He paused, and Susan said, “Go on, sir.”
“Virginia is Chelle’s mother, as I said a moment ago. That’s why—”
Vanessa said, “A bad mother. You know my name and I know you went down into that dreadful warehouse place with me, but I don’t remember yours. Will you forgive me? I’ve had a terrible shock. I lost … l-lost—”
Skip intervened. “This is Susan Clerkin, Virginia. She’s my confidential secretary, and she joined Mick Tooley here after Mick set out to rescue us. We’re indebted to her, and to Rick, too.”
Johnson said, “I probably know less than anybody about what’s been happening on this ship. I know Susan pretty well and know the ship was hijacked, but that’s as far as I go.”
“Virginia’s had some memories wiped,” Skip told him. “You were in Military Intelligence, so you probably know more about that than anyone here.”
Johnson shrugged. “We don’t like to do it and don’t do it unless we have to. If you’re asking whether I’ve done it myself—”
“I’m not.”
“The answer is that I was never authorized. Medical personnel only. If you’re asking whether I myself have been wiped, the answer is no. There are no blanks in my memory.”
Susan said, “How is it done?”
“You should ask a doctor, not me. Roughly, then. You can record a person’s memories and personality by picking up minute electronic impulses in the brain and recording them. You stimulate all the parts of the brain until you have everything in digital form. When you’ve got it, you wipe the forebrain by countering its impulses. After that you edit the record you made, generally by searching out words and images. Maybe you look for Operation Grief, for example, then for mental images of an armed drone. When you find things you want forgotten, you delete.”
Susan said, “And then you upload the data back into the brain?”
“Exactly.” Johnson paused, looking troubled. “It’s not perfect, you understand, and it’s highly dependent on the skill of the operator. Sometimes this bit or that bit escapes, so to speak.”
Skip said, “I didn’t know that.”
Johnson shrugged. “Most people don’t, but it happens. I know you’re an attorney. Susan and I talked a lot on the boat, and she told me quite a bit about you. Let’s say we’ve got you and we want to wipe everything related to a conference you had three years ago with a Ms. Smith. We know more or less what Ms. Smith must have told you, and what you must have told her. We search for that stuff in your record and delete it. We look for mental images of her and delete those, too.”
Skip nodded.
“Swell, but suppose that while she was with you, she asked to use your private restroom. You said yes, and thought over what she’d been saying while she was gone. When you thought about it, you felt certain emotions. Okay, after you were uploaded and released as wiped, you might have a memory you couldn’t quite place, a memory of sitting alone in your office and feeling certain emotions while hearing a toilet flush.”
Tooley asked, “Are you saying that something like that could be dangerous? A serious failure?”
Johnson nodded. “Suppose there were things on your desk then, a picture of an old man and a clock showing date and time.”
Tooley nodded. “I’ve got it.”
“When I signed with you, I told you about the patrols—that we were sent out to take prisoners.”
“Right.”
“I made arrests, too, and questioned the people I’d arrested. That was the main thing I did, keep tabs on suspects, sweat them after they’d been arrested, and report what I’d learned. Let’s leave the Os out of this. They don’t think the way we do, and they don’t do any wiping. Greater Eastasia does a lot of it. They send in spies who’ve forgotten they’re spies, people who do certain things when the time comes without knowing why they do them. We looked for indications of that. Once you suspect somebody, you can download his mind and run searches. Swell, but the equipment’s costly and delicate—we had two setups and one was usually out of service—and the whole thing can take a day or longer. So guys like me look for subjects whose minds might be worth searching, and try to find out enough to give the people who would do it some direction.”
“We need to do some searching ourselves now,” Skip said. He took out his pistol and laid it on a small table at the front of the room. “I think everybody here is armed. I know most of you are. Get out your guns, please, put them on this table with mine, and go back to your chairs. I ask it as a gesture of good faith.”
Johnson said, “What if we won’t comply?”
“Then you’ll be asked to leave.”
Johnson nodded, took out a pistol that looked very much like Chelle’s, and laid it on the table beside Skip’s.
Skip said, “Susan?”
She nodded, rose, and laid her snub revolver there; her hand shook a little. Susan’s revolver was followed by Mick Tooley’s big, dark green semiautomatic.
Vanessa was pushing up her sleeve. Skip said, “Do me a favor, Virginia. Just take off that wrist holster and put the whole affair on the table.”
Vanessa did.
“Most of you will have observed Virginia’s arm. It’s badly scarred, and the scars are fresh.”
Vanessa had pulled her sleeve back down. “I try to keep them covered up. I mean, at dinner people wouldn’t … You understand, I’m sure.”
“I do.” Skip smiled, making it reassuring. “How did you get them?”
“I have no idea.”
He nodded.
Johnson said, “You didn’t do that business with our guns just so we could see this poor lady’s arm.”
“No. I wanted to watch your faces as you handled your guns. Someone tried to kill Virginia before she boarded. Mick knows about it. A man with a steak knife came up behind her and stabbed her in the back.”
Johnson gave a low whistle.
“I have reason to believe—reasons I won’t go into now—that she had seen her attacker from behind. She saw him only briefly as he sat eating in a restaurant.”
“Eating steak,” Johnson said.
“She didn’t see what he was eating, but you’re probably right. Whatever it was, a third person saw her and told her attacker. He got up—I don’t know this, but it seems very probable—and followed her, having filched the steak knife from the restaurant. He may have hidden it in a newspaper. Some of the witnesses to the stabbing say her attacker had one.”
“Do you have a good description?”
“No,” Skip said. “Mick?”
Tooley shrugged. “Everything, sir?”
“Yes. What you told me, and anything else you may not have said. Empty the bag.”
“Okay. Two described him as tall and thin. One said he was average height. Two said white and one Latino. Good clothes—they all agreed on that. One thought he was carrying a newspaper, one thought it was an attaché case, and one didn’t notice that he was carrying anything.”
Johnson said, “Go on.”
“That’s it, except for the knife. The police have it, but a man who works for us got to see it. It was a steak knife, he said, just as Mr. Grison told you. Slightly curved blade, serrated edge, sharp point. A black handle of some kind of synthetic.” Tooley turned to Skip. “I had our friend check restaurants within walking distance of the attack. He found two that used knives like the one the cops showed him. Do you want them?”
Skip shook his head. “After she was stabbed, Virginia was taken to a hospital. She left it in the morning, went to her apartment, packed in a hurry, and fled. She was afraid, obviously, that the man who had stabbed her would track her down and try again.”
Tooley and Johnson nodded.
“I went to her apartment soon after she left, as I told Mick earlier. I found an object on the floor there, an object that’s in my pocket now. I don’t want to take it out and hold it up because it terrified Virginia when I showed it to her earlier. I’ll pass it to anyone who wants to see it, asking that you hold it so that she can’t see it.”