Free The Eyes of Heisenberg by Frank Herbert Page A

inhabitants of Central seemed to know their way through the arabesques of its roads and streets by an instinct. The place defied cartographers because the Optimen were too subject to change and whim.
    â€œIgan!”
    It was Allgood calling from behind them.
    They turned, waited for him to catch up.
    Allgood planted himself in front of them, hands on hips, said, “Do you worship her, too?”
    â€œDon’t speak foolishness,” Boumour said.
    â€œNo,” Allgood said. His eyes appeared to be sunk in pockets above the high cheekbones. “I belong to no Folk cult, no breeder congregation. How can I worship her?”
    â€œBut you do,” Igan said.
    â€œYes!”
    â€œThey are the real religion of our world,” Igan said. “You do not have to belong to a cult or carry a talisman to know this. Calapine merely told you that, if there is a conspiracy, those belonging to it are heretics.”
    â€œIs that what she meant?”

    â€œOf course.”
    â€œAnd she must know what is done to heretics,” Allgood said.
    â€œWithout a doubt,” Boumour said.

6
    S vengaard had seen this building in the tri-casts and entertainment vids. He’d heard descriptions of the Hall of Counsel—but actually to be standing here at the quarantine wall with the copper sheen of sunset over the hills across from it … he’d never dreamed this could occur.
    Elevator caps stood out like plasmeld warts on the hillock in front of him. There were other low hills beyond with piled buildings on them that could’ve been mistaken for rock outcroppings.
    A lone woman passed him on the esplanade pulling a ground-effect cart filled with oddly shaped bundles. Svengaard found himself worried about what the bundles might contain, but he knew he dared not ask or show undue curiosity.
    The red triangle of a pharmacy outlet glowed on a pillar beside him. He passed it, glanced back at his escort.
    He had come halfway across the continent in the tube with an entire car to himself except for the escort, an agent from T-Security. Deep into Central they’d come, the gray-suited T-Security agent always beside him.
    Svengaard began climbing the steps.
    Already, Central was beginning to weigh on him. There was a sense of something disastrous about the place. Even
though he suspected the source of the feeling, he couldn’t shake it off. It was all the Folk nonsense you could never quite evade, he’d decided. The Folk were a people for the most part without legends or ancient myths except where such matters touched the Optimen. In the Folk memories, Central and the Optimen were fixed with sinister omens compounded of awesome fear and adulation.
    Why did they summon me ? Svengaard asked himself. The escort refused to say.
    They were stopped by the wall and waited now, silent, nervous.
    Even the agent was nervous, Svengaard saw.
    Why did they summon me?
    The agent cleared his throat, said, “You have all the protocol straight?”
    â€œI think so,” Svengaard said.
    â€œOnce you get into the hall, keep pace with the acolytes who’ll escort you from there. You’ll be interviewed by the Tuyere—Nourse, Schruille and Calapine. Remember to use their names when you address them individually. Use no such words as death or kill or die. Avoid the very concepts if you can. Let them lead the interview. Best not to volunteer anything.”
    Svengaard took a trembling breath.
    Have they brought me here to advance me ? he wondered. That must be it. I’ve served my apprenticeship under such men as Potter and Igan. I’m being promoted to Central.
    â€œAnd don’t say ‘doctor,’” the escort said. “Doctors are pharmacists or genetic engineers in here.”
    â€œI understand,” Svengaard said.
    â€œAllgood wants a complete report on the interview afterward,” the agent said.
    â€œYes, of course,” Svengaard said.
    The quarantine barrier