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Komen-whatever?”
    “Komenagen,” Lag explains, “the Plataean coming-of-age trial. Legal adulthood and voting rights are earned there and have no specific age. Some earn it by military service–”
    “I’ve heard Plataean soldiers are bloodthirsty butchers!” says the Senator’s wife.”
    Lag continues, unperturbed. “-some by earning a living on their own for a decade, but most go through a trial between the ages of 15 and 21 standard years to demonstrate adult capabilities.”
    “How barbaric!”
    “Not at all. ‘Things not earned are not valued.’ The individual picks the challenge, with advice from adults close to them. It can be something relatively easy — like planning and catering a full dinner for twenty people, including childcare and entertainment, for someone with more limited abilities and modest aspirations — to apprenticeships like one of those young men went for, or even some very difficult, perhaps life threatening, challenges, that may take a year or more to complete. Military service in battle often passes on its own merit.”
    Trask sounds unconvinced. “So why doesn’t everyone just do something simple and be done with it?”
    Lag shrugs. “True, all who pass legally become adults, regardless of score, but that score becomes the first point on their résumés. A high score can help one’s prospects a great deal.”
    “So, how is it scored, if everyone is doing different things?” the Doctor asks.
    “It is based on three simple scores from 1 to 5: overall difficulty, difficulty for the chosen challenge relative to that person’s particular abilities, and actual performance. Those three numbers are multiplied together, and any extra points they earn are added in.”
    “They– Hey, the big drunk one is coming over. I hope you didn’t just make him angry!” The Senator glares at Lag, who smiles and applies himself to his food while the tipsy Plataean approaches. The buzz of the dining room quiets as he walks unsteadily to their table. He stops, turned toward Lag, but looking straight ahead, standing (sort of) at attention.
    “I apologize if we–”
    Lag cuts him off with a soft sound, then nods toward the rest of the table. “Not me. Them.”
    The young man turns toward the Senator, thinks hard, and speaks carefully, though his words are slightly slurred. “We are sorry if we disturbed you, sir, that was not our intent. It won’t happen again.” Then he stands, awaiting a reply from the surprised table.
    “Uh, proper?” the Senator confirms with Lag, who nods. “Proper!”
    The young man nods, does an about-face, returns to his table briefly, then heads out the door with three others. Lag occupies himself with his meal, while the others exchange glances, and the Senator’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “What did you say to them?” he asks.
    Lag looks up from his dish. “Hmmm? Oh, I just wished them well and explained the situation clearly.” He takes another bite of his food, having explained everything, and it being trivial.
    “How did you know he’d apologize?”
    “Wasn’t sure, but it was a likely outcome. With clear understanding a best course is usually obvious.”
    “I’m sorry,” says Penger Trask, “I didn’t catch if you said what you do.”
    “Ah. Didn’t. Dispute resolution and troubleshooting. Mostly corporate or intergovernmental.” He smiles. “Occasionally interpersonal.”
    “It seems you know your business.”
    Lucretia Trask’s tone and manner is ingratiating. “Perhaps you could settle a small dispute at the table?”
    “Maybe. No guarantees, unless…” his smile grows to a grin, “you get a contract and a bill.” There is general laughter around the table.
    “Well,” Lucretia continues, “before you arrived there was a question as to which occupation was more important, a senator, or a doctor?” Silence falls over the table; some are interested, others embarrassed at the attempt to liven things up at someone else’s