_When enemies of peace threaten the
System, they must be eliminated. There are
many ways to do this. And if all else fails,
you can always go to war with them._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Fantastic February 1957.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Center City belonged to Lloyd Riddell, and Lloyd Riddell belonged to
the city. He had held it together almost single-handed while the white
blaze of atomics laid waste the horizon; he had turned panic into
determination, defeat into dogged refusal to lie down. He had fought
for the city. He had killed for it.
And now the city was threatened again.
"When does Northburg intend to attack us?"
"I--I don't know," Len Colter said. "It all depends on what's going on
in David Barr's mind. I lit out for Center City as soon as I heard him
making the speech, there in that rubbleheap. The minute I heard him
yelling, '_We must wipe out Center City_,' I knew I had to come back
here and let you know."
Riddell scowled. "I suppose you did the best thing. But you should have
waited. You should have found out when they plan to attack."
"I'm sorry, sir, I--"
"Forget it," Riddell said sharply. "Get going. Get back to Northburg,
scout around, find out whatever you can about this invasion. And send
Ken Naylor in when you leave."
"Yes, sir."
The youthful spy turned and left. Riddell stared at the boy's back as
he passed through the door, then studied the gold letters on the glass
door that said "_Mayor of Center City_" in reverse.
He had come to Center City twenty years ago, a frightened, lonely
ten-year-old orphan with no place to stay. That had been before the
Madness. Center City had taken him in, given him a home, foster
parents, all the things denied him so long. Riddell had grown to
manhood in the pleasant Ohio town. And when the bombs came, blasting
America and changing it from the mightiest country on Earth to a
coast-to-coast chain of small towns separated by dreary ruins, Riddell
had repaid the town that had once found room for him. Alone, through
the smoke-filled night, he had marched through the blasted town,
collecting survivors, comforting the people. That night, he had kept
Center City alive.
_For what?_ Riddell asked himself bitterly. Did I save this town and
rebuild it brick by brick only to have some power-crazed fanatics in
the next town destroy it again?
He clenched his powerful fists. "I won't let it happen," he said. "Not
while I'm alive. I'll stop Barr some way."
* * * * *
The office door opened, and Ken Naylor entered. Naylor was a big man,
almost as tall--though not as broad--as Riddell himself. Riddell had
met him for the first time the night of the bombing, and three years
later they were still operating as a team.
"I've heard this thing about Northburg," Naylor said without preamble.
"What's gotten into them? Are they crazy, trying to conquer America
city by city?"
Riddell shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe they think they're going to start a
new Roman Empire here in America."
"Do you think we can stop them? We're not too heavy on guns."
"We're not going to go to war, Ken. We're not going to fire a shot."
"What do you mean?"
"I've seen enough war, and I've killed enough men. We'll handle this
the sane way. The way I'm trying to teach our youngsters to live."