Chapter Chapter 3 · 第3章

That was what it was--a form. A woman, very much so; even in the

darkness he was conscious of her body.

Now she was trying to get loose, and he leaned his weight more

heavily on her. Her clothing was torn--he could feel her flesh against

his face. He raised the gun butt, and then changed his mind and

instead fumbled for a light. It wasn't easy to find it and still keep

her pinned.

"Be quiet or I'll clip you," he growled.

She lay still.

* * * * *

He found the light and shone it on her face. It was good to look at,

that face, but it wasn't at all familiar. He had trouble keeping his

eyes from straying. Her dress was torn, and what she wore underneath

was torn too.

"Seen enough?" she asked coldly.

"Put that way, I haven't." He couldn't force his voice to be

matter-of-fact--it wouldn't behave.

She stared angrily at the light in her eyes. "I knew you'd be back,"

she said. "I thought I could get you before you got me, but you're too

fast." Her mouth trembled. "This time make it permanent. I don't want

to be tormented again like this."

[Illustration]

He let her go and sat up. He was trembling, too, but not for the same

reason. He turned the light away from her eyes.

"Ever consider that you could be mistaken?" he asked. "You're not the

only one it happens to."

She lay there blinking at him, eyes adjusting to the changed light.

She fumbled at the torn dress, which wouldn't stay where she put it.

"You too?" she said with a vast lack of surprise. "When?"

"They found me here two weeks ago. This is the first time I've come

back."

"Patterns," she said. "There are always patterns in what we do." Her

attitude toward him had changed drastically, he could see it in her

face. "I've been out three weeks longer." She sat up and leaned

closer. She didn't seem to be thinking about the same things that had

been on her mind only seconds before.

He stood up and helped her to her feet. She was near and showed no

inclination to move away. This was something Borgenese hadn't

mentioned, and there was nothing in his re-education to prepare him

for this sensation, but he liked it. He couldn't see her very well,

now that the light was turned off, but she was almost touching him.

"We're in the same situation, I guess." She sighed. "I'm lonely and a

little afraid. Come into my place and we'll talk."

He followed her. She turned into a dwelling that from the outside

seemed identical to the others. Inside, it wasn't quite the same. He

couldn't say in what way it was different, but he didn't think it was

the one he'd been found in.

That torn dress bothered him--not that he wanted her to pin it up. The

tapes hadn't been very explicit about the beauties of the female body,

but he thought he knew what they'd left out.

She was conscious of his gaze and smiled. It was not an invitation, it

was a request, and he didn't mind obeying. She slid into his arms and

kissed him. He was glad about the limitations of re-education. There

were some things a man ought to learn for himself.

She looked up at him. "Maybe you should tell me your name," she said.

"Not that it means much in our case."

"Luis Obispo," he said, holding her.

"I had more trouble, I couldn't choose until two days ago." She kissed

him again, hard and deliberately. It gave her enough time to jerk the

gun out of his pocket.

She slammed it against his ribs. "Stand back," she said, and meant

it.

* * * * *

Luis stared bewilderedly at her. She was desirable, more than he had

imagined and for a variety of reasons. Her emotions had been real, he

was sure of that, not feigned for the purpose of taking the gun away.

But she had changed again in a fraction of a second. Her face was

twisted with an effort at self-control.

"What's the matter?" he asked. He tried to make his voice gentle, but

it wouldn't come out that way. The retrogression process had sharpened

all his reactions--this one too.

"The name I finally arrived at was--Luise Obispo," she said.

He started. The same as his, except feminine! This was more than he'd

dared hope for. A clue--and this girl, who he suddenly realized,

without any cynicism about "love at first sight," because the tapes

hadn't included it, meant something to him.

"Maybe you're my wife," he said tentatively.

"Don't count on it," she said wearily. "It would have been better if

we were strangers--then it wouldn't matter what we did. Now there are

too many factors, and I can't choose."

"It has to be," he argued. "Look--the same name, and so close together

in time and place, and we were attracted instantly--"

"Go away," she said, and the gun didn't waver. It was not a threat

that he could ignore. He left.

She was wrong in making him leave, completely wrong. He couldn't say

how he knew, but he was certain. But he couldn't prove it, and she

wasn't likely to accept his unsubstantiated word.

He leaned weakly against the door. It was like that. Retrogression had

left him with an adult body and sharper receptiveness. And after that

followed an urge to live fully. He had a lot of knowledge, but it

didn't extend to this sphere of human behavior.

Inside he could hear her moving around faintly, an emotional

anticlimax. It wasn't just frustrated sex desire, though that played a

part. They had known each other previously--the instant attraction

they'd had for each other was proof, leaving aside the names. Lord,

he'd trade his unknown identity to have her. He should have taken

another name--any other name would have been all right.

It wasn't because she was the first woman he'd seen, or the woman he

had first re-seen. There had been nurses, some of them beautiful, and

he'd paid no attention to them. But Luise Obispo was part of his

former life--and he didn't know what part. The reactions were there,

but until he could find out why, he was denied access to the

satisfactions.

From a very narrow angle, and only from that angle, he could see that

there was still a light inside. It was dim, and if a person didn't

know, he might pass by and not notice it.

His former observation about the Shelters was incorrect. Every

dwelling might be occupied and he couldn't tell unless he examined

them individually.

He stirred. The woman was a clue to his problem, but the clue itself

was a far more urgent problem. Though his identity was important, he

could build another life without it and the new life might not be

worse than the one from which he had been forcibly removed.

Perhaps he was over-reacting, but he didn't think so: _his new life

had to include this woman_.

He wasn't equipped to handle the emotion. He stumbled away from the

door and found an unoccupied dwelling and went in without turning on

the lights and lay down on the bed.

In the morning, he knew he had been here before. In the darkness he

had chosen unknowingly but also unerringly. This was the place in

which he had been retrogressed.

It was here that the police had picked him up.

* * * * *

The counselor looked sleepily out of the screen. "I wish you people

didn't have so much energy," he complained. Then he looked again and

the sleepiness vanished. "I see you found it the first time."

Luis knew it himself, because there was a difference from the dwelling

Luise lived in--not much, but perceptible to him. The counselor,

however, must have a phenomenal memory to distinguish it from hundreds

of others almost like it.

Borgenese noticed the expression and smiled. "I'm not an eidetic, if

that's what you think. There's a number on the set you're calling from

and it shows on my screen. You can't see it."

They would have something like that, Luis thought. "Why didn't you

tell me this was it before I came?"

"We were pretty sure you'd find it by yourself. People who've just

been retroed usually do. It's better to do it on your own. Our object

is to have you recover your personality. If we knew who you were, we

could set up a program to guide you to it faster. As it is, if we help

you too much, you turn into a carbon copy of the man who's advising

you."

Luis nodded. Give a man his adult body and mind and turn him loose on

the problems which confronted him, and he would come up with adult

solutions. It was better that way.

But he hadn't called to discuss that. "There's another person living

in the Shelters," he said. "You found her three weeks before you found

me."

"So you've met her already? Fine. We were hoping you would." Borgenese

chuckled. "Let's see if I can describe her. Apparent age, about

twenty-three; that means that she was originally between twenty-six or

thirty-eight, with the probability at the lower figure. A good body,

as you are probably well aware, and a striking face. Somewhat

oversexed at the moment, but that's all right--so are you."

He saw the expression on Luis's face and added quickly: "You needn't

worry. Draw a parallel with your own experience. There were pretty

nurses all around you in retro-therapy, and I doubt that you noticed

that they were female. That's normal for a person in your position,

and it's the same with her.

"It works this way: you're both unsure of yourselves and can't react

to those who have some control over their emotions. When you meet each

other, you can sense that neither has made the necessary adjustments,

and so you are free to release your true feelings."

He smiled broadly. "At the moment, you two are the only ones who have

been retroed recently. You won't have any competition for six months

or so, until you begin to feel comfortable in your new life. By then,

you should know how well you really like each other.

"Of course tomorrow, or even today, we might find another person in

the Shelter. If it's a man, you'll have to watch out; if a woman,

you'll have too much companionship. As it is, I think you're very

lucky."

Yeah, he was lucky--or would be if things were actually like that.

Yesterday he would have denied it; but today, he'd be willing to

settle for it, if he could get it.

"I don't think you understand," he said. "She took the same name that

I did."

Borgenese's smile flipped over fast, and the other side was a frown.

For a long time he sat there scowling out of the screen. "That's a

hell of a thing to tell me before breakfast," he said. "Are you sure?

She couldn't decide on a name before she left."