The Seventh Science Fiction Megapack

by Robert Silverberg

  Sherwood agreed. “But Ollie is a young man. He may be a junior. If he is, then I’ll get to him. It’s worth the chance.”

  He finished his breakfast, had his hand on the phone to make the call to Detroit when the phone rang. It was Booey.

  “It’s between classes, Walter. I had to know about you. What have you found out?”

  “Not much. Schlessenger at the Institute wasn’t helpful.”

  “Still don’t remember anything, eh?”

  “Still a blank.”

  “Have you seen or heard anything of Virginia?”

  “She’s here. She was here when I got here.”

  “Well, then, what does she say?”

  “I hate to tell you this, Doctor, but she’s lost her memory, too.”

  “What?”

  “I know it must sound fantastic to you.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. What in the world is happening?”

  “She thought I’d be able to help her, if you can imagine that.”

  “Walter, it’s—things like this just don’t happen.”

  “I know it.”

  “This is no mere amnesia.”

  “I think that too.”

  “It has something to do with your work. Something went wrong somewhere. Have you investigated that at all?”

  “Schlessenger’s pretty close-mouthed about what I was doing.”

  “I’d open his mouth if I were you. Use a crowbar if you have to. He’s sitting on something.”

  “That’s what we think. We’re going out there this morning and tackle him again.”

  “Listen, Walter, I think I’d better come up.”

  “You’re welcome to come if you want.”

  “You need help.”

  “I may need it before it’s all over. I don’t know just what you could do, but I’d appreciate any suggestions.”

  “It’s a crime, that’s what it is, this thing happening to two nice young people like you. You need to get at the bottom of it. Somebody’s to blame and you need to know who it is.

  “We’re doing our best to find out.”

  “I’ll be up. I’ll put Scott in charge. Needs the experience anyway. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Next Sherwood put in a call to Detroit, Michigan, to one Oliver Lansing. The operator said there was an Oliver Lansing, Sr., listed on Craddock Road, she’d ring the number.

  Mrs. Lansing answered. No, Oliver Lansing was not there, he was at work. No, Oliver Lansing, Jr., was not there, who was calling, please? When he told her who he was and where he was calling from she said she did not know where he was and broke the connection.

  He tried calling back but the phone kept ringing.

  Mrs. Lansing obviously did not wish to discuss her son’s whereabouts.

  Why?

  “Well, this is a surprise,” Schlessenger said when they were ushered into his presence. “Sherwood told me yesterday you deserted him, Mrs. Sherwood. I knew you wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

  “I said I hadn’t seen her,” Sherwood corrected. “I didn’t say she deserted me.”

  “No matter,” Schlessenger said, getting up and moving another leather chair over to the desk. He saw them seated before he moved around to his own chair again, saying, “Mrs. Sherwood is here and that’s what’s important. When did you return?”

  “I arrived late yesterday,” Virginia said. “I was at home when Walter returned from seeing you.”

  “That’s fine. Fine. Now I’m sure we’ll get somewhere.” He rubbed his hands together. “With you here, Walter will be coming out of it, I feel sure. Not that I’m trying to minimize anything, you understand. It’s a grave case. Truly a grave case. I’ve been able to think of nothing else since yesterday. I presume he’s told you everything?”

  “Yes he has.”

  “Did he tell you what I suggested?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now what have you decided?”

  Sherwood said, “Our plans depend on you.”

  “How’s that?”

  “We went to see some of the researchers last night. We dropped in on Rayburn first.”

  “Oh?” Schlessenger’s eyelids flickered ever so slightly. “Now why did you do that?”

  “Perhaps you’d better tell us why you told him not to tell us anything.”

  “It’s a policy her& that information should come from me. I merely wanted to remind him of that. I don’t like to have my researchers interfered with. I might say I’ve kept plenty of people off your tail, Walter, if you only knew it. I’m sure your wife will attest to that.”

  “I’d hardly call what you did last night a friendly move,” Sherwood said crisply.

  “You were a mighty confused man yesterday, Walter. I didn’t know what you were going to do when you left here. I can’t see how you could blame me for not wanting any of my key men disturbed.”

  “Were you afraid I would discover something?”

  “You imply there is something to discover, which there isn’t. It was only a move to insure their preparation. I think they have a right to know what’s going on. I don’t like trouble, Walter.” He turned to Virginia. “Surely you can see the sense of it, Mrs. Sherwood.”

  Virginia’s face signified nothing.

  “We also went to see Dr. Black,” Sherwood said. “Is that so? What did he have to say?”

  “He wasn’t home. But Dr. Cox was.”

  “A good man, Hampton. A little high strung, but a good clinician, a good lab man.”

  “We got along pretty well.”

  “You two always did, Walter. Hampton is a friendly chap. But why did you bother to see these people? I can tell you anything you want to know. Didn’t you tell Walter that, Mrs. Sherwood?”

  Virginia met his gaze coolly. “I didn’t say so,” she said, “but I’m sure you can.” She smiled and Schlessenger seemed for the moment a little puzzled by the answer.

  “Well,” he said gruffly, “I’m glad of that. Now tell me, have you thought about what ought to be done?”

  “Yes, Doctor. But we thought we’d leave that up to you. What would you suggest?” And Sherwood thought: that’s the girl, hand it back to him.

  “Why, treatment, of course, just as I suggested. The best treatment.” He brought his chair up and leaned toward them, folding his hands on the desk top. “It so happens I have a number of specialist friends…”

  “If there is going to be treatment,” Sherwood said emphatically, “it will have to be for both of us.”

  “Both of you?” He chuckled. “You want her along to hold your hand, I suppose. Is that it?”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “I was just joking, Walter.” Schlessenger coughed politely. “Actually, I think it would be best. She can fill in the gaps for the psychiatrist if there is to be narcosynthesis.”

  “That’s still not what I mean,” Sherwood said evenly.

  “Well, what do you mean?” Schlessenger said sharply. When Sherwood said nothing, he went on, “Don’t sit there with that silly smile on your face. You think you know something. What is it?”

  “Virginia doesn’t remember any more than I do.”

  Schlessenger’s face went hard and his eyes, narrowed so quickly in suspicion, jumped from one to the other. Very ugly, he said, “Just what are you two trying to pull off here?”

  “We’re not trying to pull anything off,” Sherwood said calmly. “It happens to be true.”

  “Don’t make me laugh.” He got up suddenly, walked grimly around the desk as if to go to the bar, then turned silently on the thick rug and leaned on the desk. “Is this true, Mrs. Sherwood?”

  “Yes, it’s true.”

  The arms came up and he turned away from them, leaning his rump against the desk, staring across the room.

  Presently he said, “I don’t like this.”

  “You don’t like it?” Sherwood said cuttingly. “How do you suppose we feel about it?”

  “How the hell s
hould I know,” Schlessenger said, whirling around. “I’ve never had amnesia.”

  “Haven’t you?” Sherwood said, rising. “You seemed to have it yesterday when you couldn’t remember anything about my work.”

  “Quit talking as if I were responsible for your condition, Walter. As for your work, you admitted to me yesterday you felt like a stranger here. Why then should I tell a stranger anything? Besides, I did tell you a few things but you lacked the memory background to assimilate them.”

  “Just so much gobbledygook.”

  “It was not gobbledygook.” He turned away, walking to the bar, hands in his coat pockets, his body taut with inheld wrath. When he turned around, he said quietly, “One person with amnesia I can understand, even though there is no bona fide way to prove whether he is telling the truth, but two persons—”

  “You think we’re faking!”

  “I didn’t say it,” Schlessenger said fiercely. “You did.”

  “You thought it, Doctor,” Virginia said pointedly.

  “I’m just stating a fact well known in psychiatry. Amnesia is as unprovable as backache, that’s all. To go on, I can believe one person can have amnesia and I can believe one person can pretend to have amnesia. But when someone tries to tell me a man and wife can have amnesia together, well,” he laughed a dry laugh, “it just can’t be, that’s all.”

  “It is a fact, Doctor,” Virginia said doggedly. “Not only do we both have amnesia, but we happened to contract it at exactly the same time in the same place.”

  Schlessenger lit a cigarette, blew out smoke to obliterate the flame and studied the lighter. He said tightly, “Walter, if it weren’t for the fact that to you I’m a stranger—or so you say—I’d throw you out of here.”

  Gripping the arms of his chair, Sherwood said combatively, “I would like to see you try that, Doctor.”

  Schlessenger ignored him by going on. “As it is, I happen to have done things for you that render you forever in my debt, whether you know it or not. I gave you your chance to work in research that interests you and I didn’t interfere. On the contrary, I encouraged you, helped you, boasted about you, told some of my friends high in government and other research centers about you.”

  “What does all that mean?”

  “It means this, Walter: you have no right to come in here making rash accusations like that. Particularly since I’ve offered to help you all I can.”

  “When does this so-called help commence?”

  “Will you be quiet long enough for me to tell you?” He put down the lighter. His eyes were brighter than they had been. “I wasn’t quite frank with you yesterday, Walter. The reason is that since only you were affected there might be no tie-up and there was no sense revealing Institute business because of such an improbable connection. But in view of your condition—er—conditions…”

  He leaned back in the chair, scowled at the ceiling. “I think you have learned enough about yourself to know you were a brilliant man. You were what I wanted in a research man. The hell of it is you were even more than that. You were able to work not only on projects which we discussed and to which you were assigned but also on some things of your own. Our main difficulty, yours and mine, was agreeing on what was Institute business and what comprised your own private pursuits. You so often overstepped the limits of experimentation set by the Institute that I suppose I paid more attention to you than to the others.”

  Schlessenger moved forward, deftly deposited ashes in the tray on the desk, wiping away a solitary speck of ash from the desk top with a fingertip. “As a result, I know you were working on something you didn’t want any of us to know about. When I asked you about it you denied it, but I wasn’t fooled. Not for a minute. You knew how I felt about it so you were careful to conceal everything. But one day I came in when you were in the middle of something you wouldn’t let me see. I told you then it was either let me know what it was or abandon it for Institute work. I told you if you felt so strongly about it to take it home and work on it there, whatever it was. You said you couldn’t do that, if that was the way I felt about it, you’d abandon it.”

  He faced Sherwood squarely. “I don’t think you really abandoned it at all, Walter. The reason you spent so much time out here was to be able to work on it when no one was here, which was often late at night. I think the reason you quit was you had finished it, whatever it was, or had nearly finished it, and didn’t wish to be associated with the Institute when whatever it was would be revealed.”

  Schlessenger squashed the cigarette and sighed. “We’ll never know what it was, Walter, because it backfired, and the way you and Mrs. Sherwood are is evidence of it. The pity of it is that there is no one to help you because you never confided in anyone.

  “But that’s all just guess, isn’t it, Doctor?” Virginia said hopefully.

  “You see the wet grass and the streets when you come out of a movie,” Schlessenger said, “so you know it’s been raining. A simple deduction.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this yesterday?” Sherwood demanded.

  Schlessenger said patiently, “Yesterday there was no basis for thinking your amnesia was caused by anything more than overwork or concern. Today, with Mrs. Sherwood suffering from exactly the same thing, I can’t think anything else. It is the only explanation.”

  Virginia said, “Surely Walter discussed it with someone.”

  “He might have discussed it with you,” Schlessenger said. “Perhaps he left notes.”

  “Not Walter. He used no notes. He had an extraordinary power of recall. And there’s nothing in the laboratory, if that’s what you’re going to suggest next. it has had a thorough cleaning.”

  “Search, you mean,” Sherwood said bitingly. “You’d have given your right arm to know what it was.”

  Schlessenger smiled thinly. “The Institute can always use a new development as proof of its efficacy.”

  “What about this person called Ollie?” Virginia asked. “He used to help Walter.”

  Schlessenger snorted. “Oliver Lansing was a kid fresh from college who couldn’t decide whether he liked girls or science more. He got into everybody’s hair around here. Unfortunately he had itchy fingers. He wasn’t making enough money so he picked up laboratory equipment and sold it to a fence in Detroit.”

  “So you fired him.”

  Schlessenger nodded. “I fired him.”

  “Tell me, Doctor, is it the usual practice when you fire someone to completely remove his records from your files?”

  “In such cases, yes. It would not do to have a blot on the Institute. Appropriations have been withdrawn for less. But how would you know about that?”

  “I’ve been spying.”

  “I must tighten security out here,” Schlessenger said, smiling. “If you had come to me, I could have told you that. Why is it you insist on getting your information from others?” In the next moment he was on his feet and coming around the desk. “Look, both of you. I want you to feel free to come out here any time. I’ll answer all your questions as well as I can, and I’ll try not to confuse you if they get technical. I don’t want you to feel that I am against you.”

  He placed a band on Sherwood’s shoulder. “I want you both to take treatment. In case it turns out doctors can do nothing for you, I want you to think about going back to school. It’s not too late. I will personally underwrite both the treatment and the school. Do you realize that in a few years you could be back where you were with the same knowledge you had before?”

  * * * *

  They left Schlessenger and walked glumly through the hissing door to the driveway, crunching down the loose gravel, Sherwood with his fists in his pockets and she with an arm in his.

  In the car he sat with the key in his hand, looking at the low-slung Institute building and saying, “Always an answer, hasn’t he?”

  Virginia sighed tiredly. “I feel he has a lifetime of practice behind him.”

  “Meaning?”

  “
Meaning my intuition tells me there’s more to Schlessenger than meets the eye. That plus a little of the kind of deduction he mentioned.”

  He turned to her. “I know he’s lying but I couldn’t tell you why. If you have anything that’s logical, let’s hear it.”

  “All right. Suppose you are the director of an Institute like this.”

  “O. K. I’m supposing.”

  “You arrange money from the National Science Foundation and you hire a man just like you.”

  “Go on.”

  “Suddenly one day this researcher punches a hole in his memory.”

  “An eleven year hole?”

  “An eleven year hole.”

  “I could think it was amnesia.”

  She nodded. “It might even be reasonable, in view of how hard this researcher worked.”

  “All right.”

  “Now it so happens that the researcher’s wife has an eleven year hole punched in her memory too and together the man and his wife go to the director and tell him. You’re the director. What do you do?”

  “I wonder about it.” Sherwood scowled. “I begin looking up everything he knows about brain waves and that secret project he was working on. I see the possible connection.”

  “Do you say, ‘Look, Mr. Researcher and wife, I’m sorry about all this, really I am. I want to send you to some psychiatrist friend of mine. Maybe he can help you. And if he can’t, I’ll pay—pay, mind you—for your re-education?’”

  “No,” Sherwood said. “I certainly do not.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I see this as a new discovery, I question them thoroughly, I talk with everyone they knew, I search the laboratory, I search the house, I go over every inch of ground trying to find out what it is this researcher has discovered.”

  “And you don’t send them out in the world with a pat on the back?”

  “No. I tell them to keep in touch. I tell them that at the first glimmer of recollection to call me up day or night.”

  Sherwood nodded. “I see what you mean.’

  “And furthermore,” Virginia went on, “nobody’s searched the house, nobody’s talked to our friends.”

  “In short,” Sherwood concluded, “Schlessenger’s not interested. Why?”