Trigger had run into some of the oddball missionaries the Devagas kept sending about the Hub; and she’d sometimes speculated curiously regarding the leaders of that chronically angry, unpredictable nation which, on its twenty-eight restricted worlds, formed more than six percent of the population of the Hub. The Devagas seemed to like nobody; and certainly nobody liked them.
Balmordan didn’t fit her picture of a Devagas leader too badly. His manner and talk were easygoing and agreeable. But his particular brand of ogle, when she first became aware of it, had been disquieting. Rather like a biologist planning the details of an interesting vivisection.
Of course he was a biologist.
But Trigger kept wondering why Lyad had invited him to dinner. She was positive, for one thing, that Belchik Pluly wasn’t at all happy about Balmordan’s presence.
Dinner was over before the Garth take-off, and they switched themselves back to the mountainside and took other chairs. A red-haired, green-eyed, tanned, sinuous young woman called Flam appeared from time to time to renew brandy glasses and pass iced fruits around. She gave Trigger coolly speculative looks now and then.
Then Virod showed up again with a flat tray of what turned out to be a very special brand of tobacco. Trigger declined. The men made connoisseur-type sounds of high appreciation, and everybody, including Lyad, lit up small pipes of a very special brand of coral and puffed away happily. Quillan looked up at Virod.
“Hi, big boy!” he said pleasantly. “How’s everything been with you?”
Virod, in a wide-sleeved scarlet jacket and creased black trousers, bowed his shaved bullet head very slightly. “Everything’s been fine, Major Quillan,” he said. “Thank you.” He turned and went out of the place. Trigger glanced after him. Virod awed her a little—he was really huge. Moving about among them, he had seemed like a softly padding elephant. And there was an elephant’s steady deftness in the way he held out the tiny tobacco trays.
The Ermetyne winked at Quillan. “Quillan wrestled Virod to a pindown once,” she said to Trigger. “A fifty-seven minute round, wasn’t it?”
“Thereabouts,” Quillan said. He added, “Trigger doesn’t know yet that I was a sports bum in my youth.”
“Really?” Trigger said.
He nodded. “Come from a long line of sports bums, as a matter of fact. But I broke tradition—went into business for myself finally. Nowadays I’m old and soft. Eh, Belchy?” The two great pals, sitting side by side, dug elbows at each other and ha-ha-ha’d. Trigger winced.
“Still in the same line of business, on the side?” Lyad inquired.
Quillan looked steadily at her and grinned. “More or less,” he said.
“We might,” Lyad said thoughtfully, “come back to that later. As for that match with Virod,” she went on to Trigger, “it was really a terrific event! Virod was a Tranest arena professional before I took him into my personal employ, and he’s very, very rarely been beaten in any such contest.” She laughed. “And before such a large group of people, too! I’m afraid he’s never quite forgiven you for that, Quillan.”
“I’ll keep out of his way,” Quillan said easily.
“Did you people know,” Lyad said, “that the trouble on the way between Maccadon and Evalee was caused by a catassin killing?” There was a touch of mischief in the question, Trigger thought.
There were assorted startled responses. The Ermetyne went briefly over some of the details Quillan had told; essentially it was the same story. “And do you know, Belchik, what the creature was trying to do? It was trying to get into the rest cubicle vaults. Just think, it might have been sent after you!”
It was rather cruel. Pluly’s head jerked, and he blinked rapidly at Lyad, saying nothing. He was a badly scared little man at that moment. Trigger felt a little sorry for him, but not too sorry. Belchy’s ogle had been of the straightforward, loose-lipped, drooling variety.
“You’re safe when you’re in one of those things, Belchik!” Quillan said reassuringly. “Wouldn’t you feel a little safer there yourself, Lyad? If you say they’re not even sure they’ve killed the creature . . .”
“I probably shall have a cubicle set up here,” Lyad said. “But not as protection against a catassin. It would never get past Pilli, for one thing.” She looked at Trigger. “Oh, I forgot. You haven’t met Pilli. Virod!” she called.
Virod appeared at the far end of the terrace.
“Yes, First Lady?”
“Bring in Pilli,” she told him.
Virod bowed. “Pilli is in the room, First Lady.” He glanced about, went over to a massive easy chair a few dozen feet away, and swung it aside. Something like a huge ball of golden fur behind it moved and sat up.
It was an animal of some sort. Its head seemed turned toward the group, but whatever features it had remained hidden under the fur. Then an arm like the arm of a bear reached out and Trigger saw a great furred hand that in shape seemed completely human clutch the chair’s edge.
“He was resting,” Lyad said. “Not sleeping. Pilli doesn’t sleep. He’s a perfect guardian. Come here, Pilli—meet Trigger Argee.”
Pilli swung up on his feet. It was an impressively effortless motion. There was a thick wide torso on short thick legs under the golden fur. The structure was gorilla-like. Pilli might weigh around four hundred pounds.
He started silently forward and Trigger felt a tingle of alarm. But he stopped six feet away. She looked at him. “Do I say something to Pilli?”
Lyad looked pleased. “No. He’s a biostructure. A very intelligent one, but speech isn’t included in his pattern.”
Trigger kept looking at the golden-furred nightmare. “How can he see to guard you through all that hair?”
“He doesn’t see,” Lyad said. “At least not as we do. Pilli’s part of one of our Tranest experiments—the original stock came from the Maccadon life banks, a small golden-haired Earth monkey. The present level of the experiment is on the fancy side—it has four hearts, for example, and what amounts to a second brain at the lower half of its spine. But it doesn’t come equipped with visual organs. Pilli is one of twenty-three of the type. They have compensatory perception of a kind that is still quite mysterious. We hope to breed them past the speech barrier so they can tell us what they do instead of seeing . . . All right, Pilli. Run along!” She said to Balmordan, “I believe he doesn’t like that Vethi thing of yours very much.”
Balmordan nodded. “I had the same impression.”
Perhaps, Trigger thought, that was why Pilli had been lurking so close to them. She watched the biostructure move off down the terrace, grotesque and huge. She had got its scent as it went past her, a fresh, rather pleasant whiff, like the smell of ripe apples. An almost amiable sort of nightmare figure, Pilli was; the apple smell went with that, seemed to fit it. But the nightmare was there too. She found herself feeling rather sorry for Pilli.
“In a way,” Lyad said, “Pilli brings us to that matter of business I mentioned this afternoon.”
The group’s eyes shifted over to her. She smiled.
“We have good scientists on Tranest,” she said, “as Pilli, I think, demonstrates.” She nodded at Balmordan. “There are good scientists in the Devagas Union. And everyone here is aware that the Treaties of Restriction imposed on both our governments have made it impossible for our citizens to engage seriously in plasmoid research.”
Trigger nodded briefly as the light-amber eyes paused on her for a moment. Quillan had cautioned her not to show surprise at anything the Ermetyne might say or do. If Trigger didn’t know what to say herself, she was merely to look inscrutable. “I’ll scrut,” he explained. “The others won’t. I’ll take over then and you just follow my lead. Get it?”
“Balmordan,” Lyad said, “I understand you are going to Manon to attend the seminars and demonstrations on the plasmoid station?”
“That is true, First Lady,” said Balmordan.
“Now I,” Lyad told the company, “shall be more honest. The information released in those seminars is of no value whatever. He”—she nodded at the Devagas scientist—”and I are going to Manon with the same goal in mind. That is to obtain plasmoids for our government laboratories.”
Balmordan smiled amiably.
Trigger asked, “How do you intend to obtain them?”
“By offering very large sums of money, or equivalent inducements, to people who are in a position to get them for me,” said Lyad.
Quillan tut-tutted disapprovingly. “The First Lady’s mind,” he told Trigger, “turns readily to illegal methods.”
“When necessary,” Lyad said undisturbed, “as it is here.”
“How about you, sir?” Quillan asked Balmordan. “Are we to understand that you also would be interested in the purchase of a middling plasmoid or two?”
“I would be, naturally,” Balmordan said. “But not at the risk of causing trouble for my government.”