Time Out Of Mind (v1.0), page 3
“You think she isn’t?”
“I don’t know,” said Laurie hesitantly. “It’s just a feeling really.”
“Watch this now,” said Manders.
Hardly had he spoken than the two lowest traces on the screen suddenly leap in concert, danced wildly for a couple of seconds, and then resumed their tranquil jogging. A moment later the recording broke off.
“What happened?” asked Laurie.
“A metal swab dish attacked the technician who was operating the machine.”
“You’re joking!”
Manders shrugged.
“You mean Catherine threw it?”
“I mean just what I said,” asserted Manders. “She was six feet away from it when it happened and she didn’t move a muscle. The only thing to connect her with the incident is that tracing—if you can call that a connection.”
“Are you saying that trace jump came before it happened?”
“Before the dish hit him. It had to get to him first.” The screen recommenced its interrupted recording. The traces were indistinguishable from what they had been before the break.
“Tell me about the Lashley points,” said Laurie. “Which are the bottom two?”
“The thalamic junction sites.”
“Basic emotions.”
“In a general way of speaking, yes. Lashley called them the loculi irrationales.” Manders switched off the viewer, saying as he did so: “What on earth can have induced me to tell you all this? Maybe my own loculus irrationalis, eh?”
Laurie smiled. “Will you tell me one more thing? Why did you say that this might be taking the place of heroin?”
“Did I really say that?”
“Well, I thought you’d implied it.”
Manders gripped his nose between his thumb and forefinger and appeared to consider deeply. Finally he let go and sighed. “Over the past twenty years, Linton, I’ve seen just about every sort of addiction you can think of and plenty you couldn’t. Generally speaking they’ve all followed the same fundamental pattern. But Catherine’s different. She’s not looking for something: she’s found, it! She’s fulfilled. Whatever she’s on has tipped her right over the edge. She’s still in our world but she’s no longer of it. I think she’d be happy just to lie there for ever.”
Laurie frowned. “But if that’s true, what use could she be to the pushers?”
“It’s just a guess,” said Manders, “but judging from her arm I’d say she’s been on a twice-a-day jab for at least the last three months. That’s a fair number of shots of something. But until we learn more about her —if we ever do—we’re no nearer to finding out what that something is.”
“You still haven’t answered my original question.”
“I know I haven’t. The fact is, Linton, it’s really nothing more than a hunch. But something tells me that kid’s found the pot of gold at the rainbow’s end. The one every opium addict’s been looking for ever since the first coolie chewed the first poppy head. The short cut to Paradise.”
“To Paradise?”
“Well, you’ve seen her E.E.G.,” said Manders.
Laurie nodded. “I hope to God you’re wrong,” he said.
“Amen to that,” agreed Manders. “But you can’t deny there must be millions of kids going under for the third time who would be praying I was right.”
The day Laurie passed his NARCOS selection board and was commissioned as Acting Third Officer he was handed his first assignment. “It’s been waiting in the pipeline for you, Linton,” said Major Gross with a grin. “Nice to feel your talents are in demand, eh?” Laurie unfolded the single- quarto sheet, briefly savored the “3rd Officer (A) Linton, L.” and glanced at the instructions. They- were for him to report to Doctor J. Manders at the Bromley Rehabilitation Center. “Have you any idea what it’s about, sir?”
“He wasn’t very specific,” replied the Major. “Said he hoped we could spare you for a few days. He’s done us plenty of good turns in the past and we like to reciprocate wherever it’s possible.”
“How long is ‘a few days’?” asked Laurie.
“That rather depends on developments at his end,” said the Major vaguely. “You’d better check in—let’s see, today’s Wednesday, isn’t it?—well, let’s say tomorrow night. You’ll have a clearer idea of what he’s after by then and we can plan ahead accordingly.”
Laurie nodded. “I’ll go and get my things together. I assume I’m staying at the Center?”
“That’s the general idea,” said Major Gross. The folds of skin around his eyes wrinkled as he added: “As from today you’re on Service Credit Rating— Junior Grade. Sally’s made out your card. Anything else you’ll have to pay for yourself and argue the toss with her later. Tough titty, but there it is. Any queries?”
“I don’t think so, sir.”
Major Gross grinned and held out his hand. “Well, good luck, Linton.”
Service Credit Rating gave to its privileged possessor the right to make use of the international public utility network, i.e. transport, hostel accommodation, government restaurants and the communications services. There were three grades, Junior, Median and Senior. Junior was pretty basic, nevertheless, while Laurie was waiting for the train which would take him to Bromley, he was able to make use of it to send two free telegrams—one to his sister and the other to his parents—notifying them of his success. He knew Becky would be delighted but felt rather less certain about his father and mother—especially his father.
The train was crowded. Three years before, in sheer desperation, the Government had doubled the already high motor taxes and banned all private vehicles from the cities. These draconian measures, taken at the eleventh hour and in the teeth of hysterical opposition from the motor lobby, had just managed to avert a complete urban breakdown. The car manufacturers had soon stopped screaming that it was a policy of national economic suicide and set’ about exporting their excess production to those areas of the world which still had sufficient space to accommodate it.
Unfortunately, the railway system which had been allowed to fall into neglect at the expense of the National Motorway Program, now found that it was being called upon to supply the needs of a nation which had been conditioned to regard the motorcar as the only civilized means of transport. An emergency program was introduced; rolling stock which had already been earmarked for the breaker’s yard was hastily recalled, patched up and put back into service; schedules were stepped up and new ones introduced. The antiquated network groaned and creaked and faltered, but somehow managed to keep going. Even so it was far, far removed from the utopian ideals the transport planners had been pipe-dreaming for the past fifty years and almost as far from its own advertisements. Hardly a poster had escaped the attention of the wits, but few indeed were the travelers who, after three frustrating years, could manage more than a weary lip-twitch as they read that “It’s Quicker by Snail.”
Forced to stand in the crowded corridor Laurie gazed out of the smudged window at the familiar eyesores—the soaring concrete flyovers and the cowed tenements huddling beneath them; the drab blocks of high-rise Council flats, indistinguishable from one another, all stone dead before they had even left the architect’s drawing-board; the sprawling urban jungle which, having defeated every effort to tame it, was now sliced up into haphazard geometrical lumps by the ironically named “arterial freeways.”
‘
The train jolted and swayed, clacking over the points and sending the standing passengers—lurching into each other. An old man staggered against Laurie and apologized. “Enough to break yer bloody ’eart, ain’t it, mate?” he grumbled. “Five years ago I use t’have a whole bloody compartment to meself. Now I can’t even get along t’the bloody bog. There’s progress for yer! Marvelous, ain’t it?”
Laurie grinned and shrugged. “Well, at least we can get around in the city now. You couldn’t have done that five years ago.”
“You’re too fuckin’ right I couldn’t,” agreed his companion, sucking noisily at an ill-fitting denture. “Couldn’t bloody afford it, mate. You try a night out up the West End on a pension of fifteen bloody quid a week! Cost you half that just to get there. Cheapest seat in a porno’s free quid. Bit of a nosh up and what’ve you got left? Sweet F.A. that’s what! Might as well have an extra quid’s worth on the pools an’ try an’ win meself a coupler million. Tha’s the only way I’ll ever get t’see the fanny from the front row.’ “You’re retired, are you?”
“You could call it that, I s’pose. Junked s’more like it. Fifty-five years on the carts then out on yer arse-hole. Move over, Dad. You’re finished.”
“ ’The carts?’ What are they?”
“The bloody dust carts, son. R.D. Refuse Disposal. Hackney Borough. Know it?”
Laurie shook his head.
“Cor, they got the biggest fuckin’ recycler you ever seen. Bloody great magnets the size of barn doors. Down they come. Woomp! Plastic shredders, min’ral extractors, they got the lot. I still go up there in the mornings if it’s fine. Sort of a club like. See me mates. Hey, why don’ you drop in one of these days? I’ll show you round. Harry Trumble’s the name.”
“Thanks,” said Laurie. “I’d like that.”
“An’ what’s your line, mate?”
“I’m with NARCOS. Narcotics Security.”
The old man had obviously never heard of it. “Oh yes?” he said vaguely.
“Drug control.”
The old man nodded. “Ah,” he said, giving Laurie a shrewd glance. “Police.”
“No,” said Laurie firmly. “United Nations.”
The train slowed, drawing squeakily into Clapham Junction. “This is where I get off, mate,” said Mr. Trumble. “Seein’ me daughter this evenin.” Makes the best protein pud south of the bloody river. Her ma taught ’er. Sorter family tradition, see? Well, so long. Been nice meetin’ yer.”
The old man unfastened the door and jumped nimbly down on to the platform while the train was still moving. He glanced back and nodded, a final brief farewell. “Hackney Borough!” he called. “Any fine momin around ten!”
Laurie waved and watched him scuttle away toward an unmanned exit which was clearly marked “Railway Personnel Only.” He rather wished that the old man had been traveling a bit further.
The train pulled into Bromley Station just before six. Finding the bus queues were still gorged with the evening exodus from the City, Laurie elected to walk the mile’ and a half to the Center. The weather was mild—it was the end of April—and he welcomed the chance to stretch his muscles after the wearying crush of the journey.
As he strode off along the ringing pavement he recalled his last meeting with Doctor Manders. That incident which had seemed so extraordinary at the time had been thrust summarily into the background by the immediate demands of the course, but he could conceive of no other reason why Manders should have asked for him by name. He suspected, moreover, that Major Gross was better informed than he cared to admit. Could it be that this assignment was just another assessment of his powers of initiative? Well, even if it was, it was certainly preferable to sitting behind a desk feeding the memory banks of a computer with information gleaned by other people.
He reported to the reception desk at the Center at twenty past six. The clerk listened to his explanation then phoned through to Manders’ office. From the muttered conversation Laurie gathered that the Director was attending a house conference which was expected to last for another twenty minutes. However, a room had been made ready for Mr. Linton in “K” block. He could go there now, deposit his things and then come down to the Director’s office.
The clerk replaced the receiver and gave Laurie directions for finding his room. “Thought for a moment you was cornin’ in for Voluntary Re-H,” he concluded with an apologetic grin. “Just goes to show, doesn’t it?”
Still familiar with the general layout of the Center, Laurie found his way to “K” block without difficulty and took the lift up to the third floor. As he stepped out of the cage and glanced along the corridor he caught sight of the same male nurse who had been stationed outside Catherine’s room. It was then that he realized that this was the very wing to which Manders had brought him on that evening eight weeks ago. But if he had expected the nurse to remember him he was disappointed. As Laurie approached the man gave the briefest possible nod but his eyes showed no sign of recognition.
Laurie told him the number of the room he was seeking. The nurse pointed with a pen to a door at the far end of the corridor. Laurie thanked him and was just moving off when an impulse made him turn back. “That girl—Catherine?” he said. “Is she still here?”
* The man’s eyes seemed to focus on Laurie for the first time. “Catherine?” he repeated woodenly. “Catherine who, sir?”
“I don’t know her other name. She was here about eight weeks ago. In this wing.”
The man pursed up his lips and raised his eyebrows in an elaborate parody of total ignorance. “Sorry, sir,” he said. “Doesn’t mean a thing to me. You’re sure it was here?”
In the face of such blank incomprehension Laurie had a moment of doubt. “I’m almost certain,” he said. “In that room there, I think.”
The nurse shook his head. “’Fraid you must have got the wrong wing, sir. Fourteen’s been empty since before Christmas. It’s dead easy to make a mistake in this place. Half the wings look alike, you know.” Laurie nodded. The nurse was right, of course. He could have been mistaken. In fact, if he hadn’t recognized the man, he probably wouldn’t have associated this wing with the girl at all. And yet he still wasn’t completely satisfied. He murmured his thanks and, as he walked away down the corridor, he glanced covertly at the door of the ward in which he thought she had been. The round observation porthole was unobscured by any grille, and through the window on the far side of the room he could see the late evening sunshine glinting off the windows of the buildings on the far side of the hospital gardens. He gave a mental shrug and, as he did so, he suddenly recalled the nurse’s name—Docket! He glanced back just in time to see the man’s white jacket disappearing around a comer. Shaking his head in perplexity he walked on till he found the room he had been allotted and went inside.
Fifteen minutes later, washed and tidied, he presented himself at Doctor Manders’ office. He had scarcely introduced himself to the Director’s secretary when the door opened behind him and Manders breezed in. “Hello, Linton!” he cried. “Delighted to see you! Just one second while I give this stuff to Brenda and then I’ll join you for a drink.”
He dumped a sheaf of papers on his secretary’s desk and gave her rapid instructions as to what she was to do with them. Then he turned back to Laurie, gripped him by the upper arm and steered him through into the adjacent study. “Well, well,” he chuckled. “So you eventually made the grade. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Oh, don’t you start ‘siring’ me too,” said Manders, elbowing the door shut behind them. “I get enough of that as it is. Now. what can I offer you? Whiskey? Gin and tonic? Sherry?”
“Gin and tonic, please.”
“And what does it feel like being a qualified NARCOS hound?” asked Manders, busying himself among the bottles and glasses in a wall cabinet.
“The most notable sensation so far is relief. Continuous assessment gets a bit wearing after a time.”
“I could have told you you’d make it,” said the Doctor, handing over a tall glass in which ice cubes tinkled like distant sleigh bells. “You didn’t have any serious doubts, did you?”
Laurie smiled and raised his glass in acknowledgement of the Doctor’s silent toast. “It depends on what you call ‘serious’,” he admitted. “It seems different in retrospect.”
Manders nodded, sat himself down in an arm chair and indicated that Laurie should do likewise. “Ken Gross didn’t make any fuss about your coming?”
“No,” said Laurie. “And he didn’t tell me why you wanted me either.”
“What do you think?” asked Manders.
Laurie blinked slowly. “It’s only a guess,” he said, “and as such probably a mile off-target, but would it be anything to do with that girl—Catherine?”
“You remember her then?” •
“Why, yes,” said Laurie. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“Have you spoken to anyone about her?”
“No.”
“You’re quite sure?”
“Positive. The only time I’ve mentioned her existence was about fifteen minutes ago. I bumped into that male nurse who was on duty outside her room. Wasn’t his name ‘Docket’? I asked him how she was.”
“And…?”
“And nothing. He said he had no idea who I was talking about.”
Manders smiled faintly. “You didn’t believe him?”
Laurie shrugged. “I wasn’t prepared to argue the point with him. He was pretty convincing.”
“He should have been,” said Manders, swirling the ice cubes around within his glass. “After all, he was telling you the truth.”
Laurie stared at him. “Come again?”
“Docket had- no idea what you were talking about.”
“You mean it wasn’t him?”
“Oh, it was him all right,” said Manders, regarding Laurie speculatively with his bright grey eyes, “but his memory of the incident has been obliterated. You and I are the only two people here who know that Catherine ever existed.”
Laurie’s astonishment was unfeigned. “But how ...?”
Manders shrugged. “Azaguanine 8; R.N.A. molecular transfer and deep hypnosis. The techniques have been available for years.”
“All right then. Why?”
The doctor leant back in his chair and gazed up at the ceiling. For what seemed an unconscionable age he said nothing, then, seemingly having come to some laborious decision he lowered his head again and looked at Laurie. “‘Why’ is exactly what I hope you’ll find out for me,” he said.
Laurie’s grip on reality had never been less sure than it was at that moment. He looked from the man opposite him to the glass in his own hand and then back again. “Let me get this straight,” he recapitulated ponderously. “You want me to find out why you suppressed Docket’s memory?”
