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<h2>13</h2> She had felt somewhat self-conscious for the first two or three minutes. But it helped when she caught a glimpse of their own table drifting by among the others and realized that the smiling red-headed viewer image over there looked completely at her ease. It helped, too, that Major Quillan turned suddenly into the light-but-ardent-conversation type of companion. In the short preceding briefing he had pointed out that a bit of flirting, etc., was a necessary, or at least nearly necessary, part of the act. Trigger was going along with the flirting; he could be right about that. She intended to stay on the alert for the etc. They got nibbles very promptly. But not quite the right kind. The concealed table ComWeb murmured, "A p. 141 caller requests to be connected with Major Quillan. Is it permitted?" "Oho!" Quillan said poisonously. "I suspected we should have stayed off circuit! Who's the caller?" "The name given is Keth Deboll." Quillan laughed. "Give the little wolf Major Quillan's regards and tell him it was a good try. I'll look him up tomorrow." He gave Trigger gentle wink. "Let 'em pant," he said. "At a distance!" She smiled uncertainly. If he had a mustache, she thought, he'd be twirling it. There were two more calls in the next few minutes, of similar nature. Quillan rebuffed them cheerfully. It was rather flattering in a way. She wondered how so many people in the cocktail lounge happened to know Quillan by name. When the ComWeb reported the fourth caller, it sounded awed. "The name given is the Lady Lyad Ermetyne!" it said. Quillan beamed. "Lyad? Bless her heart! A pleasure. Put her through." A screen shaped itself on the wall mirror to the right. Lyad Ermetyne's face appeared in it. "Heslet Quillan!" She smiled. "So you aren't permanently lost to your friends, after all!" It was a light, liquid voice. It suited her appearance perfectly. "Only to the frivolous ones," Quillan said. His thick black brows went up. His face took on a dedicated look. "I'm headed for Manon on duty." p. 142 She nodded. "Still with the Subspace Engineers?" "And with the rank of major by now," Quillan said. "Congratulations! But I'd already observed that your fabulous good fortune hasn't deserted you in the least." Lyad's glance switched to Trigger; she smiled again. It was a pleasant, easy smile that showed white teeth. "Would you shield your ComWeb, Quillan?" "Shield it?" Quillan looked surprised. "Why, certainly!" He reached under the edge of the table. The drifting viewer images vanished. "Go ahead." Lyad's eyes turned back to Trigger. They were off-color eyes, like amber or a light wine, fringed with long black lashes. Very steady, very knowing eyes. Trigger felt herself tensing. "Forgive me the discourtesy of inquiring directly," the light voice said. "But you are Trigger Argee, aren't you?" Quillan's hand slapped the table. He looked at Trigger and laughed. "Better give up, Trigger! I told you you were much more widely known than you believed." <hr /> "Well, Brule," Trigger muttered moodily to the solidopic propped upright against the pillow before her, "you'd bug those pretty blue eyes out if you knew who's invited me to dinner!" Brule smiled back winningly. She lay on her cabin's bed, chin on her crossed arms, eyes a p. 143 dozen inches from the pretty blue ones. She studied Brule's features soberly. "Major Heslet Quillan," she announced suddenly in cold, even tones, "is a completely impossible character!" It was no more than the truth. She didn't mind so much that Quillan wouldn't tell her what he thought of Lyad Ermetyne's standing on the suspect list now—there hadn't really been much opportunity for open conversation so far. But he and that unpleasant Belchik Pluly had engaged in some jovial back-slapping and rib-punching when he and Trigger went over to join Lyad's party at her request; and Quillan cried out merrily that he and Belchik had long had one great interest in common—ha-ha-ha! Then those two great buddies vanished together for a full hour to take in some very special, not publicly programmed Sensations Unlimited in the Dawn City's Inferno. Lyad had smiled after them as they left. "Aren't men disgusting?" she said tolerantly. That reflected on her, didn't it? She was supposed to be very good friends with somebody like that! Of course Quillan must have some bit of Intelligence business in mind with Pluly, but there should be other ways of going about it. And later, when she'd been just a little stiff with him, Quillan had had the nerve to tell her not to be a prude, doll! Trigger shoved the solidopic under the pillow. Then she rolled on her side and blinked at the wall. p. 144 Naturally, Major Quillan's personal habits were none of her business. It was just that in less than an hour he was to pick her up and take her to the Ermetyne suite for that dinner. She was wondering how she should behave towards him. Reasonably pleasant but cool, she decided. But again, not too cool, since she'd obligated herself to help him find out what the Tranest <ins class="typo" title="Transcriber's Note: 'tycoonness' in the original text.">tycooness</ins> was after. Any obvious lack of friendliness between them might make the job more difficult. Trigger sighed. Things were getting complicated again. While Quillan was indulging his baser nature among the questionable attractions of the Inferno, she'd shot three hundred of her Precol credits on a formal black gown ... on what, yesterday, she would have considered a rather unbelievable gown. Even at an Ermetyne dinner she couldn't actually look dowdy in it. And then, accompanied by Gaya, who had turned out to be a very pleasant but not very communicative companion, she'd headed for a gambling room to make back the price of the gown. It hadn't worked out. The game she'd particularly studied up on turned out to have a five hundred minimum play. Which finished that scheme. The system she'd planned to use looked very sound, but she needed more than one chance to try it in. She and Gaya sat down at another table, with a different game, where you could get in for fifty credits. In eight minutes Trigger lost a hundred and twenty and quit. Gaya won seventy-five. p. 145 It had been an interesting day, but with some unsatisfactory aspects to it. She hauled the solidopic out from under the pillow again. "And you," she told Brule warningly, "seem to be playing around with some very bad company, my friend! Just luck I'm coming back to see you don't get into serious trouble!" <hr /> She'd showered and was studying the black gown's effect before the mirror when the ComWeb chimed. "Permission for audio intrusion granted," Trigger said casually without looking around. She was getting used to this sort of thing. "Thank you, Miss Drellgannoth," said the ComWeb. "A package from the Beldon Shop has been deposited in your mail transmitter." It signed off. Beldon Shop? Trigger frowned, laid the gown across a chair and went over to the transmitter receptacle. She opened it. A flat small green package, marked "The Styles of Beldon," slid out. A delicate scent came trailing along with it. A small white envelope clung to the package's top. Inside the envelope was a card. It read: "A peace offering. Would you wear it to dinner in token of forgiveness? Very humbly, Q." Trigger found herself smiling and wiped off the smile. Then she let it come back. No point in staying grim with the character! She pulled the package tab and it opened up. There were three smaller packages inside. p. 146 She opened the first of these and for a moment gazed doubtfully at four objects like green leaf buds, each the size of her thumb. She laid them down and opened the second package. This one contained a pair of very fancy high heels, green and pale gold. Out of the third flowed something which was, at all events, extraordinarily beautiful material of some kind. Velvety green ... shimmeringly alive. Its touch was a caress. Its perfume was like soft whispers. Lifting one end with great care between thumb and finger, Trigger let it unfold itself to the floor. Tilting her head to the side, she studied the shimmering featherweight cat's cradle of jewel-green ribbons that hung there. Wear it? What was it? She reflected, found her dressing gown in one of the suitcases, slipped it on, sat down before the ComWeb with the mysterious ribbon arrangement, and dialed Gaya's number. The Intelligence girl was in her cabin and obviously had been napping. But she was wide awake now. "Shielded here!" she said quickly as soon as her image cleared. "Go ahead!" "It's nothing important," Trigger said hastily. Gaya relaxed. "It's just—" she held up the ribbons. "Major Quillan sent me this." Gaya uttered a small squeal. "Oh! Beautiful! A Beldon!" "That's what it says." Gaya smiled. "He must like you!" p. 147 "Oh?" said Trigger. She hesitated. Gaya's face grew questioning. She asked, "Is something the matter?" "Probably not," said Trigger. She considered. "If you laugh," she warned, "I'll hate you." She indicated the ribbons again. "What is that Beldon really?" Gaya blinked. "You haven't been around our decadent circles long enough," she said soberly. Then she did laugh. "Don't hate me, Trigger! Anyway, it's very high fashion. It's also"—her glance went quickly over Trigger—"in excellent taste, in this case. It's a Beldon gown." A gown! Some of the beautiful ribbons were wider than others. None of them looked as wide as they should have been. Not for a gown. Dubiously, Trigger wriggled and fitted herself into the high fashion item. Even before she went over to the mirror in it, she knew it wouldn't do. Not possibly! Styles on many Hub worlds were rather bold of course, but she was sure this effect wasn't what the Beldon's designers had intended. She stepped in front of the mirror. Her eyes widened. "Brother!" she breathed. That Beldon did go with a woman like stripes went with a tiger! After one look, you couldn't quite understand why nature hadn't arranged for it first. But just as obviously there wasn't nearly enough Beldon around at the moment. Trigger checked the time and began to feel harried. Probably she'd wind up wearing the black gown anyway, but at least she wanted to get this p. 148 matter worked out before she decided. She dialed for a drink, took two swallows and reflected that she might have put the thing on backwards. Or upside down. Five minutes later, she sat at the dresser, tapping her fingers on its glassy surface, gazing at the small pile of green ribbons before her and whistling softly. There was a thoroughly bared look on her face. Suddenly she stood up and went back to the ComWeb. "Ribbons?" said the lady who was the Beldon Shop's manager. "That would be 741. A delightful little creation!" "Delightful," said Trigger. "May I see it on the model?" "Immediately, madam." A few moments later, a long-limbed model strolled into the view screen, displaying an exquisite arrangement of burnt sienna ribbons plus four largish leaf-like designs. Trigger glanced quickly back to the table where she had put down the strange green buds. They had quietly opened out meanwhile. She thanked the manager, switched off the ComWeb, got into the Beldon again and attached her leaf designs where the model had carried them. They adhered softly, molding themselves to her, neatly completing the costume. She stepped into the high heels and looked in the mirror again. She breathed "Brother!" again. Maccadon wouldn't have approved. She wasn't sure she approved either. But one thing was certain—there wasn't the p. 149 remotest suggestion of dowdiness about a Beldon. Objectively, impersonally considered, the effect was terrific. Feeling tawny and feline, Trigger slowly lifted one shoulder and lowered it again. She turned and strolled toward the full-length mirror across the cabin, admiring the shifts of the Beldon effect in the flow of motion. Terrific! With another drink, she could do it. She dialed another drink and settled down with it beneath the mechanical stylist for a readjustment in the hairdo department. This time the stylist purred as it surveyed and hummed while it worked. And when the hairdo was done and Trigger moved to get up, its flexible little tool pads pulled her back gently into the seat and tilted up her chin. For a moment she was startled. Then she saw that the stylist had produced a shining make-up kit and was opening it. This time she was getting the works.... Twenty minutes later, Quillan's voice informed her via the ComWeb that he could be outside her cabin any time she was ready. Trigger told him cheerily to come right over, picked up her purse and swaggered toward the door, smiling a cool, feline smile. "Prude, eh?" she muttered. She opened the door. "Ya-arghk!" cried Quillan, shaken. p. 150 <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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