Forget Me Nearly Page 6

build anything enduring on that; each meeting with herwould 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 The torn dress hadn't been repaired, as he'd thoughtat first; it had been replaced by the robots that came out of the wallat night. They'd done a good job fitting her, but with her body thatwas easy.

  It was frightening and it wasn't. At least this time he didn't have ahandicap. He opened his mouth to tell her his name, and then closedit. He wasn't going to make that mistake again. "I haven't decided ona name," he said.

  "It was that way with me too." She gazed at him and he could feel hisinsides sloshing around. "Well, man with no name, do you want to comein? 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 inher sleep and squirmed closer. There were compensations for beingnobody, he supposed, and this was one of them. He got up quietly anddressed without waking her. There were a number of things he wanted todiscuss, but somehow there hadn't been time last night. He would haveto 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 inplace. A voice chimed out as he entered: "A call came while you weregone."

  "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'sall 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. DornStarret, owner of a gallium mine on Ceres. The mine might or might notbe of consequence; gallium was used in a number of industrialprocesses, but beyond that was not particularly valuable.

  He closed his eyes to concentrate. The name slid into vacant nervecells that were responsive; slowly a picture formed, nebulous andincomplete at first. There was a mouth and then there were eyes, eachfeature bringing others into focus, unfolding as a germ cell dividesand grows, calling into existence an entire creature. The picture wasnearly complete.

  Still with eyes closed, he looked at the man he remembered. DornStarret, five-eleven, one hundred and ninety, flesh that had once beenmuscular and firm. Age, thirty-seven; black hair that was beginning torecede from his forehead. The face was harder to define--strong,though slightly hard, it was perhaps good looking. It was the eyeswhich were at fault, Luis decided--glinting often--and there werelines on the face that ought not to be there.

  There was another thing that set the man apart. Not clothing; that wasconventional, though better than average. Luis stared into his memoryuntil he was able to see it. _Unquestionably the man wasleft-handed._ The picture was too clear to permit a mistake on thatdetail.

  He knew the man, had seen him often. How and in what context? Hewaited, 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 backthrough all past associations with the man, so he passed from the manto Ceres. Here he was better equipped; re-education tapes had replacedhis former knowledge of the subject.

  * * * * *

  The asteroid belt was not rigidly policed; if there was a place in theSystem in which legal niceties were not strictly observed, it wasthere. What could he deduce from that? Nothing perhaps; there weremany people living in the belt who were engaged in legitimate work:miners, prospectors, scientific investigators. But with risingexcitement, he realized that Dorn Starret was not one of these.

  He was a criminal. The gallium mine was merely an attempt to coverhimself 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 completelysatisfactory. What had caused the man to retrogress Luis and LuiseObispo? That still had to be determined.

  But it did suggest this: as a habitual criminal, the man was more thanordinarily dangerous.

  Luis sat there a while longer, but he had recalled everything thatwould come out of the original stimulus. If he wanted more, he wouldhave to dig up other facts or make further contacts. But at least itwasn't hopeless--even without the police, he had learned this much.

  He went over the room thoroughly once more. If there was anythinghidden, he couldn't find it.

  He crossed the court to Luise's dwelling. She was gone, but there wasa 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 besure; there's so little of memory or reality to base anything on. Iwanted to talk to you before I left but I guess, like me, you're outinvestigating._

  _There's always a danger that neither of us will like what we find. Whatif I'm married to another person and the same with you? Suppose ... butthere are countless suppositions--these are the risks we take. It'sintolerable not to know who I am, especially since the knowledge is soclose. But of course you know that._

  _Anyway I'll be out most of the day. I discovered a psychologist whospecializes in restoring memory; you can see the possibilities inthat. I went there yesterday and have an appointment again today. It'snice of him, considering that I have no money, but he says I'm more orless an experimental subject. I can't tell you when I'll be back butit won't be late._

  _Luise._

  He crumpled the note in his hand. Memory expert. Her psychologist wasthat--in reverse. Yesterday he had taken a day out of her life, andthat was why Luise hadn't recognized him and might not a second time.

  * * * * *

  He leaned against the table. After a moment, he straightened out thenote. A second reading didn't help. There it was, if he could makesense from it.

  Luise and himself, probably in that order. There was no proof, but itseemed likely that she had been retrogressed first, since she had beendiscovered first.

  There was also Dorn Starret, the criminal from Ceres who had hiddenthe gun in the Shelter that he, Luis, had been found in. And there wasnow a fourth person: the psychologist who specialized in deprivingretrogression victims of what few memories they had left.

  Luis grimaced. Here was information which, if the police would act onit properly ... but it was no use, they wouldn't. Any solution whichcame 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 cameback and didn't know who he was.

  Meanwhile, the psychologist. Luise hadn't said who he was, but itshouldn't be difficult to locate him. He went to the screen and dialedthe directory. There were many psychologists in it, but no name thatwas familiar.

  He pondered. The person who had retroed Luise and himself--what wouldhe do? First he would take them as far from familiar scenes as hecould. That tied in with the facts. Dorn Starret came from Ceres.

  Then what? He would want to make certain that his victims did nottrace their former lives. And he would be inconspicuous in so doing.

  Again Luis turned to the screen, but this time he dialed the newsservice. He found what he was looking for in the advertisements of anissue 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 Luisscanned every succeeding issue. The advertisement was still there.

  He was coming closer, very close. The ad
was clever; it would attractthe attention of Luise and himself and others like them, and almost noone else. There was no mention of fees, no claim that it was operatedby a psychologist, nothing that the police would investigate.

  Night after night Luise had sat alone; sooner or later, watching thescreen, she had to see the ad. It was intriguing and she had answeredit. 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 seemedharmless. She went to him as she would to anyone in business. A veryclever setup.

  But who was behind MEMORY LAB? Luis thought he knew. A trainedpsychologist with a legitimate purpose would attach his name to theadvertisement.

  Luis patted the retro gun in his pocket. Dorn Starret, criminal, andinventor 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 retroedhim--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 waswrong. They had been retrogressed together and Dorn Starret had doneit; 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. Hehad a weapon in his pocket that was assurance it wouldn't work.

  He got off the belt near the building he had seen Luise leavingyesterday. He went into the lobby and located MEMORY LAB, a suite onthe top floor. It wasn't necessary, but he checked rental dates. Thelab had been there exactly three weeks. This tied in with Luise'srelease from retro-therapy. Every connection he had anticipated wasthere.

  He rode up to the top floor. There wasn't a chance that Starret wouldrecognize him; physically he must have changed too much since thecriminal had last seen him. And while Luise hadn't concealed that shewas a retro and so had given herself away, he wasn't going to makethat mistake.

  The sign on the door stood out as he came near and disappeared as hewent by. MEMORY LAB, that was all--no other name, even here.Naturally. A false name would be occasion for police action. The rightone 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 screenbeside it remained blank, though obviously the man was in the nextroom. For a commercial establishment, the LAB was not considerate ofpotential clients.

  Luis smiled sourly and loosened the weapon in his pocket. "I saw youradvertisement," 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'trecognize the voice, though the speaker could account for that if itwere intentionally distorted. Second, Luise was inside and he had toprotect her. He could break in, but he preferred that the man comeout.

  He thought swiftly. "I'm Chals Putsyn, gallium importer," he called."Tomorrow I'll be away on business. Can you give me an appointment foranother time?"

  There was a long silence. "Wait. I'll be out."

  He'd _thought_ the mention of gallium would do it. True, the mineStarret owned was probably worthless, but he couldn't restrain hiscuriosity.

  * * * * *

  The door swung open and a man stepped out, closing the door beforeLuis could see inside.

  He had erred--the man was not Dorn Starret.

  The other eyed him keenly. "Mr. Chals Putsyn? Please sit down."

  Luis did so slowly, giving himself time to complete a mentalinventory. The man _had_ to be Dorn Starret--and yet he wasn't. Nodisguise could be that effective. At least three inches shorter; theshape of his head was different; his body was slighter. Moreover, hewas right-handed, not left, as Starret was.

  Luis had a story ready--names, dates, and circumstances. It soundedauthentic even to himself.

  The man listened impatiently. "I may not be able to help you," hesaid, interrupting. "Oddly enough, light cases are hardest. It's theserious memory blocks that I specialize in." There was somethingstrange about his eyes--his voice too. "However, if you can come backin two days, late in the afternoon, I'll see what I can do."

  Luis took the appointment card and found himself firmly ushered to thedoor. It was disturbing; Luise was in the next room, but the man gavehim no opportunity to see her.

  He stood uncertainly in the hall. The whole interview had taken only afew minutes, and during that time all his previous ideas had beenupset. If the man was not Dorn Starret, who was he and what was hisconnection? The criminal from Ceres was not so foolish as to attemptto solve his problems by assigning them to another person. This was aone-man job from beginning to end, or ought to be.

  Luis took the elevator to the ground floor and walked out aimlessly onthe street. There was something queer about the man on the top floor.It took time to discover what it was.

  The man was not Starret--but he was disguised. His irises were stainedanother color and the voice was not his own--or rather it was, butfiltered through an artificial larynx inserted painfully in histhroat. And his face had been recently swabbed with a chemicalirritant which caused the tissues beneath his skin to swell, makinghis face appear plumper.

  Luis took a deep breath. Unconsciously he had noticed details tooslight for the average person to discern. This suggested somethingabout his own past--that he was trained to recognize disguises.

  But more important was this: that the man was disguised at all. Thereason was obvious--to avoid evoking memories.

  The man's name--what was it? It hadn't even been registered in thebuilding--he'd asked on his way out. And Luise couldn't tell him. Shewas no longer a reliable source of information. He had to find out,and there was only one way that suggested itself.

  Luise was still in there, but not in physical danger. The police werelax about other things, but not about murder, and the man knew that.She might lose her memories of the past few weeks; regrettable if ithappened, but not a catastrophe.

  But who was the man and what was his connection?

  He spent the rest of the day buying equipment--not much, but his moneydwindled rapidly. He considered going back to the Shelter and thendecided against it. By this time Luise would be back, and he would betempted not to leave her.

  After dark, when the lights in the offices went out, he rented anaircar and set it down on the top of the building.

  * * * * *

  He walked across the roof, estimating the distances with practicedease, as if he'd undergone extensive training and the apprenticeshipperiod had been forgotten and only the skill remained. He knelt andfused two small rods to a portion of the roof, and then readjusted thetorch and cut a small circular hole. He listened, and when there wasno alarm, lifted out the section. There was nothing but darknessbelow.

  He fastened a rope to the aircar. He dropped the rope through the holeand slid down. Unless he had miscalculated, he was where he wanted tobe, having bypassed all alarm circuits. There were others inside, hewas reasonably certain of that, but with ordinary precautions hecould avoid them.

  He flashed on a tiny light. He had guessed right; this was MEMORYLAB--the room he'd wanted to see this afternoon but hadn't been ableto. In front of him was the door to the waiting room, and beyond thatthe hall. He swung the light in an arc, flashing it over a desk and apiece of equipment the nature of which he didn't know. Behind him wasstill another door.

  The desk was locked, but he took out a small magnetic device andjiggled it expertly over the concealed mechanism and then it wasunlocked. He went hurriedly through papers and documents, but therewas nothing with a name on it. He rifled the desk thoroughly and thenwent to the machine.

  He didn't expect to learn anything, but he might as well examine it.There was a place for a p
atient to sit, and a metal hood to fit overthe patient's head. He snapped the hood open and peered into it. Itseemed to have two functions. One circuit was far larger and morecomplicated, and he couldn't determine what it did. But he recognizedthe other circuit; essentially it was a retrogressor, but whereas thegun was crude and couldn't be regulated, this was capable of fineadjustment--enough, say, to slice a day out of the patient's life, andno more.

  That fitted with what had happened to Luise. She had been experimentedon in some way, and then the memory of that experiment had beenerased. But the man had grown careless and had taken away one day toomany.

  He snapped the mechanism closed. This was the method, but he stilldidn't know who the man was nor why he found it necessary to do allthis.

  There was a door behind him and the answer might lie beyond it. Helistened carefully, then swung the door open and went through.

  The blow that hit him wasn't physical; nothing mechanical could takehis nerves and jerk them all at once. A freezer. As he fell to thefloor, he was grateful it was that and not a retro gun.

  Lights flooded the place, and the man of the afternoon interview wasgrinning at him.

  "I thought you'd be back," he said, pleased. "In fact, I knew youwould."

  * * * * *

  Somewhere he had blundered; but he didn't know how. Experimentally hewriggled his fingers. They moved a fraction of an inch, but no more.He was helpless and couldn't say anything. He wasn't quite sure at themoment that he wanted to.

  "You were right, I didn't recognize you physically," continued theman. "Nevertheless, you gave yourself away. The name you used thisafternoon, Chals Putsyn, is _my_ name. Do you remember now?"

  Of course. He'd chosen Chals