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He shrugged.
What s so important about the critter? Trigger asked, eyeing the leech
again. One good thing about it, she thought it wasn t equipped to eye her
back.
The plasmoid you mentioned earlier, Unit 112-113, has been stolen, the
Commissioner said. We don t But Holati
Tate s attention had shifted suddenly to the table. Hey, now! he said in a
low voice.
Trigger followed his gaze. After a moment she made a soft, sucking sound of
alarmed distaste.
Ugh! she remarked. It s moving!
So it is, Holati said.
Towards me! said Trigger. I think
Don t get startled. Mantelish!
Mantelish already was coming up slowly behind Trigger s chair. Don t move!
he cautioned her.
Why not? said Trigger.
Hush, my dear. Mantelish laid a large, heavy hand on each of her shoulders
and bore down slightly. It s sensitive!
This is very interesting. Very.
Perhaps it was. She kept watching the plasmoid. It had thinned out somewhat
and was gliding very slowly but very steadily across the table. Definitely in
her direction.
Ho-ho! said Mantelish in a thunderous murmur. Perhaps it likes you,
Trigger! Ho-ho! He seemed immensely
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pleased.
Well, Trigger said helplessly, I don t like it! She wriggled slightly
under Mantelish s hands. And I d sooner get out of this chair!
Don t be childish, Trigger, said the professor annoyedly. You re behaving
as if it were, in some manner, offensive.
It is, she said.
Hush, my dear, Mantelish said absently, putting on a little more pressure.
Trigger hushed resignedly. They watched.
In about a minute, the gliding thing reached the edge of the table. Trigger
gathered herself to duck out from under
Mantelish s hands and go flying out of the chair if it looked as if the
plasmoid was about to drop into her lap.
But it stopped. For a few seconds it lay motionless. Then it gradually raised
its front end and began waving it gently back and forth in the air. At her,
Trigger suspected.
Yipes! she said, horrified.
The front end sank back. The plasmoid lay still again. After a minute it was
still lying still.
Show s over for the moment, I guess, said the Commissioner.
I m afraid so, said Professor Mantelish. His big hands went away from
Trigger s aching shoulders. You startled it, Trigger! he boomed at her
accusingly.
7
The point of it, Holati Tate explained, was that this had been more activity
than 113-A normally displayed over a period of a week. And 113-A was easily
the most active plasmoid of them all nowadays.
It is, of course, possible, Mantelish said, arousing from deep thought,
that it was attracted by your body odor.
Thank you, Mantelish! said Trigger.
You re welcome, my dear. Mantelish had pulled his chair up to the table; he
hitched himself forward in it. We shall now, he announced, try a little
experiment. Pick it up, Trigger.
She stared at him. Pick it up? No, Mantelish. We shall now try some other
little experiment.
Mantelish furrowed his Jovian brows. Holati gave her a small smile across the
table. Just touch it with the tip of a finger, he suggested. You can do
that much for the professor, can t you?
Barely, Trigger told him grimly. But she reached out and put a cautious
fingertip to the less lively far end of 113-A.
After a moment she said, Hey! She moved the finger lightly along the thing s
surface. It had a velvety, smooth, warm feeling, rather like a kitten. You
know, she said surprised, it feels sort of nice! It just looks disgusting
Disgusting! Mantelish boomed, offended again.
The Commissioner held up a hand. Just a moment, he said. He d picked up some
signal Trigger hadn t noticed, for he went over to the wall now and touched
something there. A release button apparently. The door to the room opened.
Trigger s grabber came in. The door closed behind him. He was carrying a tray
with a squat brown flask and four rather small glasses on it.
The Commissioner introduced him: Heslet Quillan Major Heslet Quillan, of the
Subspace Engineers. For a Subspace
Engineer, Trigger thought skeptically, he was a pretty good grabber. But there
was a qualified truce in the room. There was no really good reason not to
include Major Quillan in it. He gave Trigger a grin. She gave him a tentative
smile in return.
Ah, Puya! Professor Mantelish exclaimed, advancing on the tray as Quillan
set it on the table. Mantelish seemed to have forgotten about plasmoid
experiments for the moment, and Trigger didn t intend to remind him. She drew
her hand back quietly from 113-A. The professor unstoppered the flask. You ll
have some, Trigger, I m sure? The only really good thing the benighted world
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of Rumli ever produced.
My great-grandmother, Trigger remarked, was a Rumlian. She watched him
fill the four glasses with a thin purple liquid. I ve never tried it; but
yes, thanks.
Quillan put one of the glasses in front of her.
And we shall drink, Mantelish suggested, with a suave flourish of his Puya,
to your great-grandmother!
We shall also, suggested Major Quillan, pulling a chair up to the table for
himself, advise Trigger to take a very small sip on her first go at the
stuff.
Nobody had invited him to sit down. But nobody was objecting either. Well,
that fitted, Trigger thought.
She sipped. It was tart and hot. Very hot. She set the glass back on the
table, inhaled with difficulty, exhaled quiveringly. Tears gathered in her
eyes.
Very good! she husked.
Very good, the Commissioner agreed. He put down his empty glass and smacked
his lips lightly. And now, he said
briskly, let s get on with this conference.
Trigger glanced around the room while Quillan refilled three glasses. The
small live coal she had swallowed was melting away; a warm glow began to
spread through her. It did look like the dining room of a hunting lodge. The
woodwork was dark, old-looking, worn with much polishing. Horned heads of
various formidable Maccadon life-forms adorned the walls.
But it was open season now on a different kind of game. Three men had walked
briskly past them when Quillan brought her in by the front door. They hadn t
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