Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(45)

“He’s the one who shot me,” Defoe said.

Klein nodded. “I suspect he’s good for the other deaths.”

“So why isn’t he in jail?”

“TPB denies it all, refuses to recall him.”

“Then turn one of your people loose on him.”

“I’ve lost enough already,” Klein answered bluntly.

“But you’re willing to put Lassiter and me on the firing line?”

“I judge it’s worth the risk.” Klein dropped the attitude. “We know you’ve had some contact with the Futures.”

How the hell do you know that? Morrisey wouldn’t have told them. Buying time, Defoe hedged his reply. “Futures?”

“Don’t go coy with me. We know they’ve been snooping both in our time and in ’88. I don’t trust them. We have no idea of their agenda.”

“Their agenda is simple: keep us from fornicating their future.”

“Did they give you any details?”

“Not really.” In truth, they’d said enough to scare the hell out of him. In five short years, laws would be passed to interdict Transitive behavior. The shifters would begin to fight back three years after that. It all went south from there.

Klein didn’t need to know all that.

A hummingbird careened past them, pursued by another at top speed. Defoe let the seconds spin out, weighing his options against his conscience. He’d been at Chris’ high school graduation and his graduation from the Time Immersion Academy. The kid had been first in his class. He shouldn’t be dead. He should be settling down, marrying, having kids so Morrisey would have someone to spoil.



His eyes locked onto Klein’s. “Okay, you got me. How do we reel Copeland in?”

To his credit, Klein passed on looking smug. “Go back to ’88 and keep digging. The key is hidden there somewhere.”

They heard a series of beeps as the outer door opened, followed by barely audible footsteps. The Guv agent went on the alert.

“It’s Morrisey,” Defoe said. No one else moved that quietly. Sure enough, his friend appeared at the entrance to the solarium, face shrouded in concern.

Defoe straightened up, his chest complaining at the sudden movement. “Do we have barbarians at the gates?”

“Not yet, but I suspect TPB will be here soon enough,” Morrisey replied, giving Klein a quick look. “Miss Lassiter has just returned from ’88. Her mind didn’t make the trip.”

~??~??~??~



Cynda blinked open her eyes. It took awhile for her to realize she was in a new place. She found a man peering down at her. It wasn’t the one with the odd-sounding instruments who kept asking her about her brain. The other man, the solemn one who wore all black, stood nearby, watching her intently. A third hovered near the door. She didn’t like the looks of him.

“Do you remember me?” the first one asked.

She shook her head carefully, so as not to trigger another headache. The bed she was lying on seemed to help that, which didn’t make any sense. The bed in the other place hadn’t. The solemn man had said that the blue line on the bed needed to be longer before she could get up. She checked it again. It hadn’t changed. Still, she liked the color blue.

“Do you remember falling into the river?” the man asked.

A stray image appeared. It was of rotting fish. She shook her head.



“Do you remember me being shot?” Another shake of the head. “What do you remember?”

“Mice. In the crazy place.”

“The what?”

“I think she means an asylum,” the solemn man explained. “We found a scrap of paper in her pocket. It had her first name written on it. Miss Lassiter said a woman gave it to her. I believe it’s the only reason she knows her first name. She certainly does not remember Mr. Hamilton, and they’ve been friends for over a quarter of a century.”

“What could have caused this?” the first man asked, his face pale now.

“The physician isn’t sure, but he did find a circular pattern on her left temple that looks like a scorch mark,” the solemn man continued. “He has no idea what could have caused it.”

“Null Mem,” the man near the door murmured.

“What?” the first one demanded.

No reply.

“Spill it, Klein.”

“Not here.”





Chapter 15




They retreated to a quiet room. Klein would do nothing but grunt until Morrisey had instituted the complete security shield.

“What’s going on?” Defoe demanded. “Why is she that way?”

The agent issued a thick puff of air. “A few years ago the Government sponsored an experiment, a new treatment for schizoids and psychopaths, the most violent ones. It was called Null Memory Restoration. In layman’s terms, NMR reboots a person’s mind, causing almost complete memory disassociation.”

“Why would anyone want to do such a thing?” Morrisey asked, mystified. “Our memories are what make us human.”

“The theory was simple: clear out the old memories, rebuild the brain to a new set of specifications, and these crazies would become productive citizens. If it worked, you wouldn’t have to warehouse them in prisons and asylums.” Klein scoffed. “It was pure bullshit of course, but that was the plan.”