Memory Blank

by John Stith

  “Which way, Vincent?” Six paths led away at approximately equal intervals. Brief road names were inscribed in blocks set into the ground near each path. The paths themselves were smooth, dark brown, and just the slightest bit resilient.

  “Longfellow,” said Vincent.

  Rolling hills broke up the monotony of the enormous valley and provided earth-shelter backdrops to the scattered houses. To his left he could see nearly the whole length of the edge of the continent as it joined the long window above it.

  Ahead a young boy perhaps eight years old with a toothy grin rode a bicycle toward him on the path. The freckled child turned his bike to follow a bend in the path, overcorrected for the Coriolis force change, and almost rammed Cal as he raced by. “Sorry,” the boy called behind him.

  Cal encountered no one else before he reached the house that Vincent informed him was his. More anxious than before, he walked along the narrow walkway that joined the main path. The image of the house stirred a murky memory, as though he had seen it most often in the dark. Then the feeling passed. The house was much like the neighbors’ homes. Rectangular windows lined the front and faced away from the breeze. Decorative rock covered the exposed surface.

  Was Nikki inside? Cal stood before the door for a long moment, noting the now-familiar white square for a thumbprint. He performed the required ritual, and the door slid open.

  The house was smaller than he had expected from the outside appearance. Two bedrooms and a modest bathroom were the only rooms divided from the sparse main area. A waist-high semicircular counter surrounded the kitchen space, while the rest of the room was given over to a table, some comfortable-looking padded chairs, several large potted plants, and a desk computer. He was alone in the house.

  He felt vaguely relieved. Now he could get cleaned up and have a chance to learn a little more before Nikki arrived.

  He looked at Vincent’s screen again. Eleven hundred. Nikki would probably be at work.

  In the main bedroom closet, he found a fresh set of clothes. With them in hand, he moved to the bathroom to take a shower. Muscles that hadn’t bothered him for more than an hour involuntarily contracted as he took off his shirt and trousers. After a moment of standing still and letting his head clear, he tossed the old clothes into a bin.

  The hot water felt remarkably good. What was left of the blood yielded to the steaming water.

  Eventually he stepped out of the shower and began to dry himself. The mirror showed a view of the off-center bruise on his back. All dark and ugly purple, it was roughly circular, at least as large as a soccer ball impact.

  With his clothes on and hair combed, his image in the mirror looked much more like what he guessed was normal. Without forethought he abruptly smiled at the stern image. Had he smiled much lately? Somehow he couldn’t believe he had. Enough of that though. He wanted to investigate the house.

  He left the bathroom, accidentally bumping Vincent into the doorframe.

  “Ouch,” said Vincent.

  “Sorry. You okay?”

  “Right enough. But I must be a masophile to keep you.”

  “Oh, go plug yourself into a high-voltage line.”

  “Say, that’s more like it. Maybe you are feeling better.”

  “Vincent, do you say that because of the way I’ve been acting the last few hours, or a much longer period?” Cal was inexplicably sure he knew the answer.

  “Lately, in general.” Vincent confirmed his suspicion.

  “But you don’t know why?”

  “On the nose. I can see symptoms, but it’s tougher to see the cause.”

  Pictures on the main bedroom wall attracted Cal’s initial attention. The first few showed scenes of Daedalus’s construction.

  Cal stopped in front of the next picture. Nikki. This time there was a surge of memory. She had smiled the same way the time they had skipped a conference to spend more time together. Deep-blue eyes stared back at him from the high-contrast picture. Her black hair was straight, and her lips were slightly parted. He could imagine smelling her perfume. The lighting accentuated her cheekbones.

  The picture suddenly reawakened the same feelings he had experienced as he’d watched the hiker depart earlier in the morning. But there was more, much more than just physical attraction this time. He had shared hard times with Nikki, and felt good at her side.

  Then, as quickly as it had arrived, the pleasurable feeling faded, leaving behind only the objective memory. Cal stared at her picture, straining to remember more. What did she enjoy? What were her dislikes? How was she strong, and what were her weaknesses? Now the harder he tried to recall, the farther away he felt. All he could do was subjectively decide from her picture that she was intelligent as well as pretty. Sad that he could reach no closer, he moved to the next picture.

  He stared at himself, smiling in the sunshine in front of the house. Apparently it had been taken several years ago. He was older than in his college days, but not much. How often had he smiled since then, he wondered again.

  In front of the last picture, he felt the blood drain from his face. At first the brown-haired girl in the picture reminded him of his sister Carla, but he knew exactly who she was. Lynn. So he had forgotten not only his wife, but also his daughter.

  Several more memories dislodged from their resting places deep in the mire and floated to the top. Lynn. Cal had been afraid of having children, afraid he would not be a good father. It took so much patience, understanding, time. He had agonized over whether he’d be adequate.

  And after all the doubts, he had done fine. Loving Lynn was as natural as loving Nikki, and Lynn had been a terrific child, always cheerful, asking all those happy children’s questions. She was active, almost hyperactive, and wanted desperately to try hang gliding when she was old enough. They had been quite content, the three of them. But what about recently? As he tried to remember more, the flow of memories trickled off.

  He remained in front of the last picture, not understanding the lonely ache that the string of photos had created in him. There existed a barrier. All he could see was the outside. On the outside, Lynn was happy, as was Nikki. Was it the truth?

  The contents of the closet told him little except that both he and Nikki apparently possessed conservative tastes in clothing. Most of the colors were subdued, containing a high proportion of somber blues, grays, browns, and charcoals. Only a few jackets were made of heavier material than what he was wearing.

  Uncomfortable about searching Lynn’s bedroom, he went instead to the desk computer. A push of the on button caused a menu to flash onto the wall screen. He chose several successive menus, and reached an entry labeled “Employment Data, Cal Donley.”

  He skipped over the first sections, stopping at the last item. So now he knew more about what his job involved. He was in charge of communications computer systems aboard the Vittoria. And maybe that explained the familiarity of Russ Tolbor on the newscast. The summary said he reported to someone named Tom Horvath and that he’d had his job almost four years.

  Seconds later, data about the Vittoria filled the screen. None of it triggered any new recollections. The Vittoria, looking a little like a giant turnip, was intended to transport ten thousand pioneers to a planet circling Barnard’s Star, or rather, transport their descendants, since the Vittoria was a generation-ship. The trip would take five hundred years.

  Cal, however, was more concerned about the next few hours and days. The fleeting feeling of urgency had returned. He soon found a database describing Nikki Nokoto. At first unable to avoid feeling like a trespasser, he selected a fairly impersonal choice: her employment history. According to the display, she was an M.D. with a specialty in transplanting artificial organs.

  He was still absorbing information when the sound of a door opening behind him cut short his investigation. Guiltily, he fumbled for the clear screen key before he turned.

  “Hello, Nikki,” he said, facing the woman in the doorway.

  She stood there, back to
the doorway, for a long moment before she spoke. “I don’t know whether I should be angry or relieved that you’re okay.” It was Nikki’s cool, even voice that dredged memories to the surface.

  Awareness of affection and respect joined the embarrassment Cal felt at almost being caught looking at her information in the computer, and it came to him that Vincent was still turned on. “You tried to call last night.” He had intended a question, but it came out as a statement.

  “Tried.” The word hung there, waiting for a response. The door slid shut behind her, cutting off the backlighting that had made it hard to see her features. She was more beautiful than her picture, but distant.

  Cal struggled to find an adequate explanation. If he told her about his memory loss, would she immediately sympathize, or would she call the police? He could sense her anger, but couldn’t tell what loyalty lay with it. He thought for so long that Nikki herself saved him from answering.

  “I know,” she said. “I know. You’ll tell me soon what it is you’re up to. Where did you spend the night?” She moved to a nearby chair and sat, but she didn’t look comfortable. She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together slowly.

  Surprised by getting a question he could answer, Cal told her the truth. “I slept outside on the hill above Machu Picchu.”

  She turned her head and inspected him out of the corner of her eye. “You’re serious, aren’t you? Don’t you think you’re carrying things a bit too far? I was—I was worried about you.” The reflected light from the window accented her blue eyes.

  Cal wanted to move to her, to hold her, and he suddenly had no doubts about being attracted to her in the past. But he didn’t move. He was an alien here. He said, “I’m sorry you were worried. But I am touched.”

  Nikki looked sharply at him, then blinked and rose from her chair. She moved behind it and rested her hands on the back. Cal had the strong feeling that she was struggling to maintain her self-control. There was apparent surprise on her face.

  “You’re touched. I want to believe that. I need to believe I can still touch you. But what can I do when you’re so erratic? One day you’re attentive, caring, feeling, and the next you’re distant, cold, shut off.” A wistful look of vulnerability reached her eyes, and Cal noticed, as though for the first time, that she must have a trace of Japanese ancestry. Her hair was longer in back than in front, apparently cut so no strands could reach her eyes in zero gravity.

  Cal was puzzled. She had been hurt. He had hurt her. And yet he felt an overpowering urge to protect and help her. He knew somehow that beneath the quiet surface she was strong. With the feelings, however, came no tangible recollections to tell him what the feelings were based on. He wanted to be there with her, not one more obstacle in her path.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

  “I know that. If I thought you did, I wouldn’t be here. But I can’t take much more.”

  “You won’t have to, Nickname.” The word came without warning. It seemed silly even as he said it, but the thought was too late.

  “You haven’t called me that in a long time,” she said, a puzzled frown forming on her forehead. “I guess I associate that name with the more peaceful part of our marriage.”

  “The first years were good, weren’t they?” he asked, sure that they were.

  “You’re always so good at understatement.” She smiled for the first time. Her smile made his breath unsteady.

  “It’s going to be that way again. Trust me.”

  “Trust you. God, how I want to. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah, fine. Why?”

  “I don’t know. You seem different somehow today.”

  “Maybe you’re just paying more attention today. Why did you come home now?”

  “The computer told me you were back. I wanted to talk to you, so I got someone to take over for me.”

  “And what do you want to say?”

  “I don’t know anymore,” she said. “This conversation isn’t going the way I expected it to.”

  “What were you going to say?”

  Nikki straightened and rubbed her hands against her upper arms, as though to warm herself. “I don’t feel like talking about it right now. You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “I’ll survive.”

  “How about if we eat some lunch while you tell me about last night?” She walked toward the kitchen.

  “Could we talk about it later?” Cal still worried about her reaction to his amnesia. She might accept it, or she might feel he was covering up. Without knowing what strains had recently been applied to their marriage, he couldn’t gauge her loyalty. He wanted to believe she would have faith in him, but didn’t know if his recent behavior would merit that. It was the wrong response.

  “Later?” Nikki stopped where she was and turned to face him, her voice suddenly hard. “Later, as in ‘Not now, dear,’ or in ‘Some other time’? Damn it, Cal. How long are you going to shut me out? When are you really going to talk to me again?”

  “When I know what’s going on.” What the hell was going on? Obliterated memories, inexplicable events, a dead man, and fresh bruises. “Maybe I’d be better off back in Atlanta.”

  “Atlanta,” said Nikki, her face white. “Sure, that’s the easy way out—to be dead with the rest of them. As it is, only your feelings are dead.” With that, she turned to the door and left without another word.

  Cal might have tried to stop her, but sudden fear pinned him to the chair and paralyzed his vocal cords. What had she meant, dead with the rest of them?

  When he could move again, he turned back to the computer keyboard. He entered several menu choices before he remembered Vincent.

  “Vincent,” he cried. “What’s wrong with Atlanta?” And why had he not thought about his parents until then? Was his mother still designing teaching aids? Was she alive? What about Carla and his father?

  “Atlanta, Georgia, North America?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “I’m sorry. The population of Atlanta is zero.”

  “Oh, God.” Sweat broke out on his forehead. “What happened?”

  “The problem is not just with Atlanta. There is no one left alive on Earth.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Headline

  The room was as silent as hard vacuum. Finally Cal heard his own ragged breath, coming in gasps. His awareness of the room returned, with it coming puzzlement at the distorted view of the surroundings and the warm, moist feeling on his cheeks.

  With no conscious thought, he rubbed his eyes and wiped his fingers on his pants legs.

  “Everyone’s gone?” Cal asked. After he spoke, he was suddenly surprised that he had to ask. He knew Vincent had told him the truth, even though his memories couldn’t tangibly support the belief.

  “There was no warning,” said Vincent. “They think a container in some hazardous materials dump must have given way about two years ago, releasing airborne bacteria. At first everyone thought there was a new mild flu going around. Then, after the initial mild symptoms, everyone died. Evangeline, the one ship that had left Earth after exposure, never reached Daedalus. Fortunately it had been put in quarantine just in case. So the people on Luna are okay, too. There’s a team working on recovery, but no success so far.”

  “My parents were down there. And my sister.” Cal turned in his chair so he faced the window. A moment later the Earth traveled past. Then again. “It attacked only humans, right?”

  “Yes. I thought you didn’t remember.”

  “Every once in a while, something jogs loose. So the memory blanking parlors started business shortly after that?” He also understood the bars, the drugstores, and the churches.

  Cal slumped back into the chair. The Earth continued its cyclical journey past the window. Were the plant and animal kingdoms the true meek? The Earth crossed his field of view another ten or a hundred times.

  “Vincent,” he said at last. “I want to call Nikki.”

  “It’s ringin
g now.” Half a minute passed before Vincent said, “She’s not answering. You want me to try periodically?”

  “No. Let her be. I’ll deal with my fears myself.”

  “You’re afraid?”

  “Damn right. Afraid of what’s happened. Afraid of what I’ve been doing. I keep remembering fragments, but I can’t remember the really important things.”

  “I don’t suppose you’re talking about music lessons?”

  “No.” A nervous laugh escaped. “I need to know what I did last night, what I’ve been doing lately. For all I know, I’ve been a little crazy since the accident. And I don’t know where to start.”

  “You could try your bank records. They’ll tell you some of what you’ve done.”

  “Great idea. My brain must still be a little run down.” Cal turned to the desk computer, and soon the screen showed a list of transactions in reverse chronological order.

  “Talk about your good news and bad news,” Cal said a moment later. “At least I know where I was for some of last night, but how could I do that?”

  The top line of the screen showed a payment to Machu Picchu Forget-Me-Now, shortly after midnight. This time, however, no feeling of belief accompanied the new information. It made no sense. If he had decided to blank his memories, why not tell Vincent to do a quick reorientation when he woke up? Why didn’t he remember the journey up the hill?

  Then it hit him. Maybe he had not been a willing customer at the parlor.

  “Vincent, I think it’s time I visited Forget-Me-Now.”

  “Don’t you think you’ve got enough problems already without forgetting everything again?”

  “That’s not my—” Cal paused. What if someone had forced him? Might they not just run him through again? He looked back at the screen, suddenly curious to see if there were other payments to Forget-Me-Now.

  He relaxed after scanning the first two pages of transactions. There was one payment without a name, but no other entries mentioned the parlors. So he might not always keep his log current, but at least he hadn’t been trapped in some bizarre cycle, returning to a parlor every day or week. Nikki would have known if something was severely amiss.