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Bullone was tall, had a face of harsh angles and deep lines, dark eyes under heavy brows, black hair trained in receding waves. There was a look of ungainly clumsiness about him. He doesn't strike me as the dictator type, thought Orne. But that's obviously what Stet suspects. "Glad you made it out all right, son," boomed Bullone. He advanced into the room, glanced around.

The wagon tracks furrowed his high forehead. Near Stetson, Admiral Sobat Spencer, the I-A's Commander of Galactic Operations, paced the floor. ComGO was a bull-necked bald man with wide blue eyes, a deceptively mild voice. There was a caged animal look to his pacing three steps out, three steps back. Polly Bullone sat on the divan. Her mouth was pulled into a straight line.

"Hope everything's to your taste here." "Lewis was just telling me that our place is very like his mother's home on Chargon," said Polly. "It's old fashioned, but we like it," said Bullone. "Just a great big tetragon on a central pivot. We can turn any room we want to the sun, the shade or the breeze, but we usually leave the main salon pointing northeast. View of the capital, you know."

Stetson stared at the grayness swimming in his desk visor. He always disliked a blank screen. A baritone husk of a voice slid: "This is Polly Bullone." Stetson introduced himself, relayed the Chargon message. "Victoria's boy dying? Here? Oh, the poor thing! And Madrena's back on Chargon ... the election. Oh, yes, of course. I'll get right over to the hospital!"

"All those gags in the I-A about old Upshook Ipscott Bullone ... and then I find that his wife went to school with my mother." "Have you met Himself?" "He brought his wife to the hospital a couple of times." Again, Stetson looked to the southwest, then back to Orne. A pensive look came over his face.

Vaudemont took the letter and read as follows: "DEAR WILLIAM, No go about the youngster I went after: all researches in vane. Paris develish expensive. Never mind, I have sene the other the young B ; different sort of fellow from his father very ill frightened out of his wits will go off to the governor, take me with him as far as Bullone. I think we shall settel it now.

Anything happens around you, we hear it." Orne touched the subvocal stud at his neck, moved his speaking muscles without opening his mouth. A surf-hissing voice filled the matching transceiver in Stetson's neck: "You pay attention while I'm making a play for this Diana Bullone, you hear? Then you'll know how an expert works."

In spite of its being election day, Bullone 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, Lew," 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.