by Pete Hautman
“He was thinking about me?” I said. I have to admit, that gave me a romantic sort of buzz—right down to my toes. My eyes flicked to the window; the drone was gone.
“Apparently. Was he in love with you?” Rausch asked.
I wanted to shout, HE’S STILL IN LOVE WITH ME! But I forced myself to remain outwardly calm and said, “So are his deleted memories just . . . gone?”
Rausch smirked. “I am not a monster. Billy Bates’s memories are secure.”
“Then where are they?”
“You will soon find out.” He turned back to his computer and scrolled through a long list of files. “I have War and Peace, Moby-Dick, An Introduction to Quantum Physics . . . ”
“What about Charlotte’s Web?” I almost had my left arm free.
“I’m afraid that file is not large enough for our purposes.”
“I saw your client key,” I said. “Are those all the people whose memories you changed?”
“Yes. Mostly ACPOD employees who were becoming too familiar with my work.”
He stood and made an adjustment to the Rauschinator above my head. “I should probably shave your head for best contact—”
“No!” I shouted.
“Relax,” Rausch said. “It is not essential, and we wouldn’t want anyone to wonder what happened to that orange mop you call hair.”
“It’s not orange; it’s almost-but-not-quite red. And it’s not a mop.”
“In any case, it will present no difficulties. The system has several layers of redundancies.” He lowered the Rauschinator onto my head. I felt several sharp, cold pricks. I looked frantically at the window, hoping to see Billy’s face, or even better, a SWAT team. But there was only blue sky. I did, however, hear something scratching at the door—probably Gertrude.
“Since you have expressed no preference, I think I will gift you with the entire text of The Iliad, in both the original Homeric Greek and the Fitzgerald translation.”
“Wait!” I had no idea what I was going to say next. All I could think about was the Velcro straps holding me to the chair.
“Yes?”
“Did you know that Velcro was invented by a dog?”
That got his attention.
I said, “This guy was walking with his dog, and the dog got into some burdock—you know what burdock is? Those burrs that stick to anything?”
“Of course I know what burdock is!” Rausch said.
“Yeah, so the guy was looking at all the burdock stuck to his dog, and he saw that they were covered with these tiny hooks, like thousands of tiny flexible fishhooks. And he thought maybe he could make artificial burrs that would stick to artificial fur.”
“Then it wasn’t the dog who invented Velcro, it was the man.”
“The dog brought it to his attention. You should never underestimate a dog. Your dog Gertrude, for example, is quite intelligent. I can hear her outside the door right now, scratching to get in.”
“All in good time,” Rausch said. “Pay no attention.”
“You want to know something else about Velcro?”
“What?” Rausch snapped. He was getting irritated by my delaying tactics.
“Each little plastic hook on its own is weak. It’s only because there are so many of them that it holds. Each little hook is like a—what did you call it? Engram. Like each engram is nothing by itself, but a bunch of engrams together makes a memory, right? So if you lose a few engrams, the memory gets fuzzy, but you don’t forget it completely until you lose them all.”
“Simplistic and crude,” he said, “but somewhat correct.” The scratching at the door was getting more frantic.
“Gertrude really wants to get in,” I said.
“She can wait. We won’t be long. Now, you have one more decision to make. Goat, or Yorkshire terrier?”
“You’re going to give me a pet?” I said, confused.
“Certainly not! I’m asking you to choose a receptacle for your memories.”
I didn’t understand—and then suddenly I did.
28
Velcro
“You put the deleted memories in animal brains?”
“Precisely. Digital media does not work—I have tried it. But the higher mammalian brain is sufficient to hold several months worth of fresh engrams. These four creatures all have excess space in their craniums—more than enough space for your trivial memories.”
I was rendered momentarily speechless. For a few seconds the only sound was that of Gertrude clawing at the door.
“What about Gertrude?” I said, hoping to buy more time. “She seems to want to come in.”
“It’s getting close to feeding time,” Rausch said. “But never mind that. Now choose. Goat, or Yorkie?”
That gave me an idea. “Dog food!” I yelled. “Cat food! Goat food! Treats! Din-din!”
The goat unleashed an ear shattering bleat. “Feed me!” it said.
“Food,” said the cat. “Food! Food!”
The spaniel whined. The goat bleated. Gertrude took her scratching up a notch. The Yorkie began barking frantically.
“Now see what you’ve done!” Rausch said.
“Sorry,” I said. “I just love watching animals eat.” The goat was butting its head against the front of its cage, and the spaniel had begun to howl.
“All right! Settle down! I’ll feed you!”
That only intensified the cacophony. Rausch glared at me. “I should download the entire Internet into your meddling brain and funnel your memories into a rat!” He got up and began to feed the animals. I couldn’t turn my head, but I heard the rattle of food pellets falling into a metal tray. The goat stopped bleating; the dogs and the cat increased their demands. I used the distraction to work on the straps. The Velcro was loosening one little hook at a time. Unfortunately, there were thousands of them. I could almost pull my left hand free.
Rausch fed the two dogs next. That really irritated the cat because, as all cats know, you always feed the cat first. “FOOD! FOOD! FOOD!” The little speaker on the cat’s collar sounded as if it was about to blow.
My hand popped free. I reached over and tore open the strap holding my other arm. My plan—I always have a plan—was to grab Rausch’s Projac off the bench and zap him. It was a good plan, but I’d forgotten about the headset clamped to my skull. I tried to lift it off, but it was firmly attached with dozens of small, sharp points digging into my scalp. I was feeling around for some sort of release button or lever when Rausch grabbed my hands and pulled them away.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted in my face.
“FOOD!” the cat demanded.
I kicked him. It was a good hard kick, but it glanced off his hip. He forced my arms down, reattached the straps, stepped back out of range of my feet, and grabbed the Projac.
“Silly girl. What did you hope to accomplish?”
I stared back at him, angry, defeated, and out of ideas.
Someone knocked on the door. It wasn’t a normal knock, but more like thump . . . thump . . . thump.
“Help!” I screamed. “HELP!” I screamed louder.
Rausch went to look out the window. “What the—”
The metal door exploded inward, followed by a flying black disk, then a white bulldog. The drone hit the far wall and fell to the floor. Gertrude took one look at me, bellowed, and leaped.
She wasn’t aimed at me. The bulldog sailed past me and hit Rausch in the chest. The Projac went flying. I was straining desperately against the straps—they weren’t as tight as before, but I couldn’t quite get a hand free, and I couldn’t see what was going on behind me. Rausch was yelling, Gertrude was snarling and barking, the cat was still demanding food, and the goat was bleating in a panicky sort of way. The drone seemed to be dead—crashing through the door must have been too much for it.
Where was Billy? I pulled against the straps with all my strength and felt the right one loosen. A second later I got both hands free and went to work on the headset. I hea
rd a renewed bout of snarling from Gertrude. My hand found a small lever on one side of the headset; I pushed it and the helmet loosened. I slid out of the chair and looked to see what was going on with Gertrude and Rausch.
Gertrude was winning. She had Rausch on the floor and was standing on his chest. Her bared teeth were inches from his throat. I grabbed the Projac from where it had fallen.
“Gertrude!” I shouted.
Gertrude looked back at me and wagged her tail.
“Here, girl,” I said.
She gave Rausch one more close-range snarl and hopped off his chest.
“Good girl,” I said. She trotted over to me, wagging her tail so hard I was afraid she’d dislocate a hip. Rausch, looking both relieved and terrified, sat up.
I aimed at his chest and fired. The Projac made a ghaaak sound, like a cat barfing. The invisible electrical charge sent Rausch into a limb-flailing spasm, then he lay still.
I shot him again, just to make sure he stayed zapped. I would have given him a third blast if Gertrude hadn’t been trying to drown me in wet kisses.
“Enough! Down, girl!” Gertrude really liked me. “You want some dog food?” I asked her. Gertrude did not have a speech collar, but the answer was clearly yes.
“FOOD!” said the cat.
I fed them both—the cat first—then went to find Billy.
29
Up a Tree
A bright red ATV was parked right outside the door. Rausch’s transportation, no doubt. My cell was lying on the ground—it had flown off when the drone smashed through the door. My phone had not survived the impact; I would have to rely on a low-tech form of long-distance communication.
“Billy!” I shouted.
I heard a faint reply from the other side of the barn.
“Come on, Gertrude,” I said. We walked around the barn, keeping an eye out for Brazie. I wasn’t too worried, because I had both Gertrude and the Projac for protection, but a two-thousand-pound bull should never be taken lightly. As we came around the corner, I saw Brazie standing under an apple tree next to the house, looking up. Billy was clinging to the branches above him.
“Are you all right?” I called.
“No! I’m stuck in a tree with a bull underneath me!”
Gertrude growled, preparing to defend me if necessary.
“Stay, Gertrude!”
The bulldog looked up at me with what I took to be an expression of thanks. Even a bulldog doesn’t relish the prospect of attacking something fifty times its size.
I aimed the Projac at the bull, then hesitated. I wasn’t sure what the Projac’s range was, and the bull was a good fifty yards away. It might have no effect, or the beam might spread out so much it would knock Billy out of the tree.
“Watch out,” Billy yelled. “He’s in a really bad mood!”
I couldn’t blame the poor bull. Having your ear practically torn off by a dog and getting a bucket of water up the nose would put anybody in a bad mood.
“Hey, Brazie!” I yelled.
Brazie’s head swiveled in our direction. I waved my arms and jumped up and down. Brazie snorted, shook his head, and turned to face us. It occurred to me that the Projac might not be powerful enough to stop him. I might have to make a dash for the cattle tank. Brazie lowered his head so that his horns were pointing straight at me, and he charged.
You would think an animal as heavy as a car would take some time to accelerate. You would be wrong. I hardly had time to gasp in fear before he attained top speed, and his maximum velocity was a lot faster than I could run—the cattle tank was not an option.
I aimed the Projac and fired.
Ghaaak!
Brazie stumbled a little, but he didn’t slow down much. Gertrude let out a bellow and launched herself at the bull.
Ghaaak!
The invisible beam hit both animals. Gertrude collapsed, but Brazie kept coming.
Ghaaak! Ghaaak! Ghaaak!
The fifth ghaaak did it. Brazie hit the dirt nose-first and skidded to an unconscious halt about six feet away from me. My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my bones. I ran over to Gertrude, who had narrowly missed getting trampled. She rolled her eyes and licked my hand, but she couldn’t stand up.
“It’s okay, Gertrude,” I said. “You’ll be fine in a few minutes.”
Billy climbed down from the tree.
“Where’d you get the Projac?” he asked.
“I borrowed it from Mr. Rausch.” I looked back at the lab building. “You won’t even believe what he’s been doing in there. He’s been using animals to store people’s memories.”
“My lost memories are stuck in some animal?”
“Not some animal.” I looked down at Gertrude. She had managed to roll onto her belly, but she still couldn’t quite stand up. She gazed lovingly up at me and whined. “I think they’re in that animal.”
“Oh. I guess that’s why Rausch brought her to my tutoring session.”
“I think it must be why Gertrude attacked Brazie the first time. She was protecting me. She attacked Rausch, too.” I jerked my thumb at Rausch’s laboratory.
“Is he still in there?”
“Yeah, but he’s sleeping.” I held up the Projac. “I suppose we’d better call somebody before he wakes up.”
“I already did,” Billy said. “I called Gilly, and your dad, and the police, and the fire department.”
“Why the fire department?”
“I called everybody I could think of.” We could hear sirens in the distance.
“We should probably check on Rausch,” I said. “Make sure he doesn’t wake up.”
Just as I said that I heard the whine of an engine starting. I ran around the corner of the barn in time to see Rausch on his ATV, speeding through the open gate.
30
Animals
After that things got confusing. The police, two fire trucks, Gilly, and my father arrived all at once, bringing with them a thousand questions. Billy and I both tried to explain what had happened. At first Gilly was upset about Billy hijacking and wrecking his AG-3601, but once he heard that Rausch had taken me prisoner, he had to admit that it had been necessary. My dad seemed mostly mad that we’d come out there on our own. The cops went chasing after Rausch. The firefighters ran around looking for fires and were disappointed not to find any. Right around then, Brazie woke up. He staggered to his feet and took off after the firefighters—I think he was offended by their bright yellow slickers. They scrambled up onto the fire truck. Brazie stamped and snorted and looked around for someone else to gore. The rest of us took refuge in the lab building, where Gilly immediately went to work on Rausch’s computer.
“I like you,” said the goat, its eyes fixed on Gilly. “Feed me!”
“Do you think Gilly’s memories are in that goat?” I whispered to Billy.
“I hope not. He’s still getting over everybody thinking he was a Sasquatch.”
Gilly said, “We have a problem. Rausch managed to delete several files from his servers.”
“And he took his memory machine with him,” I said.
“How big is this thing?” my dad asked.
“It’s like a big toaster. And the thing he attaches to your head is a bike helmet with a bunch of wires.”
“We’ll get him,” my dad said. “Is there anything else we should know?”
“There was a file called Client Key on his computer. Is that still there?”
“I don’t see it,” Gilly said. “Why?”
“I looked at it before Rausch caught me snooping. It was a list of people he had rauschinated.”
“Rauschinated?”
“That’s what he calls what he does. He calls the bike helmet thing a Rauschinator. He fills up people’s heads with books and then sticks their memories in animals. There were a bunch of initials on the list I saw, including yours and Billy’s.” I looked at my dad. “Yours too. And after each one were some Latin words and some numbers. Like for Billy it was . . . ” I
closed my eyes and tried to remember. “I think it was Canis lupus familiaris zero two.”
Billy said, “Isn’t Canis lupus familiaris the Latin name for a dog?”
“That’s right,” Gilly said. “I’ll bet the number identifies the specific dog.”
“It’s Gertrude,” I said. “Gertrude was with Rausch when he came over to your house and . . . well . . . Gertrude really likes me.” I might have been blushing. I looked at Billy. He was blushing too.
“I hate you,” said the cat.
“All of them have collars with tags,” my dad said. He was over by the cages looking at the animals. “The cocker spaniel is number three, the Yorkie is number one, and the cat . . . ”
The cat hissed and backed into the corner of its cage. “I hate you.”
“I can’t read the cat’s collar, and I’m not sticking my hand in there. The goat’s tag says oh one. Ginger, do you remember any more of the list you saw?”
“I saw the initials X.Z., so I suppose that’s Mr. Zlotnick. And it said what memories were downloaded—American history for Billy, ‘Evangeline’ for you, and some drone code for Gilly. I don’t remember the rest. A few of them had something about a king. I wonder where the rest of the animals are.”
“Has anyone looked in the barn?” my dad said. He looked out the door. “I’d check, but I’m not sure I’m fast enough to outrun that bull.”
“You’re not,” I said. “But you could use this.” I pulled the Projac from my pocket and handed it to him.
His mouth fell open. “Where did you get this?”
“From Mr. Rausch.”
My dad looked at Gilly. “This is the missing prototype.”
“It takes five shots to knock out Brazie,” I said.
“You used this on the bull?”
“I used it on Mr. Rausch, too,” I said proudly. “Only he didn’t stay down long.”
My dad gave me the Look. “Ginger, you cannot go around shooting people with an experimental weapon. You might have killed him!”