ne can't really blame her. One of them's her facsimile.
Blent--whichever it is--is never without her face."

"Oh," Trigger said. She'd been studying the gowns. "That," she said, a
trifle enviously, "is why I'm not at all eager to go on display here."

"Eh?" said Quillan.

Trigger turned to regard herself in the wall mirror on the right, which,
she had noticed, remained carefully unobscured by drifting viewers and
viewees. A thoughtful touch on the lounge management's part.

"Until we walked in here," she explained, "I thought this was a pretty
sharp little outfit I'm wearing."

"Hmmm," Quillan said judiciously. He made a detailed appraisal of the
mirror image of the slim, green, backless, half-thigh-length sheath
which had looked so breath-taking and seductive in a Ceyce display
window. Trigger's eyes narrowed a little. The major had appraised the
dress in detail before.

"It's about as sharp a little outfit as you could get for around a
hundred and fifty credits," he remarked. "Most of the items the girls
are sporting here are personality conceptions. That starts at around ten
to twenty times as high. I wasn't talking about displaying the dress.
Now what were those questions?"

Trigger took a small sip of her drink, considering. She hadn't made up
her mind about Major Quillan, but until she could evaluate him more
definitely, it might be best to go by appearances. The appearances so
far indicated small sips in his company.

"How did you people find me so quickly?" she asked.

"Next time you want to sneak off a civilized planet," Quillan advised
her, "pick something like a small freighter. Or hire a small-boat to get
you out of the system and flag down a freighter for you. Plenty of tramp
captains will make a space stop to pick up a paying passenger. Liners we
can check."

"Sorry," Trigger said meekly. "I'm still new at this business."

"And thank God for that!" said Quillan. "If you have the time and the
money, it's also a good idea, of course, to zig a few times before you
zag towards where you're really heading. Actually, I suppose, the credit
for picking you up so fast should go to those collating computers."

"Oh?"

"Yes." Major Quillan looked broodingly at his drink for a moment. "There
they sit," he remarked suddenly, "with their stupid plastic faces
hanging out! Rows of them. You feed them something you don't understand.
They don't understand it either. Nobody can tell me they can. But they
kick