He ignored the monitoring transceiver, spoke his mind. _They'll just
think it's part of the act_, he thought. And the thought was bitter.
"Like you?" he asked. "I think I'm in love with you!"
She sighed, leaned against his shoulder. "Then what's wrong? You're not
already married. Mother had your service record checked." Diana smiled
impishly. "Mother has second sight."
* * * * *
The bitterness was like a sour taste in Orne's mouth. He could see the
pattern so clearly. "Di, I ran away from home when I was seventeen," he
said.
"I know, darling. Mother's told me all about you."
"You don't understand," he said. "My father died before I was born.
He--"
"It must've been very hard on your mother," she said. "Left all alone
with her family ... and a new baby on the way."
"They'd known for a long time," said Orne. "My father had _Broach's_
disease, and they found out too late. It was already in the central
nervous system."
"How horrible," whispered Diana.
Orne's mind felt suddenly like a fish out of water. He found himself
grasping at a thought that flopped around just out of reach. "Dad was in
politics," he whispered. He felt as though he were living in a dream.
His voice stayed low, shocked. "From when I first began to talk, Mother
started grooming me to take his place in public life."
"And you didn't like politics," said Diana.
"I hated it!" he growled. "First chance, I ran away. One of my sisters
married a young fellow who's now the member for Chargon. I hope he
enjoys it!"
"That'd be Maddie," said Diana.
"You know her?" asked Orne. Then he remembered what Stetson had told
him, and the thought was chilling.
"Of course I know her," said Diana. "Lew, what's wrong with you?"
"You'd expect me to play the same game, you calling the shots," he said.
"Shoot for the top, cut and scramble, claw and dig."
"By tomorrow all that may not be necessary," she said.
Orne heard the sudden hiss of the carrier wave in his neck transceiver,
but there was no voice from the monitor.
"What's ... happening ... tomorrow?" he asked.
"The election, silly," she said. "Lew, you're acting very strangely. Are
you sure you're feeling all right." She put a hand to his forehead.
"Perhaps we'd--"
"Just a minute," said Orne. "About us--" He swallowed.
She withdrew her hand. "I think my parents already suspect. We Bullones
are notorious love-at-first-sighters." Her overlarge eyes studied him
fondly. "You don't feel feverish, but maybe we'd better--"
"What a dope I am!" snarled Orne. "I just realized that I have to be a
Nathian, too."
"You _just_ realized?" She stared at him.
There was a hissing gasp in Orne's transceiver.
"The identical patterns in our families," he said. "Even to the houses.
And there's the real key. What a dope!" He snapped his fingers. "_The
head!_ Polly! Your mother's the grand boss woman, isn't she?"
"But, darling ... of course. She--"
"You'd better take me to her and fast!" snapped Orne. He touched the
stud at his neck, but Stetson's voice intruded.
_"Great work, Lew! We're moving in a special shock force. Can't take any
chances with--"_
Orne spoke aloud in panic: _"Stet! You get out to the Bullones! And you
get there alone! No troops!"_
Diana had jumped to her feet, backed away from him.
_"What do you mean?"_ demanded Stetson.
_"I'm saving our stupid necks!"_ barked Orne. _"Alone! You hear? Or
we'll have a worse mess on our hands than any Rim War!"_
There was an extended silence. _"You hear me, Stet?"_ demanded Orne.
_"O.K., Lew. We're putting the O-force on standby. I'll be at the
Bullones' in ten minutes. ComGO will be with me."_ Pause. _"And you'd
better know what you're doing!"_
It was an angry group in a corner of the Bullones' main salon. Louvered
shades cut the green glare of a noon sun. In the background there was
the hum of air-conditioning and the clatter of roboservants preparing
for the night's election party. Stetson leaned against the wall beside a
divan, hands jammed deeply into the pockets of his wrinkled, patched
fatigues. The wagon tracks furrowed his high forehead. Near Stetson,
Admiral Sobat Spencer, the I-A's Commander of Galactic Operations, paced
the floor. ComGO was a bull-necked bald man with wide blue eyes, a
deceptively mild voice. There was a caged animal look to his
pacing--three steps out, three steps back.
Polly Bullone sat on the divan. Her mouth was pulled into a straight
line. Her hands were clasped so tightly in her lap that the knuckles
showed white. Diana stood beside her mother. Her fists were clenched at
her sides. She shivered with fury. Her gaze remained fixed, glaring at
Orne.
"O.K., so my stupidity set up this little meeting," snarled Orne. He
stood about five paces in front of Polly, hands on hips. The admiral,
pacing away at his right, was beginning to wear on his nerves. "But
you'd better listen to what I have to say." He glanced at the ComGO.
"_All_ of you."
Admiral Spencer stopped pacing, glowered at Orne. "I have yet to hear a
good reason for not tearing this place apart ... getting to the bottom
of this situation."
"You ... traitor, Lewis!" husked Polly.
"I'm inclined to agree with you, Madame," said Spencer. "Only from a
different point of view." He glanced at Stetson. "Any word yet on
Scottie Bullone?"
"They were going to call me the minute they found him," said Stetson.
His voice sounded cautious, brooding.
"You were coming to the party here tonight, weren't you, admiral?" asked
Orne.
"What's that have to do with anything?" demanded Spencer.
"Are you prepared to jail your wife and daughters for conspiracy?" asked
Orne.
A tight smile played around Polly's lips.
Spencer opened his mouth, closed it soundlessly.
"The Nathians are mostly women," said Orne. "There's evidence that your
womenfolk are among them."
The admiral looked like a man who had been kicked in the stomach. "What
... evidence?" he whispered.
"I'll come to that in a moment," said Orne. "Now, note this: the
Nathians are mostly women. There were only a few _accidents_ and a few
planned males, like me. That's why there were no family names to
trace--just a tight little female society, all working to positions of
power through their men."
Spencer cleared his throat, swallowed. He seemed powerless to take his
attention from Orne's mouth.
"My guess," said Orne, "is that about thirty or forty years ago, the
conspirators first began breeding a few males, grooming them for really
choice top positions. Other Nathian males--the accidents where
sex-control failed--they never learned about the conspiracy. These new
ones were full-fledged members. That's what I'd have been if I'd panned
out as expected."
Polly glared at him, looked back at her hands.
"That part of the plan was scheduled to come to a head with this
election," said Orne. "If they pulled this one off, they could move in
more boldly."
"You're in way over your head, boy," growled Polly. "You're too late to
do anything about us!"
"We'll see about that!" barked Spencer. He seemed to have regained his
self-control. "A little publicity in the right places ... some key
arrests and--"
"No," said Orne. "She's right. It's too late for that. It was probably
too late a hundred years ago. These dames were too firmly entrenched
even then."
* * * * *
Stetson straightened away from the wall, smiled grimly at Orne. He
seemed to be understanding a point that the others were missing. Diana
still glared at Orne. Polly kept her attention on her hands, the tight
smile playing about her lips.
"These women probably control one out of three of the top positions in
the League," said Orne. "Maybe more. Think, admiral ... think what would
happen if you exposed this thing. There'd be secessions, riots,
sub-governments would topple, the central government would be torn by
suspicions and battles. What breeds in that atmosphere?" He shook his
head. "The Rim War would seem like a picnic!"
"We can't just ignore this!" barked Spencer. He stiffened, glared at
Orne.
"We can and we will," said Orne. "No choice."
Polly looked up, studied Orne's face. Diana looked confused.
"Once a Nathian, always a Nathian, eh?" snarled Spencer.
"There's no such thing," said Orne. "Five hundred years' cross-breeding
with other races saw to that. There's merely a secret society of astute
political scientists." He smiled wryly at Polly, glanced back at
Spencer. "Think of your own wife, sir. In all honesty, would you be
ComGO today if she hadn't guided your career?"
Spencer's face darkened. He drew in his chin, tried to stare Orne down,
failed. Presently, he chuckled wryly.
"Sobie is beginning to come to his senses," said Polly. "You're about
through, son."
"Don't underestimate your future son-in-law," said Orne.
"Hah!" barked Diana. "I _hate_ you, Lewis Orne!"
"You'll get over that," said Orne mildly.
"Ohhhhhh!" Diana quivered with fury.
"My major point is this," said Orne. "Government is a dubious glory. You
pay for your power and wealth by balancing on the sharp edge of the
blade. That great amorphous thing out there--the people--has turned and
swallowed many governments. The only way you can stay in power is by
giving _good_ government. Otherwise--sooner on later--your turn comes. I
can remember my mother making that point. It's one of the things that
stuck with me." He frowned. "My objection to politics is the compromises
you have to make to get elected!"
Stetson moved out from the wall. "It's pretty clear," he said. Heads
turned toward him. "To stay in power, the Nathians had to give us a
fairly good government. On the other hand, if we expose them, we give a
bunch of political amateurs--every fanatic and power-hungry demagogue in
the galaxy--just the weapon they need to sweep them into office."
"After that: chaos," said Orne. "So we let the Nathians continue ...
with two minor alterations."
"We alter nothing," said Polly. "It occurs to me, Lewis, that you don't
have a leg to stand on. You have me, but you'll get nothing out of me.
The rest of the organization can go on without me. You don't dare expose
us. We hold the whip hand!"
* * * * *
"The I-A could have ninety per cent of your organization in custody
inside of ten days," said Orne.
"You couldn't find them!" snapped Polly.
"How?" asked Stetson.
"Nomads," said Orne. "This house is a glorified tent. Men on the
outside, women on the inside. Look for inner courtyard construction.
It's instinctive with Nathian blood. Add to that, an inclination for odd
musical instruments--the kaithra, the tambour, the oboe--all nomad
instruments. Add to that, female dominance of the family--an odd twist
on the nomad heritage, but not completely unique. Check for predominance
of female offspring. Dig into political background. We'll miss damn
few!"
Polly just stared at him, mouth open.
Spencer said: "Things are moving too fast for me. I know just one thing:
I'm dedicated to preventing another Rim War. If I have to jail every
last one of--"
"An hour after this conspiracy became known, you wouldn't be in a
position to jail anyone," said Orne. "The husband of a Nathian! You'd be
in jail yourself or more likely dead at the hands of a mob!"
Spencer paled.
"What's your suggestion for compromise?" asked Polly.
"Number one: the I-A gets veto power on any candidate you put up," said
Orne. "Number two: you can never hold more than two thirds of the top
offices."
"Who in the I-A vetoes our candidates?" asked Polly.
"Admiral Spencer, Stet, myself ... anyone else we deem trustworthy,"
said Orne.
"You think you're a god or something?" demanded Polly.
"No more than you do," said Orne. "This is what's known as a check and
balance system. You cut the pie. We get first choice on which pieces to
take."
There was a protracted silence; then Spencer said: "It doesn't seem
right just to--"
"No political compromise is ever totally right," said Polly. "You keep
patching up things that always have flaws in them. That's how government
is." She chuckled, looked up at Orne. "All right, Lewis. We accept." She
glanced at Spencer, who shrugged, nodded glumly. Polly looked back at
Orne. "Just answer me one question: How'd you know I was boss lady?"
"Easy," said Orne. "The records we found said the ... Nathian (he'd
almost said 'traitor') family on Marak was coded as _'The Head.'_ Your
name, Polly, contains the ancient word _'Poll'_ which means _head_."