The Collected Stories of Frank Herbert

by Frank Herbert

  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.

  “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,” sai
d 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.

  “Okay, 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.