with
his internationally famous shoulders knotted into bunches of muscular
menace.

"I'm the hotel manager," Sextus blurted loudly. For once his
self-assurance wavered under fire. Even to himself his words explained
nothing.

Meanwhile, Gable tripped over one of Sextus' heavy suitcases and joined
the pair in bed. Another male voice issued from the bathroom, and as
they all thrashed about, Sextus became aware that a second female had
somehow appeared between Gable and his brand new bride. They came up
together, face to face, the beautiful, sleepy blonde and the very
wide-awake, queenly brunette. Now a pot-bellied little man in shorts and
undershirt emerged from the bathroom, his mouth a gaping hole in a fully
lathered face.

Sextus wriggled free, made for the door and off down the hall. To his
horror, the automatic signal light on the vector "H" elevator was
flickering and fading. The whole H-vector must be collapsing. He dashed
for the stairwell and then reconsidered. He moved to the end of the hall
which overlooked the low roof of the adjacent building. He tried the
window and remembered that it was sealed. Back in the alcove he seized
one of the sand jars and headed back for the window. A growing tide of
commotion swelled from behind almost every door now. Grunts, screams and
wrestling sounds came over the transoms.

He dashed the sand jar through the window, chipped off the jagged edges
with his heel and climbed out. It was a twenty-foot drop to security,
and he made it without hesitation. What could a man hope to do with a
mess like--

Spang! His feet struck, not with a crunch on gravelled tar, but into a
springy fabric that sagged under his 180 pounds, tossed him six feet in
the air, caught him on the rebound and then juggled him down with
diminishing bounces.

* * * * *

They were waiting for him, as he regained his feet on the quivering
surface of a spring-loaded, canvas trampoline. The bright, mid-morning
sun blinded him for an instant, but their voices assailed his ears in a
mighty roar of approval as he squinted under his hand and peered around
him.

"Attaboy, Sexy," a shrill female voice piped. The roof-top was jammed
with a pressing throng of--nearly naked people. In the cleared
semi-circle about him a cordon of male bodies-beautiful restrained the
mob behind a rope from which a long streamer hung with letters reading:

"WELCOME, SEXTUS, TO 2153 A. D."

Rea