Free The Collected Stories of Frank Herbert by Frank Herbert Page B

first time I’ve been double-crossed by a woman; I guess I should’ve been a psychiatrist.”
    Colleen shook her head. “Pete, don’t talk that way.”
    â€œYeah … How else do you expect me to talk? You were a nobody; a canary in the hula chorus and I picked you up and set you down right on the top. So what do you do—” He turned away, leaning heavily on the cane. “You can have her, Doc; she’s just your type!”
    Eric put out a hand, withdrew it. “Pete! Stop allowing your deformity to deform your reason! It doesn’t matter how we feel about Colleen. We’ve got to think about what the musikron is doing to people! Think of all the unhappiness this is causing people … the death … the pain—”
    â€œPeople!” Pete spat out the word.
    Eric took a step closer to him. “Stop that! You know I’m right. You can have full credit for anything that is developed. You can have full control of it. You can—”
    â€œDon’t try to kid me, Doc. It’s been tried by experts. You and your big words! You’re just trying to make a big impression on baby here. I already told you you can have her. I don’t want her.”
    â€œPete! You—”
    â€œLook out, Doc; you’re losing your temper!”
    â€œWho wouldn’t in the face of your pig-headedness?”
    â€œSo it’s pig-headed to fight a thief, eh, Doc?” Pete spat on the floor, turned toward the door, tripped on his cane and fell.
    Colleen was at his side. “Pete, are you hurt?”
    He pushed her away. “I can take care of myself!” He struggled to his feet, pulling himself up on the cane.
    â€œPete, please—”
    Eric saw moisture in Pete’s eyes. “Pete, let’s solve this thing.”
    â€œIt’s already solved, Doc.” He limped through the doorway.
    Colleen hesitated. “I have to go with him. I can’t let him go away like this. There’s no telling what he’ll do.”
    â€œBut don’t you see what he’s doing?”
    Anger flamed in her eyes; she stared at Eric. “I saw what you did and it was as cruel a thing as I’ve ever seen.” She turned and ran after Pete.
    Her footsteps drummed up the stairs; the outer door slammed.
    An empty fibreboard box lay on the floor beside the teleprobe. Eric kicked it across the lab.
    â€œUnreasonable … neurotic … flighty … irresponsible—”
    He stopped; emptiness grew in his chest. He looked at the teleprobe. “Sometimes, there’s no predicting about women.” He went to the bench, picked up a transistor, put it down, pushed a tumble of resistors to the back of the bench. “Should’ve know better.”
    He turned, started toward the door, froze with a thought which forced out all other awareness:
    What if they leave Seattle?
    He ran up the stairs three at a time, out the door, stared up and down the street. A jet car sped past with a single occupant. A woman and two children approached from his left. Otherwise, the street was empty. The unitube entrance, less than half a block away, disgorged three teen-age girls. He started toward them, thought better of it. With the tubes running fifteen seconds apart, his chance to catch them had been lost while he’d nursed his hurt.
    He re-entered the apartment.
    I have to do something, he thought. If they leave, Seattle will go the way of all the others. He sat down by the vidiphone, put his finger in the dial, withdrew it.
    If I call the police, they’ll want proof. What can I show them besides some time-tables? He looked out the window at his left. The musikron! They’ll see —Again he reached for the dial, again withdrew. What would they see? Pete would just claim I was trying to steal it.
    He stood up, paced to the window, stared out at the lake.
    I could call the society, he thought.
    He ticked off in his mind