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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I beg pardon?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I wouldn't be found dead there!"

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

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

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

"Uh... Mars?"

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

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

"Aha!"

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