I sat alone in the dark and tried to figure things out. Somehow, the women had gotten the upper hand in this society, and most of the men were reduced to mere milksops. Except for a handful of determined musclemen, that is, who were holed up down here ready to make a last stand against feminine supremacy.

Into this situation, enter me.

I was just an average joe in the past, a fellow who ran into some trouble and decided the easiest way out was to duck into this guinea-pig job. Some way out!

Apparently these women saw something in me—maybe there aren't enough men to go around, or something, and they jumped for me. So I got away from them. Talk about frying pans and fires, though!

I heard Clara's steady pacing outside my cell. They weren't going to let me out until the time came for my speech. And if I delivered the speech as instructed, some amazon was likely to nail me; if I didn't, Lola would take care of me. I was cooked either way.

I cursed myself for having left 1957 in the first place. But it was too late to worry about that now. I was here, and I was going to operate under my own steam or else.

And no matter which way I moved, I was doomed. Even if Lola and his men won, probably Lola's first action would be to put me out of his way, as a possible rival for his throne. And naturally if the women held the fort they'd waste no time slitting my throat before I fomented another rebellion.

Maybe wishing wouldn't make it so, but I wished desperately to be back in the 20th century where I belonged. I practically yelled it out loud.

"I don't want to be here!" I yelled. "I should a stayed where I was!"

"Cut out that caterwauling," Clara growled. "You want the Queen to hear you? She's only a hundred stories above us, y' know."

"I don't care," I said miserably. "I'm going to die either way, so what does it matter?"

Then I realized the foolishness of my own attitude. I was due to face death; why not do it bravely? So I shut up. I waited.

Hours passed. Then the cell door swung open, and Lola walked in.

"Ready to go make your speech, pal? Remember—all of masculine mankind's future depends on the pitch you make."

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