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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 24721 ***
+
+
+
+
+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 he 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 THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 24721 ***