"There'll be no war. Get out to Drew's farm and pick up the body.
Here--here's a permit to use my car." He scribbled a note that would
allow Naylor to consume some precious gasoline. "When that's taken care
of, move into my office and act as Mayor until I get back--_if_ I get
back."
"Where are you going?" Naylor asked.
"I've got to catch Len Colter before he reaches Northburg."
"But I thought...."
"I'll do the thinking," Riddell said. "You do what you're told."
* * * * *
Ten minutes later, Riddell overtook Len Colter, halfway to Northburg.
"Go home," Riddell said. "I'm taking you off the job. It's too risky."
Disappointment showed in the boy's eyes. "But I got back safe the first
time, sir!"
"I'm giving you an order!" Riddell snapped. "Ben Kingston was just
found dead. I don't want you to go the same way."
"But--"
Riddell gestured with an upraised arm. "Don't stand here arguing with
me, Len. Go on home!"
The boy turned away, moved slowly back toward town. Riddell watched him
for a moment, then walked rapidly toward Northburg and the challenge
there.
The road was still in good shape, despite pitted craters here and
there, despite an occasional slagheap where a stray blast of atomfire
had seared the hillside and sent molten rock spilling down on the
highway. Grass was pushing up in the slagheaps, the blasted trees were
being replaced by timid saplings, the farms along the way were starting
to look like farms again. America was returning to life.
_Two hours of war_, Riddell thought for the thousandth time. _Just two
hours of guided ICBMs overhead and a world is destroyed. But we're
coming back, now._
A feeling of hatred welled up in him. Hatred for David Barr, the madman
who had inflamed the neighboring town of Northburg with dreams of
conquest. Who now threatened to bring war back into a world already
ruined by war.
Yet Riddell realized dismally that hatred was not the solution. The
world was too battered for more hatred. He had vowed there would be no
more fighting--but how else could you cope with a man who would enslave
you?
There _had_ to be another way to meet the forces of evil without
descending to evil yourself.
As he walked through the quiet countryside, Riddell was plagued by the
idea that had touched off the nightmare of 1973: _Get them before they
can get you_.
It wasn't the answer he wanted.
* * * * *
Northburg was a rambling, sprawling town that had once been populated
by fifty thousand people. Even after the bombings and the subsequent
lootings, twelve thousand had survived.
Reports had filtered in to Riddell about the Northburg people, and
he hadn't liked what he heard. This fellow Barr, for example--a wiry
farmer who had pushed his way to the top, had taken charge of Northburg
the way Riddell had Center City and the way strong men all over the
country had probably taken over whatever town they were in. It was the
only way to survive.
Only Barr wasn't like the others. Whereas Riddell wanted peace, prayers
and prosperity for all the population of Center City, Barr was hungry
for his own power and supremacy. After a lifetime of farming, suddenly
he had control of a miniature kingdom, and he wanted more.
From the outskirts of the town, Northburg looked much like Center City
or any other small town.
But a striking difference became evident as Riddell drew closer.
There was a wall around Northburg.
It rose some ten feet high, made out of row on row of gray bricks,
and it seemed to encircle the entire city, turning it into an almost
medieval-looking fortress.
"You going somewhere, friend?" a deep voice asked him suddenly.
Riddell turned and saw a man in a blue uniform approaching him, hand on
holster. "I'm--I'm just out for a walk, sir," Riddell said, as timidly
as he could.
"Outside the walls? Where's your permit?"
"Just a minute, sir," Riddell said obsequiously. He fumbled beneath
his cloak, drew forth his wallet. "Here you are."
The guard peered close as Riddell flipped through his wallet,
ostensibly looking for the permit. "Hurry it up," the guard said. "You
ought to know better than to go outside the walls."
"Dreadfully sorry, sir. Oh, there it is."
He sent a slip of paper fluttering to the ground. Involuntarily, the
guard turned to see what it was. "Hey, that's no perm--"
_Sorry_, Riddell thought. He ripped upward with a crashing right,
followed with a left pounded into the guard's stomach. The man
staggered backward. Riddell grabbed him by the collar, hit him twice
across the face, and he folded.
Riddell let the unconscious man sag to the ground. Then he looked
around.
No one had seen the encounter. The quiet farm-houses remained quiet,
the cows in the field ignored the incident, and the cloudless skies did
not seem to care.
Hastily, Riddell dragged the guard off the road into a thick clump of
underbrush and stripped the man's uniform off. It was a tight fit, but
he managed to squeeze into it. He tore his own cloak into strips, tied
it around the guard's arms and legs, and adjusted his clothing.
Then he drew out the guard's wallet and examined it. He was now
Corporal Edmund Calder of the Army of Northburg.
The new corporal Calder straightened up, cast a backward glance at the
unconscious man in the shrubbery, and started walking towards the walls
of the city of Northburg.
* * * * *
There was a gate in the wall about a hundred yards further along
the curve. Riddell walked quickly, carrying himself erect in proper
military fashion, and reached the gate.
He passed through, head down. The man on duty didn't seem to notice
that anything was wrong. But as Riddell started to enter the city, the
guard said, "Just a minute, Corporal."