what _you_ do with guns, Strang. The only thing about this
that I _do_ know is that somebody shot a pistol off and scared hell
out of your son. You were the only one around, as far as I know. I
don't know your game, but you'd better be careful--"

* * * * *

Strang left Security Headquarters, and crossed across to the Labs,
frustrated and angry. His mind spun over the accident--incredulous,
but more incredulous that Morrel would practically laugh at him. He
stopped by the Labs building to watch the workmen putting up a large
electronic projector in one of the test yards. Work was going ahead.
But so slowly.

Roger was aware of the tall thin man who had joined him before he
looked around. Martin Drengo put a hand on his shoulder. "Been
avoiding me lately?"

"Martin!" Roger Strang turned, his face lighting up. "No, not avoiding
you--I've been so busy my own wife hasn't seen me in four days. How
are things in Maintenance?"

The thin man smiled sadly. "How are things ever in Maintenance? First
a railroad breaks down, then there's a steel strike, then some
paymaster doesn't make a payroll--the war knocked things for a loop,
Roger. Even now things are still loopy. And how are things in
Production?"

Roger scowled. "Let's have some coffee," he said.

They sat in a back corner booth of the Base Dispensary as Roger told
about David. Martin Drengo listened without interruption. He was a
thin man from top to bottom, a shock of unruly black hair topping an
almost cadaverous face, blue eyes large behind thick lenses. His whole
body was like a skeleton, his fingers long and bony as he lit a
cigarette. But the blue eyes were quick, and the nods warm and
understanding. He listened, and then he said, "It couldn't have been
an outsider?"

Roger shrugged. "Anything is possible. But why? Why go after a kid?"

Drengo hunched his shoulders forward. "I don't get it," he said.
"David has done nothing to give him enemies." He drew on his
cigarette. "What did Morrel have to say?"

"He laughed at me! Wouldn't even listen to me. Told me to go home and
go to bed, that I was all wet. I tell you, Martin, I _saw_ it! You
know I wouldn't lie, you know I don't see things that don't happen."

"Yes," said Martin, glumly. "I believe you, all right. But I can't see
why your son should be the target. You'd be more likely." He stood up,
stretching his long legs. "Look, old boy. Take Morrel's advice, at
least temp