However, Gray couldn’t forget the fact that he had a job to do, and that was to promote the military’s needs in the upcoming conference of high-level telepaths. Press releases claimed the focus was on commercial applications for telepaths—and there would be representatives from the commercial firms—but everyone knew who really controlled the Corps these days. Military and corporate telepaths were fighting for crumbs of power compared to what Bester already had. They controlled their own domains, but Bester and the Psi Cops controlled them.

“The monorail is this way,” said Bester. “We have a private car.”

“My luggage,” said the young telepath.

Bester smiled. “It’s being delivered to your suite. I think you will find that the Royal Tharsis Lodge is being quite accommodating.”

Once inside the security of the sealed monorail car, Harriman Gray finally relaxed and took in the sights, such as they were on a dark Martian night. The angry red planet didn’t look so angry when it was crisscrossed with monorail tubes, prefabricated dwellings, and shielded domes. It looked like a giant gerbil habitat on a dusty parking lot.

A canyon yawned beneath the monorail tube, lit up by a science station perched on the rim. The canyon was, Gray estimated, about six kilometers deep, or about three times the depth of the Grand Canyon. The canyon faded into the distance before Gray could get a very good look. With a minimum of gravity and friction, the monorail was breezing above the surface of Mars at a speed of four hundred kilometers per hour.

Gray shifted his gaze toward the distance and their destination, the famed Tharsis Rise—a jutting plateau of volcanic ridges that was five kilometers high. It was lit up like the Pyramids, but the lights failed to convey even