The Forgetting Machine by Pete Hautman Page A

now,” I said.
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous. Think of this as an opportunity! Why, for you, I’m willing to waive my usual fee.”
    â€œLook, I’m sorry I came in here without permission. I won’t say anything to anybody.”
    â€œSay anything? To whom? About what? I have no secrets.”
    â€œWhat about them?” I pointed at the cages.
    â€œMy pets? I am breaking no laws.”
    â€œI hate you,” said the cat.
    â€œYou’re stealing people’s memories.”
    â€œNot true! I am bestowing the gift of memories. Useful memories. Why should you clutter your mind with what you had for breakfast this morning when you could be enjoying the knowledge of the ages?”
    â€œI’m leaving now,” I said.
    â€œI’m afraid that won’t be possible.” He set his bag on the floor and opened it to reveal a gray plastic cube about the size of a four-slice toaster. “Not until I demonstrate REMEMBER.”
    I made a dash for the door. Rausch shot out a long arm and snagged me as I tried to pass. I twisted out of his grasp and was fumbling with the dead bolt when he pulled a small object from his pocket and pointed it at me. I had about a tenth of a second to recognize the Projac before he pressed the trigger. The Projac made a ghaaak sound, and that’s the last thing I remembered.

26

REMEMBER
    I don’t know how long I was knocked out, but when I came to, I was strapped into the complicated-looking chair. Rausch was sitting in front of me stroking his bolo tie with one hand while holding the Projac in the other.
    â€œYou’re not supposed to have that,” I said thickly. The pocket-model Projac he held could knock out an attacker from twenty feet away. A military-grade Projac could kill. Either way, the device was supposed to be top secret—nobody outside the ACPOD laboratory where it was being developed was supposed to know about it. I happened to know what it was because of the events last summer. I
    â€œYou stole a Projac from ACPOD,” I mumbled. I was still pretty fuzzy after getting zapped.
    â€œI stole nothing. ACPOD stole from me. All my ideas, my brilliant innovations, my best ideas. The cybernetic interface that allows these animals to communicate with us was my idea. Gilbert Bates took my research and axed the project. But he won’t steal REMEMBER, because he won’t remember that REMEMBER exists. Is that not beautiful? I am using a machine that creates memories to eliminate all memories of the machine itself.” He gestured at the REMEMBER machine. Several cables led from the device to the headset above me.
    â€œLet me go,” I said.
    â€œLet me go,” said the cat.
    â€œI will let you go,” Rausch said. “But first . . . what would you like to remember?” He set the Projac on his workbench and woke up one of the computers. “I have quite a selection here. War and Peace ? That might be useful if you go to college. Or maybe you’d prefer a textbook? Biology, perhaps. Or a history of Western Europe?”
    While he wasn’t looking at me, I tested the straps gripping my forearms. They were tight, but I could twist my arms a little. The left strap was looser. With enough time I might be able to pull my hand through it.
    â€œWhy not just download the entire Library of Congress into my head while you’re at it?”
    â€œI cannot recommend that,” Rausch said. “You might forget your own name, and that would result in too many awkward questions. The more memories I load, the more you forget.”
    â€œWhy are you doing this?” I figured the longer I could keep him talking, the better my chances of being rescued. Billy was out there someplace, and he must have seen Rausch arrive. Rausch hadn’t said anything about the drone, so Billy must have kept it out of sight. What would he do? Contact his dad? The police? That would be the smart thing to do, but knowing