Seven was confused, at least momentarily. The man vaguely reminded him of the twenty-third-century Window, with his long, severe nose and intent eyes. But there was no consciousness involved at all with this figure, even though it was three-dimensional.

Before Seven could comment, the man came closer, turned in a graceful circle so that Seven could see his back, faced Seven again and said with quiet authority, “I am Monarch, appearing as a hologram and acting as your guide.”

“A hologram! I should have known at once,” Seven said. It was impossible not to admire the hologram: the skin, hair, eyes—everything in fact—was perfect, and the illusion of depth was flawless. Seeing Monarch’s face (or rather, the image of it), Seven was almost certain that the hologram’s original was also Window of the twenty-third century. Not that the features were the same, but that Seven kept seeing Window’s features superimposed over the hologram’s.

When Seven didn’t move to follow him, the hologram-man said, “Have you a question? Technology has advanced so that I can answer almost any question that a tourist might ask, though—”

“Where is the real Window, I mean Monarch?”

“In his study. He’s the force behind the evacuations and the construction of this museum. Appointments may be arranged. His administration building is a mile away, taking the western footpath which is clearly marked. Now, if you’ll step into the next room, this, it is believed, was an ancient dentist’s office—”

Seven took one startled glance at the open doorway through which he saw what was supposed to be a reconstructed version of George’s dentist’s chair. At once he saw that it was the mismatched combination of such chairs from at least four different historical periods, all put together in one. Just inside the door was a table bearing dental tools from both the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and the label by them read: “Dental instruments.”

Seven paused. “Sir?” said the hologram-man.

“I haven’t time for a tour,” Seven said impatiently. “I have to find Window. Uh, thanks for your attention. Super.”

“I beg your pardon?” said the hologram-man. “I’m not familiar with the meaning of the last term in that context …” But Seven was gone, and when the door closed, the hologram-man was deactivated as the laser beams that formed his image disappeared.

As he left the museum, Seven wondered if he should have found out what the Codicils were. He knew Cyprus had said that they were vitally important. But it was imperative that he find John Window. And if he was right—a big if, Seven reminded himself—then maybe Window (or Monarch) in this future probability would somehow help him find the twentieth-century Window.