, Fido!" she said.

Nothing happened. She drew the ruler back.

"Come, Fido!"

Handbag and strap materialized in mid-air and thumped to the floor.

"Convinced?" Holati asked. He picked up the handbag and gave it back to
her.

"It seems to work. How long will that little plasmoid last if it's left
in subspace like that?"

He shrugged. "Indefinitely, probably. They're tough. We know that
twenty-four hours at a stretch won't bother it in the least, so we've
set that as the limit it's to stay rotated except in emergencies."

"And you--and one other person I'm not to know about, but who isn't
anywhere near here--can also bring it back?"

"Yes. If we know the place from which it's been rotated. So the
agreement is that--again except in absolute emergencies--it will be
rotated only from one of the six points specified and known to all three
of us."

Trigger nodded. She opened the container and went over to the table
where the plasmoid still lay on its towel. It was dry by now. She picked
it up.

"You're a lot of trouble, Repulsive!" she told it. "But these people
think you must be worth it." She slipped it into the container, and it
seemed to snuggle down comfortably inside. Trigger closed the handbag,
lightened it to half its normal weight, slipped the strap back over her
left shoulder. "And now," she inquired, "what am I to do with the stuff
I usually keep in a purse?"

"You'll be in Precol uniform while you're here. We've had a special
uniform made for you. Extra pockets."

Trigger sighed.

"Oh, they're quite inconspicuous and convenient," he assured her. "We
checked with the girls on that."

"I'll bet!" she said. "Did they okay the porgee pouch too?"

"Sure. Porgee doping is a big thing all over the Hub at the moment.
Among the ladies anyway. Shows you're the delicate sort, or something
like that. I forget what they said. Want to start carrying it?"

"Hand it over," Trigger said resignedly. "I did see quite a few pouches
on the ship. Might as well get people used to thinking I've turned into
a porgee sniffer."

Holati went back to the desk safe and took out a flat pouch, the length
of his hand but narrower. He gave it to her. It appeared to be worked of
gold thread; one side was studded with tiny pearls, the opposite surface
was plain. Trigger laid the plain side against the cloth of her skirt,
just below the right hip, and let go. It adhered there. She stretched
her right leg out to the side and con