Operation Haystack

by Frank Herbert

several built-ins, and a door partly open to reveal bathroomtiles. Everything traditional and comfortable.

  "I already _do_ feel at home," he said. "You know, your house is verylike our place on Chargon. I was surprised when I saw it from the air.Except for the setting, it looks almost identical."

  "I guess your mother and I shared ideas when we were in school," saidPolly. "We were _very_ close friends."

  "You must've been to do all this for me," said Orne. "I don't know howI'm ever going to--"

  "Ah! Here we are!" A deep masculine voice boomed from the open doorbehind Orne. He turned, saw Ipscott Bullone, High Commissioner of theMarakian League. Bullone was tall, had a face of harsh angles and deeplines, dark eyes under heavy brows, black hair trained in recedingwaves. There was a look of ungainly clumsiness about him.

  _He doesn't strike me as the dictator type_, thought Orne. _But that'sobviously what Stet suspects._

  "Glad you made it out all right, son," boomed Bullone. He advanced intothe room, glanced around. "Hope everything's to your taste here."

  "Lewis was just telling me that our place is very like his mother's homeon Chargon," said Polly.

  "It's old fashioned, but we like it," said Bullone. "Just a great bigtetragon 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 pointingnortheast. View of the capital, you know."

  "We have a sea breeze on Chargon that we treat the same way," said Orne.

  "I'm sure Lewis would like to be left alone for a while now," saidPolly. "This is his first day out of the hospital. We mustn't tire him."She crossed to the polawindow, adjusted it to neutral gray, turned theselectacol, and the room's color dominance shifted to green. "There,that's more restful," she said. "Now, if there's anything you need youjust ring the bell there by your bed. The autobutle will know where tofind us."

  The Bullones left, and Orne crossed to the window, looked out at thepool. The young woman hadn't come back. When the chauffeur-drivenlimousine flitter had dropped down to the house's landing pad, Orne hadseen a parasol and sunhat nodding to each other on the blue tiles besidethe pool. The parasol had shielded Polly Bullone. The sunhat had beenworn by a shapely young woman in swimming tights, who had rushed offinto the house.

  She was no taller than Polly, but slender and with golden red haircaught under the sunhat in a swimmer's chignon. She was notbeautiful--face too narrow with suggestions of Bullone's cragginess, andthe eyes overlarge. But her mouth was full-lipped, chin strong, andthere had been an air of exquisite assurance about her. The total effecthad been one of striking elegance--extremely feminine.

  Orne looked beyond the pool: wooded hills and, dimly on the horizon, abroken line of mountains. The Bullones lived in expensive isolation.Around them stretched miles of wilderness, rugged with planned neglect.

  _Time to report in_, he thought. Orne pressed the neck stud on histransceiver, got Stetson, told him what had happened to this point.

  "All right," said Stetson. "Go find the daughter. She fits thedescription of the gal you saw by the pool."

  "That's what I was hoping," said Orne.

  He changed into light-blue fatigues, went to the door of his room, lethimself out into a hall. A glance at his wristchrono showed that it wasshortly before noon--time for a bit of scouting before they calledlunch. He knew from his brief tour of the house and its similarity tothe home of his childhood that the hall let into the main living salon.The public rooms and men's quarters were in the outside ring. Secludedfamily apartments and women's quarters occupied the inner section.

  * * * * *

  Orne made his way to the salon. It was long, built around two sectionsof the tetragon, and with low divans beneath the view windows. The floorwas thick pile rugs pushed one against another in a crazy patchwork ofreds and browns. At the far end of the room, someone in blue fatigueslike his own was bent over a stand of some sort. The figure straightenedat the same time a tinkle of music filled the room. He recognized thered-gold hair of the young woman he had seen beside the pool. She waswielding two mallets to play a stringed instrument that lay on its sidesupported by a carved-wood stand.

  He moved up behind her, his footsteps muffled by the carpeting. Themusic had a curious rhythm that suggested figures dancing wildly aroundfirelight. She struck a final chord, muted the strings.

  "That makes me homesick," said Orne.

  "Oh!" She whirled, gasped, then smiled. "You startled me. I thought Iwas alone."

  "Sorry. I was enjoying the music."

  "I'm Diana Bullone," she said. "You're Mr. Orne."

  "Lew to all of the Bullone family, I hope," he said.

  "Of course ... Lew." She gestured at the musical instrument. "This isvery old. Most find its music ... well, rather weird. It's been handeddown for generations in mother's family."

  "The kaithra," said Orne. "My sisters play it. Been a long time sinceI've heard one."

  "Oh, of course," she said. "Your mother's--" She stopped, lookedconfused. "I've got to get used to the fact that you're.... I mean thatwe have a strange man around the house who isn't _exactly_ strange."

  Orne grinned. In spite of the blue I-A fatigues and a rather severepulled-back hairdo, this was a handsome woman. He found himself likingher, and this caused him a feeling near self-loathing. She was asuspect. He couldn't afford to like her. But the Bullones were being sodecent, taking him in like this. And how was their hospitality beingrepaid? By spying and prying. Yet, his first loyalty belonged to theI-A, to the peace it represented.

  He said rather lamely: "I hope you get over the feeling that I'mstrange."

  "I'm over it already," she said. She linked arms with him, said: "If youfeel up to it, I'll take you on the deluxe guided tour."

  By nightfall, Orne was in a state of confusion. He had found Dianafascinating, and yet the most comfortable woman to be around that he hadever met. She liked swimming, _paloika_ hunting, _ditar_ apples-- Shehad a "poo-poo" attitude toward the older generation that she said she'dnever before revealed to anyone. They had laughed like fools over utternonsense.

  Orne went back to his room to change for dinner, stopped before thepolawindow. The quick darkness of these low latitudes had pulled an ebonblanket over the landscape. There was city-glow off to the left, and anorange halo to the peaks where Marak's three moons would rise. _Am Ifalling in love with this woman?_ he asked himself. He felt like callingStetson, not to report but just to talk the situation out. And this madehim acutely aware that Stetson or an aide had heard everything saidbetween them that afternoon.

  * * * * *

  The autobutle called dinner. Orne changed hurriedly into a fresh loungeuniform, found his way to the small salon across the house. The Bullonesalready were seated around an old-fashioned bubble-slot table set withreal candles, golden _shardi_ service. Two of Marak's moons could beseen out the window climbing swiftly over the peaks.

  "You turned the house," said Orne.

  "We like the moonrise," said Polly. "It seems more romantic, don't youthink?" She glanced at Diana.

  Diana looked down at her plate. She was wearing a low-cut gown of_firemesh_ that set off her red hair. A single strand of _Reinach_pearls gleamed at her throat.

  Orne sat down in the vacant seat opposite her. _What a handsome woman!_he thought.

  Polly, on Orne's right, looked younger and softer in a green stola gownthat hazed her barrel contours. Bullone, across from her, wore blacklounging shorts and knee-length _kubi_ jacket of golden pearl cloth.Everything about the people and setting reeked of wealth, power. For amoment, Orne saw that Stetson's suspicions could have basis in fact.Bullone might go to any lengths to maintain this luxury.

  Orne's entrance had interrupted an argument between Polly and herhusband. They welcomed him, went right on without inhibition. Ratherthan embarrassing him, this made him feel more at home, more accepted.

  "But I'm not running for office this time," said Bullone
patiently. "Whydo we have to clutter up the evening with that many people just to--"

  "Our election night parties are traditional," said Polly.

  "Well, I'd just like to relax quietly at home tomorrow," he said. "Takeit easy with just the family here and not have to--"

  "It's not like it was a _big_ party," said Polly. "I've kept the list tofifty."

  Diana straightened, said: "This is an important election Daddy! Howcould you _possibly_ relax? There're seventy-three seats in