gh a tight-beam scanner secreted in the suburban
apartment--crowded his mind; stirring him restlessly on the Diamond
Throne. Divesting himself of imperial appurtenances, he started for a
certain locked file in the den to check the specifications of available
per-diem empresses.

Making sure the triptych was snugly in place behind him, he paused to
flip the switch on the stereo cube. Maybe Messalina Magdalen or one of
the lesser ecdysiasts was presenting the perfection of her techniques
over the private channel at the moment, an event he would appreciate.

Instead, the private channel presented, as the cube glowed and cleared,
the same red, clawed landscape he'd shown to Jason months before. The
disembodied voice of the commentator on Mars--not the lyrical public
announcer, but the industrial economist who served the private
channel--picked up in mid-word: "... early to have much data on the
science and material resources this dead civilization possessed, but I
recommend that every Corporation in Induscomm Cabal should place a
technical party at Mars Equatorial as soon as possible. We shall now key
in with the public spacecast. Note the texture and color range of the
adornments and artifacts. I venture that these items will prove popular
among you who can well afford such rare treasures. However, subtlety in
acquiring them is suggested. While common clamor for Public ownership is
under control, overt provocation is not recommended. Here is the
cut-over ..."

The scene in the cube flashed and coalesced, dazzling Lonnie's eyes for
a moment. He was conscious of the landscape rushing "up"; of gigantic
walls and spires rising out of the obscurity of a quarried chasm to
tower briefly against the pink haze of the Martian sky, then expand to
give the impression of engulfing him before the scanner lens settled
under the center of a leaping, vaulted dome.

To Lonnie, the many-acred enclosure meant nothing with its shimmering,
stone-lace pillars, its tapestries that flamed with color or traced
ghostlike, barely discernible outlines on the walls. Nor did any thought
enter his mind of the exactness of the reflected color in the stereo
cube. Hands clenched into aching fists, he stood leaning forward;
striving by sheer will-power to span the void of space and force the
scanner lens closer to the truncated pyramid of steps atop which, on a
block of plain black stone, a dessicated mummy sat erect, hands folded
in its reedy lap and on