"Things worked out pretty well," he said, "until today. I said something wrong--I'm still not sure what--and the man I was talking to hollered for Army, shouted I was a spy." He pounded the chair arm. "But I'm not a spy! And it's the truth, Outside is safe!" He glared suddenly at the window. "Why've you got that drape up there?" "The window broke down," I explained. "It's stuck at transparent." "Transparent? Fine!" He got up from the chair, strode across the room, and ripped the drape down from the window. I cowered away from the sun-glare, turning my back to the window. "Come over here!" he shouted. When I didn't move, he snarled, "Get up and come over here, or I swear I'll shoot!" And he would have, it was plain in his voice. I got to my feet, hesitant, and walked trembling to the window, squinting against the glare. "Look out there," he ordered. "Look!" I looked. IV Terror. Horror. Dizziness and nausea. Far and away and far, nothing and nothing. Only the glare, and the high blue, and the far far horizon, and the broken gray slag stretching out, way down below. "Do you see?" he demanded. "Look down there! We're so high up, it's hard to see, but _look_ for it. Do you see it? Do you see the green? Do you know what that means? There are green things growing again Outside! Not much yet. It's only just started back, but it's begun. The radiation is down. Plants are growing again." The power of suggestion. And, of course, the heightened sensitivity caused by the double threat of a man beside me carrying a gun that yawning aching expanse of nothing beyond the window. I nearly fancied that I did see faint specks of green. "Do you see it?" he asked me. "Wait," I said. I leaned closer to the window, though every nerve in me wanted to leap the other way. "Yes!" I said. "Yes, I see it! Green!" He sighed, a long painful sigh of thanksgiving. "Then now you know," he said. "I've been telling you the truth. It _is_ safe Outside." And my lie worked. For the first time, his guard was completely down. I moved like a whirlwind. I leaped, and twisted his arm in a hard hammerlock, which caused him to cry out and drop the gun. That was wrestling. Then I turned and twisted and dipped, causing him to fly over my head and crash to the floor. That was judo. Then I jabbed one rigid forefinger against a certain spot on the side of his neck, causing the blood in his veins to forever stop its motion. That was karati. * * * * *