The counselor was pleased. "That's right. You're beginning to use some of the information we've put back into your mind. Earth, Mars and Venus are the main population centers. But there are also Mercury and the satellites of Jupiter and Saturn, as well as the asteroids. We can check to see where you might have come from, but there are so many places and people that you can imagine the results." "There must be _some_ way," the man said painfully. "Pictures, fingerprints, something." "Something," Borgenese nodded. "But probably not for quite a while. There's another factor, you see. It's a shock, but you've got to face it. And the funny thing is that you'll never be better able to than now." He rocked back. "Take the average person, full of unsuspected anxiety, even the happiest and most successful. Expose him to the retrogression gun. Tensions and frustrations are drained away. "The structure of an adult is still there, but it's empty, waiting to be filled. Meanwhile the life of the organism goes on, but it's not the same. Lines on the face disappear, the expression alters drastically, new cell growth occurs here and there throughout the body. Do you see what that means?" The man frowned. "I suppose no one can recognize me." "That's right. And it's not only your face that changes. You may grow taller, but never shorter. If your hair was gray, it may darken, but not the reverse." "Then I'm younger too?" "In a sense, though it's actually not a rejuvenation process at all. The extra tension that everyone carries with him has been removed, and the body merely takes up the slack. "Generally, the apparent age is made less. A person of middle age or under seems to be three to fifteen years younger than before. You appear to be about twenty-seven, but you may actually be nearer forty. You see, we don't even know what age group to check. "And it's the same with fingerprints. They've been altered by the retrogression process. Not a great deal, but enough to make identification impossible." * * * * * The nameless man stared around the room--at Val Borgenese, perhaps fifty, calm and pleasant, more of a counselor than a policeman--out of the window at the skyline, and its cleanly defined levels of air traffic. Where was his place in this? "I guess it's no use," he said bleakly. "You'll never find out who I am." The counselor smiled. "I think we will. Directly, there's not much we can do, but there are indirect methods. In the last two weeks we've exposed you to all the organized knowledge that can be put on tapes--physics, chemistry, biology, math, astrogation, the works.