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me to keep this valuable specimen in my rooms." He fumbled for his credit reader. "I will be glad to pay any additional cost it takes to secure a suite."
    When the steward saw Owen's unlimited E-cash card, he simmered down immediately. "Of course, sir. Matthias! See that this gentleman--and his dog--get checked in right away."
    On the way up in the elevator, Owen thanked Bill for keeping him from getting hurt.
    =Believe me, boss. Nobody cares about your body like I do.=

THREE: ROMAN HOLIDAY

    The Palace of Herod the Great had been constructed in 23 B.C., then taken over by the Romans as headquarters for the Prefecture before the time travelers showed up and kicked out the Romans. Now it was a hotel. At first Herod the Great's son Herod Antipas had insisted that the invaders from the future restore him to the palace along with the monarchy, but a few gadgets and the air conditioned villa they'd built for him on the hills east of the city had won him over. Now he greeted specially honored guests in the King David room. He had a little speech he had learned in English.
    The palace was built of freestone, faced with marble. A double portico gave onto the raised courtyard where Pilate had once dispensed justice. It was now the lobby. The futurians had roofed over the space between the three Herodian towers with glass, turning it into a huge atrium. The floor sported an elaborate abstract mosaic, and gold and precious gems gleamed everywhere. The pools that the hellenized Herod had constructed had been expanded and converted into modern swimming pools. Saunas and steam baths had been added to the hypocaust, plus suites of private rooms. At the south end the famous stables remained, where guests could rent horses to ride into the countryside. Onto the old structure the corporation had attached a tower of luxury suites.
    In theirs, August found Gen wearing Roman period costume. "The Spanish stimstar Antonio Borracho is here," he said. "They say he dropped a megabuck at the blackjack table last night."
    "Never mind that. I've already got a line on a hot one," Genevieve told him. "You know that clown we ran into in the transit room? He's rich."
    "How rich?"
    "Billions." She showed him the hard copies she'd downloaded from the 2062 social register. Dr. Owen Beresford Vannice. Thirty years old. B.S. in biology, Phi Beta Kappa, Dartmouth, 2054. Ph.D., Reconstructive Paleontology, Harvard, 2059. His mother Rosethrush Vannice was the most powerful theatrical agent in Hollywood and head of Vannicom Pix. His father, Ralph Siddhartha Vannice, was C.E.O. of The Harmony Group, a biosoftware empire. A third of the people in the Roman Arms must have had their personalities improved by Harmony programs. Together the Vannices owned the developed world's fifth largest personal fortune.
    Gen leaned over her father's shoulder, adjusting the strap on her chiton. "I spent some time down in the lounge talking to one of the off-duty transit stewards. Half the women in the hotel are downloading Harmony personalities in the hope of tripping up the young doctor. In ten minutes I spotted four Marilyns and two Garbos. The Marilyns perched at the bar making naive double entendres and falling out of their dresses, while the Garbos sat at tables in the corners, watching the doorway through a haze of cigarette smoke and half-lidded eyes."
    August paused to look at her. "No personality from a bottle is going to match up against you, dear."
    "I love you too, dad." Gen tugged at the stola. "The steward tells me the time travel stage will be out of commission until they check the momentum compensator, but they're still running the tours to unburned M-Us. Dr. Vannice is signed up to see Caesar's assassination. Get dressed."
    "Do you have something in particular in mind?"
    "According to the steward he was mighty protective of that 'dog' he arrived with. Plus, he's just returning from the Cretaceous. I don't think they had any dogs back then."
    #
    They sat among the