Vanderbilt examines his finely manicured nails, twisting the hand this way and that as he does so.  The altercation appearing in front of him gives him cause for thought.  Pity and human compassion are not part of his makeup, although he is concerned over the increasing brazenness of the gangs.  “No, can’t have this, I'm up for re-election and I do not want any complaints.”

He puts his shiny soft soled shoes on the desk.  Not satisfied with how the skin-tight blue jumpsuit joins at the tops of his boots, he makes a slight adjustment, pulling in the material just above the knee.

He raises himself and makes his way leisurely down the hallway into an elevator, and then ambles in to the council chamber.  The council is assembled.  A sudden silence ensues as the Supreme Court judges take their places one by one behind the long table, the assemblymen in front now quite dead.

Justice Vaganoff glances to the left, and then to the right, taps the microphone at the same time, making a harrumphing sound.  The speaker picks up the sound, giving off a whistle as though in recognition.

“We have come to agreement on the constitution changes…” he turns the page of one of the great books, each set on its own lectern, their leather covers worn black from centuries of use.

…"On all of these counts.”  He rambles off a series of changes affecting the criminal code, the most prominent being the increased penalties for hate crimes, the easing of the requirements regarding the burden of proof on the prosecution somewhere near the

end mixed in with insurance law  dealing with such mundane things as:  F.O.B, ex-works, destination duty-paid contracts, and their liability.  A few other matters are dealt with in the area of torts and medical law, and the meeting is then adjourned, the assemblymen filing out into the hallway conversing in hushed tones.

“This will cut into my business!” Assemblyman Harting mumbles to his wife, a stunning blonde dressed in a transparent plastic bursa, for all intents and purposes completely naked, but for the flowers embedded within the plastic.

“How am I going to get clients, when they are going to jail anyway?”

“There, dear,“ she coos.  “We can always go into another business.  How about the jail business?”

“Hmmm…”

“The press will cream us for passing this,” Congressman Wilkes whines, bemoaning the fact that he too would be without clients, and, in addition, would be censured by the media for his vote in the general assembly.

Polycrates remains expressionless as usual.  His signature has just caused his home of Rhodes to sever its ties with New Peloponnesia.  He jumps upon a moving sidewalk, dismissing the bodyguard encased in silver, laser-reflecting armor with a wave.  A gesture of good will.

“Made my money as a lawyer and now I make the law,” he thinks to himself.  As if in answer, one of the overhead speakers emits a whistling sound,  the high, melodic pitch slowly toning downwards to the mid-range, to end in a series of bass, orchestral-like compositions, as the transmitting satellite, high up in the ionosphere, orbiting one of the atmosphere bearing planets, is hit by a solar wind.

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