For disclaimers, please see chapter one.
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5: 8 – 14 July, 2001
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Sunday, July 8, 2001:
West Virginia, Alderson Federal Prison: 05:09 (GMT -5)
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"Wake up, Miss Wayne, you're home."
"Eh?"
"Camp Cupcake, also known as Alderson Prison Camp, your new home until the President decides to release you."
"Or a judge," Sheila added.
"May I have a few moments with my attorney?" Mattie asked, the agents moving off a few yards. She started to hand her aunt things from nowhere as they talked, her aunt laughing at one point. With a hug, they separated, Wayne being escorted into the building as her aunt drove off with an agent.
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Sunday, July 8, 2001:
West Virginia, Alderson Federal Prison (intake): 05:19 (GMT -5)
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The Secret Service agent showed ID, saying, "I'm dropping off Miss Wayne here."
"What's the charge?"
The agent shifted uncomfortably as he handed over paperwork, "No charge, just a Presidential pickup order."
"Burying his problems in the federal prison system?" the guard snorted, "Things haven't changed since Nixon." He looked over his glasses at Mattie, "My god, how old are you, girl?"
She tried to look pitiful, "T...thirteen, sir."
"What the he... heck did you do to piss off the President? Send him a nasty email?"
"I wouldn't sign over my starship to him," she said, her lower lip quivering.
"Starship?" the guard flipped open the folder, "Christ on a crutch," he said, glaring at the agent, "Not only do you give me a teenage prisoner with name recognition, daughter of a billionaire, a millionaire in her own right, but worst of all, she's from Gotham City!" He glared, "This is not the federal loony bin!"
"Hey!"
"C'mere, you," he said, "I'll put you in with Benni. She's already made her bones."
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"Castellano, you got a roomie," the guard said, knocking on the cell's doorframe. "You two Gotham loonies can hit it off, or each other."
"Gotham?" Benni the fishwife asked, looking up from her letter. She paled, "Oh, crap! WAYNE?"
"That's my name," Mattie said. "I've got the top bunk?"
"Yeah, how in the hell did you get in Camp Cupcake? Was it something with your mom or the loonies in the Iceberg?"
"Hey, some of those loonies are very nice," she replied, climbing up to make the bed. "Luthor wants to steal my starship. I said no, and here I am."
"Let me help," Benni said, adding, "I saw your starship on the news. For some reason, it just didn't surprise me a Wayne would have one." She pulled on a sheet, "You need it done by the 7:30 inspection, you've got about forty five minutes left for breakfast. I hope you don't snore."
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Sunday, July 8, 2001:
London, Weasley's Wheezes (back room): 11:07
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The compulator 'pinged', and Ginny clicked on the 'mail' icon. She read the message, frowned in thought, printing it off for her brothers. Checking on her babies, she left them in Dobby's care, going out front. "Oy, I've got an email from Ms. Hawking for Wayne. She's passing on a commission."
Gred looked over from stocking the shelves, calling, "Read it, Gin-Gin."
July 8, 2001
Dear Weasleys,
Against my better judgment, I am passing on this request for my client, Mattie Wayne. As you may know, she was arrested by President Luthor to force her to sign over her starship. Since that will never happen, she wants Mr. Luthor pranked, and she turns to you, the best in the business.
Gred smiled, patting himself on the back, and said, "Of course!"
"Shut it, you!" his sister said with a smile, resuming:
The White House is the best guarded building in the world. This is the muggle equivalent of pranking the Queen in Buckingham Palace. In addition, the pranks must be temporary (24 hours or so), cause no lasting damage, and harm no one – the idea being to humiliate President Luthor.
It is preferable to abandon a prank than to get caught! The Secret Service is heavily armed, very paranoid, has no sense of humor, and maintains constant surveillance in all areas of the building and grounds. You are risking serious prison time or death if caught!
I would personally recommend passing on this challenge.
Sheila Hawking
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Ginny put down the email, "What do you think? Death is a serious turn off, and muggle prisons are not nice," she shuddered.
"Ah, but what a challenge!" Ian said. "Wayne is not only a housemate, she's an investor, and she's licensed quite a bit of kit to us," he added. "Besides, it allows us to ride to a maiden's succor, very like Sir Galahad."
Ginny looked around, "Then we start planning on Project Galahad."
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Sunday, July 8, 2001:
The New York Times, (...continued from page A-2)
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By Elizabeth Koslowski
... President Luthor was elected on the old promise of 'a chicken in every pot', or in his case, 'An aircar in every garage.' This is simply an update of a hoary old political promise akin to 'Forty acres and a mule' and 'I have a plan to balance the budget.' Who knew that fulfilling his pledge would, in one particular case, amount to charges of grand theft on a planetary scale?
President Luthor was wise enough to carry through the successful economic programs of his predecessor, enabling both a balanced budget and a start to paying down the national debt (despite Congress' addiction to pork). Aside from that, what have been the noteworthy events so far in his administration? He's repainted the White House with lead-based paint (ignoring the EPA's protests), committed to full funding for the JLA, and followed through on his promise to run the government like a business. It is unfortunate that his flat tax and zero-based budgeting proposals failed in Congress.
If you have relatives overseas (as many New Yorkers do), you may have heard them talk about press releases from a British company called Arrowhead Investments, and wondered why the news isn't appearing in the American press. Taking a look at their web site, you run across an extensive file of press releases, not for 'pie-in-the-sky' technology, but for actual, working hardware. A notable collaboration is between Cuban and Swiss scientists, who have developed a functional antigravity device that we saw demonstrated on GNN. The size and thickness of a magazine, it was able to lift Arrowhead's founder and CEO, Ms. Mattie Wayne to head height.
The licensing terms Ms. Wayne insists on are generous. While an inventor can retain their patent, if they have accepted funding from Arrowhead, they must be open to expansion, meaning that the 'aircar' is a distinct possibility.
However, President Luthor seems to hold a different view. Ms. Wayne alleges that he wants her starship and its associated technology for himself. As she explained in an interview, reverse engineering the alien technology serves two purposes: it prevents the severe financial drain licensing would cause, and it increases our own knowledge base. By spreading out the research, it 'lifts all boats equally', to use her phrase. With this in mind, her refusal to permit American and French interests to access this technology is curious, unless there is a secret agenda on the part of the President. If Ms. Wayne has evidence to support her charges, we ask her to let us all examine it.
For now, both old allies such as England and Germany, and old opponents, such as Russia and Cuba seem to be united in sharing this technological windfall. As the United States (and France) are on the outside, noses pressed against the glass, excluded from this bounty, we must ask why.
We must also ask why Ms. Wayne was quietly arrested by the Secret Service without charge, and whisked off to Alderson Prison in West Virginia. If Ms. Wayne has broken a law, certainly she deserves to know what that crime is, and to have a trial. If President Luthor is suspending the writ of habeas corpus, he has certainly chosen an interesting opponent. Ms. Wayne is the only daughter of late billionaire and Gotham philanthropist Bruce Wayne, and seems to be following in her father's footsteps. She is also just 13.
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Sunday, July 8, 2001:
London, Diagon Alley, Weasley's Wheezes: 10:49
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The doorbell emitted its usual 'braap' of sound, and a teenage wizard smiled at the nearest redhead. "G'day, I'm looking for Mr. Gred Forge."
"That's m'name, mate!" Fred (or George) said. "What can we do for you?"
"I was reading Ms. Lane's editorial in th' Reporter this morning..."
"Lovely, lovely woman," he said. "Aunt to one of our mates," his twin added. "Pity she's in Slytherin."
"I do believe we're talking about the same mate," the fellow said, "And as my Gran feels the same as I do, I came by to see if we might offer our aid. Strictly unofficially, though."
"And your Gran is?" The wizard's eyes shifted to a portrait on the wall, adding, "Hufflepuff."
"Ah, yes," Gred said. "Why don't you join us in the back room?"
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When the door opened, an argument was heard, shutting off with the door closing. Minerva tutted, "Please, come in Mr. Spencer. I presume you're here regarding Operation Galahad?"
Molly bustled over with a fresh cuppa, "Don't worry, dear, I brewed it myself. It's safe; I never went in for food pranks."
"Thank Merlin," Remus Lupin said, with Harry Potter's agreement. Albus Dumbledore smiled, asking "Lemon Drop?"
"I'm here with Gran's blessing to offer our unofficial support," Harry Spencer said, putting down his bag. He took a sip, "Unfortunately, I must return shortly, before these documents are needed." He took another sip, "Might I borrow your loo?"
"Second door on the right, mate," Ian said. "The plumbing knocks a bit when you turn the tap."
"Ever so kind of you."
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After Mr. Spencer had left, Harry took the stack of paper from the floor. "Well, this is useful," he said, "Private, and very unofficial email addresses. Layout of Alderson prison, although not of the White House." He frowned, "We need reconnaissance."
"Simple enough, Angelina and I will pose as muggle tourists," Fred said.
She swatted him, "You couldn't pose as a muggle if your life depended on it! If I'm going, it's going to be as Mrs. Fred Weasley, it's more respectable."
"Oh, my dear!" Molly said, enveloping her in a teary hug.
Alicia Spinnet turned to George, "What about you? Are you letting your brother go one up on you?"
Fred smirked at him, and George swallowed, going down on one knee. "Alicia, will you..."
"Thick as a plank, aren't you? Of course I will." She was tackled by Molly.
Albus smiled at the young couples, then reminisced, "I do remember assisting the Americans in reinforcing the wards about the White House. While they are not as old as Hogwarts', they are of considerable power." He sipped his tea, "The Jerries had the Spear of Destiny, and that Himmler fellow was always a devious chap. They came very close to capturing the Grail when they took Paris, we would have had a much more difficult time had they done so." He leaned forward, "I am reconsidering the wisdom of this prank. While I enjoy a good laugh as much as the next, we must consider this: If the situation were reversed, what would be our reaction to a prank on the Queen? Laughter, or outrage?"
"Who would dare..."
"Exactly," Albus said. "Why should we expect the Yanks to react any differently? Did we prank Minister Fudge while he was in office? No. We respected the office, if not the man." He surveyed the group of pranksters, "I must add my endorsement to Ms. Hawking's, I strongly recommend against pranking the President."
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Monday, July 9, 2390:
Luna, Grimaldi Crater, Yates library: 23:43
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Cassidy pulled the old book gently from the shelf, casting the decryption spell and the pass phrase ('Luthor is a toad, Arthur rules.'), before turning to the bookmarked page. Yawning, she sipped tea, settling down to read her great-grandmother Mattie's private journal.
Sunday, 8 July, 2001
Alderson Prison, West Virginia
I look at that simple sentence, and I wonder 'why'. I haven't done anything wrong, why am I in prison? Granted, this place isn't Marion or Leavenworth (thank God!), and I could simply walk away, but that would create even more legal problems.
Aunt Sheila came by; she said that the New York Times had a nice article from Connie's mom. Well written, balanced, and devastating to Luthor. It mentioned my age, which blows my using age potion in the future. She's got a motel room in town, and is looking for a cyber-café where she can connect her laptop to a printer and the Internet. She advised me to keep my cool, follow the rules, and don't get into fights. I don't have to worry about that, Benni and my reputation as the 'Gotham girls' keeps most from starting a fight. I'm also spending a lot of time on the weight pile, which Pomfrey will yell at me about, I'm sure.
I'm worried about my classes, though. This will play hell with summer school, I'm sure. I'm sure Aunt Sheila or somebody got word to Hogwarts about my arrest. I wonder how far behind I'll be. Will I have to repeat the third year? Maybe Uncle Clark will say something on his news show; hopefully I can catch it live.
Off to breakfast, and then work. Everyone has a job here; mine is taking care of the munchkins in child care. I do the usual changing nappies, bottles, and story time for the older ones, with 'Tales of Gotham' by Aunt Mattie. At least I've got a lot of material!
Cassidy closed the book, yawned, and canceled the decryption spell before shelving the book with the others and heading up to bed.
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Monday, July 9, 2001:
Beckley, West Virginia, Division 5, 4th US Circuit Court clerk: 08:39 (GMT-5)
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"Whose docket is this on?" Sheila asked the court clerk.
"Judge Greenbriar's, same as the county," yawned the clerk. "You're scheduled for Friday at ten, if another case doesn't delay it. Don't be late."
"I did ask for an emergency hearing, my client..."
"Whatever," the clerk said. "You got emergency, but there's only three judges covering five divisions. Judge Summers is in Wheeling getting surgery for her cancer. Unless your client's strapped into the chair, he'll just have to wait." She slurped coffee from a 7-11 mug. "Next!"
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Thursday, July 12, 2001:
West Virginia, Alderson Federal Prison (mess): 07:07 (GMT -5)
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Benni the fishwife put down her coffee, "This sure ain't Raul's coffee."
Another inmate leaned over as Mattie nodded, "Whose coffee's that?"
"Best coffee in Gotham," Mattie said. "When I'd get out of school, I'd go downtown and walk the three blocks to get me and my dad a fresh cup. He'd give me a business problem to solve after I did my homework, then go over them all with me." She sighed, "God, I miss him."
"Wayne was a good man," Benni said. "Heck of a turnout at his funeral." Her fork pushed the eggs around the plate, "Y'know, Marone issued a 'hands off' of Raul's cart, his coffee was that good. I don't think he ever knew he had Mob protection."
"Two-Face went after a thug that was trying to shake him down," Mattie said, adding, "Scarred side up."
"There actually is a Two-Face?" an inmate asked, "It's not an invention of the media?"
Mattie and Benni looked at each other and laughed, as another asked, "What do you mean, 'scarred side up'?"
Benni looked at her, and drew her thumb across her throat. The inmate paled, swallowed nervously, and quietly returned to her meal.
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"That your ship?" Benni asked, a photo on the front of USA Today showing a white ship. The article read, 'Questions about starships'.
Mattie nodded while she did sit-ups, "Damn, I wish I had my cell phone."
"I wish I was a size six, dearie. Ain't gonna happen."
"Can if you work at it."
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Friday, July 13, 2001:
Beckley, West Virginia, Division 5, 4th US Circuit Court: 11:51 (GMT-5)
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Sheila sighed to herself, Judge Greenbriar was still going on, explaining the decision he'd rendered an hour ago. She reopened her case file, when the gavel finally banged, the judge announcing, "Lunch time. Be back here at three, when we'll hear Wayne v. Luthor." The gavel banged again, as Sheila thought, 'A three hour lunch?'
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"Attorney for the plantiff?"
"Thank you, your honor," Sheila said, rising. "My client, Ms. Helena Martha Wayne, demands that Mr. Luthor show just cause for her unlawful detention, and immediate relief from said detention. My client is a thirteen year old girl, your honor, and is being held without charge in Alderson, an adult prison. In addition, she was not advised of her Miranda rights, and was denied due process and the right of habeus corpus by the actions of the defendant."
The government's attorney rose briefly, "The plantiff is a material witness in a top secret government activity, which we are not at liberty to disclose."
"And what, Mr. Paulson, pray tell, is the government so worried about that they are willing to imprison a young girl? What is a young girl doing participating in a secret government activity, so secret that you're holding her in an adult prison, instead of a secure facility like a military base? What is to prevent her from spilling whatever secrets she possesses to her fellow inmates, or visitors, or guards?" The judge leaned forward, "If the government is so concerned with maintaining her secrecy, what is to prevent her from simply walking off? There are no walls at Alderson, it's a minimum security facility."
"Your honor, we are not at liberty to say."
The judge snorted, "Oh, really? I do retain my secret clearances through the Army Reserves. Ms. Hawking, what clearances do you have?"
"Secret, your honor, Marine Corps Reserves."
"Well, then, Mr. Paulson, why don't the three of us adjourn to my chambers, where you can discuss what secret programs the government is involving a thirteen year old girl in, and why she needs to be locked up?"
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"Well, Mr. Paulson, we're waiting," the judge said as the heavy oak door closed.
"Your honor, I am really not at liberty to say," the nervous attorney said.
"I see," he replied, glancing at Sheila. "I'm going to give you the weekend to come up with something more definitive than 'a secret project'. I do read the papers, Mr. Paulson, and Ms. Wayne's allegations are beginning to hold more water with me." He turned, "Ms. Hawking, I'd like to see this ship."
"The Yates is too big to fit inside the building, but he would fit in a parking lot or field, your honor. He could be here in an hour or two; I believe he's in orbit."
"Set it up for six tonight, I presume you can both meet me?" the judge asked rhetorically. "Good. South parking lot, now let's go back and reschedule for Monday."
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The white ship ghosted silently over the rows of cars, to the center of the rough square blocked off by sheriff's cars, lights flashing. The only sound was of the landing gear locking into place with soft 'thunks', as it settled. With a whine, the forward boarding ramp lowered, as well as the cargo hatch. A slim blonde walked down, wearing a black skinsuit. Sheila moved forward, "Judge Greenbriar, this is Anne Bundy, first officer, and this," she indicated Alfred's remote, "is Mr. Alfred Pennyworth, owner and resident AI of the Cassidy Yates."
"Would'st like a tour, milord?" Anne asked politely.
"I would'st indeed," the judge replied. "How old are you, my dear?"
"Six hundred and thirty-six, milord," Anne replied, stopping him in his tracks. She added, "'Twas born in 1365, milord, and did travel to this century." She motioned, "The tour, milord?"
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After the tour ended, Judge Greenbriar said, "Mr. Paulson, you'd better come up with one damn good reason for keeping Ms. Wayne locked up by Monday. For now, the fish are biting."
"Would you like a lift, your honor?" Sheila asked.
"Thank you, no. I use the drive to think things over."
Sheila offered a small device, "An emergency transmitter; sir. You can return it on Monday, or keep it. Things can happen in the woods."
"Thank you, Ms. Hawking, but I've got my GPS."
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Saturday, July 14, 2001:
West Virginia, Alderson Federal Prison (classroom): 12:35 (GMT -5)
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Mattie stopped at Paul's confused expression, "What's the matter?" she asked gently.
"I don' understand these fractions," he said, chewing on his pencil.
"Fractions are easy," she replied, crouching next to him. "Did Mom ever let you help her bake a pie?" He nodded, "They're the same thing. Now, think of a whole pie. That's one, and its written 1/1." He nodded. "When you cut the pie in half, what do you have?"
"Two pieces."
"And it's written how?"
"Um," he chewed the pencil, "2/1?"
"Almost," she smiled. "We're cutting down the pie, so it's written on the underside, and it's known as the ..."
"Denominator!"
"You got it! Gimme five!" They slapped palms, and she asked, "Now, if you wanted to cut that pie so that every one in class had a piece, how many would you have?"
"Do I count the men in black?"
"I am afraid he means us," a black clad figure said as she turned. He gave a formal bow, "The guards are asleep, and communication out is being monitored. The Paper Monkey sends her regards."
"Hai," she said, returning his bow. "Your instructions regarding the children?"
"They are not to be harmed, unless they pose a threat. They may leave, together with Miss Miller, in peace." He presented her with a weapon from his back, "To ensure a fair fight."
She pulled the blade from the sheath, edge up, and the ninja nodded his approval when she said in Japanese, "Nodachi, Momoyama Shinto era. I am honored." With a snap, it was re-sheathed, and she handed it to her partner, saying in English, "Melissa, this is an antique. Guard it well, but do not use it. I will reclaim it later."
She started to herd the children out, when Paul looked up, asking, "Are you a real ninja?"
"I am."
"She's gonna kick your butt."
"We shall see, Paul-kun. Wayne-chan undergoes her own examination. Hurry along, now."
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"They are outside?"
"They are, although..." he motioned to the windows, where faces pressed against the glass. He moved to the blinds, lowering them to a barely-heard "Aww!"
"My gratitude," she said, as he motioned a heavyset fellow to the attack.
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"Ah, Ms. Miller," the ninja said, as he held the door for a slim colleague, holding two brawny but unconscious figures on her shoulders. "The examination is complete. You may return, and services will resume shortly." He bowed; wishing her a "Good day," as two others limped out, supporting themselves between themselves.
"Holy crap!" Melissa said, surveying the totally wrecked classroom. She heard a low moan, and tossed aside a couple chairs to find her partner, one leg at an odd angle. She moaned, and tried to sit up, "What a headache." Several kids peeked in the room, looking around in the oscillating light from the dangling fluorescent fixture, which spat out sparks and light from one working tube. "No worse'n when the Knights won the league cham..." as she faded into unconsciousness.
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The warden's phone rang, and he turned to look at the cursed device. Over the last few days, the facility's phones and computers had been ... squirrelly. There was no other word for it. It rang again, and he picked it up. "Webster."
"Sir, we have reports of ninja being seen in the vicinity of the classrooms, the second-grade classroom is completely trashed; Wayne is unconscious, and in the infirmary with multiple cuts and a broken leg."
"Wonderful. Do we have any witnesses?"
"Just Ms. Miller, the teacher assigned to that class. According to her, twenty to thirty honest-to-god ninja showed up, said they were there to test Wayne, and escorted her and the kids outside to safety. They let them back in an hour later, and sir, you have got to see that classroom. Trashed doesn't even begin to describe it."
"Where the hell were the guards?"
"Drugged, sir, and they're still sleeping it off."
"Wonderful. I'll be down in a minute."
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Saturday, July 14, 2001:
West Virginia, Alderson Federal Prison (infirmary): 22:21 (GMT -5)
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Mattie awoke suddenly, asking, "The kids?"
"Safe," Sheila Hawking said, putting down her magazine. "As is Ms. Miller."
"Good, tha' good..." she murmured. "Th' sword?"
"In the trunk of my rental car," her aunt replied. "Sleep, now."
"'Kay..."
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