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The light in Father’s den was subdued, pale as dawn except for one small corner where blue screens chattered and chimed, blipped and beeped, clinked and hummed in some order or disarray. Bells rang and buzzers buzzed. Clever Swiss doctor/business flunks padded silently about in white athletic shoes. Holographic banners of violet and pink seemed to race across the air, vanish and appear, revealing the megabuck traffic of the day. Asel stepped across a serpentine coil, thick strands of copper and gold, silver and brass, bundles of clear plastic tubing that rushed vital nutrients in and waste out of his father’s chrome encapsulated chair. Asel shunned the tubes with some distaste. It would seem--well you would think--they could make the things opaque. “Uncle Hal says you wanted to see me,” Asel said. “I hear the market’s gone astray.” Father blinked and clicked, gave a pulmonary wheeze. Varied parts appeared to move, vague and indistinct under frosty silver glass, but scarcely indistinct enough. “Buyouts... temporary surge,” Father said, in fairly clear metallic tones. “Felonious assault... illegal enterprise...” “What do you think is wrong?” Asel said. “What we have here is underhanded action in the works. Crisis undefined... major bad news. Christler-Coke and Pepsicoma-Dodge... Down 3 1/4 and falling fast...” Asel was taken aback. “But that’s not possible. I mean the wedding and all. Our stock ought to be up.” “Buy,” Father said. “American Dog... Hushguppy-Lear...” A flunk went into action at once. “Sell,” Father said. “Atlantic Katz & Myce... Del Monte-Skag...” “Father, just listen a minute. Uncle Hal says the SEC has choppers in the air.” “Watched you on the tube. That girl’s kind of cute.” “I guess she’s all right.” “Got boomers out to here.” “There’s that. Look, what do you want me to do?” “There we go again. Down 3 ½... 4 1/4... Asel tried to follow purple numbers in the air. Nothing made any sense at all. “Bottom line,” Father said, “we’ve got fraud and deceit... all sorts of underhanded shit. Scalawags of every sort... rampant thievery and trading on the sly...” “But what’s it all mean?” Asel said. “Buy Proctor & Gump,” father said. “Sell Reebok-Knopf... Buy Swift-Panham... Sell Prudential-Strife...” “I don’t know what he’s trying to say. I simply have no idea. We’re in trouble of some sort, I gathered that.” “Your father has insight and zeal. Uncanny knack. Get-up-and-go,” said Uncle Hal. “Greatest business mind of the age.” “Well I’m not,” Asel said. “I just started today and I haven’t had lunch. Father says someone is trying to screw Iacola House. I don’t know any more than that.” “I’d say he’s right.” “What about those choppers?” “I am trying, with no success, to find the Lord of SEC,” said Uncle Hal. “I’ve got flunks out searching everywhere. Don’t think he wants to be found. Your mother is being an absolute pest. Asel, she will not stand up for your father’s fax. I have been so informed, in no uncertain terms.” Asel moaned. “All right. I’ll go out there myself. Do I have to do anything?” “Fully programmed. Just stand there and smile.” Asel headed back outside. The tables were deserted but there was still food about. The Brit fed him a cream lamb sandwich and pigeon tea. Asel thought he saw Ducky in the crowd or maybe not. Peter Dee of Betty Cracker-Nash wandered by. Ruby denim tux. Green lamé shorts. “Asel, you simply must come along,” Peter said. “Robbie’s bought France. He wants us all to go and see.” “Can’t,” Asel said. “Got a bunch of business stuff.” “Oh, you old tycoon.” Peter gave Asel a sly wink. “You are not going to be any fun at all now, are you?” “I guess not.” A House trooper came to Asel’s side, and guided him quickly to the outer hall. Asel gave a start. Father’s fax looked remarkably real. Certainly better than Father had looked in years. Silver hair and ruddy cheeks. A sparkle in the azure plastic eyes. Asel saw a flunk nearby, holding a tiny black box. “What’s that?” “Remote control, sir,” the flunk said. “I thought this thing was completely programmed.” “Yes sir, it is. The remote’s in case something goes wrong.” “Something just better not,” Asel said. Guards opened up the grand entry doors. Asel stepped out onto the porch, the fax by his side. It seemed to walk quite well. Asel detected a nearly imperceptible whir. Uncle Hal had determined the fax would be credible at eight-point-seven-two meters. At precisely this distance, velvet ropes had been draped across the porch.

illo: Fernando H. Ramirez