or confidence....

"Miaow!" she reproved herself. Nelauk, to be honest about it, was also a
dish.

But if she happened to be serious about Brule, the dish Brule might be
tempted by was said Pluly Lines.

Trigger went over to the window and looked down at the exercise
quadrangle forty floors below.

"If he's that much of a meathead!" she thought.

He could be that much of a meathead. He was also Brule. She went back to
her desk and sat down. She looked at the ComWeb. A girl had a right to
consider her own interests.

And there was the completely gruesome possibility now that Holati Tate
might call in at any moment, give her an entirely reasonable,
satisfactory, valid, convincing explanation for everything that had
happened lately--and then show her why it would be absolutely necessary
for her to stay here a while longer.

If it was a choice between inconveniencing Holati Tate and losing that
meathead Brule--

Trigger switched on the ComWeb.

4

The head of the personnel department of Precol's Maccadon office said,
"You don't want me, Argee. That's not my jurisdiction. I'll connect you
with Undersecretary Rozan."

Trigger blinked. "Under--" she began. But he'd already cut off.

She stared at the ComWeb, feeling a little shaken. All she'd done was to
say she wanted to apply for a transfer! Undersecretary Rozan was one of
Precol's Big Four. For a moment, Trigger had an uncanny notion. Some
strange madness was spreading insidiously through the Hub. She shook the
thought off.

A businesslike blonde showed up in the screen. She might be about
thirty-five. She smiled a small, cold smile.

"Rozan," she said. "You're Trigger Argee. I know about you. What's the
trouble?"

Trigger looked at her, wondering. "No trouble," she said. "Personnel
just routed me through to you."

"They've been instructed to do so," said Rozan. "Go ahead."

"I'm on detached duty at the moment."

"I know."

"I'd like to apply for a transfer back to my previous job. The Manon
System."

"That's your privilege," said Rozan. She half turned, swung a telewriter
forward and snapped it into her ComWeb. She glanced out at Trigger's
desk. "Your writer's connected, I see. We'll want thumbprint and
signature."

She slid a form into her telewriter, shifted it twice as Trigger
deposited thumbprint and signature and drew it out. "The application
will be processed promptly, Argee. Good day."

Not a gabby type, that Rozan.

If not