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Commander Braskett understood those smiles. Even now,
after three days of close contact under pressure, they thought
he was nuts.
He had had a week's supply of bottled water brought from
his home to the command post here at the hospital. Every-
body kept telling him that the municipal water was safe to
drink now, that the memory drugs were gone from it; but
why couldn't they comprehend that his aversion to public
water dated back to an era when memory drugs were un-
known? There were plenty of other chemicals in the reservoir,
after all.
He hoisted bis glass in a jaunty toast and winked at them.
Tim Bryce said, "Commander, we'd like you to address the
city again at half past ten this morning. Here's your text,"
Braskett scanned the sheet. It dealt mostly with the re-
laxation of the order to boil water before drinking it. "You
want me to go on all media," he said, "and tell the people of
San Francisco that it's now safe for them to drink from the
taps, eh? That's a bit awkward for me. Even a figurehead
spokesman is entitled to some degree of personal integrity."
Bryce looked briefly puzzled, Then he laughed and took
the text back. "You're absolutely right, Commander. I can't
ask you to make this announcement, in view of ah your
particular beliefs. Let's change the plan. You open the spot
by introducing me, and I'll discuss the no-boiling thing. Will
that be all right?"
Commander Braskett appreciated the tactful way they
deferred
to his
special
obsessio
n. "I'm
at your
service,
Doctor,
" he
said
gravely
.
Bryc
e
finished
speakin
g and
the
camera
lights
left
him. He
said to
Lisa,
"What
about
lunch?
Or
breakfa
st, or
what-
ever
meal it
is we're
up to
now."
"Eve
rythi
ng's
read
y,
Tim.
Whe
neve
r
you"
are."
They
ate
togethe
r in the
hologra
ph
room,
which
had be-
come
the
kitchen
of the
comma
nd post.
Massive
cameras
and
tanks of
etching
fluid
surroun
ded
them.
The
others
thought
fully
left
them
alone.
These
brief
shared
meals
were
the only
fragme
nts of
privacy
he and
Lisa
had
had, in
the
fifty-
two
hours
since he
had
awaken
ed to
find her
sleeping
beside
him.
He
stared
across
the
table in
wonder
at this
delecta
ble
blond
girl who
they
said was
his wife.
How
beautifu
l her
soft
brown
eyes
were
against
that
backdro
p of
golden
hair!
How
perfect
the line
of her
lips, the
curve of
her
earlobes
! Bryce
knew
that no
one
would
object if
he and
Lisa
went off
and
locked
themsel
ves into
one of
the
private
rooms
for a
few
hours.
He
wasn't
that
indispe
nsable;
and
there
was so
much
he had
to begin
relearni
ng
about
his wife.
But he
was
unable
to leave
his post.
He
hadn't
been
out of
the
hospital
or even
off this
floor
for the
duration
of the
crisis;
he kept
himself
going
by
grabbin
g the
sleep
wire for
half an
hour
every
six
hours.
Perhaps
it was
an
illusiop
born of
too little
sleep
and too
much
data,
but he
had
come to
believe
that the
survival
of the
city
depende
d on
him. He
had
spent
his
career
trying
to heal
individu
al sick
minds;
now he
had a
whole
city to
tend to.
"Tire
d?"
Lisa
aske
d.
"I'm
in that
tirednes
s
beyond
feeling
tired.
My
mind is
so clear
that my
skull
wouldn'
t cast a
shadow
. I'm
nearing
nir-
vana."
"The
worst
is
over,
I
think
. The
city's
settli
ng
down
."
"It's
still
bad,
thou
gh.
Have
you
seen
the
suici
de
figur
es?"
"Bad
?"
"Hid
eous.
The
norm in
San
Francisc
o is 220
a year.
We've
had
close to
five
hundred
in the
last two
and a
half
days.
And
that's
just the
reporte
d cases,
the
bodies
discove
red, and
so on.
Probabl
y we
can
double
the
figure.
Thirty
suicides
re-
ported
Wednes
day
night,
about
two
hundred
on
Thursda
y, the
same
on
Friday,
and
about
fifty so
far this
mornin
g. At
least it
seems
as if the
wave is
past its
peak."
"But
why,
Tim?
"
"Some people react poorly to loss. Especially the loss of a
segment of their memories. They're indignant they're
crashed they're scared -and they reach for the exit pill.
Suicide's too easy now, anyway. In the old days you reacted
to frustration by smashing the crockery; now you go a dead-
lier route. Of course, there are special cases. A named
Montini they fished out of the bay a professional mnemon-
ist, who did a trick act in nightclubs, total recall. I can hardly
blame him for caving in. And I suppose there were a lot of
others who kept their business in their heads gamblers,
stock-market operators, oral poets, musicians who might
decide to end it all rather than try to pick up the pieces."
"But if the effects of the drug wear off "
"Do they?" Bryce asked.
"You said so yourself."
"I was making optimistic noises for the benefit of the cit-
izens. We don't have any experimental history for these drugs
and human subjects. Hell, Lisa, we don't even know the dos-
age that was administered; by the time we were able to get
water samples most of the system had been flushed clean,
and the automatic monitoring devices at the city pumping
stations were rigged as part of the conspiracy so they didn't
show a thing out of the ordinary. I've got no idea at all if
there's going to be any measurable memory recovery."
"But there is, Tim. I've already started to get some things
back."
"What?"
"Don't scream at me like that! You scared me."
He clung to the edge of the table. "Are you really recover-
ing?"
"Around the edges. I remember a few things already.
About us."
"Like what?"
"Applying for the marriage license. I'm standing stark
naked inside a diagnostat machine and a voice on the loud-
speaker is telling me to look straight into the scanners. And
I remember the ceremony, a little. Just a small group of
friends, a civil ceremony. Then we took the pod to Acapulco."
He stared grimly. "When did this start to come back?"
"About seven this morning, I guess."
"Is there more?"
"A bit. Our honeymoon. The robot bellhop who came blun-
dering in on our wedding night. You don't "
"Remember it? No. No. Nothing. Blank."
"That's all I remember, this early stuff." "Yes, of
course," he said. "The older memories are always the first to
return in any form of amnesia. The last stuff in is the first
to go." His hands were shaking, not entirely from fatigue. A
strange desolation crept over him. Lisa remembered. He did
not. Was it a function of her youth, or of the chemistry of
her brain, or ?
He could not bear the thought that they no longer shared
an oblivion. He didn't want the amnesia to become one-sided
for them; it was humiliating not to remember his own mar-
riage, when she did. You're being irrational, he told himself.
Physician, heal thyself!
"Let's go back inside," he said.
"You haven't finished your "
"Later."
He went into the command room. Kamakura had phones
in both hands and was barking data into a recorder. The
screens were alive with morning scenes, Saturday in the city,
crowds in Union Square. Kamakura hung up both calls and
said, "I've got an interesting report from Dr. Klein at Let-
terman General. He says they're getting the first traces of
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