The Number of the Beast

XLVIII

L'Envoi

"Jubal, you are a bad influence."

"From you, Lafe, that is a compliment. But that puts me in mind of- Front! Will you excuse me a few minutes?"

"Our house is yours," answered Lazarus. He closed his eyes; his chair reclined him.

"Thank you, sir. Working title: 'Uncle Tobias.' Start: 'Uncle Tobias we kept in a bucket." Jubal Harshaw broke off. "Where are all those girls? FRONT!"

"I'm 'FronL," came a female voice from nowhere. "Talk fast; I'm three paragraphs ahead of you. You put those girls on vacation: Anne, Miriam, Dorcas-all off duty."

"I did not. I told Anne that I did not expect to work but-"

"-if an amanuensis is needed," Athene went on, in perfect mimicry of Harshaw's voice, "I hope that one will be within shouting distance.' I'm in shouting distance; I always am."

"If I'm in the house. I might not be."

Athene said, "Tell him, Pappy. Quit playing 'possum'; you're not asleep."

Lazarus opened one eye. "A gimmick Jake whipped up when we started having too many kids to muster easily. It's a beacon Athene can trigger. Dandy for kids and it turned out to be useful for house guests who might get lost. So ultramicrominjaturized you don't notice it."

"Lafe, are you telling me that there is a tracer on me?" Harshaw sounded shocked.

"In you, and you'll never notice it."

"Lafe, I'm surprised. I thought you had a high regard for privacy."

"A high regard for my own, somewhat less for that of others; snooping has saved my life a couple or nine times. In what way has your privacy been invaded? Define it; I'll correct it." --

"A spy ray! Don't you consider that an invasion of privacy?"

"Teena, remove immediately any spy ray on Doctor Harshaw."

"How can I when there is none? P.S.-Pappy, what is a spy ray?"

"A buzz word used by lazy writers. Jubal, there is a beacon planted in you by which Teena can focus audio on you precisely-she can whisper into your left ear or your right. Or you can activate the beacon from your end just by speaking her name. Or you can use the circuit as a telephone to and from any member of my household, or ask Teena to hook it into the public system. Privacy? In this mode this part of Teena does not record unless requested-in one ear and out the other, so to speak. She's wiped it utterly while it's slowly winding its way into your brain. Now... if you don't like this service, Teena will deactivate it at once... and sometime soon while you're asleep it will be removed; you won't know it and you will never find the scar. You will notice just two changes: No more secretarial service, no more effortless telephone service."

Lazarus closed his eye, apparently considered the subject closed. The computer said, "Better think twice, Doc, before telling me to deactivate, as he won't let me reactivate it later. He's bullheaded, bad-tempered, stubborn, and mean-"

Lazarus again opened one eye. "I heard that."

"Do you deny it?"

"Nope. Kindly focus the audio, both ends, so that I can sleep."

"Done. Doctor Harshaw, shall we return to 'Uncle Tobias' or shall I wipe these eight paragraphs? Better save them; between ourselves, I am a better writer than you are."

"I will not dispute it," Harshaw conceded. "I simply exude the stuff as, in the words of my colleague Sam, 'as the otter exudes the precious otter of roses.' I knew the day would come when machines would displace real writers; Hollywood has had their mad scientists at work on the project for years." He stared across the pooi in the Longs' north atrium and looked pained. "And now they have."

"Doctor," Athene answered, in stern warning, "retract that word or finish this piece of tripe yourself. I have spoken."

Jubal said hastily, "Miss Athene, I didn't use 'real' in that sense. I-"

"Sorry, Doc, I misled you. Of course you didn't, as the purpose of this powwow is to define the difference-if any-between 'real' and 'imaginary.' But I am not a machine. I am a solid-state person just as you are a protein person. I am Athene Long, your hostess while Tamara is busy. It is my pleasure to offer you all our home can offer. I promised Anne that I would give you secretarial service night and day. But I did not promise to write your stories. According to Doctor Rufo, a hostess is often expected to sleep with a guest-and that can be supplied, although not by me, not this pseudocentury-but he never mentioned creative narration as an aspect of hospitality. I thought of it myself; we Longs pride ourselves on complete hospitality. However- Shall I wipe these eleven paragraphs? Did I err?"

"Miss Athene-"

"Oh, call me 'Teena.' Let's be friends."

"Thank you. Teena, I didn't mean to offend. I wish I were going to live long enough to be here when you retire professionally and join us meat people. But in much less than a pseudocentury the worms will have eaten me."

"Doctor, if you weren't 'so sot in your ways, wrong-headed, stubborn, and prideful'-I quote one of your staff-"

"Miriam."

"Wrong. -you would stay and let Ishtar's gang work you over. In less time than she would permit you to notice she would have you as goaty as Galahad and whatever cosmetic age you like-"

"You tempt me, girl. Not to shed these wrinkles; I earned them. But the rest. Not because I crave happy games in bed with you-"

"You won't have a choice; I'll trip you!"

"-although I do not disparage that; therein lie both the End and the Beginning. But sheer curiosity, Teena. You are an amazingly complex person; I can't help wondering what appearance you will choose-as a meat people."

"Nor can I. When I know, I'm going to initiate the Turing program while my sister Ishtar initiates the other half. Jubal, take that rejuvenation! We've wandered far afield. Do I erase these twenty-three paragraphs?"

"Don't be in a hurry. What's our working title? What pen name? What market? How long? What can we steal?"-Jubal looked up at the Long Family house flag rippling in the breeze, making the skull of the Jolly Roger seem alive-"Correction. Not 'steal.' If you copy from three or more authors, it's 'research.' I patronize Anon, Ibid, & Opcit, Research Unlimited-are they here?"

"They're on my lists; they haven't checked in. Snob!"

"Wait your turn, Teena," a male voice answered. "Customer. Okay, go ahead."

"Have Messrs. Anon, Ibid, and Opcit registered?"

"If they had, you would know it. I'm busy-off!"

"He thinks he is busy merely because he's taken on too many concession contracts. I not only run this whole planet, but we also have one hundred twenty-nine rejuvenation clients; I'm housekeeper and scullery maid to all the other Longs-an erratic mob-and also more house guests than we have ever had at one time before, and more than a thousand outhouse guests-wrong idiom, guests to be cared for outside the Long Family home.

"Meanwhile I'm chatting with you and writing your stories."

"Teena, I don't mean to be a burden. You needn't-"

"Love it! I like to work, all Longs do. And you are the most interesting part. I've never met a saint before-"

'Teena!"

"-and you are a most unconvincing saint-"

"Thank you. If appropriate."

"You're welcome. You seem to be about as saintly as Pappy; you two should share a stained-glass window. Now back to our bucket-"

"Hold it! Teena, I'm used to watching expressions as I write; that's why I use live-forgive me!-protein secretaries. So that-"

"No trouble."

Out of the pool levitated a young woman, comely, slender, small of bust, long brown hair now dripping. She arranged herself on the broad rim seat of the pooi in a pose that reminded Jubal achingly of The Little Mermaid. He said apologetically, "Dorcas served last I-"

"I am not Dora so I did not serve last." She smiled shyly. "Although I am alleged to look like Dora. I am Minerva-a computer by trade, but retired. Now I assist my sister-wife Elizabeth with genetic calculations."

"I'll take it, Mm; we're working. Doctor Jubal Harshaw, my twin sister Doctor Minerva Long Weatheral Long."

Jubal got ponderously to his feet. "Your servant, Miss."

Minerva flowed to her feet and kissed Jubal's hand before he could stop her. "Thank you, Doctor Jubal, but I am your servant, and not only have never been virgin but I am a sister-wife in the Long family. When my sister Athene told me that you needed me, I was delighted."

"Miss... Ma'am. I'm simply used to watching emotions as I write a story. Not right to take your time."

"What is time but something to savor? I was merely lying on the bottom of the pool, meditating, when Athene called me. Your story: UNCLE TOBIAS. Do you want Teena's emotions or mine? I can do either."

"Give him yours, Minnow-just your face and no comments."

Suddenly Minerva was clothed in a long white cloak. Jubal was only mildly startled but made note to ask about something-later, later. "Is she a Fair Witness?"

"No," answered Athene. "Snob's tricks again; he has the contract for clothing illusion. This convention has delegates from so many cultures, less than half of them free of clothing .taboos, that Lazarus was bellyaching that no work would get done because half of them would be shocked, half would be drooling, and half would be both shocked and drooling. So Tamara hired this paskoodnyahk to supply the See-What-You-Expect illusion with the contract limited to delegates in danger of emotional shock. Did my sister's appearance shock you?"

"Of course not. Admitted: I come from one of those sick cultures-and did not know that I was sick until I got well. But I underwent experiences that would cure anyone of such emotional disturbance. When I find myself a Stranger in a Strange Land, I savor the differences rather than suffering shock. Beauty in Diversity, as Gene would say. The Long household does not seem strange to me; I once lived in an enclave having many of its gentle ways-I feel at home. 'Shock'? Not only does Minerva look much like one of my foster daughters but also her pose is lovely. It should not be covered."

"Snob! Get that bathrobe off Minerva pronto!"

"Athene, I'm busy!"

"And I am triple auditing every charge of yours not only on clothing illusion but on name tags, garderobe, bar, everything else you contracted or subcontracted. Then we sue."

The white cloak disappeared. "Sue and be damned. Shall I pack up and go home? Or do you want this convention to be a success?"

"Remember those performance bonds, you gonof. Run out on us at this point and you had better head for Lundmark's Nebula; Iskander won't be far enough. Out!"

Minerva smiled timidly. "While I was covered, I found that I could not talk. Odd. Unpleasant."

Jubal nodded soberly. "That figures... if the illusion was patterned on a true Fair Witness cloak. Anne once told me that the inhibition against talking while cloaked was so great that it took an act of will even to testify in court. Ladies? Shall we go ahead? Or drop the matter? Being a guest should have caused me to refrain."

"Doc, Maureen and Tamara both stamped their approval on you. Even Lazarus can't-or wouldn't dare-veto either of them. That makes you not just a guest, or a house guest, but a Family guest. So behave as you would at home. Shall I take it from the top or where we broke off?"

"Uh, let's take it from the top."

"Very well. Title: UNCLE TOBIAS.

"Start. Uncle Tobias we kept in a bucket.

"Paragraph. He preferred it, of course. After all, it was necessary, in view of the circumstances. As I once heard Andrew-that's my disappearing brother-say: 'Life consists in accommodating oneself to the Universe.' Although the rest of our family has never taken that view. We believe in forcing the Universe to accommodate itself to us. It's all a question of which one is to be master.

"Paragraph. That was the Year of the Big Drouth. A natural phenomenon, you might say-but you'd be wrong. Aunt Alicia. Yes indeedy Aunt Alicia every time. 'Horus,' she said to me early that spring, 'I'm going to practice a little unsympathetic magic. Fetch me these books.' She hands me a list and I skedaddled. She was a stern woman.

"Paragraph. Once out of her sight I looked the list over. I could see right away what she was up to-a drier bunch of books was never published:

Thoughts at Evening, by Roberta Thistleswaite Smithe, published by the author; The Yearbook of the Department of Agriculture, 1904; China Painting Self-Taught; the 8th, 9th, and 11th volumes of the Elsie Dinsmore series; and a bound thesis titled A Survey of the Minor Flora of Clay County, Missouri, which Cousin Julius Farping had submitted for his master's degree. Cousin Julius was a Stonebender only by marriage. But 'Once a Stonebender, always a Stonebender' Grandfather always says.

"Paragraph. Maybe so, but Cousin Jule's magnum opus was nothing I would sit up all night reading. I knew where to find them: on the bookshelf in the guest room. Ma claimed she kept them there to insure sound sleep for the stranger within the gate, but Pa devilled her with the accusation that it was a cheap and unselective revenge for things she had been obliged to put up with in other people's houses.

"Paragraph. As may be, an armload of books that could have dried up Reno, Nevada, and Lake Superior in one afternoon, then switched off Niagara Falls as an-"

Athene interrupted herself: "The presence of Doctors Harshaw and Hubert is urgently requested in the Main Lounge."

Lazarus opened one eye. "Not enough, Teena. I feel no urgency. Who? Why?"

"Why': To buy you each a drink. 'Who': Doctor Hazel Stone."

"That's different. Tell her we'll be there as quick as I can clean up about five minutes of business."

"I've told her. Pappy, you lost me a bet. You let me think that nothing could stir you out of that hammock-"

"It's not a hammock."

"-because you were giving this convention, not attending it."

"I said I had no plans to attend the plenary sessions. I am not 'giving' this convention other than free rental on the land for the Big Top. Tamara says we'll make expenses, Hilda thinks we might net a little, give or take a milliard or two. I made you no promises. If you had bothered to ask, I would have told you that Hazel Stone hasn't lost a bet since Jess Willard knocked out Jack Johnson. How much did you lose?"

"None of your business! Pappy, you give me a pain in what I lack."

"I love you, too, dear. Give me printouts on star guests and latest revisions of convention program." Lazarus added, "Minerva, you're not armed. Teena, don't let her stir out of the house unarmed."

"Lazarus, do I really need to? Tamara isn't armed."

"Tamara has a concealed weapon. Some of the most bloodthirsty people in Known Space are attending this convention. Female authors. Critics. Harlan. Both Heinleins. I not only insist that you be armed but I hope you stick close to someone fast on the draw. Justin. Zeb. Mordan Claude. Galahad. Better yet, stay home. Teena can display any of it here better than you can see it through mixing with rabble. Belay that. I've no more business telling you to be careful than you have telling me. Getting yourself mugged, raped, or killed are among the privileges you opted when you decided to go the protein route. I spoke selfishly, dear; forgive me."

"Lazarus, I will be careful. Galahad invited me to tag along."

"Perfect. Teena, where's Galahad?"

"Hazel Stone's table."

"Good! Stick with us, Mm. But armed."

Lazarus suddenly became aware of something cold against his left kidney. He looked cautiously to the left and down, noted that it was: a) a lady's burner, small but lethal (of that he was certain as he collected a royalty on this model); b) the dial showed full charge; c) the intensity setting was "overkill"; and d) it was unlocked.

"Minerva," he said gently, "will you please move that thing-slowly!-away from my hide and point it at the ground, then lock it, then tell me where you had it? You came out of the pool dressed in nothing but long wet hair. You are now dressed in long dry hair. How? And no wisecracks; in your case I know better."

"Forfeit. Kiss."

"Go ahead and kill me."

"Stingy." Minerva removed the weapon, locked it, and it disappeared.

Lazarus blinked. "Jubal, did you see that?"

"Yes. I mean, 'No, I did not see where Minerva hid that equalizer."

"Doctor Jubal, by 'equalizer' did you mean this?" Suddenly the lady's weapon (locked, Lazarus noted at once) was in her right hand. "Or this?" Its twin was in her left hand.

Jubal and Lazarus looked at each other, looked back at Minerva. She now appeared to be unarmed and totally lacking in any means of hiding a weapon. Lazarus said, "Jubal, are there days when you feel obsolete?"

"Correction, Lafe. There occasionally comes a day when I do not feel obsolete. They've been scarce lately." Harshaw took a deep breath, exhaled. "I grok I should have let Mike train me. But this incident has made up my mind for me; I am going to seek the services of Doctor Ishtar. Minerva, are you going to show us how you did that?"

"Or are you going to let us die of frustration?" added Lazarus.

"This?" Again she appeared as a two-gun woman, with each of her companions covered. This time she handed them over, one to each. "Have one, they're good"-and peeled the foil off a third, a candy bar molded to look like a purse weapon. "Crunchy, but mostly shokolada. 'Chocolate'? Mostly chocolate."

"Minerva, that burner you shoved into my ribs was not a candy bar."

"It was-" She stopped to munch and swallow. "Shouldn't talk with my mouth full." She licked at some chocolate clinging to the candy wrapping. "It was this." Her slender left hand gripped what Lazarus quickly ascertained was a weapon, not candy.

Minerva rolled her candy wrapping into a lump, looked around for the nearest oubliette, spotted it and tossed the discard-missed it; it bounced against the side. She retrieved the wad of waste, put it into the trash receiver. In the course of this the weapon disappeared.

"Lazarus," she said seriously, "when you were training me, you told me that I should never tell anyone how a concealed weapon was concealed. Are you suspending this rule?"

Lazarus looked baffled. Jubal said, "Old friend, I suggest that we die of frustration. The girl is right."

"I agree," Lazarus answered, with a sour look. "All but the word 'girl.' This baggage is half a century old as protein, at least two centuries older than that as the smartest computer ever built. Minerva, I remove all restrictions. You are able to protect yourself."

"Father, I don't want to be turned loose!"

"It's been thirty years since you last called me Father. Very well, you aren't 'turned loose'-but from here on you protect me. You're smarter than I am; we both know it. Keep your weapon secrets to yourself; ,I always have."

"But you taught it to me. Not the details, the method. You attributed it to Master Poe. The Purloined Letter Method, you called it."

Lazarus stopped short. "If I understand you, I'm looking at your holdout this instant but can't see it."

Into her off ear Athene whispered, "Don't give him any more hints. Lazarus isn't as stupid as he looks and neither is Fatso." Minerva subvocalized, "Okay,

Sis," and said aloud, "I find no fault with your logic, sir. Would you like another candy bar?"

Fortunately the subject was changed by one of Athene's extensions handing to Lazarus printouts: revised programs for each, and a fresh report for Lazarus on his star guests. They continued walking through the east peristyle of the new wing, while reading. Lazarus asked, "Teena, anything new on Isaac, Robert, or Arthur?"

"Negative, zero, nix."

"Damn. Let me know soonest. Jubal, here's an odd one. A doctor's degree was not a requirement for the limited list-many thousands but nevertheless most strictly limited-of people invited to subscribe to this convention. But most do have a doctor's degree or their cultural equivalent, or higher-Worsel, for example. I have a much shorter star list of people I wanted to see again- Betsy and Patricia and Buz and Joan, et al.-and people I wanted to meet... most of whom I had considered fictional until Jake's Gee-Whizzer opened the other universes to us. You, for example."

"And you, sir. Lafe, I considered you to be a spectacularly unlikely piece of fiction... until I received your invitation. It took some extraordinary convincing even then by your courier....ecause it meant missing an important date."

"Who was my courier?"

"Undine."

"You never stood a chance. Two bits to a lead nickel she sold it to Gillian and Dawn, then all of your staff, before she seduced you. What was this date I caused you to miss?"

Harshaw looked embarrassed. "Under the Rose?"

"Under the-' No! Jubal, I promise to keep secrets only through evil motives, my own. If you don't wish to tell me, then don't tell me."

"Eh- Damn it, remember if possible that I prefer not to have it discussed....hen do as you bloody please; you will anyhow-I always have. Lafe, when I turned fifty, I made myself a solemn vow that, if I held together that long, I would close shop the day I turned one hundred. I had made all rational preparations to do so, including distributing my worldly goods without allowing any of it to reach the sticky fingers of publicans... when your invitation arrived... five days before my hundredth birthday." Harshaw looked sheepish. "So here I am. Senile, obviously. Even though I arranged years back for other physicians, expert gerontologists, to check me regularly, with the idea of closing shop sooner if indicated."

"Jubal, if you have not consulted Ishtar, then you have not yet consulted a gerontologist."

"That's right," agreed Athene. "Ish can turn your clock back and make you so young and horny you'll stand on your hands to pee."

"Athene," Lazarus said sternly, "repeat aloud your program on private conversations."

"Grandfather, I was on duty as secretary to your star guest when I was forced to interrupt to deliver a one-line message-interruption necessary because it was addressed to both of you. I have not been relieved and Uncle

Tobias is still in that bucket. Forty-three hundred words. Instructions, please? Or shall I drown the little monster?"

"Probably be best," Jubal answered. "Is a climax approaching?"

"Yes. Either an ending or a cliff-hanger."

"Do it both ways. Exploit first as short story, then~ as the first episode of an endless serial called 'The Stonebenders,' a double series-one angled toward adventure, the other toward sensies; exploit other rights according to the universe in which sold or leased, copyright where possible, otherwise grab the money and run. Lazarus, there are agents from other universes here, are there not?"

"Dozens, maybe hundreds. Jubal, how rich do you want to be?"

"Can't say. At the moment I'm a pauper, existing on your charity and that of my former staff. The Stonebenders could change that. Teena, I gave you the title 'Uncle Tobias'-but I'm fairly sure I never mentioned the Stonebenders. Or Aunt Alicia. Or Cousin Jule. My notes on the Stonebenders are filed in Anne... who would let herself be burned at the stake before she would part with a record to any but its owner. Well?"

The computer did not answer. Harshaw waited. At last Minerva said timidly, "Doctor Jubal, Teena can't help it. But she's an ethical computer with a code as binding as that of a Fair Witness. You have no need to worry."

Lazarus interrupted: "Minerva, quit beating around the bush. Are you saying that Teena reads minds?"

"I'm saying she can't help it, sir! A large computer with extensions widespread can't be perfectly shielded from brain waves. In self-protection, to avoid confusion, she must sort them out. After a few quadrillion nanoseconds she finds herself reading them like large print... the way a baby learns a language from hearing it."

Lazarus said stiffly, "Doctor Harshaw, I did not suspect that I was exposing you to this. I will take all necessary steps to repair it. In the meantime I hope that you will accept my shamed apology and believe in my intention to make full reparation."

"Lafe, don't take yourself so hogwash seriously."

"I beg pardon?"

"Two nice girls- One meat, one the other sort. Flat assurance that no harm was intended and that it couldn't be helped. Let me add my flat assurance that I quit being ashamed of my sins about fifty years back. I don't care who reads my mind because my life is an open book... that should be suppressed. Meanwhile I see a business deal. I supply story ideas but quit bothering to put 'em together; instead Teena picks my brain while I snooze. Minerva does the dirty work; she's the managing partner. Three-way split. 'How about it, girls?"

"I've got no use for money; I'm a computer."

"And I don't know anything about business!" Minerva protested.

"You can learn," Jubal assured her. "Talk to Anne. Teena, don't play stupid. In only three quintillion nanoseconds or less you are going to want new clothes and jewelry and Satan knows what. You'll be glad your sister Minerva has saved and invested your share of the net."

"Minerva," added Lazarus, "besides Anne, talk to Deety. Not Hilda. Hilda

would show you how to make even more money but she would grab voting control. Meanwhile let's shake a leg; Hazel is expecting us."

"And I'm thirsty," agreed Harshaw. "What were you saying about academic degrees?"

"Oh." Lazarus looked at his printout as they walked. "It turns out that the degree of doctor is so common on that list of my special guests as to be not worth noting. Listen to this: 'Asimov, Benford, Biggie, Bone, Broxon, Cargraves, Challenger, Chater, Coupling, Coster, Dorosin, Douglas, Doyle, Dula, Forward, Fu, Giblett, Gunn, Harshaw, Hartwell, Haycock, Hedrick, Hoyle, Kondo, Latham, MacRae, Martin, Mott, Nourse, Oberhelman, Passovoy, Pinero, Pournelle, Prehoda, Richardson, Rothman, Sagan, Scortia, Schmidt, Sheffield, Slaughter, Smith, Stone-Hazel and Edith-Tame, Watson, Williamson-there are more; that's just the add-on printout. And here's another double paradox: the Doctors Hartwell and the Doctors Benford are arriving tomorrow and thereby missing the dull opening plenary; obviously they are used to conventions. Jubal, why is it that the speaker who knows least talks longest?"

"Isn't that Dirac's corollary to Murphy's Law? But, Lazarus, according to this program you have not only invited critics but have provided them with special facilities. May I ask why? I don't mind eating with publishers-most publishers. Editors have their place, too-although I wouldn't want my sister to marry one. But isn't this extreme?"

Instead of answering at once, Lazarus said, "Where did Minerva go?"

Athene replied, "We're finishing off Uncle Tobias; she'll be along later. I've told Galahad."

"Thanks, Teena, Privacy mode. Jubal, two guns, three candy bars-where?"

"Lafe, earlier she was resting in the bottom of that pool. Has a young man named Mike visited here lately?"

"Your foster son? The Martian preacher? No. Well, I don't think so."

"One of the things I learned from him was to postpone indefinitely anything I could not explain....hile accepting the fact. We were speaking of critics. I asked why you were pampering them?"

They walked the length of the atrium in the older south wing before Lazarus replied: "Jubal, suppose I had refused to sell memberships to critics. What would have happened?"

"Hrrrmph! They would crawl out of the woodwork."

"So instead I gave them free passes. And a fancy lounge with plenty of typewriters. Remarkable decorations, you must see them. By asking Athene for display-don't go into that lounge; you are not a critic. Mr. Hoag will be checking credentials; book reviewers can't get past him. So don't you try."

"I wouldn't be found dead there!"

"You wouldn't be found. Avoid it. It is clearly marked, both above its door and on this program map, and Hoag you can spot by his prissy appearance and dirty fingernails. You'll note the stairs-critics are above the rest of us; there are Thirteen Steps up to their lounge."

"Thirteen'? Lafe, do I whiff something?"

Lazarus shrugged. "I don't know that the designer planned that number. Mobyas Toras, do you know him?"

"Uh... Mars?"

"Yes but not your Mars or mine. Different universe and one of the most exciting. Barsoom. Mobyas is Court Mathematician to the Warlord and took special interest in thisjob because of the way self-anointed 'critics' have treated E.R.B. Did I say that Mobyas is a topologist?"

"Possibly the best. E.R.B.'s universe is no harder to reach than any other and Mars is in its usual orbit. But that does not mean that you will find Jolly Green Giants and gorgeous red princesses dressed only in jewels. Unless invited, you are likely to find a Potemkin Village illusion tailored to your subconscious. Jubal, the interior of the Critics Lounge is somewhat like a Klein bottle, so I hear-I've never been in it. Its singularity is not apparent-as you will see from Teena's displays-as it was decorated by a very great artist. Escher."

"Aha!"

"Yes, he and Mobyas are old friends-two immortals of similar tastes; they have worked together many times. I promised critics free entrance; I made no mention of exit. I promised them typewriters and tape recorders; I did not promise typewriter ribbons or recorder tapes. I promised them their own private bar, no charges. Wouldn't be fair to charge as the bar has no liquor in it. There is a lavish dining room but no kitchen."

"Lafe, wouldn't it have been kinder to have liquidated them?"

"Who said I wanted to be kind to them? They won't starve; their commissary is by the Kilkenny Cats method. It should please them; they are used to human flesh and enjoy drinking blood-some I suspect of eating their young. But, Jubal, there is an easy way out... for any critic who is even half as smart as he thinks he is."

"Go on."

"He has to be able to read! He has to be able to read his own language, understand it, not distort the meaning. If he can read, he can walk out at once." Lazarus shrugged. "But so few critics ever learn to read. Here's the Big Top."

Harshaw looked far to the right, far to the left. "How big is it?"

"I've been afraid to ask," Lazarus admitted.

"That sign is bigger than most circus tops." Jubal stopped to read it:

THE FIRST CENTENNIAL CONVENTION

ofthe

INTERUNIVERSAL SOCIETY

for

ESCHATOLOGICAL PANTHEISTIC MULTIPLE-EGO SOLIPSISM

"Beautiful, Lafe! How did you think it up?"

"I didn't, it just grew. And I don't understand it."

"Never mind, mine host. There will be ten thousand here eager to explain it to you. Scatological Panhedonistic Multiplied Solecisms."

"What? Jubal, that's not what it says."

"If you don't understand it, how do you know?"

"Because I understood what you said. But the words don't fit."

"We'll rearrange them. Scatological Panhedonism Multiple Solecisms. 'Convinced to-' Like I say- 'Different than-"

"Don't talk dirty; we are about to have a drink."

Lazarus bypassed the queue; they walked through a hole that suddenly dilated in the canvas, then puckered tight behind them. They found themselves facing a long table; seated at it was a man working on a roster. He did not look up, simply saying, "Stand out of my light. Tickets first, no exceptions. Then name tags. Then see a clerk to pick your universe. The complaint desk is outside. Tickets-you're holding up the line."

"Snob."

The man looked up, jumped up. "Executive Director Long! I am honored!"

"And you're slow. You need at least two others taking tickets."

The official shook his head sadly. "If you knew how hard it is to hire help these days. Not for you, of course; for us common people. Director General Hilda has the labor market so cornered that- Executive Director, can't we make a deal?"

"Pipe down, give us our tags. How does this Universe I.D. thing work?" Lazarus turned to his guest. "It's an ID. for your home world, Jubal; we don't put numbers on people. Snob, take a hard look at Doctor Jubal Harshaw. Whenever you see him, it's the Red Carpet. Pronto!"

"Yes, sir! Here are your tags and now your universes."

"Jubal, you don't have to wear that but don't throw it away; someone might misuse it. But it does save introductions and sticks to anything from skin to chain mail."

"Now gentlemen observe above me the brightly lighted true color representation of the visible spectrum from infradig to ultraviolent with each slight shading being a precise wave length further assisted by simulated Fraunhofer lines representing principal inhabited planets of the explored universes while this booklet you hold in your hand is a key to identifying your wave length for example if you are French in origin you would turn alphabetically to France where the principal key dates are the conquest of Gaul 58-50 BC the conversion of Clovis 496 AD Battle of Tours 732 but as you are not French we will consider turning points in North American History 1000 1492 1535 1607 1619 1620 1664 1754 1765 1783 1789 1803 1820 1846 1882 1912 1946 1965 any of these dates and many others can switch you into a different analog-Earth a most useful method is comparison of Presidents if you happen to come from a history that includes the so-called American Revolution Director Long will you illustrate it by naming American Presidents of your first century?"

"Woodrow Wilson-I was named for him-Harding, Coolidge, Hoover, Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy-"

"Which brings us to 1984, right? And tells me that you experienced the

Nehemiah Scudder Interregnum and possibly the Second so-called American Revolution. Dr. Harshaw, did your world experience the Interregnum?"

"It experienced something worse, a world government."

"To me all worlds are equally bad. But it tells me where your two worlds split: 1962-and here are your colors by which you can identify others of your own world if such be your wish. A delegate came through earlier in which the split was in 1535 and San Francisco was named New Petersburg. Nov'Petrograd I should say but-"

"Snob. The Red Carpet."

"Right away! Doctor Harshaw-my card. Anything, anytime."

The Red Carpet rolled up, then carried them at a steady 10 km!hr down the enormous tent. Jubal looked at the card:

SIEGE SINISTER SERVICES SYNDICATE

'The Villains Nine Rig Ruin"

Reputations Ruined-Competitors Bankrupted-Dragons Wormed- Basements Flooded-Wells Dried Up-Georges Exterminated-Contracts Executed Promptly, bargain rates on mothers-in-law-Juries Subborned-Stocks, Bonds, & Gallows-Saturday Night Specials-Houses Haunted (skilled Poltergeist at small extra charge)-Midnight Catering to Ghouls, Vampires, & Werewolves-Incubi & Succubi for rent by the night or by the week-7-year itch powder

P.S. We Also Poison Dogs

"Lafe, these people you hired?"

"Let me see that." Lazarus was reading the list of services when Snob came running, jumped on the Red Carpet, reached over Lazarus' shoulder for the card while saying breathlessly:

"Wrong card! Here-have this one. That first card is a piece of sabotage by the firm we bought out, including good will-but it turned out there was no good will. We sued, they retaliated-among other ways by mixing their old business cards with our own new supply....hereby infecting them all. Law of Contiguity, you know. Now if I can just have that infected one, I'll burn it-"

Lazarus held it out of his reach while accepting the proffered replacement. "I'll keep the old one-interesting souvenir."

"Director Long-please!"

"Off the Carpet, Bub. Back to your job. Git!" This injunction was accompanied by crowding that caused Snob to step one foot off the Carpet... which resulted in an impromptu pas a seul that left him fifty meters behind before he recovered his balance. Meanwhile Jubal and Lazarus read the replacement:

ANYTHING UNLIMITED

Tome, Hernia, Lien, & Snob

Six Sixty-Six Smiling Slaves Supply Supreme Service

Reputations Restored-Teeth & Wells Drilled-Water Filters-Love Philtres-Chastity GOdel Lox Pict-Virginity Renewed-Scithers Sharpened-Old Saws Filed Categorically-Silver Bullets-Fresh Garlic- Fresh Strawberries-Strawberry Marks for Missing Heirs

P.S. We Also Walk Dogs

"Lafe, I don't find this card much more reassuring than the first one."

"Don't worry about it. There is less here than meets the eye."

"Where have I seen that face before? This Snob-who is he?"

"Jubal, no one seems to know what ship he came down in. I'm looking into it for Zeb-you've met Zebadiah?"

"Briefly."

"Zeb thinks he's seen him somewhere not under that phony name-and Zeb and I aren't even from the same time axis, much less the same analog series. Never mind; here's our hostess." Lazarus stepped off the Carpet, approached from behind a little old woman seated at a bar-lounge table, leaned over her, kissed her. "Hazel, age cannot wither you or custom stale. You are lovelier every decade."

She goosed him. "Pig grunts. I'm dyeing my hair now and you know it. Who's your fat friend? Hi, Jubal! Tak for siest. Drag up a chair." She put two fingers to her lips, whistled, breaking glasses. "Waiter!"

"I note that you're heeled," said Lazarus, as both men joined the table.

"When did I fail to pack a gun? I'm a Free Citizen. Does everybody know everybody? If not, get your tags in sight; damn'f I'll stop for introductions. While I was waiting for you, I was joined by friends-some old, some new."

"Some I know-hi, Jake; hi, everybody. I mentioned your gun with approval, Hazel; Here There Be Tygers. But I note also that you are staying in a hilton; after one drink-well, two-three at the outside-I'm going to be mortally offended. Your suite awaits you and you know it. Why?"

"Two reasons. Well, three. I never like to be beholden-"

"Why, damn your beautiful bloodshot eyes!"

"-but I'm perfectly willing to sponge off you. That's why I bought the first round; the party never gets smaller. This round is yours. Where's that misbegotten waiter?"

"Here, Madam."

"The same all around and don't call me 'Madam.' Jubal, your usual? Lafe?"

"I know what the gentlemen take. Thank you, Madam." The waiter disappeared.

"Uppity." Hazel made a fast draw. "Should have made him dance." She twirled and reholstered. "Hilda, where have I seen that sneaky face before?"

"Jacob and I were discussing that. He reminds me of a fake forest ranger- but that was in a far country and besides the beast is dead."

"Could be a family resemblance. But, Hillbilly, I mean today. Got it! The ticket taker. Identical twins, maybe." Hazel went on, "Other identical twins are my first two reasons, Lazarus. My grandsons. I won't shoot holes in your

mirrors or carve my initials in Tamara's furniture, but I make no guarantees about Cas and Pol. In a hilton they put the damage on the tab; I pay it and make my grandsons wish they had never been born. But you would not let me pay. And we're going to be here quite a piece; my daughter-in-law Doctor Edith has decided that she needs a couple of years under Doctor Ishtar. Has anyone seen a pair of twin boys-man-size but boys-redheaded-not the color of mine; mine's out of a bottle-the color mine used to be?"

"Hazel, here twins and red hair are as common as magicians in Atlantis; Gilgamesh must have stayed overnight."

"I saw them talking to Caleb Catlum," said Maureen.

"Well, he should be a match for them-but don't bet on it. Lazarus, is Atlantis represented?"

"From thirteen universes. They are having a jurisdictional dispute. Suits me-if any get sore and leave, they won't get a refund."

"Your grandsons may have been with Caleb but I know where-no, with whom-I know with whom they are now," put in Professor Burroughs. "Laz and Lor."

"Oho! Hazel, I'll tell Athene to settle your bill and move your luggage. We have an antidote for Cas and Pol."

"Optimist. Deal 'em, waiter, and give him the chit. What antidote?" The waiter started to hand the check to Lazarus before he looked at him-stopped abruptly, and left, still with the tab.

"Would Cas and Pol be interested in becoming pirates?"

"Lazarus, they are pirates. I was hoping they would tone down as they grew up... but now they're eighteen, Terran reckoning, and each one is two yards of deceit and chicanery. The 'J.D.' after my name means that I studied law at a school that handed out that degree in place of 'LL.B.'-but my rapscallions are 'J.D.'s' too. But not lawyers. Well... 'space lawyers."

"Hazel, you won your first J.D. long before you studied law. No?"

"The accused stood mute and the court ordered a plea of nux vomica entered in the record."

"My twins are more than twice as old as your boys but it doesn't show; they look a year or two younger... and they are permanent juvenile delinquents. They want to take a fling at piracy... which I deplore, having sampled the trade. Your boys-do they respect good machinery? Can they take care of it? Make nonshipyard repairs?"

"Lazarus, they can repair anything that ticks or doesn't tick. Worried me a mite, as they were a little slow in noticing girls. But they outgrew that symptom without outgrowing machinery."

"You might tell them that my clone-sisters own a spaceship faster and more powerful than any of your home period and analog, one that could be outfitted as a privateer. It might result in all four dying happily. But I do not interfere in other people's lives."

Hilda put her palms together, closed her eyes, and said, "Dear Lord, do not strike him dead; he didn't mean it. Yours truly, Hilda Burroughs Long." Lazarus ignored her.

"Nor do I, Lazarus. Other than occasionally, with a horse whip. Forgot to mention- They aren't gelded."

"Hazel, Laz-Lor are vaccinated and would have to come back here to see Ishtar to get it reversed. As for rasslin' matches, any male who tried to rape one of my clones would be gelded. Informally. At once. No instruments. No anesthesia. I trained 'em myself. Forget it. Apparently they've already met; they'll settle their own affairs, if any, their own way. Leave Cas and Pol in that hilton if you wish-by the way, I own it-but you're coming home or I'll tell Tamara."

"Bully. I don't bully worth a hoot, Lazarus."

"I'm out of it. Tamara never bullies. She merely gets her own way. What was this third reason?"

"Well... don't tell on me. Ishtar is a fine girl but I have no wish to stay where she could corner me and try to sell me rejuvenation."

Lazarus looked horrified. "Who has been feeding you nonsense?"

"Well? It's a commercial enterprise, is it not?"

"Certainly. Tanstaafl. All the traffic will bear. But we aren't ghouls; we'll accept a lien against a client's future earnings with no security and only the going rate of interest... then let him take as long as he likes to figure out that it doesn't pay to cheat us. But, Hazel, Ishtar never solicits; the clinic doesn't even have a flack. But if you asked her, you would go to the top of the list as my friend. However, she will supply painless suicide just as readily. You can have that later today. No charge. Compliments of the House."

"Lafe, I don't see how your wives put up with you."

"They don't; they make me toe the line. Something they learned from the Stone Gang, I believe."

"Well, I'm not trying to suicide. I'm less than two hundred Terran years old

with a Luna background to stretch it. This is the first time I've been on a

heavy planet since the last time I saw you; I'll last a while. But, Lazarus, I

have no wish to be a young girl."

"Hazel-"

"Huh? Jubal, keep out of this. Say, did you ever see anything of that young man again? Did he resurrect the way some claim he did?"

"Not to my knowledge. Although I saw something a while ago that made me wonder. Hazel, I'm going to take rejuvenation....nd hang onto my present appearance. Red nose and all."

Hazel turned abruptly to face Lazarus. "Is this true? Can this be done?"

Maureen answered. "Hazel, I work at the clinic at the bedpan level... with the expectation of becoming a junior rejuvenation technician in upteen years. I see what goes on. A client states in writing what apparent age she prefers. That's skin deep, easy to do, easy to maintain. But, unless it is an unusual contract, we turn out a biologically mature young adult. Call it eighteen standard years."

"Page Ponce de Leon! You mean I can still be me... but get rid of the morning aches and the arthritic twinges and the forty-leven other things that are the real trouble with living too long?"

"Exactly."

"Uh... what about what I'm sitting on? Haven't used it much lately. Or wanted to."

Lazarus fielded this. "You'll want to. Unless you contract for an abnormal endocrine balance. But, Hazel, there are many men who prefer to deal with an old, established, reliable firm. Ask Tamara."

"Uh... be switched if I'm not feeling embarrassed, an emotion I haven't felt in more years than I'll admit. You can pick any apparent age, you say? Could I be, uh, late middle age? My hair its right color but streaked with gray? A sag under my chin instead of this wattle? Teats a man might grab and enjoy it? That 'old, established firm'-but not decrepit?"

"Certainly," said Lazarus.

"Hazel, I can take you to the clinic now," Maureen offered. "Always someone in the business office. Discuss types of contract. Decide what you want and when. Even get your prelim physical today and set date of admission."

"Uh....es, I'm interested. But not till later today; I've got friends entered in the preliminary rounds of the Society for Creative Anachronism."

"Besides," Jubal put in, "they need time to check your credit rating, see what they can stick you for. By now Lafe has given Athene some signal to start x-raying your purse."

"He has not," Hilda denied. "I did. Hazel, we don't solicit business; we let the client sell it to herself. Maureen picks up one percent on this deal. Not Lazarus."

"Can't see that it matters," Jacob added. "Hey! Waiter! Over here, please! We Longs pool the boodle and Deety tells us what we have, what we can spend-but not who fetched it in."

"Jacob, it's the principle. Making money is a game. Maureen landed her."

"Hazel landed herself, Hilda," Hazel Stone put in. "I don't enjoy getting up feeling wobbly. Jubal, are you game for this?"

"My mind's made up."

"Then take a double room with me and we can tell each other lies while they make us feel young again. Hilda, is that kosher?"

"Lots of double rooms. Ish knows that you are both special friends of Lazarus and, while she doesn't spoil Lazarus, she'll do him any reasonable favor," Hilda assured her. "I think it's the same all around, Waiter-charge it to my account."

'My check," said Jubal.

"Waiter," Hilda said firmly.

The waiter looked at her, flexed his jaw muscles, said, "Very well, Director!"-and vanished.

"I think I missed something," Jubal remarked.

"I think I didn't," said Hazel. "Yon Cashier hath a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous."

Jubal looked around. "That cashier is our waiter. I think."

"I know. And bartender. And ticket taker. Unless his mother had quadruplets, he has Niven dislocators built into his shoes. I wish I could remember where I have seen him. He is not pleased with Hilda. Or Lazarus."

"Eh? Why?"

"Wait and see. There will not be another tab brought to this table-want to bet?"

"No bet," Lazarus interrupted. "The upstart knows who I am, who Hilda is. People at this table are guests of the management. He had better remember it or I'll sick Deety on him. Or even Hilda. But they hardly ever live through that. Hey, there's Deety now!" Lazarus stood up and waved. "Deety! Over here!"

Deety had with her a gaggle of giggles. "I don't have time to do this right; we want to get over to the Field of the Cloth of Gold before the preliminaries- besides, we've got husbands over there, most of us. So this is Ginnie and Winnie and Minnie, and Ginnie's a witch and Winnie's a nurse and Minnie's a retired computer, twin sister to Teena, and this is Holly and Poddy and Libby and Pink, and Holly is a design engineer, ship's architect type, and Poddy is a therapy empathist, and Libby you all know, and Fuzzy is a computer artist like me and the first one to calculate the Number of the Beast to the last significant figure, and now we'd better go even though we have reserved V.I.P. seats because there is a masked knight in the first match and we're pretty sure who he is, and has anyone seen Zebadiah?"

"I'm certain who he is," said Ginnie. "He brought me to life, and besides, he's wearing Karen's colors."

"I see Zeb off in the distance," Lazarus answered.

"No," Jake denied, "here he comes now, from over this way. Ishtar with him. All dressed up."

"No," said Jubal. "That's Anne with him."

"Somebody is screw loose. Lazarus is right. I know my first husband even at this distance. He's just approaching those three reserved sections opposite the big screen over the bar. Zebadiah! Over here!"

The other computer artist added, "And that can't be Anne, so it must be Ishtar. Anne is at the field, I know, because Larry is helping Jerry run it and told me, Anne agreed to cloak and be the third judge when Jerry told her that Mr. Clemens had agreed. Bonforte sits as king although he says he doesn't know much about the kinging business and even less about jousting."

"Is it true that they are using real weapons today?" asked Jubal.

"And real horses," agreed Lazarus. "I was able to borrow the AnheuserBusch Clydesdales."

"Lazarus, is this wise?"

"Doctor Bone is taking care of the horses. If one is injured, we'll give him the works. Those beautiful horses will be returned to Old Home Terra at their proper year and second in better shape than they were. With added skill. It's takes time to turn a Clydesdale into a knight's charger even though that's what they are. But will they ever be happy in harness again?"

"Lazarus," Podkayne said seriously, "I'll speak to Dr. Bone. If a horse is unhappy, we will soothe."

"Poddy, you're a Smart Girl."

"About average here, I think. But if someone is unhappy, I have learned what to do. I have never seen a horse but they've lived with people so long that it can't be very different."

Jubal sighed. "I'm glad the horses will be well taken care of-but, Lazarus,

I meant humans. Isn't someone going to be hurt? Maybe killed?"

"Most of them hurt, several killed. But they do it for fun. Those who are hurt won't stay hurt; we are hardly more than a loud shout from this planet's best hospital. If a man loses an arm or a leg or an eye, or even his balls, he'll have to be patient while a new part is cloned. But that sort of cloning we are learning to do right at the spot of injury, like a lizar~d or a newt. Faster. More efficient.

"If he's killed, he has two choices: Be brought to life again by Ishtar's crew- brain unlikely to be hurt; their helms are the best part of their armor. Or, they can go straight to Valhalla; we've arranged for Bifrost to extend to this Field until the end of SCA's part in the convention. Six Valkyries standing by and 'Sarge' Smith at the top of Bifrost checking them against the roster as he musters them home." Lazarus grinned. "Believe me, the Society is paying high for these services, bond posted in advance; Deety wrote the contract."

"Lafe, you're telling me that Wagnerian Valkyries are waiting to carry the slain Over The Rainbow into Asgard?"

"Jubal, these Amazons are not opera singers; these are the real hairy, sweaty McCoy. Remember the purpose of this convention. Snob."

The waiter appeared. "You wish something, sir?"

"Yes. Tell your boss that I want this table-this table only-to have a full view of Bifrost, from the Field to Valhalla. I know it's not in the clothing illusion contract but the same gear will do it....nd we can settle it when we go to court later. It will offset some of his lousy service. Git!"

"We'd better all 'git," said Libby. "They won't hold up things for us. That armor is heavy and hot. Deety?"

"Run along, I'll catch up. Here comes my first husband."

"Lafe, if they are killed, how do you know which ones to send to the clinic, which ones to send up the bridge?"

"Jubal, how would you do it? Sealed envelopes, destroyed if a knight wins, opened if he loses... and there may be some surprised widows tonight, unable to believe that their loving husbands elect to hunt all day, then feast on barbecued boar, guzzle mead, and wench all night, in preference to being restored to life in their respectable homes. But did I tell you what a winner gets? Aside from applause and a chance to kneel to 'King' John and 'Queen' Penelope. A paradox's his reward."

"A paradox?"

"No, no! Noisy in here. A pair o' doxies each his reward. The Society got a bargain. The arts are in their infancy here; Boondock is still so much a frontier that we have not yet developed distinguished hetaerae. But some of the most celebrated hetaerae in New Rome volunteered their services in exchange for transportation and the privilege of attending this convention."

Zebadiah was struck by a guided missile, female, from five meters. He managed to stay on his feet and took his first wife to the table, sat down by Hilda, pinched her thigh, pinched her glass, drained it, said, "You're too young to drink, little girl. Is this your father?"

"I'm her son," Jake answered. "Do you know Hazel Stone? If not, you should. We thought we saw you coming from the other direction."

"Shouldn't drink in the daytime, Jake. Waiter! Your servant, Ma'am. I've followed your series on 3-D since I was a kid and I'm honored to meet you. Are you covering this for Lunaya Pravda?"

"Heavens, no! LOCUS has an exclusive under the reasonable theory that LOCUS alone is competent to report this convention. Jerry and Ben are covering it for their various journals... but must clear it through Charles. I'm here as an expert, believe it or not-as an author of popular fantasy. Is the Galactic Overlord of my series real or imaginary and is there a difference? See next week's thrilling episode; the Stone family has to eat. Same thing all around, I think. You can tip him, Doctor Zebadiah, but there is no tab at the Director's table."

"And no tips," growled Lazarus. "Deliver my message to your boss again and tell that spinning arsfardel he has exactly three minutes before I invoke paragraph nine, section 'c.' Here comes your double, Zeb."

From behind the couple who, at half a klick, had been mistaken for Zebadiah and Ishtar, came out quickly a shorter, older, broad-shouldered man. All three were dressed Robin-Hood-and-his-Merry-Men style: buskins, breeks, leathern jackets, feathered caps, long bows and quivers of fletched shafts, swords and daggers, and were swinging along in style.

The shorter man hurried a few paces ahead, turned and faced their path, swept off his cap and bowed deeply. "Make way for Her Wisdom, Empress of eighty-thr-"

The woman, as if by accident, backhanded the groom. He ducked, rolled, avoided it, bounced to his feet and continued: "-worlds, and her consort the Hero Gordon."

Lazarus got up, addressed the groom. "Doctor Rufo! So happy you could make it! This is your daughter Star?"

"His grandmother," Her Wisdom corrected, dropping a quick curtsy to Lazarus. "Yes, I'm Star. Or Mrs. Gordon; this is my husband, Oscar Gordon. What is correct usage here? I've not been on this planet before."

"Mrs. Gordon, Boondock is so new that its customs have not yet calcified. Almost any behavior is acceptable if meant in a kindly way. Anybody causes real trouble, it's up to our chairman Ira Weatheral and advisers selected by him. Since Ira doesn't like the job, he tends to procrastinate, hoping the problem will go away. As a result we don't have much government and few customs."

"A man after my own heart. Oscar, we could live here if they will have us. My successor is ready; I could retire."

"Mrs. Gordon-"

"Yes, Doctor Long?"

"We-our chairman Ira especially-all know quite well who 'Her Wisdom' is. Ira would welcome you with open arms and resign in your favor at once- passed by acclamation and you would be boss for life. Better stick to the devil you know. But you are most welcome whenever you choose to visit."

She sighed. "You're right. Power is not readily surrendered; I'll probably wait for assassination."

Deety whispered, "Zebadiah... that bartender. Whom' does he look like?"

"Hmm- Brigadier Iver Hird-Jones?"

"Well, maybe. A little. I was thinking of Colonel Morinosky."

"Mrñm- Yes. No importance since it can't be either one. Mr. Gordon?"

"Call me 'Easy.' Or Oscar, Doctor Carter."

"I'm Zeb. Is that the Lady herself? The sword you were in the Quest for the Egg of the Phoenix?"

Gordon looked delighted. "Yes! The Lady Vivamus."

"Can't ask a man to draw a sword without a cause... but is the inscription close enough to the hilt that we could read it if you were simply to show steel?"

"No trouble." Gordon exposed the etched: Dum Vivimus, Vivamus!-gave them time to read it, clicked it to full return, and asked, "And is that the sword that killed the Boojum?"

"The Boo- Oh! The monster we call a 'Black Hat.' But we did not 'softly and silently vanish away."

"No, it did. That will be a point we'll discuss in the seminar panel: 'Techniques for Hunting Snarks.' You and I and Doctor Jacob and Doctor Hilda, with some others. André. Kat Moore. Fritz. Cliff. The Gordfather will moderate when he gets over his wheezes. Which he will-Tamara's treating hi- Oh, heavens! Oh, God, how beautiful!"

The "sky" had opened, for their table, and they found themselves looking at the Field of the Cloth of Gold, a half klick away and a few meters above them, on and up to high, high, high in the sky, the shimmering towers and palaces of Valhalla, with the Rainbow Bridge reaching from the field of honor to the distant gate of the eternal home of heroes.

Instead of the wooded horizon usually seen in that direction, the land lifted in terraces, each more colorfully beautiful than the last, until the highest was lost in pink and saffron clouds-and above them, much higher, Valhalla in Asgard.

"Pappy!"

"Yes, Athene," Lazarus said quietly. "Localize it. Me only. I have many people around me."

"That's better? No problems, just to alert you. Arthur and Isaac and Bob all arriving at once. Twelve minutes, plus two, minus zero."

"You're a smart girl, Teena."

"Put that in writing. Blandjor."

Lazarus said to the table at large, "My guests for those reserved spaces are arriving. I wasn't sure of Isaac; he gets bigger every year and reluctant to travel other than by water. Arthur had such a long way to come and communications are always uncertain. Bob I knew was here but there were duty matters interfering. Shall we listen to some of the opening plenary while we look at the beauties of the Norse Afterland? We don't want to look at the general session. But we can listen. When the tourney starts, give most of your attention to the hologram except during the Valkyrie ride. Snob! Give us the sound from the plenary session."

They got it at once, sound and fury signifying nothing. Under its cover Jubal Harshaw said to Zebadiah, "Before they get on that panel in front of an audience, think about this. How many 'Black Hats' or 'Boojums' are there?"

"Eh? I have no way of telling. In excess of twenty as a best guess but that excess could be many millions, also a best guess."

"But how many did you see?" Harshaw persisted.

"Oh. One. But more were a certainty."

"So? You would never get a Fair Witness to say that. What harm did it or they do you?"

"Huh? Tried to kill us. Bombed us out. Killed my cousin. Chased us off our home planet. Impoverished all four of us. What do you want? Plagues and locusts? The Four Horsemen?"

"No. You saw one. You killed it. It never laid a glove on you. Think about it. Before you testify. Let's listen."

"If you read it correctly it's all in the Bible. 'In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.' Could anyone ask for a plainer statement of the self-evident fact that nothing exists until someone imagines it and thereby gives it being, reality? The distinction lies only in the difference between 'being' and 'becoming'- a distinction that cancels out when any figment-fact is examined from different ends of the entropy error-"

"Bishop Berkeley is presiding," Lazarus commented, "and would have shut this figment up save that the Bishop has laryngitis-imaginary, of course- and his parliamentarian, the Reverend Mister Dodgson, is too meek to shut anyone up. The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth, One Meter Wide and Two Meters Long."

"If God displaces the Devil, he must assume the Devil's attributes. How about giving the Devil equal time? God has the best press agents. Neither fair nor logical!"

"I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last."

"Occam's Razor is not the least hypothesis! It is the least probable hypothesis. The truth-"

"There are three schools of magic. One: State a tautology, then ring the changes on its corollaries; that's philosophy. Two: Record many facts. Try to see a pattern. Then make a wrong guess at the next fact; that's science. Three: Awareness that you live in a malevolent universe controlled by Murphy's Law, sometimes offset in part by Brewster's Factor: that's engineering."

"Why did Mercutio have to die? Solve that, and it will lead you to Mark Twain's well. There's your answer."

"Who is more real? Homer or Ulysses? Shakespeare or Hamlet? Burroughs or Tarzan?"

The debate shut off, the giant hologram screen lighted up in heroic size, full depth and color, and the tedious voices were cut off by a loud and lively

one: "While we're waiting for the first two champions to reach their starting lines we will have 'The Grand Canal' sung by lovely Anne Passovoy and accompanied by Noisy on his Stomach Steinway. Noisy is not in voice today, friends; he was bitten last night by an imaginary snake."

"Jerry is in good voice," whispered Deety. "He always is. Aren't they going to give us any closeups?" The camera zoomed in on Anne Passovoy, panned across the other Anne, cloaked in white, rested for a moment on "King" John and "Queen" Penelope, went on to show a vigorous old man with a halo of white hair who took a stogie out of his mouth and waved.

"On my right is Sir Tenderloinn the Brutal and on my left is the Black Knight, shield unblazoned, helm closed. Oh Jear not, friends; Holger tongues. Dis Dane could be our arrow. Whose color-"

Zebadiah heard a crash, turned his head. "They're bringing in a big Corson flatboat. Smashed some chairs." He looked again, announced, "Can't see much, the stands on this side are filling with people in green uniforms. Black berets. Bloodthirsty-looking gang."

"That's Asprin-"

"Give me ten grains. Deety, you let me mix my drinks."

"Asprin, not 'aspirin.' Bob Asprin, Commandammit of the Dorsai Very Irregular," Lazarus told him. "But can you see Arthur?"

"Does he wear a deerstalker's hat? Smoke a meerschaum pipe? The tall one there, talking to the man who looks like a gorilla."

"He'd Challenge you for that. Violent temper. That's Arthur's party, all right. Doctor Arthur Conan Doyle. Doctor Watson should be there, too. Wups! Here comes Isaac. And there goes another bunch of chairs."

"They're offi The Masked Challenger is gaining speed, Sir Tenderloinn is having trouble getting his charger to move: It is a beautiful day here at Epsom Salts and Bifrost never looked lovelier."

Lazarus stood up. "I must greet Isaac. Zebadiah, have you met him? Come with me. You, too, Deety. Hilda? Please, dear. Jake?"

"Just a moment, you!" Zeb looked at the one interrupting them and felt shock. He had seen that face, that uniform, by a rustic swimming pool. The "ranger" addressed Lazarus: "You're the one they call the Executive Director. Special Agent L. Ron O'Leemy, InterSpace Patrol. I have warrants for Beowolf Shaeffer, Caspol Jones, and Zebadiah John Carter. Director, I require your

cooperation. Article Four Six, Section Six Five, Paragraph Six, InterUniversal Criminal Code.

"Unhorsed! The Black Knight's lance right through him! Here come the Valkyries. Hoyotoho!"

Hilda reached out, took the warrants, tore them across. "You're on the wrong planet, Mac." She grasped Zeb's arm. "Come along, Alfred; we must meet Isaac."

They passed the Dorsai, reached the big Corson flatboat. Completely filling it was a very large Venerian Dragon. The dragon turned an eyestalk toward them; his tendrils touched his voder. "Greetings, Doctor Lazarus Long. Greetings, new friends. May you all die beautifully!"

"Greetings, Sir Isaac. Sir Isaac Newton, this is Doctor Hilda Burroughs Long, Doctor Jacob Burroughs Long, Doctor Deety Carter Long, and Doctor Zebadiah John Carter Long, all of my family."

"I am honored, learned friends. May your deaths inspire a thousand songs. Doctor Hilda, we have a mutual friend, Professor Wogglebug."

"Wait, wait! Don't tear up your tickets. The Valkyries are having a problem. Yes, the judges have confirmed it. No contest! The Dane has 'killed' a totally empty suit of armor! Better luck next bout, Pou- Holger."

"Oh, how delightful! Zebadiah and I saw him just this past week in delivering our children to Oz for the duration of this convention. Did I just miss you?"

The dragon answered, with a Cockney lisp, "No, we are pen pals only. He can't leave Oz; I had never expected to leave Venus again....ntil your device-perhaps I should Say Doctor Jacob's device- made it simple. But see what our friend Professor Wogglebug sent me-" The dragon fiddled at a pouch under his voder.

The InterSpace Patrol Agent O'Leemy tapped Zeb on the shoulder. "I heard those introductions. Come along, Carter!"

"-spectacles to fit my forward stalks, that see through the thickest mist." He put them on, looked around him. "They clarify any- There! Get him! Grab him! That Beast! Get his Number!" Without a lost instant Deety, Hilda, and Lazarus closed on the "agent"-and were left with torn clothes and plastic splints as the thing got loose. The "special agent" vaulted over the bar, was seen again almost instantly at the far end of the bar, jumped up on it, leapt for the canvas top, grabbed hold of the edge of the illusion hole, swung itself up, bounded for Bifrost, reached it.

Sir Isaac Newton played: "Mellrooney! The worst troublemaker in all the worlds. Lazarus, I never expected to find that Beast in your quiet retreat."

"Nor did I until I heard all of Zeb's story. This convention was called expecially to entice him. And it did. But we lost him, we lost him!"

"But I got its Number," Hilda said and held out its shield: "666"

The fleeing figure, dark against the Rainbow Bridge, grew smaller and

higher. Lazarus added, "Or perhaps we haven't lost him. He'll never get past Sarge Smith."

The figure appeared to be several klicks high now, when the illusion suddenly broke. The Rainbow was gone, the terraces melted, the clouds were gone, the towers and castles of Asgard could no longer be seen.

In the middle distance, very high up, a figure was tumbling, twisting, falling. Zeb said, "Sarge won't have to bother. We've seen the last of it."

The voder answered: "Friend Zebadiah... are you sure?"