Davout passed a hand over his head, felt the fine blond hair covering his scalp. This time yesterday, his head had been bald and leathery. Now he felt subtle differences in his perceptions–his vision was more acute, his hearing less so–and his muscle memory was somewhat askew. He remembered having a shorter reach, a slightly different center of gravity.
But as for himself, his essence–no, he felt himself unchanged. He was still Davout.
“People have more choices than ever before,” said Silent Davout. “They choose their bodies, they choose their memories. They can upload new knowledge, new skills. If they feel a lack of confidence, or feel that their behavior is too impulsive, they can tweak their body chemistry to produce a different effect. If they find themselves the victim of an unfortunate or destructive compulsion, the compulsion can be edited from their being. If they lack the power to change their circumstances, they can at least elect to feel happier about them. If a memory cannot be overcome, it can be eliminated.”
“And you now spend your time dealing with these problems?” Davout asked.
“They are not problems,” his sib said gently. “They are not syndromes or neuroses. They are circumstances. They are part of the condition of life as it exists today. They are environmental.” The large, impassive eyes gazed steadily at Davout. “People choose happiness over sorrow, fulfillment over frustration. Can you blame them?”
His sib nodded. “That is an admirable philosophy–for Davout the Conqueror. But not all people are conquerors.”
Davout strove to keep the impatience from his voice. “Lessons are learned from failures as well as successes. Experience is gained, life’s knowledge is applied to subsequent occurrence. If we deny the uses of experience, what is there to make us human?”
His sib was patient. “Sometimes the experiences are negative, and so are the lessons. Would you have a person live forever under the shadow of great guilt, say for a foolish mistake that resulted in injury or death to someone else; or would you have them live with the consequences of damage inflicted by a sociopath, or an abusive family member? Traumas like these can cripple the whole being. Why should the damage not be repaired?”
Davout smiled thinly. “You can’t tell me that these techniques are used only in cases of deep trauma,” he said. “You can’t tell me that people aren’t using these techniques for reasons that might be deemed trivial. Editing out a foolish remark made at a party, or eliminating a bad vacation or an argument with the spouse.”
Silent Davout returned his smile. “I would not insult your intelligence by suggesting these things do not happen.”
“They cannot edit out everything. There is sufficient friction and conflict in the course of ordinary life to provide everyone with their allotted portion of wisdom. Nowadays our lives are very, very long, and we have a long time to learn, however slowly. And after all,” he said, smiling, “the average person’s capacity for wisdom has never been so large as all that! I think you will find that as a species we are far less prone to folly than we once were.”
Davout looked at his sib grimly. “You are suggesting that I undergo this technique?”
“It is called Lethe.”
“That I undergo Lethe? Forget Katrin? Or forget what I feel for her?”
Silent Davout slowly shook his grave head. “I make no such suggestion.”
“Good.”
The youngest Davout gazed steadily into the eyes of his older twin. “Only you know what you can bear. I merely point out that this remedy exists, should you find your anguish beyond what you can endure.”
“Katrin deserves mourning,” Davout said.
Another grave nod. “Yes.”
“She deserves to be remembered. Who will remember her if I do not?”
“I understand,” said Silent Davout. “I understand your desire to feel, and the necessity. I only mention Lethe because I comprehend all too well what you endure now. Because”–he licked his lips–”I, too, have lost Katrin.”