hurriedly and checked. They hadn't tampered with her body.
So it had to be the clothes; though it was difficult to see how even the
most cunning cut could provide such a very convincing illusion of being
more rounded out, heavier around the thighs, larger breasts--just
missing being dumpy, in fact. She dressed again, looked again, and came
out of the bathroom, still puzzled.

"Choice of three game birds for breakfast." Mihul announced. "Never
heard of any of them. All good. Plus regular stuff." She patted her flat
midriff. "Ate too much!" she admitted. "Now dig in and I'll brief you."

Trigger dug in. "I had a look at myself in the mirror," she remarked.
"What's this now-you-see-it-now-you-don't business of fifteen or so
pounds of baby fat?"

Mihul laughed. "You don't really have it."

"I know that too. How do they do it?"

"Subcolor job in the clothes. They're not really white. Anyone looking
at you gets his vision distorted a little without realizing it. Takes a
wider view of certain areas, for example. You can play it around in a
lot of ways."

"I never heard of that one," Trigger said. "You'd think it would be
sensational in fashions."

"It would be. Right now it's top secret for as long as Intelligence can
keep it that way."

Trigger chewed a savory morsel of something. "Then why did you tell me?"

"You're one of the gang, however reluctant. And you're good at keeping
the mouth shut. Your name, by the way, is now Comteen Lod, just turned
eighteen. I am your dear mama. You call me Drura. We're from
Slyth-Talgon on Evalee, here for a few days shooting."

Trigger nodded. "Do we do any shooting?"

Mihul pointed a finger at a side table. The Denton lay there, looking
like a toy beside a standard slender-barrelled sporting pistol. "Bet
your life, Comteen!" she said. "I've always been too stingy to try out a
first-class preserve on my own money. And this one is _first_ class."
She paused. "Comteen and Drura Lod really exist. We're a very fair copy
of what they look like, and they'll be kept out of sight till we're done
here. Now--"

She leaned back comfortably, tilting the chair and clasping her hands
around one knee. "Aside from the sport, we're here because you're a
convalescent. You're recovering from a rather severe attack of Dykart
Fever. Heard of it?"

Trigger reflected. "Something you pick up in some sections of the Evalee
tropics, isn't it?"

Mihul nodded. "That's what you did, child! Skipped you