The Godmakers

Chapter Thirteen

By nightfall, Orne had been reduced to a state of confusion. He found Diana exciting and fascinating, yet the most comfortable female companion he had ever met. She liked swimming, the bloodless hunting of paloika, the taste of ditar apples. She betrayed a disdainful attitude toward the older generation and I-A officialdom which she said she’d never before revealed to anyone.

They had laughed like fools over utter nonsense.

Orne returned to his room to change for dinner, stopped at the polawindow, which he tuned to clear transmission. The quick darkness of these latitudes had pulled an ebony blanket over the landscape. Distant cityglow painted a short yellow horizon off to the left. An orange halo remained on the peaks where Marak’s three moons would rise.

Am I falling in love with this woman? Orne asked himself.

Again, he sensed the fragmentation of his being—and this time felt the pull of his childhood training added to all of the other forces at war within him. The ritual training of Chargon came back to him with all of its mystery.

He thought: I am that. I am the consciousness of self which senses the Absolute and knows the Supreme Wisdom. I am the all-one impersonal I which is God.

It came straight out of the ancient rites which transferred kingly powers into religious terms, but he felt that the old concepts had taken on new meanings.

“I am God,” he whispered and he sensed forces writhing within him. Even as he spoke, he realized the words made no reference to his ego-identity-self. The I of this awareness was outside usual human concerns.

Without understanding its significance, Orne realized he had experienced a religious event.

He knew the Psi definitions taught in the I-A, but this experience shook him. He wanted to call Stetson, not to report but to talk out his own confusions about his role in this household. This thought made him acutely aware that Stetson or an aide had eavesdropped on his afternoon with Diana.

The autobutle called dinner, distracting Orne from a sensation that he had fallen from grace. He changed hurriedly into a fresh lounge uniform, found his way to the small salon across the house. The Bullones already were seated around an old-fashioned bubbleshot table set with real candles (they smelled of incense) and golden shardi service. Two of Marak’s three moons could be seen out the window climbing swiftly over the peaks.

“Welcome to you and may you find health in our house,” Bullone said, rising until Orne had seated himself.

“You’ve turned the house,” Orne said.

“We like the moonrise,” Polly said. “It’s romantic, don’t you think?” She glanced at Diana.

Diana looked down at her plate. She wore a low-cut gown of firemesh that set off her red hair. A single strand of Reinach pearls gleamed at her throat.

Orne, who had taken the seat opposite her, thought: Lord, what a handsome woman she is.

Polly, on Orne’s right, appeared younger and softer in a green stola gown that hazed her barrel contours. Bullone, on the left, wore black lounging shorts and knee-length kubi jacket of golden pearl cloth. Everything about the people and the setting reeked of wealth and power.

For a moment, Orne saw a confirmation of Stetson’s suspicions. Bullone might go to any length to maintain this luxury.

Orne’s entrance had interrupted an argument between Polly and her husband. As soon as Orne was comfortably seated, they went right on with the argument. Rather than embarrassing him, this lack of inhibition made Orne feel more at home, more accepted.

Diana caught Orne’s eye, glanced left and right at her parents, grinned.

“But I’m not running for office this time,” Bullone was saying, his voice heavy with strained patience. “Why do we have to clutter up the evening with all of those people just to…”

“Our election night parties are traditional,” Polly said.

“I’d just like to relax at home for once,” Bullone said. “I’d like to take it easy with my family and not have to…”

“It’s not as though it was a big party,” Polly said. “I’ve kept the list down to fifty.”

Bullone groaned.

Diana said: “Daddy, this is an important election. How could you possibly relax? There’re seventy-three seats at issue, the whole balance. If things go wrong in just the Aikes sector… why… you could be sent back to the floor. You’d lose your job as… I mean someone else would take over and…”

“Welcome to the damn job,” Bullone said. “It’s one giant headache.” He smiled at Orne. “Sorry to burden you with this perennial squabble, m’boy, but the women of this family run me ragged if I let them. From what I hear, you’ve had a pretty busy day, too. Hope we’re not tiring you.” He smiled paternally at Diana. “Your first day out of the hospital and all.”

“Diana sets quite a pace, but I’ve enjoyed it,” Orne said.

“We’re taking the on a tour of the wilderness area tomorrow,” Diana said. “I’ll do the driving and Lew can relax.”

“Be sure you’re back in plenty of time for the party,” Polly said.

Bullone turned to Orne. “You see?"

“Now, Scottie,” Polly said, “you can’t have…” She broke off at the sound of a low bell from an alcove behind, her. “That’ll be for me. Excuse me, please. No, don’t get up.”

Diana bent toward Orne, said: “If you want, we can have a special meal prepared for you. I asked the hospital and they said you were under no dietary restrictions.” She nodded toward Orne’s untouched dinner which had emerged from the bubbleslot beside his table setting.

“Oh, this is quite all right,” Orne said. He could not hear Polly in the alcove. She had a security cone for certain. He bent to his dinner: meat in an exotic sauce which he couldn’t place, Sirik champagne, ataloka au semil… luxury piled upon luxury.

Presently, Polly resumed her seat.

“Anything important?” Bullone asked.

“Only a cancellation for tomorrow night. Professor Wingard is ill.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, now, Scottie,” she said.

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

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

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

“Yes,” Orne murmured. “He died in office.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to open old wounds.”

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

“Do you feel all right, Lewis?” Polly asked. “You’re suddenly so pale.”

“Just tired,” Orne said. “Guess I’m not used to so much activity.”

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

Bullone said: “Don’t stand on ceremony in this house, Lewis.”

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

Orne glanced around the table, met anxious attention in each face. They were really concerned about him and no mistaking it. He felt torn between duty and the simple demands of humanity. In their own context, these were warm and honest people, but if they… Confused, Orne pushed his chair back, said: “Mrs. Bullone…” then remembered she’d asked him to call her Polly. “Polly, if you really don’t mind…”

“Mind!” she barked. “You scoot along.”

“May we get you anything?” Bullone asked.

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

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

“In the morning,” he agreed.

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

As he started down the hall, he heard Bullone say in a heavily paternal voice: “Di, perhaps you’d better not take that boy all over the place tomorrow. After all, he is here for a convalescent rest.”

Her answer was lost as Orne entered the hall, closed the door.

In the privacy of his room, Orne pressed the transceiver stud at his neck, said: “Stet?”

A voice hissed in his ears on the surf-beat carrier wave: “This is Mr. Stetson’s relief. Orne, isn’t it?”

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

“Right. Hang on.”

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

“Was it on the Nathian list?”

“Negative. Why’d you ask?”

“Are you sure? It’d explain a lot of things.”

“Sheleb is not on their lists… but, wait a minute.” Silence, then: “Sheleb is on the course-line cone to Auriga and Auriga was on their list. We’ve reason to doubt they put anyone down on Auriga. But if their ship ran into trouble…”

“That’s it!” Orne snapped.

“Stop using open voice!” Stetson ordered. “Subvocal only. They can’t tap this system, but they know it exists. We can’t have them get suspicious because you talk to yourself.”

“Sorry,” Orne said.

“I just knew Sheleb had to be…”

“Why? What’ve you discovered?”

“I’ve had an idea that frightens me,” Orne said.

“Remember that the women who ruled Sheleb were breeding male or female offspring by controlling the sex at conception. In fact, it was that imbalance which…”

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

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

“Holy Mother Marak,” Stetson said. “Do you have evidence to sub…”

“Nothing but a hunch,” Orne said.

“Can you get a list of the guests invited to the Bullones’ election party tomorrow?”

“Yes, we can get it. Why?”

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

“Lew, that’s not enough to…”

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