"He shifted! He left me with.... Oh, I'm so ashamed!"
Major Grey shared her loathing. There was no way to escape the
conditioning of childhood--sex relations between hyperalter and
hypoalter were more than outlawed, they were in themselves disgusting.
If they were allowed, they could destroy this civilization. Those
idealists--they were almost all hypoalters, of course--who wanted the
old terminology changed didn't take that into account. Next thing
they'd want children to live with their actual parents!
Major Grey stepped into the bedroom. Through the bathroom door beyond,
he could see Conrad Manz changing his makeup.
Conrad turned and eyed him bluntly. "Would you mind staying out of here
till I'm finished? I've had about all I can take."
Major Grey shut the door and returned to Helen Walden. He took a
hypothalamic block from his own pharmacase and handed it to her. "Here,
you're probably on very low drug levels. You'd better take this." He
poured her a glass of pop from a decanter and, while they waited for
Conrad, he dialed the nearest shifting station on the visiophone and
ordered up an emergency shifting costume for her.
When at last they were both dressed, made up to their satisfaction and
drugged to his satisfaction, he had them sit on a couch together across
from him. They sat at opposite ends of it, stiff with resentment at
each other's presence.
Major Grey said calmly, "You realize that this matter is coming to a
Medicorps trial. It will be serious."
Major Grey watched their faces. On hers he saw grim determination. On
Conrad's face he saw the heavy movement of alarm. The man loved his
wife. That was going to help. "It is necessary in a case such as this
for the Medicorps to weigh your decisions along with the scientific
evidence we will accumulate. Unfortunately, the number of laymen
directly involved in this case--and not on trial--is only two, due
to your peculiar marriage. If the hypoalters, Clara and Conrad, were
married to other partners, we might call on as many as six involved
persons and obtain a more equitable lay judgment. As it stands, the
entire responsibility rests on the two of you."
Helen Walden was primly confident. "I don't see how we can fail to
treat the matter with perfect logic. After all, it is not _we_ who
neglect our drug levels.... They _were_ refusing to take their drugs,
weren't they?" she asked, hoping for the worst and certain she was
right.
"Yes, this is drug refusal." Major Grey paused while she relished the
answer. "But I must correct you in one impression. Your proper drug
levels do not assure that you will act logically in this matter. The
drugged mind _is_ logical. However, its fundamental datum is that the
drugs and drugged minds must be protected before everything else." He
watched Conrad's face while he added, "Because of this, it is possible
for you to arrive logically at a conclusion that ... death is the
required solution." He paused, looking at their white lips. Then he
said, "Actually, other, more suitable solutions may be possible."
"But they _were_ refusing their drugs," she said. "You talk as if you
are defending them. Aren't you a Medicorps prosecutor?"
"I do not prosecute _people_ in the ancient 20th Century sense, Mrs.
Walden. I prosecute the _acts_ of drug refusal and communication
breaks. There is quite a difference."
"Well!" she said almost explosively. "I always knew Bill would get
into trouble sooner or later with his wild, antisocial ideas. I never
_dreamed_ the Medicorps would take _his_ side."
Major Grey held his breath, almost certain now that she would walk into
the trap. If she did, he could save Clara Manz before the trial.
"After all, they have broken every communication code. They have
refused the drugs, a defiance aimed at our very lives. They--"
"Shut up!" It was the first time Conrad Manz had spoken since he sat
down. "The Medicorps spent weeks gathering evidence and preparing their
recommendations. You haven't seen any of that and you've already made
up your mind. How logical is that? It sounds as if you _want_ your
husband dead. Maybe the poor devil had some reason, after all, for what
he did." On the man's face there was the nearest approach to hate that
the drugs would allow.
Major Grey let his breath out softly. They were split permanently. She
would have to trade him a mild decision on Clara in order to save Bill.
And even there, if the subsequent evidence gave any slight hope, Major
Grey believed now that he could work on Conrad to hang the lay judgment
and let the Medicorps' scientific recommendation go through unmodified.
He let them stew in their cross-purposed silence for a while and then
nailed home a disconcerting fact.
"I think I should remind you that there are few advantages to having
your alter extinguished in the _mnemonic eraser_. A man whose
hyperalter has been extinguished must report on his regular shift days
to a hospital and be placed for five days in suspended animation. This
is not very healthy for the body, but necessary. Otherwise, everyone's
natural distaste for his own alter and the understandable wish to spend
twice as much time living would generate schemes to have one's alter
sucked out by the eraser. That happened extensively back in the 21st
Century before the five day suspension was required. It was also used
as a 'cure' for schizophrenia, but it was, of course, only the brutal
murder of innocent personalities."
Major Grey smiled grimly to himself. "Now I will have to ask you both
to accompany me to the hospital. I will want you, Mrs. Walden, to shift
at once to Mrs. Manz. Mr. Manz, you will have to remain under the close
observation of an officer until Bill Walden tries to shift back. We
have to catch him with an injection to keep him in shift."
* * * * *
The young medicop put the syringe aside and laid his hand on Bill
Walden's forehead. He pushed the hair back out of Bill's eyes.
"There, Mr. Walden, you don't have to struggle now."
Bill let his breath out in a long sigh. "You've caught me. I can't
shift any more, can I?"
"That's right, Mr. Walden. Not unless we want you to." The young man
picked up his medical equipment and stepped aside.
Bill noticed then the Medicorps officer standing in the background. The
man was watching as though he contemplated some melancholy distance. "I
am Major Grey, Bill. I'm handling your case."
Bill did not answer. He lay staring at the hospital ceiling. Then he
felt his mouth open in a slow grin.
"What's funny?" Major Grey asked mildly.
"Leaving my hypoalter with my wife," Bill answered candidly. It had
already ceased to be funny to him, but he saw Major Grey smile in
spite of himself.
"They were quite upset when I found them. It must have been some
scramble before that." Major Grey came over and sat in the chair
vacated by the young man who had just injected Bill. "You know, Bill,
we will need a complete analysis of you. We want to do everything we
can to save you, but it will require your cooperation."
Bill nodded, feeling his chest tighten. Here it came. Right to the end,
they would be tearing him apart to find out what made him work.
Major Grey must have sensed Bill's bitter will to resist. His resonant
voice was soft, his face kindly. "We must have your sincere desire to
help. We can't force you to do anything."
"Except die," Bill said.
"Maybe helping us get the information that might save your life at the
trial isn't worth the trouble to you. But your aberration has seriously
disturbed the lives of several people. Don't you think you owe it to
them to help us prevent this sort of thing in the future?" Major Grey
ran his hand through his whitening hair. "I thought you would like
to know Mary will come through all right. We will begin shortly to
acclimatize her to her new appointed parents, who will be visiting her
each day. That will accelerate her recovery a great deal. Of course,
right now she is still inaccessible."
The brutally clear picture of Mary alone in the storage room crashed
back into Bill's mind. After a while, in such slow stages that the
beginning was hardly noticeable, he began to cry. The young medicop
injected him with a sleeping compound, but not before Bill knew he
would do whatever the Medicorps wanted.
* * * * *
The next day was crowded with battery after battery of tests. The
interviews were endless. He was subjected to a hundred artificial
situations and every reaction from his blood sugar to the frequency
ranges of his voice was measured. They gave him only small amounts of
drugs in order to test his reaction to them.
Late in the evening, Major Grey came by and interrupted an officer who
was taking an electroencephalogram for the sixth time after injection
of a drug.
"All right, Bill, you have really given us cooperation. But after
you've had your dinner, I hope you won't mind if I come to your room
and talk with you for a little while."
When Bill finished eating, he waited impatiently in his room for the
Medicorps officer. Major Grey came soon after. He shook his head at
the mute question Bill shot at him.
"No, Bill. We will not have the results of your tests evaluated until
late tomorrow morning. I can't tell you a thing until the trial in any
case."
"When will that be?"
"As soon as the evaluation of your tests is in." Major Grey ran his
hand over his smooth chin and seemed to sigh. "Tell me, Bill, how do
you feel about your case? How did you get into this situation and what
do you think about it now?" The officer sat in the room's only chair
and motioned Bill to the cot.
Bill was astonished at his sudden desire to talk about his problem. He
had to laugh to cover it up. "I guess I feel as if I am being condemned
for trying to stay sober." Bill used the ancient word with a mock tone
of righteousness that he knew the major would understand.