"Like hell," gritted Steve. "It is all right to accept a fatherless child and bring it up as your own. But no man should try to do the impossible. Wrightwood tried to make a natural son out of an adopted son. It could not work; he cramped the natural personality of the son, forced the child to follow the footsteps of what Wrightwood thought a son of his would follow. So instead of following, the son revolted as soon as he could and went his own way in direct opposition. Two lives crudded up by the overwhelming drive of one man." "You know a lot of him." "I should," he said simply. "I'm the son." Lois stopped short again. "You're--William Wrightwood, Junior?" "I'm Steve Hagen," he snapped. "But you're his son?" "I am." "But you've never said so." "No one has ever asked me; and I'm not proud of the fact." Lois was silent. "And I'm not running undercover," said Steve; "I'd prefer to forget the whole thing." "Then why tell me about it?" "Because I don't want to operate under a false banner; especially with you. I've said nothing about it because of the natural objection too many people might have if it became known that William Wrightwood's foster son was working among the Guardians. The outfit that has bucked every attempt of his to be gathered into his own little empire." Lois looked at Steve with a quizzical glance. "But are you here because you want to work as a Guardian, or because you want to strike back at Wrightwood?" "That's a question that I have asked myself and cannot answer honestly," he said. Lois nodded quietly, thinking for a moment. "For too many years people have been denying the right of a son to cash in on his father's position," she said. "I see no reason why the reverse should not be true; we should not castigate a son who wants to do the opposite, insisting that he follow his father's position." "Let's forget it," said Steve. "Life is too short to be filled with bitterness. I'm here and here I shall stay regardless of the inner motive I--" The outside alarm blared forth in a series of short and long blasts. Both of them stopped to catch the code, which called for an alert at Base One while Base Seven handled an alarm. Seven might need help; so the personnel of One came tumbling out of their relaxation and made ready, just in case. "That's not you, Steve," said Lois. "But it's me. Be seein' you." "No," he admitted, "but there's nothing that says I can't go along and help if I want to. I'm unattached when I'm off of my inspection job. A little action will make me feel useful; I'm tired of arguing with techs about crystallized joints, frayed insulation, and unstandardized measuring equipment." Lois nodded cheerfully and headed for Morehouse's office; Steve headed for his quarters to prepare for the possible recall alarm. 5