e 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 apa