"They didn't change their communications code," said Orne.
"No ... they didn't."
"We must have something on them, some leads," said Orne. He felt that Stetson was holding back something vital.
"Sure," said 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 originally from nomad stock on Nathia II. Their mythology calls them Arbs or Ayrbs. 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 Bullones' seven daughters is currently at home," he said. "Name's Diana. A field leader in the I-A women. One of the Nathian code messages we intercepted had her name as addressee."
"Who sent the message?" asked Orne. "What was it all about?"
Stetson coughed. "You know, Lew, we cross-check 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 Madrena Orne Standish."
"Maddie?" Orne froze, turned slowly to face Stetson. "So that's what's troubling you!"
"We know you haven't been home since you were seventeen," said Stetson. "Your record with us is clean. The question is—"