The winter passed slowly. Ron lived in a single small room in a building that had once been a school. In fact, it was a school once again, because the Muslims used its large downstairs rooms for Ron’s “classes” in mechanical repair. At least once a week, Timmy Jim had Ron up to his office to talk about the world Outside. The rest of the time Ron spent teaching the kids how to fix machines, or how to build new machines. He hardly did any fixing on his own now.

Ron taught, he worked, he ate, he slept. Outside of the kids he was teaching, and Timmy Jim, the only other people he knew were the young warriors who never let him far out of their sight and a few of the girls who brought him his two meals each day. He had struck up a conversational acquaintance with one of the girls, an olive-skinned Puerto Rican named Liana.

But Ron’s only real amusement was his weekly visit with Timmy Jim. The Muslim leader was relaxed and happy when Ron saw him; they shared sandwiches and drinks each visit. Gradually, as the weeks turned into months, Ron began to see that Timmy Jim was always asking questions about the weapons that the police Outside carried, what the roads were like, how electric cars operated, how many police each Tract had, where the Army bases were located.

Then one afternoon, as Ron sat in that stiff-backed chair in front of Timmy Jim’s desk and talked about the turbo-train system, it all clicked into place.

“You’re going to invade the Outside!”

Timmy Jim laughed. “Been wonderin’ how long it’d take you to tumble to it.”

“But that’s crazy! You can’t—”

“Sure I can’t. Not now. Got to take over all th’ gangs under the Dome first. That’ll take a few more years. We start next fall, soon’s the gates close down after the summer season. Then we hit the gangs between here’n the market. Gonna be tough making white gangs see things our way, but in four to five years we’ll have every gang under the Dome workin’ together—all under one leader. Me.”

Ron felt staggered. “And then?”

“Then Outside. That’s where all the real loot is . . . that’s where we’re goin’.”

“My God.”

Timmy Jim leaned forward in his chair and pointed at Ron. “See . . . the only way I can keep all the black gangs together is t’ make ’em dream of takin’ over the whole City. The only way I’ll be able to make all the gangs work together without killin’ each other is to turn ’em loose on the Outside.”

“But it’ll never work,” Ron answered. “There’s hundreds of millions of people out there.”

“Just more loot, that’s all.”

“And the police . . .”

“We can handle ’em.”

“The Army . . .”