Free The Eyes of Heisenberg by Frank Herbert Page B

lifted.
    â€œIn you go,” the agent said.
    â€œYou’re not coming with me?” Svengaard asked.
    â€œNot invited,” the agent said. He turned, went down the steps.
    Svengaard swallowed, entered the silver gloom of the
portico, stepped through to find himself in the long hall with an escort of six acolytes, three to a side, swinging thuribles from which pink smoke wafted. He smelled the antiseptics in the smoke.
    The big red globe at the end of the hall dominated the place. Its open segment showing flashing and winking lights; the moving shapes inside fascinated Svengaard.
    The acolytes stopped him twenty paces from the opening and he looked up at the Tuyere, recognizing them through the power curtains—Nourse in the center flanked by Calapine and Schruille.
    â€œI came,” Svengaard said, mouthing the greeting the agent had told him to use. He rubbed sweaty palms against his best tunic.
    Nourse spoke with a rumbling voice, “You are the genetic engineer, Svengaard.”
    â€œThei Svengaard, yes … Nourse.” He took a deep breath, wondering if they’d caught the hesitation while he remembered to use the Optiman’s name.
    Nourse smiled.
    â€œYou assisted recently in the genetic alteration of an embryo from a couple named Durant,” Nourse said. “The chief engineer at the cutting was Potter.”
    â€œYes, I was the assistant, Nourse.”
    â€œThere was an accident during this operation,” Calapine said.
    There was a strange musical quality in her voice, and Svengaard recognized she hadn’t asked a question, but had reminded him of a detail to which she wanted him to give his attention. He felt the beginnings of a profound disquiet.
    â€œAn accident, yes … Calapine,” he said.
    â€œYou followed the operation closely?” Nourse asked.
    â€œYes, Nourse.” And Svengaard found his attention swinging to Schruille, who sat there brooding and silent.
    â€œNow then,” Calapine said, “you will be able to tell us what it is Potter has concealed about this genetic alteration.”
    Svengaard found that he had lost his voice. He could only shake his head.

    â€œHe concealed nothing?” Nourse asked. “Is that what you say?”
    Svengaard nodded.
    â€œWe mean you no harm, Thei Svengaard,” Calapine said. “You may speak.”
    Svengaard swallowed, cleared his throat. “I …” he said. “ … the question … I saw nothing … concealed.” He fell silent, then remembered he was supposed to use her name and said, “Calapine,” just as Nourse started to speak.
    Nourse broke off, scowled.
    Calapine giggled.
    Nourse said, “Yet you tell us you followed the genetic alteration.”
    â€œI … wasn’t on the microscope with him every second,” Svengaard said. “Nourse. I … uh … the duties of the assistant—instructions to the computer nurse, keying the feeder tapes and so on.”
    â€œSay now if the computer nurse was a special friend of yours,” Calapine ordered.
    â€œI … she’d …” Svengaard wet his lips with his tongue. What do they want ? “We’d worked together for a number of years, Calapine. I can’t say she was a friend. We worked together.”
    â€œDid you examine the embryo after the operation?” Nourse asked.
    Schruille sat up, stared at Svengaard.
    â€œNo, Nourse,” Svengaard said. “My duties were to secure the vat, check life support systems.” He took a deep breath. Perhaps they were only testing him after all … but such odd questions!
    â€œSay now if Potter is a special friend,” Calapine ordered.
    â€œHe was one of my teachers, Calapine, someone I’ve worked with on delicate gentic problems.”
    â€œBut not in your particular circle,” Nourse said.
    Svengaard shook his head. Again, he sensed menace. He didn’t know what to