The guard's lip twitched slightly. Lem Blake wished he had left out the middle name. Why had parents of that generation taken to such frothy names? Red-faced, Blake went on with a rush. "Born on Antares IV. Prospector for ore strikes. But listen, I made the biggest strike of all. Not ore but--" "Next," said the guard. Lem Blake swallowed the rest and moved on. People wouldn't treat him that way later, he consoled himself in secret gloating, clutching his bag. He could take it for a short time more without bitterness. Another guard eyed the bag sternly. "I must warn you, sir, there is no souvenir hunting allowed here. Understand, sir?" "I'm not going to take anything," Blake tried to protest. "I'm bringing something--" "Your bag will be emptied and examined when you leave," dismissed the guard. They were all so big and important in their flashy uniforms. But just wait, thought Blake, just wait. We'll see who's big and important later. But Blake could see why they were so cautious. All around, enclosed in the giant plastic bubble, were the hoary ruins of a city, moldered to fragility. If the hordes of visitors were allowed to snatch souvenirs, the place would be picked clean as a bone. ANCIENT NEW YORK, said a sign, MAIN CITY OF HOME EARTH IN PRE-SPACE DAYS. People stared in the proper awe due such time-honored relics of antique glory. It was from this terribly old civilization that the race of starmen had sprung, inheriting the galaxy. Various individual exhibits among the ruins were labeled--a broken wheel, a shred of tapestry under glass, a coil of wire, pottery, bits of jewelry, a bleached human skull. Odds and ends that had escaped the incinerator of time. There wasn't much left after 140 rock-wearing centuries. Priceless, those few dozens of relics. Lem Blake grew excited again at what lay in his bag. It would command a price, maybe enough to stake him to years of good food, new clothes, his tub overhauled, leisure and fun. Maybe more, much more. It all depended. Blake knew all the busy guards would ignore him. He must reach higher authority. He hurried to the central auditorium where the staff lecturer spoke sonorously to the hushed crowd packed shoulder to elbow. Blake took a long breath at the outer fringes and began squeezing his way closer to the rostrum. It was slow work in the human jam. He heard the speech as he struggled on. "--though today we are born and live and die on many worlds, my fellow humans, we all come from the original stock of this particular planet. It was from this small and quite backward 20th century world that mankind leaped to the stars." Lem Blake suddenly choked on a chuckling thought in the dead quiet of the listening throng. A circle of eyes transfixed him at the unspeakable crime. Mumbling apologies, Blake pressed on.