Marune: Alastor 933 Read Free

the compound and out upon the moor; the camp became an illuminated island behind him.
    Under the overcast, darkness was complete. Pardero felt an enlargement of the soul, an intoxication of power; as if he were an elemental born of the darkness, knowing no fear … He stopped short. His legs felt hard and strong; his hands tingled with competence. Gaswin Camp lay a half-mile behind him, the single visible object. Pardero took a deep throbbing breath, and again examined his consciousness, half-hoping, half-fearful of what he might find.
    Nothing. Recollection extended to the Carfaunge spaceport. Events before were like voices remembered from a dream. Why was he here at Gaswin? To earn money.
    How long must he remain? He had forgotten, or perhaps the words had not registered. Pardero began to feel a suffocating agitation, a claustrophobia of the intellect. He lay down on the moor, beat his forehead, cried out in frustration.
    Time passed. Pardero rose to his knees, gained his feet and slowly returned to the camp.
     
    A week later Pardero learned of the camp doctor and his function. The next morning, during sick call, he presented himself to the dispensary. A dozen men sat on the benches while the doctor, a young man fresh from medical school, summoned them forward, one at a time. The complaints, real, imaginary, or contrived, were usually related to the work: backache, allergic reaction, congestion of the lungs, an infected lychbug sting. The doctor, young in years but already old in guile, sorted out the real from the fictitious, prescribing remedies for the first and irritant salves or vile-flavored medicines for the second.
    Pardero was signaled to the desk and the doctor looked him up and down. “What’s wrong with you?”
    “I can’t remember anything.”
    “Indeed.” The doctor leaned back in his chair. “What is your name?”
    “I don’t know. Here at the camp they call me Pardero. Can you help me?”
    “Probably not. Go back to the bench and let me finish up the sick call; it’ll be just a few minutes.”
    The doctor dealt with his remaining patients and returned to Pardero. “Tell me haw far back you remember.”
    “I arrived at Carfaunge. I remember a spaceship. I remember the depot - but nothing before.”
    “Nothing whatever?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Do you remember things you like, or dislike? Are you afraid of anything?”
    “No.”
    “Amnesia typically derives from a subconscious intent to block out intolerable memories.”
    Pardero gave his head a dubious shake. “I don’t think this is likely.”
    The doctor, both intrigued and bemused, uttered an uneasy half-embarrassed laugh. “Since you can’t remember the circumstances, you aren’t in a position to judge.”
    “I suppose that’s true … Could something be wrong with my brain?”
    “You mean physical damage? Do you have headaches or head pains? Any sensation of numbness or pressure?”
    “No.”
    “Well, it’s hardly likely a tumor would cause general amnesia in any event …
    Let me check my references …” He read for a few moments. “I could try hypnotherapy or shock. Candidly, I don’t think I’d do you any good. Amnesia generally cures itself if left alone.”
    “I don’t think I can cure myself. Something lies on my brain like a blanket. It suffocates me. I can’t tear it loose. Can’t you help me?”
    There was a simplicity to Pardero’s manner which appealed to the doctor. He also sensed strangeness: tragedy and drama beyond his conjecture.
    “I would help you if I could,” said the doctor. “With all my soul I would help you. But I wouldn’t know what I should be doing. I’m not qualified to experiment on you.”
    “The police officer told me to go to the Connatic’s Hospital on Numenes.”
    “Yes, of course. This is best for you; I was about to suggest it myself.”
    “Where is Numenes? How do I go there?”
    “You must go by starship. The fare is a little over two hundred ozols. That is what I have