_"The Head,"_ said Stetson. "But what good does that do us? They're sure
to've changed those by now."
"They didn't change their communications code," said Orne.
"No ... they didn't."
"We must have something on them, some leads," said Orne. He felt that
Stetson was holding back something vital.
"Sure," said Stetson. "We have history books. They say the Nathians were
top drawer in political mechanics. We know for a fact they chose landing
sites for their _refugees_ with diabolical care. Each family was told to
dig in, grow up with the adopted culture, develop the weak spots, build
an underground, train their descendants to take over. They set out to
bore from within, to make victory out of defeat. The Nathians were long
on patience. They came originally from nomad stock on Nathia II. Their
mythology calls them Arbs or Ayrbs. Go review your seventh grade
history. You'll know almost as much as we do!"
"Like looking for the traditional needle in the haystack," muttered
Orne. "How come you suspect High Commissioner Upshook?"
Stetson wet his lips with his tongue. "One of the Bullones' seven
daughters is currently at home," he said. "Name's Diana. A field leader
in the I-A women. One of the Nathian code messages we intercepted had
her name as addressee."
"Who sent the message?" asked Orne. "What was it all about?"
Stetson coughed. "You know, Lew, we cross-check everything. This message
was signed M.O.S. The only M.O.S. that came out of the comparison was on
a routine next-of-kin reply. We followed it down to the original copy,
and the handwriting checked. Name of Madrena Orne Standish."
"Maddie?" Orne froze, turned slowly to face Stetson. "So that's what's
troubling you!"
"We know you haven't been home since you were seventeen," said Stetson.
"Your record with us is clean. The question is--"
"Permit me," said Orne. "The question is: Will I turn in my own sister
if it falls that way?"
Stetson remained silent, staring at him.
"O.K.," said Orne. "My job is seeing that we don't have another Rim War.
Just answer me one question: How's Maddie mixed up in this? My family
isn't one of these traitor clans."
"This whole thing is all tangled up with politics," said Stetson. "We
think it's because of her husband."
"Ahhhh, the member for Chargon," said Orne. "I've never met him." He
looked to the southwest where a flitter was growing larger as it
approached. "Who's my cover contact?"
"That mini-transceiver we planted in your neck for the Gienah job,"
said Stetson. "It's still there and functioning. Anything happens around
you, we hear it."
[Illustration]
Orne touched the subvocal stud at his neck, moved his speaking muscles
without opening his mouth. A surf-hissing voice filled the matching
transceiver in Stetson's neck:
_"You pay attention while I'm making a play for this Diana Bullone, you
hear? Then you'll know how an expert works."_
"Don't get so interested in your work that you forget why you're out
there," growled Stetson.
* * * * *
Mrs. Bullone was a fat little mouse of a woman. She stood almost in the
center of the guest room of her home, hands clasped across the paunch of
a long, dull silver gown. She had demure gray eyes, grandmotherly gray
hair combed straight back in a jeweled net--and that shocking baritone
husk of a voice issuing from a small mouth. Her figure sloped out from
several chins to a matronly bosom, then dropped straight like a barrel.
The top of her head came just above Orne's dress epaulets.
"We want you to feel at home here, Lewis," she husked. "You're to
consider yourself one of the family."
Orne looked around at the Bullone guest room: low key furnishings with
an old-fashioned selectacol for change of decor. A polawindow looked out
onto an oval swimming pool, the glass muted to dark blue. It gave the
outside a moonlight appearance. There was a contour bed against one
wall, several built-ins, and a door partly open to reveal bathroom
tiles. Everything traditional and comfortable.
"I already _do_ feel at home," he said. "You know, your house is very
like our place on Chargon. I was surprised when I saw it from the air.
Except for the setting, it looks almost identical."
"I guess your mother and I shared ideas when we were in school," said
Polly. "We were _very_ close friends."
"You must've been to do all this for me," said Orne. "I don't know how
I'm ever going to--"
"Ah! Here we are!" A deep masculine voice boomed from the open door
behind Orne. He turned, saw Ipscott Bullone, High Commissioner of the
Marakian League. Bullone was tall, had a face of harsh angles and deep
lines, dark eyes under heavy brows, black hair trained in receding
waves. There was a look of ungainly clumsiness about him.
_He doesn't strike me as the dictator type_, thought Orne. _But that's
obviously what Stet suspects._
"Glad you made it out all right, son," boomed Bullone. He advanced into
the room, glanced around. "Hope everything's to your taste here."
"Lewis was just telling me that our place is very like his mother's home
on Chargon," said Polly.
"It's old fashioned, but we like it," said Bullone. "Just a great big
tetragon on a central pivot. We can turn any room we want to the sun,
the shade or the breeze, but we usually leave the main salon pointing
northeast. View of the capital, you know."
"We have a sea breeze on Chargon that we treat the same way," said Orne.
"I'm sure Lewis would like to be left alone for a while now," said
Polly. "This is his first day out of the hospital. We mustn't tire him."
She crossed to the polawindow, adjusted it to neutral gray, turned the
selectacol, and the room's color dominance shifted to green. "There,
that's more restful," she said. "Now, if there's anything you need you
just ring the bell there by your bed. The autobutle will know where to
find us."
The Bullones left, and Orne crossed to the window, looked out at the
pool. The young woman hadn't come back. When the chauffeur-driven
limousine flitter had dropped down to the house's landing pad, Orne had
seen a parasol and sunhat nodding to each other on the blue tiles beside
the pool. The parasol had shielded Polly Bullone. The sunhat had been
worn by a shapely young woman in swimming tights, who had rushed off
into the house.
She was no taller than Polly, but slender and with golden red hair
caught under the sunhat in a swimmer's chignon. She was not
beautiful--face too narrow with suggestions of Bullone's cragginess, and
the eyes overlarge. But her mouth was full-lipped, chin strong, and
there had been an air of exquisite assurance about her. The total effect
had been one of striking elegance--extremely feminine.
Orne looked beyond the pool: wooded hills and, dimly on the horizon, a
broken line of mountains. The Bullones lived in expensive isolation.
Around them stretched miles of wilderness, rugged with planned neglect.
_Time to report in_, he thought. Orne pressed the neck stud on his
transceiver, got Stetson, told him what had happened to this point.
"All right," said Stetson. "Go find the daughter. She fits the
description of the gal you saw by the pool."
"That's what I was hoping," said Orne.
He changed into light-blue fatigues, went to the door of his room, let
himself out into a hall. A glance at his wristchrono showed that it was
shortly before noon--time for a bit of scouting before they called
lunch. He knew from his brief tour of the house and its similarity to
the home of his childhood that the hall let into the main living salon.
The public rooms and men's quarters were in the outside ring. Secluded
family apartments and women's quarters occupied the inner section.
* * * * *
Orne made his way to the salon. It was long, built around two sections
of the tetragon, and with low divans beneath the view windows. The floor
was thick pile rugs pushed one against another in a crazy patchwork of
reds and browns. At the far end of the room, someone in blue fatigues
like his own was bent over a stand of some sort. The figure straightened
at the same time a tinkle of music filled the room. He recognized the
red-gold hair of the young woman he had seen beside the pool. She was
wielding two mallets to play a stringed instrument that lay on its side
supported by a carved-wood stand.
He moved up behind her, his footsteps muffled by the carpeting. The
music had a curious rhythm that suggested figures dancing wildly around
firelight. She struck a final chord, muted the strings.
"That makes me homesick," said Orne.
"Oh!" She whirled, gasped, then smiled. "You startled me. I thought I
was alone."
"Sorry. I was enjoying the music."
"I'm Diana Bullone," she said. "You're Mr. Orne."
"Lew to all of the Bullone family, I hope," he said.
"Of course ... Lew." She gestured at the musical instrument. "This is
very old. Most find its music ... well, rather weird. It's been handed
down for generations in mother's family."
"The kaithra," said Orne. "My sisters play it. Been a long time since
I've heard one."
"Oh, of course," she said. "Your mother's--" She stopped, looked
confused. "I've got to get used to the fact that you're.... I mean that
we have a strange man around the house who isn't _exactly_ strange."
Orne grinned. In spite of the blue I-A fatigues and a rather severe
pulled-back hairdo, this was a handsome woman. He found himself liking
her, and this caused him a feeling near self-loathing. She was a
suspect. He couldn't afford to like her. But the Bullones were being so
decent, taking him in like this. And how was their hospitality being
repaid? By spying and prying. Yet, his first loyalty belonged to the
I-A, to the peace it represented.
He said rather lamely: "I hope you get over the feeling that I'm
strange."
"I'm over it already," she said. She linked arms with him, said: "If you
feel up to it, I'll take you on the deluxe guided tour."
By nightfall, Orne was in a state of confusion. He had found Diana
fascinating, and yet the most comfortable woman to be around that he had
ever met. She liked swimming, _paloika_ hunting, _ditar_ apples-- She
had a "poo-poo" attitude toward the older generation that she said she'd
never before revealed to anyone. They had laughed like fools over utter
nonsense.
Orne went back to his room to change for dinner, stopped before the
polawindow. The quick darkness of these low latitudes had pulled an ebon
blanket over the landscape. There was city-glow off to the left, and an
orange halo to the peaks where Marak's three moons would rise. _Am I
falling in love with this woman?_ he asked himself. He felt like calling
Stetson, not to report but just to talk the situation out. And this made
him acutely aware that Stetson or an aide had heard everything said
between them that afternoon.
* * * * *
The autobutle called dinner. Orne changed hurriedly into a fresh lounge
uniform, found his way to the small salon across the house. The Bullones
already were seated around an old-fashioned bubble-slot table set with
real candles, golden _shardi_ service. Two of Marak's moons could be
seen out the window climbing swiftly over the peaks.
"You turned the house," said Orne.
"We like the moonrise," said Polly. "It seems more romantic, don't you
think?" She glanced at Diana.
Diana looked down at her plate. She was wearing a low-cut gown of
_firemesh_ that set off her red hair. A single strand of _Reinach_
pearls gleamed at her throat.
Orne sat down in the vacant seat opposite her. _What a handsome woman!_
he thought.
Polly, on Orne's right, looked younger and softer in a green stola gown
that hazed her barrel contours. Bullone, across from her, wore black
lounging shorts and knee-length _kubi_ jacket of golden pearl cloth.
Everything about the people and setting reeked of wealth, power. For a
moment, Orne saw that Stetson's suspicions could have basis in fact.
Bullone might go to any lengths to maintain this luxury.
Orne's entrance had interrupted an argument between Polly and her
husband. They welcomed him, went right on without inhibition. Rather
than embarrassing him, this made him feel more at home, more accepted.
[Illustration]
"But I'm not running for office this time," said Bullone patiently. "Why
do we have to clutter up the evening with that many people just to--"
"Our election night parties are traditional," said Polly.
"Well, I'd just like to relax quietly at home tomorrow," he said. "Take
it easy with just the family here and not have to--"
"It's not like it was a _big_ party," said Polly. "I've kept the list to
fifty."
Diana straightened, said: "This is an important election Daddy! How
could you _possibly_ relax? There're seventy-three seats in question ...
the whole balance. If things go wrong in just the Alkes sector ... why
... you could be sent back to the floor. You'd lose your job as ... why
... someone else could take over as--"
"Welcome to the job," said Bullone. "It's a headache." He grinned at
Orne. "Sorry to burden you with this, m'boy, but the women of this
family run me ragged. I guess from what I hear that you've had a pretty
busy day, too." He smiled paternally at Diana. "And your first day out
of the hospital."
"She sets quite a pace, but I've enjoyed it," said Orne.
"We're taking the small flitter for a tour of the wilderness area
tomorrow," said Diana. "Lew can relax all the way. I'll do the driving."
"Be sure you're back in plenty of time for the party," said Polly.
"Can't have--" She broke off at a low bell from the alcove behind her.
"That'll be for me. Excuse me, please ... no, don't get up."
* * * * *
Orne bent to his dinner as it came out of the bubble slot beside his
plate: meat in an exotic sauce, _Sirik_ champagne, _paloika au semil_
... more luxury.
Presently, Polly returned, resumed her seat.
"Anything important?" asked Bullone.
"Only a cancellation for tomorrow night. Professor Wingard is ill."
"I'd just as soon it was cancelled down to the four of us," said
Bullone.
_Unless this is a pose, this doesn't sound like a man who wants to grab
more power_, thought Orne.
"Scottie, you should take more pride in your office!" snapped Polly.
"You're an important man."
"If it weren't for you, I'd be a nobody and prefer it," said Bullone. He
grinned at Orne. "I'm a political idiot compared to my wife. Never saw
anyone who could call the turn like she does. Runs in her family. Her
mother was the same way."
Orne stared at him, fork raised from plate and motionless. A sudden idea
had exploded in his mind.
"You must know something of this life, Lewis," said Bullone. "Your
father was member for Chargon once, wasn't he?"
"Yes," murmured Orne. "But that was before I was born. He died in
office." He shook his head, thought: _It couldn't be ... but--_
"Do you feel all right, Lew?" asked Diana. "You're suddenly so pale."
"Just tired," said Orne. "Guess I'm not used to so much activity."
"And I've been a beast keeping you so busy today," she said.
"Don't you stand on ceremony here, son," said Polly. She looked
concerned. "You've been very sick, and we understand. If you're tired,
you go right on into bed."
Orne glanced around the table, met anxious attention in each face. He
pushed his chair back, said: "Well, if you really don't mind--"
"Mind!" barked Polly. "You scoot along now!"
"See you in the morning. Lew," said Diana.
He nodded, turned away, thinking: _What a handsome woman!_ As he started
down the hall, he heard Bullone say to Diana: "Di, perhaps you'd better
not take that boy out tomorrow. After all, he _is_ supposed to be here
for a rest." Her answer was lost as Orne entered the hall, closed the
door.
In the privacy of his room, Orne pressed the transceiver stud at his
neck, said: _"Stet?"_
A voice hissed in his ears: _"This is Mr. Stetson's relief. Orne, isn't
it?"_
_"Yes. I want a check right away on those Nathian records the
archaeologists found. Find out if Heleb was one of the planets they
seeded."_
_"Right. Hang on."_ There was a long silence, then: _"Lew, this is Stet.
How come the question about Heleb?"_
_"Was it on that Nathian list?"_
_"Negative. Why'd you ask?"_
_"Are you sure, Stet? It'd explain a lot of things."_
_"It's not on the lists, but ... wait a minute."_ Silence. Then: _"Heleb
was on line of flight to Auriga, and Auriga was on the list. We've
reason to doubt they put anyone down on Auriga. If their ship ran into
trouble--"_
_"That's it!"_ snapped Orne.
_"Keep your voice down or talk subvocally."_ ordered Stetson. _"Now,
answer my question: What's up?"_
_"Something so fantastic it frightens me,"_ said Orne. _"Remember that
the women who ruled Heleb bred female or male children by controlling
the sex of their offspring at conception. The method was unique. In
fact, our medics thought it was impossible until--"_
_"You don't have to remind me of something we want buried and
forgotten,"_ interrupted Stetson. _"Too much chance for misuse of that
formula."_
_"Yes,"_ said Orne. _"But what if your Nathian underground is composed
entirely of women bred the same way? What if the Heleb women were just a
bunch who got out of hand because they'd lost contact with the main
element?"_
_"Holy Moley!"_ blurted Stetson. _"Do you have evidence--"_
_"Nothing but a hunch,"_ said Orne. _"Do you have a list of the guests
who'll be here for the election party tomorrow?"_
_"We can get it. Why?"_
_"Check for women who mastermind their husbands in politics. Let me know
how many and who."_
_"Lew, that's not enough to--"_
_"That's all I can give you for now, but I think I'll have more.
Remember that ..."_ he hesitated, spacing his words as a new thought
struck him _"... the ... Nathians ... were ... nomads."_
* * * * *
Day began early for the Bullones. In spite of its being election day,
Bullone took off for his office an hour after dawn. "See what I mean
about this job owning you?" he asked Orne.
"We're going to take it easy today, Lew," said Diana. She took his hand
as they came up the steps after seeing her father to his limousine
flitter. The sky was cloudless.
Orne felt himself liking her hand in his--liking the feel of it too
much. He withdrew his hand, stood aside, said: "Lead on."
_I've got to watch myself_, he thought. _She's too charming._
"I think a picnic," said Diana. "There's a little lake with grassy banks
off to the west. We'll take viewers and a couple of good novels. This'll
be a do-nothing day."
Orne hesitated. There might be things going on at the house that he
should watch. But no ... if he was right about this situation, then
Diana could be the weak link. Time was closing in on them, too. By
tomorrow the Nathians could have the government completely under
control.
It was warm beside the lake. There were purple and orange flowers above
the grassy bank. Small creatures flitted and cheeped in the brush and
trees. There was a _groomis_ in the reeds at the lower end of the lake,
and every now and then it honked like an old man clearing his throat.
"When we girls were all at home we used to picnic here every Eight-day,"
said Diana. She lay on her back on the groundmat they'd spread. Orne sat
beside her facing the lake. "We made a raft over there on the other
side," she said. She sat up, looked across the lake. "You know, I think
pieces of it are still there. See?" She pointed at a jumble of logs. As
she gestured, her hand brushed Orne's.
Something like an electric shock passed between them. Without knowing
exactly how it happened, Orne found his arms around Diana, their lips
pressed together in a lingering kiss. Panic was very close to the
surface in Orne. He broke away.
"I didn't plan for that to happen," whispered Diana.
"Nor I," muttered Orne. He shook his head. "Sometimes things can get
into an awful mess!"