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"Well," Trigger said, regarding Brule critically, "I just meant to saythat you're getting the least little bit plump here and there, under allthat tan. I'll admit it doesn't show yet when you're dressed."
Brule smiled tolerantly. In silver swimming trunks and sandals, he wasobviously a very handsome hunk of young man, and he knew it. So didTrigger. So did a quartet of predatory young females eyeing themspeculatively from a table only twenty feet away.
"I've come swimming here quite a bit since they opened the Center," hesaid. 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 finger tip. "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 theGrand Commerce Center's restaurants. This one happened to be beneath thesurface of the artificial swimming lake installed in the Center--a giantgrotto surrounded by green-gold chasms of water on every side.Underwater swimmers and bottom walkers moved past beyond the widewindows. A streak of silvery swiftness against a dark red canyon wallbefore her was trying to keep away from a trio of pursuing spearfishermen. Even the lake fish were Hub imports, advertised as such bythe Center.
Her eyes widened suddenly. "Hey!" she said.
"What?"
"That group of people up there!"
Brule looked. "What about them?"
"No suits, you idiot!"
He grinned. "Oh, a lot of them do that. Okay by Federation law, youknow. And seeing Manon's so close to becoming open Federation territory,we haven't tried to enforce minor Precol regulations much lately."
"Well--" 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'tsuch a little prude, I'd have suggested it tonight. Want to try itlater?"
Trigger colored. Prude again, she thought. "Nope," she said. "There arelimits."
He patted her cheek. "On you it would look cute."
She shook her head, aware of a small fluster of guilt. There had beenconsiderably less actual coverage in the Beldon costume than there wasin the minute two-piece counterpart to Brule's silver trunks she wore atthe moment. She'd have to tell Brule about the Beldon stunt, since itwas more than likely he'd hear about it from others--Nelauk Pluly, forone.
But not now. Things were getting just a little delicate along that lineat the moment.
"Leave us change the subject, pig," she said cheerfully. "Tell me whatelse you've been doing besides acquiring a gorgeous tan."
A couple of hours later, things began to get delicate again. Samesubject. Trigger had been somewhat startled at the spaceport when Bruletold her he had shifted his living quarters to a Center apartment, andthat a large number of Precol's executives were taking similarliberties. Holati's stand-in, Acting Commissioner Chelly, apparentlyhadn't been too successful at keeping up personnel discipline.
She hadn't said anything. It was true that Manon was still a precolonialplanet only as a technicality. They didn't know quite as much about itas they had to know before it could be officially released forunrestricted settling, but by now there was considerable excuse forloosening up on many of the early precautionary measures. For one thing,there were just so many Hub people around nowadays that it would havebeen a practical impossibility to enforce all Precol rules.
What bothered her mainly about the business of Brule's Center apartmentwas that it might make the end of the evening less pleasant than shewanted it to be. Brule had become the least bit swacked. Not at alloffensively, but he tended to get pretty ambitious then. And during thepast few hours she'd noticed that something had changed in his attitudetoward 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 unspokenultimatum along those lines. And she'd felt herself freezing up a littlein response to the thought.
The apartment was very beautiful. Nelauk, she guessed. Or somebody elselike that. Brule's taste was good, but he simply wouldn't have thoughtof a lot of the details here. Neither, Trigger conceded, would she. Someof the details looked pretty expensive.
He came back into the living room in a dressing gown, carrying a coupleof 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 sipped at thedrink and placed it on the arm of her chair. "Somebody like an interiordecorator help you with it?"
Brule laughed and sat down opposite her with his drink. The laugh hadsounded the least bit annoyed. "You're right," he said. "How did youguess?"
"You never went in for art exactly," she said. "This room is a work ofart."
He nodded. He didn't look annoyed any more. He looked smug. "It is,isn't it?" he said. "It didn't even cost so very much. You just have toknow how, that's all."
"Know how about what?" Trigger asked.
"Know how to live," Brule said. "Know what it's all about. Then it'seasy."
He was looking at her. The smile was there. The warm, rich voice wasthere. All the old charm was there. It was Brule. And it wasn't. Triggerrealized she was twisting her hands together. She looked down at them.The little jewel in the ring Holati Tate had given her to wear blinkedback 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 turneager.
Trigger said, "Give me the plasmoid." She raised her eyes and looked athim. He'd stopped smiling.
Brule looked back at her a long time. At least it seemed a long time toTrigger. The smile suddenly returned.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, almost plaintively. "If it'sa joke, I don't get it."
"I just said," Trigger repeated carefully, "give me the plasmoid. Theone 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_ youtalking 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'dlet me do it. Be sensible now--if I had a plasmoid here, how could youtell?"
"I can tell. Brule, I don't know how you took it or why you took it. Idon't really care." And that was a lie, Trigger thought dismally. Shecared. "Just give it to me, and I'll put it back. We can talk about itafterwards."
"Afterwards," Brule said. The laugh came again, but it sounded a littlehollow. He moved a step toward her, stopped again, hands on his hips."Trigger," he said soberly, "if I've ever done anything you mightn'tapprove 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 ashe leaped. She was crying inside, she realized vaguely. Brule was goingto kill her now, if he could.
She caught his left foot with both hands as he came down, and twistedviciously.
Brule shouted something. His red, furious face swept by above. Hethumped to the floor beside her, one leg flung across her thighs,gripping.
In colonial school Brule had received the same basic training in unarmedcombat that Trigger had. He was close to eighty pounds heavier thanTrigger, and it was still mostly muscle. But it was nearly four yearsnow since he had bothered himself with drills.
And he hadn't been put through Mihul's advanced s
tudents' courseslately.
He stayed conscious a little less than nine seconds.
The plasmoids were in a small electronic safe built into a musiccabinet. The stamp to the safe was in Brule's billfold.
There were three of them, about the size of mice, starfish-shaped lumpsof translucent, hard, colorless jelly. They didn't move.
Trigger laid them in a row on the polished surface of a small table, andblinked at them for a moment from a streaming left eye. The right eyewas swelling shut. Brule had got in one wild wallop somewhere along theline. She picked up a small jar, emptied some spicy-smelling, crumblycontents out on the table, dropped the plasmoids inside, closed the jarand left the apartment with it. Brule was just beginning to stir andgroan.
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 rightat the moment I don't like you very much, Holati. We can talk about thatin the morning."
"All right," said the Commissioner. He hesitated. "Anything that shouldbe taken care of before then?"
"It's been taken care of," Trigger said. "One of our employees has beenmoderately injured. I 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-heal andanointed 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 minutesshe wept violently. Then she fell asleep.
An hour or so later, she turned over on her side and said withoutopening her eyes, "Come, Fido!"
The plasmoid purse appeared just above the surface of the bunk betweenTrigger's pillow and the wall. It dropped with a small thump and stoodbalanced 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 alittle half-angry, half-whimpering cry. Then her face smoothed out. Herbreathing grew quiet and slow.
Major Heslet Quillan of the Subspace Engineers came breezing into ManonPlanet's spaceport very early in the morning. A Precol aircar picked himup and let him out on a platform of the Headquarters dome nearCommissioner Tate's offices. Quillan was handed on toward the officesthrough a string of underlings and reached the door just as it openedand Trigger Argee 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 choppedright, her right hand chopped left. Quillan grunted and let go.
"What's the matter?" he inquired, stepping back. He rubbed one arm, thenthe other.
Trigger looked at him, growled again, walked past him, and disappearedthrough another door, her back very straight.
"Come in, Quillan," Commissioner Tate said from within the office.
Quillan went in and closed the door behind him. "What did I do?" heasked bewilderedly.
"Nothing much," said Holati. "You just share the misfortune of being amale human being. At the moment, Trigger's against 'em. She blew up theBrule Inger setup last night."
"Oh!" Quillan sat down. "I never did like that idea much," he said.
The Commissioner shrugged. "You don't know the girl yet. If I'd hauledInger in, she would never have really forgiven me for it. I had to lether 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. Ifyou'd looked closer, you might have just spotted the traces of theshiner Inger gave her. It was a beaut last night."
Quillan went white.
"But if you're thinking of having a chat with Inger re that part of it,"the Commissioner went on, "forget it." He glanced at a report from themedical department on his desk. "Dislocated shoulder ... broken thumb... moderate concussion. And so on. It was the throat punch thatfinished the matter. He can't talk yet. We'll call it square."
Quillan grunted. "What are you going to do with him now?"
"Nothing," Holati said. "We know his contacts. Why bother? He'll resignend of the month."
Quillan cleared his throat and glanced at the door. "I suppose she'llwant him put up for rehabilitation--seemed pretty fond of him."
"Relax, son," said the Commissioner. "Trigger's an individualist. IfInger goes up for rehabilitation, it will be because he wants it. And hedoesn't, of course. Being a slob suits him fine. He's just likely to bemore cautious about it in future. So we'll let him go his happy way.Now--let's get down to business. How does Pluly's yacht harem stack up?"
A reminiscent smile spread slowly over Quillan's face. He shook hishead. "Awesome, brother!" he said. "Plain awesome!"
"Pick up anything useful?"
"Nothing definite. But whenever Belchy comes out of the esthetictrances, he's a worried man. Count him in."
"For sure?"
"Yes."
"All right. He's in. Crack the Aurora yet?"
"No," said Quillan. "The girls are working on it. But the Ermetyne keepsa mighty taut ship and a mighty disciplined crew. We'll have a couple ofthose boys wrapped up in another week. No earlier."
"A week might be soon enough," said the Commissioner. "It also mightnot."
"I know it," said Quillan. "But the Aurora does look a little bitobvious, doesn't she?"
"Yes," Holati Tate admitted. "Just a little bit."
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