“I don’t see why not. Your progress to this point has been exceedingly good. I will explain the techniques in detail if you are interested, but first let me put it as simply as I can. I want to stimulate your memories, then restore your neural access to them. When this happens your memory will be complete and you will be whole again. I can’t promise that all of your memories will be restored. There was injury, but—”

“If I don’t know they’re missing I won’t miss them.”

“That’s perfectly correct.” Brian was sharp. He might only have the memories of his first fourteen years now, but the thinking processes of his conscious brain appeared to be much older. He had been a child prodigy, she knew. Graduate school at fourteen. So he was not just any fourteen-year-old. “But not missing a memory is only a small part of it. You must realize that human memory is not like a tape recorder with everything stored in chronological order. It is very different, far more like a badly maintained file system organized by messy and confusing maps. Not only messy to begin with, but we reclassify things from time to time. When I say that I have memories of my childhood — that is not true. I really have memories of memories. Things that have been thought about over and over, simplified, reduced.”

“I think I understand what you mean. But please, before we get started, there are a few things you will have to tell me. Ten years is a long time. Things happen. My family…”

“Dolly has been here and wants to see you.”

“I want to see her too. And Dad?”

The truth only, Snaresbrook thought, although it would hurt something terrible.

“I’m sorry, Brian, but your father — passed away.”

There was silence as slow tears ran down the man’s — the boy’s — face. It was long moments before he could speak again.

“I don’t want to hear about that now. And me, what about me, what have I done in those years?”

“You’ve gotten your degrees, done original research.”

“In artificial intelligence? That’s what Dad does, what I want to do.”

“What you have done, Brian. You have succeeded in everything that you tackled. In fact you made the breakthrough to actually construct the first AI. Before you were injured you were at the threshold of success.” Brian noticed the juxtaposition of the terms, made the snap logical leap.

“You have told me everything so far, Doctor, I don’t think that you have held back.”

“I haven’t. It would be unfair.”

“Then tell me now. Does my injury have anything to do with AI? Was it the machine that did it? I always thought the stories of evil AIs were dumb.”

“They are. But men are still evil. You were injured in the laboratory by men wanting to steal your AI. And reality has turned out to be quite the opposite of myth. Far from being evil, your work with Al-assisted micromanipulators has aided me greatly — and has enabled me to bring you here and speak with you like this.”

“You must tell me all about AI!”

“No, Brian. We must rebuild your memories step by step until you can tell me how AI works. You were the inventor — now you are going to be the rediscoverer.”

The blinds had been pulled up by the nurse when she had brought Brian his breakfast. He had been awake since dawn, unable to sleep with the whir of thoughts in his head. Bandages covered it, he could feel them with his fingertips. What had happened to him that had made him lose all those years? Selective amnesia? It just wasn’t possible. He should ask the doctor to physically describe the damage — though maybe he better not. He really didn’t want to think about that now. Not yet. The same way he didn’t want to think about Dad being dead.

The TV controller — where was it? He was still amazed at the quality of the picture — if not the contents. Programs were just as bad as ever. Should he watch the news again? No, it was too confusing, full of references he did not understand. It depressed him when he tried to figure it out, since he was mixed up too much as it was. There, that was better — kiddie cartoons. They had some really fantastic computer animation now. But despite the incredible quality the animation was still being used to sell breakfast cereal drenched in sugar. Ten years was a long time. He ought to forget about that too. Or look forward to getting the years back. Or did he want to? Why live the same life twice? What’s done is done. Though it might be nice not to make the same mistakes twice. But he wasn’t going to relive those years, just get back his memories of them. It was a very strange situation and he wasn’t sure that he liked it. Not that he had any choice.

Breakfast was a welcome intrusion. A lot of the chemical taste was gone from his mouth now and he was hungry. The orange juice was cold — but so were the poached eggs. Still he finished them and used a bit of toast to wipe up the last bits. The nurse had just cleared the dishes away when Dr. Snaresbrook came in. There was a woman with her — and it took a long moment to recognize Dolly. If she noticed his startled expression she did not let on.

“You’re looking good, Brian,” she said. “I’m so happy that you are getting better.”

“Then you have seen me here before, here in the hospital?”

“Seen is the wrong word. You were hidden behind all those bandages, pipes and tubes. But that’s all in the past.”

So was he. In the past. This thin woman with the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, and graying hair, was not the maternal Dolly he remembered. Memory had taken on a new meaning for him now, something to be raked over, examined, rebuilt. Remembrance of things past, mat was what old Proust had written about in such a long-winded way. He would see if he could do a better job of it than the Frenchman had done.

“Dolly has been of immense help,” the surgeon said. “We’ve talked about you and your recovery and she knows that your memories stop some years back. When you were fourteen.”

“Do you remember me, when I was fourteen years old?” Brian asked.

“A little hard to forget.” She smiled for the first time, looking far more attractive with the worry lines gone from around her eyes, the tension from her mouth. “You were going into graduate school the next year. We were very proud of you.”

“I’m really looking forward to it. Though I guess that is land of stupid to say now. I’ve gone and graduated already, the doctor has told me. But I remember all too clearly the trouble I’m having — had! — with the registrars. They know I have all the credits that I need and it is just the administration still standing in the way. Because I’m too young. But that’s all in the past, isn’t it? I guess it all worked out well in the end.”

It was odd hearing him talk like this. Dr. Snaresbrook had explained to her that Brian could remember nothing of the years since he had been fourteen, that it was her job to help him recover those years. She did not understand it — but the doctor had been right so far.

“They didn’t cause trouble for very long. Your father and some of the others got in touch with the companies funding the university. They couldn’t have cared less if you were five years old — or fifty. It was the search for talents like yours that had caused them to start the school in the first place. The word came down from on high and you were admitted. I’m sure that you made a success of it, but of course I wouldn’t know.”

“I don’t understand.”

Dolly took a deep breath and glanced at the doctor. Her face was expressionless; there was no help there. Going through it the first time had been bad enough; reliving it for Brian’s benefit was not easy.

“Well, you know that your father and I had — have — our-difficulties. Or maybe you didn’t — don’t — know.”

“I do. Adults think kids, even teenagers, are dim when it comes to family matters. You keep your voices down but there have been a lot of fights. I don’t like it.”