when there was no longer any movement, he sat up and pried open the man's jaws, thrusting his fingers into the mouth and jerking out the artificial larynx. the next time he would hear putsyn's real voice, and maybe that would trigger his memory.

he crawled to the door and pulled himself up, leaning against the wall. by the time putsyn moved, he had regained partial use of his leg.

"now we'll see," he said. he didn't try to put anger in his voice; it was there. "i don't have to tell you that i can beat answers out of you."

"you don't know?" putsyn laughed and there was relief in the sound. "you can kick me around, but you won't get your answers!"

the man had physical courage, or thought he did, and sometimes that amounted to the same thing. luis shifted uneasily. it was the first time he'd heard putsyn's actual voice; it was disturbing, but it didn't arouse concrete memories.

he stepped on the outstretched hand. "think so?" he said. he could hear the fingers crackle.

putsyn paled, but didn't cry out. "don't think you can kill me and get away with it," he said.

he didn't sound too certain.

slightly sick, luis stepped off the hand. he couldn't kill the man—and not just because of the police. he just couldn't do it. he felt for the other gun in his pocket.

"this isn't a freezer," he said. "it's been changed over. i think i'll give you a sample."

putsyn blinked. "and lose all chance of finding out? go ahead."

luis had thought of that; but he hadn't expected putsyn to.

"you see, there's nothing you can do," said putsyn. "a man has a right to protect his property, and i've got plenty of evidence that you broke in."

"i don't think you'll go to the police," luis said.

"you think not? my memory system isn't a fraud. admittedly, i didn't use it properly on luise, but in a public demonstration i can prove that it does work."

luis nodded wearily to himself. he'd half suspected that it did work. here he was, with the solution so close—this man knew his identity and that of luise, and where dorn starret came into the tangle—and he couldn't force putsyn to tell.

he couldn't go to the police. they would ignore his charges, because they were based on unprovable suspicions ... ignore him or arrest him for breaking and entering.

"everything's in your favor," he said, raising the gun. "but there's one way to make you leave us alone."

"wait," cried putsyn, covering his face with his uninjured hand, as if that would shield him. "maybe we can work out an agreement."

luis didn't lower the gun. "i mean it," he said.

"i know you mean it—i can't let you take away my life's work."

"talk fast," luis said, "and don't lie."

he stood close and listened while putsyn told his story.

this is what had happened, he thought. this is what he'd tried so hard to learn.

"i had to do it that way," putsyn finished. "but if you're willing to listen to reason, i can cut you in—more money than you've dreamed of—and the girl too, if you want her."

luis was silent. he wanted her—but now the thought was foolish. hopeless. this must be the way people felt who stood in the blast area of a rocket—but for them the sensation lasted only an instant, while for him the feeling would last the rest of his life.

"get up," he said.

"then it's all right?" asked putsyn nervously. "we'll share it?"

"get up."

putsyn got to his feet, and luis hit him. he could have used the freezer, but that wasn't personal enough.

he let the body fall to the floor.

he dragged the inert form into the waiting room and turned on the screen and talked to the police. then he turned off the screen and kicked open the door to the hall. he shouldered putsyn and carried him up to the roof and put him in the aircar.