Major Heslet Quillan of the Subspace Engineers came breezing into Manon Planet's spaceport very early in the morning. A Precol aircar picked him up and let him out on a platform of the Headquarters dome near Commissioner Tate's offices. Quillan was handed on toward the offices through a string of underlings and reached the door just as it opened and Trigger Argee stepped through. He grasped her cordially by the shoulders and cried out a cheery hello. Trigger made a soft growling sound in her throat. Her left hand chopped right, her right hand chopped left. Quillan grunted and let go. "What's the matter?" he inquired, stepping back. He rubbed one arm, then the other. Trigger looked at him, growled again, walked past him, and disappeared through another door, her back very straight. "Come in, Quillan," Commissioner Tate said from within the office. Quillan went in and closed the door behind him. "What did I do?" he asked bewilderedly. "Nothing much," said Holati. "You just share the misfortune of being a male human being. At the moment, Trigger's against 'em. She blew up the Brule Inger setup last night." "Oh!" Quillan sat down. "I never did like that idea much," he said. The Commissioner shrugged. "You don't know the girl yet. If I'd hauled Inger in, she would never have really forgiven me for it. I had to let her handle it herself. Actually she understands that." "How did it go?" "Her cover reported it was one hell of a good fight for some seconds. If you'd looked closer, you might have just spotted the traces of the shiner Inger gave her. It was a beaut last night." Quillan went white. "But if you're thinking of having a chat with Inger re that part of it," the Commissioner went on, "forget it." He glanced at a report from the medical department on his desk. "Dislocated shoulder ... broken thumb ... moderate concussion. And so on. It was the throat punch that finished the matter. He can't talk yet. We'll call it square." Quillan grunted. "What are you going to do with him now?" "Nothing," Holati said. "We know his contacts. Why bother? He'll resign end of the month." Quillan cleared his throat and glanced at the door. "I suppose she'll want him put up for rehabilitation--seemed pretty fond of him." "Relax, son," said the Commissioner. "Trigger's an individualist. If Inger goes up for rehabilitation, it will be because he wants it. And he doesn't, of course. Being a slob suits him fine. He's just likely to be more cautious about it in future. So we'll let him go his happy way. Now--let's get down to business. How does Pluly's yacht harem stack up?" A reminiscent smile spread slowly over Quillan's face. He shook his head. "Awesome, brother!" he said. "Plain awesome!" "Pick up anything useful?" "Nothing definite. But whenever Belchy comes out of the esthetic trances, he's a worried man. Count him in." "For sure?" "Yes." "All right. He's in. Crack the Aurora yet?"