tain that
he won't.

"That's an administrative rule, not a law--that we don't try to trace
retrogression victims. It channels anger and greed into
non-destructive acts. There are a lot of unruly emotions floating
around, and as long as there are, we have to have a safety valve for
them. Retrogression is the perfect instrument for that."

Luise tried to speak, but he waved her into silence.

"Do you know how many were killed last year?" he asked.

Luis shook his head.

"Four," said the counselor. "Four murders in a population of sixteen
billion. That's quite a record, as anyone knows who reads Twentieth
Century mystery novels." He glanced humorously at Luis. "You did,
didn't you?"

Luis nodded mutely.

Borgenese grinned. "I thought so. There are only three types of
people who know about fingerprints today, historians and policemen
being two. And I didn't think you were either."

Luise finally broke in. "Won't Putsyn's machine change things?"

"Will it?" The counselor pretended to frown. "Do you remember how to
build it?"

"I've forgotten," she confessed.

"So you have," said Borgenese. "And I assure you Putsyn is going to
forget too. As a convicted criminal, and he will be, we'll provide him
with a false memory that will prevent his prying into the past.

"That's one machine we don't want until humans are fully and
completely civilized. It's been invented a dozen times in the last
century, and it always gets lost."

He closed his eyes momentarily, and when he opened them, Luise was
looking at Luis, who was staring at the floor.

"You two can go now," he said. "When you get ready, there are jobs for
both of you in my department. No hurry, though; we'll keep them open."

Luis left, went out through the long corridors and into the night.

* * * * *

She caught up with him when he was getting off the belt that had taken
him back to the Shelters.

"There's not much you can say, I suppose," she murmured. "What can you
tell a girl when she learns you've stopped just short of killing her?"

He didn't know the answer either.

They walked in silence.

She stopped at her dwelling, but didn't go in. "Still, it's an
indication of how you felt--that you forgot your own name and took
mine." She was smiling now. "I don't see how I can do less for you."

Hope stirred and he moved closer. But he didn't speak. She might not
mean what he thought she did.

"Luis and Luise Obispo,"