Forget Me Nearly Part 5

If you are looking for Forget Me Nearly Part 5 you are coming to the right place. Forget Me Nearly is a Webnovel created by Floyd L. Wallace. This lightnovel is currently completed.

Late in the afternoon, he headed toward the center of town. He was riding the belt when he saw Luise coming out of a tall office building.

He hopped off and let her pa.s.s, boarding it again and following her at a distance. As soon as they were out of the business district, he began to edge closer.

A few blocks from the Shelter she got off the belt and waited, turning around and smiling directly at him. In the interim her att.i.tude toward him had changed, evidently--for the better, as far as he was concerned. He couldn't ignore her and didn't want to. He stepped off the belt.

"h.e.l.lo," she said. "I think you were following me."

"I was. Do you mind?"

"I guess I don't." She walked along with him. "Others followed me, but I discouraged them."

She was worth following, but it was not that which was strange. Now she seemed composed and extraordinarily friendly, a complete reversal from last night. Had she learned something during the day which changed her opinion of him? He hoped she had.

She stopped at the edge of the Shelter area. "Do you live here?"

Learned something? She seemed to have forgotten.

He nodded.

"For the same reason?"

His throat tightened. He had told her all that last night. Couldn't she remember?

"Yes," he said.

"I thought so. That's why I didn't mind your following me."

Here was the attraction factor that Borgenese had spoken of; it was functioning again, for which he was grateful. But still, why? And why didn't she remember last night?

They walked on until she came to her dwelling. She paused at the door.

"I have a feeling I should know who you are, but I just can't recall.

Isn't that terrible?"

It was--frightening. Her ident.i.ty was apparently incompletely established; it kept slipping backward to a time she hadn't met him.

He couldn't build anything enduring on that; each meeting with her would begin as if nothing had happened before.

Would the same be true of him?

He looked at her. The torn dress hadn't been repaired, as he'd thought at first; it had been replaced by the robots that came out of the wall at night. They'd done a good job fitting her, but with her body that was easy.

It was frightening and it wasn't. At least this time he didn't have a handicap. He opened his mouth to tell her his name, and then closed it. He wasn't going to make that mistake again. "I haven't decided on a name," he said.

"It was that way with me too." She gazed at him and he could feel his insides sloshing around. "Well, man with no name, do you want to come in? We can have dinner together."

He entered. But dinner was late that night. He had known it would be.

In the morning light, he sat up and put his hand on her. She smiled in her sleep and squirmed closer. There were compensations for being n.o.body, he supposed, and this was one of them. He got up quietly and dressed without waking her. There were a number of things he wanted to discuss, but somehow there hadn't been time last night. He would have to talk to her later today.

He slipped out of the house and went across the court into his own.

The screen he had ripped apart had been repaired and put back in place. A voice chimed out as he entered: "A call came while you were gone."

"Let's have it."

The voice descended the scale and became that of the store manager.

"The gun you brought in was sold six months ago to Dorn Starret, resident of Ceres and proprietor of a small gallium mine there. That's all the information on record. I trust it will be satisfactory."

Luis sat down. It was. He could trace the man or have him traced, though the last might not be necessary.

The name meant something to him--just what he couldn't say. Dorn Starret, owner of a gallium mine on Ceres. The mine might or might not be of consequence; gallium was used in a number of industrial processes, but beyond that was not particularly valuable.

He closed his eyes to concentrate. The name slid into vacant nerve cells that were responsive; slowly a picture formed, nebulous and incomplete at first. There was a mouth and then there were eyes, each feature bringing others into focus, unfolding as a germ cell divides and grows, calling into existence an entire creature. The picture was nearly complete.

Still with eyes closed, he looked at the man he remembered. Dorn Starret, five-eleven, one hundred and ninety, flesh that had once been muscular and firm. Age, thirty-seven; black hair that was beginning to recede from his forehead. The face was harder to define--strong, though slightly hard, it was perhaps good looking. It was the eyes which were at fault, Luis decided--glinting often--and there were lines on the face that ought not to be there.

There was another thing that set the man apart. Not clothing; that was conventional, though better than average. Luis stared into his memory until he was able to see it. _Unquestionably the man was left-handed._ The picture was too clear to permit a mistake on that detail.

He knew the man, had seen him often. How and in what context? He waited, but nothing else came.

Luis opened his eyes. He would recognize the man if he ever saw him.

This was the man who owned the gun, presumably had shot him with it, and then had hidden it here in this room.

He thought about it vainly. By itself, the name couldn't take him back through all past a.s.sociations with the man, so he pa.s.sed from the man to Ceres. Here he was better equipped; re-education tapes had replaced his former knowledge of the subject.

The asteroid belt was not rigidly policed; if there was a place in the System in which legal niceties were not strictly observed, it was there. What could he deduce from that? Nothing perhaps; there were many people living in the belt who were engaged in legitimate work: miners, prospectors, scientific investigators. But with rising excitement, he realized that Dorn Starret was not one of these.

He was a criminal. The gallium mine was merely an attempt to cover himself with respectability. How did Luis know that? He wasn't sure; his thought processes were hidden and erratic; but he knew.

Dorn Starret was a criminal--but the information wasn't completely satisfactory. What had caused the man to retrogress Luis and Luise Obispo? That still had to be determined.

But it did suggest this: as a habitual criminal, the man was more than ordinarily dangerous.

Luis sat there a while longer, but he had recalled everything that would come out of the original stimulus. If he wanted more, he would have to dig up other facts or make further contacts. But at least it wasn't hopeless--even without the police, he had learned this much.

He went over the room thoroughly once more. If there was anything hidden, he couldn't find it.

He crossed the court to Luise's dwelling. She was gone, but there was a note on the table. He picked it up and read it:

_Dear man with no name:_

_I suppose you were here last night, though I'm so mixed up I can't be sure; there's so little of memory or reality to base anything on. I wanted to talk to you before I left but I guess, like me, you're out investigating._

_There's always a danger that neither of us will like what we find. What if I'm married to another person and the same with you? Suppose ... but there are countless suppositions--these are the risks we take. It's intolerable not to know who I am, especially since the knowledge is so close. But of course you know that._

Forget Me Nearly Part 4

If you are looking for Forget Me Nearly Part 4 you are coming to the right place. Forget Me Nearly is a Webnovel created by Floyd L. Wallace. This lightnovel is currently completed.

"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 plat.i.tudes, 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 compet.i.tor'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 b.u.t.ton which projected an image of the circuit onto a screen.

The manager was enjoying himself. "Everybody's ent.i.tled 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.

There was nothing to do except to be as observant as he could. He wandered through the town, just looking. He saw nothing that seemed familiar. Negative evidence, of course, but it indicated he hadn't lived here before.

Before what? Before he had been retrogressed. He had been brought here from elsewhere, the same as Luise.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

He visited the s.p.a.ceport. Again the evidence was negative; there was not a ship the sight of which tripped his memory. It had been too much to hope for; if he had been brought in by s.p.a.ceship, it wouldn't still be around for him to recognize.

Forget Me Nearly Part 3

If you are looking for Forget Me Nearly Part 3 you are coming to the right place. Forget Me Nearly is a Webnovel created by Floyd L. Wallace. This lightnovel is currently completed.

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 s.e.x 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 ident.i.ty 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 pa.s.s 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 ident.i.ty 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 overs.e.xed 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 compet.i.tion 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 h.e.l.l of a thing to tell me before breakfast," he said. "Are you sure?

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

"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 ident.i.ty 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.

Forget Me Nearly Part 2

If you are looking for Forget Me Nearly Part 2 you are coming to the right place. Forget Me Nearly is a Webnovel created by Floyd L. Wallace. This lightnovel is currently completed.

But something significant may show up. If you're serious, and I think you are, it's to your advantage to check back every day or so."

"I'm serious," said Luis. "I'll keep in touch."

There wasn't much to pack. The clothing he wore had been supplied by the police. Ordinary enough; it would pa.s.s on the street without comment. It would do until he could afford to get better.

He went down to the desk and picked up his money. It was more than he'd expected--the average man didn't carry this much in his pocket.

He wondered about it briefly as he signed the receipt and walked out of retro-therapy. The counselor had said it was an average amount, but it wasn't.

He stood in the street in the dusk trying to orient himself.

Perhaps the money wasn't so puzzling. An average amount for those brought into therapy for treatment, perhaps. Borgenese had said a high proportion were suicides. Such a person would want to start over again minus fears and frustrations, but not completely penniless. If he had money he'd want to take it with him, though not so much that it could be traced, since that would defeat the original purpose.

The pattern was logical--suicides were those with a fair sum of money.

This was the fact which inclined Borgenese to the view he obviously held.

Luis Obispo stood there uncertainly. Did he want to find out? His lips thinned--he did. In spite of Borgenese, there were other ways to account for the money he had. One of them was this: he was an important man, accustomed to handling large sums of money.

He started out. He was in a small city of a few hundred thousand on the extreme southern coast of California. In the last few days he'd studied maps of it; he knew where he was going.

When he got there, the Shelters were dark. He didn't know what he had expected, but it wasn't this. Reflection showed him that he hadn't thought about it clearly. The mere existence of Shelters indicated an economic level in which few people would either want or need to make use of that which was provided freely.

He skirted the area. He'd been found in one of the Shelters--which one he didn't know. Perhaps he should have checked the record before he came here.

No, this was better. Clues, he was convinced, were almost non-existent. He had to rely on his body and mind; but not in the ordinary way. He was particularly sensitive to impressions he had received before; the way he had learned things in therapy proved that; but if he tried to force them, he could be led astray. The wisest thing was to react naturally, almost without volition. He should be able to recognize the Shelter he'd been found in without trouble. From that, he could work back.

That was the theory--but it wasn't happening. He circled the area, and there was nothing to which he responded more than vaguely.

He would have to go closer.

He crossed the street. The plan of the Shelters was simple; an area two blocks long and one block wide, heavily planted with shrubs and small trees. In the center was an S-shaped continuous structure divided into a number of small dwelling units.

Luis walked along one wing of the building, turned at the corner and turned again. It was quite dark. He supposed that was why he wasn't reacting to anything. But his senses were sharper than he realized.

There was a rustle behind him, and instinctively he flung himself forward, flat on the ground.

A pink spot appeared, low on the wall next to him. It had been aimed at his legs. The paint crackled faintly and the pink spot faded. He rolled away fast.

A dark body loomed past him and dropped where he'd been. There was an exclamation of surprise when the unknown found there was no one there.

Luis grunted with satisfaction--this might be only a stickup, but he was getting action faster than he'd expected. He reached out and took hold of a leg and drew the a.s.sailant to him. A hard object clipped the side of his head, and he grasped that too.

The shape of the gun was familiar. He tore it loose. This wasn't any stickup! Once was enough to be retrogressed, and he'd had his share.

Next time it was going to be the other guy. Physically, he was more than a match for his attacker. He twisted his body and pinned the struggling form to the ground.

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 b.u.t.t, 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."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

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 att.i.tude 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.

Forget Me Nearly Part 1

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Forget Me Nearly.

by Floyd L. Wallace.

_What sort of world was it, he puzzled, that wouldn't help victims find out whether they had been murdered or had committed suicide?_

The police counselor leaned forward and tapped the small nameplate on his desk, which said: _Val Borgenese._ "That's my name," he said. "Who are you?"

[Ill.u.s.tration]

The man across the desk shook his head. "I don't know," he said indistinctly.

"Sometimes a simple approach works," said the counselor, shoving aside the nameplate. "But not often. We haven't found anything that's effective in more than a small percentage of cases." He blinked thoughtfully. "Names are difficult. A name is like clothing, put on or taken off, recognizable but not part of the person--the first thing forgotten and the last remembered."

The man with no name said nothing.

"Try pet names," suggested Borgenese. "You don't have to be sure--just say the first thing you think of. It may be something your parents called you when you were a child."

The man stared vacantly, closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them and mumbled something.

"What?" asked Borgenese.

"Putsy," said the man more distinctly. "The only thing I can think of is Putsy."

The counselor smiled. "That's a pet name, of course, but it doesn't help much. We can't trace it, and I don't think you'd want it as a permanent name." He saw the expression on the man's face and added hastily: "We haven't given up, if that's what you're thinking. But it's not easy to determine your ident.i.ty. The most important source of information is your mind, and that was at the two year level when we found you. The fact that you recalled the word Putsy is an indication."

"Fingerprints," said the man vaguely. "Can't you trace me through fingerprints?"

"That's another clue," said the counselor. "Not fingerprints, but the fact that you thought of them." He jotted something down. "I'll have to check those re-education tapes. They may be defective by now, we've run them so many times. Again, it may be merely that your mind refused to accept the proper information."

The man started to protest, but Borgenese cut him off. "Fingerprints were a fair means of identification in the Twentieth Century, but this is the Twenty-second Century."

The counselor then sat back. "You're confused now. You have a lot of information you don't know how to use yet. It was given to you fast, and your mind hasn't fully absorbed it and put it in order. Sometimes it helps if you talk out your problems."

"I don't know if I have a problem." The man brushed his hand slowly across his eyes. "Where do I start?"

"Let me do it for you," suggested Borgenese. "You ask questions when you feel like it. It may help you."

He paused, "You were found two weeks ago in the Shelters. You know what those are?"

The man nodded, and Borgenese went on: "Shelter and food for anyone who wants or needs it. Nothing fancy, of course, but no one has to ask or apply; he just walks in and there's a place to sleep and periodically food is provided. It's a favorite place to put people who've been retroed."

The man looked up. "Retroed?"

"Slang," said Borgenese. "The retrogression gun ionizes animal tissue, nerve cells particularly. Aim it at a man's legs and the nerves in that area are drained of energy and his muscles won't hold him up. He falls down.

"Aim it at his head and give him the smallest charge the gun is adjustable to, and his most recent knowledge is subtracted from his memory. Give him the full charge, and he is swept back to a childish or infantile age level. The exact age he reaches is dependent on his physical and mental condition at the time he's retroed.

"Theoretically it's possible to kill with the retrogression gun. The person can be taken back to a stage where there's not enough nervous organization to sustain the life process.

"However, life is tenacious. As the lower levels are reached, it takes increasing energy to subtract from anything that's left. Most people who want to get rid of someone are satisfied to leave the victim somewhere between the mental ages of one and four. For practical purposes, the man they knew is dead--or retroed, as they say."

"Then that's what they did to me," said the man. "They retroed me and left me in the Shelter. How long was I there?"

Borgenese shrugged. "Who knows? That's what makes it difficult. A day, or two months. A child of two or three can feed himself, and no record is kept since the place is free. Also, it's cleaned automatically."

"I know that now that you mention it," said the man. "It's just that it's hard to remember."

"You see how it is," said the counselor. "We can't check our files against a date when someone disappeared, because we don't know that date except within very broad limits." He tapped his pen on the desk.

"Do you object to a question?"

"Go ahead."

"How many people in the Solar System?"

The man thought with quiet desperation. "Fourteen to sixteen billion."

The counselor was pleased. "That's right. You're beginning to use some of the information we've put back into your mind. Earth, Mars and Venus are the main population centers. But there are also Mercury and the satellites of Jupiter and Saturn, as well as the asteroids. We can check to see where you might have come from, but there are so many places and people that you can imagine the results."

"There must be _some_ way," the man said painfully. "Pictures, fingerprints, something."

"Something," Borgenese nodded. "But probably not for quite a while.

There's another factor, you see. It's a shock, but you've got to face it. And the funny thing is that you'll never be better able to than now."

He rocked back. "Take the average person, full of unsuspected anxiety, even the happiest and most successful. Expose him to the retrogression gun. Tensions and frustrations are drained away.

"The structure of an adult is still there, but it's empty, waiting to be filled. Meanwhile the life of the organism goes on, but it's not the same. Lines on the face disappear, the expression alters drastically, new cell growth occurs here and there throughout the body. Do you see what that means?"

The man frowned. "I suppose no one can recognize me."

"That's right. And it's not only your face that changes. You may grow taller, but never shorter. If your hair was gray, it may darken, but not the reverse."

"Then I'm younger too?"

"In a sense, though it's actually not a rejuvenation process at all.

The extra tension that everyone carries with him has been removed, and the body merely takes up the slack.

"Generally, the apparent age is made less. A person of middle age or under seems to be three to fifteen years younger than before. You appear to be about twenty-seven, but you may actually be nearer forty.

You see, we don't even know what age group to check.

"And it's the same with fingerprints. They've been altered by the retrogression process. Not a great deal, but enough to make identification impossible."

The Suppression of the African Slave Trade to the United States of America Part 67

If you are looking for The Suppression of the African Slave Trade to the United States of America Part 67 you are coming to the right place. The Suppression of the African Slave Trade to the United States of America is a Webnovel created by W. E. B. Du Bois. This lightnovel is currently completed.

United States Congress. Annals of Congress, 1789-1824; Congressional Debates, 1824-37; Congressional Globe, 1833-73; Congressional Record, 1873-; Doc.u.ments (House and Senate); Executive Doc.u.ments (House and Senate); Journals (House and Senate); Miscellaneous Doc.u.ments (House and Senate); Reports (House and Senate); Statutes at Large.

United States Supreme Court. Reports of Decisions.

Charles W. Upham. Speech in the House of Representatives, Ma.s.sachusetts, on the Compromises of the Const.i.tution, with an Appendix containing the Ordinance of 1787. Salem, 1849.

Virginia State Convention. Proceedings and Debates, 1829-30. Richmond, 1830.

G. Wadleigh. Slavery in New Hampshire. (In _Granite Monthly_, VI. 377.)

Emory Washburn. Extinction of Slavery in Ma.s.sachusetts. (In Proceedings of the Ma.s.sachusetts Historical Society, May, 1857. Boston, 1859.)

William B. Weeden. Economic and Social History of New England, 1620-1789. 2 vols. Boston, 1890.

Henry Wheaton. Enquiry into the Validity of the British Claim to a Right of Visitation and Search of American Vessels suspected to be engaged in the African Slave-Trade. Philadelphia, 1842.

William H. Whitmore. The Colonial Laws of Ma.s.sachusetts. Reprinted from the Edition of 1660, with the Supplements to 1772. Containing also the Body of Liberties of 1641. Boston, 1889.

George W. Williams. History of the Negro Race in America from 1619 to 1880. 2 vols. New York, 1883.

Henry Wilson. History of the Antislavery Measures of the Thirty-seventh and Thirty-eighth United-States Congresses, 1861-64. Boston, 1864.

----. History of the Rise and Fall of the Slave Power in America. 3 vols. Boston, 1872-7.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The Reports of the Secretary of the Navy are found among the doc.u.ments accompanying the annual messages of the President.

The Suppression of the African Slave Trade to the United States of America Part 66

If you are looking for The Suppression of the African Slave Trade to the United States of America Part 66 you are coming to the right place. The Suppression of the African Slave Trade to the United States of America is a Webnovel created by W. E. B. Du Bois. This lightnovel is currently completed.

Jedidiah Morse. A Discourse ... July 14, 1808, in Grateful Celebration of the Abolition of the African Slave-Trade by the Governments of the United States, Great Britain and Denmark. Boston, 1808.

John Pennington, Lord Muncaster. Historical Sketches of the Slave Trade and its effect on Africa, addressed to the People of Great Britain.

London, 1792.

Edward Needles. An Historical Memoir of the Pennsylvania Society, for Promoting the Abolition of Slavery. Philadelphia, 1848.

New England Anti-Slavery Convention. Proceedings at Boston, May 27, 1834. Boston, 1834.

Hezekiah Niles (_et al._), editors. The Weekly Register, etc. 71 vols.

Baltimore, 1811-1847. (For Slave-Trade, see I. 224; III. 189; V. 30, 46; VI. 152; VII. 54, 96, 286, 350; VIII. 136, 190, 262, 302, Supplement, p.

155; IX. 60, 78, 133, 172, 335; X. 296, 400, 412, 427; XI. 15, 108, 156, 222, 336, 399; XII. 58, 60, 103, 122, 159, 219, 237, 299, 347, 397, 411.)

Robert Norris. A Short Account of the African Slave-Trade. A new edition corrected. London, 1789.

E.B. O'Callaghan, translator. Voyages of the Slavers St. John and Arms of Amsterdam, 1659, 1663; with additional papers ill.u.s.trative of the Slave Trade under the Dutch. Albany, 1867. (New York Colonial Tracts, No. 3.)

Frederick Law Olmsted. A Journey in the Back Country. New York, 1860.

----. A Journey in the Seaboard Slave States, etc. New York, 1856.

----. A Journey through Texas, etc. New York, 1857.

----. The Cotton Kingdom, etc. 2 vols. New York, 1861.

Sir W.G. Ouseley. Notes on the Slave Trade; with Remarks on the Measures adopted for its Suppression. London, 1850.

Pennsylvania Historical Society. The Charlemagne Tower Collection of American Colonial Laws. (Bibliography.) Philadelphia, 1890.

Edward A. Pollard. Black Diamonds gathered in the Darkey Homes of the South. New York, 1859.

William F. Poole. Anti-Slavery Opinions before the Year 1800. To which is appended a fac-simile reprint of Dr. George Buchanan's Oration on the Moral and Political Evil of Slavery, etc. Cincinnati, 1873.

Robert Proud. History of Pennsylvania. 2 vols. Philadelphia. 1797-8.

[James Ramsay.] An Inquiry into the Effects of putting a Stop to the African Slave Trade, and of granting Liberty to the Slaves in the British Sugar Colonies. London, 1784.

[James Ramsey.] Objections to the Abolition of the Slave Trade, with Answers, etc. Second edition. London, 1788.

[John Ranby.] Observations on the Evidence given before the Committees of the Privy Council and House of Commons in Support of the Bill for Abolishing the Slave Trade. London, 1791.

Remarks on the Colonization of the Western Coast of Africa, by the Free Negroes of the United States, etc. New York, 1850.

Right of Search. Reply to an "American's Examination" of the "Right of Search, etc." By an Englishman. London, 1842.

William Noel Sainsbury, editor. Calendar of State Papers, Colonial Series, America and the West Indies, 1574-1676. 4 vols. London, 1860-93.

George Sauer. La Traite et l'Esclavage des Noirs. London, 1863.

George S. Sawyer. Southern Inst.i.tutes; or, An Inquiry into the Origin and Early Prevalence of Slavery and the Slave-Trade. Philadelphia, 1858.

Selections from the Revised Statutes: Containing all the Laws relating to Slaves, etc. New York, 1830.

Johann J. Sell. Versuch einer Geschichte des Negersclavenhandels. Halle, 1791.

[Granville Sharp.] Extract of a Letter to a Gentleman in Maryland; Wherein is demonstrated the extreme wickedness of tolerating the Slave Trade. Fourth edition. London, 1806.

A Short Account of that part of Africa Inhabited by the Negroes, ... and the Manner by which the Slave Trade is carried on. Third edition.

London, 1768.

A Short Sketch of the Evidence for the Abolition of the Slave-Trade.

Philadelphia, 1792.

Joseph Sidney. An Oration commemorative of the Abolition of the Slave Trade in the United States.... Jan. 2. 1809. New York, 1809.

[A Slave Holder.] Remarks upon Slavery and the Slave-Trade, addressed to the Hon. Henry Clay. 1839.

The Slave Trade in New York. (In the _Continental Monthly_, January, 1862, p. 86.)

Joseph Smith. A Descriptive Catalogue of Friends' Books. (Bibliography.) 2 vols. London, 1867.

Capt. William Snelgrave. A New Account of some Parts of Guinea, and the Slave-Trade. London, 1734.

South Carolina. General a.s.sembly (House), 1857. Report of the Special Committee of the House of Representatives ... on so much of the Message of His Excellency Gov. Jas. H. Adams, as relates to Slavery and the Slave Trade. Columbia, S.C., 1857.

L.W. Spratt. A Protest from South Carolina against a Decision of the Southern Congress: Slave Trade in the Southern Congress. (In Littell's _Living Age_, Third Series, LXVIII. 801.)

----. Speech upon the Foreign Slave Trade, before the Legislature of South Carolina. Columbia, S.C., 1858.

----. The Foreign Slave Trade the Source of Political Power, etc.

Charleston, 1858.

William St.i.th. The History of the First Discovery and Settlement of Virginia. Virginia and London, 1753.

George M. Stroud. A Sketch of the Laws relating to Slavery in the Several States of the United States of America. Philadelphia, 1827.

James Swan. A Dissuasion to Great-Britain and the Colonies: from the Slave-Trade to Africa. Shewing the Injustice thereof, etc. Revised and Abridged. Boston, 1773.

F.T. Texugo. A Letter on the Slave Trade still carried on along the Eastern Coast of Africa, etc. London, 1839.

R. Thorpe. A View of the Present Increase of the Slave Trade, the Cause of that Increase, and a mode for effecting its total Annihilation.

London, 1818.

Jesse Torrey. A Portraiture of Domestic Slavery ... and a Project of Colonial Asylum for Free Persons of Colour. Philadelphia, 1817.

Drs. Tucker and Belknap. Queries respecting the Slavery and Emanc.i.p.ation of Negroes in Ma.s.sachusetts, proposed by the Hon. Judge Tucker of Virginia, and answered by the Rev. Dr. Belknap. (In Collections of the Ma.s.sachusetts Historical Society, First Series, IV. 191.)

David Turnbull. Travels in the West. Cuba; with Notices of Porto Rico, and the Slave Trade. London, 1840.