Dream or memory? Desperately he called after the guard. This is a prison." 402 remembered his dream of the murdered man. "What gave you the idea this was a hospital?" "I assumed it," 402 said. What happened to me? Why am I in this hospital?" "Hospital?" the guard said. 402 called after him, "Wait! You can't just leave me like this, you have to tell me something. "But why can't I remember anything?" "Well, that's the way it goes," the guard said. That's the best way." "Certainly," said 402. He asked the guard, "Have I been sick for long? Am I getting better?" "Yes," the guard said, in a voice that carried no conviction. "That's your cell number." He didn't like it. "Could you tell me my name?" he asked the guard. He had an object on his waist which could be identified, after a moment, as a weapon. He walked up to the panel, and saw that the man who questioned him was dressed in a brown uniform. He sat on the edge of the cot and listened, trying to control his excitement. After a long time, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside his door. He would speak about that with the doctor. They would award him all possible patient privileges.
That locked door gave him a moment of panic which he sternly controlled. He stood up and walked slowly around his small room.
It was very good of them he felt tears of gratitude start in his eyes. Kindly doctors were working to restore his memory, to replace his identity, to restore his judgment apparatus, to tell him who and what he was. He knew that there were many important things which he did not know, which he once had known. He possessed in addition a limited amount of general knowledge. (Did that mean that there were other languages?) He knew the commonplace names for things: room, light, chair. He spoke a language which he knew was English. He knew that he was a man, species Homo sapiens, an inhabitant of the planet Earth. He tried to catalogue all his knowledge, and the implications of that knowledge. He held his chin in his hand and closed his eyes. The room had a bed and a single chair, and nothing else. Light came into the room from some hidden source, perhaps from the ceiling itself. On the other, through a curtained alcove, he could see a tiny lavatory. He was sitting on a bed in a small gray room. When it didn't, he looked around, seeking in his surroundings some clue to his identity. He sat up hastily and willed memory to return. He awoke, rubbed his eyes, and waited for further memories to come.
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