by Jack Vance
Let me check my references..." He read for a few moments. "I could try hypnotherapy or shock. Candidly, I don't think I'd do you any Amnesia generally cures itself if left alone."
"I don't think I can cure myself. Something lies on my brain like a blanket. It suffocates me. I can't tear it loose. Can't you help me?"
There was a simplicity to Pardero's manner which appealed to the doctor. He also sensed strangeness: tragedy and drama beyond his conjecture.
"I would help you if I could," said the doctor. "With all my soul I would help you. But I wouldn't know what I should be doing. I'm not qualified to experiment on you."
"The police officer told me to go to the Connatic's Hospital on Numenes."
"Yes, of course. This is best for you; I was about to suggest it myself."
"Where is Numenes? How do I go there?"
"You must go by starship. The fare is a little over two hundred ozols. That is what I have been told. You earn three and a half ozols a day - more if you exceed your quota. When you have two hundred and fifty ozols, go to Numenes.
That is my best advice."
1. Numerous systems of chronometry create confusion across Alastor Cluster and the Gaean Reach, despite attempts at reform. In any given locality, at least three systems of reckoning are in daily use: scientific chronometry, based upon the orbital frequency of the K-state hydrogen electron; astronomic time - 'Gaean Standard Time' - which provides synchronism across the human universe; and local time.
Chapter 2
Pardero worked with single-minded energy. Without fail he collected a half measure over his quota, and sometimes a total of two measures, which first excited jocular comment among his fellow workers, then sardonic sneers, and finally a cold, if covert, hostility. To compound his offenses Pardero refused to participate in the social activities of the camp, except to sit staring into the holovision screen, and thereby was credited with assumptions of superiority, which was indeed the case. He spent nothing at the commissary; despite all persuasions he refused to gamble, although occasionally he watched the games with a grim smile, which made certain of the players uneasy. Twice his locker was ransacked by someone who hoped to avail himself of Pardero's earnings, but Pardero had drawn no money from his account. Woane made one or two halfhearted attempts at intimidation, then decided to chastise the haughty Pardero, but he encountered such ferocious retaliation that he was glad to regain the sanctuary of the mess hall; and thereafter Pardero was strictly ignored.
At no time could Pardero detect any seepage through the barrier between his memory and his conscious mind. Always as he worked he wondered: "What kind of man am I? Where is my home? What do I know? Who are my friends? Who has committed this wrong against me?" He expended his frustration on the colucoid creeper and became known as a man possessed by as inner demon, to be avoided as carefully as possible.
For his part Pardero banished Gaswin to the most remote corner of his mind; he would take away as few memories as possible. The work he found tolerable; but he resented the name Pardero. To use a stranger's name was like wearing a stranger's clothes - not a fastidious act. Still the name served as well as any other; it was a minor annoyance.
More urgently unpleasant was the lack of privacy. He found detestable the close intimacy of three hundred other men, most especially at mealtimes, when he sat with his eyes fixed on his plate, to avoid the open maws, the mounds of food, the mastication. Impossible to ignore, however, were the belches, grants, hisses, and sighs of satiety. Surely this was not the life he had known in the past! What then had been his life?
The question produced only blankness, a void without information. Somewhere lived a person who had launched him across the Cluster with his hair hacked short and as denuded of identification as an egg. Some times when he pondered this enemy he seemed to hear wisps of possibly imaginary sound - echos of what might have been laughter, but when he poised his head to listen, the pulsations ceased.
The onset of darkness continued to trouble him. Often he felt urges to go forth into the dark - an impulse which he resisted, partly from fatigue, partly from a dread of abnormality. He reported his nocturnal restlessness to the camp doctor, who agreed that the tendency should be discouraged, at least until the source was known. The doctor commended Pardero for his industry, and advised the accumulation of at least two hundred and seventy-five ozols before departure, to allow for incidental expenses.
When Pardero's account reached two hundred and seventy-five ozols, he claimed his money from the bursar, and now, no longer an indigent, he was free to pursue his own destiny. He took a rather mournful leave of the doctor, whom he had come to like and respect, and boarded the transport for Carfaunge. He left Gaswin with a twinge of regret. He had known little pleasure here; still the place had given him refuge. He barely remembered Carfaunge, and the spaceport was no more than the recollection of a dream.
He saw nothing of Superintendent Mergan, but was recognized by Dinster the night porter, just coming on duty.
The Ectobant of the Prydania Line took Pardero to Baruilla, on Deulle, Alastor
2121, where he transferred to the Lusimar of the Gaean Trunk Line, and so was conveyed to Calypso Junction on Imber, and thence by the Wispen Argent to Numenes.
Pardero enjoyed the voyage: the multifarious sensations, incidents, and vistas amazed him. He had not imagined the variety of the Cluster: the comings and goings, the flux of faces, the gowns, robes, hats, ornaments, and bijouterie; the colors and lights and strains of strange music; the babble of voices; haunting glimpses of beautiful girls; drama, excitement, pathos; objects, faces, sounds, surprises. Could he have known all this and forgotten?
So far Pardero had not indulged in self-pity and his enemy had seemed a baleful abstraction. But how great and how callous the crime which had been performed upon him! He had been isolated from home, friends, sympathy, security; he had been rendered a neuter; his personality had been murdered.
Murder!
The word chilled his blood; he squirmed and winced. And from somewhere, from far distant, came the ghost of a sound: gusts of mocking laughter.
Approaching Numenes, the Wispen Argent first passed by Blazon, the next world out in orbit, to be cleared for landing, by the Whelm - a precaution to minimize the danger of an attack from space upon the Connatic's Palace. Having secured clearance; the Wispen Argent proceeded; Numenes slowly expanded.
At a distance of about three thousand miles that peculiar referential displacement occurred; instead of hanging off to the side, a destination across the void, Numenes became the world below, upon which the Wispen Argent descended
- a brilliant panorama of white clouds, blue air, sparkling seas.
The Central Spaceport at Commarice occupied an area three miles in diameter, surrounded by a fringe of the tall jacinth palms and the usual spaceport offices, built in that low airy style also typical of Numenes.
Alighting from the Wispen Argent, Pardero rode a slideway to the terminal, where he sought information regarding the Connatic's Hospital. He was referred first to the Traveler's Aid Station, then to an office at the side of the terminal, where he was presented to a tall spare woman of indeterminate age in a white and blue uniform. She gave Pardero a laconic greeting. "I am Matron Gundal. I understand that you wish to be admitted to the Connatic's Hospital?"
"Yes."
Matron Gundal touched buttons, evidently to activate a recording mechanism.
"Your name?"
"I am called Pardero. I do not know my true name."
Matron Gundal made no comment. "Place of origin?"
"I don't know."
"Your complaint?"
"Amnesia."
Matron Gundal gave him a noncommittal inspection, which perhaps indicated interest. "What about your physical health?"
"It seems to be good."
"An orderly will conduct you to the hospital." Matron Gundal raised her voice.
"Ariel."
A blond young woman entered the room
, her uniform somewhat at discord with her sunny good looks. Matron Gundal gave her directions: "Please conduct this gentleman to the Connatic's Hospital." To Pardero: "Have you luggage?"
"No."
"I wish you a quick recovery."
The orderly smiled politely at Pardero. "This way, please."
An aircab slid them northward across the blue and green landscape of Flor Solana, with Ariel maintaining an easy flow of conversation. "Have you visited Numenes before?"
"I don't know; I don't remember anything earlier than the last two or three months."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear this!" said Ariel in confusion. "Well, in case you don't know, there are no real continents here on Numenes, just islands. Everybody who lives here owns a boat."
"That seems very pleasant."
Ariel gingerly touched upon Pardero's disability, watching sidelong to see if he evinced sensitivity or discomfort. "What a strange sensation not to know yourself! How does it feel?"
Pardero considered a moment. "Well - it doesn't hurt."
"I'm relieved to bear that! Think: you might be almost anyone - perhaps rich and important!"
"More likely I'm someone very ordinary: a road-mender, or a wandering dog-barber."
"I'm sure not!" declared Ariel. "You seem - well..." she hesitated, then continued with a half-embarrassed laugh "- a very confident and intelligent person."
"I hope you are right." Pardero looked at her and sighed, wistful that her fresh blond charm must so soon pass from his life. "What will they do with me?"
"Nothing alarming. Your case will be studied by very clever persons using the most elaborate mechanisms. Almost certainly you will be cured."
Pardero felt a pang of uneasiness. "It's quite a gamble. I might easily be someone I don't want to be."
Ariel could not restrain a grin. "As I understand it, this is the reason persons become amnesiac in the first place."
Pardero made a glum sound. "Aren't you alarmed, riding with a man who likely is a shameful criminal?"
"I'm paid to be brave. I escort persons much more alarming than you."
Pardero looked out across Flor Solana Island. Ahead he saw a pavilion constructed of pale ribs and translucent panels, whose complexity was obscured behind jacinth palms and cinniborines.
As the aircab approached, six domes became evident, with wings radiating in six directions. Pardero asked: "Is this the hospital?"
"The hospital is everything you see. The Hexad is the computative center. The smaller buildings are laboratories and surgeries. Patients are housed in the wings. That will be your home until you are restored to health."
Pardero asked diffidently: "And what of you? Will I see you again?"
Ariel's dimples deepened. "Do you want to?"
Pardero soberly considered the range of his inclinations. "Yes."
Ariel said half-teasingly: "You'll be so preoccupied that you'll forget all about me."
"I never want to forget anything again."
Ariel chewed her lip thoughtfully. "You remember nothing of your past life?"
"Nothing."
"Maybe you have a family: someone who loves you, and children."
"I suppose this is possible... Somehow I suspect otherwise."
"Most men seem to suspect otherwise... Well, I'll have to think about it."
The aircab landed; the two alighted and walked along a tree-shaded avenue toward the Hexad. Ariel glanced at him sidewise, and perhaps his obvious foreboding excited her compassion. She said in a voice which she intended to be cheerful but impersonal: "I'm out here often and as soon as you've started your treatments I'll come to see you."
Pardero smiled wanly. "I'll look forward to the occasion."
She conducted him to the reception area, and spoke a few words to an official, then took her leave. "Don't forget!" she called over her shoulder, and the impersonality, intentionally or not, was gone from her voice. "I'll see you soon!"
"I am O.T. Kolodin," said a large rather rumpled man with an oversize nose and sparse untidy dark hair. "'O.T.' means 'Ordinary Technician'; just call me Kolodin. You're on my list, so we'll be seeing something of each other. Come along; I'll get you settled."
Pardero bathed, submitted to a physical examination, and was issued a pale blue lightweight suit. Kolodin showed him to his chamber along one of the wings, and the two took a meal on a nearby terrace. Kolodin, not too much older than Pardero but incalculably more sophisticated, took a lively interest in Pardero's condition. "I've never come in contact with such a case before. Fascinating!
It's almost a shame to cure you!"
Pardero managed a wry smile. "I have doubts of my own. I'm told that I can't remember because of some thing I want to forget. I might not like being cured."
"It is a difficult position," Kolodin agreed. "Still, affairs may not be so bad after all." He glanced at his thumbnail, which responded with a set of glowing numbers. "In fifteen minutes we'll meet with M.T. Rady, who will decide upon your therapy."
The two returned to the Hexad. Kolodin ushered Pardero into the office of Master Technician Rady, and a moment later Rady himself appeared: a thin sharp-eyed man of middle age who already seemed to know the data relevant to Pardero's case. He asked: "The spaceship which brought you to Bruse-Tansel: how was it named?"
"I can't remember much about it."
Rady nodded and touched a square of coarse sponge to each of Pardero's shoulders. "This is an inoculation to facilitate a relaxed mind-state...
Relax back into your chair. Can you fix your mind upon something pleasant?"
The room dimmed; Pardero thought of Ariel. Rady said: "On the wall you will see a pair of designs. I want you to examine them, or if you prefer, you may close your eyes and rest... In fact, relax completely, and listen only to my voice; and when I tell you to sleep, then you may sleep."
The designs on the wall, pulsed and swam; a soft sound, waxing and waning, seemed to absorb and obliterate all other sounds of the universe. The shapes on the wall had expanded to surround him, and the only reality was himself and his inner mind.
"I don't know." The voice sounded as if it were coming from a distant room, although it was his own voice. Odd. He heard a mumble whose significance he only half-heeded: "What was your father's name?"
"I don't know."
"What was your mother's name?"
"I don't know."
More questions, sometimes casual, sometimes urgent, and always the same response, and finally the cessation of sound.
Pardero awoke in an empty office. Almost immediately Rady returned, to stand looking down at Pardero with a faint smile.
Pardero asked: "What did you learn?"
"Nothing to speak of. How do you feel?"
"Tired."
"Quite normal. For the rest of the day, rest. Don't worry about your condition; somehow we'll get to the bottom of your case."
"Suppose there's nothing there? Suppose I have no memory?"
Rady refused to take the idea seriously. "Every cell in your body has a memory.
Your mind stores facts on many levels. For instance you have not forgotten how to speak."
Pardero said dubiously: "When I arrived at Carfaunge, I knew very little. I could not talk. As soon as I heard a word I remembered its meaning and I could use it."
Rady gave a curt nod. "This is the basis of a therapy we might well try."
Pardero hesitated. "I might find my memory and discover myself to be a criminal."
Rady's eyes gleamed. "That is a chance you must take. The Connatic, after restoring your memory, might then decide to put you to death."
Pardero grimaced. "Does the Connatic ever visit the hospital?"
"Undoubtedly. "Undoubtedly. He goes everywhere."
"What does he look like?"
Rady shrugged. "In his official photographs he seems an important and imposing nobleman, because of his dress and accoutrements. But when he walks abroad, he goes quietly and is never recognized, and this is what he li
kes best. Four trillion folk inhabit Alastor Cluster, and it is said that the Connatic knows what each of them eats for breakfast."
"In that case," said Pardero, "perhaps I should simply go to ask the Connatic for the facts of my life."
"It might come to that."
The days passed, and then a week, and then two weeks. Rady attempted a dozen stratagems to loosen the blocked linkages in Pardero's mind. He recorded responses to a gamut of stimulations: colors, sounds, odors, tastes, textures; heights and depths; lights and degrees of darkness On. a more complex level he charted Pardero's reactions, overt, physiological, and cephalic, to absurdities and festivals, erotic conditions, cruelties and horrors, the faces of men, women, and children. A computational mechanism assimilated the results of the tests, compared them to known parameters, and synthesized an analog of Pardero's psyche.
Rady, when he finally assessed the results of his tests, found little enlightenment. "Your basic reflexes are ordinary enough; one anomaly is your reaction to darkness, by which you seem to be curiously stimulated. Your social perceptivity seems underdeveloped, for which the amnesia may be to blame. You appear to be assertive rather than retiring; your response to music is minimal and color symbology has little meaning for you - possibly by reason of your amnesia. Odors stimulate you rather more than I might expect - but to no significant degree." Rady leaned, back in his chair. "These tests might easily provoke some sort of conscious response. Have you noticed anything whatever?"
"Nothing."
Rady nodded. "Very well. We will try a new tack. The theoretical basis is this: if your amnesia has resulted from circumstances which you are determined to forget, we can dissolve the amnesia by bringing these events to your conscious attention again. In order to do this, we must learn the nature of the traumatic circumstances. In short we must learn your identity and home environment."
Pardero frowned and looked out the window. Rady watched intently. "You don't care to learn your identity."
Pardero gave him a crooked smile. "I did not say so."
