_"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.