"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, dammit! I trust you, but you deserve a peaceful convalescence. We've no right to saddle you with—"
"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've a job for me. O.K. 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 Bullones'—we suspect Ipscott Bullone of being the head of a conspiracy to take over the government."
"What do you mean—take over the government?" demanded Orne. "The Galactic High Commissioner is the government—subject to the Constitution and the Assemblymen who elected him."
"We've a situation that could explode into another Rim War, and we think he's at the heart of it," said Stetson. "We've eighty-one 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 traitors sworn to overthrow the League. Even on your home planet—Chargon."
"You want me to go home for my convalescence?" asked Orne. "Haven't been there since I was seventeen. I'm not sure that—"