Officer Myers switched his throat-transmitter to line 2 and said, "Put me through to a Dr. Hagopian in San Jose. This is an emergency; never mind his answering service."

The line clicked as the circuit was established.

Glancing at his fellow officer Myers said, "You saw it. You saw him put his hand through the dashboard. Maybe he can banish us." He did not particularly feel like testing it out; he felt confused and he wished now that he had let Cupertino speed on along the freeway, to oblivion if necessary. To wherever he wanted.

"I know why all this is," Cupertino said, half to himself. He got out cigarettes, lit up; his hand was less shaky now. "It's because of the death of Carol, my wife."

Neither officer contradicted him; they kept quiet and waited for the call to Dr. Hagopian to be put through.

His trousers on over his pajamas, and wearing a jacket buttoned to keep him warm in the night chill, Gottlieb Hagopian met his patient Mr. Cupertino at his otherwise closed-up office in downtown San Jose. Dr. Hagopian switched on lights, then the heat, arranged a chair, wondered how he looked to his patient with his hair sticking in all directions.

"Sorry to get you up," Cupertino said, but he did not sound sorry; he seemed perfectly wide-awake, here at four in the morning. He sat smoking with his legs crossed, and Dr. Hagopian, cursing and groaning to himself in futile complaint, went to the back room to plug in the coffeemaker: at least he could have that.

"The police officers," Hagopian said, "thought you might have taken some stimulants, by your behavior. We know better." Cupertino was, as he well knew, always this way; the man was slightly manic.

"I never should have killed Carol," Cupertino said. "It's never been the same since then."

"You miss her right now? Yesterday when you saw me you said -"

"That was in broad daylight; I always feel confident when the sun's up. By the way – I've retained an attorney. Name's Phil Wolfson."

"Why?" No litigation was pending against Cupertino; they both knew that.

"I need professional advice. In addition to yours. I'm not criticizing you, doctor; don't take it as an insult. But there're aspects to my situation which are more legal than medical. Conscience is an interesting phenomenon; it lies partly in the psychological realm, partly -"

"Coffee?"

"Lord no. It sets the vagus nerve off for four hours."

Dr. Hagopian said, "Did you tell the police officers about Carol? About your killing her?"

"I just said that she was dead; I was careful."

"You weren't careful when you drove at one-sixty. There was a case in the Chronicle today – it happened on the Bayshore Freeway – where the State Highway Patrol went ahead and disintegrated a car that was going one-fifty; and it was legal. Public safety, the lives of -"

"They warned it," Cupertino pointed out. He did not seem perturbed; in fact he had become even more tranquil. "It refused to stop. A drunk."

Dr. Hagopian said, "You realize, of course, that Carol is still alive. That in fact she's living here on Earth, in Los Angeles."

"Of course." Cupertino nodded irritably. Why did Hagopian have to belabor the obvious? They had discussed it countless times, and no doubt the psychiatrist was going to ask him the old query once again: how could you have killed her when you know she's alive? He felt weary and irritable; the session with Hagopian was getting him nowhere.

Taking a pad of paper Dr. Hagopian wrote swiftly, then tore off the sheet and held it toward Cupertino.

"A prescription?" Cupertino accepted it warily.

"No. An address."

Glancing at it Cupertino saw that it was an address in South Pasadena. No doubt it was Carol's address; he glared at it in wrath.

"I'm going to try this," Dr. Hagopian said. "I want you to go there and see her face to face. Then we'll -"

"Tell the board of directors of Six-planet Educational Enterprises to see her, not me," Cupertino said, handing the piece of paper back. "They're responsible for the entire tragedy; because of them I had to do it. And you know that, so don't look at me that way. It was their plan that had to be kept secret; isn't that so?"

Dr. Hagopian sighed. "At four in the morning everything seems confused. The whole world seems ominous. I'm aware that you were employed by Six-planet at the time, on Ganymede. But the moral responsibility -" He broke off. "This is difficult to say, Mr. Cupertino. You pulled the trigger on the laser beam, so you have to take final moral responsibility."

"Carol was going to tell the local homeopapes that there was about to be an uprising to free Ganymede, and the bourgeois authority on Ganymede, consisting in the main of Six-planet, was involved; I told her that we couldn't afford to have her say anything. She did it for petty, spiteful motives, for hatred of me; nothing to do with the actual issues involved. Like all women she was motivated by personal vanity and wounded pride."

"Go to that address in South Pasadena," Dr. Hagopian urged. "See Carol. Convince yourself that you never killed her, that what happened on Ganymede that day three years ago was a -" He gestured, trying to find the right words.

"Yes, doctor," Cupertino said cuttingly. "Just what was it? Because that day – or rather that night – I got Carol right above the eyes with that laser beam, right in the frontal lobe; she was absolutely unmistakably dead before I left the conapt and got out of there, got to the spaceport and found an interplan ship to take me to Earth." He waited; it was going to be hard on Hagopian, finding the right words; it would take quite some time.

After a pause, Hagopian admitted, "Yes, your memory is detailed; it's all in my file and I see no use in your repeating it – I frankly find it unpleasant at this hour of the morning. I don't know why the memory is there; I know it's false because I've met your wife, talked to her, carried on a correspondence with her; all subsequent to the date, on Ganymede, at which you remember killing her. I know that much, at least."

Cupertino said, "Give me one good reason for looking her up." He made a motion to tear the slip of paper in half.

"One?" Dr. Hagopian pondered. He looked gray and tired. "Yes, I can give you a good reason, but probably it's one you'll reject."

"Try me."

Dr. Hagopian said, "Carol was present that night on Ganymede, the night you recall killing her. Maybe she can tell you how you obtained the false memory; she implied in correspondence with me that she knows something about it." He eyed Cupertino. "That's all she would tell me."

"I'll go," Cupertino said. And walked swiftly to the door of Dr. Hagopian's office. Strange, he thought, to obtain knowledge about a person's death from that person. But Hagopian was right; Carol was the only other person who was present that night… he should have realized long ago that eventually he'd have to look her up.

It was a crisis in his logic that he did not enjoy facing.

At six in the morning he stood at Carol Holt Cupertino's door. Many rings of the bell were required until at last the door of the small, single-unit dwelling opened; Carol, wearing a blue, pellucid nylon nightgown and white furry slippers, stood sleepily facing him. A cat hurried out past her.

"Remember me?" Cupertino said, stepping aside for the cat.

"Oh God." She brushed the tumble of blonde hair back from her eyes, nodded. "What time is it?" Gray, cold light filled the almost deserted street; Carol shivered, folded her arms. "How come you're up so early? You never used to be out of bed before eight."

"I haven't gone to bed yet." He stepped past her, entered the dark living room with its drawn shades. "How about some coffee?"

"Sure." Listlessly she made her way to the kitchen, pressed the HOT COFFEE button on the stove; first one, then a second cup appeared, giving off fragrant steam. "Cream for me," she said, "cream and sugar for you. You're more infantile." She handed him his cup; the smell of her – warmth and softness and sleep – mixed with that of the coffee.