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Updated: June 14, 2025
Good friend Mihul never before had looked quite so large, lithe, alert and generally fit for a rough-and-tumble. That un-incentive idea was fiendishly ingenious! It was difficult to plan things through clearly and calmly while one's self-esteem kept quailing at vivid visualizations of the results of making a mistake.
But I'm just a Precol employee, after all. If I'm to waste their time, I'd like to know at least why it's necessary." Plemponi watched her walk out of the room and off down the adjoining hall. In his face consternation struggled with approval. "Lovely little figure, hasn't she?" he said to Mihul. He made vague curving motions in the air with one hand, more or less opposing ones with the other.
Mihul, Chief of Physical Conditioning, Women's Division, cautioned sharply from the seat behind him. "Watch what you're doing, you ass!" Confused, Doctor Plemponi turned to look at her. The aircar dropped the last four feet to a jolting landing. Mihul groaned. Plemponi apologized. Trigger walked over to them. "Does he do that often?" she asked interestedly. "Every other time!" Mihul asserted.
Plemponi said hastily. "But your name has become much more widely known than you may believe. The news viewers mentioned you regularly in their reports on Harvest Moon and the Commissioner. Didn't they, Mihul?" Mihul nodded. "You made good copy, kid! We saw you in the solidopics any number of times." "Well, maybe," Trigger said. "The cloak and dagger touches still don't make much sense to me.
With her lithe length of body, Mihul sometimes reminded Trigger of a ferret, but the tanned face was a pleasant one and there was humor around the mouth. Even in Trigger's pregraduate days, she and Mihul had been good friends.
I've fed it to her as heavy as I could, but there's a limit to what you can do that way. She's kept herself in very good shape." "One of the best, I've been told," said Quillan. "Condition, I meant," said Mihul. "Anyway, she's trained down fine right now. Any more of it would just make her edgier. You know how it goes." "Uh-huh," he said. "Fighter nerves." "Same deal," Mihul agreed.
Trigger already had the Yool out, but the gun was unfamiliar; she hesitated. Fascinated, she glanced from the speeding, soaring feather-balls to Mihul, watched the tall woman straighten for an overhead shot, left hand grasping right wrist to steady the lightweight Denton and in that particular instant Trigger knew exactly what was going to happen next. The Denton flicked forth one bolt.
He was gazing straight ahead between the two humans, absorbed in canine reflections. There was plenty of bird life down there. Some were original Terran forms, maintained unchanged in the U-League's genetic banks. Probably many more were inspired modifications produced on Grand Commerce game ranches. At any other time, Trigger would have found herself enjoying the outing almost as much as Mihul.
Mihul, beside her, in the driver's seat of the tiny sports hopper, chatted pleasantly about this and that. But she didn't appear to expect any answers. There weren't many half-hours left to be wasted.
Trigger repeated. "Exactly," said Mihul. "That isn't at all in line with my instructions. But you're a pretty dignified little character, and I think it should work." "Just what does this un-incentive consist of?" Trigger inquired warily. "If you make a break and get away," Mihul said, "that's one thing. Something's eating you, and I'm not sure I like the way this matter's been handled.
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