"PpB stands for Pax per Bello," Ilaria explained. "Peace through War. That slogan was written in 1967 by Julius and adapted in 1971 as official." "Julius?" "Yes. The first Dictator." Things were beginning to click in Jay's mind. "I think I know what PR stands for," he said. "Pax Romana." As always, Ilaria smiled. "That's right," he said. * * * * * The command-car marked with the PR symbol pulled over and stopped. "What is it? Who are you?" the driver demanded. The Captain on the seat beside him peered into the blackness and cursed. The man who had waved the vehicle to a halt walked away. "Here!" the Captain cried. "What in blazes is going on here? Why'd you stop us? Centurion! Stop that man!" The two Centurions in the back seat looked at the Captain for a moment, then they both jumped out and ran after the man. An ellipsoidal grey thing streaked out of the darkness, landed in the driver's lap and thudded to the floor of the car. The Captain threw open his door and started to climb out. The driver bent over to see what it was. At that moment the driver, the command-car and the Captain blew up. The silence that followed was broken by the blast of a submachine gun as it struck down the two centurions. "Take their weapons," said a brittle voice. * * * * * The detachment of soldiers from the garrison at Tel Aviv stopped and looked around. "Sir, what is it?" asked a guard anxiously. "Terribly quiet out here; something's up," the Lieutenant muttered calmly. There were seven of them. The Lieutenant, the Centurion, and five legionaries. They had grown accustomed to the quiet life of garrison men in a calm, conquered city. When there is nothing tangible to be guarded, a guard's life is a dull one. The guns they carried were the symbol of their authority, and had never been used for any other purpose. They looked around. The dirty, once-white buildings rose close on either side. There was no moon. There was no sound. The darkness and the silence could have been cut with a knife. The Lieutenant grinned. He didn't feel much like grinning. He spoke. He didn't feel much like talking, either. "This darkness is thick," he said. "You could cut it with a knife. Wish I had a knife." He got a knife. The men had just started to laugh when the Lieutenant got it. Between his shoulder blades. As the Lieutenant toppled forward, the Centurion dodged close against the dirty stone wall and yelled "Spread out!" They killed a lot of the shadowy, green-clad attackers, but there were only six of them and they were cornered. When the enemy drove a tank into the alley and sprayed them with its mounted gun they died. "Take their weapons," said a quiet voice. * * * * * The half-track rolled to a stop. "Where, Sir?" the driver wanted to know. "Beyond that big crater over there. The sun glinted on metal. I'm sure of it. Didn't you see it?"