_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--"