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For disclaimers, please see chapter one.
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4: 1 – 7 July, 2001
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Sunday, July 1, 2001:
Luna, South Pole-Aitken basin: 06:00 (GMT)
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The sweet music crept into everyone's ears, and Vasily smiled. "Ah, thank you, Comrade Alfred. Were you a pretty girl, I would kiss you for the fine gift."
"Perhaps you could substitute your adopted daughter, Mr. Danilov," and Vasily chortled, "A beautiful, intelligent daughter and Nikolai Andreyevich Rimsky-Korsakov's music to wake up to. What more could a man want?"
"Breakfast?" Bill asked.
"There is that, Comrade Morton," Vasily said, "Good kasha and tea to get the blood moving."
"Were I the jealous type, Mr. Danilov, I would be," Hank said, reaching down to help him up. "Instead, you are invited to the wedding, sir."
"Then I can die a happy man, Comrade Morton, as long as you treat her like the princess she is." He wrapped a huge arm around Hank, "We shall be speaking later, you and I, about how to treat a woman. Twenty-six years of advice from a happy marriage, I give you." He thumped him, "For now, kasha and then we work!"
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Sunday, July 1, 2001:
Grandview Heights, Morton Home: 20:50 (GMT -5)
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The phone rang, "Arthur Morton speaking," he answered. After a delay, he heard, "Arthur, it's your dad. I'm standing on the south pole of the moon, and relaying through about six satellites," the scratchy voice said. "By my count, that was about four seconds delay, everyone's safe and sound, we've got core samples for the university. Some of them have to be kept as cold as possible. Please call Jim Stratton from the union, see if I can borrow his refrigerated truck to get them to the university."
"Okay, dad, we'll set that up. Here's mom." He passed it over, "They're safe, and there's about four seconds lag." He went to fetch his dad's daytimer and his cell phone. "Hello, Mr. Stratton? This is Arthur Morton, calling for my dad. He needs a favor..."
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Sunday, July 1, 2390:
Luna, Grimaldi Park, football pitch: 11:33
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"So, where have you been?" Daphne Bundy asked, keeping the ball away from the guys, and passing it to Cassidy.
"I did a lot of traveling," she replied, dribbling it, and passing it over to Susan Bones, whose shot was intercepted. She ran back up field, her mind not really on the game. "I think I'll sit for my guild qualifications," she decided. "Maybe get the Yates back in commission."
"That old pile of scrap?" Susan asked as they ran downfield. "It's like... ancient!"
"Are you calling me old?" Cassidy demanded with a grin. She kicked, and it sailed past her brother's outstretched arms just under the crossbar. "GOAL!"
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Monday, July 2, 2001:
Columbus, Ohio State University Geology department: 07:14 (GMT -5)
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"Carefully, you idiot!" Professor Harstein demanded. The graduate students rolled their eyes as they carefully placed the five meter section next to the others on the conference room floor. Swaddled in plastic wrap, the sections were carefully numbered, so the whole kilometers-long length could be (theoretically) reassembled. The tenured professor cackled, sounding remarkably like a mad scientist (had he been a physicist). Two other students brought a section in, the professor checking the label at the end. "Yes, yes," he cackled, "This will make me famous!"
"What about the cold ones?" a student asked.
"Leave them in the freezer," the professor snapped. "What about getting them back down to four degrees Kelvin?"
"We haven't heard back from maintenance yet," one student said. "They won't open for another hour and a half. Isn't -30 Celsius good enough?"
"Bah! I am surrounded by idiots! What did I do to deserve this!" Harstein demanded of the ceiling. It didn't answer.
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Tuesday, July 3, 2001:
Hogwarts, Charms classroom: 09:05
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"Good morning, good morning, ladies!" Professor Flitwick said. "I hope you've had a good weekend," he added. "Miss Bundy, are you well?"
"I have felt better," she admitted. "However, Miss Pomfrey says I might attend if I wish, and I am heartily tired of lying abed."
The tiny professor stroked his beard, "As you wish. Now, before we dive back into getting the both of you up to speed, I would like to say that we finally found the book you mentioned, Miss Wayne."
"I didn't hide it well enough, then," she said with a grin.
"No, Madame Pince found it on top of one of the Herbology stacks, covered in several inches of dust. It does appear to be a most interesting book, most interesting indeed. I would like to discuss it with you in private, after class. Now, did you have any questions?"
'That's not where I left it,' Mattie thought.
Anne sighed, "'Twere a way to send my kin a letter, I woulds't employ it. I do miss them so."
"Hmm," the tiny professor seemed to wrestle with himself, actually sitting on a pile of tomes. "What would you say?"
"Only that I am well, and that I love and miss them."
"Miss Wayne?"
"I would like to know if Cassidy is safe, but that's going the other direction. I liked the people then, and would probably just add a 'Hello' to Anne's. I've been meaning to ask the Headmistress if I can put a letter in her Journal, I guess she'd get it eventually."
"Hmm," Professor Flitwick stroked his whiskers, coming to a decision. "Let us move on, we must cover assorted hexes for your examination. Let's start with a simple stinging hex, shall we?"
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"Miss Wayne?" Mattie put her bag down, and resumed her seat. Anne paused a minute, and then closed the door after her.
"Miss Wayne, what happens when you hold a poker in a fire?"
"It gets hot."
"And if it is kept there?"
"It will burn whoever's holding it."
"Correct. But if the fire was hot enough and the poker stayed there long enough, it could melt."
"Theoretically," Mattie acknowledged. "But most people are smart enough to pull it out or let go before that."
"In this case, my dear, you were the poker, not the person holding it and you had been jammed fast into the middle of an inferno. The Guardian may well have saved your life by knocking you unconscious when he did." Filius Flitwick sighed, and took a seat on his desk, his legs swinging two feet above the floor. "Miss Wayne, whilst I can appreciate your desire to defend your friends," 'I am heartily glad she considers me one!' he thought, and continued, "Such a move as using an untested spell, especially on yourself, was foolish."
"I would not consider it untested, sir," she replied.
"Did you read any of the book besides the spells?" he asked. 'Merlin knows how many others from that book she learned,' he mused.
"My translation spell was having trouble with the hieroglyphs," she admitted. "I scanned the index, and several of the spells I copied to double-check the translations later, but my time was somewhat... limited," she admitted with a grin.
"Understandable," he nodded. "That book was from the Third Dynasty, it should never have been filed in the restricted section. Professor Croft has been going over it; I believe she wants it filed in the Headmistress' private library with the other dangerous..." He stopped short, remembering too late Severus' discussion of her family. He gazed at her, her green eyes intent.
"How is a book determined to be restricted or included in the private library?" she asked casually.
Professor Flitwick sighed, "I will tell you, but you must hold this in confidence," he admitted. She nodded, and he continued, "A book is restricted if the information could be hazardous to the average student," he admitted. "The private library is for those spells that are considered dangerous, or restricted for licensing reasons. Construction spells, for instance."
"I see..." she mused.
"Miss Wayne, I will strike a bargain with you," he offered. 'Merlin, I wish she were in my house!' he thought. "I will not question how or where you found a particular spell, if you will agree to practice it only with a faculty member, for safety reasons."
"Have they have agreed to this?" she asked.
"Not yet," he admitted. "I will propose it at the next faculty meeting. I think we would all prefer a bit of safe experimenting, as opposed to the castle being destroyed." He smiled, "In any case, you may do so with me, irrespective of their agreement."
Mattie offered her hand, "Agreed, pity this won't apply to my OWLs."
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Wednesday, July 4, 2001:
Hogwarts, Staff room: 08:05
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"Was there anything else?" Minerva asked.
"I had one other thing I wished to discuss," Filius said. He took a sip of tea, and continued, "I had a discussion with Miss Wayne yesterday. She agreed to practice dangerous spells with a faculty member; in return we will not inquire as to how or where she acquired the information. I think this is preferable to having Hogwarts pulled down around our ears."
"She has other spells from that book?" Lara Croft asked, and Filius nodded. Lara paled, adding, "I agree."
"As do I," Pomona said. "I would add Mr. Morton and the other members of her cabal to the agreement, though."
"I would not," Severus said. "Having one student with that level of power is quite enough. Miss Wayne survived, aided no doubt by her Ring. I doubt the other members of her group are able to handle that amount of power." He steepled his hands, adding, "Whilst I deplore the dunderheads I am forced to teach, I still enjoy having a roof over my head."
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Wednesday, July 4, 2001:
New York City, Central Park, Sheep Meadow: 18:39 (GMT -5)
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Connie put two fingers in her mouth, letting out a sharp whistle, "Hey, Cortez, over here!"
One of the twins waved in acknowledgement, as they picked their way through the mass of New Yorkers lying out, eating, tossing Frisbees, and playing with dogs. They all faced roughly north, toward the Reservoir, where the fireworks would be launched from behind the police station.
"Good crowd," one said as they arrived, their parents unrolling a blanket to sit on.
"I'd like to get your side of the story about your rather unusual arrival a few weeks ago," Beth Koslowski said. "Connie's told me some things. Having a starship drop you off in the middle of Central Park is making an entrance."
"Only because the roof of our apartment building wasn't large enough, or flat enough, for Alfred to land on," one twin said. "So, we landed on the Great Lawn."
"I'm working on a story about President Luthor," Beth said. "Some things just aren't adding up about what he says, and when you add in what little Connie could tell me, it gets my reporter's nose twitching."
"I've heard the Daily Planet is taking a close look at him," the other twin added.
"A sitting President, especially a third-party President, is always fair game for the press," Beth confirmed. "I can't let a Metropolis paper scoop the New York Times, now, can I?"
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Thursday, July 5, 2001:
Columbus, Ohio State University Geology department: 16:24 (GMT -5)
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"You asked me to come by, Professor?" Maggie Morton asked.
"I told you to come by this morning!" snapped Harstein. "Where have you been, woman? I have the preliminary results here for both samples." He dropped a stack of paper and a pair of CDs in front of her, not noticing her irritation at his attitude.
"Thank you, professor," she said, "I am sorry that I could not come earlier, but my work..."
"A librarian? BAH! Any fool could do that, even my undergraduates! Now this, this is REAL work!" He turned his back on her, and never noticed when she left.
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Friday, July 6, 2001:
Havana, José Martí International Airport: 13:45 (GMT -5)
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The white ship banked, settling silently to the airport tarmac. The forward hatch lowered, a figure emerging to greet another emerging from his limousine. Security spread out in a ring as handshakes were exchanged.
"Mr. President," the smaller figure said in Spanish.
"Miss Wayne," the much larger figure greeted. "I am surprised to hear you speak Spanish. I did not know you did. However, I am pleased to present a gift to you, some of the finest engineering Cuba has yet performed!" He turned, asking his chauffeur, "Raul?"
As he opened the limo's trunk, Mattie replied, "A small implant that Alfred did for me, outpatient surgery that fits into my jaw. It is the size of a few grains of rice. We'll give you some for your people to examine. I understand you must be careful."
He sighed. "Unfortunately true, Raul would have my head if I did so."
"And rightly so," the bodyguard said. "It would be a useful thing to have, though. I would appreciate all the data you can offer." He connected a cable to a controller, then to a thin plate the size of a large book, which he laid on the tarmac. Handing the controller to the President, "Whenever you are ready, El Presidente."
He flipped the power switch, sliding a control. The plate rose to a hover at about waist height, when Raul took a seat on it. It dipped a bit, and then maneuvered as he manipulated a small joystick. He smiled, asking, "Raul, your weight?"
"Ninety-five kilos, Comrade," Raul replied from about head-height. Mattie closed her eyes, whispering a quick prayer.
"You are religious?" the strongman asked, as he lowered his bodyguard back to the ground.
"I don't go to Mass like I should, but the gravity problem was my greatest worry," she replied. "Once that is solved, others look a bit more... manageable."
Fidel grunted, stroking his beard in thought. Handing the controller to Raul, he motioned to his limousine, "Please, have a seat, Miss Wayne, we need to talk. Raul, please load the other presents into the starship."
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The President took off his fatigue jacket, tossing it over a seat. "Please be comfortable, Miss Wayne. For the moment, I am not El Presidente, I am your Uncle Fidel, and I think this is a conversation that Senor Wayne would have had with you, had he lived." He regarded her gravely, "I approve that he used his wealth to help others less fortunate, and that you are following in his footsteps." He raised his hand, "I am aware of your schooling, I have a grand-nephew starting his fifth year at Azteca, as you will be starting your fourth at Hogwarts." He smiled briefly, "There are advantages to having an intelligence service." She flashed a matching grin, as he regarded her from under his heavy eyebrows.
"You are driven, and with good cause," he finally continued. He leaned forward, adding, "However, you have two faults that I see. Firstly, you must learn to step back, and let others do their work. Secondly, you are too American, you must learn from Latinos, the work must be done, but in a project spanning decades, manana will work." He grinned, "You have spent too much time with the Swiss and Germans, always precise, always in ordnung. In engineering, this is good, but people are not machines."
She exhaled with a whoosh, sitting back against the leather. He raised his eyebrow, and she grinned and sat back up. He said, "One other thing, Miss Martha. You are allowed to be a 13-year old girl, to sit and talk about silly things, paint your toenails, and discuss your boyfriend Mr. Morton. You can go shopping with your friends, including your friend Sprink. I am aware that growing up as you have, and where you have, has made you think you must carry the world on your shoulders alone." He smiled gently, "Others can carry the burden for a while, including Mr. Morton. I would very much like to meet him, and his family."
"I think that can be arranged," she replied with a smile. "Thank you. There's just so much to do..." He regarded her, and she finished, "...manana."
"Good. You are learning," he replied. "Have you any questions for your uncle?"
"You are nothing like the history books," she ventured.
"Most certainly," he agreed. "In here, I may relax a bit, as with family. However, I must be strict with people, to protect my people." He sighed, "You may speak with the Israelis and South Africans, they were international pariahs as well. However, my duty to my people requires me to be strong, to do what is necessary."
"What about the embargo, and the 1960's?" she asked.
"Ah, the blockade, and that foolishness with the Kennedys," he sighed. "At the time, we nationalized American properties, offering them a fair price, what they claimed on their taxes. This, of course, did not satisfy them, and they and their Mafiosi went to the Kennedys." He looked at her, "This is known as 'realpolitik' and with powerful enemies; one must have powerful allies. The Soviets were demanding and arrogant, but the price for their support was the missiles." He shifted on the limousine's seat, "It is one reason politicians have such a poor reputation, always seeking an advantage, as do businessmen. You, however, have proved honorable and fair in your dealings, and so Cuba counts herself as an ally, as does Germany and the rest." He reached for his fatigue jacket, asking, "Tell me, who does Mr. Morton favor, Cleveland or Cincinnati?"
"I think he supports the Reds, while I've always been a Gotham Knights fan," she replied.
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Saturday, July 7, 2001:
Grandview Heights, Parkinson Place: 08:13 (GMT -5)
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The white ship banked gently, touching down again at the apex of the traffic circle. The forward hatch lowered, two figures emerging, followed by a small disk. The impromptu basketball game broke up as several figures headed toward the three. Arthur did the honors, "Mattie, Ms. Hawking, I'd like to introduce Pete and Steve, they, um, they know about the crater."
"No worries," Mattie said, indicating the remote. "Guys, this is Alfred's remote. We're here for a good old-fashioned Fourth. Where do we bring stuff for the potluck?"
"My place," Steve said. "Hot or cold?"
"Cold, we brought a sheet cake," Sheila replied. "I hope it's big enough."
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Steve concentrated as he slowly walked up the driveway, balancing the sheet cake on the antigrav plate. Mattie walked slowly backward, ready to catch it as the parents' conversation slowed to a halt. He maneuvered it to the table, slowly lowering it as his mother asked, "What is that?"
"Antigravity," he said, as he slid the plate from under the large cake. Under the plate's plastic overlay was a Cuban flag, he switched the controller off, laying it next to the plate. He looked at the assorted parents, "It's really true, it's possible!"
"We can do it," Sheila said with a grin, offering her hand, "Sheila Hawking, aunt to this crazy dreamer and counsel-at-law to Arrowhead Investments, Ltd. I'll answer what questions I can."
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"I'm sure you guys have questions," Mattie said, stealing the basketball and dribbling it, keeping it away from Steve.
"When can we go?" Steve asked.
"It's still really early," Hank said. "We were staking the claim and capping the venting ammonia, and we set up some equipment." He took a pass from Mattie, shooting at a backboard and hoop bolted to a light pole.
"By the time we go back, we should have some distilled Helium-3," Mattie said, taking a pass from Arthur. "The Canadians have been working with deuterium, but Helium-3 is unbelievably expensive, it's a byproduct of uranium refinement." She shot, it bounced off the rim, and she added, "We set up a small refinery, and we need to get copies of the core samples."
"We were talking about what each of us could..." Pete said when a police cruiser pulled in.
The cop got out, surveying the situation, as a cackling old man walked down his driveway, waving his cane. "Old man Murchinson," Pete said, sotto voice. "Neighborhood grump."
"See what I said?" Murchinson called. "It's blocking my driveway! Damn kids! I want it moved!"
The cop sighed, taking his cap off and mopping his brow. "From what I see, sir, it's not blocking your driveway in any way, although I'd like to know what's going on."
"Fourth of July party, officer," Mattie said, bouncing the ball. "The Yates is a British registered starship, and I'm an American citizen."
"Why haven't I heard about this before?" the cop asked, as Misty came down the driveway with a tray of lemonade balanced on the antigravity plate.
"Luthor and the White House are suppressing information on it," she replied, handing him a glass of lemonade with the others. He nodded thanks, taking a glance under the tray, muttering, "Antigravity?" Misty nodded.
"This is way over my pay grade," he admitted. "I don't see any laws broken, though, and I don't know where else you might park the ship. Thanks for the lemonade, Miss," he added, getting in his cruiser and driving off.
"You get this all the time?" Misty asked, adding, "Food's about ready."
"It's starting to get irritating," Mattie admitted, extracting a ice cube from her glass and crunching it as they walked back.
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"So what's this about antigravity?" Steve asked. "I saw it had a Cuban flag."
"I got that from 'El Presidente' yesterday, and..."
"Waitaminute," Pete said, waving his hands. "You've MET Castro?"
"Yep. As I was saying, I saw him lift his bodyguard Raul with that very same unit, and he weighed about two hundred pounds or so. Big fellow," she added. "Anyway, I was worried about..."
"Waitaminute," Steve interrupted, "That little plate, the size of a magazine, can lift a guy weighing two hundred pounds?"
Mattie put her burger down. "I'll prove it right here and now. I don't weigh that much, but you can lift me with it."
"Guys, it's probably not much different from what Hawkman uses," Arthur said. "If Mattie says it'll work, you can put money on it because she already has."
Mattie picked up her burger, "Answer the question?"
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"So how is Arrowhead going to take its 30 share?" Pete asked, hot dog in hand.
"We were thinking on the actual train terminals, cargo and utility rooms, the associated easements, that kind of thing," Sheila replied, fork full of three-bean salad midair. She took a bite, chewing contemplatively. "Interesting, there's a bit of a bite to the flavor."
"I added a dash of lemon," Jill said.
"I'll have to try that," Sheila said with a smile.
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Saturday, July 7, 2001:
White House, Oval Office: 12:18 (GMT -5)
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"Mr. President, there's something on GNN you really ought to see," the political advisor said, turning up the volume on a TV. He set the remote down, and heard Mattie say, "... No, Sylvia, Arrowhead isn't bypassing American companies and universities without good cause. I'm in agreement with the British government and the others, including our friends in Cuba, Russia and Germany. Our having a starship, and the detailed technical information, is simply a matter of lifting all our boats equally. You saw the demonstration of Cuban antigravity earlier, where a plate the size of a magazine lifted two people. Unfortunately, all our indications to date are that President Luthor's administration isn't inclined to share." She smiled winningly, "I do hope I'm wrong, in which case I'll apologize to him."
"What about trade with Cuba? Isn't that illegal?"
"Not for a British firm, Sylvia. While as an American citizen, under the Helms-Burton Act, I cannot legally purchase anything in Cuba, nothing prevents me from traveling there, as long as I don't spend any money." Mattie smiled, "The antigravity plate you saw earlier was a gift from Cuba to the people of the world."
President Luthor looked at his political advisor, "Get out."
"But sir, we need to ..."
"Out," He glanced at the Secret Service agent, who held the door open. It shut after him, and Luthor spoke again. "Arrest her, quietly. I want her to vanish, permanently."
The Secret Service agent swallowed, "Yes, sir."
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Saturday, July 7, 2001:
Grandview Heights, Parkinson Place: 14:04 (GMT -5)
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The agents parked next to the white starship, one of them looking up at it, saying softly, "Oh, man, it's real."
"This sucks, man," another said.
"Orders are orders," the first said. He sighed, adjusted his suit jacket, and said, "Especially from the President. Let's go arrest a little girl."
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They found their subject sitting at a picnic table next to a boy about her own age and some sort of robot. The adults sitting across from her noticed their approach, as they asked, "Miss Helena Martha Wayne?"
Mattie looked up from her ear of corn, and said, "Yes?"
"United States Secret Service," one agent said, showing a badge. "Please come with us."
She finished the last few bites as Sheila Hawking rose, "Good afternoon. I'm Miss Wayne's aunt and her attorney. May I see the arrest warrant?"
The agent shifted subtly, "We have orders to pick her up, by Presidential order. She will then be taken to a place of confinement until the President decides otherwise."
"What is the 'place of confinement'?" Pete asked, rising. "By the way, I'm a criminal attorney," he added, passing over his business card.
The agent shifted again, "Currently, a secure federal facility," he admitted. "Miss Wayne, will you come with us quietly?"
"Doesn't look like I have a choice, do I?"
"No, miss, you don't."
Mattie stood, holding up her left hand, "Arthur, Alfred, stand down. Arthur, could you call my aunt and uncle and let them know about this, and maybe Connie's mom too in New York. After all," she grinned a bit, "It's not like I'm going to Alcatraz."
"No, miss, you're definitely not going there," one agent replied.
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Saturday, July 7, 2001:
Gotham City, Wayne Manor: 14:08 (GMT -5)
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"Thank you, Arthur," Selina said. She hung up, addressing Dick and Babs, "Luthor just arrested Mattie without a charge or warrant. Sheila's sticking to her like glue. He was going to call Lois and Clark next." She seethed, "If he harms one hair on her head, he is so dead..."
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Saturday, July 7, 2001:
New York City, The New York Times: 14:10 (GMT -5)
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"Koslowski," the reporter answered, then, "Oh, hello, Mr. Morton. Yes, I know of her, although I've never met her. What? Without a warrant? And she's HOW old? Oh, yeah, thanks for the tip!" She hung up, looking at the clock, tapping a pen against her teeth. Flipping through her Rolodex, she picked up the phone, "Special Agent Franklin, please. Yes, I'll wait." She progressed to nibbling on the end of the cheap pen, "Hey, Tom! Beth Koslowski. I'm cashing in a favor, what do you know about Miss Helena Martha Wayne?" She held her phone away from her ear for a second, replying, "You know I won't tell you that. I'll trade, though I'm on deadline. Okay, deal. See you, half an hour." She finished typing her story, clicking on 'Send'; then went down the hall to her editor's office, knocking on the doorframe. "Hey, chief, got a hot tip..."
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Saturday, July 7, 2001:
London, The Reporter: 19:12
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"That slimy bastard," Lois said as she disconnected.
"Who?" Clark asked.
"Luthor just arrested Mattie," she replied, "Arthur Morton just called; the Secret Service picked her up without a warrant." Looking up at her husband, she asked, "Can you call Minerva? Something tells me she won't be in class on Monday."
"Unless she wants to be," he replied.
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Saturday, July 7, 2001:
Hogwarts, Headmistress' office: 19:14
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Minerva's mobile rang, she murmured a quick "Excuse me," then "What! Certainly, thank you Mr. Kent." Pocketing the phone, she said, "Miss Wayne was just arrested on the order of their President Luthor."
Pomona sat up, asking, "On what charge?"
"None, apparently."
"Miss Wayne will be an inmate only as long as she wishes to be," Severus said. "However, I shall not repeat this material for her, she would be wise to be in school on Monday."