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     The lights flicker rapidly::::and everyone in the place who hasn't already gone seems to get up all at once. The boys and 7z's, too. So Dick stands suddenly::::woozy.
     "Whoa! What was in that?"
     "Six or seven different kinds of rum, vodka, gin, Kahlua and cream::::protein powder and a few drops of mushroom extract::::put it in a blender with ice and::::"
     "::::Mushroom?"
     "Yeah, dude. Welcome to the twenty-third century::::renegade stylie! Right place at the right time."::::Chill.
     Dick doesn't know if he can move. He's standing::::supported by both hands firmly flat on the table::::pushing::::arms straight down but he doesn't feel them. Would have drunk another::::sitting there::::kind of a sweet coffee milkshake. Stresses for just a second::::then the thought that it may be dangerous to stress. Images of his brother stoned::::incapacitated::::what'd'e'do?::::flow::::that's the word."
     "This way, dude. You need to be carried?"
     "Naw"::::but the word vibrates inside his skull::::what feels to him like an hour later he turns and catches sight of Chill Lol Ill standing there waiting for him. "Coming." And letting go of the table is a mix of floating and stumbling, but Dick regains himself. Steps. O.k. He begins walking beside Chill::::who's saying stuff::::but Dick can't quite make it out::::hollow::::echoey. Dick laughs::::one of his thoughts collide with something Chill might have said, but said with a huge smile. Suddenly, clearly,
     "You're burned, my friend"::::and with that Chill puts his arm around Dick and leads him down the aisle.
     Being thus shepherded, Dick thinks on priorities::::what's important? Legs are moving without thought::::outside is fine. Why did the Detta call him here? How can he stop 7z's? And his mind blinks::::but then there's something like purposeful thought::::but unrelated to his questions. What of use can I bring back home?…
     "Here we are."
     And Dick looks up and sees that they're standing on the precipice of a huge crater::::reddish::::with rings::::rows of levels carved out of it::::thousands upon thousands of people seated or milling around::::excited party smell. Down below there's a stage::::they're outside::::it's a clear night::::seemingly too clear::::so Dick scans for signs that it's a projection.
     Chill Lol Ill calls Estoli over his machine. Gets directions. They wade through the crowd, winding down two levels and pass to the right. Suddenly Dick sees Estoli, then 7z's standing there together. People are excited.
     "I need to sit"::::Dick sits.
     "Scoot out to the edge, so you can see."
     And they help him so he's sitting on the edge of the level, hands tightly grasping the railing, legs dangling over the edge. His stomach settles down::::feels his heart pounding. Looks out over the masses to the stage::::they're quite close, really::::especially for being on one of the upper levels. Musical instruments::::keybords::::stand with horns, and a huge round speaker-looking something that must be something else because of its positioning.
     Five men and one woman come out on stage. The crowd simply begins to settle down. The musicians::::dressed very plain, tee shirts and various colored jeans::::way more clean-cut than heavy metal types. But noting the crowd's non-reaction, Dick thinks that they're maybe technicians checking the equipment or maybe some unknown warm-up band. The crowd is by now all settled down::::remarkably quiet. Dick looks over and up at 7z's and Estoli::::it's as if they're in awe::::intense.
     A semi-human formed robot slowly emerges from the big black speaker-like thing on the stage::::it roll-walks out to a spot right in front of the musicians::::centered. Looks out::::beacons of lights for eyes. The spotlights to the stage remain grayish, subdued. The robot reaches over with it's triple jointed arm and picks up a double-neck electric guitar, with what looks like a keyboard with hundreds of little keys spread up one of its necks.
     "What?…"::::Dick asks Chill.
     The robot's hand begins to strum the strings and brush the keyboard::::and a very very soft music comes::::as if from all directions at once. Crystal clear notes::::pure chords::::a mix of so many different musical styles and forms that it sounds like nothing Dick has ever heard before::::like everything sweet he's ever heard all occurring at once::::amplified specifically for his ears.
     Dick turns and looks back over at 7z's and Estoli, and notice that 7z's legs are sparkling::::just for an instant::::he takes in all of 7z's image and then notices Estoli is looking at him, too::::Estoli then smiles broadly to Dick. In an instant what had been 7z's becomes a white space::::next instant he's gone. Estoli smiling turns his attention back to the concert.
     Dick catches, in periferal vision, his hand::::sparkling. Feels like he's swimming::::looks up at Estoli to yell for help.
     Dick is standing before Three's Detta. The effects of the drink gone::::an immense sobriety.
     "How?…"
     "We are the most technologically advanced community, Mr. Calm. We have continuous access to the four space stations."
     "But…"
     "We regenerated your original amatronic form, Mr. Calm::::rid you of your poisons."
     "And 7z's?"
     "Gone. Anaconda's council damaged their codon in doing it, but were able to over-ride 7z's intrusion."
     "He won't return?"
     "No. Good job."
     "Well, now maybe you can tell me why you called me in. I don't understand::::you could've gotten rid of him without my help."
     "It's historical, Mr. Calm. You wrote in your book that such would take place. We felt it was prudent to follow your story. We were caught off-guard by the advent of 7z's eleven months ago. It took a bit of research. Perhaps it was an accident that we stumbled across your book. You see, your book was relegated to the realm of science fiction, and was politically incorrect from the point of view of free market capitalism::::it was, in essence, buried::::one could say banned::::but there was no official banning of it. We now have it cross-referenced as a historical-calmeric text."
     "A book?"
     "Yes. It won't be written for four more years::::so there's not much more I can tell you."
     "But, I wrote it::::so you had to call me here?"
     "No. It is more in line with chaos theory::::since it deals with non-linear reconstruction of time. Suffice it to say that both events are not necessarily mutually exclusive: We brought you here, therefore you write the book::::and, you had written the book, therefore we brought you here. It truly did exist as science fiction up to the point when I chose to bring you here::::and would have remained so, if I had chosen not to."
     "O.k. I guess. Whatever you say."
     "We thank you for what you have done."
     "I have some time left?"
     "That's correct. But according to the information we have, I thought you'd be anxious to go home now."
     "There was this holo-message thing sent to me::::sitting in that cafe in Anaconda. Who was that from?"
     "Wait. Checking."
     Pause.
     "The message originated from Pacifica community."
     "Not Hiroshima?"
     "It had been routed through Hiroshima. It was sent by one IP-21."
     "A machine?"
     "No, a human."
     "I would like to meet with him."
     Pause.
     "You are free to live-out your remaining time here. I would advise you against it. There's no record of this."
     "How do I get to Pacifica and find this guy?"
     "Close your eyes and click your heels, Mr. Calm. You have 24 hours left."
     "By no record, do you mean I didn't write about what happens next?"
     "Well, I can't answer that question. Good luck. Enjoy the twenty-third century."
     Dick closes his eyes::::feels foolish, as if this proves it's all nothing but a dream, yet at the same time something about the humor attached makes it all the more real::::he clicks his heels::::just as he's about to say 'There's no place like home,' he hears an unfamiliar cry and opens his eyes and finds himself in a neat, low-ceilinged practically unfurnished livingroom::::standing facing a huge sliding glass door which opens on to an elaborately laid-out stone patio surrounded by lush, well-manicured gardens. He looks down and sees there's an old woman on the floor before him, on her knees, bowing low, muttering unintelligibly.
     "Hello. Don't be frightened. I'm Dick Calm."
     The woman doesn't move, but her mumbling stops.
     "I'm here to meet IP-21. You know where I can find him?"
     She remains bent over as she picks up the tray and the glass she'd spilled and remains bent over as she turns from him and walks off::::exiting through a doorway. Dick turns, and there stands IP-21::::looking even smaller than he looked in his hologram.

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