is veins. It swept upward to his brain and blood piled up there,
feeling as if full of bursting tiny bubbles like champagne. He felt
gay and feckless, light-headed and big-headed. Ego expanded, and he
imagined himself a man of destiny at the turning point of his career.

He was not drunk, except on oxygen. Not drunk yet. But thirsty. The
street was garish with display of drinkeries. In neon lights a tilted
glass dripped beads of color. There was a name in luminous
pastel-tubing:

_Pot o' Stars._

Beneath the showering color stood a girl. Tod Denver's blood pressure
soared nimbly upward and collided painfully with blocked safety
valves. The look was worth it. Tremendous. Hot stuff.

Wow!

When bestially young he had dreamed lecherously of such a glorious
creature. Older, bitter experience had taught him that they existed
outside his price class. His eyes worked her over in frank admiration
and his imagination worked overtime.

She was Martian, obviously, from her facial structure, if one noticed
her face.

Martian, of course. But certainly not one of the Red desert folk, nor
one of the spindly yellow-brown Canal-keepers. White. Probably sprang
originally from the icy marshes near the Pole, where several odd
remnants of the old white races still lived, and lingered painfully on
the short rations of dying Mars.

She was pale and perilous and wonderful. Hair was shimmering bright
cascade of spun platinum that fell in muted waves upon shoulders of
naked beauty. Her eyes swam liquid silver with purple lights dwelling
within, and her sullen red lips formed a heartshaped mouth, as if
pouting. Heavy lids weighed down the eyes, and heavier barbaric
bracelets weighted wrists and ankles. Twin breasts were mounds of
soft, sun-dappled snow frosted with thin metal plates glowing with
gemfire. Her simple garment was metalcloth, but so fine-spun and
gauzelike that it seemed woven of moonlight. It seemed as un-needed as
silver leafing draped upon some exotic flowering, but somehow enhanced
the general effect.

Her effect was overpowering. Denver followed her inside and followed
her sweet, poisonous witchery as the girl glided gracefully along the
aisle between ranked tables. As she entered the glittering room talk
died for a moment of sheer admiration, then began in swift whispered
accents. Men dreamed inaudibly and the women envied and hated her on
sight.

She seemed well-known to the place. Her name, Denver learned from t