For disclaimer, please see chapter 1.
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2: 17–23 June, 2001
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Sunday, June 17, 2390:
Luna, westbound train: 01:57
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Cassidy settled into her seat with a sigh of relief. She had spent almost the full day proving her identity, then getting her death certificate revoked at the lunar embassy and getting her various accounts reactivated. Shopping had been fun, but all in all, being dead had been a major headache.
'Especially twice,' she thought, 'originally in the 24th century, then again in the 21st.' She touched her new phone, said "Home", and then "Hi, mom!"
"Cassidy! Where are you? We've been worried sick!"
"I'm on the train out of Port Oldridge. I'll see you in a couple hours; we've got a lot to talk about."
"We'll be waiting at the station, sweetie. Love you!" her mother said as she disconnected.
'That's something we need to talk about,' Cassidy thought, settling back for a nap.
Her rather large seatmate eyed the slim blonde, waiting until she heard the gentle snore; then reached over to pluck the phone off her jaw. Using the manual dial, she settled down, asking, "Bertha? It's me. Now what were you saying about old man Ed?"
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"Departing Grimaldi, Orientale; next stop!" the overhead speaker announced, as the train started again.
"Hmm?" Cassidy mumbled, as her seatmate said, "...you put a layer of icing on the first layer; that holds the second layer of the cake on. Put icing on each layer..."
"That was my stop!" Cassidy exclaimed as she groped for her phone. Standing, she looked around her seat as her seatmate glared at her, but continued talking, "...no, that was nothing. Now, once you've got all the layers on, you..."
"You've got my phone!"
Her seatmate snorted, "Do you mind? This is an important call!"
"You're talking about a fracking cake, on my phone!" Cassidy snatched the phone, pulling up the registration hologram. "See? It's registered to me!" She addressed the phone, "Hello, whoever this is. You're getting billed for this call; it's on a stolen phone." She disconnected as it squawked in outrage, calling the operator, "I'm reversing charges on that last call, and it was on a stolen phone. Right, the last legitimate call was to 45 Grimaldi. Thanks."
"Well, you weren't using it, and I needed to make some calls!" the seatmate claimed.
"Explains why it didn't wake me up," Cassidy said, grabbing her duffle bag and shoving past the fat woman to move to another seat. Throwing the duffle in the seat, she told the phone, "Mom", then, "Hi, mom. No, my seatmate had stolen my phone and turned off the alarm, so I missed the stop. I'll get off at Orientale and come east."
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Sunday, June 17, 2390:
Luna, Grimaldi station: 03:17
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The stationmaster boarded, standing over the fat woman, asking Cassidy, "Miss Yates, do you wish to press charges?"
"I'm certainly not paying for her phone calls to Earth!"
The stationmaster nodded, "Ma'am, you can either reimburse Miss Yates or be charged with theft of communication services. In either case, you're coming with us." He stepped aside as Cassidy left the train through the pressure tube.
Emerging on the concourse, she smiled at the beds of flowers surrounding the "Welcome to Grimaldi" sign, and was folded into a group hug by her family. They started to the stairs going down to the local platform, ignoring the large woman being led off the train behind them.
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Monday, June 18, 2001:
London, Ministry of Magic, Muggle affairs committee: 8:13
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"That's the situation," Arthur Weasley summarized to the rest of the committee. "There are apparently several wizards openly practicing magic in front of muggles, including at least one American mage." He sat down heavily, "The question arises, what do we do?"
"Arrest them!" snapped Doris Crockford.
"The American witch, at least, would be politically difficult," Arthur admitted. "She's using her mage name as a stage name, and passing herself off as 'Zatanna the Magnificent'. As you know, relations with the Americans are ... strained right now, we must tread carefully."
"What about our own subjects?" Josiah Wheatley asked.
"They're simply amusing the tykes in the park, complete with muggle licenses," Arthur said, "None of the muggles seem particularly fussed by magic."
"You have an idea, though," Josiah said.
"I do," Arthur said. "We specifically permit my twin sons, and their mates, to do more advanced magic. They can advertise their shop, although I'd suggest they do nothing past, oh, fifth-year, or permanent magic. They will need to acquire the proper muggle permits, and pay taxes and fees, for, oh, ninety days. They can apparate if necessary, but it would allow us to gauge how open muggles are to magic outside the play-park."
"Perhaps one of the Underground stations?" Josiah mused; looking up, "Which station?"
"I would let them choose that, although I'd suggest one with a good bit of foot traffic, like Green Park or Tottenham Court."
"So moved," Josiah said. "Second?"
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Wednesday, June 20, 2001:
London, Soho, Sheila Hawking's townhouse: 18:44
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"Finally awake, eh?" Sheila asked as Mattie stumbled into the kitchen. "You were sleeping like the dead. Want something to eat?"
"A horse, don't bother cooking it," she replied. Her nose twitched as a plate was put in front of her. "Pot roast?"
"Not just any pot roast; my own Yankee pot roast," her aunt replied. "Eat up, there's more where that came from. I like your hair, by the way."
"Hmm?" A glass of milk was put before her, and she gulped it. Sheila brushed at her own black locks, "White over your ears, dear."
"Whaa? Mattie scampered to the powder room, and gave a small shriek. Sheila called, "Don't worry, I picked up some hair color; it's in the bathroom. Finish up and get a shower, Pomfrey wanted me to call when you woke up."
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"Hmf," the mediwitch snorted. "I want you to rest, now. Spend time in the park, soak up some sun. Nothing more exerting than walking to the park, now; I'll speak to Severus and Filius, you can start your classes this coming Monday."
"What about exercise?" Mattie asked, pulling her shirt on.
"Not more than a three kilometer run in the morning and a half-hour workout in the park." Her patient grumbled, the mediwitch replying, "You've channeled a planet's worth of magic through your body, and I don't know what long term effects on your health there might be," Poppy told her. "You're still growing, even if you're denying it, and if you didn't know, that little ... dispute was felt world-wide, upsetting students final exams in Mexico." Poppy patted her shoulder, "Give yourself a chance to heal, dear."
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Thursday, June 21, 2001:
London, Marble Arch station, Central line: 11:08
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Mattie's hand snaked out to capture the hand trying to sneak her wallet from her bag, she muttered, "Move it or have it broken," and twisted his thumb slightly. With a slight gasp of pain, the hand vanished, a voice muttering, "Sorry, milady," and a figure shuffled away. The train doors opened, she swiped her Oyster card, and looked for the stairs.
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She centered herself, meditating, listening to the hum of conversation fade away. Breathing deeply, eyes closed, she moved into the beginnings of her kata, smoothly spinning and kicking at imaginary opponents, blocking and punching, ducking and weaving, jabs flowing into back kicks, dodging and weaving until she flowed back into a lotus position. Her eyes jerked open at applause, someone asking, "What kind of dance is that?"
"Martial arts, not a dance," someone replied, Mattie twisting around to see Sprink and Charlie Adams. "Guys!" and a group hug ensued as the watching crowd broke up.
Sprink held her at arm's length, "You're alive!" Mattie grinned, flopping back on the grass. "From what Pomfrey says, just barely. The leaving feast is kinda hazy, what happened after I got knocked out?"
"You saw Yates move over to Gryffindor?" Charlie asked. He took a seat next to her, tailor-fashion, as Sprink settled down, leaning back on her heels. "Anyway, after you cast that spell ... what spell was it, by the way?"
"Translation is 'World Mage', I found it in the restricted section in the past," Mattie confessed. "Originally Egyptian, I think, at least the hieroglyphs were." She shrugged, "It looked to be a useful spell, so I practiced it a bit, and you never know when you could use a bit more power. Anyway, the last thing I really remember is Ganthet throwing me into the wall."
"What did he want you for, anyway?" Charlie asked. "He never said."
"Never told me either, and this bit of costume jewelry is being very, very quiet on the whole thing," she said, waving her hand. "I'd like to know what I'm risking my life on, y'know, instead of finding out when I arrive and bull on through," and she glared at her right hand.
"Anyway, Yates popped your tan wand out, and she started firing spells," Charlie continued, "They were the only ones that bothered him, so Ganthet floated over, said something about her being 'out of time', and they both vanished."
"I wondered where that was ... "she mused.
"When we went up to see you, Pomfrey said you were suffering from 'magical exhaustion' and you'd wake up when you would," Sprink offered.
"Well, I'll start with Flitwick and Snape on Monday; I just woke up last night. Pomfrey wanted me to rest, get some sun; she's limited me to only one three kilometer run a day!"
"You exhaust me just talking to you!" Charlie said, and Sprink snorted, "The only way I can keep up on her runs is in my wolf-form," she admitted.
"Speaking of which... " and Charlie groaned, "How many 'wolves can you get together quickly, in a couple days' notice?"
"Thirty or forty," Sprink admitted. "Amy set up a tree; we've got mobiles now, so each of us calls three or four others, why?"
"I have an idea," Mattie admitted. "I've got to run it by my legal and financial people, but have you thought about getting a pilot's license?"
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Sprink sat up suddenly, whistled, and waved, "Oi, Nymphy! Kingsley! Over here!" Aside, she said, "My sister and her partner." Standing, she brushed off the seat of her jeans as the others stood, "Nymphy, Kingsley, these are my schoolmates and my best mates, Mattie Wayne and Charlie Adams."
"Pleased," Kingsley rumbled, shaking their hands as Tonks waved at two others. They approached, and she introduced them, "Two of my favorite muggle coppers, Mike and Amanda from Homicide, this is my sister Sprink, and two of her schoolmates, Mattie and Charlie." She added, "They got involved in the Malfoy murder."
"Which one?" Sprink asked.
"Hers."
"Good riddance," Mattie said, Charlie nodding in agreement. Amanda cocked an eyebrow, "A Yank?" Mattie nodded, "Why are you here in this beastly heat?"
"Beastly? Some of my best friends are beasts, I'll have you know." (Sprink transformed as Charlie rubbed her head.) She grinned, "I'll say it again, good riddance to Malfoy, she's the reason I'm here for summer school."
"A bit of pique?" Mike asked, Charlie replying, "No, sir. Malfoy cast a time-travel spell on her, sent her back to the 14th century. She came back with a starship and a load of kit in the hold."
"A starship?" Amanda asked. "My brother's in the paras, he mentioned he was guarding a starship for a rich Yank who was tight with..." She paled slightly, whispering, "You're Wayne! Gor blimey... What are you still doing on this rock?"
"Looking for lunch," she replied matter-of-factly. "This rock is still home, no reason I can't do a bit of DIY, you know." They turned when a frantic man hurried past calling, "Amber! Where are you, luv? Please, stop hiding from Daddy!" He asked, "Please, have you seen a little girl? About three or so?"
"We'll help you, sir," Amanda said, showing her badge as Sprink thrust her snout into the pram. "Metropolitan police." Sprink yipped and took off, nose to the pavement as she trotted along. Charlie told the father, "Go, we'll watch your kit."
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They appropriated a bench, the pram next to it, as Charlie asked, "So, what's this about a pilot's license?"
She shook her head, pushing the pram with her toe, "What about you and Sprink?" Mattie asked, grinning, "I saw how the two of you were in Herbology."
"Like you and Arthur?" he teased, and she sighed. "You know, next year is our first school ball. Fancy dresses and tuxedos, dress robes; I hate the social set. I wonder if there's any way to avoid it."
"You? Not a prayer, luv. There are advantages to being poor but honest."
"It chafes my miserly Scottish soul to pay thousands of pounds for a dress that I'll wear once!" she complained. She looked at the water splashing in a fountain, and reached down, stripping off her shoes and socks, and rolling up her pants. Tossing her bag and shoes in the pram, she wheeled it next to the fountain, "Are you coming?"
There was a howl from deeper in the park; Charlie grinned, peeling off his shoes, "That was Sprink. I'll wager she's found the tot." He splashed his feet in the fountain's water next to hers, pulling his foot up; "50p. How much can you pick up?" He put the coin on the edge of the fountain, and scrabbled about with his toes as she groped through the slime with hers.
"I wish I was there," she complained softly.
"Never you worry, luv," Charlie squeezed her hand, "You can't be everyplace, let Sprink have her moment in the sun." He pulled up a foot, "10p. How you doing?"
"You're buying lunch, it seems," she replied.
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Friday, June 22, 2001:
London, The Leaky Cauldron: 09:43
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"H'lo, Miss Wayne," Tom said, nodding down a side corridor as she entered from London. "We're all set for you in room two. Heard that you've been in a scrap, feel all right?"
"Not a hundred percent, but I'm sure a cup of your tea will help," she replied with a smile, as she entered the small room.
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"Mr. Griplink! How are you doing?" Mattie asked, giving the goblin a brief hug.
"Very well indeed, Miss Wayne; May I introduce a kinsman of mine, Mr. Sev MacAdam?"
"Delighted to make your acquaintance, sir," she said, giving the red-haired fellow a goblin-style two handed shake. It was difficult to tell with the mixture of wizarding and goblin blood, but he stood about five foot two, with slightly pointed ears, and appeared to be about forty. "If you're a fellow kinsman of this fellow," she added with a grin, "I know we'll get along famously."
"I certainly hope so, lassie," he said in a thick Scottish burr. "I've the greatest admiration for y' family, an' any disagreements we m' hae are strictly professional."
"I can certainly live with that," she agreed, before turning to greet the people Lady Sarah had in tow.
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"I can understand why the others are here," the Cuban said. "Arrowhead has existing research contracts with firms in Germany, Russia, and so forth." He leaned forward, "Why Cuba? Our technical base is nowhere near theirs."
"In a different way, Senor Martinez," Mattie replied. "Cuba can offer this partnership several things. May I be blunt?" She looked around the table, and then leaned forward toward the small man.
"First, I don't care about politics, which I leave to Lady Sarah. As we all know, and no offense to anyone, government is not nearly as ... efficient as business. In this case, that is enough to kill this project. We can tolerate a minimum of foot-dragging." She smiled briefly, "I believe the Russian term is a 'Hero Project'."
The Russian sucked in her breath as she continued, "Secondly, in exchange for Cuba's help, it will receive the full benefits of the other's research – Canadian fusion, Swiss gravitics, German and Russian experience in space and rocketry, Mexican chemistry. You can thumb your nose at the American embargo with our help, moving your people out of the 1950's."
"This sounds very attractive; Senorita Wayne, but I still do not understand what Cuba can offer."
"Cuba, along with Ecuador, which sits on the equator, can offer several things. Firstly, trained personnel. We will need trained engineers, but we will also need physicians. Legally, as a British corporation, Arrowhead's staffers would fall under the National Health Service. However, I want everyone living on the Moon, and in orbit, to have the best medical care available, no matter who signs their paychecks. That is why health and safety personnel will report to the Crown representative, and lunar companies, including Arrowhead, would pay the Crown taxes for that purpose. I think we can agree that health, safety, and legal matters properly belong to the government."
"What kind of taxes?" the German asked.
"We're still negotiating," Sheila Hawking said with a grin. "We've proposed a flat rate of five percent of sales, the American way of doing taxes is absurd. In any case, that's a matter for we lawyers, as are various treaties, copyright and patents, licensing agreements and so forth." She motioned to the blonde sitting next to her, "Christine and I will be more than happy to sit down with your legal attaché. For one thing, we'll need to set up some legal structures with a non-signatory nation like Ecuador regarding various space treaties."
"All very interesting, and we'll be happy to involve your people," Mattie said. "For now, Cuba offers other things we need: experience in hydroponics and 'green' technology, and a terrain that is similar to the moon, only without the craters."
The Cuban nodded warily as she continued, "In order to prove this new technology to the world, and other customers, we'll need test sites. It would be politically ... difficult ... to install pebble-bed reactors, or fusion power, in Cuba, but I don't think anyone can object to sunlight."
"Sunlight? How will solar power help our power problems, or reduce our imports of oil?"
"We put the solar equipment in orbit, senor, and beam the power down in microwaves. Cuba builds a rectenna, seven kilometers in diameter, which is a simple network of wires on posts three or four meters high. These wires connect to a concrete building in the center of the field, where an inverter converts the DC power to AC, and it's fed into your power grid." She smiled, "For political reasons, there should be a separate, sealed room where the UN environmental people can install monitoring equipment, but I see no reason why there couldn't be repeaters for your people and mine to take readings."
"How much power would this produce?" the small man took a sip of coffee, "What kind of environmental problems?"
"Current estimates are a gigawatt; it would be available year round, with the exception of about 45 minutes during each of the summer and winter solstices." She shrugged, "A matter of orbital mechanics, unfortunately. However, they should happen around midnight, so they can be planned for." Mattie took a sip of coffee herself, "As far as environmental, NASA's done quite a few studies, and it should be about the same radiation exposure as mowing your lawn on a hot summer day. You may want to put some cows, goats, and a greenhouse under the rectenna for study."
Senor Martinez studied her over his coffee cup. "I see the reason behind the meters and such, and the rates can be negotiated. We would share the data, and if we bury the wires, a hurricane should not bother the installation, except to knock down a few poles." She nodded, and he asked, "What else?"
"There is something that worries me, terrorism," and he nodded in agreement with her. "Ah, as we are connected to the few remaining 'liberation movements', you would like to know if a strike is being planned."
"Exactly," she replied, her glance flicking at a quiet, dark-haired woman. "Israel and the Mossad have deeper coverage in the Middle East than MI6 or the Russian FSS do. All I'm asking is that if you hear things regarding Arrowhead, or one of the NBC shipments heading for Port NIMBY, you inform us. We'll co-operate in setting up appropriate security."
"NBC?" Christine asked.
"Nuclear, Biological, Chemical," the Canadian said. "There are thousands of tons of hazardous waste that's been sitting aboot." He nodded, "Special recycling place, the name's a bit of a joke, eh?"
"Ja, one does not make mistakes with nuclear materials," the German agreed. He took a drink himself, "What else for our Cuban colleague?"
"A bullet train," she replied with a small grin, and Senor Martinez coughed. "Lawrence Livermore has a very nice design Arrowhead's licensed that I think would translate well between the Cuban and Lunar terrain. Both have absolutely flat areas, there are hills that correspond to the craters, and there are mountains in the Southeast that would be remarkably like FarSide." She smiled sweetly, "The tentative design has the track carrying both power and fiber optic cable for data, with magnetic levitation, we should be able to get 400 kph out of a track running around the perimeter of the island."
Senor Martinez coughed, "I cannot authorize such a project on my own. I must speak with the President. El Presidente will wish to know why there is such hurry."
"I will tell you, and this must be shared only with Senor Castro. I cannot risk a leak, or worse, panic, but I will tell you, for his ears only." She looked in his eyes as she asked, "Do I have your word, senor?"
He nodded, "You do."
She cast a privacy spell, "On April 13, 20... "
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After the meeting, Mr. MacAdam said, "Wait jus' a minute lassie. I've a few questions f' ye." She sat back down, he asked, "Why're ye buildin' a railroad all the way aroun' the Moon when you've only got one city (if ye can call it tha') planned oot on the whole ball o' cheese?"
"So when it's time to expand, we'll have the infrastructure in place to do it. There's also more beside Port Oldridge, there's Port NIMBY and the South Pole water plant. Transportation is a headache, though."
"But lassie, won't the maintenance costs mean you cannae afford expanding? C'mon, where's the return on investment?"
"There's very little track maintenance, as there's no weathering or oxidation, just thermal expansion and contraction, which is planned in. It just sits there and transmits power and data. Besides, Arrowhead's projected ROI is more than double the Dow Jones Industrial average."
"If you weren't subsidizin' money pits like railroads to nowhere, it'd be a helluva lot higher now wouldn't it?"
"Arrowhead doesn't exist just to make money. It's purpose is to help build the future for the entire human race."
"Well lassie, thassa noble enough purpose to get ya inta Heaven, but the bills still havta be paid here on Earth first."
"True, but this is a long-term investment. That's why we've issued these bonds, have government investment, and why we have people like you, to make the numbers work."
"Aye, lassie. I want tae see more data, thoo. Th' investors are why I'm here."
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Saturday, June 23, 2001:
Grandview Heights, Ohio, Morton home: 8:02 (GMT-5)
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"Arthur! E-mail!"
Running upstairs, Arthur went through the elaborate decryption procedure for the letter from Mattie. Once it cleared, he sat back to read it over, then clicked the icon to print it. Closing the email, he shut the Mac down, returning to breakfast to see the table covered with waffles, syrup and sections of newspaper. Taking his seat again, he cleared his throat, "The email was from Mattie. She sent an explanation of the moon claim."
"This I'd like to hear," Henry said, closing the sports section.
"The claim is in the crater Grimaldi; near the equator and close to the western border with the Far Side," he said. "Pass me the envelope she sent, would you?" Elena found it next to the phone books, and passed it over as he cleared a space. He flipped through it, finding a section. "Here we are. The topographic map shows a major hill, several kilometers high and wide, along with some vents that are outgassing a vapor. Bill, wash your hands before you handle these." His younger brother got up, washing syrup off at the kitchen sink. It was passed around, as Arthur started to read, "I'm going to paraphrase a bit, now."
22 June, 2001
Arthur & the Mortons:
Please keep this information private.
I'm sure you're wondering why I've sent you a land claim on the moon. I have my reasons, as I'm sure Arthur and Julie have told you by now, I'm working hard on colonizing the moon. I have a self-imposed deadline of 2025 for this, but more on that later...
Why this particular chunk, you ask? Since the surface scans are public knowledge, why this particular crater? Aside from other motives, I'll point you to the chemical spectroscopy of the vapors: NH3, also known as ammonia.
Big deal, you say. I reply, yes, a very big deal, when you consider that crater has been outgassing for millions of years, and it's been outgassing from various ammonia deposits. Very large, very deep deposits, and that's not even touching the kilometers-thick meteoroid itself that it's sitting next to, one of the few carbonaceous chondrites that I know of on the moon. (The others are FarSide.)
I can see from here you are unimpressed. I have two words for you: Black Gold, also known as Texas Tea. Your claim has minerals the moon is very scarce in (hydrogen, nitrogen, carbon, etc.), and I can't be accused of playing favorites, as I waited a full 24 hours for the public to stake a claim off Arrowhead's website before I put a deposit down for you.
"That claim is worth billions," Misty whispered, reading the site survey.
Teela replied, "How do we get to it? How do we take advantage of it? Is there any more to the letter?"
"Um, yeah," Arthur replied, taking a gulp of milk. He continued: I'm sure someone practical like Arthur has asked...
"Hah!" Teela said.
Arthur cleared his throat, "...Like Arthur has asked how we get there, how we live, and how we cash in. As you may know, Arrowhead has been financing our reverse-engineering of different alien technologies. I'm doing this for two simple reasons: so WE'LL know how, and licensing costs would quickly drain me dry, despite the financial backing of several countries. Research is also underway in still more countries like Cuba, Germany, Poland, Russia, Canada, and Mexico. You'll notice the US is not on that list. In any case, the Swiss have a working antigravity plate; current capacity is five kilos OVER what the plate itself weighs. They're working on reducing the power draw and increasing the capacity. Even if the plates are in series, we should be able to lift off Earth."
Arthur cleared his throat; taking another gulp of milk. "Let's see... Yada, yada, yada..."
Elena waved her fork, "Yada, yada?"
"Techno babble," he replied. "You qualify for astronaut status at a hundred klicks altitude, transit times, yada, and yada." He continued to scan the letter, finally saying, "Ah, here we go." He read, "...plan on a few days at the end of the month staking the claim – I've got another few chores there, and my brother Dick needs to stake his claim south of yours. Two of you (one of legal age, though), and Teela, I'd like to get your artist's eye on this! Bring your camera and sketchpad!
Mattie
Arthur drank more milk to soothe his throat, looked up and said, "Teela, I know you want to go. Who else?"
"It would be nice if Misty and I could go, but if it's land, Dad should come too," Henry said. "What about spacesuits?"
"Mattie was wearing what she called a skinsuit," Julie offered. She looked at her brother, "Arthur, what do you think?"
"I'm not sure. She admits having an ulterior motive, is this a billion-dollar bribe for some reason, or something else?" He glanced at his younger sister, "She's awfully good at keeping secrets," and she nodded. Their brothers and sisters traded looks as he stood, "I'll email her, ask her to stop by. For now, I tell her Dad, Hank, Misty and Teela?"
Julie followed him out, "Arthur!" He turned, and she asked, "Mattie's a ship captain, right?" He nodded, and her face split into a grin. Whispering, "She can marry Hank and Misty, then! Ask her!"
Arthur regarded her, then a slow grin split his face, "I'll ask, but keep it quiet. Teela only, all right?"
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