"I'll come to that in a moment," said Orne. "Now, note this: the Nathians are mostly women. There were only a few accidents and a few planned males, like me. That's why there were no family names to trace—just a tight little female society, all working to positions of power through their men."
Spencer cleared his throat, swallowed. He seemed powerless to take his attention from Orne's mouth.
"My guess," said Orne, "is that about thirty or forty years ago, the conspirators first began breeding a few males, grooming them for really choice top positions. Other Nathian males—the accidents where sex-control failed—they never learned about the conspiracy. These new ones were full-fledged members. That's what I'd have been if I'd panned out as expected."
Polly glared at him, looked back at her hands.
"That part of the plan was scheduled to come to a head with this election," said Orne. "If they pulled this one off, they could move in more boldly."
"You're in way over your head, boy," growled Polly. "You're too late to do anything about us!"
"We'll see about that!" barked Spencer. He seemed to have regained his self-control. "A little publicity in the right places ... some key arrests and—"
"No," said Orne. "She's right. It's too late for that. It was probably too late a hundred years ago. These dames were too firmly entrenched even then."