jacket, and stopped
suddenly, seeing the blackened holes in the ripped cloth. He stooped
down and sniffed the holes suspiciously, and shivered suddenly in the
cold evening air.

The burned holes smelled like gunpowder.

* * * * *

"Strang, you must have been wrong." The large man settled back in his
chair, his graying hair smoothed over a bald spot. "Someone trying to
kill you I could see--there's plenty of espionage going on, and you're
doing important work here. But your boy!" The chief of the Barrier
Base Security shook his head. "You must have been mistaken."

"But I _wasn't_ mistaken!" Roger Strang sat forward in his chair, his
hands gripping the arms until his knuckles were white. "I told you
exactly what happened. They got him as he came off the elevator, and
shot at him. Not at me, Morrel, at my son. They just clubbed me in the
face to get me out of the way--"

"What sort of men?" Morrel's eyes were sharp.

Roger scowled, running his hand through his hair. "It was too dark to
see. They wore hats and field jackets. The gun could be identified by
ballistics. But they were _fast_, Morrel. They knew who they were
looking for."

Morrel rose suddenly, his face impatient. "Strang," he said. "You've
been here at the Base for quite awhile. Ever since a month after the
war, isn't that right? August, 2078? Somewhere around there, I know.
But you've been working hard. I think maybe a rest would do you some
good--"

"Rest!" Roger exploded. "Look, man--I'm not joking. This isn't the
first time. The boy had a monowheel accident three weeks ago, and he
swore he was riding in a safe lane where he belonged. It looked like
an accident then--now it looks like a murder attempt. The slugs from
the gun _must_ be in the building--embedded in the plasterwork
somewhere. Surely you could try to trace the gun." He glared at the
man's impassive face bitterly, "Or maybe you don't want to trace the
gun--"

Morrel scowled. "I've already checked on it. The gun wasn't registered
in the Base. Security has a check on every firearm within a fifty-mile
range. The attackers must have been outsiders."

Roger's face flushed. "That's not true, Morrel," he said softly, "and
you know it's not true."

Morrel shrugged. "Have it your own way," he said, indifferently.
"Take a rest, Strang. Go home. Get some rest. And don't bother me with
any more of your fairy tales." He turned suddenly on Roger. "And be
careful