“Time out for a second,” Edith said just inside the doorway. “I want you to meet an old friend, Keith Adams.”
That surprised him, but he nodded as she introduced her assistants and then Rebecca. She looked up from her book with an interested expression, and not a hint of recognition. Keith took a step or two closer to her, peering at the open page of her book.
“Fossils? Paleontology? We had to read a couple of chapters in that same book. To teach us the difference between fossils and worked stones, I guess.”
“If a bone is completely mineralized, why isn't it a stone?” she said, smiling slightly.
“It has its own special category,” he said. “One is shaped by hand, and the other sits and waits for nature to shape it. Fossils are sedentary rocks.”
Rebecca laughed.
“You know where a person could get a sandwich or something?”
“Sure. The student union has a grill.”
“Join me for lunch? I'll tell you the difference between fossils and true rocks, let you surprise the hell out of your instructor.”
She glanced at Edith.
“Why don't you show him where it is,” Edith said. “Just be back by three.”
Rebecca hesitated momentarily, then closed the book. “Okay,” she said. “We can argue the point about when is a stone not a stone.”
Across the room Angela was smiling broadly, but Rob looked disturbed, withdrawn. Disturbed, Edith thought again. Why? As far as she had been able to tell, he had backed off completely, and had not crossed the line, but rather treated Rebecca like a sister. Or a highly valued experimental subject.
Keith and Rebecca walked out together talking, and before the outer door closed, Edith heard her laughter again.
* * * *
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, Keith thought, and fully understood the meaning, although when he read it as an arrogant teenaged boy he had scoffed and said, “Make up your mind.” He was euphoric when he was with her, and it was hellish at night, mornings before she appeared, and when she reentered the psych building leaving him outside. He read every article he could find concerning amnesia, and did not come across a single clue to undo what an evil fate had done to her. No one knew why it happened, why it stopped happening, when it did stop. It could last for seconds, hours, months, years, forever. She might remember the interlude or she might not. It was too variable to predict.
They talked, laughed, joked, argued a little. He suspected that Dreisser was sending her out every day, possibly even agreeing with him that Rebecca needed more than the daily grind, but he didn't really care why, he simply felt grateful.
Then, on duty at the telescope, he saw the suits again. He watched them march to the door, wait a moment until someone opened it, and enter. It was ten after nine. He made a note, and only then realized that he was in week seven. Faye and Theodore would return in another week, and he had not come up with a job, or any plan for the future. The suits emerged ten minutes later. He made a note.
Every day he found a new way to introduce himself to Rebecca, using her textbook as a doorway most often. If she didn't have it with her, he simply asked if she knew where a guy could grab a sandwich, or he came up with something else. As long as he didn't overreach, she was open and friendly, and as they began to walk together and talk, her reserve gradually melted away. He knew he couldn't touch her, or hint that he knew anything about her, or a wall would fall into place with him on the outside. The best of times and the worst of times.
It was winding down, Edith knew. They were nearing the limits of accessible data. Then what? she was asking herself more and more frequently. There was no answer. Of course, the work would be all-consuming when they started the analysis, but that was aside from her question of then what.
Rebecca was starting to express concern that she still had a paper to write and school would begin in a few weeks. She made notes feverishly, and every morning Edith stole the notes and put them in her own purse. Rebecca would have to be told some version of the truth, she decided, not that her mother and brother were dead, but that she had this rare form of amnesia.... Sitting at her desk, tapping her fingers on it, she tried to imagine what it would mean to hear that whatever she did today would be forgotten tomorrow. That her life had basically come to a halt months before. Like a mayfly, she thought. There was no life before or after today. Life without purpose, without goals, hopes. Mere existence for now, this brief period.
There was a knock on her door, and she welcomed the interruption of her dismal thoughts. “Come on in,” she called.
Rob entered, looking as wretched as she was feeling. “Can I talk to you?” he asked hesitantly.
“You know you can,” she said. “Have a seat.”
Rob Crawford was twenty-eight, a little too thin, and very intense. Sometimes, talking to her alone, he became almost tongue-tied, but the shyness, awkwardness, whatever it was vanished completely in the lab or discussing the work. He was very talented, destined to become an excellent researcher in the field of neuroscience, one of her prize students, she often thought, as she did that day waiting for him to begin.
“Dr. Dreisser, I've done something terrible,” he said finally. He looked agonized.
“Relax, Rob,” she said. “Take a deep breath and tell me about it.”
He swallowed hard and nodded. Haltingly, with awkward pauses, sometimes mumbling, avoiding her gaze, he started. “A couple of months ago a guy came here. He called me first and I let him in. He was a ... a recruiter for the army. They're looking for people. You know, psychologists, psychiatrists, neuroscience majors ... People like that.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “I said not interested. He came back with another guy, a major, and they said it was a case of national security and swore me to secrecy. If I told anyone I could be prosecuted. The major knew all about your work, Dr. Dreisser. He said he read your article. He said ... he said I had to cooperate with them, it's the law. He had Rebecca's hospital records and everything.”
Edith had grown more and more tense as he talked. She got up and went to a side table where there was a carafe and mugs. She poured them both coffee, and put a mug in front of Rob. He looked at her gratefully.
“Cooperate in what way, Rob?” she said then, sitting again at her desk.
“Report on how the work is coming. If Rebecca is recovering her memory. Things like that.” He took a sip of coffee, and kept his gaze on the mug. “They call me every week for a report,” he mumbled. “I'm not supposed to tell you. Or anyone else.”
'What else, Rob?” Edith asked when he remained silent too long.
He still didn't look at her. “He, the major, began asking a couple of weeks ago how close to finishing we are. He, I think he knows about diminishing returns, and stuff like that. He came today,” he said more miserably than before. “He wants, wanted, a date or something. Will we be done with this phase next week, this week. You know, just when we'll move on. And he wanted to go into the lab.” He cleared his throat, sipped coffee, as if his mouth was too dry to continue. “I wouldn't let him go in, but he looked in at the door. I should have told you right away, but he said ... I mean, national security, classified, prosecution. I mean, he already seemed to know all about it, all about Rebecca. I should have told you,” he mumbled. “I'm sorry, Dr. Dreisser. I'm sorry.”
“Rob, he played the trump card. National security. It's okay. I'm glad you told me now. We'll go on from here.”
“I'll resign, quit, go away if you want me to,” he said, finally looking up.
“Don't be ridiculous. Of course you won't quit. What you'll do is go back to work and let me think about this.” She stood up and walked around her desk, took the mug from his hands, and opened the office door. “Off you go, back to work.”
He jumped up and hurried to the doorway, where he paused and, mumbling again, said, “Thanks. I mean ... thanks.” He blushed furiously when she smiled at him, and then rushed out.
“Oh, for heaven's sak
e!” she muttered under her breath, closing the door after him. That last glance at her had expressed nothing short of adoration.
All right, she thought then, resuming her seat at the desk. They knew about the work. Everyone in the field who read the journal knew what she was attempting, with only enough success in the early days to demonstrate that the approach was at least feasible. But the major also knew about Rebecca, and that changed the feasibility from a doubtful possible to probable. One subject, forever nalve, one brain to study, and months now put into the effort signified that she was getting results.
He knew about diminishing returns, probably a scientist himself, as well as a major. Army intelligence? CIA? An agency she had never heard of? What would they do with her work if they had it? That major seemed to grasp research methods; he must know that analysis could take many months, years even. They would classify it, she thought then. They had people who would understand the significance, who would find a way to use it for their own purposes. She tried to banish that thought, that fear, but it persisted. It might never be published if they seized it.
A deep chill swept her then as she thought: even if they weren't interested in the work itself, they could seize the subject, that forever nalve subject who forgot all her yesterdays.
Her thoughts were swirling chaotically, and she forced herself to stop, to take it one step at a time. Hospital records. They must have subpoenaed the hospital for them. They had known what they were after. Data mining, searching for amnesia? Possibly, she decided. And she was listed as Rebecca's doctor. A five-minute search would have uncovered her recent paper regarding a new approach to mapping of the brain.
They could take Rebecca, she knew without doubt. Disappear her. She might never surface again. The perfect, forever nalve subject who would never reveal the nature of whatever experimentation she had undergone.
She would talk to the attorney who was handling Rebecca's affairs, she decided a few minutes later. Set up a guardianship, make her a ward of the state or something, get a court order forbidding access to her. He would know what legal steps could be taken. She had little or no faith in the law stopping them, not if recent precedents were followed. They could seize whomever they pleased, apparently, but that was the first step. At least try.
She called him and when he said he would be happy to see her, of course, she said, “Now? I could come right over to your office.”
Obviously surprised, he said now would be fine.
Fred DeLancey was his name, a big, athletic man, a mountain climber, with pictures of mountains he had climbed all over his office. He pursed his lips as he listened, then he said, “It's a bit tricky, isn't it? No one's made an overt motion toward her at this time.”
“I doubt there will be preliminary moves on their part, if they follow the same pattern I've read about. They'll just appear, demand her, and leave, taking her with them.”
He nodded absently. “I'll need a day or two to assess the situation, decide on a course we can adopt. It would be good if you could squirrel her away for a few days. Keep her out of sight, out of reach. You think they'll move this weekend?”
“I think so. That major looked over the lab this morning, probably to see how much equipment they'll haul away. They know we're winding down, that this phase is nearing the end. The worst case scenario is for them to arrive with a moving van on Saturday.” It was Thursday.
“Dr. Dreisser, why do you think they'd seize your research as well as Ms. Hardesty?”
“They will not want it published. Anyone trained in the field will realize that I used one subject throughout even if that is not stated or if it is redacted. And with some reflection, they will know that she was nalve, not bored, throughout. The next step will be to surmise that the government now has that same subject, and I think with the secrecy mania being exhibited by the current government that is something they would not want known.” When he continued to look puzzled, she said, “A trained researcher will know instantly the value of a nalve subject who can be subjected to many variations of any given procedure until the most efficacious one is determined.”
When she left his office it was with a despairing certainty that he would come up empty-handed. A preemptive court order based on nothing but her fear of what might happen, that's what they wanted from a judge. And she had not been able to guess how much of her fear DeLancey believed was justified. He said he would give her a call on Monday.
* * * *
That night Edith stalked about her small house furiously, making plan after plan, discarding them. She imagined dialogues—he would say so and so and she would respond such and such, then he would threaten, and.... Angrily she discarded that kind of speculation, also. In every case the end was the same with imagined scenes of men carrying out computers, boxes of printouts, stashing them inside a black van. With a man with a buzz cut taking Rebecca out to another black car, something long and shiny, driving away with her. Rebecca would look back to her in bewilderment in that scene.
It was very late when she fell into bed, into a dream of myriad lights flashing, like a condensed Milky Way put in motion. Dots of light raced from one point to another, flashing as molecules were exchanged, racing on, gathering speed, slowing down, fading out or growing stronger. She heard her own voice lecturing: “There are no non-stop flights in the space of a human brain. There is no one-way track.” She came wide awake with the sound.
“No!” she said. “Goddamn it, no!” It was five in the morning. By the time she got up, made coffee and showered, she knew what she was going to do.
After the morning session that day she did not suggest to Rebecca that she should take a walk to relax. Instead, as soon as Rebecca was seated at the corner desk with her open book, Edith left the building. Keith appeared almost instantly. He never waited for Rebecca in any way that might appear obvious to her, but he watched the building.
“What's wrong?” he asked. “Is something wrong with her?”
“No. She'll be out in a few minutes. Just listen and please don't ask questions. I can't answer any questions at this time. This afternoon she'll be delayed a little, but she'll come out at about four-thirty. I'll be with her. I want you to take her somewhere. Do you have a car?”
He nodded. Three available cars, he thought. “Then what?”
“I want her out of sight for a couple of days, until Monday afternoon. That's all.”
“Why?” He couldn't help it. The question came of its own accord.
“No questions for now. Is there someplace where you can spend a day or two? Even a motel, if that's all there is.”
“I know someplace private,” he said. “Is she willing?”
“I won't tell her until after the next session. I'll go to her apartment with her and tell her, let her pack a few things, and we'll meet you out here.” She looked at him searchingly, then said, “You realize that she'll need a plausible explanation in the morning. That she becomes exhausted early and has to go to sleep around ten.”
“I'll take care of her,” he said. “I know.”
“I think you do,” Edith said. “One more thing. I don't want anyone to know about this. No one. Do you know where the visitors’ parking lot is?” At his nod, she said, “Leave your car over there. I don't want to know what you're driving or where you'll take her. You have my cell phone number if you need me, and I have yours. I'll call you on Monday.”
He nodded grimly, his mind summoning up an image of the suits, Theodore's conviction that something was going on.
“Good. I'll see you later,” Edith said. She turned and walked back to the building.
Edith was experiencing an icy calm, but Keith was almost manic at the thought of two or three days with Rebecca. “The only way anyone will get to her is over my blood-soaked body,” he said under his breath. He retreated to his viewpoint to wait for another chance meeting with a stranger.
* * * *
As soon as the afternoon session ended that day, Edith said, “Okay, kiddies
. Wrap it up. Announcement time.” Angela and Rob swivelled around at attention, and Rebecca stopped walking. She had been on the way to the washroom to towel off her hair.
“Something's come up,” Edith said. “I can't be here most of tomorrow, so I'm declaring a holiday. A long weekend, two whole days! Any objections?”
Angela clapped, but Rob looked miserable. She was very afraid that he had begun biting his fingernails, but she couldn't deal with that at the moment. She glanced at Rebecca. “I'll walk over to your apartment with you.” To the others she said, “I'll see you on Monday. Have fun.”
After she stopped by her office to pick up a large briefcase, she and Rebecca left the building by a rear door. A short distance away was a fenced area with a locked gate, and behind the fence was a courtyard and eight or ten small apartments, used by short-time visitors, lecturers, seminar leaders, others who came, did a stint for a week or longer, then left. There were half a dozen grills in the courtyard, picnic tables, shade trees, a comfortable, quiet and private retreat from a noisy campus most of the year. Now, in late summer, only three of the apartments were being used.
Inside Rebecca's unit, Edith said, “I want to try something new with you. I've brought aboard another member of our team, a young man named Keith Adams, and he'll assist me in this.”
Rebecca laughed. “I already met him,” she exclaimed. “I think he's been looking over the campus. He seems awfully nice.”
“He is nice,” Edith said. “I thought the two of you would get along. I want to try a change of scene with you for a couple of days, see if it jogs your memory. I believe that such a change can be quite beneficial.”
“Go somewhere with Keith?” Rebecca said doubtfully.
“Yes. He's trustworthy and he'll take good care of you. He'll be working for me, and he knows the rules. You have absolutely nothing to be concerned about with him.”
“Where will we go?”
Edith shook her head. “That's part of the experiment, not to know too soon. Just somewhere different.” She lifted the empty briefcase. “Go pack a few things, a nightshirt or gown, robe, slippers, things like that. No more than you can fit into the case.”
Asimov's SF, April-May 2008 Page 21