Vestiges of Time by Richard C. Meredith Page A

should be able to master it quite easily, almost instinctively, one might say.
    “RCL Two we consider an intermediate stage. In it, v/hich would require slightly greater mental concentration, you would be directing your attention to one or a few replicates, more fully aware of their thoughts and activities, of their sensory input, but hardly fully integrated with them.
    “RCL Three will probably be the most difficult to
    adjust to, for in it you would be allowing your response patterns—your self, your soul, if you feel poetically inclined—to fully mesh with that of a single replicate.” He spread the fingers of his thin hands and then brought them together so that the fingers of one hand entwined with those of the other, mating with one another like the teeth of cog wheels. “At RCL Three you would be able to see through the replicate’s eyes, hear with his ears, taste with his tongue, even speak with his vocal, cords—and, of course, experience his pain. In essence, you and he would be a single person inhabiting two bodies.
    “We do not believe that it will be necessary for you to use RGL Three to any great extent. In fact, we advise against it.”
    “I see.”
    “The training, as you can see,” he went on after a moment, “will not be all on the part of the replicates. You yourself will have a great deal to learn in the process.”
    I nodded dismally. Maybe it wasn’t going to be the sinecure I had thought it would be.
    “But I am certain you will find it interesting and rewarding,” KaphNo said, as if to cheer me up.
    “Tell me about this cerebral-recording business,” I said, my mouth damp with beer and foam. “You explained to me about the so-called brain waves and all that, and I think I’ve got some idea of what you’re doing when you’re making these recordings—” “Essentially similar to the recording of any electromagnetic phenomenon,” KaphNo interjected, “but the modulation end of it is a lot more sophisticated.” “So you told me. But what am I going to be doing while all this is going on?”
    KaphNo smiled one of those rare smiles of his, stretched, drank beer, relaxed, and said, “We are getting a little out of my field. This is more in psychologist GrelLo’s domain, but I’ll tell you what I can.
    “The recordings will be accomplished through several phases, as I think I mentioned to you earlier. First of all, before any actual recordings are made, you will make up what we call a ‘mnemonic autobiograph,’ with GrelLo’s help, of course. Your life experiences will then be broken down into a number of clearly defined categories—any of which you consider of a highly personal or private nature and/or nonrelevant to our training purposes will be struck from the initial records. Prying into your personal life will be avoided as far as possible. She and her technicians will go after the specific memory types desired.”
    After calling to EnDera for still another refill of our beer mugs, I asked, “How is this done?”
    “During the recording sessions, which GrelLo will supervise, you will be given drugs to help you relax and to facilitate memory retrieval. Half a dozen or so electrodes will be placed at various spots on your scalp and the back of your neck. That’s all. Very much like an EEG, if you’ve ever had one. The machines and the computers do the rest.”
    “And after the memories are recorded?”'
    “They will be played back to you in a shorthand fashion and you will be given the opportunity to edit them before GrelLo and her staff further edit them. After that, the tapes will be ready to be played to your replicates.”
    “Well, it doesn’t sound like there’s anything to be afraid of there,” I said, wondering if that was true. How great a chance was there that I might give myself away as not being what I claimed to be? I’d have to play that carefully indeed.
    KaphNo was giving me another of his smiles. “As if there were much you have ever feared, my