“It's true. Oh, Mother, how could Perdita do this? Didn't you tell her about how awful it was?”

“Yes,” I said. “And inconvenient. And unpleasant and unbalancing and painful. None of it made the slightest impact on her. She told me she thought it would be fun.”

Bysshe was pointing to his watch and mouthing, “Time for court.”

“Fun!” Viola said. “When she saw what I went through that time? Honestly, Mother, sometimes I think she's completely brain-dead. Can't you have her declared incompetent and locked up or something?”

“No,” I said, trying to zip up my robe with one hand. “Viola, I have to go. I'm late for court. I'm afraid there's nothing we can do to stop her. She's a rational adult.”

“Rational!” Viola said. “Her eyebrows light up, Mother. She has Custer's Last Stand lased on her arm.”

I handed the phone to Bysshe. “Tell Viola I'll talk to her tomorrow.” I zipped up my robe. “And then call Baghdad and see how long they expect the phones to be out.” I started into the courtroom. “And if there are any more universal calls, make sure they're local before you answer.”

###

Bysshe couldn't get through to Baghdad, which I took as a good sign, and my mother-in-law didn't call. Mother did, in the afternoon, to ask if lobotomies were legal.

She called again the next day. I was in the middle of my Personal Sovereignty class, explaining the inherent right of citizens in a free society to make complete jackasses of themselves. They weren't buying it.

“I think it's your mother,” Bysshe whispered to me as he handed me the phone. “She's still using the universal. But it's local. I checked.”

“Hello, Mother,” I said.

“It's all arranged,” Mother said. “We're having lunch with Perdita at McGregor's. It's on the corner of Twelfth Street and Larimer.”