The blue eyes regarded her mildly. "You could call it a sedative."
"Don't need any. Thanks."
"Better take it anyway." Mihul patted her hip with her other hand. "Little hypo gun here. That's the alternative."
"What!"
"That's right. Same type of charge as in your fancy Denton. Stuff in the glass is easier to take and won't leave you groggy."
"What's the idea?"
"I've known you quite a while," said Mihul. "And I was watching you the last twenty minutes in that room through a screen. You'll take off again if you get the least chance. I don't blame you a bit. You're being pushed around. But now it's my job to see you don't take off; and until we get to where you're going, I want to be sure you'll stay quiet."
She still held out the glass, in a long, tanned, capable hand. She stood three inches taller than Trigger, weighted thirty-five pounds more. Not an ounce of that additional thirty-five pounds was fat. If she'd needed assistance, the hunting lodge was full of potential helpers. She didn't.
"I never claimed I liked this arrangement," Trigger said carefully. "I did say I'd go along with it. I will. Isn't that enough?"
"Sure," Mihul said promptly. "Give word of parole?"