Read The Collected Stories of Frank Herbert for Free Online Page B

exhaled slowly. “You were in Karachi, too?”
    â€œWhy, yes; that was the third place we hit after Honolulu.”
    He leaned toward her. “And Honolulu?”
    She frowned. “What is this, a cross-examination?” She waited. “Well—”
    He swallowed, thought, How can one person have been in these cities the Syndrome hit and be so casual about it?
    She tapped a foot. “Cat got your tongue?”
    He thought, She’s so flippant about it.
    He ticked off the towns on his fingers. “You were in Los Angeles, Honolulu, Karachi; you’ve hit the high spots of Syndrome contamination and—”
    An animal cry, sharp, exclamatory, burst from her. “It got all of those places?”
    He thought, How could anyone be alive and not know exactly where the Syndrome has been?
    He asked, “Didn’t you know?”
    She shook her head, a numb motion, eyes wide, staring. “But Pete said—” She stopped. “I’ve been so busy learning new numbers. We’re reviving the old-time hot jazz.”
    â€œHow could you miss it? TV is full of it, the newstapes, the transgraphs.”
    She shrugged. “I’ve just been so busy. And I don’t like to think about such things. Pete said—” She shook her head. “You know, this is the first time I’ve been out alone for a walk in over a month. Pete was asleep and—” Her expression softened. “That Pete; he must not have wanted me to worry.”
    â€œIf you say so, but—” He stopped. “Who’s Pete?”
    â€œHaven’t you heard of Pete Serantis and the musikron?”
    â€œWhat’s a musikron?”
    She shook back a curl of dark hair. “Have your little joke, doctor.”
    â€œNo, seriously. What’s a musikron?”
    She frowned. “You really don’t know what the musikron is?”
    He shook his head.
    She chuckled, a throaty sound, controlled. “Doctor, you talk about my not knowing about Karachi and Honolulu. Where have you been hiding your head? Variety has us at the top of the heap.”
    He thought, “She’s serious!”
    A little stiffly, he said, “Well, I’ve been quite busy with a research problem of my own. It deals with the Syndrome.”
    â€œOh.” She turned, looked at the gray waters of the bay, turned back. She twisted her hands together. “Are you sure about Honolulu?”
    â€œIs your family there?”
    She shook her head. “I have no family. Just friends.” She looked up at him, eyes shining. “Did it get … everybody?”
    He nodded, thought: She needs something to distract her attention.
    He said, “Miss Lanai, could I ask a favor?” He plunged ahead, not waiting for an answer. “You’ve been three places where the Syndrome hit. Maybe there’s a clue in your patterns. Would you consent to undergoing a series of tests at my lab? They wouldn’t take long.”
    â€œI couldn’t possibly; I have a show to do tonight. I just sneaked out for a few minutes by myself. I’m at the Gweduc Room. Pete may wake up and—” She focused on his pleading expression. “I’m sorry, doctor. Maybe some other time. You wouldn’t find anything important from me anyway.”
    He shrugged, hesitated. “But I haven’t told you about my dream.”
    â€œYou tempt me, doctor. I’ve heard a lot of phony dream reports. I’d appreciate the McCoy for just once. Why don’t you walk me back to the Gweduc Room? It’s only a couple of blocks.”
    â€œOkay.”
    She took his arm.
    â€œHalf a loaf—”
    *   *   *
    He was a thin man with a twisted leg, a pinched, hating face. A cane rested against his knee. Around him wove a spiderweb maze of wires—musikron. On his head, a dome-shaped hood. A spy, unsuspected, he looked out through a woman’s eyes at a man who had identified