Chapter 18

“Well,” Trigger said, regarding Brule critically, “I just meant to say that you’re getting the least little bit plump here and there, under all that tan. I’ll admit it doesn’t show yet when you’re dressed.”

Brule smiled tolerantly. In silver swimming trunks and sandals, he was obviously a very handsome hunk of young man, and he knew it. So did Trigger. So did a quartet of predatory young females eyeing them speculatively from a table only twenty feet away.

“I’ve come swimming here quite a bit since they opened the Center,” he said. He flexed his right arm and regarded his biceps complacently. “That’s just streamlined muscle you’re looking at, sweetheart!”

Trigger reached over and poked the biceps with a finger tip. “Muscle?” she said, smiling at him. “It dents. See?”

He clasped his other hand over hers and squeezed it lightly.

“Oh, golly, Brule!” she said happily. “I’m so glad I’m back!”

He gave her the smile. “You’re not the only glad one!”

She looked around, humming softly. They were having dinner in one of the Grand Commerce Center’s restaurants. This one happened to be beneath the surface of the artificial swimming lake installed in the Center--a giant grotto surrounded by green-gold chasms of water on every side. Underwater swimmers and bottom walkers moved past beyond the wide windows. A streak of silvery swiftness against a dark red canyon wall before her was trying to keep away from a trio of pursuing spear fishermen. Even the lake fish were Hub imports, advertised as such by the Center.

Her eyes widened suddenly. “Hey!” she said.

“What?”

“That group of people up there!”

Brule looked. “What about them?”

“No suits, you idiot!”

He grinned. “Oh, a lot of them do that. Okay by Federation law, you know. And seeing Manon’s so close to becoming open Federation territory, we haven’t tried to enforce minor Precol regulations much lately.”

“Well--” Trigger began. He was still smiling. “Have you been doing it?” she inquired suspiciously.

“Swimming in the raw? Certainly. Depends on the company. If you weren’t such a little prude, I’d have suggested it tonight. Want to try it later?”

Trigger colored. Prude again, she thought. “Nope,” she said. “There are limits.”

He patted her cheek. “On you it would look cute.”

She shook her head, aware of a small fluster of guilt. There had been considerably less actual coverage in the Beldon costume than there was in the minute two-piece counterpart to Brule’s silver trunks she wore at the moment. She’d have to tell Brule about the Beldon stunt, since it was more than likely he’d hear about it from others--Nelauk Pluly, for one.

But not now. Things were getting just a little delicate along that line at the moment.

“Leave us change the subject, pig,” she said cheerfully. “Tell me what else you’ve been doing besides acquiring a gorgeous tan.”

A couple of hours later, things began to get delicate again. Same subject. Trigger had been somewhat startled at the spaceport when Brule told her he had shifted his living quarters to a Center apartment, and that a large number of Precol’s executives were taking similar liberties. Holati’s stand-in, Acting Commissioner Chelly, apparently hadn’t been too successful at keeping up personnel discipline.

She hadn’t said anything. It was true that Manon was still a precolonial planet only as a technicality. They didn’t know quite as much about it as they had to know before it could be officially released for unrestricted settling, but by now there was considerable excuse for loosening up on many of the early precautionary measures. For one thing, there were just so many Hub people around nowadays that it would have been a practical impossibility to enforce all Precol rules.

What bothered her mainly about the business of Brule’s Center apartment was that it might make the end of the evening less pleasant than she wanted it to be. Brule had become the least bit swacked. Not at all offensively, but he tended to get pretty ambitious then. And during the past few hours she’d noticed that something had changed in his attitude toward her. He’d always been confident of himself when it came to women, so it wasn’t that. It was perhaps, Trigger thought, like an unspoken ultimatum along those lines. And she’d felt herself freezing up a little in response to the thought.

The apartment was very beautiful. Nelauk, she guessed. Or somebody else like that. Brule’s taste was good, but he simply wouldn’t have thought of a lot of the details here. Neither, Trigger conceded, would she. Some of the details looked pretty expensive.

He came back into the living room in a dressing gown, carrying a couple of drinks. It was going to get awkward, all right.

“Like it?” he asked, waving a hand around.

“It’s beautiful,” Trigger said honestly. She smiled. She sipped at the drink and placed it on the arm of her chair. “Somebody like an interior decorator help you with it?”

Brule laughed and sat down opposite her with his drink. The laugh had sounded the least bit annoyed. “You’re right,” he said. “How did you guess?”

“You never went in for art exactly,” she said. “This room is a work of art.”

He nodded. He didn’t look annoyed any more. He looked smug. “It is, isn’t it?” he said. “It didn’t even cost so very much. You just have to know how, that’s all.”

“Know how about what?” Trigger asked.

“Know how to live,” Brule said. “Know what it’s all about. Then it’s easy.”

He was looking at her. The smile was there. The warm, rich voice was there. All the old charm was there. It was Brule. And it wasn’t. Trigger realized she was twisting her hands together. She looked down at them. The little jewel in the ring Holati Tate had given her to wear blinked back with crimson gleamings.

Crimson!

She drew a long, slow breath.

“Brule,” she said.

“Yes?” said Brule. At the edge of her vision she saw the smile turn eager.

Trigger said, “Give me the plasmoid.” She raised her eyes and looked at him. He’d stopped smiling.

Brule looked back at her a long time. At least it seemed a long time to Trigger. The smile suddenly returned.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, almost plaintively. “If it’s a joke, I don’t get it.”

“I just said,” Trigger repeated carefully, “give me the plasmoid. The one you stole.”

Brule took a swallow of his drink and put the glass down on the floor. “Aren’t you feeling well?” he asked solicitously.

“Give me the plasmoid.”

“Honestly, Trigger.” He shook his head. He laughed. “What are you talking about?”

“A plasmoid. The one you took. The one you’ve got here.”

Brule stood up. He studied her face, blinking, puzzled. Then he laughed, richly. “Trigger, I’ve fed you one drink too many! I never thought you’d let me do it. Be sensible now--if I had a plasmoid here, how could you tell?”

“I can tell. Brule, I don’t know how you took it or why you took it. I don’t really care.” And that was a lie, Trigger thought dismally. She cared. “Just give it to me, and I’ll put it back. We can talk about it afterwards.”