A/N: Sorry for the delay, everyone. My creaking old computer finally died, so I had to restore from backup. The good news is that I am FINALLY Micro$oft free! I love Linux and Macs...
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For disclaimers, please see chapter one.
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7: 22 – 28 July, 2001
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Sunday, July 22, 2001:
Queens, Forest Hills medical center, 5th floor dayroom: 08:12 (GMT -5)
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Mattie spun, blocking Hideo's thrust and turning inside it, using it to flip her opponent. Tanaka slapped the mat, backflipping into a ready pose as Sheila watched. The two opponents started to circle again as the attorney's cell phone rang, "Sheila Hawking."
"Hai, Ms. Hawking," a voice said in Japanese. "Please stand by for the Ambassador." A few seconds later, a different male voice said, "Good morning, Ms. Hawking. I apologize for disturbing you so early in the morning, but I would ask a kindness. As you may know, your arrival two days ago was broadcast worldwide, including, of course, the Home Islands."
"Of course, how may I assist?" she replied in Japanese.
"Japan wishes to assist in the formation of the Solar Guard. In consultation with the Emperor and the Prime Minister, we hope to contribute in some small way." Sheila grinned, and the Ambassador continued, "Secondly, one of our pre-eminent businessmen has a daughter, Ms. Tanaka, whom you have rescued, and he wishes to see her for himself. A wise move, I believe."
"Completely understandable, and of course, we agree, if her physician permits."
"The physicians involved, as of our last report, are simply being extremely conservative. This is of course to their credit. If all involved are available, would a meeting at the hospital at 9:30 this morning be agreeable?"
"I believe so. We look forward to meeting at 9:30."
Sheila flipped her cell closed, and whistled. Stepping forward, she addressed the two sparring partners in Japanese, "Hideo, you and Mattie have a meeting with the Ambassador and your father at 9:30. Go shower, I'll arrange a dress for you, Hideo." As the two left, Sheila buttonholed Hermione and Sinistra, asking in English, "Which of you is better at transfiguration? I need a dress for Hideo."
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"I confess to nerves," Hideo said softly in Japanese as the stretch Lexus pulled into the parking lot, the police escort pulling off, flags flying the Rising Sun mounted on the bumpers. "I have said we must accept our collars, but now," she swallowed, "My father is very conservative." She stood straighter as two men approached, then bowed deeply, "Ambassador-san; Father."
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After the social niceties were over, Mr. Tanaka asked, "How were you captured?"
"I was driving back from campus, Father," Hideo recalled. "It was a foggy evening, and I drove through a patch of fog, thinking nothing of it. Within a few seconds, I had great difficulty moving my arms and legs, but could still see and think clearly. Later, in discussion with other..." she paused for a second, "...other slaves, they were taken in a similar way. I must assume that the capture gas works on males as it does on females, as it blocks voluntary muscle movement. I simply sat in the car, holding the steering wheel, as the car went off the road. I was unable to move, staring straight ahead, as two slaves wearing breathing gear approached the car, cut me out of my seat belt; and then my clothing. They then bound me and carried me to a small spacecraft. I was secured in a cargo net, and later collared and implanted as a slave."
Mr. Tanaka grunted, "That matches what we found. There were a few oddities, why the seat belts were cut instead of unlatched, and why your clothing was found, cut and folded neatly, on the seat of your car. Your purse and other property were untouched. We wondered who would dare kidnap you. Now we know."
"Hai, father," Hideo said softly. She swallowed, but said with a stone face, "I must offer penance for being taken alive, and the dishonor of being enslaved. May I offer two fingers?"
Her father raised a hand, "Daimyo Wayne, do you have a sample of this gas?"
"I believe my ship has the data, or can acquire it, Tanaka-san," Mattie replied politely, adding, "Daimyo?"
"Hai," the Ambassador said. He slid a pair of scrolls, tied with ribbons across the table, as Mattie moved her teacup aside. "You have said you will create a Solar Guard, in defense of this planet and its people. The Emperor has decided this is worthy of a shogun, the first since 1869 and the Meiji Restoration. You are authorized light purple robes, as your shogunate grows, rank will of course increase."
"Hai," Mattie replied. "I will attempt to bring honor to this shogunate, and be worthy of the Emperor's trust."
"We have no doubt of this," the Ambassador replied, asking, "Are you willing to accept persons in service under the codes of Bushido?"
"What would that entail?" she asked.
"The modern bushido code of the samurai stresses the twelve virtues," the ambassador replied. "They are rectitude, courage, benevolence, respect, honesty, loyalty, frugality, filial piety, wisdom, care for the aged, the mastery of martial arts, and honor to the death."
She nodded, "I have tried to live my life by that code. I accept."
Mr. Tanaka addressed his daughter, "Daughter of my blood, will you accept service with Daimyo Wayne?"
Mattie raised a finger, "Excuse me." She turned to Hideo, "I release you from any legal, financial, or ethical obligations to me. I consider you a free person, able to make your own decisions."
The ambassador nodded, as Hideo said, "I willingly do so, father."
"The matter is concluded, then," Mr. Tanaka said. "You have my gratitude, Daimyo, for the restoration of my daughter to me. I am in your debt."
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Sunday, July 22, 2001:
Manhattan, GNN studios: 19:49 (GMT -5)
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Mary breezed into the makeup room, plopping herself down next to Mattie, who turned her head. The makeup tech tutted, turning her face back to him, as Mary Knight chuckled. "People tell me this is the worst part of the experience," she advised.
"I can't believe you've done this to Luthor," she replied, asking, "The disk with the pictures – did it load all right?"
Both Mary and the makeup tech replied, "Yes," Mary continuing with a chuckle, "Yes, and the cutline was 'Teela Morton'. We've also got a live shot of the moon, although why you asked for that, I don't know. Anything else?"
"My cell phone work in here?"
"Five bars," the makeup tech said, adding, "There's a cell tower down the street."
"At some point in the show, I'll be making a cell call."
"We can provide you with a land line," Mary offered.
Mattie shook her head, "Sorry, it's a very private number."
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The producer counted down, then pointed to Mary, who said, "Good evening, and welcome to 'Knight at Night', we're fortunate to have with us Miss Mattie Wayne, the CEO of Arrowhead Investments, and now it seems the head of the Solar Guard." Mary turned, "Initially, we had planned for this to be on the lunar colonization you've been promoting; now we've got an additional topic. Ms. Wayne, we'll have a few questions, and then we'll go to open phones. Since this is a worldwide topic of interest, our viewers should be seeing a toll-free number for their location. Callers, please remember to give your location and to keep it clean."
Mary turned, asking, "Why lunar colonization? What's wrong with Earth?"
"Not necessarily what's wrong with Earth, but what's wrong with us, Mary," she replied. "We first landed on the moon in 1969, and we seem to have lost interest in escaping our cradle and seeing what's out there. Even though we've got people like Superman living here among us, people seem to be willfully ignorant of other life, and what they might have to offer us, and what we can offer." She grinned, "Well, for reasons of my own, I'm going to drag us, kicking and screaming, into the wider galaxy."
"And those reasons are?"
"Mostly going to remain mine for now," Mattie replied with a grin. "Countries are already realizing the technological benefits. I think most people have seen the video of my being lifted on an antigravity plate from a few weeks ago. If nothing else, that has benefits in transportation. Canada has made enormous strides in fusion power, and we're negotiating with Japan and Tanaka Heavy Industries for electronics and manufacturing." She leaned forward, "Building our own starships, we won't have to buy them; we can design and build them ourselves."
"We don't have the technical base," Mary objected.
"We're getting there," she replied. "That's why we're reverse engineering galactic tech. We're about to test fly our first cargo ship out of Babice airfield in Warsaw."
Mattie saw the producer make a squeezing gesture, and Mary cut in, "So when can we expect passenger service?"
"To orbit?" she grinned. "First we have to build the infrastructure. Our first step is to build the cargo and passenger platform in low earth orbit. Once we have that in place, we can then move on to the moon and higher orbits. That doesn't mean that it will be a luxury hotel, or that we'll be ignoring Earth."
"Well, that's a relief," Mary said.
"We can't ignore Earth, Mary. Just for one example, everyone going up will need a skinsuit, which would be fitted on earth. Each one costs about 50,000 dollars, but I hope to lower that cost through licensing. After all, how much is your life worth?" She grinned, adding, "Now, while some things like skinsuits are a stable galactic technology, with the last major innovations being about twelve hundred years ago, there's no reason why we can't figure out how to improve them." She raised a wrist, "Each suit's wrist records and transmits medical and blood data, which has applications in the medical field. Since it also records DNA, it can be used for signing documents, which is how it's done off planet." She tapped a legal pad, "We finally have the paperless office and court system."
"It sounds like you're advocating a move to galactic technology," Mary asked.
"I think it can be integrated into our systems, although they do generally have things like world governments and citizen databases," she grinned, adding, "I'm sure the civil libertarian people will object to that, although it would solve problems of identity theft."
"So how does this reverse engineering work?"
"Let's take the antigravity plates as an example," she replied. "It's a double-blind system. A British team developed the engineering specifications from the original alien tech. They handed off to a Mexican team, who wrote another design specification without knowing about the original spec, and then it went out to two bidders, a Swiss and Cuban team. They worked to meet the Mexican spec; the Swiss developed a working plate, the Cubans vastly improved on it. They've just patented a method to build it into a flexible mat, so it could be laid under a hotel room's carpet."
"Oh, my feet are thanking them already," Mary said with a grin, and her guest grinned. "That's not all you've been doing, though."
"I'd like to point out the contributions of our vehicle design group in Warsaw," she said. "Antigravity plates and skinsuits aren't much use until we can get out there into space, and more importantly, make it profitable." Mattie turned in her seat, "The biggest problem has always been getting up that gravity well to orbit."
"Gravity well?" Mary asked.
Mattie nodded, "It's a good metaphor. We're at the bottom of a well, looking up at the sky hundreds of miles above us. Before, the only real way to get a cargo of a couple hundred tons up that well and into orbit was to blast it off with a rocket or with the Shuttle, at the cost of ten thousand dollars a kilo. That's driven costs much higher than they need to be. For instance, satellite phones use a low earth orbit, it has to be a low orbit so you don't have unacceptable signal delay." Mary nodded, as she gestured with her hands, "The problem is that a low orbit degrades over time, the objects fall out of the sky due to drag, so you have to keep boosting them up. Think of a car going along, you have to hit the gas every so often to keep your speed up. You eventually have to fill the car's gas tank; the only problem is that there are no gas stations in orbit for satellites."
"What happens?"
"You don't want a two hundred million dollar satellite falling out of orbit, so when the gas gauge gets to a quarter tank, you boost the satellite into a much higher 'junk' orbit. Right now, there's no way to refill that satellite's gas tank, so it's the same situation as buying a Porsche, and parking it by the side of the road when the gas tank is empty, and then buying a new Porsche with a full tank. You can try to make some of that money back by selling rides in a Porsche, but you're still taking a substantial financial hit." Mattie leaned forward, "Until now."
"Now, what happens?"
"Simple, if you have a new satellite, you can contract for us to place it in orbit, and to service it. Every car owner in the world has to get their oil changed and their car worked on every so often, there's no reason why we can't do it with satellites. Not only are our launch costs much lower at fifty dollars a kilo, we don't charge you seventy five million for a single use rocket, we're a manned craft so if there's a problem you don't lose your cargo, and you can use a much larger, more capable satellite. That means lower insurance rates, if nothing else. Then there are all those hundreds of junked satellites. They can be retrieved for refurbishment, sold, or refueled and reused. That also lowers a company's cost, and what the consumers pay for phone and TV service. Once a cargo is in low orbit, it's much less expensive to move them to other places in cislunar space."
"What is cislunar space, and what about people?"
"Cislunar space is space in and around the Earth – Moon system. That's higher Earth orbits, orbits around the Moon, and operations on the lunar surface. That's our first step out of the crib, the next step is moving out to the asteroids and the outer planets. Let me give you another way to pay for space operations: solar energy, specifically solar power satellites."
"NASA did a study about that in the early 1960's, they concluded it wasn't economical."
"You've done some homework!" Mattie grinned. "Let me give you a bit of information about that study, Mary. It operated off one major assumption, that we would be boosting all the materials up that gravity well, and it was published just before the Kennedy Assassination. Now, that was reasonable then. However, we have a different source of materials in the moon, the technology has changed dramatically since 1963, and the cost of going up that gravity well is half a percent of what it was. It is much cheaper to move materials from the moon to high earth orbit, and industrial robots can do ninety-nine percent of the work. There's a more detailed study on Arrowhead's web site, with different costs calculated, but a solar array one hundred kilometers on a side, about the only thing that we'd have to boost up would be the control electronics. On the earth side, the receiving antenna is a circle seven kilometers across, and that's a simple network of wires on poles. An inverter converts DC power to AC; it's fed into the power grid."
"What about radiation?"
"All the bad radiation is in orbit, what we're sending down is focused sunlight." She grinned, "You might get sunburn, but I can't control that. It's like mowing your lawn on a hot day; you wear a hat and sunscreen. Cuba has a greenhouse and some goats under the grid, and there's a bunch of UN environmental monitors in the central inverter building." She interlaced her fingers, "As I said, all this information is on Arrowhead's web server, and we're listed on the Berlin, London, and Moscow stock exchanges. For now, we need to build infrastructure on the moon, so I'm pleased to announce the start of test flights of our first cargo ship from Warsaw. We were able to save some money by buying seats and whatnot from old airplanes." She shrugged, "We wanted to get the mass right, so the seats aren't exactly comfortable. Still, you wouldn't be in them long, and regular service would be from Ecuador."
"Why not launch from Florida?"
"Aside from the little ... disagreement with Mr. Luthor, Ecuador is at a higher elevation, with a lovely mountain that sits on the Equator. That lets us take advantage of Earth's rotation to save launch costs and lift higher mass loads. When we looked at locations, the choices came down to Kenya or Ecuador; Kenya doesn't have the road or rails, they're in the middle of a nasty civil war, as well as some major problems with disease and corruption. Ecuador already had the roads and rail links; they just needed updating, as well as expansion of their port facilities. It's a stable country, with a friendly government, and is handling our diplomatic relations. In return, they've got British port engineers and Russian railroad engineers, and for protection, we've got German military advisers with the Ecuadorian military." She gestured with her hands, "One of our concerns is terrorism, especially with the NBC shipments."
"I hadn't heard of those," Mary replied, Mattie frowned, "I shouldn't have said anything. Sorry."
"One of your secrets," Mary said, adding, "NBC usually refers to nuclear, biological, and chemical. What's Arrowhead doing with it, becoming a nuclear power?"
"Hardly," her guest said with a snort. "No, we're fulfilling all the environmentalist's fondest hopes, and moving the thousands of tons of waste off Earth to the moon. Since the moon's a dead world, I don't think they'll object." She snorted again, "My cynical side says that they probably will find something to complain about, though."
Mary saw the producer's signal, and said, "You asked for a live video feed of the moon's surface. We'll find out why after these messages from our sponsors." The camera lights went dark, and she asked, "Is that a skinsuit? Why the jumpsuit on top?"
Mattie shrugged, placing the old prop microphone back on the table. "The skinsuit's like a woolen leotard, there aren't any pockets, and I'm not going to schlep around a purse. The skinsuit handles all the biological functions, and it's good to around four hundred degrees below zero, and handles most radiation. I wouldn't stand in the middle of a reactor, but for orbit, it's fine." She held out a grey-clad arm, "Besides, it looks good with the black skinsuit." She yawned, "I thought this would be like the late show, though. I could really use some coffee, all I've had recently is some tea at a business meeting." She sighed, "So far, this hasn't been that bad."
"Wait for some of the callers," Mary advised, taking the signal from the producer. She smiled at the camera as he counted down, "We're back live with Ms. Mattie Wayne, of Arrowhead Investments, talking about lunar colonization." She turned slightly, "Ms. Wayne, you asked for us to have a live shot of the moon. Now, I have no idea what you wanted that for, but people should be seeing it on their screens. If you're listening on radio, you might want to look at the moon."
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The Mortons watched the show. Mattie had called from New York, asking them to watch. The studio shrunk to a small picture as an image of the new moon filled the screen. In a few seconds, a red dot appeared on it. Mattie's voice came across as a voice over, "What you're seeing is a large spotlight sitting at the moon's equator and the prime meridian, zero degrees latitude and longitude. You can see for yourself this isn't Hollywood fakery with your own eyes, by simply looking at the moon."
"That's what that was!" Teela said as Mattie's voice asked, "Can I have the first picture?"
"Those are my pictures!" Teela squeaked.
"Let me give a quick synopsis of each picture," the voiceover continued. "By the way, these were taken by a friend of mine with a consumer digital camera a few weeks ago. NASA had to retrofit Hasselblad film cameras, which I believe are still on the moon. Anyway, this first picture is of the light, my brothers are standing next to it for scale. You can see the inflatable communication mast; the other equipment transmits to this location for telemetry to earth. This array is powered by a German-designed and built pebble bed reactor." She grinned, "That's running off recycled nuclear fuel. Next photo, please."
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"Next caller, Seattle," Mary said.
"How do we know this isn't a fake, like the moon landings?"
Mattie sighed, "Have you looked at the moon in the last few hours, caller? Did you see the photos of Tranquility?"
"It's raining, and the pictures weren't that good. You could have faked them!"
"Caller, I can't control the rain. When it stops, go look for yourself. Regarding the pictures, Tranquility Base is a UN-designated historic site; we're not supposed to go closer than half a kilometer. That's about a quarter mile for the Americans listening." She shifted, "Besides, caller, in order to fake the Apollo program, which was about the same size as the Manhattan project, you would have had to get thousands of workers all across the country to keep the secret for the last forty years. That's not going to happen," she said as the caller hung up. She asked, "Next caller?"
"I was looking at your web site, it's really slow."
"I would think its being hit by a lot of people, but I'll talk to British Telecom. Did you have a question, caller, and what's your location?"
"Um, I'm in the US, and why don't you use Windows on your spaceships? It's the greatest!"
"I prefer software that works, caller, like Linux," she said dryly as she disconnected.
"A little bit of bias?" Mary asked.
"Simple truth, and a business decision," she replied. "I've grown up with UNIX systems and Macs, why pay outrageous prices for licensing when I don't have to?" She touched the phone button, "Hello, caller, what's your location?"
"That was rather cold, Miss Wayne," a familiar voice said.
She grinned, "One of my favorite professors! How is Scotland, sir?"
"Damp. I presume you will be here tomorrow?"
"We're planning on a redeye flight with the others. They're in town now, we are live worldwide, sir, please be careful what you say."
"I always am. I shall inform the Headmistress," the cultured voice said as he disconnected. Mary looked over at her guest, who shrugged. "I missed a lot of school last year, so I've been trying to go to summer school. Unfortunately, the last few weeks has prevented that. I hope I won't have to repeat this past year, I did some studying on the flight." She shrugged again, "We'll see how my exams go." Mary touched the phone, "Mexico City, what's your question?"
"You did not say anything about us!"
"I apologize," Mattie said. "We are especially grateful for the contributions of the Mexican chemical and petroleum industries. They've been reverse-engineering fuels, and as you know, one way to spur trade is with petrol. While this may put the tiniest of dents in the world oil trade, I don't think Pemex will mind having the information. Next caller?"
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Monday, July 23, 2001:
London, Heathrow airport, international arrivals: 01:50 (GMT)
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"There she is!" someone called, and the horde of newsies pressed up against the security glass, some already shouting questions. The other people in queue at Queen's Customs looked about curiously as Tomas wrapped a protective arm around his sister.
"Who's this Wayne they're shouting about?" one mother asked, trying to restrain her son.
"That would be my sister, senora," Tomas replied with a frosty glare. "The same one whose seat your son kicked for the entire seven hours of the flight, and the same one who has gotten very little sleep over the past two weeks." He glared at the hyperactive kid, adding, "The same flight that you slept through."
"My little Tommy? Don't be absurd, he's perfectly well behaved. Besides, someone would have said something."
"That would have been your responsibility as a parent, senora, and I did say something to young Tomas. I asked him very politely to stop kicking my sister's seat, and his reply was, 'Make me!' Your son needs discipline senora. Perhaps he should be in a military camp?" Someone else muttered, "Too right!"
Her reply was cut off by the customs bloke calling, "Next!" Mattie woke up enough to hand her passport over, placing her bag on the scanner. The customs bloke stiffened at his screen, then offered, "Miss Wayne, would you like me to call airport security, with all those newsies waiting to have at' ye?"
"That would be greatly appreciated, senor," Tomas said, offering his passport, "My sister is very tired, she has gotten very little sleep over the last two weeks."
"I do watch the telly, mate," the customs bloke said with a grin as he lifted his phone. "Security, this is Nigel at customs six. We have a great lot of newsies about to break down the barrier. No, mate, they're lying in wait for Miss Wayne, who's coming through my gate, and she doesn't need that. Can we get an escort for her and her party? Bloody right," he put a hand over the phone, "Arrowhead still hiring?" Mattie nodded, and he told the phone, "Too right they are. We'll show proper British hospitality. Thanks, mate, I'll buy you one at the pub." He replaced his phone, "Two minutes, Miss Wayne. Sorry about the delay."
She smiled at him as Tomas said, "Thank you very much, senor. Can you tell us where the airport's railway station is? Our hotel is near the Charing Cross station."
"Tube's not running now, mate. We'll whistle you up a black cab, though." Nigel handed back their passports and motioned them through as a dozen airport police came trotting in, shoving the newsies back. Another half-dozen showed up to reinforce them, more forming up beyond the barricade as an escort.
As they moved ahead, Tommy's mother asked, "Who was that?" The businessman behind her snorted as Nigel replied, "Don't you watch the news, ma'am? That was Miss Wayne, with the starships. She's colonizing the moon w' her pocket money. She doesn't look a billionaire, but who does? Passports please, and have you anything to declare?"
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"Miss Wayne!" "Miss Wayne, can you..." "Miss Wayne, what's the..." "Miss Wayne, are you the new lesbian dark queen that..."
"Wait a minute," Mattie said, stopping in shock. Clearly surprised, she turned to ask, "WHAT did you ask?"
The newsie swallowed, never expecting her to stop and reply to him, "The Sun wants to know if you're our new evil lesbian dark queen, ruling from your lunar palace with thousands of sex slaves." He cleared his throat, adding, "Ma'am."
Some of the airport police groaned, as Mattie blinked, "I'm sorry, I'm very tired. Let me say that I don't care if you're lesbian, gay or were born on a different planet; my only concern is if you can do the job. Regarding my personal life, I have a boyfriend, and that's all you're going to get." Tomas put his arm on her shoulder as she continued, "Secondly, I have no intention of being a queen, evil or otherwise, and regarding slaves, I believe that was adequately covered by Judge Greenbriar at the hospital press conference. Lastly, I am recycling nuclear materials on the moon, for use in peaceful nuclear reactors there. I would think you would be happy to see all that high-level waste off Earth. I certainly have no need for weapons to threaten Earth, and I'm more concerned with hostile aliens. Now, if you'll excuse me, my hotel bed awaits." She turned and walked off as the shouting began again.
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Monday, July 23, 2001:
London, The Leaky Cauldron, dining room: 06:57 (GMT)
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Mattie descended the creaking old wooden stairs from her room, pausing to yawn and wave to Anne, who had come in from London with her sister Karen. She turned as Albus Dumbledore said, "Good morning, Miss Wayne. Would you care for a spot of breakfast, and perhaps a nice cuppa?"
She stifled a yawn, "That would be wonderful, Professor. Thank you." She joined the others at the table, the other Yanks in town to buy their school supplies and be fitted for robes and uniforms. She grinned at Bill's expression as Arthur leaned over to explain Albus Dumbledore.
"Miss Wayne," the chill tones of the Potion Master spread across the room. "I thought I would find you here. As you have decided to scorn my attempts to tutor you in Potions, you are no longer welcome. Miss Bundy is on notice, her missing more tutoring sessions will result in her banishment as well. However, I will expect both of you for your examination in my classroom on Wednesday, August twenty-second at eight sharp. Good day."
As he turned and moved off, Miss Wayne's voice carried across the room, "Mr. Snape."
"Professor Snape," he corrected. "I am present in relation to your schooling, Miss Wayne."
As he turned and moved off, Miss Wayne's voice carried across the room, "Very well. Professor Snape, are you perhaps unaware that I was imprisoned in a muggle facility? That I was in a muggle hospital with a broken leg? That I was off-planet? Those would prevent me from attending your tutoring sessions." The conversations in the Cauldron died away as the assorted witches and wizards listened in, her voice carrying clearly across the room.
"Miss Wayne, the need to maintain some separation between your life in the muggle world and your magical education here might excuse your first week of absence. However, we both know that you could have left that prison at any time during your incarceration if you so desired." He continued, still not facing her, "Given your background and the legal requirements of naval law, any who know you would expect you to have investigated the vessel in distress, although that task could have been delegated to someone besides yourself. The subsequent decision to attack the asteroid once its discovery had been made follows logically to those with even a casual knowledge of your character."
He continued without turning around, "However, neither the nobility nor necessity of your actions excuses your failure to appear for last Wednesday's lessons. The assault on the asteroid was over on Tuesday. Whilst perhaps not capable of bringing all the aliens and ships with you, you, at least, could have returned with Miss Bundy. Instead, you dawdled with the fleet so you could make a dramatic entrance Friday. That is not acceptable, Miss Wayne."
"Professor Snape, you expect me to walk out of a muggle prison, in violation of the law and against the advice of my attorney? You expect me to abandon my post and my responsibilities as a ship's captain?" She drew a breath, adding, "As you know if you watched the press conference from the hospital, there was no one else available to aid the F'na'd. You expect me to let thirty-seven people suffocate when I was able to aid them? You expect me to ignore an illegal pirate operation, and another sixty persons, including humans, in a condition of illegal slavery, when I can aid them? All to attend a potions lecture?" She let the silence stretch, then added, "I wish you a pleasant day, sir, and I will see you on the twenty-second."
"In order: No, Yes, No, No, and the two were not mutually exclusive." Snape spun, walking to the entrance to Diagon Alley as the room broke out in chatter.
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"Snape's being a right arse today," Karen commented. She took a long look at Mattie, then said, "Right. This is your fourth year, you've the Halloween ball. You will go get your robes fitted, and your dress picked out, then straight back to bed with you, young lady. Your mates will handle everything else. Where are you staying?"
"I've been staying at my aunt's townhouse in Soho," she replied.
"You're not facing that horde of newsies outside in the shape you're in," Karen said emphatically, and the others nodded. "Go back upstairs to your room, I'll come by tonight after my university class. If I don't hear snoring, I'll thump you, understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," Mattie replied, "What about my exam?"
"Whilst I was never great shakes with a cauldron, I've still got my third-year notes. Don't worry about it for now." She sat back as Albus came by with some porridge, he added, "I've my notes from my third year as well, Miss Wayne. While they may not be as recent as Miss Bundy's, I was a bit of a dab hand with a cauldron. We'll arrange something, and have the bills for your supplies sent to Gringotts. I'm certain Mr. Griplink won't mind." He looked at her over his spectacles, "Eat up, now."
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"Good morning, Severus," Remus said outside Zabini's Apothecary. "Might I walk with you?" The potion master grunted, his long legs covering ground. After a few minutes, the history professor ventured, "I overheard your little ... discussion ... with Miss Wayne."
"Everyone in the Cauldron overheard that 'little discussion'," Severus replied. "She has quite the command voice when she is inclined to use it."
"I'm not sure if you were too rough on her or not." Mattie's icy voice had come as a surprise to the werewolf.
"I was not," Severus said firmly. "Miss Wayne, while possessed of several admirable qualities, must learn to delegate and prioritize. They are necessary skills for someone who means to reshape the world." They strolled in silence until Snape added, "Given her family, both genetic and extended, there are times the poor girl forgets that she's only human."
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Connie, Julie and the Cortez twins marched Mattie into Parvati's clothing shop, the boys ordered to 'Get her other stuff!' The figure on the measuring stand turned, squealing, "Mattie!" then saying 'Ow!' as a pin stuck her outstretched arm.
"That will teach you," Lavender told Sprink. "Stand still." She turned, "Good morning, ladies. New robes?"
"Uniforms and dresses for the Halloween ball, too," one of the twins said, steering Mattie to a chair, who mumbled, "Light purple," as she dozed.
"Purple? Not her colour at all," Lavender said, asking, "When's her birthday?"
"May thirty-first, she's definitely a 'Spring', Julie said, "Maybe as an accent color, though?"
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Ginny Potter lead the group of muggle firsties and their parents through the arch into Diagon Alley as Arthur and Bill went inside Parv's. They stopped as Mattie came out with Sprink, saying, "Hello, Mrs. Potter."
"Good morning, Miss Wayne, Miss Tonks," Ginny replied in an icy voice as the two girls joined Charlie and Tomas sitting on a bench. Tomas passed Mattie a cup of take-away tea as one of the new students suddenly gasped, asking, "D'you know who that is?"
"Who, Miss Wayne?" Ginny asked in a more natural voice. "She's a fourth-year Slytherin, and that's her brother Tomas, who's a Ravenclaw. As I said, there are four houses, you can tell by the crest on the robes and the colours of the school tie, hers are green and silver. When you get your school tie, it will initially be black, when you're sorted, it will change to your house colours." She gestured at the shop, "This is one of three clothing shops, you'll need to get measured for your school uniforms and robes. Ahead on the right, Quality Quidditch is one of the more popular shops. I'm coaching the Gryffindor team, my husband Harry is the referee for the school games. Come along now, lots to see..."
"But she's famous..." one kid said.
"You'll see several famous people at Hogwarts," Ginny replied with a slight frown. "You must remember to keep the secret, and treat them like anyone else. Come along now..."
As the group moved off, one kid broke off, shyly approaching Mattie and asking, "Miss Wayne, can I... um, canIhaveyourautograph?"
Sprink howled in laughter, which rattled the poor kid, but he stayed where he was as Mattie looked up, "You want my autograph? Why? I'm nobody special."
The kid blinked as Charlie told him, "Mate, she means it." He nudged Mattie, "G'wan, give the kid an autograph. A quid says he's a Gryffindor."
"No bet," Sprink said, passing over a cheap muggle pen as Mattie set down her tea. Taking the shyly offered flyer, and propping it on a book, asked, "What's your name?"
"Warren, Warren Driver," the kid replied with a nervous swallow.
"Well, Warren Warren Driver, you've got my first autograph," she told him as she circled the pen to start it, then writing, 'To Warren Driver, my first autograph, 23 July, 2001, Diagon Alley, London. Mattie Wayne'. Passing the flyer back, she said, "That and five pence will get you a cup of tea. Good luck in Hogwarts, Warren Warren."
'Was I ever that young?' Mattie thought as she watched him scurry back to his group. "Look Anna, I got her autograph!" he excitedly told a girl with long dark hair. "Oh Warren, you can be so common sometimes," she said as she took his hand and they ran to catch up.
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Tuesday, July 24, 2001:
London, Arrowhead offices, fifth floor conference room: 07:02 (GMT)
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Mattie yawned, holding a cup of coffee as she looked down at the gaggle of newsies outside their offices. Arrowhead had expanded to take up almost all six floors of the building; the only independent business left was a tea room on the ground floor that had been there since the early 1920's. The eight Americans had stayed the night in the Cauldron while Alfred and his troops remained in New York, the Brits dispersing to their homes.
"Miss Wayne?" Mattie turned to see a platinum blonde standing nervously next to her, "Did you really mean... like, I know people think I'm this blonde goth airhead biker chick with a um, thing for tight leather, but what you told the newsie at the airport, about, um, lesbians and how..."
Karen Bundy approached her, "Ash, not now..." but Mattie raised a hand, "I meant what I said. I don't care what your plumbing is, or if you're with someone with the same equipment. As long as you're legal, and you can do the job, that's my only concern. Why, did you have a problem?"
"Um, no, but my roomie, she's like, really desperate for a job, and she's got, like slightly different plumbing, but she can't afford surgery, and..." Ash ran down, "Can she come and, y'know, work here? I really need the help, and she's this really awesome programmer..."
Karen shrugged. "We need the help. Have her come by for an interview, but I don't know anything about programming."
"Get together with Anne, she's been doing some programming, and she's been thinking about distributing some sort of game," Mattie suggested. "They can talk code; the rest is up to your roomie. Was there anything else?" she asked.
Ash shook her head as Mattie took her seat, Mr. MacAdam gaveled the meeting to order. "I know you're tired, lassie," he said, "We'll keep this brief, but you've been out of touch for a few weeks. Ms. Nicheyev?"
"Um, two things," Ash said, looking at her legal pad. "We've gotten slashdotted, and..."
"Slashdotted?"
"Um, when a web site gets sudden really high demand, it's known as being slashdotted. We've gotten about five million hits a day, up from a few thousand. It's really straining our network connection, and I think it's going to stay high. We're also being attacked, denial of service. I'd like to increase our bandwidth, and put some more elaborate defenses in place. I've got some estimates from British Telecom, but in order to do the job, I'll have to buy more hardware." Mattie nodded, "Secondly, I saw that thing on the implants, and if we're going to have any of those people working with us, we'll have to change our access." She nodded at the head of security, a former Royal Marine, "I talked to Mr. Thompson, it looks like a RFID implant in their hips, like the access cards we use now." She played with hers on the lanyard as she continued, "The budget splits out pretty evenly between his sensors and locks and my buying another server and the software for it, but we need a few of them to figure out the coding. Do the um, collars have anything like that?"
"Pain circuits and the lights, which show the slave's legal status," Mattie replied, "It's powered from the body's bio-electric field, and it ties into the central nervous system through the spinal cord. I don't think it would apply to this. There's a control chip that the owners have, but I don't know anything about how it works."
"Oh, they're kinda pretty, I was wondering..." Ash mumbled, "I've worked up some proposals, and that's all I have," she said, as she passed down a report.
"Miss Bundy?" Sev MacAdam cleared his throat, clarifying, "Miss Karen Bundy, I meant."
"We've gotten a good hundred thousand downloads of our employment applications, and about ten thousand have been emailed back to us," she said. "I've talked to the vehicle group in Warsaw; they're shipping some scale models of the different ships and whatnot, like the generator truck."
"Generator truck?"
"It's a commercial generator mounted on a lunar truck, which burns biodiesel fuel and oxygen from tanks, the exhaust goes into another tank for recycling," she replied. "They said they didn't really need them now, and we've got our first big job fair coming up next weekend." She glanced at Mattie, before adding, "Anyone that can, please come by, we're going to be using the new Cuban antigravity mat under the carpet, so people can experience one-sixth gravity." She smiled, "It makes things more real. Let me know if you need more business cards, and I'll set up the models in here when we receive them."
"Thank you, Miss Bundy. Miss Anne?"
"I hath little to report but a dozen of the slaves doth wish to work with us," she said. "They are staying in New York until their status is decided, they will then return with Alfred." She yawned, "Pardon me, I am fatigued. I shall be pleased to meet with thy mate, Miss Ash." She yawned again.
"Mr. Thompson?"
The burly man nodded, "Aye, we have had a few attempted break-ins, I've talked to the Yard, and..."
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Tuesday, July 24, 2001:
Hogwarts, Charms classroom: 08:21 (GMT)
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"Good morning, good morning, ladies!" Professor Flitwick told Anne and Mattie. "Miss Bundy, you mentioned yesterday that you had difficulties with your magic on the flight?"
"Aye," she said. "'Twas able to do some on the moon, and a wee bit on the asteroid, but in space, I 'twas a squib. Doth you know why?"
"I did a quick shufty in the library, I did not find anything, but then again, I think you two might have been the first witches that have ever gone off planet," he replied. "Miss Wayne?"
"I had the same problem, as did Professor Sinestra and Hermione," she said. "By the way, both Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape were in space before we were."
"Really? They hadn't mentioned that," he said, surprised. "I know there's a way to store magical energy, one does that with various pendants. However, that is usually only good for one spell." He rubbed his chin, musing, "How to store a greater amount, and how to test it? Hmm." He was lost in thought, until Anne cleared her throat. "Right, on to business." He ran his finger down a list of spells, then saying, "Let's touch on the freezing charm, that's the last one we covered before your absence, Miss Wayne. After that, the cooling charm, and after lunch, the warming and heating charms." He hopped down from his stack of books, "Wands out, please."
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Heaven, library reading room
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Peter spied his quarry in one of the smaller reading rooms, and smiled gently. Bruce had spent quite a bit of time in here (such as it was measured in the afterlife), he wondered what so obsessed him. Moving as silently as possible, he crept up behind, only to have Bruce grunt, "Stop trying to sneak around, you're no good at it."
"Well, then tell me what you're so interested in," Peter said, pulling up a chair and conjuring a goblet.
Bruce glowered at him, then said, "I'm researching my family's timelines, so I can direct them into the best ones."
"Best for them, or for humanity?" Bruce grunted again, and Peter continued, "Bruce, I understand the desire to help the ones left behind. I had it myself, I didn't shake it until, oh, the fourth generation or so, when I was long dead and barely remembered." He took a sip, "There are several 'dynasties' of souls, if you will. You're in one of them, did you take a look at your previous incarnations?"
"No time for that."
"Bruce, think about what you just said. You're in Heaven, you've got all eternity. You've got the time," Peter said with a chuckle. "By the way, there's a lovely young couple that's about to conceive..."
"Mattie's too young, is it Dick and Barbara?" Peter shook his head, and Bruce said, "Not interested."
"Well, this I think you will be interested in. Come along now, this won't repeat." Reluctantly, Bruce stood, following Peter down another white corridor to a white elevator door, which opened for them. Peter eyed Bruce, "I get tired of all the white, too. Go see Mohammad, he knows how to dress. In any case, when you came here, it was pretty much predestined. Others are judged, we trade off every millennium or so. In any case, the other guy's back on the job after a short holiday, and about to hear a case you'll be interested in." The bell dinged, the doors slid open, and Peter said, "Welcome to Hell, Bruce."
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Bruce stepped out from the elevator into a cavern, lit by torches and fire, with voices screaming in the background. He looked around as a soul was dragged off by demons, the tall demon stood, his appearance rippling into a handsome, blue-eyed blond as he offered his hand. "Bruce! What a pleasure! I'm glad Peter brought you by, I think you'll be interested in this next case." He looked at Peter, "Next Saturday night for poker at the pub? I should be caught up by then." He gave Bruce's hand a final shake, his skin rippling back to his demon appearance as he resumed his seat. Peter pulled Bruce aside, reminding him, "Don't interfere, this is Luke's job."
A demon called, "Next case, general terrorism, kidnapping, torture, murder of the innocents, aiding and abetting one who pretended to demonic status ('Voldemort' Peter whispered.), practicing black magics without a license, violent racism, misogyny, fomenting and plotting the overthrow of the established order and," the demon smirked, "Bribery of public officials. Milord Lucifer, I present Lucille Malfoy."
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"Lucifer? You've abandoned your post!" Lucille said in shock as she was shoved in front of his throne.
"Hardly," Lucifer drawled. "I was on a short holiday in Key West. You try working for a few hundred years without a break." He accepted a scroll from a succubus with a ring on her tail, who smiled at Lucille, long forked tongue flicking over her razor-sharp teeth. He studied the scroll, shaking his head, then asked, "Well, Miss Malfoy, what have you to say for your life? There's not much good here."
Lucille drew herself up, "I did what I thought best for wizard kind. I have no apologies or regrets."
"Never let it be said I didn't give a chance," Lucifer said, calling, "Bruce, got anything to say for Miss Malfoy?"
Lucille turned, whispering "Wayne?" as Bruce stepped forward, "Be gentle, Mr. Lucifer."
She screamed at Bruce, "Be gentle? That's all you'll say for me?"
"You're lucky I said that much," he replied.
"Yes, well, since Mr. Nott ... where is he?" Lucifer asked. "Oh, there you are, Theodore. Your sentence is completed, please go up with Mr. Wayne and St. Peter when we finish, and Hell thanks you for your service." The young man's soul nodded.
Lucifer sat up in his throne, adding, "As I was saying, when Mr. Nott placed that gender change spell on you ('Marvelous bit of work that was,' Peter added to Bruce.), locking it to your soul. You didn't realize that all you needed to do was one kind gesture, and the spell would have been cancelled. You would have been male again, instead of the female form you wear, loathe and despise, yet take secret delight in." He waved the scroll, "It's all here, you see, all those times in the bath, washcloth between your teeth so Narcissa wouldn't hear. Now, I had a request for you that I think I'll grant. Lorelei, you can take her in a minute, I just have a minor modification."
With a wave of his hand, Lucille's school uniform vanished as she grew to become a beautiful woman, large, firm bosom, feet reshaping into a delicate pair of high stiletto heels. Her wings outstretched, a delicate tinge of blue to match her icy blue eyes, her white-blonde hair cascading down to her knees. A delicate tail protruded from the curtain of hair, and she shrieked, "What have you done to me?"
"I've made you a succubus, Lucille, and that is your name now." Lucifer gestured again, an iron collar with a red glowing gem appeared at her throat, and two holes appeared in her wrists. "Since you were so inordinately proud of your crucifixion wounds, I've made them permanent. My token on your lovely neck binds you to me; you will be unable to make a move against me." He glanced at Lorelei, "I'll let you have her for a thousand years, at that time your case will be reviewed." He rolled up the scroll, giving it to Lorelei as she escorted her new sister away.
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"Mr. Wayne, I... um..." Theodore Nott said as they rode up.
"You were coerced into joining them," Peter said. "Don't worry about it." The elevator stopped, Peter adding, "This is your stop, Bruce. I've got some things to do with Theodore, I'll see you later."
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Friday, July 27, 2001:
Warsaw, Babice airfield, Arrowhead hangers: 19:49 (GMT +1)
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"You are satisfied, da?" Yvgeny asked the government flight inspector, motioning to the rows of numbered sandbags strapped into the old Aeroflot seats. "We have a good mix I think, 100 kilo bags for the men, 50 kilos for the women, and 25 kilos for the children."
"Fifty passengers," a grizzled old engineer added, waving to the passenger cabin. "Two live pilots, four female crew represented by more sandbags, full water tanks, food is combat rations and more sandbags for the proper mass." He gestured to the equipment bolted in place. "Instrumentation to detect the tiniest air problems, accelerometers for the 'G' forces connected to a wireless network."
"I am satisfied, let us go below," the Polish government man said, sealing the hatch behind him. As he descended the steps, he asked, "What are you calling this?"
"Officially, the CP – 01, but the unofficial name is the 'Gooney Bird', from the old airplane." Yvgeny replied.
"Da, I knew it well," the Pole said. He patted the fuselage ahead of the delta wings, "May this one be as reliable and trouble-free as the old Douglas birds. I do like the separate decks for passengers and crew. While it would be regrettable to lose passengers and crew to terrorism, better to keep the flight crew isolated."
"They have hidden cameras they can observe the passengers with," Yvgeny said, "They can trigger a sleeping gas, the oxygen masks will not work if it is triggered." He climbed up the ladder to the forward air lock, "Comrade, we have the cockpit, aft the engineering spaces and the cargo hold. Where do you wish to start?"
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Saturday, July 28, 2390:
Luna, Grimaldi Crater, 'boneyard', Cassidy Yates: 10:36
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Cassidy whistled tunelessly as she wiggled up behind the equipment rack, happy to get her hands back on her ship. Banging with her hammer in the confined space, she thought back to the screaming confrontation she'd had with her misguided... 'No, that's not honest,' she scolded herself. 'They were doing what they thought was the best thing for me.' She resisted an impulse, the alien doc centuries ago and Alfred had done what they could to fix her mind, but she still retained some definite... urges. Urges that she kept to herself.
'Not in a skinsuit!' she told herself, as she managed to loosen the last bit of the ship's original alien tech. 'A couple hundred years or so sitting here, things are still tight' she mused. Unscrewing the last wire harness, she carefully eased out, so as not to crack her helmet (pressurized repair bays cost money to rent!). Her parents, in a fit of guilt, had given her title to the Yates, and a budget to get him spaceworthy again. She would miss having Alfred aboard though, he had long since moved to Port Oldridge, which he ran as the port master. 'Another problem for me, what am I going to do for a crew? He's too big for me to handle by myself.' she thought.
Unscrewing the black box, and cursing the long-dead designers who had put control racks everywhere, instead of a primary and a backup location like humans did, she stacked it with the others in the cargo cart of her go-trike. She was just securing the cargo net over it when her brother called, "Hey, Cass, got a minute?"
"Sure," she said, hopping over to where Alan was talking with the government inspector. The rented generator truck rocked silently on its wheels in the vacuum. 'It needs to be rebalanced,' Cassidy thought idly as she went by. "What's up?"
"Good news and bad news. The good news is the spaceframe passes inspection." She rocked slightly forward, the way you 'nodded' in a skinsuit (you couldn't always see their heads in the helmet), as he continued, "The bad news, some of the control circuits have degraded the wiring. You'll need to pull new cable and yank the old stuff out." His suit twisted slightly as he shrugged, "You rent a wiring spider for two weeks. It does let you consolidate all the electronics into one rack, though."
"Especially if you're keeping the auto-doc," the government inspector said. "It will free up space in your cabin, you can mount it in one of the vacant control bays. In any case, I'll post my inspection reports to your ship's file on the Net. Give me a call when you're ready for me to come back."
Cassidy 'nodded' again, "I'll do that. I'll reserve a spider for next day time, when I take the old equipment to Greywolf's salvage agent. Did you need to do anything else aboard?"
The inspector's suit twisted as he said, "No, I'm done for now." He touched his suit sleeve, "Four hours to night time. Are you getting your Guild exams then?"
"Studying for them," she replied. "Anything else, Alan?" she asked her brother.
"Go ahead and start," he said, motioning to the distant crater walls, "I'll close up the ship and see you at home. Thank you, Mr. Sanchez."
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