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sprawling resort was constructed as a playground for the moneyed and highborn. The management catered in particular to the nobility. Some of the restaurants, bistros, pools and suites were reserved for our especial use. I had most recently secured a season’s pass for a four-room cabana on a rocky promontory overlooking a booming wave pool. Woe betide the interloper who tried to make use of it in my absence, something of which the management was well aware. It occurred to me, though, that it might be fun to bring my crew there—on an evening when none of my cousins were around, of course.
    “What exactly happened?” I asked, torn between alarm and delight. “If anything serious had happened, you wouldn’t be so keen to discuss it, would you?”
    “Well,” Nesbitt said slowly, but, I believe, honestly, “we might.”
    “It wasn’t too serious,” Anstruther said. “There wasn’t a fight.”
    “Pish tosh,” I declared, priding myself on an archaicism that I doubted few of them had heard. “Then what? An exchange of fleering glances? A fight over an attractive mate? Some primeval chest-beating? An indecent proposition?”
    They looked at one another. At last it was Plet who retrieved the most detailed news item to be had, and forwarded it to my viewpad.
    “A Very Refined Brawl,” said the headline.
    I read through the brief notice. Some newcomers to the city had reserved a few of the exclusive venues on Sparrow Island, but upon arrival yesterday had found them not as they had hoped. As the management was, as I knew, eager to please its clientele, it attempted to find them something suitable that was unoccupied at the moment. But it seemed words were exchanged among other important guests who shortly thereafter arrived on site, and some maneuvering had to be accomplished to accommodate all of those who arrived. Mr. Sted Banion, the manager of Sparrow Island, was quoted by at least one member of the press.
    “We always strive to give our guests the very best experience possible. We did not stop until all parties were satisfied with their visit.”
    I rather doubted that all parties were satisfied. The bandied adjective “important” meant relations of the Emperor. It might not be so stated, but was understood by society reporters and those who loved to read them.
    I also checked the links to the numerous cross-postings on my cousins’ Infogrid files. It appeared that five of them were among the civilians who were threatened. The intruders in question withdrew immediately, though not without harsh words for the management and the nobility who had confronted them. The nobility, in their turn, harangued the management for ignoring some of their own reservations in favor of the newcomers, thereby putting them into harm’s way. The management apologized in seventeen different positions of increasing humility. I fancy that a good deal of choice food and drink was offered to assuage the injured feelings and twisted limbs of my cousins. I would have expected no less of a venue that wished to remain on our list of favorite haunts.
    Those of the ruffians who could be captured were followed to their lairs and taken into custody, pending trial and, I hoped, deportation, though as citizens they were permitted to visit, even live on Keinolt, even if I wished they wouldn’t. The ringleaders had slunk away, not to be seen again. They had not left the planet, as far as law enforcement could detect. I spun a coin on my viewpad screen. No, they were still on-world. Of that I was certain.
    I posted my divinitive finding, suggesting that the search continue, and got a derisive message back from my cousin Xanson, who was skeptical about my newfound enthusiasm for superstitions. I sent a suitable pithy retort, which immediately garnered many thumbs up signs and smiles from our various friends and readers, and another sour reply from Xan. I riposted with what I felt was a palpable hit.
    “What a pity I was not there,” I said,