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diff --git a/old/24721-h.zip b/old/24721-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..73e9036 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/24721-h.zip diff --git a/old/24721-h/24721-h.htm b/old/24721-h/24721-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d2cfa70 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/24721-h/24721-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2287 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Operation Haystack by Frank Herbert</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +p {text-align: justify} + +h1 {text-align: center} + +hr {height: 5px; + width: 65%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + +.tr {margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 5%; + margin-bottom: 5%; + padding: 2em; + background-color: #f6f2f2; + color: black; + border: solid black 1px; + } + +body {margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10% + } + +.pagenumber {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } +.indent {margin-left: 5em} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Operation Haystack, by Frank Patrick Herbert + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Operation Haystack + +Author: Frank Patrick Herbert + +Illustrator: van Dongen + +Release Date: March 1, 2008 [EBook #24721] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OPERATION HAYSTACK *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Joel Schlosberg, Bruce Albrecht +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="tr"><p style="text-align: center">Transcriber's Note:</p> + +<p>This eBook was produced from <i>Astounding Science Fiction</i> May 1959, pp. +92-111. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed.</p></div> + +<p><span class="pagenumber"><a name="p092">p. 92</a></span></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><a href="images/92.png"><img src="images/92_thumb.png" alt="An illustration" title="An illustration" width="600" height="600"></a></p> + +<h1>OPERATION<br> +HAYSTACK</h1> + +<br> + +<h2>BY FRANK HERBERT</h2> + +<p style="text-align: right"><small><b>Illustrated by van Dongen</b></small></p> + +<p><span class="pagenumber"><a name="p093">p. 93</a></span></p> + +<div class="indent"> +<p><b><i><big><big>It's hard</big></big> to ferret out a gang of fanatics; +it would, obviously, be even harder to spot +a genetic line of dedicated men. But the problem +Orne had was one step tougher than that!</i></b></p> +</div> + +<br> + +<p><img src="images/w.png" alt="Ornamental letter 'W'" title="Ornamental letter 'W'" align="left" width="75" height="75">hen the Investigation +& Adjustment scout +cruiser landed on Marak +it carried a man +the doctors had no +hope of saving. He was alive only +because he was in a womblike creche +pod that had taken over most of his +vital functions.</p> + +<p>The man's name was Lewis Orne. +He had been a blocky, heavy-muscled +redhead with slightly off-center features +and the hard flesh of a heavy +planet native. Even in the placid repose +of near death there was something +clownish about his appearance. +His burned, ungent-covered face +looked made up for some bizarre +show.</p> + +<p>Marak is the League capital, and +the I-A medical center there is probably +the best in the galaxy, but it accepted +the creche pod and Orne more +as a curiosity than anything else. The +man had lost one eye, three fingers +of his left hand and part of his hair, +suffered a broken jaw and various internal +injuries. He had been in terminal +shock for more than ninety hours.</p> + +<p>Umbo Stetson, Orne's section +chief, went back into his cruiser's +"office" after a hospital flitter took +pod and patient. There was an added +droop to Stetson's shoulders that accentuated +his usual slouching stance. +His overlarge features were drawn +into ridges of sorrow. A general +straggling, trampish look about him +was not helped by patched blue fatigues.</p> + +<p>The doctor's words still rang in +Stetson's ears: "This patient's vital +tone is too low to permit operative +replacement of damaged organs. +He'll live for a while because of the +pod, but—" And the doctor had +shrugged.</p> + +<p>Stetson slumped into his desk +chair, looked out the open port beside +him. Some four hundred meters +below, the scurrying beetlelike activity +of the I-A's main field sent up +discordant roaring and clattering. +Two rows of other scout cruisers +were parked in line with Stetson's +port—gleaming red and black needles. +He stared at them without really +seeing them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenumber"><a name="p094">p. 94</a></span></p> + +<p><i>It always happens on some "routine" +assignment</i>, he thought. <i>Nothing +but a slight suspicion about +Heleb: the fact that only women held +high office. One simple, unexplained +fact ... and I lose my best agent!</i></p> + +<p>He sighed, turned to his desk, began +composing the report:</p> + +<p>"The militant core on the Planet +Heleb has been eliminated. Occupation +force on the ground. No further +danger to Galactic peace expected +from this source. Reason for operation: +Rediscovery & Re-education—<i>after +two years on the planet</i>—failed +to detect signs of militancy. The major +indications were: 1) a ruling +caste restricted to women, and 2) +disparity between numbers of males +and females <i>far</i> beyond the Lutig +norm! Senior Field Agent Lewis +Orne found that the ruling caste was +controlling the sex of offspring at +conception (see attached details), +and had raised a male slave army to +maintain its rule. The R&R agent +had been drained of information, +then killed. Arms constructed on the +basis of that information caused critical +injuries to Senior Field Agent +Orne. He is not expected to live. I +am hereby urging that he receive the +Galaxy Medal, and that his name be +added to the Roll of Honor."</p> + +<p>Stetson pushed the page aside. +That was enough for ComGO, who +never read anything but the first page +anyway. Details were for his aides +to chew and digest. They could wait. +Stetson punched his desk callbox for +Orne's service record, set himself to +the task he most detested: notifying +next of kin. He read, pursing his +lips:</p> + +<p>"Home Planet: Chargon. Notify +in case of accident or death: Mrs. +Victoria Orne, mother."</p> + +<p>He leafed through the pages, reluctant +to send the hated message. +Orne had enlisted in the Marak Marines +at age seventeen—a runaway +from home—and his mother had +given post-enlistment consent. Two +years later: scholarship transfer to +Uni-Galacta, the R&R school here on +Marak. Five years of school and one +R&R field assignment under his belt, +and he had been drafted into the I-A +for brilliant detection of militancy on +Hammel. And two years later—<i>kaput</i>!</p> + +<p>Abruptly, Stetson hurled the service +record at the gray metal wall +across from him; then he got up, +brought the record back to his desk, +smoothing the pages. There were +tears in his eyes. He flipped a switch +on his desk, dictated the notification +to Central Secretarial, ordered it sent +out priority. Then he went groundside +and got drunk on Hochar +Brandy, Orne's favorite drink.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>The next morning there was a reply +from Chargon: "Lewis Orne's +mother too ill to travel. Sisters being +notified. Please ask Mrs. Ipscott Bullone +of Marak, wife of the High +Commissioner, to take over for family." +It was signed: "Madrena Orne +Standish, sister."</p> + +<p>With some misgivings, Stetson +called the residence of Ipscott Bullone, +leader of the majority party in +<span class="pagenumber"><a name="p095">p. 95</a></span> +the Marak Assembly. Mrs. Bullone +took the call with blank screen. +There was a sound of running water +in the background. Stetson stared at +the grayness swimming in his desk +visor. He always disliked a blank +screen. A baritone husk of a voice +slid: "This is Polly Bullone."</p> + +<p>Stetson introduced himself, relayed +the Chargon message.</p> + +<p>"Victoria's boy dying? Here? Oh, +the poor thing! And Madrena's back +on Chargon ... the election. Oh, yes, +of course. I'll get right over to the +hospital!"</p> + +<p>Stetson signed off, broke the contact.</p> + +<p><i>The High Commissioner's wife +yet!</i> he thought. Then, because he +had to do it, he walled off his sorrow, +got to work.</p> + +<p>At the medical center, the oval +creche containing Orne hung from +ceiling hooks in a private room. +There were humming sounds in the +dim, watery greenness of the room, +rhythmic chuggings, sighings. Occasionally, +a door opened almost +soundlessly, and a white-clad figure +would check the graph tapes on the +creche's meters.</p> + +<p>Orne was lingering. He became +the major conversation piece at the +internes' coffee breaks: "That agent +who was hurt on Heleb, he's still +with us. Man, they must build those +guys different from the rest of us!... +Yeah! Understand he's got only +about an eighth of his insides ... +liver, kidneys, stomach—all gone.... +Lay you odds he doesn't last out the +month.... Look what old sure-thing +McTavish wants to bet on!"</p> + +<p>On the morning of his eighty-eighth +day in the creche, the day +nurse came into Orne's room, lifted +the inspection hood, looked down at +him. The day nurse was a tall, lean-faced +professional who had learned +to meet miracles and failures with +equal lack of expression. However, +this routine with the dying I-A operative +had lulled her into a state of +psychological unpreparedness. <i>Any +day now, poor guy</i>, she thought. And +she gasped as she opened his sole +remaining eye, said:</p> + +<p>"Did they clobber those dames on +Heleb?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir!" she blurted. "They +really did, sir!"</p> + +<p>"Good!"</p> + +<p>Orne closed his eye. His breathing +deepened.</p> + +<p>The nurse rang frantically for the +doctors.</p> + +<p>It had been an indeterminate period +in a blank fog for Orne, then +a time of pain and the gradual realization +that he was in a creche. Had +to be. He could remember his sudden +exposure on Heleb, the explosion—then +nothing. Good old creche. +It made him feel safe now, shielded +from all danger.</p> + +<p>Orne began to show minute but +steady signs of improvement. In another +month, the doctors ventured an +intestinal graft that gave him a new +spurt of energy. Two months later, +they replaced missing eye and fingers, +restored his scalp line, worked +artistic surgery on his burn scars.</p> + +<p>Fourteen months, eleven days, five +<span class="pagenumber"><a name="p096">p. 96</a></span> +hours and two minutes after he had +been picked up "as good as dead," +Orne walked out of the hospital under +his own power, accompanied by +a strangely silent Umbo Stetson.</p> + +<p>Under the dark blue I-A field +cape, Orne's coverall uniform fitted +his once muscular frame like a deflated +bag. But the pixie light had returned +to his eyes—even to the eye +he had received from a nameless and +long dead donor. Except for the loss +of weight, he looked to be the same +Lewis Orne. If he was different—beyond +the "spare parts"—it was something +he only suspected, something +that made the idea, "twice-born," not +a joke.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>Outside the hospital, clouds obscured +Marak's green sun. It was +midmorning. A cold spring wind +bent the pile lawn, tugged fitfully at +the border plantings of exotic flowers +around the hospital's landing pad.</p> + +<p>Orne paused on the steps above +the pad, breathed deeply of the chill +air. "Beautiful day," he said.</p> + +<p>Stetson reached out a hand to help +Orne down the steps, hesitated, put +the hand back in his pocket. Beneath +the section chief's look of weary superciliousness +there was a note of +anxiety. His big features were set in +a frown. The drooping eyelids failed +to conceal a sharp, measuring stare.</p> + +<p>Orne glanced at the sky to the +southwest. "The flitter ought to be +here any minute." A gust of wind +tugged at his cape. He staggered, +caught his balance. "I <i>feel</i> good."</p> + +<p>"You look like something left +over from a funeral," growled Stetson.</p> + +<p>"Sure—my funeral," said Orne. +He grinned. "Anyway, I was getting +tired of that walk-around-type +morgue. All my nurses were married."</p> + +<p>"I'd almost stake my life that I +could trust you," muttered Stetson.</p> + +<p>Orne looked at him. "No, no, +Stet ... stake <i>my</i> life. I'm used to +it."</p> + +<p>Stetson shook his head. "No, dammit! +I trust you, but you deserve a +peaceful convalescence. We've no +right to saddle you with—"</p> + +<p>"Stet?" Orne's voice was low, +amused.</p> + +<p>"Huh?" Stetson looked up.</p> + +<p>"Let's save the noble act for someone +who doesn't know you," said +Orne. "You've a job for me. O.K. +You've made the gesture for your +conscience."</p> + +<p>Stetson produced a wolfish grin. +"All right. So we're desperate, and +we haven't much time. In a nutshell, +since you're going to be a house guest +at the Bullones'—we suspect Ipscott +Bullone of being the head of a conspiracy +to take over the government."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean—<i>take over +the government</i>?" demanded Orne. +"The Galactic High Commissioner <i>is</i> +the government—subject to the Constitution +and the Assemblymen who +elected him."</p> + +<p>"We've a situation that could explode +into another Rim War, and we +think he's at the heart of it," said +Stetson. "We've eighty-one touchy +<span class="pagenumber"><a name="p097">p. 97</a></span> +planets, all of them old-line steadies +that have been in the League for +years. And on every one of them we +have reason to believe there's a clan +of traitors sworn to overthrow the +League. Even on your home planet—Chargon."</p> + +<p>"You want me to go home for +my convalescence?" asked Orne. +"Haven't been there since I was seventeen. +I'm not sure that—"</p> + +<p>"No, dammit! We want you as the +Bullones' house guest! And speaking +of that, would you mind explaining +how they were chosen to ride herd +on you?"</p> + +<p>"There's an odd thing," said +Orne. "All those gags in the I-A +about old Upshook Ipscott Bullone +... and then I find that his wife +went to school with my mother."</p> + +<p>"Have you met Himself?"</p> + +<p>"He brought his wife to the hospital +a couple of times."</p> + +<p>Again, Stetson looked to the southwest, +then back to Orne. A pensive +look came over his face. "Every +schoolkid knows how the Nathians +and the Marakian League fought it +out in the Rim War—how the old +civilization fell apart—and it all +seems kind of distant," he said.</p> + +<p>"Five hundred standard years," +said Orne.</p> + +<p>"And maybe no farther away than +yesterday," murmured Stetson. He +cleared his throat.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>And Orne wondered why Stetson +was moving so cautiously. <i>Something +deep troubling him.</i> A sudden +thought struck Orne. He said: "You +spoke of trust. Has this conspiracy +involved the I-A?"</p> + +<p>"We think so," said Stetson. +"About a year ago, an R&R archeological +team was nosing around some +ruins on Dabih. The place was all +but vitrified in the Rim War, but a +whole bank of records from a Nathian +outpost escaped." He glanced +sidelong at Orne. "The Rah&Rah +boys couldn't make sense out of the +records. No surprise. They called in +an I-A crypt-analyst. He broke a +complicated substitution cipher. +When the stuff started making sense +he pushed the panic button."</p> + +<p>"For something the Nathians +wrote five hundred years ago?"</p> + +<p>Stetson's drooping eyelids lifted. +There was a cold quality to his stare. +"This was a routing station for key +Nathian families," he said. "Trained +refugees. An old dodge ... been +used as long as there've been—"</p> + +<p>"But five hundred <i>years</i>, Stet!"</p> + +<p>"I don't care if it was five <i>thousand</i> +years!" barked Stetson. "We've +intercepted some scraps since then +that were written in the <i>same</i> code. +The bland confidence of <i>that</i>! +Wouldn't that gall you?" He shook +his head. "And every scrap we've intercepted +deals with the coming elections."</p> + +<p>"But the election's only a couple +of days off!" protested Orne.</p> + +<p>Stetson glanced at his wristchrono. +"Forty-two hours to be exact," he +said. "Some deadline!"</p> + +<p>"Any names in these old records?" +asked Orne.</p> + +<p>Stetson nodded. "Names of planets, +<span class="pagenumber"><a name="p098">p. 98</a></span> +yes. People, no. Some code +names, but no cover names. Code +name on Chargon was <i>Winner</i>. That +ring any bells with you?"</p> + +<p>Orne shook his head. "No. What's +the code name here?"</p> + +<p><i>"The Head,"</i> said Stetson. "But +what good does that do us? They're +sure to've changed those by now."</p> + +<p>"They didn't change their communications +code," said Orne.</p> + +<p>"No ... they didn't."</p> + +<p>"We must have something on +them, some leads," said Orne. He +felt that Stetson was holding back +something vital.</p> + +<p>"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 <i>refugees</i> 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!"</p> + +<p>"Like looking for the traditional +needle in the haystack," muttered +Orne. "How come you suspect High +Commissioner Upshook?"</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"Who sent the message?" asked +Orne. "What was it all about?"</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"Maddie?" Orne froze, turned +slowly to face Stetson. "So that's +what's troubling you!"</p> + +<p>"We know you haven't been home +since you were seventeen," said Stetson. +"Your record with us is clean. +The question is—"</p> + +<p>"Permit me," said Orne. "The +question is: Will I turn in my own +sister if it falls that way?"</p> + +<p>Stetson remained silent, staring at +him.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"This whole thing is all tangled +up with politics," said Stetson. "We +think it's because of her husband."</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"That mini-transceiver we planted +<span class="pagenumber"><a name="p099">p. 99</a></span> +in your neck for the Gienah job," +said Stetson. "It's still there and +functioning. Anything happens +around you, we hear it."</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/99.png"><img src="images/99_thumb2.png" alt="An illustration" title="An illustration" width="276" height="800"></a></p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p><i>"You pay attention while I'm making +a play for this Diana Bullone, +you hear? Then you'll know how an +expert works."</i></p> + +<p>"Don't get so interested in your +work that you forget why you're out +there," growled Stetson.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"We want you to feel at home +here, Lewis," she husked. "You're to +consider yourself one of the family."</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenumber"><a name="p100">p. 100</a></span> +There was a contour bed +against one wall, several built-ins, +and a door partly open to reveal +bathroom tiles. Everything traditional +and comfortable.</p> + +<p>"I already <i>do</i> 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."</p> + +<p>"I guess your mother and I shared +ideas when we were in school," said +Polly. "We were <i>very</i> close friends."</p> + +<p>"You must've been to do all this +for me," said Orne. "I don't know +how I'm ever going to—"</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p><i>He doesn't strike me as the dictator +type</i>, thought Orne. <i>But that's obviously +what Stet suspects.</i></p> + +<p>"Glad you made it out all right, +son," boomed Bullone. He advanced +into the room, glanced around. +"Hope everything's to your taste +here."</p> + +<p>"Lewis was just telling me that our +place is very like his mother's home +on Chargon," said Polly.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"We have a sea breeze on Chargon +that we treat the same way," said +Orne.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenumber"><a name="p101">p. 101</a></span> +one of striking elegance—extremely +feminine.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><i>Time to report in</i>, he thought. +Orne pressed the neck stud on his +transceiver, got Stetson, told him +what had happened to this point.</p> + +<p>"All right," said Stetson. "Go find +the daughter. She fits the description +of the gal you saw by the pool."</p> + +<p>"That's what I was hoping," said +Orne.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"That makes me homesick," said +Orne.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" She whirled, gasped, then +smiled. "You startled me. I thought +I was alone."</p> + +<p>"Sorry. I was enjoying the music."</p> + +<p>"I'm Diana Bullone," she said. +"You're Mr. Orne."</p> + +<p>"Lew to all of the Bullone family, +I hope," he said.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"The kaithra," said Orne. "My +sisters play it. Been a long time since +I've heard one."</p> + +<p>"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 <i>exactly</i> strange."</p> + +<p>Orne grinned. In spite of the blue +I-A fatigues and a rather severe +<span class="pagenumber"><a name="p102">p. 102</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>He said rather lamely: "I hope +you get over the feeling that I'm +strange."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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, +<i>paloika</i> hunting, <i>ditar</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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. <i>Am I falling in love with this +woman?</i> 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.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>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 <i>shardi</i> service. +Two of Marak's moons could be seen +out the window climbing swiftly +over the peaks.</p> + +<p>"You turned the house," said +Orne.</p> + +<p>"We like the moonrise," said +Polly. "It seems more romantic, +don't you think?" She glanced at +Diana.</p> + +<p>Diana looked down at her plate. +She was wearing a low-cut gown of +<i>firemesh</i> that set off her red hair. A +single strand of <i>Reinach</i> pearls +gleamed at her throat.</p> + +<p>Orne sat down in the vacant seat +opposite her. <i>What a handsome +woman!</i> he thought.</p> + +<p>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 <i>kubi</i> +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.</p> + +<p>Orne's entrance had interrupted +an argument between Polly and her +<span class="pagenumber"><a name="p103">p. 103</a></span> +husband. They welcomed him, went +right on without inhibition. Rather +than embarrassing him, this made +him feel more at home, more accepted.</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><a href="images/103.png"><img src="images/103_thumb.png" alt="An illustration" title="An illustration" width="600" height="444"></a></p> + +<p>"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—"</p> + +<p>"Our election night parties are +traditional," said Polly.</p> + +<p>"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—"</p> + +<p>"It's not like it was a <i>big</i> party," +said Polly. "I've kept the list to +fifty."</p> + +<p>Diana straightened, said: "This is +an important election Daddy! How +could you <i>possibly</i> 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—"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenumber"><a name="p104">p. 104</a></span></p> + +<p>"She sets quite a pace, but I've +enjoyed it," said Orne.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<hr> + +<p>Orne bent to his dinner as it came +out of the bubble slot beside his +plate: meat in an exotic sauce, <i>Sirik</i> +champagne, <i>paloika au semil</i> ... +more luxury.</p> + +<p>Presently, Polly returned, resumed +her seat.</p> + +<p>"Anything important?" asked Bullone.</p> + +<p>"Only a cancellation for tomorrow +night. Professor Wingard is ill."</p> + +<p>"I'd just as soon it was cancelled +down to the four of us," said Bullone.</p> + +<p><i>Unless this is a pose, this doesn't +sound like a man who wants to grab +more power</i>, thought Orne.</p> + +<p>"Scottie, you should take more +pride in your office!" snapped Polly. +"You're an important man."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Orne stared at him, fork raised +from plate and motionless. A sudden +idea had exploded in his mind.</p> + +<p>"You must know something of +this life, Lewis," said Bullone. "Your +father was member for Chargon +once, wasn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," murmured Orne. "But that +was before I was born. He died in +office." He shook his head, thought: +<i>It couldn't be ... but—</i></p> + +<p>"Do you feel all right, Lew?" asked +Diana. "You're suddenly so pale."</p> + +<p>"Just tired," said Orne. "Guess +I'm not used to so much activity."</p> + +<p>"And I've been a beast keeping +you so busy today," she said.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Orne glanced around the table, +met anxious attention in each face. +He pushed his chair back, said: +"Well, if you really don't mind—"</p> + +<p>"Mind!" barked Polly. "You scoot +along now!"</p> + +<p>"See you in the morning. Lew," +said Diana.</p> + +<p>He nodded, turned away, thinking: +<i>What a handsome woman!</i> 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 <i>is</i> supposed to +be here for a rest." Her answer was +lost as Orne entered the hall, closed +the door.</p> + +<p>In the privacy of his room, Orne +pressed the transceiver stud at his +neck, said: <i>"Stet?"</i></p> + +<p>A voice hissed in his ears: <i>"This is</i> +<span class="pagenumber"><a name="p105">p. 105</a></span> +<i>Mr. Stetson's relief. Orne, isn't it?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"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."</i></p> + +<p><i>"Right. Hang on."</i> There was a +long silence, then: <i>"Lew, this is Stet. +How come the question about Heleb?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Was it on that Nathian list?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Negative. Why'd you ask?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Are you sure, Stet? It'd explain +a lot of things."</i></p> + +<p><i>"It's not on the lists, but ... wait +a minute."</i> Silence. Then: <i>"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—"</i></p> + +<p><i>"That's it!"</i> snapped Orne.</p> + +<p><i>"Keep your voice down or talk +subvocally."</i> ordered Stetson. <i>"Now, +answer my question: What's up?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Something so fantastic it frightens +me,"</i> said Orne. <i>"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—"</i></p> + +<p><i>"You don't have to remind me of +something we want buried and forgotten,"</i> +interrupted Stetson. <i>"Too +much chance for misuse of that +formula."</i></p> + +<p><i>"Yes,"</i> said Orne. <i>"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?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Holy Moley!"</i> blurted Stetson. +<i>"Do you have evidence—"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Nothing but a hunch,"</i> said Orne. +<i>"Do you have a list of the guests +who'll be here for the election party +tomorrow?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"We can get it. Why?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Check for women who mastermind +their husbands in politics. Let +me know how many and who."</i></p> + +<p><i>"Lew, that's not enough to—"</i></p> + +<p><i>"That's all I can give you for now, +but I think I'll have more. Remember +that ..."</i> he hesitated, spacing his +words as a new thought struck him +<i>"... the ... Nathians ... were ... +nomads."</i></p> + +<hr> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>Orne felt himself liking her hand +in his—liking the feel of it too +much. He withdrew his hand, stood +aside, said: "Lead on."</p> + +<p><i>I've got to watch myself</i>, he +thought. <i>She's too charming.</i></p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenumber"><a name="p106">p. 106</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>groomis</i> in the +reeds at the lower end of the lake, +and every now and then it honked +like an old man clearing his throat.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"I didn't plan for that to happen," +whispered Diana.</p> + +<p>"Nor I," muttered Orne. He +shook his head. "Sometimes things +can get into an awful mess!"</p> + +<p>Diana blinked. "Lew ... don't +you ... like me?"</p> + +<p>He ignored the monitoring transceiver, +spoke his mind. <i>They'll just +think it's part of the act</i>, he +thought. And the thought was bitter.</p> + +<p>"Like you?" he asked. "I think +I'm in love with you!"</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<hr> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"I know, darling. Mother's told +me all about you."</p> + +<p>"You don't understand," he said. +"My father died before I was born. +He—"</p> + +<p>"It must've been very hard on your +mother," she said. "Left all alone +with her family ... and a new baby +on the way."</p> + +<p>"They'd known for a long time," +said Orne. "My father had <i>Broach's</i> +disease, and they found out too late. +It was already in the central nervous +system."</p> + +<p>"How horrible," whispered Diana.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenumber"><a name="p107">p. 107</a></span> +Mother started grooming me to take +his place in public life."</p> + +<p>"And you didn't like politics," +said Diana.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>"That'd be Maddie," said Diana.</p> + +<p>"You know her?" asked Orne. +Then he remembered what Stetson +had told him, and the thought was +chilling.</p> + +<p>"Of course I know her," said +Diana. "Lew, what's wrong with +you?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"By tomorrow all that may not be +necessary," she said.</p> + +<p>Orne heard the sudden hiss of the +carrier wave in his neck transceiver, +but there was no voice from the +monitor.</p> + +<p>"What's ... happening ... tomorrow?" +he asked.</p> + +<p>"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—"</p> + +<p>"Just a minute," said Orne. +"About us—" He swallowed.</p> + +<p>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—"</p> + +<p>"What a dope I am!" snarled +Orne. "I just realized that I have to +be a Nathian, too."</p> + +<p>"You <i>just</i> realized?" She stared at +him.</p> + +<p>There was a hissing gasp in Orne's +transceiver.</p> + +<p>"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. +"<i>The head!</i> Polly! Your mother's +the grand boss woman, isn't +she?"</p> + +<p>"But, darling ... of course. +She—"</p> + +<p>"You'd better take me to her and +fast!" snapped Orne. He touched the +stud at his neck, but Stetson's voice +intruded.</p> + +<p><i>"Great work, Lew! We're moving +in a special shock force. Can't take +any chances with—"</i></p> + +<p>Orne spoke aloud in panic: <i>"Stet! +You get out to the Bullones! And you +get there alone! No troops!"</i></p> + +<p>Diana had jumped to her feet, +backed away from him.</p> + +<p><i>"What do you mean?"</i> demanded +Stetson.</p> + +<p><i>"I'm saving our stupid necks!"</i> +barked Orne. <i>"Alone! You hear? Or +we'll have a worse mess on our hands +than any Rim War!"</i></p> + +<p>There was an extended silence. +<i>"You hear me, Stet?"</i> demanded +Orne.</p> + +<p><i>"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."</i> Pause. <i>"And you'd +better know what you're doing!"</i></p> + +<p><span class="pagenumber"><a name="p108">p. 108</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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. +"<i>All</i> of you."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"You ... traitor, Lewis!" husked +Polly.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"They were going to call me the +minute they found him," said Stetson. +His voice sounded cautious, +brooding.</p> + +<p>"You were coming to the party +here tonight, weren't you, admiral?" +asked Orne.</p> + +<p>"What's that have to do with anything?" +demanded Spencer.</p> + +<p>"Are you prepared to jail your +wife and daughters for conspiracy?" +asked Orne.</p> + +<p>A tight smile played around +Polly's lips.</p> + +<p>Spencer opened his mouth, closed +it soundlessly.</p> + +<p>"The Nathians are mostly women," +said Orne. "There's evidence +that your womenfolk are among +them."</p> + +<p>The admiral looked like a man +who had been kicked in the stomach. +"What ... evidence?" he whispered.</p> + +<p>"I'll come to that in a moment," +said Orne. "Now, note this: the +Nathians are mostly women. There +were only a few <i>accidents</i> 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."</p> + +<p>Spencer cleared his throat, swallowed. +He seemed powerless to take +his attention from Orne's mouth.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenumber"><a name="p109">p. 109</a></span></p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Polly glared at him, looked back +at her hands.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"You're in way over your head, +boy," growled Polly. "You're too +late to do anything about us!"</p> + +<p>"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—"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<hr> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>"We can't just ignore this!" barked +Spencer. He stiffened, glared at +Orne.</p> + +<p>"We can and we will," said Orne. +"No choice."</p> + +<p>Polly looked up, studied Orne's +face. Diana looked confused.</p> + +<p>"Once a Nathian, always a Nathian, +eh?" snarled Spencer.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>Spencer's face darkened. He drew +in his chin, tried to stare Orne down, +failed. Presently, he chuckled wryly.</p> + +<p>"Sobie is beginning to come to his +senses," said Polly. "You're about +through, son."</p> + +<p>"Don't underestimate your future +son-in-law," said Orne.</p> + +<p>"Hah!" barked Diana. "I <i>hate</i> +you, Lewis Orne!"</p> + +<p>"You'll get over that," said Orne +mildly.</p> + +<p>"Ohhhhhh!" Diana quivered with +fury.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenumber"><a name="p110">p. 110</a></span></p> + +<p>"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 <i>good</i> 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!"</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"After that: chaos," said Orne. +"So we let the Nathians continue ... +with two minor alterations."</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<hr> + +<p>"The I-A could have ninety per +cent of your organization in custody +inside of ten days," said Orne.</p> + +<p>"You couldn't find them!" snapped +Polly.</p> + +<p>"How?" asked Stetson.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>Polly just stared at him, mouth +open.</p> + +<p>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—"</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>Spencer paled.</p> + +<p>"What's your suggestion for compromise?" +asked Polly.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Who in the I-A vetoes our candidates?" +asked Polly.</p> + +<p>"Admiral Spencer, Stet, myself +... anyone else we deem trustworthy," +said Orne.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenumber"><a name="p111">p. 111</a></span></p> + +<p>"You think you're a god or something?" +demanded Polly.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>There was a protracted silence; +then Spencer said: "It doesn't seem +right just to—"</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"Easy," said Orne. "The records +we found said the ... Nathian (he'd +almost said 'traitor') family on Marak +was coded as <i>'The Head.'</i> Your +name, Polly, contains the ancient +word <i>'Poll'</i> which means <i>head</i>."</p> + +<p>Polly looked at Stetson. "Is he always +that sharp?"</p> + +<p>"Every time," said Stetson.</p> + +<p>"If you want to go into politics, +Lewis," said Polly, "I'd be delighted +to—"</p> + +<p>"I'm already in politics as far as +I want to be," growled Orne. "What +I really want is to settle down with +Di, catch up on some of the living +I've missed."</p> + +<p>Diana stiffened. "I never want to +see, hear <i>from</i> or hear <i>of</i> Mr. Lewis +Orne ever again!" she said. "That is +final, emphatically final!"</p> + +<p>Orne's shoulders drooped. He +turned away, stumbled, and abruptly +collapsed full length on the thick +carpets. There was a collective gasp +behind him.</p> + +<p>Stetson barked: "Call a doctor! +They warned me at the hospital he +was still hanging on a thin +thread!"</p> + +<p>There was the sound of Polly's +heavy footsteps running toward the +hall.</p> + +<p>"Lew!" It was Diana's voice. She +dropped to her knees beside him, +soft hands fumbling at his neck, his +head.</p> + +<p>"Turn him over and loosen his +collar!" snapped Spencer. "Give him +air!"</p> + +<p>Gently, they turned Orne onto his +back. He looked pale, Diana loosed +his collar, buried her face against +his neck. "Oh, Lew, I'm sorry," +she sobbed. "I didn't mean it! +Please, Lew ... please don't die! +Please!"</p> + +<p>Orne opened his eyes, looked up +at Spencer and Stetson. There was +the sound of Polly's voice talking +rapidly on the phone in the hall. He +could feel Diana's cheek warm +against his neck, the dampness of her +tears. Slowly, deliberately, Orne +winked at the two men.</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><small>THE END</small></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Operation Haystack, by Frank Patrick Herbert + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OPERATION HAYSTACK *** + +***** This file should be named 24721-h.htm or 24721-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/7/2/24721/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Joel Schlosberg, Bruce Albrecht +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Operation Haystack + +Author: Frank Patrick Herbert + +Illustrator: van Dongen + +Release Date: March 1, 2008 [EBook #24721] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OPERATION HAYSTACK *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Joel Schlosberg, Bruce Albrecht +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + +This eBook was produced from _Astounding Science Fiction_ May 1959, pp. +92-111. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + + +[Illustration] + +OPERATION HAYSTACK + +BY FRANK HERBERT + +Illustrated by van Dongen + +_It's hard to ferret out a gang of fanatics; it would, obviously, be +even harder to spot a genetic line of dedicated men. But the problem +Orne had was one step tougher than that!_ + + +When the Investigation & Adjustment scout cruiser landed on Marak it +carried a man the doctors had no hope of saving. He was alive only +because he was in a womblike creche pod that had taken over most of his +vital functions. + +The man's name was Lewis Orne. He had been a blocky, heavy-muscled +redhead with slightly off-center features and the hard flesh of a heavy +planet native. Even in the placid repose of near death there was +something clownish about his appearance. His burned, ungent-covered face +looked made up for some bizarre show. + +Marak is the League capital, and the I-A medical center there is +probably the best in the galaxy, but it accepted the creche pod and Orne +more as a curiosity than anything else. The man had lost one eye, three +fingers of his left hand and part of his hair, suffered a broken jaw and +various internal injuries. He had been in terminal shock for more than +ninety hours. + +Umbo Stetson, Orne's section chief, went back into his cruiser's +"office" after a hospital flitter took pod and patient. There was an +added droop to Stetson's shoulders that accentuated his usual slouching +stance. His overlarge features were drawn into ridges of sorrow. A +general straggling, trampish look about him was not helped by patched +blue fatigues. + +The doctor's words still rang in Stetson's ears: "This patient's vital +tone is too low to permit operative replacement of damaged organs. He'll +live for a while because of the pod, but--" And the doctor had shrugged. + +Stetson slumped into his desk chair, looked out the open port beside +him. Some four hundred meters below, the scurrying beetlelike activity +of the I-A's main field sent up discordant roaring and clattering. Two +rows of other scout cruisers were parked in line with Stetson's +port--gleaming red and black needles. He stared at them without really +seeing them. + +_It always happens on some "routine" assignment_, he thought. _Nothing +but a slight suspicion about Heleb: the fact that only women held high +office. One simple, unexplained fact ... and I lose my best agent!_ + +He sighed, turned to his desk, began composing the report: + +"The militant core on the Planet Heleb has been eliminated. Occupation +force on the ground. No further danger to Galactic peace expected from +this source. Reason for operation: Rediscovery & Re-education--_after +two years on the planet_--failed to detect signs of militancy. The major +indications were: 1) a ruling caste restricted to women, and 2) +disparity between numbers of males and females _far_ beyond the Lutig +norm! Senior Field Agent Lewis Orne found that the ruling caste was +controlling the sex of offspring at conception (see attached details), +and had raised a male slave army to maintain its rule. The R&R agent had +been drained of information, then killed. Arms constructed on the basis +of that information caused critical injuries to Senior Field Agent Orne. +He is not expected to live. I am hereby urging that he receive the +Galaxy Medal, and that his name be added to the Roll of Honor." + +Stetson pushed the page aside. That was enough for ComGO, who never read +anything but the first page anyway. Details were for his aides to chew +and digest. They could wait. Stetson punched his desk callbox for Orne's +service record, set himself to the task he most detested: notifying next +of kin. He read, pursing his lips: + +"Home Planet: Chargon. Notify in case of accident or death: Mrs. +Victoria Orne, mother." + +He leafed through the pages, reluctant to send the hated message. Orne +had enlisted in the Marak Marines at age seventeen--a runaway from +home--and his mother had given post-enlistment consent. Two years later: +scholarship transfer to Uni-Galacta, the R&R school here on Marak. Five +years of school and one R&R field assignment under his belt, and he had +been drafted into the I-A for brilliant detection of militancy on +Hammel. And two years later--_kaput_! + +Abruptly, Stetson hurled the service record at the gray metal wall +across from him; then he got up, brought the record back to his desk, +smoothing the pages. There were tears in his eyes. He flipped a switch +on his desk, dictated the notification to Central Secretarial, ordered +it sent out priority. Then he went groundside and got drunk on Hochar +Brandy, Orne's favorite drink. + + * * * * * + +The next morning there was a reply from Chargon: "Lewis Orne's mother +too ill to travel. Sisters being notified. Please ask Mrs. Ipscott +Bullone of Marak, wife of the High Commissioner, to take over for +family." It was signed: "Madrena Orne Standish, sister." + +With some misgivings, Stetson called the residence of Ipscott Bullone, +leader of the majority party in the Marak Assembly. Mrs. Bullone took +the call with blank screen. There was a sound of running water in the +background. Stetson stared at the grayness swimming in his desk visor. +He always disliked a blank screen. A baritone husk of a voice slid: +"This is Polly Bullone." + +Stetson introduced himself, relayed the Chargon message. + +"Victoria's boy dying? Here? Oh, the poor thing! And Madrena's back on +Chargon ... the election. Oh, yes, of course. I'll get right over to the +hospital!" + +Stetson signed off, broke the contact. + +_The High Commissioner's wife yet!_ he thought. Then, because he had to +do it, he walled off his sorrow, got to work. + +At the medical center, the oval creche containing Orne hung from ceiling +hooks in a private room. There were humming sounds in the dim, watery +greenness of the room, rhythmic chuggings, sighings. Occasionally, a +door opened almost soundlessly, and a white-clad figure would check the +graph tapes on the creche's meters. + +Orne was lingering. He became the major conversation piece at the +internes' coffee breaks: "That agent who was hurt on Heleb, he's still +with us. Man, they must build those guys different from the rest of +us!... Yeah! Understand he's got only about an eighth of his insides ... +liver, kidneys, stomach--all gone.... Lay you odds he doesn't last out +the month.... Look what old sure-thing McTavish wants to bet on!" + +On the morning of his eighty-eighth day in the creche, the day nurse +came into Orne's room, lifted the inspection hood, looked down at him. +The day nurse was a tall, lean-faced professional who had learned to +meet miracles and failures with equal lack of expression. However, this +routine with the dying I-A operative had lulled her into a state of +psychological unpreparedness. _Any day now, poor guy_, she thought. And +she gasped as she opened his sole remaining eye, said: + +"Did they clobber those dames on Heleb?" + +"Yes, sir!" she blurted. "They really did, sir!" + +"Good!" + +Orne closed his eye. His breathing deepened. + +The nurse rang frantically for the doctors. + +It had been an indeterminate period in a blank fog for Orne, then a time +of pain and the gradual realization that he was in a creche. Had to be. +He could remember his sudden exposure on Heleb, the explosion--then +nothing. Good old creche. It made him feel safe now, shielded from all +danger. + +Orne began to show minute but steady signs of improvement. In another +month, the doctors ventured an intestinal graft that gave him a new +spurt of energy. Two months later, they replaced missing eye and +fingers, restored his scalp line, worked artistic surgery on his burn +scars. + +Fourteen months, eleven days, five hours and two minutes after he had +been picked up "as good as dead," Orne walked out of the hospital under +his own power, accompanied by a strangely silent Umbo Stetson. + +Under the dark blue I-A field cape, Orne's coverall uniform fitted his +once muscular frame like a deflated bag. But the pixie light had +returned to his eyes--even to the eye he had received from a nameless +and long dead donor. Except for the loss of weight, he looked to be the +same Lewis Orne. If he was different--beyond the "spare parts"--it was +something he only suspected, something that made the idea, "twice-born," +not a joke. + + * * * * * + +Outside the hospital, clouds obscured Marak's green sun. It was +midmorning. A cold spring wind bent the pile lawn, tugged fitfully at +the border plantings of exotic flowers around the hospital's landing +pad. + +Orne paused on the steps above the pad, breathed deeply of the chill +air. "Beautiful day," he said. + +Stetson reached out a hand to help Orne down the steps, hesitated, put +the hand back in his pocket. Beneath the section chief's look of weary +superciliousness there was a note of anxiety. His big features were set +in a frown. The drooping eyelids failed to conceal a sharp, measuring +stare. + +Orne glanced at the sky to the southwest. "The flitter ought to be here +any minute." A gust of wind tugged at his cape. He staggered, caught his +balance. "I _feel_ good." + +"You look like something left over from a funeral," growled Stetson. + +"Sure--my funeral," said Orne. He grinned. "Anyway, I was getting tired +of that walk-around-type morgue. All my nurses were married." + +"I'd almost stake my life that I could trust you," muttered Stetson. + +Orne looked at him. "No, no, Stet ... stake _my_ life. I'm used to it." + +Stetson shook his head. "No, dammit! I trust you, but you deserve a +peaceful convalescence. We've no right to saddle you with--" + +"Stet?" Orne's voice was low, amused. + +"Huh?" Stetson looked up. + +"Let's save the noble act for someone who doesn't know you," said Orne. +"You've a job for me. O.K. You've made the gesture for your conscience." + +Stetson produced a wolfish grin. "All right. So we're desperate, and we +haven't much time. In a nutshell, since you're going to be a house guest +at the Bullones'--we suspect Ipscott Bullone of being the head of a +conspiracy to take over the government." + +"What do you mean--_take over the government_?" demanded Orne. "The +Galactic High Commissioner _is_ the government--subject to the +Constitution and the Assemblymen who elected him." + +"We've a situation that could explode into another Rim War, and we think +he's at the heart of it," said Stetson. "We've eighty-one touchy +planets, all of them old-line steadies that have been in the League for +years. And on every one of them we have reason to believe there's a clan +of traitors sworn to overthrow the League. Even on your home +planet--Chargon." + +"You want me to go home for my convalescence?" asked Orne. "Haven't been +there since I was seventeen. I'm not sure that--" + +"No, dammit! We want you as the Bullones' house guest! And speaking of +that, would you mind explaining how they were chosen to ride herd on +you?" + +"There's an odd thing," said Orne. "All those gags in the I-A about old +Upshook Ipscott Bullone ... and then I find that his wife went to school +with my mother." + +"Have you met Himself?" + +"He brought his wife to the hospital a couple of times." + +Again, Stetson looked to the southwest, then back to Orne. A pensive +look came over his face. "Every schoolkid knows how the Nathians and the +Marakian League fought it out in the Rim War--how the old civilization +fell apart--and it all seems kind of distant," he said. + +"Five hundred standard years," said Orne. + +"And maybe no farther away than yesterday," murmured Stetson. He cleared +his throat. + + * * * * * + +And Orne wondered why Stetson was moving so cautiously. _Something deep +troubling him._ A sudden thought struck Orne. He said: "You spoke of +trust. Has this conspiracy involved the I-A?" + +"We think so," said Stetson. "About a year ago, an R&R archeological +team was nosing around some ruins on Dabih. The place was all but +vitrified in the Rim War, but a whole bank of records from a Nathian +outpost escaped." He glanced sidelong at Orne. "The Rah&Rah boys +couldn't make sense out of the records. No surprise. They called in an +I-A crypt-analyst. He broke a complicated substitution cipher. When the +stuff started making sense he pushed the panic button." + +"For something the Nathians wrote five hundred years ago?" + +Stetson's drooping eyelids lifted. There was a cold quality to his +stare. "This was a routing station for key Nathian families," he said. +"Trained refugees. An old dodge ... been used as long as there've +been--" + +"But five hundred _years_, Stet!" + +"I don't care if it was five _thousand_ years!" barked Stetson. "We've +intercepted some scraps since then that were written in the _same_ code. +The bland confidence of _that_! Wouldn't that gall you?" He shook his +head. "And every scrap we've intercepted deals with the coming +elections." + +"But the election's only a couple of days off!" protested Orne. + +Stetson glanced at his wristchrono. "Forty-two hours to be exact," he +said. "Some deadline!" + +"Any names in these old records?" asked Orne. + +Stetson nodded. "Names of planets, yes. People, no. Some code names, +but no cover names. Code name on Chargon was _Winner_. That ring any +bells with you?" + +Orne shook his head. "No. What's the code name here?" + +_"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!" + +Diana blinked. "Lew ... don't you ... like me?" + +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_." + +Polly looked at Stetson. "Is he always that sharp?" + +"Every time," said Stetson. + +"If you want to go into politics, Lewis," said Polly, "I'd be delighted +to--" + +"I'm already in politics as far as I want to be," growled Orne. "What I +really want is to settle down with Di, catch up on some of the living +I've missed." + +Diana stiffened. "I never want to see, hear _from_ or hear _of_ Mr. +Lewis Orne ever again!" she said. "That is final, emphatically final!" + +Orne's shoulders drooped. He turned away, stumbled, and abruptly +collapsed full length on the thick carpets. There was a collective gasp +behind him. + +Stetson barked: "Call a doctor! They warned me at the hospital he was +still hanging on a thin thread!" + +There was the sound of Polly's heavy footsteps running toward the hall. + +"Lew!" It was Diana's voice. She dropped to her knees beside him, soft +hands fumbling at his neck, his head. + +"Turn him over and loosen his collar!" snapped Spencer. "Give him air!" + +Gently, they turned Orne onto his back. He looked pale, Diana loosed his +collar, buried her face against his neck. "Oh, Lew, I'm sorry," she +sobbed. "I didn't mean it! Please, Lew ... please don't die! Please!" + +Orne opened his eyes, looked up at Spencer and Stetson. There was the +sound of Polly's voice talking rapidly on the phone in the hall. He +could feel Diana's cheek warm against his neck, the dampness of her +tears. Slowly, deliberately, Orne winked at the two men. + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Operation Haystack, by Frank Patrick Herbert + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OPERATION HAYSTACK *** + +***** This file should be named 24721.txt or 24721.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/7/2/24721/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Joel Schlosberg, Bruce Albrecht +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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