"And what about the Northwesters' raids? Josef Kimmensen says there aren't any raids. He says we're settling our unimportant little feuds." This time, Messerschmidt waited for the baying laughter to fade. "Well, maybe he believes it. Maybe. But suppose you were a man who held this area in the palm of your hand? Suppose you had the people split up into little families, where they couldn't organize to get at you. And now, suppose somebody said, 'We need an army.' What would you do about that? What would you think about having an organized body of fighting men ready to step on you if you got too big for people to stand? Would you say, if you were that man--would you say, 'O.K., we'll have an army,' or would you say, 'It's all a hoax. There aren't any raids. Stay home. Stay split up?' Would you say that, while we were all getting killed?" The savage roar exploded from the crowd, and in the middle of it Messerschmidt walked quietly back to his chair and sat down. Jem's fist was hammering down on the back of Kimmensen's chair. "We should never have let him get on this platform! A man like that can't be treated like a civilized human being! He has to be destroyed, like an animal!" Heartsick and enraged, Kimmensen stared across the platform at the blade-nosed man. "Not like an animal," he whispered to himself. "Not like an animal. Like a disease." * * * * * Still shaken, still sick, Kimmensen sat in his office and stared down at his hands. Twenty-eight years of selfless dedication had brought him to this day. He looked up at the knock on his open door, and felt himself turn rigid. "May I come in?" Messerschmidt asked quietly, unmoving, waiting for Kimmensen's permission. Kimmensen tightened his hands. "What do you want?" "I'd like to apologize for my performance this afternoon." The voice was still quiet, and still steady. The mouth, with its deep line etched at one corner, was grave and a little bit sad. "Come in," Kimmensen said, wondering what new tactic Messerschmidt would use. "Thank you." He crossed the office. "May I sit down?" Kimmensen nodded toward the chair, and Messerschmidt took it. "Mr. President, the way I slanted my speech this afternoon was unjust in many respects. I did it that way knowingly, and I know it must have upset you a great deal." His mouth hooked into its quirk, but his eyes remained grave. "Then why did you do it?" Kimmensen snapped. He watched Messerschmidt's face carefully, waiting for the trap he knew the man must be spinning. "I did it because I want to be President. I only hope I did it well enough to win. I didn't have time to lay the groundwork work for a careful campaign. I would have used the same facts against you in any case, but I would have preferred not to cloak them in hysterical terms. But there wasn't time. There isn't time--I've got to destroy this society you've created as soon as I can. After tonight's election, I will."