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for unsolicited arrivals.
    Avalon and I sat on the couch nearest the elevator. I shifted as
I sat so that my weight wouldn't ache my hip joint. We looked over our papers: I had USA People and she read the Times. The
first three of Mister Dryden's visitors arrived and disappeared
behind the office door. I studied my paper. NATION'S CRIME
RATE PLUNGING WEEKLY, the headline read; in smaller type,
Slower Progress Seen in Major Cities. The twenty-first anniversary of the start of the Russian-American War was to be celebrated this year in the capitals of both countries, from July 4 to
November 7. Enormous profits for both sides had been realized
during the previous quarter. Additional advisers were to be sent
this year into Pakistan, Nigeria, and Costa Rica by both sides, to
assist those countries' armies. Poland was again up for grabs; a
settlement was made in Indonesia, good for three years. The
blessing of the Russian-American War-indirectly, of the Pax
Atomica itself-was that the two countries never needed to battle
directly; that would have been neither emotionally productive nor
financially wise.

    There was other news. Britain was in good form; under the
guidance of King Charles-presently occupying himself buying
horses in Kentucky-and the National Front, unemployment was
down to 80 percent. In Germany, President Streicher set forth
new policies promising shifts in direction concerning resident
Turks. Swedish destroyers shelled Oslo; another argument over
fishing rights. Lucy, the last rhinoceros, died of old age in the
Cincinnati Zoo. Why they called it USA People, I'll never know;
there were rarely any in it.
    Another gentleman was admitted into the office, a portly chap
with neatly brushed white hair.
    "Hi, Lope," said Avalon, looking up.
    "Good morning, my dear," he said. "Good morning, Mister
O'Malley."
    I nodded. He returned his attention to Avalon.
    "So well you look this morning," he said to her. "New outfit?"
    "It's for the conference."

    He sighed. "Take care, my dear." The first three gentlemen
departed and Lope went in. Lope and his two brothers began
working with the Old Man early on, while they themselves yet
lived in Colombia. They assisted the Old Man in securing his
own trade routes following the death of his original partners. Over
the years, Lope provided great assistance to the Drydens in every
way, and so came by his own fortune-his brothers proved not
so efficient, or not overly so, and never made it quite so far.
    "Want to rag it, Shameless?"
    "Sure," I said; we exchanged papers. The lead headline of the
Times was MOM KILLS, EATS BABY; the leftovers were photoed on page two. Psychic Sex Secrets of the Senators, read the
second lead. The local news was nothing new. Two bombs blasted
at the Trade Towers; none of Dryco's floors suffered. The Statue
of Liberty's arm was blown off ; there was a photo of the amputee, rather resembling an Ambient in her newmade loss. The Dow
hit 500. The Army-estimated population of New York City-for
all intent, the island of Manhattan-was reported as approaching
four million; the National Census figure, three years earlier and
as accurate today, was 450,000. The Harlem River was on fire.
The Hackensack Ripper perpetrated his one thousandth outrage.
A cancerous young Bengali was brought to New York on Air
Force One by the First Lady; American medical care could work
clock-round to save a child who, once saved, would be shuttled
back to the motherland to starve.
    There was national news. In Washington, vids to be released
by the FBI were said to show the president engaged in what was
judged a doubtful if unspecified action; the press secretary issued
a statement saying that the president could not be concerned with
minor domestic problems when the complexity of foreign relations demanded his full attention. SOVIETS SHOOTING
FRIENDLY SPACE VISITORS? an editorial wondered. And E,
who many-the Old Man among them-called this world's