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Trigger lay flat on her back in the shallow sand bar, arms behind her head, feeling the sun's warmth on her closed eyelids. She watched her thoughts drifting by slowly. It just might be Quillan. Ole Major Quillan. The rescuer in time of need. The not-catassin smasher. Quite a guy. The water murmured past her. On the ride out here they'd run by one another now and then, going from job to job.
She looked back into the lounge again. Just at present she did have a feeling of relaxed, unconcerned security. It probably wasn't going to last, though. She glanced at Quillan. "Those computers of yours," she said. "What did they have to say about that not-catassin you squashed?" "The crazy things claim now it was a plasmoid," Quillan said, "Revolting notion! But it makes some sense for once.
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