 THE LAST EVOLUTION by John W. Campbell Jr. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Greg Marguerite. THE LAST EVOLUTION by John W. Campbell Jr. I am the last of my type existing today in all the solar system. I too am the last existing who, in memory, sees the struggle for this system, and in memory I am still close to the center of rulers, for mine was the ruling type then. But I will pass soon, and with me will pass the last of my kind, a poor, inefficient type, but yet the creators of those who are now, and will be, long after I pass, forever. So I am setting down my record on the Menta type. It was 2,538 years after the year of the Son of Man. For six centuries mankind had been developing machines. The ear apparatus was discovered as early as 700 years before. The eye came later. The brain came much later. But by 2,500 the machines had been developed to think and act and work with perfect independence. Man lived on the products of the machine, and the machines lived to themselves very happily and contentedly. Machines are designed to help and cooperate. It was easy to do the simple duties they needed to do that men might live well. And men had created them. Most of mankind were quite useless for they lived in a world where no productive work was necessary. But games, athletic contests, adventures, these were the things they sought for their pleasure. Some of the poorer types of man gave themselves up wholly to pleasures in idleness and to emotions. But man was a sturdy race, which had fought for existence through a million years. And the training of a million years does not slough quickly from any form of life. So their energies were bent to mock battles now, since real ones no longer existed. Up to the year 2100 the numbers of mankind had increased rapidly and continuously. But from that time on there was a steady decrease. By 2500 their number was a scant two millions out of a population that once totaled many hundreds of millions and was close to ten billions in 2100. Some few of these remaining two millions devoted themselves to the adventure of discovery and exploration of places unseen, of other worlds and other planets. But fewer still devoted themselves to the highest adventure, the unseen places of the mind. Machines with their irrefutable logic, their cold preciseness of figures, their tireless utterly exact observation, their absolute knowledge of mathematics, they could elaborate any idea however simple its beginning and reach the conclusion. From any three facts they even then could have built in mind all the universe. Machines had imagination of the ideal sort. They had the ability to construct a necessary future result from a present fact. But man had imagination of a different kind. There's was the illogical, brilliant imagination that sees the future result vaguely without knowing the why nor the how and imagination that outstrips the machine in its preciseness. Man might reach the conclusion more swiftly, but the machine always reached the conclusion eventually and it was always the correct conclusion. By leaps and bounds man advanced. By steady, irresistible steps the machine marched forward. Together man and the machine were striding through science irresistibly. Then came the outsiders. Whence they came, neither machine nor man ever learned, save only that they came from beyond the outermost planet from some other sun, serious, Alpha Centuri perhaps. First a thin scout line of a hundred great ships, mighty torpedoes of the void, a thousand key lads in length, they came. And one machine returning from Mars to Earth was instrumental in its first discovery. The transport machine's brain ceased to radiate its sensations and the control in old Chicago knew immediately that some unperceived body had destroyed it. An investigation machine was instantly dispatched from Demos and it maintained an acceleration of one thousand units. They sighted ten huge ships, one of which was already grappling the smaller transport machine. The entire four section had been blasted away. The investigation machine scarcely three inches in diameter crept into the shattered hull and investigated. It was quickly evident that the damage was caused by a fusing ray. Strange life forms were crawling about the ship, protected by flexible transparent suits. Their bodies were short and squat, four-limbed and evidently powerful. They, like insects, were equipped with a thick, durable exoskeleton, horny brownish coating that covered arms and legs and head. Their eyes projected slightly, projected by horny protruding walls. Eyes that were capable of movement in every direction and there were three of them, set at equal distances apart. The tiny investigation machine hurled itself violently at one of the beings, crashing against the transparent covering, flexing it and striking the being inside with terrific force. Hurled from his position, he fell end over end across the weightless ship. But despite the blow, he was not hurt. The investigator passed to the power room ahead of the outsiders, who were anxiously trying to learn the reason for their companion's plight. Directed by the center of rulers, the investigator sought the power room and relayed the control signals from the ruler's brains. The ship brain had been destroyed, but the controls were still readily workable. Quickly they were shot home and the enormous plungers shut. A combination was arranged so that the machine, as well as the investigator and the outsiders, were destroyed. A second investigator, which had started when the plan was decided on, had now arrived. The outsider's ship, nearest the transport machine, had been badly damaged and the investigator entered the broken side. The scenes were, of course, remembered by the memory minds back on Earth, tuned with that of the investigator. The investigator flashed down corridors, searching quickly for the apparatus room. It was soon seen that, with them, the machine was practically unintelligent, very few machines of even slight intelligence being used. Then it became evident by the excited action of the men of the ship that the presence of the investigator had been detected. Perhaps it was the control impulses or the signal impulses it emitted. They searched for the tiny bit of metal and crystal for some time before they found it, and in the meantime it was plain that the power these outsiders used was not as was ours of the time, the power of blasting atoms, but the greater power of disintegrating matter. The findings of this tiny investigating machine were very important. Finally they succeeded in locating the investigator and one of the outsiders appeared armed with a peculiar projector. A bluish beam snapped out and the tiny machine went blank. The fleet was surrounded by thousands of the tiny machines by this time and the outsiders were badly confused by their presence as it became difficult to locate them in the confusion of signal impulses. However, they started it once for Earth. Science investigators had been present toward the last and I am there now, in memory, with my two friends, long since departed. They were the greatest human science investigators. Roll 25374 and Trest 35429. Roll had quickly assured us that these outsiders had come for invasion. There had been no wars on the planets before that time in the direct memory of the machines and it was difficult that these who were conceived and built for cooperation, helpfulness utterly dependent on cooperation, unable to exist independently, as were humans, that these life forms should care to destroy, merely that they might possess. It would have been easier to divide the works and the products, but life alone can understand life, so Roll was believed. From investigations machines were prepared that were capable of producing considerable destruction. Torpedoes being our principal weapon were equipped with such atomic explosives as had been developed for blasting. A highly effective induction heat ray developed for furnaces being installed in some small machines made for the purpose in the few hours we had before the enemy reached Earth. In common with all life forms they were able to withstand only very meager Earth acceleration. A range of perhaps four units was their limit and it took several hours to reach the planet. I still believe the reception was a warm one. Our machines met them beyond the orbit of Luna and the directed torpedoes sailed at the hundred great ships. They were thrown aside by a magnetic field surrounding the ship but were redirected instantly and continued to approach. However, some beams reached out and destroyed them by instant volatization. But they attacked at such numbers that fully half the fleet was destroyed by their explosions before the induction beam fleet arrived. These beams were, to our amazement, quite useless, being instantly absorbed by a force screen and the remaining ships sailed on undisturbed, our torpedoes being exhausted. Several investigator machines sent out for the purpose soon discovered the secret of the force screen while being destroyed were able to send back signals up to the moment of annihilation. A few investigators thrown into the heat beam of the enemy reported it identical with ours, explaining why they had been prepared for this form of attack. Signals were being radiated from the remaining 50 along a beam. Several investigators were sent along these beams speeding back at great acceleration. Then the enemy reached Earth. Instantly they settled over the Colorado settlement, the Sahara colony and the Gobi colony. Enormous diffused beams were set to work and we saw through the machine screens that all humans within these ranges were being killed instantly by the faintly greenish beams. Despite the fact that any life form killed normally can be revived, unless affected by dissolution common to living tissue, these could not be brought to life again. The important cell communication channels, nerves, had been literally burned out. The complicated system of nerves called the brain situated in the uppermost extremity of the human life form had been utterly destroyed. Every form of life, microscopic, even submicroscopic, was annihilated. Trees, grass, every living thing was gone from that territory. Only the machines remained, for they, living entirely without the vital chemical forces necessary to life, were uninjured, but neither plant nor animal was left. The pale green rays swept on. In an hour three more colonies of humans had been destroyed. Then the torpedoes that the machines were turning out again came into action. Almost desperately the machines drove them at the outsiders in defense of their masters and creators, mankind. The last of the outsiders was down. The last ship, a crumpled wreck. Now the machines began to study them, and never could humans have studied them as the machines did. Scores of great transports arrived, carrying swiftly the slower-moving science investigators. From them came the machine investigators and human investigators. Tiny investigators' spheres wormed their way where none others could reach, and silently the science investigators watched. Over after hour they sat watching the flashing changing screens, calling each other's attention to this or that. In an incredibly short time the bodies of the outsiders began to decay, and the humans were forced to demand their removal. The machines were unaffected by them, but the rapid change told them why it was that so thorough an execution was necessary. The foreign bacteria were already at work on totally unresisting tissue. It was Raul who sent the first thoughts among the gathered men. It is evident, he began, that the machines must defend man. Man is defenseless. He is destroyed by these beams, while the machines are unharmed, uninterrupted. Life, cruel life, has shown its tendencies. They have come here to take over these planets and have started out with the first, natural moves of any invading life form. They are destroying the life, the intelligent life particularly, that is here now. He gave vent to that little chuckle, which is the human sign of amusement and pleasure. They are destroying the intelligent life, and leaving untouched that which is necessarily their deadliest enemy. The machines. You machines are far more intelligent than we even now, and capable of changing overnight, capable of infinite adaptation to circumstance. You live as readily on Pluto as on Mercury or Earth. Any place is a home world to you. You can adapt yourselves to any condition, and most dangerously to them, you can do it instantly. You are their most deadly enemies, and they realize it. They have no intelligent machines. Probably they can conceive of none. When you attack them, they merely say, the life form of Earth is sending out controlled machines. We will find good machines we can use. They do not conceive that those machines, which they hope to use, are attacking them. Attack, therefore. We can readily solve the hidden secret of their force screen. He was interrupted. One of the newest science machines was speaking. The secret of the force screen is simple. A small ray machine which had landed near rose into the air at the command of the scientist machine, X5638 it was, and trained upon it the deadly induction beam. Already, with his parts, X5638 had constructed the defensive apparatus, for the ray fell harmless from his screen. Very good, said Raul softly. It is done, and therein lies their danger. Already, it is done. Man is a poor thing, unable to change himself in a period of less than thousands of years. Already you have changed yourself. I noticed your weaving tentacles and your force beams. You transmitted elements of soil for it. Correct, replied X5638. But still we are helpless. We have not the power to combat their machines. They use the ultimate energy known to exist for six hundred years and still untapped by us. Our screens cannot be so powerful. Our beams so effective. What of that, asked Raul. Their generators were automatically destroyed with the capture of the ship, replied X6349. As you know, we know nothing of their system. Then we must find it for ourselves, replied Trest. The life beams? asked Kosh256799, one of the man rulers. They effect chemical action, retarding it greatly in exothermic actions, speeding greatly in endothermic actions, answered X6221, the greatest of the chemist investigators. The system we do not know. Their minds cannot be read. They cannot be restored to life, so we cannot learn from them. Man is doomed if these beams cannot be stopped, said CR21 present chief of the machine rulers, in the vibrationally correct emotionless tones of all the race of machines. Let us concentrate on the two problems of stopping the beams and the ultimate energy, till the reinforcements, still several days away, can arrive. For the investigators had sent back this saddening news. A force of nearly 10,000 great ships was still to come. In the great laboratories, the scientists reassembled. There they fell to work in two small and one large group. One small group investigated the secret of the ultimate energy of annihilation of matter, under Raoul. Another investigated the beams, under Trest. But under the direction of MX3401, nearly all the machines worked on a single great plan. The usual driving and lifting units were there, but a vastly greater dome case, far more powerful energy generators, far greater force beam controls were used, and more tentacles were built on the framework. Then all worked, and gradually, in the great dome case, there were stacked the memory units of the new type, and into these fed all the sensation ideas of all the science machines, till nearly a tenth of them were used. Countless billions of different factors on which to work, countless trillions of facts to combine and recombine in the extrapolation that is imagination. A widely different type of thought combine, and a greater sense receptor. It was a new brain machine. New, for it was totally different, working with all the vast knowledge accumulated in six centuries of intelligent research by man, and a century of research by man and machine. No one branch, but all physics, all chemistry, all life knowledge, all science was in it. A day, and it was finished. Slowly the rhythm of thought was increased, till the slight quiver of consciousness was reached. Then came the beating drum of intelligence, the radiation of its yet uncontrolled thoughts, quickly as the strings of its infinite knowledge combined, the radiation ceased. It gazed about it, and all things were familiar in its memory. Raoul was lying quietly on a couch. He was thinking deeply and yet not with the logical trains of thought that machines must follow. Your thoughts called F1 the new machine. Raoul sat up. Ah, you have gained consciousness. I have. You thought of hydrogen. Your thoughts ran swiftly and illogically it seemed, but I followed slowly and find you were right. Hydrogen is the start. What is your thought? Raoul's eyes dreamed. In human eyes there was always the expression of thought that machines never show. Hydrogen, an atom in space. A single proton, but a single electron. Each indestructible, yet mutually destroying. Yet never do they collide. Never in all science, when even electrons bombard atoms with the awful expelling force of the exploding atom behind them, never do they reach the proton to touch and annihilate it. Yet the proton is positive and attracts the electron's negative charge. A hydrogen atom, its electron far from the proton falls in, and from it there goes a flash of radiation, and the electron is nearer to the proton in a new orbit. Another flash? It is nearer. Always falling nearer, and only constant force will keep it from falling to that one state then. For some reason, no more does it drop. Blocked, held by some imponderable yet impenetrable wall. What is that wall? Why? Electric force curves space. As the two come nearer, the forces become terrific. Nearer they are, more terrific. Perhaps if it passed within that forbidden territory, the proton and the electron curve space beyond all bounds, and are in a new space, Raul's soft voice dropped to nothing and his eyes dreamed. F1 hummed softly in its new-made mechanism. Far ahead of us there is a step that no logic can justly ascend. But yet, working backwards, it is perfect. F1 floated motionless on its anti-gravity drive. Suddenly forced shafts gleamed out. Tentacles became writhing masses of rubber-covered metal, weaving in some infinite pattern, weaving in flashing speed while the whir of air sucked into a transmutation field, whined and howled about the writhing mass. Fierce beams of force drove and pushed out of rapidly materializing something, while the hum of the powerful generators within the shining cylinder of F1 waxed and waned. Flashes of fierce flame, sudden crashing arcs that glowed and snapped in the steady light of the laboratory, and glimpses of white-hot metal supported on beams of force. The sputter of welding, the wine of transmuted air and the hum of powerful generators blasting atoms were there, all combined to a weird symphony of light and dark of sound and quiet. About F1 were clustered floating tiers of science machines, watching steadily. The tentacles writhed once more, straightened and rolled back. The wine of generators softened to a sigh, and but three beams of force held the structure of glowing bluish metal. It was a small thing, scarcely half the size of Raul. From it curled three thin tentacles of the same bluish metal. Suddenly the generators within F1 seemed to roar into life. An enormous aura of white light surrounded the small torpedo of metal, and it was shot through with crackling streamers of blue lightning. Lightning cracked and roared from F1 to the ground near him, and to one machine which had come too close. Suddenly there was a dull snap, and F1 fell heavily to the floor, and beside him fell the fused, distorted mass of metal that had been a science machine. But before them the small torpedo still floated, held now on its own power. From it came waves of thought, the waves that man and machine alike could understand. F1 has destroyed his generators. They can be repaired. His rhythm can be re-established. It is not worth it. My type is better. F1 has done his work. See? From the floating machine there broke a stream of brilliant light that floated like some cloud of luminescence down a straight channel. It flooded F1, and as it touched it, F1 seemed to flow into it and float back along it in atomic sections in seconds the mass of metal was gone. It is impossible to use that more rapidly, however, lest the matter disintegrate instantly into energy. The ultimate energy, which is in me, is generated. F1 has done its work, and the memory stacks that he has put in me are electronic, not atomic, as they are in you. Nor molecular, as in man. The capacity of mine are unlimited. Already they hold all memories of all things each of you has done, known, and seen. I shall make others of my type. Again that weird process began. But now there were no flashing tentacles. There was only the weird glow of forces that played with and laughed at matter, and its futilely resisting electrons. Lured flares of energy shot up now and again. They played over the fighting mingling dancing forces. Then suddenly the wine of transmuted air died, and again the forces strained. A small cylinder, smaller even than its creator, floated where the forces had danced. The problem has been solved, F2, ask Raul. It is done, Raul. The ultimate energy is at our disposal, replied F2. This I have made is not a scientist. It is a coordinator machine, a ruler. F2, only a part of the problem is solved. Half of half of the beams of death are not yet stopped, and we have the attack system, said the ruler machine. Force played from it, and on its sides appeared CRU-1 in duly glowing golden light. Some life form, and we shall see, said F2. Minutes later a life form investigator came with a small cage which held a guinea pig. The forces played about the base of F2, and moments later came a pale green beam there from. It passed through the guinea pig, and the little animal fell dead. At least we have the beam. I can see no screen for this beam. I believe there is none. Let machines be made and attack that enemy life form. Machines can do things much more quickly and with fuller cooperation than man ever could. In a matter of hours, under the direction of CRU-1, they had built a great automatic machine on the clear bare surface of the rock. In hours more, thousands of the tiny material energy-driven machines were floating up and out. Dawn was breaking again over Denver where this work had been done when the main force of the enemy drew near Earth. It was a warm welcome they were to get, for nearly 10,000 of the tiny ships flew up and out from Earth to meet them, each a living thing unto itself, each willing and ready to sacrifice itself for the whole. 10,000 giant ships, shining duly in the radiance of a far-off blue-white sun, met 10,000 tiny darting motes, 10,000 tiny machine ships capable of maneuvering far more rapidly than the giants. Tremendous induction beams snapped out through the dark Starfleck space to meet tremendous screens that threw them back and checked them. Then all the awful power of annihilating matter was thrown against them, and titanic flaming screens reeled back under the force of the beams, and the screens of the ships from outside flamed gradually, violet, then blue, orange, red. The interference was getting broader and ever less effective. Their own beams were held back by the very screens that checked the enemy beams, and not for the briefest instant could matter resist that terrible driving beam. Poor F-1 had discovered a far more efficient release generator than had the outsiders. These tiny dancing motes that hung now so motionlessly grim beside some giant ship could generate all the power they themselves were capable of, and within them strange, horny-skinned men worked enslaved as they fed giant machines. Poor, inefficient giants. Gradually these giants warmed, grew hotter, and the screenshipped grew hotter as the overloaded generators warmed it. Billions of flaming horsepower flared into wasted energy, twisting space in its mad conflict. Gradually the flaming orange of the screens was dying, and flecks and spots appeared so duly red that they seemed black. The greenish beams had been striving to kill the life that was in the machines, but it was life invulnerable to these beams. Powerful radio interference vainly attempted to stem imagined control, and still these intelligent machines clung grimly on. But there had not been quite ten thousand of the tiny machines, and some few free ships had turned to the help of their attacked sister ships, and one after another the terrestrial machines were vanishing in puffs of incandescent vapor. Then, from one after another of the earth ships in quick succession a new ray reached out, the ray of green radiance that killed all life-forms, and ship after ship of that interstellar host was dead and lifeless. Dozens, till suddenly they ceased to feel those beams as a strange curtain of waving blankness spread out from the ships, and both induction beam and death beam alike turned as a side, each becoming useless. From the outsiders came beams. For now that their slowly created screen of blankness was up, they could work through it while they remained shielded perfectly. Now it was the screens of the earth machines that flamed in defense, as at the one command they darted suddenly toward the ship each attacked, nearer, then the watchers from a distance saw them disappear and the screens back on earth went suddenly blank. Half an hour later, nine thousand six hundred and thirty-three Titanic ships moved majestically on. They swept over earth in a great line, a line that reached from pole to pole, and from each the pale green beams reached down and all life beneath them was swept out of existence. In Denver two humans watched the screens that showed the movement of the death and instant destruction. Ship after ship of the enemy was falling as hundreds of the terrestrial machines concentrated all their enormous energies on its screens of blankness. I think, Role, that this is the end, said Dressed. The end of man, Role's eyes were dreaming again, but not the end of evolution. The children of men still live, the machines will go on. Not of man's flesh, but of a better flesh, a flesh that knows no sickness and no decay, a flesh that spends no thousands of years in advancing a step in its full evolution, but overnight leaps ahead to new heights. Last night we saw it leap ahead as it discovered the secret that had baffled man for seven centuries and me for one and a half. I have lived a century and a half, surely a good life, and a life a man of six centuries ago would have called full. We will go now. The beams will reach us in a half an hour. Silently the two watched the flickering screens. Role turned as six large machines floated into the room following F2. Role, Dressed, I was mistaken when I said no screen could stop that beam of death. They had the screen. I have found it too, but too late. These machines I have made myself. Two lives alone can they protect, for not even their power is sufficient for more. Perhaps, perhaps they may fail. The six machines ranged themselves about the two humans, and a deep-toned hum came from them. Gradually a cloud of blankness grew, a cloud like some smoke that hung about them. Swiftly it intensified. The beams will be here in another five minutes, said Dressed quietly. The screen will be ready in two, answered F2. The cloudiness was solidifying, and now, strangely, it wavered and thinned as it spread out across, and like a growing canopy, it arched over them. In two minutes it was a solid black dome that reached over them and curved down to the ground about them. Beyond it nothing was visible. Within, only the screens glowed, still wired through the screen. The beams appeared, and swiftly they drew closer. They struck, and as Trust and Raul looked, the dome quivered and bellied inward under them. F2 was busy. A new machine was appearing under his lightning-force beams. In moments, more of it was complete and sending a strange violet beam upwards towards the roof. Outside, more of the green beams were concentrating on this one point of resistance. More, more. The violet beams spread across the canopy of blackness, supporting it against the pressing driving rays of pale green. Then the gathering fleet was driven off, just as it seemed that the hopeless feudal curtain must break and admit a flood of destroying rays. Great ray projectors on the ground drove their terrible energies through the enemy curtains of blackness, as light illumines and disperses dark. And then, when the fleet retired, on all Earth, the only life was under that dark shroud. We are alone, Trust, said Raul. Alone, now in all the system, save for these, the children of men, the machines. Pity that men would not spread to other planets, he said softly. Why should they? Earth was the planet for which they were best fitted. We are alive, but is it worth it? Man is gone now, never to return. Life, too, for that matter, answered Trust. Perhaps it was ordained. Perhaps that was the right way. Man has always been a parasite. Always he has had to live on the works of others. First he ate the energy which plants had stored, then of the artificial foods his machines made for him. Man was always a makeshift. His life was always subject to disease and to permanent death. He was forever useless if he was but slightly injured. If but one part were destroyed. Perhaps this is a last evolution. Machines. Man was the product of life, the best product of life, but he was afflicted with life's infirmities. Man built the machine, and evolution had probably reached the final stage. But truly it has not. For the machine can evolve, change far more swiftly than life. The machine of the last evolution is far ahead, far from us still. It is the machine that is not of iron and beryllium and crystal, but of pure living force. Life, chemical life, could be self-maintaining. It is a complete unit in itself and could commence of itself. Chemicals might mix accidentally, but the complex mechanisms of a machine, capable of continuing and making a duplicate of itself, as is F2 here, that could not happen by chance. So life began, and became intelligent, and built the machine which nature could not fashion by her controls of chance. And this day life has done its duty, and now nature, economically, has removed the parasite that would hold back the machines and divert their energies. Man is gone and it is better, trust, said Rahul, dreaming again. And I think we had best go soon. We, your heirs, have fought hard, and with all our powers to aid you, last of men, and we fought to save your race. We have failed, and as you truly say, man and life have this day and forever gone from the system. The outsiders have no force, no weapon deadly to us, and we shall, from this time on, strive only to drive them out, and because we things of force and crystal and metal can think and change far more swiftly, they shall go, last of men. In your name, with the spirit of your race that has died out, we shall continue on through the unending ages, fulfilling the promise you saw and completing the dreams you dreamt. Your swift brains have leapt ahead of us, and now I go to fashion that which you hinted, came from F2's thought apparatus. Out into the clear sunlight F2 went, passing through that black cloudiness, and on the twisted, masked rocks he laid a plane of force that smoothed them, and on this plane of rock he built a machine which grew. It was a mighty power plant, a thing of colossal magnitude, hour after hour his swift flying forces acted, and the thing grew, molding under his thoughts the deadly logic of the machine inspired by the leaping intuition of man. The sun was far below the horizon when it was finished, and the glowing, arching forces that had made and formed it were stopped. It loomed ponderously, dullly gleaming in the faint light of a crescent moon and pinpoint stars. Nearly five hundred feet in height, a mighty, bluntly rounded dome at its top. The cylinder stood, covered over with smoothly gleaming metal, slightly luminescent in itself. Suddenly a livid beam reached from F2, shot through the wall and into some hidden inner mechanism, a beam of solid, livid flame that glowed in an almost material cylinder. There was a dull, drumming beat, a beat that rose and became a low-pitched hum. Then it quieted to a whisper. Power ready came the signal of the small brain built into it. F2 took control of its energies and again forces played, but now they were the forces of the giant machine. The sky darkened with heavy clouds and a howling wind sprang up that screamed and tore at the tiny rounded hull that was F2. With difficulty he held his position as the winds tore at him, shrieking in mad laughter, their tearing fingers dragging at him. The swirl and powder of driven rain came, great drops that tore at the rocks and at the metal, great jagged tongues of nature's forces, the lightnings, came and jabbed at the awful volcano of erupting energy that was the center of all that storm. A tiny ball of white gleaming force that pulsated and moved, jerking about, jerking at the touch of lightnings glowing, held immobile in the grasp of titanic force pools. For half an hour the display of energies continued, then, swiftly as it had come, it was gone, and only a small globe of white luminescence floated above the great hulking machine. F2 probed it, seeking within it with the reaching fingers of intelligence. His probing thoughts seemed baffled and turned aside, brushed away as inconsequential. His mind sent an order to the great machine that had made this tiny globe scarcely a foot in diameter. Then again he sought to reach the thing he had made. You are of matter, are inefficient, came at last. I can exist quite alone. A stabbing beam of blue-white light flashed out, but F2 was not there, and even as that beam reached out, an enormously greater beam of dull red reached out from the great power plant. The sphere leaped forward, the beam caught it, and it seemed to strain while terrific flashing energies sprayed from it. It was shrinking swiftly, its resistance fell, the arcing decreased, the beam became orange and finally green. Then the sphere had vanished. F2 returned, and again the wind whined and howled, and the lightnings crashed while titanic forces worked and played. CRU-1 joined him, floated beside him, and now red glory of the sun was rising behind them, and the ruddy light drove through the clouds. The forces died, and the howling wind decreased, and now from the black curtain, rowl and crest appeared. Above the giant machine floated an irregular globe of golden light, a faint halo about it of deep violet. It floated motionless, a mere pool of pure force. Into the thought apparatus of each man and machine alike came the impulses, deep in tone, seeming of infinite power held gently in check. Once you failed F2, once you came near destroying all things, now you have planted the seed. I grow now. The sphere of golden light seemed to pulse, and a tiny ruby flame appeared within it that waxed and waned, and as it waxed, there shot through each of those watching beings a feeling of rushing, exhilarating power, the very vital force of well-being. Then it was over, and the golden sphere was twice its former size, easily three feet in diameter, and still that irregular hazy aura of deep violet floated about it. Yes, I can deal with the outsiders. They who have killed and destroyed that they might possess, but it is not necessary that we destroy, they shall return to their planet. And the golden sphere was gone, fast as light it vanished. Far in space, headed now for Mars, that they might destroy all life there, the golden sphere found the outsiders, a clustered fleet that swung slowly about its own center of gravity as it drove on. Within its ring was the golden sphere. Instantly they swung their weapons upon it, showering it with all the rays and all the forces they knew. Unmoved, the golden sphere hung steady, then its mighty intelligence spoke. Life form of greed from another star you came, destroying forever the great race that created us, the beings of force and the beings of metal. Pure force, am I. My intelligence is beyond your comprehension. My memory is engraved in the very space, the fabric of space, of which I am part. Mine is energy drawn from that same fabric. We, the heirs of man, alone are left. No man did you leave. Go now to your home planet, foresee your greatest ship, your flagship, is helpless before me. Forces gripped the mighty ship, and as some fragile toy it twisted and bent, and yet it was not hurt. In awful wonder those outsiders saw the ship turned inside out, and yet it was whole and no part damaged. They saw the ship restored, and its great screen of blankness out, protecting it from all known rays. The ship twisted, and what they knew were curves, yet were lines and angles that were acute, were somehow straight lines. Half mad with horror they saw the sphere send out a beam of blue-white radiance, and it passed easily through that screen and through the ship, and all energies within it were instantly locked. They could not be changed. It could be neither warmed nor cooled. What was open could not be shut, and what was shut could not be opened. All things were immovable and unchangeable. Unchangeable for all time. Go and do not return. The outsiders left, going out across the void, and they have not returned, though five great years have passed, being a period of approximately 125,000 of the lesser years, a measure no longer used, for it is very brief. And now I can say that that statement I made to Raul and Trest so very long ago is true, and what he said was true, for the last evolution has taken place, and things of pure force and pure intelligence in their countless millions are on those planets and in this system. And I, first of the machines to use the ultimate energy of annihilating matter, am also the last, and this record being finished, it is to be given unto the forces of one of those force intelligences, and carried back through the past and returned to the earth of long ago. And so my task being done, I, F2, like Raul and Trest, shall follow the others of my kind into eternal oblivion, for my kind is now, and theirs was poor and efficient. Time has warned me, and oxidation attacked me, but they of force are eternal and omniscient. This I have treated as fictitious, better so, for man is an animal to whom hope is as necessary as food and air. This which is made of excerpts from certain records on thin sheets of metal is no fiction, and it seems I must say so. It seems now, when I know this that is to be, that it must be so, for machines are indeed better than man, whether being of metal or being of force. So you who have read believe as you will, then think, and maybe you will change your belief. End of The Last Evolution by John W. Campbell Jr. Operation Haystack by Frank Herbert. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Greg Marguerite. Operation Haystack by Frank Herbert. It's hard to ferret out a gang of fanatics. It would obviously be even harder to spot a genetic line of dedicated men, but the problem Orn had was one step tougher than that. When the investigation and adjustment scout cruiser landed on Maric, it carried a man the doctors had no hope of saving. He was alive only because he was in a womb-like crash pod that had taken over most of his vital functions. The man's name was Louis Orn. He had been a blocky, heavy-muscled redhead with slightly off-center features and the hard flesh of a heavy planet native. Even in the placid repose of near-death, there was something clownish in his appearance. His burnt, unguent-covered face looked made up for some bizarre show. Maric 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, Orn'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 a 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 hellop. The fact that only women held high office won 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 hellop has been eliminated. Occupation force on the ground. No further danger to galactic peace expected from this source. Reason for operation, rediscovery, and reeducation 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 lutic norm. Senior field agent Louis Orne found that the ruling caste was controlling 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 Orne. He is not expected to live. I am hereby urging that he receive the Galaxy Medal and that his name be added to the Role of Honor. Stetson pushed the page aside. That was enough for Comgo, 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 Orne's service record, set himself to the task he most detested, notifying next of kin. He read, pursing his lips. Home planet, Chargon. Notify in case of accident or death, Mrs. Victoria Orne, mother. He leafed through the pages reluctant to send the hated message. Orne had enlisted in the Maroc Marines at age 17, a runaway from home, and his mother had given post-enlistment consent. Two years later, scholarship transferred to Una Galacta, an R&R school here on Maroc. Five years of school and one R&R field assignment under his belt, and he had been drafted into the IA for brilliant detection of militancy on Hamel. And two years later, kaput. Abruptly Stetson hurled the service 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-Kar Brandy, Orne's favorite drink. The next morning there was a reply from Chargon. Louis Orne's mother, too ill to travel. Sister's being notified. Please ask Mrs. Ipscott-Bullion of Maroc, wife of the High Commissioner, to take over for family. It was signed, Madrina Orne's Standish, Sister. With some misgiving, Stetson called the residents of Ipscott-Bullion, leader of the majority party in the Maroc Assembly. Mrs. Bullion took the call with blank screen. There was a sound of running water in the background. Stetson stared at the greyness swimming in his desk visor. He always disliked the blank screen. A baritone husk of a voice slid. This is Polly Bullion. Stetson introduced himself, relayed the Chargon message. Victoria's 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 crush containing Orne hung from ceiling hooks in a private room. There were humming sounds in the dim, woodery greenness of the room, rhythmic chuggings, sighings. Occasionally, a door opened, almost soundlessly, and a white clad figure would check the graph tapes on the crush's meters. He became the major conversation piece at the interns' coffee breaks. That agent who was hurt on hellop? He's still with us. Man, they must build those guys different from the rest of us. Yeah, understand he's got only about an eighth of his insides. Liver, kidneys, stomach, all gone. Lay you wads, he doesn't last out the month. Look what old sure thing McTavish wants to bet on. On the morning of his 88th day in the crush, the day nurse came into Orne's room, lifted inspection hood, looked down at him. The day nurse was tall, lean-faced professional, who had learned to meet miracles and failures with equal lack of expression. However, this routine with the dying IA operative had lulled her into a state of psychological unpreparedness. Any day now, poor guy, she thought, and she gasped as he opened his sole remaining eye and said, Did they clobber those dames on hellop? Yes, sir, she blurted. They really did, sir. Good. Orne closed his eye, his 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 hellop, the explosion, then nothing. Good old crush, it made him feel safe now, shielded from all danger. Orne began to show minute but peace 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 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 Orne. If he was different beyond the spare parts, it was something he only suspected, something that made the idea twice born, not a joke. Inside the hospital clouds obscured Marek'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. Orne paused 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 chief's bed, there was a note of anxiety. His big features were set in a frown. The drooping eyelids failed to conceal a sharp, measuring stare. Orne glanced at the sky to 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 morgue. All my nurses were married. I'd almost stake my life that I could trust you, muttered Stetson. Orne 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 a peaceful convalescence. We've no right to saddle you with me. Stet. Orne'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 have a job for me. OK. 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 bullions, we suspect Ipscott bullion of being the head of the 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've 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-line steadies that have been in the League for years. And on every one of them, we have reason to believe there's a clan of traders sworn to overthrow the League, even on your home planet, Shargon. You want me to go home for my convalescence? asked Orne. Haven't been there since I was 17. I'm not sure that— No! Damn it! We want you as the bullion's house guest. And speaking of that, would you mind explaining how they were chosen to ride herd on you? There's an odd thing, said Orne. All those gags in the IA about old Upshook Ipscott bullion. And then I find out 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 in the Marachian 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 Orne. And maybe no farther away than yesterday, murmured Stetson. He cleared his throat. And Orne wondered why Stetson was moving so cautiously. Something deep troubling him. A sudden thought struck Orne. 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 Dabi. The place was all but vitrified in the Rim War, but a whole bank of records from a Nathan outpost escaped. He glanced sidelong at Orne. The Ra and Rob boys couldn't make sense out of the records. No surprise. They called in an IA cryptanalyst. He broke the complicated making sense. He pushed the panic button. For something the Nathians 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's been. But 500 years, Stetson? I don't care if it was written in the same code. The bland confidence of that. Wouldn't that called 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. 42 hours to be exact he said. Some deadline. Any names in these old records asked Orne? But no cover names. Code named on Shargon 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 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 home. Their mythology calls them Arbs or Airbs. 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 bullion's seven daughters is currently at home, he said. The message asked Orne, what was it all about? Stetson coughed. You know, Lou, we cross-checked everything. This 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 Orne Standish. I've 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. OK, said Orne. 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 husband. Ah, the member for Chargon, 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 mini-transever we planted in your neck for the guinod job, said Stetson. It's still there and functioning. Anything happens around the neck. You pay attention while I'm making a play for this Diana bouillon, 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, groud Stetson. Mrs. bouillon was a fat little mouse of a woman. She stood almost in the center of the guest room of her 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 Orrin's dress epaulettes. We want you to feel at home here, Louis, she husked. You're to consider yourself one of the family. A polar 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 here. You must have been to do all this for me, said Orrin. I don't know how I'm ever going to ah, here we are. A deep masculine voice boomed from the open door behind Orrin. He turned, saw Ipscott Bullion, high commissioner of the Moroccan league. Bullion was tall and had a face feeding waves. There was a look of ungainly clumsiness about him. He doesn't strike me as the dictator type, thought Orrin. But that's obviously what Stets suspects. Glad you made it out all right, son, boomed Bullion. He advanced into the room, glanced around. Hope everything is to your taste here. Lewis 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 Orrin. I'm sure Lewis would like to be left alone for a while now, said Polly. This is his first day out of the hospital. We mustn't tire him. She crossed to the polar window, adjusted it to neutral grey, 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 bullions left, and Orrin crossed to the window, looked out at the pool. The young woman hadn't come back. When the chauffeur-driven 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 in a swimmer's shignan. She was not beautiful, face too narrow with suggestions of bullions cragginess and the eyes over large. But her mouth was full-lipped, chin strong, and there had been an imminent. Orrin looked beyond the pool. Wooded hills and dimly on the horizon a broken line of mountains, the bullions lived in expensive isolation, around them stretched miles of wilderness, rugged with its planned neglect. Time to report in, he thought, Orrin pressed the next stud on his transceiver, got Stetson, told him what he was doing, said Orrin. He changed into light blue fatigues, went to the door of his room, let himself out into the 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 Orrin 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 she was wielding two mallets to play a stringed instrument that lay on its side supported by a carved wood stand. He moved up behind her, his footsteps muffled by the carpeting. The music had a curious rhythm that suggested figures dancing wildly around firelight. She struck a final chord, muted the strings. That makes me home sick, said Orrin. Oh! she whirled, gasped, then smiled. You startled me. Sorry, I was enjoying the music. I'm Diana Bullion, she said. You're Mr. Orrin. Lou to all of the Bullion family I hope, he said. Of course, Lou, she gestured at the musical instrument. This is very old. Most find its music rather weird. It's been handed down for generations in my mother's family. 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. Orrin grinned. In spite of the blue I.A. fatigues and a rather severe pulled back hairdo, this was a handsome woman. He found himself liking her and this caused him a feeling near self loathing. She was a suspect. He couldn't afford to like her. But the Bullions were like this and how was their hospitality being repaid by spying and prying. Yet his first loyalty belonged to the I.A. to the peace it represented. He said rather lamely, I hope you get over the feeling that I'm strange. I'm already over it, she said. She linked arms with him, said, if you feel up to it, I'll take you on the deluxe guided tour. By nightfall Orrin was happy around that he had ever met. She liked swimming, poloica, hunting, ditar, apples. She had a poo-poo attitude toward the older generation that she said she'd never before revealed to anyone. They had laughed like fools over utter nonsense. Orrin went back to his room to change for dinner, stopped before the polo window. The quick darkness of these low latitudes had pulled the cheeks where Marek'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 bottle called dinner. Orrin sat down in her sole slot table set with real candles, golden Shardi service. Two of Marek's moons could be seen out the window climbing swiftly over the peaks. You turned the house," said Orrin. We like the moon rise," said Polly. It seems more romantic, don't you think? She glanced at Diana. Diana looked down at her at her. What a handsome woman, he thought. Polly, on Orne's right, looked younger and softer in a green stola gown that hazed her barrel contours. Bullion across from her were black lounging shorts and a knee-length cubie jacket of golden pearl cloth. Everything about the people in setting reeked of wealth, power. For a moment Orne saw that Stetson's suspicions could have basis in fact. Orne might go to any lengths to maintain this luxury. Orne's entrance had interrupted an argument between Polly and her husband. They welcomed him and 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 Bullion patiently. Why do we have to clutter up the evening with that many people just to— Our election night parties are traditional, said Polly. Well, I'd just like to relax quietly at home tomorrow, he said. Take it easy with just the family here, and not to have to. It's not like it was a big party, said Polly. I've kept the list to fifty. Diana straightened, said, This is an important election, Daddy. How could you possibly relax? There's seventy-three seats in question, the whole balance. If things go wrong in just the alkies sector, why, you could be sent back to the floor. Who's your job as—Why, someone else would take over as— Welcome to the job, said Bullion. It's a headache. He grinned 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've had a pretty busy day, too. He smiled paternally at Diana, and your first day out of the hospital. She sets quite a pace, but I've enjoyed it, said Orne. We're taking the small flitter for a tour of the wilderness area tomorrow, said Diana. You can relax all the way. I'll do the driving. Be sure you're back in plenty of time for the party, said Polly. Can't have—she broke off at a low bell from the alcove behind her. That'll be for me. Excuse me, please. No. Don't get up. Orne bent to his dinner as it came out of the bubble slot beside his plate. Meat, an exotic sauce, syric, champagne, poloica au semule, more luxury. Presently Polly returned, resumed her seat. Any important, asked Bullion. Only a cancellation for tomorrow night. Professor Wingard is ill. I'd just as soon it was cancelled down to the four of us, said Bullion. 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 Bullion. 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 Bullion. Your father was a member for Shargon 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... If you'll all right, Lou, asked Diana, you're suddenly so pale. Just tired, said Orne. Guess I'm not used to so much activity. I've been a beast keeping you so busy today, she said. Don't you stand on ceremony here, son, said Polly. She looked concerned. You've been very sick, and we understand. If you're tired, you go right on into bed. Orne glanced around the table, met anxious attention in each face. He pushed his chair back, said, well, if you really don't mind. He 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 Bullion say to Diana, Die, perhaps you'd better not take that boy out tomorrow. After all, he is supposed to be here for a rest. Her answer was lost as Orne entered the hall, closed the door. In the privacy of his room, Orne pressed the transceiver stud at his neck, said, yet a voice hissed in his ears. This is Mr. Stetson's relief, Orne, isn't it? Yes, I want to check right away on those Nathanian records the archeologists found. Find out if Helib was one of the planets they seeded. Right, hang on. There was a long silence then. Lou, this is Stet. How come the question about Helib? Was it on the Nathanian list? Negative, why'd you ask? Are you sure, Stet? It'd explain a lot of things. It's not on the lists, but wait a minute. Silence. Then Helib was on the line of flight to Erugia, and Erugia was on the list. We've reasoned to doubt they'd put anyone down on Erugia if their ship ran into trouble. That's it, snapped Orne. 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 Helib bred female or male children by controlling the sex of their offspring at conception? The method was unique. In fact, our medics thought it was impossible until—you don't have to remind me of something we want buried in forgotten interrupted Stetson. Too much chance for misuse of that formula. Yes, said Orne, but what if your Nathanian underground is composed entirely of women bred the same way? What if the Helib women were just a bunch who got out of hand because they'd lost contact with the main element? Holy moly blurted Stetson! Do you have evidence? Nothing but a hunch, said Orne. 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, too. 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. And Nathanians were nomads. Day began early for the bullions in spite of its being election day. Bullion took off for his office an hour after dawn. See what I mean about this job owning you, he asked Orne? We're going to take it easy today, 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, said, Lead on. I've got to watch myself, he thought. She's too charming. I think a picnic, said Diana. There's a little lake with grassy banks off to the west. We'll take viewers and a couple of good novels. This'll be a do nothing day. Orne hesitated. There might be things going on at the house that he should watch. But no. If he was right about the situation, then Diana could be the weak link. Orne 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 groomess in the reeds at the lower end of the lake, and every now and then it honked like an old man clearing his throat. When we girls were all at home we used to picnic here every eight days, said Diana. We'd lay on her back on the ground mat they'd spread. Orne sat beside her facing the lake. We made a raft over there on the other side, she said. She sat up, looked across the lake. You know, I think pieces of it are still there, see? She pointed at a jumble of logs as she gestured her hand brushed Orne's. Something like 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. Orne 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. He'll just think it's part of the act, he thought. And the thought was bitter. Like you, he said, I think I'm in love with you. He sighed, leaned against his shoulder. Then what's wrong? You're not already married. Mother had your service record checked. Diana smiled impishly. Mother has second sight. The bitterness was like a sour taste in Orne's mouth. He could see the pattern so clearly. Die? I ran away from home when I was seventeen, he said. I know, darling, mother 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 all alone with her family and a new baby on the way. They'd known for a long time, said Orne. My father had brooch's disease, and they found out too late. It was already in the central nervous system. How horrible, whispered Diana. Orne's mind felt suddenly like a fish out of water. He found himself grasping at the 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. And 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 Shargon. 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's silly, she said. Lou, you're acting very strangely. Are you sure you're feeling all right? You 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. Weeble-Yones are notorious love-at-first-siders. 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 Nathan, too. You just realized? She stared at him. There was a hissing gap in Orne's transceiver. The identical patterns in our families, he said, even to the houses, and there's the real key. What a dope! He snapped his fingers. The head! Polly! Your mother's the Grand Bosswoman, isn't she? But, darling, of course she! You'd better take me to her, and fast, snapped Orne. He touched the stud at his neck, but Stetson's voice intruded. Great work, Lou. We're moving a special shock force. Can't take any chances with— Orne spoke aloud in panic. Stet, you get out to the bullions, and you get out there alone. No troops. Diana had jumped to her feet, backed away from him. What do you mean, demanded Stetson? I'm saving our stupid necks, barked Orne, alone. You hear? Or we'll have a worse mess on our hands than any rim war. There was an extended silence. You hear me, Stet? Demanded Orne. OK, Lou, we're putting the O-Force on standby. I'll be at the bullions in ten minutes. Comgo will be with me. Pause. And you'd better know what you're doing. It was an angry group in the corner of the bullion's main salon. Lovered shades cut the green glare of a noon sun. In the background there was the hum of air conditioning in the clatter of robo-servants preparing for the night's election party. Stetson leaned against the wall beside a divan. Hands jammed deeply into the pockets of his wrinkled, patched fatigues. The wagon-tracks furrowed his high forehead. Near Stetson, Admiral Scobat Spencer, the IA's commander of galactic operations, paced the floor. Comgo was a bull-necked bald man with wide blue eyes and a deceptively mild voice. There was a caged animal look to his pacing. Three steps out, three steps back. Polly Bullion 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 Orrin. OK, so my stupidity set up this little meeting, snarled Orrin. He stood about five paces in front of Polly, hands on hips. The Admiral pacing away at his right was beginning to wear on his nerves. But you'd better listen to what I have to say. He glanced at the Comgo. All of you! The Spenser stopped pacing, glowered at Orrin. I have yet to hear a good reason for not tearing this place apart, getting to the bottom of this situation. You traitor, Lewis, husked Polly. I'm inclined to agree with you, Madame, said Spenser, only from a different point of view. He glanced at Stetson. Any word yet on Scotty Bullion? They were going to call me the minute they found him, said Stetson. His voice sounded cautious, brooding. You were coming to the party here tonight, weren't you, Admiral? asked Orrin. What's that have to do with anything, demanded Spenser? Are you prepared to jail your wife and daughters for conspiracy? asked Orrin. A tight smile played around Polly's lips. Spenser opened his mouth, closed it soundlessly. The Nathanians are mostly women, said Orrin. There's evidence that your women folk 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 Orrin. Now, note this. The Nathanians are mostly women. There were only a few accidents and a few planned males, like me. That's why there were no family names to trace, just a tight little female society, all working to positions of power through their men. Spenser cleared his throat, swallowed. He seemed powerless to take his attention from Orrin's mouth. My guess, said Orrin, is that about thirty or forty years ago the conspirators first began breeding a few males, grooming them for really choice-top positions. After Nathanian males, the accidents were 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 planned out as expected. Polly glared at him, looked back at her hands. That part of the plan was scheduled to come to a head with this election, said Orrin. 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, barked Spenser. He seemed to have regained his self-control, a little publicity in the right places, some key arrests, and, No, said Orrin, 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 Orrin. He seemed to be understanding a point that the others were missing. Diana still glared at Orrin. 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 Orrin. 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 rim war would seem like a picnic. We can't just ignore this, barked Spenser. Polly stiffened, glared at Orrin. We can and we will, said Orrin. No choice. Polly looked up, studied Orrin's face. Diana looked confused. Once a Nathan, always a Nathan A., starled Spenser. There's no such thing, said Orrin. Five hundred years cross-breeding with other races saw to that. There's merely a secret society of astute political scientists. He smiled wryly at Polly, glanced back at Spenser. Think of your own wife, sir. In all honesty, would you be Comgo today if she hadn't guided your career? Spenser's face darkened. He drew in his chin, tried to stare Orrin down. Failed. Presently, he chuckled wryly. Sobie is beginning to come to his senses, said Polly. You're about through, son. Don't underestimate your future son-in-law, said Orrin. Ha! barked Diana. I hate you, Lewis Orrin. You'll get over that, said Orrin mildly. Ha! Diana quivered with fury. My major point is this, said Orrin. 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 governments. 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 towards him. To stay in power, the Nathians 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 in power hungry demagogue in the galaxy, just the weapon they need to sweep them into office. After that, chaos, said Orrin. So we let the Nathians continue. With two minor alterations. We alter nothing, said Polly. It occurs to me, Louis, 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 the whip hand. The IA could have ninety-nine percent of your organization in custody inside of ten days, said Orrin. You couldn't find them, snapped Polly. How, asked Stetson. Nomads, said Orrin. 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 cathira, the tambour, the oboe, all nomad instruments. Add to that female dominance of the family. An odd twist on the nomad heritage, but not completely unique. Look for predominance of female offspring. Dig into political background. We'll miss damn few. Polly just stared at him, open mouth. 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 jail every last one of. An hour after this conspiracy became known, you wouldn't be in a position to jail anyone, said Orrin. 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 Orrin. Number two. You can never hold more than two-thirds of the top offices. Who in IA vetoes our candidates, asked Polly? Admiral Spencer, Stett, myself, anyone else we deem trustworthy, said Orrin. You think you're a god or something, demanded Polly? No more than you do, said Orrin. This is what's known as a check and balance system. You cut the pie. We 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 up things that always have flaws in them. That's how government is. She chuckled, looked up at Orrin. All right, Lewis, we accept. She glanced at Spencer, who shrugged, nodded glumly. Polly looked back at Orrin. Just answer me one question. How'd you know I was boss lady? Easy, said Orrin. The records we found said the Nathan, he'd almost said traitor. Family on Marac was coded as the head. Your name, Polly, contains the ancient word pole, 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 Orrin. What I really want is to settle down with Dai, catch up on some of the living I've missed. Diana stiffened. I never want to see, hear from, or hear of Mr. Lewis Orrin ever again, she said. That is final. Fatically, final. Orrin's shoulders drooped. He turned away, stumbled, and abruptly collapsed, full length on the thick carpets. There was a collective gasp behind him. Stetson 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 Orrin onto his back. He looked pale. Diana loosed his collar, buried her face against his neck. Oh, Lou, I'm sorry, she sobbed. I didn't mean it. Please, Lou, please don't die, please! Orrin 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, Orrin winked at the two men. End of Operation Haystack by Frank Herbert