Smart Therapy

by Karen Goldrick

“Is the past more important than the future?”

Lisa’s eyes followed the words across the old sampler which hung in it’s dusty frame above the door. Next to the door, on a wall that Lisa decided was mucus green in colour, was the dianacam. A pioneer model. The window to its left was still a blank grey void. It hadn’t downloaded yet. maybe it wouldn’t this time. She looked back at the boyman seated across the desk.

“I think she’s trying to kill me,” he said softly.

“Now why would she want to do that, honey?” Lisa asked.

He was real enough. And by the way he looked at her she cold tell he had no trouble believing she was real. Lisa leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. Her low cut black dress slid still lower.

“She wants my money. All of it.”

“And you have plenty of money?”

“”Yes.” His lips thinned to a small smile, as if inviting her into some sort of conspiracy. Not for the first time, Lisa wished she’d been able to bring her perceptors. She wondered what she’d see. Lust? Fear? And Michael need never know.

“Excellent,” she said. “Hourly rates only. $1000 an hour with the first day up front. A day, by the way, is 7.5 hours. I don’t work weekends or public holidays. I need a photo, and a sample of pubic hair from both you and your wife.

This time he blushed.

“She’s your wife,” Lisa added.

he nodded slowly. regained himself. Smiled again. he had dimples. he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a role of notes and a pen. Lisa shook her head. “Electronic only,” she said. She pushed the small console over to his side of the desk. His fingers danced across the keys. “Whom should i make it out to?” he asked, eyes never leaving the screen.

“PNT PTY LTD”

“PNT”Private ... what?” he asked with another almost imperceptible smile.

“Private Neurotracers. It’s a fancy way of saying private investigator.” She pulled the console back to her side of the desk. She know the keyboard well, so it didn’t matter that not all the keys had downloaded. Still, she’s have to get Michael to check the connections.

“That’s it then? ” he asked.

“That’s it. You get me the stuff, I’ll get you what you need.”

“And then?”

“And then you can do what you like. Call the police. or something more ... proactive.”

For a while he sat and said nothing, and Lisa again wished for those pesky perceptors. Then he stood and brushed his jeans.

Lisa stood also. In her heels she towered over him. She opened the door, he smiled back at her once more then disappeared.

Literally.

The stairs hadn’t downloaded and there was no way she was following him down. Unseen stairs in a strange city in an strange time were too dangerous. Down the end of the hall was a window through which she could see. She walked down, once running into an unseen shadow. A person who wasn’t there.

Down in the street she watched him climb into the back of one of those long stretch limos. A strange sight really. A slightly scruffy young man in jeans, climbing into a spotless car. Undeserved wealth, and he surely wouldn’t miss the small amount they were depriving him of. She looked back to where the stairs should be, but it really was too dangerous. So went back to her office to wait for Michael.

She waited all night, clicking the top of the Bic biro her client had accidently left behind, and reading and rereading “Is the past more important than the future.” What in X was keeping Michael. She trusted he wasn’t fooling around with Lady T. She had no clock and never knew the time. She couldn’t see out her window, but the noises outside she knew it was early morning.

An envelope was pushed under her door. Inside were the photos, and two small plastic sachets which she put aside. She allowed herself to wonder how he’s managed it. By stealth or by wealth. The photos were cheap and poor quality, from one of those station passport booths. From happier times, she guessed by the way their smiles, flattened by the flash filled the photo. His light brown hair falling over his eyes, her hair bright blonde with black roots.

Lisa picked up the sachets. It wasn’t really necessary, since she already had the money, but she needed to fill in time while Michael got his act together. She took the sachets over to the Dianacam by the door. It was old and she had to scan the hair several times, but finally she had a reading. She sat at her console and logged into the Dianacam, then transferred the readings to her newly created PNT site.

“What took you so long,” she asked when Michael finally brought her back.

“How long was I?” He stopped whistling Blue Suede Shoes long enough to ask.

“Almost 36 hours.”

“Too cool,” he said, as he removed the trodes from the back of her head and gently wiped away the sticky transducer gel. “And you haven’t really been away at all ...”

She stood and stretched, feeling as if she had really sat in that chair for 36 hours.

“Did you do it?” he asked.

“Why don’t you look and see.”

Michael sat before the console, using the transducer gel to slick his hair back with both hands. “C’mon c’mon you little b ... Lis, don’t you think we can afford a new one. This Xing machine is so Xing slow.” he jiggled his feet on the ground and tapped his fingers on the keys. Too much norep in his tea.

“Ok,” he said. “I think we have it. Wow. 1.5 Bil. How did you do it?”

“I put up our rates. He has ... had plenty to spare.”

“Wow ... but I thought we’d agreed. Just small amounts. This lot will alert Intrapol.”

“We can siphon it off, my love. Lunar investments. Off world accounts. You know off world bookkeeping is ...”

“They already know. Lis. How fast can we set them up?”

“As fast as you can, Michael.”

“Yesiree. As fast as ... you are fantastic Lis. Now wonder” and he stood up. Lisa cringed “I can’t help falling in love ...” He picked up her arm and started kissing her from her fingertips to her elbows. His one day growth tickled.

“You know how to take risks. You took a risk setting up our Private Neurotracers flick so we can help all those suckers who’ve partied out on NTs”

“or had their memories stolen,” she added, gentry moving her arm away.

“If you hadn’t have taken a risk, you’d have never figured out neuro enhancing, and we’d have never figured out how to go back and make all this yummy money. And now ... we’re Xing rich. And what do I do? I just sit back and watch the credits roll.” he finally stopped to take a breath.

“You do research, Michael.”

“That’s right. I do. And there’s some research I’d like to do right now.”

But Lisa placed her fingers over his mouth. “I have some research for you” he looked disappointed.

“OK”

She sat back down at the console to make herself comfortable. Primitive sites took a while to download.

“Two scans. Can you search them for me?”

“I can Lis ... but why?”

“They’re our benefactor, Michael.”

“So?”

“I just want to find out more about them.”

He shook his head. “I don’t see what difference it makes.”

Lisa shrugged. “Please,” she said, standing and running her fingers down his neck then gently tugging the brown hairs on his chest. With her fingernail, she slipped his top button through the hole. Retro clothes were no challenge for her.

“Ok Lis.” he sat back down at the computer.

“And the bank accounts.”

“Yep,” he said.

Lisa watched him work. He’d started to hum Viva Las Vegas as he tapped the keys.

“How’s lady T?” she asked.

He didn’t seem to hear.

“Michael?”

“Yes my love.”

“How is she?”

“Who?”

“Tanya.”

“Ah…lady T. Still complaining. Wants another free session. Says there wasn’t enough detail. I thought maybe we’d synth some extra sensory stuff for her.”

“Do you think she can handle it?”

He turned to look at her.”I don’t think I can handle her at all. She’s all yours, Lis.”

“Thanks a bill Michael.” Lisa removed her high shoes and stretched her toes. She really did need a wash. She stretched her arms up and felt every muscle along her back elongate.

“So ... what have you found?” she asked him.

“Don’t be so impatient Lis. It’s a bit scratchy.”

“Keys were missing. As usual. is there enough?”

“Plenty.” he went back to work. A search usually didn’t take Michael too long, one he had the DNA. She might have the technique but he had the speed. Together they were a good team. She noticed a pen resting on the table. Picked it up. Strange. Another blue biro. Like the one he’d left in the office

“Ouch. Xing Bic,” she cried, dropping the pen and sucking the blood off her thumb.

“What’s up gorgeous,” he asked as he flicked a recording of Elvis singing ‘Return To Sender’, but the sound cackled out.

“Xing soundcard’s falling apart Lis.” he continued the song with his flat whistle. She rubbed her temples as the headache from NT withdrawal set in, tried to rest on the hard retro sofa.

“hey Lis, look at this.” She’d almost drifted to sleep. “I’ve found your boy.” Michael snapped on the visual and stopped whistling. it was scratchy. But it was him. behind him a green wall. And a door. Above the door a frame. Lisa didn’t need to be able to read it. She know it asked whether the future was more important than the past.

Another person came into the view.

“Sorry Love. Only one Dianacam in those days. Not the three dimensional all singing all dancing view we get now. And ... no sound. That’s be our end playing up.”

Lisa watched her client as he appeared to move towards the other person. he was saying something to him ...her ...”

“Any ID on the other?”

“Not yet Lis. You might want to fast forward this bit.”

“No,” she said.

The focus blurred as the two heads moved closer to the Dianacam, before it compensated for the new depth of field. He brought his right hand from his jean pockets, and Lisa wasn’t quite sure but it looked like he started to hit or attack the other person in some kind of frenzied attack that didn’t stop until blood contaminated the lens and the other person collapsed out of view. Then his face looked back to the cam. Right at it. Right at her.

“David Bedlington-Smith is his name,” Michael said.

“The David Bedlington-Smith?” she asked.

“The same. He needn’t have made such a mess. There were cleaner, quicker ways to finish someone off even back then. No wonder they sentenced him to selective memory recall inhibition. I wonder if he’s ever been released?”

“Pity.” Said Lisa. He had a nice smile.

“Do you want me to find out more? Who was the victim, for instance?”

“No.” Lisa turned back to the sofa as Michael began to laugh like a madman.

“It’s crazy, Lis. He’s made us. really made us. Not only has he generously donated to our retirement funds, it’s only because of SMART that we’re needed. No-one would need MRT if nobody had missing memories to replace.” Michael held his knees up in front of him on the desk. “David Bedlington-Smith is our benefactor.”

“What if I go back?” Lisa said.

“Err ... back?”

“I could change things. Warn him. Tell him how devastating SMART is. How dodgy memory recall therapy is afterward. Maybe he’d change his pretty little mind.”

“Down girl. He’s too young for you. besides, you know the rules. No changing things.”

“What rules. We’re making up the rules as we go along. Besides,” she kicked him none too gently in the shin,“We’ve already changed things, Michael. We’ve made a lot of money.”

“A mere small blip on the horizon, my love. What you’re talking about could cause a big bang.”

“Do you think?” she grinned, mischievously.

“And, what’s more, I don’t even think I can send you back. Not with the precision you’d need. You might be a few minutes early. Or late.”

Lisa stretched out on the sofa. Michael had given her plenty of outs. She should close her eyes and let the NT wash away.

“And ... what if something goes wrong and I can’t get you back. Little Sister don’t you go ...” he sang.

“That does it Michael.” She sprang up from the sofa and shoved him aside. IN the top drawer of her desk was a pile of NTs. She grabbed two and popped them on her tongue.

“No Lis ... bad bad bad.” Michael tried to move her chair away from the console but she plunged her heels firmly into the floor. She handed him the electrodes.

“Do it,” she said.

“Please Lis. This is crazy.”

“Now.”

He sighed. NO whistling now. he rubbed some cold transducer gel onto the back of her neck and to her hairline.

“Mind if tie this back?” he said, picking up her long hair.

“Go ahead.” She relaxed as she felt his familiar touch tie her hair into a knot. Then she felt the hard cold of the rodes attaching to her skin and inevitably the room went black.

The void. Where she could see hear smell touch or taste nothing. No ration. No emotion. the first time she had done this, she had panicked, Somehow Michael had known and pulled her out. Now she knew. Stay calm. Long deep breaths. And slowly, the images would start to unload.She would see things and she would hear things.Not everything. Thirty years ago the Dianacam were unreliable and information was patchy. The memories she retrieved from such cams had at best scratchy audio and visual. usually there was no smell or touch, and she had to supply the emotion.

The first image t download was the desk. Then the green wall. As last time, the window remained a blank void. The computer still missing a few keys. The door. The sampler. The Dianacam. And David, sitting across the desk.

Did this mean she was early or late? There was no blood. No body. Perhaps they’d only just met, and she was laying a new set of possibilities over the previous ones. She have to remember to get the money.

David was speaking but she couldn’t hear him. the audio hadn’t shown. Her shoes were tight and she loosened the straps. His face was as last time , imperceptible. She’d have to ask Michael about those perceptors. After he finished speaking he leaned back in his chair, as if waiting for a reply. When she said nothing, he smiled. He stood and walked around the desk toward her, his right hand in his pocket.

OK Michael, you can get me out of here now, she thought. She stood, and her unstrapped shoes slipped off her feet. even without the stilettos she towered above him. She waited for anxiety. Fear. But they were no shows. He might have been puzzled. Angry. He was talking faster, harder and his lips moved so fast for her to even try to understand. NO sign of the dimples now.

“C’mon Michael,” she thought, or maybe even said. David had stopped talking. Stopped walking. Then he drew his hand out of his pocket.

Lisa backed away. She tried to say something to placate or even charm. Or maybe she just asked what the hell was going on. Her mind, devoid of the emotion required t make a decision seemed disassociated from her body and limbs. Even as he brought his hand around she fended it off with her right arm, then, as he overbakanced slightly, she kicked her shoe towards herself and heaved the stiletto with as much force as she had into his abdomen.

He bled, and there was more blood than she’d thought there’d be. It stained her arms, legs, and even her black dress. The fear and incomprehension which she could now plainly read in his face faded as he folded to the floor. In his right hand there was no bright shiny weapon. Just a pen. Her biro. Returning it to her.

Lisa held her shoe. Undecided. She could finish him off quickly. Mercifully. Or she could try to stop the blood. She bent to examine the wound more closely, to see how the heal had cast a jagged laceration in the skin and muscle, to watch as bright red blood gently pulsated and darkened as it met the air.

She looked at his face. His eyes staring up at hers, with life or maybe no life. Then everything disappeared and she was back in the void. After a longer or shorter time than usual she felt something soft and itchy along her back and neck. Almost at the same time she felt the cold rodes on her forehead and heard voices. At least now audio was working, she thought. But of course it was working. It always worked in real time.

“OK Lisa, we’re done,” said a stern female voice.”Your memories are in place. You’ll be transferred to a debriefing wing for a few weeks until they stabilise. If you have any questions, a counsellor will be assigned.”

The voice was familiar. She tried to open her eyes, the there was no picture. Yet.

“But,” her voice croaked, as if she hadn’t used it for a very long time.

“Don’t try to assimilate it yet. Just relax.”

“her ST levels are low,” said another more familiar voice, further away.

“Michael,” she croaked again.

“How’d you know my name, gorgeous?”

“I was a little ... creative ... with the memory recall.” said the female voice. It was is if she wasn’t there.

“What?”

“Shhh ... no-one will know.”

“But she’ll think she knows me.” She’s gonna think a lot more than that, honey,” the female voice replied.

“You’re bad, Tanya.”

“I had to be. The Dianacam didn’t have enough to reconstruct the picture. I added some sensory stuff too ... big boy.”

Then her visuals returned. He was seated over at the console. He was different. Tidier. Plain black clothes and short black hair. Where was the retro gear. Where was Elvis?”

“Michael,” Lisa said again.

“See,” he addressed Tanya.

“Don’t worry.She’ll never see you again.” Then Tanya stood and stretched. Under her protective plastic coat Lisa could see a black dress.

“Explain SMART to her. Explain that she has served her sentence and will soon go free. I’m off to get some caff.”

Lisa realised that she lay in the sofa in the office. Michael removed the rodes from the back of her neck and started whistling ‘Edge of Reality.’ So he hadn’t forgotten Elvis after all. She rubbed her eyes and sat up.

“Michael, what’s happening? And what’s Tanya up to?” she asked.

“You committed a serious felony, my dear, 30 years ago. In view of the cold hard premeditated and grusome nature of your crime, you were selected as a pioneer of Selective Memory Recall Inhibition. For the last 30 years you’ve remembered nothing. No short term. No long. I must say, you look pretty good for 30 years in stasis. Then, last week, you got your parole. So Tanya and I get to to the MRT — that’s Memory Replacement Therapy to you. We’ve had some good results with punters who’ve done too much dissociative stuff at parties. But we rely on DNA printing and Dianacams. So some of it’s a bit patchy.

“But ... he was supposed to kill ... someone else ... his wife. It’s a mistake Michael. Send me back. We can reset this.”

“Send you back? Where gorgeous? Prison?”

“No. Send me back in time. To David. I’ll ... sort it.”

“David. So that was his name. Just a young kid. Why did you do it?”

“It’s a mistake, Michael. You showed me the tapes. He killed someone. And then I went back. ”

“Oh dear. Tanya’s been a naughty girl.”

“Bad bad bad you said. And you were right. Send me back.”

But he shook his head. “There is no back. I don’t know what Lady T has put in your head, honey, but this is it. You want a drink or something? The transfer people will be here soon.”

There was something in her hand. Soothing hard. Plastic. She could feel it now. She opened her hand to look at it. It was the biro.

Michael had sat back down at at the console. his fingers flew over the keys. The biro was sharp. If she pushed her finger on it, her finger bled.

Is the past more important than the future. Or the present. She hid the pen in her pocket.

“Sure, Michael. I’ll have a drink. Something String.”