Forget Me Nearly
Page 7
Putsyn at random, because he'd had to saysomething, and everything would have been all right--except itactually hadn't been a random choice. The associations had triggeredthe wrong words into existence.
His mind flashed back to the time he'd discussed names with Borgenese.What had he said?
Putsy. But it wasn't Putsy--it was Putsyn.
"You're very much improved," said the real Chals Putsyn, staringcuriously at him. "Let me recommend the retro treatment to you. Infact I'd take it myself, but there are a few inconveniences."
Yeah, there were inconveniences--like starting over again and notknowing who you were.
But Putsyn was right: he was physically improved. A freezer knocked aman down and kept him there for half an hour. But Luis had only beendown a few minutes, and already he could move his feet, though hedidn't. It was a phenomenally fast recovery, and perhaps Putsyn wasn'taware of it.
"The question is, what to do with you?" Putsyn seemed to be thinkingaloud. "The police are intolerant of killing. Maybe if I disposed ofevery atom...." He shook his head and sighed. "But that's been tried,and it didn't make any difference. So you'll have to remainalive--though I don't think you'll approve of my treatment."
Luis didn't approve--it would be the same kind of treatment that Luisehad been exposed to, but more drastic in his case, because he wasaware of what was going on.
Putsyn came close to drag him away. It was time to use the energy he'dbeen saving up, and he did.
Startled, Putsyn fired the freezer, but he was aiming at a twistingtarget and the invisible energy only grazed Luis's leg. The leg wentlimp and had no feeling, but his two hands were still good and thatwas all he needed.
He tore the freezer away and put his other hand on Putsyn's throat. Hecould feel the artificial larynx inside. He squeezed.
He lay there until Putsyn went limp.
* * * * *
When there was no longer any movement, he sat up and pried open theman's jaws, thrusting his fingers into the mouth and jerking out theartificial larynx. The next time he would hear Putsyn's real voice,and maybe that would trigger his memory.
He crawled to the door and pulled himself up, leaning against thewall. By the time Putsyn moved, he had regained partial use of hisleg.
"Now we'll see," he said. He didn't try to put anger in his voice; itwas there. "I don't have to tell you that I can beat answers out ofyou."
"You don't know?" Putsyn laughed and there was relief in the sound."You can kick me around, but you won't get your answers!"
The man had physical courage, or thought he did, and sometimes thatamounted to the same thing. Luis shifted uneasily. It was the firsttime he'd heard Putsyn's actual voice; it was disturbing, but itdidn't arouse concrete memories.
He stepped on the outstretched hand. "Think so?" he said. He couldhear the fingers crackle.
Putsyn paled, but didn't cry out. "Don't think you can kill me and getaway with it," he said.
He didn't sound too certain.
Slightly sick, Luis stepped off the hand. He couldn't kill theman--and not just because of the police. He just couldn't do it. Hefelt for the other gun in his pocket.
"This isn't a freezer," he said. "It's been changed over. I think I'llgive you a sample."
Putsyn blinked. "And lose all chance of finding out? Go ahead."
Luis had thought of that; but he hadn't expected Putsyn to.
"You see, there's nothing you can do," said Putsyn. "A man has a rightto protect his property, and I've got plenty of evidence that youbroke in."
"I don't think you'll go to the police," Luis said.
"You think not? My memory system isn't a fraud. Admittedly, I didn'tuse it properly on Luise, but in a public demonstration I can provethat it does work."
Luis nodded wearily to himself. He'd half suspected that it did work.Here he was, with the solution so close--this man knew his identityand that of Luise, and where Dorn Starret came into the tangle--and hecouldn't force Putsyn to tell.
He couldn't go to the police. They would ignore his charges, becausethey were based on unprovable suspicions ... ignore him or arrest himfor breaking and entering.
"Everything's in your favor," he said, raising the gun. "But there'sone way to make you leave us alone."
"Wait," cried Putsyn, covering his face with his uninjured hand, asif that would shield him. "Maybe we can work out an agreement."
Luis didn't lower the gun. "I mean it," he said.
"I know you mean it--I can't let you take away my life's work."
"Talk fast," Luis said, "and don't lie."
He stood close and listened while Putsyn told his story.
This is what had happened, he thought. This is what he'd tried so hardto learn.
"I had to do it that way," Putsyn finished. "But if you're willing tolisten to reason, I can cut you in--more money than you've dreamedof--and the girl too, if you want her."
Luis was silent. He wanted her--but now the thought was foolish.Hopeless. This must be the way people felt who stood in the blast areaof a rocket--but for them the sensation lasted only an instant, whilefor him the feeling would last the rest of his life.
"Get up," he said.
"Then it's all right?" asked Putsyn nervously. "We'll share it?"
"Get up."
Putsyn got to his feet, and Luis hit him. He could have used thefreezer, but that wasn't personal enough.
He let the body fall to the floor.
He dragged the inert form into the waiting room and turned on thescreen and talked to the police. Then he turned off the screen andkicked open the door to the hall. He shouldered Putsyn and carried himup to the roof and put him in the aircar.
* * * * *
Luise was there, puzzled and sleepy. For reasons of his own, Borgenesehad sent a squad to bring her in. Might as well have her here and getit over with, Luis thought. She smiled at him, and he knew that Putsynhadn't lied about that part. She remembered him and therefore Putsynhadn't had time to do much damage.
Borgenese was at the desk as he walked in. Luis swung Putsyn off hisshoulder and dropped him into a chair. The man was still unconscious,but wouldn't be for long.
"I see you brought a visitor," remarked Borgenese pleasantly.
"A customer," he said.
"Customers are welcome too," said the police counselor. "Of course,it's up to us to decide whether he _is_ a customer."
Luise started to cross the room, but Borgenese motioned her back. "Lethim alone. I think he's going to have a rough time."
"Yeah," said Luis.
It was nice to know that Luise liked him now--because she wouldn'tafter this was over.
He wiped the sweat off his forehead; all of it hadn't come fromphysical exertion.
"Putsyn here is a scientist," he said. "He worked out a machine thatreverses the effects of the retro gun. He intended to go to everyonewho'd been retrogressed, and in return for giving them back theirmemory, they'd sign over most of their property to him.
"Naturally, they'd agree. They all want to return to their formerlives that bad, and, of course, they aren't aware of how much moneythey had. He had it all his way. He could use the machine toinvestigate them, and take only those who were really wealthy. He'dgive them a partial recovery in the machine, and when he found out whothey were, give them a quick shot of a built-in retro gun, taking themback to the time they'd just entered his office. They wouldn't suspecta thing.
"Those who measured up he'd sign an agreement with, and to the otherpoor devils he'd say that he was sorry but he couldn't help them."
Putsyn was conscious now. "It's not so," he said sullenly. "He can'tprove it."
"I don't think he's trying to prove that," said Borgenese, still calm."Let him talk."
Luis took a deep breath. "He might have gotten away with it, but he'dhired a laboratory assistant to help him perfect the machine. Shedidn't like his ideas; she thought a discovery like that should begiven to the public. He
didn't particularly care what she thought, butnow the trouble was that she could build it too, and since he couldn'tpatent it and still keep it secret, she was a threat to his plans." Hepaused. "Her name was Luise Obispo."
* * * * *
He didn't have to turn his head. From the corner of his eye, he couldsee startlement flash across her face. She'd got her name right; andit was he who had erred in choosing a