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Updated: June 25, 2025
Her other hand darted to the ComWeb. Then she checked herself. To fire an as-of-now resignation back at Precol had been the immediate impulse. But something, some vague warning chill, was saying it might be a very poor impulse to follow. She sat back to think it over. It was very probable that Undersecretary Rozan disliked Holati Tate intensely.
He was very popular with the numerous important Hub citizens who made the long run out to the Manon some bent on getting a firsthand view of the marvels of Old Galactic science, and a great many more bent on getting an early stake in the development of Manon Planet, which was rapidly approaching the point where its status would shift from Precol Project to Federation Territory, opening it to all qualified comers.
If Precol refused to give her back her job when she showed up on Manon, a number of the industrial outfits preparing to move in as soon as the plant got its final clearance would be very happy to have her. She'd already turned down a dozen offers at considerably more than her present salary.
"Remember the night we stopped off at Evalee on the way in from Manon?" "Yes," she said. "That big hotel!" "About an hour after you'd decided to hit the bunk," Holati said, "I portaled back to your rooms to pick up some Precol reports we'd been setting up." Trigger nodded. "I remember the reports." "A couple of characters were working on your doors when I got there.
They didn't know quite as much about it as they had to know before it could be officially released for unrestricted settling, but by now there was considerable excuse for loosening up on many of the early precautionary measures. For one thing, there were just so many Hub people around nowadays that it would have been a practical impossibility to enforce all Precol rules.
The same thing in the Maccadon Precol office. Same thing at the Evalee Home office. Same thing at the U-League any office. Then I try to contact Mantelish. I'm informed he's with Tate! The two of them have left word I'm to carry on." She spread her hands. "Carry on with what?
Today there was no news about Brule. Grand Commerce had opened its first business and recreation center on Manon, not ten miles from the Precol Headquarters dome where Trigger recently had been working. The subspace net which was being installed about the Old Galactic base was very nearly completed. The permanent Hub population on Manon Planet had just passed the forty-three thousand mark.
"Longish story. You're not under arrest." "I'm not?" "No," said Quillan. "When we get to Manon, the Commissioner will have a suggestion to make to you." "Suggestion?" Trigger said warily. "I believe you're to take back your old Precol job in Manon, but as cover for your participation in our little project. If you agree to it." "What if I don't?" He shrugged again.
A minute later, she was stretched out on it, face down, wrists and ankles secured with padded clamps to its surface. Flam took a small knife and neatly slit the back of the Precol uniform open along the line of her spine. She folded the cloth away. Then Trigger felt the thin icy touches of some vanilla-smelling spray walk up her, ending at the base of her skull.
Precol was not transferring her back to Manon. That was final. Then she realized that there was a second sheet attached to the application form. On it in handwriting were a few more words: "In accordance with the instructions of Commissioner Tate." And a signature, "Rozan." And three final words: "Destroy this note." Trigger crumpled up the application in one hand.
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