The man gazed at the counselor. His thought processes were fast, but erratic. He could race along a chain of reasoning and then stumble over a simple fact. The counselor ought to know what he was talking about--this was no isolated occurrence. The police had a lot of experience to justify the treatment they were giving him. Still, he felt they were mistaken in ways he couldn't formulate. "I'll have to accept it, I suppose," he said. "There's nothing I can do to learn who I was." The counselor shook his head. "Nothing that _we_ can do. The clues are in the structure of your mind, and you have better access to it than we do. Read, think, look. Maybe you'll run across your name. We can take it from there." He paused. "That is, if you're determined to go ahead." That was a strange thing for a police counselor to say. "Of course I want to know who I am," he said in surprise. "Why shouldn't I?" "I'd rather not mention this, but you ought to know." Borgenese shifted uncomfortably. "One third of the lost identity cases that we solve are self-inflicted. In other words, suicides." * * * * * His head rumbled with names long after he had decided on one and put the list away. Attractive names and odd ones--but which were significant he couldn't say. There was more to living than the knowledge that could be put on tapes and played back. There was more than choosing a name. There was experience, and he lacked it. The world of personal reactions for him had started two weeks previously; it was not enough to help him know what he wanted to do. He sat down. The room was small but comfortable. As long as he stayed in retro-therapy, he couldn't expect much freedom. He tried to weigh the factors. He could take a job and adapt himself to some mode of living. What kind of a job? He had the ordinary skills of the society--but no outstanding technical ability had been discovered in him. He had the ability of an entrepreneur--but without capital, that outlet was denied him. His mind and body were empty and waiting. In the next few months, no matter what he did, some of the urge to replace the missing sensations would be satisfied. The more he thought about that, the more powerfully he felt that he had to know who he was. Otherwise, proceeding to form impressions and opinions might result in a sort of betrayal of himself. Assume the worst, that he was a suicide. Maybe he had knowingly and willingly stepped out of his former life. A suicide would cover himself--would make certain that he could never trace himself back to his dangerous motive for the step. If he lived on Earth, he would go to Mars or Venus to strip himself of his unsatisfactory life. There were dozens of precautions anyone would take.