"Four," said the counselor. "Four murders in a population of sixteen billion. That's quite a record, as anyone knows who reads Twentieth Century mystery novels." He glanced humorously at Luis. "You did, didn't you?"
Luis nodded mutely.
Borgenese grinned. "I thought so. There are only three types of people who know about fingerprints today, historians and policemen being two. And I didn't think you were either."
Luise finally broke in. "Won't Putsyn's machine change things?"
"Will it?" The counselor pretended to frown. "Do you remember how to build it?"
"I've forgotten," she confessed.
"So you have," said Borgenese. "And I assure you Putsyn is going to forget too. As a convicted criminal, and he will be, we'll provide him with a false memory that will prevent his prying into the past.
"That's one machine we don't want until humans are fully and completely civilized. It's been invented a dozen times in the last century, and it always gets lost."
He closed his eyes momentarily, and when he opened them, Luise was looking at Luis, who was staring at the floor.
"You two can go now," he said. "When you get ready, there are jobs for both of you in my department. No hurry, though; we'll keep them open."