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and orbit me some time. It gets damn lonely.’
    Dom grinned and buckled them on. For a hectic few minutes he bobbed and swooped among the struts of the dome, gliding to an unsteady halt six inches above the floor. He felt that the sandals would probably be the climax – most of the other presents would be much less interesting.
    From Hrsh-Hgn came a fat rectangle. Dom unwrapped a memory cube and ran his finger over the index face. The cube lit up, the title page standing out in white letters a few centimetres above the surface and revealing: ‘The Glass Castles: A History of Joker Studies, by Dr Hrsh-Hgn. Dedicated to Chairman Dominickdaniel Sabalos of Widdershins.’
    In smaller letters Dom read: ‘Number One in a limited edition of one (1) imprinted on Third Eye saffron-silica.’
    ‘A high honour, indeed,’ said Isaac. Dom nodded, and thumbed the cube at random to read: ‘… mystery of the galaxy. As Sub-Lunar has said, to the imaginative mind they form part of galactic mythology: the Glass Castles at the back of the Galactic North Wind. These towers, built before the oldest of the official Human races had discovered the uses of stone, are memorials to a race which—’
    Dom laid the cube down slowly and opened the present from Korodore.
    ‘That looks dangerous,’ said Isaac.
    Dom wielded the memory sword carefully, staring up at the almost invisible blur as it changed under his touch from sword to knife, from knife to gun.
    ‘Hm,’ said Dom. ‘They use swords on Earth and Terra Novae, don’t they? And on Laoth, too?’
    ‘Yes, with metal blades. They’re more ceremonial and satisfying than guns. But that thing is made to kill people with. Not that I’m putting it down, boss.’
    Dom grinned. ‘You’re mighty uppity for a robot, aren’t you? In the old days you’d have been dismantled by the mob.’
    ‘In the old days robots were considered to be non-living, chief.’
    Joan’s present was a simple black Sadhimist athame against the time when he should be admitted to membership of a ceremonial klatch, while from his mother he received the deeds of one of her personal estates on Earth. It was far too generous, and typical of Lady Vian on those occasions when she remembered Dom.
    There were other presents from the minor directors and heads of subcommittees, most of them expensive – far too expensive to be allowed to keep, even if Joan would permit it. But Dom looked wistfully at the deeds of a robot horse, presented by Hugagan of Planetary Relations. Isaac peered over his shoulder and sneered audibly.
    ‘Lunar manufacture,’ he said. ‘All right, I suppose, but not a patch on the ones we make on Laoth. They live .’
    Dom glanced at him.
    ‘I shall have to visit Laoth,’ he said.
    ‘The jewel of the universe, take it from me.’
    Dom laughed and made sure that Ig had a good purchase on his shoulder. Then he thumbed the control ring and the sandals lifted him up, through the dust-laden beams that filled the dome, and out over the sea.
    He spiralled low over the lagoon, where Lady Vian’s little tame windshells grazed, and felt Ig scramble around his neck. He glanced backwards and saw the little animal was riding him comfortably, pointed snout sniffing the wind.
    Below him he watched the shells cease their grazing and swing into a pattern so that, prow to stern, they formed a circle. Vian spent hours drumming simple tricks into their microscopic minds.
    Something stirred restlessly at the back of his memory, but he dismissed it carelessly and sought altitude.
    He burst through the balloon trees ringing the lawn, bursting the fruits recklessly, and braked a bare inch above the grass.
    Joan I strode across the lawn to meet him, and kissed him with rather more tenderness than usual. He looked into her grey eyes.
    ‘Well, grandson, and how do you feel this day?’
    ‘I feel on top of the world, madam, thank you. But I must say you look rather tired.’ She’s acting like a cool-head, he thought