“Eventually, the personality that is recovered will be indistinguishable from the patient’s original personality, both to the patient and to the patient’s loved ones. But that depends on the accuracy of the memories, the accuracy of the coding, and the completeness of the memories.”
The coding accuracy he could create by care and sheer hard work. The completeness of the memories he had little control over. At least, he thought comfortingly, the last weeks of her life must be very important, and those he could cover well.
But the accuracy of the memories? How did he know what was important to her and what was not? Her moods had always been a mystery to him.
He could but do his best, and try not to worry too much.
Derec took to visiting the hospital every other day, and sometimes every third day. Whether he went or not, he always stopped at the public combooth mornings and evenings, on the way to and from the kitchen, to call and ask about her. The news usually was that she was doing well but was in no condition to talk.
Derec knew it. His work went rapidly enough, but there was a lot of it. He slogged through it grimly. If not for the necessity of going out to call the hospital, he might not have gone near the kitchen until R. David was forced to take action to prevent collapse.
He had one slight consolation. His own memories must also be locked away, unharmed by the plague. If only he could find someone who knew him as well as Ariel did before she lost her memories, someone he could persuade to come to Earth and dictate his memories…not likely, knowing Spacers. But there was that thread of hope that he might recover his memories…might recover himself.
Nights were bad. He dreamed nightmares of Ariel not responding to the treatment and being as blank as he had been upon awakening. It was terribly important that she not lose her memories of him…and in the dream it was always his fault. His coding failed, or she was swept away in the flash floods through the drains of Robot City, or…
Robot City! It, too, haunted his dreams, and these dreams were even darker and more frightening than the nightmares about Ariel. Those he could understand; they sprang from a quite natural anxiety.
But the Robot City dreams were different…they didn’t even seem like dreams. They seemed frighteningly real. In the mornings Derec’s hands shook, and he hoped the doctors never started asking serious questions. They’d know for sure he was crazy.
He was dreaming that Robot City was inside him. He dreamed of gleaming buildings rising on the lobes of his liver, great dark-red plains stacked above each other, or on his ribs, or inside his lungs, the buildings expanding and contracting as he breathed. Then the dreams seemed to become much clearer, and he “knew,” in the crazy dream way, that Robot City was in his bloodstream.
Enclosed buildings, like space cities on lonely rocks, he thought. Yeah! But jeering didn’t drive off the frightened, helpless feeling, the feeling of being invaded and used.
1 suppose that’s the source of this dream,he thought, trying to comfort himself. I’ve been moved and manipulated from the beginning.
The next time he walked into the Friends’ Lounge, Korolenko brought him Dr. Li and an unsmiling. athletic young man with the look of eagles in his eyes.
“Yes?” Derec said to the stranger.
“This is Special Agent Donovan,” said Dr. Li, frowning slightly. “Of the Terrestrial Bureau of Investigation.”
Chapter 11. Questions!
The Terry followed him and Dr. Li to a more private conference room, where Dr. Li left them.
The special agent looked Derec over intently, but not in a hostile manner. Derec braced himself, shaky. Above all, he mustn’t mention Robot City. Neither could he mention Aranimas and Wolruf. They’d consider him crazy.
Any break in his story would mean endless questioning, queries to the Spacer worlds, questions about Dr. Avery, the discovery of Wolruf in orbit about Kappa Whale, perhaps the discovery of all that Dr. Avery was doing…not all of that bad, but it would take time! Worst of all, the investigation would ultimately uncover Robot City…and that secret had to be kept at all costs.
Derec and Ariel had to get back there.
“I must warn you that this conversation is being recorded, and that anything you say may be used against you. Further, you have the right to remain silent, if you feel that your interests might be threatened by answering. On the other hand, we have as yet no positive evidence that any crime has been committed. The Bureau has been called in primarily because you are allegedly a Spacer…diplomatic reasons, that is,”
Derec nodded, throat tight.
“Who are you?” the agent asked abruptly.
“Derec.”
“And your last name?”
Derec debated, decided not, and said, “I sit mute.”
“That is your right. Do you wish a witness that you have not been coerced?”
“Waived, but, uh,” Derec could not quite remember the Spacer legal formula-so far it had seemed close to Earth’s. If anything, Earth was more fanatical about preserving the individual’s rights than the Spacer worlds were. “Oh, I wish to retain the right to ask for a witness later.”
“Waived right to a witness pro tern,” said Donovan, nodding shortly once, in faint approval. “I assume then that you do not mean to sit mute to all questions. Therefore, I ask you: have you ever had Burundi’s disease, popularly known as amnemonic plague?”
“I don’t remember.” Derec smiled faintly at the other and received a faint smile back.
“Do you remember your last visit to Towner Laney Memorial Hospital, two days ago, and the blood sample that was taken at that time?”
Derec remembered the visit, but not the blood sample. Even when Donovan pointed at the red scab inside his left elbow, he still didn’t remember the sample being taken.
Concerned, Donovan said, “Do you assert that it was taken without your knowledge; particularly, do you accuse anyone of using anesthesia on you against your will?”
“Is that a crime on Earth? No, I make no such-uh-assertion. I just don’t remember…I was probably in a fog. I usually am, these days.”
The agent looked at him. “Isn’t unauthorized anesthesia a crime on the Spacer worlds?”
“It might be, but I doubt it. I doubt that it happens often enough for anyone to pass a law against it. The robots would prevent it, usually.”
“Hmmm,” said the Terry, possibly reflecting that a robot-saturated society might have its points. “In any case, I now inform you that a blood sample was taken from you on that occasion and carefully studied. The conclusion of the doctors here, and at the Mayo, and in Bethesda, is that though you have antitoxins to Burundi’s, you have never had the disease in its severe form.”
Derec stared at him.
Donovan continued, “Yet, something you said to the Spacer plague victim, and which she answered, indicates that your memory was lost in the characteristic fashion of this disease. Can you elucidate that, or do you wish to sit mute?”
The robots.thought Derec. Furniture to a Spacer, he had paid no attention. And usually a robot’s discretion was proverbial, so much so that their testimony was rarely heard even in Spacer courts. But these had been instructed to record and play back everything that Ariel said. Derec couldn’t remember what she and he had said, but they’d given the game away more than an Earthly week ago.
Had they mentioned Robot City?
“Why do you ask?” he asked warily.
“Do you suffer from amnesia?” the other countered.
Derec ought to sit mute. He considered that seriously, wondered if perhaps it was already too late, then thought of a possible way around.
“Why do you ask? Surely it’s no crime to suffer amnesia. Nor would I expect the Terries to be called in even if a Spacer suffered. The condition isn’t contagious, you know.”