Learned something? She seemed to have forgotten.
He nodded.
"For the same reason?"
His throat tightened. He had told her all that last night. Couldn't
she remember?
"Yes," he said.
"I thought so. That's why I didn't mind your following me."
Here was the attraction factor that Borgenese had spoken of; it was
functioning again, for which he was grateful. But still, why? And why
didn't she remember last night?
They walked on until she came to her dwelling. She paused at the door.
"I have a feeling I should know who you are, but I just can't recall.
Isn't that terrible?"
It was--frightening. Her identity was apparently incompletely
established; it kept slipping backward to a time she hadn't met him.
He couldn't build anything enduring on that; each meeting with her
would begin as if nothing had happened before.
Would the same be true of him?
He looked at her. The torn dress hadn't been repaired, as he'd thought
at first; it had been replaced by the robots that came out of the wall
at night. They'd done a good job fitting her, but with her body that
was easy.
It was frightening and it wasn't. At least this time he didn't have a
handicap. He opened his mouth to tell her his name, and then closed
it. He wasn't going to make that mistake again. "I haven't decided on
a name," he said.
"It was that way with me too." She gazed at him and he could feel his
insides sloshing around. "Well, man with no name, do you want to come
in? We can have dinner together."
He entered. But dinner was late that night. He had known it would be.
* * * * *
In the morning light, he sat up and put his hand on her. She smiled in
her sleep and squirmed closer. There were compensations for being
nobody, he supposed, and this was one of them. He got up quietly and
dressed without waking her. There were a number of things he wanted to
discuss, but somehow there hadn't been time last night. He would have
to talk to her later today.
He slipped out of the house and went across the court into his own.
The screen he had ripped apart had been repaired and put back in
place. A voice chimed out as he entered: "A call came while you were
gone."
"Let's have it."
The voice descended the scale and became that of the store manager.
"The gun you brought in was sold six months ago to Dorn Starret,
resident of Ceres and proprietor of a small gallium mine there. That's
all the information on record. I trust it will be satisfactory."
Luis sat down. It was. He could trace the man or have him traced,
though the last might not be necessary.
The name meant something to him--just what he couldn't say. Dorn
Starret, owner of a gallium mine on Ceres. The mine might or might not
be of consequence; gallium was used in a number of industrial
processes, but beyond that was not particularly valuable.
He closed his eyes to concentrate. The name slid into vacant nerve
cells that were responsive; slowly a picture formed, nebulous and
incomplete at first. There was a mouth and then there were eyes, each
feature bringing others into focus, unfolding as a germ cell divides
and grows, calling into existence an entire creature. The picture was
nearly complete.
Still with eyes closed, he looked at the man he remembered. Dorn
Starret, five-eleven, one hundred and ninety, flesh that had once been
muscular and firm. Age, thirty-seven; black hair that was beginning to
recede from his forehead. The face was harder to define--strong,
though slightly hard, it was perhaps good looking. It was the eyes
which were at fault, Luis decided--glinting often--and there were
lines on the face that ought not to be there.
There was another thing that set the man apart. Not clothing; that was
conventional, though better than average. Luis stared into his memory
until he was able to see it. _Unquestionably the man was
left-handed._ The picture was too clear to permit a mistake on that
detail.
He knew the man, had seen him often. How and in what context? He
waited, but nothing else came.
Luis opened his eyes. He would recognize the man if he ever saw him.
This was the man who owned the gun, presumably had shot him with it,
and then had hidden it here in this room.
He thought about it vainly. By itself, the name couldn't take him back
through all past associations with the man, so he passed from the man
to Ceres. Here he was better equipped; re-education tapes had replaced
his former knowledge of the subject.
* * * * *
The asteroid belt was not rigidly policed; if there was a place in the
System in which legal niceties were not strictly observed, it was
there. What could he deduce from that? Nothing perhaps; there were
many people living in the belt who were engaged in legitimate work:
miners, prospectors, scientific investigators. But with rising
excitement, he realized that Dorn Starret was not one of these.
He was a criminal. The gallium mine was merely an attempt to cover
himself with respectability. How did Luis know that? He wasn't sure;
his thought processes were hidden and erratic; but he knew.
Dorn Starret was a criminal--but the information wasn't completely
satisfactory. What had caused the man to retrogress Luis and Luise
Obispo? That still had to be determined.
But it did suggest this: as a habitual criminal, the man was more than
ordinarily dangerous.
Luis sat there a while longer, but he had recalled everything that
would come out of the original stimulus. If he wanted more, he would
have to dig up other facts or make further contacts. But at least it
wasn't hopeless--even without the police, he had learned this much.
He went over the room thoroughly once more. If there was anything
hidden, he couldn't find it.
He crossed the court to Luise's dwelling. She was gone, but there was
a note on the table. He picked it up and read it:
_Dear man with no name:_
_I suppose you were here last night, though I'm so mixed up I can't be
sure; there's so little of memory or reality to base anything on. I
wanted to talk to you before I left but I guess, like me, you're out
investigating._
_There's always a danger that neither of us will like what we find. What
if I'm married to another person and the same with you? Suppose ... but
there are countless suppositions--these are the risks we take. It's
intolerable not to know who I am, especially since the knowledge is so
close. But of course you know that._
_Anyway I'll be out most of the day. I discovered a psychologist who
specializes in restoring memory; you can see the possibilities in
that. I went there yesterday and have an appointment again today. It's
nice of him, considering that I have no money, but he says I'm more or
less an experimental subject. I can't tell you when I'll be back but
it won't be late._
_Luise._
He crumpled the note in his hand. Memory expert. Her psychologist was
that--in reverse. Yesterday he had taken a day out of her life, and
that was why Luise hadn't recognized him and might not a second time.
* * * * *
He leaned against the table. After a moment, he straightened out the
note. A second reading didn't help. There it was, if he could make
sense from it.
Luise and himself, probably in that order. There was no proof, but it
seemed likely that she had been retrogressed first, since she had been
discovered first.
There was also Dorn Starret, the criminal from Ceres who had hidden
the gun in the Shelter that he, Luis, had been found in. And there was
now a fourth person: the psychologist who specialized in depriving
retrogression victims of what few memories they had left.
Luis grimaced. Here was information which, if the police would act on
it properly ... but it was no use, they wouldn't. Any solution which
came out of this would have to arise out of his own efforts.
He folded the note carefully. It would be handy to have if Luise came
back and didn't know who he was.
Meanwhile, the psychologist. Luise hadn't said who he was, but it
shouldn't be difficult to locate him. He went to the screen and dialed
the directory. There were many psychologists in it, but no name that
was familiar.
He pondered. The person who had retroed Luise and himself--what would
he do? First he would take them as far from familiar scenes as he
could. That tied in with the facts. Dorn Starret came from Ceres.
Then what? He would want to make certain that his victims did not
trace their former lives. And he would be inconspicuous in so doing.
Again Luis turned to the screen, but this time he dialed the news
service. He found what he was looking for in the advertisements of an
issue a month old. It was very neat:
DO YOU REMEMBER EVERYTHING--or is your mind hazy? Perhaps my
system can help you recall those little details you find it
so annoying to forget. MEMORY LAB.
That was all. No name. But there was an address. Hurriedly Luis
scanned every succeeding issue. The advertisement was still there.
He was coming closer, very close. The ad was clever; it would attract
the attention of Luise and himself and others like them, and almost no
one else. There was no mention of fees, no claim that it was operated
by a psychologist, nothing that the police would investigate.
Night after night Luise had sat alone; sooner or later, watching the
screen, she had to see the ad. It was intriguing and she had answered
it. Normally, so would he have: but now he was forewarned.
Part of the cleverness was this: that she went of her own volition.
She would have suspected an outright offer of help--but this seemed
harmless. She went to him as she would to anyone in business. A very
clever setup.
But who was behind MEMORY LAB? Luis thought he knew. A trained
psychologist with a legitimate purpose would attach his name to the
advertisement.
Luis patted the retro gun in his pocket. Dorn Starret, criminal, and
inventor of a fictitious memory system, was going to have a visitor.
It wasn't necessary to go to Ceres to see him.
* * * * *
It was the only conclusion that made sense. Dorn Starret had retroed
him--the gun proved that--and Luise as well. Until a few minutes ago,
he had thought that she had been first and he later, but that was
wrong. They had been retrogressed together and Dorn Starret had done
it; now he had come back to make certain that they didn't trace him.
Neat--but it wasn't going to work. Luis grinned wryly to himself. He
had a weapon in his pocket that was assurance it wouldn't work.
He got off the belt near the building he had seen Luise leaving
yesterday. He went into the lobby and located MEMORY LAB, a suite on
the top floor. It wasn't necessary, but he checked rental dates. The
lab had been there exactly three weeks. This tied in with Luise's
release from retro-therapy. Every connection he had anticipated was
there.
He rode up to the top floor. There wasn't a chance that Starret would
recognize him; physically he must have changed too much since the
criminal had last seen him. And while Luise hadn't concealed that she
was a retro and so had given herself away, he wasn't going to make
that mistake.
The sign on the door stood out as he came near and disappeared as he
went by. MEMORY LAB, that was all--no other name, even here.
Naturally. A false name would be occasion for police action. The right
one would evoke Luise's and his own memories.
He turned back and went into the waiting room. No robot receptionist.
He expected that; the man didn't intend to be around very long.
"Who's there?" The voice came from a speaker in the wall; the screen
beside it remained blank, though obviously the man was in the next
room. For a commercial establishment, the LAB was not considerate of
potential clients.
Luis smiled sourly and loosened the weapon in his pocket. "I saw your
advertisement," he said. No name; let him guess.
"I'm very busy. Can you come back tomorrow?"
Luis frowned. This was not according to plan. First, he didn't
recognize the voice, though the speaker could account for that if it
were intentionally distorted. Second, Luise was inside and he had to
protect her. He could break in, but he preferred that the man come
out.
He thought swiftly. "I'm Chals Putsyn, gallium importer," he called.
"Tomorrow I'll be away on business. Can you give me an appointment for
another time?"