“Yes,” admitted the young telepath, nodding his head sagely. [

“It’s late,” said Bester, “but I can arrange a tour of the hotel for you right away, if you like.”

“I’ve been here before,” answered Gray, “although I was only here for the day. It’s a beautiful facility.”

“Secure, too,” said the man in the black uniform. “The monorail is the only way in or out. Except for overland, which would be insane. During the weekend of the conference, we can make sure that only the Corps and our handful of invited guests even get off the rail.”

Gray shook his head apologetically. “I’ve been travelling around so much, I haven’t kept up. Are we still worried about the separatists?”

“Bloody idiots,” muttered Bester. “They haven’t got a chance. We’re not going to give up Mars to a bunch of illiterate miners, I can tell you that.”

Gray cleared his throat. “Of course, the military would have preferred to go to Earth for the conference. West Point or Sparta, some place like that.”

Beater smiled. “Have you ever played Martian basketball?”

Now Gray sat forward eagerly. “No, but I’ve heard about it.”

“It’s just like Earth basketball,” said Bester, “only with the low gravity, everybody gets to dunk it. They have some lovely courts here, and perhaps you and I can take some time for a match in the morning. We don’t have to sign the contracts with the hotel until tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’d like that,” answered Gray, beaming.

The young man was feeling more relaxed already. Certainly all those terrible stories about Mr. Bester were simply not true. He could see the hotel very clearly now, an art-deco monstrosity that looked nothing like a lodge, as he thought of a lodge. Only the jutting ridge of Tharsis gave the complex any perspective whatsoever.