Free The Heaven Makers by Frank Herbert Page A

like that?”
    “I…”
    “Does somebody want you to hate me?”
    “What?” She stared up at him, her face dim in the tree lights.
    “Back there…” He nodded toward the tank. “I felt myself angry with you… hating you. I told myself I couldn’t hate you. I love you. That’s when I found I could move. But when I felt the… hate, the instant I felt it, that was exactly when they pointed their machine at us.”
    “What machine?”
    “Some kind of box with glowing rods or antennae sticking out of it.”
    “Are you trying to tell me that those nutty… whatever could make you feel hate… or…”
    “That’s how it felt.”
    “That’s the craziest thing I ever heard!” She backed away from him.
    “I know it’s crazy, but that’s how it felt.” He reached for her arm. “Let’s get back to the car.”
    Ruth pulled away. “I’m not going a step with you until you explain what happened out there.”
    “I can’t explain it.”
    “How could you see it when I couldn’t?”
    “Maybe the accident… my eyes, the polarizing glasses.”
    “Are you sure that accident at the radlab didn’t injure more than your eyes?”
    He suppressed a surge of anger. It was so easy to feel angry. With some difficulty, he held his voice level. “They had me on the artificial kidney for a week and with every test known to God and man. The burst altered the ion exchange system in the cones of my retinas. That’s all. And it isn’t permanent. But I think whatever happened to my eyes, that’s why I can see these things. I’m not supposed to see them, but I can.”
    Again, he reached for her, captured her arm. Half dragging her, he set off down the path. She fell into step beside him.
    “But what could they be?” she asked.
    “I don’t know, but they’re real. Trust me, Ruth. Trust that much. They’re real.” He knew he was begging and hated himself for it, but Ruth moved closer, tucked her arm under his.
    “All right, darling, I trust you. You saw what you saw. What’re you going to do about it?”
    They came off the trail and into the eucalyptus grove. The car was a darker shape among shadows. Thurlow drew her to a stop beside it.
    “How hard is it to believe me?” he asked.
    She was silent for a moment, then: “It’s… difficult.”
    “Okay,” he said. “Kiss me.”
    “What?”
    “Kiss me. Let’s see if you really hate me.”
    “Andy, you’re being…”
    “Are you afraid to kiss me?”
    “Of course not!”
    “Okay then.” He pulled her to him. Their lips met. For an instant, he sensed resistance, then she melted into his embrace, her arms creeping behind his neck.
    Presently, he drew away.
    “If that’s hate, I want lots of it,” he said.
    “Me, too.”
    Again, she pressed herself against him.
    Thurlow felt his blood pounding. He pulled away with an abrupt, defensive motion.
    “Sometimes I wish you weren’t so damned Victorian,” she said. “But maybe I wouldn’t love you then.” He brushed a strand of the red hair away from her cheek. How faintly glowing her face looked in the light from the bridle trail lamps behind him. “I think I’d better take you home… to Sarah.”
    “I don’t want you to take me home.”
    “I don’t want you to go home.”
    “But I’d better?”
    “You’d better.”
    She put her hands against his chest, pushed away.
    They got into the car, moving with a sudden swift embarrassment. Thurlow started the engine, concentrated on backing to the turn-around. The headlights picked out lines of crusty brown bark on the trees. Abruptly, the headlights went dark. The engine died with a gasping cough. A breathless, oppressive sensation seized him.
    “Andy!” Ruth said. “What’s happening?”
    Thurlow forced himself to turn to the left, wondering how he knew where to look. There were four rainbow glows close to the ground, the tubular legs and the green dome just outside the grove. The thing hovered there, silent, menacing.
    “They’re back,” he