id Quillan, with feeling. "Most
gruesome invention that ever hit the tailing profession." He sighed.
"You win, Mihul! The Commissioner isn't in at the moment. But whether he
gets in or not, I'll have someone over today to pick her up. Matter of
fact, I'll come along myself."

"Good for you, boy!" Mihul said relievedly. "Did you get anything out of
yesterday's grabbers?"

"A little. 'Get her, don't harm her' were their instructions. Otherwise
it was like with those other slobs. A hole in the head where the real
info should be. But at least we know for sure now that someone is
specifically after Argee. The price was kind of interesting."

"What was it?"

"Flat half million credits."

Mihul whistled. "Poor Trigger!"

"Well, nobody's very likely to earn the money."

"I hope not. She's a good kid. All right, Major. Signing off now."

"Hold on a minute," said Quillan. "You asked a while ago if the girl had
gone ta-ta."

"So I did," Mihul said, surprised. "You didn't say. I figured it was
against security."

"It probably is," Quillan admitted. "Everything seems to be, right now.
I've given up trying to keep up with that. Anyway--I don't know that she
has. Neither does the Commissioner. But he's worried. And Argee has a
date she doesn't know about with the Psychology Service, four days from
now."

"The eggheads?" Mihul was startled. "What do they want with her?"

"You know," Quillan remarked reflectively, "that's odd! They didn't
think to tell me."

"Why are you letting me know?" Mihul asked.

"You'll find out, doll," he said.

* * * * *

The U-League guard leaning against the wall opposite the portal snapped
to attention as it opened. Trigger stepped out. He gave her a fine
flourish of a salute.

"Good morning, Miss Farn."

"Morning," Trigger said. She flashed him a smile. "Did the mail get in?"

"Just twenty minutes ago."

She nodded, smiled again and walked past him to her office. She always
got along fine with cops of almost any description, and these League
boys were extraordinarily pleasant and polite. They were also, she'd
noticed, a remarkably muscled group.

She locked the office door behind her--part of the Plasmoid Project's
elaborate security precautions--went over to her mail file and found it
empty. Which meant that whatever had come in was purely routine and
already being handled by her skeleton office staff. Later in the day she
might get a chance to sc