Legion World Forums LEGION OUTPOST Bits o' Legionnaire Business RAINBOW GIRL - BOOK 14 - VISITORS

CHAPTER ONE: TEMPTATION

Dori was having lunch with Judith Gideon and her sons. The three boys were more than usually fidgety that afternoon, and Judith got up with them to take a walk around the restaurant, and look at the extensive aquarium in the first-floor walls for the hundredth time.

Dori found herself in conversation with Jon Apollo.

Jon Apollo was strikingly handsome, in a classic way. Blonde hair, deep blue eyes, square jaw, although his full lips gave his mouth a softer, almost feminine look. He was dressed in a pure white suit with gold trim. When he smiled, his straight teeth sparkled. The restaurant was quiet. Conversation lulled. Time seemed to have stopped.

“You are living below your privilege,” Jon Apollo was saying. “Ennis Jahnson aspires to do some great good in the Galaxy, but all his efforts affect paltry, insignificant numbers. You have the power to do so much more good, if only you would take the courage to do it. Think of the millions who still suffer from the extended effects of war. Whole continents, whole worlds have been rebuilding, some for centuries, due to its depredations. You have the ability to change that. Who knows what starts a war? Perhaps one leader took offense at the otherwise innocuous comments of another. Perhaps some general woke up one morning with indigestion, or went to bed to late the night before, putting him out-of-sorts the next day. Perhaps some politician merely needed to win an election, and the ‘enemy’ served as a convenient target. Such small beginnings lead to large tragedies. But just think! You have the ability to reverse them!”

“I’m sorry,” said Dori. “But who are you?”

“Perhaps, for now, such momentous events are too much for you to contemplate,” Jon Apollo continued. “But you know the heartache of love lost too soon. Would it be so wrong to bring back Irv? And if your mother were still alive, your father would be as well, saving two lives. You might even have younger brothers and sisters, and have fond memories of a family vacation each year with them. Think of the squabbles you missed! But that is Life, full of so much possibility.”

Dori could see Judith, Mo, Josh, and Cal in the next room. They were frozen in place. The entire world seemed literally frozen in time. At first, it had not seemed odd, but now, it seemed very peculiar indeed. The handsome man seated at her table continued their conversation. No, it was more a monologue. No, a lecture.

“Are you acquainted with the ‘Trolley Problem’?” asked Jon Apollo. “Imagine that there is some runaway conveyance, which runs on a track. Ahead of the conveyance is a group of five, in danger of death from the impending collision. You are not near enough to warn the group, but you are able to remotely control the path of the conveyance: by switching it to another track. However, on this track, you see one man standing. What do you choose? Five innocent lives, or one?”

“But it is a false choice,” said Dori. “Like all thought experiments in ethics, it grossly over-simplifies the world. When do we ever have such a clear, binary options? If I attempt to re-direct the trolley, how can I be sure it will not jump the track, and kill everyone on board? How do I know that I, alone, determine the ultimate outcome? Perhaps there is some heroic Daxamite nearby, who will save everyone, and I should simply do nothing? The best I can really do is struggle on with the best intentions in any situation, never being able to anticipate the unintended consequences of my actions.”

“But don’t you see, Dori? This is precisely why you are exceptional. You, of all people, can know the consequences of your actions. If you fully accept the power of the Entities of the Emotional Spectrum, you can simply change the past, and then wait and see what happens. If it is unacceptable, change it back, or change the past again in some different way. Start with something small, consider it practice, and explore the limits of your powers. With enough practice, you could play the universe like a virtuoso performer plays a musical instrument—beautiful music, no wrong notes.”

Dori was skeptical. “Playing with the Universe just to test the limits of the Entities’ powers seems a very bad idea,” she said.

“But it would all be reversible!” Jon Apollo insisted. “What if you could prevent the Legion of Super-Villains attacking Jahnson’s World. Would the Legion of Super-Heroes have been better utilized elsewhere? What if you could prevent the depredations of the Black Goblin, of the Necrovoyant, of Rekojeth.”

“Who?” asked Dori.

“Sorry, sorry, got carried away,” said Jon Apollo. “These things haven’t happened yet. Still, what if you could prevent Niedrich from ever coming to power? Even taking his life early to prevent his rise to power would save the lives of hundreds of thousands.”

“But what if Horace LaFeaugh replaced Niedrich in history?” asked Dori. “Or any of his other adherents? The xenophobic movement was pretty popular on Earth, among a certain segment of the population. It was not limited to one man. Now we’re talking about extinguishing billions of lives to save a few hundred thousand. Possibly, arguably, fewer innocent lives, but where do you draw the line?”

“Then consider the widows and orphans,” suggested Jon Apollo. “Bring back their lost husbands, wives, and parents. Restore life, rather than taking it. Is the Universe not a better place, at least for that one family? If not, undo what you had done, history is restored, and no one is the wiser. Think about it at least. Wait a few decades, a few centuries even, see how history unfolds. You can be patient. You have the power to rewrite it all, from the beginning of time. Think about it.”

There was something wrong about Jon Apollo. For all his physical beauty, there was something unnerving about him. Dori was experiencing irrational feelings of panic and flares of rage. Her aura had begun intensifying, flashing brighter, in gold and crimson. Suddenly, she had that strange experience again: the universe turned sideways, and she saw Jon Apollo and all his history, stretching backwards through time. She saw the serpentine Entities of the Emotional Spectrum as well, their tails winding back into the beginning of the Universe. But the Entities themselves recoiled from Jon Apollo, leaving him unillumined, colorless and vague.

The vision ended. Jon Apollo was gone. Judith Gideon and her family were returning to the table.

* * *

CHAPTER TWO: GIULION KERIOTH

Dori was relaxing in her apartments, sampling a glass of the peculiar wine the RoboChef had manufactured before she retired for the evening. A call came through on the Wallscreen®.

“Dori Aandraison?” the man on the screen inquired. “My name is Giulion Kerioth, Manager of Daintree Forest Hotel here on Jahnson’s World. I am a friend of Carroll Hildebrandt. She suggested we might… well, I wonder if you might meet me for coffee at Daintree tomorrow? Are you free?”

Giulion looked about Dori’s age: dark grizzled hair, a well-trimmed beard, and intense, sparkling eyes. She consented, and they agreed on a time. Dori immediately called Carroll Hildebrandt.

“Who is Giulion Kerioth?” asked Dori. “And why is he calling me?”

“Oh, yes, I suggested to him that you might share interests in common,” said Carroll. “Daintree is an interesting place—not the Forest, particularly, but the Hotel and its environs. Schwarzwald is set up as kind of a tourist village, but Daintree something of a cultural center. Ennis staffed it with artists, musicians, and theater people. All amateurs, of course. Well, mostly. Night life there is rather different than at any of the other Regions. It’s a popular destination for a particular type of guest—after getting to know you, I kind of felt you might be of the same type. Giulion is just the person to introduce you there.”

Giulion was nearly as tall as Ennis Jahnson, but just as slender as Ennis was broad. He was quiet, with elegant, somewhat archaic manners.

“You and I have something in common,” he mentioned off-handedly, the first day they met. “We are the telepathically blind, living among a planet of telepaths.”

“You’re not at all Saturnian?” Dori asked.

“My ancestry is pure Naltoran, although I have not been to the Homeworld since I was sixteen,” he said.

“But your precognitive powers still allow you to serve as a Warden?” Dori surmised.

“Technically, yes,” said Giulion. “But I have not done so for a couple of years, when we once had a particularly busy season. Most of my time is taken up in managing the Hotel. You might not believe how many little things that come up each day requiring an executive decision.”

“Oh, I might,” said Dori. “My late husband was an hotelier.”

“Ah, yes, Irveang Polamar. But that is like saying that a Sequoia in the California Preserve and a Micro-Bonsai on Orzde are both trees,” Giulion replied.

Dori laughed. “I knew that Irv was well-respected within the family, but I had no idea he was quite so prominent otherwise,” she said.

“Oh, indeed, at least within the small fraternity of Hotel Managers,” said Giulion. “I don’t suppose you have ever heard of the iPolamar Protocol? It has been the gold standard for luxury service in the industry for a quarter of a century.”

“Really?” said Dori. She was somewhat pleased to hear this; she had, of course, been generally acquainted with Irv’s business, but had not known he had left a lasting impression on the industry.

Daintree Town, as the neighborhood of the Hotel was called, was proud of the small theater-on-the-square. It had only a few hundred seats, but a busy schedule. There were generally afternoon and evening performances, each presented a different local cultural group. Plays, musicals, ballets, orchestral performances and novelty acts cycled through the theater, fine art, painting and sculpture, as well as craft displays, were exhibited in the lobby. The billboard changed every few days. Giulion invited Dori to attend as his companion: she traveled to the Daintree isle at least once a week to visit. She found herself beginning to enjoy his company; he had a subtle and gentle humor, and a broad understanding of the various arts.

“How do they manage to rehearse?” Dori asked. “All these people are Jahnson’s employees, and so have busy schedules. And the theater seems booked with performances full-time.”

“Oh, it only appears so,” Giulion explained. “Every stage performance is allowed three or for days of ‘Tech Rehearsal’—you might call them ‘Dress Rehearsals’—between, or before, or after, the programs currently being presented. And there are quite a number of small rehearsal halls and studios scattered throughout Daintree Town. That in itself would make an interesting tour for you. As for the rest—Daintree is home to a family of quite dedicated artists. Mr. Jahnson sponsors the productions of course, but the performers themselves receive no additional remittance. It is seen as a contribution to the unique community here.”

“Mr. Jahnson certainly gets his money’s worth for the salaries he pays,” Dori noted.

“He is a generous employer,” said Giulion. “Sometimes, when I look at my books in the evenings, I imagine he is perhaps too generous. But you are correct: his employees are fiercely loyal, and Jahnson’s World is not merely their employer, but their home and community. And frankly, those who are not fiercely loyal can be quite easily replaced with those who are.”

Dori found herself spending more and more time in Daintree, and less in Schwarzwald.

Giulion Kerioth had a busy schedule, seemingly as demanding as Ennis Jahnson’s own, yet he employed no executive assistant to keep his calendar, apparently preferring to take care of it all himself. He was constantly making notes on his Omnicom, which in turn was bingling at constant, if irregular, intervals. He had also made a habit of going to lunch daily with a random guest. Dori began to accompany him once or twice a week, then regularly. However, there were still long stretches when she was left to her own devices, as Giulioni hurried off to attend to some Hotel matter, scheduled or unscheduled.

Dori began to frequent the artists’ studios and rehearsal halls. She became a familiar presence in Daintree, and, she sensed, not entirely unwelcome. She was, after all, an outside audience.

As a girl on Xolnar, she had participated in amateur theatrical productions. For a time, she had entertained aspirations of becoming a holo-vid actress. However, she was unacquainted with the rich history of the theater, its traditions, mores, and superstitions, dating back thousands of years, to ancient Greece, and even beyond. She began reading dramatic scripts when alone in her quarters on Schwarzwald, plays both ancient and modern. She considered trying out at one of the upcoming auditions, but spent some time vacillating as to what role she should try out for. After a little time, she realized that she would need to start at the bottom: ‘Girl’, or ‘Spear-Carrier’, or simply an anonymous member of the chorus or company. She considered which of the several groups to try out with, although there was a great deal of cross-fertilization among them.

“Am I imposing myself on your community?” Dori asked Giulion one day after supper. They were dining in his private quarters for only the second time. “I have been thinking about trying to join one of the acting troupes here. Do you suppose I would be considered an interloper, and outsider, a dilettante?”

“We are all dilettantes here,” said Giulion. “No actor here was ever trained for the theater, no artist as a painter or sculptor. Even I never imagined I would one day be a luxury hotel manager.” He reached for her hand. “Dori…” He appeared stunned for a moment. “Your future…” he said. “It is… remarkable. I cannot quite see…”

Suddenly, the Universe turned sideways again. Dori saw Giulion stretched out through time, his present self stretching back only fifty years, his atoms scattering back through time, expanding, weaving, and twisting through the Universe. But the last fifty years… the dragon-like Entities of the Emotional Spectrum wrapped tightly around his timeline. Yellow and orange, fear and avarice, intertwined and constricted around his life as it grew nearer the present. The vision lasted only a moment, then evaporated.

“I can’t see,” said Giulion Kerioth, leaping to his feet, in an obvious panic. “Two days… the next two days are hidden from me. Something else else… it may already be too late!”

Ignoring Dori, he opened a closet, and grabbed a large suitcase, heading towards the door. Opening it, he was met by two gorilla-like Gamorreans standing in the doorway. Roughly taking Giulion Kerioth by the shoulders, they dragged him off down the hall. As he left, Ennis Jahnson entered.

“My, Dori, you seem to be involved in everything,” he said, dropping wearily onto a deep-cushioned sofa.

“Really, Ennis?” said Dori. “Your employ Gamorreans?”

“Not my doing,” said Ennis Jahnson. “They are employees of Ventura. Giulion seems to have run up quite a debt gambling there. And apparently, according to the Interplanetary Bank, a great deal of it using Jahnson’s World’s money.”

“Embezzlement?” Dori exclaimed. “He hardly seems the type!”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” said Ennis Jahnson. “A Naltoran, undone by a gambling addiction. But Ventura has ways of keeping the odds forever in its favor. If it had been only Jahnson’s World involved, I would have tried to work something out with Giulion. But with Ventura and the Interplanetary Bank involved…”

“How much?” asked Dori.

“Oh, I’m sure I don’t know, yet,” said Ennis Jahnson. “Millions of credits, I suppose, over the years. In the end, they say, he was resorting to double-or-nothing wagers, and one can accumulate debt at a phenomenal rate under that plan. It’s too bad, really. I liked Giulion. He was a good manager, and, I think a good man at heart.”

“Er… didn’t you just say he took you for several million credits?” Dori reminded him.

“Yes, and what did he get from it?” Ennis Jahnson asked. “Not a penny, I’d wager, and indentured servitude on Ventura for the rest of his life. I would imagine these paintings,” he swept his hand around the apartment, “All are copies, and that he originally owned the originals, and sold them all, and anything else of value he had to feed his habit. A gambling addiction is a terrible thing, Dori, and I have nothing but sympathy for the afflicted, and nothing but contempt for those who prey upon them. That is one reason there are no casinos on Jahnson’s World. I am happy to part fools from their money, but not like that.”

“I don’t understand you, Ennis,” said Dori. “You have the most peculiar set of ethics of anyone I have ever met, and I met a doozy recently.”

“I realized at a young age,” said Ennis Jahnson, “That one must live his life according to the principles he believes. Not that it is imperative, but that it is unavoidable. How one lives one’s life is a perfect reflection of the principles—or lack of them—that they truly hold dear. And so, I have been careful to believe in only the best ethical principles I can find.”

“You are an odd man, Ennis Jahnson,” Dori opined.

“And you, Dori Aandraison, are a remarkable woman,” Ennis countered.

* * *

CHAPTER THREE: WALKABOUTS

Dori eventually landed a role in a revival of William Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream, as the fairy Mustardseed. It required an incredible amount of dedication. Even in this small role, she attended rehearsals three nights a week for a month. Then three short nights of performances, and it was all over. Still, she made dozens of acquaintances among the Daintree Globe Community Players, and a half-dozen new friends. She had forgotten the exhilaration and camaraderie of the theatrical life. It was exhilarating, but exhausting. Most of her fellow actors had been auditioning for other roles with other groups during the month of rehearsals. Dori could not see where the found the time. Between the play, and her prior relationship with Giulion Kerioth, she had neglected her other friends on Jahnson’s World for several months now; she intended to make amends.

* * *

Ennis Jahnson called her on her Wallscreen.

“Where is Bunny?” asked Dori. “Doesn’t she usually make her appointments for you?”

“Oh, no, this is personal,” Ennis Jahnson answered. “Bunny has me working out five days a week in the mornings, after Un-Transformations, and before I meet with the guest-of-the-day for lunch. The other two days are reserved for my morning Walk-Abouts: I choose a forest for a walk-through, visiting each five times per year. It helps me make suggestions to the bio-engineers and planners on their annual visits. I would like to invite you to accompany me on my next Walk-About.”

“Why?” asked Dori suspiciously.

“So you might get to know Jahnson’s World better,” said Ennis Jahnson. “And for the company.”

“Ennis Jahnson, are you asking me out on a date?” said Dori.

“Take it as you like,” said Ennis Jahnson.

Their first 'Walk-About' was through part of the Jiuzhaigou Forest. It was warm, wet, and tropical, a land of small mountains, streams, and lakes.

"Your powers," said Dori, "It is said you can not only transform humans into animals, but animals into humans."

"It's odd," said Ennis Jahnson. "When I transform sapients, they become, in form, non-sapient animals, with thinking minds. When I transform animals, they become human-- I really haven't tried transforming any alien animals-- but they gain human, or more human-like-- intelligence. Gain the ability to speak Interlac, too. I could call one of the pandas out here-- we have a colony of a few dozen-- and transform one for you, and you could see. But they gain human modesty, too, and I didn't bring any extra clothing with me. Of course, conservation of mass, and all, there are limits. And the animal-to-human transformations are often incomplete."

Ennis Jahnson held up his hand; one of the dragonflies that had been circling nearby flew onto his palm.

"I have a degree of telepathic control over all animals," he explained."Mostly, they are calm and soothed around me-- almost tame." The dragonfly in his palm shifted, becoming a tiny, slender humanoid girl, still with dragonfly wings and eyes. She stood up, looking quite fairy-like. "You see," said Ennis Jahnson, "Her little brain is really too small for full human consciousness, but she becomes somewhat more aware-- her perspective on the world has changed, as well as her shape." The fairy-girl reformed into a dragonfly, and buzzed away."I don't like to do it much," said Ennis Jahnson. "It seems invasive, more unnatural. And, of course, animals cannot consent. I experimented somewhat when I was a boy, to get a true sense of the limits of my abilities, but I don't like to transform anyone against their will anymore, really."

"You were pretty casual with that dragonfly," Dori noted.

"Oh, it took only a moment out of her day," said Ennis Jahnson. "I doubt she even remembers the transformation now."

"If you were more liberal with your powers, you could create quite a Fairy-Forest," said Dori.

"I suppose I could," said Ennis Jahnson. "Were-Lions, tiny dragonfly and butterfly fairies. Worm people. But no, not for mere entertainment's sake."

"Have you ever tried transforming a Durlan or a Protean?" Dori asked.

"Durlans, yes," Ennis Jahnson replied. "Can't do it. No effect at all. Apparently their biology puts them beyond the Red. Can't touch their minds either; even with untransformed humans, there is always a little hum of empathy, but a Durlan mind is like a tree's to me."

"Empathy-- so you know what I'm feeling?" said Dori.

"Everyone knows what you're feeling, Dori," said Ennis Jahnson. "It's written all over your aura. But no, not really. Just a sense of 'someone's there' with people. With animals, there is a little more: I can sense if they are agitated or calm, hungry or sleepy. That's what gave me the idea of the Wardens, originally. I always know when one of my Transformed guests is in trouble, and it's good to have others who know as well."

* * *

Ennis Jahnson had taken Dori to the Forest of Madness. Ecologies from a hundred worlds jumbled together here, separated by invisible barriers.

"Just look at this tree,” said Ennis Jahnson. “Have you ever seen the like?”

Dori had to admit she had not. Warped and twisted branches, liberally festooned with wicked-looking thorns, spread both outward and upward. Irregular clusters of irregular leaves in green, gold, and red sprouted here and there from the warped branches. Further up the tree, the same leaves formed a broad, umbrella-like canopy.

“What planet are these from?” Dori asked.

“Earth,” Ennis Jahnson answered. “A species called Camelthorn. Quite rare nowadays. I believe this scattered grove is larger than any on my Homeworld.”

“Then Jahnson’s World is something of a nature preserve as well, then,” Dori surmised.

“Somewhat,” said Ennis Jahnson. “All the animals here—even in the alien forest re-creations—are, or were once, native to Earth. It can’t compare to the Interplanetary Zoos, of course, who can terraform millions of square miles for their populations. But I have a weakness for collecting and preserving old, threatened, or endangered species from Earth.”

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR: THE LEGION OF SUPER-VILLAINS

Dori dreamt.

She was eleven years old again, dressed in a 28th-century costume for her school play: “Donovan Xocolatl on Mars”. Ennis Jahnson was with her, perhaps eighteen or twenty, wearing his ‘Animal Lad’ leisure suit.

They were standing in some sort of hangar, where a half-dozen individual were gathered around a ship.

“I wonder where we are,” said Dori.

“I’m not sure,” said Ennis Jahnson. “No, wait, of course. This must be the headquarters of the latest incarnation of the Legion of Super-Villains.”

Dori could now recognize the villains clustered around the ship. Echo, Beauty Blaze, Terrus, Shagrek, the new Cosmic Queen, Meta Ulnoor, the new Saturn Queen, and Xart Prax of Colu.

“Clearly, they are preparing to invade my world,” said Ennis Jahnson. “We must be in the past.”

The Universe turned sideways again. Dori could see into the ship: there was a crucial engine coil which could be easily removed, stranding the super-villains here in their headquarters. Again, she saw its history: a thread of atoms, coalescing out of the hearts of suns, weaving through space and time back to the beginning of history. All she would have to do was pull that thread, the coil would cease to exist: to have ever existed.

“I don’t think pulling on that thread would be such a good idea.” An adult Dori stood inside the vision of the time and the Universe. “Its something like brain surgery. The problem is, you never know what a thread is attached to.” She held a silk scarf in one hand. With the other, she pulled on a loose thread. The scarf unraveled, splitting neatly in two.

“Who are you?” asked young Dori.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said grown-up Dori. “It’s your dream.” There was something wrong about her. Dori could see that she was hollow, only half-there, like a Russian Matryoshka doll cut in two.

“Please, let her save my world,” said Ennis Jahnson.

“You’re not Ennis Jahnson,” said Dori. “He never calls it ‘my world’. It’s always ‘Jahnson’s World’. It’s an annoying affectation.” She was addressing the half-Dori.

“Can pulling out a single thread really destroy a Universe?” Dori asked.

“An interesting philosophical question,” the strange half-woman answered. “If a single characteristic of the Universe is changed, is it still the same Universe, or several?” She pulled on another thread, the two pieces of fabric became eight. She walked over to a chest of drawers, and dropped the pieces in. Each drawer was overflowing with patterned scarves.

“This is where we keep the remnants of old, lost universes,” said the half-Dori. “Excellent fabric for the stitching together of dreams.”

Dori woke to the sound of the Wallscreen pinging.

It was Adler Lokasenna.

CHAPTER FIVE: CASTLE IN SPAIN

“The Polamar Family Trust contacted me, as they knew I have been serving as your occasional attorney,” Alder said. “They have been contacted by the Council of Northwestern Eurasia, and have asked me to inform you that EarthGov will be exercising eminent domain over your ‘Castle in Spain’. They will be compensating you appropriately, of course, but the castle and grounds itself are going to be demolished.”

“What? It’s only fifteen acres,” Dori protested. “Can’t they just leave it alone? What is this project?”

“I really couldn’t say,” said Alder. “Is it important? I could find out what will be replacing it, I’m sure.”

“No, no,” said Dori. “Thank you, Alder. Place the funds in my account on Xolnar, not my Interplanetary Bank accounts.”

* * *

“There is nothing to be done, I suppose,” she was telling Ennis Jahnson, as they walked through Sagano Bamboo Forest. “The Polamar family is a large private landholder, so I have heard of these things happening before. There is no effective way to protest.”

“In the old days,” said Ennis Jahnson, “Castles would sometimes be cut apart like jigsaw puzzles, the parts diagrammed and numbered, and the whole thing re-assembled elsewhere. I’m sure Brande Industries has some similar resources which would allow them to move five acres of stone from Earth to Jahnson’s Planet--Under Construction. I could store it in one of a dozen unused expansion spaces. We might even build a Forest around it, the castle as a centerpiece.”

“Really?” said Dori. “You would do that for me?”

“Well, I rather thought that we would do it together,” said Ennis Jahnson. “I’m sure it would be expensive, but you are expecting a windfall from EarthGov as recompense for their exercise of eminent domain... And what is the use of owning a planet if you can’t help out a friend once in a while?”

It turned out to be somewhat more complex than expected. Dori was only allowed to take only five meters of topsoil, besides the human-built structures. This included, fortunately, the small graveyard as well. It was decided to locate the castle on Jahnson's Planet, although it was still in the early stages of construction. Having no atmosphere, a temporary plasteel dome was erected over the site, so that the ancient stone would not be damaged by exposure to the harsh vacuum of space. Both Alder Lokasenna and Juula Daggle needed to be personally involved in the planning and execution of the project. EarthGov, for its part, paid Dori a premium for the demolition and excavation, once the permits were approved. She had actually saving them time and money. Most of the funds went to Brande Construction, although Alder took a slice as well.

In the end there was a pile of stones under a transparent dome on the rocky surface of the soon-to-be Jahnson's Planet.
“I wonder how long it will take to rebuild it?” Ennis Jahnson wondered.

“I could refer you to several restoration architects and contractors,” said Juula Daggle. “I would particularly recommend a new startup based on Talok VIII, Cobb’s Brush and Reparo. While retaining most of the actual structure, I am sure it could be brought up to modern standards of comfort and convenience.”

“I’d like that,” said Dori.

“And after Jahnson's World closes, you will have two homes on Jahnson’s Planet,” Ennis Jahnson remarked.

Dori could not determine if the tone in his voice was satisfaction or exasperation.

Mr. Cobb was apparently human, tall and slender, with a goatee and a badly receding hairline. His dress was somewhat formal, dapper but understated, in the most modern style. He was accompanied by two Talokans, one green-skinned and one blue, who he introduced as Thazmio and Nikkos. He handed Dori a card:

Robert L. Cobb
Cobb’s Brush and Reparo
Talok VIII
‘We clean anything, we fix anything’

“Mr. Nikkos is a surveyor,” Mr. Cobb explained. “Mr. Thazmio is an architect. Let them look at the area for a day, and we will get back to you.”

“How does a Terran start a business in the Talok System,” Dori asked Mr. Cobb the next day. “I thought they were pretty insular.”

Mr. Cobb smiled. “Oh, I have an in with the Royal Family,” he admitted. “Did them a couple of favors, back in the day. How is it that a young woman such as yourself comes to own an ancient castle?”

“I’m older than I appear,” said Dori. “I imagine we are very nearly the same age, you and I. And the castle was a gift from my late husband.”

“I, too, am older than I appear,” said Mr. Cobb. “You might be surprised. But are you the Dori Aandraison who was married to Irveang Polamar?”

“Yes,” said Dori. “You knew Irveang?”

“Well, well,” said Mr. Cobb. “Well, well. Juula has quite a sense of the appropriate. No, Ms. Aandraison, I did not know your husband personally, but I was quite a follower of the Society Pages when the two of you were making such a splash on Earth. I’m going to make you a special offer: I will do the complete reconstruction of your old-Earth castle, gratis, only asking you to cover the salaries of Mr. Thazmio and Mr. Nikkos for this project. That should come to about two thousand credits. I ask as well that you to allow us to install a discreet brass plaque on the finished building, acknowledging Cobb's Brush and Reparo as the renovators.”

“Oh, Mr. Cobb, I couldn’t take advantage of you in that way,” said Dori. “You must know I am perfectly capable of paying my own way.”

“Sincerely, it would be a great favor,” Mr. Cobb insisted. “What ‘Brush and Reparo’ needs most right at this juncture is publicity, not cash.”

Dori shrugged. “Very well,” she said. “What do you think of the property?”

“Well, we will need to import some material to fill out the missing and deteriorated portions of the structure. I know that Juula Daggle imagined a modern building, with modern amenities, while preserving the old structure’s appearance: force-field windows, I suppose, central heating and air, plasteel support beams, and all that. But I appreciate this ancient architecture. I would rather restore it to its original condition. The draftiness of the paneless windows can be offset by heavy curtain hangings or tapestries, the cold stone floors could be covered with rugs. The details of the interior decorating I would leave up to you, of course. We would only be restoring the original structure. But the play of light throughout the building, and its equilibrium with the exterior environment are too intrinsic to the nature of the structure for it too be compromised, in my opinion. I don’t believe Mr. Jahnson would let it get too cold or uncomfortable in this area of the planetoid, anyway, once the weather systems are running.”

“The cold has never bothered me,” said Dori. “You make a good argument: I approve of your plan; if I change my mind, we can always retrofit.”

“Very good,” said Mr. Cobb. “Now, it may take me a while to locate appropriately matching stone for the repairs. I will let you know.”

Two weeks later, a ship arrived with the additional building materials. The following day, Mr. Cobb invited Dori down to the site.

“It’s finished?” said Dori. “But how…?”

“Trade secret,” said Mr. Cobb. “Confidential. Proprietary information. You like the result?”

Dori had to admit, the castle was beautiful, and impressive. It looked like it could be home to dozens of families. Even the little graveyard had been cleaned up, and separated from the rest of the grounds by an antique, low cast-iron fence.

“I could recommend an interior decorator,” said Mr. Cobb.

“Oh, I know just where to get the carpets and wall-hangings I need,” said Dori. “There is a Textiles Museum on Winath, and I can get it made-to-order.”

Mr. Cobb seemed to find this amusing; Dori was not sure why. “Yes, there are a number of Textile Museums scattered across Winath. Fine institutions. You are woman of exquisite taste. Ms. Aandraison.”

He left her with a bill for just under two thousand credits, a relatively paltry sum, in the context of building an entire planet.

“Thirty days, same as cash,” said Mr. Cobb, and returned to his waiting spaceship.

Ennis Jahnson surveyed the project after its completion, the first structure on Jahnson’s Planet.

“Your castle is seems more of a small, medieval town,” he noted.

“Well, yes, that’s what a castle is, right?” said Dori.

* * *

CHAPTER SIX: THE SEVENTH SON

Ennis and Dori were in the Fanghorn Forest area of Jahnson’s World.

“I had considered,” said Ennis Jahnson, “Populating the forest with volunteers from Arbro or Silvius. However, it turns out they find offensive the depiction of living trees in literature: Tolkien, Baum, Herbert, and so forth.”

“The Ice Forests from Thermopylae,” said Dori. “I was thinking those trees would do well on Xolnar. Most of my Homeworld is uninhabited, and uninhabitable, due to the cold.”

“Oh, no, these trees would not thrive,” said Ennis Jahnson. “The Ice Forests have a complex connection with the sulphur hotsprings of the Fire Forests. It is a relationship which has evolved rapidly, only in the last hundred thousand years or so, due to changing climactic conditions on Thermopylae. It is expected that both the Fire and Ice Forests of Thermopylae will be extinct in another ten millennia or so, as those conditions cannot persist indefinitely. It would be nice to find the Thermopylae Forests a new home, but I’m afraid Xolnar is not it.”

* * *

Talk of home had got Dori thinking about her own feelings of disconnected homelessness, despite having houses on three worlds.

A figure suddenly appeared in her room.

“You may call me, ‘The Recluse’,” the figure intoned. It was tall, nearly seven feet, and skeletally thin. Its skin was pink, its eyes a fluorescent yellow, its ears large and pointed, its head bald.

“You’re a Controller, aren’t you?” asked Dori. “Well, you immortals ought to learn something of the cultural conventions of the people you harass. Terrans consider it rude to materialize in a room unannounced.”

The Controller paused, staring off into space for a moment, and then vanished. There was a knock at the door.

“Well, that’s a little better,” said Dori. “Although in this century, it’s more appropriate to call first. What do you want?”

“I am here to ask you on a… date,” said the Controller.

“What?” asked Dori.

“You have been dating again,” said the Controller. “First Giulion Kerioth, then Ennis Jahnson. I also wish to ask you for a date.”

“I don’t think so...” Dori was saying. The Controller stretched forth a skeletal hand, touched her wrist, and Jahnson’s World vanished.

They were floating in space, under a blindingly white sky, spattered with black, twinkling stars.

“This is what we Controllers call ‘The White World’,” Recluse explained. “You are now outside the Multiverse.”

“I thought the Multiverse was defined as everything that exists,” said Dori. “And wherever we are, I don’t appreciate being brought here against my will.”

“The White World is beyond everything that exists,” Recluse explained. “It is most dangerous—it is what wants to exist.”

“You’re not making sense,” said Dori. “And take me home immediately.”

“There is someone I want you to meet,” Recluse explained. “Ah, here he comes now.”

A roiling, bubbling sphere of black space and silver stars expanded before them. Soon Dori and The Recluse were enveloped. They found themselves on a strange, gloomy world, surrounded by gray, prostrate proto-humanoids, at the foot of a giant, seated statue.

A moment later, Dori realized the giant was alive.

“This,” The Recluse explained, “Is the Seventh Son of Darkseid.”

“Point me back towards Jahnson’s World,” said Dori, “And I will walk home.”

But the giant had already enclosed Dori and The Recluse in his fist. He deposited them on the table in front of him.

“I do not often get visitors from the outside,” his voice boomed. “I invite you to share my dinner.”

Dori and The Recluse were suddenly seated at the table, not standing on it. They were now approximately equal in size the giant rock-skinned figure. The slimy gray proto-humanoids still lay prostrate, far away on the ground below.

“The Seventh Son of Darkseid,” The Recluse explained, as though merely interrupted in a collegiate lecture, “Was banished to the White World by his father, who felt threatened by his immense power.”

“Perfectly true,” said the Seventh Son of Darkseid. He waved a hand broadly. “I created all of this from the Nothingness of Chaos. And the creation continues, as it has for centuries. Worlds come into being out of emptiness. My domain continually expands. Eat! Please, you are my guests!”

Dori and The Recluse had large platters before them, covered with glass domes. Stacked inside were the same grey humanoids that crowded the ground below.

“They eventually develop souls, after I have created them,” the Seventh Son of Darkseid declared. “Delicious. And so many races, of so many worlds to choose from. Delightful.”

“Er… “ said Dori, choking down a gag reflex. “Do you have some other name, I mean, other than the Seventh Son of Darkseid, if I am not giving offense?”

“I have many names,” the giant declared. The voices of the hosts of grey humanoids now became more audible. “Lord. Great Lord. Master. Adonai. Baal. Creator. King of Kings. Almighty One. Generous and Beneficent One…” The names and cries rolled on and on.

“Why have you brought me here?” hissed Dori, at The Recluse. “I am not one to fraternize with gods.” The Recluse had not touched the plate before him, either, had not even lifted the glass.

“Why, indeed?” the Seventh Son of Darkseid declared. He reached a massive hand over, and tore The Recluse’s head from his neck. Dori gasped, feeling nauseous and faint. The god took up a knife, and neatly sliced the top of the Controller’s head off. He then began to calmly eat the brains with a silver spoon.

“Ah, so your name is Dori Aandraison. A pitiful name,” said the dark god. “The Recluse has brought you here so that you might see what he fears you might become. That is, myself. Really? The Controller considers you my rival, at least in embryo. Well, I suppose I ought to kill you quickly, before your powers manifest themselves.” He reached a massive hand again towards Dori’s head. She flinched, but found she could not move. The god’s fingers painlessly entered her skull, and pulled out a half-dozen withered, dried-up, rainbow-colored worms. “Dear me,” said the Seventh Son of Darkseid. “It appears your connections to the Entities of the Emotional Spectrum have withered and died. The Controller has transported you beyond their influence.” He dropped the dried husks on the table, washing his hands in a small basin of clear water which had appeared on the table. “Sadly, you are quite powerless,” the god remarked. “I suppose you would make a briefly amusing plaything, but I have so many other pretty little toys already. Oh, I know!” He closed his eyes briefly. “There is, in the literature of this people,” he waved to the prostrate grey masses below. “A volume of scripture, detailing my doings among them throughout the generations. I have altered it, inserting your name and likeness, as the Evil One, the Great Temptress, the Slanderer of the Benevolent God, the Adversary of Righteousness. They have been awaiting your coming now for ten thousand years. Let us not let them wait any longer.”

Dori found herself at the foot of the stony throne once more, equal in size again to the grey alien inhabitants of this world. At her appearance, they sprang to their feet as one, and drew back as though in horror. She now found herself at the center of a circle of the slimy grey creatures. For a moment, there was no action; it was as though this strange non-universe held its breathe. Then one of the creatures picked up a stone from the ground. He hurled it at Dori. It struck her shoulder painfully. She cried out in pain and surprise. A dozen more stones followed, one striking her above her left eye, causing a stinging drizzle of blood. More stones were thrown, a veritable hail. Dori fell to her knees, trying to shield her head from more blows. She noted in passing that several of the stones had missed their mark, and were hitting the small grey creatures themselves. There was blood in her mouth. One knee burned with pain. There was a jolt to her side; she felt as though a rib might be broken.

The rain of stones ceased. The hard ground under her hands and knees had turned to soft carpeting. She looked up, wiping the blood from her eyes. She was back in her apartments, The Recluse was gingerly feeling his neck with his long fingers. There was a visible scar, all the way around. There was a second Controller, a female, holding a small round device in one hand.

“I dialed you back,” the female Controller was saying. “I trust you had spent enough time there? How was your visit?”

“It went as well as could be expected, I suppose,” The Recluse replied. “Dori Aandraison, this is The Associate, who was supervising our mission.”

“I wish to repeat myself,” said Dori, her newly-restored aura now flaming in red, green, and gold. “Leave my home. Go far away. You Malthusians are insane, every last race and one of you. Leave me alone.”

“Oh, but surely you want these back?” The Associate offered. She was holding the withered polychromatic worms, now encased in what looked like a transparent acrylic block.

“Leave!” cried Dori. Flames leaped from her aura, licking at the two Controllers, who vanished, dropping the little plastic brick.

Dori picked up the little block, placed it up on a shelf, and limped over to the Schwarzwald hospital to have her wounds tended.

By the time she returned, the little withered rainbow worms had morphed into seven tiny copies of the gargoyle statuettes she had seen on the Rock of Eternity.

* * *

CHAPTER SEVEN: ENCHANTING BEARS

Ennis Jahnson had taken Dori to the Enchanted Forest this morning.

“I thought you might like to meet the other permanent non-employee guests of Jahnson’s World,” he said.

The little cottage was only a short distance from the entrance to the Forest. It sat in a little grove of trees, surrounded by numerous berry bushes of different varieties. What appeared to be a small greenhouse was set back behind the cottage.

“May I present Jorn and Manna Albens, our bear family,” said Ennis Jahnson.

The two small bears wore starched white blouses and green overalls, patterned in one of the plaids of the Mardruan clans. They were both several inches shorter than Dori, but heavily built, close to the ground. Dori could not be sure if they were grinning or grimacing, but assumed the former.

“Have you had breakfast?” asked Papa Bear. “We’re late to bed, later to rise in this house.”

“Thank you, I’ve eaten,” said Ennis Jahnson. “Dori?”

“Thanks, no,’ said Dori. “We don’t want to disturb your morning. Perhaps we should come back later?”

“Certainly not,” said Mama Bear. “We so seldom have visitors—at least, not in human form.” She laughed.

The interior of the cottage was cozy. There was a fine breakfast waiting on the table.

“Make yourself at home,” said Mama Bear, as the two bears pulled up chairs to the table. “Just don’t break any furniture.” She laughed.

“It smells delicious,” said Dori, as the bears sat down.

“Salmon Globes,” said Papa Bear. “A kind of Meatmelon. We grow them out in the Hydroponics House. The grounds are planted with berry bushes and nut trees, as well. We can’t grow all our own food, of course. We get regular shipments from the village. But I suppose Ennis told you we were farmers on Mardru for years. It’s a hard habit to break.”

“How is Joss doing these days?” asked Ennis.

“He’s graduated; going back to Mardru to work for one of the big farming consortiums.” Papa Bear indicated a holo-pic on a shelf. “That’s him, with his fiancée, Bell Aden. Nice girl.”

Dori had seen any number of strange, alien creatures in her time, but she had never seen anyone, to put it bluntly, as just plain ugly as the man in the picture. He made the gargoyles on the Rock of Eternity look positively handsome. The young woman in the picture, on the other hand, was stunning.

“He uses a Zyzanite holographic cloak to appear more ordinary,” explained Mama Bear. “Bell has a similar cloak that makes her appear more ordinary, as well. Started using it shortly after she discovered what Joss really looked like. She hates being judged by her appearance; hates others being judged by their appearance, too. Joss is a lucky man; they’re a couple made for each other. There’s a picture of the two of them with their cloaks on there, too.”

The two people in the second picture were so ordinary-looking that Dori had completely overlooked it.

“When are they getting married?” asked Dori. “Are you attending as humans?”

Ennis Jahnson laughed. “It happens in less than a month, here on Jahnson’s World. We have already booked out the Enchanted Palace—that’s what we call the hotel here, you know—for the entire wedding party. My people will be preparing and providing everything except the wedding gown and bridesmaids’ dresses. Jorn and Manna may attend in any form they choose.”

“We’ve been in ursine form for now,” said Papa Bear. “I see no reason to change back, just for a wedding. Bell’s family is scandalized enough that she is marrying a poor Mardruan farmer. That she is also marrying into a family of transmogrified bears is just one more little thing to deal with.”

“How’s your health?” asked Dori. “Bears don’t usually live much longer than twenty years, do they?”

“Ah, but we’re not really bears now, are we?” said Mama Bear. “We’re rather a special case. And Dr. MacArthur at the Enchanted Forest Hospital has created a modified Rejuvium formulation for our unique physiologies.”

“I’ll be ninety-one Standard this year, but I feel half my age,” said Papa Bear. “Manna is over a decade younger, of course, so she’s even spryer.”

“A lady doesn’t reveal her age,” said Mama Bear. “And her husband should keep his mouth shut, as well.”

Dori thought of her uncle, Gaal Jindrich, certainly no older than Manna Albens, and struggling mightily with his health. Perhaps there was something about Ennis Jahnson’s powers that kept the bears young as well? She tried to imagine what sort of creature her Uncle Gaal might transform into.

“Jorn is quite a talent,” said Ennis Jahnson. “All the woodworking you see in the cottage is his handiwork, from the shelves to the knick-knacks to their dinnerware.”

Dori now noticed the oversize wooden spoons and forks the bears had been using for breakfast. There was certainly a lot of wood in the cottage: chairs, tables, shelves, the bed-frame. She also took note of the ornamental bowls and boxes on the shelves around the cottage, and in particular a small wooden statue of three bears near the holo-pics of their son.

“I have a carpentry shop out back,” Jorn Albens told Dori. “For the big stuff. And the little stuff I whittle, if you know the word.”

“There’s plenty of left-over wood every year when the bio-engineers re-plant the forests,” Ennis Jahnson added.

“And you really enjoy it all alone out here?” asked Dori.

“We pretty much kept to ourselves on Mardru,” said Mama Bear. “But being with Jorn—well, it’s all I need.”

“Being married to Manna always was like a fairy-tale,” said Papa Bear. “And now we are really in one! Two bears living in an enchanted forest, being visited daily by six-foot-tall rabbits and porcupines and what-not.”

“And we’re very proud of Joss,” said Mama Bear. “Jahnson’s World gave him a unique childhood, opened his eyes to the Universe of Possibility that exists.”

“I can’t take credit for their happiness,” said Ennis Jahnson later. “That is entirely of their own doing. They are a very fortunate couple.”

CHAPTER EIGHT: RETURNING A FAVOUR

* * *
Dori’s door pinged. Another unexpected visitor.

“{It can’t be another Controller},” Dori thought to herself. “{Please not another Controller}.

It was a pretty, green-skinned blonde girl.

“Let me guess,” said Dori. “You're Coluan. An associate of Brainiac 5?”

“I am The Karabot, Mark II,” said the visitor. “A fully sentient artificial intelligence. Yes. An associate of Brainiac 5.”

“I think I heard of the first Karabot…” said Dori. “Wasn’t it… she… created during a time of … er… mental illness?”

“Indeed,” replied The Karabot Mark II. “The prototype was originally the creation of Brainiac 5’s subconscious, but the architecture was subsequently more intentionally upgraded and improved.
"That is precisely the reason for my visit: the more complex a mind becomes, the more things there are that can go wrong. This is why Coluans generally average only tenth-level intelligence.
“There is a Coluan by the name of Xart Prax, a specialist in strategy. After several unexpected defeats by Brainiac 5.1, he attempted to artificially enhance his intelligence. It did not go well.
“While he succeeded in attaining twelfth-level, he unfortunately scrambled his emotional system. He experiences a feeling of hate in situations where the appropriate stimuli would suggest love, happiness and sadness are likewise exchanged, as is pain and pleasure. He is thus as extreme danger: a super-intelligent madman.
“Brainiac 5 currently has Xart Prax in confinement; he wishes to cure him. However, current psionic technology offers no solution. Rather, he seeks a biological entity with sufficiently strong emotional manipulation powers to work with him. He has already exhausted the resources of New Titan, and so has sent me to you.”

“My powers don’t exactly work that way,” said Dori. “They are manifestations of my own emotions…”

“It is Brainiac 5’s hope that your deep connection to the emotional spectrum will allow us to locate another empathy—Psyche, of the Second Wanderers, who seems to have gone missing along with the rest of her group several years ago.”

“My powers don’t work that way either…” Dori objected.

“That is why we wish to augment them,” The Karabot replied. She produced a small box.

The device was rudely fashioned; it looked like nothing so much as a stethoscope with a small dish antenna on one end. Dori sat down in a comfortable chair, and allowed The Karabot to attach it to her.

“If you feel the slightest discomfort, do not hesitate to remove the device,” said The Karabot. “Now close your eyes, relax, and expand your consciousness outward…”

Her voice faded away. There was darkness, but there were points of light in the darkness. Most were very far away, but a few were quite near. These must be the empaths on Jahnson's World Dori turned her attention toward them. In a moment, she recognized one. “{Marrita Sharrik,}” She said to herself. “{Bunny's little girl.} She turned her attention further outward. Psyche of the Second Wanderers… how would she recognize her? Time passed. Hours, perhaps, as she examined each tiny spark of light. Suddenly, she knew. That little light—it was her. She pulled the device off her head.

“I am sorry,” said The Karabot. “Was it terribly intrusive?”

“No, no, I have found her,” said Dori.

“Really?” The Karabot seemed surprised. “According to my internal chronometer, it has been only 480 milliseconds since you closed your eyes.”

“No, it was hours…” Dori began, but there was no point in arguing. “I am afraid Psyche, and the rest of the Second Wanderers, are somewhere in the Sculptor Galaxy. I could go back under, and get a more precise location, but I am afraid that by the time you get there, they would certainly have moved. Its quite a ways away, isn't it?”

“Thank you for your efforts,” said The Karabot. “We have not yet exhausted all possibilities.”

“Let me just ask,” said Dori, “Are there a large number of highly dangerous criminals that Brainiac 5 has taken on as his personal responsibility?”

“Our personal responsibility,” said The Karabot. “I am the Watson to his Holmes, as it were, and there are a couple of dozen Moriartys we keep track of.”

“I don’t understand the reference,” said Dori.

“Magpie, Doctor Solution, The Betrayer,” The Karabot continued, “Dapper Dan, the Terrible Terrapin, Salome Grundy, the brains-and-brawn team of Francula and Drakenstein, Quadrexx-64, Felix and Felina of Karna…”

The Karabot paused. “I am sure the list is much far interesting to Querl and me.”

“If I want to contact you again, how should I call you?” asked Dori. “It seems a little clumsy to be saying ‘The Karabot Mark II’ everytime I want to ask after you.”

“I have considered about that,” said The Karabot. “Informally, you may call me 'Marcii'.”

CHAPTER NINE: ALIEN ECONOMIES

Ennis Jahnson took Dori to the Candyland Forest.

"On Earth," said Ennis Jahnson, "Trees create inert structures of cellulose for support, which are incredibly complex polysaccarides. On the planet Ose, the trees use simple sugars to create the same structures, giving them an appearance of being made of rock candy. Naturally, all kinds of creatures have evolved that eat the candy, and the various trees infuse their sugary barks with molasses, cinnamon, peppermint, and a hundred other flavourings. Their minute seeds are also contained within the outer bark, of course. The inner core of the trees is flavored with some really nasty-tasting amides, so entire forests are not devastated by foraging. Occasionally, a monsoon-like rain will sweep through a forest, which is as devastating as a forest fire here on Earth-- but the forests always regrow. The ecology of Ose is so unique that the planet could not be colonized without complete terraforming-- but here, our patrons can get a taste of this sugary world."

Dori broke off a small twig as they passed; it had a minty, slightly bitter flavour that was not unpleasant, but unlike anything she had ever tasted before.

"I haven't always been the hermit I am today," Ennis Jahnson offered. "In my day, I visited numerous other worlds. There are ways of living that most Terrans would find inconceivable. You were in the Diplomatic Corps, Dori. Have you heard of the Vitaans?"

"Yes," Dori replied. "Not properly members of the U.P., but still within our Protectorate. They are known for controlling their population through euthanasia, but are otherwise highly advanced, technologically speaking.. I wouldn't recognize a Vitaan if I saw one, but they are described as a non-Terran humanoid species."

"Yes, well, most Terrans who understand that world find their life-style horrific. The entire planet runs off a series of reactors which metabolize life-force. And very efficiently, too. For the living, Vitaanus is a virtual paradise: no disease, no poverty, plentiful food and energy. Crime and war are unknown on their world. There is a particular artistic aesthetic philosophy among the population. But when a Vitaan begins to get old, they make their way to a life-force reactor. They surrender the last few years of their lives-- which would otherwise be spent in a slow decline, and loss of faculty-- to the machines that power the planet. A hundred million or so every year. There is no law which sends them to the reactors, but very strong cultural norms, that when a person is no longer "useful", they surrender themselves to the machines, for the good of the rising generation. Inconceivable to you and I, but it works for the Vitaans. And, as I say, nominally a virtual paradise, were you to visit without knowing the basis upon which their civilization is built. The U.P., however, will not trade with them, will not allow them membership, does not have official diplomatic relations with them."

"Completely understandable, from my point of view," said Dori.

"Indeed," said Ennis Jahnson. "Most people-- Terrans, at least-- would agree with you. And then there are the Brammins."

"Also not U.P. members," said Dori. "They resemble semi-humanoid harlequin cats. Very advanced, technologically. Their name comes from the similarity of their world's caste-system to ancient India. The "Brahmans" of Brammin-- the highest caste-- were the only ones the Diplomatic Corp were ever allowed to interact with. They spoke for the rest of the planet, many of whom were grindingly, excruciatingly poor."

"Yes, an interesting economy, if examined closely," said Ennis Jahnson. "All production there has become computerized and roboticized. Food, clothing, housing, furnishings, entertainment-- all produced without living labor. Even their government and financial system is entirely automated. Earth is beginning to evolve in that direction."
"The Upper Caste owns 100% of the means of production. All land, machinery, and other property is in the hands of one-tenth of one percent of the population. The Lower Castes pay rent to the owners for housing, furnishings, clothing, access to service 'bots, and so forth. Of course, there is no employment available to the Lower Castes-- every conceivable need or want is supplied by the machines, not people. Nor is it possible for them to profit by engaging in 'artisanal' production, as in much of the U.P. Anything they produce is owned by their Upper Castemaster, as it is produced with the Castemaster's own materials, on their own property. The only vocation for the Lower Castes is begging."
"Each morning, the Lower Castes don their special begging cloaks, take their begging bowls, and line the streets of the Brammin cities.By law, they may not cry out, accost, address, and especially not touch the Upper Castes who pass their way. They are wholly dependent for their sustenance on the individual, spontaneous generosity of the Upper Castemen who pass by."

"And the Upper Castemen are generous, giving away 75% to 90% of their annual incomes to the beggars. They understand that their continued prosperity, and that of their brethren, is dependent upon the continued consumption-- rents-- of the 99.99 percent of the population who own nothing, and beg for their livings. If any Upper Casteman is perceived as insufficiently generous, he is chastised by his fellows."

"As for the beggars, once they have shed their beggars cloaks, they live in relative luxury, at least in comparison with the most impoverished in the U.P. Their homes are clean, spacious, and well-appointed. They have access to fine, high-quality food, often prepared by skilled robot chefs. They receive good educations, and appreciate the fine art and literature of their heritages. They have access to entertainment, both at home, and at amusement centers. They travel the planet freely and frequently, and with relative ease."

"It is the Brammins who refused membership in the United Planets. They consider our governments corrupt, and our institutions evil. To them, taxation is robbery, and merchantilism is extortion."

"But the Upper Castes of the Brammin are nothing but merchants," Dori objected.

"No, they are renters," said Ennis Jahnson. "The right of property-- the right to own property-- in the Brammin philosophy-- cannot be bought with money. It is a divine right, which can only be transferred by bloodline, from parent to child. The Brammins find our political and economic systems anathema-- ethical abominations. They seldom leave their homeworld, and have very little contact with the rest of the galaxy. I do not judge. If others live by the ethical principles thy espouse, I praise them. There are other ways of living than our own, and we ought to be more open-minded than the Brammins about alien cultures. It is those who espouse complex, well-developed ethical systems and do not follow them themselves who earn my disdain."

"You don't like hypocrites," Dori concluded.

CHAPTER TEN

Ennis Jahnson had inivited Dori to dine with Prince Rixxar and Princess Alyss of Pasnic. The Prince was princely, courtly, dark and handsome, the princess tall and stately. Dori was somewhat put off by the Lady-in-Waiting, who stood silently behind the Princess while they ate. It was as disconcerting as the manner in which Bunny stood behind Ennis Jahnson in the same way.

"And the two of you will succeed King Jonn as co-rulers of Pasnic?" Ennis Jahnson was saying.

"Oh, no," the Prince laughed. "Alyss will be Queen Regent, I am only the Prince Consort. I imagine the Kameral will give me some Duchy or other in the succession."

"And what is your title, Mr. Jahnson," the Princess asked. "You rule this World, do you not?"

"Indeed," said Ennis Jahnson. "I am the supreme ruler here. I do not even answer to a Board of Directors. My official title is 'Proprietor'".

"Well, perhaps Pansic can negotiate trade relations with your World, Proprietor Jahnson," said the Princess.

Ennis Jahnson stood, and walked over to the extensive aquarium that ringed the lower rooms of the Schwarzwald Hotel. "Let me show you something," he offered the Prince and Princess. There was an odd, faraway look in his eye. Dori noticed a sly smile creep across the face of the Princess' Lady-in-Waiting.

Ennis Jahnson gestured at one of the small tanks that made up the chain of aquariums. Too late, Dori realized what tank it was. There was an exposion of glass and water as a tiny pirhana transformed into a full-sized Roxxas. The assassin smoothly swept up a fragment of glass from the floor, and plunged it into Ennis Jahnson's heart.

Bunny ran to her fallen employer. "He's dead," she declared. Dori's heart caught in her throat.

The Lady-in-Waiting laughed aloud. "And now, assasin, by the power of Universo's Hypno-Gem, you are mine!" she cried.

Dori awoke in a cold sweat.

"I have had the most terrible premonition," she told Bunny on the wallscreen. Doctor Bernardette Chandrasekar was evidently not at her best when awoken at 1:30 in the morning.

"Nothing about your dream makes sense," said Bunny. "The walls of the Schwarzwald Aquarium are not glass, but four centimeters of transparent aluminum. And only Brainiac 5 could enlarge Roxxas to human size. Even if Ennis was forced to transform him back to human form, he would still be the size of a large ant..." She continued in this vein for some time, until Dori's fears were somewhat assuaged, and the both went back to their respective beds.

The luncheon was held in the Hotel outside the Sequoia Forest, not the Schwarzwald. The Prince and Princess looked nothing like Dori's dream: the Prince was middle-aged, soft, round, and completely bald; the Princess was of a similar age, and easily topped three hundred pounds, and had badly thinning hair herself. Her Lady-in-Waiting was stooped and aged.

The two Royals both transformed into sea-creatures, the Prince a sort of giant lobster, the Princess some kind of ambulatory oyster-like thing. Fortunately, there was a faux ocean and seashore attached to the Sequoia Forest. The Royals were entirely satisfied with the experience.

Dori examined her feelings, a habit she had begun to develop in the last couple of years. When Ennis Jahnson had 'died' in her dream, it had seemed like another end of the world. On the other hand, the routine of entertaining Jahnson's World clients, of transformations and un-transformations, of walk-abouts in the strange and magnificent Forests seemed comfortingly ordinary and mundane-- despite its inherent extraordinariness. What was happening to her?

CHAPTER ELEVEN: SHOW BUSINESS (LIKE NO BUSINESS I KNOW)

It was the annual bioengineering audit of the Forests, and Ennis Jahnson was too busy with the foresting engineers to spend much time entertaining Dori.

Fortunately, the Daintree Opera Company was ambitiously mounting a production of The Polgariad, a five-night program, presenting the full cycle. This would keep Dori's evenings full for nearly a week. It was also a chance to catch up with many of the friends she had made in Daintree. Some of them had participated in a production of Gwynplaine & Fledermaus which had been a great success the previous year-- and which she had attended with the lost, lamented Giulion Kerioth.

On opening night, Dori noticed—she could hardly not notice—a gentleman seated a in her row, a few seats down. He was handsome, in a holo-star sort of way, and fully dressed for the opera in white tie and tails, complete with opera cape. His attire appeared slightly out of fashion, as though he had inherited it from his grandfather. Throughout the first act, Dori also could not help noticing that he was glancing at her frequently. She tried to dim her aura to its lowest level—as always, when in a darkened theater—but still felt somewhat self-conscious.

At intermission, the stranger approached her.

“Dori Aandraison, I presume?” he asked.

“I’m afraid you have the advantage of me,” Dori replied, somewhat coldly. “I don’t believe we have been introduced.”

“Of course, but you must be used to fame,” the stranger replied. “I am Stuart Farmer, late of the Aoran Terran Colony, briefly a guest here on Jahnson's World. I wonder if I might impose on you to indulge with me in a brief cup of Kono after tonight’s program. I seldom have the opportunity to meet such a celebrated personality as yourself.”

Clearly, Mister Farmer was a practiced flatterer, but Dori was flattered nevertheless. She agreed that they would meet at the StarKono’s alongside the theater after the show.

“I am pleased you accepted my invitation,” Stuart Farmer admitted in the Konoshop. “You famously have rather a full social itinerary.”

In the bright lights of the shop, Dori saw something disturbingly familiar in the handsome man’s eyes, a kind of sad, aged weariness.

“Wait.. you aren’t one of those semi-immortals who seem to crop up to pester me from time to time, are you?”

Stuart Farmer’s eyes were downcast. “Guilty, I’m afraid,” he said.

Doris stood up quickly. “Thank you for a pleasant invitation, Mr. Farmer, if that is indeed your real name, but I am not in the mood for anther excursion to other dimension to meet homicidal monsters, or for opaque warnings about my future, or for whatever other bizarre occupation you have planned for us this evening. Good night.” She quickly turned to leave the Konoshop.

“Please, Ms. Aandraison,” Stuart Farmer replied in a quiet voice. “I only want to tell you a story. My own history, in fact. You may draw your own conclusions afterward.”

Half-reluctantly, Dori returned to the table. But her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

Stuart Farmer took a deep breathe.

“I was born in the Terran Aoran Colony, where my parents had emigrated at the beginning of the Great Terran Expansion—the early 26th century, by the common reckoning. I followed in my father’s footsteps—he was a banker. But like the cobbler whose children are always barefoot, I was bad at handling my own money. I accumulated significant debts.”

“I believed I had found a way out, however: I was a skilled programmer, and created a computer virus which I managed to introduce into the computer of a major investment banking concern. By retroactively crediting investments to a portfolio, I was able to—well, the technical term is steal—nearly a hundred thousand credits before shutting the program down. I thought it the perfect crime—I was stealing from rich investors, who I felt could afford the loss, and giving to the poor—myself. I considered it a perfect, near-victimless crime.”

“However, the virus was not quite as undetectable as I thought. The financial analyst whose computer I had hacked was implicated as the perpetrator, with money flowing into his trading acount, then untraceably out. With seemingly incontrovertible evidence against him, and facing a long prison sentence, he committed suicide.”

“I was shocked, and fell into a deep depression. My wife and children noticed, and our relations became strained, deepening my melancholy. At last, I, too, began to commit suicide. That is when I was visited by an angel. And by that, I mean, a messenger of... well, she is called The Presence nowadays. God. She tried to persuade me that my life was worth living, that I could make a difference for good. In a desperate, classic gambit, she showed me what the world would be like if I had never been born.”

“In this alternate Universe, my wife had married someone else. Their children were happy as or happier than ours had been. My parents did not particularly miss having one child fewer. I had been the middle child of five. Most pointedly, Knodar, the financial analyst who had committed suicide, was still alive, and living happily with his own wife and children. The angel and I ultimately decided to leave the Universe as it was, without me in it.”

“As compensation, I was given awesome powers, Daxamite-class abilities or better, and I was instructed to use these powers to go out and do good, to make up for the good I had not done in what had been my life.”

“For I am now neither dead nor alive, not undead, but unborn. I should not truly exist in this Universe, and yet... here I am. I have helped a number of people over the years—even prevented the destruction of entire worlds—but, of course, no on remembers me. I am known by many names throughout the Galaxy, but really by none at all. The Unknown Hero. Mister Nobody. John Doaks. Monsieur Tout-le-Monde. The Mystery Man. Perhaps a dozen other names, I don’t know. In fact, soon after I leave, you will forget me and my story as well. But I want to tell you one more thing.”

“All right. Indulge me. A second story.”

“There is another angel, a fallen angel, one who rebelled against Heaven, and followed Lucifer. But he rebelled against Hell as well, ultimately desiring to use his diabolical powers for Good, rather than Evil. And so become an independent source of good himself. A kind of super-angel.”

“You have met him as Jon Apollo. He seeks to do good, to improve the Universe. But everything he has tried over the centuries turns sour. It is not because he is cursed by Heaven, although he is, but because he has no understanding. He has no conscience, and can hardly recognize good when he sees it. He is cut off from the mind of God, and thus has no appreciation for the complexities of life, or how sometimes evil can be turned into good by Providence, and good turned to evil by Wickedness. His advice—which can sound compelling—is always, utterly, unarguably bad. I know what he told you has been preying on your mind, but believe me, it can be safely ignored. I believe you will remember this after I am gone, but you will never remember from where you learned it.”

They had finished their drinks, and were out in the street.

“Forgive me, if I do not walk you home,” Stuart Farmer apologized. “If it is a failure of etiquette, well, you will forget me soon enough, anyway.” He gazed up into the sky, and rose up like a meteor falling backwards.

“There are more things in Heaven and Earth,” thought Dori, “Than are dreamt of in our philosophies. Now, I wonder, what made that thought cross my mind?”

CHAPTER 12: YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO THE WEDDING OF JOSS AND BELL

The wedding of Joss “Baby Bear” Albens and Bell Aden was a resounding success, or a dismal catastrophe, depending on which side of the aisle you asked. The Adens were from the opposite end of the social scale as the “three bears”. Although both were farmers, the Aden's land holdings were measured in square miles, and their declared annual income in millions of credits. They were scandalized to find themselves in the company of telepaths, android Probes, and shape-shifters, for the elderly Albens were a popular couple on Jahnson's World, and many of the employees were invited guests. The Albens themselves attended in their bear forms, wearing new plaid overalls, and barefoot. Mardruan plaids were also featured in the fancy dress of the Aden clan, but more subtly, in hats, scarves, vests, cravats, and hose.

The problems began with the bridal cake. Transported from Mardru, a masterpiece created by a friend of the Albens, it arrived in pieces. Sections had been supported by anti-grav plates, which had inexplicably failed mid-flight. The small grooms-cake was unharmed, as were the auxiliary sheet-cakes meant to be fed to the majority of the guests. But the culinary centerpiece meant for display was gone.

The bridesmaid’s dresses had been elegant creations, an electric, viridescent chartreuse color—under the light of Mardru’s sun. But in the artificial light of the ballroom on Jahnson’s World, they were merely a pale, sickly mottled olive.

The bride’s maid-of-honor had, by the time of the reception dinner, clearly had had too much to drink. She spilled a brilliant red Shiraz down the front of her green dress in a brave effort at a bridal toast, then spilled the second glass on the bride’s mother-of-pearl-colored wedding gown. She followed this second faux pas with a complete stress meltdown, regurgitating her entire history of hors d'oeuvres onto the dinner plate in front of her. She fled the table in tears.

On the other hand.

The ceremony was presided over cooperatively by a respectable Mardruan Methodist minister imported for the occasion, and a Saturnian Universalist from Jahnson's World. Initially somewhat suspicious of one another, they ended fast friends by the end of the evening.

Joss and Bell appeared in their natural forms, one illuminating the chapel with her glamour, the other appearing somewhat less hunched than usual, with a beatific smile softening his alarmingly asymmetric features.

The best man regaled the dinner crowd with tales of Joss's remarkable accomplishments as a young bear on the Enchanted Forest High School wrestling team, as well as a number of jolly youthful incidents of such a questionable nature that it made Ennis Jahnson frown, before he burst out laughing.

An interstellar limousine was allowed to park right in front of the hotel, and just as they were entering it, Joss and Bell touched the buttons on their holographic control necklaces, and were transformed into a most unremarkable, mundane, forgettable couple, and departed to an unnamed honeymoon location, to be followed by a trip back to Mardru, and their new home.

The elegant parents of the bride and the hirsute parents of the groom were bidding one another farewell awkwardly, when Ennis Jahnson approached them, with Dori Aandraison at his side, his escort for the evening. He caught the eyes of the Adens as he drew up, and noted their obvious distress at the proceedings.

“Now, now,” Ennis Jahnson counseled the Adens smilingly, “Any wedding would be a failure if it went off without a hitch.”

The Adens looked nonplussed, but perhaps a little relieved.

As they walked away, Dori commented: “Ennis, sometimes I entirely fail to understand what you’re talking about.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: HEROES

Dori and Ennis Jahnson contemplated Monteverde Wood.

“This is truly a new age of heroes,” Ennis was saying. “Most Daxamites are bound to their world, either by their native xenophobia, or by the difficulty of compounding a stable anti-lead serum for their particular genetic profile. But recently, two Daxamites evidently showed up on Aarok, with the apparent intention of becoming planetary champions. They have engaged in a couple of spectacular rescues, and broken up a local organized crime syndicate at its inception. Taking the name of two local avians, they call themselves Smokewing and Morningale.”

"Have you ever known anyone with powers similar to yours?" Dori inquited. "Turning humans into animals, and animals into humans?"

"Not just humans, but all sapients," corrected Ennis. "But no, there are those with more general transforming powers, but none really like mine. Although, when I was working with the Science Police, we came across an fellow who could transform fungi into homunculi: molds, mushrooms, yeasts, rusts, smuts, even soft cheese and yoghurt. Bread dough as well, I imagine. He would shape them into little humanoids who would do his bidding-- thievery, naturally. He had the same conservation-of-mass limitation I face. So, naturally, they were tiny."

"Doess't Zoon have a giant mushroom forest?" asked Dori. "And if he could transform bread dough, cheese and yoghurt-- well, its just a matter of getting enough of it in one place, isn't it? On Zoon he could be quite the super-villain."

Ennis smiled at the thought. "Well, fortunately for Zoon, the psychic reformation program on Takron-Galtos was very effective. He was imprisoned less than six months, and was, from what I last heard, a model citizen. Now, if he had had the other half of my powers-- able to turn people into random mosses or lichens-- he might have been really dangerous."

“It reminds me of a Planetary Champion I met myself a few years ago,” Dori remarked. “Her family were cheesemakers on one of the frontier worlds, and their cheese became infected with sapient fungal spores traveling from a distant galaxy. Tragically, her parents and siblings were poisoned by the cheese, but by the time she had ingested it, the fungi had learned to adapt to human hosts, and created a kind of composite entity with her. She now uses her alien telekinetic abilities under the name Cheese Girl, of all things. Dreadful origin story, but well thought of on her homeworld.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dori dreamed.

The Cat looked good-natured, she thought: still, it had very long claws and a great many teeth, so Dori felt that it ought to be treated with respect.

`Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?' Dori asked.

`That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,' said the Cat.

`I don't much care where--' said Dori.

`Then it doesn't matter which way you go,' said the Cat.

`--so long as I get somewhere,' Dori added as an explanation.

`Oh, you're sure to do that,' said the Cat, `if you only walk long enough.'

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dori awoke to a buzzing from her front door. Someone had come to visit. She pulled herself together, and answered the door.

The first creature was a good seven feet tall. The right side of its head was a lion’s-head, the left side a bull’s-head. One bare leg was gorilla-like, one looked like the leg of a hawk.

The second visitor had a more human outline, but was difficult to look at: it was like gazing at a hole that opened into the blackness of space. Stars seemed to twinkle in the distance.

The third creature was difficult to look at—somehow, the eyes strayed away from it. Roughly human in shape, it appeared to have scissors for hands. Red-orange blades covered its black uniform.

“I am called Tetratherion,” the half-lion, half-bull introduced himself. “These are my companions, Ginnungagap, and Scissor Boy of Orquith-5. We are envoys from the Substitute Legion of Super-Heroes of Throon. May we come in?”

“How did you get here?” Dori asked. “You didn’t pay the daily fee just to come visit me, did you?”

Scissor-Boy gestured down the hallway. “Bacon-end recapitulates philately,” he said.

A time-bubble shimmered into view, then quietly faded away.

“You have a time bubble? How…” Dori stammered.

“We built it,” Tetratherion explained. “One of the new Substitutes is a Hooloovoon.”

“Come in, I guess,” invited Dori. Her head was still cobwebby. Mornings were not her best time.

“You’re using a time bubble for space travel?” Dori asked, incredulous. “Surely your blue friend has told you the danger…”

“Excessive vulnerability will be renamed commerce,” said Scissor-Boy.

“We have protocols to assure no disruption of the space-time continuum,” Tetratherion assured her. “And it is very convenient. We are able to remain on Throon 100% of the time, while still pursuing missions throughout the Galaxy.”

{“Oh, no, this does not sound at all non-disruptive to the space-time continuum}, thought Dori.

“We are seeking out original members of the Legion of Substitute Heroes,” the Tetratherion explained. “Chlorophyll Kid has left us to attend to some secretive business on Rimbor; Stone Boy will be in hibernation-sleep for another four months. Fire Lad is the only member of the original Substitutes left on Throon, and has an upcoming family reunion on Schwar which he wishes to attend. We seek the wisdom of the others in the Governing Council.”

Dori ran through the original Subs in her mind. Brek had long broken ties with the others; Lydda, Drura, and Ulu were busy with their families. Frenk and Dyvud had been gone for years now, Nura and Thom had their own quite separate responsibilities on Naltor.

“What about Khefurb, or Porcupine Pete?” Dori asked. “Have you tried contacting them?”

“Peter Dursin has been ‘cured’ of his powers,” Tetratherion explained. “And we have already sent another envoy to Antennae Boy: Candy Girl, Femuncula, and Non-Communicable Lass. But with the demands of his successful newscasting career, we have little hope that he will join us.”

“I’m sorry,” said Dori. “I just… this is not something I can do right now. I understand this is a political crisis for you, but… no, I just can’t get involved with Throonan politics again. Not in this capacity.”

Dori watched them leave sadly. A society based on hero worship—especially heroes like the Subs—seemed somewhat problematic. The bizarre Throonan technology was fairly harmless; daunting up close, but essentially unworkable outside that particular star system, tied to its cosmic ecology. But time travel technology, mingled with naïveté; that could be dangerous.

The problem festered in the back of Dori’s mind much of the day. She was reading the Society Pages when a news item caught her eye, giving her an idea.

She gave Bil Katz a call.

“I read you got married again,” Dori told him. “I wanted to call and give my congratulations.”

“Oh, it was a small, quiet ceremony,” he said. “Just a hundred or so close friends. I hope you did not feel overlooked.”

“No, we had quite an affair here on Jahnson’s World only a short time ago,” Dori assured him. “Just wanted to let you know I’m thinking about you.”

“Falina and I ought to come to Jahnson’s World for another honeymoon,” Bil told her. “I understand it is a unique experience.”

“Yes, you should come,” Dori said. “And look me up while you are here. I’m quite comfortable in a private apartment here on Jahnson’s World now.”

Mr. and Mrs. Katz were there within a week. They met Dori in her apartment.

“This is my new bride, Falina,” said Bil. “Can you believe it? Now she’s Falina Katz, and she took my name anyway!”

“Jahnson’s World is an odd sort of second honeymoon,” Dori opined.

“Third honeymoon, actually,” said Falina . “Bil is between jobs right now, so we’ve been taking the time to travel. I can’t believe Bil knows a real super-hero! I’ve read all about the Khund-Xolnar Invasion! It sound very exciting.”

“Xolnar is my homeworld,” Dori said. “I had to defend it. And I’m afraid my other vaunted super-heroics were from similar selfish motives.’

“Do you know,” Falina lowered her voice, “Bil used to be a spy? Nothing too dangerous he assures me, but also very exciting, don't you think?”

“Does your wife tell everyone this?” Dori asked Bil.

“Indeed she does,” said Bil. “But no one believes her. You, of course, know differently."

“Throon has time-bubble technology,” said Dori, apropos of nothing. “Can a get you something to drink? Tea, coffee, or kono?”

"How about a couple of small white wines?" asked Bil. "We hear the same from Gryxor."

"This is an odd place to come for a vacation," Falina commented."I can't think Jahnson's World gets much repeat business-- although it takes all kinds to make a Galaxy, I suppose. Mr. Jahnson changed Bil into a pink panda-- entirely inappropriate, I would think-- and he made me a little white buffalo. Imagine! Me, a natural blonde." She giggled.

"I'm sure it's all in good fun," said Bil Katz, accepting two glasses of wine, and passing one on to Falina. "UPGov is certainly aware of what transpires here on Jahnson's World, but I'm certain they have plenty to concern themselves without trying to protect good-hearted citizens from their own well-intentioned folly. There are enough real dastards in the Galaxy for them to deal with."

The rest of the visit went quickly, with more of the small talk at which Bil Katz excelled.

When she retired that evening, Dori noticed a small jewelry box on her nightstand which she did not recognize. When she opened it, she found a simple, unobtrusive bracelet, and a note.

"Dori- this scrambling bracelet will allow you to converse over any commercial sub-etheric carrier without fear of being overheard. UPGov believes it proof against any eavesdropping technology extant. Don't use it too frequently, the battery has a limited life. When the green jewel turns turquoise, you know someone is listening. Keep in touch. -- Pimpernel"

There was another of the little scarlet flowers in the jewelbox as well.

Other 31st-century operettas I considered having Dori attend:

The Space Pirates of Planet Penzance
The Monstress
Gwynplaine & Fledermaus
The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds
The Importance of Being Earnest