Twenty years as private secretary to William Wrightwood had preparedMiss Peters to meet any contretemps except the angry, purposefularrival of Steve Hagen, who strode through her outer office with nomore than a nod at her, and opened the door to Wrightwood's privateoffice.

"Is this another of your tricks—" roared Steve, cutting off his voiceby shutting the door behind him abruptly.

Miss Peters had a quiet nervous breakdown, for Hagen was WilliamWrightwood's stepson, who had renounced his rechristening not longafter reaching adulthood. She began to plan an explanation—which wouldnot hold water since Wrightwood was the kind of executive who givesorders not to be disturbed and demands that they be observed. Not eventhe angry arrival of his estranged stepson was excuse for not having anappointment.

She wondered what was going on, and slyly opened the key of the deskphone.

"You're as devious as a scenic railway and you know it."

"Walter, my boy—"

"My name is Steve Hagen and you know it!"

"If you persist; but to me you will always be my son."

"I wouldn't have you for a father as a gift," roared Steve. "Now tellme how you wrangled this."

"I didn't wrangle anything. Just what makes you think—?"

"This is just too damned trite for accident."

"I've not had any finger in the pie of your little interstellarfire-department, son."

"No? Then explain why and how a rookie out of training school gets anappointment to District One Control Base?"

"You were an honor student, were you not?"

"Not that high. Base One is staffed with men of experience, not rawtrainees."

"Never?"

"Not in twenty years, at least. And the last rookie that did it camefrom school to Base One because he was Marshall Craig's son."

"You should be gratified."

"I'm mad as hell. I want no interference nor help from you—or thelikes of you."

"That's not a nice thing to say about a foster father."

"Do I owe you allegiance because I was taken into your clutches at theage of three?" demanded Hagen angrily.

"Your mother—"

"Leave her out of this!" gritted Hagen. "Get back to the subject; justwhat do you think you're doing?"

"I'm not doing anything!" roared William Wrightwood. "And no one cansay that I am."

"If you think for one moment that I'm going to do anything for you—"

The smoothness came back into Wrightwood's voice. "I don't have to playgames with new recruits," he said. "Things work out my way in the longrun."

"All but one," sneered Hagen; "you haven't been able to steer me."

"Have I ever tried?"