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For disclaimers, please see chapter one.
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6: 15 – 21 July, 2001
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Sunday, July 15, 2001:
West Virginia, Monongahela National Forest, Spruce Knob: 04:31 (GMT -5)
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Michael Greenbriar sniffed at the smell of fresh coffee and frying bacon. 'Andi's up early,' he thought, the early morning fuzziness having him think his wife was still alive. 'Waitaminute...' he thought, and bolted out of his tent.
"Good morning," an oriental woman said, reclining on a black bear's carcass, one of his crossbow bolts protruding from its eye. She sipped coffee from one of his mugs, adding, "You're a good shot if you're getting rabbit with a crossbow. Breakfast will be ready soon, go wash up, we'll talk after you've had your coffee."
"Who?"
"My name is Shiva," she said with a smile. "Go on, wash up, I'll wait."
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"I must thank you, Ms. Shiva, that was one of the better breakfasts I've had," he said, putting his plate aside. He held up the coffee pot in offer, topping off her cup, then his. "What can I do for you?" settling back on his camp chair, while she reclined against the bear.
"More about my giving you some information that you won't get from any other source," she replied. "First, let me tell you a bit about myself, you can confirm through your channels. My name is Lady Shiva, I'm a mercenary, one of the better ones if I do say so myself."
He motioned with his mug, and she continued, "There are things you need to know that Wayne or her attorney won't tell you. First, Luthor hired me to kidnap Wayne and her friends in London, and steal her starship. My price was a blank Presidential pardon, dated to the last day of his term."
"You failed, though."
"I got a much better offer," she corrected. He gazed at her, thinking, 'Better than a Presidential pardon?' She smiled, "What that offer is, I won't say. Be careful, you're swimming with sharks, Judge. Only one of them is in prison, and that's entirely her decision."
He took a sip of coffee, only to see his mug was empty. Shiva stood, refilled his cup and then hers. "I'd better make a fresh pot, we've got a bit to talk about," she added.
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Sunday, July 15, 2001:
West Virginia, Alderson Federal Prison (infirmary): 17:17 (GMT -5)
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"Awake at last, aren't you?" one of the nurses asked. "The doctor wanted to see you, and your attorney left a file for you. Email and news clippings – you made the front of the local paper."
"Thanks," Mattie said, trying to sit up. The nurse tutted, raised the bed, and passed her the file. She looked up from the article in the Gotham Post when the doctor cleared her throat. Offering her hand, she said, "Hello, I'm Mattie Wayne. How are the kids, and Melissa?"
"They're fine, although dying of curiosity," the doctor said, taking her pulse. She grabbed a blood-pressure cuff, and Mattie obediently rolled up her dressing gown's sleeve. She grunted like all doctors do, adding, "They want to see you," and put her stethoscope in her ears. "Breathe deeply, now."
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14 July, 2001
To: Ms. Sheila Hawking
CC: Severus Snape
From: Minerva McGonagall
Subject: Ms. Wayne
Dear Ms. Hawking,
I was alarmed to hear of Ms. Wayne's arrest, and greatly disturbed that assassins would break into her classroom. Please let me know of her condition, and that of the children.
Mattie raised her hand, and waved at the nurse, "Could I get a pen, and a legal pad? I'd like to make some notes." The nurse handed her a cheap black US government pen from a pocket, returning a minute later with a pad. Returning to the email, Mattie read:
Regarding her schooling, Ms. Granger has offered to coach her in the necessary potions so she may remain with her class. As you may know, Ms. Granger is one of only a handful of Potion Mistresses worldwide, and is the youngest in several hundred years.
Professor Flitwick sends his best, as does Professor Chang. They have asked me to forward the charms and spells she will need to work on in order to pass her examinations, these notes are attached.
Regarding Quidditch, as Ms. Wayne was not available for most of the school term, she will need to compete for her position as Slytherin's Seeker again. With her already-busy schedule, she may wish to forego it (loathe as I am to say so), as her academics must come first, no matter how talented a player she is.
However, we will be hosting other schools in the International Academic Quidditch tournament in the spring (around Easter break). IF she can keep her studies up with the other demands on her time, Hogwarts may have a chance for the cup. For this reason, the annual student/alumni game will be cancelled. I ask you (and Ms. Wayne) to keep the above in confidence, however.
Minerva McGonagall
Mattie frowned, and turned to the next page:
July 14, 2001
To: Ms. Sheila Hawking
From: Arthur Morton
Subject: Mattie
Priority: Urgent
Ms. Hawking,
The news just had an article about an attempted riot in the West Virginia prison where Mattie is. What is her condition?
Arthur and the Mortons
Mattie clicked her cheap pen, and scribbled on the bottom:
7/15/2001, about 17:30
Aunt Sheila:
Arthur and Julie know about Lady Shiva, please let them know I'm ok, if a bit banged up, and there was no riot. You can also give them a general update on the case, for their information only.
M.W.
14 July, 2001
To: Ms. Sheila Hawking
From: Lois Lane
Subject: Mattie
Priority: Urgent
Sheila,
What's happening with Mattie?
Lois and Clark
Mattie clicked her pen again, and scribbled:
Please let them know!
M.W.
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Monday, July 16, 2001:
Beckley, West Virginia, Division 5, 4th US Circuit Court: 08:51 (GMT-5)
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"Nice dress," Sheila teased.
"Thanks," Mattie replied as she sat down, leaning her crutch against the table. "Not really my style, but my shirt and shorts wouldn't work for court, so I borrowed. Anything new?"
"Not really. Play innocent like you've been doing, and..."
"All rise! The Fourth US Circuit Court is now in session, the Honorable Michael Greenbriar, presiding!"
"Please be seated," the judge said, banging his gavel. He looked over his glasses, "Miss Wayne, we finally meet. How's your leg?"
"It still twinges a bit, your honor. Thank you for asking."
"Well, I won't ask you to jump up and down if your leg pains you. You're excused from the standing and sitting." He turned his attention to the government attorney, "Mr. Paulson, do you have a different reason for holding Ms. Wayne?"
He stood, "If it please the court, we'd like to request a conference in chambers, your honor."
"It's a simple question, Mr. Paulson, with a simple response. Yes or no?"
"In consultation with my superiors, we feel that our position has been adequately stated, your honor."
"In other words, no, we're just supposed to trust the government." There was laughter from the spectators, and the judge smiled briefly. "I am tempted, Mr. Paulson, to award massive damages, but the plaintiff doesn't need the money, and the taxpayers don't need the extra bite in their wallets. I find in favor of the plaintiff, she is awarded one dollar in cash damages and a personal apology from Mr. Luthor." The gavel banged, and the judge added, "Now then, Ms. Hawking, you can answer your phone."
"That's not my phone, your honor," Sheila said, digging through her purse, "It's Mattie's, and I can't get it to stop."
She extracted a small device from a hotel towel, handing it to her niece, who said, "It's Alfred, your honor. May I answer it?"
"Please do, I am curious to see what a starship has to say."
She touched it, "Wayne."
"Captain, there you are. How is your court case?"
"I won, Alfred, and we're not private. What's the problem?"
"I am a receiving a directional, low power distress signal. It originates about twenty light-minutes out, beyond the Asteroid belt. Shall I respond?"
"You have to," Mr. Paulson said. "Admiralty law and custom all say you respond to a distress signal." He grinned at their faces, "I'm not your enemy, Ms. Wayne. It's the Coast Guard in me. You may be able to get a salvage contract out of it."
"Interesting bit of law..." Sheila mused.
Mattie cleared her throat, "Your honor, if we're finished, may we be dismissed? Am I released from jail?"
He smiled, "Yes, you are. Evie," he addressed his clerk, "Please fax over a release notice to Alderson. They'll have your things packed up for you, although couldn't Superman respond?"
"I don't know your honor." She addressed her comm, "Alfred, the JLA probably received this signal. What's their response, and what's our ETA?"
"They reply that Mr. Superman is unavailable, and Mr. Lantern is off-planet. At our maximum zero stress acceleration of sixteen gravities, our travel time is approximately twenty six hours." He paused a minute, "The ship's captain is dead, his cargo sent the distress signal."
"His cargo?" Judge Greenbriar asked.
"The ship is a T'kas class slaver," Alfred replied emotionlessly. "There is one dead crewmember, the captain, and thirty-seven slaves. Third squad is aboard me, shall I pick you up?"
"A slaver?" Judge Greenbriar hissed.
"The dirty underside to interstellar trade," Mattie said. "There's an interstellar slave trade, and the Guardians aren't interested in stopping it." She addressed her comm, "Alfred, lift off. When can you be here?"
"I am lifting off from your school; First Officer Bundy, Ms. Granger and Ms. Sinistra are aboard. Fifty-seven minutes for a ballistic trajectory. I will meet you at the parking lot."
"Can I help?" the Judge and Mr. Paulson asked simultaneously.
"What's my legal situation with this?" Mattie asked. "Are the slaves cargo, passengers, or crew? What do I do with them?"
"Why a directional signal?" Mr. Paulson asked.
Mattie shrugged, raising her hands in a 'don't know' gesture. "I could use some expert advice in this," she said with a slight smile. "Got some vacation time? A federal judge might be useful too."
Judge Greenbriar banged his gavel, telling his clerk, "Evie, cancel my docket for the rest of the week. There aren't too many chances to start a new branch of law."
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Monday, July 16, 2001:
Grandview Heights, Morton Home: 09:36 (GMT-5)
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The phone rang, Elena answering, "Elena Morton." She waited a second; then said, "Sure Mrs. Grayson, he's out back. Just a second," walking out to the back yard, she handed the portable phone to her brother, "It's Mrs. Grayson for you." She took a seat on the picnic table, watching the spell practice as Julie drilled her younger brother.
"Arthur Morton," he said, taking a seat. He listened intently, then exhaled, "Thank you, Mrs. Grayson. I'm sure she'll be fine." The phone beeped, and he said, "I have another call, maybe that's her. Thanks again for letting me know." He thumbed the phone, "Arthur Morton." A grin split his face, "Hey, me. How are things in West-by-god-Virginia? Kick butt as usual?" He sat back to listen, then said, "Okay. Be safe." He thumbed the phone's kill switch; telling his siblings, "She won; she was awarded one dollar and an apology from Luthor. However, she's got to go rescue a vessel in distress. Superman and Green Lantern aren't available, so the Yates is going." He exhaled, "She's not sure what's going to happen with that. It's a slaver, the owner's dead, the slaves called for help."
"She's a trouble magnet," Elena said softly. "I like her, but..."
"At least we're never bored," her brother replied.
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Monday, July 16, 2001:
Beckley, West Virginia, Courthouse, South parking lot: 10:05 (GMT-5)
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The Yates ghosted silently over the rows of cars, landing in the last. The forward boarding hatch lowered, and the four people (one with a crutch), made their way aboard. The ramp rose, and the ship quickly lifted off.
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"Comrade Lieutenant Yvschenko, I believe you've met my aunt, Ms. Hawking, and this is Federal Judge Greenbriar, and Mr. Paulson, who is a federal attorney."
"Comrades," the lieutenant said in a New England accent. With his lean build, tanned features and a change of clothing he could have fit in any fishing village in the Northeast. He grinned, "Spetsnaz. I command one of the multinational squads protecting Comrade Alfred." He patted a bulkhead, adding, "I understand we face a boarding action with salvage. Comrades, what do you bring to the table?"
Mr. Paulson cleared his throat, "I served twelve years with the US Coast Guard doing Search and Rescue and salvage operations before getting my law degree. I am certified to practice in Admiralty courts. Your Honor?"
Judge Greenbriar said, "I'm a federal judge, admiralty and salvage disputes can be heard in either federal or admiralty courts. We have a new area of law here; does law on Earth extend to the solar system?"
Mattie stood, "I'll leave you to argue it out. I'm going to park myself in the autodoc and get my leg fixed; then be in my cabin. I apologize for not having quarters for everyone; the Yates is a courier ship, not a liner."
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The legal people had taken over a corner of the ship's common room to discuss applicable law. Hermione Granger listened to them for a few minutes, but as in any specialist's discussion, it quickly went over her head. Anne motioned to her; she joined the ship's first officer on the flight deck. The hatch closed, she took a seat at the helm, looking out at the endless night. "I never thought I'd be in space," she said softly. "I thought that was only for the Russians and Yanks. Now..."
"That doth remind me, I must acquire astronaut certificates for all," Anne said, making a note on a legal pad. Sinistra spun about from her position at the navigation console, motioning to her laptop, "What are you working on?"
"'Tis a personal project, to keep my mind flexible," Anne admitted shyly. "I am writing navigational software, following the Captain's premise that we learn more if we doth 'do it ourselves'." She flashed a smile, leaning forward to gesture animatedly, "The first part was easiest, 'twas simply moving 'tween two points on a sphere, 'tis simple four dimensional spherical trigonometry."
Hermione blinked, shaking her head at the thought of the higher mathematics as Sinistra nodded, adding, "Now you're moving between two different points on two different spheres, and..."
"And the equations do not balance," Anne admitted. "I hath looked at the code a dozen times, but the answer doth elude me yet." She sighed, "I had hoped to use the same reference tables, to make the program easier to update, but it doth look like I shall have to scrap that idea."
"Hmm," Sinistra mused, "Are you taking gravity into account?"
"On the surface, aye, and accounting for escape velocity..." Anne's eyes glazed over; suddenly she slapped her forehead. "Such a dunce am I! I hath forgotten of Einstein's gravity postulate! I need to factor in variables of 'C'..." She flipped to a fresh page of her legal pad, scribbling madly.
"So, Hermione, what's been happening with you?" Sinistra asked.
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A bell dinged, Alfred announcing, "Five minutes to turnover. Please secure all loose objects."
Anne was oblivious, alternating between rapidly typing on her laptop and scribbling on her legal pad. Sinistra said, "I'll take care of her, can you check on Miss Wayne?"
"Certainly," Hermione said, now intimately acquainted with one of a spacer's problems: boredom. She stood, stretched, took a last look at the stars and left the flight deck. Passing through the common room, she glanced at the sleeping soldiers, clearing her throat at the solicitors, who had produced legal pads and laptops, reminding them, "Turnover."
Pressing the annunciator, she asked, "Miss Wayne? It's turnover, Professor Sinistra asked me to check on you." There was no answer, and she triggered the door, opening it to see the young girl, changed into a skinsuit, a grey jumpsuit over it, a green glow over her right hand as she slumped at the desk, sleeping.
Moving quietly, Hermione saw a Power Battery sitting in a niche, a Green Lantern's Ring on Miss Wayne's finger. 'That explains quite a bit,' she thought, leaning forward to shake her shoulder...
... and was slammed against the wall. Miss Wayne shook her head, "Sorry," she said, "You should have been warned not to wake me like that."
Hermione nodded as she was released, "Miss Bundy is deep into her programming at the moment. Don't you have a perimeter spell going?"
"My magic's not working well at the moment," she replied, and Hermione nodded, "Neither is mine. We're squibs at the moment, it seems." She took a seat on the bunk, nodding at the glowing Battery. "That explains some things," she added.
"Which you'll kindly not spread about," Miss Wayne growled, Hermione fingering her throat and nodding. "I'm serving as an inertial compensation sink at the moment, or rather, the Ring is," she explained. "Without it, we'd be limited to sixteen gravities for something like a week, and we don't have time for that. As it is, I need to recharge the Ring." She stood, holding the Ring against the Battery for a few seconds; then resuming her seat.
"That's it?" Hermione asked. "I thought there was an oath."
"Oh, the whole 'In brightest day, in blackest night' thing?" She shook her head, "Not me, and it's not required. Hold it to the Battery for about ten seconds, that's it. I'm rather irritated with the damned Guardians at the moment, anyway." She eyed her guest, "You heard about last year's Leaving Feast?"
"Rumours," Hermione confessed.
"Well, let me make an appearance outside, then since you're my Potions tutor, we can talk a bit more," Miss Wayne said, standing and stretching.
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Tuesday, July 17, 2001:
Sol System, Asteroid Belt, Cassidy Yates: 00:03 (relative)
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"Hailing the F'na'd," Alfred said. "No response as yet."
Minutes went by slowly, when suddenly a screen flared to life. A panting, red-skinned slave appeared, her collar glowing against her perspiring neck, "F'na'd here," she replied, adding, "Thank the Source, masters. Please help us!"
"We are maneuvering to dock with you," Lieutenant Yvschenko said. "What is your status?"
"Air is..." she panted, "...mostly gone." She manipulated controls, centering a camera on a clearly dead, orange skinned being slumped in a command chair. She panned the camera around, the only other being in sight was a slumped, feathered slave chained at the helm, a pair of wings bound tightly behind it. She touched controls, adding, "Giving you... access I can. Hope... enough," and collapsed across her board.
"I have computer access," Alfred announced. "Restarting environmental plant, although there are dangerously high levels of methane and carbon dioxide. I would advise helmets, it will not be pleasant." Alfred split-screened, keeping the camera on the bridge while he flicked through the cargo holds, then returning to one. "There are possible humans in the cargo holds," he reported.
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"Why did you send a low power beam to Earth?" Mr. Paulson asked gently, as he held the red-skinned slave up as she sucked greedily on a small oxygen bottle. "Why not a full power broadcast?"
She reluctantly took the mask away, carefully turning the knob to close it. "Your planet is noisy, Master, but I saw nothing of slaves in your broadcasts; much of the ones you call 'heroes'. In addition, I did not want to attract the attention of the Masters in your asteroid's tungsten mine."
"We don't have a tungsten mine in the asteroid belt," Sheila said carefully.
"You do not, Mistress?" She blinked in surprise; adding with a gesture to her locked slave belt, "With Masters' permission, it has been several day-parts since I have been unchained. May I be excused to cleanse and void waste?"
"Certainly," Sheila said, rising and helping the slave to stand in the minimal gravity. As she hobbled off, her ankle chains welded on and clutching her oxygen bottle, Sheila looked at Paulson. "I haven't heard of an asteroid mining operation, have you?"
He shook his head, "If we're going to assume international law extends to the solar system boundaries; then it sounds like a pirate operation. Only, why mine tungsten?"
She sighed, "The cat's out of the bag. Tungsten is the galactic currency; it's why the system's invaded so often. We're a bunch of ignorant barbarians sitting on a mountain of it."
"Ah..." he said. "And that same international law prohibits governments from militarizing space..." he mused, then looked at Sheila, "But not private concerns, like Arrowhead."
"Or a private firm like a ... Solar Guard," she said, "Which can take government funding..."
"Which would take some fancy legal footwork, as well as financial," he admitted. "Know any bankers?"
"Several," she admitted. "Know where to base it?"
"New York," he said instantly. "Not only for friendlier maritime and salvage laws, but for political reasons. We'll need the UN, and we need the US behind it, as well as the Security Council." He grinned, "I did have one term in Congress, so if the Guard's hiring a lobbyist..."
"Comrades," the Lieutenant said, joining the conversation, "This is something we have discussed over beer and vodka. We do not have the manpower, or the ships, or the weapons. While Comrade Captain Wayne has a firm in Warsaw designing and building equipment, we do not have the support structure yet to guard this system properly." He regarded them, "A proper unit like we need cannot be multinational; it must leave nationality behind, like the French Foreign Legion."
"You would get ex-convicts, all sorts of ..."
"Some of the finest soldiers have been ex-convicts, Comrade," he replied, "As have women. In the Great Patriotic War, some of our finest fighters were women. There is no reason beyond training that women could not have done this action today, and training is the purpose of cadre." He smiled grimly, "From what Comrade Alfred has said, not all planets support the slavers, but spaceports can be dangerous places regardless. If we are to move beyond the cradle of Earth into the wide galaxy, our crews should know how to defend themselves and their shipmates. Our crews should be respected, and known not to be trifled with."
"They need to be able to kick ass and take names," Sheila said, "Both in business and in a fight."
"Exactly, Comrade."
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Cicely 'Ceece' Collins knelt on the cold metallic deck, wrists held behind her in steel cuffs, neck and ankles chained to the deck, and wondered. Her world had turned upside down since the night the orange alien had captured her outside Phoenix. Her car had suddenly died; her brown Lab, Cocoa, shut inside while she tried to decipher the car's engine. Her cell phone had refused to power on, when she collapsed next to the car.
She woke, man... er, woman handled by naked alien women who wore the slave collar she now did, as well as the steel panty that held her wrists behind her, and was up ...inside... her. Now, the subtle vibration of the ship's engines she felt through her knees had stopped, and while the air had become foul with the fear scents of the other slaves in her hold, it had improved somewhat. She was hungry, thirsty, sticky with sweat, and her bladder demanded attention.
She had seen news of Superman, and knew there were aliens out there, but being confronted with them in front of her had fractured her comfortable little world. The thought that she was now slave to an alien master filled her with fear, not knowing where in the galaxy she was, or what would happen to her.
She heard the hatch open, and blindfolded, tensed in fear. Instead, she heard something she didn't dare hope for:
A human voice.
"Hello. My name is Mattie Wayne, captain of the Cassidy Yates. I'm here to help."
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Tuesday, July 17, 2001:
Sol System, Asteroid Belt, 15 Eunomia, Cassidy Yates: 08:16 (relative)
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"So how do we take it?" Mattie asked, as they watched a battered looking freighter enter a docking tunnel. According to the plans on the F'na'd, the tunnel extended about five hundred meters before exiting into a docking bay. Two force fields served as crude 'airlock' for ships, with only a single force field for each passenger and cargo tunnel.
"Is it legal to?" Sheila asked.
"It's not authorized by any Terran government, or by the UN," Mr. Paulson replied. "Pirate operations are subject to closure and confiscation by the government or suitable authority. That's us."
"So ruled," Judge Greenbriar said, knocking on a panel. He paused; asking, "So, how do we take it?"
"Comrades, the entrance force fields only hold in atmosphere," the Lieutenant said. "We disable their remote control, and prepare to blow them if necessary. That would kill everyone in the bay when it decompresses. Comrade Alfred blocks the passageway, prepared to fire." He looked at the two slaves present, "For their protection, they must immediately start for the inner system. We shall catch up; Comrade First Officer Bundy will serve as a prize captain. After that?" he shrugged, "We shall see what we find. The enemy consists of pirates and smugglers, not professional soldiers. While they are undoubtedly armed, it should be with light weapons, such as pistols, not assault rifles."
"Capture, not kill," Mattie said.
"Any slaves and noncombatants, certainly," the Lieutenant agreed. "If they resist, my troops will use their best judgment, Comrade Captain. This is Earth's first combat action, we cannot restrict their actions." She nodded reluctantly.
"From my days with the 101st Airborne," the Judge said, "I would suggest that we fly a spiral around the asteroid, and drop off troops at the two emergency locks, while we scan for other entrances." He gestured at the hologram of the potato-shaped asteroid base, marked with known features. "If we don't find any, Alfred blocks the ship entrance, and we make our main assault."
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The bored duty controller watched his holo. The old ship, her beacon identifying her as the Cassidy Yates, had sat in space for several time-parts; flown an odd spiral around the base. He yawned; motioning the lighter-skinned slave over. Grabbing her wrist chains, he started to fondle her, wondering idly why her eye-slits narrowed. 'Surely she knows she is a slave!' he thought, amused. The speaker announced, "Base, this is the Terran Solar Guard. This is an illegal base, you are under arrest. Disable your weapons and prepare for boarding."
With a laugh, he shoved the slave off, leaning forward to answer by blowing the idiot out of space. Instead, he felt a chain slide around his throat, twisting and cutting off his air. Choking, he fumbled for his side arm, only to find it... gone.
With a vicious yank, Hideo Tanaka snapped her former master's neck, while her partner blasted the door lock. The African beauty grinned, "I saw it in a movie," while Hideo shoved the corpse out of the way. Touching the comm, she said, "Guard, this is Tanaka and Mfume. Control room secure for now. Come ahead!"
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"Lock alpha is secure," Sgt. Rivers radioed as his partner applied the scrambler to the hatch lock. "Moving to point Rhein," he added, assault rifle ready. Hans nodded, chalking an X on the hatch. They moved up the corridor in this residential part of the base, stopping at someone's quarters. Hans scanned, shaking his head to indicate it was unoccupied, and resetting the door's code with the scrambler. He chalked the door, moving across the hall. Holding up one finger, he tripped the hatch while Rivers covered him. Inside, there was a slave, who looked up, startled. She was quickly cuffed, gagged and chained to the wall; the door chalked '1s' while the door combination was reset. They moved up the corridor.
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There was a pounding on the door to the control room, Mfume crouching behind the control panels, pistol raised, while Tanaka took cover. Someone called, "Open this door! It's the Guard!
"What's the password, Master?" Tanaka called.
"Botswana," the reply came, and the two breathed in relief. "We shot the door controls. We'll try to open it," Tanaka called, yanking at the material they had used to wedge the door in its frame while Mfume covered her.
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The door hissed open, SarMaj Wilson edging in, rifle at the ready. He saw an African girl awkwardly holding a tiny sidearm, pointing at him; eyes of an Asian girl peeking from behind a console. "Easy there, love, I'm Wilson of the SAS. We're with the Solar Guard," he told the African girl, rifle aimed at her midsection. Behind him, the Lieutenant came in, his AK covering the slumped alien in the chair and the hiding girl.
"Mfume," the African girl said, licking her lips. She added, "She's Hideo Tanaka, what's the world capital?" Her wrist chains swung as she held the gun awkwardly at arm's length, and there was a rattle of chain from behind the console.
"We don't have one, love," the SarMaj replied. "The UN's headquartered in New York, though. Will that do?" He reached out a hand, and Mfume took a step back, her ankle chains making a slithering sound on the smooth stone.
"Don't forget the UN in Geneva," the Lieutenant added. "Anything else?"
"Who won the last World Cup?" Tanaka asked.
"The '98 Cup?" the Lieutenant asked. "France over Brazil, 3-0. Come on out, we won't harm you."
"Last cup was Brazil, though!" Mfume said, raising the gun again.
The SarMaj shook his head, "That was 1994, love, this is 'ought one. How long have you been here?"
"Longer than I thought," Mfume said, dropping her arms. The SarMaj eased the handgun out of her loose grip, sliding it in a pocket. He gave her shoulders a hug, telling her, "Look on the bright side, love. We're here. If you and your mate can move that bloke out of the chair, we'll see about those chains."
"We tried to get them off, we're not strong enough or something," Tanaka said, emerging from behind the console. The lieutenant was examining the corpse, she added, "I strangled him with my chains."
"So I see," he said, adding, "Best make sure." He slung his rifle, and twisted the corpse's head with a sudden 'crack'. He motioned Mfume over, "Can you get his feet?"
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SarMaj Wilson shifted, extracting the small handgun from his pocket. 'Wonder where the safety is on it?' he wondered as he put it behind him on the console. He looked over at the two mostly nude slave girls sitting against the wall. The Japanese girl caught him looking, smiled, and thrust out her chest, wiggling a bit and pulling a bit at her cuffed wrists. She was excited, you could always tell with a bird. He cleared his throat, "Certain you don't want something to, er, cover..." he offered.
She chuckled, "A slave has no use for modesty. It's a little cool, but I'm fine, thank you. A bit bored, I'd like to help, but you learn patience in a collar."
The African girl muttered something, glancing sullenly at the two men. The Japanese girl's expression flickered, and she bowed from the waist, "Please excuse me, sergeant-san. The slave next to me is harboring delusions that need correcting."
She shifted, moving to the balls of her feet, leaning forward for balance. "I am tired of your attitude, Mfume-slave. For the last six years, we have been cellmates, and I have listened to your whining and complaints. Never where Masters could hear and discipline you, but I heard them. I heard that your father, the richest man in Africa, was going to ride to your rescue, and if I was nice to you, you would consider the possibility of asking him to take me with you as your slave." She sneered, "My father has undoubtedly written me off as kidnapped. I will owe my father a fingertip for the dishonor of being taken alive; another for the dishonor of being enslaved." She glowered, "A tradition in the Yakuza clans, you understand, unless you are aware of a way to remove our collars, we remain slaves in the galaxy, no matter what occurs on Earth."
Mfume squeaked, shoving herself away as Tanaka, hands still bound, spun and kicked Mfume in the belly. She oofed, standing, she launched a kick at Tanaka's steel-covered groin, but Tanaka, despite a howl of pain, trapped her foot between her thighs and flipped Mfume to the hard stone, belly down. "That HURT, you bitch!" Staying down, she added, "At least your ridiculously huge chest cushioned the fall!" She grinned at the two soldiers, and winked, "Didn't know it hurt girls to get kicked there, did you?"
"You both have very nice ... assets," the SarMaj offered politely. "I don't think you need to continue, though."
"Yes, Master," Tanaka said, releasing Mfume and resuming her place against the wall, balancing on her toes and keeping an eye on Mfume.
"You also don't need to continue as Master and slave," the Lieutenant said. "As far as we're concerned, you're free."
"Thank you," Hideo said, "However, unless you know something I don't, we're in a new area of law. As I understand it, we were enslaved legally, under interstellar commercial codes, which mean we're still slaves. However, Earth international law prohibits slavery, but that's only on Earth. That would mean we're free on Earth, but not off it, so I think I'd better keep calling you Master, Master." She looked puzzled, "When did Earth develop starships?"
"We have not, we arrived in Comrade Captain Wayne's ship," the Lieutenant replied. "We have a Yank judge and some lawyers; they're sorting out the law. We have been reverse-engineering a great deal of galactic technology, but we are still a distance to building our own ships. You are in an asteroid."
"Arigato, Lieutenant-san," she replied with a bow. Mfume, who had flopped around until she was on her knees, sprang to her feet and charged at the control desk, where the small alien sidearm lay; pulling at her cuffed wrists. She was caught by the SarMaj with an arm around her waist, which pulled her over his shoulder, screaming and kicking at him.
Hideo sighed along with the Lieutenant, as Mfume cried, "No, I don't want to be a slave! Please, free me, let me go! Oh, please, please!"
"I said she was a whiner," Tanaka said as the SarMaj lost control of her wildly kicking feet for a moment. He went 'Oof', asking, "What can we do with her?"
"Well, we can't remove the collars, or even turn them off without killing the slave or rendering her a quadriplegic. It links to the spinal cord somehow, and it's hard to hide, so she needs to accept her collar." Tanaka shrugged, "You're going to have a lot of slaves that are going to need discipline, even if the Solar Guard considers them free," she added. "A lot of aliens won't, and I wonder how the legal issues are going to shake out."
"You seem to have the most realistic attitude," the Lieutenant told Tanaka. "Until the legal issues get sorted, do you want to take charge of the slaves we'll bring back with us?"
"Full control?" she asked.
"I think we'd prefer you not kill or maim anyone, but we'll need to get ships loaded and such. Any usable skills would be nice to know, also."
"I can do that, but I'll need some form of authority the offworld slaves would recognize," Tanaka said, "I'll go see what's in the cabinets," she said, turning and wiggling her bound wrists at them, "If you would, Master?"
------------------------
"You are a stupid bitch," Hideo told Mfume, who glowered at her. "I'd rather be doing something useful." She jerked the chain; looking at where the SarMaj had written the new room combination on her hand, typing it into the door's lock. The door slid open, a slave knelt gagged and chained to the wall as they entered.
------------------------
Judge Greenbriar and Mr. Paulson interviewed the captives, who had been split into two groups, the former 'free' persons, and the slaves, who had meekly submitted to being cuffed, and who sat against the cavern wall, waiting for their interview. Their former owners had been searched and bound, the decision had been made to secure everyone, slave or free. A burst of automatic weapons fire echoed down one corridor, causing everyone to turn and look.
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"Beta team to control, over," the radio spat.
"Control, beta, go," the Lieutenant said.
"A master was ignoring our calls to halt, even over the translator, so we fired into the ceiling. His slave has a bloody shoulder from falling rock, the master's dead with a head injury, corridor Beta three. We've secured the slave with a field dressing."
"Copy dead master, injured slave," he said.
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"Definite page three birds; mate," Sergeant Wilson murmured, watching Tanaka and Mfume on the control room screens with a pair of redheaded twins, arms cuffed and linked through Mfume's. One twin was separated from her sister and resecured, then the other as they were directed to sit with the other un-interviewed slaves.
"Da, comrade," the Lieutenant said softly. "Pity we cannot sell the video." He watched a moment longer; then cleared his throat, "It would be nekulturny. How goes the search?"
"Nothing unusual," the sergeant replied, "This is a mine and general supply base. Food, fuel, let your crew use different girls than you might have on board." He looked at the Lieutenant, "It would make a great forward base for us, plenty of room, only about ten cubic kilometers in use out of fifteen million or so. We could use the mining equipment and whatnot to cut out training rooms, fighter bays and so forth."
"Sounds good, comrade," he said, watching troops bring in a bound officer, four of his slaves trotting along quietly. The officer spun, shouting something, stopping short at the point of Comrade Captain Wayne's sword was at his throat. The light flashed, reflecting off the blade into the camera lens, and the officer turned. "Intimidating, that sword," he mused. "Perhaps we should consider a shorter one as standard equipment for shore parties."
"We are barbarians," the sergeant chuckled. "A katana, maybe? Beautiful bit of kit, and something useful, too."
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The judge's rock hammer banged on another bit of rock, and he said, "You're free to go, Captain Gor'zek, with our apologies. However, your slave will be freed..."
Gor'zek cleared his throat, "Unfortunately, she cannot be freed; she is under judicial enslavement. I have also invested quite a bit in her, and this delay is costing me in penalties and a perishable cargo." He stroked his kneeling slave's head in what appeared to be a comforting manner.
"Slavery is illegal in this system," the judge said gently. "I'm sure..."
"Please, master, I was enslaved by the court, I cannot be freed! Please let me leave with my master!" the yellow-furred slave begged, wrists cuffed behind her. Captain Gor'zek cleared his throat, "If I may take my slave and my compensation, I am behind schedule..."
"Ah, your compensation," the judge said, "How much was that, now?"
"My slave's mass in tungsten..."
"Five percent of her mass."
"Eighty percent."
"Ten."
"Seventy..." Gor'zek looked at the judge, "Fifty."
"Twenty, and not a gram more," he said, turning, "Captain, would you accompany the... girl... to fetch it?"
"Of course, your honor," Mattie said, waving for the girl to join her.
------------------------
As they walked across the smooth fused stone of the landing bay, the girl timidly asked, "Mistress?" Mattie eyed her and grunted, so she continued, "Masters would not have really... freed me, would you?"
"Of course we would," she replied irritably, then said, "Sorry. Females of my species have a monthly reproductive cycle that makes us moody and irritable. Forgive me. Of course we would free you, why shouldn't we?"
"Because I was enslaved by a court; I can never be legally freed." She swayed her left hip, "Not only my collar, but my implant show my status."
"Implant?" Mattie stopped, turning her to get a better look at the girl's neck. "The collar lights are yellow and green, I thought they were all yellow."
"You've dealt with slaves before, Mistress," the girl said, raising her chin to display her collar. "The yellow and green lights are a judicial enslavement; while just yellow means a common slave, who can be freed." She raised her eyebrow, and continued on toward the entrance to the mine, several hundred meters away. He bare feet slapped on the smooth stone, the only noise the click of her trimmed claws as she continued, "When a cub is born, on their first sun-turn, an implant is sealed into their hip, left for females, right for males. It has information the government needs, your citizenship number, tax status and so on. When I was collared, my implant was reset to slave." She shrugged, "I can't change my status, so I might as well make the best of it. I've found a good Master, who takes care of me."
The girl changed course, "We must hurry, Mistress. Let us take a cart." Mattie hopped behind the steering tiller of a cart, but nothing happened. The girl frowned, "It should recognize your implant, Mistress."
"I don't have a hip implant, none of us do," Mattie said, moving over with the command, "Just a speech implant. Drive."
"Y...yes, Mistress," the girl said warily, edging into the seat. Lights sprang into life as she leaned forward, "My hands, Mistress?"
"Of course," she said, leaning over to free them. "Drive."
------------------------
"Mistress, why are you so upset about slavery?" the girl asked, "It has been going on for billions of years," She looked over at Mattie, "I am sorry, Mistress, I did not mean to offend."
"No, I don't mind," she said. "Aside from the fact that we've had slaves ourselves, and we've finally made it illegal only a few hundred years ago, the thought of buying and selling another intelligent being to abuse and torture is repulsive." She shuddered, "It's one of those 'just plain wrong' things you run across in life," she added. She was quiet for a time, "It was a period in our history where we kidnapped innocents, took them far from their homes, forced them to work long hours in the field, growing crops, all for profit." She sighed, "Those who were victims have not forgotten, nor have we who were the perpetrators, to our shame. When we see an advanced civilization that has slaves... it is just WRONG."
"I see," the girl said quietly. She drove quietly; asking, "Please inspect my back, Mistress. Do you see any whip-marks?"
"No, but your collar..."
"Yes, Mistress, my collar. The last time Master activated the pain circuits, I had just been won in a card game." She looked over, "It is tradition to do so with a new slave, and it was only a few short time-parts." She tapped the tiller three times, "That long. Master has encouraged my education and Guild certification. While it costs him money, he recoups it in lower insurance rates." She looked over again, "I know, I keep the ship's books, and do the maintenance. Master is hopeless with accounting, but an astute trader."
"You're brainwashed," Mattie murmured.
The girl tapped her jaw, "That didn't translate, Mistress. 'Cleaning my follicles'?"
"Sorry, the word means you're persuaded of something that may not be accurate," she explained.
"As you are, you are persuaded by your planetary history. There are many, many worlds that have a different history." She braked, getting out, opening a force field, then asking, "What do you do with your criminals?"
"We lock them up in a secure place."
"Where they have the time to think up more evil?" she was shocked. "Wouldn't it make more sense to get some work out of them, and let them learn a trade?" She looked over, "Make a profit instead of costing tungsten? You can do it without working them to death, without brutality." She tapped her collar, "I killed a being with my speeder. I was young and foolish, and intoxicated. Which is better, that I pay my debt, or I sit in a cage, thinking of evil?"
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Friday, July 20, 2001:
Earth, New York City: 08:24 (GMT -5)
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Julio's phone rang, "Julio Pasquale, shift supervisor, Emergency Services. How can I help?"
"Please stand by for the Mayor..." there was a pause, then Hizzoner's voice, "Pasquale, I just got a call from the JLA. Wayne has four starships with a hundred aliens in need of medical attention."
Julio sat up, "Yes, sir. Is this the same Wayne from Gotham that owns a starship?"
"It is. I told them LaGuardia. Use my name if you need to, Pasquale. Don't screw this up!" There was a hum as the line disconnected.
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Friday, July 20, 2001:
Grandview Heights, Morton Home: 12:20 (GMT -5)
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The phone rang, "Teela Morton," she answered. There was a hollow sound, then "Teela? Mattie here. You might want to turn on the news; otherwise you'll miss First Contact. We're crossing the moon's orbit, you've got about an hour." The line disconnected as Teela stared at the phone.
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Friday, July 20, 2001:
London, Granger Dental Services: 17:20 (GMT)
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Helen Granger picked up the line, "Granger Dental."
"H'lo, mum!" There was a slightly hollow sound to Hermione's voice. "You want to turn on the telly, you might see me on the news."
"News? What's wrong, dear?"
"I'm on a starship, mum, we're crossing the moon's orbit. If you turn on the telly, you'll catch First Contact in about an hour from New York."
"First Contact?"
"First Contact with aliens, mum. There's about fourteen different species on four different ships, and they're really... well, you'll see. Call my mobile after I've landed. Love you!"
The line disconnected, Helen called, "Alan! Quick, finish up, Hermione's going to be on the telly from New York!"
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Friday, July 20, 2001:
Ohio State University, Library reference department: 13:23 (GMT -5)
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People watched in silence as the talking head babbled on; someone said, "There they are!" Four white blobs in the news helicopter's picture, slowly growing into four white ships in a diamond formation. Four F-15 fighters from the New York Air National Guard orbited below, waiting until they were low enough to escort. Someone muted the sound, and the group watched in silence as the fighters joined up, white missiles on the rails.
The news helicopter followed as the four white ships turned north over Flatbush and the roofs of Brooklyn, Staten Island visible to the left for a second. The four ships followed the Van Wyck Expressway, brake lights blossoming as motorists stopped to watch. The fighters peeled off as the ships looped to the west, settling outside Terminal B where dozens of ambulances waited, red and white emergency lights flashing, riot police holding back the reporters.
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Friday, July 20, 2001:
London, Granger Dental Services: 18:24 (GMT)
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Alan Granger held his wife as staff and patients watched GNN. They had seen the ships cross New York City, now they watched as paramedics waited impatiently. The lead ship (one of their patients had pointed out the British roundel on it) lowered its forward hatch, a young girl with long black hair and distinctive white blazes over her ears coming down, running to meet another ship.
"Gor, that's a bloody Wookie!" one of the patients, Mr. Hampstead said. The two hugged each other, the girl bowing deeply to another, taller Wookie with grey streaks in the brown fur. The Wookies howled at each other and others that appeared, the telly finally identifying the girl as 'Martha Wayne, Capt, Cassidy Yates'.
The brown-furred Wookie consulted with physicians, and paramedics started to run up boarding hatches, bringing down nude figures on stretchers. Helen gave a small shriek as Hermione appeared, helping a nude, red skinned girl down the hatch. Another figure followed, this one a feathered male, also nude and wearing a lighted collar. He leaned against the ship's hull, stretching a full set of wings and moving them about. He took a breath off a small green oxygen bottle, then flapping the wings, stirring up the odd bit of trash as one of the Wookies came over to howl at him, a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Helen was dialing her mobile, on the telly a few seconds later, Hermione opened hers. "Hello, Hermione, love. We're watching you on GNN." On the screen, Hermione looked over at the rank of cameras, Helen saying, "Over the girl's right shoulder, dear. What's that on her neck?" Hermione re-oriented, said something and waved, then disconnected. "She'll call us later; they're going to hospital for a checkup. Forest Hills, she said."
"What is that kit on their necks, and why aren't the Wookies wearing them?" Mr. Hampstead asked.
"They're slave collars," Helen said quietly.
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Friday, July 20, 2001:
Queens, Forest Hills medical center, auditorium: 15:17 (GMT -5)
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"... that concludes my opening remarks," the medical director told the press. "Miss Wayne, did you have something to add?"
Mattie stepped up, then taking a microphone off the podium, "I'm sorry, but being vertically challenged can be a pain sometimes," she said with a grin. People chuckled, "Some of you may recall that I was in jail, we received a distress call from the original ship; the F'na'd when I was in court. By the way, I won my case; President Luthor owes me a dollar," she added with a smile.
"Judge Greenbriar was kind enough to accompany us, I'm glad, as there are quite a few legal issues that he'll address in a moment." She motioned to the Judge, who smiled and nodded. "Once there, we discovered an illegal mine and base in the asteroid 15 Eunomia, where quite a few slaves were being held, including some humans."
That statement caused quite a stir; she gave it a few seconds, then tapped the microphone with a fingernail. "If I may continue? Thank you. One problem the Judge will address is that some of those slaves were legally collared by courts in other solar systems; others were enslaved under interstellar commercial codes. Yes, there's a slave trade..."
More shouted questions, she tapped the microphone again. "I'm going to leave that question to the Judge, what I wanted to discuss is the formation of a Solar Guard. Right now, if there's a ship in distress, Superman or a Green Lantern responds. However, in this situation, they were not available, and so the Yates and her merry band went. As you know, this system is invaded on a regular basis, we need to be able to see to our own defense, as well as rescue vessels in distress. However, various international treaties prohibit nations extending their military forces into space." She waited for the noise to settle again; then continued, "Therefore, my company, Arrowhead Investments, will be forming a subsidiary for the physical and economic defense of this system." She leaned forward, "Like the French Foreign Legion, there is no nationality in the Guard. We will also accept people who have made a mistake in life, and want a fresh start. We won't take people on the run, though; you need to be able to join legally." She grinned, "In Gotham, we're used to giving second chances. That concludes my remarks; I'll give you over to the Judge, now."
She resumed her seat, passing the microphone to him as he said, "Good afternoon, I'm Judge Greenbriar of the Third US Circuit Court. Let me go in chronological order, starting with the rescue of the F'na'd. As Captain Wayne said, we were in court when her ship, the Yates, received a distress call. As you know, admiralty law requires any ship able to respond to do so. The F'na'd is a small slaver, her captain had died suddenly in his command chair, disabling her engines, which in turn disabled her life support. The two slaves chained on her bridge had no choice but to send a low power distress message to Earth, as they didn't want to attract the attention of the slavers in the asteroid mine..."
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Friday, July 20, 2001:
Grandview Heights, Morton Home: 19:56 (GMT -5)
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The phone rang, Julie picking up the kitchen extension, "Julie Morton."
"Hey, Julie, it's Mattie. They're holding me overnight for observation, I got a really nice invitation that I wanted to pass along to you guys." Julie pulled out a seat, "What's the deal?" she asked.
"Well, I wasn't able to marry off Hank and Misty, but I've got another option if they're interested. How about a nice church wedding with a tropical honeymoon, all for free? This same person wants to meet you, Arthur and Bill. All you need is your passports, beach and casual wear. Everything else is provided; I know the last few days have been rather stressful."
"Creating your own navy? I would think so!"
There was a chuckle, "Solar Guard. Interested?"
"Who and where and how? Alfred again?"
"No, a bit more prosaic, a private jet picks you up at the University airport, and it's a branch of the Catholic Church. I'll see what I can do; you may have to settle for a lowly Bishop. Where is an island ninety miles south of Key West."
"That's Cuba!"
"You remembered your geography. Borrow Teela's camera. Kick it around, call my cell in a couple hours. I need someone to talk to, my roomie's fascinated by soaps, I hate having to explain shows I don't watch."
"Hang on, Misty's here, I'll ask," Julie said, holding her hand over the mouthpiece and giving a quick explanation.
Misty took the phone, "Mattie, we appreciate the thought, but honestly, our plans were to wait until after we graduate. By then we'll be ready to live on our own and have our own space. Right now, that wouldn't be possible." She grinned, adding, "Besides, I can't get Gran's wedding dress resized that quickly, and there's the invites, and all the other details. Sorry, we're going to have to pass." She paused, "Was this from your, um, Uncle?"
"Yep."
"Oh, gawd. Hang on, please." Misty covered the mouthpiece, turning to Hank, "Mattie's Uncle Fidel is offering this, a wedding in Havana, by the Catholic Church."
"A Bishop or better," Julie added, asking, "Uncle Fidel?"
"That means maybe an Archbishop to officiate," Misty said, "She doesn't do things by halves, does she?" She added, "Castro, Julie." She uncovered the phone, "Mattie? Um, this kinda came at me cold. Let me kick it around and get back to you, okay?"
"Okay, I thought you two were hot to get hitched. My bad, I was kinda thinking about my own, y'know? Let me know, I'll call his cell." The line disconnected.
Misty shook her head, "She has the private cell numbers for heads of state? Why does that not surprise me? And why is she thinking about her own wedding?" She looked at Julie, who had gone pale. "What?"
"She knows," Julie whispered. "She knows her future," and she looked at Hank and Misty, adding, "It involves us..."
"Oh, c'mon," Misty said. "She's probably been planning her wedding since she was six."
"Well... maybe..."
"How many bridesmaids are you going to have?"
"Four."
"Junior bride and groom?"
"No."
"Poofy sleeves on the bridesmaids?"
"Yes."
"Your dress color?"
"White of course, unless I can find a really nice off white antique lace."
"I rest my case."
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Saturday, July 21, 2001:
Queens, Forest Hills medical center, 5th floor dayroom: 09:02 (GMT -5)
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Hermione looked around the small dayroom. Off to one side, she saw Miss Wayne sitting with an older woman, and being bored, wandered over. Miss Wayne looked exhausted, but scraped up a smile and a "Hello, Hermione. I'd like you to meet my aunt, Lois Lane."
Running through her memory of names, she smiled, "Ms. Lane, I'm a big fan of the Reporter! I didn't know you were related to Miss Wayne, though."
"Godmother, actually," Ms. Lane said. "Mattie's got a live interview on GNN tomorrow; I stopped by to get her prepared with one of my interviews."
Miss Wayne groaned, and Hermione asked, "I thought the press were barred from seeing us until the doctors released us."
Lois gazed on her pityingly, "My dear, I'm Lois Lane. That's never stopped me before, and you're on my list of people I'd like to interview. Have an hour or two later?"
Hermione suddenly recalled Ms. Lane's interview with Cornelius Fudge, and turned white. "Um, I promised to oversee a ... a ... tiddlywinks competition. May I have a rain cheque?" Without waiting, she edged away, then turned and ran.
Mattie chuckled, "Thanks, I needed that. Now, what were you saying about recorders?"
Lois passed over a small tape recorder, and a ring box. "Don't trust their recordings, use your own. These are the same equipment I use, if they refuse to let you use the tape, smile and agree, and use this one from Clark." She tapped the ring box, continuing as Mattie opened it, "Crystal technology from the Fortress. It has a five meter range, put it on your right ring finger, and squeeze the twelve and six points to stop and start." Sliding the ring on her hand, she admired the feminine ring, a circlet of small stones with a central stone projecting above it a few millimeters. Lois smiled, saying, "If you're ready, we'll get started. I'll go easy for now, the 'Freshman Congressman cheating on his wife' level."
Mattie took a deep breath and nodded as Lois stood, taking a few steps away, then approaching again, "Good morning, Miss Wayne. I'm Lois Lane from the Daily Planet, and I would like to ask a few questions..."
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Saturday, July 21, 2001:
Metropolis, Daily Planet, Editor's office: 12:16 (GMT -5)
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"Perry White."
"Hey, chief, it's Lois. Want an exclusive?"
"Lois! Where have you been? The newsroom hasn't been the same without you!" Perry rumbled, swiveling in his chair to look out his office window, "What exclusive?"
"Mattie Wayne, Judge Greenbriar, some of the other passengers and slaves, and..." she paused, "a bunch of ET's; including Mattie's Wookie buddy. Interested?"
"Of course, but I still want to see your god-daughter. Bring her by, would you? Social visit, of course."
"You got it, chief. Transfer me to copy?"
"Don't call me chief!" Perry White touched his phone's buttons to transfer.
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