Read Online The Collected Stories of Frank Herbert by Frank Herbert - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Frank Herbert
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teleprobe.
Iâm on to something, he thought. This Syndrome problem is too urgent for me to waste time sleeping.
He stared at his teleprobe, an open framework of shelves, banks of tubes, maze of wiring, relaxing chair in the center with the metal hemisphere of the pickup directly above the chair. He thought, The musikron is rigged for sound projection; that means a secondary resonance circuit of some kind.
He pulled an unused tape recorder from a rack at the end of his bench, stripped the playback circuit from it. He took the recorder service manual, sketched in the changes he would need, pausing occasionally to figure circuit loads and balances on a slide rule. Presently, not too satisfied with his work, but anxious to get started, he brought out the parts he would need and began cutting and soldering. In two hours he had what he wanted.
Eric took cutter pliers, went to the teleprobe, snipped away the recorder circuit, pulled it out as a unit. He wheeled the teleprobe cage to the bench and, delicately feeling his way, checking the circuit diagrams as he went, he wired in the playback circuit. From the monitor and audio sides, he took the main leads, fed them back into the first bank of the encephalographic pickup. He put a test power source on the completed circuit and began adding resistance units by eye to balance the impedance. It took more than an hour of testing and cutting, required several units of shielding.
He stepped back, stared at the machine. He thought, Itâs going to oscillate all over the place. How does he balance this monster?
Eric pulled at his chin, thinking. Well, letâs see what this hybrid does.
The wall clock above his bench showed 6:45 A.M. He took a deep breath, hooked an overload fuse into a relay power switch, closed the switch. A wire in the pickup circuit blazed to incandescence; the fuse kicked out. Eric opened the switch, picked up a test meter, and returned to the machine. The fault eluded him. He went back to the circuit diagrams.
âPerhaps too much powerââ He recalled that his heavy duty rheostat was at a shop being repaired, considered bringing out the auxiliary generator he had used on one experiment. The generator was beneath a pile of boxes in a corner. He put the idea temporarily aside, turned back to the teleprobe.
âIf I could just get a look at that musikron.â
He stared at the machine. âA resonance circuitâWhat else?â He tried to imagine the interrelationship of the components, fitting himself into the machine.
âIâm missing it some place! Thereâs some other thing and I have the feeling I already know it, that Iâve heard it. Iâve got to see the diagrams on that musikron.â
He turned away, went out of the lab and climbed the stairs to his kitchen. He took a coffee capsule from a package in the cupboard, put it beside the sink. The vidiphone chimed. It was the clerk from the travel bureau. Eric took down her report, thanked her, broke the connection. He did a series of subtractions.
âTwenty-eight hour time lag,â he thought. âEvery one of them. Thatâs too much of a coincidence.â
He experienced a moment of vertigo, followed by weariness. âIâd better get some rest. Iâll come back to this thing when Iâm more alert.â
He padded into the bedroom, sat down on the bed, kicked off his sandals and lay back, too tired to undress. Sleep eluded him. He opened his eyes, looked at the clock: 7:00 A.M. He sighed, closed his eyes, sank into a somnolent state. A niggling worry gnawed at his consciousness. Again he opened his eyes, looked at the clock: 9:50 A.M. But I didnât feel the time pass, he thought. I must have slept. He closed his eyes. His senses drifted into dizziness, the current in a stream, a ship on the current, wandering, hunting, whirling.
He thought, I hope he didnât see me leave.
His eyelids snapped open and, for a moment, he saw a
Iâm on to something, he thought. This Syndrome problem is too urgent for me to waste time sleeping.
He stared at his teleprobe, an open framework of shelves, banks of tubes, maze of wiring, relaxing chair in the center with the metal hemisphere of the pickup directly above the chair. He thought, The musikron is rigged for sound projection; that means a secondary resonance circuit of some kind.
He pulled an unused tape recorder from a rack at the end of his bench, stripped the playback circuit from it. He took the recorder service manual, sketched in the changes he would need, pausing occasionally to figure circuit loads and balances on a slide rule. Presently, not too satisfied with his work, but anxious to get started, he brought out the parts he would need and began cutting and soldering. In two hours he had what he wanted.
Eric took cutter pliers, went to the teleprobe, snipped away the recorder circuit, pulled it out as a unit. He wheeled the teleprobe cage to the bench and, delicately feeling his way, checking the circuit diagrams as he went, he wired in the playback circuit. From the monitor and audio sides, he took the main leads, fed them back into the first bank of the encephalographic pickup. He put a test power source on the completed circuit and began adding resistance units by eye to balance the impedance. It took more than an hour of testing and cutting, required several units of shielding.
He stepped back, stared at the machine. He thought, Itâs going to oscillate all over the place. How does he balance this monster?
Eric pulled at his chin, thinking. Well, letâs see what this hybrid does.
The wall clock above his bench showed 6:45 A.M. He took a deep breath, hooked an overload fuse into a relay power switch, closed the switch. A wire in the pickup circuit blazed to incandescence; the fuse kicked out. Eric opened the switch, picked up a test meter, and returned to the machine. The fault eluded him. He went back to the circuit diagrams.
âPerhaps too much powerââ He recalled that his heavy duty rheostat was at a shop being repaired, considered bringing out the auxiliary generator he had used on one experiment. The generator was beneath a pile of boxes in a corner. He put the idea temporarily aside, turned back to the teleprobe.
âIf I could just get a look at that musikron.â
He stared at the machine. âA resonance circuitâWhat else?â He tried to imagine the interrelationship of the components, fitting himself into the machine.
âIâm missing it some place! Thereâs some other thing and I have the feeling I already know it, that Iâve heard it. Iâve got to see the diagrams on that musikron.â
He turned away, went out of the lab and climbed the stairs to his kitchen. He took a coffee capsule from a package in the cupboard, put it beside the sink. The vidiphone chimed. It was the clerk from the travel bureau. Eric took down her report, thanked her, broke the connection. He did a series of subtractions.
âTwenty-eight hour time lag,â he thought. âEvery one of them. Thatâs too much of a coincidence.â
He experienced a moment of vertigo, followed by weariness. âIâd better get some rest. Iâll come back to this thing when Iâm more alert.â
He padded into the bedroom, sat down on the bed, kicked off his sandals and lay back, too tired to undress. Sleep eluded him. He opened his eyes, looked at the clock: 7:00 A.M. He sighed, closed his eyes, sank into a somnolent state. A niggling worry gnawed at his consciousness. Again he opened his eyes, looked at the clock: 9:50 A.M. But I didnât feel the time pass, he thought. I must have slept. He closed his eyes. His senses drifted into dizziness, the current in a stream, a ship on the current, wandering, hunting, whirling.
He thought, I hope he didnât see me leave.
His eyelids snapped open and, for a moment, he saw a
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