Memory Blank

by John Stith

  “But if this is mostly true,” said Nikki, “what was the justification?”

  “Who says he has one? Maybe he’s simply crazy.”

  “Even crazies have justifications. They just might not make sense to you or me. Maybe he was punishing the population of Earth for their sins.”

  “But Earth wasn’t any different from here.”

  “Maybe to him it was. Maybe Earth was tainted by dirt or some other nonsense that makes sense to him.”

  Cal rose and walked slowly in a large circle. “I wonder if that thought is what pushed me over the edge earlier. I know how guilty I was feeling about Lynn.” He saw the quizzical expression on Nikki’s face. “The nightmares have started up again. But what I was saying was, if I felt this guilt over Lynn’s death, and then I found out someone might have deliberately caused it—”

  “But why wouldn’t you have told me?” Nikki’s pain was obvious.

  “I wish I knew,” said Cal, looking at her. “God, I wish I knew. Maybe the fact that I didn’t means this whole theory is worthless. The real problem could center on Domingo, whoever Jam is, and me. For all I know, the three of us were doing something we shouldn’t have, and there was a falling out. Jam could be responsible for my visit to the clinic this morning. Or it could have been engineered by whoever I’ve been paying monthly payments.”

  “What monthly payments?”

  “About the tenth of every month lately, I’ve sent money to someone whose name I don’t know. I’ve gone over all the possibilities I can think of, including blackmail, but nothing seems to make sense. I didn’t make the last payment. Do you have any idea who they might go to, or why?”

  “No. I don’t suppose it ties in with the capsules?” Nikki asked.

  “I don’t know. Why? What did you find out about them?”

  “You were right. Vital Twenty-Two. I think my friend in the lab will keep quiet for now. But how do they fit in?”

  “I’ve got absolutely no idea,” Cal said. “What I do know is, I’m tired.” He sat down heavily in a chair.

  “You’ve had a long day.”

  “We both have. Nikki—thanks for helping. I’m sure you’re right about the biblical reference. I really needed someone to talk to. Vincent’s a help, but he has a lot of built-in limitations. And I feel better after talking to you.”

  Nikki had been seemingly relaxing, but now she tensed, as though Cal had said the wrong thing. “Maybe it’s time to quit for tonight,” she said.

  “Sure,” said Cal, wondering what nerve he had scraped. But he was too exhausted to try to recover. He pushed himself out of the chair and began to place several cushions on the floor.

  “What’s that for?” Nikki asked.

  “I’ll be fine out here. Maybe you won’t feel pressured to move out so soon.”

  Nikki said nothing but went to the bedroom and shut the door behind her.

  Cal was sure she was irritated, but he was so tired that he couldn’t figure out whether he would have made her more angry by assuming he could share the bed after she had announced her decision to leave.

  He twisted and turned, trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable on the cushions. “Anything new occur to you, Vincent?”

  “Nope. Is this what they mean by sleeping around?”

  “Good night, Vincent. Wake me at oh seven hundred, okay?”

  “You got it.”

  During the day Cal had forced his thoughts away from Lynn, but in dreams he had no control. At least once he saw Lynn walking away from him and Nikki following after her and not looking back.

  The sound of a chime interrupted a dream, and, despite his tiredness, he was glad to be awake.

  “Okay, Vincent. I’m awake.”

  “That’s nice, but it’s not me. You’ve got company.”

  Cal opened his eyes and tilted his head to hear the sound better. It came again from near the door.

  He struggled to his feet, and hastily returned the cushions to their normal locations. The bedroom door was still closed.

  The time was a little before 07:00. Cal pushed his hair off his forehead, and opened the front door. His stomach tightened, not from hunger.

  A uniformed policeman stood there. “Mr. Cal Donley?” he asked.

  “That’s me,” he said. “What do you want?”

  “I’m Lieutenant Dobson with the Machu Picchu Police Department. I need to ask you a few questions.” The man was younger than Cal, but quite muscular. A badge lay in his hand. He watched Cal out of half-open eyes. Dobson had recently started a mustache, or it just didn’t grow well.

  “Come on in.”

  Both men took a seat, and the policeman unfolded a clipboard terminal. “I’m investigating the death of Gabriel Domingo, the construction worker found dead the day before yesterday,” he said. “Could you tell me where you were from midnight to oh six hundred that day?”

  “Sure. I was right here.” Cal began to sweat. “Why?”

  “Someone said they saw you near the murder location and wearing bloody clothes.”

  Cal fought the urge to fidget, forcing his hands to relax. He watched the man as he calmly entered Cal’s claim into his terminal. The policeman’s face betrayed no emotion. His next sentence could just as easily be “That’s not what they say at Forget-Me-Now,” as “That will be all.”

  “Did you know the victim?” was next, as it happened.

  “No, I didn’t. Surely there must be a fair number of people who look like me.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, sir. Would you mind if I have a look around?”

  “Not at all,” Cal was compelled to say. “But my wife’s still sleeping. I’d hate—”

  “It’s all right, darling,” came Nikki’s voice from behind him. “I woke up even though you tried to get out of bed quietly.” She sounded nervous to Cal. He thought about the clothes he had worn that night. Maybe Nikki had washed them. Or washing clothes could be his job. Whatever happened, he couldn’t afford to deny access to the police.

  “In that case, help yourself,” Cal said. “We’ll wait right here.” Cal sat in a chair, thinking of the hologram in the bedroom, wondering if this policeman might be the same one who would have gone through Domingo’s apartment. “Have a seat, Nikki,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual.

  She took a chair near him and gave him a sleepy smile, evidently for Dobson’s benefit, but Cal could tell she was nervous too. He was almost glad. If she had been expecting this visit, the situation was even worse than he thought.

  Cal listened to the policeman as he went through the rooms. He made soft noises as he pulled drawers out and opened the bathroom cabinet, but Cal worried most when he heard no sound. Finally the man sat down in a chair near Nikki and Cal.

  “I’m sorry to have bothered you so early,” the man said. “I’ve got more people to talk to, and it makes for a long day.”

  Cal wondered if the man was seeming slightly more friendly because he hadn’t found anything, or because he was trying to lower their barriers before the final questions. Maybe it was neither. The policeman left as soon as he finished another entry on his terminal.

  Cal exhaled deeply when the door was closed. “Thanks, Nikki. You were perfect.”

  “You were too perfect. I didn’t know you could lie so well.” Nikki’s level gaze bored into him for an instant, and then she rose.

  “Wait a minute. If you’re thinking that because I lied to a policeman, I must be guilty—or that it means I must have been lying to you, you’re wrong.”

  “Okay,” she said, but it was too casual.

  Cal started after her but changed his mind. What more could he say than he had last night? If she doubted his word, there really wasn’t much he could do about it.

  Frustrated, he cleaned up and put on a fresh set of clothes. He found a banana in the kitchen and ate it.

  “I’m going back to Machu Picchu,” he said at last. “But let me leave one thought with you. I think there must be more to the pol
iceman’s story than he told us. If it were that simple, he would have been here earlier. I think someone told the police about me specifically. Someone who wants me out of the way. Go ahead and tell me I’m imagining things.”

  Nikki said nothing.

  As Cal took one last look at her before he left, he realized that she probably hadn’t slept any better than he had. “Nikki—thanks for supporting me just now. Regardless of what you think, I appreciate what you did.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked as he opened the door. She seemed to have softened a bit.

  Cal thought for a moment before replying. “Maybe I feel a little religious. Going to church might help.”

  On the way to the tubeway, Vincent checked the public service databank for information on the Presodist church in Machu Picchu. There were services every morning, afternoon, and evening.

  The tube station was empty. Cal let one car go past on its way to Machu Picchu before he pressed the panel to indicate he wanted the next car to stop for him.

  “Why did you skip one?” asked Vincent.

  “No good reason. As I was walking here, it just occurred to me how easy it would be for someone with a small telescope on one of the other continents to watch me walk from home to here. I’m not sure I want to see my friend from yesterday again.”

  “Unless you want to follow him.”

  Cal hesitated. “Vincent, am I always this stupid in the mornings?”

  “I really couldn’t say when you hit your peak.”

  Cal reached the church shortly before a service was scheduled to begin. The building was larger than he had expected from the hologram. The starburst out front glittered brightly in the sunlight. Whether it was a regular church ornament or a throwback to the original Machu Picchu, he couldn’t say. He worried for a moment that he might not be suitably dressed, but, after he saw three people in heavy-fabric work clothes enter, he followed them in. He got no feeling of being here before, only the memory of the hologram.

  Signs inside made it easy to find the sanctuary. Cal wouldn’t have been too surprised if the ushers at the door had recognized him, but they gave no sign. The pews were already half full, and the hushed sounds of whispering and people fidgeting and settling came diffusely from all directions.

  Cal picked a seat near the rear, only then letting his gaze wander. The ceiling hologram was exquisite. The exterior of the church had been single-level, like all the other buildings, but to the eye the sanctuary had an arched ceiling that went up and up and up. Apparent stained-glass windows were enormous. The builders had even dealt with acoustic realism, because when Cal listened carefully he could hear echoes and reverberations which

  had to be the deliberate result of using electronics with microphones, speakers, and delays.

  Cal watched the other churchgoers as they chose seats. He saw no one he recognized until the church was almost two-thirds full. Paulo Frall. The proprietor at Forget-Me-Now. Frall was dressed in a conservative blue suit, moving to the center of the room before sitting down, apparently without noticing Cal. So there was a stronger link to the church. Cal finally gave up speculating when the service was about to begin.

  In a small rack on the back on the pew ahead of Cal’s there were hand-size terminals decorated to look like old hymnals, except for the screen and thumbprint square inset in the front cover. The screen indicated the hymnal was set on manual. Cal picked his up and touched the automatic choice. Information for visitors replaced the previous screen contents. Cal declined the offer of contact.

  Moments later the service began, and Cal followed the text on the hymnal. Only after singing several hymns, did he realize there wasn’t a priest or minister, or whatever the Presodists called their equivalent, in sight. The scripture readings came from a disembodied voice, as though God Himself were on the staff and enjoyed responsive reading. Finally it was time for the sermon. A gracefully aging woman in a deep-blue robe appeared behind the pulpit, her gray hair confined in a bun. Her sermon was calm, her voice rising only a time or two. She never mentioned Sodom and Gomorrah.

  It was not until she finished speaking that Cal realized that the large hologram behind her, depicting Christ lying dead on top of a marble slab, was actually an ultra-slow. Now Christ’s eyes were open, and there were wrinkles in his brow not visible earlier.

  The woman, identified in the hymnal as Pastor Welden, began what had to be the precursors of the collection. Jesus’s hand slipped to the edge of the slab.

  The hymnal screen displayed the church’s version of what contributions were typical, depending on one’s income, family size, and other factors. Cal inserted his bank stick in the hymnal and donated a small amount. As he watched the screen, it began to register statistics on the contributions. Cal’s donation was about the lowest. The highest was nearly five percent of the total, which was more than Cal made in several months.

  The larger-than-life Jesus had swung his sandaled feet over the side of the slab. As the last chorus filled the room with voices in song, Jesus finally reached his feet. Cal almost expected him to smile and wave.

  Cal stood and waited as the front rows and Paulo Frall exited before he turned to leave with the rest of the throng. After a brief double take, he continued out, passing through an overpowering motion hologram of the Red Sea being parted. He felt a nonsensical urge to hurry and not step in the puddles. Outside, the corridor seemed drab in comparison.

  The pastor was shaking hands with exiting congregation members. “You’re new here,” she said when Cal reached her.

  “Yes, I am,” said Cal. “Could you tell me if you have any midnight services?”

  The woman shook her head. “Sorry. Just Christmas and Easter. Normally, nineteen hundred is the latest.”

  Cal thanked her and left, faintly surprised to notice that she was wearing makeup and sandals. Paulo Frall was gone.

  “Well, brother, are you saved?” asked Vincent when they were well away from the church.

  “Maybe, maybe not. At least I learned something.”

  “What? That you know the head clerk of doxology works?”

  “Nope. That I haven’t been inside before. I’d remember, believe me. Let’s try a change of course. Is there a public office for tracing financial transactions or getting help with communications problems?”

  There was. It was a lackluster facility after the Presodist church, but it seemed functional and not too busy. In a few minutes he had described his request to the blemished young man behind the counter.

  “Let me make sure I’ve got this right,” the man said, scratching his nose. “You’ve made payments to someone anonymously, and you want to trace the payments to find out who you paid. You don’t know who it is.”

  “That’s essentially it,” said Cal.

  At least the man didn’t laugh at him or press him with questions. “It’s possible. You have to waive your privacy rights temporarily, but we can do it.”

  “Let’s go.”

  The clerk typed a few commands, and an official-looking document came up on the screen inset in the countertop.

  Cal read it quickly and thumbprinted it.

  “Okay,” said the clerk, recording the last two bank transaction numbers. “The tracer should be finished in a few days. Check back with us then.”

  “A few days? I need to know soon.”

  The clerk raised his eyebrows. “Sorry. That’s how long it takes. Official channels run deep.”

  “Can you at least call me as soon as it comes in?”

  Automatic call-back was an extra-cost service, so Cal paid for it. On his way out, he noticed a still video on the wall, showing a small child on a toilet. The caption said, “No job is complete until the paperwork is finished.”

  Cal wandered aimlessly outside for a few minutes, unsure whether to put in an appearance at his office. He could easily be fired if he didn’t start paying more attention to it, but right at the moment he wasn’t as worried about that as maybe he should have been. The o
nly feelings he could summon about his boss, Tom Horvath, seemed to be good ones. Tom wouldn’t fire him. He hoped.

  More important than work, was finding out who Domingo was. There had to be more information on him than Cal had been able to find in the man’s apartment. Cal thought of another possible path to learn more and considered taking a risk.

  At the news station he asked for Michelle Garney. A secretary told him he could wait in her office. She should be back in a few minutes. He ignored the request for his name.

  Michelle had a modest desk with three empty cups waiting to be recycled. Green plants lined the windowsill where a small mirror reflected exactly the right amount of light to make them thrive. Cal was staring at a hologram of the Vittoria on the wall when Michelle came in.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said, sounding surprised yet friendly. “I didn’t think you’d come back. How’s Nikki?”

  Cal sat up straight, feeling suddenly wary. He had been about to say “I didn’t either,” but instead said, “You are good at your job. How did you do it?”

  Michelle grinned and elaborately gestured, indicating nothing up either sleeve. Then she patted her desk terminal.

  “Surely you can be more specific than that,” he said.

  “I’m good with faces.” She tapped a few keys and motioned for him to look at her desk screen.

  Side by side were two color images. One was Cal, taken within the last couple of years. The other was a strangely characterless, smooth-skinned, vacant-stared representation. A column of parameters indicated everything from eye color and earlobe shape to contour of cheeks.

  “I’ll be damned,” Cal said. “How long did it take you?”

  “Half an hour. There aren’t very many more than a million people. I would have started with just ‘Cals,’ but I didn’t know if you told me the truth. Fifty-two percent of the population are male. Under fifteen percent of them are in their thirties. Add brown hair, brown eyes, nice bones, height one-eighty centimeters, and you’re already down to about a thousand. Start adding ear shape, nose type—well, I’m sure you understand.”

  “The half-hour is what I don’t understand. You must be a busy lady without taking up your time like that.”