"For something the Nathians wrote five hundred 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've been—"
"But five hundred years, Stet!"
"I don't care if it was five thousand years!" barked Stetson. "We've intercepted some scraps since then that were written in the same code. The bland confidence of that! Wouldn't that gall you?" He shook his head. "And every scrap we've intercepted deals with the coming elections."
"But the election's only a couple of days off!" protested Orne.
Stetson glanced at his wristchrono. "Forty-two hours to be exact," he said. "Some deadline!"
"Any names in these old records?" asked Orne.
Stetson nodded. "Names of planets, yes. People, no. Some code names, but no cover names. Code name on Chargon 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've changed those by now."