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Updated: May 9, 2025
"Well...." Trigger said. She pursed her lips. "That Lyad...." she said. "What about her?" "She tried to hire me," said Trigger. "Major Quillan reported it, I suppose?" "Sure." "And it wouldn't be just to steal some stupid plasmoid. Especially since you say a number of small ones are already available. Then there're the ones that raiders picked up in the Hub. She probably has a collection by now."
She drew the ruler back. "Come, Fido!" Handbag and strap materialized in mid-air and thumped to the floor. "Convinced?" Holati asked. He picked up the handbag and gave it back to her. "It seems to work. How long will that little plasmoid last if it's left in subspace like that?" He shrugged. "Indefinitely, probably. They're tough.
"Lay it on that and just let it dry. That's what we used to do." Trigger shook her head. "Next thing, I'll be changing its diapers!" "It isn't that bad," the Commissioner said. "Anyway, you will adopt baby, won't you?" "I suppose I have to." She placed the plasmoid on the towel, wiped her hands and stepped back from it. "What happens if it falls on the floor?" "Nothing," Holati said.
Trigger opened her eyes, twisted about, slid her legs over the edge of the table, came down on her feet, stood. "I want my gun and the handbag," she announced. She saw them again then, on the shelf, walked over and picked up the plasmoid container. She looked inside, snapped it shut and slung the strap over her shoulder. She picked up the Denton, looked at its setting, spun it and turned.
The summary plowed through a few of the learned opinions and counteropinions most recently obtained, then boiled them down to the statement that a plasmoid might be compared to an engine which appeared to lack nothing but an energy source. Or perhaps more correctly assuming it might have an as yet unidentified energy source a starter button.
She studied 113-A curiously. "A mighty mite! What does Mantelish make of it?" "He thinks the 112-113 unit forms a kind of self-regulating system. The big one induces plasmoid activity, the little one modifies it. This 113-A might be a spare regulator. But it seems to be more than a spare which brings us to that first lead we got. A gang of raiders crashed Mantelish's lab one night."
Trigger looked at the screens for a few seconds, gulped and started studying the floor. Whatever the plasmoid had done to the frigate's crew, they appeared to have lost none of their ability to give battle. It was a very brisk affair. But neither had the onetime Squadron Commander Tate lost much of his talent along those lines. The frigate had many more guns but no better range.
After a while, they stopped weaving each time the suit returned and started again as it withdrew, dragging out another plasmoid body. Then the suit went gliding over a stilled tangle of red worm bodies. And there was the sealed end of the passage. The stuff was still soft. The guns blazed, bit into it, ate it away, their brilliance washing back over the suit.
Be sensible now if I had a plasmoid here, how could you tell?" "I can tell. Brule, I don't know how you took it or why you took it. I don't really care." And that was a lie, Trigger thought dismally. She cared. "Just give it to me, and I'll put it back. We can talk about it afterwards." "Afterwards," Brule said. The laugh came again, but it sounded a little hollow.
"Just how far did we get in bringing you up to date yesterday?" the Commissioner asked. "The remains that weren't Doctor Azol," Trigger said. If it hadn't been for the funny business with Trigger, Holati said, he mightn't have been immediately skeptical about Doctor Azol's supposed demise by plasmoid during a thrombosis-induced spell of unconsciousness.
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