I

    King Egregious the Nth paced his top-security conference room anxiously.  The plague of worms was reaching crisis proportions, and his trusted counselors were late!  Where were those ninnies, anyway?  Just as the king was about to embark on his hundredth or so trip around the room, the door opened.
    "Ah, Dan and Eric!" gushed King Egregious the Nth with relief.  "Thank goodness you're here!"
    "Hail to the Dark Lord!" shouted Dan.
    Eric nailed Dan with a hard elbow to the ribs.
    "Shut up, you twit!" he muttered under his breath.  Then, more loudly, "Hail King Egregious the Nth!  How can we be of service to Your Majesty?"
    The king appeared not to have noticed Counselor Dan's little faux pas.  "It's those darned worms," he said.  "I've never seen so many before.  The people are afraid to venture forth from their dwellings.  It is rumored to be the work of the Dark Lord.  What do you think?"
    "Well, I don't see how the Dark Lord could have anything to do with this," said Counselor Eric.  "Can you imagine him telling a worm how to behave?  Ha, ha!"
    "Yes.  Ha, ha." said Dan.
    "But we certainly do have a worm infestation," continued Eric.  "What we need is a Slayer."
    "Um, where would I find a Slayer?" asked the king nervously.  "Of course, I would do it, but I'm getting to be too old for that sort of thing.  How about one of you guys?"
    "Your Majesty, of course, would be out of the question," said Eric.  "You are too important to the administration of the kingdom.  And you rely on us for advice.  In any case, it is the responsibility of the Crown Prince.  The Rules are very clear on that point."
    King Egregious the Nth winced.  "I'm afraid Prince Ethelred is not, uh, suited to that sort of activity.  I am still, uh, training him in his princely duties."
    The counselors exchanged a quick look of conspiratorial understanding.  "Nevertheless, it is his duty," said Dan.  "And he is a grown man."
    Outside, there was a rush of wings, and a monstrous shadow passed over the castle.  A faint sulphurous smell tinged the air.
    The kind shuddered.  "Now they don't even fear to threaten the castle grounds.  How is my son supposed to stand up to one of those beasts?"
    "Well, you do possess the famous Worm Whacker," wheedled Dan.  "I know it's for emergencies, but I think this qualifies."
    "Anyway," said Eric, "he won't actually have to fight any worms.  We have a plan ..."

    "So, when can you get me some test data?"  Bart Sisyphus was a patient man, but it had been three months since he had given the COBOL guy specifications.  "You know we have a tight timeframe to migrate the legacy applications."
    "If you could get me some help, I could do it," the COBOL guy whined.  "I've got legislative mandates and demands from the Director that have to be implemented first.  Not to mention maintenance.  Another program bombed last night.  I don't have time for migration."
    "We can't be wasting resources on obsolete technologies that are about to go away, C.G.," Bart explained.  He never could remember the COBOL guy's real name.  "If we hired another COBOL guy (or gal) now, we'd just be stuck with another unskilled body when the old legacy stuff was gone.  We've just got to do more with less.  Work smarter.  Set priorities."
    "I wish you'd stop using that word," said the COBOL guy.
    "What word?" asked Bart.
    "Legacy.  It sounds like someone died."
    "Hey, I can't help it if the Technology Express left you at the station."
 

    "You want me to fight worms?" stammered Prince Ethelred.  "Worms you want me to fight?"
    He had just been summoned from the garden, where he had been reading a new book of poetry.
    "No, no," said King Egregious the Nth reassuringly.  "Dan and Eric have explained the whole problem to me, and I'm sure you will be able to handle it."
    "Ah!  Dan and Eric.  So, this is a Dan and Eric project."  The voice belonged to Queen Eek!eek!.
    "What of it, my dear?" replied the king innocently.  "They're my trusted advisors.  We have a major crisis on our hands.  Whom would you expect me to ask?"
    "How about me?" asked the queen.  There was just the trace of a smirk around the corners of her mouth.
    "You know this is Man Stuff."
    "So, instead you go to the Dark Lord's two biggest henchmen."
    "Poppycock, my dear.  Where do you get such slanders?"
    "Well, for one thing," replied the queen, "they have the Dark Lord's logo, the Rat Rampant, tattooed on the middle of their foreheads."
    "That has been explained," retorted the king.  "A boyish indiscretion.  A little too much to drink at a party when they were teenagers."
    "Both of them?  Oh, forget it.  So, let's say they're true blue.  They're still going to get your son killed.  And you're ok with this?"
    "Killed?  Nonsense!  Nothing could be safer," said the king rather less certainly than he had intended.
    "Then what's the bit with the sword?" the prince insisted.  "That sounds like a slaying gig to me, and I'm really not much good at slaying.  You know how I am with roaches.  I have to call the servants to squish them."
    "Roaches are a servant's job," the king continued soothingly.  "This is nothing like that.  Let me explain by asking a question:  Why do we have so many worms in the kingdom?"
    "Because the Dark Lord sent them?"
    "No.  They have come to feed.  And what is their favorite food?"
    "Us?"
    "No," said the king.  "Their favorite food is dwarves."
    "So?  Dwarves, people.  What's the difference?"
    "You know, you aren't making this very easy.  Dwarves are nothing like people!  So, do you see what our problem is?"
    "Yes," replied the prince.  "A plague of nasty, voracious worms."
    "No, no," said his father patiently.  "It's dwarves .  The worms come to feed on them.  So, what's the solution to the problem?"
    "I don't know," said the prince obtusely.
    "Get rid of the dwarves!  Then the worms will leave!" said the king brightly.  "All you have to do is take ol' Worm Whacker and slay all the dwarves!"
    "Yep.  That's Dan and Eric thinking, all right," muttered the queen.  The king ignored her.
    "Couldn't we just give all the dwarves tickets to somewhere else?"  suggested Prince Ethelred.
    "They're too stupid to reason with," insisted the king.  "Besides, the only other place to go is Blort, and who, especially a dwarf, would be idiotic enough to go there?"
    "Dad, it's still slaying.  Maybe not so dangerous now, but still slaying."
    "Son, if you ever expect to be a political leader, you have to get some blood on your hands."
 

    Dan and Eric held the wriggling, kicking dwarf between them.
    "Let go of me, you oafs!" squeaked the dwarf.
    "Hail to the Dark, um, to you, my Liege!" intoned Dan.  "We have brought a priming dwarf for the Crown Prince."
    "What are you talking about?" shrieked the dwarf, and he landed a kick to the kneecap that sent Dan sprawling.  Unfortunately, Eric maintained his grip.
    "Ah, good!" said King Egregious the Nth.  "He should do fine."
    "What is he talking about?" asked Prince Ethelred.
    "I know you're a bit, uh, squeamish," replied the king.  "Getting the first olive out of the bottle is often the most difficult task.  So, I figured it would be easier for you if I helped you get the first dwarf out of the bottle, so to speak.  Son, I want you to slay this dwarf."
    Queen Eek!eek! covered her face with her hands and shook her head slowly.
    "Just like that?" protested the prince.
    "Of course not," said the king kindly.  "You'll need old Worm Whacker to do the job.  Here!"  And he handed the fabled sword to the Crown Prince.
    "Um, I don't even know his name," stalled the prince, mechanically accepting the blade from his father.
    "State your name and occupation, dwarf!" commanded the king.
    "Occupation?  You know what my occupation is!  I work in the mines like all dwarves.  It's the only thing we're allowed to do!  Talk about boring!"
    "Silence, dwarf!" ordered Dan.  "If you talk to the king like that, you're going to be in big trouble!"
    "Ah, so you plan to kill me twice?" suggested the dwarf.
    "Just tell us your name," said the king patiently.
    The dwarf drew himself up to his full four feet in height.  He was large for his race.  "Peaburp, Your Majesty," he said with dignity.
    By now, Prince Ethelred had had time to collect his wits.  "Dad," he said, "let me interrogate this dwarf!"
    "I beg your pardon?" said the king.  "Why not just kill him?"
    "I want to find out what he knows," said the prince.
    "He doesn't know anything," said Eric.  "He's just a dwarf."
    "If you want me to slay dwarves, I have to be able to find them first," argued the prince.  "I bet this dwarf can lead me to hundreds of others."
    "He has a point," admitted the king.
    Prince Ethelred seized Peaburp and hustled him out the door before any other objections could be raised.  The king looked confused.  Dan and Eric grumbled.  Only the queen looked pleased.
    "I don't like it," muttered Dan to Eric.
    "Don't worry," Eric muttered back.  "The kid's incompetent.  He'll screw it up.  The main thing is to get hold of that sword."
 

       Prince Ethelred and the dwarf were hightailing it companionably along a back road not far from the castle.
    "So, how did a nice kid like you get into a family like that?" Peaburp asked.
    "It isn't the way it looks," said the prince defensively.  "My dad isn't a bad guy.  He just can't stand the pressures of the job."
    "What does he have against dwarves?"
    "Nothing in particular," shrugged the prince.  "I'm supposed to kill you all so that the worms will go away."
    "Come again?  That doesn't make any sense."
    "Sure it does.  The worms love to eat dwarves.  You can't deny that!"
    The dwarf shuddered.  "No, I can't."
    "So, if there are no dwarves, the worms will go away!" concluded the prince triumphantly.  "Only, I can't bring myself to harm an innocent creature."
    "There's something wrong with your logic, Prince," Peaburp began.
    The two were so absorbed in conversation, that they didn't notice the shadow passing over them.  The first thing they noticed was the smell of sulphur.  When they looked up, the worm was upon them, all teeth and talons and fiery breath.  Ethelred and Peaburp toppled over backward in an attempt to evade the terrible claws.
 

    Bart Sisyphus was just about to do a remote login and take a bite of his breakfast taco when the visitors dropped in.  Right through the wall of his cubicle.  Eyes were popping out all around, and you couldn't find a tongue among the lot of them for a moment.  The little guy found his first.
    "Thank you, mighty wizard!" he peeped.
    "Mighty what?" sputtered Bart.
    "Mighty glad to see you," said the taller one.  "Under the circumstances."
    "What circumstances?" Bart stammered.  "Who are you?  Where did you come from?  How did you get by Security?  Forget that one.  Anyone can get by Security."
    The little one tried again.  "You have our eternal gratitude, Your Wizardness.  Uh, you are a wizard, aren't you?"
    "Well, I'm a Senior Programmer/Analyst.  I guess some of my users think I'm a wizard.  But I'm not in Sheldon's league.  He's our Unix guru."
    "Wow!" said the taller visitor admiringly.  "You must be a wizard!  I didn't understand a single thing you said!  That, and the fact that you saved us from the worm."
    "Worm?  What worm?  Eeuu, gross!"  Bart looked around squeamishly.
    "The one that was about to eat us," said the taller one.
    "Eat you?  A worm?  One of those wriggly little things that come out when it rains?"
    "Ah, I see.  I'm Peaburp," said Peaburp, "and I guess you aren't a wizard after all."
    Bart felt a bit deflated.  "I'm pretty good at PERL," he said somewhat defensively.
    "Let's see if we can sort this out," Peaburp suggested.  "As I said, my name is Peaburp.  This is Ethelred, Crown Prince of Euphonia."
    "Sounds good," said Bart.
    "But could be misleading," said Ethelred.
    "Well, I'm Bart, Senior Programmer/Analyst of the Department of Potential Non-Welfare," said Bart.
    "Man!  Are you sure he's not a wizard?" asked Ethelred.  "I still can't understand a word."
    "Let's review what happened," said Peaburp.  "Prince Ethelred and I were on the lam, minding our own business, about a mile south of the castle when this ferocious worm attacked us.  When we say 'worm,' we mean a gigantic, winged creature with nasty talons, fiery breath, and long, sharp teeth."
    Both of the visitors shuddered.  Bart shuddered a little, too.
    "Anyway," continued Peaburp, "we didn't even have time to think.  We just kind of fell over backwards, and here we are."
    "You came right through the wall," said Bart helpfully.
    "What wall?" asked Ethelred, not recognizing the cubicle partition as a wall.  He looked all around.  "You mean way over yonder?"
    "No, that," said Bart, blushing slightly.  It didn't look like a wall to him, either.  "It may not look like much to you, but this is a new cube.  See? Here's the manual, It's Your System Furniture."
    "A new what?  Oh, never mind."  Peaburp began to probe the partition with his hands.  "Could you help me, here?"  he asked the prince.
    Ethelred probed the area above the dwarf's reach.  His right arm disappeared up to the elbow.  Then his head followed.
    "Well," said the prince, returning fully to the cubicle, "the worm's gone, but everything else still looks the same.  I can even see the castle from here."
    "Let me see that," said Bart skeptically.  He tested the partition gingerly.  His hand went right through.  He poked his head through.  Sure enough, there lay an alien landscape:  rolling hills, a forest in the distance, and, yes, a castle.  Nothing that he had ever seen in his years in the capital.
    Bart flopped back hard into his chair.  "What is this?  Some kind of trick?" he asked suspiciously.  "Are you liberals trying to undermine our welfare-to-work programs?"
    "Are you sure you're not a wizard?" asked Ethelred.
    "I think," said Peaburp, "that we have found what they call a 'wormhole' between universes."
    Considering what he had just learned about worms, Bart didn't find the explanation comforting.

    "What's your world like?"  Bart addressed his question to the more important-looking of the two visitors.  The Crown Prince was taller and had fancier clothes.  Besides, he was a Crown Prince.
    "Well, we don't have any of these ... cubes did you call them?  We have things called 'rooms' and 'offices,' and they're surrounded by hard things called 'walls.'  And we don't have any of those things."  He gestured toward Bart's computer.
    "Computers," said Bart.  "But that isn't exactly what I meant.  Tell me a little about yourself."
    "I'm Ethelred, son of King Egregious the Nth and Queen Eek!eek!."
    "Eekeek?"
    "No.  Eek!eek!.  Don't forget the exclamation points."  The prince looked offended.
    "I don't understand."
    "How else are you supposed to demonstrate the female's need to be rescued by the male?"
    "Uh, our females don't really need much rescuing," Bart explained.  "So, your mother needed your father to rescue her?"
    "No, not really," admitted the prince.  "But that's the way it's supposed to work.  It's based on old stories of valiant knights rescuing fair maidens from voracious worms."
    "Ah, so, the worms kidnap maidens, and the knights rescue them?"
    "Not really.  If a worm flies off with a maiden, by the time anyone can come to the rescue, there's nothing left but bones and gristle.  But we didn't find that out for a long time."
    "Why not?"
    "Because the rescuers never returned, either.  Anyway, the worms don't discriminate between the sexes.  To them, lunch is lunch.  But the idea of a gallant knight riding off to rescue his lady love is very compelling."
    "But if the results are so grizzly, or gristly ..."
    "We have a work-around.  Instead of actually performing a rescue, a suitor writes a heroic poem about a rescue and presents it to his lady love."
    "So, your father wrote your mother one of those poems."
    "Not exactly," blushed the prince.  "Dad can't rhyme moon and spoon.  Sometimes a neatly written paragraph in prose will do."
    "But what's the bit about the exclamation points?" asked Bart.
    "Oh.  The more exclamation points in the name, the more desirable for marriage is the maiden.  My mother has three ," said Prince Ethelred proudly.  "Eek!eek! is actually short for Eek!eek!amouse!."

    "So, what were you running from when the, uh, worm tried to have you for breakfast?" Bart asked.
    "The prince was supposed to kill me," said Peaburp.  "Fortunately, he can't stand the sight of blood."
    "Come again?"
    "Oh, it isn't as bad as it sounds," said Ethelred apologetically.  "Well, maybe it is as bad as it sounds.  But I can explain.  The worms love to eat dwarves.  My dad figures that, if there aren't any dwarves, the worms will go away.  So, he wants me to kill all the dwarves."
    Bart was shocked.  "Not only is that barbaric," he said, "it's just plain stupid.  And any idiot can see why.  Listen to an old systems analyst.  Dwarves aren't the problem.  They're victims.  Your problem is the worms.  So, your father is trying to solve a problem by blaming its weakest and most powerless victims.  This never works.  And you know what?"
    "What?" asked the prince.
    "Even if you could kill all the dwarves, the worms still wouldn't go away."
    "Why not?"
    "Because they would still have an adequate food supply."
    "And that would be ... ?" asked the prince.
    "You, of course.  Isn't that why people are afraid of these creatures in the first place?"
    Peaburp applauded.  "I'm glad you said it.  From me, it might have seemed a might, uh, self-serving.  So, just what is it that you do here?"
    "It's really important, and even revolutionary, work," said Bart pompously.  "First, you have to understand a little about my universe.  We have serious problems here, too.  Our society is crumbling:  crime in the streets, sluggish economy, decaying moral values.  But we know the cause, and we're going to root it out.  And this agency is in the vanguard of that effort."
    "What is the cause?" asked Ethelred.
    "Lazy, good-for-nothings who live off the citizens' tax dollars and refuse to work!  They're sapping our economic vigor and moral fiber.  But we're going to put an end to that!  This agency used to give free handouts to that lot, but now we're going to cut them off.  Five years and out!"
    "So, these people turn down jobs in order to take the handouts instead," Peaburp interpreted.
    "Well, not exactly," said Bart.  "They don't have any jobs, but they don't make an honest effort to find any."
    "But there are jobs for everyone who wants one," Peaburp suggested.
    "Sure!  Um, we always have a few per cent unemployment.  But anyone who really wanted a job could get one."
    "So, those handouts must be pretty lavish, huh?"
    "Well, not for normal people like you or me.  Um, that is, like me.  But they've learned to get by with very little.  And they get more money for each child they have, so they just have children to get more benefits."
    "I suppose you won't cut the children off, will you?"
    "Well, all the parents have to do is get jobs," Bart protested, changing the subject.  "And we're going to help them get jobs."
    "Oh, good," said Peaburp.  "So, there must be enough jobs that pay better than the benefits and also enough to take care of the children while the parents work.  And the parents have the right skills for those jobs, right?"
    "Well, maybe not exactly," Bart muttered.
    "Don't any of these people ever try to get jobs?" the prince interjected.
    "Uh, most of them don't actually stay on welfare very long.  But it's that hard core that's killing us!"
    "I don't suppose," said Peaburp, "that any of these people are in trouble through no fault of their own?"
    "Of course not!" said Bart defensively.  "Well, maybe a few.  But not many!"
    "Would you say these are powerful people?" asked Peaburp.
    "Powerful?  Well, no.  Immigrants, the poor, the unemployed."
    The prince and the dwarf exchanged glances.
    "Sounds like worms and dwarves to me!"  they exclaimed in unison.
 

    "Well, it's been swell," said Bart, "but I really need to get to work."
    Unfortunately, Bart was unable complete his remote login.  He tried again.  It was no good.  He kept getting the same Unix system error.
    "Guess it's time for a visit to Sheldon," he muttered.
    The dwarf tagged along uninvited.
    Sheldon was hunched over his workstation when Bart and Peaburp appeared at his cubicle door.  The cubicle was a disaster area.  There were heaps of manuals, several of them open, towering piles of computer printouts, and various objects that defied description.  There were only two chairs, one filled by the cubicle's occupant, the other, an ancient, ratty-looking thing, buried under the general cubicle detritus.  Amid all the mayhem, Sheldon had somehow managed to keep clear enough space for one person to stand almost comfortably.
    When Bart cleared his throat, Sheldon looked up nearsightedly through coke-bottle-thick lenses.
    "The system won't let me on," complained Bart.
    Sheldon fiddled absentmindedly with his bulging plastic pocket protector before turning again to his workstation.  His fingers flew over the keyboard.
    "Hmm," he mused.  "One of my daemons is acting up.  There.  That should take care of it for now."
    "This man commands demons?" asked Peaburp in awe.
    "Well, 'daemons,' actually," said Sheldon.  "Hear that little 'a' in there?  No?  Well, a daemon is just a program."
    "What's a program?" asked Peaburp.
    "Ah, a true neophyte!  Here, have a seat."
    Sheldon wrestled the junk off the ratty old chair.  Now there was no room to stand in his cube at all.  Peaburp clambered over the several piles of printouts, manuals, and nondescript stuff, landing finally in the cleared chair, which narrowly missed capsizing.
    "Guess I'd better start at the beginning," said Sheldon.  And another brand new world opened up before the dwarf ...