Classic Audiobook Collection - 3 Science Fiction Stories by Frank Herbert ~ Full Audiobook [scifi]

Episode Date: January 5, 2023

3 Science Fiction Stories by Frank Herbert audiobook. Genre: scifi In 3 Science Fiction Stories, Frank Herbert showcases the sharp, unsettling imagination that would later make him famous, through three compact tales from the late 1950s. In Missing Link, junior Interstellar Agency fieldman Lewis Orne lands on the jungle world of Gienah III to investigate a vanished human ship, only to find that the planet's inhabitants may now hold technology they were never meant to touch, and that a single misstep in first contact could trigger ruthless retaliation from distant authorities. Operation Haystack throws Orne into a wider web of political suspicion, where fanatics, hidden bloodlines, and quiet social engineering turn a routine assignment into a dangerous game of infiltration and divided loyalties. Rounding out the collection, Old Rambling House shifts to Earthbound dread: a young couple trades their trailer for an improbably perfect house, and discovers that the dream of stability can become a contract with forces that do not share human ideas of consent, family, or escape. Together, these stories explore power, bureaucracy, and the price of control, with Herbert's trademark tension between individual choice and systems that think in centuries. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 1 (00:45:29) Chapter 2 (01:46:00) Chapter 3 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Missing Link by Frank Herbert. This story was first published in Astounding Science Fiction, February 1959. We ought to scrape this planet clean of every living thing on it, muttered Umbo Stetson, section chief of investigation and adjustment. Stetson paced the landing control bridge of his scout cruiser. His footsteps grated on a floor that was the rear wall of the bridge during flight. light. But now the ship rested on its tail fins, all four hundred glistening red and black meters of it. The open ports of the bridge looked out on the jungle roof of Guyana three,

some 150 meters below. A butter yellow sun hung above the horizon, perhaps an hour from setting. "'Clean as an egg!' he barked. He paused in his round of the bridge, glared out the starboard port spat into the fire-blackened circle that the cruiser's jets had burned from the jungle. The IA. section chief was dark-haired, gangling, with large head and big features. He stood in his customary slouch, a stance not improved by sack-like patched blue fatigues. Although on this present operation he rated the flag of a division admiral, his fatigues carried no insignia. there was a general unkempt straggling look about him lewis orne junior i a field man with a maiden diploma stood at the opposite port studying the jungle horizon now and then he glanced at the bridge control console the chronometer above it the big trans light map of their position tilted from the opposite bulkhead a heavy planet native he felt vaguely uneasy on this

Diana III, with its gravity of only seven-eighth's Terran standard. The surgical scars on his neck, where the microcommunications equipment had been inserted, itched maddeningly. He scratched. Ha, said Stetson, politicians. A thin black insect with shell-like wings flew in Orangeport, settled in his close-cropped red hair. Orne pulled the insect gently from his hair, released it. Again it tried to land in his hair.

He ducked. It flew across the bridge, out the port besides Detson. There was a thick-muscled, no-fat look to Orne, but something about his blocky off-center features suggested a clown. "'I'm getting tired of waiting,' he said. "'You're tired. Ha! A breeze rippled the tops of the green ocean below them.

Here and there red and purple flowers jotted from the verdure, bending and nodding like an attentive audience. Look at that blasted jungle, barked Stetson. Them and their stupid ardors! A call bell tinkled on the bridge control console. The red light above the speaker grid began blinking. Stetson shot an angry. We glanced at it.

Yeah, Hal. Okay, stat artist just came through. We used Plan C. ComGio said to brief the field man and jet out of here. Did you ask them about using another field man? Orne looked up attentively. The speaker said, Yes, they said we have to use Arne because of the records on the Delphina's.

Well, then, will they give us more time to brief him? Negative, it's crash priority. Com Geo expects to blast the planet anyway. Stetson glared at the grid. Those fat-headed, lord-bottomed pig-brained politicians. He took two deep breaths, subsided. Okay, tell them we'll comply. One more thing, Stett.

What now? I've got a confirmed contact. instantly Stetson was poised on the balls of his feet, alert. Where? About ten kilometers out, section AAB-6. How many? A mob. You want I should count them?

No. What are they doing? Making a B-line for us. You better get a move on. Okay, keep us posted. All right. Stetson looked across at his junior field man. "'Orne, if you decide you want out of this assignment, you just say the word.

I'll back you to the hilt.' "'Why should I want out of my first field assignment?' "'Listen and find out.' Stetson crossed to a tilt-locker behind the big trans light map. Hall dot a white cover-all uniform with gold insignia tossed it to Arne. Get into these while I brief you on the map. "'But this is an R&R, and R you began, Arn. "'Get that uniform on your ugly frame.'

"'Yes, sir, Admiral Stetson, sir, right away, sir. "'But I thought I was through with old rediscovery and re-education "'when you drafted me off of Hummel into the I.A., sir?' "'He began changing from the I.A. blue to the R&R. White. almost as an afterthought he said, sir. A wolfish grin cracked Stetson's big features. I'm so happy you have the proper attitude of subservience toward authority. Orne zipped up the cover-all uniform.

Oh, yes, sir, sir? Okay, Orne, pay attention. Stetson gestured at the map with its green superimposed grid squares. Here we are. "'Here's that city we flew over on our way down. "'You'll head for it as soon as we drop you. "'The place is big enough that if you hold a course roughly northeast, you can't miss it. "'We're—'

"'Again, the call bell rang. "'What is it this time, Hal?' barked Stetson. "'They've changed to Plan H, Stett. "'New orders cut. "'Five days?' "'That's all they can give us. "'Com G.O. said he can't keep the information out of High Commissioner Boulogne's hands any longer than that.

It's five days for sure, then. Is this the usual or and or foul up? asked Orne. Stetson nodded. Thanks to Boulogne and company. We're just one jump ahead of catastrophe, but they still pump the bullwash into the awry and raw boys back at dear old Unigalacta. You're making light of my revered alma mater. said Orne.

He struck a pose. We must reunite the lost planets with our centers of culture and industry, and take up the glorious onward march of mankind that was so brutally. Can it? snapped Stetson. We both know we're going to rediscover one planet to many one day. Rim war all over again. But this is a different breed of fish.

It's not, repeat, not a re-discovery. Orange sobered. Alien? Yes, A-L-I-E-N, a never-before-contacted culture. That language you were force-fed on the way over? That's an alien language. It's not complete. All we have off the minis, and we excluded data on the natives,

because we've been hoping to do that. dump this project and nobody the wiser. Holy Mazoo! Twenty-six days ago, and I, a search ship, came through here, had a routine mini-sneaker look at the place. When he combed in his net of sneakers to check the tapes and films, lo and behold, he had a little stranger. One of theirs?

No, it was a mini off the Delphina's Rediscovery. The Delphinae has been unreported for 18 standard months. Did it crack up here? We don't know. If it did, we haven't been able to spot it. She was supposed to be way off in the Belladine system by now. But we've something else on our minds. It's the one item that makes me want to blot out this place and run home with my tail between my legs.

We've a— Again, the call bell chimed. "'Now what?' roared Stetson into the speaker. "'I've got a mini over that mob, Stett. "'They're talking about us. It's a definite raiding party.' "'What armament?' "'Too gloomy in that jungle, to be sure. The infra-beams out on this many.

Looks like hard pellet rifles of some kind might even be off the Delphineas. Can't you get any closer?' "'Wouldn't do any good. No light down there. and they're moving up fast. Keep an eye on them, but don't ignore the other sectors, said Stetson. You think I was born yesterday? Borked the voice from the grid. The contact broke off with an angry sound.

One thing I like about the I-A, said Stetson. It collects such even-tempered types. He looked at the white uniform on Orne, wiped a hand across his mouth as though he tasted something dirty. Why am I wearing this thing? asked Orne. Disguise. But there's no mustache.

Stetson smiled without humor. That's one of I.A.'s answers to those fat keistered politicians. We're setting up our own search system to find the planets before they do. We've managed to put spies in key places at R&R. Any touchy planets our spies report, we divert the files. Then what? Then we look into them with bright boys like you, disguised as R&R fieldmen. Goody, goody!

And what happens if R and R stumbles on to me while I'm down there playing patty cake? We disown you. But you said an I-A ship found this joint. It did. And then one of our spies in R&R intercepted a routine request for an agent instructor to be assigned here with full equipment. Request signed by a first contact officer name of Diston of the Delphinus. But the del— Yeah, missing.

The request was a forgery. Now you see why I'm mostly for rubbing out this place. Who'd dare forge such a thing unless he knew for sure that the original FC officer was missing or dead? What the jumped-up, Missou, are we doing here, Stett? asked Orne. Alien calls for a full-contact team with all of the—it calls for one planet-buster-bomb-buster in five days, unless you give them a white bill in the meantime. High Commissioner Boulogne, we'll have word of this planet by then. If Guyana three still exists in five days, you can't imagine the fun the politicians will have with it.

Mamma Mia! We want this planet cleared for contact or dead before then. I don't like this, Stett. You don't like it. Look, said Orne, there must be another way. Why, when we teamed up with the alarinoids, we can't. gained five hundred years in the physical sciences alone, not to mention the allerinoids didn't knock over one of our survey ships first.

What if the Delphinus just crashed here, and the locals picked up the pieces? That's what you're going in to find out, Arne. But answer me this. If they do have the Delphinus, how long before a tool using race could be a threat to the galaxy? I saw that city they built, Stett. They could be dug in within six months, and there'd be no—yeah. Orne shook his head.

But think of it. Two civilizations that matured along different lines. Think of all the different ways we'd approach the same problems. The lever that it'd give us for— You sound like a uni-galacta lecture. Are you through marching arm in arm into the misty-y-y-reiber? future? Orne took a deep breath. Why is a freshman like me being tossed into this dish? You'd still be on the Delphina's master list as an R&R field, man. That's important if you're

masquerading. Am I the only one? I know I'm a recent convert, but you went out? I didn't say that. I just want to know why I'm—because the big domes fed a set of requirements into one of their iron monsters. Your card popped out. They were looking for somebody capable, dependable, and expendable. Hey, that's why I'm down here briefing you instead of sitting back on a flagship. I got you into the IA. Now, you listen carefully. If you push the panic button on this one without cause. I will personally flay you alive. We both know the advantages of an alien contact. But if you get into a hotspot and call for help, I'll dive this cruiser into that city to get you out." Orange swallowed. Thanks, Stett. I'm—we're going to take up a tight orbit. Out beyond us will be five

transports full of I.A. Marines and a Class 9 monitor with one planet buster. You're calling the shots, God help you. First we want to know if they have the Delphinas, and if so, where it is. Next, we want to know just how warlike these goons are. Can we control them if they're bloodthirsty? What's their potential? In five days? Not a second to more.

What do we know about them? Not much. They look something like an ancient terranes. Charen Chimpanzee, only with blue fur. Face is hairless, pink-skinned. Stetson snapped a switch. The translight map became a screen with a figure frozen on it. Like that.

This is life-size. Looks like the missing link they're always hunting for, said Orrin. Yeah, but you've got a different kind of a missing link. Vertical slit pupils in their eyes, said Orin. He studied the figure. It had been caught from the front. by a mini-sneaker camera, about five feet tall. The stance was slightly bent forward, long arms,

two vertical nose slits, a flat, lipless mouth, receding chin, four-fingered hands. It wore a wide belt from which dangled neat pouches and what looked like tools, although their use was obscure. There appeared to be the tip of a tail protruding from behind one of the squat legs. Behind the creature towered the fairy spires of the city they'd observed from the air. "'Tales?' asked Orne. "'Yeah, they're arboreal.

Not a road on the whole planet that we can find, but there are a lot of vine lanes through the jungles.' Stetson's face hardened. "'Match that with a city as advanced as that one. Slave culture? Probably. How many cities have they?' We found two, this one and another on the other side of the planet, but the other ones are ruin.

A ruin? Why? You tell us. Lots of mysteries here. What's the planet like? Mostly jungle. There are polar oceans, lakes, and rivers. One low mountain chain follows the equatorial belt about two-thirds around the planet. But only two cities? Are you sure? Reasonably so, it'd be pretty hard to miss something the size of that thing we flew over. It must be fifty kilometers long and at least ten wide, swarming with these creatures, too. We've got a zone count estimate that places the city's population at over thirty million.

Ho-ho-we! Those are tall buildings, too. We don't know much about this place, Arne. And unless you bring them into the fold, there'll be nothing but ashes. for our archaeologist to pick over. Seems a dirty shame. I agree, but... The call bell jangled. Stetson's voice sounded tired.

Yeah, Hal. That mob's only about five kilometers out, Stett. We've got Orrin's gear outside in the disguised air sled. We'll be right down. Why a disguised sled? asked Oran. If they think it's a ground buggy, they might get careless when you most need an advantage. We could always scoop you out of the air, you know.

What are my chances on this one, Stetson shrugged? I'm afraid they're slim. These goons probably have the Delphineus, and they want you just long enough to get your equipment and everything you know. Rough as that, eh? According to our best guess, "'If you're not out in five days, we blast.' Orne cleared his throat.

"'Want out?' asked Stetson. "'No.' "'Use the back-door rule, son. "'Always leave yourself a way out.' "'Now let's check that equipment the surgeons put in your neck.' Stetson put a hand to his throat. His mouth remained closed, but there was a surf-hissing voice in Orin's ear. You read me?

Sure, I can't. No, hissed the voice. Touch the mic contact. Keep your mouth closed. Just use your speaking muscles without speaking. Orn obeyed. Okay, said Stetson, you come in loud and clear. I ought to.

I'm right on top of you. There'll be a relay ship over you all the time, said Stetson. Now, when you're not touching that mic contact, this rig will still feed us which you. you say, and everything that goes on around you, too. We'll monitor everything. Got that? Yes.

Stetson held out his right hand. Good luck. I mean that about diving in for you. Just say the word. I know the word, too, said Orne. Help! Gray mud, floor, and gloomy aisles between monstrous, bluish tree trunks. That was the jungle.

Only the barest weak glimmering of sunlight penetrated to the mud. The disguised sled, its paragrave units turned off, lurched and skidded around buttress roots. Its headlight swung in wild arcs across the shrunks and down to the mud. Aerial creepers, great looping vines of them, swung down from the towering forest ceiling. A steady drip of condensation splattered the windshield, forcing Orne to use the wide. wipers. In the bucket seat of the sled's cab, Orne fought the controls. He was played by the vague, slow-motion floating sensation that a heavy planet native always

feels in lighter gravity. It gave him an unhappy stomach. Things skipped through the air around the lurching vehicle, flitting and darting things. Insects came in twin cones, siphoned toward the headlights. There was an endless change. Chittering, whistling, tuck, tock, talking in the gloom beyond the lights. Stetson's voice hissed suddenly through the surgically implanted speaker. How's it look?

Alien. Any sign of that mob? Negative. Okay, we're taking off. Behind Orne there came a deep, rumbling roar that receded as the scout cruiser climbed its jets. All other sounds hung suspended in. and after silence, then resumed, the strongest first and then the weakest. A heavy object suddenly arced through the headlights, swinging on a vine.

It disappeared behind a tree. Another. Another. Ghostly shadows with vine pendulums on both sides. Something banged down heavily onto the hood of the sled. Orne braked to a creaking stop that shifted the load behind him. found himself staring through the windshield at a native of Guyana three. The native crouched on the hood, a Mark-20 exploding pellet rifle in his right hand directed at Orrin's head.

In the abrupt shock of meeting, Orne recognized the weapon, standard issue to the Marine guards on all R&R survey ships. The native appeared the twin of the one Arn had seen on the translight screen. The four-fingered hand looked extremely capable around the stock of the Mark 20. Slowly, Arne put a hand to his throat, pressed the contact button. He moved his speaking muscles. Just made contact with the mob. One on the hood now has one of our Mark 20 rifles aimed at my head. The surf hissing of Stetson's voice came through the hidden speaker.

Want us to come back? Negative. Stand by. He looks cautious rather than hostile. Orrin held up his right hand, palm out. He had a second thought, held up his left hand too. Universal symbol of peaceful intentions, empty hands. The gun muzzle lowered slightly.

Orne called into his mind the language that had been hypnoforced into him. O'Kiro? No, that means the people. Ah, and he had the heavy frigate of greeting sound. Farogi Ragrazzi? He said. The native shifted to the left, answered in pure, unaccented high galactes. Who were you?

Orne fought down sudden panic. The lipless mouth had looked so odd forming the familiar words. Stetson's voice hissed. "'Is that native-speaking Galactes?' "'Oren touched his throat. "'You heard him.' He dropped his hand, said, "'I am Louis Orne of rediscovery and re-education.

I was sent here at the request of the first contact officer on the Delphina's rediscovery. "'Where is your ship?' demanded the Guyanan. "'It put me down and left.' "'Why?' "'It was. was behind schedule for another appointment. Out of the corners of his eyes,

Orange saw more shadows dropping to the mud around him. The sled shifted as someone climbed onto the load behind the cab. Then someone scuttled agilely for a moment. The native climbed down to the cab's sidestep opened the door. The rifle was held at the ready. Again, the lipless mouth formed Galacte's words. What do you carry in this vehicle? The equipment every R&R feel man uses to help the people of a rediscovered planet to prove themselves.

Orr nodded at the rifle. Would you mind pointing that weapon some other direction? It makes me nervous. The gun muzzle remained unwaveringly on Orange's middle. The native's mouth opened, revealing lye. long canines. Do we not look strange to you? I take it there's been a heavy mutational variation in the humanoid norm on this planet, said Orne.

What is it? Hard radiation? No answer. It doesn't really make any difference, of course, said Orne. I'm here to help you. I am Tanub, high path chief of the Grazi, said the native. I decide who is to help. Orin swallowed,

"'Where do you go?' demanded Tanub. "'I was hoping to go to your city. Is it permitted?' A long pause, while the vertical slit pupils of Tanub's eyes expanded and contracted. "'It is permitted.' Stetson's voice came through the hidden speaker. "'All bets off. We're coming in after you. That mark twenty is the final straw.

It means they have the delphinos for sure. Orne touched his throat. No, give me a little more time. Why? I have a hunch about these creatures. What is it? No time now. Trust me.

Another long pause in which Orne and Tanube continue to study each other. Presently Stinton said, Okay, go ahead, as planned. But find out. where the Delphinos is. If we get that back, we pull their teeth. Why do you keep touching your throat? demanded Tanube.

I'm nervous, said Orne. Guns always make me nervous. The muzzle lowered slightly. Shall we continue on to your city? asked Orne. He wet his lips with his tongue. The cab light on Tanub's face was giving the guyanan an eerie, sinister look. "'We can go soon,' said Tanub.

"'Will you join me inside here?' asked Arn. "'There's a passenger seat right behind me.' "'Tanub's eyes moved cat-like, right, left.' "'Yes.' He turned, barked an order into the jungle gloom, then climbed in behind Arn. "'Where do we go?' asked Arn. "'The great sun will be down soon,' said Tanub. we can continue as soon as Chiranak Russo rises.

Chirranak Russo? Our satellite, our moon, said Tanub. It's a beautiful word, said Orne. Chironak Russo. In our tongue it means the limb of victory, said Tanub. By its light, we will continue. Orne turned, looked back at Tanub. Do you mean to tell me that you can see?

by what light gets down here through those trees? Can you not see? asked Tanub. Not without the headlights. Our eyes differ, said Tanub. He bent toward Oran, peered. The vertical slit pupils of his eyes expanded, contracted. You are the same as the others. Oh, on the Delphinas?

Pause. Yes. Presently a greater gloom came over the jungle, bringing a sudden stillness to the wildlife. There was a chittering commotion from the natives and the trees around the sled. Tanub shifted behind, Orne. We may go now, he said, slowly, to stay behind my scouts. Right, Orne eased the sled forward around an obstructing route. Silence, while they crawled ahead.

Around them shapes flung themselves from vine to vine. I admired your city from the air, said Arne. It is very beautiful. Yes, said Tanube. Why did you land so far from it? We didn't want to come down where we might destroy anything. There is nothing to destroy in the jungle, said Tanub. Why do you have some of the jungle?

such a big city, asked Orne. Silence. I said, why do you... You are ignorant of our ways, said Tanub. Therefore, I forgive you. The city is for our race. We must breed and be born in sunlight. Once, long ago, we used crude platforms on the tops of the trees.

Now, only the... The wild ones do this." Stenton's voice hissed in orange ear. Easy on the sex line, boy. That's always touchy. These creatures are oviparous. Sex glands are apparently hidden in that long fur behind where their chins are to be. Who controls the breeding sights controls our world?

said Tanub. Once there was another city. We destroyed it. "'Are there many wild ones?' asked Orne. "'F fewer each year,' said Tanub. "'There's how they get their slaves,' hissed Stenton. "'You speak excellent Galactes,' said Orne. "'The High Path Chief commanded the best teacher,' said Tanub.

"'Do you too know many things, Arne?' "'That's why I was sent here,' said Orne. "'Are there many planets to teach?' said Tanub. "'Very many,' said Orne. "'Your city—I saw very tall buildings. "'Of what do you build them?' "'In Yur-Tong glass,' said Tanub. "'The engineers of the Delphinos said it was impossible.

"'As you saw, they are wrong.' "'A glass-blowing culture,' hissed Stetson. That'd explain a lot of things. Slowly the disguised sled crept through the jungle. Once a scout swooped down into the headlights, waved. Arn stopped on Tanub's order, and they waited almost ten minutes before proceeding. Wild ones? asked Arn. Perhaps, said Tanub.

A glowing of many lights grew visible through the giant tree trunks. A grew brighter as the sled crept through the last of the jungle, emerged in clear land at the edge of the city. Orange stared upward in awe. The city fluted and spiraled into the moonlit sky. It was a fragile appearing lacery of bridges, winking dots of light. The bridges wove back and forth from building to building until the entire visible network appeared one gigantic,

dew-glittering web. All that with glass, murmured Orne. What's happening? Hist Stetson. Orne touched his throat contact. We're just into the city clearing, proceeding toward the nearest building. This is far enough, said Tanub.

Orne stopped the sled. In the moonlight he could see armed Guyanans all around. The buttressed pedestal of one. One of the buildings loomed directly ahead. It looked taller than had the scout cruiser in its jungle landing circle. Tanub leaned close to Orange's shoulder. We have not deceived you, have we, Arn? Huh? What do you mean?

You have recognized that we are not mutated members of your race. Orne swallowed. Into his ears came Stetson's voice. "'Better admit it.' "'That's true,' said Arn. "'I like you, Arn,' said Tanub. "'You shall be one of my slaves. You will teach me many things.'

"'How did you capture the Dolphinus?' asked Arne. "'You know that, too?' "'You have one of their rifles,' said Arn. "'Your race is no match for us, Arne, in cunning, in strength, in the prowess of the mind, your ship landed to repair its tubes, very inferior ceramics in those tubes. Orrin turned, looked at Tanube in the dim glow of the cablight. Have you heard about the I-A, Tanub? I-A? What is that?

There was a wary tenseness in the Gyanian's figure. His mouth opened to reveal the long canines. "'You took the Delphina's by treasury?' asked Orne. "'They were simple fools,' said Tanub. "'We are smaller, thus they thought us weaker.' The Mark Twenties muzzle came around to center on Orne's stomach. "'You have not answered my question. What is the I-A?' "'I am of the I, A,' said Orne.

"'Where have you hidden the Delphinus?' "'In the place that suits us best,' said Tanub. "'In all our history there has never been a better place.' "'What do you plan to do with it?' asked Orne. "'Within a year we will have a copy with our own improvements. "'After that—' "'You intend to start a war?' asked Arne. "'In the jungle the strong slay the weak until only the strong remain,' said Tanub.

"'And then the strong prays.' upon each other, asked Arne. That is a quibble for women, said Tanub. It's too bad you feel that way, said Orne. When two cultures meet like this, they tend to help each other. What have you done with the crew of the Delphinas? They are slaves, said Tanub, those who still live. Some resisted.

Others objected to teaching us what we want to know. He waved the gun-mussel. You will not. not be that foolish, will you, Arne? No need to be, said Arne. I have another little lesson to teach you. I already know where you've hidden the Delphinaus. Go, boy, hissed Stetson.

Where is it? Impossible, barked Tanub. It's on your moon, said Arn, dark side. It's on a mountain on the dark side of your moon. Tanub's eyes dilated, contracted. You read minds? The IA. has no need to read minds, said Orne. We rely on superior mental progress.

The Marines are on their way, hissed Stetson. We're coming in to get you. I'm going to want to know how you guess that one. You are a weak fool like the others, gritted Tanub. "'It's too bad you formed your opinion of us by observing only the low grades of the R and R,' said Arn. "'Easy boy,' hissed Stetson. "'Don't pick a fight with him now. Remember his race is arboreal. He's probably as strong as an ape.'

"'I could kill you where you sit,' greated Tanub. "'You right finish for your entire planet if you're not. you do, said Orne, I'm not alone. There are others listening to every word we say. There's a ship overhead that could split open your planet with one bomb, wash it with molten rock. It had run like the glass you use for your buildings. You are lying. We'll make an offer, said Arne. We don't really want to exterminate you. We'll give you limited membership in the Galactic Federation until you prove you're no menace to us. Keep talking, hissed Stetson. Keep him interested.

You dare insult me, growled Tanube. You had better believe me, said Orne. We— Stetson's voice interrupted him. Got it, Orne! They caught the Delphineus on the ground right where you said it'd be. blew the tubes off it, Marines now mopping up. It's like this, said Orne. We already have recaptured the Dolphinas. Tanub's eyes went instinctively skyward.

Except for the captured armament you still hold, you obviously don't have the weapons to meet us, continued Arn. Otherwise you wouldn't be carrying that rifle off the Dolphinus. If you speak the truth, then we shall die break. said Tanube. No need for you to die, said Orne. Better to die than be slaves, said Tanub. We don't need slaves, said Orne.

We—I cannot take the chance that you are lying, said Tanub. I must kill you now. Orange's foot rested on the air sled control pedal. He depressed it. Instantly the sleds shot skyward, heavy jeez pressing them down into the seats. The gun in Tanub's hands was slapped into his lap. He struggled to raise it. To Orne, the weight was still only about twice that of his home planet of Chorgon.

He reached over, took the rifle, found the safety belts, bound Tanub with them. Then he eased off the acceleration. We don't need slaves, said Orne. We have machines to do our work. We'll send experts in here, teach you people how to exploit your planet. how to build good transportation facilities, show you how to mine your minerals, how to— And what do we do in return? whispered Tanub. You could start by teaching us how to make your superior glass, said Arne.

I certainly hope you see things our way. We really don't want to have to come down here and clean you out. It'd be ashamed to have to blast that city into little pieces. Tanub, wilted, presently he said, Send me back, I will discuss this with our counsel. He stared at Orne. You-I-A's are too strong. We did not know.

In the wardroom of Stetson's scout cruiser, the lights were low, the leather chair is comfortable, the green beige table set with a decanter of Ho-Char Brandy and two glass. glasses. Orne lifted his glass, sipped the liquor, smacked his lips. For a while there I thought I'd never be tasting anything like this again. Stetson took his own glass. Com Geo heard the whole thing over the General Monitor Net, he said. Do you know you've been riveted to senior field man? Ah, they've already recognized my Sterlingworth, said Arn.

The wolfish grin took over Stetson. big features. The senior fieldmen last about half as long as the juniors, he said. Mortality's terrific? I might have known, said Oran. He took another sip of the brandy. Stetson flicked on the switch of a recorder beside him. Okay, you can go ahead any time.

Where do you want me to start? First, how'd you spot right away where they'd hidden the Delphinas? Easy. Tanobs' word for his piece. was Grazi. Most races called themselves something meaning the people. But in his tongue, that's Ochiro. Grazi wasn't on the translated list. I started working on it. The most likely answer was that it had been adopted from another language and meant enemy. And that told you where the Delphineus was? No, but it fitted my hunch about these Guyanians. I kind of feel.

felt from the first minute of meeting them that they had a culture like the Indians of ancient terra. Why? They came in like a primitive raiding party. The leader dropped right onto the hood of my sled, an act of bravery no less, counting coop, you see? I guess so. Then he said he was high-path chief.

That wasn't on the language list either, but it was easy. Raider, chief. There's a word in almost every language in history that means raider, and derives from a word for road, path, or highway. Highwaymen, said Stetson. Raid itself, said Arne, an ancient Terran language corruption of road. Yeah, yeah, but where'd all this translation griff, but don't be impatient. Glass-blowing culture meant they were just out of.

of the primitive stage, that we could control. Next he said their moon was Chirana Gruso, translated as the limb of victory. After that it just fell into place. How? The vertical slit pupils of their eyes. Doesn't that mean anything to you? Maybe what's it mean to you? Night-hunting predator accustomed to dropping upon its victims from above.

No weather type of creature ever has had the vertical slit. And Tanub said himself that the Delphinus was hidden in the best place in all their history. History? That'd be a high place. Dark likewise. Ergo, a high place on the dark side of their moon. I'm a pie-eyed greebus, whispered Stetson. Orne grinned said, You probably are, sir. End of Missing Link.

Operation Haystack by Frank Herbert. This Libre Vox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Phil Schenever. Operation Hastack was first published in astounding science fiction May 1959. When the investigation and adjustment scout cruiser landed on Marock, It carried a man the doctors had no hope of saving. He was alive only because he was in a womb-like crush-pod that had taken over most of his vital functions. The man's name was Louis Orne.

He had been a blocky, heavy-muscled redhead with slightly off-centered features, and the hard flesh of a heavy planet native. Even in the placid repose of near-death, there was something clowning. about his appearance. His burned, unguent-covered face looked made up for some bizarre show. Marock is the League capital, and the IA medical center there is probably the best in the galaxy.

But it accepted the crash pod and orn 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 90 hours. Umbo Stetson, Oren'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 over-large 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 400 meters' below, the scurrying beetle-like activity of the IA.'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 He-Leb. 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 corps 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 and re-education, after two years on the planet, failed to detect signs of militancy. The major indications were, one, a ruling caste restricted to women, and two, disparity between numbers of males and females far beyond the Lutig norm. Senior field agent Louis Orne found that the ruling cast was controlled. 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 Arne.

He is not expected to live. I am hereby urging that he received the Galaxy Medal and that his name be added to the role of honor. Stetson pushed the page aside. That was enough for ComG.O., 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 call-box for Orange's service record, set himself to the task he most detested,

notifying next of kin. He read, pursing his lips, Home planet, Chargon, notifying case of accident or death, Mrs. Victoria Arne, mother. He leaped through the pages, reluctant to send the hated message. Arn had enlisted in the Marac Marines at age 17, a runaway from home, and his mother had given post-enlistment consent. Two years later, scholarship transfer to Unigalacta,

the R&R school here on Mara. Five years of school and one R&R field assignment under his belt. He had been drafted into the IA for brilliant detection of militancy on Hamill. And two years later, Caput. Abruptly, Stetson hurled the surface 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 Ho-Char Brandy, Oren's favorite drink. The next morning there was a reply from Chargon. Lewis Oren's mother, too ill to travel, sisters being notified, please ask Mrs. Ipscott Boulog, wife of High Commissioner, to take over for family. It was signed Madrina Orn Standish Sister. With some misgivings, Stetson called the residents of Ipscott Boulon, leader of the majority party in the Maroc Assembly.

Mrs. Bollone took the call with blank screen. There was a sound of running water in the background. Stetson stared at the ground. grayness swimming in his desk visor. He always disliked a blank screen. A baritone husk of a voice said, This is Polly Ballone. Stetson introduced himself, relayed the Chargonne message.

Victorious boy dying? Here? Oh, the poor thing. And Madrina'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 iron hung from sealing 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 graft tapes on the crushes meters. Orne was lingering. He became the major conversation piece at the intern's coffee breaks. That agent who was heard on He-lib, he's still with us. Man, they must bill those guys different from the rest of us.

Yeah, understand he's got only about an eighth of his insides. liver, kidney, 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 the 88th day in the crash, the day nurse came into Arne'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 a dying eye operative had lulled her into a state of psychological unpreparedness. Any day now, poor guy, she thought. And she gasped, as he opened his soul, remaining eye, said, Did they clobber those dames on he lib? Yes, sir, she blurted out. They really did, sir. Good.

Orne closed his eye, his bruce, his bruce. 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 crush. Had to be. He could remember his sudden exposure on Haleb, the explosion, then nothing. Good old crush.

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 Umbostetson. Under the dark blue IA field cape, Orne's cover-all 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 Louis Arne.

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 Maraq's green sun. It was mid-morning. A cold spring wind bent the pile lawn, tugged fitfully at the border plantings of exotic flowers around the hospital's landing pad. Orrin stepped 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's chief look of weary superstitious, silliness, there was a note of anxiety. His big features were set in a frown. The drooping eyelids failed to conceal a sharp, measuring stare. Arne glanced at the sky in 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 marg. All my nurses were married.

I'd almost stake my life that I could trust you, muttered Stetson. Orn looked at him. No, no, Stet, stake my life. I'm used to it. Stetson shook his head. No, damn it, I trust you, but you deserve you. of a peaceful convalescence. We've no right to saddle you with...

Stett? Orrin'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. Okay. 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 Bolognes, we suspect Ipscott Bollone 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 have a situation that could explode into another rim war, and we think he's at the heart of it. said Stetson.

We've 81 touchy planets, all of them old-time studies 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. I haven't been there since I was seventeen. I'm not sure that—no, damn it. want you as the Bolognes' house guest. And speaking of that, would you mind explaining how they were chosen to ride hurt on you? That's an odd thing, said Arne. All those gags in the

I-A. about old upshook Ipscot Boulon, 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 school kid knows how the Nathians and the Moroccan 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 Arn. And maybe no further away than yesterday, murmured Stetson.

He cleared his throat. And Arne wondered why Stetson was moving so cautiously. Something deep troubling him. A sudden thought struck Arn, he said, You spoke of trust. Has this conspiracy involved the IA? We think so, said Stetson. About a year ago, an R&R archaeological team

was nosing around some ruins on Dobby. 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 raw and raw boys couldn't make sense out of the records. No surprise. They called in an I-A cryptanalyst. He broke a complicated substitution cipher. When the stuff started making sense, he pushed the panic button.

For something the Nathian... wrote 500 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 have been but 500 years, Stet? I don't care if it was 5,000 years, barked Stetson.

We've intercepted some scrap. 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 elections only a couple of days off, protested Orne. Stetson glanced at his wrist chrono.

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 have 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 Arne. 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 Arabs. 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 Bolognes' seven daughters is currently at home, he said, names Diana, a field leader in the IA. women. One of the Nathian code messages, as we intercepted had her name as a dressee. Who sent the message? asked Orne. What was it all about? Stetsing coughed.

You know, Lou, we cross-check everything. The 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 Madrina Orn 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 17, 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. Okay, said Arne, 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. The member for Chargonne, 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 many transceiver we planted in your neck for the Gaena job, said Stetson. It's still there and functioning. Anything happens around you? We hear it. Orne touched the sub-vocal 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 Bollone, 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 Setson.

Mrs. Bollone 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 punch 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 orange dress epaulet. 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 Ballone guestroom, low-key furnishings with an old-fashioned selectacle for change of decor, a polo window 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 at school, said Polly. We were very close friends.

You must have 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 Ballone, High Commissioner of the Moroccan League. Balone 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 a dictator type, thought Orne. But that's obviously what Stets suspects. Glad you made it out all right, son, boomed Boulogne. He advanced into the room, glancing 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 Boulon. Just a great big tetragone 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 stay out of the hospital. We mustn't tire him.' She crossed to the polo window, adjusted it to neutral gray, turned the selecticle, 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 auto bottle will know where to find us.' The balloons left, and orange 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 sun-hat nodding to each other on the blue tiles beside the pool.

The parasol had shielded Polly Boulogne. The sun-hat 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 sun hat and a swimmer's chignan. She was not beautiful, face too narrow with suggestions of boulogne's crackiness and the eyes over large. 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. Arne looked beyond the pool, wooded hills, and dimly on the horizon a broken line of mountains.

The balloons lived in expensive isolation. Around them stretched miles of wilderness rugged with planned neglect. Time to report in, he thought. Orne pressed the next stud on his transceiver, Gottstetson, told him what it 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 wrist chrono 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 led 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 intersection. Arne 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 has seen beside the pool. She was wielding two mallets to play a strained 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 Ballone, she said. You're Mr. Orne.

Lou, to all of the Balone family, I hope, he said. Of course, Lou. 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 caitre, 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 fatigue, 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 balloons 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 piece 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 and 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 likes swimming, polioki hunting, detour apples. She had a pooh-poo attitude toward the older generation that she said she'd never before reveal to anyone. They had laughed like fools over utter nonsense. Orrin went back to his room to change for dinner, stopped before the polo window.

The quick darkness of these low latitudes had pulled an ebbin blanket over the landscape. There was city glow off to the left, and an orange halo to the peaks where Maraq'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 auto-buttal called dinner.

Orne changed hurriedly into a fresh lounge uniform, found his way to the small salon across the house. The balloons already were seated around an old-fashioned bubble-slot table set with real candles, golden shardy service. Two of Maraq's moons could be seen out the window, climbing swiftly up. 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 fire mesh that set off her red hair. A single strand of rhinoc pearls gleamed at her throat. Orrin sat down in the vacant seat opposite her. What a handsome woman, he thought. Polly, on Orange's right, looked younger and softer, in a green stola gown that hazed her barrel contours.

Ballone across from her wore black lounging shorts and knee-lil-liffed cuby jacket of golden pearl cloth. Everything about the people and setting reeked of wealth, power. For a moment, Orange saw that Stetson's suspicions could have basis, in fact. Belong might go to any lengths to maintain this luxury. Arne'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 Boulogne 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 a family here and not have to. It's not like it was a big party, said Polly. I've kept the list to 50. Diana straightened, said, This is an important election, Daddy.

How could you possibly relax? There are 73 seats in question. The whole balance. If things go wrong in just the Al-Kez section Y, you could be sent back to the floor. You lose your job as why someone else could take over as welcome to the job, said Bologne. It's a headache. He glanced at Orne. Sorry to burden you with this, my boy, but the women of this family run me ragged.

I guess from what I hear that you had a pretty busy day, too. He smiled paternally at Diana and your first day out of the hospital. little. 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. Lou 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.

"'Oren bent to his dinner as he came out of the bubble slot beside his plate. "'Meat in an exotic sauce. "'Seric champagne. "'Polyak osimil, more luxury.' "'Presently Polly returned, resumed her seat. "'Anything important?' asked Boulogne. "'Only a cancellation for tomorrow night. "'Professor Wingard is ill.'

"'I just as soon it was cancelled down to the four of us, said Boulogne. Unless this is a pose, this doesn't sound like a man who wants to grab more power, thought Orne. Scotty, 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 Boulon. 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 Boulogne. "'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, Lou?' asked Diana. "'You're suddenly very 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. Arne glanced around the table, met anxious attention in each face. He pushed his chair back and said, Well, if you really don't mind, mind, barked Polly. You scoot along now. See you in the morning, Lou, said Diana.

He nodded, turned away thinking, What a handsome woman. As he started down the hall, he heard Boulogne say to Diana. "'Dai, 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 Arne entered the hall, closed the door. In the privacy of his room, Arne pressed the transceiver stud at his neck and said, Stett, a voice hissed in his ears.

"'This is Mr. Stetson's relief. Arn, isn't it?' "'Yes. I want to check right away on those Nathian records the archaeologists found. Find out of HILB was one of the planets they seated. All right, hang on. There was a long silence, then... Lou, this is Stett. How come the question about Helib?

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 list, but wait a minute. Silence. Then, Heelab was on light of flight to Arega, and Arriga was on the list. We've reasoned to doubt they put anyone down on Ariga.

If their ship ran into trouble, that's it, snapped Arn. Keep your voice down or talk sub-vocally, 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 went buried and forgotten,' interrupted Stesson. "'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 Hileb women were just the bunch who got out of hand because they lost contact with the main element? Holy moly, Berted Stesson. Do you have evidence? Nothing but a hunch, said Arne.

Do you have a list of the guests who will 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.' "'Lou, 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 balloons. In spite of its being Election Day, Ballone took off for his office an hour after dawn. "'See what I mean about this job owning you?' he asked Arne. "'We're going to take it easy today, Lou,' 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, and 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 will 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 really, 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 cheaped in the brush and trees. There was a grumice in the reed 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 ground mat they spread. Orange 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 Orange. 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, Lou, don't you like me? He ignored the monitoring transceiver, spoke his mind.

They'll think it's just 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, his second sight. The bitterness was like a sour taste in Oran's mouth. He could see the pattern so clearly. Dye, I ran away from home when I was seventeen, he said. I know, darling. Mothers told me all about you. You don't understand, he said. My father died before I was born.

He—it must have been very hard on your mother, she said, left alone with her family and a new baby on the way? They'd known for a long time, said Arne. My father had bro-ox disease, and they found out too late. It was already in the central nervous system. How horrible, whispered Diana. Orrin'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. Lou, 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.

Lou, 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 balones are notorious love at first-sighters.

Her over-large 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 gasped in. Arne'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 Arne. He touched the stud at his neck. but Stetson's voice intruded. Great work, Lou. We're moving in a special shock force. Can't take any chances with. Orne spoke aloud in panic.

Stett, you get out to the balloons. 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 worth.

mess on our hands than any rem war. There was an extended silence. You hear me, Stett, demanded Oran. Okay, Lou, we're putting the O-Force on standby. I'll be at the Bolognes in ten minutes. Com G.O. will be with me. Pause. And you'd better know what you're doing.

It was an angry group in the corner of the Bollon's main salon. Loverd shades cut the green glare of a noon sun. In the background there was the hum of air conditioning and the clatter of robo servants preparing for the night's election party. Stetson leaned against a wall beside a Devon, hands jammed deeply into the pockets of his wrinkled patched fatigues. The wagon tracks furrowed his high forehead. Near Stetson, Admiral Sobott Spencer, the IA's commander of Galactic Operations, paced the floor. Com Gio was a bull-necked ball man with wide blue eyes, a deceptively mild voice. There was a caged animal looked to his pacing, three steps out, three steps back.

Polly Ballone 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 Arne. Okay, so my stupidity set up this little meeting, snarled Arne.

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 one I have to say. He glanced at the calm G.O. 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, hussed 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 Scotty Ballone? "'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,' said 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 not. No family names to trace. Just a tight little female society. All work into 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 clared 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, Bork 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 rem 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 Arne. No choice. Polly looked up, studied Orne's face. Diana looked confused. Once a Nathian, always a Nathian, A, snarled Spencer. There's no such thing, said Orne. Five hundred years cross-breeding with other races sought to that.

They are 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 become G.O. 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 Riley. Soby is beginning to come to his senses, said Polly.

You're about through, son. Don't underestimate your future son-in-law, said Orne. Ha, barked Diana. I hate you, Lewis, Arne. You'll get over that, said Arne mildly. Oh, Diana quivered with fury. My major point is this, said Arne. 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 government. The only way you can stay in power is by giving good government. Otherwise, sooner or 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 have 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 a whip hand.' "'The I.A. could have ninety percent of your organization in custody inside of ten days,' said Arne.

"'You couldn't find them. Knappoly. How? asked Detson. 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 kaitra, the tambour, the oboe, all nomad instruments. Add to that female-nobah. 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... the 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 IA gets veto power on any candidate you put up, said O'Rourne. Arne. Number two, you can never hold more than two-thirds of the top offices. Who in the IA vetoes our candidates? asked Polly. Admiral Spencer, Stett, 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. 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 compromises ever totally right, said Polly.

You keep patching things up 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 Marock, was coded as the head. Your name, Polly, contains the ancient word, Paul, 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 die, "'catch up on some of the living I've missed.' "'Diana stiffened. "'I never want to see, hear from, or hear of Mr. Lewis Orn, ever again,' She said. That is final, emphatically final. Orange's shoulders drooped.

He turned away, stumbled, and abruptly collapsed, full length on the thick carpets. There was a collective gasp behind him. Stutzen 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. Lou, 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 Arne onto his back. He looked pale. Diana loosened his collar, buried her face against his neck. Oh, Lou, I'm sorry, she sobbed. I didn't mean it. Please, Lou, don't die.

Please. Arne 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, Arne winked at the two men. End of Operation Hastack. This recording is in the public domain. Old Rambling House by Frank Herbert.

This Libre Vox recording is in the public domain. recording by Phil Chenevere, Baton Rouge, Louisiana. On his last night on earth, Ted Graham stepped out of a glass-walled telephone booth, ducked to avoid a swooping moth that battered itself in a frenzy against a bare globe above the booth. Ted Graham was a long-necked man, with the head of pronounced egg-shape topped by prematurely balding sandy hair.

Something about his lanky, intense appearance, suggested his occupation, certified public accountant. He stopped behind his wife, who was studying a newspaper-classified page, and frowned. They said to wait here. They'll come get us, said the place is hard to find at night. Martha Graham looked up from the newspaper. She was a doll-faced woman, heavily pregnant, a kind of pink prettiness about her. The yellow glow from the light above the booth. subdued the red-aubern cast of her ponytail hair.

"'I'd just have to be in a house when the baby's born,' she said. "'What did they sound like?' "'I don't know. There was a funny kind of interruption, like an argument in some foreign language.' "'Do they sound foreign?' "'In a way,' he motioned along the night-shrouted line of trailers, toward one with two windows glowing amber. Let's wait inside.

These bugs out here are fierce. Did you tell them which trailer is ours? Yes, they didn't sound anxious at all to look at it. That's odd. Them wanting to trade their house for a trailer? There's nothing odd about it. They've probably just got itchy feet like we did. He appeared not to hear her.

Funniest sounding language you ever heard when that argument started. like a squirt of noise. Inside the trailer, Ted Graham sat down on the green couch that opened into a double bed for company. They could use a good tax accountant around here, he said. When I first saw the place, I got that definite feeling. The valley looks prosperous. It's a wonder nobody's opened an office here before. His wife took a straight chair by the counter separating kitchen and living area,

folded her hands across her heavy stomach. "'I'm just continental tard of wheels going around under me,' she said. "'I want to sit and stare at the same view for the rest of my life. I don't know how a trailer ever seemed glamorous when it was the inheritance gave us itchy feet,' he said. Tires gritted on gravel outside. Martha Graham straightened. Could that be them?' "'Aawful quick, if it is.'

He went to the door, opened it, stared down at the man who was just raising a hand to knock. "'Are you, Mr. Graham?' asked the man. "'Yes.' He found himself staring at the caller. "'I'm Clint Rush. You called about the house?' The man moved farther into the light. At first he seemed an old man, fine wrinkled lines in his face, A tired leather look to his skin, but as he moved his head in the light, the wrinkles seemed to dissolve, and with them the years lifted from him.

"'Yes, we called,' said Ted Graham. He stood aside. "'Do you want to look at the trailer now?' Martha Graham crossed to stand beside her husband. "'We've kept it in awfully good shape,' she said. "'We've never let anything get seriously wrong with it.' She sounds too anxious, thought Ted Graham. I wish he let me do the talking for the two of us.

We can come back and look at your trailer tomorrow in daylight, said Rush. My car's right out here if you'd like to see our house. Ted Graham hesitated. He felt a nagging worry tug at his mind, tried to fix his attention on what bothered him. Hadn't we better take our car, he asked we could follow you. "'No need,' said Rush. "'We're coming back into town tonight, anyway.

We can drop you off then.' Ted Graham nodded. "'Be right with you as soon as I lock up.' Inside the car, Rush mumbled introductions. His wife was a dark shadow in the front seat. Her hair drawn back in a severe bun. Her features suggested gypsy blood. He called her Ramee.

Odd name, thought Ted Graham, and he noticed that she'd be. gave that strange first impression of age that melted in a shift of light. Mrs. Rush turned her gypsy features toward Martha Graham. You are going to have a baby? It came out as an odd-veiled statement. Abruptly the car rolled forward. Martha Graham said,

It's supposed to be born in about two months. We hope it's a boy. Mrs. Rush looked at her husband. I have changed my mind. She said. Rush spoke without taking his attention from the road. It is too, he broke off, spoke in a tumble of strange sounds. Ted Graham recognized it as the language he'd heard on the telephone.

Mrs. Rush answered in the same tongue, anger showing in the intensity of her voice. Her husband replied, his voice calmer. Presently Mrs. Rush fell moodily silent. Rush tipped his head toward the rear of the car. My wife has moments when she does not want to get rid of the old house. It has been with her for many years. Ted Graham said, Oh, then, are you Spanish?

Rush hesitated. No, we are Basque. He turned the car down a well-lighted avenue that merged into a highway. He turned on to a side. road. There followed more turns left, right, right. Ted Graham lost track. They hit a jolting bump that made Martha gasp. I hope that wasn't too rough on you, said Rush. We're almost there. The car swung into a lane, its lights picking out the skeleton outlines of trees. Peculiar trees. Tall, gaunt, leafless. They added to Ted Graham's feeling of uneasiness.

The lane dipped, ended at a low wall of a house, red brick with celestory windows beneath overhanging eaves. The effect of the wall and a wide-beamed door they could see to the left was ultra-modern. Ted Graham helped his wife out of the car, followed the rushes to the door. "'I thought you told me it was an old house,' he said. "'It was designed by one of the first modernists,' said Rush. He fumbled with an odd curved key. The wide door swung open onto a hallway equally wide, carpeted by a deep pile rug.

Make a glimpse floor-to-ceiling view windows at the end of the hall, City lights beyond. Martha Graham gasped. Enter the hall as though in a trance. Ted Graham followed, heard the door closed behind them. It's so, so big. exclaimed Martha Graham. You want to trade this for our trailer? asked Tad Graham.

It's too inconvenient for us, said Rush. My work is over the mountains on the coast. He shrugged, We cannot sell it. Ted Graham looked at him sharply. Isn't there any money around here? He had a sudden vision of a tax accountant with no customers. Plenty of money, but no real estate customers. They entered the living room, sectional divans lined the walls, subdued lighting glowed from the corners, two paintings hung on the opposite walls, oblongs of odd lines and twists that made Ted Graham dizzy.

Warning bells clambered in his mind. Martha Graham crossed to the windows, looked at the lights far away below. I had no idea we climbed that far, she said. It's like a fairy city. Mrs. Rush emitted a short, nervous laugh. Ted Graham glanced around the room, thought, If the rest of the house is like this, it's worth fifty or sixty thousand, he thought of the trailer, a good one, but not worth more than seven thousand.

Un easiness was like a neon sign flashing in his mind. "'This seems so—' He shook his head. "'Would you like to see the rest of the house?' asked Rush. Martha Graham turned from the window. "'Oh, yes.' Ted Graham shrugged. "'No harm in looking,' he thought.

When they returned to the living room, Ted Graham had doubled his previous estimate on the house's value. His brain reeled with the summing of it, a salarium with an entire ceiling covered by sonnium. lamps? An automatic laundry where you dropped soil clothing down a chute, took it washed and iron from the other end? Perhaps you and your wife would like to discuss it in private, said Rush. We will leave you for a moment. And they were gone before Ted Graham could protest.

Martha Graham said, Ted, I honestly never in my life dreamed something's very wrong, honey. but Ted, this house is worth at least $100,000, maybe more. And they want to trade this, he looked around him, for a $7,000 trailer? Ted, they're foreigners, and if they're so foolish they don't know the value of this place, then why should—I don't like it, he said. Again, he looked around the room, recall the fantastic equipment of the house. But maybe you're right. He stared out at the city lights.

They had a lace-like quality. Tall buildings linked by lines of flickering incandescence. Something like a Roman candle shot skyward in the distance. Okay, he said if they want to trade, let's go push the deal. Abruptly, the house shuddered. The city lights blinked out. A humming sound filled the air. Martha Graham clutched her husband's arm.

Ted, what was that? I don't know, he turned. Mr. Rush? No answer. Only the humming. The door at the end of the room opened. A strange man came through. He wore a short toga-like garment of gray metallic cloth

belted at the waist by something that glittered and shimmered through every color of the spectrum. An aura of coldness and power emanated from him, a sense of untouchable hauteur. He glanced around the room, spoke in the same tongue the rushes had used. Tad Graham said, I don't understand you, mister. The man put a hand to his flickering belt. Both Ted and Martha Graham felt themselves rooted to the floor,

a tingling sensation vibrating along every nerve. Again, the strange language rolled from the man's tongue, but now the words were understood. Who are you? My name's Graham. This is my wife. What's going—how did you get here? The rushes.

They wanted to trade us this house for our trailer. They brought us. Now look, we— What is your talent, your occupation? Tax account. "'Say, why all these—' that was to be expected?' said the man. "'Clever! Oh, excessively clever!' His hand moved again to the belt.

"'Now be very quiet. This may confuse you momentarily.' Cudder lights filled both the Graham's minds. They staggered. "'You are qualified,' said the man. You will serve. "'Where are we?' demanded Martha Graham. "'The coordinates would not be intelligible to you,' he said. "'I am of the Rojack.

It is sufficient for you to know that you are under Rojack sovereignty.' Ted Graham said, "'But you have in a way been kidnapped, and the Rames have fled to your planet, an unregistered planet.' "'I'm afraid,' Martha Graham said shakily. "'You have nothing to fear,' said the man. "'You are no longer on the planet of your birth, nor even in the same galaxy.' He glanced at Ted Graham's wrist.

"'That device on your wrist it tells your local time?' "'Yes. That will help in the search. And your son, can you describe its atomic cycle?' Ted Graham groped in his mind for his science memories from school, from the Sunday supplements. I can recall that our galaxy is a spiral like most galaxies are spiral. Is this some kind of a practical joke? asked Ted Graham.

The man smiled, a cold superior smile. It is no joke. Now I will make you a proposition. Ted nodded warily. All right, let's have the stinger. The people who brought you here were tax collectors. We Rojak recruited from a subject planet. They were conditioned to make it impossible for them to leave their job untended.

Unfortunately, they were clever enough to realize that if they brought someone else in who could do their job, they were released from their mental bonds. Very clever. But— You may have their job. said the man. Normally you would be put to work in the lower echelons, but we believe in meeting out justice wherever possible.

The Rames undoubtedly stumbled on your planet by accident and lowered you into this position without, how do you know I can do your job? That moment of brilliance was an aptitude test. You passed. Well, do you accept? What about our baby? Martha Graham warily wanted to.

to know. You will be allowed to keep it until it reaches the age of decision about the time it will take the child to reach adult stature. Then what? insisted Martha Graham. The child will take its position in society according to its ability. Will we ever see our child after that? Possibly. Ted Graham said, What's the joker in this? Again the cold, superior smile. You will receive conditioning similar to that which we gave the Rommies, and we will want to examine your memories to aid us in our search for your planet. It would be good to find a new inhabitable place.

Why did they trap us like this? asked Martha Graham. It's lonely work, the man explained. Your house is actually a type of space conveyance that travels along your collection. route, and there is much travel to the job, and then you will not have friends, nor time for much other than work. Our methods are necessarily severe at times. Travel? Mortha Graham repeated in dismay. Almost constantly. Ted Graham felt his mind whirling, and behind him he heard his wife sobbing. The Ramies sat in what had been the Graham's trailer.

"'For a few moments I fear he would not succumb to the bait,' she said. "'I knew you could never overcome the mental compulsion enough to leave them there without their first agreeing.' "'Rammy chuckled. "'Yes. "'And now I'm going to indulge in everything the Rojack never permitted. "'I'm going to write ballads and poems.' "'And I'm going to paint,' she said. "'Oh, the delicious freedom!'

"'Greed won this for us,' he said. "'The long study of the grams paid off. "'They couldn't refuse the trade.' "'I knew they'd agree. "'The looks in their eyes when they saw the house. "'They both had—' "'She broke off a look of horror coming into her eyes. "'One of them did not agree.

"'They both did. You heard them. The baby? He stared at his wife. But, but it is not at the age of decision. In perhaps eighteen of this planet's years, it will be at the age of decision. What then? His shoulders sagged.

He shuddered. I will not be able to fight it off. I will have to build a transmitter, call the Rojack, confess and they will collect another inhabitable place she said her voice flat and toneless i've spoiled it he said i've spoiled it end of old rambling house by frank herbert end of three science fiction stories by frank Herbert. I certainly hope you enjoyed it.