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CHAPTER ONE: MEREDITH JINDRICH JAHNSON

Later… Thirty-five years after the founding of the Legion

She was small, purplish-red, bald, wrinkled, squished, squashed, lopsided, and beautiful.

Dori had done some hard things in her time. More than once, she had fought Khundish battalions, and faced down mad demi-gods. The twelve hours she had spent bringing Meredith into the world was without a doubt the hardest thing she had ever done. Nona has assured her that this had been a relatively easy labor. Dori had no desire to experience a harder one.

Dori was now resting comfortably. Nona was gone. The Morai had been considerate enough to magically reverse the work Ennis had had done, carving a room for her out of the apartments next door. The door was now gone. The rooms next door were as they had been a year before. It was the first instance of her true power Dori had observed, and she had done it casually, without even calling attention to it. Ennis had walked out of Dori’s room, and found the little door gone.

There was no shortage of volunteers to assist the new mother. Cacia Jahnson and Mysa Nal tied for first in their arrivals, the one from Earth, and the other from Tharn.

“Your doula did not stay long after the birth,” Mysa noted.

“You sound pleased,” said Dori. “We have hired an android Probe as a night nurse.

“I just do not trust the gods,” said Mysa. “They always have their own agendas to pursue.”

“Nona told me,” said Dori, “That Lachesis lets the threads of destiny pretty much guide themselves, without much interference. She says we all mostly weave the tapestry of our own fate.”

“I could believe it,” said Mysa. “The gods of every pantheon are mostly lazy. On the other hand, they are also mostly liars, with only a few exceptions.”

Dori smiled and shrugged.

“I think your doula may have left something behind,” said Cacia. She picked up a plain, two-meter staff from one corner of the room. “This is hers, right?”

Mysa came over to examine the outsized distaff. “Meredith Jindrich Jahnson,” she read. “Intaglioed in letters of gold, naturally.”

“Ow!” Cacia exclaimed. “That end is sharp!” She sucked her bleeding finger. “What are you looking at?” she asked Mysa.

“Oh, just waiting to see if you will fall asleep for a hundred years,” the former witch answered. “Not really an very appropriate gift for a newborn, is it?”

“A gift of the Fates,” said Dori, becoming somewhat concerned about her former doula for the first time. “I’m sure if we try to destroy it, or hide it somewhere, it will just turn up again, at the appropriate moment,” said Dori. “We may as well hang it on the wall of the nursery, as a decoration.”

“You’re probably correct,” said Mysa. “Although, it looks disturbingly mundane. My mystic senses are dulled, but not non-existent. It seems to have no enchantments, or god-like transcendence about it at all. Still, would you mind if I sent one of my friends to look at it? Zoe has an acute mystical sense. Perhaps I could send her to visit?”

“Not too soon,” said Dori. “I have about a thousand people who want to drop by and fawn and coo over Meredith. Give it a few months?”

“Dori,” said Mysa suddenly, indicating the open locket at Dori’s neck. “I believe you have lost your key.”

And it was true. The little key to Faeryland was gone.

CHAPTER TWO: NINTH CITY

Later… Forty years after the founding of the Legion

“Hello, Dori,” said Bunny from the WallScreen. “I have a message.”

“I just got back from dropping off Merry to the Kindergarten,” said Dori. “She loves it there. Ennis won’t be back until evening, I’m afraid.”

“This is for you, Dori. Someone on Xolnar has been trying to contact you. This name is Tesla Pederson,” said Bunny. “He has been vouched for by your attorney, Ms. Lokasenna. He would like you to return his call, anytime is fine.”

“Mr. Pederson,” said Dori, a hyperwave call later. “Are you associated with Pederson Brothers Grocers?”

“I am Pederson Brothers,” said Tesla Pederson. “I inherited the C.E.O position from my grandmother, our founder.” If Tesla Pederson was over twenty, Dori would have been very surprised. “ What do you know of our stores?”

“Well, I know you have shops all over Xolnar,” said Dori. “You have a reputation for gourmet, imported, and slightly unusual foods, but still at fairly reasonable prices. Also staples. I think you also may the the only grocery store that is not run by XolnarGov, or one of the Mining Consortiums.”

“Exactly correct,” said Tesla Pederson. “And XolnarGov, by the way is the mining consortiums.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Pederson?” asked Dori. “I have not been back to Xolnar for years. You do come recommended by Alder, so I am willing to listen. I have a few hours before I need to pick up my daughter from school.”

“Pederson Brothers,” said the young man, “Would like to begin selling foodpacks for AutoChefs.”

“Are there so many AutoChefs on Xolnar now?” asked Dori. “That this would be a lucrative enterprise?”

“No, there are not,” said Tesla Pederson. “I believe you have an AutoChef, as well as a SolidPrinter, installed in one of your rental homes on Xolnar. As far as I know, it is the only one on the planet.”

Dori was somewhat confused. “So you are reaching out to me as potentially your only customer?” she asked.

Tesla Pederson smiled. “Why do you suppose there are so few robot chefs and robot artifact makers on Xolnar?” he asked.

“Power, I suppose,” said Dori. “That little house of mine consumes a good fifty to one hundred percent more than its neighbors. When my tenants complained, I told them to unplug the AutoChef and SolidPrinter.”

“Exactly correct,” said Tesla Pederson. “And who controls the power stations on Xolnar?”

“XolnarGov, of course,” said Dori. “And the Mining Consortiums.”

“And can you think of any reason they would want to limit the availability of energy on Xolnar?”

“Not really,” said Dori. “I mean, if demand for energy increased, they would make more money, wouldn’t they? People would not only use more, but they could charge more for every marginal erg. Doubling the amount of energy available would more than double gross profits. I suppose there must be something in the environment of Xolnar that limits the building of additional power plants.”

“Indeed there is,” said Tesla Pederson. “A historical desire for control over the lives of the populace, especially the miners. A fear of the lower classes rising above their station. The Mining Consortiums provide, or control, every good on Xolnar. Food, clothing, housing, whatever. And they recover very nearly 100% of the miner’s salaries, because there is so little competition. Pederson Bros. has had a long, hard, struggle to stay in business for the past half-century. We employ a couple of attorneys full-time to monitor new regulations, and make sure every i is dotted and every t is crossed. What we want is to begin to compete in providing power as well as food and clothing to the populace. What we want is nothing less than a revolution.”

“I’ve been part of a resistance army before,” said Dori. “And let me tell you, it is no picnic. What do you want me to do? Smuggle AutoChefs into the planetary economy?”

“My grandmother Kristina,” said Tesla Pederson, “Was at one time working on an agreement with your mother, regarding an undeveloped piece of land in Ninth City. Unfortunately, the project fell apart after she passed away. My grandmother tried restarting it with your father, but he did not have the passion to continue. I believe that I, myself, have the passion to complete it. I have the contacts, contracts, licenses, and resources now to build a Fusion Powersphere as a supplementary power source. All I want from you is to lease your mother’s old property in Ninth City to us, preferably at a reasonable rate.”

“And you believe one Powersphere will start a revolution?” asked Dori.

“One Powersphere will provide the capital to build a second, then one in every city on Xolnar. We will be more than competitive with XolnarGov.”

“Won’t they just undercut you?” asked Dori. “Drop the rates, to the point where you won’t be able to compete?”

“Perhaps,” said Tesla Pederson. “Which is when we begin selling AutoChefs and SolidPrinters. Demand for power will rise to the point where they cannot undercut us, especially if they will be trying to build new capacity at the same time.”

“Mr. Pederson,” said Dori, “You are devious. I like you. I cannot understand why Alder Lokasenna would say I can trust you. I will consider this proposal. I need to consult with some people I trust, but I will get back to you within the week.”

Pederson Powerspheres was ultimately a success, although Dori had to sink a million credits of her own money to help it over a rough patch. Tesla Pederson invested even more of his, and was nearly removed as head of Pederson Brothers Grocers at one point.

Still, less than a century later, Twenty-First City was established on Xolnar, centered on the site of the former United Planets Military Base, far to the north. Reliant on cheap energy, the domed city was the center of the Xolnaran Mining Cooperative, exploiting the rich pluridium deposits that lay, untouched, even farther north. Larger than any other four Xolnaran cities, it ultimately spawned Twenty-Second through Twenty-Eighth Cities, six of which were massive hydroponic farms. Xolnar flourished for another two-and-a-half centuries in a golden age as an prosperous, independent world.

Of course, that all changed when the Fire Nations attacked.

CHAPTER THREE: AMBROISE AND YTHOROD

Later… Fifty-three years after the founding of the Legion

She grew up in the world of an amusement park, but she did not think it strange, for all the children she knew had done the same. Her mother was violet-eyed, dark-haired, young and beautiful. She could not remember when her father did not look like Santa Claus.

She also knew what the other children did not know: the hidden stepping doors that led from one island to another, and the secret entrances to the Forest Parks.

Meredith had a happy childhood. Her mother was young and beautiful. She could not remember a time when her father did not look like Santa Claus.

When she was twelve, Meredith had approached her father.

“I found a little house in the Enchanted Forest, on the other side of the woods from the Pig Village,” she told him. “Can I have it?”

“You know that house,” said Ennis Jahnson. “We used to take you there to visit Mr. and Mrs. Bear.”

“Oh,” said Meredith. “Do they still live there? It looks empty. I don’t think anyone’s lived there is a long time.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Bear were very old,” said Ennis. “They had to move back with their children on Mardru. They passed away a few years ago. They were buried near their children’s farm. We still get cards from Joss and Bell once a year, around the Holidays.”

“No one lives there now?” asked Meredith.

“No,” said Ennis Jahnson. “It is quite a walk into the woods, and the hotels are very comfortable.”

“Can I have it?” asked Meredith.

“As a play-house?” asked Ennis Jahnson, who had not gotten used to the idea that his little girl was growing up.”

“As a house,” said Meredith, seriously.

Meredith had lived, on and off, in the little red-and-yellow house for more than five years now. She spent much of her summers there. She enjoyed the solitude so much, it was necessary for her parents to come and visit. Her father had paid some of his people overtime, and sent a couple of Probes, to get the house in shape before she moved in. Meredith was able to keep it up now, pretty much by herself. No one had ever tried to get the greenhouses in the back running again; she left the doors open now; they were a refuge for birds.

Inside the little four-room house, there was a small space that in another time might have been called a ‘broom closet’. This contained Meredith’ ‘Treasures’. She thought it rather silly now, and was considering whether some, or all, of them should be discarded.

There was her old, one-eyed teddy bear, Winnipeg. Dori remembered a time when her four-year-old self was troubled with nightmares. It must have driven her parents to distraction. She had been told she was a poor sleeper as an infant, but to have it recur at four years old? She remembered her mother sitting down with her for a serious talk.

“Your dreams are just dreams, Merry,” her mother had told her. “And your dreams are yours. You make them in your head. You should enjoy your dreams; it shows you how wonderful your own imagination is.”

“But it’s so scary,” said Meredith. “I don’t want to go back to sleep. I’m afraid someone will get me.”

“Mommy and Daddy are just in the next room,” said Dori. “Nothing bad will happen. Come give us a kiss, then go back to bed.”

“But you and Daddy can’t come in my dreams,” said Meredith.

Dori thought for a moment. “But Winnipeg can,” she said. “Winnipeg is right there in bed with you, and she can come into your dreams to help you. If something tries to get you in your dreams, she will come into them as a real bear, and help you.”

The first time Winnipeg came into one of Meredith’s dreams, she was terrifying. A real, ragged she-bear, she stood at least twenty feet tall, with claws like knives, and teeth like daggers, and a roar that shook the dream-earth. Meredith was more frightened of her than the shadowy creatures that had been looming just a few moments before. But Winnipeg was on Meredith’s side, and chased the shadow-creatures away, and Meredith curled up against the she-bear’s dream-fur, and went back into peaceful, dreamless sleep.

When Meredith was fourteen, she had a bad nightmare again, for the first time in years. She was sleeping in the little red-and-yellow house in the Enchanted Forest. Winnipeg was on the other side of Jahnson’s Planet, back in her parents’ suite in Schwarzwald. But she came roaring into the dream anyway, her missing button eye a horrible, glowing, empty socket, and after the danger was over, gathered teen-aged Meredith in her arms, and rocked her to sleep. Even the dark trees in her nightmares seemed to stand in respect of the she-bear.

The second treasure was a little tin tiara, scarcely thicker than aluminium foil, studded with bits of colored glass. Meredith had found it in the woods while exploring the Schwarzwald Forest Park. She imagined it had been lost by some guest, but it was so cheaply made, and so tiny, that it could only have ever been made as a child’s toy. The crown had a remarkable effect on the children around her; whenever she put it on at recess, she was suddenly the most popular girl on the playground, as other girls and boys flocked to her to play “Kings and Queens”. At eighteen, the little tiara now scarcely wrapped around Meredith’s hand; she thought she might just drop it somewhere that some other little girl might find it.

The third treasure was her Stick. It had hung on her bedroom wall from the time she was an infant. Her mother called it a distaff. Her Aunt Mysa had tried to explain that it was an important gift, a valuable work of art, from a very important person, but Meredith had never understood the details. The Stick had accompanied Meredith out into the world beyond the Schwarzwald Hotel countless times. It had been the staff of a sorceress, the sword of a ninja, a witch’s broom, a wild stallion, a river raft, a batball bat, and countless other incarnations of her imagination through the years. It was battered and permanently dirt-stained, but it had her name on it in letters of gold.

Her fourth treasure...

But lost in these memories, Meredith was startled to see out of the corner of her eye that she had visitors. These were not the transformed animal-guests that often examined her little house curiously. These were human beings, although very old human beings, boldly opening the little gate of the white-picket fence that surrounded her property.

“Excuse me, who are you?” asked Meredith boldly. She spoke with the confidence of one who shared a name with the planet she lived on. “And what are you doing here? You don’t look like employees, and you certainly aren’t guests.”

The little old woman was dressed in a plain grey shift. At one time, she had clearly been a prettyish, sturdy girl, but now appeared to be about a hundred years old. She indicated her companion, a little old bald man perhaps two decades her junior, and half a head shorter, although she herself was not overly tall.

“This is the Wizard Ambroise,” she said. “And I am Ythorod, the Witch-Killer.”

Meredith took a moment to work out the riddle, helped by the fact that Ambroise wore an emerald-green pin-striped frock coat. She laughed.

“Yes, I know who you are supposed to be. I read about the two of you in a story-book,” she said. “Is this Trick-or-Treat Day? We don’t usually celebrate that on Jahnson’s Planet.”

“Ah, well,” said the old man. “They might write such things in a book.” His voice had a softly humourous, musical quality. Meredith supposed that that voice might convince a person of anything.

“I assure you,” said Ythorod, “We are exactly who we say we are.” She almost pronounced the word ‘exactly’ as ‘zaclty’, but caught herself.

“Aren’t you a little lost in time?” said Meredith, still more amused than alarmed.

“Galinda keeps us young,” said the Wizard. “Or, at least, at the age she wants us to be. Humor an old man, will you? Come down, just to your garden gate with us. Bring you little tin tiara, and that little silver key you found so many years ago.

Meredith fairly jumped in surprise. Her parents knew of her other three treasures, but she had never told them about the key. Of course, on a planet of telepaths, nothing was really secret, but the staff respected her privacy, and no one had ever mentioned the key to her before. She began to really wonder who these two people where, and what was the point of their masquerade?

“It’s all right, dear,” said Ythorod, in the soft, soothing voice old women used in speaking to the young. “We are far from harmless, but we intend you no harm. We only want to show you something.”

Meredith went back into the house, and put the little tiara and the key in her pocket. Then just in case, she took her distaff, as well, which was sturdy and solid, and had a rather nasty needle-tipped point.

“You see?” said the Wizard Ambroise to his companion. “Excellent instincts. What did I tell you?”

The walked down to the garden gate, but did not go through. “Take out your key, Meredith” Ythorod ordered. “Please. Hold it out like this.” She mimed holding the key out, as though to unlock an invisible door.

“A little over to the left,” said the Wizard Ambroise. He reached out to guide her hand, which startled Meredith unpleasantly, but that sensation was quickly replaced by another sense of wonder, as the key caught in the air. She turned it, and an invisible door did open.

“You see?” said the Wizard Ambroise. “It was here all along.”

When a door opens, you walk through it, and the three humans now found themselves at a crossroads of sorts, where twelve nearly identical roads met at a central hub. There was a round, grassy area in the center, with a few chairs, a small table set with cakes and sandwiches.

“Welcome to Faeryland,” said the Wizard Ambroise. “The outskirts, anyway.”

“You know what they say about eating fairy-food?” asked Ythorod the Witch-Killer. “It’s bunk. Most of it is perfectly safe. Let me fix that tiara for you.”

Meredith sat down in one of the little chairs, as Ythorod skillfully wove her hair into a tight bun, then clipped the tin tiara around it.

“I don’t know what they say about fairy-food,” Meredith confessed.

“They say if you eat it, you can never go home,” said the Wizard Ambroise. “Not true. It just means, you have to come back. It has some other nasty side effects, though. Like allowing you to see the Faery.”

“Then you really are…” said Meredith.

“Yes,” said the Wizard Ambroise. “And a pathetic pair we are. Faintly macabre. Servants of the Faery-Folk, doing Galinda’s bidding for the past several centuries. Still, it’s better than what’s waiting for me on the Other Side. I’ve always been somewhat of a scoundrel at heart.”

“As you have repeatedly demonstrated,” said Ythorod, “Every time you managed to slip Galinda’s leash for a while.” Ambroise shrugged. "And I," she continued to Dori, "have actually killed more than my share of witches in my day. Gnome Kings, too."

“I think I want to go home,” said Meredith, standing suddenly.

“Understandable,” said Ambroise.

“First, take a look around,” said Ythorod. “With your tiara on, one of these paths ought to be glowing to you. Sparkly, maybe. That’s the way to your Kingdom.”

It was true. One of the twelve paths was glittering in the afternoon sun. Another still showed the open door in the air. Meredith headed for home. She discovered Ambroise and Ythorod following her.

“I suggest you read as many fairy-stories over the next little while as you possibly can,” said Ambroise. “It won’t give you a full picture, and there's a lot of humbug, but you will get a sense of how things work over there.”

“I’m not going back,” said Meredith.

“Oh, dear, we hope you will[.i] change your mind,” said Ythorod. “That little crown makes you Queen of a Faery Country-- a little place that calls itself Toyland. The elves and fairies there assume the aspect of children’s toys from all ages and realms, from the most primitive to the most technologically advanced. Straw dolls to H-Dials. Unfortunately, they also bring human children from the Other Worlds to play with them there. Orphans, mostly, but they sometimes forget to send them back. Too often, these days. We really need someone who can put a lid on things, keep them under control for a bit. The Fey do get out of hand when they don’t have a Queen.”

“And how long has that been?” asked Meredith.

“Why, since you found the crown, of course,” said Ythorod. “We couldn’t ask you to go when you were a child, though.”

“Let me show you something,” said the Wizard Ambroise. He held up a short sword in a tattered leather scabbard. “You will find this hanging on a tree, next to one of the other paths at the Faery Circle. Can you read the inscription?”

Meredith squinted. Written on the pommel in tiny letters was: “[i]Whoso pulleth out this sword of this scabbard is rightwise King bourne of all Trellheim.”

“It doesn’t look too hard to pull this sword from the scabbard,” said Meredith. “It seems like anyone could do it, or is it just me?”

“No, it slips out quite easily,” said Ambroise. “Almost accidentally, sometimes. And then, you are King of the Trolls. Immediately, a troll appears to challenge you for the title. The sword is magically unbreakable, but also magically dull. It makes a poor weapon. You could not cut butter with it. So usually, the troll-- they run about ten feet tall, and weigh just under a half a ton-- will kill you. Then he himself succeeds you as King of the Trolls. If you have another weapon about you, and are very skilled, you may manage to defeat the first one. But another will appear. They love to fight. Unless you are really unbeatable, some troll eventually becomes Troll King. After awhile, they tire of playing monarch, and go hang up the sword and scabbard again. The Faery are really, really bad at ruling. That’s why they try to get humans to do it for them. Even Galinda doesn’t rule the Lands herself, but enthrones surrogates at her whim.”

“You don’t have to do this,” said Ythorod, “But it would be nice.”

“That distaff of yours,” said the Wizard Ambroise, “Is a wonderful gift. It is entirely mundane-- completely non-magical. It is so non-magical, that it serves as an anchor to this world. Take it with you, or leave it behind, it will always show you a way out of Faeryland and back to Jahnson’s Planet. I imagine it is also immune to enchantment; it would be interesting to do some experiments on it.” He glanced at Ythorod, who frowned threateningly. “Not that I would,” he added.

“And of course,” said Ythorod, “You could always summon Winnipeg in a moment of urgency. That is a spell you created yourself, and it is a good one. Without really knowing, I suppose. Winnipeg is real in Faeryland, and as powerful as in your dreams, and completely loyal to you. I’ve never met anyone more prepared than you to travel in Faeryland. Except the Shaggy Man, perhaps.”

“You don’t mind if we close this door?” asked Ambroise. He had already stepped through to the lands on the other side. Ythorod had joined him.

“Please do,” said Meredith.

“And if you would like to invite us back,” said Ambroise, “Just read our book. We’ll hear you.”

“Or come by to the Lands or the City yourself,” said Ythorod. “One of the Twelve Roads leads to our Faeryland. Winnipeg knows the way.”

The door in the air, above the little white picket fence, closed. Meredith was left to her thoughts.

CHAPTER FOUR: ULU ALONE

Later… One-hundred-thirty-five years after the founding of the Legion

“The hospice nurse has left,” Dori explained. “And her replacement has been delayed by an hour. But Zellani and all the kids are on their way.”

Ulu Vakk was dying. He had been bedridden in his little house on Lupra for a month now. Dori had been staying there, with Anjalani and her husband, helping and supporting Zellani, with hospice nurses traipsing in and out of the house like ants.

The time was drawing near, and the other Vakks had left to pick up all the grandchildren and great-grandchildren, to see Granpa Ulu one last time.

He had taken an alarming turn for the worst, just in the last hour, drifting in and out of consciousness. Pools and patches of every color dribbled and flashed from every solid object in the room, as he was gradually losing control of his metahuman abilities. Not serious in itself, but a bad sign.

And now this mix-up with the agency. Dori was left alone with her old friend. Then, without warning, she vanished from his bedside.

Dori found herself in a dim, underground cavern, lit only by the a blood-red light. A figure floating in the air before her leered.

“Dori Aandraison,” said the glowing figure. “Prepare to meet your just reward, at the hands of the Red Lantern Corps!” A half-dozen other Red Lanterns appeared in the distance. The light source in the cavern was revealed as an immense red lantern battery.

Dori examined the masked man above her. “Myke-4 Astor?” she said. “Really? A Red Lantern? What have you got to be so angry about?”

“You know how I was raised,” said Myke-4, obviously take aback at how quickly he had been recognize. “In the depths of poverty on Calish-Aetia under the Khundish Empire, and no better when annexed by the United Planets. You have enjoyed wealth and privilege all your life, and vengeance will now…”

“Oh, come on,” said Dori. “Not hardly all my life; certainly not as a child. Most of my life, I'll admit. I was lucky. But it took you long enough to get around to dealing out your revenge. Ennis has been gone for a decade now, and what I have left is a little house on Xolnar, and a little money in the bank. I might nearly as well be on the dole myself.”
“And you a Red Lantern? You know, there are people and corporations who would pay big money for you to exercise your destructive abilities in honest, constructive demolition work. And if you really wanted to escape the ‘depths of poverty’-- and I, by the way, have actually seen people from the depths of poverty, and you were never one of them-- did you know that you only need to submit a reasonable development plan to the U.P. and they would give you a planet, for Grife's Sake? Well, of course, it comes with a mortgage, and some people find that burdensome, but still…”

“Dori…” said Myke-4, choking. “How long has it been then?”

“Do not falter, Brother Myke!” came a voice from above. “Remember the Rage! Remember the Wrath!”

“Oh, please don’t attack me,” said Dori. “I’ve never been able to exercise that much control over The Butcher, and once you wake him up…” But a blast from one of the more distant Red Lanterns sent a shower of glowing knives Dori’s way. With a roar, a scarlet serpent rose from the red battery, swallowing the knives, and sending crimson bands coiling towards the Red Lanterns. The flying men and aliens fell to the ground, as their power was drained back into The Butcher, the Entity of the Red Light of Wrath.

“Stop it Butcher!” Dori shouted. “Oh, please, you’re killing them! That is so completely unnecessary! Just leave me alone, and take me home!” The Red Entity paused, glanced around, and almost sheepishly withdrew back into the immense power battery. “Well, at least he listened that time, for once,” Dori gasped.

She knelt by Myke-4, who lay gasping on the ground. “Are you going to recover?” she asked. He nodded weakly. “I’m not sure why The Butcher listened to me this time,” she said. “You got lucky. Maybe I was fonder of you than I remember, once upon a time. Or maybe the Indigo Light of Compassion helps me control the other Entities. That particular emotion has grown over the past few years, as I have seen my friends leaving this world, one by one. And now I have to say goodbye to Ulu, and I hope it’s not too late. You brought me here. Do you have enough power to send me back?” Myke-4 shook his head silently.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to call a space cabbie, something I can ill afford at this point in my life,” she said. “Where is this place, anyway?”

“Ryut, in Sector 0666,” said Myke-4.

“Why so far?” said Dori. “Oh, never mind.” She found her way to the surface, and summoned the space cabbie. Ulu’s little house on Lupra was crowded with his descendants when she arrived, but he had already passed. He had been entirely alone when he died.

CHAPTER FIVE: LITTLE DORI, HAPPY AT LAST

Later… Two-hundred-two years after the founding of the Legion

The Karabot showed up outside Dori’s little house in Seventh City in a personal flyer.

“Can we stop by Planet Ozymandias on the way?” Dori asked. “It’s not too far off your flight path.”

The Karabot agreed.

Two great pillars stood at the entrance to the spaceport of Planet Ozymandias. They were covered with graffiti. Dori got out of the Karabot’s little flyer. Her trans-suit snapped on. There was no ocean, no atmosphere, and very little gravity. Planet Ozymandias was a desolate, empty rock, and had been for decades. Dori knew that on the opposite side was a ten-mile-deep crater, where the superdense gravitational core, almost the only item of value, had been removed. The polymer shielding was also gone, recycled now. The pillars marked the spot where the Polamar Enchanted Forest Park Hotel had once stood, more or less where Dori had first met Ennis. Tesoro still hung in the sky, but the Tesoron Lithochelonians had lost interest in the worlds beyond their seas and island gardens since the Jahnson’s World project had failed. Dori sighed, and climbed back into the flyer, continuing on to Colu.

“I have found,” said Brainiac Five, “A quantum Universe without a future. It sits in a past indistinguishable from our own, some two hundred twenty-one years ago, Earth standard. In two days, time will have progressed to your birthday there. Are you willing?”

“Yes,” said Dori. “Willing, yes. Able, I don’t know. I’ve never done this before. For reasons you and I have discussed, at length.”

“The Law of Unintended Consequences,” said Brainiac Five. “Very troubling. This, however, is as safe an experiment as we can hope for.”

Her two days on Colu were as unpleasant an experience as Dori had experienced for a long time. At last, she remembered the hours she had spent on tasteless, odorless, bland Maltus. Yes, that had been worse. She waited patiently.

On the day of the experiment, she met both Brainiac Five and Brainiac 5.1 in the Coluan laboratory. She noted hovercams near the corners of the ceiling: there was enough interest that they were being observed. There was not comfortable chair, merely a transparent tube. She waited.

Dori was in the birthing room, in the Seventh City Hospital, on Xolnar. Andres and Eva Aandraison stood by anxiously, as the mechanical womb delivered its contents. Dori’s mother was as beautiful as she had remembered, but strangely unfamiliar. Perhaps it was because Dori’s memories were mostly from the vantage point of the bottom of her chin.

Dori could see the nearly-born infant inside the machine. Nine glowing pipes extended from the child to infinity: red, orange, gold, green, blue, indigo, violet, white, and black. The Brainiacs had made sure that Dori was shielded, invisible and intangible, at least for the moment. She began gently and methodically removing the colorful conduits connecting to the unborn child. She felt the confusion of the Entities of the Emotional Spectrum as they flailed about, seeking to re-connect with their host. They attempted to merge with the alien Entities connected to the adult Dori, but were rebuffed. Dori continued to work, until the machine slowly began to work, contracting and expelling the tiny creature which had been growing there for the last nine months. As the umbilical cord was cut, and little Dori took a breath for the first time, the Entities withdrew…

Eva Jindrich Aandraison scooped up the baby, immediately after the nurse had finished wrapping her in a clean blanket.

"My darling child!" she cried, folding the little girl in her arms, and covering her face with kisses. "Where in the world did you come from?"

Andres Aandraison laughed, a musical sound that brought warmth to Dori’s heart. She pressed the ‘panic button’ the Brainiacs had given her.

And she was back in the transparent cylinder in laboratory on Colu as if she had never left.

“Did you manage it?” asked Brainiac Five.

“Yes,” said Dori. “It worked… my part, at least.”

“Would you like to see what their future holds?” asked Brainiac 5.1.

“I thought they had to work that out for themselves,” said Dori.

“And so they have,” said Brainiac 5.1. “Since you left the Universe we sent you to, two hundred and twenty-one years have passed. They are now on the same relative time-scheme as this Universe. We recorded as much of Little Dori’s history as we could.”

Dori sat in a chair that looked like it belonged in a mid-twentieth-century beauty salon. Brainiac 5.1 lowered the rounded cone onto her head.

Little Dori grew up with two parents that doted on her. Unlike her older counterpart, she had no connection to the Entities of the Emotional Spectrum. She was a calmer, less melodramatic child. She still had her rainbow aura, but it was more subdued, nearly invisible in the daytime, and far less changeable. She still radiated the unconscious charisma to all around her.

Her mother died on schedule, her father became withdrawn and morose, and buried himself in his work. Little Dori lost herself among her Theater friends in High School. She won Miss Xolnar, traveled to Earth, and on Salu Digby’s recommendation, applied to the Legion of Super-Heroes.

She did a little holo-vision, a little theater, and married Irveang Polamar, who died on schedule as well. When Kirt Niedrich’s people came to power, she was exiled from Earth, and joined the insurgency, replacing Color Kid in the Legion of Substitute Heroes. She used her charismatic powers to stall and stun her opponents, uncertain of making a move against her.

She joined the United Planets Diplomatic Corps, as special representative to Throon, with Ulu Vakk. For some reason Dori could not fathom, Xolnar never experienced a Khundish invasion in this reality. She and Ennis Jahnson were married a decade earlier, and Meredith was born when Little Dori was forty, rather than fifty. Even by at this relatively young age, Little Dori was beginning to show gray in her hair. By the time Meredith had become Queen of Faeryland, Ennis’ hair had turned pure white; Dori’s was gray. The two moved stiffly.

“I’ve seen enough,” said Dori. “Much seems the same, the same joys, the same sorrows. But there is an ongoing, underlying angst that it missing.”

Little Dori had never been to Maltus, never met a Guardian or Controller or Poglachian, had no interactions with demons or demigods, or immortals, with the sole exception of Nona. And she still had Mysa’s help there.

“We have recorded a further one-hundred-seventy years of history,” said Brainiac 5.1. “And you have scarcely scratched the surface of what you have viewed.”

“It’s enough,” said Dori. She didn’t want to see other self grow old with Ennis. She had had enough of friends passing away over the last two centuries.

The Karabot dropped Dori off to her little old house in Seventh City on Xolnar. It was in need of repairs again, and Dori was short of cash these days. The markets fluctuated, and Dori’s fortunes fluctuated with them. She needed to get a job, she supposed, and start all over again from scratch. Conservative investments, planning for the future. The far future. The very far future.

A pale girl girl in black with an Eye of Horus tattoo around one eye was waiting on her front porch. She did not seem to mind the cold, although it was the middle of Xolnaran winter.

“Hello, Death,” said Dori. “Why are you here?”

“Hello Dori,” said Death. “You know I’m everywhere.”

“Yes, but why are you appearing to me now?” asked Dori.

“Minor correction,” said Death. “I'm not appearing to you, you are seeing me.”

“Okay, fine,” said Dori. “I thought only people who were ready to die could see you. Mostly.”

“Mostly, yes,” said Death. “Are you ready, Dori?”

Dori thought about it. “My mother has been gone nearly my whole life. My father not long after. I have been without Irv and Ennis more than half my life. Meredith is gone too. Most of the Legion, most of their children, all of the Subs and their kids. I’m not really lonely; I’m just feeling old,” she said.

Dori looked up at the old house. “This house is going to need some serious work, if it’s going to stand another two-and-a-half centuries. And that will take money, and money means work, and I haven’t worked in a long time. I suppose I could just let it all go. But would the Entities even let me?”

Death nodded her head yes, but betrayed no other expression, except her usual wry amusement, mingled with pity.

“Not today, Death,” said Dori. “Some other day, I’m sure. I mean, I don’t want to live forever. But not today.”

Death shrugged, got down off the porch, and walked away through the snow, leaving no footprints.

“I have things to do,” said Dori Aandraison, to the empty winter Xolnaran air. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll even get married again.”

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

A Ballade of Suicide
by G.K. Chesterton

The gallows in my garden, people say,
Is new and neat and adequately tall;
I tie the noose on in a knowing way
As one that knots his necktie for a ball;
But just as all the neighbours–on the wall–
Are drawing a long breath to shout “Hurray!”
The strangest whim has seized me. . . . After all
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

To-morrow is the time I get my pay–
My uncle’s sword is hanging in the hall–
I see a little cloud all pink and grey–
Perhaps the rector’s mother will not call– I fancy that I heard from Mr. Gall
That mushrooms could be cooked another way–
I never read the works of Juvenal–
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

The world will have another washing-day;
The decadents decay; the pedants pall;
And H.G. Wells has found that children play,
And Bernard Shaw discovered that they squall,
Rationalists are growing rational–
And through thick woods one finds a stream astray
So secret that the very sky seems small–
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

ENVOI

Prince, I can hear the trumpet of Germinal,
The tumbrils toiling up the terrible way;
Even to-day your royal head may fall,
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

CHAPTER SIX: UNINTENDED CONSEQUENCES

The history of Dori’s new universe lay unreviewed for quite some time, and the Brainiacs moved onto other projects.

This is what they, and Dori, had failed to observe.

Not only Dori’s interference, but the application of time-travel technology to this little Universe itself, had changed the timeline. The spacetime continuum in this region of paratime had changed: become, in fact, more stable.

Glorith found it impossible to keep the Time Trapper contained, and so she never came to power, not for a hundred years, nor fifty, not at all.

There were immediate consequences for the Legion, although they did not know it.

The Heart of Antares never became James Cullen, and was never adopted by Jasmine’s family. Kid Quantum, and Kid Quantum 2, never existed.

The Khunds, less bold without their ‘goddess’, stayed mostly far away from Daxam. Laurel Gand never left Rickleff IV, and never joined the Legion.

Fully empowered, the Time Trapper was uninterested in making silly agreements with the Dominion. Batch SW6 never existed. There was no Dominion infiltration of EarthGov.

The Superboy-Prime-Time-Trapper was never able to insert himself into this Universe. Legion of Three Worlds never happened.

Still, events progressed until something like those described in Legion of Superheroes, vol. 7 #23.

There was no “Five Year Gap”.

There was no “Five Years Later”.

The Legion never reformed.

The Legion was a bright, brief flame that flared and died, in existence, off and on, scarcely two decades. Over half the membership either died, or was presumed dead, lost in time.

But some forty years after the founding of the Legion, in 2997:

The teen-aged children of the original Legion plann to revive its legend.

Pol Krinn II, fifteen years old, takes the name Cosmic Boy.

Dorrit Ranzz, fourteen years old, takes the name Saturn Girl.

Her sister, Dacey Ranzz, fourteen years old, takes the name Lightning Lass.

Together, they recruit new Legionnaires to replace the old, taking the old names. From Durla, a Chameleon Boy. From Orzde, a Shrinking Violet. From Bismoll, a Matter-Eater Lad. From Carggg, a Triplicate Girl. From Bgztl, a Phantom Girl. From Tharr, a Polar Lass. From Talok VIII, a Shadow Champion.

But they have no R. J. Brande, the stern disapproval of their parents, and most of all, no Mission Monitor Board. Can a handful of idealistic teens in the 30th century really make a difference?

A saga of Earth-K2.

What a wonderful ending to Dori's tale, which isn't an ending at all for her.

Meredith has obviously inherited her mother's calm approach to the weirdness of life.

The teenage children of the Legion in K2 face a real uphill battle, but what better basis for a story? Do you plan to continue with them? (I see you've got a new tale going but haven't read it yet. I was afraid you'd retired from Bits with your Farewell song.)

I wish I'd read that Chesterton poem when I was 16. Rather more substantial than John Lennon's advice to not commit suicide since you might enjoy a nice cup of tea today. Maybe he read Chesterton.

A poem for Dori, by Ellen Bass.

Relax

Bad things are going to happen.
Your tomatoes will grow a fungus
and your cat will get run over.
Someone will leave the bag with the ice cream
melting in the car and throw
your blue cashmere sweater in the drier.
Your husband will sleep
with a girl your daughter’s age, her breasts spilling
out of her blouse. Or your wife
will remember she’s a lesbian
and leave you for the woman next door. The other cat–
the one you never really liked–will contract a disease
that requires you to pry open its feverish mouth
every four hours. Your parents will die.
No matter how many vitamins you take,
how much Pilates, you’ll lose your keys,
your hair and your memory. If your daughter
doesn’t plug her heart
into every live socket she passes,
you’ll come home to find your son has emptied
the refrigerator, dragged it to the curb,
and called the used appliance store for a pick up–drug money.
There’s a Buddhist story of a woman chased by a tiger.
When she comes to a cliff, she sees a sturdy vine
and climbs half way down. But there’s also a tiger below.
And two mice–one white, one black–scurry out
and begin to gnaw at the vine. At this point
she notices a wild strawberry growing from a crevice.
She looks up, down, at the mice.
Then she eats the strawberry.
So here’s the view, the breeze, the pulse
in your throat. Your wallet will be stolen, you’ll get fat,
slip on the bathroom tiles of a foreign hotel
and crack your hip. You’ll be lonely.
Oh taste how sweet and tart
the red juice is, how the tiny seeds
crunch between your teeth.

Like.