_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 advertis.e.m.e.nts 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 advertis.e.m.e.nt 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 advertis.e.m.e.nt.
Luis patted the retro gun in his pocket. Dorn Starret, criminal, and inventor of a fict.i.tious 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 a.s.surance 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 antic.i.p.ated 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 advertis.e.m.e.nt," 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?"
There was a long silence. "Wait. I'll be out."
He'd _thought_ the mention of gallium would do it. True, the mine Starret owned was probably worthless, but he couldn't restrain his curiosity.
The door swung open and a man stepped out, closing the door before Luis 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 mental inventory. The man _had_ to be Dorn Starret--and yet he wasn't. No disguise could be that effective. At least three inches shorter; the shape of his head was different; his body was slighter. Moreover, he was right-handed, not left, as Starret was.
Luis had a story ready--names, dates, and circ.u.mstances. It sounded authentic even to himself.
The man listened impatiently. "I may not be able to help you," he said, interrupting. "Oddly enough, light cases are hardest. It's the serious memory blocks that I specialize in." There was something strange about his eyes--his voice too. "However, if you can come back in two days, late in the afternoon, I'll see what I can do."
Luis took the appointment card and found himself firmly ushered to the door. It was disturbing; Luise was in the next room, but the man gave him no opportunity to see her.
He stood uncertainly in the hall. The whole interview had taken only a few minutes, and during that time all his previous ideas had been upset. If the man was not Dorn Starret, who was he and what was his connection? The criminal from Ceres was not so foolish as to attempt to solve his problems by a.s.signing them to another person. This was a one-man job from beginning to end, or ought to be.
Luis took the elevator to the ground floor and walked out aimlessly on the 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 stained another color and the voice was not his own--or rather it was, but filtered through an artificial larynx inserted painfully in his throat. And his face had been recently swabbed with a chemical irritant which caused the tissues beneath his skin to swell, making his face appear plumper.
Luis took a deep breath. Unconsciously he had noticed details too slight for the average person to discern. This suggested something about his own past--that he was trained to recognize disguises.
But more important was this: that the man was disguised at all. The reason was obvious--to avoid evoking memories.
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