Part 12 (1/2)

”Major,” she said, ”how about a tiny little refill on that Puya--about half?”

Quillan took care of the tiny little refill.

Commissioner Tate said, ”By the way, Quillan does have a degree in subs.p.a.ce engineering and gets a.s.signed to the Engineers now and then.

But his real job's s.p.a.ce Scout Intelligence.”

Trigger nodded. ”I'd almost guessed it!” She gave Quillan another smile.

She nearly gave 113-A a smile.

”And now,” said the Commissioner, ”we'll talk more freely. We tell Mantelish just as little as we can. To tell you the truth, Trigger, the professor is a terrible handicap on an operation like this. I understand he was a great friend of your father's.”

”Yes,” she said. ”Going over for visits to Mantelish's garden with my father is one of the earliest things I remember. I can imagine he's a problem!” She s.h.i.+fted her gaze curiously from one to the other of the two men. ”What are you people doing? Looking for Gess Fayle and the key unit?”

Holati Tate said, ”That's about it. We're one of a few thousand Federation groups a.s.signed to the same general job. Each group works at its specialties, and the information gets correlated.” He paused. ”The Federation Council--they're the ones we're working for directly--the Council's biggest concern is the very delicate political situation that's involved. They feel it could develop suddenly into a dangerous one. They may be right.”

”In what way?” Trigger asked.

”Well, suppose that key unit is lost and stays lost. Suppose all the other plasmoids put together don't contain enough information to show how the Old Galactics produced the things and got them to operate.”

”Somebody would get that worked out pretty soon, wouldn't they?”

”Not necessarily, or even probably, according to Mantelish and some other people who know what's happened. There seem to be too many basic factors missing. It might be necessary to develop a whole new cla.s.s of sciences first. And that could take a few centuries.”

”Well,” Trigger admitted, ”I could get along without the things indefinitely.”

”Same here,” the plasmoid nabob agreed ungratefully. ”Weird beasties!

But--let's see. At present there are twelve hundred and fifty-eight member worlds to the Federation, aren't there?”

”More or less.”

”And the number of planetary confederacies, subplanetary governments, industrial, financial and commercial combines, a.s.sorted power groups, etc. and so on, is something I'd hate to have to calculate.”

”What are you driving at?” she asked.

”They've all been told we're heading for a new golden age, courtesy of the plasmoid science. Practically everybody has believed it. Now there's considerable doubt.”

”Oh,” she said. ”Of course--practically everybody is going to get very unhappy, eh?”

”That,” said Commissioner Tate, ”is only a little of it.”

”Yes, the thing isn't just lost. Somebody's got it.”

”Very likely.”

Trigger nodded. ”Fayle's s.h.i.+p might have got wrecked accidentally, of course. But the way he took off shows he planned to disappear--a crack-up on top of that would be too much of a coincidence. So any one of umpteen thousands of organizations in the Hub might be the one that has that plasmoid now!”

”Including,” said Holati, ”any one of the two hundred and fourteen restricted worlds. Their treaties of limitation wouldn't have let them get into the plasmoid pie until the others had been at it a decade or so. They would have been quite eager....”

There was a little pause. Then Trigger said, ”Lordy! The thing could even set off another string of wars--”