Part 4 (1/2)

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 subs.p.a.ce net which was being installed about the Old Galactic base was very nearly completed. The permanent Hub population on Manon Planet had just pa.s.sed the forty-three thousand mark. There had been, Trigger recalled, a trifle nostalgically, barely eight hundred Precol employees, and not another human being, on that world in the days before Holati Tate announced his discovery.

She was just letting the viewer panel slide back into the desk when the office ComWeb gave forth with a musical ping. She switched it on.

”Hi, Rak!” she said cheerily. ”Anything new?”

The bony-faced young man looking out at her wore the l.u.s.terless black uniform of a U-League Junior Scientist. His expression was worried.

He said, ”I believe there is, Miss Farn.” Rak was the group leader of the thirty-four Junior Scientists the League had installed in the Project. Like all the Juniors, he took his duties very seriously.

”Unfortunately it's nothing I can discuss over a communicator. Would it be possible for you to come over and meet with us during the day?”

”That,” Trigger stated, ”was a ridiculous question, Rak! Want me over right now?”

He grinned. ”Thanks, Miss Farn! In twenty minutes then? I'll get my advisory committee together and we can meet in the little conference room off the Exhibition Hall.”

Trigger nodded. ”I'll be wandering around the Hall. Just send a guard out to get me when you're ready.”

3

She switched off the ComWeb and stood up. Rak and his group were stuck with the Plasmoid Project a lot more solidly than she was. They'd been established here, confined to their own wing of the Project area, when she came in from Manon with the Commissioner. Until the present security rulings were relaxed--which might not be for another two years--they would remain on the project.

Trigger felt a little sorry for them, though the Junior Scientists didn't seem to mind the setup. Dedication stood out all over them. Since about half were young women, one could a.s.sume that at any rate they weren't condemned to a completely monastic existence.

A couple of workmen were guiding a dozen big cleaning robots around the Plasmoid Exhibition Hall, which wouldn't be open to students or visitors for another few hours. Trigger strolled across the floor of the huge area toward a couple of exhibits that hadn't been there the last time she'd come through. Life-sized replicas of two O.G.

Plasmoids--Numbers 1432 and 1433--she discovered. She regarded the waxy-looking, lumpish, partially translucent forms with some distaste.

She'd been all over the Old Galactic Station itself, and might have stood close enough to the originals of these models to touch them. Not that she would have.

She glanced at her watch, walked around a scale model of Harvest Moon, the O.G. station, which occupied the center of the Hall, and went on among the exhibits. There were views taken on Manon Planet in one alcove, mainly of Manon's aerial plankton belt and of the giant plasmoids called Harvesters which had moved about the belt, methodically engulfing its clouds of living matter. A whale-sized replica of a Harvester dominated one end of the Hall, a giant dark-green sausage in external appearance, though with some extremely fancy internal arrangements.

”Miss Farn....”

She turned. A League cop, standing at the entrance of a hallway thirty feet away, pitched her the old flourish and followed it up with a bow.

Excellent manners these guard boys had!

Trigger gave him a smile.

”Coming,” she said.

Junior Scientist Rak and his advisory committee--two other young men and a young woman--were waiting in the conference room for her. They all stood up when she came in. This room marked the border of their territory; they would have violated several League rules by venturing out into the hall through which Trigger had entered.

And that would have been unthinkable.

Rak did the talking, as on the previous occasions when Trigger had met with this group. The advisory committee simply sat there and watched him. As far as Trigger could figure it, they were present at these sessions only to check Rak if it looked as if he were about to commit some ghastly indiscretion.

”We were wondering, Miss Farn,” Rak said questioningly, ”whether you have the authority to requisition additional University League guards for the Plasmoid Project?”