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this will”—he tapped the envelope—“leaving everything to the Families would stand up on Secundus no matter how many flaws are in it. But if I leave it to a private party—you, I mean—some of my descendants—quite a passel—will scream ‘undue influence’ and try to break it. Ira, they’ll keep it tied up in court until it’s dribbled away in legal fees. Let’s avoid that, eh?”
    “We can. I’ve made changes in the rules. On this planet a man can put his will through probate before his death, and if there are flaws, the court is required to help him rephrase it to accomplish his purposes. If he does it that way, no contest can be entertained by any court; it goes automatically into effect on his death. Of course if he changes his will, the new will must go through the same process—which makes changing his mind expensive. But by using preprobate, it does not take a lawyer for even the most complex will. And the lawyers can’t touch it afterwards.”
    Lazarus’ eyes widened with pleasure. “Didn’t you annoy a few lawyers?”
    “I’ve annoyed so many,” Ira said dryly, “that every transport to Felicity has voluntary migrants in it—and so many lawyers have annoyed me that some are involuntary ones.” The Chairman Pro Tem looked sourly amused. “Once I said to my Chief Justice, ‘Warren, I’ve had to reverse too many of your decisions. You’ve been splitting hairs, misinterpreting the rules, and ignoring equity ever since you came into office. Go home; you’re under house arrest until the ‘Last Chance’ lifts. You can have an escort during daylight hours to let you wind up your private affairs.’”
    Lazarus chuckled. “Shoulda hanged him. You know what he did, don’t you? Set up shop again on Felicity and went into politics. If they didn’t lynch him.”
    “His problem and theirs, not mine. Lazarus, I never let a man be executed for being a fool—but if he’s too obnoxious, I ship him out. There’s no need to sweat over your new will if you want one. Just dictate it with any elaborations and explanations you see fit. Then we’ll run it through a semantic analyzer to rephrase it into airtight legal language. Once it satisfies you, you can submit it to the High Court—which will come to you if you prefer—and the Court will validate it. Done that way it could then be overturned only by arbitrary act of a new Chairman Pro Tem. Which I consider most unlikely; the Trustees do not place such men in office.”
    Weatheral added, “But I hope you will take plenty of time, Lazarus. I want a fair chance to search for something new, something that will restore your interest in life.”
    “All right. But don’t dally; I won’t be put off with a Scheherazade gag. Have them send me a recorder—tomorrow morning, say.”
    Weatheral seemed about to speak, did not. Lazarus looked at him sharply. “ This conversation is being recorded?”
    “Yes, Lazarus. Sound and holography, everything that happens in this suite. But—your pardon, sir!—it goes only to my desk and does not become a permanent record until I have checked and okayed it. Nothing so far, that is.”
    Lazarus shrugged. “Forget it. Ira, I learned centuries back that there is no privacy in any society crowded enough to need ID’s. A law guaranteeing privacy simply insures that bugs—microphones and lenses and so forth—are that much harder to spot. I hadn’t thought about it up till now because I take it for granted that my privacy will be invaded any time I visit such places—then I ignore it unless I’m up to something the local law won’t like. In which case I use evasive tactics.”
    “Lazarus, that record can be wiped. Its only purpose is to make me certain that the Senior is being properly taken care of—a responsibility I will not delegate.”
    “I said, ‘Forget it.’ But I’m surprised at your naïveté, a man in your position, in thinking that the record is piped only to your desk. I’ll lay long odds,