When Roger Strang found that someone was killing his
son--killing him horribly and often--he started
investigating. He wasn't prepared to find the results of
another investigation--this time about his own life.
* * * * *
It was the second time they tried that Roger Strang realized someone
was trying to kill his son.
The first time there had been no particular question. Accidents
happen. Even in those days, with all the Base safety regulations and
strict speed-way lane laws, young boys would occasionally try to gun
their monowheels out of the slow lanes into the terribly swift
traffic; when they did, accidents did occur. The first time, when they
brought David home in the Base ambulance, shaken but unhurt, with the
twisted smashed remains of his monowheel, Roger and Ann Strang had
breathed weakly, and decided between themselves that the boy should be
scolded within an inch of his young life. And the fact that David
maintained tenaciously that he had never swerved from the slow
monowheel lane didn't bother his parents a bit. They were acquainted
with another small-boy frailty. Small boys, on occasion, are inclined
to fib.
But the second time, David was not fibbing. Roger Strang _saw_ the
_accident_ the second time. He saw all the circumstances involved. And
he realized, with horrible clarity, that someone, somehow, was trying
to kill his son.
[Illustration]
It had been late on a Saturday afternoon. The free week-ends that the
Barrier Base engineers had once enjoyed to take their families for
picnics "outside," or to rest and relax, were things of the past, for
the work on the Barrier was reaching a critical stage, demanding more
and more of the technicians, scientists and engineers engaged in its
development. Already diplomatic relations with the Eurasian Combine
were becoming more and more impossible; the Barrier _had_ to be built,
and quickly, or another more terrible New York City would be the
result. Roger had never cleared from his mind the flaming picture of
that night of horror, just five years before, when the mighty
metropolis had burst into radioactive flame, to announce the beginning
of the first Atomic War. The year 2078 was engraved in millions of
minds as the year of the most horrible--and the shortest--war in all
history, for an armistice had been signed not four days after the
first bomb had been dropped. An armistice, but an uneasy peace, for
neither of the great nations had really known what atomic war would be
like until it had happened. And once upon them, they found that atomic
war was not practical, for both mighty opponents would have been
gutted in a matter of weeks. The armistice had stopped the bombs, but
hostilities continued, until the combined scientific forces of one
nation could succeed in preparing a defense.
That particular Saturday afternoon had been busy in the Main Labs on
the Barrier Base. The problem of erecting a continent-long electronic
Barrier to cover the coast of North America was a staggering
proposition. Roger Strang was nearly finished and ready for home as
dusk was falling. Leaving his work at the desk, he was slipping on his
jacket when David came into the lab. He was small for twelve years,
with tousled sand-brown hair standing up at odd angles about a sharp,
intelligent face. "I came to get you, Daddy," he said.
Roger smiled. "You rode all the way down here--just to go home with
me?"
"Maybe we could get some Icy-pops for supper on the way home," David
remarked innocently.
Roger grinned broadly and slapped the boy on the back. "You'd sell
your soul for an Icy-pop," he grinned.
The corridor was dark. The man and boy walked down to the elevator,
and in a moment were swishing down to the dark and deserted lobby
below.
David stepped first from the elevator when the men struck. One stood
on either side of the door in the shadow. The boy screamed and reeled
from the blow across the neck. Suddenly Roger heard the sharp pistol
reports. David dropped with a groan, and Roger staggered against the
wall from a powerful blow in the face. He shook his head groggily,
catching a glimpse of the two men running through the door into the
street below, as three or four people ran into the lobby, flushed out
by the shots.
* * * * *
Roger shouted, pointing to the door, but the people were looking at
the boy. Roger sank down beside his son, deft fingers loosening the
blouse. The boy's small face was deathly white, fearful sobs choking
his breath as he closed his eyes and shivered. Roger searched under
his blouse, trying to find the bullet holes--and found to his chagrin
that there weren't any bullet holes.
"Where did you feel the gun?"
David pointed vaguely at his lower ribs. "Right there," he said. "It
hurt when they shoved the gun at me."
"But they couldn't have pulled the trigger, if the gun was pointed
there--" He examined the unbroken skin on the boy's chest, fear
tearing through his mind.
A Security man was there suddenly, asking about the accident, taking
Roger's name, checking over the boy. Roger resented the tall man in
the gray uniform, felt his temper rise at the slightly sarcastic tone
of the questions. Finally the trooper stood up, shaking his head. "The
boy must have been mistaken," he said. "Kids always have wild stories
to tell. Whoever it was may have been after _somebody_, but they
weren't aiming for the boy."