Sniffing some more, Heller trotted ahead and was shortly in the reception center of the General Assembly Building, according to the signs. There was even an information sign but he didn’t approach it.

He seemed to find the place very curious. The light was coming through the walls from outside in a translucent effect. He went over to a wall and examined it to find out why, probably.

He went over into the Assembly Hall and there was the class.

Miss Simmons was lecturing. “…and here it is that the delegates could rise with one voice and in stentorian and noble tones denounce nuclear weapons forever. But alas, they do not. The men who occupy this place are silenced by their own fears. They cower…”

Heller was examining some marble.

The class trailed out on Miss Simmons’ heels and, with her still lecturing and totally ignoring the guide who seemed to have attached himself to the party, went into the Conference Building and were shortly in the gallery of a chamber labelled:

They gazed across the two hundred or so empty public seats — for, of course, nothing was in session and would not be for another couple of weeks — and Miss Simmons continued her lecture. “…And so we come at last to the lair of the powerful few who, even if the General Assembly did act, this fifteen-nation body would veto any sensible ban proposed. The five permanent members — United States, France, United Kingdom, Russia and China — each have the right to turn down, individually, the anguished pleas of all the peoples of the Earth! They block any effort anyone makes to outlaw nuclear power and disarm the world! Greed, lust for power, megalomania and paranoia cause these self-anointed few to surge onward and onward, closer and closer to the brink.”

Heller had been admiring the gold and blue hangings and a mural. But at her last words, he spoke sharply. “Who keeps preventing a solution?”

Miss Simmons spoke out with a clarion voice of her own. “The Russian traitors who have sold out the revolution and asserted themselves the tyrants of the proletariat! Who asked that question? It was a very good one!”

“Wister did,” said a girl.

“Oh, you again! Wister, stop disturbing the class!” Miss Simmons led them back outside.

Heller’s eyes lingered on a huge statue of a muscular figure that was putting a lot of effort into something.

Heller asked, “What is that statue doing?”

Miss Simmons said, “That is a Russian statue. It is a worker being forced to beat a plowshare into a sword. It personifies the betrayal of the proletariat.” She had looked back, moving her glasses off her eyes to see. “Ah, that was a good question, George.”

Wister was looking around to see who George was and so were the other students.

She had gathered them together under the Statue of Peace. “Now, today, students, was just a start, an effort to orient this course for you. But I will review why we started here, so pay very close attention.

“All that you will see in our future Sundays of Nature Appreciation is doomed by nuclear war. It will make it far more poignant for you, as you admire the beauties of nature, to realize, as you look at every blossom, every leaf, every delicate paw and each bit of soft, defenseless fur, to realize that it is about to be destroyed forever in the horror and holocaust of thermonuclear war!”

Oh, she was right there! If Heller didn’t win and a Voltar invasion got turned loose, those crude atomic bombs would seem like a picnic!

“So, class,” she went on, “if you do not yet feel, individually and collectively, the craving urge to instantly sign up with the Anti-Nuclear Protest Marchers, I assure you that you soon will — New York Tactical Police Force or no New York Tactical Police Force. Class dismissed. Wister, please remain behind.”

The students wandered off. Heller came up to Miss Simmons.

She lifted her glasses up to try to see him. “Wister, I am afraid your classwork is not improving. You were interrupting and disturbing the others. You were not paying attention!”

“I got everything you said,” protested Heller. “You said that if the UN couldn’t be made to function, the planet would destroy itself with thermonuclear weapons.”

“Weapons made by such as you, Wister. My words were far stronger. So you get an F for today. If your daily classwork is a bad average, you know, of course, that even a perfect, INFLUENCED, final examination won’t save you. And if you flunk this course, Wister, you won’t get your diploma and then nobody will listen to you and you’ll never get that coveted job of blowing up this planet. Small as it is, I do my bit for the cause, Wister. Good afternoon.” And she stalked off.

Heller sat down.

And how pleased I was! Miss Simmons had him stalled. What a marvelous, brilliant woman! Her straight hair and glasses hid the fact that she was also quite good looking. And even though she obviously hated men, I felt a great tenderness for her, a longing to hug her and tell her what a truly magnificent person she was!

My ally! At last I had found one to give me hope in my sea of chaos!

Oh, it did me good to see Heller just sitting there, staring at the grass.

The fate of empires lay in the delicate and beautiful hands of a woman. But this was not the first time in the age-long histories of planets. I prayed to the Gods that her grip on fate would remain tenacious and strong.

Heller glanced at his watch and it winked 3:00 P.M. He glanced at the sky: there was a pattern of cloud to the north and a stir of wind.

He got up and, at a fast trot, began to cover the long blocks home.

Suddenly he stopped. Something had caught his eye up ahead. Miss Simmons was just disappearing down a subway stairs, way up ahead.

Heller glanced up and down the street. It was Sunday afternoon and there wasn’t anyone about. The usual midtown Sunday desertion. He trotted on. He seemed to be heading for the stairs. It came to me in a flash that maybe he was going to murder Miss Simmons! That is the first plan that would have occurred to me. Apparatus training is always uppermost.

But he passed on by the stairs.

A sharp voice from the bowels of the station! “No! Go away!”

Heller sprang over the rail and dropped onto the steps. He went down six at a time. He burst out onto the platform.

Miss Simmons was standing there, on the other side of the turnstile. A ragged wino was reeling back and forth in front of her. “Gimme a buck and I’ll go away!”

She raised her cane to strike at him. He easily grasped it and yanked it out of her hand. He threw it aside.

Heller yelled, “You, there!”

The drunk looked around. He stumbled and scrambled for a more distant exit stair and went through a steel revolving gate.

Heller fished out a token and went through the turnstile. He walked over to the cane and picked it up. He came back and handed it to Miss Simmons.

“Things are pretty deserted on Sunday,” he said. “It isn’t safe for you.”

“Wister,” said Miss Simmons with loathing.

“Maybe I should see you home,” said the insufferably polite and courteous Royal officer.

“I am perfectly safe, Wister,” said Miss Simmons, acidly. “All week I work cooped up. All week I am mobbed with students. Today the class was finished early and it is the first time in MONTHS I have a chance for a quiet walk alone. And who turns up? YOU!”

“I’m sorry,” said Heller. “I just don’t think it’s very safe for a woman to be walking around by herself in this city. Particularly today when there are so few people about. That man just now—”

“I have lived in New York for years, Wister. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Nothing will ever happen to me!”