s over a communicator. Would it
be possible for you to come over and meet with us during the day?"

"That," Trigger stated, "was a ridiculous question, Rak! Want me over
right now?"

He grinned. "Thanks, Miss Farn! In twenty minutes then? I'll get my
advisory committee together and we can meet in the little conference
room off the Exhibition Hall."

Trigger nodded. "I'll be wandering around the Hall. Just send a guard
out to get me when you're ready."

3

She switched off the ComWeb and stood up. Rak and his group were stuck
with the Plasmoid Project a lot more solidly than she was. They'd been
established here, confined to their own wing of the Project area, when
she came in from Manon with the Commissioner. Until the present security
rulings were relaxed--which might not be for another two years--they
would remain on the project.

Trigger felt a little sorry for them, though the Junior Scientists
didn't seem to mind the setup. Dedication stood out all over them. Since
about half were young women, one could assume that at any rate they
weren't condemned to a completely monastic existence.

A couple of workmen were guiding a dozen big cleaning robots around the
Plasmoid Exhibition Hall, which wouldn't be open to students or
visitors for another few hours. Trigger strolled across the floor of the
huge area toward a couple of exhibits that hadn't been there the last
time she'd come through. Life-sized replicas of two O.G.
Plasmoids--Numbers 1432 and 1433--she discovered. She regarded the
waxy-looking, lumpish, partially translucent forms with some distaste.
She'd been all over the Old Galactic Station itself, and might have
stood close enough to the originals of these models to touch them. Not
that she would have.

She glanced at her watch, walked around a scale model of Harvest Moon,
the O.G. station, which occupied the center of the Hall, and went on
among the exhibits. There were views taken on Manon Planet in one
alcove, mainly of Manon's aerial plankton belt and of the giant
plasmoids called Harvesters which had moved about the belt, methodically
engulfing its clouds of living matter. A whale-sized replica of a
Harvester dominated one end of the Hall, a giant dark-green sausage in
external appearance, though with some extremely fancy internal
arrangements.

"Miss Farn...."

She turned. A League cop, standing at the entrance of a hallway thirty
feet away, pitched her the old flourish and follow