A moment later, this memory was suddenly replaced by another with which it seemed interconnected. This time he was marching along a moonlit road with a group of men who were dressed like slaves. In fact, they were young men from the city of the beetles, and they were setting out on a venture whose dangers were far greater than they realized: to try to gain access to the old fortress and its arsenal of weapons and explosives. Ulic, Milo, Yorg, Mostig, Crispin, Marcus, Hastur, Renfred, Kosmin, Cyprian were all drunk with the spirit of adventure; only Doggins, their leader, was aware of the danger. Within a few hours, three of them would be dead, including Cyprian, who was now marching next to Niall. . . But in the meantime, Niall breathed in the cold sweetness of the night air, and absorbed the enchantment of the silvery mist; some strange inner glow of optimism told him that tonight would change the whole direction of his life. . .
Now, at last, Niall felt he was beginning to understand some of the complexities of the internalizer. One memory had evoked another because they had some basic factor in common; and what they had in common was not simply that both experiences involved the countryside, but that both involved the same curious sense of delight and freedom.
He pressed the fourth button. Again there was darkness but a darkness in which he could hear the sighing of the wind, and smell the sharp, salty odor of the sea. Without even having to restore the sense of sight, he knew that he was standing on top of the high mountain pass that divided the desert from the coastal plain of North Khaybad, and that he was smelling the sea for the first time. His heart swelled with a tremendous exultation. A moment later he was looking down on the green plain with its trees and bushes, and at the blue expanse of the sea that lay beyond. Then the vision blurred and darkened, and he was lying by a campfire, smelling the wood-smoke and the cold night air, and listening to sailors harmonizing the chorus of a sea shanty. He knew he was back in North Khaybad, on his way to recover the body of his father, and that their party was encamped in the midst of the same green plain he had seen from the high mountain pass.
At this point a strange thing happened. As he lay there on the couch, listening to the singing and the crackling of the fire, he felt himself drifting into sleep. It was then that he realized that his “earlier self” must have fallen asleep at about this point, and that he had been witnessing that drift into the twilight world between sleep and waking. And now he was fascinated to observe the blurred images that wandered like slow clouds before his inner vision, and the alien voices that uttered meaningless yet strangely significant phrases — one of them said: “His greenness will be more obstinate when he finds his tail.” Then the voices seemed to turn into water which seeped into the cracks of his unconscious mind and ran into some underground lake of darkness. The effect was so strange that it made him feel sick and dizzy, as if everything had become unreal. He groped for the “off” button of the control unit, and felt a flood of relief as the normal world returned like daylight after a nightmare.
His curiosity about the control unit still strong, he touched the final button of the bottom row, which was labeled “20.” The result was as unexpected as it was unpleasant. He was suddenly gripped by a convulsion of sorrow and misery that struck with the unexpectedness of a summer storm or a violent blow. He was standing in the entrance to the burrow, looking down at a hideously swollen corpse which he could just recognize as that of his father. The face was black and the open eyes were bulging. The arm, wearing a copper bracelet, was flung up as if to protect the face from the fangs of an angry spider.
The old man’s voice said: “I think that perhaps you should switch off the machine.”
He was standing again by the couch. Niall’s energies had been so drained by the shock that it cost him an effort of will to press the “off” button. He said: “Why did it do that?” Even his lips felt numb.
“The electrical pulses of the internalizer cause memory circuits to discharge. You selected a frequency connected with traumatic memories.”
“But what good is it?” He knew the question was irrational, but the shock was turning to anger.
“Far more than you think.” The old man’s voice was so calm and reasonable that his anger evaporated. “I would advise you to repeat the experience.”
“Why?” Niall’s faith in the Steegmaster was implicit, but the idea appalled him.
“Because it will make the pain disappear. Try it.” Bracing himself as if for a blow, Niall switched on the unit, then pressed the button labeled “20.” Again he was assailed by waves of misery as he looked at his father’s distorted face; this time he even noticed the puncture marks on the underside of the arm where the spider had injected the poison. Yet he was also aware that the misery was being experienced by the Niall who was standing in the entrance to the burrow, and that he himself was feeling it at second hand.
“Again.” The old man’s voice actually sounded sympathetic. As he pressed the button, and the memory returned to the beginning, he was even more clearly aware of the gap between his present and his past self. When that past self had experienced a sense of numbness, it had been a defense against an overwhelming surge of emotion; now the emotion had lost some of its power, Niall ceased to experience the numbness. Instead, he experienced rage and pity, and a sense of the futility of his father’s death. “Again.”
This time, even the rage and pity had lost their force.
“Again.”
This time he felt only pity.
“Again.”
The pity became a sense of sadness mingled with futile regrets.
“Again.”
Now he could see that even regret and sadness were pointless; it had happened, and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Again.”
Niall shook his head. “There’s no need to do it again.” He felt curiously calm and peaceful; he was also experiencing an odd sensation, as if he was growing physically older second by second. He asked: “How did the machine do that?”
“It didn’t. Your own mind did it. Any negative emotion can be erased by reliving it.”
To his surprise, he found himself yawning. The sense of shock had given way to a pleasant feeling of relaxation. But his brain felt tired, with the kind of fatigue he had experienced after making too much use of the thought mirror. He closed his eyes for a moment, tempted to fall asleep, then remembered why he was there, and forced himself back into wakefulness.
“You said I could learn about Skorbo’s killers.”
“You wish to make the attempt now?”
“Yes, if it’s possible.”
“It is possible, but perhaps not entirely advisable. You need more practice with the internalizer. I would suggest at least another day.”
Niall shook his head. “There’s not time. One of them may still be in the city, and he could be gone by tomorrow.”
“It is your choice. You understand the dangers.”
He asked with misgiving: “Dangers?”
“You have already encountered the worst of them. Negative emotions.”
“The worst?” He could not keep a note of relief out of his voice.
“You should not underestimate negative emotion.” There was a hint of reproof in his tone.
“Of course. But if you don’t object. . .”
“It is not for me to object or approve.”
Again Niall had to remind himself that Steeg was a computer, not a human being.
“Then tell me what I have to do.”
“First of all, concentrate upon this man. Try to envisage him clearly. It may help you to hold the pendant in your hand. Then, when you are ready, press number two, which induces the alpha state, then number nine, which amplifies short-term memory — the experiences of the past few hours. You may then begin to receive impressions. If this fails, try deepening the alpha state.”
Niall took the pendant from his pocket and held it in his right hand. But this seemed pointless; after all, he could not see it while he was holding it. Instead, he placed the chain round his neck, so the pendant rested on his chest. Then he touched the second button. The dreamy sensation returned, accompanied by a feeling that was like falling backwards. Now he closed his eyes, and envisaged the face of the dead man, with its large eyes, beaklike nose, and weak chin. For a moment it was real; then it became blurred. Even in the hour since he had seen it, the memory had faded, overlaid by other impressions. The more he tried to visualize it precisely, the less clear it became. He opened his eyes and touched the ninth button. The result was startling. He was again standing in the rubble-strewn corridor, smelling its distinctive odor of damp plaster and dust, and looking into the strange, dark eyes. He braced himself, knowing what was about to happen. There was the sensation of being struck violently in the face, while at the same time, his breathing was cut off as if someone had gripped his windpipe. His senses blurred, and everything seemed to go into slow motion. Yet because he was also observing it all from a distance, he also continued to stare into the face of his attacker, and to observe its expression of uncertainty and anxiety. He even experienced a flash of sympathy: this man was alone in a hostile city, surrounded by enemies. His safety depended on not being recognized, and now that he had been recognized, he had ceased to be the hunter, and became the quarry. . .