"There are no exceptions, Luis. For certain crimes there is a
prescribed penalty, retrogression. The law makes no distinction as to
how the penalty is applied, and for a good reason. If there was such a
person, Dorn Starret ceased to exist when Putsyn retroed him--and not
only legally."
Counselor Borgenese stood up. "You see, retroing a person wipes him
clean of almost everything he ever knew--_right and wrong_. It leaves
him with an adult body, and we fill his mind with adult facts. Given
half a chance, he acts like an adult."
Borgenese walked slowly to stand in front of his desk. "We protect
life. Everybody's life. _Including those who are not yet victims._ We
don't have the death penalty and don't want it. The most we can do to
anyone is give him a new chance, via retrogression. We have the same
penalty for those who deprive another of his memory as we do for those
who kill--with this difference: the man who retrogresses another knows
he has a good chance to get away with it. The murderer is certain that
he won't.
"That's an administrative rule, not a law--that we don't try to trace
retrogression victims. It channels anger and greed into
non-destructive acts. There are a lot of unruly emotions floating
around, and as long as there are, we have to have a safety valve for
them. Retrogression is the perfect instrument for that."
Luise tried to speak, but he waved her into silence.
"Do you know how many were killed last year?" he asked.
Luis shook his head.
"Four," said the counselor. "Four murders in a population of sixteen
billion. That's quite a record, as anyone knows who reads Twentieth
Century mystery novels." He glanced humorously at Luis. "You did,
didn't you?"
Luis nodded mutely.
Borgenese grinned. "I thought so. There are only three types of
people who know about fingerprints today, historians and policemen
being two. And I didn't think you were either."