In colonial school Brule had received the same basic training in unarmed combat that Trigger had. He was close to eighty pounds heavier than Trigger, and it was still mostly muscle. But it was nearly four years now since he had bothered himself with drills. And he hadn't been put through Mihul's advanced students' courses lately. He stayed conscious a little less than nine seconds. The plasmoids were in a small electronic safe built into a music cabinet. The stamp to the safe was in Brule's billfold. There were three of them, about the size of mice, starfish-shaped lumps of translucent, hard, colorless jelly. They didn't move. Trigger laid them in a row on the polished surface of a small table, and blinked at them for a moment from a streaming left eye. The right eye was swelling shut. Brule had got in one wild wallop somewhere along the line. She picked up a small jar, emptied some spicy-smelling, crumbly contents out on the table, dropped the plasmoids inside, closed the jar and left the apartment with it. Brule was just beginning to stir and groan. Commissioner Tate hadn't retired yet. He let her in without a word. Trigger put the jar down on a table. "Three of your nuts and bolts in there," she said. He nodded. "I know." "I thought you did," said Trigger. "Thanks for the quick cure. But right at the moment I don't like you very much, Holati. We can talk about that in the morning." "All right," said the Commissioner. He hesitated. "Anything that should be taken care of before then?" "It's been taken care of," Trigger said. "One of our employees has been moderately injured. I dialed the medics to go pick him up. They have. Good night." "You might let me do something for that eye," he said. Trigger shook her head. "I've got stuff in my quarters." She locked herself into her quarters, got out a jar of quick-heal and anointed the eye and a few other minor bruises. She put the jar away, made a mechanical check of the newly installed anti-intrusion devices, dimmed the lights and climbed into her bunk. For the next twenty minutes she wept violently. Then she fell asleep. An hour or so later, she turned over on her side and said without opening her eyes, "Come, Fido!" The plasmoid purse appeared just above the surface of the bunk between Trigger's pillow and the wall. It dropped with a small thump and stood balanced uncertainly. Trigger slept on. Five minutes after that, the purse opened itself. A little later again, Trigger suddenly shifted her shoulder uneasily, frowned and made a little half-angry, half-whimpering cry. Then her face smoothed out. Her breathing grew quiet and slow.