sprawling five-mile complex of buildings and
tropical parks, the second student shift was headed for breakfast, while
a larger part of the fourth shift moved at a more leisurely rate toward
their bunks. The school's organized activities were not much affected by
the hour, but the big exercise quadrangle was almost deserted for once.
Behind the railing of the firing range a young woman stood by herself,
gun in hand, waiting for the automatic range monitor to select a new
string of targets for release.

She was around twenty-four, slim and trim in the school's comfortable
hiking outfit. Tan shirt and knee-length shorts, knee stockings,
soft-soled shoes. Her sun hat hung on the railing, and the dawn wind
whipped strands of shoulder-length, modishly white-silver hair along her
cheeks. She held a small, beautifully worked handgun loosely beside
her--the twin-barrelled sporting Denton which gunwise citizens of the
Hub rated as a weapon for the precisionist and expert only. In
institutions like the Colonial School it wasn't often seen.

At the exact instant the monitor released its new flight of targets, she
became aware of the aircar gliding down toward her from the
administration buildings on the right. Startled, she glanced sideways
long enough to identify the car's two occupants, shifted her attention
back to the cluster of targets speeding toward her, studied the flight
pattern for another unhurried half-second, finally raised the Denton.
The little gun spat its noiseless, invisible needle of destruction eight
times. Six small puffs of crimson smoke hung in the air. The two
remaining targets swerved up in a mocking curve and shot back to their
discharge huts.

The girl bit her lip in moderate annoyance, safetied and holstered the
gun and waved her hand left-right at the range attendant to indicate she
was finished. Then she turned to face the aircar as it settled slowly to
the ground twenty feet away. Her gray eyes studied its occupants
critically.

"Fine example you set the students!" she remarked. "Flying right into a
hot gun range!"

Doctor Plemponi, principal of the Colonial School, smiled soothingly.
"Eight years ago, your father bawled me out for the very same thing,
Trigger! Much more abusively, I must say. You know that was my first
meeting with old Runser Argee, and I--"

"Plemp!" Mihul, Chief of Physical Conditioning, Women's Division,
cautioned sharply from the seat behind him. "Watch what you're doing,