The Godmakers (11 page)

. luxury piled upon luxury.

Presently, Polly resumed her seat.

"Anything important?" Bullone asked.

"Only a cancellation for tomorrow night. Professor Wingard is ill."

"I'd just as soon they canceled it down to the four of us," Bullone said. "I want some time to chat with Lewis."

Unless this is a clever pose, that doesn't sound like a man who wants to grab more power, Orne thought.

For the first time, Orne began wondering if Stetson had lied, if this were part of some elaborate political in-fighting process with Stetson and friends at the heart of it. What if a cabal in the I-A were plotting a coup? No! He knew he had to stop looking for phantoms and proceed just by what he learned -

- datum by datum.

Polly glanced at her husband, said: "Scottie, you should take more pride in your office, I swear it. You're an important man and it helps at times to reflect this."

"If it weren't for you, my dear, I'd be a nobody and prefer it," Bullone said, smiling fondly at his wife.

"Oh, now, Scottie," she said.

Bullone grinned at Orne, said: "Compared to my wife, Lewis, I'm a political idiot. Never saw anyone who could call the turn the way she does. It runs in her family. Her mother was the same way and her grandmother! Now, there was a true genius in politics."

Orne stared at him, fork raised from the plate and motionless. A sudden idea had exploded in his mind. It couldn't be! he thought. It just couldn't be!

"You must know something of this political life, Lew," Diana said. "Wasn't your father once Member for Chargon?"

"Yes," Orne murmured. "He died in office."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to open old wounds."

"It's quite all right," Orne said. He shook his head from side to side, still caught in the throes of his explosive idea. It couldn't be, but . . . the pattern was almost identical.

"Do you feel all right, Lewis?" Polly asked. "You're suddenly so pale."

"Just tired," Orne said. "Guess I'm not used to so much activity."

Diana put her fork down, a stricken look on her face. "Oh, Lew! And I've been a beast keeping you so busy today, your first day out of the hospital."

Bullone said: "Don't stand on ceremony in this house, Lewis."

Polly looked concerned, said: "You've been very sick and we understand. If you're tired, Lewis, you go right on to bed. Perhaps we could bring you a little hot broth, later."

Orne glanced around the table, met anxious attention in each face. They were really concerned about him and no mistaking it. He felt torn between duty and the simple demands of humanity. In their own context, these were warm and honest people, but if they . . . Confused, Orne pushed his chair back, said:

"Mrs. Bullone . . ." then remembered she'd asked him to call her Polly.

"Polly, if you really don't mind . . ."

"Mind!" she barked "You scoot along."

"May we get you anything?" Bullone asked.

"No. no, really." Orne stood, feeling rubbery in his knees and very aware of the better fit in his regrown kneecap.

"I'll see you in the morning, Lew," Diana said. She managed to convey both the concern of a hostess in these words and something warmly personal, a private message. Orne wasn't sure he wanted that private message.

"In the morning," he agreed.

He turned away, thinking: Lord, what a desirable woman!

As he started down the hall, he heard Bullone say in a heavily paternal voice:

"Di, perhaps you'd better not take that boy all over the place tomorrow.

After all, he is here for a convalescent 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 on the surf-beat carrier wave: "This is Mr.

Stetson's relief. Orne, isn't it?"

"Yes, this is Orne. I want a recheck right away on those Nathian records the archaeologists recovered from Dabih. Find out if Sheleb was one of the planets they seeded."

"Right. Hang on."

There was a long silence, then: "Lew, this is Stet. How come that question about Sheleb?"

"Was it on the Nathian list?"

"Negative. Why'd you ask?"

"Are you sure? It'd explain a lot of things."

"Sheleb is not on their lists . . . but, wait a minute." Silence, then:

"Sheleb is on the course-line cone to Auriga and Auriga was on their list.

We've reason to doubt they put anyone down on Auriga. But if their ship ran into trouble . . ."

"That's it!" Orne snapped.

"Stop using open voice!" Stetson ordered. "Sub-vocal only. They can't tap this system, but they know it exists. We can't have them get suspicious because you talk to yourself."

"Sorry," Orne said. "I just knew Sheleb had to be . . ."

"Why? What've you discovered?"

"I've had an idea that frightens me," Orne said. "Remember that the women who ruled Sheleb were breeding male or female offspring by controlling the sex at conception. In fact, it was that imbalance which . . ."

"You don't have to remind me of something we'd rather have buried and forgotten," Stetson interrupted. "Why is that so important right now?"

"Stet, what if your Nathian underground is composed entirely of women bred in that same way? And what if their own men don't even know about it? What if Sheleb were just a place which got out of hand because the women there had lost contact with their main element? They were an R&R discovery."

"Holy Mother Marak," Stetson said. "Do you have evidence to sub . . ."

"Nothing but a hunch," Orne said. "Can you get a list of the guests invited to the Bullones' election party tomorrow?"

"Yes, we can get it. Why?"

"Examine it for women who masterminded their husbands in politics. Let me know how many and who."

"Lew, that's not enough to . . ."

"It's all we have to go on at this point," Orne said He paused as a new thought struck him. "There may be one other thing. Don't forget that the Nathians came from nomad ancestry. The traces will still be there."

We have a very ancient saying: The more God, the more devil; the more flesh, the more worms, the more property, the more anxiety; the more control, the more that needs control.

-- THE ABBODS OF AMEL, Psi Commentary

Day began early for the Bullones.

In spite of its being election day, the High Commissioner took off for his office an hour after dawn, passing a sleepy-eyed Orne in the main hallway with a bright "Good morning, son. Did you sleep well?"

Orne admitted that he had slept well. He could see Diana and Polly standing in the main salon doorway.

"I have to be going," Bullone said. "See what I mean about this damn job owning you?"

Diana came down the hall followed by Polly, both with questions about Orne's health. They all went outdoors to see Bullone into his limousine flitter.

The sky was cloudless and there was a smell of green plants in the air with a faint flower perfume.

"We're going to take it easy today, Lew," Diana said. "I've had my orders."

She took his hand as they went up the steps after her father's departure.

Orne found himself enjoying her hand in his -- enjoying the tactile contact far too much for his peace of mind. He withdrew his hand at the door, stood aside, said: "Lead on."

"First, breakfast," she said. "We have to get your strength back."

I have to watch myself, Orne thought. This whole family is too open and charming.

He thought suddenly of the charming women on Sheleb -- before they had turned on him. His body remembered pain.

"I think a picnic is just what your doctor ordered today," Diana said.

"There's a little lake with grassy banks out there. We'll take viewers and a couple of good novels, or anything else you might want to read. This'll be a lazy, do-nothing day."

Orne hesitated. "What about your big party?"

"Mother has that well in hand."

Orne glanced around. Polly had gone inside with a last "Hurry along, you two.

Breakfast for you in just a few minutes."

Orne thought of the things that might occur today in this house, things he should observe. But, no . . . if he had analyzed the situation correctly, Diana represented a weak link. Time was closing in on him, too. By tomorrow, the Nathians could have the government under their complete control.

He knew he had to make an immediate choice. He said: "Friendly native guide, my life is in your hands."

And he thought: I hope I'm not a prophet.

Those who seek knowledge for the sake of reward, yea even to the knowledge of Psi, repeat the errors of the primitive religions. Knowledge gained out of fear or hope of reward holds you in a basket of ignorance. Thus the ancients learned to falsify their lives.

-- Sayings of the ABBODS, The Approach to Psi

Orne found it warm beside the lake. Purple and orange flowers patterned the grassy bank above him. The water reflected a far shore of dark bushes. Small creatures flitted and cheeped in the brush and trees. There was a groomis in the reeds at the lower end of the lake. Every now and then it honked like an old man clearing his throat.

Diana lay on the ground mat they'd spread for their picnic. Her hands were clasped behind her head, eyes closed. The red-gold hair lay in a spray around her face.

"When we were all girls at home we used to picnic here almost every Eightday,"

Diana said. "Weather permitting, of course. They make it rain here too much for my liking sometimes."

Orne sat down beside her, faced the lake. He felt deeply uneasy. The pattern was so clear. Like Sheleb, like home, like here, he thought.

"We girls made a raft over on the other side of the lake," Diana said. She sat up, stared across the water. "You know, I think pieces of it are still there. See?" She pointed to 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, then lips pressed together in a lingering kiss. Panic came close to the surface in Orne. He broke away.

"I didn't plan for that to happen," Diana whispered.

"Nor I," Orne muttered. He shook his head. "Lord! Sometimes things get in 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. The thought was bitter.

"Like you?" he said. "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, leaning back to look up at him. "Mother has second sight."

Bitterness remained like a sour taste in Orne's mouth. He could see the pattern so clearly. He said; "Di, I ran away from home when I was seventeen."

"I know, darling. Mother's told me all about you."

"You don't understand," he said, "My father died just before I was born. He was . . ."

"It must've been very hard on your mother," she said. "All alone with her family . . . and a new baby on the way."

"They'd known for a long time," Orne said. "My father had Broach's disease.

They found out about it too late. It was already into the central nervous system."

"How horrible," Diana whispered. "So they planned for you, of course -- to have a son, I mean."

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, then was his own, but still struggling. "Dad was Member for Chargon," he whispered. He felt as though he were living a dream. His voice remained low, shocked. "From when I first began to talk, Mother started grooming me to take his place in public life."

"And you objected to all of that arranging and managing," Diana said.

"I hated it! First chance, I ran away. One of my sisters married a fellow who's now Member for Chargon. And I hope he enjoys it!"

"That'll be Maddie," Diana said.

Orne remembered what Stetson had said about a ciphered note between Diana and Maddie. The thought chilled him.

"How well do you know Maddie?" Orne asked.

"I know her very well. Lew, what's wrong with you?"

"Politics," he said. "You'd expect me to play the same game, you calling the shots. Shoot for the top, cut and scramble, claw and dig."

"By this time tomorrow all of that may not be necessary," she said.

Orne sensed the sudden hiss of the carrier wave in his neck transceiver, but there was no accompanying voice from whoever was monitoring.

"What's happening . . . tomorrow?" he asked.

"The election, silly. Lew, you're acting very strange. Are you sure you're feeling well?" She put a hand to his forehead. "Perhaps we'd best . . ."

"Just a minute," Orne said, taking her hand from his forehead and holding it.

"About us . . ."

She squeezed his hand.

Orne swallowed.

Diana withdrew her hand, touched his cheek. "I think my parents already suspect. We're notorious love-at-first-sighters in this family." She studied him fondly. "You don't feel feverish, but maybe we'd better . . ."

"What a dope I am," Orne muttered, "I just realized I must be a Nathian!"

She stared at him. "You just realized?"

He said: "I knew it . . . I knew it and didn't want to know it. When you realize a thing . . . that's when you have to accept it."

"Lew, I don't understand you," she said.

There was a hissing gasp in Orne's transceiver, quickly cut off.

"The identical patterns in our families," he said. "Even to the houses, for the love of heaven! There's the real key. What a dope I've been!" He snapped his fingers. "The head! Polly! Your mother's the grand boss woman of the whole thing!"

"But, darling . . . of course. She . . . I thought you . . ."