Johnny grasped his hand, shook it. "Done," he said.
Westler smiled, wiping grease on his trousers. "To answer your question, if you win you're the chief of this encampment."
Now Johnny was smiling. "A job I'm not particularly interested in. I only want to—"
"I know. Look for the girl. During the excitement, something went entirely unnoticed. A rocket ship took off, near the ruins of the Village. Rockets mean Robots—and from the Citadel. Tell me, Johnny Hope, if the trail leads there, will you follow?"
Johnny shrugged. "I hadn't thought of that, I didn't realize the Robots were near."
"Then you're going to back down?" Disappointment was in Westler's expressive eyes.
"Never. I saw New York once. I stood on the Jersey cliffs at sunset and gazed across the broad river at the Citadel with its winking lights and beacons. It is not a place of fear, but a place that men built, long ago. I will go."
Again Amos Westler sighed. "I wish you win this fight, Johnny Hope. I never wished for anything as much in my life. I was a college professor before the war and I learned this: the search for knowledge is a strange thing and knows no fear. But I am no young man, and this may be my last opportunity."
"Ready?" Keleher's voice roared across the clearing. "If the girls are finished caressing you with their oils...?"