d be a
rather good way to make sure a prisoner stayed exactly where you wanted
her. This could be a spaceliner suite with a packaged view of any one of
some hundreds of worlds, and with packaged sunlight thrown in.

There was one door to the room. It stood open, and the news viewer talk
came from there.

Trigger sat up quietly and looked down at the clothes she wore. All
white. A short-sleeved half-blouse of some soft, rather heavy, very
comfortable unfamiliar stuff. Bare midriff. White kid trousers which
flared at the thighs and were drawn in to a close fit just above the
knees and down the calves, vanishing into kid boots with thick, flexible
soles.

Sporting outfit.... That meant Maccadon!

She pulled a handful of hair forward and looked at it. They'd recolored
it--this time to a warm mahogany brown. She swung her legs off the couch
and stood up quietly. A dozen soft steps across the springy thick-napped
turf of ivory carpet took her to the window.

The news viewer clicked and went silent.

"Not bad," Trigger said. She saw a long range of woodlands and open
heath, rising gradually into the flanks of the mountains. On the far
right was the still, silver glitter of two lakes. "Where are we?"

"Byla Uplands Game Preserve. That's the game bird area before you."
Mihul appeared in the doorframe, in an outfit almost a duplicate of
Trigger's, in pearl-gray tones. "Feel all right?"

"Feeling fine," Trigger said. Byla Uplands--the southern tip of the
continent. She could make it back to Ceyce in two hours or less! She
turned and grinned at Mihul. "I also feel hungry. How long was I out?"

Mihul glanced at her wrist watch. "Eight hours, ten minutes. You woke up
on schedule. I had breakfast sent up thirty minutes ago. I've already
eaten mine--took one sniff and plunged in. It's good!" Mihul's hair,
Trigger saw, had been cropped short and a streak of gray added over the
right side; and they'd changed the color of her eyes to hazel. She
wondered what had been done to her along that line. "Want to come in?"
Mihul said. "We can talk while you eat."

Trigger nodded. "After I've freshened up."

The bathroom mirror showed they'd left her eyes alone. But there was a
very puzzling impression that she was staring at an image considerably
plumper, shorter, younger than it should be--a teen-ager around
seventeen or eighteen. Her eyes narrowed. If they'd done flesh-sculpting
on her, it could cause complications.

She stripped