“For the first time, fully three-dimensional projections can be shown in the home, using receiving equipment that is cheap enough for the average householder to buy, while low enough in manufacturing cost to provide an equitable profit to the manufacturers and distributors…”

“We are neither manufacturers nor distributors, young man,” rasped one of the frail-looking bankers. “We are here to see if Titanic has anything worth investing in. Spare us the preliminaries.”

Bill nodded and suppressed a grin. “Yessir. What Titanic has, in brief, is a new and improved holographic photography system; as you know, the three-dimensional images now received over home sets are spotty, grainy, and streaked with quantum scintillations…”

“Looks like the actors’re always standin’ in a pile of sequins,” said the beefy one, with a voice like a cement truck shifting gears.

“You mean confetti,” one of the flinty ones corrected.

Beefy turned slowly, making his chair creak under his bulk. “Naw. I mean sequins.”

“I call it snow!” Finger broke in brightly. “But whatever you call it, the effect’s the same. Watching three-dee gives you a headache after a while.”

Beefy muttered something about headaches and Flinty returned his attention to Oxnard.

“Very well, young man,” he said. “What are you leading up to?”

“Simply this,” Oxnard replied, smiling to himself. “My laboratory… “

“Your laboratory?” one of the bankers snapped. “I thought you worked for the RHB-General Combine?”

“I was Director of Research for their Western Labs, sir,” Oxnard said, feeling the old acid seething in his guts. “I resigned when we had a difference of opinion about the royalties from my original holographic system inventions.”

“Ahh,” wheezed the oldest of the quartet of bankers. “They squeezed you out, eh?” He cackled to himself without waiting for Oxnard’s answer.