port as the steel structure of the dock started to slowly recede. "We certainly are," she replied.
To: May Branstone (school)
From: Eleanor Branstone
Date: 1 September, 2002
Subject: New beginnings
Hello!
I'm sending this to you as it is midnight, and our ship, the Manhattan, has just undocked from the port. A final 'clank' and we can see the steel beams of the structure slowly recede. The clarity and view is of course 'tack sharp' as there's no intervening atmosphere.
I'm off on my grand adventure, as you are just starting yours. By the time you read this, you will have been Sorted, and whilst I retain hopes of Hufflepuff, please know that I will be pleased and proud of you no matter what House you are Sorted into. That being said, the teachers are there to assist you and help you learn (yes, even Professor Snape!). I would suggest that you form a study group with your year-mates (yes, even from different Houses), as you are all there to learn, and what subjects you find easy and difficult, another will have a different experience.
You also have another resource in your Housemates. Believe me when I say that what you find impossible to do as a Firstie will be easy by Third and automatic by Fifth. Every one of them (yes, even the lordly Seventh-years) was a Firstie at one point, just as all those frightening teachers scowling at you from the Head Table. Every single one of them was Sorted; every single one of them had difficulties mastering particular subjects.
Another resource you have is those self-same teachers. They expect you to approach others first for academic assistance, but will be willing to help you. Think of them as a 'Mum' or 'Dad' also, if you have emotional or personal problems. Also, Mrs. Potter ('Ginny') is an informal 'House Mum' if you feel nervous or embarrassed talking to a bloke, or for that matter someone else. Remember that Professors Flitwick and Snape, whilst they are men, have also dealt with hundreds of young women like you over the years, I doubt there is a problem they haven't heard.
Lastly, you have me. You can always send me an email, although if my ship is FTL I won't receive it until we orbit a planet. Once we're at Windfall, I will be out and about, so it might be a day or three before I see it and reply. They do want me to say that you need to use plain text (as I am), and do not include attachments. This is for bandwidth reasons, the interstellar 'pipe' is fairly small, and we don't want to stop it up! smile Interstellar plumbers are frightfully expensive!
Should you need to send me parcel post, you can do that through DHL (and I would reply the same way). Please be aware that transit times will be on the order of two weeks each way, so you might wish to send me a quick email that you sent a package on such-and-such a day, so I will be expecting it. Also, Windfall uses a different clock and calendar because of its orbit, nine months of five-day weeks, and each day is thirty hours long. (The hours are still sixty minutes of sixty seconds, though!)
The ship has turned, and as our cabin is on the starboard side (C deck, number 5), we have a beautiful view of the moon and the orbiting L1 station. I've snapped a piccy, so I'll be sending it to you as I can.
I have a favour to ask of you: I realized what I was missing when I packed: a spare wand. Now, of course I cannot visit his shop to do anything about it, so I will ask you to send an owl to Mr. Ollivander in Diagon Alley, he should remember what my wand is (he remembers everyone's!) and find out what he recommends. Send me an email with the details; I understand Gringotts will be setting up both a planetary bank and branches at each of the sites, so I should be able to send you (or Mr. Ollivander) a bank draft in either Galleons or Euros. (I'm being paid in Euros.) Should you have difficulties, please write me.
The moon is dwindling rather quickly astern, so I'll close this letter for now.
Eleanor
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Sunday, September 1, 2002: 08:54 (GMT)
Terran space, MV (A) Manhattan, Dining room:
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"Your attention please," speakers said, and people looked up. "For your information, we have passed the orbit of Pluto and are now leaving the Terran solar system." There was a round of applause, under that Karen could hear "…nk you."
"Well, we're all officially astronauts, it seems," she said as the speakers clicked off. She drained her coffee cup, "I'm off to an infrastructure group meeting; it's the first one we've had face-to-face."
"Sounds exciting," one of Karen's table-mates said.
"Oh, I'm looking forward to it," she replied. "All sorts of things regarding ports and airstrips and radios and networks, fascinating stuff, really."
"If you say so," they replied as Karen left the table.
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Karen Meyers
Site 17
Communications/Networks
Karen put down the Sharpie® on the table and peeled off the backing of the 'Hello!' name badge, and went to socialize.
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"Greetings, neighbor!" Karen turned; a young, swarthy Mexican fellow was standing next to her. "I am Felipe, your upstream neighbor. My responsibility is also communications, however, my colleague responsible for power has some things to discuss."
"Then we need to introduce them," she replied.
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"Not that big a building," Jose, the Mexican engineer said. "A few hundred square meters to accommodate the inverters and rectifiers, and the capacity of flow batteries can be increased by adding additional tankage; especially with such a variable power source as wind power." He waggled a finger, "I am jealous, senor, of your hydro power."
"There is no reason we cannot cooperate," George replied. "I am also interested in your development of ocean and tidal power, and we can certainly link our sites." He took a sip of his beer; then motioned to Karen and Felipe. "When we run a high-voltage DC line between sites, a fiber optic cable is required for communications, I don't see why you can't use some of the dark fiber in the trench."
"You would not do towers? They are less expensive," Jose asked.
"They are also ugly and can be easily damaged in a major storm," George replied. "We have proof that the planet experiences hurricanes, and while trenching is more expensive, we will not have the major equipment available to service or replace towers, whereas the local boatbuilders should be able to build what we need."
"They also prefer multi-hull craft and pontoons," a fellow added. "Greetings, I am your Polish counterpart, Wojciech Fujimoto. My father was Japanese, you see." Hands were shaken, and he continued, "While I am not a marine engineer, I don't see a reason why we, or the system Governor, can't commission the appropriate boats and barges."
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"… lot of work," Karen said later, and Felipe nodded, along with Stanislaw, her Polish counterpart. "I can see myself being volunteered into screwing lights onto piers and decking."
"We will have the rescued girls," Stanislaw said. "On the assumption that we each get one, I suggest that after … how long?"
"Six months? No, a year is eight." Felipe suggested, and the other two nodded. "That will allow them to get their feet wet, to realize not everyone in the galaxy will try to exploit them. I suggest we offer them the chance to work with another one of us." He smiled (he had a great smile), adding, "We will do things differently, and I think we can ensure that our newest little sisters will not be mistreated."
"My own brothers and sisters were jealous," Stanislaw commented. "However, I think that's the best way to approach them, as sisters, not employees."
"Allow them to cry on your shoulder," Karen said, taking a sip of her beer. She gestured, "What about your relatives? My brother is a radio engineer in Florida. Felipe?"
"Three brothers, two sisters, both still in school," he replied, taking a sip of his own beer. He eyed it and said, "I understand that each site is set up as both a small town, a government, and in business." He finished the stein, "What about your two sites, and do you have a name yet?"
"Our site is located along the northern shores of a chain of lakes," Stanislaw said. "Regarding a name, we have decided on 'Polonia', which means 'Poles outside Poland'. Economically, we have fishermen, we have several divers, and to get around the problem of the 'wabbits' we can build our pole houses."
"We can probably hire the divers, if we install the heavy power cables and such," Felipe said. "However, we are having a greater difficulty on the economic problem." He pulled out his map of their site 16; beer and vodka glasses were shoved aside.
"There is no reason you cannot expand to the mainland," Stanislaw said. "You have thousands of hectares to use, you are not limited to just those barrier islands." His finger drew on a point on the map, "you have a natural harbor here, not just for ocean-going fishing boats, but for inland riverboats. Put some tidal generation here, in this inlet, and bridge it."
"There is no moon, so any tides would be minimal," Karen objected. "I think offshore wind power would do better. They can also bridge between each of those islands, like the Florida Keys, or have a regular ferry service."
"Docks would be less expensive," Stanislaw agreed. "You can build a floating dock with a few 200 liter drums and wooden decking. As far as products…" he rubbed his chin, "Aside from fishing, fish farming comes to mind, as well as raising algae. You would need to install a greenhouse, both to protect the tanks and you're located more to the north than we are. Winter will be coming."
"Algae?"
"Certainly," Stanislaw replied. "Aside from food, they can be processed into biofuels like kerosene for aircraft and cooking, and diesel for vehicles and boats; also, they are the basis of certain types of plastics. Furthermore, there is no reason why you cannot build boats and barges yourself." He tapped one of the islands on the map. "Look at how serrated the land is, you have natural dry docks here. River craft do not have a deep draft, nor do barges. A three meter draft for the docks, so people can get under the boats to weld and service them." He put a piece of paper over the map and did a quick tracing. "I am not the best artist, but you could easily modify these fingers of land into piers, and have traveling cranes over them." He sketched, "Bring the rails for those cranes back to here, do modular assembly here. All you need is concrete for the walls and piers, lock gates and pumps." He continued to sketch, "Warehouses, design and fabrication over here. Aluminum is plentiful and cheap, there are vast forests, the wood simply needs seasoning, and since the wabbits can't swim, your people can use houseboats."
"That's actually a good idea for new sites," Karen said. "Pontoon houseboats to live aboard while they're installing and building. All the comforts of home, set up just the way they like, and there's no reason you can't have a service contract to supply food and fuels." She tapped the map, "Even a water cleaning and desalinization plant on a pontoon boat, maybe with a honey wagon…"
"'Honey wagon'?" Stanislaw asked.
"To clean out portable toilets and septic tanks," Karen blushed.
"No, that is actually an excellent idea," Felipe said. "A traveling service pier, with water, fuel, and sewer…" He rubbed his chin, "We would need a separate barge to rotate in and out… set up a contract with existing sites, perhaps, so the barge would not need to travel all the way home. In Spanish, 'suministros del buque' or 'ship's supply'." He nodded, "I thank you. There is no reason why we cannot add engines and such to this barge, even the local's favored paddlewheels. We will be having a site meeting later, I will bring these suggestions up."
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Sunday, September 1, 2002: 10:44 (GMT)
Terra, London, Charing Cross station, platform 9 3/4:
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"Uncle Eddie!"
Edward Nigma turned and saw his niece waving at him. He waved back, and they moved toward each other, along with young Miss Branstone, whom he had agreed to watch out for.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, excited. She noticed the two shy young ladies, and offered her hand, "Hello, I'm Mattie Wayne. How do you know this roguish fellow?"
"This is my daughter Emma, and her friend and fellow first year, May Branstone," he replied. "Roguish?" he added.
She grinned, "In the nicest possible way, Uncle Eddie. Mom sends her love; she was working a deal and couldn't come herself." Glancing at the station clock, "I wish I had known you were in town, we could have had lunch and caught up. Let's get you onto the train. I'm sorry, but Uncle Eddie, you have to be a wizard to pass the barrier."
"I see." He moved off to the side, crouching down to speak to his daughter and her friend. "I will say my farewells now. Should you have difficulties, please don't hesitate to call or email me, or speak to Martha, and she will assist you. He gathered both girls into a slightly awkward hug, "Emma, Mum will be at school, but please call me from the Hogsmeade station, no matter the hour. May, do you have a mobile?" She shook her head, and he said, "Use Emma's, I will call your Mum, you know she wanted to be here today, but couldn't get off work. I will call her while Martha and her friends get you onto the train." He hugged them again, a little less awkwardly; then stood, waiting while Mattie finished her own conversation.
"Okay, let's get you onto the train," she said. "Watch Tomas, it looks strange, but it does work." Her brother smiled at them, got behind his luggage trolley, then ran straight at the solid brick wall, passing through. "See?" Sprink smiled at them, then did her own run, followed by Charlie, Arthur, Little Bill and Julie.
"Right-o," May said, took a couple deep breaths, then made her own run. Edward walked over to examine the wall; then took a step back. "Amazing… How …"
"Some sort of quantum field is my guess, but it works, Uncle Eddie. Or it's just magic. Emma?"
She gave her father one last quick hug, then backed off, centered herself, and ran, vanishing through the wall a foot or so from him. He shook his head; then took a few steps back, raising a hand as his niece followed his daughter and her friend. Walking a few meters away, he dialed his own mobile as he watched other students pass through the barrier. "Hello, Ms. Branstone, please. This is Edward Nigma."
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"They have finally organized the train into something more logical," Mattie told her cousin. "Before, you had to search the entire train to find an empty compartment, now the first car is for prefects and faculty, the second car is for the First years, third is for Second years and so forth. I'm a fifth year, so I'll be down in the sixth car." She flicked her wand, "Leave your trolleys, this is a featherweight spell, it reduces weight but not mass or momentum, so you can carry them." Emma nodded, while May looked blank. "They're combining wizarding and muggle education, so I think Professor Sinestra has physics." She looked in a compartment, "Here's one that's got some room. Don't forget to have someone in your house take the featherweight off your trunks."
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"Hullo," a boy said as he stood. "Firsties? I'm Everard Gilette, no relation."
"May Branstone," she replied, guiding her trunk in. There was no room available in the overheads, so she stacked hers in the centre of the compartment, followed by Emma. "This is Emma, her mum teaches."
"Oh? What course?" a young girl with long straight black hair asked, adding, "I'm Simone LeStrange, however I have to claim relations," she said unhappily.
"Astronomy and Physics," Emma said, taking a seat next to May. "It still has me confused. When is she Mum, and when is she Professor?"
"I would think on weekends, and after class, she's Mum, and during classes, she's Professor," Everard said. "What relations?" she asked Simone.
"My Aunt and Uncle were supporters of the Dark Lord, although…" the train started with a lurch, and they swayed in their seats. "… although my Auntie Bella was Imperio'd into doing so." There was a chuffing sound as the train gathered speed, and she continued, "I'll probably be Sorted into Slytherin. Does anyone know how the Sorting is done? My relatives wouldn't say."
"Neither would my sister," May said. "She's a Hufflepuff, and …"
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The door to the compartment slid open, and Bill Morton looked up with the others. "Hey, Bill," Mattie Wayne said. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"Comparing our summers. When can we go off-planet?"
"Let us get things built up, first. I had a proposal for you."
"Won't Arthur be mad?"
"Ha, ha," she replied. "I'm glad you kept up your running, I didn't get a chance to. No, instead of the Boston Marathon, I was thinking of the Marine Corps Marathon in DC in April. It would be my first full marathon, and it would give us longer to train. Also, Boston requires a qualifying marathon first. However, it means getting up earlier and running an average of sixty or seventy klicks a week."
"Yeah, I'd have to build up to that. I'm doing ten klicks now, a full marathon is what, forty or so?"
"Forty two and change. It's an open marathon, so there's going to be something like twenty or thirty thousand runners, and times of a couple hours. You know there's a PE requirement now?"
"Yeah, I don't know if that would qualify," he replied.
"Dunno. The London half-marathon I ran last year I collected donations for, you might want to think on that. Anyway, we'll find out more later at the welcoming feast."
"Yeah, see you then."
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"Right-o," May told the students in her compartment. "My sister said that once the snack-lady goes by, it's time to change into our uniforms. Blokes, if you'd wait outside, then we'll trade."
"Seems reasonable," Everard said, trying to catch a chocolate frog. Emma snatched it, then handed it to him. He started to nibble as he queued to go outside.
Simone suggested, "Keep the card inside, they're collectible," as she stood, removing her blazer and folding it neatly.
"Who's Harry Potter?" Everard asked, looking at the card.
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"This is Shadow," Ginny said, as the black panther prowled down the aisle of the train. Some of the girls standing outside their compartments shrieked as he sniffed at them, standing to look Simone in the eye. She hesitantly reached out to stroke his head, and he gave off a rumbling purr, his green eyes closing in delight. He 'whuffed' as Ginny swatted his shoulder, lashed his tail, then moved on to inspect May and Emma, who fondled an ear, and got a tongue-lick in reply.
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Sunday, September 1, 2002: 17:13 (GMT)
Terra, Hogsmeade railroad station:
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"Firs' years over here! All firs' years, over here!" an enormous bearded man called, waving a lantern.
"Oh, my!" May said, seeing the castle lit up against the night sky. The reflection rippled in the lake, along with torches lighting a footpath down to the lake. She took a few piccies, saying, "My sister suggested I have a camera handy."
"Right, now," Hagrid said. "I'm P'fessor Hagrid, I'm Keeper o' th' Keys an' Magical Creatures p'fessor. We're going tae cross to the castle now, so follow me. If ye' fall in, dan' worry, the squid in tha' lake will fish ya out, na trouble. E'ryone ready?" He chivvied the firsties down the footpath to the wooden dock, doing a headcount, and called "Four to a boat, ye' don't need ta row. Forty two a' ye, so two wi' me, now!"
Emma and May got in the boat with Everard and Simone, who Professor Hagrid had recognized. As the boats moved slowly across the lake, the castle loomed even more. The boats drifted into a cavern under the lake, and a cloud of bats took off, to the shrieks of students. A minute later, the boat bumped up against the dock, and people started to clamber out. The boat moved off by itself as people stood in a nervous group on the dock.
"Righ'." Hagrid did a quick head count, then said, "We'll be goin' up to the Great Hall now. 'Tis where you're sorted into y' houses. F'llo me, now."
The Firsties followed him up a series of staircases until he stopped. "Righ'. One more flight, an' ye'll be met. I'll see ye'll later now. G'luck tae all o' ye at Hogwarts." He vanished, moving surprisingly quietly for such a large man. They looked around, then May shrugged, and went up the last flight of stairs, where a woman in sky-blue robes waited.
She looked them over sternly; then said, "Good Evening. I am Deputy Headmistress Callista Vector. In a few minutes, you will proceed into the Great Hall, where you will be Sorted into your Houses. Those Houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin; they are your family while you are here at Hogwarts. Good grades and behavior will gain you and your house points, while misbehavior and rule breaking shall cost points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will win the House Cup." She looked them over once again, "You have a minute to straighten up. I suggest you use it," and she vanished in turn.
Emma checked her appearance; then looked over Simone, who returned the favor. Other Firsties were slicking back their hair, or straightening their clothes, when Professor Vector reappeared. She inspected the Firsties with a frown; conjured a handkerchief for one boy, telling him, "Your cheek," then said, "Follow me," turned, and opened the doors.
May followed Professor Vector with the others, hearing people wonder about the ceiling, showing the almost-new moon and the stars, with the red dot visible on the moon. One tried to jump and reach a floating candle, but quieted at a glance from Professor Vector. There were four House tables with hundreds of black-clad students, all watching them in silence. The Firsties stopped at a gesture, huddling nervously together as Professor Vector advanced to stand next to a stool, where an ancient, patched and filthy hat was placed.
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Aurora Sinestra watched as her daughter entered, clumped together as the Firsties always were. She smiled and gave a tiny wave as her daughter saw her and waved nervously. She drew a breath as Alastair finished his annual song, and Callista told the Firsties, "When I call your name, please have a seat, and the Hat will Sort you into your House." There was the usual betting, and she called, "Abbott, Alan!"
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"So what do you think," Severus asked as 'Branstone, May' surprisingly went to Slytherin. He continued, "I think your daughter will be an excellent Hufflepuff. She's too shy for anything else."
"I agree, but I don't care. I'll love her anyway, and you, Severus, will treat her fairly, even if she goes into Gryffindor," Aurora said, giving him a moderate glare. "I have a pensieve and I'm willing to use it!"
Severus sipped his wine, "Peace, you know why I treat the Gryffindors the way I do. I do not anticipate having to do that with Emma, she seems most studious. I think she might go Ravenclaw," as 'Gilette, Everard' was called.
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"LeStrange, Simone!" and she pulled back her hair, took a deep breath, and marched between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables. She nodded to Professor Vector, boosted herself onto the stool, and waited while the Hat was lowered onto her head.
"Good evening, Simone. My name is Alastair, and I'll be your Sorting Hat tonight." He continued after a second, "I do apologize, a bit of muggle humour. I'm not surprised a pureblood like yourself, especially one with such a long line of Slytherins would be unaware of it."
"I know I come from a long line of dark wizards, it's something I've encountered all my life," she replied after a minute. "I hate it!"
"Just because your ancestors were dark, or Slytherin, does not automatically assume you will be," he replied. "The family and clan lines do not automatically equate to a certain house. I have placed Blacks into Gryffindor and Weasleys into Slytherin. The most recent Dark Lord drew his followers from every house, and I can assure you that Slytherins are well acquainted with the stain he left on their house. Hmm," he mused. "If I put you where I believe you belong, it will engender some hardship and conflict with your family. You will still face some …"
"I don't care! I want to cleanse my family name!"
"As you wish," he said. "GRYFFINDOR!"
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"Well, that was a surprise," Pomona said, passing galleons to Ginny.
"Just a few more," she replied as the gambling continued, and the next Firstie was called.
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"Sinestra, Emma!" and she nervously walked up to sit on the stool, the old hat placed on her head. There was a sense of brief confusion; she heard in her head a noise, "Excuse me? Can you hear me?"
She remembered that the others hadn't spoken, so she thought, "Yes? Who are you?"
"Oh, good. I do apologize; you're the first one of your species that I've talked to. I wasn't sure I had everything right. There are slight differences between your mind and your mum's."
"Oh. Well, I wasn't born on this planet," she replied. "Mum bought me and rescued me," she added.
"Yes… I see," he said, and she felt a minor tickle in her brain. "My apologies again, my name is Alastair, I'm what's known as the Sorting Hat. We talk a bit, and then I decide which House will be best for you. Now, if you have … no, no siblings, no brothers or sisters here, you're the first one. Well, let me give a quick overview of each House. Going alphabetically, Gryffindor are the warriors, the ones to go defend something. Usually hot blooded, the type that … no, not that." He shouted, "Not Gryffindor!" then resumed. "Moving on, we have Hufflepuff. These are the loyal, steadfast type. You are aware that we are the object of frantic betting, here."
"Yes, I saw. Can I be with my friend May?"
"Not if that's the best reason you can give me," he replied. "She went to Slytherin, they're the politicians, the ones that work from the shadows, the manipulators. My conversation with her, just like all the conversations I've had with everyone … yes, even those intimidating professors you saw behind me, they all sat where you're sitting, and they all were just as nervous. All those conversations are just as privileged, just as confidential as this one. No, I don't think you'd be a good fit for Slytherin, even though that's where your Mum went." He shouted, "Not Slytherin!" and continued, "Now, there's no reason you can't remain good friends with May. She's a good person, I should know, I've talked to her, I've Sorted her." He was silent a moment, "We've two of the four eliminated. Ravenclaw are the scholars, the type that are obsessed with gaining knowledge. While you're studious enough, you don't live and breathe to gain knowledge. No, you've more common sense than that. Considering everything, I think you'd be best in… HUFFLEPUFF!"
Professor Vector lifted Alastair off her head, and she headed for the cheering table to her right.
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May saw the Headmistress stand, and tap her goblet twice. The Great Hall quieted, and she said, "I can hear stomachs growling from here, so I have one thing to say." She clapped her hands twice; "Enjoy." Food appeared on the table, and someone muttered "Finally!" as she reached for the potatoes.
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The Headmistress stood again; tapping her wineglass. The noise died down, and she said, "I have only a few announcements. As you may know, this past year we were observed and scored by OFSTED, the schools directorate. As part of this, owl post is … redirected to Professor Hagrid, who will also be picking up muggle post in town. He will distribute the post to your House prefects, who will deliver it to you." She waited out the complaints, "This only affects incoming post, outgoing post you may still use personal or school owls."
"Why did they do this?" someone called.
"They believed it was unsanitary to have wild animals in such close association with food. Feathers, dung, dirt, and so forth." She made a small gesture, "I am sorry, I did tell them that we had been operating like that for well over a thousand years, but that tradition, as well as the moving staircases, are no more; they regarded it as a safety concern. Moving on, we will therefore be incorporating muggle classes into the schedule, this means that fifth years will sit both their OWLs and the GCSE exams, the seventh years the NEWTs and their A-levels."
She waited out the expected and resultant groans. "Because of this, we will be implementing a position known as an 'Instructor' for certain select students. They will not be prefects, however they will be able to give and take away points as well as assign detentions for their respective classes." She waited again for the comments, taking a sip of water; then tapped her wineglass. "If you please. This will allow them to stretch a bit, we believe these students are qualified to teach these classes, you will therefore show them the respect due to other faculty."
Taking another sip of water, she continued, "You should have received a list of electives; everyone will also take Physical Education classes. Those of you who already have an exercise regime, like our runners, may incorporate that or use it as an alternate. However, you will exercise at least two hours a week." She asked, "Miss Wayne, will you be repeating the London half-marathon this year?"
"I don't know, ma'am," she said, standing. "I wasn't able to run over the summer, I had … other concerns."
"Such as overthrowing another government," someone stage-whispered from Gryffindor, and she smiled. "Yes," she confirmed, and people started to whisper. "In any case, I hope to be back in shape by October, but I was also thinking of taking some people across the pond to Washington for the April Marine Corps Marathon. That's a full marathon, forty two kilometers, which means running sixty to seventy kilometers a week."
"Put me down for both," Professor Lupin said. "I feel the need to stretch myself."
"Please remain standing, Miss Wayne," the Headmistress said. "Mr. Arthur Morton, would you also stand?" Arthur did so, glancing at Mattie, who shook her head slightly. "Miss Wayne will be teaching an elective known as 'Intro to Business', as she is … extremely competent in that subject. Mr. Morton, on the other hand, will be teaching Second year Mathematics on Tuesday mornings, he is one of the three best mathematicians in this school. I will expect you both to attend the regular Wednesday morning staff meetings. Thank you, please be seated."
As they sat, Minerva continued, "I have also made arrangements for a golf team to compete against other schools in the Inverness region, although you will need to surrender your wands to me during matches." She smiled tightly, "The muggles seem to think we would cheat with them. Those of you who practice wandless and unspoken magic, I will require your word, although I do not think it necessary." She took a sip of water, "Due to the increasing number of muggle-born and raised students, we will be implementing football teams in each House, each will require at least three females play at all times. Finally, the Hufflepuff gymnasium has been refurbished." There was some clapping at that.
"Lastly, Mr. Filch, our caretaker, asked me to remind you that magic is not allowed in the corridors. He also informs me that the entire catalog from Weasley Wizard Wheezes have been added to the forbidden items list. That list now compromises seventy two feet and three inches, and is available for your perusal at Mr. Filch's office." People chuckled, and she added, "I must remind you all that the Forbidden Forest is indeed forbidden if you do not wish to die a most horrible death." She waited for the murmurs to die away, then said, "Tomorrow is the first day of classes, so off to bed with you."
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
Simone followed the others up the shifting staircases to the seventh floor, and the base of Gryffindor tower. Stopping in front of a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress, the prefect said to the winded firsties, "You'll get used to this climb, its good exercise. Passwords change every month, and are not to be shared with other houses. If you have a friend visit from another house, they must be escorted. You'll get the new passwords from a prefect, Ginny, or Professor Harry. This month's is citadel."
The portrait swung open, revealing a circular hole in the stone wall. Simone clambered through, where the prefect continued, "This is the Gryffindor common room. Girl's dormitories are up the stairs to the left, boys to the right. The girls' staircase is charmed so boys can't get up it. Your trunks and things have been taken up by the house elves. Breakfast is served from six to seven thirty in the Great Hall, lunch from twelve to one, and dinner from five thirty to seven." He glanced at the other prefects, adding with a shrug, "That's about it. Classes start tomorrow at quarter to eight. G'night, everyone."
"That's it? No rituals, no sacrifices, no blood?" Simone asked.
"Dark Arts are for Slytherins," a fourth-year said.
"Speaking of the Slythies, one last thing for the Firsties," Amanda added. "Unofficial school motto: Don't fuck with Wayne."
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"Welcome to the Eagle's Nest!" Professor Flitwick said, "I do hope you'll be happy here! Well, now. We do pride ourselves in having the highest grade average of all the four houses, so if you have difficulties, please don't hesitate to ask a Housemate for help. Better you know, after all."
He smiled, "For the ladies, during that, err, special time of the month, please don't hesitate to see me or a nurse for a potion or charm. If you plan to, err, spend time with that special someone; please make sure your contraceptive charms are current." He bounced happily, "Welcome, welcome to Hogwarts!"
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May followed, moving forward at the wave of one of the Prefects. She said, "Oi, my name is Sprink, just that, thank you very much. This bloke here is a statue of Salazar Slytherin, the founder of our house. The password changes every month, you can get it from Professor Snape or a prefect like me, this month's is aconite. Firsties in front, please," she asked as the statue rotated away, and people entered, taking places to watch the initiation.
Sprink waited as they sorted themselves out, then said, "This is our common room, where you can study and socialize; the door opposite the fireplace will lead to the Slytherin private library and to our potions laboratory, the left hand stairway leads down to the girl's dorms; the right to the boy's. Sound goes quick up and down the stairs, please use a bloody silencing spell if you snore, have sex or make other noise. Should you invite a guest from another house, they are not to learn the common room password, and they must be escorted. You will set a dorm password with your room-mates." She glanced aside, "Professor Snape has a few words."
"Thank you, Miss Tonks," the tall Potions Master said from where he stood on the fireplace hearthstones. He swept the nervous firsties with a stern gaze; then nodded, "Miss Wayne, please see me after the initiation. Before we enroll you as members of the Serpent's Den, there are several things I must emphasize. First, we present a united front to the other houses. Even if you disagree with another Slytherin, you will always support them in public. Everything that occurs in this house STAYS in this house. Only in an emergency should you reveal a house secret; that includes special talents of your housemates." He paused; a burning log broke with a pop, then he continued, "Our library and potions laboratory is here for your use. Library books are charmed to become illegible if taken outside the House, they will incinerate if touched by someone from another house. These represent a private storehouse of knowledge that is unavailable to the other houses. If you are having difficulties in your studies, ask another member of the house for tutoring. I do not expect a member of this house to receive a detention for misbehavior, if you do, you will receive a second, doubled one from me."
He smiled, and May gulped. "If you are pulling pranks on members of another house, consult with older members of the house first. Lastly, ladies; if you need a pass for the nurse because of your… monthly visitor, do not hesitate to ask me. However, if you are using it to skive off classes, I will know. For both ladies and gentlemen, I will be most unhappy to learn of an accidental pregnancy. I would suggest you take appropriate precautions, potions are available from both myself and the nurse." He smiled thinly, adding, "Are there any questions?"
Professor Snape turned, and muttered an incantation. A section of wall moved out, and a listing of names appeared. He said, "This is a listing of members of Slytherin House since our founding. If you become trapped in the castle, touch your wand to the castle's stone, and use the incantation succubi serpentis and your name if female, intestis serpentis and name if male. You will be delivered here to the common room; any other persons you wish to save must be in physical contact with you. This is, naturally, only to be used in mortal danger."
He looked at his new charges; saying, "Miss Willis, you're first." He tapped his wand on the listing of names, and asked, "Are there any objections?" No one said anything, and Professor Snape offered the firstie a knife as he said, "Miss Willis, tap the list with your wand, and state your full name. Then cut your finger, and smear some of your blood across your name."
The firstie stepped forward, and tapped the list. It stopped, and she said, "Bianca Louise Willis," then she slit her finger. She massaged her finger to get a good flow, finally touching it to all three words. Mattie and Sprink applauded with the others as her name blurred; then rotated with the others as Sprink motioned her over, muttering a charm over her finger as Mattie turned to watch the other's initiation.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
Mattie tapped her wand on the Professor's door, which opened for her. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Yes, a few things to discuss with you before classes start tomorrow." He handed over several sheets of paper and a book, "Your textbook, schedule, syllabus, class roster and suggested lesson plans." He tented his fingers, "Your class is Wednesday second period, you'll have third through fifth years and whatever sixth and seventh years show up." He sat back in his chair, "You do have a rather full plate; in addition you and Mr. Morton have 'royalty lessons' Friday first period, the Queen's suggestion, by the way." He quirked an eyebrow, "Your majesty."
She groaned, "I never wanted to be Queen."
"It seems to be underway, however, rest assured that we shall always be available to properly deflate your ego."
"Thank you ever so much, sir."
"Of course, milady," he said with a small smirk. "How go your plants?"
"A bit of a snag, sir. Sprink and I have notes, we also have a species of fish, but Her Majesty's Customs has quarantined them." She shrugged, "Objectively, I can't blame them, off-planet species and all."
"Yes, write up your notes, I should have considered that myself before giving the assignment." He sighed, "I confess to curiosity. When might we, the general public, travel to these other-worldly shores?"
"Most of these are struggling colonies at the moment, sir. Tourism is down the road, they have to be able to feed and defend themselves. By the way, I'd like to credit Sprink for getting two of those planets, one of which is a trading center. She's not a bad negotiator."
"One reason why she was named a prefect, I wondered why she wasn't wearing her pin. We sent it with her marks, and mentioned it in an email."
"I'm still working through my email, sir. Could be why I didn't know of this appointment." She tapped her small stack of papers, "I worked through some on the train, but GNER doesn't have a power point in the compartments, and my battery finally died."
"And it is of course difficult to send an owl across interstellar distances," he agreed. "Another thing, Poppy is concerned about the amount of rest you're getting. You cannot continue on coffee and a few hours of meditation. She will settle for at least six hours of sleep, however that means giving up at least one activity."
"Arthur did try to keep me resting, and I had already planned to give up Quidditch, although I hate to say it," she agreed. "In Arthur's report to the Queen, he makes the same point, my fatigue is affecting my judgment. He thinks I should give up Arrowhead, which I'm very reluctant to do. I'd prefer to fold the Solar Guard into the Empire as a system defense force, although that would depend on how the cards fall with China, the UN and the Security Council." She covered a yawn, "Forgive me, sir."
He waved it off, "You make my point."
"I never disagreed with it. I guess I'll have to be a fan of the House team and the Bats. How are they doing?"
"Mr. Slater is the fifth-leading Beater in the league, the Bats overall are in sixth place," and he smiled slightly. "Had you anything else for me?"
"Just an advisory, Arthur will be taking Legilimency and Occlumency lessons, probably with Professor Dumbledore, and I've suggested that Sprink and Charlie take the lessons as well. Anyone that goes out-system."
He regarded her, then nodded, and waved his wand at the door. "Thank you. Now off to bed with you, Miss Wayne."
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"Professor Sprout, a minute?" Arthur asked, knocking on his Head of House's doorframe.
"Please, come in, Mr. Morton," she said, waving him to a seat and flicking her wand at the door. It warded itself, and she pushed a platter of freshly baked goodies in his direction. "I assume you've come for the paperwork on your class."
"Ma'am, I didn't know a thing about this until the Headmistress mentioned it. It was a surprise to both myself and Mattie."
"We did send you an email about it, as well as an owl with your marks. She was correct, you and Miss Bundy are the two best student mathematicians." She pushed the plate toward him, "However, Miss Bundy tends to 'zone out', while I have observed you assisting the other students, older as well as younger with mathematics. I dare say you could easily sit an advanced A-level in maths." She sneaked a bit of fudge, a house elf appeared with two large glasses of milk.
He eyed a butter cookie. "Ma'am, we're both way behind on our email. Furthermore, I am not, repeat not, a qualified instructor. After all the rigmarole you went through with the school inspectors last year, this does not compute."
"Officially, Professor Vector would be teaching the class and you would merely be assisting her. In practice, it would be your class. We will provide you with lesson plans and a syllabus." She tapped a file folder on her desk.
He snorted, frustrated, "Ma'am, I do not have anywhere near the patience to teach an entire class of students."
"I beg to differ, Mr. Morton. I have observed you, I think you do, and one goal of this is to see if you can develop the patience." She took a bite of her fudge brownie, "I'm going to pay for my own skill as a baker; I need to start exercising. Mr. Morton, you tend to be a bit … quick to anger, which is a liability, given your position. I would not have suggested this if I thought there was the smallest possibility you might hurt a student, therefore you need to learn control and how to channel this anger. Tell me, have you and Miss Wayne fought recently?"
The butter cookie was calling to him. He took a gulp of milk instead. "You could start just walking, ma'am. Up to Hogsmeade and around the town and back, that would help your endurance." He took a deep breath, "Yes, we argued on the flight back, she wants me to take Occlumancy and Legilmancy from Professor Dumbledore. I just think this is a gamble with an entire class' mathematical abilities."
"Thank you for the suggestion, I'll ask Poppy about it." She nibbled her brownie, "Mr. Morton, I think that's a good idea Miss Wayne had, and as far as the class, I consider that motivation to do a good job. Come now, we're all having to stretch a bit these days, and I think you'd do a wonderful job." She pushed the plate a little further toward him.
"I'm not licensed." He gathered his resolve and stared down the plate of butter cookies.
"Finally a worthwhile objection," she said, continuing, "Minerva arranged with the University of Glasgow for an instructor to tutor you both, that will satisfy any Scottish licensing." She regarded him, "A fall back position, I believe it's called, in case the whole 'Terran Empire' plan comes apart." Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "One of the criticisms we received was a lack of optional courses, this allows us to take advantage of student's talents. Filius is discussing French instruction with Mr. Bourmont, a native of France." She took a swallow from her own glass of milk, and set it aside. "If I may be blunt, Mr. Morton, I have noticed that you are also rather quick to take offense, you need to 'chill out' more often. We believe this will help you to gain patience, to 'mellow out'. Just think of the class as your younger brothers and sisters."
"Bill would be in that class."
"Yes, your point?"
Arthur was silent, "I can't show favoritism." He caved in and broke a butter cookie in half as he thought. "What's this about the faculty meetings?"
"Six to seven Wednesday mornings, and I don't believe you would show any favoritism. Actually, I think you would be stricter with your housemates. You would have access to the shared faculty computer files as well. We do not think you will abuse the privileges."
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
Monday, September 2, 2002: 05:27 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, dorms:
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Emma reluctantly shut off the shower; it felt so good in the mornings! Once again, she touched her neck, still in some disbelief that her collar had been removed; she still vividly remembered when it had been implanted in her neck. Now, there was only a tiny little depression where it had been. She almost looked like a freeborn! Shaking herself, she dried herself off, reminding herself not to forget the under-clothing today of all days! She was starting school!
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
May Branstone thought once again about re-reading her sister's letter, as well as her mum's. She shook it off as Ami Bones tugged at her, "C'mon, you'll have time tonight to write your rellies about your first day. Finish getting dressed, I need to inspect you before Professor Snape does!"
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"Woah, there, firstie, let me look you over," Julie told a nervous Simone as she ran down the stairs toward the portrait hole.
"But I'll be late!"
"Classes don't start until 7:45, the Great Hall isn't even open for breakfast yet. Calm down," and she smiled, taking Simone's book bag and laptop off her shoulder. "They emailed a sample schedule out, if I recall, your first class is Herbology. You do not need to take every book with you, just your first and second classes. Leave your other books, if I remember right third class for you is free period; then fourth is Phys Ed, which you'll have to change for. Do you have your dragon-hide gloves? I don't see them in here."
"They were out in my size," the petite girl confessed.
"Then tell Professor Sprout, we've still got outgoing owl post. Order yours, until then you can borrow mine, I've got Herbology Friday first period." She adjusted the firstie's tie, "Figure fifteen minutes before or after lunch to come up here and change out your books for afternoon classes." She handed back the overstuffed book-bag, "Run up to your dorm, first and second period books and materials only. I'll go fetch my gloves for you."
The firstie scampered off, forgetting her laptop case. Julie sighed; picked it up as a fifth-year who had observed this all commented, "Purebloods…"
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"Hey, Bill!" Arthur called as his brother emerged from the second-year dorms. "Minute?"
"Yes, oh great and lordly 'Instructor Morton'?" Bill knelt, arms out and head down as he 'worshipped' his elder brother.
"Get up, or for my first bit of homework I'll assign seven-dimensional trig," he replied. Bill cringed properly, and Arthur nodded. "That's better. You know, I didn't ask for this, and I didn't know about it. I seem to be stuck with it, though, that means that I'm going to have to be tougher on you specifically and Hufflepuff in general."
"Damn, I thought I'd get a free ride on that course at least," Bill said.
"Language, Mr. Morton," his brother replied.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"They expect me to teach this dreck?" Mattie asked rhetorically, looking at the textbook for her class. "Gawd, it's even duller than Binn's class was." She got up, walking up to the High Table and dropping the book in front of the Headmistress. "Ma'am, who chose this textbook?"
"It is the recommended one for the course, Miss Wayne."
"It's dreck, it's boring, it's out of date, and it has a half page on margin calls; nothing whatsoever on puts and calls. You want me to teach this to people and make it fun, so they'll learn something? More importantly, so they'll make some money? By the way, who's handling Hogwart's portfolio?"
"I am, Miss Wayne," Professor Vector said.
"Ma'am, we need to TALK. Can you make class? Second period Wednesday?"
Callista thought about it, "I have a class immediately preceding it. I might run late."
"Be that as it may, Miss Wayne, the students have to pass a Ministry of Education examination on it."
"I can stick to a syllabus, but this," she lifted and dropped the textbook, "Is Professor Binns class dull." The instructors winced. "I started with twenty-five million inheritance and Wayne Europe. Do I need to tell you where I'm ranked now?" She smiled, "I'll make you money, the students will pass the Ministry exam, and we'll have some fun. What kind of a budget do I have for the class? I want the students to get some subscriptions."
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Tuesday, September 3, 2002: 10:00 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, 2nd year Mathematics:
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"Good morning," Arthur said, and most of the class quieted down, except for two girls that ignored him and carried on their conversation. "I SAID, Good Morning." The two continued to ignore him, and he consulted the charmed parchment that showed student seating. "If Miss Canby and Miss Whitloe will pay attention…"
The two continued to gossip, "Very well. Please open your books to page five and quietly start reading. As long as Miss Canby and Miss Whitloe continue their conversation, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff will lose five points each per minute." He pulled out his pocket watch, "It is now 10:03." He waited as the girl's classmates turned to glare at them.
Eventually, one of them noticed, and she turned, "What?"
"Miss Whitloe, you have continued the conversation with Miss Canby far past the beginning of class. You have each lost your respective houses five points per minute," Arthur told them. He checked his pocket watch, "It is now… 10:14. Subtracting the start time at three minutes past, that's eleven minutes, at five points a minute. Fifty five points each from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor."
"But you're a Hufflepuff!"
"Are you suggesting I should show bias? That's another fifteen points from Hufflepuff." His brother Bill winced, then turned around and said, "Shut. Up."
"Mr. Morton, while I appreciate the effort, discipline is my job, not yours. Another outburst like that, and I will deduct more points. As it is, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff start the year with a deficit." He checked the notes Professor Vector had left him, "Now then, last year you did some Trig with Professor Sinestra regarding star movements, am I correct?" The class of second years glared at him, he waited a minute; then asked, "Mr. Morton, where did you end up the year?"
"We didn't have a formal math class, that was before the OFSTED thing. We had some assessment, and we didn't get too far into the trig, it confused a lot of people."
"O … kay. Thank you, Mr. Morton." Arthur looked over the class; then checked Callista's notes again. "Am I safe to assume that you can all do simple math? Multiply, divide, adding and subtracting? You would need to with Professor Snape. Fractions, converting from kilos to pounds to stone? Grams and tablespoons to ounces and milliliters? Density of various objects?"
"We hadn't gotten into density yet," Ami Bones said. "I think most people can do basic math, and do fractions, but we'd be out of practice. I know I didn't do much potions work over the summer."
"Thank you, Miss Bones, and you also, Mr. Morton. Two points each to Slytherin and Hufflepuff." He flicked to the end of the first chapter, "Jot down this homework, and I'll want to see the math, which means you can't use a calculator or charm. That also means longhand, on paper with a pencil. Page twenty-eight, all the questions for next week." The class groaned and he checked the book again. "We're going to refresh our memories, and see how many points each house as a whole can earn. Do the questions on page eight, please; does anyone need scratch paper?" He conjured some legal pads for the people with raised hands, passing them back and moving to the back of the classroom where the Headmistress stood. "How are things going?" she asked in a whisper.
"No formal math class last year, but they remember some fractions and conversions from potions. I'm going to have to review basic math before we can move on. I'm going to need paper and pencils for them, too."
"I'll get you some, any points?"
"Two girls wouldn't stop talking. Five points a minute each gives fifty five points from Gryffindor (she winced); seventy from Hufflepuff (she winced again), but they earned two back, along with Slytherin."
"Effective."
"I'm not looking forward to the common room tonight."
"We can discuss it tomorrow morning at the meeting. Good job, Mr. Morton."
"Thank you, ma'am." He moved back to the front of the classroom, "Any one problem giving people headaches? Does everyone have problem one?" He looked over the class, "Okay, it's a fraction problem. Let's think of a pie … "
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"Thank you so VERY much for your house loyalty, MISTER MORTON!"
"Miss Whitloe, you are still in my class," Arthur told the second-year. "If you're trying to insult me, you'll have to do a lot better than that. I've been threatened by, and had professionals try to kill me." She took a step back in shock at his cold tone, "It is not a nice galaxy out there, Miss Whitloe. Playtime is over, we are both here to do a job, yours to learn, mine to teach. I'll do it the best I can, and I really don't care if you're offended. If you continue to disrupt my class, I'll continue to deduct points, and don't forget, I can also do detentions." He slowly smiled, and she took another step back. "Go to lunch, Miss Whitloe, and don't forget your PE class at 3:15." He turned to another student, his tone warming, "Miss Bones, what can I do for you?"
"Just to complement you on tearing a strip off her," she smiled.
"Thank you, Miss Bones, but as I told Mr. Morton, that's my job." He ushered her out the door, and turned to lock and ward it. He turned back, and smiled, "Whew. Back to ordinary student, thanks, Ami."
"No worries," she said, turning the imaginary key and throwing it away. "Slythies are good at keeping secrets."
"So I've noticed."
"So …" she asked, "I followed the news, I heard about the grenade thing across the pond…" She grinned at his raised eyebrow, "I may be a pureblood, but mum started out as an Auror, she follows the muggle news. So what happened?"
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Tuesday, September 3, 2002: 08:25 (GMT +8)
Terra, Beijing, Politburo meeting:
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"… cannot stand for this insult!" the Foreign Minister declared, leaning forward on the conference table. "She characterizes us and our carefully considered policies as schoolyard bullies!"
"Have you brought this matter up with the Americans?" the Propaganda Minister asked. "Miss Wayne is an American citizen, they may rein her in."
"Yes," the Foreign Minister replied sourly. "They reply that she is guaranteed the right to speak her mind, such as it is, and they may not control her speech." He shook his head, "My man added that the charge'd'affairs he spoke with seemed to agree with her regarding the bandits in our rebellious province."
"I can have Army commandos …" the Defense Minister started to offer, only to be cut off.
Another made a small gesture, "My apologies, Comrade. While I am certain that the PLA would be most effective at killing her, we do not wish this. No, we wish her to change her mind, and with all gwai (foreigners), that can be most difficult. No, I would suggest that Comrade Li's skilled staff at the Information Ministry work at countering this misapprehension while we at the Ministry of Public Security work on penetrating her security. We have already done this to some extent; however, her counter-intelligence people are primarily Russian, and know how such things are done," he added, clasping his hands together to control the shakes, wishing for a cigarette. Such was not allowed here, due to the weak health of several of his comrades. "Please remember, Comrade, our reports are that she is actively field-testing antimatter warheads. Forty or more kilotons in a package the size of a pea, we could make much use of that."
"Indeed," Defense replied. "Get me that process!"
'For your own industrial empire,' the Minister thought. "Patience, comrade. We are working on this, and other things, regarding Miss Wayne. After all, she can hardly not defend the Middle Kingdom and our own space enterprises, eh?"
The other members chuckled, as the Premier, rapped his knuckles on the table. "Very true, Comrades. Now, Zhou, as you seem to have the floor, what of Tibet?"
"The construction of the railroad proceeds apace, but we must change to less knowledgeable local workers," he replied. "At the higher altitudes, our workers are not adapted to the lower oxygen levels and have thus made poor decisions. A matter of biology, not Party discipline, comrades. However, the loyalty of those local workers to the Party is a matter of some dispute…"
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Tuesday, September 3, 2002: 12:59:53 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, Classroom 16 (potions):
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Simone slid into her seat, hearing the door slam shut as her arse hit the wood. She panted softly, she knew of Severus Snape, having met him at the occasional wedding or funeral. She also knew from her new housemates that he did not look kindly on Gryffindors.
"Barely on time, Miss LeStrange," a voice whispered behind her, and the tall, menacing form of Professor Snape appeared. "I expect better performance in the future. Do not succumb to the sloth and incompetence of the rest of Gryffindor; I do not know why the Hat placed you where he did, but I still expect performance equal to your Slytherin blood from you. Is that understood, Miss LeStrange?"
"Y… yes, sir," she got out, and he purred "Well enough. You know the pureblood saying, 'Blood will out,' and while I do not hold with the rest of that twaddle, I expect Slytherin performance from you." He moved off, and Simone let her breath out as Professor Snape eyed the class, taking roll. He flipped the folder shut, eying the silent firsties, and said, "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making. I do not expect you at this early stage to understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses." He looked about the class, "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death," he said with a glower, "If you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
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Wednesday, September 4, 2002: 05:58 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, Faculty meeting:
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"Good morning, Mattie, Arthur," the Headmistress said as she saw them enter. Professor Flitwick waved at them, asking "Tea? Coffee?"
"In here, we go by first names," Pomona Sprout said, sipping her own tea. "Also, don't be afraid to snark back at Severus. Have you been getting the faculty emails?"
"Yes, and they were … interesting," Arthur said, pouring a cup of tea. He was a little surprised to see his blackberry tea on the tray.
"Politely phrased," Callista said. "We'll make a Slythie of you yet, Morton!"
Mattie dropped a legal pad and a fountain pen on the table. "Of course, I still have to work on his devious side." She put her own mug of coffee down, "Do you mind letting me see the school's investments? From what I see, things are under my projections, if you don't mind some advice and some more activity on your part."
"I'm planning on sitting in on your class," she replied. "You're what, sixth on the FT list?"
"A shade under fourth at the moment," she said, sipping her coffee. "Only a couple million between Sir Richard and myself. About 120th place worldwide. That's personal funds, of course." She shrugged, "As the phrase goes, 'A billion here, a billion there, soon we're talking real money!' Don't you love government?"
"Buncha useless ba'stards if'n ye' ask me," Hagrid said, coming in the door, and making a beeline for the teapot. He grabbed his large mug and filled it with tea, draining it in one swallow; then refilling it. "Taxin' this'n'tha', spendin' money the' don' have … " A house elf popped in with more tea, popping out with the drained teapots.
"We all have our complaints," Severus said, emerging from the shadows and moving to the teapot himself. "However, we get the government we selected, it is our duty to change it if it is not what we desire." He held the saucer in his right hand, delicately sniffing the tea, then taking a miniscule sip.
"Some of the plants we brought back from Windfall are teas, Professor," Arthur said. "Strong ones, too."
"That sounds very interesting," Pomona said. "When will we be able to see them?"
"They're in Customs quarantine right now," Mattie replied. "Being off-world, they're being very careful, they said maybe six months. Maybe."
"A use for government," Severus said, taking a place at the table, while Hagrid moved to the battered couch next to Pomona, and Minerva rapped her knuckles on the table. "Let's get started, shall we?"
"I had a question about detentions for my class, how would I arrange it for two talkers?" Arthur asked.
"Second year? Miss Canby and Miss Whitloe, I would wager," Harry said. "I noticed we were down quite a few points already."
"No wager," Severus said. "You may send them to me, I always have a supply of cauldrons that need scrubbing." He took another delicate sip of tea, "Pray tell, Mr. Morton."
"I took a page from you, sir. At three past, I set the class to reading, and informed them there would be points off, five points for each minute per House. They surfaced for air at fourteen after, so fifty five points each." He shrugged, "Miss Whitloe called my ethics into question, she felt I should have let her go as a fellow Huffie, house loyalty and all, so another fifteen points. Then Mr. Morton earned two, as did Miss Bones for Slytherin."
"Excellent…" Pomona said. "The common rooms should help with that."
"Unfortunately, the Hufflepuff one seemed to think I should have been more loyal and ignored it." He shrugged again, "I said she challenged my class and my ethics and ignored it after that."
"Well handled," Callista said, then turned, "Miss… Mattie, what is your objection to the business text?"
"Several," she replied. "According to the author's biography, he has no real-world practical experience, it's all collegiate lecture. Secondly, I checked him out on the Web; he was born in 1907 in Paris, where he's spent most of his life, except for a few years in Lyon. That confirmed his lack of experience; it's all in schools. Third, it's poorly translated from French into what's known as 'Engrish'." The muggle-born professors chuckled, and she explained. "It's like saying 'Please to wet the bidet,' instead of 'Flush the loo, please,' it's sort of correct."
"Ah," Filius said, and Cho mentioned, "The Slinkhorn text," while Harry said, "The fantasies of Lockhart."
"I've still got my copies," Ginny said. "Come by if you want to, not exactly … ideal textbooks."
"Precisely, this bloke seems to have skipped over anything he doesn't like. I mentioned a half page on margin calls, which I can barely see, but nothing at all on options? Not one word, not even definitions on puts, calls, and strike prices? Nothing beyond exchange rates for currency trading? Futures? Derivitives? Symbols? I know this is a basic book, but at least add it into the definitions!" She took a sip of coffee, "And speaking of definitions, they're circular." She pulled out the syllabus, "This is the Ministry-approved syllabus, which will cover the exam. First section, 'Type of business', defined in the text as, and I quote: 'A type or method of business the firm does.'"
"Ouch," Arthur said. "Even I see problems in that. I wonder if someone in the Ministry got their palm greased."
"It would not be the first time," Madame Pince said, taking the book and looking at it, then wincing herself.
"So, I have a plan…"
"Like any good Slytherin, with multiple options," Ginny said with a grin, taking a look at the book. "Ouch. This makes my eyes hurt."
"The objectives I see are to pass the Ministry exam, teach something while having fun, and make some money." She cracked her knuckles, "I'll keep the bloody book, give the approved definitions and answers; then give the real-life examples. They can return their copies if they want. I also want to get the students subscriptions to the Financial Times and the Wizarding Reporter, and I have tracking software they can use, a spreadsheet."
"Why two newspapers?" Lara Croft asked.
"Muggle and wizarding financial news," she replied.
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Wednesday, September 4, 2002: 10:01 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, Intro to Business class:
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There was music playing when Minerva got to Miss Wayne's class, she was dancing to a tune as a small white box sat between speakers. The song finished, and she drummed quickly on the desk, which held a row of small bricks covered with a cloth. She took a seat at the back next to Callista.
"Good morning and hello, everyone!" Miss Wayne said with a smile. "Our performance today was by a muggle band from Sweden known as ABBA, the song is known as 'Money Money Money', and they made quite a bit. I will warn you that everything that is said in this class may wind up on the test."
"What was that again?" Felicia asked.
"ABBA's 'money, money, money' song," Shaundra replied, making a quick note.
"Smart keed," Miss Wayne said, glancing around the room. "I'm looking for wizarding music relating to business, money, and investing, I'd appreciate suggestions. It looks to me like everyone that's supposed to be is here; at least I recognize everyone." She put the attendance aside, "Okay. First rule, there are no professors or students in here, just investors. Secondly, we're all here to learn, and hopefully I'll be able to show you how to make your own pile. Business is the greatest game in the universe," and she nodded at the back of the room, Mr. Griplink had entered. The goblin banker smiled at her, flicking her a note. She unfolded it; then nodded.
"Third, my good friend Mr. Griplink of Gringotts just passed me a note. Those people that are registered in this class have practice investing accounts set up for one thousand galleons each." She held up a hand, "The only difference between these accounts and an actual account is that you can't withdraw funds from them. Any gains or losses will be from your own activity. This is part of your final exam; your practical, which is your net gain or loss."
She leaned against the table; the bricks under the cloth 'clinked' a bit. "Losses. Yes, you will suffer losses. You don't win every hand in poker, that's part of the game. Speaking of losses, your textbook," and she held up hers. "Dreck. Crap. Return it, unless you've already started to scribble in it. If you have, I'll bet you're in Ravenclaw." She grinned as everyone laughed. "Seriously, this is the 'Professor Binns' of textbooks. Need I say more?" People chuckled.
"What of the syllabus?" Tomas asked, waving his.
"Ah, my brother. For being here; and my brother, I have a special honor for you. Together, we shall show them how to INVEST." She waved her copy of the syllabus, "As the ministry exam covers the points on the syllabus, we shall follow it, but it need not be dull, though." She took a sip of water; "The Ministry exam follows from this dreadful book, so I will therefore give you the Ministry-approved question, and their answer. I will then give you actual, real life information you can use. Everyone ready?" She looked around the room, "Ministry question: 'What is a type of business?' Official Ministry answer, and I quote directly from the text: 'A type or method of business a firm does.' That's the official Ministry of Education question and answer. Everyone get that?"
She waited a minute as people finished jotting notes, "Now then. A business exists to move product, the trading and exchange of item A for item B. If I have six eggs I trade to Tomas for a liter of fresh milk, we have conducted business. Tomorrow, should he decide he wants seven eggs for his milk, we then negotiate."
She spread her hands, "That's the basis of business. The rest is definitions. What type of currency, what medium of trade stands for what? If I offer Tomas a loaf of bread for his milk, he must decide to accept or not. In this case, Tomas is in the dairy business, and the medium of exchange has changed from eggs to bread. That is known as 'barter' and is the oldest form of commerce, and it still goes on." She moved away from the table, "You see this every single day. Those of you who know me know my spell casting sucks." She grinned as people chuckled, "However, I'm decent with a cauldron, so if I trade help with a spell for help with a potion, we have bartered the exchange of information."
"Moving on," she said. "I've mentioned 'type of business'. One reason I don't like the text is that it uses the same phrase for two different concepts. The first 'type of business' (she finger-quoted) is one we've already mentioned, Tomas' dairy business. It would be better phrased as a 'line of business', which is what we sell. Make a note of that, please." She waited a minute; "There are literally thousands of what are known as 'SIC' codes, which cover everything from aircraft parts to zoo equipment, and business sizes from single person to global businesses with millions of employees. Everyone clear on this?"
Felicia raised her hand, "What is an 'SIC code', please, and what about multiple product lines?"
"Excellent questions," Miss Wayne replied. "Four points for Gryffindor. First, I apologize, I should have defined it. An 'SIC code stands for 'Standard Industrial Classification', those codes are a way to search in lines of business. For instance, the 'Transport' line would be further broken down as rail, road, air, and water, and further subdivided into freight and passenger, and still further by local, regional, national, and international. Therefore Greywolf would be classified as airfreight and passenger, international. I don't think they've added in-system and interstellar yet. As far as multiple product lines, there are cases where a business will invest in a completely foreign line." She took a few steps, "Real-life example; Tom, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron wanted to expand his business, but for various legal reasons he had to deal with the owners of two adjacent Hogsmeade properties, who happened to be the Weasley twins."
"Now, in this case, the Weasley's line of business is joke shop, while Tom's is tavern. However, if you know the Twins, you know that behind all that red hair, they're pretty sharp business people. I'm not the only person to invest with them, and when you sell them a joke, you're doing that, in a way. Anyway, they had identified an unfilled need. That's classic market research, identification of a business need, and a method of filling it." She took a few paces, "It doesn't matter what line of business you're in, there is always a need. The need they identified was for temporary lodging, when someone visits, they need a place to stay the night, the original definition of a public house. That's not too far from a tavern, so they invested with Tom, and have a partial interest in his public house. Therefore, while the Weasleys might have an investment in Tom's pub, they're smart enough to leave running it to Tom. What do they know about running a pub? That's why I, as Arrowhead, invested in Greywolf. Arrowhead is an R & D company, while Greywolf's line of business is transport. That's also why Greywolf and DHL partnered, DHL has experience in local package delivery and sorting, while Greywolf does interstellar."
"Not just that," Sprink said. "We're also doing in-system."
"Which makes perfect sense," Mattie said. "Other logical businesses for them would be energy and communications. Who can name an illogical line of business for Greywolf? Shaundra?"
"Err… Zoo equipment?"
"Excellent; two points for Ravenclaw! While they might equip themselves to handle large livestock, that would be as a client of the zoo business, not an investor. See the differences?" She looked around. "It's the difference in buying a cage versus making the cage."
"Okay (she clapped her hands), we've covered the line of business, we're going to touch on the other 'type of business' (she finger-quoted). That would be what I would call the business' structure. There are essentially four different ways to set up a business, and you'll need to jot this down." She waited, "The first one is sole proprietor. You are the business; everything comes and goes out of your accounts. Profit, loss, taxes, everything connected with it, and this is the most common form of small business. A plumber is a good example. You have a leaky pipe, they find and fix it, and you write 'Joe's Plumbing' a check. Joe might have his wife at home to answer the phone while she's watching the kids, or he uses his cell phone exclusively. Whatever."
She paused for a minute. "Everyone got that? Moving on, the second type is a partnership. The Weasley twins started out like this; everything is split between the partners according to their contract. There are different styles of partnership, which I won't go into today." She waited again, "One other thing to note is that with a sole proprietor and a partnership, the business dies with the owner. Jot it down, the business dies with the owner."
She paced a bit, then took a sip of water; then pointed, "Callista. What is a line of business?"
The deputy headmistress was startled, then said as people turned to look, "What you sell."
"Excellent, two more for Slytherin. Minerva, what are three examples of lines of business?"
The headmistress looked a bit nettled, "A publican, a plumber, and a joke shop."
"Close enough, although it should actually be 'public house' or 'tavern'. A 'publican' is an employment code, like 'accountant'. Two points for Gryffindor. Moving on, the third of four business structures is the most common, the corporation. Once again, there are different types, public and private, small and large. The Weasleys would be a small, private corporation, while Greywolf would be a large, public one." She looked around the classroom, "Julie, Miss Morton that is, please name three public corporations."
"Um… GE, Boeing, and …"
"A British one? Come on, you can do it!"
"British Telecom? Aren't they government owned, though?"
"I didn't ask about ownership, but let's find out." Mattie pulled a bundle of newspapers to the table, popping a knife out to cut the cords. "I'm working on getting you lot subscriptions for two newspapers, the Financial Times (she held up the paper) and the Wizarding Reporter. Let's see… BT plc… here we are. Publicly traded company, one of the largest in the world, up two and an eighth." She circled it, folding the paper. "A bit of trivia, it's known as the 'pink paper' because the salmon colored newsprint it's printed on is cheaper than white paper. Two points to Gryffindor, and another one for asking a good question." She handed the paper to Julie. "That gives you something to read at lunch. By the way, if any of you currently subscribe to the Reporter, as an investor myself, I thank you."
People chuckled, and she continued, "Last type of business structure is a non-profit, which is just what the name says. It's like a privately held corporation, and for tax and liability reasons run things like zoos and water parks. Everyone get all four? Questions on business structure or line of business?"
She looked around as people glanced around. "Excellent. Does everyone have his or her own laptop? Okay. I'm going to be emailing you each a copy of a spreadsheet file that you'll use to track your investments. Julie, let me borrow that paper back for a second." Holding it up, she said, "Each security has a symbol, a code of one to six letters that they use to track it. IBM's is, of course, IBM, while 3M is MMM. That's fairly simple, right? However, wizarding business generally doesn't do that, you'll have to make up your own code. I use WWW for the Weasleys, although the actual symbol is for a shoe company in the States." She passed the paper back. "Your ongoing homework is to pick up to ten stocks, enter them in your spreadsheet, and follow them. You're budgeted a thousand galleons, or five thousand quid to start. Please remember, you will have losses as well as gains, and you don't have to invest in a company because it's in the news. Now, as this is an exercise, we won't bother with the commission that brokers normally charge to perform a transaction. If you want to calculate it in, figure three percent. Next week, we'll go over the financial numbers, what's good and what's not. This is all publicly available information; muggle businesses will have it available on their web site, as will some wizarding businesses. If you have problems finding out about a company, send me an email."
She waited a minute, "People, these are not Quidditch standings. Everyone has different tactics, some conservative; some will be lucky throwing the dice. The idea here is to learn and have fun. One last thing I want you to write down," and she waited. "This phrase: 'Don't love something that can't love you back'." She looked around the room. "Got that? It simply means that what we're doing here is investing. It's like having a Quidditch broom, if it breaks, yes, it's a financial loss, but there are lots of brooms out there. You buy a new one and move on. Now, I will confess that when I sold my stock in the Bats, I kept five percent, which has done … eh." (She waggled her hand in a so-so gesture.) "For me, it was a sentimental gesture, but it's about a tenth of a percent of my portfolio, so I can afford a little love." (Callista whistled, the school had bought those shares.)
Miss Wayne glanced at the clock, "Any questions?"
"What's under the cloth?"
She whisked it off, "I didn't get to them today. These are kilo bricks of gold, they weigh about the same as a liter bottle of water. These are also kilo bricks of tungsten; it's close to gold on the periodic table so they're about the same size. I want everyone to come up and get one of each paper, the muggle information is on the paper's web site, so tomorrow you'll need to check and see what your stocks did. Have a good afternoon, everyone, and let's make some money!" She touched her iPod, and some music started to play as the bell rang.
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Thursday, September 5, 2002: 07:20 (GMT)
In convoy, MV (A) Manhattan, Dining room:
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"Felipe!" Karen waved from her table, and the Mexican brought his plate from the buffet over. "Senora Meyers," he said politely, and seated himself at her gesture. "Have you decided on a name for your new community? We are unimaginative, and are simply using Nueva Mexico," he said as he added peppers to his eggs.
"We are using Brazos," one of her table mates replied. "Have you considered raising spices, such as… (he gestured) …those peppers?"
"Si," he replied. "We will be constructing greenhouses for the pepper bushes, they are more delicate, and cannot take cold." He took a bite, "I think you are correct, whoever assigned these sites wished us to stretch a bit, but also to cooperate and share knowledge between sites. Our university is located inland, in Mexico City, not near the coast, so our experience in fishing is limited."
"Same here," one of the newly named Brazans said. "While we had the river, it wasn't a major source of study. We primarily used that for irrigation studies for fields, we concentrated on larger animals like horses and cows, and fields of wheat and corn. Our climate is also going to be different, we'll have to cope with snow and ice on the rivers and lakes." He shrugged, "We'll help each other out."
"During what season will we arrive?" Felipe said.
"Let's see…" one of the fellows said, reaching into a pocket. He consulted a small chart, "Today's um… September fifth, which translates to the … ninth of Septus, which is a little more than half way through the summer season." He handed it over to Felipe. "Take it, I'll get another. The ship's computer has them, look for 'combined calendar'."
"Thank you," Felipe said. He studied it, "If I am reading this correctly, Windfall has a fairly short growing season, only four months."
"Not necessarily," someone else said. "We don't think it will have as severe winters, but we do expect to see some snow, and you're a bit more northerly than we are. It does have a rainy season, or at least the southern areas have daily morning showers. Unfortunately, our sites aren't there, so we really don't know. We also don't know when hurricane season is." He gestured, "We're fortunate that we have the orbital radars, and weather forecasting with the satellites. We're told that hurricane shelters were planned, but we don't know if they're just deep cellars."
"It would be well to negotiate some sort of evacuation arrangement."
"Good idea," an older fellow said. "I'm Professor Franklin, and for my sins, I've been elected acting mayor of our town of Brazos. However, we're both coastal communities, so we may have to go further inland, to our Polish friends." He indicated a young woman, "This is Ms. Elizabeth Brandt, another one of our acting leadership. We'll have proper elections the first of the year for our town council; the acting council decided to sit out a term before running for election. If you'll be kind enough to introduce us to your own council, we can get some things organized."
"Si," Felipe said. "We are not yet that organized, but I will introduce you." He stood, "If you are ready, Senor Mayor?"
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Hernando Cortez sat back and regarded his new neighbors, the Texan… no, the Brazans now. "Any hurricane we encounter will also have an effect on you," he replied.
"Yes, that's true," the just-as-new mayor replied. "However, those effects would be less than either a direct or glancing hit. I think if we both increase our reserves of food and water to accommodate our joint population for… three months?"
"A full year, preferably," Hernando said. He rubbed his face, "That will guard against crop failure. What about exchange of our technical people?"
"We can do video conferencing," Professor Franklin suggested.
Felipe shook his head, "The equipment installed on the satellites and that we carry in the freighter is not the FTL subspace. You are limited to the speed of light."
"Eh?"
Karen answered, "Whoever ordered the comm satellites didn't add the FTL subspace transceivers. In our equipment, we have the FTL subspace gear, but the satellites don't. Remember, I asked about getting the specs on things? Nobody had them from Arrowhead until after we boarded and it was too late; so therefore, we have to use the backup microwave radio transceivers to talk to our satellites. They're in a high, stationary orbit, so there's a speed-of-light lag of a few seconds." She shrugged and took a sip of her drink. "Another case of their 'left hand/right hand' problem. What we have is fine for things like email, but not for time-sensitive things like video conferencing."
"Can we do something with the satellites?"
"We'd have to modify or replace them," Karen answered. "We could also use the Elder's satellites, they're in a lower orbit, so there's less of a lag, but they're insecure, and yes, we have encryption." She paused, "We have a choice of a slower, higher satellite system that's secure, or a lower, faster insecure satellite system. However, we do have communication between sites. It's not as fast as we'd like, and we (she waggled a finger between her colleagues) have to do some workarounds."
"How important is security?" Senor Cortez asked.
"I do not want my information going over an insecure system," Felipe replied. "Do not forget, this carries financial, medical and other personal information. No, Senor Mayor, this will be as secure as we can make it. If we cannot modify the satellites, it is another reason to install an electric grid between sites."
Professor Franklin raised an eyebrow questioningly. "What does an electric grid have to do with communications?" he asked.
Karen replied, "Well, we've been talking, we technical people, just like you and the executive committee."
Felipe interjected, "It is useful, and there is not much else to do. Without the details, if we lay power cable between locations, it would include fiber optics for communications. While there is a capital cost, this can be recovered over time. Doing it that way would be less expensive in the long run. However, the cable can be heavy, so shipping from Earth would be expensive. It would probably be cheaper to build and license a factory to build cables."
Professor Franklin shook his head; "We don't have the tech base for that."
The engineers looked at him in silence. After a minute, Felipe replied dryly, "Thank you for your input, Senor Mayor. However, these are collections of spinning machines; fifteenth century technology."
Karen added, "The core is wrapped by one machine after another, we could build them, but they're small and cheap enough to import." She gestured with her pencil, "We're getting orbital metals; the survey of the original Landing site found a silicone plant, which the Chinese folks should be able to get back into shape; so we have most of the raw materials." She threw down her pencil, "I'm not in the executive committee, so I wouldn't know, but it certainly seems workable to me."
"How large an area would they need?" Hernando asked, to cover his fellow mayor's gaffe.
"That would be part of the bid. I took a trip to Sweden, and saw a cable plant." She blushed, "Yeah, I'm an engineer, it's interesting. Anyway, that was maybe twenty or thirty thousand square feet, plus outside storage, dock space, a few small cranes and such. However, they made a couple of dozen different types of cable, we wouldn't be." She counted on her fingers, "The combo cable I mentioned, both the land and underwater types. We would already be making fiber optic cable for that, so that as a separate product, as well as regular electrical and data cables."
"And the accessories for them," Felipe added. "Remember, Senor Mayor, this basic plant can be expanded. Think about how much cabling is in a house or building, and multiply it out."
"Regarding the power cable, you don't do a single reel of five hundred kilometers, but multiple reels of five thousand meters and splice them," Karen reminded him. "There's also the shorter lengths and smaller gauges; people like electricians and techs like Felipe and I would use reels of a thousand feet or so. Just building the wooden or metal reels they go on would boost the economy."
"Hmm," Professor Franklin said. "I do some woodworking and brew beer as a hobby. I've talked to Mr. Rice about that, doing signs and such as well as going in on our pub." He played with Karen's pencil; then looked over at Hernando. "I agree, we need to discuss getting bids with the Governor when we arrive."
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Friday, September 6, 2002: 06:54 (GMT)
In convoy, MV (A) Manhattan, Meeting room 5:
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"Guten Morgen, meine Damen und Herren." (Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.) Gunter started by saying, before switching to English. "This is the DHL Gruppe planning session, although I suppose we should call it the transport gruppe. We have representatives of each of the sites sitting in, as we have sat in on some of your meetings. We also welcome our safety people from Transport Canada. If everyone is ready, we shall begin. Computer, lights to 85 percent, bitte."
As the lights dimmed, Eleanor settled back to listen. She had talked with her cabin-mate Karen, had sat in on various planning meetings (primarily the non-technical ones), and this was something to do on the long trip. She just wished they had popcorn…
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Friday, September 6, 2002: 07:43 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, "Royalty" class:
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"Good morning," Beatrice said as Mattie, Arthur and the others entered classroom 17. Across the corridor, the fourth-years were entering the new Potions classroom. That door shut with a 'bang', and she controlled a startled jump, then smiled.
"One of the key points of being 'Royal', Harry said, "is that nothing surprises you. You must keep your cool at all times. I admit to being used to the castle, while Beatrice isn't."
"You must keep a smile ready-to-hand at all times," the strawberry blonde Royal added. "You are the Prince or Princess, nothing disturbs you, even if you're ready to scream inside." She looked at Julie, who was a bit round-eyed with awe. Reaching over, she snapped her fingers in front of her eyes, "I think it's time we dispelled a few myths. Yes, I am a princess, but I assure you, I put my shoes on just like you do. Hollywood plays up the myth, just like the blokes at Disney do."
Julie shook herself, "Sorry. No sitting around waiting for Prince Charming to show up on a white horse?"
Beatrice smothered a giggle, "No…" She coughed, "Nor do I wear floor length gowns and sing to the little birdies perched in my hand." She cleared her throat; "With your brother's association with Miss Wayne, you and your brothers and sisters are now the targets of not only paparazzi, but various rather strange people and psychopaths. As well, everything about you is now scrutinized and reported on in the tabloids."
"Everything," Harry said. "I went out clubbing over the summer, and one night picked a nice brown shirt to wear. It wasn't anything special, just a brown coloured shirt I happened to like, but the press called me a neo-nazi because I wore a brown shirt." He sighed, "I had to issue a press notice in the event I happened to have offended anyone."
"For wearing a simple brown shirt," Beatrice said. "I've worn frocks that gave me a 'baby bump' and had inquiries if I were pregnant, and speculation on the 'father'. You are constantly photographed, and you spend quite a bit of time visiting charities and other good works." She reached down to pick up a takeaway cup of tea, "If I'm hungry, I can't visit someplace like a chippie, standing in queue like anyone else, without causing a near riot. All because of who my parents are; if Father was a plumber or bricklayer, I would be totally unremarkable." She gave a small smile as one hand brushed back her hair. "Miss Morton, welcome to permanent celebrity. While it has its good points in that you can help people, one of the bad points is that you lose almost all privacy. Your friends are your most precious asset, the ones that treat you as 'Julie', not page one."
"And, as Professor Snape told me, they shall be around to properly deflate the ego," Mattie said with a grin. "Would you like to hear about our summer trip?"
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"I wonder how much use this class will be," Arthur said later.
"We'll make the best of it," Beatrice replied. "Whilst I am sure that there are different customs on different planets, there are commonalities, I am certain."
"To some extent," Charlie agreed. "I would have each 'embassy' prepare a briefing for visitors for differences that might surprise or bite them somehow." He gestured at Arthur. "One method of settling court cases was a trial by combat."
"Interesting," Prince Harry said. "I thought that had died out. Please, do tell."
"That was on Windfall," Arthur started. "Females and the elderly must use a champion, and the male fighters must prove their…" he cleared his throat. "Their masculinity, by displaying … um …"
"He had to strip down and show his … package," Mattie said, clearing her throat.
"Woah!" Little Bill said, surprised. "You're the man!"
"Bill…" Arthur sighed, "Are you finally, FINALLY realizing why I don't tell Mom and Dad everything?"
Bill blinked, then said. "Yeah. Okay, I'm cool."
Clearing her throat again, Mattie continued, "Being female, I wasn't allowed to fight, and it had to be people that were there when the initial challenge was issued and accepted. The master of ceremonies can change the conditions of the fight, which is how Daala ended up in a collar – his champion…"
"Miika."
She nodded, "Miika, lost to Arthur." She looked at him; "I need to run you through a few Zogger sessions, dear." At a raised eyebrow from Beatrice, she clarified, "Holographic martial arts training."
"Interesting…" Harry said. "However, that wasn't the only planet you visited." He turned to Sprink, "Ms. Tonks, you submitted a report about a planet known as 'Frostbite Falls', you had an interesting experience or two."
"That's a bloody ice world," she began. "The population has a custom of…"
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
Friday, September 6, 2002: 08:57 (GMT)
Terran system, Mars orbit, Deimos:
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
Edward Foo still didn't like antimatter much. Far too sensitive for his taste, it was like juggling nitro. Still, it had some interesting properties (although he still didn't know how Arrowhead made the stuff); he was doodling out some possible power reactor designs.
"Boom minus ten seconds," his partner Donald said. They had installed uprated shield generators, this design was totally Terran built. If they could approach the Gal-tech built units…
"… three … two … and boom," Donald said, melodramatically. The screens once again went white with the loss of signal (no TV camera made could survive total conversion to energy), and once again, the shield generator protected the camera behind the half-inch steel plate.
"Getting some gamma…" Edward said. "Not much, though. Yield of the package?"
"Those extra shield generators helped," Donald said. "Preliminary numbers are … twenty nine kilotons." He shook his head, "From something the size of a pea… we done good, Egg."
"Yes, we have, Donald," Edward agreed, for once not objecting to the nickname.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
Friday, September 6, 2002: 09:48 (GMT)
In Convoy, MV (A) Manhattan, Cabin C-05:
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
Eleanor sat back from her ship's computer terminal, and regarded the reply to her sister's letter, downloaded when they had reached Eridani III.
To: May Branstone (school)
From: Eleanor Branstone
Date: 6 September, 2002
Subject: New beginnings.02
Hello!
You will notice the slightly changed subject line I'm sending to you. A bit of advice from your big sister, now that you've been sorted into the Den, Professor Snape detests a long string of 'Re:' marks in the subject line. He regards it as laziness, and prefers a simple ascending digit, as I've inserted. Naturally, this is not something he will tell anyone, but I shall inform my little sister of.
Thank you in advance for the wand from Mr. Ollivander. I've asked the ship's purser to send you a draft for €15, which should cover the purchase and shipping. If this is inadequate, please let me know.
You've asked what I will be doing on Windfall. As the Governor's resident witch, part of my tasks is to measure the 'strength' of a planet's magical field as opposed to Earth's. This is measured in units known as 'thaum', and means it will be necessary for me to travel to various sites that we are placing, for more efficient and secure floo connections.
I am getting somewhat ahead of your current knowledge (in fact several years), but the Weasley Twins are not simple jokesters, but they have created (and patented, and licensed) a way not only to measure the magical strength of an area, but also to enhance it in a limited area (a few square meters). The Empire is of course vastly interested in this, and has funded quite a bit of R & D, as well as various exclusive production and distribution rights. Having someone of Miss Wayne's power, as well as the Goblins (in the form of Gringotts); as well as various Terran governments at their back has proved most useful to the Weasleys. I understand that several recent graduates have gone into their employ.
I am certain you have met Miss Wayne by now, as she is your Housemate. While I know she can prove intimidating, do not hesitate to ask her for assistance. Should you do so, she will want to know what you have done to resolve the problem, and will direct you to other resources if necessary. Only if those resources prove inadequate will she become directly involved.
Oh, this is such an exciting time! Who knew a few years ago that not only would we be setting off to colonize other planets circling other stars, but building starships in orbit, that we could holiday on space stations? This is truly the equal of the discovery of fire, or the wheel, and we are a part of it!
Eleanor sat back away from her keyboard, regarding the letter, then saved it. The ship's Marines had on offer shooting classes, and as her duties required extensive travel, she had signed up for them. It would be several days before they would drop out of warp and she could post her letter. She glanced at the ship's clock, then closed her email program and locked her terminal. Entering the cabin's small loo, she decided to freshen up before class.
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Friday, September 6, 2002: 15:43 (GMT)
Terra, London, Arrowhead R & D:
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"That's interesting," a fellow's voice said from behind her. "What is it?"
"A defensive laser using grav lensing," Chantal said, turning from her keyboard to see a young man's thin face with pale blond hair and blue eyes. She blinked and looked again, she could see through him, he was translucent and upside down …
She screamed.
"Well, really, there was no call for that," the ghost said, ruffled. "I simply asked a question…" She took another deep breath, and people started to arrive as the ghost backed away to the other side of her cubicle. Anne appeared, somewhat out of breath from her run; demanding, "What doth be the problem?"
"G… gh… ghost…" Chantal got out.
"Well, of course I'm a ghost. My father did kill me, the great sodding bastard," the ghost said, irritated, and Anne turned to him, "Draco, did'st thy think that a muggle might not ha' met a ghost before?"
"We're all over the bloody place, why wouldn't she have?" the ghost, whose name was apparently 'Draco' replied with a huff. Someone arrived with a cuppa for Chantal, wrapping her hands around it as she held it. "There's two specters associated with this building, and the Friar is downstairs enjoying himself while I try to learn something and get screamed at. It's just bloody wonderful, this shop of yours, and no one offers me a bloody cup of tea," he complained.
"If we could figure out how to do it, we would," Miss Wayne said as she arrived. "Okay, everyone, back to work," she said, clapping her hands. The crowd dispersed, most toward the tearoom and their own cuppa. Miss Wayne turned, "Draco, I'll thank you not to frighten my people." She advanced, hand out, "You must be Chantal. Anne's told me quite a bit about you, I'm Mattie Wayne, and this is Draco Malfoy." Draco floated closer, holding out his hand (right side up this time), and Chantal hesitantly took it. Both dropped the grip as quickly as was polite, Chantal with a slightly queasy look on her face. "Draco's fiancé lives in London, so he hitched a ride down from Scotland to visit her," Miss Wayne said, taking one of Chantal's two guest chairs, Anne the other.
"Your fiancé … lives … in London," Chantal clarified. "She's not …"
"Dead? Merlin, no!" Draco said. "Blaise runs a potions shop about half a mile away," he said, with the slightly goofy expression only those deeply in love seemed to get. "The Friar is downstairs arguing with the religious nuts out on the street about the Bible, he's enjoying quoting verse with them." He shrugged in a 'takes all kinds' way.
"And there are two …"
"Resident ghosts, they're friendly enough; they won't hurt you," Miss Wayne said. "Clarisse died during the Blitz, Delbert during the Great Fire of the 1660's. We need to find their bones before we can give them a proper burial and they can move on."
Chantal was coming back on balance, she took a sip of tea; then studied Draco. She finally shook her head, "I must say, Anne, I thought I was the Queen of pranks, but running a real ghost in on me, IF it exists…"
"IF I exist; and calling me an 'IT'?" Draco asked, outraged. "What an insult!" He advanced toward her, Miss Wayne said, "Draco…" in a warning tone as Chantal scooted away in her wheelie chair. "Miss Rivers, I think you owe Draco an apology."
"It… he… certainly acts sentient," she said, scooting away from the pissed-off ghost.
"Sentient? I'll show you sentient…" he snapped back.
"Draco! Miss Rivers! Apologize to each other, now!" They glared at each other, then both mumbled "Sorry…" and Miss Wayne grunted. "Not the most sincere I've heard, but I'll take it. Draco, didn't you want to visit Blaise and cry on her shoulder about something?"
"Yes…" he said; then vanished as Chantal shivered. Anne pushed her teacup toward the taller blonde, who snatched it up and gulped it. After a few deep breaths, she came back on balance as Miss Wayne smiled at her, settling back with her own cup of coffee. "Not to be impertinent, but this is Friday afternoon. Are you two playing hooky from school?"
Anne looked confused, while Miss Wayne laughed, recognizing the reference. "It means being away from school without permission, and no, we have permission from our head of house, Professor Snape. I've been off-planet for a couple months, and Anne had some things she needed to talk to people about." Anne nodded and moved off, while Miss Wayne took a sip of coffee, then gestured at the bare cubicle walls with her mug. "You can decorate, people usually have things like their last job or their college, and of course family photos. Anne and I each have cubes on this floor, come by if you feel the need to talk to a fellow Yank, although there are several of us here. We raided NASA and JPL pretty heavily; I know there's one fellow here from Stanford. I expect to see some MIT stuff up here soon, to balance all the Cambridge types like your roomie Liz."
Chantal had definitely calmed down, she replied, "I sent a lot of that stuff back home, international air freight being what it is. I can have stuff shipped here?"
Miss Wayne nodded, "It will have to go through security first, they'll open it to check, then leave a note with the front desk bloke. When you check in with him in the morning, he'll tell you there's a package; the mailroom is down a short corridor. They're used to getting overseas packages, I have a collection of coffee mugs from various newspapers and broadcasters. Same thing for sending stuff out, the secretaries have the shipping forms and cost codes are online, just don't ship a jeep home on my nickel, please." Chantal grinned and muttered, "Darn!"
Miss Wayne replied with her own grin, "If you need to send something business-related off-planet, use the country code 'SP' for 'Space' on the DHL account. Personal, you'd pay the shipping, of course."
"So if I wanted to send something to my sister…"
"Windfall is where I spent my summer holiday," Miss Wayne said. "I'd address it to the person or business, then a street address or general delivery. Third line would prefix 'SP' instead of a state, then 'Windfall' instead of a city, then the postcode. We're trying to keep postal codes, email addresses and telephone codes in sync, and a uniform format, and having a government monopoly helps."
"I could call another planet?"
"Inside the Terran system, yes. Outside, email or letter post, and it can take a couple weeks or more to get there." She took a sip of coffee, "It would be cheaper to send your sister a letter, but take longer. Email, the bandwidth is limited, so we ask you use plain text instead of fancy fonts and graphics, and burn a CD instead of sending huge attachments. Supplies are downstairs in the mailroom." She took a last gulp from her mug, which Chantal noted was from the Daily Planet. "I need to get back to work. Anything else I need to know?"
"No, ma'am, and thanks," Chantal replied.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
Blaise felt cold fingers on the back of her neck and turned, smiling, "Draco! Where have you been?"
"Miss Wayne brought the Friar and I down," he said as he appeared. "He's outside her office building, having a jolly time arguing scripture with the religious nuts picketing her. I poked around her shop; then came over here. Anything interesting happening?" He shifted slightly where he floated, "Hullo, Hermione. When is that thick boyfriend of yours going to get off the nut?"
"I don't know," she sighed. "I've tried some subtle things, like leaving copies of 'Modern Bride' out, but he just puts his feet on them when he's watching football on telly."
"Hermione …" Blaise sighed, "You're being too subtle. Ron Weasley is a stereotypical Gryffindor male …"
"Thick as two bricks…" Draco put in.
"… so its time to escalate, and get his attention …"
"Pain works well," Draco said. "May I? Oh, please, Blaise, with sugar, may I?"
"Draco…" Hermione said; then paused. "What were you thinking?"
He zoomed around, floating back with two brochures. "Wedding rings, one over each eye with one of those muggle stomplers …"
"Staplers…"
"Right, that's what I said," he replied. "Look, Hermione, I like you, even if you did somehow manage to kick my arse academically …"
"Not by much, though."
"Yes, thank you. I'll go have a bloke-to-bloke chat with the Twins; see if we can kick some sense into Ron." Draco vanished, and Blaise said, "The next step is to start a rumor going 'round the Alley about some competition. Perhaps Neville…" who looked up from stocking shelves and turned pale. "Ron will kill me!" he said.
"Ah, but you want Hermione happy, don't you? Where's that Gryffindor courage, Neville?" Blaise replied. "After all, Hermione, you're clever enough to have been a Slytherin. My price for getting you to the altar is your help changing that silly law that's keeping me from marrying Draco…"
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"Oy, where are Gred and Forge?" Draco asked as he came through the door.
Ian looked up (he was in town from Hogsmeade for the day), "Gred is in the back, and Forge is at Gringotts, Draco. Let me see if he's taking visitors."
"No problem, I'll just…" Draco bounced off the wall, blinked, and then tried it again. Ian smirked, "New charm, prevents nosy parkers from eavesdropping." He knocked on the door, poking his head in, then stepped aside, gesturing Draco inside.
As Draco floated past, Ian gave him a small salute, then closed the door. Rubbing his nose, Draco asked, "What the bloody hell did you do to your walls? My nose hurts."
George (or maybe it was Fred), laughed and said, "Pull up a chair, Draco. What can I do for you?"
Still grumbling, Draco rubbed his nose again, then said, "It's not for me, but for your thick-as-a-brick brother Ron."
"Right-o, mate, pull the other one. You don't have an altruistic bone in what's left of your body, so spill your plan, and name your price."
"Fine," Draco sniffed, sitting in midair, arms folded over his chest. "We're trying to get Ron off his nut and get him to the altar with Hermione. My plan involved pain on Ron's part, but I was convinced to get the Weasleys involved, there might be less bloodshed."
Gred grunted, "And your price?"
"Revoking of a silly 1610 law preventing ghosts from marrying live ones." He sniffed again, "I'm prepared to deal with the Ghost's Council; this is for Blaise."
"Ah, young love," Alicia said, coming down the stairs and standing behind her husband. "Didn't we need a ghost for testing?"
"Yes, we do… Gred said, and Draco backed up as Alicia said, "You see, Draco, we need someone to test things that might be the least little bit … fatal. Since you're already dead, there's no problem." She smiled, "We're more than willing to pay our standard rates…"
"Even put a flower or two on your grave, wherever that is," Gred added generously. "Somewhere at Hogwarts, wasn't it?"
"I don't know, I wasn't around for my funeral," Draco snapped. "Are you going to help, or do I have to possess your idiot brother? I'd rather not…"
"We'll talk it over with the family and let you know your part," Alicia said.
"Fine," Draco snapped, then zoomed off toward the wall, once again bouncing off it. He gestured, "Do you bloody mind?" Alicia unlocked the rear door for him, and he zoomed off. She carefully relocked and warded it as her husband asked, "We didn't really need a ghost, did we?"
"No," she replied. "But now Draco's going to be wondering what we're testing that we need a ghost for."
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Friday, September 6, 2002: 17:45 (GMT)
Terra, Wiltshire, Malfoy Gardens, pool:
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
C'ari sighed and rolled over on her thin 'beach blanket'. Really, the thing wasn't suitable for a blanket at all, it had no thermal retention, but it did insulate her from the warm concrete. She sighed again, this time in happiness. Life had certainly improved for her, even if she still wore a collar and belt! Still, the belt would come off eventually, and there were rumors…
Peter Oxley had seen the redheaded space babe when she had checked in, and she didn't have the signs of a witch, so he decided to make his move. Besides he was so damn bored… He approached her and used one of his most productive lines: "Hey, babe, want some oil on your back?"
She rose up to lean on her elbows, looking at the young Terran male through her dark protective glasses. "Why would you be interested in the state of my back?" she asked. "Furthermore, as I understand this language, a 'babe' refers to an infant, which I am not, and why should I want to place oil, which I understand is a hydrocarbon fuel, on my back?"
'Woah!' Peter thought. 'She might actually have a brain. I can get around that…' He replied, "Well, hey, no need to go all Spock on me, babe. I thought you and I might get together and enjoy some time together, y'know?" His facial features waggled strangely.
"I do not know this 'Spock', and as I am no longer a slave, I may decline. I do not find you attractive at all, I have no desire to copulate with you, and you are still immature." She turned away from him, resuming her position on the 'blanket'.
'What the… She insulted me! She can't do that, she's mine!' "Damn it, bitch, you will…"
"…not do anything she does not wish, Mister Oxley." One of the hotel's security elves said as he arrived with a 'pop'.
Yael Miller was watching from her own lounger, braced to jump to her feet, her Star of David necklace hanging as her hand was in a concealing folded towel. The young man, in his mid teens, flushed with hormones and, by the state of his dress, wealthy, turned to snarl in impotent rage at the small 'elf', one of the hotel staff, then stalk off.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
'Uppity elf needs a good beating to remind him of his place.' Peter thought as he slammed the door to their suite. "I want that muggle bitch. Who does she think she is? She's a bloody collared slave, and I'm going to teach her to do what she's told and respect her betters," he said to himself. He yanked off his swimming trunks as he entered the shower, leaning back against the tile as he thought of the red-haired slave kneeling before him…
Afterwards, he yanked on fresh clothing; then checked a copy of the resort map. There was only one pathway to the pool area from the main building, with lots of ornamental shrubbery on the grounds. Checking to make certain his wand was in place, he left the suite.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
'This is much better,' Peter thought, lounging comfortably behind a bush with a cold drink while he waited for the red-haired bitch to appear. He snapped his fingers, and an elf appeared, "Yes, Mister Oxley?"
"A snack. Something with chicken, broiled, and another drink," he ordered, finishing the glass and tossing it to the elf.
"Right away, Mister Oxley," and the elf disappeared with a pop. Peter looked up at feminine voices, but it wasn't the right bitch, it was two of her shipmates, twins, it looked like. 'Maybe tomorrow, after I've worn the first bitch out,' he thought. 'I'll do you two, maybe make you compete to please me…' He sighed in pleasurable fantasy, pleased that his parents had hired a tutor for him after he was kicked… '…having taken all Beauxbatons could offer me, which wasn't much,' he thought. 'They believed this would be educational, but so far, it's been a dreadful bore,' he mused. More female voices, he used a remote viewing spell to confirm that it wasn't his bitch, but a short-haired blonde as it was too much work to get up. 'Let the bitch do all the work, after all, that's why she's a slave,' he told himself, and of course he agreed with himself.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"I am glad you're feeling better, Ashley," Yael Miller said. "Did your doctor say when you could leave?"
"As long as nothing unusual happens, she thinks…" Ashley waggled her hand, "…perhaps a week or two. She does want me to stay aboard ship, keep away from 'reinforcing stimuli', like that's going to happen," and she tugged on her collar. "Anyway, we're done for the day, and the week, so I thought I'd come down and see what you guys are doing."
"We've got some cargo that needs to go to Windfall and points beyond," Yael said. "Think your doctor will agree to the end of next week when we can lift?"
"I'll email her and ask, but for now, I've just spent a long time getting my brain unknotted on a couch, and I'm starving!"
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"There she is…" Peter whispered, dropping his plate of chicken on the ground. He went over what he needed to do, and what he wanted the bitch to do, and hid himself, pointing his wand as the three approached, the older dark-haired Jew bitch he had seen a bit ahead of the other two. "Imperio…" he whispered, and two of them, the redheaded bitch and the short-haired blonde stiffened, stopping in their tracks. "No, no, just the redheaded bitch," he whispered.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
Yael was walking back to their suite with C'ari and Ashley, when they suddenly stiffened and stopped walking. They then whispered, "No, no, just the redheaded bitch," and turned toward a clump of bushes, robotically walking toward them. Not knowing what else to do, Yael snapped her fingers (as she had seen others do to summon the elves), asking the first one to pop in, "What's wrong with them?"
The elf took one look, then dropped his tray and snapped both hands. Immediately, the place was swarmed with elves, there was shouting behind the bushes, and the young boy was floated out, struggling against the ropes that bound him. A senior elf appeared, showing stifled rage, and bowed deeply to her. "Please excuse this, Captain. It appears Mister Oxley was using a forbidden spell on your shipmates. We will hold him until DMLE arrives."
"What… what spell?"
"It is known as the Imperious spell, one of the three Unforgivable spells. Please excuse me for a moment, I must confer with law enforcement." With muffled cracks, human cops appeared, conferring with the elf; then one very tall dark-skinned fellow approached her, the sunlight gleaming on his shaved head. "Captain Miller? I'm Kingsley Shacklebolt, Department of Magical Law Enforcement," he said. "Please come with me," and he walked over to her two … ensorcelled crew. "They can hear me, they just can't respond," he told Yael. "What are their names?" he asked, pulling out a pad of paper and a ballpoint.
"C'ari and Ashley," pointing at the two girls.
"Stop. Pay attention to me," he told the two girls. "You are under an illegal spell. You will not be harmed. I am law enforcement. Your captain will stay here with you until we release the spell. Obey only her. Once we have released the spell, you will need to give a statement of what you were doing when you were attacked." He took a few steps away, conferring with several others.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
Mr. Shacklebolt reappeared, conferring with Yael, who told her two girls, "You will give a statement of what you were doing separately to Mr. Shacklebolt when he releases the spell. You'll stay within sight of the other, and myself but don't talk to anyone but Mr. Shacklebolt until he allows it. Come with me, please." The two girls followed her to small tables and chairs set up behind bushes, C'ari standing until he waved a wand, where she burst into tears.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"Mr. Oxley? Mrs. Oxley? Will you come with me, please?" the young woman said, flashing a badge. "I'm Tonks, DMLE, and we've arrested your son, Peter, for two counts of attempted rape with an Unforgivable."
"Peter? RAPE? That's impossible!" Mrs. Oxley said, pale and shaking. "He… he doesn't know how…"
"Please come with me," Tonks repeated.
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"I'm reminding you, lad, don't say anything until your parents and your solicitor get here," the guard sergeant said.
"What the **** bloody **** are you talking about, you **** **** ****!" Peter shouted. "Get these ropes off me, let me out of here, do you know who my father is?"
"Indeed I do, lad. Indeed I do."
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Saturday, September 7, 2002: 06:40 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Doors:
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"Professor Snape!" Mattie called as she returned from her run, and he turned, tennis racquets and equipment floating behind him.
"Yes, Miss Wayne?" he asked. The early morning chill was enough to raise goose bumps on his thin legs, shown under his white tennis shorts and togs. A takeaway cuppa was in his hand; he motioned the students on as he waited.
She slowed to meet him, breathing a bit hard. "I ran across an interesting name yesterday on the outbound list to our new colony on P'wheel. Melanie Snape, MD. A neurologist. Any relation?"
He turned to start walking, and she moved to join him. "Not to my immediate knowledge, although the medical and alchemical arts do run in the family. I would appreciate any knowledge you may legally give me." He turned to glance down at her, "The Melanie Snape you knew became an unofficial healer herself, women were not licensed as such at the time. I have some of her journals, I will remove the family wards if you would like to read them."
"I would, I'll ask Karen to pass any information to you." He nodded, "When will her ship depart?"
"Probably about a month or six weeks, it depends on when the Nevis and the Dover get here."
"Good. Thank you, Miss Wayne."
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Author's Note: "A tip of the quill to GITM for knowing far more about golf than I do."
Saturday, September 7, 2002: 09:45 (GMT)
Terra, Inverness, City course #2:
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People turned as suddenly a dozen students appeared in the parking lot, accompanied by distinct 'cracks' as three additional adults materialized. The leader, an older, dark haired woman coiled up a small rope that the students had held, and marched off toward the clubhouse.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"Professor McGonagall, I presume? I'm Mr. Burns, the golfing instructor at MacReedie."
"Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Burns," Minerva said, shaking his hand. She wore her favored long skirts in her tartan and carried a bag, "This is my husband, Albus. Are your students prepared?"
"Oh, my yes," he said with an evil glint in his eye as he shook hands with Albus, who wore gaudy red and gold plus-fours and argyle socks with an orange and black striped golf shirt. "I understand you've just gone through your first OFSTED inspection. My sympathies. How badly did they do?"
Minerva sighed, "Some of the school's most cherished institutions had to be discontinued, ones that dated to the founding of the school in the early tenth century." She sighed again, as Albus said, "I must confess that it has been quite a while since I've had the chance for a relaxing eighteen holes, so when Minerva said she needed an additional chaperone, I volunteered. I understand that we receive a discount?"
"The students do," Mr. Burns said. "Their rate is £15 per, to encourage future growth. Unfortunately, we pay the full price of £35." He shrugged, then said, "Let's get this mob signed in, we don't want to miss our tee time. Where is your kit?"
"Shrunken, and we shall be holding their wands," Minerva said. "I understand there was some concern with cheating, those of us that practice wandless magic have given their word not to, unless, of course there is an emergency." She motioned two others over, "These are Crystal and Steve, they will not be playing, but are bodyguards for Miss Wayne and Mr. Morton."
As they were shaking hands, Albus said, "Let's get them signed in and paired up, now."
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"So you're a bloody wizard," the muggle boy said. "Your fangs have been pulled, how useful are you without your bloody stick?"
"I get by," Arthur answered calmly as he leaned against his golf cart while suppressing a grin. His 'fangs' included far more than just his wand and Mattie's made his look pitiful in comparison.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
Arthur put his opening tee shot about 240 yards straight down the fairway of the 324 yard par 4. Glenn, his opponent, out drove Arthur by about 20 yards, but had found the first cut of rough on the left side of the fairway. After studying this, Mattie pulled her driver from her bag on the cart and walked the short distance to the red tees the girls played from.
In the middle of Mattie's swing, Barbie, Glenn's partner, whistled sharply. Mattie's resulting shot was short and sliced. "That's a stroke, that is," she chortled.
Steve stepped up and warned, "Miss, I'd suggest you play a clean game."
"Oy, the bodyguard is giving me a warning. I'm soooo scared," Barbie replied. "Well, Ms. Rich Bitch over there is going to have to play like us normal folk do. I'm not lifting a finger toward either one of you, and neither is Glenn, and you can't do anything about it," she laughed.
Mattie frowned dangerously as she stepped out of the tee box. "Arthur? Not my father's game."
Arthur nodded, understanding that Mattie had just given him permission to nail Barbie to the nearest tree. He walked to the cart and unzipped a pocket of his golf bag, rummaged around for a moment and tossed a small book at Barbie, who fumbled, then caught it. "The Rules of Golf, Section I: Etiquette. I suggest you read it."
"This is just a friendly game, don't be an arse," she said as she tossed the book back. Teeing her own ball up, she waited for a distraction that didn't come and put her own drive about 200 yards down the right side of the fairway.
"If it's a friendly game, maybe we should make a friendly wager?" Arthur asked as they walked down the fairway toward Mattie's ball.
"Money doesn't mean anything to a billionaire, so how about if we win, we get to see the both of you starkers in the fountain in front of the clubhouse," Glenn smirked. He added, "I've a camera and lots of film."
'That bet was seriously out of left field,' Arthur thought. "We have our frugal moments," he replied. "I was thinking of a round of drinks at the ninth and eighteenth holes, but…" he saw Mattie mouth the word 'accept'. Even if they won, the mere fact that they'd made such a wager to begin with could hurt their/Arrowhead's/the Solar Guard's/the Empire's reputation. "And if we win?"
"Won't happen."
"Humor me."
"Same terms."
Arthur already knew what they looked like naked, having routinely checked them, and everyone else present, for weapons back in the clubhouse. But Mattie had that dangerous glint in her eye... And he'd already been naked in public before... And he knew at least three spells that could ruin exposed film... "Deal," he said, offering his hand.
"Deal," Glenn replied as he shook it. "Ladies?"
"Deal," Mattie said, offering her hand to Barbie. "As you said, we don't have our wands. But I am going to insist on a clean game."
Barbie thought about it for a moment before shook Mattie's hand and said, "Fine, I'm in."
"I can already see the money from the Sun," Glenn said, adding, "The famous Mattie Wayne on Page Three, starkers!"
"Over my dead body," Crystal growled in Wolvish to Steve, who shook his head negatively. It was a fair, if stupid, wager and should be left to sort itself out.
Barbie, having heard the growl, looked at Crystal strangely, but quickly turned her attention to Mattie's second shot.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
Third hole, a short par 4, saw Mattie's drive get pushed by the wind to the right and into a bunker. Crystal cursed under her breath. A simple spell could have produced a countering gust of wind to leave the ball in the fairway, but getting caught casting it would have been Bad.
Mattie's sand wedge left her well short of the green, but she still managed a bogey after two putting from 20 feet after her third shot. Arthur missed a tricky four-footer for par and tapped in for his own bogey. They were down two strokes after three.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
Glenn had continued to be longer than Arthur off the tee, but Arthur had hit all four fairways to that point. Mattie's shots had continued to head right, losing her ball once, but Barbie had hit two water hazards and her putting, normally the strongest part of her game, had been possessed by a slight case of the 'yips'. (Twitching during the putt.)
"So... you were both off-world this summer?" Glenn asked Arthur as they waited on the cart path for the ladies' second shots on the relatively long par 4 6th hole. "What's it like?"
He opened a small cooler, extracting a bottle of water and offering one to Glenn, "The stars are beautiful, and seeing planets from orbit…" he said after a minute. "I kept thinking of Apollo…" He shook himself; "I did a walkabout in the port market on Eridani III, bought some stuff like a wrist comp, but mostly people-watched."
"What was that like?" Glenn asked, nodding in thanks for the water and cracking it open.
"It's an open air street market. I took some photos, but Mattie's a better shutterbug than I am. As far as the people, most of them are okay individuals, but there's also that sense of 'looking out for number one', there's not much charity," and he looked at Glenn as he took a sip of water.
The other fellow nodded in recognition, and Arthur continued, "Most of them, the vast majority, just seem to accept what life throws them as 'The Will of the Source' (he finger-quoted), the dominant religion," he said. "I haven't quite figured out all the details, it varies some, but it seems to be something like karma, redemption, and reincarnation. You move upward along the Source's spiral with a good life and good deeds, bad deeds put you further down the spiral, to retrace your steps." He shrugged and watched Barbie's second shot roll into the creek guarding the front of the green. "Ow. She should've laid up."
"How do I know you didn't..." Glenn asked suspiciously.
"I'm standing here talking with you about religion," Arthur said. "Do you see me with a wand in my hand, casting spells? And Mattie's facing the wrong way." He shrugged, "Wind from the Loch's just nasty."
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"She's a bitch," Barbie said to Glenn in their cart as he drove to the seventh tee, another par 4. "Snotty little billionaire. This isn't going the way it should. I want birdies and eagles on every hole. I don't care about your photos, I want to grind her face into the dirt."
"We can't fudge the scorecards, they're counting our strokes the same as we're counting theirs."
"There are ways to cheat other than bad math."
Glenn slowed and glanced over at her. "What? Find lost balls in convenient spots? As far as I can tell, they're not cheating..." Glenn started. "And they seem to be all right, like any other kid in school, I've talked to them both..."
"I DON'T CARE," Barbie hissed. "You do this for me, Glenn Taveres, or we're through! Is that plainly understood?"
"But... Yes, dear..." he replied.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"Barbie wants birdies and eagles," Steve murmured to Arthur as he handed over a mobile phone for a false phone call.
"Don't we all," Arthur replied quietly as he 'talked'. "I get the feeling she's best with woods."
"The kind with erasers? I think she'll settle for other forms of cheating."
Arthur shook his head as he concluded the 'call'. "Mattie has her mental shields up, she doesn't like that girl, but she thinks Glenn's okay. Barbie signs a wrong scorecard, she loses, simple as that."
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
The same creek that guarded the green on the sixth hole ran down the left side of the first section of the long double dogleg 8th, a par 5. "Arrrgh!" Barbie screamed, throwing her club into the creek to follow her ball. She spun, stalking toward Arthur and Mattie, only to be intercepted by Crystal with a drawn wand. Arthur didn't hear what she said, but the club was summoned out of the creek; cleaned, and handed back to Barbie.
"Drop two, play three and unless she can pop it over that stand of trees and hit the fairway on the other side, she'll be lucky to get seven," Arthur said quietly.
"She'll try it," Glenn replied, equally quietly. "Most people try to cut corners on this hole. Go about 190 down the right side like I did and then loft an iron over the trees. Since the approach is a pretty clear downslope, you can reach in two with a strong fade if the wind is right. I've seen Mr. Burns do it, but I've never managed it myself."
Barbie found her ball perched atop a small spit of sand at a bend in the creek. To save a penalty stroke, she yanked off her shoes and socks, then stood barefoot in cold, shallow water, took her sand wedge and blasted out of the creek bed into the short section between doglegs. She refused an offered drying charm from Crystal; her third shot barely cut the corner of the second dogleg and rolled a good 30 yards downslope. She chipped to within 12 feet and her putt went in like it had eyes. She'd saved par, but was still angry.
Her partner Glenn took a four iron over the two small groves of trees meant to block direct shots at the green and left him a downslope chip of his own. Overshooting slightly, he three putted from just off the green to bogey.
Mattie was suspicious about Barbie's fortunate sand lie, but said nothing; she knew Crystal and Steve were watching out for her. Her own first shot had not reached the end of the first leg of fairway, the wind that she'd counted on having failed to materialize. Popping a nine iron over the both corners of the dogleg, her natural tendency to slice came in handy for a change. But she misread the downslope shot, overshooting the green by 10 yards to end in the second cut of rough. Her chip passed within inches of the hole and her return putt was perfectly lined up, just not quite long enough, leaving her to tap in for a bogey.
Arthur, having overdriven his first shot, debated trying to chip over the corners as the others had done, but elected to play it safe, knocking his ball the short distance from the end of the first leg to the start of the third. His 3 wood, pushed by the wind, proved far too much club and his ball ended up a good 25 yards past the hole, ending up near the ninth hole tee box. His chip back rolled through the green to its far edge and he three putted from there for a double bogey 7.
"I've got to work to on my short game," he told Mattie.
"That green was slow," she replied. It was a fact their opponents knew well, having played the course many times before.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
The ninth was a slight dogleg left 400 yard par 4 for the gentlemen, but a 388 yard par 5 for the ladies. As usual, Glenn was 20 yards farther down the fairway than Arthur, but Arthur was in the middle of the fairway while Glenn had to worry about a group of mounds that might interfere with a direct shot at the green. Mattie was safely down the right side of the fairway, while Barbie, with no water to worry about, safely drove the middle of the fairway.
Being furthest away, Barbie took the first shot, pulling out her 3 Wood and firing a drive straight into the wind that put her on the green, but a good 45 feet from the hole. Mattie didn't need quite as much club to match Barbie's feat, ending a few feet closer to the hole. Arthur's approach found one of the left side sand traps. Glenn's iron shot cleared the mounds, but got knocked down by the wind short of the green. Paradoxically, he wound up closest to the hole of the foursome.
Mattie marked her ball with a silver sickle to give Barbie a clear putting line and watched Barbie reduce the 45 feet to four and a half with her putt. Barbie's putt having given Mattie a good idea of how her own would break, aimed a touch farther left than she might have otherwise and was rewarded with a putt that ended eighteen inches from the cup. If it had been closer, she would have tapped in, but instead marked her ball again and waited for Arthur's third shot.
Arthur's ball was buried fairly deep, but the bunker itself was shallow enough that he wasn't worried about hitting out of it. He buried his club face hard enough to send a shock through both arms, but he'd judged the line perfectly, bouncing his ball off the flagstick to end three inches from Mattie's marker.
"Nice one," Glenn admitted, drawing a hostile look from Barbie as Arthur marked his ball with one of the Windfall sandur coins. He bumped and ran to within three feet. Barbie's birdie putt lipped out and cursing, she tapped in for her par. The other three all made their short putts, resulting in pars for the boys and a truly needed birdie for Mattie.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"How are we doing?" Mattie asked as they sat in their carts, waiting for the group ahead of them to leave the 10th tee.
Arthur pulled his scorecard from his pocket and did some quick mental addition. "Par is 35 for men, 36 for women on the front nine. I've got 44 and you're at 47." For his first round since returning to Earth, he was more than happy.
"If you could do my driving and I could do your putting, I think we'd both be a lot closer to par. How are they doing?"
"I'm just too cheap to buy more golf balls," Arthur said to her chuckle as he counted things up. "We were even after six, down two strokes after seven, down four after the eighth when Barbie saved par, but you got back one for us on the last hole. Glenn is at 42 and Barbie is at 46, but they've played this course before." He took a drink from his water bottle, "I think I'm going to like this class."
"Yeah, and we'll get them on the back nine."
"Why did you tell me to accept that bet? For all you knew they could be MacReedie's top golfers."
She sighed, "That was an impulse decision, but did you ever have someone just completely rub you the wrong way from the start?" He nodded, "I need to meditate on this, and her mind is like wading through mud, but it's been all I can do to keep from beating the crap out of her. I'm having to settle for this, and I hope Crystal and Steve catch her cheating."
"You really need to dial down that temper of yours."
"Yeah, I know. I'm going to the gym when we get back to school and take it out on the heavy bag, but I've wanted to slug her from the word 'go'." She took a sip from her water bottle, "I think I've still got issues about some things from the trip."
Arthur took a sharp breath and nodded. "Okay, I know what you mean, I've got some too. By the way, remind me to tell you about Ted Berry some time."
"Who's he?"
"Carson's father."
"Ah."
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
Crystal was morally certain that Barbie had cheated at some point. As no threats had crossed either of their radars, she signaled to Steve to hold the fort, shifted to wolf form and scrambled back to the creek at the eighth hole.
It only took her two minutes to find it. In a stand of tall grass, she found a golf ball with Barbie's fresh scent on it. The lines and dots Barbie used as a personal mark merely confirmed the ball's identity.
'Now what do I do about this?' Crystal asked herself. While any wizard would believe a werewolf's statement about a scent, it was unlikely that any muggle would. Particularly her word if Mattie was involved in any way. Being Mattie's personal bodyguard meant people expected that she'd lie on Mattie's behalf.
'I've got nine holes to figure it out and I can ask Steve if I have to,' she thought as she collected the ball.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
As the match progressed, Arthur started getting a feel for the greens, Mattie compensated for her tendency to slice, Glenn's driving accuracy improved as the winds died down and Barbie's putting stroke came back to her.
They got two strokes back when Barbie dunked another ball (her fourth) on the 12th hole. Arthur lost a stroke in a fairway bunker on the 14th, but got it back with a 15 foot par putt, his longest of the day, on the par 5 15th after Glenn had problems with a group of mounds guarding the left front section of the green. All four of them hit the green on the short par 3 17th, but none of them managed birdie putts, although Barbie's missed by only two inches.
The finishing hole was an uphill par 4, 305 yards for the men and 294 for the ladies. Barbie once again had the honor of leading off and struck her ball 185 yards down the middle of the fairway. Mattie's out drove her by 10 yards down the right side into the first cut of rough. That was annoying, but not fatal. Arthur hit his tenth out of thirteen relatively wide fairways on the day with his low trajectory drive, but the upslope cost him distance leaving him 88 yards from the front of the green and 100 from the stick. Glenn took a monster swing and drove the ball a good 250 yards, about as far left as Mattie was right.
Barbie, furthest away as usual, lead off by dropping her second shot to the left of the green. Arthur, just a yard farther back than Mattie, lofted a wedge to the back of the green with enough backspin that it nearly rolled off the front of the green before coming to a halt. Mattie used a high iron to reach the right fringe of the green, a good 60 feet from the flag placed back left and Glenn tapped a half hearted chip that scooted 8 feet past the hole before stopping, a tricky downhill birdie attempt given the contours of the green.
Mattie smacked the ball, but the slow green ate momentum, leaving her 14 feet of left breaking green to go. Barbie chipped short with her third shot, leaving 11 feet for par. Arthur studied his putt long enough to get an 'ahem' from Glenn and a 'Whenever…' from Barbie.
Knowing the green was slow; Arthur struck hard from 35 feet, but came up short and left, even if well positioned for a 5 footer straight uphill. He marked his ball with a sandur coin and waited for Mattie's fourth shot.
Mattie's second putt went too far upslope and thus rolled just past the hole on her right. She tapped in for bogey.
Barbie's putt broke to the right more sharply than expected. She also tapped in for bogey.
Glenn's birdie putt rimmed out to a gasp from Mattie and a stifled scream from Barbie. The ball went left three feet and stopped. Glenn took three calming breaths before marking it.
Arthur's five footer went straight uphill and straight in the hole for par.
His side up by one, Glenn felt the pressure. Make it and win. Miss it and tie or possibly lose. Three feet, slight slope to the left. Simple enough. But he thought about the consequences of winning and things got complex. Nude photos of Mattie Wayne might be fun to take, but there was no doubt in his mind that she could make his life a living hell if he published them, no matter how much he might be paid for them.
But the Rules of Golf demanded he play his best and damn it, he would play his best. He checked his alignment one final time, stood parallel to his line, took two practice swings, moved forward six inches and struck the ball.
It went in.
Barbie screamed in triumph. Mattie's face tightened down in a way that indicated impending violence to Arthur. He'd come up with three ways to meet the letter of wager's terms while violating the spirit, but might need to stop Mattie from committing assault first. Glenn calmly picked his ball out of the cup, replaced the flag and got off the course so the next group could make their approach shots.
Steve rubbed his forehead. Bad Press was the last thing they needed. Maybe he should have let Crystal do as she'd wanted.
Crystal just smiled. "Before you get carried away, could all of you hand me your signed scorecards so I can verify them?"
Arthur shrugged, signed his card and handed it over, with Glenn doing the same. Mattie had an intuitive flash about where Crystal might be going with her request and smiled before carefully signing her full name and handing over her card.
"What do you mean 'verify them'?" Barbie asked, signed scorecard in hand.
"Just a little truth charm to verify that you wrote down the correct numbers."
"Truth charm?" Barbie paled.
"Anti-cheating charm, usually used on tests," Steve said, summoning Barbie's card to his hand and giving it to Crystal. He'd twigged to what Crystal was up to and Arthur was right behind him.
One spell later: "That's odd Barbie, you're marked as disqualified."
Wearing a nearly Joker-esque grin, Mattie said, "Don't tell me, let me guess. She lost her ball in the creek on eight, dropped a new one on that little spit of sand without telling anyone, instead of where she should have, then played on from there, recording a 5 when it should have been at least a 6, if not an 8."
"And violated Rule 6 - 6d," Arthur added, his copy of The Rules of Golf in hand.
"You're making that up!"
"Am I making this up?" Crystal asked, pulling a sealed see-through evidence baggie containing a golf ball marked the same as the one Barbie had finished with. "Did you lose this? Because I found this one in some tall grass by the creek on the eighth hole."
"You're a magician! You just … conjured that out of thin air!"
"With your specific markings on it?" Crystal asked, tossing it to Glenn.
"Barbie, you didn't," Glenn muttered while attempting to rub away a headache.
"Glenn Taveres! Are you going to believe me, or are you going to believe them."
"I'm going to believe them because I know you."
Barbie jerked as if shot. "Why, you..." she stormed at Glenn. "We're through!" and she stormed off.
"GOOD!" he shouted after her. "I'm tired of sharing 'Bouncing Barbie' with half the bloody school! Make it on your own, bitch!" Visibly calming himself, he turned, offered his hand to Arthur. "You're an okay bloke, for a Yank. Sorry about that."
"Don't worry about it," he replied. "Bet's off, though, it never happened." Glenn nodded, and offered his hand with his camera to Mattie, "Sorry about that, Miss Wayne."
She handed the camera back, "It's Mattie, and stuff happens. Just so you know, I don't care about collecting on that bet, but... don't tell Barbie. Let her sweat."
Arthur grinned, "Damn straight."
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"So what's it like, going to a magic school, instead of a normal one?" Glenn asked as they waited for others to finish up.
"Classes are different, of course, but we're also getting the muggle, the non-magical courses for the GCSE like math and history," Arthur replied as he sat on a bench outside the clubhouse. "Instead of chemistry, we get potions, and transfiguration and charms, which is making things behave un-naturally. Like making a chair dance, or changing it to an end-table or a teapot."
Glenn blinked, "That… violates so many laws of nature…"
"Which is why I did, and still do, have problems with spell casting," Mattie said. "They don't violate magical laws, but I'm much more comfortable with potions and alchemy. I'm not looking forward to my OWLs this year." She clarified, "Ordinary Wizarding Levels, the fifth-year exams."
"Alchemy? You can change lead into gold with that, what's it called, the Philosopher's Stone?"
"The Stone was destroyed in 1995," Albus said, coming up behind them. "Miss Wayne, Mr. Morton, we shall be departing shortly." He turned to see Barbie approach, "Ah, Miss Brittan. I wondered where you were. My dear, may I offer a word of advice? Let go of your anger, it is eating you up inside. I am certain Mr. Burns or any of the fine staff … "
"Stuff it, old man!" she snapped. "We're leaving!" She turned and stalked off, and Glenn said, "I must apologize for her, Mr. um…"
"Dumbledore, and your courtesy does you credit, Mr. Taveres." Glenn blinked as Albus shook his hand; continued, "I look forward to seeing you again, I had a marvelous time today." He turned, "Mr. Morton, I'd like to meet with you and the other students regarding Legilimency and Occlumency next Friday, fourth period in the Room of Requirement. I have also taken the liberty of ordering a text for you; it should be in shortly at Flourish and Blotts. You may expect their owl." He nodded pleasantly and moved off.
"Owl?" Glenn asked, adding, "Well, he's certainly … unique."
"Wizarding mail comes by postal owl, and you have NO idea," Arthur said.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
Sunday, September 8, 2002: 10:53 (GMT)
In convoy, MV (A) Manhattan, Dining room:
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
Professor Franklin sighed and sat back, folding and throwing his napkin down. He looked out the port at the grey FTL 'jump' field that moved the ship, then said, "I've got an executive meeting in a few minutes; the heads of all our delegations. That's the reason we've been having all the meetings, we want to have as much information about each other as we can. We were operating in isolation on Earth, now we'll have a uniform agenda when we meet with the Governor on arrival, and she's sure to want to know things like priorities and prices."
"Good luck, then," Karen replied, as he got up to refill his coffee.
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Monday, September 9, 2002: 12:09 (GMT)
Terra, Inverness, MacReedie School, Dining Hall:
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"So Glenn Taveres, laddie, I hear tell tha' ye' went an' taught a couple o' wizards how to play the Grandest Game," Scott MacPherson said as he straddled a chair. "How were they? Did they have to use their sticks?"
"The only sticks they used were their clubs," Glenn replied. "An honest game, and a fair game." He took a bite of his apple, chewing slowly. "They're not so different from us, they take a few different classes than the GCSE calls for." He circled a finger in the air, "Not so different, they've got rich and poor folk, they've got people struggling in certain classes and bein' good in others." He took a gulp of water, "Like you an' history, now, Mr. MacPherson?" He asked with a grin. Some of the onlookers chuckled, and Glenn continued, "Like any of us."
"Who did you play with?" one of the girls asked.
"Mixed doubles, I was partnered with our Bonnie Bouncing Barbie Brittan, an' played Morton and Wayne. They…"
"Wayne? The billionaire Queen herself? What was she like? Any chance…" Scott made a rude hand gesture, and Glenn shook his head. "Morton's put a ring on her finger, laddie. One of her mates told me later that there's an unofficial rule at their school. It's called 'Don't fuck with Wayne,' and the reason is that after she destroys her enemies, she grinds them to a fine powder. I heard a lot of 'Oh, laddie, I could tell you stories,' but none of those stories. Those wizards can be a tight-lipped bunch."
"So what were they like? Anything like the tabloids?" another girl asked.
"Ordinary," Glenn replied, after chewing and swallowing a reflective bite of his sandwich. "They had bodyguards, but they were more older sister and brother. The one, Crystal, well, you may have heard, you may remember about an assassination attempt across the pond, in Metropolis?" There was a pause as people thought back, then several people grunted and nodded. "She took a grenade, spent several weeks in hospital. She seemed fine, but the one time Barbie dropped her ball in the lake, she walked toward Wayne with blood in her eye. I don't know why, but they just … moved. Like they didn't need their wands." He waved toward the school's corridors, "When I got back, I googled Wayne and Morton, an' I suggest you lot do too. Her home town is Gotham City, and it's been called 'The City of Nightmares'." He took a gulp of water, "Oh, she is one person I do not want to cross, but… but..." He raised a finger, "She's … down to earth; they both are. The kind of mates you could go to watch a movie or game of footy, have a pizza, and put your feet up with. Morton told me that she brought tools with her, and got filthy dirty fixing a stopped-up pipe." He eyed his sandwich and finished it in two bites.
"So they're … normal, that's what you're saying," another fellow said.
Glenn nodded, holding up a finger until he swallowed. "They could fit in here, easily. Wayne's what the Yanks call a jock; she's a runner. How many people do we have that run for fun? Morton's more of a geek, he's good with math, but his Pa works, or did work, as a driver for FedEx, and his Mum's a university librarian." He held up his hands, "Nothing too weird there. Her older brother is a bobby, his older brother is in college working on an engineering degree." He finished his water bottle; then stood, putting things together, saying, "And now, I've got a bit of time before my next class."
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"She's a… a… ooooh, I can't think of the right word!" Barbie said to her clique of friends.
"Witch?" one of them replied, and giggled.
"That too!" Barbie snapped. "Oooh, I hate her! She flaunts her money; you should have seen her kit! All top shelf, and arrogant, a stuck up little snotty bitch! Nothing bad ever happens to her, because SHE CHEATS!"
"What, she used bad numbers? You usually do that course in the 80's."
"No…" Barbie admitted reluctantly. "Her bodyguards…"
"She actually had them?"
"Yes, and they hovered, and watched me like a hawk. I was so nervous, I thought they were going to … to spell me any moment. Then Glenn does that stupid bet of his, you know the one he does with any girl playing against him?" Several girls nodded, glaring toward the lunchroom and Glenn. Barbie continued, "Well, he tried it with her, and they actually accepted!"
"Nooo!" several girls squealed.
"Well, we totted up the scorecards, and they lost by a stroke…" (Several girls squealed again.), "… but then they used magic to cheat again, and they said my card was invalid. I thought Wayne was going to … kill me right there, and she could get away with it. The rich always do, you know. They get away with everything!"
"That is SO true…" one girl said. "It wouldn't surprise me that she has her own private cemetery on the moon…"
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Monday, September 9, 2002: 15:12 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, Economics class:
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Julie entered the class to see a blonde hunched over a pulled-together assembly of several student desks – she recognized Anne Bundy feverishly working at something. Professor Flitwick kept an indulgent eye on her from across the room. By now, most of the older students knew to leave her alone, something enforced by the Slytherins. Indeed, they had recognized her, and started to gravitate toward her, taking seats around her, slipping quills and snacks on her desk.
"And I thought you were obsessive," she teased Tomas, who simply smiled at her.
"I have a mission, my friend," he observed quietly. "I must prepare for that mission, and for my justice against those who killed my Mama."
She cast a quick privacy spell; "Even the Batman had family, those that supported him, that watched his back."
"Si," he replied, studying her. "Are you offering to join my fight for justice?"
"I… think so. Let me consider it."
"Bueno," he replied. "It is not something to decide rashly. I will not pressure you." He gave her a searching gaze as she dropped the privacy spell. One of her housemates leaned forward, "What was that all about?"
"I was asking the lovely Senorita to the Halloween ball," Tomas said. "I am most pleased she accepted."
"You don't look pleased," the Gryffindor objected.
"I'm thinking about my dress…" Julie replied, as Professor Flitwick clapped his hands, "Welcome back to our Economics class! Last week, we started to discuss what makes up an economic system…"
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"Mattie!" Julie called as the fifth-year was about to enter the Great Hall for dinner.
She moved aside, next to a suit of armor, raising her eyebrow. "Was Anne still in class?" she asked.
"Yeah, Professor Flitwick was getting an elf to bring her something. Tomas asked me to the Halloween ball…" and Mattie gave a short squeal, "Good for you!" and hugged her briefly. "Anyway, your dress from your third year, the one you didn't wear? I was wondering if I could buy it and update it?"
"Sure, if you can tell me what depreciation is, o business and economics student…"
"Er… the reduction in value over time of an object?"
"An asset, actually, but close enough. It can also apply to obsolescence, wear and tear, or outdating." The rush of bodies going into the Great Hall for dinner had thinned out, Kent Bundy walked out with a tray floating behind him, going up the stairs toward Professor Flitwick's classroom. Mattie nodded, "Good, I don't have to worry about Anne."
"What was she working on?" Julie asked.
"She works on several things at once, depending on which one she has a revelation on," and flicked on a privacy spell. "I know she's not happy with the antimatter production process, but she's also working on producing Fuel without a black hole." Mattie regarded Julie, "Were you planning on taking the training from Professor Dumbledore about Legilimency and Occlumency Friday fourth period?"
Julie nodded, "Yeah, sounds interesting. Who else will be there?"
"That I know of, Amy Johnson, Sprink, Charlie, and Arthur, of course."
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
Warning: Character death
Monday, September 9, 2002: 23:58 (GMT)
Fiveday 13 Septus, 162, 06:45 (WFT +1)
Windfall, road near Baasht's 'farm':
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"… busier than a one-legged woman at an ass-kicking contest, Hans," Benni said into her comm. "I don't regret Christine taking some home leave, well, not too much, and God knows she deserves it, but I've still got a long list of things to do."
The shonnen 'bus' slowly came to a stop, the collared driver rapidly setting the brake, leaping down and pulling her bags from the trailer, almost throwing them to the side of the road. "This is your stop, mistress, please travel with us again," the slave girl said quickly, dropping to her knees and trembling in her fear as she watched a waiting carriage.
"I'll call you later, Hans," Benni said. "This is my stop, and the driver seems somewhat anxious to be on her way." She collected her remaining bag and made her way down from the second level of the bus to the ground, telling the driver, "Thank you for your conversation, it was most enjoyable."
"Yes, mistress, thank you, mistress," the girl said quickly, starting to rise and dash toward the relative safety of her bus. A slow, drawling voice made her pause, "Weren't you trained without clothing, slave?" The girl gave a terrified shriek, tearing her thin white slave smock off and throwing herself to the ground on her belly, facing right, left wrist and ankle crossed over her right.
"I do believe her owner wished her to wear his company smock," Benni said. "Go on, girl, off with you." The slave sobbed out a "Yes, mistress," and dashed off as Benni said, "You must be Saalat."
"I have that honor, Saalat, thirdson of Baasht, although now it may be …" he looked at her, "…house Lantern?" he asked.
"We need not be so formal," she replied. "You may call me Ms. Castellano, or Governor, and I see your driver has already collected my bags."
"Yes, she's been trained well and hard, Governor," Saalat said as the shonnen were coaxed into motion with the whip, and with a creak and rattle, the bus made its slow way. "Would you like her to take your last bag?"
"This is a bit more delicate, I'll hang on to it for now," Benni said, making her way toward the waiting carriage. The driver was already on all fours before the open door, Saalat with one booted foot on her naked back, ready to step into the coach. Benni reached down, setting her case next to a wheel, and slowly strolled around the coach, studying it.
The coach itself was unremarkable; she had seen others like it. White in basic color with thin yellow trim, a rain canopy was folded down and back over the luggage compartment, with two luxurious seats protected by it. The driver sat on a hard wooden bench with a foot-bar under and forward, to which the reins were looped around. It was pulled by three pairs of girls, hitched to the pulling tongue by their waists, their arms pulled and shackled up between their shoulder blades in a reverse prayer position. They were naked except for their galactic collars and belts, hooded with blindfolds riveted over top, and with the iron collar, breast chains and hobbles the more sadistic owners considered 'fashionable'. They stood, waiting, as Benni casually pulled out her camera and took pictures of the entire arrangement.
"For my report," she said with a smile.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"Stop here," Saalat said casually, and the driver, the only slave that could see, pulled back on her reins, which pulled the girls' arms backward. They stopped, breathing hard, and Saalat gestured at the small valley. "As you can see, a well run, profitable business," he said with a pleased smile.
"So I see," Benni agreed neutrally. A patchwork of fields spread out around a brick-walled fortress situated atop a small ridge. The fortress, roughly triangular, had three guard towers rising up. Benni fished out a small pair of binoculars from her bag, bringing the fortress into closer view. From this distance, the coils of what looked like barbed wire were spidery, visibly attached to the inner sides of the walls, an inner building, also of red brick, ran along one side of the triangle. She could see white-hooded slaves working in the fields and in gardens, overseen by men. As she watched, she saw a slave beaten, she collapsing in the field, his arm moving up and down as he worked the whip. She sat back, telling the coach's driver, "Go on."
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
The coach moved through the fields, the overseeing guards nodding politely as they watched the slaves weed and tend the fields. They drove past brick lined retention ponds, slave-powered pumps and irrigation channels. Saalat casually said, "We need to increase the number of slaves, as it is, we're barely making our costs. Fortunately, we have an informal arrangement with an off-planet slave breeder, that shouldn't be too expensive." He eyed her, "Although, I have heard some things about you Terrans arming and freeing slaves…"
"Not everything you hear is true," she replied. "I'll want to take a look at your books and records, and have a nice chat with you and your business manager. Perhaps there are things you haven't realized can be done," she said. "For instance, you are aware that in a little under two months, we switch the planetary economy from iron to tungsten based." The carriage clattered over a wooden bridge and turned, the guards waving it into the fortress.
"Yes, at a seventy-two to one ratio," Saalat said, somewhat sourly.
"Iron is one of the most plentiful metals in the galaxy, I can import tons of iron for a few grams of tungsten," she said calmly. "Why the Elders decided on iron to base their economy on, I don't know, but it's like basing it on sand. The actual galactic exchange rate is seventy two million to one gram of tungsten, but if we used that, we'd crash the entire economy."
Saalat eyed her as the pulling team sweated in the heat, "I don't believe you. How could anything be that valuable?"
Benni shrugged, "As you wish, but that's what's going to happen. The first of the year, iron will be worth almost nothing. It's what the market will pay for it, but people still need to eat. Yet here in front of me I see seven slaves, each wearing a kilo or two of iron hobbles and chains… I do believe you said you had several thousand slaves here? Well, you can add as well as I…" Saalat went pale as the carriage stopped in front of the inner building, the driver setting the brake and jumping down, once again assuming the duties of 'footstool' for her owners. House slaves appeared to take her baggage off. "Have a slave bring those books and records by for my examination. I'd like the chance to freshen up, it was a long, dusty journey."
"I'm certain it was," Saalat agreed, still somewhat rattled. "I'll send a slave when we're ready for last-meal, if you'd care to join my family and I."
"That sounds delightful," Benni said, 'unthawing' a bit. "Oh, by the way, when you remove those hobbles, we've found the girls can't walk for several days, and the breast chains? Be gentle, you don't want infections. Use alcohol there, you do want the girls in salable condition."
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
The slave held the door for her; then scampered off as Benni crossed the room's intricately inlaid wooden floor. Saalat turned, "There you are!" he said jovially at the click of her heels. Another slave scampered up, holding a tray with a fluted glass of wine for her. She accepted it but didn't drink from it, holding it in her right hand as the slave left. "This is my son and senior manager, Tiisen," he introduced the younger man, in his late teens to early twenties, who grudgingly nodded at her.
"I have calculated the fastest, most efficient method of removing the iron from slaves, father," he said. "By using torches, the hobbles and neck rings may be cut off…"
"Thereby crippling the slaves and disfiguring them," Benni said casually. "The objective is to both recover the iron and leave the slaves in a salable condition." She turned slightly, snapping her fingers, and a slave ran to her, dropping to all fours. "Stand, slave," she said, taking hold of one of her breast chains, at the same time her gaze slid to a ring on her right middle finger. Three particular gems gleamed yellow as she said, "The chains are simply clamped together with this ring. Pull it apart, the metal shield, bell, and the chain itself separate. The locking rivet on the neck ring can be punched out easily." She turned the girl around, "On your belly, girl; ankles in the air." She grabbed a big toe, "While a torch might be faster, it will cripple the girl by destroying this tendon and turning her ankles into badly cooked meat, which you could not repair without a med-tank."
"We have one…" Tiisen said. "They are only fe…" he caught himself, "…slaves, though."
Pretending not to notice, Benni replied, "Why needlessly destroy salable merchandise? Simply reverse the installation procedure, and remove the locking rivets. Now, a minor problem is the slave's muscles will need to be reconditioned to a flat instead of an arched foot. She will be unable to walk for several days until her muscles are re-conditioned; a short-term loss for a long-term gain." She moved away, 'accidentally' knocking her drugged wine against the slave's upraised foot. "Oh, I'm sorry!"
"Clean that up and report for discipline, slave," Tiisen snapped.
"No," Benni said. "My fault, I spilled it." She turned to tell Tiisen, "You get better performance from a slave if you don't blame them for everything. Free people do make mistakes, and they're still slaves." She told the slave, "On your feet, girl, and clean that up," then asked with a smile, "When is last-meal, I'm hungry!"
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"I thought you had a wife and four daughters," Benni asked as they were shown to the table, a slave standing behind her chair. She picked up another glass of (once again) drugged wine, and walked about, adding, "Why don't you bring them out? One happy family at mealtime!" and pretended to take a sip. The chemical sensor in her ring blinked again, reading the fumes and producing three blinking yellow lights, indicating a capture drug present. She strolled around, switching her wine glass for Tiisen's (which wasn't drugged) as smoothly as a Vegas card sharp.
Turning, she saw Saalat's wife and four daughters enter, taking seats at the table. Strolling back, she took her indicated place; smiling as the first course was set before her.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
Saalat somehow managed to hide his frustration. The meddling Terran was apparently immune to the capture drug he had ordered placed in her wine. He glanced at his firstson, who raised an eyebrow. The meal was coming to an end, and he raised his glass in the expected after-meal blessing to the Source. Unusually, he tipped his glass, draining it and hoping the Terran would follow his lead, as Tiisen did. He was glancing down the table at his mate, when Tiisen licked his lips, then crashed headfirst into the tableware.
"I switched the glasses," Benni said into the silence. "You've been trying to use a capture drug on me; which the law treats as poison, not to mention the little 'gift' you left in the front of your books." She tossed a small bag of coins on Saalat's plate, adding, "Your false books, and really, did you think I was simply another bureaucrat you could get rid of with a few coins? You are aware that attempted bribery of a public official is a permanent collar, and attempted murder is as well."
Saalat licked his lips as the Terran produced a sharp steel rod from somewhere. "Governor Sullivan doesn't have a problem killing slavers, as she was a slave. However the Queen doesn't like to kill, and as for me…" she walked around Saalat, the rod touching him at various points. "I got to where I am by making my bones, by killing. This is known as an ice pick." She tapped him as his family held their breath. "The temple… up the nostril… or the eyes, the skull is thinnest at those points." She continued to tap those three points, and Saalat blinked away sweat from his eyes. "What do you want? My daughters? They're yours!"
"Father!" one of them protested, and he shouted, "You are only females, no longer part of my House! Strip and submit to your new mistress, slaves!"
"Father!" another wailed, and Saalat pushed a concealed button. A security guard ran in, needler in hand, and Saalat motioned at the four girls. "They are no longer of my house! Strip them and have them marked and collared, I have given them to the Terran. Have them delivered to her chambers, and marked with penalty brands for disobedience."
"Father!" one said as the guard pulled her sister to her feet, throwing her to the ground. Saalat's wife was out of her seat, backhanding the girl who used to be her daughter. "Collar them, but no breast chains or hobbles," she told the guard. "Gag them so their new owner can verify their identity." She kicked the girl; then shoved them toward the door, the four crying girls being forced out by other guards. She shut the door after them, giving an insincere smile to Benni; then cleared her throat. "My mate didn't introduce us, I'm J'yan, and that's something I've wanted to do for years, the whining, greedy little bitches. A collar will be good for them, and as for that one," she gestured at the unconscious Tiisen, "You can have him in a collar too. What do we do with my mate?"
"That depends," Benni said. She laid the ice pick next to Saalat's plate, and searched for the concealed button. She pressed it; the security guard came back in the room. "Call the healer, please," she asked, and he stepped out into the corridor. They waited a few minutes; the healer arrived and closed the door.
"Saalat has a decision to make," she told the three of them. "He can have a public trial for my attempted murder and bribery, where he'll get a collar, or he can have a fatal heart attack, keeping his family honor intact, and allowing you three to split the proceeds when you turn in the iron the slaves are wearing for tungsten." She raised her hand, "I will insist the slaves are healthy and in salable condition, though."
"What about him?" J'yan asked about Tiisen.
"He knew about his father's plan, and cooperated in it. That makes him guilty, but the capture drug put him out. He said you had a med-tank here; you don't want him recognizable."
"Better he killed his father," the security guard said. "He earns a collar that way." He went to the door, opening it and having a quick word with two other guards, who took Tiisen away. Closing the door again, "I'll need another ten kilos of tungsten for their silence, and a promotion to Guard Captain." He turned to the Healer, "You?"
"It bothers me to some extent, but I haven't liked the treatment of these slaves," he said. "Give me supervision of their treatment, you'll have them healthy and salable by the turn of the year."
"Done. What about this visiting slaver?" Benni asked. "It's a security problem for the planet."
"Not a problem," the new Guard Captain said. "He's a freelancer, his ship won't lift off again, with him, at least."
"Do either of you have a problem taking J'yan's orders?" Benni asked. They both shook their heads, the Guard Captain took the bag of coins, placing a small needler on Saalat's plate, holding up the ice pick, which Benni reclaimed.
"You know what you have to do," J'yan said to her mate.
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
"Hans? Yes, I'm fine," Benni said into her comm. "I think this place will make an excellent training facility, as well as a prison, with a bit of refurbishment. We'll have to enlarge the gate to take your armor, but that shouldn't be too much of a problem." She listened, "Yes, I'm sure we can find masons, and brick is cheap. No, I want to extend electricity down into the dungeons, torches are good for atmosphere and Hollywood, but we want something a bit more modern." She turned to look at the table, "No, my machine is up and running, you can tell Piotr to send his requirements…" She listened; then nodded. "Certainly. I'll discuss the requirements with the new warden in the morning. No, I don't really trust her, she was too quick to shuffle her son and daughters off to a collar, she's something of an amoral bitch." She nodded again, "That's why I want Piotr here, as well as those Blacks that wanted a slave collar. We can start to rehabilitate the one group of slaves, while we install anti-air and anti-space defenses, there's a freelance slaver that visits I'd like to capture. Alive, preferably, so we can find out what he knows." She nodded, "Okay, I'll give you a call first thing tomorrow. I want a more extensive tour of the main building; I just wanted to call in. Right. Send it as soon as you can. Bye."
Closing her comm, she walked out to the balcony of her 'VIP' suite, checking the comm antenna that was clamped to the railing, and then the fiber-optic cable that lead to her laptop. Closing the door, she flicked the defensive shields on around the perimeter of the room; then motioned her assigned serving slave over. The girl hurried over, kneeling, her short leash chain rattling against the wood floor. Benni sighed, "Head up, girl. I want an honest answer, and if you've heard anything about we Terrans, we prefer that. You also have my permission to whimper and speak as well as you can." The girl whimpered once, then once again, nodding for emphasis. "I have to assume you were listening. We are rehabilitating slaves, and that will include you and your sisters…" the girl gave a happy squeal, "… which means measurable steps toward a dark collar." The girl gave another happy squeal, and Benni smiled. "I want to see the dungeons, especially those parts I'm not supposed to see, but you probably have." The girl's eyes were wide, and Benni asked, "If you don't think you can, let me know, I'll leave you here and…" The girl whimpered twice, shaking her head and putting her head to the floor, then sliding down until she was fully prostrate, her hands flicking back to cuff herself.
"Okay, wait in the corridor while I lock up," Benni said with a grin.
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The girl stopped as she trailed Benni, whimpering to get her attention. "Who gave you permission to speak?" J'yan demanded.
"I did," Benni said casually. "I would prefer to remove her gag, so she could serve me as a food taster," she added. "Why don't we do that, or is something down this corridor I should see, slave?"
"Nothing but light discipline rooms," J'yan said. "Nothing worth seeing." The torches crackled in their wall brackets, and Benni motioned, "Lead on, slave."
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
A chained, blindfolded slave turned a crank, which used wooden arms and leather straps to whip another slave. Reluctantly, J'yan said, "The slave turns the crank until the counter rings the bell."
"I see," Benni said. She stepped forward, zeroing the counter and ringing the bell. "What crime did the slave commit?"
"Does it matter? She is a slave!"
"We will be turning this into a prison, for criminals," Benni said with a sigh. "They have been convicted of crimes, and will need to be punished. They will work off their sentences, we do not beat them simply because they wear a collar." She motioned to the two slaves, "Take them to the healer's office for treatment and to remove the iron. How many other rooms like this … no, close them also, same thing with the slaves in there." She turned, "What about the girls who were your daughters?"
"And my former son?" J'yan said. "Down three levels, where the med-tank is, and the collaring machine. We will be giving them basic slave training, they are already collared and branded for you."
Benni grunted, motioning to her serving slave, "I want this slave's gag removed. She will be leaving with me."
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***
J'yan seethed, glaring at the interfering Terran, who was now gazing through the security strip in a cell door. She hadn't noticed when she had taken the needler after Saalat had done his last duty for her, a female needed protection here, and all the Terran had was her 'ice pick'. Yes, this area of cells was dark enough; she took a few steps to have a good chance, raising the needler…
452 saw her last owner raise the small weapon, pointing it toward the Terran she served, who had said she would buy her, she would have a private owner, taking her away from this Source-damned place, and squealed an alarm from where she knelt. The Terran female spun, dropping her light, a weapon appearing in her hand, which … sneezed … twice as her last owner's weapon fired. The two were at most ten meters apart in the dark cell area, 452 felt agony in her right shoulder as a needle hit her; another hit somewhere else on her neck she didn't feel. Her new owner strode forward, kicking the weapon from her last owner's hand as she regarded her. "Congratulations, that's the closest anyone's come to killing me in years." She crouched; examining 452's last owner, then stood. "I got your lungs," she told 452's last owner, who was struggling, coughing and gasping for air. "You're going to drown in your own blood soon, a nasty way to die." She held up her weapon, "Want a mercy shot, a quick death?"
J'yan didn't know what had gone wrong, the Terran had been too far away to use her weapon, but she had produced another… she struggled to breathe, coughing up blood. From far away, she heard the Terran say something about blood, and mercy, and she nodded. Blearily, she saw the Terran take a step away, pointing her weapon, which flashed…
Benni told the slow-to-arrive guard, "She tried to kill me, and she injured my slave. I killed her in self-defense. Have something done with her body, and take my slave for medical treatment." She pulled the guard close, placing the muzzle of her P228 in his nostril, where he could smell the fumes. "I want something understood. If she dies, you die. She saved my life; I owe her. Am I understood?"
The guard nodded, "Yes, mistress. I will take your slave now, and send slaves to remove the other body and clean. Where will you be?"
"I want to see my other new personal slaves, the four former daughters, and Tiisen. Where are they?"
"One more level down, mistress, then to the left, with the collaring machine and med tank. Your slave will be in the medical section, up two levels, mistress."
"Good," Benni said, and picked up her hurricane lamp from where it sat on the floor. "I'll be there in twenty minutes or so. Remember, I'll match your treatment with hers."
"Yes, mistress," and he carefully picked up 452, carrying her toward the stairs.
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Tuesday, September 10, 2002: 07:04 (GMT)
In Convoy, MV (A) Manhattan, Dining room:
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"Your attention please," the intercom said, and morning conversation quieted. "We are leaving the convoy, both ships are setting condition Yellow. Wearing of personal and issue weapons is authorized at this time. Passengers, please restrict your movements to and from your quarters and the mess hall. Please obey any instructions issued by ship's personnel or Marines. We estimate arrival in the Secundus system within twenty-four hours. Thank you for your cooperation, that is all."
"Oh, look, the stars are back!" someone said from a window seat, and Karen turned to see an unmoving view of the stars, instead of the grey field of the FTL 'jump' drive. They turned with the ship, changing as their other ship; the Nevis came into view, her white hull sprinkled with flashing lights. Both ships moved slowly, aligning themselves with an unseen point, then started to accelerate.
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Aboard the Nevis, Lise de Galais turned, "Madam La Captain, our messages are confirmed received, Convoy Command has refunded four kilos, twenty-eight grams of our deposit, warns of pirate activity and wishes us safe passage. You have messages in queue, Madam."
Gloria turned to her first officer, "Condition Yellow?
"Set throughout the ship, Ma'am, we have confirmed our tactical command with the Manhattan," Murdock replied. "Secondary reactor powering up, optimal level in two point six minutes. Our weapons are primed and on standby; shields are forming, currently at ten percent. We can proceed at your command."
Gloria nodded, "Very good, Mr. Murdock, you have the conn. Please signal the Manhattan, ready to jump to our initial speed of one point five lights on our signal. Set tactical formation and increase to cruising speed at your discretion." She stood, smoothing down her uniform, "I'll be in my cabin, reading my mail, Mr. Murdock."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied as he took the command chair and pushed a button, "Ship's log, this date and time. First Officer Murdock recording. We have left the convoy…"
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Tuesday, September 10, 2002: 10:00 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, 2nd year Mathematics:
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"Good morning, and welcome back to second year math," Arthur said, and most of the class quieted down. A fellow kicked Whitloe's chair, and she turned, raising her wand, but he simply pointed at Arthur. "Thank you, Mr. Bundy," Arthur said dryly, "But if Miss Canby and Miss Whitloe cannot learn that when the door closes, class is in session, I have no problem continuing to deduct points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. How they deal with their housemates is their problem." He flipped open the folder with attendance, his eyes flicking around the classroom. "Now then, I have received most of your homework, except for Mr. Bundy, Miss Canby, and Miss Whitloe. Mr. Bundy, I am aware that you were in the Infirmary with an injury, there will be no penalty, please have it submitted to me by Friday with this week's assignment." The boy nodded, and Arthur flicked his wand, returning the pages. "Miss Canby, Miss Whitloe, do you have the assignment complete, and didn't turn it in for some reason?" He waited in silence, rocking back and forth on his heels as the two girls squirmed.
"No answer?" he asked after a few minutes. "Very well. Please report to Professor Snape for a detention tomorrow night, the homework is still due, in addition to today's. In addition, five points each from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff for failing to complete an assignment."
"Thanks a lot," Bill said to the girls, and Arthur shook his head, "Mr. Morton, I mentioned last week that discipline is my job, not yours. While I can appreciate the sentiment, I will still deduct two additional points from Hufflepuff." That raised some eyebrows; it was known the two were brothers. Arthur continued, "Once again, I want to see you doing the work. From this point forward, if I don't see it, I will assume you used a calculator or charm, and will mark the problem wrong, even if the answer is correct." The class groaned at that, and Arthur replied, "Let me go over some quick tricks you can use in your calculations. For instance a 'stone', as a unit of weight, is fourteen pounds or 6.35 kilograms. Now, what we can do is simply break the problem down into easier units, multiply or divide that, then correct that result." He drew his wand, writing in midair '1 stone = 14# = 6.35kg'. Taking a sip of water, he continued, "Someone says they want to ship eleven stone, and by the way, that's written 'stone', singular, instead of 'stones', plural. You want to know how much that is so you can charge him correctly. Fourteen multiplied by 10 equals 140 + 14 is 154." He wrote this in midair. "Everyone follow that?" He waited as various people followed along, there were a couple of 'Ahhh's' he heard. "Let's do the same thing with kilograms. We break this down into wholes, quarters, and tenths. Eleven times six whole kilos, eleven times a quarter kilo, and eleven times a tenth. (He wrote in midair again.) Eleven times a tenth is… Miss Canby?" He sighed again and pulled out his pocket watch, "Everyone, please note Miss Canby has resumed her conversation with Miss Whitloe. It is now 10:23. Once again, five points per minute."
"It ought to be more," a Ravenclaw said. "By the by, it's 69.85 kilos."
"That's right, but I didn't tell them it would be more than five points," Arthur said, rocking on his heels as he waited again. This time Miss Canby noticed the silence and the pointed glares from her yearmates. Arthur cleared his throat, "Miss Canby, you and Miss Whitloe are each debited for seventeen minutes, at five points a minute. How many points is that?"
"Um… eighty five?" Miss Whitloe asked, and Arthur nodded. "Correct, although I did ask Miss Canby the question, and the original question, Miss Canby?"
She blinked, "Um, what was it again?"
"Eleven times a tenth?" Arthur wrote it in midair.
"Um, a hundred ten?"
"Close, one point one, Miss Canby, you forgot to move the decimal. As I said previously, I will subtract eighty-five points from both Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. This is the second time for the both of you, the next time you disrupt my class will be the third time, at fifteen points a minute." (There was a collective gasp of horror.) "Each additional incident will multiply, the fourth at twenty, fifth at twenty five, and so forth. In addition, I will be discussing the reasons for my actions with Professor Sprout and Professor Potter, and may impose my own detentions. Some of you are aware of where I spent my summer holiday. It was not pleasant." He gave the class an eye; then took a sip of water. "Mr. Morton, eleven times a quarter?"
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Wednesday, September 11, 2002: 05:55 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, Faculty meeting:
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"I see our points are down again, Mr. Morton," Professor Harry said on entering the staff room. "Let me guess, Miss Canby and Miss Whitloe again?"
Arthur nodded, "Yes, I've given them a detention tonight with Professor Snape, and informed them that this is the second time, third will be fifteen points per, fourth twenty points, and so forth." He took a sip of his blackberry tea, "I also took another five points each for failing to turn in homework."
"It's not that difficult," Callista Vector said as she entered, making a beeline for the teapot. An elf popped in with a fresh pot, she smiled and thanked him as Aurora Sinestra entered, Callista handing her a cup.
Sighing, she asked, "How's Emma doing?" She waved a hand, "All right, I'm a nervous mum. Severus?"
"No unanticipated problems," he said. "I am having to assist her with some of the more obscure items, but it has only been a week, Aurora." He took a delicate sip as Hagrid entered, moving to the pot, followed by Miss Wayne. "Mr. Morton, anything else regarding your two problem students?"
"I mentioned I was considering doing my own detentions, I had been off-planet over the summer, and it wasn't pleasant. Let their imaginations go," he added, and Mattie chuckled.
"Right, I'm looking forward to grilling you in class," Callista said. "Did you bring your paperweights?"
"Oh, yes, suitably locked and warded. London Good Delivery Bars, four hundred troy ounce bars of gold and silver, that should keep people from slipping them in their pockets," she replied. "I want to discuss the different types of markets and how to evaluate them. Got your ten securities picked out?"
"I wasn't quite sure how…"
"I saw people in the common room throwing darts at stock listings," Arthur said. "Nothing motivates like money."
"Be nice if it were real," Hagrid rumbled, and Mattie said, "It's real, you just can't withdraw it. You'll get a statement from Gringotts; you just don't have a key to a vault. I've got the same thing, so we can see who's the champion investor. I think I'll award a prize…"
"That should be interesting," Minerva McGonagall said, rapping her knuckles on the table. "I plan to hold a minute of silence after lunch today at one pm, in honor of last year's attack in New York. Please adjust your plans accordingly. Moving on, Remus, you had questions about English and Composition?"
"Yes, I find that I'm going to need to go the parts of speech, especially with the younger students. They have a habit of using abbreviations with their mobiles…"
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Wednesday, September 11, 2002: 09:57 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, Intro to Business class:
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"Oh, yeah, baby…" Julie Morton was dancing to the music with Miss Wayne when Callista got to class. She noticed as she took her seat in the back (with Severus, Cho, and Hagrid) that there were several students attending who were not scheduled to take it. Filius popped in just before the bell, offering "Memory Charm?"
"Thank you," Miss Wayne said, flicking her wand to close the door. "That delightful medley was 'For the Love of Money' by the O'jays, and Stevie Wonder's 'Livin' for the City'. I've always loved Stevie Wonder's voice." She flipped open the attendance, her gaze going around the room, adding, "I notice a few new faces here, I have two simple rules. One, anything may be on the test, and second, there are no students and faculty here, only investors. I appreciate the suggestions for wizarding bands regarding money, investing, and business, and would appreciate any others."
Boosting herself onto a table, she asked, "How's everyone's investments doing? I understand there were a lot of darts thrown in the various common rooms," and people chuckled. "Picking investments, and please note I don't use the term 'stocks', is a combination of reading the financial tea leaves… is Professor Trelawney here…" There were some chuckles, and she continued, "As I was saying, there's doing your homework, developing your own style, and a good bit of luck." She pointed, "Callista, what did I say last week about love?"
Severus looked startled, but Callista replied, "Don't love something that can't love you back."
"Excellent! Three points for Slytherin." She pointed again, "Bill, Morton that is. What song was playing last week?"
Bill flipped to his notes, "ABBA's 'Money, Money, Money', they're a Swedish band."
"Excellent! Three for Hufflepuff, and another for an extra fact." She shoved off the table, "People, when I say you need to do your homework on an investment, I mean it. One company's minor product or process could become an industry leader, transforming that entire industry. One area of Poland had this really annoying, sticky mud that nobody knew what to do with, until it caught on fire. That was one of the defining moments of the global petrochemical industry, or as they say in Texas, 'th' awl bidness'. Anyone heard of a company called 'BP', or 'Shell Oil'? All came out of sticky mud, folks."
She took a few steps, "Investments can fall into several broad ranges. We have stocks, in which you buy shares of a company. You have options, puts and calls, and the associated futures, in which you're gambling on what price a commodity is going to sell at a certain point in the future. You have bonds, which are debts, essentially IOUs that are issued by a company or government, and pay interest, known as the coupon, at a certain date, known as the bond's maturity." She paused to let people write this down. "Finally, we have mutual funds, which are baskets of securities for different interests. They have a specific share price, on the London exchanges a pound, New York a dollar, and so forth. They will never drop below that share price. In order of risk, the highest are options and futures, the lowest are government bonds."
"Why the extreme risk with options?" someone asked.
"Some people like that gamble, you can make millions in a day, or you can lose millions in a day. Let's say you're trading options on … Airbus in France. A thunderstorm knocks one of those planes out of the sky, killing hundreds. That price takes a nosedive, which means that depending on how you're invested means you've either made or lost big money. All because of a thunderstorm."
"How big is big money?"
"Largest I've heard of is about fifteen billion," she replied casually, and someone whistled. "Yep, that's billion with a 'B'. More than some small country's annual budget. I don't have the temperament to do that, day in and day out. I was raised as a conservative investor, so I stay with a diverse portfolio. That way, some disaster happens, you're not wiped out. I've got a good mix of stocks, bonds, and real estate, as well as some commodities; like gold. By the way, I want you to pass these around; they're heavy, now." She pulled a cloth off, "These are 400 troy ounce bars of silver, gold, and tungsten, or about twelve point four kilos each. Banks usually trade them. A troy ounce is about ten percent more than the avoirdupois ounce, which is what you use in daily life." She lifted her water bottle and waggled it, "Measured in ounces and milliliters. Anyway, if you have the nerve to play with options, more power to you. Moving on, futures."
She took a drink from the water bottle, "Futures are exactly that, we are gambling on a commodity being at a certain price at a certain date and time in the future. I will make the distinction that it gives the right, but not the obligation." She paused. "The right, but not the obligation," she repeated, then held up the textbook. "This is not covered in the text, by the way, so this is for your information. There are two options to these, a 'put' is a sell option; a 'call' is a buy option. The way I remember them is I'm calling it to buy, or I'm putting it out to sell." She cast refilling and chilling charms on her bottle of water, "Real world example: A Belter wants to sell me an iron asteroid. He outfits it with fuel tanks and a motor, and calculates an orbit to L4 in, oh, eighteen months. I'm going to buy a call on that quantity of iron at a certain price for that date and time. Someone else thinks the price will go up with a hidden gold deposit, or maybe a large diamond will be found." She shrugged, "It's happened, we've found rough diamonds the size of basketballs." She pointed as people whistled, "Severus, you've dealt with this kind of thing before. What would a diamond that big do to the market?"
"Depress it," he said laconically. "Lowering the carat price in the major diamond markets."
"Excellent, another four points for Slytherin," she said. "The reason diamond prices are high is because of a restricted supply. As I said, you need to research the particular market. Wand cores, for instance. Phoenix feather cores are going to be more expensive than unicorn. Questions so far?"
As Mattie answered a question, someone passed Bill the gold bar with a grunt. He held it up to admire it, but it slipped through his fingers and landed on his foot. "Ow!" he said, and Mattie stopped, coming over to him. "You okay, Bill?"
"Dropped the gold bar on my foot. Sorry, my bad."
"Lemme see," Hagrid said; then gently manipulated it. "I'm gettin' ye tae Pomfrey, lad. Might be broken." He picked up Bill despite his protests, carrying him out as Mattie looked worried.
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Wednesday, September 11, 2002: 13:46 (GMT)
Underway, MV (A) Manhattan, Dining room:
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"Your attention please," the intercom said. "There are two announcements. First, the Captain wishes all persons to rise for a moment of silence on the one year anniversary of the World Trade Center attack in New York." Karen rose with everyone else, bowing her head. After a minute or so, the speaker came back on, "Thank you. Second announcement is that we have entered the Secundus system and will be going sub-light." People looked out the windows and didn't see anything unusual as the announcement continued, "We anticipate planetary orbit within twelve hours. At this time, please secure personal and issue weapons. Thank you."
"Time to pack things up again," Karen said, and looked at Professor Franklin, "What happened with the executive committee meeting?"
"We sent our list of questions to Governor Castellano, who replied back this morning," he said. "You can tell she's from a financial background, her reply was based on cost/benefit. I think we'll at least get quotes on the cable factory; she also gave us availability on things like aluminum, copper and steel stock and pellets. With that, our Mexican friends have started preliminary designs for their stock components like floatation chambers, while they still have the computer power available."
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Wednesday, September 11, 2002: 16:40 (GMT +1)
Terra, Port of Hamburg, Imperial Logistics office:
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"When will those lazy bastards in London finish the Catalog?" Alex asked the air. "It's not like they don't have a good starting point."
"Yes, they're starting with the NATO supply catalog," Susan, his co-worker said. "They've also got to add in stuff from non-NATO countries, and off-world stuff. Just re-numbering everything's going to be a tough job."
"True," Alex conceded. "I'm just used to the US Army's way of doing things. Still, the supply depot we're building in Phobos..."
"Will hopefully be big enough for an Empire," Susan replied. "Fifty-six hundred cubic kilometers, I would think so. At least they've got water, and it's not solid rock. More like a sponge, or Swiss cheese. That's not our problem, at least." She started to put her things together, "Don't forget, it's not all coming here, I'm sure we'll be setting up other depots in handy planetoids and moons. We just have to worry about shipping, storing, and distributing it."
"Again, true," Alex conceded, draining his coffee cup and turning off the machine. "You coming down to the pub with us?"
"I need to pick up Jason at child care," Susan said, draining her own tea and rinsing out her mug. "Don't forget to clean the coffeepot, I'm tired of doing it." She took a paper towel, folding it and resting her clean mug on it, "See you tomorrow."
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Thursday, September 12, 2002: 23:56 (GMT)
Seconday 15 Septus, 162, 29:40 (WFT)
Secundus system, MV (A) Manhattan, Cabin C-05:
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"We're going to have to get used to a new calendar," Karen said as she waited to be called for disembarking. Their suitcases had already been taken; all they had left was their carryon bags.
Eleanor checked her list as she added, "This is worse than Heathrow." She shook the page, "We go to Port Lincoln first, where we check into a dorm. Tomorrow morning we meet our local girls, have a briefing and get together, then board boats to our sites."
"Those of us that have local girls," Karen acknowledged, paging through the rather brief biography of her new 'little sister', 13713. She had been trying to think of a name for her. The PA came on, "Passengers in Deck C, odd cabins, please report to the transit lounge on Deck B with your luggage. Passengers in Deck C, even cabins, please stand by. Thank you."
"That's our call," Eleanor said, scooping up her bag and giving a last look around. "I almost want to say good-bye."
"Well, I will," Karen said. "Good bye, cabin. We've enjoyed your hosp…" she paused, then dashed across the room, "Almost forgot the family photo! See, it's good luck to be polite to your ship."
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Friday, September 13, 2002: 06:39 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall:
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"Arthur!" Mattie called when she saw him come in for breakfast. "How's Bill doing? I haven't seen him."
He detoured to the Slytherin table, "He's fine, slight bruise. Madame Pomfrey did her bit, gave him a pain potion because he was being dramatic about it. He's more irritated with himself for being a klutz."
"'Kay, thanks," she replied as Sprink and the other prefects came in with the mail. She dropped the bag, complaining "I feel like bloody Saint Nick, and there's not even any snow on the bloody ground." She rooted around, "'Ere we go, Bundy, Anne... (she passed over a bundle), Bundy, Kent…" She gave him an eye, "I don't want to see you shooting those bloody elastics again, mate. They bloody well hurt, an' you could get someone's eye!" There were some chuckles, "Bones… Driver… Koslowski… Willis… Branstone… y'got something from Ollivander's there… an' o' course the bloody Queen 'ere…" She levitated a large bundle with her wand, "Now I'm going t' be collecting those elastics back from y', Hagrid's onto saving shillings, he is. In the bag, now, an' I'll step aside for the next wi' more mail, an' then I can sit down an' look a' my own. Never should'a taken th' job, I feel like a bloody owl myself. Never thought I'd miss them."
"How do I read this?" May Branstone asked, holding up a seemingly blank scroll from Gringotts. Anna Driver leaned over, "Touch your vault key up top there, it will disappear into the parchment to decrypt. When you're finished, tap it with your wand and recover the key and it will go blank again."
"What if I lose my key?"
Anna paused, not knowing, and Mattie quietly replied, "Gringotts will replace it, but it costs five galleons." She blew her fringe out, "I need a haircut." She looked up as May cleared her throat, "Um, Miss Wayne?"
"It's Mattie, yes, May?"
"Um, I've got a wand to send my sister on another planet, and she wanted some books…" (May tapped her laptop.) "… How do I send them to her?"
"I didn't know Eleanor had gone off planet," Mattie replied, somewhat surprised. "Are these part of her duties?" May nodded, and Mattie nodded. "Okay, then I'll send the wand to her, as far as the books, for what?"
"Um (she checked the email), she wanted copies of Professor Snape's formulary and Professor Flitwick's grimore, and asked about plants." She started to stand and go up to the High Table, and Connie Koslowski hauled her down. "First, Professor Snape is not a morning person," she said. "He will tear your head off if he hasn't had his first cup of tea. Second, cut and paste the relevant parts of your sister's email into a new one to the three of them. He is very unlikely to copy his formulary; it has a lot of very dark potions in it. However, he will give you a recommendation, buy that and ship it to your sister. Same with the other two."
"Plante and Weade have a grand catalog of Herbology," Sprink said, blowing on her own tea. She looked over at Mattie, "We've got a mail ship going out soon, I think."
She nodded, "One of the crew's in for medical treatment, they're staying at Malfoy Gardens." She made a 'gimme' motion, "I'll forward the wand to them for Eleanor. Are you close to done? I'll show you where the owlery is."
"I'll show her," Kent Bundy said. "I need to send a few owls myself."
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Friday, September 13, 2002: 20:53 (GMT)
Thirday 16 Septus, 162, 09:40 (WFT +1)
Windfall, Port Lincoln, 'Dormitory':
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"Good morning everyone, I'd like to welcome you to the planet of Windfall," Benni said. "I'm Lieutenant Governor Benni Castellano, and my office is just down the walk here, in what we call the 'embassy'. It's the egg shaped building, and after the girls come out, I'd like to meet with the executive committee members." She took a few steps, "I do apologize for the lack of coffee, hopefully some of you will grow the Arabica bushes and we can have some soon. In the meantime, there are some rather strong teas for your caffeine jolt." There was a morning chuckle, "In a minute, we're going to bring in the girls you've heard about, down the road in a month or so, we'll be adding to them some local girls from a slave farm." She rocked back and forth on her feet, "A slave farm is just like it sounds like, girls bred and raised for the collar, so hopefully we can help them out as well."
"How many girls are there?" someone asked.
"In this group, about seven hundred. We've got about two hundred doing construction of the sites under the supervision, union supervision mind you, of a British firm, Parkinson Construction. Now, I do want to say that while these girls are still wearing collars and belts, we are regarding them as free females. Governor Sullivan and I are acting as, well, 'in loco parentis' for them in regards to treatment and contracts until they can get their feet more firmly under them." She let them think on this, "As far as I'm concerned, these are my daughters, my cubs, and I am a mama bear sending them off for their first day of school. Need I say more?" She eyed the group, "Now, there are quite a few that already have bank accounts and are being paid for their work." She cleared her throat, taking a sip of tea, "Please bear in mind that in about eight weeks, the planetary economy switches from iron based to one based on the tungsten gram, at a 72:1 ratio. This has been extensively advertised since the late, unlamented Elders … retired."
"So what is a pay scale?"
"For inexperienced girls, fresh off the block, I'm paying them six grams a day and withholding two for overhead. Food, medical care, housing, and so forth. Next level up is eight, after that is ten a day. There is an investment account that a lot of the girls put into, after all, until very recently under the Elders, they were slaves, they really couldn't buy much. What I've told my girls is that when the economy switches over, we'll do a salary review and change over at that time." She looked over the group, "Are there any questions at this time?" She paused, "If not, then I would appreciate your sitting at the table with your site number, that's how the girls know where to find you. After that, you can sit and get to know each other, walk on the beach, and we'll be having what we refer to as a 'beach day', a day off, we'll have a barbeque cook-out for lunch, and if any of you drink beer, we have some excellent local beers for you to try. Ready? I'll go get the girls while you re-arrange yourselves."
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13713 waited nervously with the other girls, lined up in the corridor. She could hear their new owners in the large meeting room, all she knew about her new mistress was a name, K'ren, and she would be at the seedling 17 colony. Mistress B'nni came through the door, placing two fingers in her mouth to whistle. The girls became silent, "Everyone, listen up. I'm going to put you through in small groups of about fifty each. Find your site and your people; then get to know them, go walk on the beach and talk." She looked at her list, "Girls whose collars end in zero and one, go on through and find your new family."
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Karen watched anxiously as nervous girls, mostly wearing brief white or light blue tunics appeared, looking around at the signs taped to the walls, then moving toward those tables. One stopped and knelt, glancing at her sheet, "Master Rice? I am…" His wife Glenda scooped her to her feet, supporting her with a strong brown arm, interrupted her; "No, you're our new daughter, who is not a slave. Come along dear, let's talk and get to know each other."
Karen watched the three of them move off, smiling gently, and turned as she heard a throat clear. "Mistress K'ren, I am 13713, your new…"
"My new sister Allison," Karen replied, crushing the girl in a hug. "Come on, let's get something to drink and talk."
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"Um, Mistress K'ren, I …" the girl's attempt ground to a halt, and Karen turned. "I need to apologize, just … naming you like that. I didn't even check to see if, or …"
"If I had an existing name, mistress?" the girl asked with a crooked expression. "No, mistress, I did not, I am just … curious as to how you decided…"
"Well, I was going off the last two of your…"
"My collar, mistress? I do have the whole number memorized; it was my only identity, until a few minutes ago. Others, mistress, they have decided on their own, I could not." She sighed, "I am not suitable for you, mistress, you may return me…"
"Over my dead body," her new mistress growled with an intensity that frightened her. "You're my new sister, and the only way they're taking you anywhere without your consent is when they pry my cold, dead fingers from my empty gun. You. Are. My. Sister." She shook herself, "I'm sorry, Allison, or whatever you want to be called, but your days of being a slave are over." She growled again, clearly angry, but at what she could not see. "The only time I'm going to insist you do something is for health and safety reasons. The rest of the time, if you don't want to do something, you can say no." Her new … sister … turned and looked her in the eye, "My job is to help you stand on your feet, to think for yourself, to be a free female. We were told there is a slave farm the Elders had, well, we're going to help those girls as well. I'm giving you a hand up, there's no reason together we can't do the same for those girls. Do you agree?"
"I…" Allison blinked, "It is only proper to assist another when you can, my … my new sister K'ren." She took a deep breath, "My sister… what is it you do? Cut wood, or metal, or build things?"
"I help people to talk, by linking computers and comm devices and such to satellites and radios, make sure they are secure… it is a big, ever changing job that requires you to think things through. What is more, every network is different. My friend Felipe (she waved at a male) has different, but similar problems, so we help each other out. One thing we were considering on the flight is trading…" She paused at the alarmed look, "Only with your consent, remember? The idea is to give you a broad base of knowledge. I might do things differently than Felipe; there is no one correct way to do things."
"I… see," Allison said, as her new sister took a drink from her bottle of beer. "What do you mean 'health and safety'?
"That is wearing protective equipment to protect yourself from things like acids and electricity, things that can injure or kill you or someone else. Gloves, eye protection, that kind of thing." She examined her bottle of beer, finding it empty, and guiltily, Allison took a drink from hers, wincing at the bitter taste. "If you don't like it, we can get something else. There's no reason to force yourself," Karen said mildly. "We're all different, that's what makes things exciting." She waved her bottle, "Let's find something you like."
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"… I am not certain, Sensei," Nicole told Bob Jourdain. She kicked some sand, "I have had some instruction from two other Terrans, Master Frank and Master Otto, but as I said, I do not know."
"The first step is going to be getting the shop set up," Angie said. "I'm going to be out clearing fields, I don't know how much help I can be."
"Chuck and I were planning on having our shops close to each other," Bob said. "That should help getting the heavy things in place, like drill presses and the forges, and we can rent an anti-grav lift. However, from what I understand, we've just got the basic foundation and a full-width two-story building plus basement. One big empty room, so we're going to have to put in floors; run electrical and plumbing…"
"Why the hell wasn't that done?" Angie asked angrily.
"They didn't know who was going where," Karen said, stopping by with Allison. "I've got an electrical manual, but I'm not a licensed electrician. I do low-voltage stuff like fiber optics, computers, phone and data networks, so it looks like you're going to need to plan everything out as to what goes where." She looked at her new sister, "I think we're both going to be helping out Mr. Abdullah, our electrician, and getting some on-the-job training."
"I think Chuck and I are going to need to get interiors done. We're all going to be very, very busy."
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Sunday, September 15, 2002: 14:02 (GMT)
Fourday 17 Septus, 162, 22:49 (WFT +3)
Windfall, Eastern River, 'Brazos':
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"Someone has to say it, so I will," Dr. Franklin said. "Welcome to our new home." Karen and several others were on the top deck of the ferry sternwheeler, snapping photos by the ship's lights as the Captain steered them toward the southern docks, letting the current carry them against the pilings, where a couple of crew members stood waiting to jump on the floating wooden dock and secure them.
"I thought we docked on the other side of the river," Chuck said. His wife chuckled, "The captain doesn't agree with you, honey. Look, there's the fueling stuff, maybe he needs gas."
"Could be," he agreed, cracking his knuckles. "Hard to believe it's only been what, six weeks since you got that email, Angie."
"I remember sending it and thinking, 'My god, what if no one comes?' Dr. Franklin said. He moved to the rail and peered down, "I think the boat's tied off, or up, or whatever the term is." He took a deep breath, "Let's go build a community, shall we?"
"Words for posterity, doc," Chuck said.
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Sunday, September 15, 2002: 18:39 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall:
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"You won't be ready for class tomorrow if you don't eat," Connie advised May. "C'mon, either eat up or spill whatever's bothering you," she suggested.
"I'm worried about my sister," May confessed. "My last email from her said she figured they would be arriving on site about now. What if… if…"
"When she can, she'll send you a letter," Connie said after looking down the table. "Look, I know it doesn't help much, but look at Mattie. She's got the entire colony effort for the Empire on her shoulders." May did look, and saw her housemate pushing her potatoes around the plate, periodically refilling the gravy 'lake', but not actually eating. She stabbed a pea with her fork, and gazed at it, turning it around, before slowly putting it in her mouth. "Like I said, it's not much, but…"
"I know," May said. "How does she deal with the stress?"
Connie looked around, "She exercises; and beats the stuffing out of the bags in the Hufflepuff gym. If you're not going to eat, come with me, we'll change and I'll show you where it is."
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"This is the Hufflepuff gym," Connie said. "To get in, face this tapestry of Helga Hufflepuff and say something nice about her house." She faced it, "Hufflepuffs are steadfast, loyal and true."
"Aren't you nice," the tapestry agreed, and with a click the door behind them unlocked. May cleared her throat, "Hufflepuffs make the best friends."
"I would certainly think so, dearie," the tapestry agreed with a beaming smile, and the door clicked again.
Inside, what seemed to be an informal basketball game was in progress, while a blonde savaged the speed bag, her fists moving in a blur. "Amy Johnson, seventh year Ravenclaw and CEO of Greywolf Transport," Connie told May quietly. "A lot of people here are connected with Greywolf and Arrowhead, there's a lot of stress to burn off." She turned and continued quietly, "I wondered why she wasn't at dinner. Sprink is the 'spokeswolf' for Greywolf; she negotiated two planets into the Empire over the summer. The tall dirty blond bloke is Arthur Morton, he and Charlie Adams went to Windfall; they were there for the entire summer. Helped overthrow the old Elders and install a new government. They must know a lot of people there." Arthur took a pass from Charlie, faked right, and shot, the ball bouncing hard off the rim. Sprink went up, grabbed it, spun, and tried a three-pointer, which failed.
The door clicked open, and Mattie came in, wearing a gi. "I see I'm not the only one," she said. She dropped some stuff next to the heavy bag, stood silently for a minute, then blurred into motion, kicking and jabbing with her full power. Some activity came to a halt, the older students knew she only let loose on the heavy leather bags, and it wasn't seen that often. With a ripping sound, the first seam split, sand spilling out. She changed her angle of attack, going high, and with a 'ping' a chain snapped, hanging the bag at an angle. A high, twisting kick ripped the mounting grommet on another chain, and after no more than a minute, the bag was hanging by a single chain, sand spilling out of it from multiple tears and rips. She stepped back, summoned her wand and started to cast 'Reparo' on the bag as people went back to what they were doing.
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