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Updated: May 10, 2025
Orne looked beyond the pool: wooded hills and, dimly on the horizon, a broken 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 his transceiver, got Stetson, told him what had happened to this point. "All right," said Stetson. "Go find the daughter.
Anything happens around you, we hear it." Orne touched the subvocal stud at his neck, moved his speaking muscles without opening his mouth. A surf-hissing voice filled the matching transceiver in Stetson's neck: "You pay attention while I'm making a play for this Diana Bullone, you hear? Then you'll know how an expert works."
"I didn't plan for that to happen," whispered Diana. "Nor I," muttered Orne. He shook his head. "Sometimes things can get into an awful mess!" Diana blinked. "Lew ... don't you ... like me?" He ignored the monitoring transceiver, spoke his mind. They'll just think it's part of the act, he thought. And the thought was bitter. "Like you?" he asked. "I think I'm in love with you!"
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