"Will it?" The counselor pretended to frown. "Do you remember how to
build it?"
"I've forgotten," she confessed.
"So you have," said Borgenese. "And I assure you Putsyn is going to
forget too. As a convicted criminal, and he will be, we'll provide him
with a false memory that will prevent his prying into the past.
"That's one machine we don't want until humans are fully and
completely civilized. It's been invented a dozen times in the last
century, and it always gets lost."
He closed his eyes momentarily, and when he opened them, Luise was
looking at Luis, who was staring at the floor.
"You two can go now," he said. "When you get ready, there are jobs for
both of you in my department. No hurry, though; we'll keep them open."
Luis left, went out through the long corridors and into the night.
* * * * *
She caught up with him when he was getting off the belt that had taken
him back to the Shelters.
"There's not much you can say, I suppose," she murmured. "What can you
tell a girl when she learns you've stopped just short of killing her?"
He didn't know the answer either.
They walked in silence.
She stopped at her dwelling, but didn't go in. "Still, it's an
indication of how you felt--that you forgot your own name and took
mine." She was smiling now. "I don't see how I can do less for you."
Hope stirred and he moved closer. But he didn't speak. She might not
mean what he thought she did.
"Luis and Luise Obispo," she said softly. "Very little change for
me--just add Mrs. to it." She was gazing at him with familiar
intensity. "Do you want to come in?"
She opened the door.
Crime was sometimes the road to opportunity, and retrogression could
be kind.
--F. L. WALLACE
* * * * *