“You let him go!” she said.
“Lady, you’re irrational,” Hemstrait said.
“Don’t say or do anything,” Bard said quickly.
Hemstrait gave Bard a look of annoyance. He moved close to Sharan, rested a beefy hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off. He replaced it. She moved away. He followed her, grinning. She cracked her palm off his thick cheek. He grinned and grabbed her. “Lady, as health officer I’m committing you to the state hospital for sixty days of observation and treatment. You ought to know better than to attack the health officer.”
“It’s no good, Sharan,” Bard said in a bleak tone. “Somebody gave him his orders. The same people who took care of Path, probably. And gave Hallmaster that paper to read. We’re a disturbing influence.”
“Shut up, friend,” Hemstrait said jovially. “Come on, lady. They’ll be good to you out there. We picked up Lurdorff and Kornal in the lobby this morning. Kornal made such a fuss we had to put him in a jacket. Now you people are going to be more sensible than that.”
On the following Wednesday morning, Sharan Inly, clad in the gray shapeless hospital garment, was taken by a matron-attendant to the office of the young state psychiatrist. The matron waited behind Sharan’s chair. The psychiatrist was a thin-faced young man with an earnest, dedicated look.
“Dr. Inly, I’m very happy to meet you. I had hoped that when we did meet, it would be under... more pleasant circumstances. I particularly remember some of your papers that appeared in the Review.”
“Thank you.”
“I know that you must be interested in your own case. An unusually persistent delusion and, what is more startling, a shared delusion. Most unusual. And, as you may be aware, an unfavorable prognosis.” He hitched himself uncomfortably in the chair. His smile was wan. “Usually I have to explain to the patient the implications of deep shock. Of course, you worked with Belter when he was perfecting the technique...”
His voice trailed off.
Sharan fought the fear back. She made her voice calm. “Isn’t that treatment a bit extreme in this case, Doctor? Memory patterns never return. That means complete reeducation from mindlessness, and sufficient damage so that on the Belter Scale, intelligence never goes beyond the DD level.”
“Frankly,” he said, “it makes me feel uncomfortable to prescribe it in the case of this delusion the four of you share. Dr. Lurdorff grew quite violent. He will be treated this afternoon. A shame, actually. So brilliant a mind... but misdirected, of course. All of you can be turned into productive members of society. You’ll be quite capable of leading a satisfying life, of doing routine work. And you know how we’ve speeded up reeducation. Speech is adequate in a month. Incontinence ends in a week.”
“May I ask if a consulting psychiatrist can be called in, Doctor?”
“Oh, this treatment is the result of consultation, Dr. Inly. Very good men. Now, outside the delusionary cycle, you are quite capable of making decisions. With the nonviolent cases it is policy here to give you time to write letters, make wills, dispose of property, that sort of thing. We’ll give you false memory of a different life, a new name, a slightly altered face. You’ll be sent, of course, to one of the critical labor areas, and a competent social worker will get you started.”
“Actually, it’s death, isn’t it?”
“Now let us not be emotional, Dr. Inly. I had hoped that as a psychiatrist and a neuro-surgeon, you would—”
Sharan forced a smile. “I guess it’s time for confession, Doctor. We all thought up this Watcher business as a publicity thing. We all needed money.”
He shook his head sadly. “Surely you know better than that! Such a perfectly standard reaction, Dr. Inly. Under induced hypnosis you all clung to every single phase of the shared delusion.”
“A question then. If a delusion can be shared, possibly it isn’t a delusion.”
He chuckled, at ease for the first time in the interview. “You people! Don’t you see that basically it’s a desire for escape? The world as you know it has become unbearable for the four of you. Too bad you didn’t recede into a catatonic state. We could have treated that. Instead you invent a delusionary race on a far planet on which you can blame your own inadequacies. Dr. Inly, we are the only race in the universe. Anything else is a dream. The only reality is here. And we must accustom ourselves to live with it, unpleasant as it may be, or else be treated by someone who can make the world bearable to you by some artificial means.”
“And you, Doctor, are a blind, simpering, egocentric fool.”
He flushed. “I have too much sympathy for you, Dr. Inly, to permit you to anger me. Use a long view. You are a healthy young woman. Dr. Lane is a sturdy man. Your validity from now on will be in work units for society and in the bearing of children. I was prepared to reeducate the two of you as a family unit. It would be interesting to see what degree of devotion could be induced. That choice, of course, is up to you and Dr. Lane. I shall see him next.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Sharan said tonelessly. “It won’t be... me. I shall be dead. You forget, Doctor, that I worked with deep shock techniques. I have seen that... mindlessness.”
“Then I shall tell Dr. Lane that you are willing. We’ll be ready for the two of you tomorrow morning. The attendant will arrange legal help for you, and see that you have writing materials.”
Sharan turned at the door and tried to speak to him again. The young doctor was making notations on her file. He did not look up. The attendant urged her into the hall with gentle force.
Bard Lane stood in the hall with two guards, waiting. His face was gray. He looked at her and did not seem to recognize her. Sharan did not speak to him. Sharan Inly would never speak to Bard Lane again. Two strangers would speak to each other, and that was no longer important.
Eighteen
It is a pleasant Thursday morning in October over most of the country. One high is static over most of the Gulf Coast. Another is apparently anchored in the Chicago area. The Secretary of Weather is conferring with Agriculture on the advisability of securing Canadian permission to dissipate the front building up in the northwest.
An Atlanta hostess decides to continue the party that started Wednesday afternoon. She stirs guests out of their stupor, smilingly hands them the amphetamine cocktails which will bring the gaiety back to life.
A bemused broker shivers in the web seat of his heli-cycle as he laboriously forces it above its operational ceiling, hoping that the Air Police won’t intercept him until he is quite ready to loosen the strap and take the long, long drop into the corduroy canyons of the city far below.
Timber Mulloy, sullen and hung over, leads his protesting musicians through an early-morning practice session for a new visi-tape album which may bring in enough royalties to catch up on back alimony payments.
At Fonda Electric seven hundred girls are waiting for the ten A.M. cigarette break.
A teen-age heiress in Grosse Point stands nude before her full-length mirror and cuts her throat with a hard, ripping pull of her right hand and wrist.
In an isolated radar station, Major Tommy Leeber stares at his tarnished major’s leaf and curses the day he was selected as aide by General Sachson. Sachson, a continent away, stands in front of a steel mirror and carefully clips gray nostril hairs while he thinks of the two years before he can retire.
Sharan Inly lies face down on her cot, waiting for them to come for her. On the other side of the building Bard Lane sits on his cot, slowly leafing through the memories that will be taken from him.
It is a pleasant morning.
In Connecticut a sanitarium attendant is being cursed by his superior for not finding Walter Howard Path in time to save his life.