The Eyes of Heisenberg by Frank Herbert Page A

Svengaard, but it helped clear his reason. He began to see the direction of their curiosity, to sense their suspicions. Those were his suspicions now. Potter had betrayed his trust, had he? The business with the accidentally destroyed tape had
not been an accident. Very well—the criminals would pay.
    â€œYou may go now,” Nourse said.
    â€œWith our blessing,” Calapine said.
    Svengaard bowed. And he marked that Schruille had not spoken or moved during the entire interview. Svengaard wondered why this fact, of itself, should be a suddenly terrifying thing. His knees trembled as he turned, the acolytes flanking him with their smoking thuribles, and left the hall.
    The Tuyere watched until the barrier dropped behind Svengaard.
    â€œAnother one who doesn’t know what Potter achieved.” Calapine said.
    â€œAre you sure Max doesn’t know?” Schruille asked.
    â€œI’m sure,” she said.
    â€œThen we should’ve told him.”
    â€œAnd told him how we knew?” she asked.
    â€œI know the argument,” Schruille said. “Blunt the instrument, spoil the work.”
    â€œThat Svengaard, he’s one of the reliable ones,” Nourse said.
    â€œIt is said we walk the sharp edge of a knife,” Schruille said. “When you walk the knife, you must be careful how you place your feet.”
    â€œWhat a disgusting idea,” Calapine said. She turned to Nourse. “Are you still hobbying da Vinci, dearest?”
    â€œHis brush stroke,” Nourse said. “A most exacting discipline. I should have it in forty or fifty years. Soon at any rate.”
    â€œProvided you’ve placed each step correctly,” Schruille said.
    Presently, Nourse said, “Sometimes, Schruille, you allow cynicism to carry you beyond the bounds of propriety.” He turned, studied the instrument gauges, sensors, peek-eyes and read-outs across from Calapine on the inner wall of the globe. “It’s reasonably quiet today. Shall we leave the control with Schruille, Cal, and go down for a swim and a pharmacy session.”
    â€œBody tone, body tone,” Schruille complained. “Have
you ever considered doing twenty-five laps of the pool instead of twenty?”
    â€œYou say the most astonishing things of late,” Calapine said. “Would you have Nourse upset his enzyme balance? I fail completely in my attempts to understand you.”
    â€œFail to try,” Schruille said.
    â€œIs there anything we can do for you?” she asked.
    â€œMy cycle has plunged me into dreadful monotony,” Schruille said. “Is there something you can do about that?”
    Nourse looked at Schruille in the prismatic reflector. The man’s voice with its suggestion of a whine had grown increasingly annoying of late. Nourse was beginning to regret that community of tastes and bodily requirements had thrown them together. Perhaps when the Tuyere’s service was done …
    â€œMonotony,” Calapine said. She shrugged.
    â€œThere’s a certain triumph in well-considered monotony,” Nourse said. “That’s Voltaire, I believe.”
    â€œIt sounded like the purest Nourse,” Schruille said.
    â€œI sometimes find it helpful,” Calapine said, “to invoke a benign concern for the Folk.”
    â€œEven among ourselves?” Schruille asked.
    â€œConsider the fate of the poor computer nurse,” she said. “In the abstract, naturally. Can you not feel sorrow and pity?”
    â€œPity’s a wasteful emotion,” Schruille said. “Sorrow is akin to cynicism.” He smiled. “This will pass. Go to your swim. When the vigor’s on you, think of me … here.”
    Nourse and Calapine stood, ordered the carrier beams into position.
    â€œEfficiency,” Nourse said. “We must seek more efficiency in our minions. Things must be made to run more smoothly.”
    Schruille looked up at them waiting for