A set of vitally important reports from Precol's Giant Planet Survey Squad had been mislaid somewhere around Headquarters during yesterday's conferences. She soothed down the G P Squad and instituted a check search. A team of Hub ecologists, who had decided for themselves that outworld booster shots weren't required on Manon, called in nervously from a polar station to report that their hair was falling out. Trigger tapped the "Manon Fever" button on her desk, and suggested toupees. The ecologists were displeased. A medical emergency skip-boat zoomed out of the dome to go to their rescue; and Trigger gave it its directions while dialing for the medical checker who'd allowed the visitors to avoid their shots. She had a brief chat with the young man, and left him twitching as the G P Squad came back on to inquire whether the reports had been found yet. Trigger began to get a comfortable feeling of being back in the good old groove. Then a message from the Medical Department popped out on her desk. It was addressed to Commissioner Tate and stated that Brule Inger was now able to speak again. Trigger frowned, sighed, bit her lip and thought a moment. She dialed for Doctor Leehaven. "Got your message," she said. "How's he doing?" "All right," the old medic said. "Has he said anything?" "No. He's scared. If he could get up the courage, he'd ask for a personnel lawyer." "Yes, I imagine. Tell him this then--from the Commissioner; not from me--there'll be no charges, but Precol expects his resignation, end of the month." "That on the level?" Doctor Leehaven demanded incredulously. "Of course." The doctor snorted. "You people are getting soft-headed! But I'll tell him." The morning went on. Trigger was suspiciously studying a traffic control note stating that a Devagas missionary ship had checked in and berthed at the spaceport when the G C Center's management called in to report, with some nervousness, that the Center's much advertised meteor-repellent roof had just flipped several dozen tons of falling Moon Belt material into the spaceport area. Most of it, unfortunately, had dropped around and upon a Devagas missionary ship. "Not damaged, is it?" she asked. The Center said no, but the Missionary Captain insisted on speaking to the person in charge here. To whom should they refer him? "Refer him to me," Trigger said expectantly. She switched on the vision screen. The Missionary Captain was a tall, gray-haired, gray-eyed, square-jawed man in uniform. After confirming to his satisfaction that Trigger was indeed in charge, he informed her in chilled tones that the Devagas Union would hold her personally responsible for the unprovoked outrage unless an apology was promptly forthcoming. Trigger apologized promptly. He acknowledged with a curt nod. "The ship will now require new spacepaint," he pointed out, unmollified. Trigger nodded. "We'll send a work squad out immediately."