الفصل الفصل 4 · 第4章

"I'm sure," said Luis, and related all the details of last night.

The counselor sat there and didn't say anything.

* * * * *

Luis waited as long as he could. "You can trace _us_ now," he said.

"One person might be difficult. But two of us with nearly the same

name, that should stick out big, even in a population of sixteen

billion. Two people are missing from somewhere. You can find that."

The counselor's face didn't change. "You understand that if you were

killed, we'd find the man who did it. I can't tell you how, but you

can be sure he wouldn't escape. In the last hundred years there's been

no unsolved murder."

He coughed and turned away from the screen. When he turned back, his

face was calm. "I'm not supposed to tell you this much. I'm breaking

the rule because your case and that of the girl is different from any

I've ever handled." He was speaking carefully. "Listen. I'll tell you

once and won't repeat it. If you ever accuse me, I'll deny I said it,

and I have the entire police organization behind me to make it stick."

The counselor closed his eyes as if to see in his mind the principle

he was formulating. "If we can catch a murderer, no matter how clever

he may be, it ought to be easier to trace the identity of a person who

is still alive. It is. _But we never try._ Though it's all right if

the victim does.

"_If I should ask the cooperation of other police departments, they

wouldn't help. If the solution lies within an area over which I have

jurisdiction and I find out who is responsible, I will be dismissed

before I can prosecute the man._"

Luis stared at the counselor in helpless amazement. "Then you're not

doing anything," he said shakily. "You lied to me. You don't intend to

do anything."

"You're overwrought," said Borgenese politely. "If you could see how

busy we are in your behalf--" He sighed. "My advice is that if you

can't convince the girl, forget her. If the situation gets emotionally

unbearable, let me know and I can arrange transportation to another

city where there may be others who are--uh--more compatible."

"But she's my wife," he said stubbornly.

"Are you sure?"

Actually Luis wasn't--but he wanted _her_ to be, or any variation

thereof she would consent to. He explained.

"As she says, there are a lot of factors," commented the counselor.

"I'd suggest an examination. It may remove some of her objections."

He hadn't thought of it, but he accepted it eagerly. "What will that

do?"

"Not much, unfortunately. It will prove that you two can have healthy

normal children, but it won't indicate that you're not a member of

her genetic family. And, of course, it won't touch on the question of

legal family, brother-in-law and the like. I don't suppose she'd

accept that."

She wouldn't. He'd seen her for only a brief time and yet he knew that

much. He was in an ambiguous position; he could make snap decisions he

was certain were right, but he had to guess at facts. He and the girl

were victims, and the police refused to help them in the only way that

would do much good. And the police had, or thought they had, official

reasons for their stand.

Luis told the counselor just exactly what he thought of that.

"It's too bad," agreed the counselor. "These things often have an

extraordinary degree of permanency if they ever get started."

If they ever got started! Luis reached out and turned off the screen.

It flickered unsteadily--the counselor was trying to call him back. He

didn't want to talk to the man; it was painful, and Borgenese had

nothing to add but platitudes, and fuel to his anger. He swung open

the panel and jerked the wiring loose and the screen went blank.

There was an object concealed in the mechanism he had exposed. It was

a neat, vicious, little retrogression gun.

* * * * *

He got it out and balanced it gingerly in his hand. Now he had

something else to work on! It was _the_ weapon, of course. It had been

used on him and then hidden behind the screen.

It was a good place to hide it. The screens never wore out or needed

adjustment, and the cleaning robots that came out of the wall never

cleaned there. The police should have found it, but they hadn't

looked. He smiled bitterly. They weren't interested in solving

crimes--merely in ameliorating the consequences.

Though the police had failed, he hadn't. It could be traced back to

the man who owned it, and that person would have information. He

turned the retro gun over slowly; it was just a gun; there were

countless others like it.

He finished dressing and dropped the gun in his pocket. He went

outside and looked across the court. He hesitated and then walked over

and knocked.

"Occupied," said the door. "But the occupant is out. No definite time

of return stated, but she will be back this evening. Is there any

message?"

"No message," he said. "I'll call back when she's home."

He hoped she wouldn't refuse to speak to him. She'd been away from

retro-therapy longer than he and possibly had developed her own

leads--very likely she was investigating some of them now. Whatever

she found would help him, and vice versa. The man who'd retroed her

had done the same to him. They were approaching the problem from

different angles. Between the two of them, they should come up with

the correct solution.

He walked away from the Shelters and caught the belt to the center of

town; the journey didn't take long. He stepped off, and wandered in

the bright sunshine, not quite aimlessly. At length he found an

Electronic Arms store, and went inside.

* * * * *

A robot came to wait on him. "I'd like to speak to the manager," he

said and the robot went away.

Presently the manager appeared, middle aged, drowsy. "What can I do

for you?"

Luis laid the retrogression gun on the counter. "I'd like to know who

this was sold to."

The manager coughed. "Well, there are millions of them, hundreds of

millions."

"I know, but I have to find out."

The manager picked it up. "It's a competitor's make," he said

doubtfully. "Of course, as a courtesy to a customer...." He fingered

it thoughtfully. "Do you really want to know? It's just a freezer. Not

at all dangerous."

Luis looked at it with concern. Just a freezer--not a retro gun at

all! Then it couldn't have been the weapon used on him.

Before he could take it back the manager broke it open. The drowsy

expression vanished.

"Why didn't you say so?" exclaimed the manager, examining it. "This

gun has been illegally altered." He bent over the exposed circuits and

then glanced up happily at Luis. "Come here, I'll show you."

Luis followed him to the small workshop in the back of the store. The

manager closed the door behind them and fumbled among the equipment.

He mounted the gun securely in a frame and pressed a button which

projected an image of the circuit onto a screen.

The manager was enjoying himself. "Everybody's entitled to

self-protection," he said. "That's why we sell so many like these.

They're harmless, won't hurt a baby. Fully charged, they'll put a man

out for half an hour, overload his nervous system. At the weakest,

they'll still keep him out of action for ten minutes. Below that, they

won't work at all." He looked up. "Are you sure you understand this?"

It had been included in his re-education, but it didn't come readily

to his mind. "Perhaps you'd better go over it for me."

The manager wagged his head. "As I said, the freezer is legal, won't

harm anyone. It'll stop a man or an elephant in his tracks, freeze

him, but beyond that will leave him intact. When he comes out of it,

he's just the same as before, nothing changed." He seized a pointer

and adjusted the controls so as to enlarge the image on the screen.

"However, a freezer can be converted to a retrogression gun, and

that's illegal." He traced the connections with the pointer. "If this

wire, instead of connecting as it does, is moved to here and here, the

polarity is reversed. In addition, if these four wires are

interchanged, the freezer becomes a retrogressor. As I said, it's

illegal to do that."

* * * * *

The manager scrutinized the circuits closely and grunted in disgust.

"Whoever converted this did a sloppy job. Here." He bent over the gun

and began manipulating micro-instruments. He worked rapidly and

surely. A moment later, he snapped the weapon together and

straightened up, handing it to Luis. "There," he said proudly. "It's a

much more effective retrogressor than it was. Uses less power too."

Luis swallowed. Either he was mad or the man was, or perhaps it was

the society he was trying to adjust to. "Aren't you taking a chance,

doing this for me?"

The manager smiled. "You're joking. A tenth of the freezers we sell

are immediately converted into retrogressors. Who cares?" He became

serious. "Do you still want to know who bought it?"

Luis nodded--at the moment he didn't trust his voice.

"It will take several hours. No charge though, customer service. Tell

me where I can reach you."

Luis jotted down the number of the screen at the Shelter and handed it

to the manager. As he left, the manager whispered to him: "Remember,

the next time you buy a freezer--ours can be converted easier than the

one you have."

He went out into the sunlight. It didn't seem the same. What kind of

society was he living in? The reality didn't fit with what he had

re-learned. It had seemed an orderly and sane civilization, with

little violence and vast respect for the law.

But the fact was that any school child--well, not quite _that_ young,

perhaps--but anyone older could and did buy a freezer. And it was

ridiculously easy to convert a freezer into something far more

vicious. Of course, it was illegal, but no one paid any attention to

that.

This was wrong; it wasn't the way he remembered....

He corrected himself: he didn't actually remember anything. His

knowledge came from tapes, and was obviously inadequate. Certain

things he just didn't understand yet.

He wanted to talk to someone--but who? The counselor had given him all

the information he intended to. The store manager had supplied some

additional insight, but it only confused him. Luise--at the moment she

was suspicious of him.