Read Online The Collected Stories of Frank Herbert by Frank Herbert - Free Book Online Page B

unitube entrance on the ceiling above his head. He shook his head.
    â€œThat was a crazy thought. Where’d that come from?” he asked himself. “I’ve been working too hard.”
    He turned on his side, returned to the somnolent state, his eyes drooping closed. Instantly, he had the sensation of being in a maze of wires; an emotion of hate surged over him so strongly it brought panic because he couldn’t explain it or direct it at anything. He gritted his teeth, shook his head, opened his eyes. The emotion disappeared, leaving him weak. He closed his eyes. Into his senses crept an almost overpowering aroma of gardenias, a vision of dawnlight through a shuttered window. His eyelids snapped open; he sat up in the bed, put his head in his hands.
    Rhinencephalic stimulation, he thought. Visual stimulation … auditory stimulation … nearly total sensorium response. It means something. But what does it mean? He shook his head, looked at the clock: 10:10 A.M.
    Outside Karachi, Pakistan, a Hindu holy man squatted in the dust beside an ancient road. Past him paraded a caravan of International Red Cross trucks, moving selected cases of Syndrome madness to the skytrain field on the Indus delta. Tomorrow the sick would be studied at a new clinic in Vienna. The truck motors whined and roared; the ground trembled. The holy man drew an ancient symbol with a finger in the dust. The wind of a passing truck stirred the pattern of Brahmaputra, twisting it. The holy man shook his head sadly.
    *   *   *
    Eric’s front door announcer chimed as someone stepped onto the entrance mat. He clicked the scanner switch at his bedside, looked to the bedroom master screen; Colleen’s face appeared on the screen. He punched for the door release, missed, punched again, caught it. He ran his hands through his hair, snapped the top clip of his coveralls, went to the entrance hall.
    Colleen appeared tiny and hesitant standing in the hall. As he saw her, something weblike, decisive, meshed inside him—a completeness.
    He thought, Boy, in just one day you are completely on the hook.
    â€œEric,” she said.
    Her body’s warm softness clung to him. Fragrance wafted from her hair.
    â€œI missed you,” he said.
    She pulled away, looked up. “Did you dream about me?”
    He kissed her. “Just a normal dream.”
    â€œDoctor!”
    A smile took the sting out of the exclamation. She pulled away, slipped off her fur-lined cape. From an inner pocket of the cape she extracted a flat blue booklet. “Here’s the diagram. Pete didn’t suspect a thing.”
    Abruptly, she reeled toward him, clutched at his arm, gasping.
    He steadied her, frightened. “What’s the matter, darling?”
    She shook her head, drawing deep, shuddering breaths.
    â€œIt’s nothing; just a … little headache.”
    â€œLittle headache nothing.” He put the back of his wrist against her forehead. The skin held a feverish warmth. “Do you feel ill?”
    She shook her head. “No. It’s going away.”
    â€œI don’t like this as a symptom. Have you eaten?”
    She looked up, calmer. “No, but I seldom eat breakfast … the waistline.”
    â€œNonsense! You come in here and eat some fruit.”
    She smiled at him. “Yes, doctor … darling.”
    *   *   *
    The reflection on the musikron’s inner control surfaces gave an underlighted, demoniacal cast to Pete’s face. His hand rested on a relay switch. Hesitant thought: Colleen, I wish I could control your thoughts. I wish I could tell you what to do. Each time I try, you get a headache. I wish I knew how this machine really works.
    *   *   *
    Eric’s lab still bore the cluttered look of his night’s activities. He helped Colleen up to a seat on the edge of the bench, opened the musikron booklet beside her. She looked down