ove the sea of gray slag, the unrecovered waste area. He
passed over a sudden square of green set in the ocean of gray.
Reinhart gazed back at it until it was gone.

Central Park. He could see police ships racing through the sky, ships
and transports loaded with troops, heading toward the square of green.
On the ground some heavy guns and surface cars rumbled along, lines of
black approaching the park from all sides.

They would have the man soon. But meanwhile, the SRB machines were
blank. And on the SRB machines' readings the whole war depended.

About noon the cart reached the edge of the park. Cole rested for a
moment, allowing the horses time to crop at the thick grass. The
silent expanse of slag amazed him. What had happened? Nothing stirred.
No buildings, no sign of life. Grass and weeds poked up occasionally
through it, breaking the flat surface here and there, but even so, the
sight gave him an uneasy chill.

Cole drove the cart slowly out onto the slag, studying the sky above
him. There was nothing to hide him, now that he was out of the park.
The slag was bare and uniform, like the ocean. If he were spotted--

A horde of tiny black dots raced across the sky, coming rapidly
closer. Presently they veered to the right and disappeared. More
planes, wingless metal planes. He watched them go, driving slowly on.

Half an hour later something appeared ahead. Cole slowed the cart
down, peering to see. The slag came to an end. He had reached its
limits. Ground appeared, dark soil and grass. Weeds grew everywhere.
Ahead of him, beyond the end of the slag, was a line of buildings,
houses of some sort. Or sheds.

Houses, probably. But not like any he had ever seen.

The houses were uniform, all exactly the same. Like little green
shells, rows of them, several hundred. There was a little lawn in
front of each. Lawn, a path, a front porch, bushes in a meager row
around each house. But the houses were all alike and very small.

Little green shells in precise, even rows. He urged the cart
cautiously forward, toward the houses.

No one seemed to be around. He entered a street between two rows of
houses, the hoofs of his two horses sounding loudly in the silence. He
was in some kind of town. But there were no dogs or children.
Everything was neat and silent. Like a model. An exhibit. It made him
uncomfortable.

A young man walking along the pavement gaped at him in wonder. An
oddly-dressed youth, in a toga-like clo