This isn't your fight, Jay Welch, a voice told him as he opened the door. You don't even belong here, Jay Welch, the voice told him as he ran out into the hall. You're crazy to go to bat for these monsters, Jay Welch, the voice told him as he pushed the elevator button. You fought before for a bunch of people who didn't appreciate it one damned bit, Jay Welch. Remember about the Iron Hand and the Negroes, the voice told him as the doors opened and he stepped in. Remember you were shanghaied, it said, as the car shot upward and the bottom of his stomach felt as if it had been left behind. Remember you were going back to Duo Point and Herman's and Joe Scaccia's restaurant and Julie and tie and suit and Julie and the tight shoes and Julie and personal freedom and Julie and Jerry, the black guy you worked with and liked so well and Julie and the new Olds and Julie. Tomorrow you were going back. The doors shot back. He stepped out on the roof. "Mister Welcci?" said the clerk. "That's Tribune Ilaria's plane over there." He pointed to the little PR ship marked with the three silver diamonds of a Tribune and the staff of psychology. Jay ran. Wind was whipping across the roof and their cloaks streamed out and fluttered. The three men came together. "This is Commander DeVito, Jay. Commander, Jay Welch, The Man From 1954." The way Ilaria said it always made it sound capitalized. They shook hands. They got into the plane and shot straight up and the city was a blur beneath them. In less than a minute the little flier dropped down faster than any elevator and landed at Standiford. "Sergeant, Sub-Tribune Welcci needs a uniform. A--" "Forty long," Jay suggested, then colored. Tunic and a hundred years made a difference in his size. He went with the supply-sergeant, who gave him a correct fit the first time--times _have_ changed, Jay grunted--and fitted him with a helmet on the second try. He felt a tremor as he buckled on the pellet gun. With the cloak flapping about his heels and the gun banging his leg and the helmet biting his ear he ran to the elevator and down to the room Kevin had designated. The Tribune and Commander DeVito and five or six other officers were standing around a table in the steel-walled underground room. Before them was a gigantic map. They looked up as Jay burst in. "This is The Man From 1954," Ilaria said. There were hand-shakes all around that reminded Jay of fraternity rush. DeVito and one of the others wore wings. Jay wondered if that were still a pilot's insignia. The red X's on the map, they told him, were places under attack. The blue ones were areas taken by the fast-moving rebels. He learned that the messenger-jet they'd sent to Rome--they were lost without their instantaneous push-button communications system--hadn't made it. More had been sent. Meanwhile they were on their own.