*********
The brief but hair-raising ride through the darkness, lit only by the eerie red glow of the electronic dragon's red eyes, ended at a dimly lit sliding door. The Floppy Phenom took a floppy disk out of his shirt pocket and inserted it into a disk drive implanted in the wall next to the door. The door slid open and the boy stepped inside the room.
"Let's go," urged the man in the sweat shirt. "There's not a minute to lose."
"Not even a millisecond to lose," added the man in the tuxedo.
"Not if we're going to get those anarchists clapped into jail before they tear down the whole society!" cried the police chief-judge.
The man in the sweat shirt and the man in the tuxedo shoved Gerald into the inner room of the computerized cosmic tree more vigorously than Gerald thought necessary. Gerald expected to see something like a stage set for Star Trek, but instead, he found himself crowded into what could only be a virtual reality doubling of the boy's own room. The clothes, papers, books, floppy disks and compact discs strewn everywhere and the posters of heavy metal rock groups plastered against the walls were almost enough to make Gerald feel at home. Three computers were crammed together on two desks, two more computers rested on the bed and a sixth computer lay on the floor, all of them in full operation. The shades of both windows were drawn and only a small lamp on the desk gave any light to the room. The Floppy Phenom ran from one computer to another, punching in a few keys and hitting the Return keys.
"Are you finding the bugs?" the police chief judge asked anxiously.
"Forty-three-and-a-third competing cosmic trees, presumably illegal," the Floppy Phenom announced. "Three loci of inner subversion."
"The competing cosmic trees are most certainly illegal," said the man in the sweat shirt.
"It is of the nature of a cosmic tree that there should and must be only one," said the man in the tuxedo.
After the Floppy Phenom tapped some keys and hit the Return button, there was a soft rumbling sound and then the shattering of glass. A plastic tree branch broke through one of the computer monitors on the desk. The Floppy Phenom showed no reaction to this occurrence while most of the people in the room cried out. Gerald was too confused by the turn of events to be any less frozen than the boy who seemed to be responsible for them.
"Is this part of your programmed cosmic tree?" asked the police chief-judge, fear and suspicion rising in her voice.
"This is not the way a cosmic tree should behave if you ask me," said one of the soldiers.
With a shrug of the shoulders, the Floppy Phenom hit a key and the branches disappeared in thin air. Broken glass added to the litter of the room, but once again the pictures on the monitors were intact.
"How did you do that?" Gerald asked, looking for a way to get a grasp on the situation in a way befitting a president.
"Simple," the Floppy Phenom replied, showing the faint trace of a grin. "These are all virtual reality computers. I just needed to do some fancy footwork with the program."
"Can you pinpoint the three loci of internal subversion?" a pale Gerald asked.
"That's my president!" exclaimed the man in the sweat shirt. "I knew you'd take charge and set things right!"
"A most judicious use of your executive power," added the man in the tuxedo.
Gerald felt stronger in his power and responsibility as the Floppy Phenom quickly made the rounds of his keyboards. Sequences of pictures flashed on each screen, many of them not reassuring. In one, a group of men was storming a government building. In another, men and women who must have spent millions of dollars on their wardrobes were drenching each other with champagne. On a third screen, small children were having a knife fight while police looked on and laughed. In another, two men were playing violins, accompanied on the harpsichord by a large woman.
"GET THEM!" cried the police chief judge.
"It looks suspiciously like Vivaldi's music store to me," said one of the soldiers.
"Vladimir and Natasha Vivaldi have a long record in our files," added a second soldier.
"Not to speak of their friend Antonio Lustoslawski, who was arrested just two days ago for infractions of the World CUP System," said a third.
"What did they do?" asked Gerald as he shrank into the wall, hoping nobody would see his reaction to their names and faces.
"They have a tendency to play music for the express purpose of charming a cosmic tree of their own imagination so as to conjure up its appearance and deceive the public," the man in the tuxedo replied.
"Is that all?" asked Gerald, who did not want to see the woman who helped him the day before get into trouble.
"WHAT MORE DOES A HUMAN BEING HAVE TO DO WHEN THE WORLD IS IN ENOUGH CHAOS AS IT IS?" yelled the police chief-judge.
On other screens, there was an arcade where people of all ages played computer games in such a thicket of terminals that Gerald doubted there was a way out of it. A rock group belted out obscene lyrics to an adoring crowd that was tearing down the night club in rhythm to the music. A group of business executives attacked another group and slashed open their briefcases with knives. On another monitor, a gang of youths, armed with knives, closed in on two helpless children. In another monitor, a group of well-dressed business executives in a bank pelted each other with silver coins while another monitor showed a bald man, sketching out a large parchment map with the help of Sharon Van Vann's parents.
"GET THEM!" cried the police chief judge.
"Mister Tobias C. Tindy himself!" exclaimed a soldier, "the very one who created and then sold, to a minor, the map that threw the entire World CUP System into chaos and confusion!"
Then the monitor on the bed switched to a small group of familiar children and an old man wearing a pointed dunce cap. Sharon and her friends were struggling to make their way through a web of tree branches that squirmed like a brood of snakes. In front of them, a small dragon with shining blue eyes picked its way through the branches.
"THERE THEY ARE!" cried the police chief judge. "GET THEM!"
"She's the one who bought the illegal and unreal map!" added a soldier.
"But she only bought it because I had spent all my money on candy and didn't have any money left," said Gerald.
"We can't let these excuses slide in a time of crisis," said one of the soldiers.
"Neither can we let her get away with tearing the fabric of society and all reality," said another.
"And we can't let her get away with following a blue-eyed dragon," said the man in the sweat shirt.
""Next thing you know, a blue-eyed turtle will come on the scene," said the man in the tuxedo.
"Mister President," said the Police chief-judge with her ruler poking Gerald in the cheek, "you can see for yourself that the act of buying an illegal map at Tindy's has led to the appearance of unreal creatures such as dragons and elves and dwarves and gnomes, not to speak of the mythological cosmic tree that tangled everything up. Bringing in the dragons has led to all this rioting and anarchy that you can see for yourself on these monitors."
"The elves and dwarves and dragons most assuredly and definitely belong to the realm of lore and legend," said one of the soldiers.
"And they most distinctly and absolutely do not belong in the realm of political and social reality," added another soldier.
"Send militia against girl and accomplices?" asked the Floppy Phenom.
"YES!" cried the police chief judge.
Before Gerald could say a word in protest, the monitor mushroomed and the police chief-judge's soldiers stepped into the waving branches. In a matter of seconds, another group of soldiers, each wearing a different uniform, joined them. Up front was a Prussian soldier with his spike helmet. Next to him stood a Roman legionnaire. Gerald recognized a Union officer, oriental soldiers, Indian warriors and British Redcoats. The blue-eyed dragon hissed at the soldiers as they closed in on the children, but it couldn't intimidate them.
"ARREST THEM!" the police chief-judge demanded.
Seeing Sharon just a few feet away, Gerald was inspired with a way out of this sticky situation.
"Sharon! Quick!" he called out.
"Quick what?" Sharon yelled back. The black look she gave him was almost enough to make Gerald wilt on the spot.
"Quick! Follow me!" Gerald urged. "I'll get you pardoned---and then I'll get you a good place on the cosmic tree! A mansion even!"
The soldiers, weapons aimed at their captives, held back, waiting for the outcome of Gerald's dialogue with Sharon. Sharon's odd companions looked at her imploringly. Gerald recalled how this whole array had come to attack the cosmic tree just the day before, and now they were surrounding Sharon Van Vann and a small number of her friends as if they were the arch enemies of the universe.
"What about our friends?" Sharon asked.
Gerald scrambled in his mind for a generous offer he could make for them, but he was cut off.
"We can't give amnesty to any of them," said the man in the sweat shirt. "They're much too legendary."
"All of reality would be compromised and ambiguified," added the man in the tuxedo.
The blue-eyed dragon looked Gerald in the eyes with a piercing stare and cried: "Tabitha!"
The soldiers stared at the blue-eyed dragon and the blue-eyed dragon returned its piercing glare to them. A Confederate soldier swallowed hard. A black African warrior shifted his spear from one hand to the other and back again. A Viking readjusted his helmet. The stalemate ended when an officer barked an order to shoot. All of the children screamed when the fire arms went off and spears were thrown. The soldiers, bellowing their battle cries, closed in on the dragon. Buildings and parks and forests swirled around the attackers. With a jolt, Gerald was brought back into the Floppy Phenom's virtual room with his virtual computers. It was suddenly much quieter as only his two assistants, the police-chief judge and the Floppy Phenom, were left with him.
"Did they get the dragon?" asked the police chief-judge. "Where's the army? Where is Sharon Van Vann?"
"I suppose they could be anywhere," said Gerald.
"Yea," replied the Floppy Phenom, seated at a monitor with his feet on the desk. "Anywhere. Need random search. Telegram came for president."
The Floppy Phenom flung a piece of paper into Gerald's hands, then engaged in a volley of typing. The telegram read: CONGRATULATIONS STOP PROUD OF YOU STOP SEE YOU SOON STOP LOVE MOM & DAD. Before the lump in his throat got worse, Gerald hurriedly stuffed the telegram in his pocket and riveted his attention to the fast sequences of pictures appearing on the monitors. A group of ragged men set fire to the bushes in a city park. Members of a symphony orchestra attacked each other with their instruments while the audience and conductor cheered them on. Mr. Tindy was still inking in his new map with Sharon's parents. Another monitor showed a crowded classroom where the children attacked their teacher followed by a bench clearing brawl at a Little League baseball game. Then one of the monitors showed the soldiers spread out among the branches in search of a baby dragon who was nowhere to be found. As they beat the branches, the branches retaliated with swipes at the soldiers.
"Abort search?" asked the Floppy Phenom.
"I guess so," said the man in the sweat shirt.
"It seems expedient to reassemble the army so that it can respond to the next crisis," said the man in the tuxedo.
The Floppy Phenom hit a key and the Prussian officer in his spike helmet blew a whistle.
"Search for Van Vann?" asked the Floppy Phenom.
"Immediately!" responded the police chief-judge.
Several more images flickered on the monitors. One of them settled on a group of demonstrators waving signs that read: "DOWN WITH OFFICIAL COSMIC TREES" "A COSMIC TREE IN EVERY YARD" and "COSMIC TREE SPELLS TYRANNY!"
"So!" snapped the police chief-judge. "Now you see can for yourself where the machinations of Sharon Van Vann and the Vivaldis and Mr. Tindy have brought us."
"Hmm. Vivaldis," grunted the Floppy Phenom.
When he hit another key, one of the monitors showed Sharon climbing through the frame of a broken window with the help of Peppercorn.
"Clarinets and cartwheels!" exclaimed Natasha Vivaldi as she greeted her unexpected guests in the instrument storage room. "I knew the Cosmic Tree would bring you here safely."
"Search is accomplished," said the man in the sweat shirt.
"Now for the discernment process for what we should do with them," said the man in the tuxedo.
"Surround the music store with the armies!" cried the police chief-judge.
"Let's check out their plans in veridical reality first," suggest the man in the tuxedo.
Gerald felt hollow inside as he watched the effusive greetings that Sharon, Peppercorn, the elf, the dwarf, and Mr. Schlussel received from the Vivaldis and Antonio Lustoslawski. The children interrupted each other in telling their hosts all about the baby dragon and the attack of the army. Vladimir and Antonio set the table and Natasha brought out a roasted turkey as if she had expected the crowd. Gerald's mouth began to water, and his stomach to growl. When Natasha Vivaldi began to slice up the turkey, Gerald felt cast adrift in the universe.
"Why mandolins and mantras!" Natasha cried. "You mean to say that Gerald Kaylen is behind all these calamities? I thought he was a nice boy. To think that I fed him breakfast just yesterday morning!"
"His mind turned to gum drops," said Lynndenbaum.
"His heart turned to grubs and termites," said Bakhra.
"He sold his soul for flash bulbs and headlines," said Peppercorn.
"I should have known he was an incurable, insufferable, hooty snob who turns against a friend at the drop of an election to public office," said Sharon, her eyes flashing with hurt and anger.
"Tabasco sauce and tubas!" exclaimed Natasha. "It takes effort for a human being to disintegrate that much in one day."
"TREASON!" cried the police chief-judge.
Gerald would have cried if his insides did not feel as if they were filled with ashes.
"You said that the baby dragon disappeared during the attack of the armies?" asked Vladimir Vivaldi.
"That is what appeared to our senses," replied Mr. Schlussel.
"And he kept crying out 'Tabitha?'" asked Antonio.
"Yea," said Fiona. "Whoever that is."
"Hmm," grunted Vladimir. "You said there were two eggs in the nest and one was lost?"
"That's it!" cried Mr. Schlussel.
"Tambourines and tea cups!" cried Natasha Vivaldi, "the missing egg must be the key to something!"
"Perhaps we should infer from this that Tabitha is the egg-mate of the dragon," said Peppercorn.
"And Tabitha may be on the loose just as much as the dragon," said Lynndenbaum.
"Donnybrooks and descants!" cried Natasha Vivaldi. "That will fix the wagon of the official governmental Cosmic tree!
"TREASON!" yelled the police chief-judge. "GET THESE DRAGONS!"
"Difficulty," said the Floppy Phenom. "Dragons not in cosmic tree program."
"Then put them there."
"Put Dragons in program, program loops back on self."
"Sounds hopeless," said the man in the sweat shirt.
"Could be an insurmountable difficulty," said the man in the tuxedo.
"Keep dragons out," said the Floppy Phenom. "No place. No bother."
"Just like keeping elves, dwarves and gnomes out of the program?" Gerald asked with an edge to his voice.
"More complicated," replied the Floppy Phenom.
"Why harpies and harpsichords!" cried Natasha Vivaldi, "of course we can lend you a harp when it's a matter of saving the cosmic tree. Vladimir, go fetch one of our harps from the store room!"
Now the motley group was gathered in the living room. Sharon looked uneasy as most everybody had a musical instrument except her. Lynndenbaum had his flute, and Fiona was picking out a tune on her computer. Mr. Schlussel was tuning up a bass clarinet. Peppercorn was plucking away at a wash tup bass. Vladimir Vivaldi ran back into the room with a harp in his hands and placed it in front of Fiona.
"What are you going to play for the Cosmic Tree, Sharon?" Vladimir Vivaldi asked Sharon.
"I hate to disappoint you," said Sharon, "but I really don't see how I can do anything to help serenade the cosmic tree."
"Vixens and vibraphones, Dearie!" exclaimed Mrs. Vivaldi, "you can help us tune up to the cosmic tree with any instrument played any which way! You don't have to be as great a composer as Adelbert Schlussel to be of help. Why don't you try your luck with these finger cymbals?"
Natasha Vivaldi placed the little cymbals on Sharon's fingers and coached her in their use until she could keep time with them.
"Mind you," said Mr. Schlussel. "The cosmic tree can take care of itself."
"Even when everybody cut it down yesterday?" asked Sharon.
"Of course it can. It takes more than a world full of axes to put a dent in that old cosmic tree."
"Then--why did we have to grow a new tree yesterday?"
"Why, because we fell out of it, of course!" Mr. Schlussel replied. "The tree was fine. We are the ones who weren't in such good shape."
Without any real beginning, music, of a sort, emerged out of the living room ensemble. Gerald was already finding himself fascinated with the music they were playing. Even though he wasn't much more musical than Sharon, he felt like stepping into the computer and asking for a pair of tom-toms.
"I wouldn't listen to that if I were a cosmic tree," said the man in the sweat shirt.
"Maybe we should twist the notes and wring them through the washer," suggested the man in the tuxedo.
"Mixing up the Vivaldis and Tindy's might help," said the Floppy Phenom.
"We're not going to put them in jail just for making music, are we?" asked Gerald. "What difference is this going to make to our cosmic tree?
"Don't put anything past these anarchists or their cosmic tree," warned the police chief judge.
"Can't we just program them into taking their places on the cosmic tree?" suggested Gerald.
"Why do you ask that?" asked the man in the sweat shirt.
"Because, if we get them where they belong on the cosmic tree, than there's no problem. They aren't in violation of the law and we don't have to put them into prison."
"But that would entail forgiveness and atonement for the infractions and illegalities and reprehensible behavior that has transpired," said the man in the tuxedo.
"Prison is precisely their place in the cosmic tree!" raged the police chief judge.
"I am afraid you don't understand," said the man in the sweat shirt. "We really can't let these people off easily or they will simply find another way to throw a monkey wrench into the works."
"In our up-to-the-minute survey," said the man in the tuxedo, "65.3% of the population feels more secure if the most notorious infractor of the cosmic tree is punished in a most conclusive and comprehensive way."
"Am I the president or am I not the president?" Gerald asked, his eyes flashing with anger.
"You may be the president, young man," said the police chief judge, aiming a ruler at Gerald's nose, "but you are still a juvenile trouble maker if you do not exercise your right and duty to apprehend this group of criminals."
"Mr. President," said the man in the sweat shirt, "you are most noble in your intentions."
"Mr. President," said the man in the tuxedo, "your magnanimity is most laudable and astute."
The music-making broke down, reducing everybody in the intimate group to helpless laughter, except Sharon, who flung her finger cymbals into her lap in disgust.
"Violas and vampires!" cried Natasha Vivaldi, "aren't we are a funny bunch!"
"Let's start up again and see if we can't bring a branch of the Cosmic Tree straight into the heart of every living being!" urged Antonio Lutoslawski.
"TREASON!" yelled the police chief-judge.
"It looks like I'll never be much help," Sharon complained, "I know I threw all of you off because I can't keep a beat."
"You don't understand, Dearie," said Natasha Vivaldi with an arm around Sharon. "The Cosmic Tree listens to every rhythm and every tune and every chord. The Cosmic Tree loves you and your music for what it is and for what you are."
"It doesn't love Gerald Kaylen, does it?" Sharon asked.
"Yes, the Cosmic Tree loves even Gerald."
"You mean the Cosmic Tree won't wrap a branch around Gerald's throat and choke the stuffing out of his head?" asked Sharon.
"TREASON!" yelled the police chief-judge again.
The other children laughed uneasily, but the grown-ups did not.
"Sorry," said Mr. Schlussel. "Cosmic Trees don't strangle wicked, wayward boys, not even if they become President."
"Seems to me that Cosmic Trees always try to untwist that which is twisted," said Antonio Lutoslawski.
"TREASON!" cried the police chief-judge. "What further proof do we need that they are plotting to strike at the heart of the government and the social order!"
"Surely you are ready to make an executive order for the pressing of the key prepared for these subversives by the Floppy Phenom," urged the man in the sweat shirt.
"We have three-and-a-half minutes before you are scheduled to make your speech, in which you assure the nation that you have saved them from all trials and tribulations," said the man in the tuxedo. "The text will be waiting for you when you mount the podium."
"Hit the key," said Gerald, feeling as stiff and cold as a block of ice.