Frank Herbert - The Eyes of Heisenberg

“It’s running wild!” she shouted.

“It’s locked on Erase!” Svengaard yelled. He jumped to her side, tried to get the cover plate off. It jammed in its tracks.

Potter watched like a man in a trance as the last of the tape flashed through the heads, began whipping on the take-up reels.

“Oh, Doctor, we’ve lost it!” the computer nurse wailed.

Potter focused on the little monitor screen at the computer nurse’s station. Did she watch the operation closely? he asked himself. Sometimes they follow the cut move by move… and computer nurses are a savvy lot. If she watched, she’ll have a good idea what we achieved. At the very least, she’ll suspect. Was that tape erasure really an accident? Do I dare?

She turned, met his gaze. “Oh, Doctor, I’m so sorry,” she said.

“It’s all right, nurse,” Potter said. “There’s nothing very special about this embryo now, aside from the fact that it will live.”

“We missed it, eh?” Svengaard asked. “Must’ve been the mutagens.”

“Yes,” Potter said. “But without them it’d have died,”

Potter stared at the nurse. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a profound relief wash over her features.

“I’ll cut a verbal tape of the operation,” Potter said, “That should be enough on this embryo.”

And he thought, When does a conspiracy begin? Was this such a beginning?

There was still so much this conspiracy required. No knowledgeable eye could ever again look at this embryo through the microscope without being a part of the conspiracy… or a traitor.

“We still have the protein synthesis tape,” Svengaard said. “That’ll give us the chemical factors by reference—and the timing.”

Potter thought about the protein synthesis tape. Was there danger in it? No, it was only a reference for what had been used in the operation… not how anything had been used.

“So it will,” Potter said. “So it will.” He gestured to the monitor screen. “Operation’s finished. You can cut the direct circuit and escort the parents to the reception room. I’m very sorry we achieved no more than we did, but this’ll be a healthy human.”

“Sterrie?” Svengaard asked.

“Too soon to guess,” Potter said. He looked at the computer nurse. She had managed to get the cover off at last and had stopped the tapes. “Any idea how that happened?”

“Probably solonoid failure,” Svengaard said.

“This equipment’s quite old,” the nurse said. “I’ve asked for replacement units several times, but we don’t seem to be very high on the priority lists.”

And there’s a natural reluctance at Central to admit anything can wear out, Potter thought.

“Yes,” Potter said. “Well, I daresay you’ll get your replacements now.”

Did anyone else see her trip that switch? Potter wondered. He tried to remember where everyone in the room had been looking, worried that a Security monitor might’ve been watching her. If Security saw that, she’s dead, Potter thought. And so am I.

“The technician’s report on repairs will have to be part of the record on this case,” Svengaard said. “I presume you’ll -”

“I’ll see to it personally, Doctor,” she said.

Turning away, Potter had the impression that he and the computer nurse had just carried on a silent conversation. He noted that the big screen was now a gray blank, the Durants no longer watching. Should I see them myself? he wondered. If they’re part of the Underground, they could help. Something has to be done about the embryo. Safest to get it out of here entirely… but how?

“I’ll take care of the tie-off details,” Svengaard said. He began checking the vat seals, life systems repeaters, dismantling the meson generator.

Someone has to see the parents, Potter thought.

“The parents’ll be disappointed,” Svengaard said. “They generally know why a specialist is called in… and probably got their hopes up.”

The door from the ready room opened to admit a man Potter recognized as an agent from Central Security. He was a moon-faced blond with features one tended to forget five minutes after leaving him. The man crossed the room to stand in front of Potter.

Is this the end for me? Potter wondered. He forced his voice into a steady casual tone, asked, “What about the parents?”

“They’re clean,” the agent said. “No tricky devices—conversation normal… plenty of small talk, but normal.”

“No hint of the other things?” Potter asked. “Any way they could’ve penetrated Security without instruments?”

“Impossible!” the man snorted.

“Doctor Svengaard believes the father’s overly endowed with male protectiveness and the mother has too much maternalism,” Potter said.

“The records show you shaped ’em,” the agent said.

“It’s possible,” Potter said. “Sometimes you have to concentrate on gross elements of the cut to save the embryo. Little things slip past.”

“Anything slip past on this one today?” the agent asked. “I understand the tape’s been erased… an accident.”

Does he suspect? Potter asked himself. The extent of his own involvement and personal danger threatened to overwhelm Potter. It took the greatest effort to maintain a casual tone.

“Anything’s possible of course,” Potter said. He shrugged. “But I don’t think we have anything unusual here. We lost the Optishape in saving the embryo, but that happens. We can’t win them all.”

“Should we flag the embryo’s record?” the agent asked.

He’s still fishing, Potter told himself. He said, “Suit yourself. I’ll have a verbal tape on the cut pretty soon—probably just as accurate as the visual one. You might wait and analyze that before you decide.”

“I’ll do that,” the agent said.

Svengaard had the microscope off the vat now. Potter relaxed slightly. No one was going to take a casual, dangerous look at the embryo.

“I guess we brought you on a wild goose chase,” Potter said. “Sorry about that, but they did insist on watching.”

“Better ten wild goose chases than one set of parents knowing too much,” the agent said. “How was the tape erased?”

“Accident,” Potter said. “Worn equipment. We’ll have the technical report for you shortly.”

“Leave the worn equipment thing out of your report,” the agent said. “I’ll take that verbally. Allgood has to show every report to the Tuyere now.”

Potter permitted himself an understanding nod. “Of course.” The men who worked out of Central knew about such things. One concealed personally disquieting items from the Optimen.

The agent glanced around the cutting room, said, “Someday we won’t have to use all this secrecy. Won’t come any too soon for me.” He turned away.

Potter watched the retreating back, thinking how neatly the agent fitted into the demands of his profession. A superb cut with just one flaw—too neat a fit, too much cold logic, not enough imaginative curiosity and readiness to explore the avenues of chance.

If he’d pressed me, he’d have had me, Potter thought. He should’ve been more curious about the accident. But we tend to copy our masters — even in their blind spots.

Potter began to have more confidence of success in his impetuous venture. He turned back to help Svengaard with the final details, wondering, How do I know the agent’s satisfied with my explanation. No feeling of disquiet accompanied the question. I know he’s satisfied, but how do I know it? Potter asked himself.

He realized then that his mind had been absorbing correlated gene information—the inner workings of the cells and their exterior manifestations—for so many yearsthat this weight of data had fused into a new level of understanding. He was reading the tiny betrayals in gene-type reactions.