"It is a difficult position," Kolodin agreed. "Still, affairs may not be so bad after all." He glanced at his thumbnail, which responded with a set of glowing numbers. "In fifteen minutes we'll meet with M.T. Rady, who will decide upon your therapy."

The two returned to the Hexad. Kolodin ushered Pardero into the office of Master Technician Rady, and a moment later Rady himself appeared: a thin sharp-eyed man of middle age who already seemed to know the data relevant to Pardero's case. He asked: "The spaceship which brought you to Bruse-Tansel: how was it named?"

"I can't remember much about it."

Rady nodded and touched a square of coarse sponge to each of Pardero's shoulders. "This is an inoculation to facilitate a relaxed mind-state...

Relax back into your chair. Can you fix your mind upon something pleasant?"

The room dimmed; Pardero thought of Ariel. Rady said: "On the wall you will see a pair of designs. I want you to examine them, or if you prefer, you may close your eyes and rest... In fact, relax completely, and listen only to my voice; and when I tell you to sleep, then you may sleep."

The designs on the wall, pulsed and swam; a soft sound, waxing and waning, seemed to absorb and obliterate all other sounds of the universe. The shapes on the wall had expanded to surround him, and the only reality was himself and his inner mind.

"I don't know." The voice sounded as if it were coming from a distant room, although it was his own voice. Odd. He heard a mumble whose significance he only half-heeded: "What was your father's name?"

"I don't know."

"What was your mother's name?"

"I don't know."

More questions, sometimes casual, sometimes urgent, and always the same response, and finally the cessation of sound.

Pardero awoke in an empty office. Almost immediately Rady returned, to stand looking down at Pardero with a faint smile.

Pardero asked: "What did you learn?"

"Nothing to speak of. How do you feel?"

"Tired."

"Quite normal. For the rest of the day, rest. Don't worry about your condition; somehow we'll get to the bottom of your case."

"Suppose there's nothing there? Suppose I have no memory?"

Rady refused to take the idea seriously. "Every cell in your body has a memory.

Your mind stores facts on many levels. For instance you have not forgotten how to speak."

Pardero said dubiously: "When I arrived at Carfaunge, I knew very little. I could not talk. As soon as I heard a word I remembered its meaning and I could use it."

Rady gave a curt nod. "This is the basis of a therapy we might well try."

Pardero hesitated. "I might find my memory and discover myself to be a criminal."

Rady's eyes gleamed. "That is a chance you must take. The Connatic, after restoring your memory, might then decide to put you to death."

Pardero grimaced. "Does the Connatic ever visit the hospital?"

"Undoubtedly. "Undoubtedly. He goes everywhere."

"What does he look like?"

Rady shrugged. "In his official photographs he seems an important and imposing nobleman, because of his dress and accoutrements. But when he walks abroad, he goes quietly and is never recognized, and this is what he likes best. Four trillion folk inhabit Alastor Cluster, and it is said that the Connatic knows what each of them eats for breakfast."

"In that case," said Pardero, "perhaps I should simply go to ask the Connatic for the facts of my life."

"It might come to that."

The days passed, and then a week, and then two weeks. Rady attempted a dozen stratagems to loosen the blocked linkages in Pardero's mind. He recorded responses to a gamut of stimulations: colors, sounds, odors, tastes, textures; heights and depths; lights and degrees of darkness On. a more complex level he charted Pardero's reactions, overt, physiological, and cephalic, to absurdities and festivals, erotic conditions, cruelties and horrors, the faces of men, women, and children. A computational mechanism assimilated the results of the tests, compared them to known parameters, and synthesized an analog of Pardero's psyche.

Rady, when he finally assessed the results of his tests, found little enlightenment. "Your basic reflexes are ordinary enough; one anomaly is your reaction to darkness, by which you seem to be curiously stimulated. Your social perceptivity seems underdeveloped, for which the amnesia may be to blame. You appear to be assertive rather than retiring; your response to music is minimal and color symbology has little meaning for you - possibly by reason of your amnesia. Odors stimulate you rather more than I might expect - but to no significant degree." Rady leaned, back in his chair. "These tests might easily provoke some sort of conscious response. Have you noticed anything whatever?"

"Nothing."

Rady nodded. "Very well. We will try a new tack. The theoretical basis is this: if your amnesia has resulted from circumstances which you are determined to forget, we can dissolve the amnesia by bringing these events to your conscious attention again. In order to do this, we must learn the nature of the traumatic circumstances. In short we must learn your identity and home environment."

Pardero frowned and looked out the window. Rady watched intently. "You don't care to learn your identity."

Pardero gave him a crooked smile. "I did not say so."

Rady shrugged. "The choice is yours. You can walk out of here at any time. The Social Service will find you employment and you can start a new life."

Pardero shook his head. "I never could evade the pressure. Perhaps there are people who need me, who now grieve for me."

Rady said only: "Tomorrow we'll start the detective work."

An hour after twilight Pardero met Ariel at a cafe and reported the events of the day. "Rady admitted bafflement," said Pardero, with something like gloomy satisfaction. "Not in so many words of course. He also said that the only way to learn where I came from was to find out where I lived. In short, he wants to send me home. First we must find home. The detective work starts tomorrow."

Ariel nodded thoughtfully. Tonight she was not her usual self; in fact, thought Pardero, she seemed strained, and preoccupied. He reached out to touch her soft blond hair, but she drew back.

"And then?" she asked.

"Nothing much. He told me that if I were reluctant to proceed, now was the time to make a decision."

"And what did you say?"

"I told him that I had to go on, that perhaps somewhere people searched for me."

Ariel's blue eyes darkened sorrowfully. "I cannot see you anymore, Pardero."

"Oh? Why not?"

"For just the reasons you cited. Amnesiacs always wander away from their homes and then - well, form new attachments. Then their memory returns and the situation ends in tragedy." Ariel rose to her feet. "I'll say good-by now, before I change my mind." She touched his hand, then walked away from the table.

Pardero watched her diminish down the avenue. He made no move to stop her.

Instead of one day, three days passed before O.T. Kolodin sought out Pardero.

"Today we visit the Connatic's Palace and explore the Ring of Worlds."

"I'll enjoy the excursion. But why?"

"I've been looking into your past, and it turns out to be a hopeless tangle; or, more properly, a blur of uncertainties."

"I could have told you that myself."

"No doubt, but one must never take anything for granted. The facts, duly certified, are these. Sometime on tenth Mariel Gaean you appeared at Carfaunge Spaceport. This was an unusually busy day and you might have arrived aboard any of six ships of four different transport lines. The previous routes of these ships took them to a total of twenty-eight worlds, any of which might be your place of origin. Nine of these worlds are important junctions and it is possible that you made your voyage by two or even three stages. Amnesia would not be an insuperable objection. Stewards and depot personnel, taking you for a lackwit, would consult your ticket and shift you from ship to ship. In any case the number of worlds, depots, ships, and possible linkages becomes unmanageable. Or at least an inquiry of last resort. First we will visit the Connatic! Though I doubt if he will receive us personally."