in the morning light, he sat up and put his hand on her. she smiled in her sleep and squirmed closer. there were compensations for being nobody, he supposed, and this was one of them. he got up quietly and dressed without waking her. there were a number of things he wanted to discuss, but somehow there hadn't been time last night. he would have to talk to her later today.
he slipped out of the house and went across the court into his own. the screen he had ripped apart had been repaired and put back in place. a voice chimed out as he entered: "a call came while you were gone."
"let's have it."
the voice descended the scale and became that of the store manager. "the gun you brought in was sold six months ago to dorn starret, resident of ceres and proprietor of a small gallium mine there. that's all the information on record. i trust it will be satisfactory."
luis sat down. it was. he could trace the man or have him traced, though the last might not be necessary.
the name meant something to him—just what he couldn't say. dorn starret, owner of a gallium mine on ceres. the mine might or might not be of consequence; gallium was used in a number of industrial processes, but beyond that was not particularly valuable.
he closed his eyes to concentrate. the name slid into vacant nerve cells that were responsive; slowly a picture formed, nebulous and incomplete at first. there was a mouth and then there were eyes, each feature bringing others into focus, unfolding as a germ cell divides and grows, calling into existence an entire creature. the picture was nearly complete.
still with eyes closed, he looked at the man he remembered. dorn starret, five-eleven, one hundred and ninety, flesh that had once been muscular and firm. age, thirty-seven; black hair that was beginning to recede from his forehead. the face was harder to define—strong, though slightly hard, it was perhaps good looking. it was the eyes which were at fault, luis decided—glinting often—and there were lines on the face that ought not to be there.
there was another thing that set the man apart. not clothing; that was conventional, though better than average. luis stared into his memory until he was able to see it. unquestionably the man was left-handed. the picture was too clear to permit a mistake on that detail.
he knew the man, had seen him often. how and in what context? he waited, but nothing else came.
luis opened his eyes. he would recognize the man if he ever saw him. this was the man who owned the gun, presumably had shot him with it, and then had hidden it here in this room.
he thought about it vainly. by itself, the name couldn't take him back through all past associations with the man, so he passed from the man to ceres. here he was better equipped; re-education tapes had replaced his former knowledge of the subject.
