His head turned. A bell had begun pinging in the next room. He stood up.
“Probably Mantelish’s outfit on the transmitter,” he said. “I told them to call as soon as they located him.” He stopped at the door. “Care for a drink, Trigger girl? You know where the stuff is.”
“Not just now, thanks.”
The Commissioner came back in a couple of minutes. “Darn fool got lost in a swamp! They found him finally, but he’s too tired to come over now.”
He sat down and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Do you remember the time you passed out on Harvest Moon?” he asked.
Trigger looked at him, puzzled. “The time I what?”
“Passed out. Fainted. Went out cold.”
“I? You’re out of your mind, Holati! I never fainted in my life.”
“Reason I asked,” he said, “is that I’ve been told a spell in a rest cubicle—same thing as a rest cubicle anyway, only it’s used for therapy—sometimes resolves amnesias.”
“Amnesias! What are you talking about?”
The Commissioner said, “I’m talking about you. This is bound to be a jolt, Trigger girl. Might have been easier after a drink. But I’ll just give it to you straight. About a week after Mantelish and his U-League crew first arrived here, you did pass out on one occasion while we were on Harvest Moon with them. And afterwards you didn’t remember doing it.”
“I didn’t?” Trigger said weakly.
“No. I thought it might have cleared up, and you just had some reason for not wanting to mention it.” He got to his feet. “Like that drink now—before I go on with the details?”
She nodded.
Holati Tate brought her the drink and went on with the details. Trigger and he and a dozen or so of the first group of U-League investigators had been in what was now designated as Section 52 of Harvest Moon. The Commissioner was by himself, checking over some equipment which had been installed in one of the compartments. Holati had finished the check-up and was about to leave the area, when he saw Trigger lying on the floor in an adjoining compartment.
“You seemed to be in some kind of coma,” he said. “I picked you up and put you into a chair by one of the survey screens, and was trying to get out a call to the ambulance boat when you suddenly opened your eyes. You looked at me and said, `Oh, there you are! I was just going to go looking for you.'”
It was obvious that she didn’t realize anything unusual had happened. Then he’d returned to Manon Planet with Trigger immediately, where she was checked over by Precol’s medical staff. Physically there wasn’t a thing wrong with her.
“And that,” said Trigger, feeling a little frightened, “is something else I don’t remember!”
“Well, you wouldn’t,” the Commissioner said. “You were fed a hypno-spray first. You went out for three hours. When you woke up, you thought you’d been having a good nap. Since the medics were sure you hadn’t picked up some odd plasmoid infection, I wanted to know just what else had happened on Harvest Moon. One of those scientific big shots might also have used a hypno-spray on you, with the idea of turning you into a conditioned assistant for future shenanigans.”
Trigger grinned faintly. “You do have a suspicious mind!” The grin faded. “Was that what they were going to find out in that mind-search interview on Maccadon I skipped out on?”
“It’s one of the things they might have looked for,” he agreed.
Trigger gazed at him very thoughtfully for a moment. “Well, I loused that deal up!” she remarked. “But why is everybody—” She shook her head. “Excuse me. Go on.”
The Commissioner went on. “Old Doc Leeharvis was handling the hypnosis herself. She hit what she thought might be a mind-block when she tried to get you to remember what happened. We know now it wasn’t a mind-block. But she wouldn’t monkey with you any farther, and told me to get in an expert. So I called the Psychology Service’s headquarters on Orado.”
Trigger looked startled, then laughed. “The eggheads? You went right to the top there, didn’t you?”
“Tried to,” said Holati Tate. “It’s a good idea when you want real service. They told me to stay calm and to say nothing to you. An expert would be shipped out promptly.”
“Was he?”
“Yes.”
Trigger’s eyes narrowed a little. “Same old hypno-spray treatment?”
“Right,” said Commissioner Tate. “He came, sprayed, investigated. Then he told me to stay calm, and went off looking puzzled.”
“Puzzled?” she said.
“If I hadn’t known before that experts come in all grades,” the Commissioner said, “I’d know it now. That first one they sent was just sharp enough to realize there might be something involved in the case he wasn’t getting. But that was all.”
Trigger was silent a moment. “So there’ve been more of those investigations I don’t know about!” she observed, her voice taking on an edge.
“Uh-huh,” the Commissioner said cautiously.
“How many?”
“Seven.”
Trigger flushed, straightened up, eyes blazing, and pronounced a very unladylike word.
“Excuse me,” she added a moment later. “I got carried away.”
“Perfectly all right,” said the Commissioner.
“I’ve been getting just a bit fed up anyway,” Trigger went on, voice and color still high, “with people knocking me for a loop one way or another whenever they happen to feel like it!”
“Don’t blame you a bit,” he said.
“And please don’t think I don’t appreciate your calling in all those experts. I do. It’s just their sneaky, underhanded, secretive methods I don’t go for!”
“Exactly how I feel about it,” said the Commissioner.
Trigger stared at him suspiciously. “You’re a pretty sneaky type yourself!” she said. “Well, excuse the blowup, Holati. They probably had some reason for it. Have they found out anything at all with all this spraying and investigating?”
“Oh, yes. They seem to have made considerable progress. The last report I had from them—about a month ago—shows that the original amnesia has been completely resolved.”
Trigger looked surprised. “If it’s been resolved,” she said reasonably, “why don’t I remember what happened?”
“You aren’t supposed to become conscious of it before the final interview—I don’t know the reason for that. But the memory is available now. On tap, so to speak. They’ll give you a cue, and then you’ll remember it.”
“Just like that, eh?” She paused. “So the Psychology Service is Whatzzit.”
“Whatzzit?” said the Commissioner.
She explained about Whatzzit. He grinned.
“Yes,” he said. “They’re the ones who’ve been giving the instructions, as far as you’re concerned.”
Trigger was silent a moment. “I’ve heard,” she said, “the eggheads have terrific pull when they want to use it. You don’t hear much about them otherwise. Let me think just a little.”
“Go ahead,” said Holati.
A minute ticked away.
“What it boils down to so far,” Trigger said then, “is still pretty much what you told me on Maccadon. The Psychology Service thinks I know something that might help clear up the plasmoid problem. Or at least help explain it.”
He nodded.
“And the people who’ve been trying to grab me very probably are doing it for exactly the same reason.”
He nodded again. “That’s almost certain.”
“Do you think the eggheads might already have figured out what the connection is?”
The Commissioner shook his head. “If they had, we’d be doing something about it. The Federation Council is very nervous!”
“Well . . .” Trigger said. She pursed her lips. “That Lyad . . .” she said.
“What about her?”
“She tried to hire me,” said Trigger. “Major Quillan reported it, I suppose?”
“Sure.”
“And it wouldn’t be just to steal some stupid plasmoid. Especially since you say a number of small ones are already available. Then there’re the ones that raiders picked up in the Hub. She probably has a collection by now.”
He nodded. “Probably.”
“She seems to know quite a bit about what’s been going on.”
“Very likely she does.”
“Let’s grab her!” said Trigger. “We can do it quietly. And she’s too big to be mind-blocked. We’d get part of the answer. Perhaps all of it!”
Something flared briefly in the Commissioner’s small gray eyes. He reached over and patted her knee.
“You’re a girl after my own heart, Trigger,” he said. “I’m for it. But half the Council would have fainted dead away if they’d heard you make that suggestion!”
“They’re as touchy as that?” she asked, disappointed.
“Yes—and you can’t quite blame them. Fumbles could be pretty bad. When it comes to someone around Lyad’s level, our own group is restricted to defensive counteraction. If we get evidence against her, it’ll be up to the diplomats to decide what’s to be done about it. Tactfully. We wouldn’t be further involved.”
Trigger nodded, watching him. “Go on.”
“Well, defensive counteraction can cover a lot of things, of course. If we actually run into the First Lady while were engaged in it, we’ll hold her—as long as we can. And from all accounts, now that she’s showed up to take personal charge of things around here, we can expect some very fast, very direct action from Lyad.”