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"For those of you who don't know who Mr. Hasegawa is," the guide continued, "he's the grandfather of Riley Coleman and the owner of a Japanese publishing conglomerate called Rising Sun.
    "From the time Miranda first appeared on paper till this day, it has taken ten years and several billion dollars. This," he said, waving expansively at an immense display table stra-
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    tegically positioned in the middle of the vast Miranda City Planning Room, "is the result."
    On the twenty-foot-square table, gilded by sunshine from a skylight high above, was an exquisitely detailed miniature rendering of the magnificent city. Thad and Billie smiled as the group shared a delighted sigh.
    The guide, with the aid of a long pointer, began his description by indicating an emerald-green park exactly in the middle of the display. 'This central area is Grace Park, a seventy-acre wooded and landscaped oval. It was designed and constructed by the renowned Japanese landscape artist, Hing Takinara. In it, among other things, are a zoo, three fine restaurants, cycling and walking trails, an aviary, meditation pools, a slow tramway for older or disabled visitors—or lazier ones." Everyone laughed at this. "Underneath Grace Park is Miranda's ultramodern metro system, a quiet and comfortable one-stop or express ride from the center part of the city to several destinations in each direction. The one stop is the exact middle of the park, where the Jessica Coleman Library and the Lotus Fountain are situated."
    Pointing to the street surrounding the park, the guide continued. "This is our Grand Concourse. As you can see, from this street you can go everywhere: Saks, Neiman-Marcus, Martha's. For all you food aficionados, the New Fulton area has fresh produce shipped in daily from all points of the globe. This is where our head chefs from The New Maxim's, La Tut Suite III, and our other fine restaurants buy their food.
    "As you know," he continued, pointing to another impressive building at the park's south curve, "Donald Trump managed to grab this prime corner, where he has duplicated his New York effort. Ours is called New Trump's.
    "Miranda boasts one each of every well-established bank and large national corporation.
    "To your left is Assante Towers, one floor shy of the Sears high rise in Chicago. As you can see, it's a marvel of steel and glass. The ten top floors are residences owned by some of the wealthiest men in the world. There are three penthouse apartments, one owned by Mr. and Mrs. Assante, the second by the Coleman family, and the third by the Rising Sun Corporation. But we're wasting time here—let's go and see the real thing!"
    Outside in the clear, cold daylight, everyone clambered
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    into the sleek new jitney. The tour guide picked up his mike, tapped it once to see if it was on, and continued his spiel. Billie and Thad huddled closer and tuned him out as the jitney moved slowly forward toward the main thoroughfare of Miranda.
    In five minutes, the real thing, looming up ahead, took everyone's breath away. From the south curve and Main Street they proceeded onto the Grand Concourse. As far as they could see to their left was a combination of Rodeo Drive and Fifth Avenue, an international shoppers' paradise, with gold-braided and festooned entrance porticoes, parked Rolls-Royces, and liveried doormen. On their right the park beckoned, velvety green and majestically jeweled with flowering entrances and graceful, generously sized park benches.
    The jitney came to a halt in front of the Assante Towers building. The guide directed his enthralled charges to its entrance, shepherding them like schoolchildren to the first-floor mezzanine. All eyes were drawn upward to the first five floors, dense with trees and hanging plants, elegant food emporiums, and boutiques of all types. Shining green-tinted glass enclosed it all. Sea-green wrought-iron filigreed causeways and balconies laced the structure, and the sound of gently falling water