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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's Asprin-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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