Merrol listened, smiling at the remark. No matter what they thought, he couldn't seriously contemplate suicide. There were too many others to dissuade him.
Nevertheless, it was hard to understand and accept the sudden change of his status. He had formerly been a mere employee, but now....
The announcer hadn't finished. "In the beginning, Dan, I said you had done everything right, whether you knew it or not. After we learned what we did from your test, we checked through our files and found that we had a few other accident cases on record in which part of the brain had been replaced. In each case there was a faint trace of another personality, which we could detect when we knew what to look for. We rechecked each person we could locate. Unfortunately, the latent personalities and their share of knowledge had been submerged beyond recovery by the rigorous psychotherapy the accident victim had undergone after surgery."
The imaginary Wysocki's theorem of self-therapy. He never knew of anyone by that name, nor had he got it from one of the other five. But, however nonsensically he had invented it to express the needs he felt at the time, it was, in fact, not nonsense. When it came to that, who knew anything about six minds packaged together—and what could have been done to him in ignorance?
The announcer was finished talking to Dan Merrol alone. "Remember, all of you," he said briskly. "This man is neither a criminal nor insane. He is extremely withdrawn, as a result of unpleasant experiences. If you can induce him to come to Interplanet, or lead our representatives to him, you will receive a substantial reward. Here is his picture."
Merrol turned off the screen and scowled. He didn't like that last. He intended to take their offer, but he wanted to be free to walk the streets. He could settle that easily enough by just calling Interplanet. They'd send someone down to whisk him away. That would solve all his problems—or would it?
Certainly, it eliminated orientation or any form of psychotherapy. After what had happened to the others, the psychologists would be content merely to observe what went on in his mind. They wouldn't want to give him much privacy, but he'd have to insist on it. They'd listen.
This could be just a job, a very good job while it lasted—say three or four years—until they had learned all they need to know. Perhaps there would be other men blended more scientifically than he had been. But he could accumulate enough money to last the rest of his life, or perhaps turn his many new talents to something else. There were many things he would like to do, and he was ahead of everyone else now, even though in three or four years he would no longer be unique.
Except, of course, in his body.