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"Yes." I realized only then that I had.
Simulacron Three 69
"And do you know what condition I've just described?"
I nodded and whispered, "Paranoia."
He laughed quickly. "But just a false paranoia an induced
condition. Oh, it's a valid, convincing thing. Has all the earmarks
too: delusions of grandeur, loss of contact, suspicions of
persecution, hallucinations." He paused. Then, even more
sincerely: "Don't you see what's happening? You wipe off an
analog reactional unit and you fancy someone in your own world
vanishing. You reprogram the past experiences of a counterfeit
population and you think your own background is being
tampered with."
Even confused as I was, I could appreciate the logic in his
explanation. "Let's suppose you're right. What do I do about it?"
"You've already done ninety per cent of what has to be done.
The most important things are realization and self-confrontation."
He rose suddenly. "Dial yourself another drink while I make a
videocall."
When he returned I had not only finished the drink, but was also
half through shaving in the bathroom adjoining the study.
"That's the spirit!" he encouraged. "I'll get the shirt."
But when he came back I was frowning again. "What about
those blackouts? They are real, at least."
"Oh, I'm sure they are, in a psychosomatic sense. Your integrity
revolts against the idea of psychosis. So you look for a
face-saving excuse. Blackouts put the whole thing on an organic
plane. You don't feel so humiliated."
When I had finished dressing he led me to the door and
suggested, "Make good use of that shirt."
His advice was meaningless until I found Dorothy Ford parked in
front of the house. Then even the purpose behind his videocall
became clear. Good ol' Dorothy all too ready to give me the
"lift" Collingsworth had apparently suggested I needed. Whether
she was disposed to run a mercy mission made no difference.
Here was an opportunity to keep her eye on one of Siskin's
assets.
But I didn't mind.
We speared into the silent blackness and sat suspended
between a panoply of cold stars and the brilliant carpet of city
lights. Against the graceful curve of the plexidome, Dorothy was
Simulacron Three 70
a warm, soft picture, full of vitality and eagerness. Her hair,
fluorescing with the reflected glow of the instrument panel, was a
flaxen backdrop for a smile both vivid and anxious.
"Well," she said, elevating flawlessly rounded shoulders, "shall I
submit a plan of action? Or do you have ideas of your own?"
"Collingsworth call you into the picture?"
She nodded. "Thought you needed a bracer." Then she laughed.
"And I'm just the gal who can give it to you."
"Sounds like interesting therapy."
"Oh, but it is!" Her eyes glistened with mock suggestiveness.
Then, suddenly, she was serious. "Doug, we both have our jobs.
It's more than obvious mine is to see that you stay tucked safely
in the Great Little One's pocket. But there's no reason why we
can't have fun at the same time. Agreed?"
"Agreed." I accepted her hand. "So what's on the program?"
"How about something for real?"
"Like what?" I asked cautiously.
"A shot or two of cortical current."
I smiled tolerantly at her.
"Well don't look so damned reserved," she quipped. "It's not
illegal, you know."
"I didn't figure you for the type who might need an ESB fix."
"I don't." She reached over and patted my hand. "But, darling,
Dr. Collingsworth says you do."
The Cortical Corner was a modest, one-story building nestling
between two soaring obelisks of concrete and glass on the
northern fringe of the downtown section. Outside, impulsive and
boisterous teen-agers jostled one another, surging occasionally
against their parked air jalopies and spilling frequently into the
almost abandoned traffic lanes. Eventually, they would pool their
resources and finance a cortical-kicks session for a select
member of the group.
Inside, in the waiting lounge, clients sat around with patient
politeness, listening to the music or sipping drinks. They were
mostly elderly women, uncomfortable in their embarrassment but
none the less eager. Few, including the men, were below their
Simulacron Three 71
mid-thirties. Which attested to the fact that the youthful adult
group generally didn't require ESB escapism.
We waited only long enough for Dorothy to inform the hostess
that we were interested in the triply-expensive tandem circuit.
Without delay we were admitted to a luxuriously appointed
alcove. Omniphonic music susurrated against period tapestries.
Poignant scents hung heavy in the warm air.
We settled down onto the velvet couch and Dorothy nestled [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]