the point. Take your time, but you'll have to make 'em
good." He sat down on his camp stool and waited.

Don looked at him for a few seconds, then shook his head resignedly and
stepped up to the line.

"Oh, well," he said. "I'll try. Never mind the zero rounds."

He loaded the rifle and brought it to his shoulder. The sight weaved
and bobbed. He brought it down again and looked back at his father. The
older man pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket.

"Go ahead," he said calmly. "Take a few deep breaths. And relax."

Don bowed his shoulders and let the rifle hang loosely from his
outstretched arms. He looked downrange, trying to drive everything out
of his mind but the target hanging down there. Finally, he raised the
weapon again. The sight bobbed about, then steadied. He put pressure on
the trigger, then growled softly as the weapon fired.

"Oh, no! Drifted off at three o'clock."

His father exhaled a small cloud of smoke and said nothing. Don looked
at him unhappily for a moment, then reloaded and brought the rifle up
again.

Finally, the tenth shot smacked against the backstop and he racked his
weapon and punched at the target return button.

His father got up and unclipped the sheet.

"Well, let's see," he said. "Eight, nine, nine ... here's a nipper ten
... nine ... oh, me! You didn't do so well, did you?"

"What would you expect?" grumbled Don. "Give me a couple of hours to
simmer down and I'll take you on. Beat you, too."

"Suppose you got into a fight, Don?" his father asked. "Think the guy'd
give you a couple hours to simmer down? So you could maybe shoot his
eye out?"

* * * * *

He turned and led the way to a couple of lounge chairs.

"Sit down," he advised. "And turn on that light, will you?" He leaned
back.

"So you gave Andy Masterson a fast outline on manners, eh?" He laughed
softly. "Boy, I'd like to have seen his face about then!"

Don jerked his head around. "You know him, Dad?"

"You could say I did once," his father answered. "We went through Guard
training together. Served on the same base a few times. Some years ago,
I retired. I'm pretty sure he didn't."

Don pushed himself out of the chair and stood in front of his father.

"You mean Mr. Masterson is----"

Kent Michaels nodded slowly. "Stellar Guard Investigations? Yes, and I
suspect he could wear quite a bit of silver lace, too, if he wanted to
get dressed up." He clasped his