Earth
Harry slowly cooled off during the hours he spent in his study. He researched Pandora, clumsy through sheer unfamiliarity with technology, daydreaming about finding other magic users on the lush planet (the computer could call it a moon all it liked, it was gigantic and supported life so it was a planet) who could send him back to his own time. He kept reflexively turning to look for Ron slacking off or Hermione chewing the inside of her cheek as she researched much more efficiently with a book as thick as her leg. Every time sent a spike of pain, of loss, through his heart. He couldn't help but choose to think of this whole thing as some sort of temporary adventure. He'd find a time-turner, somehow make it work and go back home, to either die with his friends or somehow pull off a rescue of the whole world. But in the mean time?
Pandora.
He really wasn't remotely interested in becoming a soldier. He'd spent enough of his life fighting, being moved around like a powerful, conscripted chess piece, so that was right out. He spent some time investigating whether there really were any tourist options for the planet. Moon. Whatever.
Unfortunately, Mike had been correct in that regard. The only company flying to Pandora was the RDA, which had mining rights. It seemed crazy to Harry that they wouldn't utilise such an obvious tourist trap, or even think about colonisation considering the cesspit that Earth had become. After a while he accidentally discovered that the air on Pandora wasn't actually breathable, which seemed to explain the lack of five star resorts.
So, tourist trips and soldiering were out.
That left science.
Which, on the upside, was something Mr Maine seemed to want Harry to study, seeming to think that the more Harry knew about it, the more useful he'd be. Which, okay, sort of made sense.
Maybe, he wouldn't have to be super smart? Maybe just knowing the basics and being magical would be enough to get him a seat on the next flight out. Hell, maybe if he just asked, he'd get a seat anyway.
It costs 1.2 million dollars, per person, to go to Pandora.
Hmm. Okay. Maybe not.
After a while, Harry had pretty much resigned himself to just learning what he could with a focus on the sciences of the time. A brief browse for the eco activists mentioned by the CEO just got him sites full of hate for the RDA, the government and (it seemed) anyone who was in any way working for them, so he stopped that line of inquiry pretty quickly.
He wondered if that had been Mr Maine's intention.
A few hours after locking himself away, Harry gave in and asked Michael to show him how to access the education software.
Earth - 1 month later
Because Harry was born almost two centuries ago, the RDA required him to complete the entirety of their formalised education series - from pre-primary on up.
The education program itself was pretty good. It would run on the window-tv as well as his computer monitor, reacting to voice commands as well as touch, allowing Harry to continue using it even as he walked around the room, sprawled on the couch or lay on the floor. Apparently the program was designed to adapt to the learner - it kept track of how quickly Harry learnt things and through what method - audio, visual, written, exploration or a combination thereof - and tailored future lessons to include those methods.
As a result, Harry blitzed through most of primary school within a matter of days. To be fair, most of the curriculum hadn't changed too drastically. 2 + 2 was still 4 and the colour red hadn't been re-named 'oura' for example, but it was surprising just how much was different. Harry had never really considered Primary school to have been responsible for much 'real' knowledge, and yet apparently a hell of a lot was supposed to be learned there.
Like how the animal and plant world 'worked'. Mildly simplified local and global history. Simple circuits and other energy systems - some that had been invented long after he'd been put to sleep. Laws and how to behave in society. Even 'how to think' when confronted with advertisements or emotional or non-vocal manipulation. Had this stuff really been taught in school when he was a kid? Some of it seemed familiar, some of it he just 'knew' without knowing how he knew but a lot of it was new and, embarrassingly, interesting. Somehow, the education program made muggle primary school more interesting than most non-practical magic classes he'd been to.
He slowed down when the program hit Late Primary. There was a lot of maths that he was absolutely certain had never been hinted at in his primary school and the science was surely Secondary level by now. Sometimes the sheer mass of stuff he didn't know made him feel small and dumb - he was sixteen, he should know this stuff!
Sometimes it helped when Mike - who really did have a cushy job, considering he spent almost every day in the lounge room watching TV or doing weights in his bedroom - reminded him of the obvious: That a lot could change in 140-odd years.
Mostly, though, Harry just put his head down and kept going.
It was after a week and a half of dedicated study that he finally hit his limit. He wasn't progressing quickly anymore and his brain was complaining at all the new information. After being unable to focus long enough to even finish reading a single paragraph, he took a break.
He spent the next few days doing nothing but channel-surfing. Mike introduced him to a zero-G sport involving some sort of jet-pack and a lot of violence but it was utterly incomprehensible to Harry.
Although he didn't realise it, this was another form of education - on culture. The time he spent watching 'Mary Jane' caught him up on this time period's Oprah equivalent. The sci-fis, the soap operas, the 'trash TV' and the sitcoms... slowly he learned what was going on in the world through entertainment's reflections. He was exposed to the humour of the time, the music, what was 'boner' (another word for 'cool' apparently. One he wouldn't using.) and what wasn't, what was fashionable and what wasn't (though he wouldn't be able to pass a test on that) and who was who in the world of entertainment.
Mike joined him for most of it, throwing out little bits and pieces of information and anecdotes without care, all of which were built into the new network of information that anyone living was expected to know. For the most part, Harry wasn't consciously aware of the importance of the information he was sponging up.
He learned that Europe was now almost completely farmland, utilised not for any one country but for the food needs of one fifth of the globe. Other countries such as Africa and Russia were similarly given over to almost pure food production. The climate changes had ruined some nations, but allowed others to prosper. Previously arid countries were now almost lush. The entire Singaporean belt of islands was underwater and the UAE - once the United Arab Emirites - was now simply the name of a chain of floating man-made islands in that area, each the size of a city whose main export was algae.
Australia had been subjected to massive terra-reformation and was now two separate giant islands instead of just one. The Americas had suffered land loss due to climate change and also a loss of arable land due to over-farming. The dense city out Harry's window was on the new coastline, about half a state away from the city of New York - which was now mostly underwater and had been renamed 'New Venice'.
Global disasters such as volcanoes and hurricanes had actually decreased in severity, after the initial hammering during the worst of the climate change period. Current science was promising weather-controlling stations, permanent leisure colonies on the moon and hinting at the discovery of an Earth-replacement planet 16.27 light years away.
Complete-immersion artificial reality technology existed, but was prohibitively expensive to install and run, so most people just had to book in some time at a dedicated game centre downtown - Mike promised to show him some time. When it came to entertainment, in fact, there seemed to be a shocking amount of it on offer. Over 6000 tv channels to choose from, a massive amount of free and paid gaming programs and machines, a couple of hundred different globally-recognised sports, a mass of hobbies that didn't involve leaving the house...
Which, Harry realised after a while, was exactly the point. The best way to hide the fact that your world was going down the toilet was to encourage people to never go outside and see it.
Time continued on and Harry finally worked out how to operate the food-ordering machine. It turned out that the soup was a pretty standard fare - it was nutritious and available in a range of flavours - from oatmeal to roast pork. It was also available in amounts that Harry could never possibly eat all by himself and was free to RDA workers. Technically, it gave employees a guarantee from starvation. All other food items in the delivery system were rationed tightly - one piece of fruit per week from a list, although extra fruit could be purchased from the shops on level 40 in limited quantity. The price of the fruit was so obscenely high that Harry had all but dragged Mike over to the screen to confirm it - asking comparative questions to try and work out the equivalent cost in his time, before inflation.
It was still obscenely high.
Mike had shrugged, just a tiny bit baffled, as though thinking that fruit being a luxury item was an obvious and normal state. It literally grew on trees!
Except, apparently it didn't. Mostly, it was grown in high-density greenhouse-like labs. After requesting a pear from his weekly allowance, and tasting it, Harry believed it.
There was just something wrong with it. The texture? The shape was... rounder. And it didn't taste like a pear so much as pear-flavoured.
Harry couldn't stand more than a few bites, increasingly put off by an impression of eating nothing but chemicals, but luckily Mike was more than happy to accept his ration.
Harry had also poked around his bathroom a little more. He'd had a bath a couple of times, but mostly just washed himself in the sink rather than take a full shower. The decontamination shower doubled as a normal shower, apparently, but the large black circles that lined the inside of the cramped space frankly creeped him out. He wasn't sure what he was nervous about - it wasn't like they'd kill him, probably, or make sudden loud noises or have cameras hidden behind them...
Yeah, he just felt a little better avoiding it, was all.
After another week of lounging around, avoiding the shower, discovering internet shopping and, accidentally, internet porn, Harry had had quite enough of his glowy-walled apartment.
Without even realising it, he'd been holed up like an animal licking its wounds. He hadn't ventured outside because in a world of loss and unfamiliar things, his apartment was the closest he had to his new normal. To familiar, to safe.
But no more. Harry had always bounced back from massive psychological blows. Sure, he retained a dent or two, got a little broody for awhile and sometimes had anger-management issues, but Harry Potter always put his head down and carried on.
Besides, even Mike and Harry's combined fiddling hadn't been enough to make the walls stop glowing puce.
Harry, feeling out this strange new freedom where he decided where he and his guard went, suggested the park. The speed with which Mike leapt to his feet and gathered his jacket suggested 'about freaking time'.
Harry preceded the man down the glass stairs leading to the entryway, brushing his fingers against his watch to make sure he was wearing it - apparently, it was also his wallet. Having now seen enough modern sitcoms to know that 'masking up' was as common a procedure for leaving the house as putting shoes on, he went ahead and opened the small section of wall by the door which contained disposable masks, taking one out for himself and one for Mike.
Mike himself touched the wall next to the stairs, small ovals lighting up around his fingertips before a new section opened. Harry stared at the array of weapons it revealed, weapons which were now disappearing into Mike's casual clothing with alarming ease.
Harry had never seen Muggle weapons up close before - excluding the gun Mike had had in the hospital. Here were guns and more - knives of several different types, small round discs, some sort of wire, bits of a machine that seemed capable of fitting together, even...
"Grenades?!" He yelped, unable to help himself.
Mike paused, looked at him, then almost sheepishly put them back.
"Yeah. I suppose we won't need them this time." He admitted, touching the wall again so that it closed. Considering the man was already packing enough weaponry to take out a small village, and they were going to the park, Harry considered that to be somewhat of an understatement.
Raising his eyebrows slightly, he paused to let Mike go to the front door first, where the man did something to a tiny screen there - plugging it into his watch, which was a bulkier gauntlet-like version that could do a lot more than Harry's could - before allowing the door to open and preceding his charge into the hallway.
There were more fish in the aquarium today and someone had set the walls to a soothing, blue-green. Harry trailed after Mike as he watched the fish, glad to see something so alive despite the fact that the fish themselves were tiny, plain, silver things.
When they reached the elevator, he jumped forward to call it. The action felt a little childish - unfortunately only after he'd already done it - but a discreet look over his shoulder showed Mike to be in full 'professional mode', with no expression except perhaps watchful readiness.
The lift opened silently and the two entered, Mike manoeuvring to keep himself between the doors and Harry even as he tapped away at his gauntlet-watch. Harry silently lifted up onto his tiptoes to sneak a look, but could only make out a small set of letters being pressed with impressive speed and precision.
"I'm checking in with McGregor." Mike explained without looking over or giving any other sign that he'd been aware of Harry's silent prying.
"Oh." Was all Harry had time to say, before the lift slowed abruptly and the doors slid open once more. Mike watched the two people who entered the way Hedwig used to eye her soon-to-be dinner, but Harry tried a small polite smile from his place behind him. The woman smiled weakly back as she pressed a button but the man just arched an eyebrow at him.
Mike's stare never wavered, however, and the man quickly looked away with a small swallow. The woman inspected her nails and the silence between them all hummed loudly until the lift stopped again - only a few floors down - to let them out.
"I also got him to key your watch into the public transit system." Mike said, as soon as the doors closed behind them. "We'll have to take the link into the RDA hub, then go down a floor and catch the shuttle out to the park."
Harry nodded absently, wondering if the couple had been staring at him or just staring at a teenager with a very obvious bodyguard. The elevator went silent again and he was just thinking that maybe elevator music wasn't so bad after all and how come this elevator didn't have any, when Mike touched his arm lightly to get his attention.
He looked up into serious, dark eyes.
"I just want to give you a heads up." The man said quietly. "I don't think parks today are like what you remember." He hesitated, seeming to want to say something else, but didn't. Instead he turned forwards as the lift slowed abruptly once more and the doors opened to the indoor subway station.
Well, overway station, he supposed.
There were a lot more people milling about purposefully and their single-minded dismissal of every other person around them struck a nostalgic chord in Harry's heart. It was just like being back in the London Underground.
This time Mike stuck close to his side, somehow projecting an invisible get-the-hell-out-of-our-way field that let them slip through the crowd without Mike having to lose sight of him. They joined a pod full of people heading into the RDA office - most were seated but a few were standing around peering intently at little glass PDAs like what Dave used. Every single one of them appeared to not even notice the advertisements glowing and frothing outside as the pod glided smoothly from one building to another. One woman who was seated and had no PDA in hand just sort of stared flatly into space until the blackness of the RDA building enclosed them, whereupon she stood like a well-oiled automaton and filed out with everyone else.
Seriously. London Underground. Transplanted 150 odd years into the future.
He could just hug them all.
Earth
Mike had them put on their masks once they reached the public terminal inside the RDA building. Most people milling around had larger, more permanent apparatus. Some of them had emergency pure oxygen supplies attached, but Harry and Mike's were a relatively simple stretchy-band event that simply filtered the pollution from the air as they breathed in... a more intense, plastic-y version of a surgical mask, he imagined. Harry fiddled with his a bit, the sensation taking a little getting used to, and tried to distract himself with the view from the train's - shuttles, they called them - windows.
Unlike the sleek pod they used before, this really was a train, albeit one whose track ran along the roof. An elongated sardine can that looked and rattled like it was made out of tin foil and reinforced with positive thinking. Every now and then, Harry could see air through gaps in the floor.
Mike didn't seem concerned, so Harry tried to feel confident about being in a speeding metal box of death, high above the ground with neither broom nor magic to catch him in the event of an accident.
...he wasn't too old for accidental magic to kick in, right?
Earth
Mike was correct.
The park wasn't what he'd been expecting.
For one thing, there was no grass. None. At all.
Not even the little scraggly stuff that normally poked up between paving slabs. Not even fake grass.
The entire area was hard and black, like an airport runway. Children hung from a mess of tired-looking coloured pipes to the left - not one of them screaming or laughing, just quietly playing - and others played in painted areas on the right. The smallest children just clustered at their parent's feet, running toy trucks or blocks or dolls along the ground. The parents just smoked - pulling aside their masks for each drag - or wearily spoke amongst themselves.
The park was fenced in by four massive sky scrapers set out like a pentagon missing its base. There were no actual trees, but at some point someone had done their best to paint a forest scape on the walls facing the park. It was tired and flaking.
Harry turned to the presence at his right.
"Really?"
His ever-present bodyguard just inclined his head, watchful eyes continuously scanning the crowd for trouble.
"This is one of the better ones." He said lowly, voice carrying no further than it needed to. "Parks are old-fashioned and they don't get funding. This one is maintained by the people who live in the buildings around it. I've never been here before, but I've heard about it. One of the biggest in the city."
At this news, Harry's jaw simply dropped. He turned again to look out over the dingy, dying, sad excuse for a recreational area.
"Not even weeds..." He murmured. Mike was silent.
Harry shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and shifted his weight. He didn't want to be here anymore. What was the point? The only thing less relaxing would be stuffing his head into a bucket of cement.
Rhythmic noise slowly caught his attention and he stood on tiptoes to try and find the source. About 100 meters away, at one of the other entrances, he could just see a bunch of flat things being shoved up and down into the air.
"Let's go see what's happening." He said, already moving. Mike followed in his wake as Harry picked his way through various clusters of children and teenagers, the older ones bent over glowing devices which he could only assume were similar to mobile phones.
As they got closer, the rhythmic noise resolved itself into the recognisable chant of protesters trying to stir a crowd.
In this example, they were failing.
Men and women in faded green shirts were waving painted sheets and cards in the air as they shouted and called to people entering and exiting the park.
"Bring back The Green!"
"Change the future - today!"
"What have you done for the world lately?!"
There seemed to be little control, with some members of the group just shouting slogans aggressively whilst others tried to plead with passer-bys for money or time or attention. Most people were avoiding eye contact and hurrying past. A few outright glared at them and some seemed to change their mind about entering the park entirely. One lady yelled something about hypocrites and a brawl between her and a green-shirted young man broke out in a heartbeat.
Mike had Harry against a wall and behind him before Harry could even process the fight had begun. He wasn't sure the protection was justified - he was a good fifteen meters away and not involved at all. What was the worst that could happen? Death by uncontrolled poster-board backswing?
"Break it up!"
Harry peered around Mike's protective bulk just in time to see a woman made of muscle with short spiky hair barrel into the fight. She wrenched both participants apart and, despite wearing a green shirt herself, rounded on the man.
"I've had it up to here with you, Jacob! This is exactly the kind of shit we don't need! Piss off back home, now!"
The man obeyed, shooting both women a sour look as he went. The skinny thing he'd been fighting opened her mouth with a nasty look on her face, only to have muscle-woman round on her. "And you can piss off as well!"
For a moment, it looked like the remaining brawler would take her on too - despite being a head shorter and a third as built - until some kind of sense kicked in and she left with a snarl.
The rest of the green shirts barely paid attention to the whole thing. Spiky-haired woman looked around warningly at them, before her eyes caught on Mike and she paused.
Then stormed over.
"Er..." Harry tried, as his bodyguard tensed a bit in readiness.
"The fuck are you doing here, you crazy bastard?" The woman bellowed, mouth twisting into a smile. With an energy bordering on violent, she threw an arm out which Mike caught in a handshake, hand-to-forearm.
This close, Harry could see that her hair stuck up because it was thinning and very light, rather than chemically aided. Also, although the roots were black, the tips were bright pink. Harry privately thought she looked a bit old for that kind of hairstyle, really.
"Working, Mads." Mike returned, no more raising his voice to her than he did Harry. She reacted to that by lowering her own, glancing over his shoulder at Harry once.
"Babysitting? Sweet gig." She quirked her lips, half mocking and half congratulatory.
"It has its moments." Mike replied easily, dropping her hand and never, ever, letting Harry out of his peripheral vision. "I see you stuck with the tree-hugging crap."
The woman snorted. "Feels like I do more fighting here than back in the fold, sometimes." She retorted. She looked tired - bone tired - for a moment. Then she shook it off and directed her full attention to Harry.
"You interested in joining the movement, kid?"
Since she addressed him directly, Harry made a move to step around his guard - who very reluctantly allowed it.
"I'm afraid I don't know anything about it." Harry replied politely, surprised to see her surprise once he began to speak.
"That's an old-school accent there." She shot a look, lightning fast, over his clothes and then to Mike and back. "You old-school money too?"
Harry shrugged, thinking of the piles of rubies and gold sitting in his apartment. Of the reduced value they held. Of a Gringotts vault he probably couldn't even find anymore, assuming it still existed.
"More old-fashioned, than old-school." He moderated. 'Mads' licked her lower lip as her eyes slid from him to Mike and back again.
"Right." She replied smoothly, leaning back and crossing her arms.
"Well, if you're ever looking for something to do with your spare time, look us up." She directed him. "We're listed as 'The Global Liberation Front' but I'm trying to change that. Goddamn stupid name if you ask me, but there it is."
"And what do you do?" Harry asked, glancing over at the people still chanting and badgering people for money.
"More than that." The woman waved a disgusted hand over her shoulder. "I'm only here because I saw them out my window. Fuckin' idiots. No. We're much bigger than that."
She fished a card out of her pocket and handed it over.
"Madeline Roux. If you ever want to do something real, something that matters, give me a call. If not, don't bother - we've got more than enough slogan-shouting holiday members."
Harry glanced at the card and put it in his pocket. Part of him wanted to volunteer right now but a bigger part of him figured he'd be good for nothing but slogan-shouting. She was obviously thinking more along the lines of him being a financier, anyway.
"Good to see you, Mike. Lemme know if you ever want a real job."
Mike smiled stiffly. "Back at you, Mads."
The exchange had the ring of something often said. Harry got the impression that despite their friendship, they had a distinct difference in life philosophies.
Then Mads - or Madeline - was wading back into the mass of green-shirted activists, yelling and confiscating poster boards.
Harry looked around the park again and sighed. He still didn't want to be cooped up at home, but he didn't want to be here anymore, either. He was just about to say as much to Mike when he felt something tugging at his pants.
He looked down to find a tiny child looking straight back up at him. His - or her - dirty face was pale, but awed.
"Are you th' King Ar'fur?"
Harry blinked and lowered himself to a crouch. Now just above eye level for the kid - a girl, if the mangy pink boots were any sign - he asked her what she was talking about.
"You know. Ar'fur. The magic king whos sleepin' 'cept you're not sleepin' an'more. Right? Buddy said you're him."
Harry followed her pointing finger to a couple of teenagers - about his own age, he'd guess - who were looking back at him anxiously. No, not at him - the kid. One of the teenagers was a boy, Harry guessed he was 'Buddy'. None of the three were wearing masks,
"Why would Buddy think I'm King Arthur?" Harry asked curiously, not taking his eyes off the other boy, who met his own and flinched.
"'Cause he saw you on da tv." The tiny girl replied matter-of-factly. Harry paused.
Oh shit. He'd forgotten that bloody reporter and his stupid shoulder gear. Had the whole world seen him wake up angry and lost?
"Well, I'm not King Arthur. Sorry." Harry replied, turning his attention back to the little girl just in time to see her slight frown deepen. "My name is Harry. What's yours?"
"Boxy." The girl said promptly, still frowning reproachfully. "My bru'fur's not a liar!"
Harry closed his eyes and sighed. "I didn't say he was." He soothed patiently. "It probably was me that he saw on the telly. But, I don't know what they said about me. My name is Harry - not Arthur. And I'm not a king. I'm just a guy who fell asleep a long time ago and only just now woke up."
The girl brightened.
"Like Sleepin' Booty!" She declared.
"Er.." Harry tried.
The girl grabbed his hand and twisted around to shout at her brother.
"He's not a king, he's a p'incess!"
"Wha-?!"
Mike cleared his throat.
"Excuse me... your highness."
Harry glared up at him. Mike hid a smirk.
"Just... Be careful. Kids around here can be trouble."
Harry bit back his first reply.
"I'll keep that in mind." He said after a moment. Mike just nodded.
Whilst they were talking, the two teens had edged closer although the girl hung back. The boy stepped forwards and crouched to tug the little girl into his arms.
"S-Sorry about this." He stammered, voice unexpectedly coarse. "I just looked away for a second, and..."
"It's fine." Harry said uncomfortably. "She's... cute." He stood and Buddy stood with him, lifting 'Boxy' to sit on his hip. The boy smiled a little, a soft expression for such a rough-looking guy.
"I... I hope you don' mind me askin'." Buddy continued softly, voice gravelly like a smoker's. "But... you are who I think you are. Right?"
"No." Boxy answered for Harry, leaning her head glumly against her brother's. "He's not King Ar'fur, he's P'incess Harry. Like Sleep'n Booty."
A hacking noise came from the left where the teenage girl still stood and Harry glanced over to see her hunched over like she was coughing - or laughing. Harry rolled his eyes and smiled.
"Actually, I'm neither. I'm Harry - just Harry." He held out a hand to shake. Buddy looked at it for a good second before cautiously taking it and shaking once.
"I'm Buddy." He replied, glancing at Mike. "And this is my sister, Boxy. That's my friend Mia." He nodded over at the girl who didn't say anything and didn't get any closer.
"I know you must get asked this a lot, but..."
Harry waited as the boy seemed to struggle for words.
"Well... how did you do it? Are you... an alien? I mean, all the stations have different theories, but nobody knows anything... just that you were asleep for like a hundred years with no technology, and... was it a hoax? Was it..."
Harry looked at the other boy. Glanced over at the green-shirted people reluctantly breaking up their demonstration. Thought back to Mr Maine's cool acceptance - and dismissal - of everything that he was, of the fate of their world.
He made a decision.
"It was magic." He said honestly, ignoring the flicker of disappointment - of irritation - that followed his reply. Buddy didn't believe him. Maybe even thought he was being mocked.
Harry reached out with gentle fingers to tug at a curl of brown hair which had escaped Boxy's thick, tatty woollen cap.
"It was nice to meet you, Boxy." He said softly, as the hair beneath his fingertips changed colour.
He turned on his heel and left, Mike dogging his steps, as Buddy glanced at where he'd touched his sister and drew a shocked, painful-sounding breath. Harry knew that by now, the girl's entire head of hair would have been affected by the simple rainbow charm.
It was a tiny piece of magic, something any wizard over fifteen would have been capable of wandlessly let alone someone linked to the core of the planet the way he was. Even then, though, he felt the drain.
"I'm in the mood for something that isn't soup." He declared, as they vanished into the crowd back towards the train station. Mike chuckled.
"Can do, boss."
Earth