“Well, times have changed, haven’t they. Who do you know? God?”

“Has my enrollment received advisement?” asked Heller.

“That it has, young Einstein. Now, ordinarily we do not permit a transfer from another school into the senior class.”

“I could make up—”

“Hush, hush. But in your case, it seems this is to be allowed. And into our competitive School of Engineering and Applied Science, too.”

“I am very grate—”

“Oh, hush, young Einstein. You have not heard it all. Ordinarily we require a fresh American College Test that must average 28% or above. But you, young Einstein, seem to have had that waived.”

“Well that’s goo—”

“Oh, there’s more,” said Miss Simmons. “It has always been mandatory that a student entering engineering school receive a Scholastic Aptitude Test and that the grade for verbal and written be above 700. But you are not being required to do any SAT at all.”

“That’s truly marv—”

“And more, young Einstein. Our requirement for a B average for such enrollments has been waived. Now, isn’t that nice?”

“Indeed,” said Heller. “It is very ni—”

“It is far too nice, young Einstein. I have direct orders here to admit you. As a senior. In the School of Engineering and Applied Science. As a candidate for a Bachelor in Nuclear Science and Engineering, graduating next May. And the order is signed by the president of the university himself.”

“Really, I’m overwhel—”

“You’ll be overwhelmed shortly,” said Miss Simmons and her smile vanished. “Either somebody has gone stark raving loony or the reduction of government subsidies and the lack of a post-war boom makes them slaver for your twenty-five hundred dollars and they have gone stark raving loony! You and they are NOT going to get away with it. I will not have my name on the form registering you and turning upon the world a nuclear scientist who is a complete imbecile. Do I make myself clear, young Einstein?”

“I’m very sorry if—”

“Oh, don’t waste energy on getting upset at this point,” said Miss Simmons. “You are going to be upset enough later to need every calorie! Oh, I have no choice but to enroll you, young Mr. God Junior. But there are ways of enrolling and ways of enrolling. Now, shall we begin?”

“I really—”

“Now, to start with,” said Miss Simmons, “you do not have all the requisite credits in former schooling for this degree. There are four subjects here which are omitted and I am signing you up to take them IN ADDITION to the heavy engineering subjects you will be required to take for the semester.”

“I am sure I—”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet! There’s more! Now, I very much doubt that with those D grades, you were firmly founded in the subjects in which you received them. So I am making your acceptance conditional upon special tutoring to bring those subjects up to the mark along with your regular class work.”

“I think I—”

“I know you are grateful,” said Miss Simmons. “So I will add another favor. Your Saint Lee’s was a military school. And I adjudicate that your military science and study credits given there are not valid unless you continue on with and complete your entire ROTC — Reserve Officers’ Training Corps — schedule in this, your senior year. You can really get a bellyful of how nasty war is! And the Army can be persuaded it is unpatriotic not to complete them. I intend to write them a little note. That means three additional class periods and one drill period a week. All on top of the extra subjects and tutoring. Now, isn’t that nice, God Junior?”

Heller was just looking at her by now. Stunned, no doubt.

She had turned to her accordion-folded computer printouts of class timings and assignments already made. “But here is where you are really going to thank me, God Himself. When I received this order at breakfast, I worked it all out. There is no way to assign all these hours in such a way that the classes are consecutive. Several of them occur at the same exact hours. You have to be in two, and in one case three places at the same time.

And that is the way you have been assigned. You will be absent, one class or another, any way you want to look at it. The professors will rant. You will find yourself in front of deans. And it is they, not I, who will tell you that you cannot graduate and get your diploma next May. If they come back on me, I will say you just demanded it all, and you did, didn’t you, Jehovah?”

Miss Simmons sat back and tapped a pencil against her teeth. Then after a bit she said, “Oh, I don’t blame you for being over-awed in appreciation. You see, Master of All He Surveys and Creator Himself, I do not like INFLUENCE. Also, I am a member of the Anti-Nuclear Protest Marchers, its secretary in fact. And though the organization may be old and it may be suppressed and it may be that the New York Tactical Police Force is just waiting to bash in our heads again, the thought of letting a nuclear scientist as unqualified as you loose upon the world turns my blood to leukemia. Do we understand each other, Wister?”

“Really, Miss Simmons—”

“Oh, I almost forgot. Just in case you find time heavy on your hands — loafing about with this schedule — I have added another course to make up for a missing optional. It is Nature Appreciation 101 and 104. One goes out every Sunday, all day, and admires the birds and trees and learns, perhaps, what a nasty thing it is to make those world-destroying bombs! I teach this class myself, so I can keep an eye on your vicious proclivities. Now you can thank me, Wister.”

“Really, Miss S—”

“And as they are so interested in money, all this adds another fifteen hundred and thirty-three dollars to your bill. I hope you don’t have it. Pay the cashier. Good day, Wister. NEXT!”

Heller took the papers she had already made out. He took the invoice.

He went over and paid the cashier.

Aha! My heart had gone out to Miss Simmons more and more. What a sterling character! I toyed with the idea of sending her some candy “From an Unknown Admirer.” No, on the other hand, a pair of brass knuckles would be more in her line. With maybe a Knife Section knife to keep on her desk. But really, did she need it?

Just before noon, Heller came to the High Library. It was a very imposing building with a Roman look — ten huge columns stretched across the front, an enormous rotunda, a very noble facade. It was fronted with a vast expanse of steps almost as wide as the building itself.

He passed a fountain and then a statue with the words Alma Mater on it. He went halfway up the upper steps and slumped down on the stone.

And well he might slump. I had been kept laughing for the last two hours following his zigzag course around the enormous campus. He trotted here and he trotted there. He was locating every single one of the large number of classrooms, halls, armories and drill fields he would have to attend. He had constantly checked a copy of a computer printout and he had found that he had a schedule which went two classes at the same time, followed by no class for the next hour and then, in one case, three classes at the same time! I was kept in stitches. Not even the great Heller could cope with that schedule. And it went seven days a week!

As he sat there in the hot noonday sun, he must be realizing that there was no way on Earth he could get a diploma and carry out the silly plans he had undoubtedly made to carry his mission through just to spite me. And get me killed.

Students were drifting up and down the steps, no vast throng. Young men and women, not too well dressed. Heller must look younger than some of them, despite being, in fact, several years older in time and, in all honesty, decades older in experience. How silly he must feel, a Royal officer of the Fleet, sitting there amongst these naive creatures. Another joke on him and on them, too. I idly speculated what they would think if they knew a Voltar combat engineer was sitting right there, in plain view, a Mancoian from Atalanta more than a score of light-years away, a holder of the fifty-volunteer star, that could blow their planet to bits as easy as he could spit or could prevent an invasion that would slaughter every one of them. What a joke on them. How stupid they were!