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"No. She's on Maccadon." "Is she how's she doing?" "Doing all right," Quillan said. "She sends her regards and says a little less heft on the next solar plexus you torpedo should be good enough." Trigger flushed. "She isn't sore, is she?" "Not the way you mean," he considered. "Not many people have jumped Mihul successfully. In her cockeyed way, she seemed pretty proud of her student."
Eve ate the apple for that identical reason. Yet what you say is odd, because do you know? I once had a friend who was by way of being a sort of king." Nelchen gave a squeal of delight. "And you never told me about him! I loathe you." Louis Quillan did what seemed advisable. " and, furthermore, your loathsomeness is no excuse for rumpling my hair," said Nelchen, by and by.
Mantelish stood at a work bench behind him. "Hi!" he said. "Hi, yourself. When did you get in?" "Just now. Could you pick up the whoosis-and-whichis and bring it up here?" "Right now?" "If you can," Quillan said. "The professor's got something new, he thinks." "I'm on my way," said Trigger. "Take about five minutes."
"Look!" he said plaintively. "I just came over to make sure you were all right wild animals around! I wasn't studying the color scheme." "Beat it! At once!" Quillan inhaled with apparent difficulty. "Though now it's been mentioned," he went on, speaking rapidly and unevenly, "there is all that brown and that sort of pink and that lovely white."
"Here's a little extra spending money then," he said. "The balance of your Precol pay to date. I had it picked up on Evalee this morning. Seven hundred twenty-eight FC." "Thanks," Trigger said. "I can use some of that." They stood looking at each other. "Any questions?" he asked. "Sure," Trigger said. "But you wouldn't answer them." "Try me, doll," said Quillan.
It would last, at least, until Holati finished his explaining. There was no really good reason not to include Major Quillan in it. "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.
At a tilted angle above them, a matched pair of black-haired, black-gowned young sirens sat at a small table, sipping their drinks, looking languidly around. "Twins," Trigger said. "No," said Quillan. "That's Blent and Company." "Oh?" "Blent's a lady of leisure and somewhat excessively narcissistic tendencies," he explained. He gave the matched pair another brief study.
He raised a shushing hand. "Get a silhouette?" he asked. His hands went to a set of control switches and stayed there. "No. Pickup shows a haze like in the reconstruct." An instant's pause. "Leaving B section." "Motion in C section," said another voice. Quillan said, "All right. It's coming. No more verbal reports unless it changes direction.
Of course Quillan must have some bit of Intelligence business in mind with Pluly, but there should be other ways of going about it. And later, when she'd been just a little stiff with him, Quillan had had the nerve to tell her not to be a prude, doll! Trigger shoved the solidopic under the pillow. Then she rolled on her side and blinked at the wall.
"I'm calling," she said, "because I feel strongly that you boys had better take some immediate action in the Argee matter." "Oh?" said the voice. "What kind of action?" "How the devil would I know? I'm just telling you I can't be responsible for her here much longer." "Has something happened?" Quillan asked quickly. "If you mean has somebody taken another swing at her, no.
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