Cerberus: A WOLF IN THE FOLD (34 page)

 
"I'm rolling for all the marbles now, Doc," I told him. "What's a little more risk at this stage?"

 
He sat back, thinking.
"All right.
You've heard of Cerberan-induced schizophrenia? A misnomer, by the way, since it not only has nothing to do with schizophrenia-
,
it doesn't even have any related symptoms."

 
"I'm not really sure," I told him honestly.

 
"Well, in very rare, freak instances during the personality transfer
process,
we wind up with one of two very strange conditions. If we can control the transference between two minds and interrupt it at a precise spot, the data from both minds will be present equally in both brains, so to speak. We have more than enough room in there, you know. The two primary results are either eventual merging of the two into one new personality after a period of acute identity, crisis, or winding up with two complete, distinct personalities in each body, alternating. Timing, mental and physical setup, and the like, is crucial and not guaranteed."

 
"I think I remember hearing something about it. Early on, in the briefings after I came."

 
He nodded. "Very rare—but we can do it in the lab. The problem is that every individual is physically different, and the time tolerances are incredibly fine to get any result, let alone the desired one. And there's very little margin for error. We've occasionally been able to get the splits to merge, but that's about it. The process is irreversible and permanent."

 
"And just what does this-have to do with Dylan?"

 
"Well, barring the discovery of mental telepathy in practical form, the only way to reassure her totally—if you really are sincere and her fears are groundless—is to try something akin to this process. Control it, and stop the transference
just short
of the induced split. This will put a strong imprint from the other person in each mind. It'll be as if you could read each other's innermost thoughts and secrets—which is why almost nobody has the guts to try it. No more secrets, period.
None^But if timed correctly, it'll fade over a period of weeks, leaving only the original personality and the ultimate memory of knowing the other.
If we could do this with the two of you, she would
know,
would have been inside your head so to speak, and there would
be no more doubting
you—if you really don't, deep down give cause for the doubt. For a brief time, a few days at Jeast, she would have total access to your mind, memories, and personalities inside her own head—and you, hers."

 
I whistled. "That's a pretty nasty load. Do I even know
myself
what I really want or feel?"

 
"Yes. You see the risk. And there's the additional one. To be really effective, the timing is crucial, and as I said, individual factors not all quantifiable come into play, making it an educated guess. Split or merger is a Very real possibility."

 
"I see. And what are the odds of something going wrong like that?"
"Fifty-fifty, frankly."

 
I sighed. "I see. And, just on the off-chance I still wanted this, and Dylan was willing too, how much prep time would you need?
How much notice?"

 
"At least a day.
Several weeks would be better, since I'd have to cancel a lot of my appointments, but it'll be worth it. I haven't done anything like this in a long, long time."

 
"How many times
have you
done it in your twenty or thirty years of practice?"

 
He thought a moment. "Four, I think." "And how many times did it succeed?" "Well, that's relative. Two worked, and two caused the induced state I mentioned. Of the two that worked, one couple became the closest duo I'd ever known, and seemed to almost reach nirvana."
"And the other?"

 
"Wound up hating each other's guts. That was partly my fault. I really didn't dig deep enough into one of "em."

 
"We'll have to think about this," I told him, "It's a big step. And right now I can't afford to have anything less » than a clear head. It's a pretty drastic step."

 
He nodded. "That's understandable. But I might mention something that might come in handy, maybe not. The brain-scan devices have a preset pattern they look for, allowing for variances if bodies have been switched in the electrical and chemical requirements of the new body. It's a points-of-similarity thing, like partial fingerprints. If it gets twenty points of similarity with what's recorded, it says it's you. Under
any
of the induced states, at least for a period of days, the scan machines would recognize those points in either mind. I've been playing with that idea for years, but never had a use for it. Maybe you will." I looked at him strangely,
then
had to laugh. "You old anarchist bastardl"

 
"Things are so bright and clear again," Dylan told me as we sped away from the office. "You don't realize how much you see and hear the Warden organisms between people and things until you're deprived of that contact for the first time in your life. It's like being blind and then suddenly being able to see again."

 
I could only partly understand that. True, I was aware of the things, and you
could
feel 'em and hear 'em if you concentrated, but they'd become just something that was, something you damped out and never gave a thought to. And that of course may have been what she really meant. JYou don't notice the noises of the sea, but if they stopped, you sure would.

 
"You've got to watch yourself now, though," she warned. "You can wake up automatically inducted into the motherhood some morning."

 
I laughed and kissed her. "Don't worry about it. I can always get my body back if I want to."

 
We went on to talk about a lot of things, including Dumonia's radical ideas.

 
"You'd be willing to do that?" she asked.
"For me?"

 
"If that was what you wanted and needed," I assured her. "That is, if we survive the next few days."

 
She hugged me. "Then we don't have to. Just knowing that you would is more than enough for me.
Partner."

 
"Lover," I retorted, and hugged her back.

 
Otah's shop hadn't changed at all, nor had Otah himself.
He hadn't seen me in some tune, though, and looked surprised and pleased to see me, although less so at the sight of Dylan.
Still, he pulled himself up as straight as he could and came over to us.

 
"Qwin!
How delightful! I'd given you up for dead!"

 
"I'll bet," I responded dryly, then gestured with my head to Dylan. "This is my wife, Dylan Kohl."

 
"
Your
wi— Well, I'll be damned! And to think you twc*first met here!"

 
"We didn't," Dylan told him. "That was somebody else, same body."

 
That news befuddled him a bit, which I took as a good sign. That meant that Otah had no idea, what I had transmitted, or he'd have known of Dylan, Sanda, and the rest. He didn't listen—or couldn't.

 
"Well, what can I do for you two this lovely day?" he asked pleasantly, and I could see that behind that fat face his mind was trying to figure out how to separate the two of us so he could force a report.

 
"You can can the act, Otah," I responded, a slight edge in my voice. "I know about the transmissions. I know you get your black-market electronics from the Confederacy somehow in exchange for triggering folks like me."

 
He laughed nervously. "Why, Qwinl
That's
insane!"

 
"No, it's true—and you know it, I know it, even Dylan knows it. Otah, this has grown bigger than you, bigger than the bootleg stuff. I need to call in. I need to call in
now,
consciously, and with full knowledge and memory of the call. You understand?"

 
"I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about!"

 
"No more games!" I snapped, "If you want to keep this sham up, fine. There are other sources. But you'll be long gone to Momrath for inconveniencing me, I promise you. Otah, I'm in the middle of Wagant Laroo's own circle, including the man himself. One word about your off-planet bootlegging activities and you know what will happen."

 
He sputtered and swallowed hard. "You wouldn't."

 
"In a minute.
Now, let's stop this old school uniform stuff, huh?" We got to be friends because that was how you got your payoffs. You used me, and that means I can now use you—or discard you. Which will it be?"

 
He swallowed hard, shook his head, and sighed. "Come on, it was nothing personal, Qwin. You gotta believe that. I always liked you. It was just—well,
business."

 
"The transceiver, Otah.
Let's get this over with. I can only promise you that if you go along, with no funny business, no one will ever -know. But we're stuck for time. We're being followed, and I had to get a doctor to remove a couple of small tracking devices placed under our skins without our knowledge. We're going on a real shopping spree and celebration today, hitting all our old haunts, and you're one. But if we take too long here, they'll know."

 
He looked around nervously. "Come on in the back
,*
* he turned and we followed.

 
The workshop was the usual mess, out of which he dug a helmetlike device and plugged it into what looked like a test bench console,
then
turned on the juice.

 
"Looks something like the brain-scan things—the big stuff," Dylan noted, and I nodded.

 
"It probably is something like that. Otah, without saying the magic words, how's it work?"

 
He shrugged. "I dunno. The transmission just goes out through the antenna on the roof I use for routine communications. I guess it's scrambled and picked up somewhere else on Cerberus, then beamed to satellite, and then to who knows -where. All I know is you come in, we talk, I wait until we're alone and say—well, the key words—and you and I walk back, turn the thing on, plug it in. Then you put it on and go into a trance for a couple of minutes. Afterwards you take it off and come back out, and I spot you and make some inane comment and you pick up the conversation from there, just as if you never left."

 
I nodded. "Okay, good. Go on back out to the shop until I need you. Dylan can stand watch."

 
"Suits me," he responded nervously, and left

 
I looked over the helmet. "It's a simplified version of a readout used by the Security Clinic," I told her. "It is something like a scan device, only it transmits the information."

 
"I thought that was impossible," she responded. "Nobody but you would be able to receive it."

 
"That's pretty much correct. Now, don't get alarmed if I go into that trance. Just let it go. Make a brief appearance out front if you want to—I want no interruptions. When I'm through, we'll see what's what."

 
"Qwin, who's on the other end of that thing?"

 
I sigh*d. "A computer, probably.
Quasi-organic type.
And eventually me."

 
And so that's where we stand to date. I hope you will evaluate this information and pass it on to the Operator at this point, rather than waiting for a final report which I
will
make—if I'm able.

 
There is a mild pause, like a break in the static. Suddenly a voice—no, not a voice, really, just an impression of one, forms in my mind.

 
"I -will inform him that the report should be read," the computer says, "but not of its incomplete nature. He will make his own decision."

 
"Fair enough," I tell the computer.
"How long?"

 
"Unknown. He is distraught over the Lilith report and has refused immediate reading of this one.
Perhaps a day."

 
"How, then, will I get bach into contact? 1 can't draw attention to here."

 
"We will contact you. Do not worry."

 
That's easy for you to say. You're only a machine, and you aren't down here with your neck in a noose.

 
END TRANSMISSION. READ
OUT, HOLD FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.

 
The observer removed the helmet and sank back in the chair, looking and feeling exhausted. He just sat there for several minutes staring at nothing, as if unable to focus his thoughts or get hold of
himself
.