Marion said, "So the stronger the Movement gets, the larger he'll grow. The stronger he'll become."
"Yes," Barris said. "And there's no point at which he'll have to stop; there's no known limit to his theoretical power and size."
"If the whole world was against him-"
"Then he'd have to grow and produce and organize to combat the whole world."
"Why?" she demanded.
"Because that's his job."
"He wants to?"
"No," Barris said. "He has to."
All at once, without any warning, the girl said, 'I'll take you to him, Mr. Barris. My father, I mean."
Silently, Barris breathed a prayer of relief.
"But you have to come alone," she added instantly. "No guards or anybody with guns." Studying him she said, "You promise? On your word of honor?"
"I promise," Barris said.
Uncertainly, she said, "How'll we get there? He's in North America."
"By police cruiser. We have three of them up on the roof of the building. They used to belong to Jason Dill. When there's a lull in the attack, we'll take off."
"Can we get by the hammer birds?" she said, with a mixture of doubt and excitement.
"I hope so," Barris said.
As the Unity police cruiser passed low over New York City, Barris had an opportunity to see first-hand the damage which the Healers had done.
Much of the outlying business ring was in ruins. His own building was gone; only a heap of smoking rubble remained. Fires still burned out of control in the vast, sprawling rabbit warren that was-or had been-the residential section. Most of the streets were hopelessly blocked. Stores, he observed, had been broken into and looted.
But the fighting was over. The city was quiet. People roamed vaguely through the debris, picking about for valuables. Here and there brown-clad Healers organized repair and reclamation. At the sound of the jets of his police cruiser, the people below scattered for shelter. On the roof of an undestroyed factory building a blaster boomed at them inexpertly.
"Which way?" Barns said to the solemn child beside him.
"Keep going straight. We can land soon. They'll take us to him on foot." Frowning with worry, she murmured, "I hope they haven't changed it too much. I was at that school so long, and he was in that awful place, that Atlanta ..."
Barris flew on. The open countryside did not show the same extensive injury that the big cities did; below him, the farms and even the small rural towns seemed about as they always had. In fact, there was more order in the hinterlands now than there had been before; the collapse of the rural Unity offices had brought about stability, rather than chaos. Local people, already committed to support of the Movement, had eagerly assumed the tasks of leadership.
"That big river," Marion said, straining to sec. "There's a bridge. I see it." She shivered triumphantly. "Go by the bridge, and you'll see a road. When there's a junction with another road, put your ship down there." She gave him a radiant smile.
Several minutes later he was landing the police cruiser in an open field at the edge of a small Pennsylvania town. Before the jets were off, a truck had come rattling across the dirt and weeds, directly toward them.
This is it, Barris said to himself. It's too late to back out now.
The truck halted. Four men in overalls jumped down and came cautiously up to the cruiser. One of them waved a pellet-rifle. "Who are you?"
"Let me get out," Marion said to Barris. "Let me talk to them."
He touched the stud on the instrument panel which released the port; it slid open, and Marion at once scrambled out and hopped down to the dusty ground.
Barris, still in the ship, waited tensely while she conferred with the four men. Far up in the sky, to the north, a flock of hammers rushed inland, intent on business of their own. A few moments later bright fission flashes lit up the horizon. Vulcan 3 had apparently begun equipping his extensions with atomic tactical bombs.
One of the four men came up to the cruiser and cupped his hands to his mouth. "I'm Joe Potter. You're Barris?"
"That's right." Sitting in the ship, Barris kept his hand on his pencil beam. But, he realized, it was nothing more than a ritualistic gesture now; it had no practical importance.
"Say," Joe Potter said. "I'll take you to Father. If that's what you want, and she says it is. Come alone."
With the four men, Barris and Marion climbed aboard the ancient, dented truck. At once it started up; he was pitched from side to side as it swung around and started back the way it had come.
"By God," one of the men said, scrutinizing him. "You used to be North American Director. Didn't you?"
"Yes," Barris said.
The men mumbled among one another, and at last one of them slid over to Barris and said, "Listen, Mr. Barris." He shoved an envelope and a pencil at him. "Could I have your autograph?"
For an hour the truck headed along minor country roads, in the general direction of New York City. A few miles outside the demolished business ring, Potter halted the truck at a gasoline station. To the right of the station was a roadside cafe, a decrepit, weatherbeaten place. A few cars were pulled up in front of it. Some children were playing in the dirt by the steps, and a dog was tied up in the yard in the rear.
"Get out," Potter said. All four men seemed somewhat cross and taciturn from the long drive.
Barris got slowly out. "Where-"
"Inside." Potter started up the truck again. Marion hopped out to join Barris. The truck pulled away, made a turn, and disappeared back down the road in the direction from which they had just come.
Her eyes shining, Marion called, "Come on!" She scampered up on the porch of the cafe and tugged the door open. Barris followed after her, with caution.
In the dingy cafe, at a table littered with maps and papers, sat a man wearing a blue denim shirt and grease-stained work pants. An ancient audio-telephone was propped up beside him, next to a plate on which were the remains of a hamburger and fried potatoes. The man glanced up irritably, and Barris saw heavy ridged eyebrows, the irregular teeth, the penetrating glance that had so chilled him before, and which chilled him again now.
"I'll be darned," Father Fields said, pushing away his papers. "Look who's here."
"Daddy!" Marion cried; she leaped forward and threw her arms around him. "I'm so glad to see you-" Her words were cut off, smothered by the man's shirt as she pressed her face into it. Fields patted her on the back, oblivious to Barris.
Walking over to the counter, Barris seated himself alone. He remained there, meditating, until all at once he realized that Father Fields was addressing him. Glancing up, he saw the man's hand held out. Grinning, Fields shook hands with him.
"I thought you were in Geneva," Fields said. "It's nice seeing you again." His eyes traveled up and down Barris. "The one decent Director out of eleven. And we don't get you; we get practically the worst-barring Reynolds. We get that opportunist Taubmann." He shook his head ironically.
Barris said, "Revolutionary movements always draw opportunists."
"That's very charitable of you," Fields said. Reaching back, he drew up a chair and seated himself, tipping the chair until he was comfortable.
"Mr. Barris is fighting Vulcan 3," Marion declared, holding on tightly to her father's arm. "He's on our side."
"Oh, is that right?" Fields said, patting her. "Are you sure about that?"