 Chapter 16 of Legacy. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Peake. Legacy by James Schmitz. Chapter 16. The pre-Cole headquarters dome on Manning Planet was still in the spot where Trigger had left it, looking unchanged. But everything else in the area seemed to have been moved, improved, expanded, or taken away entirely, and unfamiliar features had appeared. In the screens of Commissioner Tate's pre-Cole offices, Trigger could see both the new metropolitan-sized spaceport on which the Dawn City had set down that morning, and the towering glassy structures of the giant shopping and recreation center, which had been opened here recently by Grand Commerce in its bid for a cut of prospective outworld salaries. The salaries weren't entirely prospective either. Ten miles away, on the other side of headquarters dome, new squares of living domes were sprouting up daily. At this morning's count, they housed 52,000 people. The hub's major industries and assorted branches of Federation government had established a solid foothold on Manning. Trigger turned her head as Haladi Tate came into the office. He closed the door carefully behind him. How's the little critter doing? He asked. Still absorbing the goop, Trigger said. She held Mantelish's small mystery plasmoid, cupped lightly between thumbs and fingers, its bottom side down, and a shallow bowl half full of something which Mantelish considered to be nutritive for plasmoids, or at least for this one. Its sides pulsed lightly and regularly against her palms. The level of the stuff keeps going down, she added. Good, said Haladi. He pulled a chair up to the table and sat down opposite her. He looked broodingly at plasmoid 113A. You really think this thing likes me, personally, Trigger inquired? Her boss said, It's eating, isn't it? And moving. There were a couple of days before you got here when it looked pretty dead to me. Hard to believe, Trigger observed, that a sort of leech-looking thing could distinguish between people. This one can. Do you get any sensations while holding it? Sensations, she considered. Nothing particular. It's just like I said the other time. Little repulsive is rather nice to feel. For you, he said. I didn't tell you everything. You rarely do, Trigger remarked. I'll tell you now, said Haladi. The day after we left, when it started acting very agitated and then very droopy, Mantelish said it might be missing the female touch it had got from you. He was being facetious, I think. But I couldn't see any reason not to try it, so I called in your facsimile and had her sit down at the table where the thing was lying. Yes? Well, first it came flying up to her, crying mama. Not actually, of course. Then it touched her hand and recoiled in horror. Trigger raised an eyebrow. It looked like it, he insisted. We all commented on it. So then she reached out and touched it. Then she recoiled in horror. Why? She said it had given her a very nasty electric jolt. Apparently like the one it gave Mantelish. Trigger glanced down dubiously at repulsive. Gee, thanks for letting me hold it, Haladi. It seems to have stopped eating now, by the way, or whatever it does. Doesn't look much fatter, if any, does it? The commissioner looked. No, he said. And if you weighed it, you'd probably find it still weighs an exact three and a half pounds. Mantelish feels the thing turns any food intake directly into energy. Then it should be able to produce a very nice jolt at the moment, Trigger commented. Now, what do I do with repulsive? Haladi took a towel from beneath the table and spread it out. Absorbent material, he said. Lay it on that and just let it dry. That's what we used to do. Trigger shook her head. Next thing I'll be changing its diapers. It isn't that bad, the commissioner said. Anyway, you will adopt a baby, won't you? I suppose I have to. She placed the plasmoid on the towel, wiped her hands, and stepped back from it. What happens if it falls on the floor? Nothing, Haladi said. It just moves on in the direction it was going. Pretty hard to hurt those things. In that case, Trigger said, let's check out its container now. The commissioner took repulsive's container out of a desk safe and handed it to her. Its outer appearance was that of a neat modern woman's handbag with a shoulder strap. It had an anti-grave setting which would reduce its overall weight with the plasmoid inside, down to nine ounces if Trigger wanted it that way. It also had a combination lock, unmarked, virtually invisible, the settings of which Trigger already had memorized. Without knowing the settings, a determined man using a high-powered needle blaster might have opened the handbag in around nine hours. A very special job. Trigger ran through the settings, opened the container, and peered inside. Rather cramped, she observed. Not for one of them. We needed room for the gadgetry. Yes, she said, subspace rotation. She shook her head. Is that another space scout invention? No, said Haladi. They stole it from subspace engineers. Engineers don't know we have it yet. As far as I know, nobody else has got it from them. Go ahead, give it a try. I was going to. Trigger snapped that container shut, slipped the strap over her shoulder, and stood straight. Left hand closed over the lower rim of the purse-like object. She shifted the ball of her thumb and the tip of her middle finger to the correct spots and began to apply pressure. Then she started. Handbag and strap had vanished. It feels odd, she smiled, and, to bring it back, I just have to be here, the same place, and say those words. He nodded. Want to try that now? Trigger waved her left hand gently through the air beside her. What happened, she asked, if the thing surfaces exactly where my hand happens to be? It won't surface if there's anything bulkier than a few dust-moats in the way. That's one improvement the sub-engineers haven't heard about yet. Well, she glanced around, picked up a plastic ruler from the desk behind her, and moved back a cautious step. She waved the ruler's tip gingerly about in the area where the handbag had been. Come fighto, she said. Nothing happened. She drew the ruler back. Come fighto! Handbag and strap materialized in mid-air and thumped to the floor. Convinced, Haladi asked, he picked up the handbag and gave it back to her. It seems to work. How long will that little plasmoid last if it's left in subspace like that? He shrugged. In definitely, probably. They're tough. We know that twenty-four hours at a stretch won't bother it in the least, so we've set that as the limit it's to stay rotated, except in emergencies. And you, and one other person I'm not to know about, but who isn't anywhere near here, can also bring it back? Yes, if we know the place from which it's been rotated. Although the agreement is that, again, except in absolute emergencies, it will be rotated only from one of the six points specified and known to all three of us. Trigger nodded. She opened the container and went over to the table where the plasmoid still lay on its towel. It was dry by now. She picked it up. You're a lot of trouble repulsive, she told it. But these people think you must be worth it. She slipped it into the container, and it seemed to snuggle down comfortably inside. Trigger closed the handbag, lightened it to half its normal weight, slipped the strap back over her left shoulder. And now, she inquired, what am I to do with the stuff I usually keep in a purse? You'll be in pre-cold uniform while you're here. We've had a special uniform made for you. Extra pockets. Trigger sighed. Oh, they're quite inconspicuous and convenient, he assured her. We checked with the girls on that. I'll bet, she said. Did they okay the porgy pouch, too? Sure, porgy doping is a big thing all over the hub at the moment, among the ladies anyway. Shows you're the delicate sort or something like that. I forget what they said. Want to start carrying it? Handed over, Trigger said, resignedly. I did see quite a few pouches on the ship. Might as well get people used to thinking I've turned into a porgy sniffer. The Lottie went back to the desk safe and took out a flat pouch, the length of his hand, but narrower. He gave it to her. It appeared to be worked of gold thread. One side was studded with tiny pearls. The other surface was plain. Trigger laid the plain side against the cloth of her skirt, just below the right hip and let it go. It adhered there. She stretched her right leg out to the side and considered the porgy pouch. Doesn't look too bad, she conceded. That's real porgy in the top section. The real article, close to nine hundred and fifty credits worth. Suppose somebody wants to borrow a sniff. Wouldn't be good to have them fumbling around the pouch very much. They can't, said the commissioner. That's why we made it porgy. When you buy a supply, it has to be adjusted to your individual chemistry, exactly. That's mainly what makes it expensive. Try using somebody else's and it'll flip you across the room. Better get this adjusted to my chemistry then. I might have to take a demonstration sniff now and then to make it look right. We've already done that, he said. Good, Trigger said. Now, let's see. She straightened up, left hand closed lightly around the bottom of the purse, right hand loose at her side. Her eyes searched the office briefly. Some object round here you don't particularly value, she asked. Something largeish? Several, the commissioner said, he glanced around. That overgrown flower pod on the corner is one. Why? Just practicing, said Trigger. She turned to face the flower pod. That will do. Now, here I come along, thinking of nothing. She started walking toward the flower pod. Then, suddenly in front of me, there stands a plasmoid snatcher. She stopped in mid-stride, handbag and strapped vanished as her right hand slapped the porgy pouch. The denton popped into her palm. The flower pod screeched and flew apart. Golly, she said, startled. Come, Fido. Handbag and strap reappeared, and she reached out and caught the strap. She looked around at Commissioner Tate. Sorry about your pot, Haladi. I was just going to shake it up a little. I forgot you people had been handling my gun. I keep it switched to stun her myself when I'm carrying it, she added pointedly. Perfectly all right about the pot, the commissioner said. I should have warned you. Otherwise, I'd say all you need is a moment to see them coming. Trigger spun the denton to its stunner setting and laid it back inside the slit which had appeared along the side of the porgy pouch. She ran thumb and fingertip along the length of the slit and the pouch was sealed again. That's the part that's worrying me, she admitted. When Trigger presented herself at Commissioner Tate's personal quarters early that evening, she found him alone. Sit down, he said. I've been trying to get hold of Mantelish for the past hour. He's over on the other side of the planet again. Trigger sat down and lifted an eyebrow. Would he be? I don't think so, said Haladi, but I've been overruled on that. He's still the best man the Federation has working on the various plasmoid problems, so I'm not to interfere with his investigations any more than I can show is absolutely necessary. It's probably all right. Those U-league guards of his aren't a bad group. If they compare with the boys the league has watching the plasmoid project, they should be just about tops, Trigger said. The space outs thank you for those kind words, the commissioner told her. Those weren't league guards. When it came to deciding who was to keep an eye on you, I overruled everybody. She smiled. I might have guessed it. What's there for the professor to be investigating on the other side of Manon? He's hunting for some theoretical creatures he called wild plasmoids. Wild plasmoids? Uh-huh. His idea is that some of the plasmoids the old galactics were using on Manon might have got away from them, or just been left lying around, so to speak, and could have survived till now. He thinks they might even be reproducing themselves. He's looking for them with a special detector he built. Trigger held up a finger on which was a slim gold ring with a small green stone in it. Like this one, she asked. He's got a large version of that type of detector with him, too, but he thinks if any wild plasmoids are around they're likely to be along the lines of 113A, so he's also constructed a detector which reacts to 113A. I see. Trigger was silent a moment. Does Mantelish have any idea why Repulsive is the only plasmoid known to which our ring detectors don't react? Apparently he does, a lot he said, but when he starts in on those subjects I find him difficult to follow. He looked soberly at Trigger. There are times, he confessed, when I suspect Professor Mantelish is somewhat daft, but probably he's just so brilliant that he keeps fading beyond my mental range. Trigger laughed. My father used to come home from a session with Mantelish muttering the same sort of thing. She glanced at the ring again. By the way, have any plasmoids actually been stolen around here for us to detect? He nodded. Quite a few have been snitched from Harvest Moon in various storage points by now. I wouldn't be surprised if some of them turned up here in the dome eventually. Not that it's a serious loss. What the thieves have been getting away with is small stuff, plasmoid nuts and bolts, so to speak. Still, each of those would still fetch around 100,000 credits if you offered them to the right people. Incidentally, if asking you to this conference is interfered with any personal plans, just say so. We can put it off until tomorrow, especially since it's beginning to look as if Mantelish won't make it here either. Either, Trigger said. Quillen's already had to cancel. He got involved with something during the afternoon. Oh, she said coolly. She looked at her watch. I do have a dinner date with Broul Inger in an hour and a half, but you said this meeting wasn't to take more than an hour anyway, didn't you? He nodded. Then I'm free. My quarters are arranged, and I'm ready to go back to my old job in the morning. Vine said to Commissioner, there are things I wanted to discuss with you privately anyway. If we can't get through to Mantelish in another 10 minutes, we'll go ahead with that. I would have liked to have Quillen here to fill us in with data about some of the top-level crooks in the hub. They're a specialty of his. I don't know too much about them myself. He paused. That Liad Ermentine now, he said, looks as if she either already is part of the main problem or is working very hard to get there. She's had a trannist warship stationed here for the past two weeks, a thing called the Aurora. Trigger was startled. But warships aren't allowed in the Manin system? It isn't in the system. It's stationed about a half light year away, where it has a legal right to be. Nothing to worry about as such. It's just a heavy-armed frigate, which is the limit trannist is allowed to build. Since it's Liad's private boat, I imagine it's been souped up with everything they could throw in. Anyway, the fact that she sent it here ahead of her indicates she isn't just dropping in for a casual visit. She made that pretty clear herself, Trigger said. Why do you think she's being so open about it? He shrugged. Might have any number of reasons. One could be that she'd get the BDI anyway as soon as she showed up here. When Liad goes anywhere, it's usually on business. After Quillen reported on your dinner party, I got all the information I could on her. The first lady stacks up as a tough cookie, also smart. Most of those are Mataens wind up being deadbrained by some loving relative, and apparently they have to know how to whip up a sharp brew of poison before they're led into kindergarten. Liad's been top dog among them since she was 18. His head turned. A bell had begun pinging in the next room. He stood up. Probably Mantelish's outfit on the transmitter, he said. I told him to call as soon as they located him. He stopped at the door. Care for a drink, Trigger girl? You know where the stuff is. Not just now, thanks. The commissioner came back in a couple of minutes. Darn fool got lost in a swamp. They found him finally, but he's too tired to come over now. He sat down and scratched his chin thoughtfully. Do you remember the time you passed out on the harvest moon? He asked. Trigger looked at him puzzled. The time I what? Passed out, fainted, went out cold. I? You're out of your mind, Haladi. I've never fainted in my life. Reason I ask, he said, is that I've been told a spell and a rest cubicle. Same thing as a rest cubicle anyway. Only it's used for therapy. Sometimes resolves amnesias. What are you talking about? The commissioner said, I'm talking about you. This is bound to be a jolt, Trigger girl. Might have been easier after a drink, but I'll just give it to you straight. About a week after Mantelish and his U-league crew first arrived here, you did pass out on one occasion while we were on the harvest moon with him. And afterwards you didn't remember doing it. I didn't, Trigger said weakly. No, I thought it might have cleared up when you'd just had some reason for not wanting to mention it. He got to his feet. Like that drink now before I go on with the details. She nodded. End of Chapter 16. Chapter 17 of Legacy. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Peake. Legacy by James Schmitz. Chapter 17. Haladi Tate brought her the drink and went on with the details. Trigger and he and a dozen or so of the first group of U-league investigators had been in what was now designated as Section 52 of the Harvest Moon. The commissioner was by himself checking over some equipment which had been installed in one of the compartments. After a while Dr. Azul joined him and told him Mantelish and the others had gone on to another section. Haladi and Azul finished the check up together and were about to leave the area to catch up with the group when Haladi saw Trigger lying on the floor in an adjoining compartment. You seemed to be in some kind of a coma, he said. We picked you up and put you into a chair by one of the survey screens and we're trying to get out a call on Azul's suit communicator to the ambulance boat when you suddenly opened your eyes. You looked at me and said, oh, there you are. I was just going to go looking for you. It was obvious that you didn't realize anything unusual that happened. Azul started to say something but I stepped on his foot and he caught on. In fact, he caught on so fast that I became a little suspicious of him. Poor Azul, Trigger said. Poor nothing, the commissioner said cryptically. I'll tell you about that some other time. I cautioned Dr. Azul to say nothing to anybody until the incident had been clarified in view of the stringent security precautions being practiced, supposedly being practiced, he amended. Then he'd returned to Planet Manon with Trigger immediately where she was checked over by Precull's medical staff. Physically, there wasn't a thing wrong with her. And that, said Trigger, feeling a little frightened, is something else I don't remember. Well, you wouldn't, the commissioner said. You were fed a hypnosis spray first. You went out for three hours. When you woke up, you thought you'd been having a good nap. Since the medics were sure you hadn't picked up some odd plasmoid infection, I wanted to know just what else had happened on Harvest Moon. One of those scientific big shots might also have used a hypnosis spray on you with the idea of turning you into a conditioned assistant for future shenanigans. Trigger grinned faintly. You do have a suspicious mind. The grin faded. Was that what they were going to find out in that mind-search interview on Macadone I skipped out on? It was one of the things they might have looked for, he agreed. Trigger gazed at him very thoughtfully for a moment. Well, I lous that deal up, she remarked. But why is everybody, she shook her head. Excuse me, go on. The commissioner went on. Old Doc La Harvest was handling the hypnosis herself. She hit what she thought might be a mind block when she tried to get you to remember what happened. We know now it wasn't a mind block, but she wouldn't monkey with you any further and told me to get in an expert. So I called the psychology services headquarters on a radio. Trigger looked startled, then laughed. The egg heads? You went right to the top there, didn't you? I tried to, said Haladi Tate. It's a good idea when you want real service. They told me to stay calm and say nothing to you. An expert would be shipped out promptly. Was he? Yes, Trigger's eye narrowed a little. Same old hypnosis spray treatment. Right, said Commissioner Tate. He came, sprayed, investigated. Then he told me to stay calm and went off looking puzzled. Puzzled, she said. If I hadn't known before that experts come in all grades, the commissioner said, I'd know it now. That first one they sent was just sharp enough to realize there might be something involved in the case he wasn't getting. But that was all. Trigger was silent a moment. So there have been more of those investigations I don't know about, she observed. Her voice taking on an edge. Ah-ha, the commissioner said cautiously. How many? Seven. Trigger flushed, straightened up, eyes blazing and pronounced a very unladylike word. Excuse me, she added a moment later. I got carried away. Perfectly all right, said the commissioner. I've been getting just a bit fed up anyway, Trigger went on. Voice and color still high, with people knocking me for loop one way or another whenever they happen to feel like it. Don't blame you a bit, he said. And please don't think I don't appreciate your calling in all those experts. I do. It's just their sneaky, underhanded, secretive methods I don't go for. Exactly how I feel about it, said the commissioner. Trigger stared at him suspiciously. You're a pretty sneaky type yourself, she said. Well, excuse the blow-up, Lottie. They probably had some reason for it. Have they found out anything at all with all the spraying and investigating? Oh yes, they seem to have made considerable progress. The last report I had from them about a month ago shows that the original amnesia has been completely resolved. Trigger looked surprised. If it's been resolved, she said reasonably, why don't I remember what happened? You aren't supposed to become conscious of it before the final interview. I don't know the reason for that. But the memory is available now, on tap, so to speak. They'll give you a cue, and then you'll remember it. Just like that, eh? She paused. So the psychology services, what's it? What's it? Said the commissioner. She explained about what's it. He grinned. Yes, he said. They're the ones who've been giving the instructions as far as you're concerned. Trigger was silent a moment. I've heard, she said. The eggheads have terrific pull when they want to use it. You don't hear much about them otherwise. Let me think just a little. Go ahead, said Lottie. A minute ticked away. What it boils down to so far, Trigger said then, is still pretty much what you told me on Macadone. The psychology service thinks I know something that will help clean up the plasma wave problem, or at least help explain it. He nodded. And the people who've been trying to grab me very probably are doing it for exactly the same reason. He nodded again. That's almost certain. Do you think the eggheads might already have figured out what the connection is? The commissioner shook his head. If they had, we'd be doing something about it. The Federation Council is very nervous. Well, Trigger said. She pursed her lips. That lied, she said. What about her? She tried to hire me, said Trigger. Major Quillen reported it, I suppose. Sure. And it wouldn't have been just to steal some stupid plasmoid, especially since you say a number of small ones are already available. Then there are the ones the raiders picked up on the hub. She probably has a collection by now. He nodded. Probably. She seemed to know quite a bit about what's been going on. Very likely she does. Let's grab her, said Trigger. We can do it quietly. And she's too big to be mind blocked. We get part of the answer, perhaps all of it. Something flared briefly in the commissioner's small gray eyes. He reached over and patted her knee. You're a girl after my own heart, Trigger girl, he said. I'm for it, but half the council would have fainted dead away if they'd heard you make that suggestion. There is touchy as that, she asked, disappointed. Yes, and you can't quite blame them. Fumbles could be pretty bad. When it comes to someone around Lyad's level, our own group is restricted to defensive counteraction. If we get evidence against her, it'll be up to the diplomats to decide what's to be done about it tactfully. We wouldn't be further involved. Trigger nodded, watching him. Go on. Well, defensive counteraction can cover a lot of things, of course. If we actually run into the first lady while we're engaged in it, we'll hold her as long as we can. And from all accounts, now that she showed up to take personal charge of things around here, we can expect some very fast, very direct action from Lyad. How fast? My own guess, said the commissioner, would be around a week. If she hasn't moved by then, we might help things along a little. Make a few of those openings for her, eh? Well, that doesn't sound too bad, Trigger reflected. Then there's point number two, she said. What's that? She grimaced. I'm not real keen on it, she confessed. But I think we'd better do something about that interview with Watson Ioducked out of. If they still want to talk to me. They do, very much so. What's that business about there saying it was OK now for me to go on to Manon? Commissioner Tate tugged gently on his left earlobe. Frankly, he said, that's something that shook me a little. Shook you, why? It's that matter of experts coming in grades. The upper ranks in the psychology service are extremely busy people, I understand. After your first interview, we were shifted upward promptly. A couple of middling, high bracket investigators took over for a while. But after the fourth interview, I was told I'd have to bring you to the hub to let somebody really competent handle the next stage of whatever they've been doing. They said they couldn't spare anybody of that caliber for a trip to Manon. Was that the real reason we went to Macaddon? Trigger asked startled. Sure, but we still hadn't got anywhere near the service's top level by then. As I get it, their top notches don't spend much time on individual cases. They keep busy with things on the scale of our more bothersome planetary cultures. And there are supposed to be only a hundred or so of them in that category. So I was more than a little surprised when the service informed me finally that one of those people was coming to Macaddon to conduct your ninth interview. One of the real eggheads, Trigger smiled nervously. And then I just took off. They can't have too good an opinion of me at the moment, you know. Apparently that didn't upset them in the least, the commissioner said. They told me to stay calm and make sure you got to Manon all right. Then they said they had a ship operating in this area and they'd routed on over to Manon after you arrived here. A ship, Trigger asked. I've seen a few of their ships. They looked like oversized flying mountains, camouflage jobs. What they actually are is space going super laboratories from what I've heard. This one has a couple of those top notchers on board and one of them will take you on. It's due here in a day or so. Trigger had paled somewhat. You know, she said, I feel a little shaken myself now. I'm not surprised, said the commissioner. She shook her head. Well, if they're top notchers they must know what they're doing. She gave them a smile. Looks like I'm something extremely unusual. Like a bothersome planetary culture. Weak joke, she added. The commissioner ignored the weak joke. There's another thing, he said thoughtfully. What's that? When I mentioned your reluctance about being interviewed they told me not to worry about it that you wouldn't try to duck out again. That's why I was surprised when you brought up the matter of the interview yourself just now. Now that is odd, Trigger admitted after pause. How would they know? Right, he said, he sighed. Guess we're both a little out of our depth there. I have come close to getting impatient with them a few times, had the feeling they were stalling me off and holding back information. But presumably they do know what they're doing. He glanced at his watch. That hour's about up now, by the way. Well, if there's something else that should be discussed I can break my dinner date, Trigger said, somewhat reluctantly. I had a chance to talk with Bruel at the spaceport for a while when we came in this morning. I wasn't suggesting that, said Haladi. There still are things to be discussed but a few hours one way or the other won't make any difference. We'll get together again around lunch tomorrow. Then you'll be filled in pretty well on all the main points of this business. Trigger nodded, fine. What I had in mind right now was the service people suggested having you look over their last report on you after your arrival. You'd have just enough time for that before going to keep your date. Care to do it? I certainly would, Trigger said. The transmitter signaled for attention while she was studying the report. Haladi Tate went off to answer it. The report was rather lengthy and Trigger was still going over it when he got back. He sat down again and waited. When she looked up finally, he asked, can you make much sense of it? Not very much, Trigger admitted. It just states what seems to have happened, not how or why. Apparently they did get me to develop a total recall of that knocked out period in the last interview. I even reported hearing you and Dr. Azul moving around and talking in the next compartment. He nodded. I remember enough of my conversation with Azul to be able to verify that part of it. Then, some time before I actually fell down, said Trigger, I was apparently already in that mysterious coma, getting deeper into it. It started when I walked away from Mantilish's group without having any particular reason for doing it. I just walked. Then I was in another compartment by myself and still walking, and the stuff kept getting deeper until I lost physical control of myself and fell down. Then I lay there a while until you came down that aisle and saw me, and after you'd picked me up and put me in that chair, just like that, everything clears up. Except that I don't remember what happened and I think I've just left Mantilish to go looking for you. I don't even wonder how I happened to be sitting there in a chair. The commissioner smiled briefly. That's right, you didn't. Her slim fingers tapped the pages of the report. The green stone in the ring he'd given her to wear reflecting little flashes of light. They seemed quite positive that nobody else came near me during that period and that nobody had used a hypnosis spray on me or shot a hypodermic pellet into me, anything like that, before the seizure or whatever it was came on. How do you suppose they could be so sure of that? I wouldn't know, Holody said, but I think we might as well assume they're right. I suppose so. What it seems to boil down to is that they're saying I was undergoing something very much like a slowed down, very profound emotional shock. Source still undetermined, but profound enough to knock me completely out for a while. Only they also say that for a whole list of reasons it couldn't possibly have been an emotional shock after all. And when the effect left, it went instantaneously. That would be just the reverse to the pattern of an emotional shock, wouldn't it? Yes, he said. That occurred to me too, but it didn't explain anything to me. Possibly it's explained something to the psychology service. Well, Trigger said. It's certainly all very odd. Very disagreeable too. She laid the report down on the arm of her chair and looked at the commissioner. Guess I'd better run now, she said. But there was something you said before that made me wonder. There was really very little of Dr. Azul left after that plasmoid got through with him. He nodded. True. It wasn't Azul, was it? No. Man, oh man! Trigger jumped up, bent over his chair and gave him a quick peck on a near tip. If I ask one more question, we'll be sitting here the next two hours. I'll run instead. See you around lunchtime, commissioner. Right Trigger, he said, getting up. He closed the door behind her and went back to the transmitter. He looked rather unhappy. Yes, said a voice in the transmitter. She just left, commissioner Tate said. Get on the beam and stay there. End of Chapter 17. Chapter 18 of Legacy. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Peake. Legacy by James Schmitz. Chapter 18. Well, Trigger said, regarding Brule critically, I just meant to say that you're getting the least little bit plump here and there, under all that tan. I'll admit it doesn't show yet when you're dressed. Brule smiled tolerantly. In silver swimming trunks and sandals he was obviously a very handsome hunk of young man and he knew it. So did Trigger. So did a quartet of predatory young females eyeing them speculatively from a table only 20 feet away. I've come swimming here quite a bit since they opened the center, he said. He flexed his right arm and regarded his biceps complacently. That's just streamlined muscle you're looking at, sweetheart. Trigger reached over and poked the biceps with a fingertip. Muscle, she said, smiling at him. It dents, see? He clasped his other hand over hers and squeezed it lightly. Oh golly, Brule, she said happily. I'm so glad I'm back. He gave her the smile. You're not the only glad one. She looked around, humming softly. They were having dinner in one of the Grand Commerce Center's restaurants. This one happened to be beneath the surface of the artificial swimming lake installed in the center, a giant grotto surrounded by gold green chasms of water on every side. Underwater swimmers and bottom walkers moved past beyond the wide windows. A streak of silvery swiftness against a dark red canyon wall before her was trying to keep away from a trio of pursuing spear fishermen. Even the lake fish were hub imports advertised as such by the center. Her eyes widened suddenly. Hey, she said. What? That group of people up there. Brule, look. What about them? No suits, you idiot. He grinned. Oh, a lot of them do that. OK by Federation law, you know. And seeing Manin so close to becoming open Federation territory, we haven't tried to enforce minor pre-call regulations much lately. Well, a trigger began. He was still smiling. Have you been doing it? She inquired suspiciously. Swimming in the raw? Certainly. Depends on the company. If you weren't such a little prude, I'd have had suggested it tonight. Want to try it later? Trigger colored. Prude again, she thought. Nope, she said. There are limits. He padded her cheek. On you it would look cute. She shook her head, aware of a small fluster of guilt. There had been considerably less actual coverage in the Beldon costume than there was in the minute two-piece counterpart to Brule's silver trunks that she wore at the moment. She'd have to tell Brule about the Beldon stunt since it was more than likely he'd hear about it from others, knee-locked ploughly for one. But not now. Things were getting just a little delicate along that line at the moment. Leave us change the subject, Pig, she said cheerfully. Tell me what else you've been doing besides acquiring a gorgeous tan. A couple of hours later things began to get delicate again. Same subject. Trigger had been somewhat startled at the spaceport when Brule told her he had shifted his living quarters to a center apartment and that a large number of pre-colle's executives were taking similar liberties. Holotti's stand-in, acting commissioner celli, apparently hadn't been too successful at keeping up personnel discipline. She hadn't said anything. It was true that Manon was still a pre-colonial planet only as a technicality. They didn't know quite as much about it as they had to know before it could be officially released for unrestricted settling. But by now there was considerable excuse for loosening up on many of the early precautionary measures. For one thing, there were just so many hub people around nowadays that it would have been a practical impossibility to enforce all pre-colle rules. What bothered her mainly about the business of Brule's center apartment was that it might make the end of the evening less pleasant than she wanted it to be. Brule had become the least bit swacked. Not at all offensively, but he tended to get pretty ambitious then, and during the past few hours she'd noticed that something had changed in his attitude toward her. He'd always been confident of himself when it came to women, so it wasn't that. It was perhaps trigger thought, like an unspoken ultimatum along those lines, and she'd felt herself freezing up a little in response to the thought. The apartment was very beautiful. Noluk, she guessed, or somebody else like that. Brule's taste was good, but he simply wouldn't have thought of a lot of the details here. Neither, trigger conceded, would she. Some of the details looked pretty expensive. He came back into the living room in a dressing-gown carrying a couple of drinks. It was going to get awkward all right. Like it, he asked, waving a hand around. It's beautiful, trigger said honestly, she smiled. She sifted the drink and placed it on the arm of her chair. Somebody like an interior decorator help you with it. Brule laughed and sat down opposite her with his drink. The laugh had sounded the least bit annoyed. You're right, he said. How did you guess? You never went in for art, exactly, she said. This room is a work of art. He nodded. He didn't look annoyed anymore, he looked smug. It is, isn't it, he said. It didn't even cost so very much. You just have to know how, that's all. Know how about what, trigger asked. Know how to live, Brule said. Know what it's all about, then it's easy. He was looking at her. The smile was there, the warm rich voice was there. All the old charm was there, it was Brule, and it wasn't. Trigger realized she was twisting her hands together. She looked down at them. The little jewel in the ring Haladi Tate had given her to wear blinked back with crimson gleamings. Crimson. She drew a long, slow breath. Brule, she said. Yes, said Brule. At the edge of her vision she saw the smile turn eager. Trigger said, give me the plasmoid. She raised her eyes and looked at him. He'd stopped smiling. Brule looked back at her a long time. At least it seemed a long time to trigger. The smile suddenly returned. What's that supposed to mean, he asked, almost plaintively. If it's a joke, I don't get it. I just said, Trigger repeated carefully, give me the plasmoid, the one you stole. Brule took a swallow of his drink and put the glass down on the floor. Aren't you feeling well, he asked solicitously? Give me the plasmoid. Honestly, Trigger, he shook his head. He laughed. What are you talking about? A plasmoid, the one you took, the one you've got here. Brule stood up. He studied her face, blinking, puzzled. Then he laughed richly. Trigger, I've fed you one drink too many. I never thought you'd let me do it. Be sensible now. If I had a plasmoid here, how could you tell? I can tell. Well I don't know how you took it or why you took it. I don't really care. And that was a lie, Trigger thought dismally. She cared. Just give it to me and I'll put it back. We can talk about it afterwards. Afterwards, Brule said. The laugh came again, but it sounded a little hollow. He moved a step toward her, stopped again, hands on his hips. Trigger, he said soberly, if I've ever done anything you bite into proof of, it was done for both of us. You realize that, don't you? I think I do, Trigger said warily. Yes, give it to me, Brule. Brule leaped forward. She slid sideways out of the chair to the floor as he leaped. She was crying inside, she realized vaguely. Brule was going to kill her now, if you could. She caught his left foot with both hands as he came down and twisted viciously. Brule shouted something. His red, furious face swept by above. He thumped the floor beside her, one leg flung across her thighs, gripping. In Colonial School, Brule had received the same basic training and unarmed combat the Trigger had. He was close to 80 pounds heavier than Trigger, and it was still mostly muscle, but it was nearly four years now since he had bothered himself with drills, and he hadn't been put through Mughal's advanced students courses lately. He stayed conscious a little less than nine seconds. The plasmoids were in a small, electronic safe built into a music cabinet. The stamp to the safe was in Brule's billfold. There were three of them, about the size of mice. Starfish-shaped lumps of translucent, hard, colorless jelly. They didn't move. Trigger laid them in a row on the polished surface of a small table, and blinked at them for a moment from a streaming left eye. The right eye was swelling shut. Brule had got in one wild wallop somewhere along the line. He picked up a small jar, emptied some spicy-smelling, crumbly contents out on the floor, dropped the plasmoids inside, closed the jar, and left the apartment with it. Brule was just beginning to stir and groan. Commissioner Tate hadn't retired yet. He let her in without a word. Trigger put the jar down on a table. "'Three of your nuts and bolts in there,' she said. He nodded. "'I know.' "'I thought you did,' said Trigger. "'Thanks for the quick cure, but right at the moment I don't like you very much, Holotti. We can talk about that in the morning.' "'All right,' said the commissioner. He hesitated. "'Anything that should be taken care of before then?' "'It's been taken care of,' Trigger said. "'One of our employees has been moderately injured. I have dialed the medics to go pick him up. They have.' "'Good night.' "'You might let me do something for that eye,' he said. Trigger shook her head. "'I've got stuff in my quarters.' She locked herself into her quarters, got out a jar of quick-heel and anointed the eye and a few other minor bruises. She put the jar away, made a mechanical check of the newly installed anti-intrusion devices, dimmed the lights and climbed into her bunk. For the next twenty minutes she wept violently. Then she fell asleep. An hour or so later she turned over on her side and said, without opening her eyes, "'Come, Fido!' The plasmoid purse appeared just above the surface of the bunk between Trigger's pillow and the wall. It dropped with a small thump and stood balanced uncertainly. Trigger slept on. Five minutes after that the purse opened itself. A little later again Trigger suddenly shifted her shoulder uneasily, frowned, and made a little half-angry, half-whimpering cry. In her face smoothed out, her breathing grew quiet and slow. Major Haslett Quillen of the subspace engineers came breezing into Man and Planet Spaceport very early in the morning. A pre-call air-car picked him up and let him out on a platform of the headquarters dome near Commissioner Tate's offices. Quillen was handed on toward the offices through a string of underlings and reached the door just as it opened and Trigger Argey stepped through. He grasped her cordially by the shoulders and cried out a cheery hello. Trigger made a soft growling sound in her throat. Her left hand chopped right, her right hand chopped left. Quillen grunted and let go. "'What's the matter?' he inquired, stepping back. He rubbed one arm and then the other. Trigger looked at him, growled again, walked past him, and disappeared through another door, her back very straight. "'Come in, Quillen,' Commissioner Tate said from within the office. Quillen went in and closed the door behind him. "'What did I do?' he asked bewilderedly. "'Nothing much,' said Haladi. "'You just share the misfortune of being a male human being. At the moment Trigger's against him. She blew up the broolinger set up last night. "'Oh,' Quillen sat down. "'I never did like that idea much,' he said.' The Commissioner shrugged. "'You don't know the girl yet. If I had hauled Inger in, she would never have really forgiven me for it. I had to let her handle it herself. Actually she understands that. How did it go?' Her cover reported it was one hell of a good fight for some seconds. If you'd looked closer you might have just spotted the traces of the Shiner Inger gave her. It was a butte last night.' Quillen went white. "'But if you're thinking of having a chat with Inger, read that part of it,' the Commissioner went on. "'Forget it.' He glanced at a report from the medical department on his desk. It's located shoulder, broken thumb, moderate concussion, and so on. It was the throat punch that finished the matter. He can't talk yet. We'll call it square.' Quillen grunted. "'What are you going to do with him now?' "'Nothing,' Halati said. We know his contacts. Why bother? He'll resign into the month.' Quillen cleared his throat and glanced at the door. "'I suppose she'll want him put up for rehabilitation,' seemed pretty fond of him. "'Relax, son,' said the Commissioner. Triggers an individualist. If Inger goes up for rehabilitation, it will be because he wants it. And he doesn't, of course. Being a slob suits him fine. He's just likely to be more cautious about it in the future. So we'll let him go his happy way. Now, let's get down to business. How does Pooley's yacht harem stack up?' A reminiscent smile spread slowly over Quillen's face. He shook his head. "'Awesome, brother,' he said, plain awesome. Pick up anything useful? Nothing definite, but whenever Belchy comes out of the aesthetic trances, he's a worried man. Count him in. For sure. Yes. "'All right, he's in. Crack the aurora yet?' "'No,' said Quillen. The girls are working on it. But the ermantine keeps a mighty-taught ship and a mighty-discipline crew. We'll have a couple of those boys wrapped up in another week. No earlier. "'A week might be soon enough,' said the commissioner. It also might not.' "'I know it,' said Quillen. But the aurora does look a little bit obvious, doesn't she?' "'Yes,' a lotty Tate admitted, just a little bit.' End of Chapter 18. CHAPTER XIX My lynch-time trigger was acting almost cordial again. "'I've got the pre-cold job lined up,' she reported to a lotty Tate. "'I'll handle it like I used to whenever I can. When I can't, the kids will shift in automatically. The kids were the five assistants among whom her duties had been divided in her absence.' Major Quillen called me up to Mantelish's lab around ten, she went on. They wanted to see Repulsive, so I took him up there. Then it turned out Mantelish wanted to take Repulsive along on a field trip this afternoon. A lotty looked startled. "'He can't do that, and he knows it,' he reached for the desk transmitter. "'Don't bother, commissioner. I told Mantelish I'd been put in charge of Repulsive, and that he'd lose an arm if he tried to walk out of the lab with him.' A lotty cleared his throat. "'I see. How did Mantelish react?' "'Oh, he huffed a bit, like he does. Then he calmed down and agreed that he could get by without Repulsive out there. So we stood by while he measured and weighed the thing and so on. After that he got friendly and said you'd ask him to fill me in on current plasmoid theory. "'So I did,' said a lotty. "'Did he?' "'He tried, I think. But it's like you say. I got lost in about three sentences and never caught up. She looked curiously at the commissioner. I didn't have a chance to talk to Major Quillen alone, so I'm wondering why Mantelish was told the i-fleets in the Vishni area were hunting for planets with plasmoids on them. I thought you felt he was too woolly-minded to be trusted.' "'We couldn't keep that from him very well,' said a lotty. He was the boy who thought of it. You didn't have to tell him they'd found some possibles, did you?' "'He did, unfortunately. He's had those plasmoid detectors of his for about a month, but he didn't happen to think of mentioning them. The reason he was to come back to Manin originally was to sort over the stuff the fleets had been sending back here. It's as weird a collection of low-grade life-forms as I've ever seen, but not plasmoid. Mantelish went into a temper and wanted to know why the idiots weren't using detectors.' "'Oh, Lord,' Trigger said. "'That's what it's like when you're working with him,' said the commissioner. We started making up detectors wholesale and rushing them out there, but the new results haven't come in yet.' "'Well, that explains it. Trigger looked down at the desk a moment, then glanced up and met the commissioner's eye. She colored slightly. "'Incidentally,' she said. "'I did take the opportunity to apologize to Major Quillen for clipping him a couple this morning. I shouldn't have done that.' "'He didn't seem offended,' said a lotty. "'No, not really,' she agreed. "'And I explained to him that you had a very good reason to feel disturbed.' "'Thanks,' said Trigger. "'By the way, was he really a smuggler at one time, and a hijacker?' "'Yes, very successful at it. It's excellent cover for some phases of intelligent work. As I heard it, though, Quillen happened to scramble up one of the hub's nastier dope rings in the process, and was broken two grades in rank.' "'Broken,' Trigger said. "'Why?' "'Unwarranted interference with a political situation. The scouts are rough about that. You're supposed to see those things. Sometimes you don't. Sometimes you do, and go ahead anyway. They may pat you on the back privately, but they also give you the axe.' "'I see,' she said. She smiled. "'Just how far did we get in bringing you up to date yesterday?' the commissioner asked. "'The remains that weren't Dr. Azul,' Trigger said. "'If it hadn't been for the funny business with Trigger,,' he said. He mightn't have been immediately skeptical about Dr. Azul's supposed demise by plasmoid during a thrombosis-induced spell of unconsciousness. There had been no previous indications that the eulig screening of its scientists in connection with the plasmoid find might have been strategically loused up from the start. But as things stood, he did look on the event with very considerable skepticism. Dr. Azul's death in that particular form seemed too much of a coincidence. For, beside himself, only Azul knew that another person already had suddenly and mysteriously lost consciousness on Harvest Moon. Only Azul therefore might expect that the commissioner would quietly inform the official investigators of the preceding incident, thus cinching the accidental death theory in Azul's case much more neatly than the assumed heart attack had done. The commissioner went on from there to the reflection that if Azul had chosen to disappear, it might well have been with the intention of conveying important information secretly back to someone waiting for it in the hub. He saw to it that the remains were preserved, and that word of what could have happened was passed on to a high federation official whom he knew to be trustworthy. That was all he was in a position to do or interested in doing himself. Security men presently came and took the supposed vestiges of Dr. Azul's body back to the hub. It wasn't until some months later, when the works blew up and I was put on this job that I heard any more about it, a lot he tates said. It wasn't Azul, it was part of some unidentifiable cadaver which he'd presumably brought with him for just such a use. Anyway, they had Azul's gene patterns on record, and they didn't jibe. His desk transmitter buzzed and trigger took it on an earphone extension. Argy, she said, she listened a moment. All right, coming over. She stood, replacing the earphone. Office-tangle, she explained. Guess they feel I'm fluffing now I'm back. I'll get back here as soon as it's straightened out. Oh, by the way. Yes? The psychology service ship messaged in during the morning. It'll arrive some time tomorrow and wants a station assigned to it outside the system, where it won't be likely to attract attention. Are they really as huge as all that? I've seen one or two that were bigger, the commissioner said, but not much. When they're stationed, they'll send someone over in a shuttle to pick me up. The commissioner nodded. I'll check on the arrangements for that. The idea of the interview is still bothering you. Well, I'd sooner it wasn't necessary, Trigger admitted. But I guess it is. She grinned briefly. Anyway, I'll be able to tell my grandchildren some day that I once talked to one of the real eggheads. The psychology service woman who stood up from a couch as Trigger came into the small spaceport lounge next evening looked startlingly similar to Major Quillen's dawn city assistant Gaia. Standing you could see that she was considerably more slender than Gaia. She had all of Gaia's good looks. The name is Pilch, she said. She looked at Trigger and smiled. It was a good smile, Trigger thought, not the professional job she'd expected. And everyone who knows Gaia she went on thinks we must be twins. Trigger laughed. Aren't you? Just first cousins. The voice was all right, too. Clear and easy. Trigger felt herself relaxed somewhat. That's one reason they picked me to come and get you. We're already almost acquainted. Another is that I've been assigned to take you through the preliminary work for your interview after we get to the ship. We can chat a bit on the way, and that should make it seem less disagreeable. Boats in the Speedboat Park over there. They started down a short hallway to the park area. Just how disagreeable is it going to be, Trigger asked? Not bad at all, in your case. Your condition to the process is more than you know. Your interviewer will just pick up where the last job ended and go on from there. It's when you have to work down through barriers that you have a little trouble. Trigger was still mulling that over as she stepped ahead of Pilch into the smaller of two needle-nosed craft parked side by side. Pilch followed her in and closed the lock behind them. The other one's a combat job, she remarked. Our escort. Commissioner Tate made very sure we had one, too. She motioned Trigger to a low, soft seat that took up half the space of the tiny room behind the lock, sat down beside her, and spoke at a wall pickup. All right, let's ride. Blue-green tinted sky moved past them in the little room's viewer screen. Then a tilted landscape flashed by and dropped back. Pilch winked at Trigger. Takes off like a scared yazong, that boy. He'll race the combat job to the ship. About those barriers. Supposing I told you something like this. There's no significant privacy invasion in this line of work. We go directly to the specific information we're looking for and deal only with that. Your private life, your personal thoughts, remain secret, sacred and inviolate. What would you say? I'd say you're a liar, Trigger said promptly. Of course. That sort of thing is sometimes told to nervous interviewees. We don't bother with it, but now supposing I told you very sincerely that no recording will be made of any little personal glimpses we may get. Lying again. Right again, said Pilch. You've been scanned about as thoroughly as anyone ever gets to be outside of a total therapy. Your personal secrets are already on record, and since I'm doing most of the preparatory work with you, I've studied all the significant-looking ones very closely. You're a pretty good person for my money, all right? Trigger studied her face uncomfortably. Hardly all right, but I guess I can stand it, she said. As far as you're concerned anyway, she hesitated. What's the egghead like? Old Crandon, said Pilch. You won't mind her a bit, I think. Very motherly old type. Let's get through the preparations first, and then I'll introduce you to her. If you think it would make you more comfortable, I'll just stay around while she's working. I've sat in on her interviews before. How's that? Sounds better, Trigger said. She did feel a good deal relieved. They slid presently into a tunnel-like lock of the space vehicle Haladi Tate had described as a flying mountain. From what Trigger could see of it in the guidelines on the approach, it did rather closely resemble a very large mountain of the craggier sort. They went through a series of lifts, portals, and passages, and wound up in a small and softly lit room with a small desk, a very large couch, a huge wall screen, and a sorted gadgetry. Pilch sat down at the desk and invited Trigger to make herself comfortable on the couch. Trigger lay down on the couch. She had a very brief sensation of falling gently through dimness. Half an hour later she sat up on the couch. Pilch switched on a dusk-light and looked at her thoughtfully. Trigger blinked. Then her eyes widened, first with surprise, then in comprehension. "'Liar,' she said. "'Mmm,' said Pilch, yes. That was the interview. True. Then you're the ag-head.' "'Chaa,' said Pilch. Well, I believe I can modestly describe myself as being like that. "'Yes, you're another, by the way. We're just smart about different things. Not so very different.' "'You were smart about this,' Trigger said. She swung her legs off the couch and regarded Pilch dubiously. Pilch grinned. Took most of the disagreeableness out of it, didn't it? "'Yes,' Trigger admitted, it did. "'Now what do we do?' "'Now,' said Pilch, I'll explain. The thing that had caught their attention was a quite simple process. It just happened to be a process the psychology service hadn't observed under those particular circumstances before. "'Here's what our investigators had the last time,' Pilch said. "'Lines and lines of stuff, of course, but here's a simple continuity, which makes it clear. Your mother dies when you're six months old. Then there are a few nurses whom you don't like very much. Good nurses, but frankly much too stupid for you, though you don't know that, and they don't either naturally. "'Next, you're seven years old, a bit over, and there's a mud-pond on the farm near Sace where you spend all your vacations. You just love that old mud-pond,' Trigger laughed. A smelly old hole, actually. Full of froggy sorts of things. I went out to that farm six years ago just to look around it again. But you're right, I did love that mud-pond once.' "'Right up to that seventh summer,' Pilch said, which was the summer your father's cousin spent her vacation on the farm with you?' Trigger nodded. "'Perhaps. I don't remember the time too well.' "'Well,' Pilch said, she was a brilliant woman, in some ways. She was about the age your mother had been when she died. She was very good-looking, and she was nice. She played games with a little girl, sang to her, told her stories, cuddled her.' Trigger blinked. "'Did she? I don't.' However,' said Pilch, she did not play games with, tell stories to, cuddle, etc., little girls who, her voice went suddenly thin and edged, come in all filthy and smelling from that dirty, slimy old mud-pond.' Trigger looked startled. "'You know,' she said. "'I do believe I remember her saying that. Just that way.' "'You remember it,' said Pilch, now. You never saw her again after that summer. Your father had good sense. He didn't marry her, as he apparently intended to do before he saw how she was going to be with you. You went back to your old mud-pond just once more on your next vacation. She wasn't there. What had you done? You waited around, feeling pretty sad, and you stepped on a sharp stick and cut your foot badly, sort of a self-punishment. She flipped over a few pages of some record on her desk. Now before you start asking what's interesting about that, I'll run over a few crossed-in items. Age twelve. There's that macadon animal like a dryland jellyfish, a mingo, isn't it, that swallowed your kitten. "'The mingo,' Trigger said. I remember that. I killed it.' "'Right. You kicked it apart and pulled out the kitten. But the kitten was dead and partly digested. You bawled all day and half the night about that.' "'I might have, I suppose.' "'You did. Now those are two centering points. There's other stuff connected with them. No need to go into details. As classes, you've stepped now and then on things that squirmed or squashed, bad smells, et cetera. How do you feel about plasmoids?' Trigger wrinkled her nose. I just think they're unpleasant things. I'll accept.' "'Oops,' she checked herself. "'Repulsive,' said Pilch. It's quite all right about repulsive. We've been informed of that super-secret little item you're guarding. If we hadn't been told, we'd know now, of course. Go ahead.' "'Well, it's odd,' Trigger remarked thoughtfully. I just said I thought plasmoids were rather unpleasant. But that's the way I used to feel about them. I don't feel that way now.' "'Accept again,' said Pilch, for that little monstrosity on the ship. If it was a plasmoid, you'd rather suspect it was, don't you?' Trigger nodded. "'That would be pretty bad.' "'Very bad,' said Pilch. Plasmoids generally. You feel about them now as you feel about potatoes, rocks, neutral things like that.' "'That's about it,' Trigger said. She still looked puzzled. "'We'll go over what seems to have changed your attitude there in a minute or so. Here's another thing.' Pilch paused a moment, then said. Right before last, about an hour after you'd gone to bed, you had a very light touch of the same pattern of mental blankness you experienced on that plasmoid station. "'While I was asleep,' Trigger said, startled. "'That's right. Comparatively very light, very brief, five or six minutes. Dream activity, etc., smooths out, some blocking on various sense lines, then normal sleep until about five minutes before you woke up. At that point there may have been another minute touch of the same pattern, too brief to be actually definable a few seconds at most. The point is that this is a continuing process.' She looked at Trigger a moment. "'Not particularly alarmed, are you?' "'No, Sir Trigger, it just seems very odd.' She added. I got rather frightened when Commissioner Tate was first telling me what had been going on. "'Yes, I know.' End of Chapter 19. Chapter 20 of Legacy. Pilch was silent for some moments again, considering the wall-screen as if thinking about something connected with it. "'Well, we'll drop that for now,' she said finally. Let me tell you what's been happening these months, starting with that first amnesia-covered blank-out on Harvest Moon. The Macaddon Colonial School has sound basic psychology courses, so there won't be much explaining to do. The connection between those incidents I mentioned and your earlier feeling of disliking plasmoids is obvious, isn't it?' Trigger nodded. "'Good.' When you got the first service checkup at Commissioner Tate's demand there was very little to go on. The amnesia didn't lift immediately, not very unusual. The blank-out might be interesting because of the circumstances. Otherwise the check showed you were in a good deal better than normal condition. Outside of total therapy processes, and I believe you know that's a long haul, there wasn't much to be done for you and no particular reason to do it. So an amnesia-resolving process was initiated and you were left alone for a while. Actually something already was going on at the time, but it wasn't spotted until your next check. What it's amounted to has been a relatively minor but extremely precise and apparently purposeful therapy process. Your unconscious memories of those groupings of incidents I was talking about, along with the various linked groupings, have gradually been cleared up. A motion has been drained away, fixed evaluations have faded, associative lines have shifted. Now that's nothing remarkable in itself. Any good therapist could have done the same for you and much more rapidly, say in a few hours' hard work, spread over several weeks to permit progressive assimilation without conscious disturbances. The very interesting thing is that this orderly little process appears to have been going on all by itself, and that just doesn't happen. You disturb now? Trigger nodded. A little. Mainly I'm wondering why somebody wants me to not dislike plasmoids. So am I wondering, said Pilch. Somebody does, obviously, and a very slick somebody it is. We'll find out, by and by. Incidentally this particular part of the business has been concluded. Apparently somebody doesn't intend to make you wild for plasmoids, it's enough that you don't dislike them. Trigger smiled. I can't see anyone making me wild for the things, whatever they tried. Pilch nodded. Could be done, she said, rather easily. Could be bats, of course, but that's very different from a simple neutralizing process like the one we've been discussing. Now here's something else. You were pretty unhappy about this business for a while. That wasn't somebody's fault, that was us, I'll explain. Your investigators could have interfered with the little therapy process in a number of ways. That wouldn't have taught them a thing, so they didn't. But on your third check they found something else. Again, it wasn't in the least obtrusive in someone else they mightn't have given it a second look. But it didn't fit at all with your major personality patterns. You wanted to stay where you were. Stay where I was. In the man-end system. Oh, Trigger flushed a little. Well, I know, let's go on a moment. We had this inharmonious inclination, so we told Commissioner Tate to bring you to the hub and keep you there to see what would happen. And on Macadone, in just a few weeks, you'd begun working that modern inclination to be back on the man-end system up to a dandy first-rate compulsion. Trigger licked her lips. I... Sure, Sid Pilch, you had to have a good, sensible reason. You gave yourself one. Well... Oh, you were fond of that young man, all right? Who wouldn't be? Wonderful looking lug. I'd go for him myself, till I got him on that couch, that is. But that was the first time you hadn't been able to stand a couple of months away from him. It was also the first time you'd started worrying about competition. You now had your justification. And we, Pilch, said darkly, had a fine, solid compulsion, with no doubt very revealing ramifications to it to work on. Just one thing went wrong with that, Trigger. You don't have the compulsion any more. Oh? You don't even, Sid Pilch, have the original, modern inclination. Now one might have some suspicions there. But we'll let them ride for the moment. She did something on the desk. The huge wall screen suddenly lit up. A soft, amber-glowing plain of blankness with a suggestion of receding depths within it. Last night, shortly before you woke up, Pilch said, you had a dream. Actually you had a series of eight dreams during the night which seemed pertinent here. But the earlier ones were rather vague, preliminary structures. In one way or another their content is included in this final symbolic grouping. Let's see what we can make of them. A shape appeared on the screen. Trigger started, then laughed. What do you think of it, Pilch asked? A little green man, she said. Well, it could be a sort of counterpoint to the little yellow thing on the ship, couldn't it? The good little dwarf and the very bad little dwarf. Could be, said Pilch. How do you feel about the notion? Good plasmoids and bad plasmoids? Chicker shook her head. No, it doesn't feel right. What else feels right, Pilch asked? The farmer. The little old man who owned the farm where the mud pond was. Liked him, didn't you? Very much. He knew a lot of fascinating things. She laughed again. You know I'd hate to have him find out, but that little green man also reminds me quite a bit of Commissioner Tate. I don't think he'd mind hearing it, Pilch said. She paused a moment. All right. What's this? A second shape appeared. A sort of character of a wild, mean horse, Trigger said. She added thoughtfully, there was a horse like that on the farm, too. I suppose you know that. Yes. Any thoughts about it? No. Well, one. The little farmer was the only one who could handle that horse. It was mutated horse, actually, one of the life-bank deals that didn't work out so well. Enormously strong, it could work forty-eight hours at a stretch without even noticing it, but it was just a plain mean animal. Crazy mean, observed Pilch, was the dream-feeling about it. Trigger nodded. I remember I used to think it was crazy for that horse to want to go around kicking and biting things to pieces, which was about all it really wanted to do. I imagine it was crazy at that. You weren't ever in any danger from it yourself, were you? Trigger laughed. I couldn't have got anywhere near it. You should have seen the kind of place the old farmer kept it when it wasn't working. I did, said Pilch, long, wide, straight-walled pit in the ground, cover for shade, plenty of food, running water. He was a good farmer, very high-locked fence around it to keep little girls and anyone else from getting too close to his useful monster. Right, said Trigger. She shook her head. When you people look into somebody's mind, you look. We work at it, Pilch said. Let's see what you can do with this one. Trigger was silent for almost a minute before she said in a subdued voice, I just get what it shows. It doesn't seem to mean anything. What does it show? Laughing giants, stamping on a farm, a tiny sort of farm. It looks like it might be the little green man's farm. No, wait, it's not his, but it belongs to other little green people. How do you feel about that? Well, I hate those giants, Trigger said. They're cruel, and they laugh about being cruel. Are you afraid of them? Trigger blinked at the screen for a few seconds. No, she said in a low, sleepy voice. Not yet. Pilch was silent a moment. She said then, one more. Trigger looked and frowned. Presently she said, I have a feeling that does mean something. But all I get is that it's the faces of two clocks. On one of them, the hands are going around very fast, and on the other they go around slowly. Yes, Pilch said. She waited a little. No other thoughts about those clocks, just that they should mean something. Trigger shook her head. That's all. Pilch's hand moved on the desk again. The wall screen went blank, and the light in the little room brightened slowly. Pilch's face was reflective. That will have to do for now, she said. Trigger, this ship is working on an urgent job somewhere else. We'll have to go back and finish that job, but I'll be able to return to Manin in about ten days, and then we'll have another session. I think that will get this little mystery cleared up. All of it? All of it, I'd say. The whole pattern seems to be moving into view. More details will show up in the ten-day interval, and one more cautious boost then should bring it out in full. Trigger nodded. That's good news. I've been getting a little fed up with being a kind of walking enigma. Don't blame you at all, Pilch said, sounding almost exactly like Commissioner Tate. Incidentally, you're a busy lady at present, but if you do have a half hour to spare from time to time, you might just sit down comfortably somewhere and listen to yourself thinking. The way things are going, that should bring quite a bit of information to view. Trigger looked doubtful. Listen to myself thinking. You'll find yourself getting the knack of it rather quickly, Pilch said. She smiled, just head off in that general direction whenever you find the time, and don't work too hard at it. Are there any questions now, before we start back to Manin? Trigger studied her a moment. There's one thing I'd like to be sure about, she said, but I suppose you people have your problems with security too. Who doesn't, said Pilch, you're secure enough for me, fire away. All right, Trigger said, Commissioner Tate told me people like you don't work much with individuals. Not as much as we'd like to, that's true. Although you wouldn't have been working with me if whatever has been going on weren't somehow connected with the plasmoids. Oh, yes I would, said Pilch, or old Cranadon, someone like that. We do give services required when somebody has the good sense to ask for it, but obviously we couldn't have dropped that other job just now and come to Manin to clear up some individual difficulty. So I am involved with the plasmoid mess. You're right in the middle of it, Trigger, that's definite. In just what way is something we should be able to determine next session? Pilch turned off the disc light and stood up. I always hate to run off and leave something half finished like this, she admitted, but I'll have to run anyway. The plasmoids are nowhere near the head of the Federation's problem list of the present, they're just coming up mighty fast. When Trigger reached her office next morning, she learned that the psychology service ship had moved out of the Manin area within an hour after she'd been returned to the headquarters dome the night before. None of the members of the plasmoid team were around. The commissioner, who had a poor opinion of sleep, had been up for the past three hours. He'd left word Trigger could reach him, if necessary, in the larger of his two ships, parked next to the dome and pre-call port. Presumably he had the ship sealed up and was sitting in the transmitter cabinet, swapping messages with the I-fleets in the Vishni area. He was likely to be at that for hours more. Professor Mantelish hadn't yet got back from his latest field trip, and Major Hezlett Quillen just wasn't there. It looked, Trigger decided, not at all reluctantly, like a good day to lean into her pre-call job a bit. She told the staff to pitch everything not utterly routine her way and leaned. A set of vitally important reports from pre-calls' Giant Planet Survey Squad had been mislaid somewhere around headquarters during yesterday's conferences. She soothed down the GP squad and instituted a check search. A team of hub ecologists, who had decided for themselves that outworld booster shots weren't required on Manin, called in nervously from a polar station to report that their hair was falling out. Trigger tapped the Manin fever button on her desk and suggested two pays. The ecologists were displeased. A medical emergency skipboat zoomed out of the dome to go to the rescue, and Trigger gave it its directions while dialing for the medical checker who had allowed the visitors to avoid their shots. She had a brief chat with the young man and left him twitching as the GP squad came back on to inquire whether the reports had been found yet. Trigger began to get a comfortable feeling of being back in the good old groove. Then a message from the medical department popped out on her desk. It was addressed to Commissioner Tate and stated that the brutal anger was now able to speak again. Trigger frowned, sighed, bit her lip and thought a moment. She dialed for Dr. Lehaven. Got your message, she said. How's he doing? All right, the old medic said. Has he said anything? No, he's scared. If he could get up the courage he'd ask for a personnel lawyer. Yes, I imagine. Tell him this, then, from the Commissioner, not from me. There'll be no charges, but Pre-Cole expects his resignation end of the month. That on the level, Dr. Lehaven demanded incredulously. Of course. The doctor snorted. You people are getting soft-headed, but I'll tell him. The morning went on. Trigger was suspiciously studying a traffic control note stating that a DeVegas missionary ship had checked in and birthed at the spaceport when the GC Center's management called in to report with some nervousness that the Center's much advertised media-repellent roof had just flipped several dozen tons of falling moonbelt material into the spaceport area. Most of it, unfortunately, had dropped around and upon a DeVegas missionary ship. Not damaged, is it, she asked. The Center said no, but the missionary capon insisted on speaking to the person in charge here. To whom should they refer him? Refer him to me, Trigger said expectantly. She switched on the vision screen. The missionary captain was a tall, gray-haired, gray-eyed, square-jawed man in uniform. After confirming to his satisfaction that Trigger was indeed in charge, he informed her in chilled tones that the DeVegas Union would hold her personally responsible for the unprovoked outrage unless an apology was promptly forthcoming. Trigger apologized promptly. He acknowledged with a curt nod. The ship will now require new space paint, he pointed out, unmolefied. Trigger nodded. We'll send a work squad out immediately. We, the missionary captain said, shall supervise the work. Only the best grade of paint will be acceptable. The very best only, Trigger agreed. He gave her another curt nod and switched off. Ass, she said. She cut in the don't disturb barrier and dialed Haladi's ship. It took a while to get through. He was probably busy somewhere on the crate. Like Belchick Pooley, the commissioner, while still a very wealthy man, would have been a very much wealthier one if it weren't for his hobby. In his case, the hobby was ships, of which he now owned two. What made them expensive was that they had been tailor-made to the commissioner's specifications, and his specifications had provided him with two rather exact duplicates of the two types of scout fighting ships in which squadron commander Tate had made space hideous for evil duelers in the good old days. Nobody as yet had got up the nerve to point out to him that private battlecraft definitely were not allowable in the Manin system. He came on, finally. Trigger told him about the Devegas. Did you know those characters were in the area, she asked? The commissioner knew. They'd stopped in at the system check station three days before. The ship was clean. Their missionaries all go armed, of course, but that's their privilege by treaty. They've been browsing around and going hither and yawn in skiffs. The ship's been in orbit till this morning. Think they're here in connection with whatever Balmorton is up to, Trigger inquired? Well, take that for granted. Balmorton, by the way, attended a big shindig on the plulely yacht yesterday. Unless his tail goofed, he's still there, apparently staying on as a guest. Are you having these other Devegas watched? Not individually. Too many of them, and they're scattered all over the place. Mantelish got back, he checked in an hour ago. You mean he's upstairs in his quarters now, she asked? Right, he had a few more crates hauled into the lab, and he's locked himself in with them and spy-blocked the place. May have got something important, maybe just going through one of his secrecy periods again. We'll find out by and by. Oh, and here's a social note. The first lady of Trannist is shopping in the Grand Commerce Center this morning. Well, that should boost business, said Trigger. Are you going to be back in the dome by lunchtime? I think so. Might have some interesting news, incidentally. Fine, she said. See you then. Twenty minutes later the dusk transmitter gave her the to be shielded signal. Up went the barrier again. Major Krillin's face looked out at her from the screen. He was, Trigger saw, in Mantelish's lab. Mantelish stood at a workbench behind him. Hi, he said. Hi yourself. When did you get in? Just now. Could you pick up the hooses and witches and bring it up here? Right now? If you can, Krillin said. The professor's got something new, he thinks. I'm on my way, said Trigger. Take about five minutes. She hurried down to her quarters, summoned repulsive container into the room, and slung the strap over her shoulder. Then she stood still a moment, frowning slightly. Something, something like a wisp of memory, something she should be remembering, was stirring in the back of her mind. Then it was gone. Trigger shook her head. It would keep. She opened the door and stepped out into the hall. She fell down. As she fell, she tried to give the bag the send-off squeeze, but she couldn't move her fingers. She couldn't move anything. There were people around her. They were doing things swiftly. She was turned over on her back, and for a few moments then, she saw her own face smiling down at her from just a few feet away. End of chapter 20. Chapter 21 of Legacy. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Peake. Legacy by James Schmitz. Chapter 21. She was suddenly in a large room, well lit, with elaborate furnishings, sitting leaned back in a soft chair before a highly polished little table. On the opposite side of the table, two people sat looking at her with expressions of mild surprise. One of them was Lyad Irmentine. The other was a man she didn't know. The man glanced aside at Lyad. Very fast snapback, he said. He looked again at Trigger. He was a small man with salt and pepper hair, a deeply lined face, beautiful liquid black eyes. Very, Lyad said, we must remember that. Hello, Trigger. Hello, Trigger said. Her glance went once around the room and came back to Lyad's amably observant face. Repulso's container was nowhere around. There seemed to be nobody else in the room. An ornamental commweb stood against one wall. Two of the walls were covered with heavy hangings, and a great gold-broketed canopy bellied from the ceiling. No doors or portals in sight, they might be camouflaged behind those hangings. Any number of people could be in call range, and a few certainly must be watching her right now, because that small man was no rough-and-tumble type. The small man was regarding her with something like restrained amusement. A cool one, he murmured. Very cool. Trigger looked at him a moment, then turned her eyes back to Lyad. She didn't feel cool. She felt tense and scared, cold. This was probably very bad. What did you want to see me about, she asked. Lyad smiled. A business matter. Do you know where you are? Not on your ship, first lady. The light amber eyes barely narrowed, but Lyad had become, at that moment, very alert. Why do you think so, she asked pleasantly? This room, said Trigger. You don't gush, I think. What was the business matter? In a moment, Lyad said. She smiled again. Where else might you be? Trigger thought she could guess, but she didn't intend to. Not out loud. She shrugged. It's no place I want to be. She settled back a little in her chair. Her right hand brushed the porgy pouch. The porgy pouch. It would have been like the ermantine to investigate the pouch carefully, take out the gun, and put the pouch back. But they might not have. Somebody was bound to be watching. She couldn't find out, not until the instant after she decided to try the dentin. I can believe that, Lyad said. Forgive me the discurtycy of so urgent an invitation, Trigger. A quite recent event made it seem necessary. Close to the business. As a start, this gentleman is Dr. Vitonia. He is an investigator of extraordinary talents along his line. At the moment he is a trifle tired because of the very long hours he worked last night. Dr. Vitonia turned his head to look at her. I did, First Lady. Well, that does explain this odd weariness. Did I work well? Splendidly, Lyad assured him. You were never better, Doctor. He nodded, smiled vaguely, and looked back at Trigger. This must go too, I suppose. I'm afraid it must, Lyad said. A great pity, Dr. Vitonia said. A great pity. It would have been a pleasant memory. This very cool one. The vague smile shifted in the lined face again. You are so beautiful, child, he told Trigger. And your anger and terror and despair, and above it still the gauging purpose, the strong, quick thinking. You will not give in easily. Oh, no, not easily at all. First Lady, Dr. Vitonia said plaintively, I should like to remember this one. It should be possible, I think. Small icy fingers were working up and down Trigger's spine. The ermantine gave her a light wink. I'm afraid it isn't, Doctor, she said. There are such very important matters to be discussed. Besides, Trigger Argey and I will come to an amicable agreement very quickly. No, Dr. Vitonia's face had turned very sullen. No, said Lyad. She will agree to nothing, any fool can see that. I recommend then a simple chemical approach. Your creatures can handle it. Train her. Throw her away. Nothing to do with the matter. Oh, but, Doctor, the ermantine protested. That would be so crude and so very uncertain. Why we might be here for hours still. He shook his head. Lyad smiled. She stroked the line cheek with light fingertips. Have you forgotten the palace at Hamill Lake, she asked? The great library, the laboratories. Haven't I been very generous? Doctor Vitonia turned his face toward her. He smiled thoughtfully. Now, that is true, he admitted. For a moment I did forget. He looked back at Trigger. The first lady gives, he told her, and the first lady takes away. She has given me wealth and much leisure. She takes from me now and then a memory, very skillfully since she was my pupil, but still the mind must be dim by a little each time it is done. His face suddenly grew concerned. He looked at Lyad again. Two more years only, he said. In two years I shall be free to retire, Lyad? Lyad nodded. That was our bargain, Doctor. You know I keep bargains. Doctor Vitonia said, yes, you do. It is strange in an ermantine. Very well, I shall do it. He looked at Trigger's face. The black liquid eyes blinked once or twice. She is almost certain she is being watched, he said. But she has been thinking of using the comm-web. The child, I believe, is prepared to attack us at any opportune moment. He smiled. Show her first why her position is hopeless. Then we shall see. Why, it's not an at least hopeless, Lyad said. And please feel no concern about the Doctor, Trigger. His methods are quite painless and involve none of the indignities of a chemical investigation. If you are at all reasonable, we'll just sit here and talk for twenty minutes or so. Then you will tell me what some you wish to have deposited for you in what bank, and you will be free to go. What will we talk about, Trigger said? Well, for one, said the ermantine. There is that rather handsome little purse you've been caring about lately. My technicians inform me there may be some risk of damaging its contents if the attempt to force it open. We don't want that. So we'll talk a bit about the proper way of opening it. She gave Trigger her little smile. And Dr. Vittonia will verify the accuracy of any statements made on the matter. She considered, Oh, and then I shall ask a few questions. Not many, and you will answer them. It really will be quite simple. But now let me tell you why I so very much wanted to see you today. We had a guest here last night. A gentleman who've you met, Balmorden. He was mind-blocked on some quite important subjects, and so, though the doctor and I were very patient and careful, he died in the end, but before he died he had told me as much as I really needed to know from him. Now with that information, she went on, and with the contents of your purse and with another little piece of information which you possess, I shall presently go away. On a raito, a few hours later, Trannis and Bassador will have a quiet talk with some members of the Federation Council. And that will be all, really, she smiled. No dramatic pursuit, no hue and cry. A few treaties will be considerably revised, and the whole hubbub about the plasmoids will be over. She nodded. Because they can be made to work, you know, and very well. Mr. Vuittonnia hadn't looked away from Trigger while Lyad was speaking. He said now, My congratulations, First Lady, but the girl has not been convinced in the least that she should cooperate. She may hope to be rescued before the information you want can be forced from her. The ermantine sighed. Oh, really now, Trigger, she very nearly pouted. Well, if I must explain that to you, too, I shall. She considered a moment. Did you see your facsimile? Trigger nodded. Very briefly. Lyad smiled. How she and my other people passed in and out of that dome, and how it happened that your room-guards were found unconscious and were very hurriedly taken to the medical department's contagious ward, makes an amusing little story. But it would be too long in the telling just now. Your facsimile is one of Trannis' finest actresses. She's been studying and practicing being you for months. She knows where to go and what to do in that dome to avoid contact with people who know you too intimately. If it seems that discovery is imminent, she needs only a minute by herself to turn into an entirely different personality. So ours might pass without anyone even suspecting you were gone. But on the other hand, Lyad admitted fairly, Your double might be caught immediately or within minutes. She would not be conscious, then, and I doubt your fierce little commissioner would go to the unethical limits of dead-braining a live woman. If he did, of course, he would learn nothing from her. Let's assume, nevertheless, that for one reason and another your friends suspect me immediately, and only me. At the time you were being taken from the dome, I was observed leaving the grand commerce-center. I'd shopped rather freely. A number of fairly large crates and so forth were loaded into my speedboat, and we were observed returning to the aurora. Not bad, Trig admitted. Another facsimile, I suppose. Of course. The ermantine glanced at a small jeweled wristwatch. Now the aurora, if my orders were being followed, and they were, dived approximately five minutes ago. Perhaps somebody who might be your wrathful rescuer has approached her before that time, in which case she dived then. In either case the dive was seen by the commissioner's watchers, and the proper conclusion sooner or later will be drawn from that. Suppose they dive after her and run her down, Trigger said. They might. The aurora is not an easy ship to run down in subspace, but they might. After some hours. It would be of no consequence at all, would it? The amber's eyes regarded Trigger with very little expression for a moment. How many hours or minutes do you think you could hold out here, Trigger R.G., if it became necessary to put on real pressure? I don't know, Trigger admitted. She moistened her lips. I could give you a rather close estimate, I think, the ermantine said. But forgive me for bringing up that matter. It was an unnecessary discourtesy. Let's assume instead that the rather clever people with whom you've been working are quite clever enough to see through all these little maneuverings. Let's assume further that they are even able to conclude immediately where you and I must be at the moment. We are, as it happens, on the griffin, which is Belchick Ploely's outsized yacht, and which is orbiting Manon at the present. This room is on a sealed level of the yacht, where Belchick's private life normally goes on undisturbed. I persuaded him two days ago to clear out this section of it for my own use. There is only one portal entry to the level, and that entry is locked and heavily guarded at the moment. There are two portal exits. One of them opens into a special lock in which there is a small speedboat of mine, prepared to leave. It's a very fast boat. If there have been faster ones built in the hub, I haven't heard of them yet, and it can dive directly from the lock. She smiled at Trigger. You have the picture now, haven't you? If your friends decide to board the griffin, they'll be able to do it without too much argument. After all, we don't want to be blown up accidentally, but they'll have quite a time working their way into this level. If a boarding party is reported, we'll all just quietly go away together with no fuss or hurry. I guarantee that no one is going to trace or overtake that boat. You see? Yes, Trigger said, disconsolatly, slumping back a little. Her right hand dropped to her lap. Well, she thought, last chance. Dr. Vitonia frowned. First he began. Trigger slapped the porgy pouch, and the Denton's soundless blast slammed the talented investigator back and over in his chair. Gun, Trigger explained unnecessarily. The ermantine's face had turned white with shock. She flicked a glance down at the man, then looked back at Trigger. There are guns on me, too, I imagine, Trigger said, but this one goes off very easily, First Lady. It would hardly take any jolt at all. Lied nodded slightly. There are no fools. They won't risk shooting. Don't worry. Her voice was careful, but quite even. A tough cookie, as the commissioner had remarked. We won't bother about them at the moment, Trigger said. Let's stand up together. They stood up. We'll stay about five feet apart, Trigger went on. I don't know if you're the gun-grabbing type. The ermantine almost smiled. I'm not, she said. No point in taking chances, Trigger said, five feet. She gave Dr. Vitonia a quick glance. He did look to be very unpleasantly dead. We'll go over to that comm-web in a moment, she told Lied. I imagine you wouldn't have left it on open circuit. Lied shook her head. Calls go through the ship's communication office. Your own people on duty there? No, plulies. Will they take your orders? Certainly. Can they listen in, Trigger asked. Not if we seal the set here. Trigger nodded. You'll do the talking, she said. I'll give you Commissioner Tate's personal number. Tell them to dial it. The pre-call transmitters pick up comm-web circuits. Switch on the screen after the call is in, he'll want to see me. When he comes on, just tell him what's happened, where we are, what the layout is. He's to come over with a squad to get us, I won't say much, if anything. I'll just keep the gun on you. If there's any fumble, we both get it. There won't be any fumble, Trigger, Lied said. All right, let's set up the rest of it before we move. After the Commissioner signs off, he'll be up here in three minutes flat or less. How about the ship's officers? Do they take your orders, too? With the obvious exception of yourself, Lied said. Everyone on the griffin takes my orders at the moment. Then just tell whoever's in charge of the yacht to let the squad in before there's any shooting. The Commissioner can get awfully short-tempered. Then get the guards away from that entry portal. That's for their own good. The ermantine nodded. Will do. All right, that covers it, I think. They looked at each other for a moment. With the information you got from Balmorden, Trigger remarked, you should still be able to make a very good dicker with the Council, First Lady. I understand they're eager to get the plasmoid mess straightened out quietly. Lied lifted one shoulder in a brief shrug. Perhaps, she said. Let's move, said Trigger. They walked toward the commweb rather edgily, not very fast, not very slow, Trigger four or five steps behind. There had been no sound from the walls and no other sign of what must be a very considerable excitement nearby. Trigger's spine kept tingling. A needle-beam and a good marksman could pluck away the dentin and her hand along with it without much real risk to the ermantine. But probably even the smallest of risks was more than the Trannis people would be willing to take when the First Lady's person was involved. Lied reached the commweb and stopped. Trigger stopped too, five feet away. Go ahead, she said quietly. Lied turned to face her. Let me make one last, well, call it an appeal, she said. Don't be an overethical fool, Trigger R.G. The arrangement I've planned will do no harm to anybody. Come in with me and you can write your own ticket for the rest of your life. No ticket, Trigger said. She waggled the dentin slightly. Go ahead, you can talk to the council later. Lied shrugged resignedly, turned again, and reached toward the commweb. Trigger might have relaxed just a trifle at that moment, or perhaps there was some other cue that Pilly could pick up. There came no sound from the ceiling canopy. What she caught was a sense of something moving above her. Then the great golden bulk landed with a terrifying lightness on the thick carpet between Lied and herself. The eyeless nightmare head wasn't three feet from her own. The lights in the room went out. Trigger flung herself backwards, rolled six feet to one side, stood up, backed away, and stopped again. End of chapter 21