'A Woman A Day', Galaxy Science Fiction Novels, Number 43 and Beacon Books Number 291, 1960. Published by The Galaxy Publishing Corporation, 421 Hudson Street, New York 14, New York. Written by George O. Smith. Dimensions are 117.0 millimeters width by 180.0 millimeters Height and 88.0 grams, 188 pages. Copyright was issued in 1960, but no registration renewal was recorded for Galaxy Books, this work is Public Domain under Rule 6 of the Copyright Statutes of the United States. Etext and digital copy created by Gerard Arthus. http://OpenEducation.org

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Full text of "beacon_books_B291_galaxy_novel_number_43_a_woman_a_day"

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A GREAT NEW NOVEL BY

PHILIP JOSE FARMER

He defied the 25+h -.fn+ury with a woman who wai

NOT HiS WIFE—and a WIFE who was NOT A WOMAN

They met in the strange world

of the future—the man who

had renounced sex, and the

woman who used sex as a

weapon. Their love might save

them both—and destroy their

world in the process!

— H. L. GOLD

FIRST PRINTING-1960

A WOMAN

A DAY

by Philip Jose Farmer

A GALAXY MAGAZINE

Prize Science Fiction Selection

For BEACON BOOKS

ALL CHARACTERS IN THIS WORK ARE WHOLLY

FICTITIOUS AND ANY RESEMBLANCE TO PERSONS

LIVING OR DEAD IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL

Copyright 1960 by Galaxy Publishing Corp.

GALAXY NOVEL #43

Galaxy Novels are stprdy, inexpensive editions of choice

works of imaginative suspense, both original and reprint,

selected by the editors of Galaxy Magazine for Beacon Books.

THIS IS BEACON BOOK NO. 291

Cover by Gerald McConnel

Printed in the United States of America by

THE GUINN COMPANY INC.

New York 14, N. Y.

Chapter 1

Doctor Leif Barker pulled the woman to him. She did

not resist; she had not come to him to resist. Not at this

point. Her actual intention, as he knew, was to yield so

far and then scream until the men who were undoubtedly

waiting nearby would burst in and arrest him. Or pretend

to arrest him.

The woman looked up at him, her rouged lips half¬

open. She said, “Do you think this is real?”

“It’s factual,” said Leif, and then his lips closed over

hers. She responded wildly—a little too wildly, for he

knew that she was acting. Overacting. Or was she? Perhaps

she enjoyed her job more than she would have wanted

her superiors to know.

He reached up with his right hand. Before she knew

what he was doing, he seized the ruffled collar around

her neck and ripped open the back of her dress.

Her eyes opened, and she tried to pull away, to say

something, but he kept his mouth over hers. Before she

could move she was stripped to the waist. Then he re¬

leased her, but his right hand was open, ready to chop

against the side of her neck if she tried to scream.

However, she seemed stunned by the rapidity with

which the seduction was taking place. And, perhaps, she

had not been in the business so long that she was cynical

about a lamech-wearer. Perhaps her conditioning still held,

telling her that a man in Leif Barker’s position was irre¬

proachable. Perhaps.

Whatever she thought, she was lovely. Whoever had

sent her had chosen a woman who would make resistance

difficult. She was a tall slim blonde with the body of a

fully developed woman but a face that still suggested the

innocent child. A passionate child, yes, but still a child.

However, exposed as she now was, die large, firm breasts

5

6

A WOMAN A DAY

robbed her of the immature appearance and made it easier

for Leif to do as he had planned.

Her hands had been hanging by her side; now, aware

of his gaze upon her breasts, she put up her hands to

hide them. He laughed.

“What is the matter?” he said. “Have you now decided

that you do not want me to become your lover? That

you have not always admired me from afar and that it

was a mistake to come here and give yourself to me?

That you have decided not to go against the teachings

of the Sturch?”

“No,” she said, her voice trembling. “I—I just did not /

expect that—that . .

“That things would go so fast you might actually have

to go through with it before your friends could get here?”

he said, still smiling.

She turned pale. She opened her mouth to say some¬

thing, but the paralyzed throat refused to allow the words

to come.

“It’s a sign of the times,” he said.

“What is a sign?” she managed to say.

“Once,” he said, “a man who wore the lamech—” he

touched the large golden Hebrew L which he wore pinned

to his shirtfront—“was regarded as above temptation.

Being above temptation, he was also above suspicion.

There were no attempts by the Uzzites to make him prove

that his conduct was based on reality, by trying to seduce

him into immorality. But these are degenerate times, and

now no man is above suspicion.”

He paused and said harshly, “Tell me, did Candleman

send you?”

She flinched; he knew that he had struck the truth. So

—his own superiors in the Cold War Corps were not

testing him. He was being trapped by Candleman, the

chief of the Uzzites, the secret police of the Haijac Union.

“How many men are waiting?” he said.

She did not reply, so he took her by the hands and

pulled them away hard, exposing her breasts. She turned

her head away so she would not have to look him in the

eye, and the paleness of her skin was replaced by a blush

that spread from the hips upwards.

“You won’t tell me?” he said. “It doesn’t matter. Look!”

He released her and went to the wall, pressing against

A WOMAN A DAY

7

a section of it. Instantly, a square just above his hand

flickered and became a screen, and the interior of the

waiting room in the penthouse was revealed. Three men

were slumped unconscious on the floor. They wore the

black uniforms of the Uzzite.

“As a lamech-wearer, I have many privileges,” he said.

“One of them is the right to take precautions against the

violation of my person. So I have this. I press a button,

and an anesthetic is released into the waiting-room.”

“But the gas circuits were supposed to—” She stopped.

“Have been de-energized by one of your friends?” he

said. “They probably were. But I’m not such a fool that

I didn’t install a duplicate circuit—one even Candleman

wouldn’t know about.”

She was pulling at the front of her dress again, her

blue eyes wide with fear.

“Why are you telling me this?” she said. By her ques¬

tion he knew she thought he was going to kill her.

“Because you are going to continue to work for Candle-

man,” he said. “And you are also going to be working

for me. But your real loyalty will be to me. You’ll be

afraid to expose me to him.”

“What do you mean?” she gasped.

He approached her slowly, reaching out for her dress

again.

“You know Candleman. He will not tolerate unreal

sexual conduct, even on the part of his agents. I know

that you were supposed to get me aroused and then call

your friends. Candleman, who is so moral that he doesn’t

mind killing a man or trying to tempt a lamech-wearer,

would not tolerate one of his girls actually going through

with the act.”

“You don’t mean . . . ?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll have you now. You’ll be in no

position to betray me to Candleman. Besides, you’re lovely,

and I’ve not had a woman for a month now.”

“Your wife?” she said, stepping back.

He laughed and said, “My wife and I have never even

kissed each other.”

She continued retreating until she felt the cold wall

against her bare back. Then, suddenly, she fell on her

knees before him.

8

A WOMAN A DAY

“For the love of the Forerunner!” she begged. “Do not

do this! I will be forever lost!”

For a moment, Leif actually thought of allowing her

to go. Then he told himself that would be the act of a fool.

If he did not go through with this, he would have to kill

her to prevent her from accusing him to Candleman. He

certainly did not want to do that. Moreover, she was

lovely.

“Ingrid, my dear,” he said, “I don’t think that you

will find this as distasteful as you think.”

“Please don’t!” she said, her voice breaking. “I had

to do this! Candleman would have had my father put in

H if I did not!”

He hesitated. Perhaps her story was true. But he doubt¬

ed it. Candleman would not trust an agent who did not

have the same fanaticism as himself.

“You are lying,” Leif said. “And even if you aren’t,

I want you.”

He put his hands under her armpits and raised her.

Within five minutes she had quit struggling, and in an¬

other minute she was acting as wildly as before Leif tore

her dress. This time Leif was certain that she was not

pretending.

Chapter 2

The transparent qb cube upon the wall flickered. The

miniature storm inside it flung itself about like a caged

beast. Clouds roiled; lightning flashed.

Abruptly, chaos became order. The QB crackled and

sputtered, and figures appeared in it. One of them was

a man seated behind a desk. For a few seconds, the scene

shimmered. Then, as if the essence of the tiny man had

decided to become existence, the figure became as hard

and sharp-edged as fact itself.

The cube held the projection of a government gandy

studio. The desk and the reporter behind it and the wall-

sized portrait of Isaac Sigmen behind him were real as

life, if only a sixth as large.

A WOMAN A DAY

9

Dr. Leif Barker, sipping his breakfast coffee in his

penthouse atop the Rigorous Mercy Hospital, sleepily

watched his QB. The instrument was daily becoming less

efficient. He could call in the overworked techs. If they

could requisition the needed materials—a big if—they

could have the QB working at ninety percent efficiency.

But the shoddy materials they would get could not keep

it from slipping back to its normal seventy-eight per cent.

No, there was no use calling the techs. These break¬

downs were signs of the times.

He sipped the skin-searing liquid.

Very good signs of the times, too.

Leif liked them, for he was their prime mover, the

spider who squatted in the center of the web and strummed

the strands from time to time.

. . and it may or may not be real that Timestop will

occur within a year,” the gandyman was honking. “But

we’re authorized to say that events of the last six months

seem to point to such a possibility. You all know what

we’re referring to, the strange signs and portents that

have been so numerous recently.”

Sleepily, Leif smiled. Yes, the Haijac Union’s govern¬

ment had itself started rumors of Timestop, the proph¬

esied day when Sigmen would return from his travels

through past and future to the present. That day could

see the destruction of his enemies and the rewarding of

his faithful. Every follower of reality would be given a

universe of his own to play with; he’d have no more

authority above him, no guardian angels to check on his

every move.

The Haijac government had itself created events de¬

signed to take the citizens’ minds from long work and

short pay. But the Cold War Corps of the nation of

March had caught the ball and was rolling it downhill,

where it was causing an avalanche. They had a plan to

make the rank-and-file Jack a fervent believer in the close

arrival of Sigmen, the Forerunner.

And when the citizenry was expecting Timestop every

day, then watch out! For . they’d not only get one Fore¬

runner, they’d get a . . . and he drifted off into thoughts

of the frantic efforts of the Jack bureaucracy to dam the

flood they themselves had started. There would be nothing

A WOMAN A DAY

10

more upsetting, more revolutionary, than a man who sees

his expected millenium proved to be a fraud.

That—plus one other important movement Leif was

closely connected with—might wreck an empire.

Halfway through his second cup, the buzzer sounded.

Annoyed, he flicked the toggle. Immediately the scene

in the cube dissolved. The mist that replaced it flickered,

was shot with quartz that ran the spectrum, and then

cleared to a not-quite focus. The figure of his secretary

was revealed, sitting behind her desk ten stories down.

Revealed, thought Leif Barker, wasn’t the right word.

Not when a thick, highnecked, floor-length dress covered

her presumed figure. The virtues stamped upon her wax¬

like character by the Sturch had not been smoothed out

in rubbing against her boss. Rachel was a real girl. You’d

not catch her in any behavior that might possibly lead to

a pseudo-future. She was real.

He stared at her. She blushed.

“Yes?” He felt like growling, but he smiled instead.

If he could break his face into the desired joviality, he’d

be all right the rest of the morning.

“Dr. Barker, there’s a Zack Roe who insists he’s to see

you.”

Leif didn’t permit his smile to change.

“His appointment is not until ten this morning. Tell

him he’s made a mistake.”

Another small figure entered the cube and looked at

the little glass box upon Rachel’s desk. Zack Roe was a

tall and stooped man with grey hair and the OD’s of a

laborer. He spoke Icelandic with a slight Siberian accent.

He held his hat in his hand, and ducked his head as

he said, “Please, Doctor. I know I’m not here at the right

time. But I forgot that today I start my purification rites.”

“What’re you doing here?”

“I thought maybe you could give me my tests now. That

way we’d both be satisfied. I know these tests are im¬

portant, doctor.”

He ended with a giggle and a bulging of his blue eyes.

Leif sighed and said, “Shib, I’ll be right down. Rachel,

tell Sigur to turn on the eegie, will you, please?”

Rachel said she would. Leif flicked the screen off,

drank his coffee, though it scalded his tongue, and rapidly

ate his seaham and eggs. Roe had given the key words—■

A WOMAN A DAY 11

that way they meant that Leif was to contact him as fast

as possible.

Something big was np. Otherwise, Zack would never

have broken the pattern of his ways and thus given his

gapt a reason for investigating him. Fortunately, he had

a good excuse. Purification rites came ahead of every¬

thing else, and his role as a stupid shovelman would fit

it with his apparent forgetfulness.

Leif strode through several rooms, furnished quite well

for these drab and dismal days, and toward the elevator.

His collie, Danger, leaped for him and was quite offended

when his master only scratched his ears as he went by.

“Later,” said Leif, pressing the button that would take

the car down to the eegie rooms.

There was no reason to be alarmed at the unusual pat¬

tern of events, but he felt uneasy. The Plan had been

going well—almost too well. But he must not allow an

expression of anxiety to cross his face. What had he, a

lamech-wearer, to fear? Smiling he dismissed the thought

from his mind and returned to the hospital routine.

He yearned for another coffee. And yawned. Yearn

and yawn. He smiled to himself. He seemed to be doing

a lot of both lately—though last night had taken the edge

off the yearn.

The door opened. He walked into Rachel’s office.

She said, “Good morning, doctor.”

He said, “Forerunner bless you. Any important mail?”

He didn’t want to give the impression of haste. She

might wonder about concern over a nonentity like Zack.

She said, “No letters, abba”

“Don’t call me father,” he said. “I’m only ten years

older than you.”

“I respect you as a father,” she said, eyes downcast.

He lifted her chin and kissed her on the mouth. “Here’s

a fatherly buss. You get one every time you call me abba”

He chuckled and said, “And as a reward for not doing

so, you also get one every time you don't call me father.”

“Doctor Barker! You mustn’t do that!” Her cheeks

were flaming.

He grinned at her and said, “I’m taking unfair advan¬

tage of you because I’m a lamech-wearer. On the other

hand, what’s the use of being one, if you can’t take ad¬

vantage of it?”

12

A WOMAN A DAY

Her mouth hung open. Leif resisted the temptation to

close it with another kiss. Though beautiful, she was more

cold candy than warm flesh. The man who broke down

her defenses would find that he’d have done better to

spend his time elsewhere. She wouldn’t be good business;

the overhead would be large and the assets frozen.

Ah, well, she was a human being and not responsible

for all of what she was. He stepped into the elevator,

turned, waved Rachel a cheery good-by, and dismissed

her from his mind. Something big was brewing; probably

his life was involved.

Chapter 3

When Leif entered the eegie room, he found that Sigur

had seated Zack Roe and had placed the tantalum helmet

over the grey head.

Zack exposed his buckteeth in a smile and said, “Sigmen

love you, doctor.”

“A real future to you,” replied Leif. He nodded, and

Sigur pushed a button. The kymograph beneath the eegie

machine began turning. Accompanying it was a beep-beep

noise which, as part of the experiment, was supposed to

distract the subject. The experiment was, ostensibly, an

attempt to correlate the brainwave pattern of the subject

with his vocalization. For some time Leif had been spend¬

ing an hour a day on this project to read a man’s mind

through electronic means.

Actually, he had been doing just that for the past two

years. The lower half of the so-called electroencephalo¬

graph was what it was supposed to be. It recorded the

subject’s brainwaves on a kymograph. But the upper half

of the eegie was the machine which had been smuggled

into Leif’s hands by the Cold War Corps. It did what the

other was eventually intended to do. It could “read” a

man’s mind. And at this very moment it was detecting and

amplifying Zack Roe’s thoughts and transmitting them

through the supposedly meaningless beeps.

“I’ll ask the usual number of test questions,” said Leif.

A WOMAN A DAY

13

“Answer ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ I don’t care whether or not you

tell me the truth now. Later, I want you to indicate the

true answers. Got it?”

“Yah,” drawled Zack. “I ain’t as dumb as you think,

doc. We done that before, din’t we?”

Leif glanced at Sigur. He was standing by the kymo,

his back to them, watching the stylos inking the alpha,

beta, gamma, kappa and eta waves. The beeping con¬

tinued; Sigur paid no attention to the noise.

“When were you born, Zack?”

“The third of Fertility, 190 A.R.,” Zack said.

Leif checked that in His note book, then he winked at

Zack.

“Answer the same question in English, Zack. We want

to check any difference in the waves effected by using

different tongues.”

Zack complied.

At the same time, the beeps changed their pattern.

Leif’s ear picked it up at once.

What took you so long, Leif? This is hot. You should

have come running. Shib. Here's the message. Halla Dann-

to, the wife of the Archurielite, was hurt at 7300 in an

auto collision. She was taken to this hospital. You're to

get to her fast. Fasti Get the doctor on-call off the case

and call Ava.

If Halla Dannto is dead , cremate her body without de¬

lay. Don't let anybody besides Ava know you're burning

it. Then go back to her room and act as if she's still alive.

Get this! Don't mention Halla's death to the woman

who'll take her place.

She'll be wearing an old-fashioned street veil when she

comes in. Ask no questions. Accept her as the real Halla

Dannto. Got it?

As if he were thinking of something, Leif nodded his

head.

He said, “Now, Zack, next question.”

Rachel rushed into the room,

“Doctor Barker!” she said breathlessly. “Doctor Trausti

just called me and gave me a message for you. Your QB

didn’t seem to b& working, so I brought it myself. You’re

to come down to room 113 at once. The wife of Archur¬

ielite Dannto has just been brought in, badly injured.

Trausti wants you to take- over.”

14

A WOMAN A DAY

Leif raised his eyebrows.

“Can’t he handle it?”

“I suppose he thinks she’s too important for him. Be¬

sides, she might die.”

“And he wants me to take the responsibility for that?”

said Leif, smiling. “Tell him I’ll be right down. And,

Rachel, get hold of my wife. Demand she drop everything,

even if it’s a baby, and get down to 113. Shib?”

He turned.

“Sigur, that cancels the experiments for the rest of the

day. Tell the other subjects they can leave now.”

He strode from the room. Outside, he collided with a

man who was standing just in front of the door. The fel¬

low staggered backwards; Leif had a fleeting impression

that the impact had not been that hard, that the man was

exaggerating a little.

“Pardon me,” he said, and he went to pass on. A strong

hand upon his arm stopped him.

The stranger coughed and then said, “Doctor Barker?”

His voice was high and had a slightly foreign accent.

“I’m in a hurry. See you later,” said Leif.

He absorbed the man with a glance. He liked to know

who the people were around him, what they looked like,

and what they were doing. Afterwards, he could give you

the essential details.

Leif was struck. There was something strange, almost

artificial about him. He was short and stocky and had a

very light skin and hair and light blue eyes. The lobeless

ears were large. The nose was a contradiction with its

broad flaring nostrils and high arch. The lips were thick.

“What’s your name?” demanded Leif.

The fellow coughed.

“We ... I mean I’m Jim Crew.”

Leif caught the “we” and looked at the others sitting

in the waiting room. A man and two women, all young,

their faces looking enough like Jim Crew to make them

his brothers and sisters.

“You’re all here for the eegies?” he asked.

“No, abba,” said Jim Crew. He looked at the others.

Two of them closed their eyes. Their eyelashes were long

and thick as spider’s legs. Tension suddenly pulled up the

slack in the air. Leif felt as if there were invisible threads

drawing around him.

A WOMAN A DAY

15

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Abba ” said J im Crew, “we’ve come to you because

you’re the only man in Paris who can help us.”

One of the women rose to her feet. Her face leaped at

Leif with a blonde and savage beauty. At the same time,

her expression was strangely abstracted. If you could pic¬

ture flesh as such a thing, it was like a cubist painting of

an ancient saint.

“Our child is dying,” she crooned, low and throaty.

Her thick lips trembled, slurring the words.

She held her hand out. Jim Crew took it. They said,

together, “Our child has been struck by the same auto

that killed Halla Dannto.”

The third woman, still sitting on the divan, her eyes

closed, moaned, “Our child is dying. Her skull is cracked

open, and there is a splinter of bone pressing upon her

brain.”

The other man suddenly laughed. Contrasted with the

evident distress of the others, the laugh was shocking.

Leif winced.

“It doesn’t matter,” the man said. “In one way, no. In

another, yes. But if you don’t come quick, our child will

be dead.”

Leif felt as if he were in a dream. He was impatient to

get to Mrs. Dannto’s room. Yet, he couldn’t leave.

“What do you know about Mrs. Dannto?” he said.

“How do you know she’s dead?”

“We know,” said Jim Crew. “We also know she lives

again.”

“I have to go to Mrs. Dannto,” said Leif. “I’m sorry

about your child, and I’ll do all I can for her as soon as

possible. What room is she in?”

“She’s not here,” replied the standing woman. She

opened her eyes. Bright and light blue, they shone with

a glow that did not come from the light-panels.

“Our child is in a room deep under the city.”

“What is this all about?” barked Leif. “Tell me quickly.

I’ve little time for nonsense.”

The man on the divan said, “Nonsense such as we

mean—” he waved his hand to take in the two women and

Jim Crew—“is the only real sense.”

Jim Crew smiled with big teeth and sad lips.

“She was struck by the auto that crashed into Halla

16

A WOMAN A DAY

Dannto’s car. We did not bring her here because that

would have meant her death—and ours.”

The savage beauty moaned, “And our child knew that

she might be crushed, and that you might have to come to

her and save her.”

“I’m intrigued,” said Leif in a deep voice, the cords on j

his muscular neck standing out. “But I don’t know what

you’re talking about. And I’m beginning to wonder why

you think I wouldn’t call the Uzzites. You’re evidently a

case for them.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” said Jim Crew.

“You couldn’t,” said the beauty. “We know. Our child

knew.”

“You’ll come to the sewers,” said the second woman.

“Like H I will,” said Leif. “If you want me to operate

on your child, bring her here.”

He strode away, brushing past Jim Crew.

As he went through the door, he halted in midstride,

almost as if the air had jelled around him.

Out of the air had come an unsound, a voice that had

no syllables borne on no air waves, yet unmistakably

made itself heard.

“Quo vadis?”

He turned around.

“What are you doing?”

Jim Crew said, “Don’t feel violated, Dr. Barker. We

did it so you’d know we’re not . . . crackpots.”

“Nor,” added the savage beauty, “people to be slighted.”

She looked at him, and he was suddenly filled with a

grief that he could contain only by the most violent effort. \

He didn’t like it, and his face must have shown it, for ,

in the next second it was gone, leaving him wondering if

he had not been imagining it.

The man on the divan laughed loudly again. And Leif

felt like laughing back.

He gripped the side of the door and squeezed. With

the feel of strength came a summoning of rejection. They J

were looking at him now, all eight eyes blue with a glare

that seemed to be a focus for something shining from in- -

side them: a single light rayed through four pairs of peep- j

holes. He wouldn’t soak any of that light up! He was a

mirror, reflecting it back at them, unabsorbed! Master

of himself, the way he wanted it, the way he had to have it.

A WOMAN A DAY 17

“I truly would like to come,” he said. “But if you know

so much, you know I can’t.”

“Ah,” breathed Jim Crew through his high-bridged.

Gothic nostriled nose, “but you can. Halla Dannto is

dead. You can do her no good.”

He felt as if the floor were slipping away from him. He

was sure there should be only three who knew she had

died; the interne, Zack and himself. And he and Zack

weren’t sure.

But he didn’t have time to investigate them. Zack had

been too insistent on the speed with which he got to room

113 and the secrecy he kept thereafter. Big, dark things,

were moving in the background, and he had no time to

stop and talk.

He slammed the door and walked across the room to

the QB. He dialed Rachel. The transparent cube project¬

ing from the wall became flickered into a miniature of her

office. And at once began flickering again.

“Rachel,” he said, “did you get hold of Mrs. Barker?”

“Yes, sir. She’s coming right now.”

He twisted the dial and started to walk away when

Rachel’s voice called. “Dr. Barker. Wait! Rek calling.”

He turned and dialed her in again. This time her image

came in clearly.

“I’ll tune you in with Archurielite Dannto,” she said. He

saw her press some buttons on her desk, and then her

office faded away. It was replaced by another, a far larger

and more luxuriously furnished office. The desk was huge

and dwarfed the man standing behind it. Absalom Dannto

was a big man with enormous shoulders, a mountainous

paunch, and two chins, the lower of which quivered like

the bag of a frightened cow. Leif smiled at the thought

and then wiped it off, for the Archurielite was not a man

to be trifled with.

Dannto’s voice boomed through lips distinguished by

their absence. “Barker? I’ve just been told my wife was

in an accident and that she’s in your hospital. Is she hurt

badly?”

Leif was surprised. The man seemed genuinely con¬

cerned.

“No, abba . I’ve just been told. You interrupted me on

my way to her.”

18

A WOMAN A DAY

“Barker, there’s nobody I’d rather have attending her

than you. Get down there and save her.”

Leif veiled his eyes. “I always do my best. No matter

who the patient is.”

“I know that. But for the sake of the Forerunner, do

better than your best.”

There was agony in his voice.

“Whatever can be done, will be,” said Leif.

He went to flick the switch that would cut them off,

something nobody but himself would have dared do.

Dannto said, “Wait! I understand she was in an auto¬

matic taxi. I suspect unreal conduct on the part of the

techs at the control center. So I’ve put Candleman on the

case. He’ll probably be down very shortly. Give him every

aid so that we may track down the culprits. I’ll be down

in a few hours. Just as soon as I can get rocket-clearance.

You’ve complete charge of Halla.”

“Shib, abba ” said Leif. “Does that include precedence

over Candleman?”

“I said complete, Barker.”

Chapter 4

Leif turned off the QB and strode through the halls,

vaguely conscious that the nurses turned admiration to¬

wards him, that they liked his bigness, broad shoulders,

curly yellow hair, easy smile. He talked and laughed with¬

out fear and did not try to catch them in some unreality

or other. When he was around, they could unstring their

muscles for a while and feel bright and human.

He halted an elevator going up and stepped in. The

nurse standing in it said, “Have you heard that Mrs.

Dannto’s been hurt?”

“That seems to be a very big secret,” said Leif dryly.

“I’m taking the car over because I’m on my way down

there. You don’t mind?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Would it make any differ¬

ence?”

He pressed the button that sent it sliding downwards at

A WOMAN A DAY 19

emergency speed. “Not just now, Sarah. What else have

you heard?”

“Dr. Trausti says she’s dead.”

Leif cursed inwardly, but he smiled.

“Mrs. Dannto can’t die unless I give the official pro¬

nouncement, Sarah. And while I know it’s unethical to

question another doctor’s judgement, it’s possible that

being human, he’s made a mistake. Also, being too busy

to do much reading, he may not have learned of a new

technique that has been very successful in ferreting out the

dying spark of life in patients who have already been pro¬

nounced dead.”

He lied, of course. But Sarah’s mouth was as big as it

looked. In a short time after he’d gone into room 113,

she’d have spread it all through the hospital that that

wonderful Dr. Barker was using a miraculous technique to

bring Mrs. Dannto back from the dead. By the time the

story got to the ends of Rigorous Mercy Hospital, it would

have Halla Dannto hurrying out the front door on her

way to a tennis match.

Leif stepped from the car and sped down the hall. He

found 113 closed and knocked on the door. A group of

nurses and orderlies were standing near. He shot a look

like buckshot. They scattered.

Trausti opened the door. His long black hair fell down

across his high, narrow forehead. He brushed it aside

muttering, “There’s something very strange here, Doctor.”

Leif stepped inside the room, noting as he did so the

sheet-draped form on the cart beside the wall.

“Something strange?” he said to Trausti. He managed

to put a slightly menacing tone in his voice as if he sus¬

pected that Trausti might be implicated in something not

routine.

Trausti must have detected the tone, for the hands

holding a strip of film trembled.

“Pardon me, Doctor Barker,” he said. “I mean, some¬

thing definitely out of the ordinary. At least, I think it is.

That is—well, I don’t mean anything. I will allow you

to make the decision.”

Leifs eyebrows rose. “Allow?”

Trausti became even more flustered. “I—I mean that—

well, I mean that I wanted to call to your attention some¬

thing I do not understand.”

20

A WOMAN A DAY

“Ah, I see,” said Leif, his tone indicating that he did

not see at all. “Well, what is it?”

He was laughing inside himself, for Trausti mercilessly

bullied the nurses and internes under him. Leif liked to

keep Trausti off balance, keep him worrying. He suspected

Trausti was spying on him for the Uzzites, and he hoped

someday to get Trausti into a position where he, Leif,

could turn him over to the Uzzites and thus get rid of the

danger he represented. Plus also making life easier for the

poor devils who had to submit to Trausti’s hectoring.

“It’s the X-rays I took of Mrs. Dannto,” said Trausti.

“Apparently she died of a broken back, but ...”

“I’ll render the official verdict of her demise,” said Leif.

“All I want from you is an account of this thing you called

strange.”

Trausti swallowed and said, “Shib, shib, Doctor Barker.

However, I am required to give you my findings. You

may do what you like then, of course. It is my official

opinion, based on these X-rays, that she suffered a broken

back, a broken left arm, two broken ribs, compound frac¬

tures of the thigh, a broken pelvis, a ruptured fiver, and a

wound in the solar plexus. You may check my findings

when you examine those films.”

He pointed to a row of strips clipped to a large board.

“However, these films—” he waved the strip in his

hands—“show something that I—forgive me if I am wrong

—think is rather . . . uh . . . odd. This film is an X-ray

I took of the uterogenital region.”

Leif took the film from Trausti’s shaking hand and

held it up against the fight from the wall. He saw at once

what Trausti had meant. A tubular curving body oc¬

cupied the posterior fornix, the recess behind the neck of

the uterus where the upper portion of the vagina sur¬

rounded the vaginal portion of the uterus.

Leif put the film in his pocket and said, “Probably a

growth. Whatever it is, it can wait examination until Mrs.

Dannto is out of danger.”

He did not know if the body was a tumor or cancer or

something else. But he wanted to squelch curiosity on

Trausti’s part.

Trausti handed him the second film with a shaking hand.

“This is an interior shot of the front part of the head.”

A WOMAN A DAY 21

Leif held the strip up to the light—and almost

dropped it.

The film, though called an X-ray because of tradition,

actually was the reproduction of images formed by the

absorption of ultrasonic beams by organs. This film was

one of a series which had photographed the interior of

the head in one millimeter stages from front to back. The

picture was plain enough. Two nerve cables ran from the

posterior of the skull’s frontal bone through the cranial

dura mater or protective membrane of the brain. There

the two cables were lost in the network of the brain’s

frontal lobe.

The nerve cables had no business being there! Leif

had never seen anything like them

Outwardly nonchalant, but inwardly shaken, Leif also

put the second film in his jacket pocket.

“I’ve seen a case like this before,” he lied. “Also a

female. The dissection showed that the nerve cables were

mutations. However, since Mrs. Dannto is not dead, we

won’t be able to dissect her, will we?”

He paused, narrowed his eyes, and said harshly, “Do

you have Mrs. Dannto’s medical history?”

Trausti swallowed several times. “N—no. I did not

think it was necessary to send for her records, since she

is obviously dead. At least, I thought ...”

“Have her history radioed at once from Montreal!” said

Leif. “You have been guilty of unrealistic conduct, name¬

ly, assumption of too much authority and negligence. How

can I treat her without an adequate knowledge of her medi¬

cal background?”

Trausti looked as if he were going to strangle. After a

struggle, he said, “Then you think . . . ?”

“I think we medical lamechians know more than you

lower order of doctors,” said Leif. “We have techniques

available for the members of the hierarchy, which are de¬

nied to the lower classes because they do not deserve

them. Tell me, has anyone besides yourself and Mrs. Pals-

son seen the X-rays?”

Trausti shook his head, his black hair falling across his

eyes.

“I suggest,” said Leif, “that you two keep this to your¬

selves. It might be that the Archurielite would not like it

to get out that his wife is not quite normal. In fact, I know

22

A WOMAN A DAY

he wouldn’t. He might reward loose talk with a trip to H.”

Trausti, naturally as pale as a fish’s belly, managed to

whiten even more.

“I’ll tell Mrs. Palsson.”

“Do so at once,” said Leif. “I’ll take care of Mrs.

Dannto from here on. You’re through with the case.”

Despairingly, Trausti said, “But she’s dead!”

“Perhaps. Close the door as you go out.”

Leif pulled the sheet back all the way to expose the

naked and broken form of Halla Dannto. He sank his

index finger in the wound on her solar plexus. It sank

full length without resistance. That wound alone was

enough to have killed her instantly.

Both Trausti and Palsson had seen her. What would

they think? More important, what would they do, when

they heard that Mrs. Dannto was convalescing from noth¬

ing more serious than a few broken bones, a slightly

gashed solar plexus, and shock?

He cursed the Cold War Corps and its cell idea, where

one man often hadn’t the slightest hint of the overall

plan and worked in the dark to carry out his particular

segment. Here he was, a colonel of the March Republic

CWC, originator of the plot that would probably send

the Haijac Union to oblivion. And yet he wasn’t allowed

to catch more than a glimmering of the workings of his

own campaign!

It was the price he must pay for working in the enemy’s ]

midst. If he’d allowed the brass to put him behind a desk I

down in Marsey, he could have seen the war as a whole;

he’d been directing it. But since he insisted he wanted to

work in Paris, where the danger was, he’d been sent there.

Youthful folly! That was twelve years ago. He’d been

twenty-two and had just been handed his surgeon’s license

and a second lieutenant’s buttons. Now, big-bottomed

fourstars with not half his brains were telling him what ;

to do! Those modest thoughts raced through his head as j

he ran his hands over the once firm and vibrant flesh.

Trausti was right. The X-ray had indicated something

very strange, something that might or might not be con¬

nected with Project Moth and Rust. He suspected it was.

Whether or not it was, he meant to find out what the

foreign objects in her body were.

A WOMAN A DAY 23

Two knocks sounded at the door. A pause. Three

knocks.

Ava.

He opened the door. Ava entered the room. Ava was

short and dark-haired and clad in a white uniform with

a white collar and a skirt that fell to the ankles. Ava had

long wavy hair which was braided and coiled on top of

the head and eyes so large, liquid and soft they looked

as if a speck of dust lighting on them would sink into

their depths.

Ava said, in a husky voice, “What’s going on, Leif?”

He told her what had happened.

Ava said, “What do you intend to do with her body?”

“I’d like to find out what the CWC is doing behind

our backs,” he said. “That is, if it is the CWC that’s doing

this.”

“You misunderstand me,” said Ava. “Should you be

dissecting her now? You said the orders were to cremate

her body as fast as possible, and no questions asked.”

He shrugged and said, “As a surgeon, I’d give my

coccyx to see what those growths really are.”

“You’ll lose more than your coccyx if the Jacks find

out who you are. Or, for that matter, if General Itskowitz

finds out you’re not following orders.”

He laughed big and booming.

“Little watchdog, I do believe you’d turn me in to

\ him. My own wife.”

“Cut it,” Ava said. “We’re wasting time.”

“You’re right.” Leif covered the corpse again but the

cloth fell around her curves to reveal a shape obviously

feminine. He was forced to turn her on her side and

throw another sheet from the bed over her, crumpling

it somewhat to hide the form beneath it as much as he

could.

“Our problem is to get her down to the PM without

anybody knowing whose corpse it is,” he said. “Anyone

die on this floor recently?”

. Ava nodded.

Leif said, “Don’t use the QB. You’d better go to the

desk and look through the book yourself. If you call to

ask about recent deaths, somebody might get suspicious.”

Ava nodded and left the room. Leif took out his pliers,

which had a screwdriver on one end, and unscrewed the

24

A WOMAN A DAY

QB box. It took his practised hand only a moment to

loosen the wire and make the box inoperative. He didn’t

want anybody to be able to look into the room and see

what was going on.

Chapter 5

The year was 245 A.R. (After the Revelation) or, in the

old chronology, 2700 A.D. It was exactly six hundred

and forty years since three-fourths of mankind on Earth

had been wiped out during the brief, undeclared war with

the rebelling Martian colony. The Earthmen on Mars,

who thought of themselves as Martians, had secretly in¬

troduced a laboratory-bred virus among Earthmen. This

virus caused a virulent form of sickle-cell anemia which

in three months had killed six billion people. By good

luck or because of unknown factors, the only compara¬

tively large communities left on Earth were in Iceland,

Israel, Australia, Hawaii, the Caucasian mountains of

Russia, the Indonesian islands, and central Africa. Within

a century the descendants of the surviving communities

had exploded outwards, seizing all the relatively unin¬

habited territory and absorbing the local population.

Isaac Sigmen was bom in 2455 A.D. in Montreal,

Canada, of an Icelandic father and an American-Cau-

casian mother. In 1 A.R. he announced the revelation of

a scientifically provable religion and his own ability to

travel in time. Though mocked and persecuted at first,

the Forerunner, as he titled himself, had established such

a strong church in fifteen years that he eventually became

head of the government of the Republic of America. The

Republic included North and South America, the Pacific

islands, and Japan, which had been colonized by English-

speaking peoples from Hawaii and Australia. In another

five years his religion had swept the Icelandic Republic,

which included Iceland, England, Ireland, and all of

northern Europe except the former country of Russia.

Russia, Siberia, and northern China were colonized by

Georgian-speaking peoples of the nation of the Caucasic

A WOMAN A DAY

25

Federation. In another two years, the Caucasian Federa¬

tion was converted to Sigmen’s religion. The Haijac Union

(from Hawaii, Australia, Iceland, Japan, America, and

Caucasia) was formed.

The other large nations of Earth were the Malay De¬

mocracy (Indonesia, India, southeastern Asia, southern

China), Bantuland (Africa south of the Sahara Sea), and

the Israeli Republic (the former Mediterranean nations

and Asia Minor.)

There was one comparatively small country, which had

been formed only fifty years before Leif Barker’s death.

This was March, so-called because for centuries it had

been a neutral zone between the Israeli Republics and

the European frontier of Iceland. Neither country had

dared seize it because of retaliation, so the strip had been

declared neutral while both negotiated for possession of

it. The result had been that for several centuries those

liberals who affronted the governments of either of the

negotiating parties, criminals, and men who had disliked

the policies of their governments, had settled there. In

time March came to assume the position Switzerland had

once held, a neutral zone where nations could spy and

intrigue against each other. Eventually, a government had

been formed, and March declared itself an independent

nation. March was composed of the former southern

France, transalpine Italy, Switzerland, Austria, northern

Yugoslavia, and southern Hungary. Its citizens, like those

of old Switzerland, spoke four official tongues: English,

Icelandic, Italic Hebrew, and Lingo, a strange and won¬

derful melange of the first three.

Doctor Leif Barker was typical of a citizen of March.

His father was American-Israeli and his mother was

Icelandic-Caucasian. He had been born and raised in the

city of Marsey (once Marseilles) and earned his M.D.

at the University of Ven (once Vienna).

While at the university, he had conceived the plan for

Project Moth and Rust. Fortunately, Leif Barker was able

to get somebody high in the March government to listen

to his plan and to put it into effect. His uncle was First

Consul of the Department of Midi of the Free State of

March, a position second only in power to the President.

The plan had been initiated, and Leif, after proper train¬

ing, was sent via the March underground to Paris. There,

26

A WOMAN A DAY

in the capital city of the West European Sector of the

Haijac Union, in ancient Paris, he had worked his way up

to Chief Surgeon of the Rigorous Mercy Hospital. And

to major of the Cold War Corps of the Intelligence Branch

of the Free State of March.

Chapter 6

By the time Leif had screwed the QB box back on, Ava

had returned. “We’re lucky,” Ava said. “A man named

Helgi Ingolf died ten minutes ago in 121.”

“Does he go to PM?”

“Yes. He died raving and in a straitjacket, so Shant

is going to do a head-post. He suspects a brain tumor.”

“Good. Straitjacket? Ava, take that jacket off Ingolf.

Bring it here. And while you’re in Ingolf’s room, call the

floor above this and tell them our orderlies are busy and

that you want two orderlies down here to wheel Ingolf’s

body to PM. Take Ingolf’s tag from his toe—if there is

a tag—and bring it here. I’ll tag Halla’s body with his.

“You’re still carrying that stiletto in your well-padded

bra, aren’t you? Carve a J.C. on Ingolf’s chest. We’re

going to do a job of confusion again.”

“J.C. again?” Ava said.

“Shib. Hurry.”

While Ava was gone, Leif examined Halla Dannto

more closely. What he found this second time convinced

him that he could not allow her body to go into the fur¬

nace without a thorough dissection.

Ava returned with the straitjacket concealed under a

blanket.

“You’re using this so you can conceal the fact she’s

a woman?”

“You’re so clever, honeypot,” he murmured. “Though

I doubt if we can really disguise her entirely. Would you

be able to strap down the Himalayas?”

“Leif, sometimes you’re revolting. Have you no re¬

spect for the dead?”

“No,” he said. “If she were alive, she’d get every gram

A WOMAN A DAY

27

of respect that I’ve got. She’s all woman. In fact, I don’t

think I’ve ever seen her equal, quick or not. Now, don’t

get jealous, dear.”

Ava sneered, and then both bent to their work.

They strapped Halla down and covered her again with

the sheet.

“Still a woman. Well, turn her on her side again. And

cover that foot so only the tag sticks out,” ordered Leif.

“Listen, did you get the names of the two orderlies from

200? If they seem too curious, we’ll have to find a basis

for unreal thinking on their part and turn them in to the

Uzzites. Or arrange an ‘accident’ through Zack.

“That reminds me. Trausti and Palsson saw the wound

in her solar plexus. When her replacement gets here,

they’re going to wonder about that.”

“Tsaw ah!”

“Ah, ah, Ava. No Hebrew. Especially no bad words.”

“What I said goes for you, too,” Ava said. “I’ll say

they’re going to wonder! What’ll we do? We can’t accuse

them of sabotage, for then they will talk. There’ve been

too many accidents”

“What’ll we do with the drunken sailor?” hummed Leif.

“Doesn’t it worry you?” said Ava.

“Never worry about me worrying,” replied Leif. “I’m

just big and happy-go-lucky. I don’t think they’ll talk.

I put the fear of God in them, that is to say, of his

earthly representative in Paris, Mrs. Dannto’s husband

himself. They know something’s up, but they’re afraid of

offending his nibs.”

“Will it work?”

“If it doesn’t,” he replied, “then—” He drew his rigid

index finger across his throat.

“Ava, here’s what we do. Those two orderlies will

wheel her body to the PM. I’ll go along to make sure they

note it’s Ingoff’s tag on the toe. I won’t let them handle

the body, because they’d be sure to know it’s female. I’ll

tell them to leave the cart in the PM, that Shant wants it

that way because he’s got to move the body around for

some unknown reasons of his own. They’ll believe that.

Everybody thinks the pathologist’s a little unshib anyway.

Then I’ll shove the body in the locker.”

“Who’s unshib now?” Ava cried. “Your orders are to

cremate her as fast as possible. And why are you going

28

A WOMAN A DAY

along instead of me? Won’t the orderlies think that’s

peculiar?”

“I’m going because I want to make sure she’s not cre¬

mated,” said Leif. “I couldn’t trust you not to bum her.

I’m going to take Halla Dannto apart, and nobody’s going

to stop me.

“As for the orderlies, I’ll tell them Ingolf died of a

brain growth, and I’m going to do a fast post. They’ll not

question that. I am a cerebral surgeon, remember.”

“Good God!” said Ava. “You’re jeopardizing twelve

years’ work of the CWC just because of your damned

curiosity.”

“Possibly,” he said, half-shutting his eyes. “But I’ve

always wormed our way out of jams in the past, haven’t I?

And you wouldn’t turn your own husband in, would you?”

“Damn right I would. I hate your guts!”

“I love yours,” said Leif, laughing and slapping Ava

playfully at the same time.

Ava’s dark face became filled with hate. “You louse!

You try that once again and I’ll slug you.”

“Temper, temper, little one. How well it becomes you!

And how seductive you look. Well, let’s go. Candleman

might come here before we get rid of the body.”

Ava forgot to be angry.

“Candleman’s coming?”

“Yes. If Halla’s replacement doesn’t get here soon, she

may as well not show at all. And then how do we explain

the cremation of Halla?”

“They must have done a magnificent plastic job on her

if she can fool Dannto,” said Ava. “Or maybe she’s a

twin.”

“Possibly,” said Leif. “What I’d like to know is how

she could get here so fast. Do they have doubles on tap?”

“Who knows?” shrugged Ava. “You’d better get Halla

out of here.”

Leif opened the door and looked out. Nobody in the

hall.

“Wheel her out,” he said.

Just as Ava pushed the cart into the hall, two white-

smocked men came around the comer. Leif beckoned

to them.

“Take Ingolf’s body to the PM,” he said. “I’ll be down

A WOMAN A DAY 29

in a second to do a head-post, so I don’t want you to put

him on the slab. Just leave him on the cart.”

He didn’t think he should explain why. They were

only orderlies; it would be acting out of his behavior

pattern if he were to do so.

When the two had shoved the cart into the service

elevator, Leif said, “Ava, you get Halla’s replacement

into bed as soon as she gets here. And if she comes while

I’m still in the PM, call me. And tell the 100 orderlies

to move Ingolfs body to the PM. I’ll take the tag off

Halla’s toe so the 100 men won’t get any funny ideas if

they see it.”

“We’re quite the conspirators,” said Ava. “We’re getting

so involved we’re bound to be tripped up.”

“Act like you’re afraid of nobody,” said Leif. “That’ll

get you out of any trouble in this country where every¬

body’s scared.”

“Yes, but these people can tell if you’re afraid or not.

They can’t smell fear on you , because you've got the guts

of an angel—or a devil. And I, to be frank, am always

sweating with fear.”

“Ava, you talk too much. But that’s a common failing

of women.”

Ava looked furious. Leif laughed and walked down the

hall to the elevator.

Down in the basement, he met the orderlies as they came

from the PM. “Everything shib?” he asked.

“Shib, abba .”

He said, “Wait a minute,” and he pulled a pack of

Fruitful Times from his pocket.

“I don’t smoke, of course,” he said, touching the lamech

on his chest. “But I carry these for those who do.”

They lit up, slightly ill-at-ease, yet pleased because he

would take time out to talk with them. Leif discussed this

and that with them, mainly the increasing rumors about

the possibility of Timestop and the Forerunner’s return.

Casually, he mentioned Ingolf and his interest in doing

a head-post on him. He didn’t have to ask the orderlies

their names, for he knew everybody in the huge hospital

who had worked there longer than a week. By the time

they’d left, he’d convinced them that he was a real man

in all senses of the word. And he’d left no doubt in their

30

A WOMAN A DAY

min ds that the body was Ingolf’s. If they were to be

questioned later by the Uzzites, they’d swear to it.

As soon as the orderlies were out of sight, Leif entered

the PM. He locked the door, took the sheet off the body,

untied the straitjacket and put the jacket in the cremator.

Then he wheeled the cart to the slab and there rolled the

body over onto the slab. After putting on a smock, face-

mask, and surgeon’s gloves, he selected several scalpels

and a pair of Mayo scissors from a rack. With the ease

of long practice he made the incision in the corpse from

the notch at the base of the neck to the pubic symphysis.

He peeled the skin and muscles from the breastbone and

ribs, and, after clipping the ribs free, he swung the whole

up like a drawbridge.

For a moment, before covering the face of the corpse

with the ribs, he looked at her. Even in blue-grey death,

the jaw hanging slackly, the face retained a certain beauty.

He sighed because of the glory that was to be no more,

thought of how this flesh had once been warm and pink,

how this mouth had laughed and sung and kissed. Then,

cursing himself because he had momentarily lost his pro¬

fessional objectivity, he lowered the ribs.

Swiftly he cut through to his destination.

He was enraptured by what he saw. No doubt of it! The

object detected by the X-ray was no tumorous or cancer¬

ous growth; it was a well-organized body which had grown

naturally in its present position.

A well-organized body, he thought. For what purpose?

And what did its presence indicate? That Halla was a

mutated human being? Or that she was an extra-Terres-

trial?

Ever since Trausti had shown him the X-rays, Leif had

had a theory that Halla Dannto was of non-Earth origin.

It seemed to him a possibility that the Cold War Corps

of March might have contacted hitherto unknown sapients

on some just discovered interstellar planet, and were using

them in the cold war against the Jacks. The CWC might

be utilizing the sapients because they possessed powers

or advantages Terrestrials did not have. And the strange

organs of Halla were connected with these powers and

advantages.

There could be another explanation. But he could not

think of any others.

A WOMAN A DAY

31

No time for theories. Find out something about the func¬

tion of the organ now, if possible. He couldn’t proceed at

his leisure, for he had to hurry back to make sure the

dead woman’s replacement appeared. Afterwards, he could

return for a more thorough examination.

Leif quickly lowered a microscope from the ceiling. This

was a bulky instrument with a small control panel and

a hooded viewer. Through the viewer, which was at right

angles to the object to be scrutinized, he could see the

magnification of the organ. And he could see that nerves

ran from the grey red-black spotted organ. They ran

from the anterior end of the organ along the wall of the

vaginal canal almost to the opening.

Leif moved the microscope back and forth while he

studied the organ and nerves in detail. He was puzzled.

But, obeying a sudden intuition—one of the “hunches”

which, coupled with his skill, had made him a great doctor

—he swung the microscope back towards the ceiling. From

a shelf he took an instrument designed to detect the flow

of bio-electricity, the current generated by living cells.

It was possible that this organ was not dead yet. If he

were to hold the two-pronged tip of the detector against

the organ and then rhythmically squeeze the organ with

the two fingers of his other hand . . .

“Ah!” he breathed. With every squeeze of his fingers

on the organ, the meter on the detector indicated four

hundred milliamperes.

His intuition had paid off! The organ was a biological

source of electrical energy. It acted as a piezoelectric gen¬

erator. When it contracted it released energy which traveled

down the nerves along the vaginal canal.

He reasoned that the organ, in the living Halla, must

have released the bio-electricity when it contracted under

muscular action. And the muscular contractions, of course,

were in turn affected by a nervous action. He did not know

what the cause of triggering nerve action was, and he did

not care to speculate. However, the four hundred milli¬

amperes were an extremely strong bio-current, and the

nerves that conducted it were very thick. What was the

whole biological device for?

He could find out. The girl who’d be taking the place of

the dead girl might be of the same kind!

The thought galvanized him. He hosed off the body,

32

A WOMAN A DAY

wrapped it in the sheet, and placed it in a drawer in the

freezer. Then he locked the drawer and wheeled the empty

cart out into the hall. There he found another cart with

Ingolf’s body beneath a sheet. He moved it into the PM,

lifted the sheet to satisfy himself that Ava had cut two

deep and large initials upon its chest and had left the

stiletto stuck in the side.

Evidently, Ava had given the orderlies instructions to

leave the body outside in the hall. Supposedly, the men

would think that Shant or some other doctor was busy

inside and did not wish to be bothered.

Leif didn’t like the setup. It was too complicated. Only

the simple plans allowed you to see all the details in one

sweep of the eyes. The complex plans were too hard to

clean up. They left clues for the keen-nosed hounds of

Uzzites to sniff out.

A good thing General Itskowitz couldn’t see him now,

he thought. He’d be yanked out of Paris and back to

Marsey before you could say Jude Changer!

Chapter 7

When he stepped out of the elevator onto the floor 100,

he saw that he’d delayed too long over Halla’s body. A

very tall man, half a head higher than Leif, was coming

down the hall. He was stooped, and his thin neck was

bent forward as if he were running to keep pace with the

eager head. The face was long and narrow—hawk-nosed,

thin-lipped, shadow-eyed. He looked like a blond Dante.

The Uzzite’s slender hand with its transparent-skinned

fingers was curled around the crux ansata handle of the

whip stuck in his broad black belt. His eyes were grey

beasts poised in the caverns beneath his tufted eyebrows.

When they saw Leif, they did not lose any of their

crouched-to-spring wariness.

“Candleman!” Leif cried.

The Uzzite dipped his beak in acknowledgment and

walked on to the door of 113. When it would not open

to his shove, he knocked on it.

A WOMAN A DAY 33

Leif said, “You must make as little noise as possible.

Mrs. Dannto is not to be disturbed.”

Candleman’s voice was deep. “She is still alive?”

Though his face did not change, he gave Leif the im¬

pression that he was surprised.

“Why not?” said Leif. “She’s suffering from nothing

more serious than a broken arm, a gash in the solar plexus,

shock, and loss of considerable blood. Just now she’s

under a sedative.”

“Strange,” muttered Dante-face. “I was told she was

dead or dying.”

“Who told you that?” demanded Leif sharply. If Trausti

or Palsson had been talking . . .

“One of my men. He came to the scene of the accident

shortly after it happened. And he was certain that Mrs.

Dannto couldn’t live.”

“Your men are not medically trained,” said Leif. His

eyes clashed with Candleman’s.

“I want to see her and satisfy myself that she’s all

right,” said the Uzzite.

“You may take my word for it,” said Leif.

“I insist.”

“I am her physician,” said Leif. “I have Dannto’s word

for it that I’m to be in complete charge of her case.”

“Dannto?”

“Yes.”

Candleman took the seven-thonged whip from his belt

and began to swish it with gentle meance through the

air. He said, “Very well, then, but I can, at least, see her

through the QB.”

“It’s not working,” said Leif.

He grinned.

Candleman stared bleakly; it was probably the first time

anybody had dared to mock him.

“Why?”

“Ask the tech responsible.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know,” said Leif. “But I can tell you the names

of all of the techs in this hospital. It’s easy because we’ve

only six. And we need four times that number.”

Candleman said, “I know there’s a shortage of techs.

Everything seems to be breaking down nowadays, and

34

A WOMAN A DAY

we haven’t enough men for repair. We need new and

larger schools for techs.”

“Why should young men go into them when the tech

professions are so hazardous?”

“What do you mean?”

“This,” said Leif, heart pounding delightedly at this

baiting. “If anything breaks down, the machinery is not

suspected. No. The tech is. He is at once under the suspi¬

cion of sabotage. He is thought to be an enemy of reality,

perhaps even a paid agent of the Izzies or the Marchers.

He is hauled off and questioned. While he’s being held,

the additional burden of maintenance and repair falls on

the shoulders of his already overburdened co-workers. If

he can’t answer the Uzzites satisfactorily—and their ques¬

tions are so phrased that even if he’s innocent he’s likely

to get rattled and not give the correct ones—he’s sent

to H. Whatever that is.

“If he is released, he’s still under surveillance. That puts

him under a nervous strain. If more breakdowns occur

—and they’re bound to, because of the present shortage

of techs and materials—he’ll get blamed. Back he goes to

the Uzzite rooms, and so on. The result is that many of

the techs are quitting, or trying to. The Sturch won’t allow

them to, of course, unless there’s been a lowering in their

efficiency or moral rating. The tech is, as the saying goes,

caught between Forerunner and Backrunner. If he deliber¬

ately lowers his efficiency, he’s accused of unreality. And

so on. It’s true he can conduct himself so that his gapt

gives him a lower moral rating, and he’ll be dismissed to

the ranks of the unskilled.

“But that means a harder life, smaller living quarters,

less food, less prestige. He doesn’t want to do that so he

stays on his job. But he’s nervous. His work suffers. He’s

investigated. Back he goes to the Uzzite questioning

rooms.”

Leif was talking as much as he could. He wanted to

keep Candleman busy.

Candleman swished the thongs through the air.

“Am I to understand you are criticizing the Sturch?”

Leif rubbed his lamech. “When I’m wearing this? You

know that that’s impossible! No, I’m merely telling you

why techs are hard to find.”

Candleman turned and called, “Thorleifsson!”

A WOMAN A DAY

35

A stocky young man with a square hard face stepped

from around the corner. Leif recognized him as one of the

men whom he had anesthetized in the waiting room of his

penthouse last night. The three Uzzites had recovered and

fled before Leif was through with the girl sent to trap him.

“Yes, abba,” said Thorleifsson.

“Find out the tech responsible for the QB maintenance

on this floor. Ask him a few questions about the QB in

room 113, but make no arrests. We might want to detain

him later, though.”

The lieutenant saluted and left. Candleman wheeled

on Leif and said, “The Sandalphon asked me to investigate

this case. I can’t intrude upon your medical handling of

his wife, but I can demand that you at least allow me to

satisfy myself that Mrs. Dannto is in that room.”

The doctor’s brows rose.

“Just what do you mean by that?”

“Barker, I’m a man who never takes anything for

granted. I’ve only your word that she’s in there. I trust

no man’s word. Only my own eyes.”

“There are some things you’ve got to take on trust—

or go insane,” said Leif.

He called softly through the door. “Ava. Let me in.”

He hoped Ava would have sense enough to realize why

he wasn’t using their code knocks. He didn’t want to take

a chance on giving that away to the human bloodhound

whose eyes he could feel biting his back.

The door swung part way open. He grabbed the knob

with a firm grip so it wouldn’t open any further and let

himself in, edgewise. Candleman stepped up close and

peered over Leif’s shoulder.

“There she is,” said Leif. “Are you satisfied?”

Candleman should have been satisfied. The woman in

bed had the same mass of rich auburn hair that Halla

Dannto had. And the face, in the dim light, looked exactly

like the dead woman’s.

Candleman said nothing but sucked in his breath. He

was still staring when Leif shut the door in his face.

On the other side of the door, the doctor breathed relief.

“When did she get here?”

“About a minute after you left. I thought you were never

coming back.”

Leif walked over to the bed. The woman had opened

36

A WOMAN A DAY

her eyes and given him a half-smile. He smiled back, but

he felt that this was the cap to all the shocks he’d gotten

that day.

This girl was a live ringer for Halla in more than one

way. She tolled bells; except for the dead woman, he’d

never seen such beauty.

“Have you any messages for me?” he asked.

“None except that you’re to call me Halla all the time

—until my sister recovers from her accident and takes

back her proper place.”

Leif hoped he hid his surprise. So they hadn’t told her

the truth. Poor girl. It was what had to be done, though.

If she had to struggle to hide her grief while carrying out

this deception ... he shrugged and hoped he wouldn’t

have to be the one to tell her. He couldn’t stand a woman’s

tears—if they flowed from a genuine emotion.

“Ava,” he said, “I see you’ve put a splint on her arm.

That was smart, but it might not be enough. We may have

to carry this out to a realistic conclusion.”

Ava spoke over the commie. Leif picked up the sheet

over Halla and laid it aside. Her large grey-blue eyes

widened, and she opened her mouth.

He said, “Untie that gown, will you? It’s necessary that

I examine you.”

“Why should it be?”

Her voice, even when alarmed, as now, was a creamy

contralto. It had fingers that knew where his nerves were

and plucked them like harp strings so that a delicious

chill ran down his spine.

“Your sister was injured in certain places,” he said.

“Trausti saw her, and he knows where she was hurt. I’ve

got to determine just how I can duplicate the appearance

of those injuries without actually hurting you.”

He hoped it sounded plausible. Whether it did or not,

he was determined to check the resemblances between

the impostor and her dead sister.

“But who besides you is going to check on those in¬

juries?” she asked. “Mrs. Barker and yourself will be the

only ones.”

“You’re not acquainted with medical procedures,” he

said. “We’ve not the time to argue. As your superior, I

order you to disrobe. Believe me,” he said, smiling to

A WOMAN A DAY 37

soften the effect, “I don’t like to command you. But

it’s necessary.”

Ava turned from the commie and watched him. Ava

was probably wondering just what he was up to.

Halla showed no signs of obeying him. Leif said, in

English, “Halla, I won’t hurt you. I’m L. Barker and

no bite.”

She tried to stifle the giggle, but it came out anyway.

Still s milin g, Leif reached out to untie the cords of the

unlovely hospital robe. The spurious Halla brought up

her leg and kneed him expertly in the chin. Half stunned,

he reeled back.

Ava laughed and said, “You lecherous goat! That’s

good enough for you!”

Leif, holding his jaw, mumbled, “My first contact with

you has impressed me very much. I hope you didn’t hurt

your knee?”

She laughed again, and the vocal fingers strummed

something deep within him.

“I think I like you, Dr. Barker, even if you’re up to

no good and consider yourself something of a Don Juan.

If I have to be examined like a fatted calf, let your wife do

it. You see, doctor, I know why you want to scrutinize

me.”

“Then you know my reason is purely professional.”

“No. Not purely,” she answered.

Leif turned to Ava. “Lucky girl.” Ava’s black eyes

sizzled.

He laughed as if at a secret joke, and when Ava scowled,

he slapped Ava lightly in mock rebuke.

“For the sake of the Forerunner, be serious, Leif,” said

Ava.

“The only thing I’m serious about is not being serious,”

he replied. “Listen, dear, I’m going back to PM. I’ve some

unfinished business there—” he gestured significantly at

Halla—“and I’ll be back as quickly as possible. Whatever

happens, keep Candleman out.”

“Why in H didn’t you do it when you were down there?”

Ava demanded.

Leif said, “I know I’m doing wrong, but I can’t help

myself. The scientist has triumphed over the soldier.”

He turned to give his “patient” one last glance. She had

sat up and thrown her hair back with a toss of her head.

38

A WOMAN A DAY

She looked as proud as a queen is supposed to look. Leif

opened the door and slipped quietly out, knowing that

never again would he be able to leave her without a sense

of loss. He’d never felt that way before about any woman.

Before he went to the PM, Leif stopped off at the patho¬

logist’s office. There was a chance that Shant might be

wanting to do a post on Ingolf at once. Leif intended to

tell him that he was going to open the man’s skull himself.

Shant was one of the few persons in the hospital he didn’t

like; he made no pretense otherwise. It wouldn’t be the first

time he’d cut the pathologist out of an interesting post.

He hadn’t used the QB to call Shant because he imagined

that Candleman had put a censor on it. He didn’t want

anybody storming in on him while he was PM-ing the real

Halla.

Shant was gone. Leif feigned a certain degree of dis¬

pleasure because he wasn’t there when wanted, and then he

left. The secretary would tell Shant about it, and the

pathologist would keep out of his way for a few days.

When he got to the PM door, he checked the spy-

register. It showed nothing. That wasn’t surprising, for

someone had wiped the magnetic tape clean. A little dial

in one corner of the box indicated that that had taken

place less than three minutes ago.

Leif was glad he’d insisted on Ava’s installing that

device. Checking was good; doublechecking, even better.

The door was locked. Either the person who’d entered

had wiped the tape after he’d left the room, or else had

obtained a key from one of the authorities. The latter was

more probable, which meant that the stranger was an

Uzzite. Candleman, or one of his lieutenants, was on the

prowl.

Leif didn’t hesitate. He inserted the key and pressed

the little button at its end. The other end emitted a fre¬

quency which neutralized the magnetic field that locked

the metal edges of the door with the steel doorframe. Leif

was taking a chance, for if the prowler within had taken

the trouble, he could be warned of anyone entering. Uzzites

wore wristboxes with such warning devices. Set to the

door’s frequency, they would emit an alarm should another

key of the same frequency be turned on nearby.

Knowing the Uzzite’s arrogance, Leif doubted if the of-

A WOMAN A DAY 39

ficer would bother. After all, they had the right to enter

any place except a lamech-bearer’s home.

He was right. As he silently swung the door shut behind

him, he saw Thorleifsson’s chunky form bending over the

end of the drawer that held the body of the original Halla.

His key had unlocked the box; he was just beginning to

slide it out.

Ingolfs unsheeted form was lying beneath the harsh

central lights. The stiletto projected from his ribs, and

the deeply gashed initials could be seen across the room.

Thorleifsson had made quite a discovery.

Uzzites carried minimatics whose explosive bullets,

though capable only of short range, would make a big hole

in any man they struck. Leif didn’t give him a chance to

use it. As he strode catfooted toward the bent back, he

drew a long scalpel from his inside coatpocket.

Leif had gained a certain reputation for eccentricity, a

highly calculated one. For one thing, he refused to wear

the calf-length boots of the average doctor. He preferred

sneakers. His fellow workers thought it was comfort he

had in mind. They were half-right. Silence was what he

mainly wanted, and what he got now as he approached

the broad back.

Leif could not have made a noise to attract Thorleifsson’s

attention. The Uzzite must have looked around because he

was trained to be always suspicious.

Leif rushed Thorleifsson with his scalpel held before

him. Thorleifsson grunted, and his hand flashed down to¬

wards the minimatic in the holster on his belt. Then, seeing

that Barker was too close for him to draw his gun in time,

Thorleifsson threw up one hand to knock the scalpel away.

He was partly successful. He did keep the weapon from

entering his throat. But he had to pay for his partial suc¬

cess. The scalpel entered his palm and drove through the

back of his hand.

Thorleifsson grunted again, and he reached with his

other hand for the handle of the scalpel. Evidently, he

meant to pull it loose.

Leif, however, had not stopped his charge. He slammed

into the Uzzite and went down with him to the floor. Again,

Thorleifsson grunted. Some of his wind had been knocked

out. But he was too heavy and strong to be checked even

40

A WOMAN A DAY

by the wound and the impact. With his uninjured hand he

tried to seize Leif’s genitals and crush them.

Leif blocked the move by writhing away, but he lost

his position on top.

Thorleifsson rolled away, jumped up, and reached again

for his minimatic.

Leif launched himself through the air, feet first. He

kicked out, and the toe of his sneaker struck the hand

that had just drawn the gun. The gun flew away.

Thorleifsson was, for a second, motionless, his left hand

useless because the scalpel pierced it; his right, because

of the kick against his wrist. Then Thorleifsson, silent as

he had been since Leif entered the room, raised his hand

to his mouth and bit down on the handle of the scalpel.

And with a backward jerk of his head and a forward jerk

of his hand, he pulled the scalpel loose. His expression

did not change.

Leif, after the kick, had managed to land on one foot

and thus kept himself from falling on his back. For a

second, he paused, and that was enough time for Thorleifs¬

son to regain control of his right hand. Thorleifsson took

the scalpel from his mouth and advanced, crouching, on

Leif.

Leif was undecided whether to run for the minimatic,

which had fallen in the near corner of the room or con¬

tinue his direct attack.

The Uzzite decided for Leif. He stepped between Leif

and the gun, and for the first time he spoke.

“You . . . you filthy monster! How can you wear that—”

he pointed with his bleeding hand at the golden lamech on

Leif’s chest—“and yet be a traitor?”

“What makes you think l’m the traitor?” said Leif.

“Don’t you know that you have been denounced as an

unrealist and that your fellow Uzzites are looking for you?”

Thorleifsson’s face turned grey. The scalpel lowered.

“What? How could it be?”

Leif acted before Thorleifsson could recover from the

shock of the lie. He tore the lamech from his shirtfront

and threw it at the Uzzite’s face. The heavy golden badge

struck the man in the eye.

Thorleifsson did not cry out, perhaps because he was

too stunned. Stunned because the accusation—which must

have been unthinkable to him—paralyzed him or because

A WOMAN A DAY

41

a lamech had been thrown at him. The lamech was a

symbol invested with centuries of authority and holiness.

Even a man as cynical as an Uzzite was inclined to be

would not be able to overcome entirely the conditioned

reflexes installed in him as a child.

Whatever the reason, he moved too slowly to defend

himself when Leif seized the hand that held the scalpel.

Leif twisted. Bones snapped. Thorleifsson cried out.

The scalpel fell, but Leif caught it by the handle. He drove

the point into Thorleifsson’s bulging belly, turned the

scalpel a half twist, and pulled it out. And then he cut

Thorleifsson’s throat.

Chapter 8

While Thorleifsson’s flesh and bones burned in the

crematory, Leif removed all traces of blood from the floor

and looked for anything else that might give away the

Uzzite’s presence. Then, he took Mrs. Dannto’s body from

the locker and placed it on the slab. As he worked he

wondered about the lieutenant’s appearance. Had Candle-

man sent him because he’d heard a report from Trausti?

Or had one of the orderlies thought that Ingolf’s body

looked suspiciously curved beneath the sheet?

He didn’t know. It might be anything. Whatever it was,

Leif intended working until the last possible moment.

After he’d put on gown and mask and gloves, he pre¬

pared slides of blood and tissue. While the Labtech

machine analyzed samples, Leif began his head-post, cut¬

ting fast. His time was short; he wouldn’t be able to do

a half-decent job. But he had to find out something about

this strange woman.

Leif tried to shake off all interfering thoughts and con¬

centrated on his work. Neither a philosopher nor morbidly

inclined, he found himself oppressed by the silence, the

harsh light, the cold, and the unresponsiveness of this

pathetic specimen. Even the passion of the quest for knowl¬

edge did not absorb him enough. Soundless voices spoke;

chill tongues choked moribund syllables; the penetration

42

A WOMAN A DAY

of the steel evoked a fluttering of protest, a shapeless

naysaying.

He was reminded of the encounter early that morning

with the pale-eyed and flare-nostriled four and the impact

of the “Quo vadis?” that had stopped him in mid stride.

Any other time he’d have bayed after those unique crea¬

tures with the relentlessness of the indefatigably curious.

He was sure they held the key to something, but the

maddening squirrel cage he was trapped in wouldn’t allow

him to reach for it.

He must be getting weary. Those last two thoughts were

as mixed in metaphor as you could get. On the other hand,

what was life but one mixed metaphor after another?

He bent to his work. The mass of rich auburn hair

rolled back under his fingers and thumbs. Underneath the

soft flames was a thick and fat layer much like an orange

peeling. He’d barely folded back the scalp before he was

stopped by two small bumps hidden under her hair. They

seemed to be composed of fatty tissue, perhaps nerve

tissue. Leif severed them and inserted them in the Labtech

for analysis; using the microscope, he viewed the holes left

in her skull. The holes appeared to be the ends of nerve

cables.

Excited, forgetting the apprehension of the moment be¬

fore, he finished stripping her cranium and applied the

roaring edge of a circular saw to her skull. His unorthodox

cutting pattern was intended to expose as much of the

brain as possible for a hasty examination. When the mem¬

brane of the dura mater was exposed, the brain was similar

in structure to a Terran’s. But he was convinced that a

closer examination would show many differences.

Fervently, he wished he had the chance to do some

analysis. He didn’t. There was nothing else to do but go on

and note the more radical departures. However, he wasn’t

so fast that he escaped seeing that the nerves from the

two scalp bumps connected both to the forebrain and the

middle.

The Labtech clicked for attention. Leif ignored it. He

would read its findings later, and all at once. He was de¬

termined now to know this woman as he’d never been

determined to know a live woman.

She had been lovely as few women are, and now he,

ruthless male, with the untiring and passionate knife, had

A WOMAN A DAY 43

deprived her of that loveliness in an even more shameful

way than Death.

“Forerunner,” he muttered to himself in the room’s cold

silence, “what’s the matter with me? I’m no damn senti¬

mental anthropomorphist, but something tonight has sure

gotten into me.”

He wondered if it could have been the reaction from

killing the Uzzite. He doubted it, for he’d felt no revulsion

at sinking the blade into that fat throat. The deed had

been that of one soldier slaying another; both were acting

in the line of duty. Besides, he’d deliberately murdered two

high officials on the operating table. It had been his deci¬

sion; he’d not done them on orders from Marsey. The two

men had to be put out of the way so that CWC agents

could move up in the hierarchy to take their place. Inas¬

much as the two officials were lamech-bearers, they could

not be accused of unreal thinking and thus sent to H. So

Leif had murdered them. It was an indication of his profes¬

sional ethics that he used the verb murdered and not a

military euphemism.

Whatever was bothering him, it had sliced into his skin

as surely as his knife was dividing flesh from flesh.

He shrugged again and bent over his work. The ribs had

been raised, like a drawbridge. He counted twelve pair,

true and false, the human number.

The heart, the lungs, the liver, and the kidneys were, as

near as he could determine, thoroughly human. So were

the muscular and skeletal systems. He removed an eyeball

and deposited it in the Labtech for analysis. Five minutes

later, the Labtech clicked a dozen times, and a yellow light

on the front panel flashed. Leif read the tape that stuck like

a perforated tongue from an orifice in the front panel. The

report was the same as for the samples of blood and tissue.

No abnormalities detectable. Which meant that the dead

woman was a Terrestrial human being.

Leif had two contradictions to consider. One, the woman

had two biological deviations from the norm of homo

sapiens —the two bodies on top of her head and the organ

at the end of her vaginal canal. Two, it was almost beyond

the limits of probability that an extraterrestrial female

would so closely resemble an Earth female. Even the three

types of humanoids found on other planets varied enough

in external and internal characteristics for an untrained

A WOMAN A DAY

44

man to distinguish them in a glance. No XT would ever

be mistaken, except at a distance, for a Terrestrial.

Yet, there was the unmistakable evidence of the alien

organs.

And he did not think that mutation would account for

them. They were too complex and well organized to be the

result of genetic malfunction or deviation. No, the organs

were alien.

And that reminded him that he had subjected to analysis

by the Labtech machine a sample of every organ of Halla

Dannto except that which had first aroused his curiosity.

He had not wanted to put the organ into the machine,

for that meant its destruction while it was being analyzed.

Also, there were certain tests he wanted to give it which the

machine could not.

However, he could not keep it for a personal scrutiny.

He would have little chance to work on it in the laboratory

without fear of being spied upon. And he could be very

embarrassed if he were asked to explain what the organ

was and where it came from. Even if he pulled rank and

declined to answer, he would cause suspicion and possibly

an investigation.

Sighing, he deposited the cylindrical mass of flesh and

the attached nerve ganglia in the Labtech. He punched

the controls which set the machine for the desired tests

and then paced restlessly back and forth. Ten minutes

later, the clicking sounded, the yellow light flashed, and a

strip of tape thrust out from the recorder-hole.

Leif read the brief, coded message.

DATA LACKING. DIFFERENT QUESTIONS

NEEDED.

“Too bad,” muttered Leif. “I don’t know what questions

to ask.”

Death and the knife had analyzed Halla. The questions

he would like to ask were not for machines to answer.

Life . . . death . . . and the narrow margin between. Why

. . . why . . . how?

Pausing only for a silent reflection on the transience of

beauty, Leif paid his respects to the dead woman, and

consigned her remains to the crematorium.

The body burned, the Labtech’s tapes wiped, Leif

stripped off his working clothes and put them in the

furnace. Then he hosed down the walls and the floors.

A WOMAN A DAY

45

The only object he did not cleanse was Ingolf, still waiting

upon the cart. When the sterilization was complete, he

pushed the corpse back into the hall and from there took

the elevator up to 100.

There he found Candleman, standing motionless out¬

side 113.

“Where have you been?”

Leif raised his brows.

“I consider that question impertinent,” he said, “but

since I am anxious to contribute to clearing up the mystery

of this accident, I’ll answer you.”

Leif stepped to the door and knocked softly.

Candleman said harshly, “Well, aren’t you going to

speak?”

Leif pretended to start. “Ah, yes, I was preoccupied.”

He watched the man for a sign of annoyance, but the

face was as fixed as a gargoyle’s.

“I’ve been dissecting a man who died of a brain tumor,”

he said. “Part of my work recently has been correlating

changes in brain waves with injuries of certain parts of the

brain. Most interesting.”

Ava opened the door. At that moment a nurse, coming

down the hall, called Leif. She held a slip of paper in her

hand, and her brow was wrinkled.

Turning, his hand on the knob so Candleman couldn’t

get in, he said, “Yes?”

“Dr. Barker, the head nurse of 100 noticed a discrepancy

here. Two orderlies from 200 were called down to remove

a Mr. Ingolf’s body to PM. But she knows that two of our

men did that. She noticed the discrepancy when 200’s

supervisor QB’d her to ask if she’d check the orderlies’

movements. She suspects one of unreality.”

Leif let his breath out softly. He’d lost this round. There

was a ninety-to-one chance that the discrepancy would

never have been detected in the mass of quadruplicate

reports. But one of the boys was thought to be unreal; a

term that could cover anything from murder to laziness

or stupidity. Probably the latter.

Candleman watched him closely, but that might not

mean anything. Those fierce grey eyes fastened their claws

on everything. There was a chance, however, that the

Uzzite had told the nurse to carry this news to him so

46

A WOMAN A DAY

that he might surprise Leif in some telltale word or

gesture.

He looked her in the face. Her bright profile was

presented to the Uzzite; she must have felt safe, for her

left eyelid winked. Candleman had put her up to it.

Leif’s policy of making friends with the personnel had

paid off. That she was willing to take a chance with the

dreaded Uzzite’s eyes on her warmed him. It just was not

true, as some of his associates swore, that none of these

people were worth saving.

“Well,” said Candleman.

Leif shrugged. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

They glared into each other’s eyes.

Impasse.

But at that moment the click of angry heels echoed

down the hall. A little blond-headed man with a big nose

bounced before Leif.

“Dr. Barker, what’s this I hear about you doing a post

on Ingolf?”

“That’s true, Dr. Shant.”

Shant shrilled, “You’re crowding me, Dr. Barker! I

asked that I be allowed to do the post.”

“He died of cerebral tumor; I’d been eegieing him for

several weeks,” said Leif. “I was interested. Furthermore,

as head gapt of this hospital, I don’t have to get your

permission.”

Shant bounced up and down, tapdanced, heels clicking.

“Nevertheless, you should have been ethical enough to

ask me to assist.”

“Shant, you weary me. Shuffle off, will you?”

Leif felt someone pushing the door from within. He

stepped aside enough to let Ava by.

Ava’s finger was on the lips; the big s himm ering eyes

were concerned.

“Gentlemen, I must ask you to be quiet. Mrs. Dannto

needs all the sleep she can get.”

Candleman flowed out of his crouch. Straightening his

long back, he said, “You’re right. The welfare of the

Archurielite’s wife comes first. I suggest, Dr. Barker, that

you spend more time attending her and less to dissections.”

“I don’t tell you how to conduct your profession. Please

keep your long nose out of mine,” snapped Leif.

A WOMAN A DAY 47

Shant and the nurse gasped. You didn’t talk to an

IJzzite like that.

Candleman’s face was passive as a wax dummy’s.

“Anything that concerns the Archurielite is my business.

And I’m beginning to think that some of your actions are

very much my concern.”

“Think as you please,” said Leif. He propelled Ava into

the room and then stepped in after her.

When the door was shut, Ava said, “You fool!”

“Do you want me to cringe?” said Leif. “How do you

think I got where I am today? I tell you, if you act like

you’re not afraid, these people think you must be some¬

body, and they’re scared of you.”

“You go too far.”

“Never mind. Remember, I’m your superior. Refrain

from telling me off, even if you are—” he laughed—

“my wife.”

“Halla,” he said to the girl as she sat up, “I want you

to take a lotus pill.”

“Why should I?”

“Are you or are you not under my orders?”

“I am, as long as they don’t interfere with my prime

directives. One of them is to keep my real identity secret.

I think you’re showing too much curiosity.”

“Take this.”

“It’s not a truth drug?”

“Take it. Or I’ll break your arm while you’re still

conscious.”

Her eyes widened.

“You mean it?”

“Shib, I do. Do you think that bloodhound outside

isn’t going to check the X-ray files and see if your arm

really is broken?”

“Why can’t you pick out somebody’s X-rays from the

files and show them to him?”

“We can’t take that chance. He’ll check on that angle.

We’re in too much of a jam now. What with two Ingolfs

and the fact that Trausti or Palsson might talk.”

“Two Ingolfs?”

“Never mind,” he said, as he realized he’d almost ex¬

posed the fact that her sister was dead. “The less you

know about that, the better. You’re supposed to be Mrs.

Dannto, remember? Even if Ava and I are tripped up

48

A WOMAN A DAY

over something else, you keep on acting as if you only

know us professionally.”

“Do I look that stupid?”

Ava moved around Leif and began undoing the splint.

Halla paid Ava no attention, but looked straight at him.

“Will the break spoil the symmetry of my arm?”

He was surprised, not because a woman would wonder

about disfigurement instead of pain, but because she

should voice her concern without false modesty, so

matter-of-factly.

“They’ll never be able to tell the difference. In fact,”

he added, smiling, “it’ll probably be straighter than be¬

fore. Art improves on life, you know.”

“No, I don’t.”

Chapter 9

A moment after Halla swallowed the pills and the water,

her lids drooped, and she began breathing softly. Except

for the flush in her cheeks and that indefinable look of

fullness which the quick have and the dead lack, she was

an exact facsimile of her twin as she had first lain on

the slab.

He shoved a chair to her bedside, picked up her arm,

laid it across the arm of the chair, grabbed her wrist and

elbow, and brought the lower part of her limb against

the hard plastic.

The sharp snap of the bone made him wince.

Without pausing, he reset the broken radius and ulna.

Ava quickly splinted the forearm.

While Ava was doing that, Leif shot Jesper’s serum

into Halla’s upper arm. If the hormone activator worked

as fast as it usually did, the bone would be knit within

two or three days.

“You’ve got the blueprints?” he asked.

Ava said, “No. They’re over there.”

“Get it ready, will you?”

He took out his scalpel, dipped it in a bottle of steri¬

lizer, and poured the liquid over a piece of cotton. Then

A WOMAN A DAY

49

he threw back the sheet and untied her gown so that her

whole front was exposed. He swabbed her solar plexus

with the dripping cotton, laid it down, and expertly

gashed the skin to simulate the wounds.

Ava smeared a handful of jelly on the raw cuts; if no

infection occurred, the torn tissue, stimulated by the jelly,

would replace itself within a few days. There would be

no scars.

“Give me that camera,” he said. Ava handed it to him.

He set the dials and shot two external photos and two

internal, a pair for the arm and a pair for the gashes.

A minute later he took the developments from the box

and looked at them.

“Fine. This ought to satisfy Candleman. But Trausti’s

pictures will be in the file, or in his pocket.”

Ava smiled with beautiful white teeth.

“Oh, no. Not in his pockets,” Ava said. “I picked them

and deposited them in the sanctity of my bosom. See.”

Ava’s delicate fingers darted to a gap in the high-

necked dress and pulled out two sheets of film.

“You darling,” said Leif. “When did you do that?”

“I met him when I was on the way down here. He

stopped me for a second to say that he was certain Mrs.

Dannto was dead. His pictures proved it. He seemed quite

proud to have caught you in a mistake.”

Ava laughed and said, “Now, he won’t be so full of

baseless vanity.”

“Better destroy it.”

“Naturally. Leif, sometimes you act as if you were the

only one with brains.”

“Temper, temper, baby. Come here and I’ll reward

you with a big, juicy kiss.”

“You’d not look so good with all your teeth knocked

out.”

He laughed. Bending over Halla he resumed the ex¬

amination she had once interrupted with a knee in his

jaw.

“What’s your interest in this babe?” asked Ava sourly.

“Jealous, honey?”

“Aargh,” croaked Ava, asking no more, because it was

hopeless.

Leif’s fingers had felt the two small bumps hidden in

the hair on top of her head. And the X-ray had shown

50

A WOMAN A DAY

him the organ which occupied the posterior fornix. He

tied up her gown and replaced the sheet.

“She’ll sleep for twelve hours. You stand guard. I have

to go down to the PM again to clear up the Ingolf mess.

Or make it worse. I’ll relieve you later.”

Abruptly, he wheeled.

“Oh, oh, fingerprints! I know I’m being overly cau¬

tious, but I wouldn’t put it past Candleman to compare

this Halla’s prints with the other’s.”

“I’m ahead of you, Leif. You won’t believe it. They’re

identical. She told me that while you were gone.”

“The CWC has done a good job on her.”

“My impression was that the two were born that way.”

“Impossible.”

“But true.”

‘What about retina-patterns?”

“The same, also.”

Leif ran his hand through his thick yellow waves.

“Nothing that has happened since Rachel called me

this morning has been believable. Well, ours not to ques¬

tion why, and you know the rest of that dismal line. I’m

going, Ava.”

“J.C.,” said Ava, pointing her finger at him.

“J.C.,” he replied, smiling and making a similar ges¬

ture.

When he walked into the PM, he wasn’t surprised to

see Candleman and Shant. They were examining the recent

records in the Labtech. Nearby, two sergeants were

sprinkling powder over the walls and floors. Another was

taking photos. A fourth had opened the cremator door

and was vainly trying to scrape ashes from the thoroughly

washed interior.

Seeing the doctor, the chief Uzzite straightened up and

glared. He said in his monotone, “Why did you cremate

Ingolf yourself, instead of leaving him for the assistants

to burn?”

Leif smiled, safe in the assurance that he had several

times previously done just that to other bodies and for

the reason that he wanted it established as part of his

behavior pattern in case such an emergency as the present

arose.

“Candleman,” he said, “I don’t hold that a man in a

post of authority loses face if he uses his hands for manual

A WOMAN A DAY

51

labor. We’re short of help here in every way, and I like

to save time. Check my efficiency ratings and my psych

records, if you wish.”

“I’ve a man doing that now,” growled the chief.

“I thought we lamechians were above suspicion?”

“This is routine,” said the chief.

Leif smiled.

He looked around and then decided he might as well

drop his bomb now as later.

He called in an imperious tone to Shant.

“Doctor, whose body is that out in the hall?”

Shant’s face crimsoned, and he said, “I—I—don’t know.

It was there when we came in.”

“Well, wheel it in. You know it’s against our policy to

leave it out where its sight may depress people and give

them unreal thoughts.”

Shant clenched his fists, ground his teeth, and glanced

at the Uzzites to see if they were watching his humiliation.

But he walked stiff-legged into the hall and brought the

cart and its burden into the FM. Idly, as if he weren’t

really interested, Shant picked up the tag to examine it.

His jaw dropped; so did the tag.

Candleman said, “What’s the matter?” His storklike

legs carried him towards the runty pathologist.

Shant threw off the sheet and exposed the face of the

corpse so Candleman could see it.

“Jacques Cuz.e!” said Candleman. He halted in mid¬

stride as if someone had struck him in the face.

For the first time since he’d known him, Leif saw the

man’s face crumble. It was like a glacier falling into the

sea.

“Thorleifsson!” bellowed Candleman. “Where is he?”

One of the sergeants stepped up to his agitated chief

and whispered in his ear.

Candleman listened and then said, “Very well. But put

out a QB for him. He shouldn’t be prowling around

unless I authorized it. He’ll pay for this dereliction of

duty.”

Candleman, thought Leif, must really be upset. Leif

didn’t give him a chance to regain his balance. He, too,

strode to the body. And looking at it, gasped, “That’s

Ingolf! The man I dissected!”

Shant blinked. “That’s impossible! Obviously.”

52

A WOMAN A DAY

“So it is. But there he is. And less than an hour ago

I saw him reduced to ashes.”

Leif thought fast. He’d have to contact Zack Roe and

tell him to order their agent in the Census Bureau to do

some fast work. Candleman would undoubtedly take the

finger-and-retina prints of the man on the cart and com¬

pare them with those in the files. The CWC agent could,

before then, plant Ingolf s prints in the records of a man

who’d been dead, say, a hundred years. Or better yet, a

man who was the contemporary of the Forerunner. Two

and a half centuries ago.

The filer would then “accidentally” discover this. The

announcement would create a consternation, add to the

mystery and the tensely superstitious air everybody was

breathing now that the Forerunner was expected to stop

time and return from his temporal travels.

Signs and wonders they wanted; let them have them.

The dunnologists would, of course, theorize that the

dead man had two bodies in present time and one in the

past because, he, too, was traveling in time. For years

it’d been a near-dogma that if a man journeyed in time

and then returned to a period where he’d once lived, he

would find himself with a duplicate. Or with as many

bodies as the times he returned.

Obviously, Ingolf had proved this beyond question.

But the case would be a hopeless paradox, one to be

argued in the professional Journal of Chronos and Fields

of Presentation and exploited by propagandists as adven¬

ture stories in the comics.

There would be the mystery. Who, really, was Ingolf?

What did the gashed initials mean? Why the stiletto? For

Shant would soon find that the mutilations had been

committed after Ingolfs death.

If Ingolf had died once two hundred and fifty years ago

and twice today, and seemingly as a result of the activities

of the notorious and nefarious J.C., who, then, was he?

A disciple of the Forerunner? Had the wicked Back-

runner, Sigmen’s half-brother and immortal enemy, Jude

Changer, killed him? Not once, but thrice? And would

he do it again?

Or was it the feared underground Frenchman, Jacques

Cuze, that shadowy and insane figure who clung to the

A WOMAN A DAY 53

idea that he could rid his beloved and long-lost country

of the Forerunner’s disciples?

“Yakes Kutse,” said Candleman, echoing Leifs thought

with his Icelandic pronunciation. “That man has been here

under my nose. And I’ve allowed him to escape.”

The grey shields of his eyes glared as if he thought the

man were in the PM and waiting to stab him.

“Dr. Barker!” announced the QB. Leif strode to the

wall and flicked the toggle.

“In the PM,” he said.

“The Archurielite, Dr. Barker.”

The girl’s voice trembled.

“Don’t get scared, sweetheart. He won’t bite you.”

Dannto’s double chin appeared in the box, followed by

the rest of him. Scowling, he said, “I heard that remark!”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“You know what I mean!” bellowed Dannto. Face red,

he struggled with himself and then said, “Never mind that.

How’s my wife?”

“The first reports of the accident were very much ex¬

aggerated. She’s not badly hurt at all. She’ll be up and out

of bed tomorrow. But just now you can’t see her. I gave

her a sedative that’ll put her under for twelve hours.”

“Can’t I look at her on QB?”

“It’s not working. And we don’t want anybody in the

room to disturb her.”

“Not working? By Sigmen, somebody’ll pay for this!”

He looked over Leif’s shoulder. “Candleman, have you

investigated the tech responsible?”

“Shib, abba . But I can’t find Lieutenant Thorleifsson.

He was sent to question the fellow.”

“Why can’t you find him?”

“Abba, there is something very peculiar here.” Candle¬

man, grey eyes steady, explained in his deep monotone.

When the Uzzite stepped back so Dannto could see the

initials on Ingolf’s chest, the Archurielite breathed, “Jude

Changer!”

Dannto made a quick recovery.

“Where’s the cordon you should have thrown up

around the hospital?”

“I just now learned of Jacques Cuze’s presence here,”

retorted Candleman. “And you’ve been monopolizing the

QB since then.”

54

A WOMAN A DAY

“Jacques Cuze?” said Dannto. “This is clearly the work

of Jude Changer.”

“In that case,” said Candleman, face rigid but voice

tinged with anger, “a cordon would be useless. You can’t

pursue a man who slips in and out of time like a snake

through the grass.”

“It’s your business to find out whether it is Jude or

not,” roared Dannto. “How do you know I’m right?

You’re an Uzzite; you take nobody’s word.”

Candleman blinked at the change of tactics, stepped up

to the wall and cut off the priest’s image. He dialed UHQ.

“Captain, send forty men down to the Rigorous Mercy

Hospital at once.”

The captain tried to hide the comic he’d been reading

and at the same time look calm and dignified.

“Abba, we haven’t got that many men available.”

“Get them down here in ten minutes.”

“Shib, abba.”

Ten minutes later, the Sandalphon, Dannto, entered

the PM.

He waddled up to the Uzzite and put his treetrunk-thick

arm around the bony shoulders.

“Jake, old man,” he said. “I’m sorry I got angry with

you. I know you’re doing your best and that you’re the

most efficient of all Uzzites. But you must understand that

I am very much concerned with Halla’s welfare, and

anything that affects her disturbs me very much. More¬

over, this J.C. business is most upsetting. Those initials

have been appearing with alarming frequency in the most

unexpected and implausible places for the last three years.

And, so far, we haven’t found the person responsible for

them.”

Candleman stepped away so Dannto had to drop his

arm. “I accept your apology,” he said, “but you’ve got

to understand that it’s a very sore point with me. That

man, Jacques Cuze, has been plaguing me so long and

so persistently that I am about to let my other duties go

and turn the attention of the whole department to the

matter. I have something planned that will, I swear by

Sigmen, catch him.”

“I’m sure you will. If Jacques Cuze actually exists.

Personally, I think he’s a myth,” replied Dannto. “I think

Jude Changer is to blame for those initials.”

A WOMAN A DAY

55

“Perhaps you’re both barking up the wrong tree,” said

Leif, smiling at his own temerity and inability to resist

a pun. “Gentlemen, if we get off into a theological dis¬

cussion, we’ll be lost. There are more immediate things

that deserve our attention.

“For one thing, abba, I’d like to get your permission

to move your wife to the penthouse. Inasmuch as my wife

is taking care of yours, it will be more convenient for

both of them. And, moreover, as Candleman has hinted

that the accident might not be one after all, I think she’ll

be a lot safer in our place.”

Dannto whirled. “Not an accident? Candleman, you

didn’t tell me that!”

“Forgive me, abba. I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Who do you think is behind it?”

Candleman held out his big bony hands, palms up.

“Jacques Cuze. Who else?”

“But why should he try to kill Halla?”

“Because through her he can hurt you. Because he is

a devil, an unreal person.”

“It would be like Jude Changer to do something like

that/’ said Dannto. “According to what I’ve heard, he

will stop at nothing in order to change real time into

pseudo-time. Candleman, we’ve got to stop him.”

“You’ll have to give me carte blanche.”

“You’ve got it.”

“What about my request?” said Leif.

“Oh, certainly. Excellent idea. She’ll be much safer and

get better care there.”

“And I’ll have two men stationed at the entrance to

your penthouse,” said Candleman. “I don’t want any repe¬

tition of the accident.”

Leif replied, stiffly, “I think she’ll be safe. I’ll be there

at all times.”

“Nevertheless, I insist.”

Leif shrugged and said to Dannto, “Would you like to

come along while we move your wife? Later, we can eat

at my place. I’m rather hungry, and we can discuss further

details.”

Dannto’s cavernous belly rumbled. He laughed, though

somewhat embarrassedly, and said, “There’s your an¬

swer.”

Chapter 10

While halla was being moved, Leif noted that Dannto

accepted the woman as his wife. He’d thought he would,

but he still breathed relief. Later, after Halla had been

put in one of the bedrooms, and a nurse installed with

her, Leif, Ava, Dannto and Candleman sat down to eat.

The latter had been invited by the Archurielite.

Candleman’s eyes were grey nets, scooping up every

detail of the penthouse. As he bent over his locust soup

with loud sucking noises, he cocked his head this way and

that to hear better what each said.

Leif guessed that both the maid who served them their

food and the nurse now attending Halla had been briefed

by the Uzzite. They could watch the doctor and his wife

and report their every move. All as a matter of routine,

of course. You didn’t suspect a lamech-bearer of un¬

reality.

“Leif,” said Dannto, in a good mood now that he was

filling his belly, “you remember that last month you diag¬

nosed a beneficent tumor that had to come out. Why not

do it now? I could spend the night here.”

“Very good idea,” said Leif. “You’ll be fit for work

by morning, if you want to.”

He thought, what kind of hold did the original Halla

have over this Robin Redbreast? She must have had some¬

thing. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen,

but he knew that it took more than that to make a man

devoted.

He wondered if her sister had the same.

He intended to find out.

Candleman sucked in the last of his soup and reached

out for the grassbread.

“I must insist on being allowed to watch the operation,”

he said.

Leif replied coldly, “I think you’re making too many

hints concerning my unreality.”

“I’m sure Candleman didn’t mean that,” said Dannto.

56

A WOMAN A DAY

57

“Of course not,” Candleman said in his deep monotone.

“But how do I know that Jacques Cuze won’t try some¬

thing?”

“You’ll have to watch the operation on the QB,” said

Leif. “It might make my assistants nervous to know the

great Candleman’s suspicious eye was on them. And

nervous doctors and nurses are liable to make a fatal slip.”

Candleman opened his mouth to protest, but Dannto

stalled him.

“That’s right. You’ll do that, Jake.”

The Uzzite’s lips clamped.

“Shib. But I’ll have men stationed outside the doors.”

Leif made a mental note to have the QB go out of order

during the operation. And wondered what good tech he’d

frame for this job.

Peter Sorn was the victim. He’d been blamed for the

breakdown of the QB in Halla’s room. Let it happen

again, the same day, and young Sorn would, as likely as

not, go to H.

Too bad. Leif liked Peter Sorn. But he couldn’t allow

personal feelings to interfere. This was war, even if cold.

Removing Sorn from the ranks of the techs would be one

more step toward the realization of the March goal.

“How long will it take?” said Dannto.

“About half an hour. Maybe less. Afterward, you

should get a good night’s rest. In the morning the blueprint

jelly will have healed you enough so you may resume your

ordinary duties. No exertion, of course. Perhaps you’d

better not stay in the same room with your wife tonight.”

Dannto wheehahoed and slapped the table so the dishes

and ware rattled.

Candleman dropped his spoon and glared at Leif. A

flush crawled up from the high neck of his uniform.

“Your thoughts do not seem to be as pure as a

lamechian’s should be,” he said.

Dannto chuckled. He turned to Leif. “Jake’s a little

oldfashioned.”

“If being oldfashioned means rigidly and undeviatingly

following the teachings of Sigmen, real be his name, then

I plead guilty,” said Candleman.

“Well, such remarks as Leif just made aren’t specifically

forbidden,” replied Dannto, his smile disappearing into

the fat on his face. “However, you may be right.”

58

A WOMAN A DAY

Candleman raised his eyebrows slightly and said, “I

feel that I’ve failed because, so far, I’ve gotten no clue

as to who Jacques Cuze is or the extent of his organiza¬

tion. But I think that when he made this attack upon

Mrs. Dannto, he made a serious mistake. Why? Because

she was riding in an auto-taxi, remotely controlled, and

the crash came about through mechanical breakdown or

through deliberate manipulations at Central-control. When

we find out who’s responsible, we’ll have a lead to this

mysterious Frenchman.”

“Auto-taxi?” said Dannto, frowning. “That’s funny,

since she has a car and chauffeur of her own. The chauf¬

feur is one of your men, Candleman. Why should she be

in a taxi? Where was she going?”

“That is what I’d like to know. I can’t ask Mrs. Dannto

because Dr. Barker refused me admission. And then put

her to sleep for twelve hours.”

“I hope you’re not doubting my professional ability,”

said Leif. His expression told plainly that it made no

difference to him.

“Oh, no,” said the Uzzite with a quick glance at

Dannto. “I realize that Mrs. Dannto’s health comes before

anything.”

“What about her escort?” asked Leif.

“He was called on the QB by an unknown person.

While he was talking, Mrs. Dannto left the back way and

got into a cruising auto-taxi.”

“What do the machine’s records show as to her des¬

tination?”

“Nothing. They were demolished in the crash. The taxi,

as near as we can determine, left the road and crashed

through a bridge railing. It fell thirty feet. However, Mrs.

Dannto gave three different destinations during her ride.

Each time she arrived, she directed the machine to an¬

other. Evidently, she was working up to her final stop by

stages in an attempt at shaking off any tracker, or with

the idea of jumping out and taking another taxi while

the first proceeded on its way.”

“Do you realize what you’re saying?” demanded the

Archurielite in a loud voice. “You’re accusing my wife

of conspiracy!”

“Not at all. Her behavior was mysterious, yes, but she

A WOMAN A DAY 59

will undoubtedly be able to explain it—as soon as she

comes, out of her sedation,” he added.

“But that’s not all. One of my men, who appeared at

the scene of the crash shortly after it happened, told me

that a little girl was run over by the taxi just before it

broke the rail. My man thought she was dead, because her

skull was smashed, and so he concentrated on getting

Mrs. Dannto out of the taxi. When the ambulance came,

he directed them to Mrs. Dannto first.”

Leif said, “I suppose he had recognized her!”

“Yes, why?”

“And he didn’t know the little girl?”

“No, what are you getting at?”

“Nothing important.”

He was aware of Candleman’s speculative stare and

guessed that the Uzzite was making a mental note to ask

a selfdoc just what Leif meant. Also, whether it repre¬

sented a deviation from Leif’s recorded behavior pattern.

“When my man returned to the bridge,” continued the

Uzzite, “the girl was no longer there. And the ambulance

men had not picked her up. Naturally, he looked around,

and he saw her being carried away by two men accom¬

panied by two women. He called after them. They dis¬

appeared around a corner. He chased them into a subway

and saw them stop behind a pillar. But when he got there,

he could find no sign of them.

“He continued down the tunnel, for there was only one

way they could go. At the end of the tunnel he met

another of my men. This fellow swore that nobody had

come through while he was there, and he’d been there

for at least half an hour.

“Naturally, the latter is now being questioned. It’s

obvious that he must be an accomplice.”

“Accomplice of what?” asked Leif.

Candleman shrugged shoulders thin as a coathanger.

“I don’t know. But I strongly suspect they are followers

of Jacques Cuze. There was a big J.C. scratched into

the cement wall close by.”

“You can find those in many places in Paris,” said Leif.

Candleman’s eyes sparked like a grindstone sharpening

knives in the dark.

“I am fully aware of that. But I promise you that before

the year is up, Jacques Cuze will be dead or in H.”

60

A WOMAN A DAY

“Why would they carry the girl off?” asked Dannto.

“She couldn’t get the medical care underground that she

could here.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” said Candleman, glancing at

the doctor. Leif did not condescend to reply.

“If she’d been brought here, there’d have been an in¬

vestigation. And her parents would have been exposed.

They preferred to let her die rather than take that chance.

Anyway, she was probably dead.”

“I’m surprised, Jake,” said Dannto, “that you would

admit that an unrealist had snatched away one of their

own members from under the nose of the Uzzites.”

“If there is one thing I pride myself on—one completely

realist attitude—it is honesty,” said Candleman. For the

first time at dinner his voice bore expression. “I try to

conceal nothing, in accordance with the teachings of

Sigmen, real be his name, through all time.”

Something that had been hidden away in Leif’s brain,

far down and in the darkness, suddenly began to make

sense.

He leaned forward and said, “Candleman, what did

these four people look like?”

The Uzzite blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Did they look—foreign? Or strange?”

“Why do you ask?”

Leif leaned back. “You answer me first.”

“Shib. He said they were very blond and their faces

seemed out of proportion. The noses had huge flaring

nostrils but were high-arched. Their lips were thick. He

couldn’t see the color of their eyes, of course, being too

far off, but the girl had very fight blue eyes.”

“Ah, yes,” said Leif non-committally. So it was the four

who’d tried to detain him this morning!

“Yes, what?” asked Candleman.

“Well, if there really are Frenchmen living underground

today—if this Cuze isn’t entirely legendary—then they

would look different from the modem Parisian, who is a

descendant of Icelanders. Of course, there is a certain

amount of French blood in him. Not all the French j

perished during the Apocaiyptan Plague. The descendants

of the survivors, however, were conquered and absorbed

by the invading Icelanders a century later.”

“Perhaps,” said Candleman, “they did look different.

A WOMAN A DAY 61

I don’t know. I’ve never seen a picture of a pre-

Apocalyptic Parisian.”

“Do you know anything of the French language?”

“No, I’m an Uzzite. If I want specialized knowledge,

I go to a specialist.

“Let me tell you,” continued Candleman, leaning for¬

ward, moving his thin hard lips like two lobster claws,

“that Jacques Cuze is no legend or myth. He lives in the

vast underground network of abandoned subways and the

even deeper ancient sewers of Paris. From his hidden

headquarters he directs his organization. Occasionally, I’m

sure, he makes appearances above ground.

“I’ve hunted for him from time to time. A thousand

men have been pulled from their regular duties and sent

below with hound and light and gun. We’ve sealed off

mile on mile of tunnel and filled them full of gas. And

killed nothing but rats.”

“Isn’t it ridiculous to suppose that Frenchmen would

live centuries in those holes, keep up their populations,

retain their language and their hopes of regaining their

country?” asked Leif.

“It may look that way,” replied Candleman. “But the

living presence of Jacques Cuze refutes your argument.”

“When did you first learn of him?”

“Several years ago we captured a Cold War Corpsman

from March. Before he could bite down on the poison

tooth most of them carry, one of my men shot his jaw off.

When he recovered consciousness, he couldn’t talk. No

tongue.

“But he could write. We asked him for a confession.

After a reasonable amount of resistance against questions,

he agreed to write one out. He did so in March phonetics,

which at once justified my suspicions that he might be a

Marcher. But he only wrote two words, and then stopped.

He kept pointing at them; I finally found out he wanted

them pronounced. What it meant, I didn’t know, but I

called in a linguistics joat. He took one look, seemed

puzzled, and then pronounced, aloud, the two words.

“The next I knew, I was in a hospital bed. A splinter

of the prisoner’s skullbone was stuck in my temple; I’d

been very lucky not to have been killed at once by it.

“Later, I pieced together various reports and found out

what had happened. The fellow had not only carried

62

A WOMAN A DAY

poison in a tooth; he had had implanted under his skull

a small but powerful bomb. And this could be set off by

uttering these syllables.

“He’d tricked us. His head had blown apart and killed

the three men closest to him, including the linguistics man.

It had also destroyed the paper.

“Fortunately, I have a very good memory. You have

to in my profession, you know. I remembered the fatal

words had been Jacques Cuze. You’ll note I pronounce it

according to the Icelandic; you never know when the man

you’re talking to may be a Marcher, and both of you will

go up in one blast.

“It was after that that I began to tie up the ubiquitous

J. C. with this Jacques Cuze. And then I found a paper

in one of the deserted rooms in the sewers. This was brief,

but it was in French. I had it translated by a linguistic

joat. It was propaganda against the Haijac Union and a

plea for the return of the country to those people to whom

it rightfully belonged—and it named Jacques Cuze as the

leader of the diehard Frenchmen, living like rats under

Paris.”

Dannto laughed nervously.

Candleman said, “Deride me if you want to. But I think

that J. C. has launched these attacks on Mrs. Dannto.

And I’m convinced that your life is in danger unless he’s

captured.”

Chapter 11

Dannto listened to Candleman’s revelations, then put

his hand over his mouth to cover a belch before he re¬

plied, “It’s a pleasure to be imperiled if, in so doing, I

may advance the Sturch and prepare for the temporal

arrival of the Forerunner.”

He paused a moment to munch upon a sandwich of

antpaste and then said, “There is, of course, a certain

amount of speculation among us Urielites about the mean¬

ing of the word ‘temporal.’

“Some of us think that it may not necessarily mean

A WOMAN A DAY

63

the physical appearance of Sigmen, real be his name, upon

this earthly scene. Temporal might possibly have an es¬

oteric meaning. It might mean his appearance in some

other sense. As far as that goes, he himself did not use

the word ‘appearance’ in his Time and the World Line .

Instead, if I remember correctly, he wrote ‘arrival’. That,

you’ll have to concede, can mean many things besides

appearance.

“It might be intended that we should take Sigmen’s

voyagings in time, not as chronological, but as allegorical

voyagings. Thus, these people who are getting hysterical

about the Timestop, and the literal reappearance of Isaac

Sigmen, may be disappointed when Timestop does come.

“The truth might be that Timestop means that the

Haijac Union and its Sturch may triumph over all the na¬

tions of earth, that we may conquer them, destroy their

false religions and states, and set up the true Sturch. Thus,

in that sense, it might be said that Sigmen has returned and

that time has stopped. It would, you see, because then

true stasis would arrive. There would be no more of this

eternal change that is the mark of the other nations’

barbarism and bestiality.”

Candleman had been shifting uneasily. When Dannto

paused, he broke in.

“Abba, I am faithful enough to you and to the Starch

you represent. There may be no doubt of that. Therefore,

it hurts me to hear you speak words that border on unreal

thinking. This allegorical interpretation of the Forerun¬

ner’s works was once a thing that would never have come

to the lips of a Jack. If it had, he would have ended up

inH.

“No, don’t get angry. It’s true. But now, during the last

twenty years or so, we literalists have seen with increasing

alarm that more and more Urielites are speaking of es¬

oteric meanings, hinting that perhaps things may not

exactly be as described. I want to make it plain, right here

and now, that I, and other literalists, do not like to hear

such talk. It seems to us to smack of unreality. It is a

sign of the degeneration of the times. It is, in fact, exactly

what the Forerunner predicted. He said there would be

strange doctrines and people trying to twist his words.

He said to beware of them. He said such thinking would

64

A WOMAN A DAY

result in degenerate morals, in people turning away from

reality.

“And he is right. For in the past few years we’ve seen

the resurrection of dancing, of women wearing immodest

clothes, of lipstick and rouge, of the discarding of street

veils for women. I see all these things, and I’m sick to

my stomach.”

“It doesn’t seem to have affected your appetite,” said

Dannto dryly.

He spoke easily, seemingly unaffected by the Uzzite’s

tirade. Leif was surprised he hadn’t flared out, for his

words were a direct criticism of Halla Dannto. He himself,

he thought, should protest, for Ava also was being

scourged. But he decided that a silent contempt would

hurt the man worse.

“The issue,” said Dannto, “is not at all as clear as you

make it. Sigmen, real be his name, was rather ambiguous

in his statements as to the manner of his Timestop. I sug¬

gest you read the Works again with that thought in mind.

You’ll find that both literalists and allegorists have good

arguments, and both can quote chapter and verse and

extra-scriptural authorities to support their contentions.

“I say there is only one way to tell. Wait and see. I am

certain, however, that unflinching adherence to the Sturch

is the way to be sure of being rewarded on Timestop.

Whatever the manner of the Forerunner’s arrival, he will

repay his real believers for their faith.”

“Reality be his and mine,” murmured Candleman with

bowed head. Then, lifting it suddenly and glaring about,

he said, “But there are many people who are determined

to make pseudo-futures real. The Israelites and Marchers,

of course; Jacques Cuze is another; and there is, I believe,

still a fourth. For instance, once, during an undercity hunt,

we found a crypt full of bodies. Chiseled in the stone was

a single figure, a fish. It wasn’t until then that we con¬

nected this fish with others that had been reported on the

walls of the surface city.”

“What does the fish represent?” asked Dannto.

Leif was interested, too. It was the first time he’d

heard of them.

“I’ll tell you,” said Candleman somewhat smugly. “It’s

my theory that Jacques Cuze ...”

A WOMAN A DAY 65

“Oh, no, here we go again,” murmured Dannto, so low

that only Leif heard him.

. . is the religious leader of the few Christians left in

Europe, all of whom are underground. The head of the

Holy Timbuktu Church in Africa has promised Cuze that

if he succeeds in his rebellion, he’ll restore the ancient

French religion there, perhaps move to Paris and make

it his capital. Of course, such a cause and such a promise

are hopeless, but Cuze and the Timbuktuians are unreal¬

istic and think as such.”

Leif blinked. This was new to him.

“On what facts do you base your theory?” he asked.

“On what is obvious,” retorted Candleman with an ir¬

ritated wave of his bony hand. “There can be no other

interpretation.

“The Bantus, being Christians, still use Greek and Latin

rootwords for their scientific and theological writings. The

Greek word for fish is Ichthyos. The first two letters are

iota and chi; I and X. These, I’ve been told by a linguistics

expert, are the closest rendering to the Roman alphabet-

, letters of J. and C. I and X equal J and C, which are

Jacques Cuze’s initials. I stands for Ioannos, which is

Greek for John. X stands for chusis, the Hellenic word

J ; for stream. Stream recalls fish, naturally, and also stands

for the underground, as chusis, by a stretch of meaning,

may also be understood as a subterranean river.

“It’s that simple. Fish stands for IX. Ioannos Chusis;

John Stream; Jacques Cuze. Thus the fish symbol is the

link between the underground French patriot and the

Timbuktuian church.”

Leif was caught between laughter and admiration for -

the ability of the human mind to rationalize.

“My,” marveled Dannto, “all this going on, and the

only reason I found out was that Halla became a victim

of these people. Perhaps. Tell me, Jake, what about the

church to whom the majority of the Africans belong? The

Primitives? After all, the Holy Timbuktu members reside

| in a comparatively small state; they don’t have nearly the

| power or facilities for underground work that the Prim-

| itives do.”

I Candleman held his palms up.

“I don’t really know. All I learned was from a one-hour

j talk with a linguistic joat, one of these jack-of-all-trades.

66

A WOMAN A DAY

I’ve not had time to study as I should. My days and nights

are taken up with an immense amount of administration

work and my hunt for Cuze.”

“You can tell the difference if you meet them,” said

Leif. “The Timbuktuians will fight; the Primitives are ab¬

solute pacifists.”

“I know they are,” said Candleman. “They make a

continent ready for plucking. If the Izzies didn’t stand

between them and us, we could have, overnight, two-

thirds of Africa. Once the Israeli Republics are overcome

—and I’m confident that the return of Sigmen will see

that—we’ll just have to walk into the country south of

the Sahara Sea to take it over.”

“Passive resistance will take its toll,” said Leif.

Nobody asked him to elaborate; they were too eager

to discuss their own theories.

Dannto didn’t think the Bantus could be much of an

underground force; their skin color prevented them from

activity in Europe.

Candleman replied that they could hire their work done

by Cuze and Jack traitors.

“Perhaps,” said Leif brightly, “J. C. could stand for

Jack Christians. There was a group once that tried to get

legal recognition within the Haijac as a separate church

from the Bantu ecclesiastical organization, loyal to the

Union and regarding the Africans as heretics.”

“Nonsense,” said Dannto. “That was a century ago,

if I remember the history I was taught in college. They

all went to H and were never heard of again.”

“If the French could hide underground for two and a

half centuries, these people could for one.”

Both the other men were scornful of the idea; it was

sailing against the wind of their theories.

“No,” said Dannto, “the Forerunner, in one sense or

another, has traveled along the fields of presentation,

backward and forward. He went into the future, came

back, wrote books about it, established the Haijac and

its buttress, the Sturch, and then went off into time again.

He predicted the future; all events since then have verified

his forecasts. The last days are upon us; Timestop will

soon be here. Whether Sigmen’s actual presence here will

be necessary, I don’t know.

“But I do know that in his Time and the World Line

A WOMAN A DAY

67

he mentioned, rather cryptically, the sinister Backranner,

his antagonist, the man who will try to undo all his good

works, both in past, present, and future. There is only

that one mention, but since then a host of apocrypha have

sprung up about this Backrunner. Many of them have

since been investigated and stamped as authentic and not

to be doubted by the Sturch.

“Though Sigmen did not mention the Backrunner’s

name, we now know that it is that of Jude Changer,

Sigmen’s contemporary and lefthanded traveler in time.

“It is my opinion, backed by the facts, that J. C. stands

for Jude Changer.”

He held up a fat hand to stall Candleman’s protest.

“I will concede that this man may be the same as

Jacques Cuze, operating under that name in order to con¬

ceal his true identity. But egotist that he is, he has to let

us know in a sinister manner who he really is.”

The QB buzzed, and the image of an Uzzite formed

in the box. His message: Thorleifsson was still missing.

That broke up the party.

Candleman jumped up, his nostrils flaring.

“Perhaps you’ll believe me now, abba” he said to the

Urielite. “The chances are that my lieutenant has been

murdered while on Cuze’s track. I must go at once. I’ll

never rest until I know what happened to him.”

“Perhaps,” said Leif, thinking of Thorleifsson’s ashes

being washed down the drains and into the sewers, “he’s

gone underground in pursuit of the Frenchman?”

“Nonsense, Doctor. Without notifying me?”

Candleman walked to the door of the room where Halla

slept and before anybody could protest he had stepped

inside. Leif jumped up and strode after him .

He found the Uzzite standing by her bedside, looking

intently at her. The nurse was at the other side of the

room; she had made no attempt to prevent Candleman

from entering.

Leif could barely conceal his anger. “You have been

told,” he sajd in a strangled whisper, “that Mrs. Dannto

was not to be disturbed. I do not want to repeat that

again.”

Candleman lingered over the beautiful head with its

corona of flaming hair spread out on the white pillow.

Then he straightened and walked out without a word. Leif

68

/

A WOMAN A DAY

felt his fists curling; he would have liked to drive them

into that hard mouth.

When the Uzzite had stepped out, Leif turned to the

nurse.

“You may go back to your floor,” he said. “You won’t

be needed here.”

The nurse, a dragon of eighty years, opened her mouth

to protest, saw what his face meant and walked out. Leif

suspected she was working for Candleman. This gave

him a good excuse to dismiss her; it was irony that

Candleman himself had furnished the reason.

Chapter 12

No sooner had Leif returned to the dining room than

the QB buzzed again. A Urielite’s form appeared in the

QB. He informed his superior that the Metratron wished

him to be present at an important meeting of the inner

council at Montreal tomorrow. Dannto hesitated and then

replied he’d be there.

“As you can see,” the fat man said to Leif, “I’m very

busy. This noon, an operation; tonight, I leave on the |

coach for Canada. I just never get time to spend with {

my wife.”

“We’ll take care of her. She can follow you tomorrow

evening. Provided there are no complications.”

Dannto’s chin quivered with delight. He slapped Leif

on the back.

“You’re the best there is, Doctor.”

“That’s true.”

Barker then QB’d his assistant and told him to prepare

for a removal of a tumor from Dannto’s abdomen at 1500.

Also, to send up a nurse to escort the Archurielite to a

room on 800, the surgical floor.

“You’ll get a sedative and be bathed and dressed for .

the operation,” said Leif.

“I was hoping I’d get to stay here longer,” pouted

Dannto.

“Mrs. Dannto won’t be awake until 2100.”

A WOMAN A DAY 69

“Sigmen take it, I have to leave on the 2000 coach.

Do you think I’ll be able to go on it?”

“I sympathize with your predicament,” said Leif, “but

inasmuch as the coach doesn’t accelerate fast enough to

strain your incision, I can’t honestly tell you to stay here

overnight.”

“Well, this conference is really important. I’d better go.”

After he’d ushered Dannto out, Barker waited until the

replacement nurse arrived for Halla. Once he’d given her

her orders, he went into his bedroom. Ava was sprawled

out on a chair in a lace dressing gown, smoking a cigarette.

“Give me one,” said Leif. “I wanted one all morning.”

“I’ll give you nothing,” retorted Ava, “except a kick

in your big head. Why did you dissect that girl instead

of cremating her at once? What’s up, Leif? You’re not

obeying the CWC’s orders.”

Leif put down the glow-wire with which he had lit his

cigarette and began puffing on the Fruitful Times.

“Ava, I’ll be frank with you. Have you considered the

thoughtpicker?”

“What’s that got to do with this?”

“Look. What happened when the picker went on the

blink? Did we repair it?”

“No, it was carried away and another brought to re¬

place it.”

“Why?”

“I suppose because it’s boobytrapped. If it’s opened, it

blows up. That, naturally, is to keep its secret from falling

into the hands of the Jacks, if they should catch on that

we’re using one.”

“Sure, and the trap is there to keep inquisitive Marchers

out as well as Jacks. Want to know why? Because it’s a

loaned machine. The lenders want its structure to remain

a mystery. They’re afraid that the Earthmen who can

manufacture such things will get too much power.”

“What do you mean by Earthmen?”

“Ava, I’ve looked the thoughtpicker over during many

lonely evenings when I’d nothing to do. There’s not much

to see, but irom what I can make out, I’d say the thing

is of alien construction and design.”

Ava blinked long curling lashes.

“How did you arrive at such a startling conclusion?”

“Don’t laugh. It’s a feeling I get when I look at it. It

70

A WOMAN A DAY

just doesn’t have the Terran look. I’U swear there’s some-

thing non-human about it.”

“Imagination!”

“No. Intuition.”

“Is that ah?”

“No. That girl, and the one I dissected, are not human.” |

Ava sat up.

“How do you know?”

Leif explained.

The glowing cigarette in Ava’s hands shook. Leif

thought Ava was more upset than necessary.

“There’s something else,” he said. “We know that the

Haijac morals have been, by their own admission, deca- ;

dent for the past hundred years. But during the last fifteen

years the immorality increased. It’s almost as if a catalyst

from outside has been accelerating it. But what is the

catalyst?

“For one thing, the CWC’s been helped by this drug

that enables our agents to be injected with truthdrug and

yet continue to lie. Thus, they can survive the questions

before the Elohimeter and earn their gold lamechs. We’ve

used that advantage to pass off our own men among the

Jacks, men who have the inestimable opportunity to work

almost unquestioned in this society and to do their

damnedest damage. But, where did we get that drug? We

didn’t invent it, I know.”

“Perhaps we got it from the Jacks themselves,” sug¬

gested Ava. “It wouldn’t be the first time. Their sciences

are so unintegrated that many inventions pass unnoticed

and undeveloped.”

“Yes, and that, ironically, is due to their suspicion of

the giant integrating electronic ‘brains’ we use. Sigmeri

himself fostered that handicap when he warned them that

the inordinate use of such machines might result in the

machines ‘taking over.’

“But here’s the point they don’t know about—we sud¬

denly start using this drug about ten years ago. Know

what I think? That it, like the thoughtpicker, is extra¬

terrestrial.”

“And the girls are XT’s who’re helping us? But why

should they get in the midst of it?”

“Ava, when did Jack women start using lipstick? When

did the hierarchy begin drinking in private? When did

A WOMAN A DAY 71

we learn that there were female March agents who had

an enormous influence upon the top Sturchmen?”

“You mean that these XT females initiated these

changes through their influence on the hierarchy?”

“Shib. Of course, they couldn’t have done it unless the

Jack women were ripe for such a thing. That it was done

so easily proves they were. And, Ava, who first called the

council of Urielites to debate a certain scriptural passage?

And who influenced the council to interpret it in such a

way that women could use cosmetics?”

“Dannto. At Halla’s urgings. There’s one inconsistency.

How did these girls come to influence them in the first

place? Time was when they’d been hauled off to H with¬

out a second thought just for suggesting the changes.”

“That,” said Leif slowly, “is what I intend finding out.

They must have something that is really powerful, almost

magical. And I intend to find out what it is.”

He went to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of alcohol,

which he mixed with a purplish fluid.

Leif said, “By the way, not to get off the subject, I think

Shant’s in love with you. Those sheep eyes!”

Ava exploded. “Every time we’re alone he makes a

pass at me. Him and his big hypocritical mealymouth when

others are around—and then those sticky little paws of

his when nobody’s looking! The next time, I’m breaking

his teeth. Orders or no orders.”

“Now look who’s disobeying. You’re a poor soldier.

You know I told you to string him along. He’s a good

source of information, and we might want to use his lust

for you to get us out of a spot.”

“Well, I can’t let him get too close.”

“Heh, heh!” Leif threw a half-glass down his throat.

“Good thing this stuff smells like ether. Otherwise I’d

shock the nurses. I’m not too sure it isn't ether.”

He shuddered and then filled another glass.

“Here’s the setup, Ava. I cut Dannto’s tumor out at

1500. Candleman will be watching the operation through

the QB. You set it to break down at 1515. Peter Sorn

will get tfye blame. We’ll send an anonymous accusation

later. Whether that’ll be enough to send him to H, I don’t

know. The tech shortage is getting so acute that the

Uzzites, inflexible though they are, have not been nearly

so eager to ship them off as they were when we first

72

A WOMAN A DAY

started this. However, a few more ‘sabotages’ like that,

and they won’t be able to overlook Som.”

“Too bad about Peter,” said Ava. “He’s one of the

few people in this hospital I can stand. Why can’t we fix

up sneaky old Gunnarsson?”

“You know why. Because he’s not the tech Som is.

The Jacks won’t miss him as much.”

“I’d like to send that little lecher Shant down. When

are we going to start on him?”

“Ah, ah, let’s leave personalities out of this.”

“Do you know Leif, I still can’t see why Jackasses

haven’t tumbled to our technique? Are they really that

stupid?”

“No, you mustn’t make that mistake. Their I.Q., I

imagine, is about the same average as that of the people

of other nations. You see, Ava, you hear much about the

high intelligence of the Izzies because they’re partly de¬

scended from the citizens of Israeli, one of the few organ¬

ized and undecimated countries left after the Apocalyptic

War. The theory goes that those people then living rep¬

resented a group whose history included so many thou¬

sands of years of oppression, of persecution, of weeding

out, that only the mentally alert survived. When the over¬

crowded little country was presented with lands where

only a few unorganized, dazed survivors dwelt, it almost

literally exploded. In an amazingly short time colonies

ringed the Mediterranean; these grew, fed by families that

normally included a dozen children. Mortality rates were

low, and newly-invented rejuvenation techniques kept

parents propagating far into their nineties.

“There were quite a few people living in the lands to

which these colonists came. They were ineffective because

widely separated and because they’d reverted to a prim¬

itive agricultural society. But they were treated well, be¬

cause the Israeli constitutions guaranteed them full rights.

Nevertheless, inevitably, they were absorbed; their genes,

their languages, their customs. And their descendants were

none the worse off. I’d say they benefited.

“Remarkably enough, the Icelanders could make the

same claim. None but the strong and the clever survived

the extremely harsh environment of Iceland from the first

colonization in the tenth century A.D. up through the

A WOMAN A DAY 73

eighteenth century A.D. And their descendants, like those

of the Israelites, were keen and independent.

“So, too, the Hawaiians, perhaps the most mixed in

race of all people, a melting pot of Mongolian, Poly¬

nesian, Caucasian, and, in short, just about anything you

cared to name. It was this heterosis, perhaps, that ac¬

counted for the fact that the Hawaiians spread faster and

further than any of the others, so that they repopulated

the Americas, Japan, China and eastern Siberia.”

Ava spoke first. “Thank you , Professor Barker. Then

why did the democratic, high-I.Q. Icelanders and Hawai-

* ians become what amounted to slaves?”

“Their present subservience should be a warning to all.

We, and the Israelites, who pride ourselves on our demo¬

cratic traditions, might easily have gone the same way.

And would have, if it had not been for several great men

among the early Israeli colonists of the Mediterranean

countries who gave their lives that the constitutions might

be preserved.

“What happened in the Haijac was that this man Sigmen

came along when there was a great deal of strife and un¬

rest. Also, this was the age of religious revival, if you’ll

remember. Everywhere, all over the world, a spirit long

thought dead arose and strode across continents. Sigmen,

the founder of an obscure and crackpot pseudo-Christian

cult, rose to glory on the crest of the wave. He had what

the other prophets lacked—a pseudo-scientific explanation

for what had seen considered spiritual phenomena. Now,

he claimed, it was no longer a matter of faith; it was facing

the facts. He presented his distortions of the theories of

Dunne on time. He explained, to his disciples’ satisfaction,

anyway, all historical and religious events in the light of

the neo-dunnology.

“Moreover, after he’d seized power, he kept it personally

for several hundred years, a thing no other politician or

conqueror had ever been able to do, because they didn’t

have longevity drugs. Using the usual brutal means, he

set up a state in which the citizens, for their own good, of

course, underwent a constant and intimate security. The

guardian-angel-pro-tempore system, plus systematic sub¬

limation of normal human drives, resulted in what you see

today.

“In addition to that, he utilized the tremendous prestige

A WOMAN A DAY

74

of the Israeli Republics to add to his own. He took the

admiration of his own subjects for the Mediterranean

power and perverted it. He wrote his Western Talmud,

adopted the Hebrew language as the theological and

scientific language, and, in short, made a mockery and a

travesty of us for his own purposes. And, probably, all in

good faith.”

Ava deliberately yawned and said, “Thanks for the

history lesson, Teacher. Why don’t you tell me something

I don’t know?”

Annoyed, Leif said, “I will. I’ve a criticism, Ava, that

might not seem much to you, but it might be one of the

little things that’ll give us away. Please try to restrain your

disgust when you’re eating certain foods. I’m afraid it’s

going to be noticed.”

“But Leif, mouse fricassee! And ant jelly! Every time I

sit down to eat, I see nothing but unclean food!”

“It’s part of your duty.”

“If I’d known that, I’d never have volunteered for this.

I don’t mind skirting death, a dozen times a day. But the

food!”

Leif guffawed.

Ava said, “Laugh, you kelev. You’re a shame to your

fathers and your grandfathers.”

“They ate the same things I did. Do you know, it’s rare

to find an orthodox Judaist in March. Why did your

mother and father flee Sephardia and take refuge in March?

It couldn’t have been the strict orthodoxy of Sephardia be¬

cause you’re orthodox. Was your father a political liberal?

Or a criminal?”

Leif referred to the Republic of Sephardia, which once

had been called Spain and Portugal.

“Why did my parents leave Sephardia?” said Ava. “Be¬

cause of love. My father met my mother while on a busi¬

ness trip to Cairo. She was a beauty with the biggest darkest

eyes you ever saw. She and my father fell passionately

in love. And that was a problem not easy to solve. Father

was strict orthodox, and mother was an agnostic. They’re

very liberal in Khem, you know. Unlike Sephardia, Khem

has religious freedom.

“Both families objected to the marriage. Father and

mother married anyway and settled down in Khem in the

city of Aswan. But my mother’s family, despite its pro-

A WOMAN A DAY

75

fessed liberalism, persecuted my father by ruining his busi¬

ness and even accused him of being a spy from Sephardia.

For all I know, he may have been. Sephardia and Khem

had both declared independence of the Israeli Confedera¬

tion, you know, and were on the point of going to war

with each other.

“So my parents went to March, and I was born in Afen-

yaw, ancient Avignon, shortly after they arrived. It’s not

been too easy for me in March, and it’s been worse since

I was sent here as a CWC-man. Of course, I’ve been re¬

leased from all obligations to practice dietary restrictions

because I am posing as a Jack. But I can’t help how my

Nervous system reacts. My stomach threatens to upheave

every day at mealtime.”

“Well,” said Leif, “you’ll get no sympathy from me

on the food. I respect religious beliefs . .

“Sure you do,” mocked Ava.

. . but this business about taboo dishes is beyond my

comprehension.”

“Let’s not get into that weary and fruitless discussion

again,” said Ava. “I’ll stick to my beliefs; you’re stuck with

yours.”

Leif smiled and said, “So you got your big dark eyes

from your mother? You charmer, you. Well, I think I’ll

look in on Halla. Oh, before I go, I’m putting the ‘picker

on Dannto during the operation. Will you change the

beeper to the kymo? I’ll read it later.”

Ava nodded.

Leif hesitated and said, “I wish now I’d not kept Candle-

man out of surgery. His mind would be more profitable to

pick than the Archurielite’s.”

“I could train it on him,” said Ava. “No, the walls are

lined with stopray, aren’t they?”

“Yes. Well, we’ll get him soon as possible. He makes

me uneasy. I think he’s suspicious of me.”

“It’s your face, darling.”

“Well, it’s the one you married, honey. Come here, give

me a kiss.* 5

“You’d look better with your front teeth missing,” and

Ava’s black eyes glittered.

“Exit laughing,” said Leif, and did.

He entered Halla’s room.

76

A WOMAN A DAY

“You may go to the kitchen and eat,” he said to the

nurse.

After she had left, he sat down by the bedside and be¬

gan talking to the sleeping beauty. From the beginning,

he’d had this session in mind, so he’d given her not an

ordinary sleeping potion but a lotus pill. The semi-hypnotic

drug would open the way for him to probe her sub¬

conscious.

He hadn’t gotten far into his questions about her past

when he found that a posthypnotic block had been in¬

stalled. She simply would not answer anything that

contradicted the fictitious personality of her sister.

If he had cared to or had available the time needed,

he could have broken down the barrier. But as he did

not have days on end or a host of drugs handy, he gave

up.

He rose and went to surgery. There he stripped off his

clothes, was soaped and showered but did not get the

expected blast of warm air to dry him. He was forced to

call a maintenance man and then, not to lose time, to dry

himself off with towels. Afterwards he put on a plastic

gown, mask, pants and shoes, which would be discarded

after the operation. He put on his surgeon’s gloves, stood

for a moment bathing in microbe-killing radiation, and

then entered the operating room.

Dannto was lying upon a table. As the Archurielite had

taken only a local, he was looking around him with bright

eyes at the various plastic containers above him and the

tubes that ran from them to the needles in his arms.

Though pale, he twisted his fat face into a smile. Leif

held up a curved thumb and forefinger in a gesture a

thousand years old and then checked on the routine. Ava,

he noticed, was busy in the comer unscrewing the leads to

the picker’s beeper and connecting them to the stylo. No¬

body questioned what Ava was doing; Sigur, the eegie

man, had gone home.

Dannto did not object when Leif asked him if it were all

right if the eegie helmet were placed over his head during

the operation. Leif explained that he had many records so

far of the lower classes, but none of exceptionally intelli¬

gent men. Dannto tried to hide his pleasure. It would be

quite all right. Anything in the interests of science.

Actually, it was not at all necessary that the helmet

A WOMAN A DAY

77

come in contact with the subject’s head. It could pick up

the brain waves of a selected person at a considerable dis¬

tance on its tight beam. But Leif wanted to make things

look as authentic as possible; there was no use taking a

chance on anybody’s recognizing its unorthodoxy.

While he operated, Leif talked to the Urielite, first taking

the precaution of asking him to keep silent unless told to

talk. He chattered amusingly of this and that incon¬

sequence, like any good doctor trying to keep his patient’s

mind off the knife.

Now and then he inserted a statement that he hoped

would send Dannto thinking along certain lines. He ex¬

pected, if the train of thought continued, to extract valuable

information from the waves inked upon the kymo slowly

turning in the comer.

He could not keep from thinking of the girl in the pent¬

house bedroom, asleep, her long, loose and wavy hair

piling out gloriously upon the pillow. The head would be

turned aside, the profile against the auburn hair, a cameo

of vibrant flesh against gleaming tresses.

And she, he thought, belonged to the mass of dough

that he was now paring away. His hand shook. He steadied

it; though he controlled himself, he could not help the de¬

sire that seized it. What if he were to slip? To make a

wrong cut?

Well, what about it? Candleman would investigate.

Routinely, of course. And there would be no telling what

that bloodhound would sniff out. Perhaps enough to undo

all the work of the CWC for the past ten years. No, he

certainly couldn’t do it. He’d allowed himself enough dis¬

obedience this morning when he’d dissected Mrs. Dannto.

Moreover, Ava had left the picker and was watching him.

Ava’s trained eye would grasp the deliberately false move,

the premeditated, fatal slip. And, knowing, Ava’s duty

would be to inform Marsey that he had disobeyed orders.

That would mean his recall, or, more probably, a drum¬

head courtmartial and execution in Paris. It was too risky

to smuggle a man like him across the border; it would

not be worth taking the chance. So somebody he didn’t

know was in the Corps would step up to him one night,

and stab him and carve J.C. across his forehead and thus

kill two birds with one cut, inspiring terror among the

Jacks and squelching any suspicion the Sturch might have

78

A WOMAN A DAY

had that he was an Izzie or March agent. Very clever and

economical.

Thinking thus, the doctor made the correct motions and

in due time removed a tumor which would never have

grown if Dannto had not taken a certain medicine pre¬

scribed by Leif.

“This will do good,” he’d said, not saying for whom.

The Urielite had swallowed it in the faith that his stomach

aches would vanish. So they had, but he had planted the

seed of a larger one.

The good doctor now plucked the fruit, then filled the

cavity with a quivering mass of jelly. The shapeless mass

would at once lock its ‘blueprint’ electromagnetic field to

the injured cells. The amino-acid and CH contents would

form new cells. In a surprisingly short time, the tissues

would be as good as new.

This particular jelly was somewhat different, however.

Part of it consisted of a substance whose ingredients,

unmixed, were harmles. If a shortwave of a certain fre¬

quency, sent at certain close intervals, struck the sub¬

stance, the substance mixed, formed a violent poison, and

sent the owner thereof into a quick and fatal convulsion.

Leif stepped back while the nurses finished up the steriliz¬

ing and other lesser tasks. “How do you feel?”

Dannto, pale as a toadstool, said, “Never bothered me

a bit.”

He pointed to the mirror overhead. “It’s quite an ex¬

perience, looking into yourself.”

“Very few people do,” said Leif without humor, and

was not disappointed when Dannto failed to comprehend.

“You may dress in that room, abba” said a nurse.

Dannto waddled towards the indicated door, but before

he reached it, he was halted by Candleman’s voice. The

Uzzite had burst in through another entrance.

“Timezen!” he swore. “Who’s responsible for the QB

here?”

“Peter Sorn is,” said Leif. “Why?”

“That’s the same fellow I had questioned about room

113, isn’t he?”

He whirled and stalked off, leaving the others standing

staring at him. When Dannto asked Leif what the matter

was, Leif shrugged. Nevertheless, he felt slightly sick.

Chapter 13

After the room had been cleaned up, and the nurses

and Ava had left, Leif returned to the operating room to

see what the thoughtpicker had recorded during the opera¬

tion. The thoughtpicker was a machine mounted upon a

three wheeled carriage. It’s bulk was enclosed in a shin¬

ing seamless etemalloy sphere set upon the top of the rest

of the machinery.

Sigur, the assistant eegieman, had been curious. It had

taken only a word from his superior to make that curiosity

voiceless; Leif had hinted that it was an invention of great

importance and that the Sturch would frown upon any

noising about of its presence. This followed the pattern.

Sigur swore that he’d be as silent as expected.

Leif removed the kymographs, took them to a table,

spread them out, and began studying. He paid no attention

to the upper lines; those were the conventional waves. The

bottom line, inked by the newly hooked-in style, took all

his concentration for the next hour. He read the sharp

peaks and plunging valleys swiftly, for his training had

been thorough, and his experience had given him vast

familiarity with them. Dannto’s thoughts were spread out

before him; the things he expected no man would ever

know.

At the end of the hour, Leif sighed.

Thoughts were not what one expected. When Leif had

been introduced to the thoughtpicker in the CWC’s sanc¬

tum sanctorum, he’d been thrilled. Read a man’s mind?

Train a narrow beam on an unsuspecting skull, pick up and

amplify the very weak ‘semantic’ waves, interpret their

climbs and slides, and know all his secrets?

Be God?

Hah! *

First, the young student had learned that beneath the

well-known alpha, beta, gamma, eta, theta, and iota waves

were the sigma or semantic. These almost indetectable

eruptions could be correlated by the trained eye to the

79

A WOMAN A DAY

80

spoken word. With some training the learner could slide

across the graph a bar with a rectangular hole in its center,

blocking off each unit and seeing it as such, not as just

another continuation of the jagged lines.

Later, after hard study, the time came when the eye

could run down the dales and leap over the hills inked

upon the paper and know what it was reading.

Could it?

Not entirely. Leif had found out that if a man thought

out a sentence you asked him to cerebrate, the ’picker

could reproduce the words. But that was all. It couldn’t

give you the emotions or the thousand other events that

went with the stylo-ized waves. It couldn’t portray the

inner sensations: the feelings of repulsion, annoyance, lust,

love, or boredom. It couldn’t tell you a man was hungry

or describe his reactions to a beautiful woman walking

down the street.

If a man thought, Forerunner, Vm hungry enough to eat

the hind end of a skunk, or Boy, what a classy chassis!,

and his tongue repeated sublingually those stirring words,

the waves broadcast by his brain could be caught and

kymoed.

What if he stood silent upon a peak in Darien?

You, the god with the mindreader, suddenly found your¬

self scanning a new tongue, the undecipherable hiero¬

glyphics called, technically, static.

Leif had been taught at the CWC College that the waves

which could be correlated with definite spoken syllables

were to be known as logikons or word-images.

Where, the young Dr. Barker had thought, were the

other ikons?

There were none. None, at least, that could be picked

up by the machine.

This was not true telepathy, the mindreading conceived

by science-fiction writers and scientists.

This brainskimming was a travesty on that concept, a

mockery of man’s hopes.

You read a sentence and then came to a blank. Or found

a word cut off in half. You knew that these pauses were

full of ‘thinking’. But words were not all that were used

in thinking. And, unfortunately, words were all you could

interpret. Great seas of non-intelligibility surrounded little

islands of knowableness.

A WOMAN A DAY 81

Leif, after studying the ’picker for ten years, con¬

cluded that a new machine needed to be built.

It must be capable of detecting arid interpreting all the

impulses sent by the muscles, the nerves, the glands, and,

in short, the total of organs. Suppose you could get the

wave-image of bodily posture and the internal sensations

integrated thereto? What would you have? The kinesthe-

tikon?

That, of course, would be changing from second to sec¬

ond. Image stepping on image’s heels.

Then you’d have to add to that the feelings engendered

by reception of beauty or ugliness from outside the skin or

inside: the sight of a sunset, the taste of a thick and tender

steak. These multiplex images would form a whole: the

esthetikon.

Integrate all the incredibly complicated phenomena of

signs and symbols and the reactions to them, the weaving

of ikons, and what would you get?

The semantikon: the meaning-image.

And how would you know what this image looked like?

It wasn’t as difficult to find as you might think.

Meaning, or another word for it, value, was what you

did . Action and reaction made up the moving ikon. Idols

rose and fell, and their birth, power, and toppling were you

as you passed through frames of time and space and per¬

haps other, frames that some do not recognize and others

do, even if only faintly.

So, thought Leif, if that were true, where would you

get a machine to show you the transient ikons and the

one big image they formed? And if you had the machine,

how would you present the semantikon to the reader so

he might see that multitude of wave pictures in one word,

in one symbol? How would you hurl that symbol long dis¬

tances for instant communication? What could do that?

What could receive it?

The question was, he suspected, wrongly phrased. It

wasn’t what) It was who .

The answer was obvious. He’d seen just such a machine

that very morning. Four machines. As a result of his

busyness—or stupidity—he’d probably lost forever his

chance to study one.

Sighing, he bent over Dannto’s record. As he’d expected,

there was nothing unusual here. The Sandalphon was a

82

A WOMAN A DAY

man. A man didn’t differ from his fellows as much as he 1

liked to think. No matter how high his position or his

deeds, his morals or his I. Q., he concerned himself with

much the same things as the fellow next door and had !

much the same reactions.

Dannto was scared of dying on the table under Leifs

knife, even though he had great confidence in his ability. !

There was one main suspicion; what if some of his in- ]

feriors had managed to bribe the doctor into slipping with .

the blade?

That was rejected as unworthy. Barker was a fine doctor

and a pleasant fellow, even if his conversation did some¬

times border on unreality. He was, in a way, a very modest ,

person. Look how he’d snatched Halla from the hands of

the angel of death. Yet he’d poohpoohed her wounds in

order to save him, Dannto, his temporal master, grief and

worry.

Here Leif read snatches of thoughts, interspersed by

stretches of ‘static’, the technical term for uninterpretable

waves. The gist was that Dannto had first seen Halla ten ;

years ago when she’d applied for a job. She had been the

secretary of the Metatron of Northern Asia. When that ’

man had been killed in an accident (ha, thought Leif, the

good old murderous CWC again) she’d applied for trans¬

fer to Paris and, rare event, gotten it.

Here there were flashes of something; a partial phrase

of ‘the first time I saw her unveiled’; followed by a cavalry

charge of lancelike peaks, interpreted by Leif as emotion.

Then there was a sentence of approval on high heels, lip¬

stick and discard of veils, although they’d been for some

years a more or less established fact.

A pause. There were many pauses, for the brain, like

other organs of the body, rested between beats. Then, out

of nowhere, speculations about Candleman; how he’d

raved on hearing the pronouncements of the council of

Rek; denounced the increasing degeneration of the Haijac

as signified by the daring dresses of women and the in¬

creased use of alcohol and the unconcerns of those who

ought to stamp such things out.

An interjected and irrelevant thought about asking

Barker for a stronger laxative; then the tag end of a joke

he’d heard the other day; then the recent offer of a bribe

by the director of a spaceship construction department,

A WOMAN A DAY

83

and his hesitation over whether or not it might be a trap,

devised by his inferiors to displace him and his final con¬

clusion that he would denounce the would-be briber. He

didn’t need the money, anyway.

Here and there hopped his thoughts, a kangaroo going

no place in particular, stopping to nibble at this and that

tender bush.

Candleman entered again, like a draft in a haunted

house, drifting in through a broken window and rippling

the neck with the thought that perhaps a ghost was behind

him. The Uzzite’s long hunt for Jacques Cuze was becom¬

ing a problem, interfering with his efficiency on other

matters. Candleman’s keen and hot pursuit of the under¬

ground character was almost metaphysical, he had so many

complicated theories as to who Cuze was, where he was,

what he was doing now and going to do next. More static:

probably a picture of Candleman in some pose or other;

then, verification, the sub-vocalized English phrase

“axenosed bloodhound,” applied to Candleman.

Static. A wonder if he should diet. Halla had made

some teasing references to his paunch getting in the way.

A dwelling on his past jealousies over this and that man

who’d been interested in her; there were so many. Some

he’d transferred; others demoted; about three of the most

tiresome he’d sent to H. Not that he distrusted Halla, but

then you never know. Remember Sigmen’s warnings to

believe only what you saw a woman doing and then check

on that. Static. That old bastard Sigmen must have hated

women for some good reason. Was he . . . static . . . for¬

give me, good Forerunner, for these unreal thoughts. I am

weak and these awful . . . offal . . . heh, heh . . . ideas

sometimes seize me . . . sent, no doubt, by the sinister

Backrunner, who can implant unreality by telepathy. J.C.?

J.C.? That fool, Candleman, and his Jacques Cuze. Jude

Changer is the man behind that, you can bet. . . static . . .

gap.

I forgot to get my fingernails cleaned . . . must have that

new manicurist Rahab . . . significant name ... do them.

Halla will be too weak for a while . . . no, shameful . . .

shameful . . . wonder how Leif’s making out with his

secretary? Rachel’s pretty, but I’ll bet cold, an icicle on

two legs . . . like so many women . . . Halla only real

woman ever had . . . what colleagues think if knew that

84

A WOMAN A DAY

.. . Sigmen says sex ought to be repressed . . . make more

amenable citizens . . . shib . . . shib . . . but what about

hierarchy . . . should they be same as citizens? Better than

. . . Halla only woman knows how give . . . Sigmen, what

if I die while thinking these unreal thoughts . . . forgive

... the old Backrunner in me . . .

So that’s how I...I...I...I...I... look inside me.

Nest of worms ... Leif good man ... won’t make mistake

... hope .. . hope ... ah, to die, never see Halla again ...

she go to another man ... Sigmen! Rather she died ...

static . . .

And then a long and sustained vision of what would

happen after the Timestop. Leif could not see the images;

he had to piece them together from stray words. Sigmen

would make the pseudo-worlds real and give each and

every one of his faithful followers an entire universe to

rule. Imagine your own Cosmos ... get it on a platter

. . . step through a door, leave this world ... all hail,

Emperor of Infinity, Sovereign of Eternity . . . what is

your will? will? will? will? and so the echo bounced down

the resonant chambers of the mind.

Leif could imagine the orgy burning through the forest

of neurons, he’d seen enough into the minds of other men

to guess that. He wasn’t particularly disgusted; what did

make him recoil a trifle was the hypocrisy.

Leif dutifully read the rest of the kymo. Most of it was

the usual Augean flood; he did smile when he came across

more irrepressible doubts about the beliefs of the Sturch,

and Dannto’s thought that he might have been wasting

his time so rigorously following a falsehood. Then more

anguished cerebral bellows of repentance and demands

for forgiveness, all quite stylized, doubt here being put

upon a formalistic religious basis. Then came the conclud¬

ing prayer that he be given the zealous fanatical certainty

and unswerving faith of Candleman. But not, dear Sigmen,

the one-dimensional mind that went with them.

“Amen,” said Leif and dropped the graph into the in¬

cinerator.

Chapter 14

Inserting fresh paper in the kymo, Leif turned to go.

He paused, startled, for a man in a white orderly’s smock

stood by the door. He had a pale skin, red hair, blue eyes

and a high-arched, flare-nostriled nose.

“Shalom, Jim Crew,” said Leif.

“Shalom,” said Crew.

“Do you still want the same thing?” Leif asked.

“You know I do, Dr. Barker. We could have let our

child die long ago. But we love her, and so we’ve been

. . . holding her hand . . . because we know that there are

some things we can’t do.”

“There are other surgeons in this city. Why come to

me?”

He turned to the ’picker and flicked on the toggle. Then

he turned the helmet until the dial registered impact with

cerebral waves. He turned another dial so the helmet,

whose inner surface was the receiver, would turn, follow¬

ing the source of radiation as a flower focuses upon the

sun. Nor, if Leif’s waves crossed the beam, would it be

confused,, for it was set for Crew’s individual pattern.

Crew smiled.

“You need not do that, Doctor. Look at the graph.”

Leif saw nothing but static. He turned to face Crew.

“You are deliberately creating that?”

“Yes. You can, too, with instruction. And with the will.”

“You still haven’t answered my question. Why come to

me?”

Crew stepped closer, walking upon his toes, turned

slightly inward.

He looked earnestly into the surgeon’s face.

“There We several other doctors who could help our

child. But these would all inform the Uzzites. You will

not.”

“Why not?”

“Because, first, and least important, you would fear we

would write a note to Candleman and tell him that you

85

A WOMAN A DAY

86

are not Leif Barker, but Lev Baruch; that you are the

leader of the most important movement of the CWC; that

many Marchers are wearing the lamech because of a drug

that enables them to pass the Elohimeter; that you know

what Jacques Cuze means.

“That alone would make you come with us. But we ;

won’t use such means, Dr. Barker. We would let our child

die rather than use force, even mental force. Such violence

could only recoil upon us. You will come because it is not

your nature to allow a child to die.”

“You’re very sure of yourself,” said Leif with some |

difficulty. “If you won’t use coercion, why call on me at \

all? You must know that by doing so I’m not only exposing ;

myself to the Jacks, but my own people as well. If they 1

hear of it, they’ll be gunning for me.”

“I notice you said doing, not if you do. But I’ll answer

you. We’re appealing to your humanity. Those other issues I

don’t matter. They are based upon bloodshed, murder,

treachery, hate.”

“True,” said Leif. “But a man must defend himself.”

“The best defense is none.”

“We won’t get far exchanging platitudes like two wise

owls hooting at each other. What kind of surgical equip- ;

ment do you have?”

Jim Crew gestured helplessly. “We don’t use medicines.

The little equipment we do have, we borrowed from our

neighbors, the Timbuktumen.”

“Very well. Describe the child’s injury.”

As Jim Crew closed his eyes and gave a very accurate

word-picture, Leif ticked off what he would need. He

couldn’t carry too bulky a load; he would have to im¬

provise.

He had rationalized that he was doing the CWC a ser¬

vice by contacting this unknown underground and thus

finding out what the Bantus were doing. Though the |

Africans were a negligible military power, the Free State

of March might like to use them at some time.

Barker knew he was rationalizing; the service would j

consider his actions material for court-martial. But man i|

must rationalize, even when he knows it.

While he was collecting the materials from the Pharm \

in the adjoining room, Leif said, “Where did you Banties jj

get that depigmentizing technique?”

A WOMAN A DAY

87

“Curiously enough, it’s the invention of a Jack con¬

vert,” said Jim Crew. “The full details for extracting or

depositing pigment have been lying for fifty years in the

files of the professional journal for kerationologists. It,

like many others that could be utilized, has sunk into the

dust of libraries. The joat who read it never realized its

possibilities. And the inventor himself escaped to Cape¬

town.”

Without asking permission, Leif tilted the man’s head

so the light fell on the desired angle on the nose. “You

should have had me put in the artificial arch,” he said.

“I’d not have left any surgical signs there or on your lips.”

“The scar appeared after we were depigmentized. The

process seemed to bring them out.”

Leif grunted, unimpressed. “Let’s go.”

They took the service car and left separately, by the

hospital’s rear, through the personnel’s door. The Uzzite

on guard there flashed his light. Leif showed his lamech;

Jim Crew, his ID.

“Where did you get the uniform and the card?” asked

Leif, as they climbed into his runabout.

“My brother used to work here,” said the African.

“We knew we would have a use for such things some day.”

Leif started the motor and turned on the headlights.

“How did you four get in here this morning? I know the

Uzzites weren’t watching then, but just the same it’s very

difficult tb pass the regular gapts.”

“We have lovers.”

“Ah! And why did all of you have to come! Why not

one?”

“Together we are more than just four or just one.”

“The whole is greater than the parts?”

“Something like that.”

Jim Crew watched Leif drive for a while and then said,

“How do you know where we are going?”

Leif blinked and said, “I don’t know. Rather, I just

knew” s

He paused. “I had the feeling of my destination.”

He struck the wheel with his left fist. “It’s gone now!”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” purred Jim Crew.

“You are like a child who knows something until it is

pointed out by an ignorant adult that he can’t possibly

know. Then, of course, he no longer knows.”

88

A WOMAN A DAY

“Well, where do we go?”

Crew pointed. Leif turned the wheel in the direction in¬

dicated.

After a while, the Bantu said, “We are being followed.”

“I might have known we couldn’t get away with it,” said

Leif. He looked at the rear-view mirror but could not see

any cars.

“Where are they?”

“Around the corner.”

“Listen,” said Leif. “If they catch us, I’m protecting

myself. I’m claiming that you forced me at gun’s point to

go with you to operate on your daughter.”

Jim Crew shivered and said, “I don’t like being accused

of violence, but just as you say. Only, I think you’d bet¬

ter kill me. Otherwise, they’ll drug the truth out of me.”

“I will,” said Leif. “But they haven’t caught us yet.”

He pressed the accelerator to the floor. The most the

car could do was forty kph; the Uzzite’s car would be

capable of twice that much.

“They can catch us, but they’ll probably let us. go to

our destination,” said Leif. “I’d like it if we could abandon

this car and make our way on foot.”

“Set the controls for auto,” suggested Jim. “After we

turn the next corner. We can get out and go down that

subway entrance.”

As they rounded the huge block of a building, Leif

slammed on the brakes. They slowed to ten, he set the

dials, and then he and Crew jumped out. Neither fell.

They struck the ground running and continued unchecked

into the subway entrance.

“This won’t fool them long,” said Leif. “They’ll be back

shortly, and they may have radioed the Uzzites at the gates

to watch for us.”

Jim Crew ran down the granite-looking plastic steps. He

did not turn to the right, which led to the platforms, but

the other way, which ran to a large room housing various

concessions and comfort stations.

They had to force their way through crowds. This was

the hour when many were on their way home from work;

besides, the stations were always thronged with Paris’

overpopulation.

Naturally, there would be many gapts and Uzzites among

them who would, if outcry arose, seize them. But Leif had

A WOMAN A DAY

89

thrown his coat back so his lamech showed. The sight of

it was a trumpet blast; everybody stepped to one side.

When they went into the indicated lane, Leif appreciated

the Jack modesty at which he’d once mocked. Heirs of the

long dead Parisians, the present occupants had rejected

the Gallic earthiness and substituted their own code of

bashfulness. This included many cubicles with swinging

doors that reached from ceiling to floor to insure privacy.

As the gapt turned away at a secret signal, both men

entered a cubicle. Leif noticed the J. C. scratched on the

door. He raised his brows, for it was his first indication

that the Banties also had utilized that sign and symbol.

It was, he thought, natural, for it could easily represent

their Lord and Master and also helped to confuse them

with the legendary Frenchman, perhaps to disguise al¬

together their presence in Paris.

The Banties were using the Marchers. Could the

Marchers use them?

When the two had crowded into the closet, Jim said,

“Don’t snap the lock. That would be the surest thing to

lead the Uzzites to us.”

“Give me credit for brains.”

Jim didn’t reply. Reaching up as far as he could, he

pressed against a square in the pattern stamped into the

plastic pseudo-marble.

“Left hand comer, seven down for the Seven Deadly

Sins, three across for the Trinity that wipes them out,”

said Jim Crew. “It doesn’t work unless you press rapidly

seven times, pause three seconds, and then press three

more.”

The section slid backwards and then to one side. Jim

Crew stepped in and turned around to beckon Leif. Smil¬

ing, he went through. The Bantie pushed the rectangle back

into place.

Down they went on a spiral. The surgeon counted three

hundred steps, easily enough to take them below the level

of the present-day subways. They must be getting close

to the ancient subways or the pre-Apocalyptic sewers.

Presently the Bantie warned his blind follower to

stop; they were coming to a door. Leif couldn’t see what

moves the man was making, but his hand was seized and

placed upon a lever.

“It’s to the right, halfway down,” said Crew.

90

A WOMAN A DAY

“Thanks. But we surely won’t be coming back the same

way?”

“No. It’s a good thing to know, though, if you have to

take this route again.”

“You’re very open about these things.”

“We trust you.”

Leif wondered if the fellow ever used anything but the

editorial plural. He didn’t seem to have an ego of his

own.

They stepped out into what must have been a long

tunnel with a high roof, for their whispers and the shuffle

of their feet came back to them hollow and magnified.

“What about using a light?” asked Leif.

Jim Crew seemed surprised. “What? Oh yes, if it will

make you feel any better. But you can trust that we won’t

fall—we know these places.”

Somehow, Leif felt reproached. His hand dropped from

his coat pocket, his flashlight untouched. Nevertheless, he

would have liked to get a glimpse of the legendary under¬

ground of Paris.

They stopped on the lip of a ledge of concrete. Crew let

himself down over it and helped Leif. Before they’d gone

a few steps, Leif halted to feel around on the floor.

“There used to be iron tracks here,” he said.

“Yes, this was, at one time, the top-level track for the

subway. But as years went by and the city kept on build¬

ing up and up, it became one of the lowest. Then, when

Paris was C-bombed, these tunnels became sealed off by

a fused silicon sheet. A new Paris built upon it. But come.

We’ve a long way to go. And Anadi is getting further away

from her fathers and mothers; we know that strength is

draining from our hands faster and faster.”

“It would be very sociable of you if you would explain

what you’re talking about.”

“We . .. ssh!”

Jim Crew dropped so suddenly that Leif bumped into

him. Instantly, Leif pulled his flash and automatic out, one

in each hand. The Bantu grabbed his shoulder and ran

his hand down the doctor’s arm, feeling for his hand.

“Put those away,” was his whispered rebuke.

A voice whispered from the darkness, very near, very

low, and yet so close that Leif could have sworn the

breath fanned his cheek.

A WOMAN A DAY

91

“Jim Crew. Leif Barker.”

Chills raked down his back. He raised his flash to cen¬

ter it upon the owner of the voice. Before he could press

the button to turn it on, he felt the tube snatched from

his fingers.

“Damn it, Crew,!” he bellowed, forgetting all caution.

“Give that back!”

“May the Lord forgive you,” whispered the Bantu. “I

didn’t do that.”

“There’s something funny about this,” replied Leif,

automatically lowering his voice. “What’re you trying to

pull on me? That was the voice of Halla Danntol”

“Which one?” husked Crew.

“What do you mean? I’ve only heard the second . . .”

He trailed off into a sigh as the full significance seized

his throat.

Hoarsely, he said, “Come on, give. Who is that?”

Jim Crew moved close to Leif. His shudders ran down

his arm and shook Leif’s. Suddenly a hand, presumably

the Bantu’s, reached out from the dark and traced two

perpendicular lines across the surgeon’s forehead.

“In that sign, save us,” whispered the African.

Leif felt like echoing him. He opened his mouth to ask

another question, and a long, thin, and hard object was

thrust into it. He bit down on it, went to spit it out, and

stopped, for it was his flashlight. At the same time, some¬

body tittered.

The next moment, disregarding Crew’s warning cry, he

turned it on.

He wished he hadn’t.

It was Halla Dannto standing in the darkness.

Not the woman in the bed in 113.

The woman who had submitted to his knife. The woman

upon the marble slab. After he had dissected her.

He cried out and then, trying to control himself, bit

down upon his lower lip so hard that the blood flowed

and left s^lt in his mouth.

The cone of light wavered as his hand shook, but it

showed distinctly the scalp rolled back like an orange

peeling, the gaping chest and abdomen.

“What is that?” he snarled.

Fury was replacing panic.

92

A WOMAN A DAY

The Bantu gripped his arm and said, “Try hard. Try

hard to see through her, see who’s behind her.”

Leif didn’t understand him. Nevertheless, he made an

effort to stare the thing down, to look, as Crew suggested,

through her. It was almost impossible to do. She frightened

and nauseated him; facing her was like facing his own

conscience.

The floodtide of anger helped him. He couldn’t keep out

the idea that perhaps the Bantu and an accomplice were

playing a trick of some kind on him. Reason told him

otherwise. Crew had not known beforehand that they were

coming down this way. Besides, what could be the pur¬

pose of such a fraud?

That thing was no masquerade; it was real!

Chapter 15

Leif stepped forward, holding the beam steady as he

did so. The figure wavered, became slightly out-of-focus,

melted. For a second Leif could see through it and

glimpsed the face of a man. It was one like Crew’s: very

pale, thick-lipped, with a nose with broad nostrils and

high arch. The mouth was open and drooling; the eyes

were closed tightly as if the light hurt them.

“That’s far enough,” said Jim Crew. “Don’t make him

angry! Leave him alone. He won’t hurt us. That is, if you

turn the light off, he won’t.”

The doctor hated to relinquish the beam, for he felt

helpless in the dark with a thing like that close, a thing

that obviously could move in the night of the tunnel as

confidently as he could at high noon on an open street. So

urgent was his companion’s voice, so compelling, he

obeyed.

Jim Crew sighed, “Ah!” He said, “Let’s go. I don’t

think he’ll follow.”

His hand pulled Leifs. The latter, his spine tingling at

the idea of a knife sinking in from behind, let himself be

guided down the crumbling tracks. When they’d traveled

exactly five hundred steps, when he no longer felt that

A WOMAN A DAY

93

other feet were behind him, he said, “Crew, I’m going no

further until you tell me what that was. This is getting

me. For a moment I almost believed in the hereafter; I

thought it was here after me.”

“You’re not too scared,” said the Bantu, chuckling.

“All right. I can guess what you saw from the few words

you let drop. I won’t tell you what I saw. Then you’d

really be frightened.

“Do you remember this morning when you rejected our

plea and turned to walk away? What thought came to you

then?”

“Quo Vadis? Where are you going?”

“That’s what we suspected,” said the African, “Though

in things like that we can never be sure. What we did

was not so much telepathy, in the sense you think of that

power. We, the four of us, summoned up our group feel¬

ing, the sum total of all of us, all the patterns of our bodies,

focused them, and hurled that pattern of patterns to you.

“You didn’t have to receive it. You could have blandly

rejected it, not even knowing it was being offered you.

Your ‘antenna’ could have been withdrawn, as it is in so

many. But it wasn’t. It was out, even if only a little bit.

And so you picked up what we’d sent—that feeling.

“Again, I repeat, we didn’t project words—that is,

syllables clumped together to form individual meanings

and these strung out in a false syntax. No, we gave you us,

the concern that burned in all four. And, since it succeeded

in stamping itself on you, you took it in, ferreted in your

unconscious for the phrase or symbol that would most

nearly match the feeling. Your memory came up with

'Quo Vadis /

“See, we didn’t directly speak to you. We dredged up

your response . You, because you must explain events to

yourself in terms of words, spoke to yourself in the most

apt symbol. Had it been another man, one ignorant of

that phrase and the story connected with it, he would have

found some other thing to say to himself. You see what I

mean?” %

Though Crew could not see him in the dark (or could

he?), Leif nodded and said, “That feeling of grief? You

threw it at me?”

“Yes, though we couldn’t sustain it long because you

have so little experience of grief in your own being. More-

94

A WOMAN A DAY

over, Mopa, the man who laughed, broke up our rap¬

port.”

“You’re the machine!” the doctor broke out.

“What?”

Leif laughed and said, “I wondered where the machine

was that could receive and interpret and project the

semantikon: the total of all the ikons the body-mind

builds, the meaning-image. I might have known it was all

around me, in more senses than one. And that it had been

in existence quite a few millenia.”

“Your feeling gets through,” said Jim Crew. His hand

squeezed on Leifs. “We love you.”

Leif could overlook that. The we made it sound im¬

personal. Nevertheless, he flushed with embarrassment in

the dark.

He said, “If you don’t explain about that horror we met

a little while ago, I’m going to take this scalpel and do

some fancy whittling on you.”

“What his name was,” said Crew, “is not known. We

have a list of twelve; he could be any one of them. To tell

briefly what he is, we have to go into our background. We

Bantus in Africa, you know, are split up into two groups,

both based originally on religious differences. Both, how¬

ever, represent the only large bodies of Christendom left.

The smaller nation, Chad, is dominated by the Holy Tim¬

buktu Church, an organization that claims to have kept

the teachings of our Founder uncorrupted.

“We, however, who hold central and southern Africa,

believe that the Timbuktuians are an encrustation of

superstition and oppressive authority.”

Leif grinned to himself in the dark. The fellow was

speaking out of character; his style showed that he, like

many a missionary, was quoting from the book. Crew’s

case was only slightly different. He couldn’t be accused

of having read his speech, for, ten to one, he was illiterate.

The Bantus frowned upon print as a device that got in the

way of natural communication.

“We Primitives have, as our name indicates, resolutely

stripped off all such bindings and returned naked to the

vital Truth. We have only the very few fundamental teach¬

ings that matter; through these we have attained to our

present state, that is, one in which religion, mysticism,

economics, politics, our whole life becomes one. We

A WOMAN A DAY

95

haven’t allowed petty morality to stand in our way: the

only code we have is the Golden Rule, which we regard

as the reality . .

“That’s enough,” growled Leif. “Spare me the lecture.

You’re talking like a Jackass Urielite now. Reality! You

know how they mouth that word. You should know bet¬

ter. In one syllable words, tell me about that man.”

Crew squeezed Leif’s hand again. “You’re right. To be

brief, we Primitives have utilized that gift once known as

magic. The ancient Africans, you know, had a genius for

magic. By magic I do not mean anything in a superstitious

sense. Actually, magic was the misunderstood science of

extra-sensory perception that those savages were using so

wildly. They didn’t have the control or comprehension

needed to develop it.

“And when the Christianity of that day came in, plus

white imperialism, the gift was weakened. But after the

Apocalyptic War, there was a religious revival among the

few of my people left. A great man rose among us, just

as Sigmen rose among the Haijac nations. His name was

Jikiza Chandu, and he was the first man to realize that we

must fuse a vision of God with insight into our bodies.

Fusion was his rally-cry, and . . .”

“Fuse you did,” Leif concluded for him. “And what

has this got to do with my question?”

For the first time since he’d known him, he detected

annoyance in Crew.

The depigmented man said, “The person we just met

was rejected from our society. He was a misfit, one who

could not or would not, fit into the pattern of our group.

He twisted the great gifts he obtained while living as one

of us and used them for evil purposes. He tried to get con¬

trol over our underground here, and during his efforts he

allowed so much power to flow through him that he . . .

to use a simile you could understand . . . blew out a fuse.

In this case, the fuse was himself.

“He, like several others who tried to become the focus

of our group by force, now haunts the tunnels and sewers

by day and roams the surface streets at night. They can¬

not hurt their own people, unless they catch us off guard,

but they have done some terrible damage up there. Their

victims either commit suicide or go to the insane asylums.”

“Why don’t you kill them? Or, at least, imprison them?”

96

A WOMAN A DAY

“What? Violence on a fellow-creature?”

“You talked about reality. Isn’t self-preservation real?”

“Use the sword, and you die by it. The meek shall

inherit the earth. We know, because we’ve tested it through

the centuries, that passive resistance means survival. Spill

blood to save yourself for a little while, and in time you’ll

be drowned in the backwash.”

“Indeed!”

“Pardon me, Doctor, but you saw what those ‘Men In

The Dark,’ as we call them, can do. They use their

twisted powers for the only use they can. They do not

project; they reflect. That is, they can gather up the pat¬

terns of the energies broadcast by the victim, sum them

up, amplify them, and send them back to the originator.

He feels the abstraction, if I may call it that, absorbs it,

and sees a specter that has risen from the depths of his

own unconscious.

“You, if I may venture my intuition, were feeling both

sad about Halla Dannto’s death and guilty because you

had disobeyed the CWC’s orders about cremating* her

immediately. Also, you knew that you were going to

break more commandments, that you were in love with

the living Halla, and that come what might, you were

going to find means to see her. Even if it meant jeopardiz¬

ing the entire Plan.

“You may not even have been aware that these things

were affecting you so deeply. When the Man In The Dark

caught what was really deepmost in you at that time, he

showed it to you.

“The extraordinary thing is that the Man does not see

what you do. Not at all. He senses to some extent your

feeling, but he never visualizes anything. He does not

know what horror he is wreaking upon you. Just the same,

being insane and sadistic, he apprehends your reactions.

And feeds upon them. If the victim becomes too terrified,

loses his head, the Man gains more power, the force of

the vision becomes more powerful, and so on.

“A Timbuktu friend of man, versed in technical mat¬

ters, explained once to me that it was an uncontrolled

positive feedback. Whatever that means, the effect is

terrible; J. C. save those poor souls.”

“J. C. You too? What does that mean?”

“Jikiza Chandu, our Lord and Master.”

A WOMAN A DAY 97

“I would have thought those initials stood for your

Founder.”

“Oh, they do. He is Jikiza Chandu. Jikiza Chandu is

He. We are all both. They are us.”

No wonder, thought Leif, that the Church of Timbuktu

thought these fellows were the blasphemers’ blasphemers.

Yet, and here he shrugged with that acceptance that

so maddened his associates, they based their reasoning

upon several literally taken statements, and in this they

were doing no more than their bitterest opponents. More¬

over, those who had been to Bantuland said that theirs

was the first, and only, large human society in which one

could tread almost the length and breadth of a continent

and find no jails, no hospitals, no insane asylums, no

weapons factories (scarcely any industries, it must be

admitted), no racial discrimination. And also, no lust

nor love murders, no orphans, no stealing, no rich, no poor.

You could find plenty to criticize, to deplore, but your

criticism didn’t affect the disciples of that half-Zulu, half-

Hindu prophet, Chandu.

Leif laughed, and when Jim Crew asked why, he re¬

plied, “Oh, I’m thinking about certain incredible coinci¬

dences—that when you admit there are certain unconscious

rapports between minds, you see that coincidence is only

a word to hide our ignorance.”

“You are laughing about the J. C.’s?”

“Yes.”

“Good, I laugh, too,” and he did, squeezing Leif’s

hand again.

The doctor was about to protest when he was stopped

by the Bantu.

“We’re here.”

Chapter 16

The tunnels had been dark and somewhat dampish-

chilly. Crew opened a door, and they stepped into a

country bright and hot. Nobody was there to greet them.

98

A WOMAN A DAY

but the Bantu insisted that his people knew the two were ;

coming.

“Steam heat,” he said in reply to the doctor’s unspoken j

question. He calmly removed his clothes and hung them ;

upon one of the many hooks lining the walls of the large

room. Almost all the hooks were covered with garments, .]

“Would you care?” Jim Crew said, his hand at the

hooks. Leif shook his head. The pale man said, “We

thought you might want to shower.”

Leif growled impatiently at the man who had stepped

into the shower. “I thought we were in such a hurry to

look at your child.”

The Bantu stepped out and still naked and dripping

walked into another room. “Follow us, doctor. That

shower took only a minute. And it was much more than

you could see—it was a ceremony, one we Primitives al¬

ways perform when we return home. It was also a prayer,

a combination of physical and psychic cleansing and an

asking of J. C. that Anadi might be saved. At the same

time, we communicated with those who are holding hands

and found out that Anadi will endure until you get to her.”

He led the surgeon through several small rooms, some

of which had bunks lining the walls. One had an altar

with a man hanging from a crucifix. His skin was black,

and the face was an abstraction, belonging to no race

except that which has suffered but has felt the touch of

a hand that smooths out all lines of pain. If Leif had had

more time, he would have stopped to discuss the sculptor

and his technique with Crew. He had heard that the

Bantus were the great artists of today, that they were

doing things nobody had ever done before in painting,

sculpture and music.

The first men and women they met were unclothed, like

Crew. They crowded around the newcomer and swarmed

over him, kissing and fondling him. He returned their

caresses and then made swift introductions. One of the

girls was a steatopygous Diana whose imperfect depig¬

mentation had left her freckled with huge spots. She clung

to Leif’s neck and whispered that she loved him.

“Brindled Beatrice, I love you, too,” he replied and

dismissed her with a slap.

“Someday you should examine that levity and see what

it is hiding,” remarked Crew.

A WOMAN A DAY

99

Despite Leifs joking, the sweat had popped out on his

head in a profusion even the steam-heat couldn’t account

for. He was beginning to wonder what he’d let himself in

for. His simple errand of mercy was far from simple.

Jim Crew took his hand and led him through another

series of rooms. As the walls were concrete and painted

over with murals, many of which were peeling already,

Leif could not tell what these chambers had once been

used for. In some the floors and sides had split wide open

to admit earth, oozing through like blood in a wound, or

to show hard rock behind.

Every place held a half dozen or so people who greeted

Jim demonstratively and then rose to follow the two. Once

Leif looked over his shoulder. They had formed a long

line, two abreast, male and female, each pair holding

hands and placing their outside hands on the shoulders

of the person ahead of them. The sexes were staggered,

so that each man had his outstretched fingers upon the

skin of a woman in front, and the woman in her turn

touched the back of a man.

A low mutter arose; man and woman chanting a

whispering phone and antiphone. Though he could not

make out the individual words, which he was sure were

in Swahili, he felt the hairs rise on his neck. It sounded

and felt like a thunderstorm gathering in the hills, ready

to break, stretching the air with lightning-streaks in em¬

bryo.

He was glad when they finally stopped in the room

where the little girl lay. Unconscious, she was stretched

out upon a bed. A man and a woman crouched by her,

her hands in theirs. Beside them stood a tall Negro,

clothed in black and wearing a white collar turned back¬

wards. He looked up at Leif through thick lenses and

horn-rimmed glasses.

“Ah, Doctor Barker,” he said, stepping up and holding

his hand out. Leif shook it while Crew said that this was

the Reverend Anthony Djouba. A member of the Tim¬

buktu underground, he was also a doctor. Crew’s friends

had not hasitated in contacting him for aid for Anadi.

Apparently, the two sects did work together now and then.

Leif examined the framework of wire and sponge rub¬

ber and quickdrying plaster that held the girl’s skull to¬

gether.

100

A WOMAN A DAY

“Very good,” he said. “You did this, abba ?*

Djouba replied in a high, thin voice, “Yes, I brought

along all the materials I had. They’re not much, but they’ll

help.”

Leif examined his bag and agreed with him. Then he

looked into the top of the cast around Anadi’s head,

whistling as he did so at what he saw. She should have

died instantly. That she hadn’t and that she still lived was

to him proof that she possessed something extraordinary.

For the first time, he began to wonder if, actually, there

was more than a sort of modified black magic to this talk

about “holding hands.”

Djouba, looking over his shoulder, “tsk-tsked” and

said, “Pieces of bone in her brain. Even if we save her,

doctor, I’m afraid she’ll be an idiot.”

Impersonally, the two discussed what they would do,

then laid out their tools. Leif began to sterilize his equip¬

ment. Crew insisted that it wasn’t necessary. None of them

feared germs; their bodies could handle the most virulent.

Leif silenced him. He was the doctor; he was doing this

operation. Get busy and scrub down that table. As soon

as that was done, he and his friend should put Anadi on it.

Lifting Anadi was easy, as she weighed no more than

ninety pounds. Immediately afterwards, Leif began work¬

ing. For six hours he bent over the incredibly shattered

cranium and injured brain. Then, exhausted, hands on

the verge of trembling, he extracted the last fragment of

bone and deposited upon the gray mass a thick film of blue¬

print jelly. Djouba then capped the open skull with a

plastic arch. At this point Crew protested again that the

artificial top would not be needed. Anadi, he maintained,

would in time regrow her own skull.

“In that case,” replied Leif, making no attempt to hide

his incredulity, “ybu may remove the cap whenever you

want to. But I’d like to see that when it happens.”

Djouba removed his thick glasses and polished them.

“Much as I hate to give these people credit for any¬

thing,” he said, “I’ll have to admit that she may do just

that. I saw some strange things while I was a missionary

in Bantuland.”

“But bone, doctor! I can barely conceive that a human

being might, through advanced self-awareness, rediscover

the lost faculty of regeneration of flesh. But bone!”

A WOMAN A DAY 101

Djouba put his glasses back on. His eyes grew enormous

behind the lenses.

“I didn’t say she could. I said she might.” Djouba

smiled at Leif.

“I’d like to get going,” said Leif, impatiently, not wish¬

ing to become too involved with these people.

“Wouldn’t you two like to eat first?” asked one of the

women. She was the Brindled Beatrice.

“I would,” he said.

Djouba hesitated.

Crew said, “It is about the only way we can now pay

you, abba. As for the future, who knows?”

“Anadi does,” shrilled the Brindled Beatrice. “She al¬

ways could tell the future.”

“I’ll stay,” said Djouba. Then smiling, “If she could

look ahead into time, why didn’t she avoid getting her

skull crushed?”

“She must have had a good reason. She’ll tell us when

she mends. As for now, let’s eat.”

They went into a very large room that Leif suspected

had once been a waiting room for an ancient subway.

There they sat down to hot locust soup, freshly baked

bread, candied yams, bananas and milk. Brindled Beatrice,

who insisted upon sitting next to Leif, said that some of

the food had been stolen or else contributed by Jack

converts, but that most of it was shipped in through a

secret method.

From the hints she dropped, he got the impression the

food came by underwater, perhaps in a spaceship that

crept under the surface of the Seine to Paris and dis¬

charged its cargo through a submerged lock. This sur¬

prised him, for he thought the Bantus had no complicated

craft.

While they talked, the people in the background chanted

softly. When the meal was over, and thanks had been

given, all the Bantus sang the low hint-of-thunder song that

had raised his hackles when he was being led to Anadi. As

some cleared away the dishes, the others formed into the

same pairings of male and female. This time, they made

six concentric circles. Each circle was linked to the next

by a man and woman who kept their backs to each other

and their palms against the breasts or back of a person in

the human rings.

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A WOMAN A DAY

Djouba, on Leif’s other side, shifted uneasily and said,

“They might at least have considered me and waited until

I was gone. After all I did for them, too.”

He put his spoon down and rose.

Leif said, “What’s the matter?”

He started to rise but was pulled back by his freckled

companion.

“Lover, let him go,” she crooned.

“Have some respect for my cloth!” shouted Djouba.

“We love you!” came the response.

“I don’t want that kind of love!”

“We love you!” crashed the surf.

“God forgive you for that blasphemy!”

Unhearing, the circles began to sway back and forth,

to rotate in little hops and shuffles.

Jim Crew sprang upon the table that was the center of

the six rims. Flinging up his arms, he yelled, “Who’s our

lover?”

The throats became one vast megaphone, bellowing in

Leifs ears.

“Jikiza Chandu!”

“And whom do we love?”

“Jikiza Chandu!” *

“And who are we?”

“Jikiza Chandu!”

“And who is he?”

“Jikiza Chandu!”

“And who loves Dr. Djouba?”

“Jikiza Chandu!”

“No, no!” screamed the Timbuktuian. “Stop this out¬

rage! Let me out!”

“And who loves Dr. Barker?”

“Jikiza Chandu!”

“And who is Djouba?”

“Jikiza Chandu!”

“And who is Dr. Barker?” '

“Jikiza Chandu!”

“And who is the lover and the beloved, the god and

the man, the creator and the created, the man and the

woman?”

“Jikiza Chandu!”

“And what does Jikiza Chandu say?”

Now the circles were whirling faster, faster, the people

A WOMAN A DAY

103

who formed them kept from whirling away by linking

hands together. Their faces were contorted. Their mouths

were wide, lips drawn back. Their eyes were glowing blue

ovals. Their nostrils flared and snorted. Teeth shone

wetly; spittle flew.

There was a sudden stoppage of the shouts that had

echoed and re-echoed from the far-off walls; there was

only the stomp and slap of bare feet and the sound of

their harsh breathing. Torsos shook so that flesh rippled

like groundwaves. Hips rotated or stabbed so violently

they looked as if they must dislocate pelves.

Then, following the audible sucking in of breath, the

visible swelling of chests, a mighty word was hurled against

the walls and against the ears of all doubters.

“Love!”

“Love!” screamed the Brindled Beatrice.

Where he might in a different place and under different

circumstances have enjoyed this ardent female, he now

had but one idea, and that was the same as Djouba’s—

get out!

In about sixty seconds, he’d scrambled, jumped, pushed,

crawled and run through the flailing bodies, waving arms

and clutching hands. Once he reached haven, he turned

and saw that the Chadian was close behind him. His tat¬

tered clothes, rent from him by the crowd, were held to

his chest in clutching hands.

“God help me!” Djouba panted. “That is a new type

of martyrdom!”

Leif had regained some of his detachment.

“You’re a saint now?”

The Chadian adjusted his glasses. Recovered sight

seemed to add to his assurance.

“Only a matter of speaking.”

He looked at the room.

“Unspeakable!”

“They’re just expressing their love. And you must

admit that not only are they not hypocrites, but they seem

to have affection enough for everybody.”

“Gross carnality!”

Djouba shuddered and glanced down at 'his body.

“We can get clothes for you in the entrance,” said Leif,

not unkindly. “They’re rags, but they’ll keep the bold

eyes and the chill off.”

104

A WOMAN A DAY

“I can’t understand why they did this to me. After all,

I kept their child from dying until you arrived.”

“A matter of viewpoint. The whole affair was a thanks¬

giving because we helped to save her.”

“I note you were just as eager as I to leave.”

Leif shrugged and said, “I’ve been raised in a different

culture from yours, but like yourself I failed to adjust to

theirs. They must have something. Besides their develop¬

ment of psychosomatic powers, they’ve the most nearly

perfect society on Earth. Compare theirs with yours, doc¬

tor .. . you deride their religion and deplore their social

customs, yet you’ll have to admit that your native land

of Chad has many criminals, murderers, poor and crip¬

pled. And theirs has almost none.”

Djouba began searching on the racks for the cleanest

clothes he could find. Stiffly, he replied, “That has nothing

to do with it. You saw what went on in that room. Do

you think the Founder of our church, the One they also

claim is theirs, would approve?”

“I don’t know. Who does? Weigh his country and yours

in the balance, who sinks, who rises? I say, judge an action

by its effect upon people. What they’re doing is hurting

nobody in their society. The same behavior in our lands

would cause harm.”

“I can see there’s no use discussing this with you. There

is an absolute, you know.”

“No, I don’t. Absolute what?”

The answer was an absolute silence that hung heavy

until Jim Crew appeared. Contrary to what they expected,

he did not look hangdog or exhausted. His step was brisk;

his face, beaming.

“Ah, doctors, we hope you enjoyed yourselves. And if

ever we can help you, call on us. Love knows no bounds;

we must help our fellows. Your escort, Dr. Djouba, will

be here in just a minute. And we’ll take you back to the

surface, Dr. Barker, by another route. Through the base¬

ment of a purification palace reserved for the hierarchy,

The Abode of the Blest.”

Chapter 17

It was close to dawn when Leif walked into the Rigor¬

ous Mercy Hospital. The sleepy Uzzite on duty at the

personnel door scanned the lamech with his flash and

then told the doctor to pass.

Dwelling on the lack of precautions, Leif stepped into

the elevator, and shot up to the penthouse. When he

walked into the hall, he did not find, as he had expected,

another guard before his door. After unlocking the door,

he discovered why.

The house was empty; Halla and Ava were gone.

He didn’t waste time but at once QB’d Rachel. Hair

in curlers, wrapped in a frayed white gown, she answered.

When she saw him, her eyes threw out sleep and widened

into wakefulness.

“All right, Rachel!” he snapped. “Tell me quick what

happened.”

He did not add that he wanted the information before

Candleman could get to him. It was more than probable

that an Uzzite was listening in on him at that moment.

Rachel gasped that she’d thought he’d been kidnaped;

how in the name of Sigmen had he escaped? When he

told her never mind, just give him the developments, she

replied crossly that she didn’t know what he wanted to

know. He tore his hair and shouted that if she didn’t tell

him quick where Mrs. Dannto and Ava were, he would

climb through the QB and tear her limb from limb.

Rachel replied that they were in Montreal. After Leif

had supposedly been kidnaped by Jacques Cuze, Candle-

man had insisted that Dannto and his wife take the Can¬

adian rocket. He’d also wanted Ava to go along as the

woman’s nurse. All three, he swore, were in danger. And

though ^Ava had refused at first, she’d given in.

Leif thought that Ava must have had strong reasons

for doing so. Something must have come up that neces¬

sitated her remaining with Halla.

At his request, Rachel left her little room and went

105

106

A WOMAN A DAY

into the office. She came back with a book that listed that

day’s business. After she’d read the records of the QB calls

and the mail, he gleaned one item that interested him.

That stupid Z. Roe, as Rachel termed him, had QB’d to

find out if he should appear for another eegie in the morn¬

ing. And she’d denied him twice before.

So Zack was looking for him, eh? Probably with orders

for everything from a complete report of what had hap¬

pened to a request for his appearance at a drumhead court-

martial. Leif had long suspected that this grey-headed old

man was anything but the cipher he seemed, that he was,

actually, Leif’s superior. Though the doctor had always

thought of himself as the leader of the Parisian CWC, he

had had evidence from time to time that his decisions

were being countermanded and that someone was checking

up on him. It had been, in a way, laughable that the

Marchers should have absorbed so much of the suspicion

of the very people they were fighting.

Now, Leif saw little humor in the situation.

“Any messages from Ava?” he asked.

“None, Doctor Barker.”

He looked at Rachel’s unrouged pale face and the

curlers and wondered what he’d ever seen enticing in her.

“Go back to bed, girl,” he said gently. “I’ll see you in the

morning.”

When her image faded, he made himself some coffee

and over the searing black liquid decided to contact Zack

Roe as soon as possible. Before he’d drained the cup, he

heard somebody unlocking his door. It couldn’t be Ava,

so he was prepared when Candleman walked in.

The Uzzite’s face was as ever, the long, narrow skull

and sweeping jaw forming a bedrock for the rigid flesh

above. The thin figure moved a trifle jerkily, reminding

Leif of a marionette. Candleman, he imagined, was both

master and puppet, part of him poised above himself,

carefully controlling the part on the stage, yet never able

to conceal the strings nor move the limbs with lifelike

smoothness.

Leif, prepared for anything except what happened, was

surprised when Candleman calmly monotoned a request

for Barker’s experiences with Jacques Cuze.

That put Leif on a tightrope. He could cover up the

existence of Jim Crew’s comrades with a lie. On the other

A WOMAN A DAY 107

hand, Candleman might know more than he seemed to;

he might be baiting him.

Leif decided on his story almost as soon as the Uzzite

had quit talking and had leaned forward, sharp nose eager,

parrot-like beak lips pressed, and grey eyes crouched.

“You are correct, Candleman,” he said, and gave him

what he wanted to hear.

The Uzzite stood up. His eyes, usually lusterless as a

mouse’s fur, shone, and his voice rose.

“So this fellow that forced you at gunpoint to operate

on his daughter called himself Jim Crew? Can’t you see

what I see? No? Think, Doctor, think! The initials!”

Leif struck the table with his fist. Coffee sloshed over

the plastic top.

“Time’s end!” he swore. “So they are!”

“Absolutely. You say these fellows were foreign-looking

and they spoke in a tongue neither Haijac nor Hebrew. It

must have been French! Sigmen, I wish I knew some¬

thing of that language!”

/ hope you never take the trouble to study it, thought

the doctor.

Candleman began pacing back and forth. Lightly, he

flicked the seven-thonged whip back and forth.

“Doctor, my natural inclination would be to call to¬

gether all my available men and conduct a manhunt on

a scale never before done. But I’m not going to. Jacques

Cuze is a cunning fox; he’ll be hiding low for quite a

while. And I’ve no doubt he’s moved from the place you

describe.”

At that moment the QB glowed, and the operator’s

voice said, “Montreal calling, Dr. Barker.”

Leif acknowledged and saw the cube become a room

in which sat the Sandalphon, Halla and Ava. Dannto said,

“Barker! Candleman called and told us you were back.

Sigmen be praised! No, don’t expain now. You two jump

into a special and come here at once. I’ve authorized a

rocket to be set aside for you. Your assistant will take

over your duties. I want you to look Halla over. She com¬

plains 6f pains in her solar plexus. Also, we can hear your

story face to face, and later we can go to Metatron Wong’s

big estate in the forest for a little relaxation. That’s all.

May your future be real.”

The cube flickered into transparency.

108

A WOMAN A DAY

Leif rose to protest, for he wanted to find out about

Halla and Ava. Also his heart was tight with longing for

the redhaired woman.

Candleman arose and said, “Since his wife’s back,

Dannto’s his old self.”

“Since she’s back?”

“Yes, they were separated just before her ‘accident.’

She, I presume, wanted something, and he wouldn’t let

her have it. So she moved to another apartment. It’s hap¬

pened before. And always the Sandalphon gives in.” The

Uzzite snorted. “I can remember when no woman would

have dared. She’d either have been whipped or sent to

H. But this woman has made him lose his senses.”

“You’re criticising the Sturch-head?” Leif asked gently.

“You’ve no record of my words,” said Candleman.

“Anyway, Dannto knows how I feel about this woman’s

influence on him.”

He said nothing further while Leif packed. Presently,

the two of them walked onto the roof of the hospital and

waited for the special. When it sank beside them, they

entered and sat down side by side. During the entire trip,

Candleman was silent. Once he sat up, looking at Leif,

and said, “Dr. Barker, you seem to be a very happy, free

and easy fellow. Is it because you have a fine wife?”

Then, before the astonished doctor could reply, the

Uzzite said, “I withdraw that. Please forgive me. I’ve no

business asking.” And he muttered, “Not in the line of

duty, you know.”

Barker wondered what was going on behind that blond

Dante’s face. He wished he could have put the ’picker

on him.

That wish led to another, which was his desire to know

whether or not Trausti and Palsson had been questioned.

If they had, they must have certified Candleman’s suspi¬

cions about Leif’s behavior. Possibly Candleman was

taking him away from Paris so that he might not be able

to deal with the two informers. And he might have put

Dannto up to inviting Leif to Montreal so he could watch

him when he was with Ava and Halla.

He dwelt upon the redheaded beauty and just what she

might be. He pondered her origins and during his specula¬

tions found himself abandoning all except one thought:

A WOMAN A DAY 109

he was fascinated by her as he’d never been by any other

woman, and he had to be with her.

Much as he resented this irresistible attraction, he had

to go to her. Perhaps the moth resented his passion for

the flame; yet the moth flew headlong into it.

Shortly before they landed at the airport, one of Candle-

man’s lieutenants got permission from the two lamechians

to switch on the QB for a news report. The gandyman

sprang into view in the middle of a sentence. He was

describing a recent riot in Chicago in which a man had

been torn apart by an infuriated crowd. It seemed the

culprit had said that he didn’t think Timestop was at all

near. According to Sigmen, so he claimed, conditions in

the Haijac would be perfect before he arrived from his

time-voyagings. This man didn’t think that the setup was

near perfection.

“Immediately thereafter,” honked the gandyman, “an

enraged mob avenged this insult to the Union, to the

Sturch and to Sigmen, real be his name. And now, good

citizens, we take you . . .” and the scene in the cube

dissolved. When it resolved, it showed a street empty

except for a few Uzzites. They surrounded a pool of blood

and a leg lying on a curb.

Leif looked at it keenly before the vision blurred. When

he sat back, he smiled. His professional eye had noticed

at once that the limb had not been torn, but had been

expertly severed. Undoubtedly, this was some of the

Sturch’s propaganda-pressuring. Faked.

He doubted that any crowd in the Haijac would be

able to whip up enough enthusiasm or organization to

lynch a man. The ordinary citizen was too busy working

night and day to clothe and feed himself and too scared

of going to H to make a move without his gapt’s approval.

To keep from falling asleep, Leif asked Candleman

what Mrs. Dannto had told him about her accident.

Candleman said, “Her story is about what I guessed it

to be.”

He paused to smack his hardshelled lips and continued,

“All she'knows is that she received a call over the com¬

mie. She didn’t recognize the voice, and the man speaking

said the QB on his end wasn’t working. She believed him

because that frequently happens. He said his name was

Jarl Covers—” the Uzzite glanced significantly at Leif—

110

A WOMAN A DAY

“and that he was a lieutenant of mine. That, of course,

was a lie. Mrs. Dannto should have checked to see if

there was a Covers on my force.

“He said that he wanted to meet her to discuss a plot

against her husband’s life. Covers claimed he’d stumbled

across it but couldn’t go to his superiors about it because

some of them were the instigators. I suppose the fellow

was trying to throw suspicion on me. Since Dannto him¬

self was in Montreal, Covers wanted to talk to Dannto’s

wife. She was terrified and unable to think straight. She

went out in a taxi to meet Covers. The man I’d detailed

to guard her while her husband was gone was answering

another call, presumably from Covers’ accomplice. That

was his story; he’s being questioned very closely about it.

“That is all we know.”

Leif had wondered what story Halla would give. It was

a good one, for it aroused Candleman’s suspicions about

Jacques Cuze and threw a hot haze before his otherwise

cold and clear thinking. Nor could the story be checked

on, because calls to the Sandalphon’s house were not

monitored.

There remained one mystery. Who had called the orig¬

inal Halla to her death?

Wondering, he fell asleep. Once, he awoke when the

ship landed. Candleman said they’d just received word to

go on to the Metatron’s estate in the big woods. Leif

drifted back and did not come out of his doze until the

door opened. Yawning, blinking, he walked into the hot

Canadian noonshine. A runabout picked them up and

flew them in a minute to the summer mansion of the

political head of North America.

It was quite a party that the men walked into. Most

of the important men of the Haijac were gathered upon

the front lawn. Their wives and mistresses were with them;

all were in hunting costume. Leif was met by Dannto and

Halla and introduced to everybody. His reputation as a

brain surgeon was widespread, and most of them knew

of him.

Then he was given hunting clothes and rifle and ammo.

While he dressed behind a screen, he gave to the San-

dalphon and others who could crowd into the room the

same story he’d told Candleman. At its end, Dannto said,

“You were lucky they didn’t kill you afterwards.”

A WOMAN A DAY

111

He turned to Candleman and said, “I suppose you still

insist this Jim Crew is Jacques Cuze? How ridiculous can

you get? Anybody who wasn’t a monomaniac could see

his initials stand for Jude Changer.”

There was a murmur of agreement, for the majority

were Urielites. Candleman did not turn expression, but

Leif got the feeling of resentment on his part.

Leif examined the man.

Not too long ago, he thought, the governors of the

Haijac were men built like Candleman, tall, bony, with

long narrow faces and dour lips. They burned day and

night with zeal for the Sturch, nor at any time could you

have caught them in an unreal act.

Now they had been replaced with men like Dannto,

the shorter, much stouter and more garrulous executive.

Though they discussed abstract principles, they were more

likely to be found dealing with the immediate and the

knowable. And, as now, you could smell the aroma of

very good liquor, and you could see they had chosen

their women, not for the old fashioned virtues of frigidity

and fertility and faithfulness to the Sturch, but for their

red lips and full figures and devotion to their men.

Leif went back out onto the lawn. There he got a

chance to talk for a moment with Ava and Halla. The

only one near was the Uzzite, and he was out of earshot.

“Did Zack Roe or anybody else say anything about

my having gone underground with Crew?” asked Leif.

Ava smiled strangely. “No. Nobody knew where you

were.”

“I couldn’t contact you over the QB. You know that.”

“Leif, I wouldn’t be in your shoes. And all because of

her.”

Ava gestured at the woman.

Halla said, “You needn’t look so contemptuous.”

“What’s this?” asked Leif.

“I wondered about her,” replied Ava, “so, while you

were gone and she was still sleeping, I examined her. That

was enough to lead me to making X-rays of her. When

she awoke, I made her tell me what she was.”

“So I did,” said Halla, speaking very low but very

fast. “And Ava recoiled as if I were a poisonous spider.

She acted as though she hated me and would like to see

me dead. It was then that she told me my sister was dead.”

112

A WOMAN A DAY

“Why did you do that?” demanded Leif. He felt his

face getting hot and his hands cold.

Ava shifted uneasily, but finally looked him straight in

the eye.

“I wanted to discharge her grief then. If she found out

by accident about the real Halla, she might be overcome

at a time when there’d be no explaining it. I gave her a

grief-runner. She had no deeprooted anxieties holding her

sorrow in, so she got rid of it in about half an hour. Now

there’s nothing to worry about.”

“You lie in your teeth,” snapped the redhead. “You

loathe me because of what I have been doing. Yet it’s

been for our country. You told me about my sister so

you could hurt me. I won’t forget that.”

“Watch it,” said Leif. “Candleman’s coming.”

He whispered to Ava, “First chance you get, tell me

all about it.” Ava nodded and glanced at Halla and said,

“You won’t even want to touch her when I explain, Leif.

Or maybe you will, being what you are.”

Halla turned away suddenly, but not before Leif saw

the tears . . .

His chance to talk to Ava came after they’d been

transported some hundred miles to the hunting lodge.

Chapter 18

Before setting out for the hunting, the party was

briefed by Lwi Rulo, the chief guide. He told them that

their quarry would be Neanderthaloids imported from the

third planet of the star Gemma. The Neanderthaloids were

the dominant life form of Gemma III, and were potentially

as intelligent as Terrestrials. But at the time the first

spaceship from the Haijac Union landed, the Gemmans

were in a stage of culture roughly corresponding to the

Bronze Age of Earth. That is, the highest culture of

Gemma was at that point. But a great part of the planet

was in the Old and/or New Stone Age, and the Gemmans

imported for the hunt were of the Neolithic stage. Un¬

armed, they had been released several hours ago. But

A WOMAN A DAY

113

flint and chert were available in this region, and the Gem-

mans could in a very short time chip out spear and arrow

heads and arm themselves. Thus, though equipped with

inferior weapons, they were dangerous game, not to be

treated with contempt.

“Only last year two of our hunting party were killed

and one wounded,” said Lwi Rulo. “The Urielite Gun-

darsson was pierced with an arrow. The Uzzite Smith

was disemboweled with a spear, and his wife was wounded

in the shoulder.”

Leif smiled. The Urielite Gundarsson had been killed

by a March CWC-man disguised as a Gemman. The

Marcher had shot the Jack with a wooden-shafted flint-

tipped arrow, but the bow was of laminated maple and

fiberglas. The Marcher was standing in the bushes a

hundred yards off when he had sent the arrow crashing

through the man’s chest. Then the bowman had faded

away into the Canadian woods and been picked up by

a plane. Later, a Marcher in the hierarchy had stepped

up into the shoes of the dead man, where he was in a

better position to do more damage to the Haijac Union.

Lwi Rulo ended his instructions by warning the group

that they must not string out but must stay close together.

There would be no beaters going ahead of them to flush

the game.

The party set out, laughing, chattering as if they were

going to hunt rabbits. The hot summer sun burned down,

the trees were tall and green, birds sang, everything

seemed all right in the world. In a short time they had

forgotten Rulo’s words and had separated into small

groups and couples that gradually drifted away from each

other.

Leif had been waiting for this to happen. He gestured

Ava to one side.

“All right!” he said fiercely. “Tell me what you found

out from Halla?”

“Halla—or, rather, Erica, for that is her real name—

is one of us—though I hate to say it. She belongs to the

CWC. So did her twin sister. They were part of a group

trained to do their work among the hierarchy. And very

successfully, too, though I despise them for what they’re

doing. War is a dirty business, Leif, but I didn’t think

114

A WOMAN A DAY

it would become this dirty! Or that we’d be the ones

who’d stoop so low!”

“Doing what?” said Leif. “Why’re you so bitter? Is

Halla an extraterrestrial? What’s wrong with using them

if they can help us? Come on, tell me.”

“No, they’re not XT’s,” said Ava through clenched

teeth. “I wish they weren’t human! Then there’d be some

excuse for their doing their filthy work!”

“They’re not XT’s then? Then why those alien organs?

I don’t understand.”

“Apparently biological science in our country is even

more advanced than we thought. You’ve been among the

Jacks too long to keep up with the latest developments

in March. Though I doubt if even you would have heard

of this, for it must be a super hush-hush project.”

“Are you saying that these organs were developed in

our laboratories and that they were surgically implanted

in Halla and the other women?”

“Shib.”

“But what are those organs for?”

“Walk slower,” said Ava. “We’re catching up with the

Danntos.”

Leif slowed his pace. He looked ahead, where Dannto

and Halla and several other Urielites and their women

were. These had halted while a guide searched the thick

brush to make sure no Gemmans were hiding there.

Ava spoke softly, “I can’t explain everything in one or

two sentences. But I will try to be brief. Though I may

not seem to you to be getting to the point as fast as I

should.

“You know that one of the bases of Haijac culture is

the repression of sexual instincts, the deliberate training

of children, and hence the adults, to regard sex as a

necessary evil. There must be no joy in the act, even

when it’s done with one’s spouse. Of course, I agree with

the Jacks up to a point. It is an evil act if it’s done out¬

side the bounds of matrimony. But it is holy between man

and wife . . .”

“I know your beliefs. Tell me about these women.”

“First, I have to tell you why these women exist. The

Jack theory is that very sexually repressed people are

more subservient and hence amenable to totalitarian gov¬

ernment. They are, in effect, castrated. And they have a

A WOMAN A DAY

115

personality which the Sturch desires. Narrow-minded. Up¬

right. Dedicated to the Sturch. Suspicious. Ready to be¬

tray any suspected deviationist to the Sturch. Unfortu¬

nately for the people involved, one of the results of such

repression is frigidity, impotency.

“By impotency I don’t mean so much an incapability

perform the sexual act as an inability to have a com¬

plete or satisfactory orgasm. Orgasm is a thing to be

ashamed of. In fact, as you know, the Sturch approves

of artificial insemination. But powerful as the Sturch is,

it hasn’t dared to make artificial insemination a law. It has

had to recommend it and to arrange that only those who

practice it gain success in the Union. Theoretically, you

can’t be a lamech-wearer unless you renounce the sex

act. But ...”

“Get to the point!” snapped Leif.

“Shib. I’m trying. If the sexual drive is distorted, it

must have an outlet somewhere. And it does. Sex is sub¬

limated into fanaticism and hate. Hence the willingness

of the Jack to betray his fellows. Hence the government-

sponsored pogroms of the so-called unrealists.”

“Wait a minute!” said Leif. He had been watching a

clump of heavily-leaved bushes, some of whose branches

were moving in a suspicious manner. Determined though

he was to hear Ava out, he did not want Halla to be

jumped by a Gemman.

A guide stopped the party again while he explored the

bushes. After a few minutes he waved to the hunters to

come ahead.

“Candleman is watching us,” said Lief. “He’ll be over

here before long, and we’ll have no chance to talk.”

“Some evil genius in the Cold War Corps,” said Ava,

“conceived an idea to take advantage of the frigidity of

the Haijac male. Some biological genius. He created that

organ you found in the dead woman. You know we’ve

been able to create low forms of life. This organ wasn’t as

difficult to grow in the laboratory as the layman might

think. Especially since it was designed for a simple pur¬

pose.”

Ava stopped, for somewhere to their right was a com¬

motion. The wind brought shouts and a scream. Then,

the rapid firing of rifles.

116

A WOMAN A DAY

“They found one of the poor devils,” said Leif. “I

hope he made them pay dearly.”

“Candleman is edging this way,” said Ava. “I’d better

get this over with.”

Ava continued in a very low voice, “This organism was

designed to be a bio-electrical battery. It released a flow

of electrical current during excitation of the woman in

whom it was implanted.”

“Ah, I see!” said Leif. “And caused the male to have

a complete orgasm. The current flowed from the highly

charged body—the woman’s—to the less highly charged

body—the man’s! And the current was strong enough to

break down the conditioned reflexes which caused the

frigidity of the male. Willynilly, he had, for the first time

in his life, a complete and natural reaction to sexual in¬

tercourse! And, of course . . .”

“Of course, he wasn’t going to allow the woman respon¬

sible to get away from him. The woman would have great

influence over him. And the woman, of course, was a

March agent.”

“What a briliant idea!” said Leif.

“It’s just like you to admire it,” said Ava bitterly. “I

think it’s evil and abhorrent.”

For one of the few times in his life, Leif was flab¬

bergasted.

“You’re objecting on moral grounds? Why? This is

war! You don’t object to killing in war. God knows you’ve

murdered enough Jacks in the past ten years!”

“Killing for your country is one thing,” said Ava. “But

this—this use of fornication as a weapon—it’s unspeak¬

able!”

Leif threw his hands up in a gesture of despair and

disgust.

“I give up!”

He paused and frowned as if he were thinking deeply.

Then he reddened and said, “Something just occurred to

me. The CWC may not have thought of it. Is Halla a

virgin? If she is, how is she going to explain her virginity

to Dannto?”

Ava veiled big black eyes and said, “I took care of

that.”

Leif grabbed the slender arm and squeezed so hard

Ava cried with pain and dropped the rifle.

A WOMAN A DAY

117

“You . . . you!” Leif choked. “How?”

“Surgically, of course. What did you think?”

“You know what I’m thinking”

“What’s the matter, Leif? Were you planning—”

“Quiet. Here comes Candleman.”

Ava stooped and picked up the rifle. The Uzzite, carry¬

ing his in the crook of his arm, walked up to them with

his habitual crouch. He opened his mouth to say some¬

thing, when he was interrupted by a scream.

All three whirled. The voice had been Halla Dannto’s;

now, she was speechless. Paralyzed, she held her throat

with one hand and pointed with the other.

Leif took one look at the brutish, skinclad figure charg¬

ing at her with a spear and brought his rifle up. Until

then he’d had no intention of shooting down the Gem-

mans imported for this sport of Neros. He’d hoped that

some of the Neanderthaloids might maim or kill some of

their Jack hunters; it would serve them right.

Now, he didn’t hesitate, but in one fluid motion brought

the barrel up, aiming it a trifle ahead of the gorilla chest,

and squeezed the trigger. His was a .45 recoilless; he

scarcely felt the jar; before he could place another shot,

he heard Candleman’s blast, only a trifle later than his,

and he saw the Gemman fall sideways.

Dannto had stepped in front of Halla. Now, seeing the

apeman jerking on the ground, he stood there, pale and

quivering. Candleman, however, ran up and placed his

muzzle against the upturned face and blew it apart with

dumdum after dumdum.

Leif could see that Halla was unhurt. He didn’t waste

time asking her if she were all right, as Dannto was doing.

Instead, he bent over the corpse.

Ava, following, said, “Where did he get those leather

thongs to bind the spear head to the shaft? And, if you’ll

notice, the shaft is of seasoned wood.”

Candleman came back in time to hear the last of these

remarks.

“One of the Sandalphon’s enemies undoubtedly did

that,” he said. “I’ll order an immediate investigation of

the servants who handle these Gemmans.”

The Danntos walked up and looked at the corpse. Halla

was white. Her lips were scarlet spatters.

Leif looked at the others. None of them seemed to

118

A WOMAN A DAY

see what he had seen. He decided to keep silent. How¬

ever, to satisfy completely his curiosity, he knelt down

and examined the body more carefully. He lifted the

animal skin wrapped around the torso, saw something

he’d not expected, and dropped it. When he rose, his lips 1

were tightly pressed, as if he were having trouble con¬

taining himself.

Ava, sensitive to his actions, saw he was concerned,

but she said nothing until they were again a little separate

from the others.

“What did you see, Leif?”

He said, “Didn’t you observe the proportions of the

corpse’s legs and arms? A Gemman’s arms, compared to

a man’s, are short, as are the legs. The bones of the

forearms are bowed out to serve as attachments for the

mighty muscles. The neck-vertebrae are curved so that

the Gemman, like the ape, can’t bend his neck back to

look upwards. There are other differences, but I won’t

go into detail.

“That fellow had longer arms and legs than he should

have had. His radius and ulna were straight as a man’s.

His neck, though so thick it almost didn’t exist, was quite

capable of bending back. In short, he was a man. I’ll bet

that if his face hadn’t been destroyed, we’d have seen that

pseudoskin had been built up on it to make it look Nean¬

derthal.

“But that wasn’t all. Somebody wanted to disguise his

real purpose. A small J.C. had been tattoed on his belly.”

Ava took it calmly

“Obviously, if he were killed, Cuze or Changer would

get the blame. But what if he’d not been?”

“Five gets you one he had the usual poison tooth. You’ll

notice he made for Halla. Does that tie in with the ‘ac¬

cident’ her sister was in?”

“What do you think? The question is, why these at¬

tempts on her life? Why is Jacques Cuze being blamed?”

“Tune in on the next chapter and find out,” said Leif.

“Be serious! Why didn’t you tell the rest of them what

you found out?”

“Listen, whoever put that man up to an assassination

attempt on Halla must have been nearby. He wanted to

be able to kill the man so that if he were caught, he could

stop his mouth. Perhaps he planned on doing it anyway.

A WOMAN A DAY 119

Corpses don’t talk. Whoever wanted Halla murdered was

premeditatedly close.”

“That would include only two dozen people. What

about Candleman? He ran up and destroyed the man’s

face. It looks to me as if he was trying to hide the fellow’s

identity.”

“Candleman shot almost the same time I did. If he

were behind the affair, he would have waited until the

spear was in Halla. And butchering the face wouldn’t

conceal anything. There’s always the fingerprints. I’m

planning on getting those later and doing some checking

up from there. Besides—getting back to Candleman—

though he doesn’t like Halla, he is very devoted to Dann-

to.”

“Leif, the man who killed the first Halla was in Paris.

This is Canada. He’d have to come here when we did.

Who came with Dannto? Who came with you?”

“There are at least twenty big brass who came from

Europe at the Metatron’s invitation. Do you want me to

question them all?”

“All we can do is wait for another attempt.”

“That ought to make you happy. You hate Halla, any¬

way.”

“Yes, but she’s CWC.”

“Don’t forget that,” said Leif. “You hang around and

get those fingerprints, if you can. As for me, I’ve work

to do.”

Boldly, he walked up to where Halla sat upon a stump

and Dannto stood by, holding her hand.

“Mrs. Dannto has had a shock,” said Leif. “She

shouldn’t continue the hunt. I’m not really interested in

this shooting, and since I’m her doctor, I’ll take her back

to the Metatron’s. Would you care to come along, San-

dalphon? If not, you really won’t be needed.”

Dannto obviously wanted to be with his wife. The

doctor, however, had loudly stated before a dozen high

officials that he didn’t have to go with her. That was

malice aforethought; Leif knew that the Urielite would

consider it a matter of face to continue the hunt. He

would be afraid the others might think he’d been too

unnerved by the surprise attack.

So, as Barker had guessed he would, Dannto bellowed

that he, personally, wanted to kill every Gemman now

120

A WOMAN A DAY

hiding in the Canadian woods. The others standing round

nodded their heads and slapped him on the shoulder and

said by Sigmen they’d be glad to give him first shot.

Nevertheless, the Archurielite’s mouth formed a pout

of disappointment when he saw Leif hand his wife into

a Hill runabout.

He waddled clumsily over at the last moment and

kissed her pale cheek and said he’d bring her one or two

heads.

Halla shuddered and didn’t reply.

“Take good care of her, doctor,” said Dannto as the

Hill rose into the air.

Leif’s reply didn’t seem to erase the lines from Dannto’s

forehead.

“Abba, she’ll get taken care of as never before.”

Chapter 19

He conducted her to the Sandalphon’s suite and dis¬

missed the maid who was cleaning it. Though she was

undoubtedly bound to report it to the Uzzites, he did not

care. His lamech and his surgeon’s license gave him more

freedom than the average Jack.

Halla closed the door and inserted in the lock a fre¬

quency-key.

“My aunts will QB Dannto that I’m all right,” she said.

Her every movement and word stroked soft and warm

fingers over his skin. Suddenly, his breath caught, and

he felt a tightening within his chest. His hands and the

back of his neck trembled.

She turned from the door and walked across the room

towards a bureau. Whether consciously or unconsciously,

her hips swayed just a trifle more than they normally

did. Leif knew, for he’d watched her often enough that

day. There was no doubt about it. From the moment she

had glanced at him to say she wanted to be alone, the

air had become charged. If the sudden feeling grew more

intense, he would, he was sure, explode. He was fighting

an internal pressure; something was building up in him;

A WOMAN A DAY 121

it had been there for a long time, latent, waiting to be

started by the glance, the movement.

“Halla!” he said, low and husky, almost unable to

speak.

She stopped, her back turned partly to him, her spine

stiffening, the abrupt rigidity raising the full breasts. A

small toss of the head sent light rippling down the long

red hair.

“Halla, do I have to say anything?”

She whirled so fast she almost lost her balance. It was

a movement that would at another time have made him

grin. Now it was the spark that crackled through him

and set him moving in strides towards her, arms out¬

stretched, a thundering in his head, moving forward, know¬

ing with all his body that nothing, nothing at all in this

world, nothing could stop them now.

He was dimly aware that as he pressed her back, back,

she cried out, “Leif, Leif, don’t ever let that Dannto

touch me! I love you, and only you!”

Later, like conscience knocking, knuckles tapped the

door to the suite. Halla sat upright, eyes wide, mouth a

scarlet O, unconsciously pulling the sheet up to her neck.

Leif put his finger to his lips and tiptoed to a closet.

Reaching it, he turned and made signs for her to answer.

Then he pulled out his automatic.

He could, he reasoned, brazen his way out. It was his

right as a lamechian doctor to examine a woman without

a gapt being present. On the other hand, it would be

better if it weren’t known he’d been locked up so long

with her. What he did depended upon the knocker’s

identity.

Halla called, “Who is it?”

The reply was the muffled voice of a man. Halla re¬

peated her question. Slightly louder, the words were still

too low. Halla rose and put on her dressing gown and

went through two rooms to the door. Leif followed her

and stood behind her. This time they both heard.

“Halla, this is Jake Candleman. Let me in.”

The two raised their eyebrows. Leif nodded at her to

do so. Then he went back into the closet. Halla, after

asking the Uzzite to wait until she was back in bed,

turned off some of the lights and crawled under the sheets.

As he’d purposefully left the closet door half-open,

122

A WOMAN A DAY

Leif could see between its inner edge and the wall. Can-

dleman came into view, long body bent forwards as if

there were a weak spot in its middle, narrow face hard

and cragged as a cliff. He strode up to the bed and

stopped, looked keenly around, and then, to the conster¬

nation of both watchers, sank to his knees by her side.

“Halla! Halla!” he crooned. “Forgive me, Halla!”

She shrank away from his reaching hands.

“What do you mean? Forgive you for what?”

“You know what, Halla, dear. Don’t tease, like you

used to do. I can’t stand it. I won’t. You know you can’t

trifle with me. You know.”

Her voice trembled as much as his. She said, “Are you

crazy? I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking

about.”

He clutched one of her hands before she could get it

away.

“Don’t tell me that! That’s what you used to say when

I asked you where I could meet you again. You made a

madman out of me. I couldn’t touch you again, and yet

I couldn’t stand not to. I told you I’d kill you, and I

almost did. Halla, darling, tell me you forgive me. I’ll

never do anything like that again. I almost died myself

when they said you’d been killed at once in that wreck.

When I found out you were only slightly hurt, I raged

and smashed the furniture in my apartment and swore

I’d see you were dead for sure the next time.

“And yet, I was glad because you’d not been killed.

I couldn’t stand the thought. No more Halla. No Halla,

no Halla, no Halla. My brain repeated over and over

again, no Halla, no Halla.”

The woman looked stupefied. Leif hoped she’d catch

on to what was happening. Otherwise, she’d give herself

away.

Candleman tried to pull her to him; she bent away,

turning her face sideways.

“What’s the matter with you?” he cried. “You’re not

so pure. You gave yourself to me once, remember? You

betrayed your husband, a Sandalphon. I dishonored him

and all he stands for. But I thought it worth it. Halla,

there never was anybody like you. You and I . . .”

Leif could not believe the man’s incoherent babbling.

Candleman’s voice, always so dead, rose and plunged;

A WOMAN A DAY 123

his face, usually hard and expressionless as a closed fist,

twisted and writhed like a deaf-mute’s fingers.

Leif saw now that it had been Candleman who had

gotten the original Halla into a taxi, perhaps for one last

rendezvous, and then had arranged the ‘accident.’ No

wonder the man had been so suspicious about the minor

injuries reported by Leif. He must have thought that

Halla had reported him. Or else he’d wanted to get into

her hospital room to finish her off. The chances were

that he’d not been too scared of her talking, for she’d

implicate herself. Moreover, he was a lamechian; he could

do no wrong.

His main reason for trying to kill her was revenge.

That was evident.

As Leif listened to Candleman talk and at the same

time try to embrace Halla, he saw the pattern. Evidently

the dead woman had once felt sorry for him and had

given in to him. Or perhaps she’d done it to find out some¬

thing or to secure a favor she desperately needed. No one

would ever know. Whatever the reason, she had refused

to have any more to do with him after that one time.

And he, finally convinced she loathed him, had tried to

kill her. Not tried—he had done it. And the woman he

was talking to must realize that and must hate him.

“Listen to me!” panted the Uzzite. “I told Dannto

I was coming back to keep an eye on you, that I was

still worried about assassins. It’ll be hours before he and

the other hunters return.”

“What about Dr. Barker?” said Halla, straining to

keep his face from hers.

“That lecher! He wouldn’t dare bother us. For the sake

of Sigmen, Halla, don’t fight me so! I can’t help myself;

I must have you. I know you really want me. Otherwise,

you’d never have acted the way you did that one time.

You’re just bothered by your unreal conduct. Halla, how

do we know what is real and what is not?”

Leif hoped she could handle him, for he didn’t want

to be forced to reveal himself. If he hadn’t been in love

with her, he would have allowed Candleman to have his

way. Halla was a CWC agent. That would only have been

in line of duty. But he knew that he couldn’t stand the

Uzzite’s pawing her much more.

“Please, Halla! I’ll never try to kill you again.”

124

A WOMAN A DAY

“You beast,” she said. “You were the one that loosed

that Gemman at me.”

“Forgive me, Halla. It won’t happen again.”

Suddenly, he stood up and seized her wrists and bent

them back and leaned forward and placed his mouth

against hers. Leif started to step out, but he paused when

the man yelped with pain and jumped back from her.

His lower lip was bleeding where she had clamped down

upon it.

“You always did bite, Halla,” he said. “But not too

hard next time, please.”

How blind could you get? wondered Leif. Another

thought struck. Candleman had even covered up by using

his favorite bugaboo: J.C. He’d had that pseudo-Nean-

derthal tattooed with those initials to confuse anybody

who might possibly read them. Everybody was getting

in on the game.

Halla stood up and said, “If you don’t leave at once,

I’ll scream, and I’ll get a gun and shoot you. Don’t think

I wouldn’t.”

Not a bad idea, thought Leif. That would solve many

problems.

He raised his automatic and aimed at the high and

narrow forehead, now covered with sweat.

Before he could pull the trigger, he heard a gentle

tapping upon the suite-door.

Halla called out, “Who is it?”

Candleman brushed his hair back and wiped his face

with a handkerchief and put his cap back on. Then he

strode towards the door, bent forward more than ever,

as if the hinge in the middle of his body had broken.

He thrust his frequency-finder key into the lock, pressed

the button, and opened the door.

Ava stepped in, said, “Pardon me, Chief,” and went on.

The Uzzite did not look back but slammed the door

behind him.

Leif came out from behind the closet door. “What’re

you doing back here?” he said to Ava.

“This!”

Ava handed him a comic, the latest issue of the Ad¬

ventures of the Forerunner .

“Where’d you find it?”

A WOMAN A DAY

125

“In my pocketbook. One of the guides must be CWC.

It contains a message on the third page.”

Leif opened it to the third page and read the words

underlined in a balloon above one of the characters.

“All get under the bridge. Stand your ground if the

evil Backranner sees us. Two of you repair th is gun as

fast as you can.”

“All H must be breaking loose,” said Leif. “What

happened? Trausti talked? They caught Jim Crew? Zack

Roe? Or something unexpected?”

Discussion was useless. There was nothing they could

do about getting back unless they could find a reasonable

excuse. At the moment, none was available. So they had

to pass the next two days in Canada.

Ava fretted at the delay and became even more dis¬

turbed because Leif was not also anxious. He, on the

contrary, hiked through the woods and fished. He wasn’t

going to sit around with tensed muscles and tight lips.

Much as he would have liked to take Halla along with

him, he could not do so without exciting dangerous com¬

ment. He did find it possible to go fishing with her the

second afternoon when he invited her and a couple of

other hierarchs’ wives along. While the women were un¬

packing the picnic luncheon, Leif managed a few words

with Halla. His curiosity about certain things he’d dis¬

covered during the dissection of the original Halla was

still driving him.

Halla answered his question calmly and entirely unself¬

consciously.

“Then that is why you make such a good agent for

the CWC in this particular society?” said Leif.

“Yes,” she answered. “The repression of normal sex

impulses, the deliberate creation of frigidity in men and

women, results in psychic castration. Tyrants long ago

found out they could control their subjects much more

easily if they set up a system, enforced by taboos instilled

at an early age, that crushed the development of the

human being as a whole. Quenching of wholesome rela¬

tions between the sexes is an integral part of the Jack

system.

“To put it briefly, psychically impotent people, by which

I mean perverted people of any kind, by which I mean

those not normal . . .”

126

A WOMAN A DAY

She halted in confusion and laughed. “Actually, all

I know is that the type of repression you find in the Union

fulfills the function of keeping men more easily in sub¬

missiveness. You can find your parallel in geldings. Thfey

make more willing beasts of burden.

“But if, say, one of these men were to find a woman

whose responses did not go by the books he’d read or

the lectures he’d heard, a woman who possessed an organ

that would automatically release those inhibitions and

make him a free man for the first time in his unhappy

and confused life, then he’d value that woman and keep

her, even if he had to do so secretly and in defiance of

the mores. You follow me?”

“Pretty much so,” he said, glancing around to see if

any of the hierarchs’ wives were in earshot. “Frigidity in

a man results in what we call a muscular armor, a con¬

traction of the pelvic floor. The armor is a result of the

neurosis. The psyche deliberately causes the soma to use

muscular rigidity and squeezing to inhibit itself. But, cu¬

riously enough, if the muscular armor can be relaxed,

then the neurosis quite often lessens or goes away. The

man, freed in one part of his development as a complete

human being, also gains liberty in other fields. That is,

he laughs more, thinks more deeply, is more sincere and

yet is at the same time gayer, is even freer of psychoso¬

matic diseases, and so on. You know what I mean.”

“Yes. Take my husband, Dannto, for instance. He used

to be almost as gloomy and hostile as Candleman. Now,

though he’s a Long way to go as a desirable individual,

he’s much jollier and broader-minded than before he met

me. He doesn’t realize it, consciously, but he wouldn’t

allow me to leave him for any reason.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” said Leif. “The bio-elec-

trical current from the organ that was put into you stim¬

ulates the parasympathetic nervous system. This results

in the uninhibiting of the muscular armor and the con¬

sequent momentary freedom from the anxiety feeling. The

floodgates are opened; there is no damming up of emotion

and its consequent stagnation into a cesspool. Am I right?”

“Yes. And the men are quite grateful. We gain an

enormous hold over them—to the profit of the world and

the loss of the Haijac Union.”

A WOMAN A DAY 127

Leif had several more questions which he had to have

answered.

“You and your sister were twins,” he said. “But your

retina prints and your fingerprints should have been dif¬

ferent. Yet they were identical.”

“The March biologists removed one of my sister’s eye¬

balls. Using it as a pattern, they grew two duplicates.

They replaced my sister’s eyeball, removed mine, and

implanted the duplicates in me. To make my fingerprints

identical to my sister’s, they stripped the skin from my

fingers and grew new skin, again using my sister’s patterns

as a blueprint.”

“And the rudimentary antennae on your head and nerve

cables connecting them with your brain?”

“They’re the result of an unsuccessful experiment,”

she said. “My sister and I are—were—the only agents

equipped with them. We were supposed to be able to

transmit and receive brain waves through the antennae.

As a matter of fact, we could. But the waves meant noth¬

ing to us. They were just so much static. We needed

some biological device to filter out the ‘noise.’ The sci¬

entists left the antennae on us while they worked to

perfect a filter. As far as I know, they haven’t found one

yet.”

Leif grinned and said, “So there goes my theory you

two were of extra-Terrestrial origin. Too much imagina¬

tion on my part—and too little knowledge of what my

own country was doing in science!”

Chapter 20

On the following evening Dannto, Halla, Leif, Ava and

several others got into a Paris-bound coach.

Candleman was not with them; he had left two hours

after the scene in the bedroom. Business was his plea for

leaving, but Leif suspected he didn’t want to ride with

Halla.

Their trip was quick and pleasant except for one puzzling

event. Leif noticed that Ava had gone into the woman’s

128

A WOMAN A DAY

room for just a moment. On coming out, Ava was

very pale. Leif had no chance to ask what the matter was,

but he thought Ava must have received a message from a

CWC-agent. That disturbed him. As Ava’s superior, he

should have gotten it. However, it might have been that

the setup was such that Ava could be reached easier than

he. Or Ava might have, not a message, but a stomach¬

ache.

When the coach slid into the Paris field, Dannto re¬

minded the others they were to come at 1900 to his house

for a party. The occasion would be a celebration over his

wife’s quick recovery following the accident. Dannto

seemed to be very happy. He laughed and waved his

hands as he told jokes. Halla was not so radiant. She

looked at Leif meaningfully, and her eyes told him what

kind of celebration Dannto was planning later that night.

For the first time since he’d been a very young man,

Leif was jealous. He felt sick. He also felt like getting up

and hitting the Sandalphon in the nose.

The rest of the trip the red-haired beauty glanced now

and then at him. Once he thought he saw the beginnings

of tears in her eyes.

He was sure of it when she excused herself and went

to the women’s room, and stayed there a long time.

Later, after all had disembarked and gone their ways,

Leif said to Ava, “Why so pale, pretty maiden?”

Ava snarled back at him, and he decided it was sick¬

ness, not a communication, that had made Ava look so

ill. Both were silent until the taxi brought them to the

hospital.

Leif was looking for notes from Rachel or Roe when

Ava came in, paler than ever.

“Did you find anything on the kymos?” Leif asked.

Ava extended a shaking hand in which was a graph.

He took it and read the recordings of Zack Roe’s semantic

waves. Sigur, the assistant, had obeyed Leif’s instructions

and placed all the eegie work done during his absence in

a special file. Ava had picked out the one with the mes¬

sage.

He read, and he paled. When he looked up, he saw the

automatic in Ava’s hand.

“You’re the executioner?” he asked unbelievingly.

Ava’s voice trembled. “No, I’m only the escort.”

A WOMAN A DAY

129

“And very prettily armed, too,” said Leif, recovering

his poise. “Well, when does this drumhead take place?”

“Leif,” Ava said, “I hate to do this. We’ve worked to¬

gether so long. But orders are orders. And you shouldn’t

have let that . . . that woman go to your head. How could

you have put us all in jeopardy by deliberately disobeying

the command to cremate that girl at once? And then

making love to the other?”

“So you did inform on me?” he said, gritting his teeth.

“It was my duty.”

“Hating Halla didn’t have anything to do with it, heh?

Or was it hate? Did you have designs on her, too?”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Ava replied. “Come

on, Leif. If I put this gun away, will you promise not to

try a break?”

“All right. You’re still enough of a soldier. I suppose.”

Ava went to a closet and pulled some garments from

the false bottom of a dirty clothes hamper.

“Here. Put these on.”

He examined them. “So it’s that bad, is it? We’re

through here.”

“Yes. The thoughtpicker isn’t in the eegie, Leif. Our

men must have moved it away sometime today when the

word came.”

Ava undressed and began putting on the blues of the

unskilled laborer. “Lord, Leif, it’ll be good looking like

a man again! Ten years of pretending to be a female!”

“You gave up a lot for the Service,” he answered. “Tell

me, Ava, honey, was it worth it?”

“Any more of that, and I will shoot you,” she—he—

said.

Leif had become so accustomed to Avam Soski posing

as his wife that he seldom thought of him in terms of his

true sex. The little fellow was good, one of the greatest

disguise-men in the CWC.

Leif dressed, walked to the QB and flicked it on.

Ava said, “None of that. Orders are that you communi¬

cate with nobody.”

He ignored him and asked the autoperator for Mrs.

Dannto’s room. She should be getting ready for the party.

If the Sandalphon were with her his presence wouldn’t

matter. They had arranged a code word.

“Leif, I’ll shoot!” cried Ava.

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A WOMAN A DAY

The cube showed Halla coming into the front room of

her suite. She was in a robe.

“Halla, is there anybody else to hear?” he asked.

She shook her head and stared past him at Ava’s lev¬

eled gun.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Ava won’t shoot. Listen! The

jig is up. I haven’t time to go into detail. The gist is that

we’re getting out of here. I can’t tell you how, because

this line may be monitored. I don’t think so; both you and

I get automatic lamechian privileges; but you never know.

Just meet me where we agreed to. Fast! Got it?”

She nodded her head again, and he cut them off.

Swinging around on Ava, Leif said, “I’m not going with

you, baby. I intend to contact Jim Crew and get him to

ship Halla and me to Bantuland.”

“Jim Crew is in H,” said Ava flatly. He held his gun

steady on Leif’s chest.

“When did you learn that? In the women’s room on

the coach?”

“Yes. Roe told us to get under because he thinks the

Uzzites will torture the truth from Crew. I think the

’picker has been moved close to H so Roe can listen in on

the ordeal.”

Leif hesitated and said, “Ava, listen. I know you’ll

shoot me if I drive you too far. But what about giving me

a break? What do you say you take both Halla and myself

to the drumhead? I can make a plea that Roe let us go.

I’m no use to CWC any more; killing me won’t help him.”

“Do you think that after you’ve messed up the Halla

replacement and gotten involved with the Bantus and

talked Halla into abandoning her post that Roe’ll pardon

you? Leif, that girl has gone to your head!”

“I know it.”

“But, Leif—betraying your country?”

“I didn’t. I just forgot it for the moment.”

They walked out of the hospital. Leif took his personal

car and drove to the front of the National Library. Halla

was waiting inside. She walked out and got into the seat

behind the two men.

Before Ava could tell Leif where to go, Halla pulled a

gun from her purse and stuck it against the little man’s

neck. Leif reached over and removed Ava’s automatic

from his pocket.

A WOMAN A DAY 131

“I could see what was coming,” he said. “So Halla and

I made our plans, too.”

Ava seemed stunned. “Leif, this isn’t . . . isn’t ...”

“Like me? Perhaps not. But I took one wrong step

and that led me to the next. Not that meeting Halla was

wrong. I wouldn’t pass that up for all the medals in the

world. The thing is, the CWC would consider me disloyal

from the first. I have no choice. Understand this—I’m not

turning against March. After this is over, I’ll volunteer for

a trial there, when emotions have cooled down some. But

right now I’d get shot.”

Fighting the savage desire to race pell-mell down the

streets and take corners on two wheels, Leif drove slowly

and carefully to a subway entrance close to the square that

had once enclosed the Arc de Triomphe. They got out,

and Leif put the car on auto for the hospital.

He took one look at the four-hundred-foot statue of

Sigmen, holding a sword and an hourglass, had a vagrant

thought as to what successor to the Arc and the Forerun¬

ner would someday stand there, and then followed Ava

and Halla down into a subway and from thence into the

tunnels that would lead to the hideout of the Bantus.

They rode to a spot four blocks from their destination,

and walked the rest of the way. The meeting-place was a

room in a house for lower-class workers. It was on one

side of a very large square. Far on the other side was a

huge block-like building that was, supposedly, a college

for psych techs.

Actually, it was H.

The three approached the roominghouse from the rear,

walked up three flights of rickety steps, down a hall stink¬

ing of cabbage and fish and sweat, and to a room that

fronted the square. Ava tapped the code; the door opened;

they stepped in.

“Where’s Roe?” said Ava.

The man gestured at the empty room and said, “He’s

hiding. So is about half of the Corps. Candleman’s found

out what we’re doing. He left me here so I could warn

anyone who came to the drumhead.”

Curiously, he looked at the guns Halla and Leif held

in their hands, but he made no comment.

“What about Barker?” said Ava.

132

A WOMAN A DAY

“He’s to hide like the rest of us. Get away as best he

can. Roe will deal with him later.”

Halla sighed with relief.

Leif said, “Well, I did my best. From now on, if he

wants me, he’ll have to come and get me.”

He walked up to the ’picker which was standing by a

closed windowblind and said, “Is it set to explode?”

The man replied, “Not unless somebody tries to open it.

I was using it on Jim Crew. They’re giving him a hell of a

treatment over there.”

Leif clucked and shook his head. He knew that in every

one of these buildings scattered through the Union, the

“unreal” thinkers were reconverted to reality.

There techs drugged the subjects, laid them on couches,

and attached minute synapse-wires to various nerve-end¬

ings. Through these they fed a series of stimuli that cre¬

ated the sensations the techs desired. These, co-ordinated

with words whispered by a recording, made the subject

live artificial situations which he thought were actual hap¬

penings. The “story” was repeated over and over, until it

was stamped unalterably for life upon the subject’s being,

until it had all the unconscious authority of a conditioned-

reflex.

Released from H, the subject was convinced that he had

gone through an experience that had shown him the error

of his ways. Thereafter, he was an unquestioning citizen.

No matter what his beliefs before his entrance into H,

he was now a loyal disciple of Isaac Sigmen.

The one disadvantage was that he no longer could think

creatively. He was as close to being an automaton as a

person could be.

Leif knew this. Peering into Crew’s mind would be

distressing, but an impulse he couldn’t fight made him

turn on the ’picker and put on the ear phones. These latter

gave him the auditory translations of the “semantic” waves

radiating from the Bantu’s cortex.

Chapter 21

Leif took twenty minutes to find Jim Crew’s brainwave

pattern. His beam probed here and there, stabbed up and

down corridors and into rooms where techs sat, metal

helmets on heads, watching dials, running tapes and making

records. Wires from their helmets and various instru¬

ments pierced the walls and ran to the bodies of the sub¬

jects. Each wire ended in an exceedingly fine network

that connected with this or that nerve-plexus. Through

these techs were feeding the pre-set stimuli that gave the

subjects their illusions.

Leif, of course, could not see anything within the build¬

ing, but he could visualize it because of what he’d been

told about H and because of thoughts he caught from

those techs whose heads weren’t shielded by the impene¬

trable metal caps.

The men working on Jim Crew had a beautifully evil

situation for him, one that followed the pattern of his own

thinking. Leif tapped the Bantu’s semantic-waves just as

they were beginning the story for the first or hundredth

time. He was at a loss to understand it, but in a short time

he began inserting his own interpretations in the inevitable

gaps and static. He was helped by the fact that the man

was sub-vocalizing much of what he was undergoing, just

as a man talks in his sleep.

The subject was awakened from a sound sleep by a

gentle voice whispering over and over, “Jim Crew, open

your eyes. Jim Crew, don’t cry out.”

And when he did so, or, rather, thought he did, he saw

a man standing in the comer of his cell. The stranger was

black-skinned and naked and had a face that was Jim

Crew’s own, though the features were somewhat ethe-

realized. He looked as Jim Crew would have liked to look.

Jim wasn’t too surprised at seeing this visitor. He had

always known that sooner or later he would come. He

calmly accepted the obviousness of his having walked

133

134

A WOMAN A DAY

through the wall. He was, however, thrilled to see a shim¬

mering nimbus around the close-cut hair.

“Come, Jim Crew,” the man said. “I am here to take

you away, far from these people who know not what

they do.”

As if in a dream, Jim floated to his feet and seized the

hand held out to him. It was large and strong and warm

with a power Jim had never felt before, not even when

he’d held hands in the big tribal dances and the whirling

circles had created power for healing and for understand¬

ing and love.

This was an energy that flowed to him as the higher

potential flows to the lower. This was the source of that

power that he’d dreamed about and sometimes seen in his

prayers when he was alone or had glimpsed, oh so briefly,

at the climax of a great dance.

Child-like, Jim took the hand and followed the man

through the wall and felt not a tinge of fear when the brief

darkness closed around him. Then he was through the

cement, and he was rising in the air, borne upwards by

the power of the hand. Below him, Paris was spread out

in night and in clusters and strings of glowpearls, and then

it dwindled and grew small and the curve of the earth

was far off and the air grew colder. A warmth spread out

from the man like a robe, and though Jim Grew shivered

at the first stroke of the fingers of space he quickly

enough forgot about it.

They were poised between earth and moon with Jim

Crew gazing curiously at the moon, for in this day where

men rode to the stars, he had never left the atmosphere,

thinking that this planet was big enough and beautiful

enough for what he wanted to do in his life.

The man with the head like a saintly Jim Crew’s said,

“Look! You have been faithful to your Master, and so I

reward you with this.”

And he gestured at all of Earth and the moon and the

stars.

Jim Crew cried out, “But, Lord, this isn’t what I want!”

His words fell out into dark space and froze and hurtled

like cold iron towards the globe below, and when they

struck the air they burned and sent out long tails of flame

and released their content so that he heard his voice, fire-

streaked and amplified in the vast bowl of Earth, coming

A WOMAN A DAY 135

back at him, mockingly and somehow distorted, “But,

Lord, this isn’t what I want!”

And the man said, “But what do you want? What else

is there but this?”

And when Jim Crew turned to look at him, for the

meaning and the tones chilled him as space itself had not

done, he saw that the man’s face was as wise and kind

and loving as before. But he also saw that the voice came

from another’s mouth, and when he looked into the eyes

that went with that mouth, he felt for the first time in his

life a Fear. This head was his too, and it was what Jim

Crew had hoped he would never become, for there was

evil stamped so deeply into it that it would never come out.

And when the twisted mouth, wicked, yet his as much

as was the mouth of the man who’d rescued him, repeated,

“But what else is there?” Jim Crew squeezed upon the

man’s hand for all the power he could absorb. But the

man had turned partly sidewise, and Jim could see that

he had grown a long thick tail that stuck up behind him

like a saucy monkey’s. Upon its end, as if the tail were a

neck, was the head of the twisted-mouth Jim Crew.

When it saw that Jim understood, it laughed and said,

“Did you really think there was anything beyond that,

Jim Crew, beyond those hard hot and cold globes drifting

aimlessly through infinity and eternity? Did you really

believe in a Something else?”

Jim Crew cried out and tried to jerk away and run on

the nothingness beneath his feet, for the hand holding his

had grown icy and was sucking power from his body, and

the head that had been what Jim wanted to be was melt¬

ing like a hot candle and changing features.

But he could not run, for he was sprawled out on the

bosom of space, great breasts that offered no sustenance

and no love, and though he frantically rowed hands and

kicked feet, he moved nowhere.

And then the two-headed man had placed a foot like

a talon upon his back and sent him down with a shove

that made the universe reel. He fell and left space and

struck the air as if it were the surface of the sea and

slowed and then fell faster again as the air whistled by

and the earth came up as if thrown at him. His skin be¬

gan burning because he was a meteor of flesh now and

136

A WOMAN A DAY

would go up in flames and smoke and agony long before

he struck.

He shouted, “Lord, surely none of your martyrs ever

burned before in such a manner!”

And no sooner had the words left him than he became

aware of a hand that gripped his shoulder and slowed him

down so that the flaming air cooled and he drifted gently.

When he looked up, he saw that the man who had saved

him had the red hair and narrow bright-blue eyes and big

vulture’s beak of Isaac Sigmen, the Forerunner.

His voice was that of the dove.

“Now that you have been betrayed by the one you

thought was your master, and now you have seen that

there is nothing beyond the palpable, and now you have

been saved by the true prophet, the traveler in time, found¬

er of the Sturch that will save all men, surely you must

see what a lie you have been living in and how you must

work with the followers of the Forerunner to remedy your

misdirected labors to make reality into pseudo-time.”

And though Jim Crew knew that what he was experi¬

encing was that which was —for he could see and feel and

hear—he still knew that he was being tempted in a subtle

manner that none of his fellows had ever faced.

He turned and wrested himself from the Forerunner’s

grasp and breathed deeply and shouted, “Master, wherever

you are, come now, or I am lost!”

The next moment Leif Barker’s ears were filled with

such a crackling of static he had to tear off his ear phones.

But he found that it did no good, for something had

reached him from the building across the street and

plunged deep into him in a manner that was shattering.

A light, blinding, explosive, so filled him that he could

see nothing else. He. fell backwards upon the floor and

did not hear Ava and Halla when they yelled, or feel them

when they lifted him up.

Then, in the next second, the light was gone, and he

was back in the world he knew.

Ignoring their questions or protests, Leif rose, shook

his head, and put the ear phones back on. He found what

he’d expected. Jim Crew’s brainwaves no longer existed.

He switched to a searchbeam and centered upon the head

of a tech who had taken his helmet off and had run into

the room where the Bantu lay beneath his cocoon of

A WOMAN A DAY 137

wires. As the tech was vocalizing, Leif had no trouble

understanding.

The man was saying, as reported by his semantic waves,

“I don’t know what happened! He was responding the way

he should have. He’d just reached that part of the record

where the Forerunner was telling him he’d been betrayed.

Then, just like that, the needles on our dials shot over to

full, staying there a second, and then fell to zero! He must

have been pouring out a super-human amount of energy!

Much more than I would have thought possible!”

Leif poked his beam around the room untill he picked

up another man.

“He’s dead. What killed him? Heart attack?”

Another replied, “He doesn’t look as if he died of a

heart attack. Look at the smile on his face. What in Sig-

men’s name could have he been thinking of?”

That was enough for Leif. He removed the phones and

said to the others in the room, “Let’s get out of here.

I’ll tell you about it later.”

The man who had admitted them to the room refused to

go back with them into the subway. He had another place

to hole up. After hesitating, Ava, however, said he would

go with Leif and Halla. The three left at once. They didn’t

bother with the thoughtpicker. When the Uzzites tried to

open it, it would explode.

Leif seemed preoccupied. As they went down the rickety

steps of the boardinghouse, he was muttering, “I was the

only one around who was in any kind of contact with Jim,

even if it was just mental sympathy. The techs couldn’t

see what he was thinking. They were just feeding him a

prepared story and watching his reactions on meters.

“But when that . . . vision . . . came to him, I saw part

of it. Not through the ’picker but directly. Energy, mental

or otherwise, flows from a higher charged body to a lesser

if there is a conductor. Our first connection was the ma¬

chine and our second was our sympathy. And of the two

of us I was the lesser charged.”

He shook his head as if to throw out something that

clung leechlike.

“Somehow, I saw what he saw. I’m sure it wasn’t real,

not as this flesh and blood that surround my bones are

real. The mind works in signs and symbols, and Jim Crew’s

whole being was summed up in that last flare of energy,

138

A WOMAN A DAY

that psychosomatic nova. What he, and I, witnessed was

a symbol he projected to himself. It was . . . essence, not

existence.”

He shook his head again and mumbled, “But who was

that dark and bearded man stepping through the light,

holding out his hand to Jim? Was there a man, or did I just

think I saw . . . ?”

And he ran his hand through his hair and tugged at

the roots and knew that, though he could explain it away,

he would never be sure.

Chapter 22

In the hide-out of the Bantus, two watchers met them

and conducted them through the darkness. Ava had started

to protest that he didn’t want to go along, but Leif had

told him that he was forcing him. If both disappeared,

Roe might think they’d been arrested and sent to H. If

Ava took the news to him of what had happened, Roe

might put obstacles in Leif’s path. Once the man and the

woman were on the ship to Africa, Ava could go.

When they arrived, they greeted the Primitives and

then were fed. A parley was held; its result was the agree¬

ment that an exodus to a new HQ would have to be set

up. Meanwhile, Leif and several others would go to the

ship. They were lucky, for in one more day the vessel

would leave, and another one wouldn’t be in for a month.

Prayers were offered for Jim Crew after the meal. Leif

and Halla chafed, though they appreciated the sentiment.

And then, about three in the morning, just as they were

to leave, a watcher came in. His face was twisted with

alarm and with bad news.

Candleman and Dannto knew now that Halla had run

away with Barker. The Uzzite had launched the biggest

manhunt of them all, one he’d been preparing for a long

time and that was ready to move when he was stung into

action.

He was not only using all of his Parisian force, but had

A WOMAN A DAY 139

borrowed thousands from surrounding areas. They had

dogs and firethrowers and poison gases.

Leif talked to some of the watchers. They said the

Uzzite chief had tried to bring in his men quietly and

under cover of night, but it was impossible to conceal that

number, especially from the supersensitive Bantus. It

would be some time before the hunters reached the vicin¬

ity of their hideout. Candleman had started from the

periphery with a huge army that would close in towards

the center. The idea was that the underground dwellers

would be driven like rabbits in a big beat.

Leif didn’t think it would be that easy. Paris was tre¬

mendous, twice as large as the twentieth century city, and

the labyrinth beneath was many-leveled and tortuous.

It would be several days before the hunters even got close

to the Bantus, and it would be impossible for indivduals

to slip through the lines.

There was another council. The Bantus hoped they

would be able to think of some place to go above ground

while the hunt was on.

Leif killed that hope by telling them that Uzzites would

also be prowling the streets and subways now in use for

just such a maneuver. There were only two things to do.

One, hope they’d not be found. Or, two, take the ship

that rested in the mud at the bottom of the Seine. The

first was rather hopeless; once found they’d have no chance

to escape. The second was dangerous, for there was no

way of knowing whether or not Candleman had tortured

the truth from Jim Crew about the ship. It was probable

that he had.

Leif’s own advice was to take the ship. He hoped he

and Halla could live for a while in Bantuland, that per¬

haps he could begin negotiations for reinstatement in

March. If that proved hopeless, the two of them could

either remain in Africa or go to one of the Israeli Repub¬

lics.

The family members scanned each other for the general

feeling. There was no question of splitting up. They either

stayed as a unit or left as one. Leif, watching them, could

not help thinking that here was a democracy undreamed

of. No votes had to be cast, no ballots written, no speeches,

no bribing, no appeals to emotional issues. They held

140

A WOMAN A DAY

hands, though it wasn’t necessary, and felt their way to a

decision.

The whole thing took less than a minute. Unanimously,

they agreed to go. If they were to stay, their martyrdom

would mean nothing, for the people of the Haijac would

not see and benefit by it. It was true that once they left

Paris it would be very difficult to get back in. But it could

be done. Besides, they had great confidence that the plans

of the Marchers would eventually succeed and that the

Haijac would fall.

Preparations got underway at once. Clothes were put

on and food stored in baskets. Within twenty minutes, the

whole group was ready.

Leif asked about the Timbuktumen and was told they

had lost contact with them ever since they’d offended Dr.

Djouba. Doubtless, unless they, too, had very good ave¬

nues of escape, they would be flushed out and killed or

sent to H.

A watcher entered breathlessly and said that a number

of men had come underground through the entrance in the

lavatory wall, the very place which Leif and Crew had

used the first time. Another watcher came in after the

first to say that a second party was coming from the oppo¬

site direction.

“Evidently they’re going to grind us between them,”

said Leif. He strode through a door into the room whose

wall concealed an exit. They planted a bomb and set it

to be triggered by the brainwaves of the fourth person

to enter the room.

Leif, Ava, and Halla were the only ones of the hunted

who were armed; the Bantus would rather die than have

the blood of others on their hands.

When Leif walked by the others on his way back to

the head of the line, he passed Anadi, the child on whom

he’d operated. Pale but brighteyed, she was being carried

in the arms of one of her fathers. Her face seemed small

compared to .the big white basketwork enclosing her skull.

He slowed for a second to accompany her.

“Anadi, it’s hard to believe you’re alive.”

“Yes,” she answered, smiling feebly. “I stayed alive so I

might die with all of us.”

He didn’t ask her what she meant; it was obvious.

He said, “I’ve been too busy to find out just why you

A WOMAN A DAY

141

happened to be at the scene of the first Halla’s death. Tell

me, what did Jim Crew mean when he said you knew she

was going to be in an accident? And that you’d be hurt,

and I’d save you?”

“How can I explain? I knew Mrs. Dannto because I was

the one who converted her to our faith. I loved her; I bap¬

tised her.”

“Ah, if the CWC had known that, it’d have courtmar-

tialed her, too.”

“Yes. But that day she was killed, I had a feeling that

she was making a move she shouldn’t. I hurried to warn

her, but I was too late. I was in the way; the taxi drove

over me. As for you, we found out who you really were

a long time ago.”

He touched her hand and, for some reason, felt stronger.

“You’re a strange little girl.”

“Not half as strange as you are, Lev-Leif Baruch-

Barker.”

That was the last time he saw her . . .

They threaded very narrow tunnels with low roofs. Leif

had to help Halla at several places, for the ceilings or sides

had caved in and partially blocked them.

At one of them, they paused as a low rumble came from

behind and the ground shook.

“The bomb!” remarked Leif grimly. “There’ll be more

along soon. But they’ll be cautious.”

Presently they came to a broad room, an excavation

shored up in many places by timbers and stone pillars.

There the Africans insisted the three agents take another

tunnel. If the hunters caught up, they said, they could at

least delay them while the three went on to the ship. As

for the group, it would live or die as a unit.

Leif didn’t argue. He wanted to live. He was surprised,

however, when the girl he’d thought of as Brindled Bea¬

trice said she’d leave the others to guide. He was touched,

for he knew it was because of her feeling for him that she

was sundering herself from the group, a gesture which was

almost like tearing off her flesh.

Leif said, “Thank you. This is a great sacrifice on your

part.”

“Not so much. We’ll meet again at the ship.”

It was then that Leif got the feeling that they would

not meet the others, that the group had decided, with their

142

A WOMAN A DAY

soundless balloting, that the hunters would probably catch

them and that they could, at least, give their lives for the

two men and woman. Beatrice, doubtless, had been in¬

formed of this.

The four took the tunnel to the right. They had gone

a hundred yards when they heard the distant barking of

dogs and shouting of men. They hurried on, knowing that

soon enough the pursuers would be on their heels.

When they slowed down because Halla was reeling

from the pace, they stopped for a second at the juncture

of four tunnels and heard, dimly, the firing of many guns.

Beatrice stiffened and cried out, “They’re killing us!

They’re not giving us a chance!”

She put her head on Leif’s chest and wept. He patted

her bare back and said, “There’s nothing to be done. Let’s

go, or we’ll be caught, too”

Sobbing, the girl turned and trotted on.

Halla, in the lead, suddenly fell. Before she could rise,

she screamed. Leif leaped at the man lying on the ground,

ready to shoot him, when he saw he was wounded and a

Bantu. He put his automatic down and was going to help

the man when he understood why she had been so fright¬

ened.

He was one of the Men In The Dark.

Injured as he was, with blood flowing from a shoulder-

wound, he was still able to catch Halla’s mindimages, am¬

plify them, and hurl them back. As fear was uppermost in

her mind, he’d probably shown her something that had

really terrified her.

Beatrice bent over him and said, “Come along, brother.

We’ll help you.”

Drooling, lips hanging open, blue eyes staring into the

roots of Beatrice’s mind, he staggered to his feet and fol¬

lowed her.

Leif wanted to protest, for he thought the presence of

a crazy and wounded man would hinder them. Moreover,

the fellow’s essence was evil. Let him die. Beatrice, how¬

ever, had put her arm around him and was helping him

along. Watching her, Leif felt ashamed that he’d allowed

his fear to overcome him and tried to excuse himself by

saying he was more worried about Halla than anything.

But he had to admit to himself he was rationalizing. It

A WOMAN A DAY 143

had been the brutal panic of the beast in flight that had

affected him.

The clamor behind them was getting louder. They came

to another junction. Beatrice halted them.

“From here on,” she said, “take every other exit on the

right. Got it? First left, then right. Then left, then right.”

Leif said, “If you’ve some fantastic notion of staying

here and luring them down another tunnel, forget it. We’ll

stick together.”

“I’m half dead now,” she replied. “When my people died,

I died. So it’s only a little step to join them. You go on.

You can’t stop me.”

Barker didn’t hesitate. He embraced her and said,

“We’ll never forget you, Beatrice—and —we love you.”

“You’ll find me a million times over in Bantuland,” she

said. “I’ll live in all my people.”

Leif didn’t believe that, but despite himself he was

overwhelmed. He turned and said, “Let’s go.”

Ava and Halla touched the splotched skin of the girl

and then followed him. The Man In The Dark hung his

head for a moment, muttered something in Swahili, and

staggered off after the three.

Beatrice waited for the hounds . . .

Ten minutes later, Leif knew that she must at least have

split the party that was tracking them. He caught a glimpse

of the comparatively small group as they came down a

very long subway route. There was one dog and twenty

men. Candleman’s thin bent-forward figure and Dannto’s

hogfat body were side by side in the lead. In the brief

glimpse he got of them before he ducked through an

archway, he saw that most of them carried the minimatics

which could spray hundreds of slugs, without stopping to

cool off. Each one of the bullets was explosive and would

blow a hole an inch wide and an inch deep in the flesh

of a man.

Leif had his own weapon, but he didn’t want to let the

trackers know they were close. He ran to join the others

and found that Halla was limping. In reply to his alarmed

questions, she said she’d hurt her ankle when she tripped

over the Man In The Dark. She was trying to hide her

pain, but both men could see she would soon be reduced

to a hobble.

Leif put his arm around her waist and let her lean on

144

A WOMAN A DAY

him. They found that the hopping hurt her almost as much

as the walking by herself did and that they could not go

much faster.

He stopped and picked her up, despite her protests,

and carried her in his arms. He was large and very strong,

but she, too, was tall and no lightweight and was bound

to be a burden even to a Samson. Leif tried half-running,

half-walking. He made good time. Not good enough, how¬

ever, for the barking and shouting behind them increased

in volume. Hampered as he was, he would inevitably be

caught.

Ava said, “Stop, Leif.”

Leif obeyed, for he was beginning to pant.

“What do you want?” he asked. The question was a

cover-up. He knew well enough what Ava was going to do.

“I’ll hold them as long as I can,” said Ava. “You get a

good head start, and I’ll come running later.”

“Ava,” said Leif, “You know there’ll be no later.”

Ava started to deny it, then shook his head and smiled

slightly.

“You’re right. But I look at it this way. I can’t go to

Africa. How would I prove I didn’t desert my post and

run with you? I’d be court-martialed and disgrace my wife

and child and mother. If I die here, the CWC11 proclaim

me a hero. I have to die, anyway. Better a dead hero than

a dead traitor.

“You’ve something to live for, even though I wouldn’t

under any conditions touch that . . . that womanthing. So

get going, Leif, and best of luck to you. I don’t think you’ll

be happy with that woman, but she seems to be what

you want.”

Leif said, “I’m sorry you still persist in thinking of

Halla that way. But it can’t be helped. Shalom , Ava.”

“If you’re ever admitted back to March, Leif, see my

son and wife. He’s eleven now. Tell them I died well.

Shalom”

Leif began to take off his wristbox to give to the little

man. Ava refused it, saying Leif might have a better use

for it. So the big man shrugged and picked Halla up and

walked off without a backward look, though it hurt him

to do so. The wounded Bantu lurched behind him.

Presently, somewhere far behind them, guns chattered.

A WOMAN A DAY 145

There was an almost continuous noise and then a vast,

shattering roar.

“That’ll be Ava’s work,” said Leif. “He must have blown

himself up.”

After a while, lights and shouts came. Leif, deciding

he could not carry Halla any more, put her down behind

a half-fallen wall of brick. The Bantu also flopped. In a

few seconds, his harsh breathing had ceased. Leif was glad,

because he’d been worrying about the fellow’s mirror-

mind. So far, he’d had little effect, probably because he

was too intent on his wound and partly because, as Leif

had learned, those who had little to hide were not affected

so much. Halla had very few inhibitions to bring up, very

few unconscious hates. She laughed and wept and loved

easily and openly. Such people did not have a dark rotten

humus in their psyche.

Suddenly, men were shouting nearby. Leif aimed his

minimatic at the party as they rounded a corner about

twenty yards away. Two men fell; the others jumped back.

He was disappointed because neither Candleman nor

Dannto were among them, but he’d not expected them to

be. Made cautious by their experience with Ava, they

would send their men ahead to draw fire. It was satisfying

to know they only had one man left to precede them.

The lights around the corner went out. That meant

that the Jacks were either going to rush in the dark, which

he doubted, or that they had Darklight beams and goggles.

The latter were fine for lightless fighting, but their disad¬

vantage was that if an enemy turned a flash on them

while they were wearing the goggles, they couldn’t see it.

Why should he wait for them? He and the other two

could crawl away and take up another position. He gave

the order; they did so, stopping around another comer

about thirty yards down the tunnel.

Only a minute later, the tunnel was solid from one

end to the other with a blinding light; a dazzlebomb. Had he

stayed behind the wall, he would have been sightless.

Chapter 23

Footsteps pounded as an Uzzite, holding a flash in one

hand, ran to the wall, prepared to shoot down helpless

victims. Leif waited until he was by the bricks, for he

hoped the other two would follow. They didn’t, so he

killed the attacker, and, before the man collapsed, was

up and running to him. His plan was to seize the flash,

which was lying on the ground, and pretend he was the

Uzzite himself. If he could get the two to step around

the comer · . .

One did. Candleman. He shot first, and though Leif

threw himself behind the wall, he felt the automatic blown

out of his hand by the stream of tiny slugs. The weapon

lay in front of the flash, where Candleman could see it.

Leif’s hand was numb because the terriffic force of the

explosive bullet had communicated itself through the

metal. He swore and held his wrist and felt helpless. He

hoped Halla would shoot; no sooner the thought than the

brrrrrrp of her automatic followed. Then it ceased, and

her voice came, shrill and urgent, “Leif, I didn’t get him!

He’s on the other side of the wall!”

“If he sticks his head or hand out, shoot him!” he called

back.

“Dannto!” yelled Candleman. “Barker has dropped his

gun! Shoot out that flash so Halla can’t see, and I’ll get

him!”

“When he does that, Halla,” bellowed Leif, “turn on

your light and pin him as he comes around the wall.

Or over!”

Dannto must have dared to stick his hand around the

comer, for his gun hosed the tunnel, feeling for the flash.

As was inevitable, he hit it. However, when the light

shattered, he did not stop, but kept shooting. He was try¬

ing to keep Halla from projecting her head from her

comer. And he was being successful, for her beam did

not flash on.

However, Candleman did not dare jump over the wall

until Dannto was through firing.

146

A WOMAN A DAY

147

Leif waited, knowing that the moment would come when

even Dannto’s seemingly inexhaustible clips would be

empty. When that happened, the Uzzite would probably

stick his arm over the bricks and hose the area where he’d

seen Leif. Halla would flash the beam on; whatever hap¬

pened then would be up to the faster of the two.

He inched up to the wall, keeping his head down to

avoid the lethal swarm. When he reached the wall, he held

the wristbox up to his mouth and spoke a code word. The

ordered vibrations fractured a tiny disk inside the box.

The disk had kept an equally tiny dial from being turned.

Leif twisted the now free dial to the right and then flicked

on the toggle that sent a predetermined frequency broad¬

casting from the box.

Dannto’s gun stopped chattering. Silence, then a loud

cry, full of fear and agony and despair.

“Halla!”

And silence again. Dannto was out of ammunition and

out of breath—forever.

The coded word sent by Leif’s box had stirred the in¬

gredients left in Dannto’s body during the operation for

removal of his tumor. Mixed, the chemicals formed a

poison that paralyzed him in one second and stopped his

heart in another.

Leif had killed the Archurielite before the gun emptied

because he knew that Candleman was familiar with their

capacity and would be counting the seconds until it

stopped. Whereupon the Uzzite, thinking himself safe from

the fire of the obviously hysterical Dannto, would attack.

The doctor hoped to jump first and catch Candleman off

balance.

He rose and jumped to the top of the brick wall, close

to the side of the tunnel. At the same time, Halla, inspired

by some unlucky devil, turned her flash on and caught

Leif dead center in it. If Candleman had asked for it, he

couldn’t have obtained a better target. He could have shot

him off the wall as if he were a crow on a fence.

But Candleman outfoxed himself. He had rushed around

the wall hoping to catch Leif offguard. He whirled to

shoot the man on the wall; Leif kept on going and jumped

down just as the Uzzite hosed at where he had been.

Candleman was fast-thinking, for he kept on revolving

and shooting. He must have known that when Halla saw

148

A WOMAN A DAY

Leif on the wall, she had held her fire for fear of hitting

him. Aware also that the agent had no gun, he decided

in that second that the girl was the one to be taken care of.

Leif looked around the side of the wall to see Candle-

man’s bent back turned to him, outlined in Halla’s beam.

The Uzzite’s uniform had been blown apart; his coat hung

on him in rags; his boots were ripped; his pants hung in

shreds. A dark spot showed on his back. Leif, seeing all

those details in an instant, guessed that the spot was a

burn.

Then, as the doctor launched himself at the man’s back,

he saw the flash jump out of Halla’s hand and roll back

around the comer where it turned in upon her. Though

it had been struck, the flash still shone, but evidently it

was not being picked up again, for the beam remained

motionless. Nor was there any fire from the woman.

Leif bellowed with agony and fury. Halla must have

been hit; she must be dead!

The next instant, something struck his head. It was the

Uzzite’s pistol butt, coming down out of the darkness and

driving Leif into an even deeper night.

Chapter 24

He awoke feeling as if an axe was buried in his skull.

His hands were manacled in front of him; his back was

against a cold damp wall. Halla sat across the tunnel. Her

hands were cuffed also. A wing of dried blood across her

face showed what had happened to knock her out. She'd

been hit in the temple by a chip of brick knocked loose

by an exploding bullet. That was bad, but he was happy

that she had not been seriously hurt.

Candleman stood before Leif. He was shouting into a

wristbox and obviously getting no answer. His flashlight

was lying upon a sheif sticking out of the wall, its end

propped up so it shone down upon them all.

Just inside the circle of light, a pair of naked and dirty

feet pointed their toes to the roof. They belonged to the

Man In The Dark. He must have been dead or near dead,

A WOMAN A DAY

149

for Leif could not discern any manacles restraining him.

Candleman quit giving orders into the box and said

to Leif, “So, Jacques Cuze, you’ve decided to come to

life?”

Leif felt too sick to try to smile defiance. He said, “How

did you find out who Jacques Cuze really was?”

The Uzzite said, “I’ll admit I was stupid. I must have

been to have been deceived so long. But no one need know

it now that Dannto is dead. And you’ll tell no one. Not

as long as you’re in H. And HaUa here will never see

anyone—except me.”

Leif swallowed. Candleman could safely pretend she’d

been killed during the raid and have her kept imprisoned

in a secret place.

He said, “What do you know?”

The Uzzite’s face did not lose any of its frozenness, but

a hint of triumph crept into his voice.

“If I’d studied the French language, I’d have understood

at once. But how was I to know? In this day of vast

knowledge, a man can know only a small fraction of his

own specialty, let alone a tongue dead for centuries. Thus,

when I first heard this name Jaques Cuze uttered by a

CWC prisoner, I thought it actually must be the name of

a Frenchman, one who lived in the Parisian underground,

and the frequency of the initials J. C. scratched here and

there over the city convinced me.

“You know the inquiries I made about the initials, how

I asked a linguistics man about them. His answers threw

me off the track. I see now he must have been a Marcher.

I ordered him arrested just before the raid tonight. But

enough of that. You know how I tried to connect the first

two letters of the Greek word for fish, IX, with J. C.

I thought that perhaps IX stood for Ioannos Chusis or

John Stream. That was a real stretch of meaning, caused

by my eagerness. I didn’t know then that there were two

African underground churches here: the Holy Timbuktu,

which uses the fish for its symbol, and the Primitives,

which use J.C. to stand both for their reputed Founder’s

name and for the real founder, Jikiza Chandu.”

Leif looked around, desperate for anything that would

give him hope of escape. There was nothing, as he’d known

there would be. The Bantu’s feet moved a trifle, perhaps

in a death tremor.

150

A WOMAN A DAY

Again Candleman tried his wristbox and had no suc¬

cess. He lifted Halla’s head to look at her; she spat in his

face. Grim-lipped, he turned away and began talking to

Leif. It was as if he had to prove that Leif was the stupid

one.

“I was suspicious of you for some time,” he said. “You

wore the lamech, true, but in these degenerate days that

badge has been dishonored. There was a day when only

a strict conformist to the ideals of the Sturch could pass

the Elohimeter. But today the hierarchy uses that device

to maintain a ruling class. Lamechian fathers, if you’ll

check up on it, quite often have lamechian sons. There

are too many to be a coincidence.

“Moreover, I thought Halla had surely been killed in that

crash. When you told me she was only slightly injured, I

almost broke down.”

“Nobody would have known it,” said Leif. He glanced

at the Man In The Dark. The feet were definitely moving.

“I have superb control,” said Candleman. “I was raised

as an undeviating disciple of Sigmen, real be his name.

Emotion is an abhorred thing.”

He paused, breathed deeply, and said, “I suspected you,

especially when the case of the two Ingolf’s came up. While

I believe in the reality of time travel, of course, this was

straining my credulity. Nevertheless, it was possible.

“As for Trausti and Palsson, I questioned them, but

they must have been overwhelmed by your lamech. They

saw the mangled body of Halla. Yet, because you had said

she wasn’t badly hurt, they deliberately denied the evidence

of their eyes.”

“Typical Jackasses,” sneered Leif. “What else do you

expect in a state where authority is the last word, and

authority changes its mind from moment to moment.”

“You revile us now. When you come out of H, you’ll

be as firm a believer as anyone.”

Leif shuddered and wondered if he were going to be

sick. But he kept down the urge, for he saw the Bantu

sit up. Perhaps, he would ... no ... the man was too

far gone to put up a fight.

“Jacques Cuze was haunting me day and night,” con¬

tinued the Uzzite. “He was in my mind while I was awake,

and when I slept he walked my dreams. But I could not

help thinking that there was something about him I was

A WOMAN A DAY 151

missing, some small clue that would enable me to catch

him and his whole organization.

“Things went on in this way until I came back from

Canada. I determined to drive deep to the foundation,

not to rest until I found out all I could. So for a day and

a night, I buried myself in the Library of Paris. I read a

resume of the history of France. I took a French dic¬

tionary, and, after learning the pronunciation of French,

I looked for cuze and couze. I thought perhaps the name

was an adopted one, symbolizing something. But there

was no such word listed.

“I looked up the many meanings of Jacques. None

were appropriate. I decided I was on the wrong trail. I

was lost. The man was driving me crazy, and I did not

like that, for I want to be unaffected by anything or any¬

body.”

“Even by Halla?” said Leif.

“Keep your filthy mouth closed! Listen to me! You

shall learn that you Marchers, no matter how clever you

are, cannot escape us. Your unreal thinking dooms you

to failure!

“I sat down and thought. I said to myself that surely

there must be some pattern in the general picture which

I should be able to tie up with the man and his activities,

something that would betray him. I tried to wrench myself

from the frame of events, to stand off and see objectively

as I’d never done before. I asked myself, ‘What is the

greatest trouble the Union is having today?’ I thought that

if we were deeply concerned with something, it was likely

the CWC agents would be behind it. So, the answer came.

We are having the most trouble in keeping our technology

and production at a high level. So many techs, doctors,

scientists and administrators are going to H that we have

difficulty keeping the Union together. Moreover, many

bright young men refuse to go into the professional schools

because of the great responsibility and the vulnerability

to accusation. I saw this, yet I didn’t see the answer.

“In desperation, I imported another linguistics specialist

and asked him if he could make anything at all out of

the name. By then I’d captured Jim Crew. The similarity

of his initials didn’t escape me; I wanted to know if he

could be Jacques under another name. However, I found

that Crew was merely the way he spelled the name of

152

A WOMAN A DAY

his tribe, the Km, plus the fact that it indicated their way

of living in a group and working together.

“And, of course, I got out of him that you operated

willingly upon his daughter. When I learned that, I sent

men to the hospital at once, but they were an hour late.

And, immediately after, Dannto informed me that Halla

was missing.

“Everything broke at once, for while I was giving orders

to start the manhunt, the linguistics expert arrived in

Paris.

“He was a specialist in the French tongue, the only

one in the Union. Curiously enough, he’d been living in

Haiti, because there was an isolated mountain village

there where they still spoke a degenerate form of his sub¬

ject. I had to locate him and have him flown here.”

If Leif hadn’t felt so sick from his head wound, he’d

have laughed. He watched the man stride back and forth,

a ridiculous figure with powderbums blacking his face,

coat hanging by shreds, and his trousers reduced to a

mere loincloth. Yet, he was frightening. His stiff-faced

drive and single-mindedness made him a juggernaut.

Leif noticed that, though the Man In The Dark was

sitting up, his head hung down and saliva dripped from

his lips. The wound in his shoulder oozed steadily.

Though Candleman had noticed him, he was ignoring

him.

“He listened to my problem and asked me to pro¬

nounce the name. I did so. He dared to laugh, and then

he told me the simple secret.”

For the first time, Candleman showed signs of emotion.

His hard lips curled; his voice rose.

“There it was. The whole situation in one word, or,

rather, in two. There was the reason why our techs were

going in such great numbers to H that we couldn’t handle

them. That was why our industries and sciences were

lagging in production!”

Thank God, thought Leif, he still hasn’t caught on to

the fact that the day of Timestop was an artificial issue

forced by the CWC agents! That will be the downfall of

the Jacks. When a dozen rival Sigmens pop up on that

day, each claiming to be the true one, civil war will rage.

That, plus the breakdowns originated by Jacques Cuze,

will bring the Sturch crashing into ruins.—Or so he hoped.

A WOMAN A DAY

153

Candleman screeched, “You thought you were getting

away with something, didn’t you, Barker? You were snick¬

ering up your sleeve all the time and conducting opera¬

tions under our noses! And all the time escaping detection

because of a miserable pun! By Sigmen, I should have

known it was you! If only I’d called in that specialist

sooner! Why, the moment he told me the truth, I saw

the whole thing, and I knew who was behind it!”

He stood before the manacled man and leveled his

finger at him and yelled, “J* accuse! Vaccuse! That was the

technique you Marchers used to undermine and to cripple

us—the accusation technique.”

Leif gave a short laugh and said, “Yes. In your country

all you have to do to condemn a man is send an anony¬

mous accusation to the police. That’s all.”

Candleman gestured wildly with his automatic.

“You’ve laughed too much, Marcher! By the time

we’re through with you at H, you’ll never laugh again.

You’ll think it’s blasphemy to be happy as long as the

Sturch doesn’t reign supreme. You’ll no longer laugh

behind our backs. You’ll cringe every time you hear the

name of Jacques Cuze!”

The Bantu groaned. The Uzzite’s shouting seemed to

have brought him halfway to life.

Candleman whirled, walked over and kicked the man

in the foot. “Dirty Primitive! There’ll be no more of your

kind skulking under the streets and creeping out to cor¬

rupt our minds!”

Leif, watching the sitting man, saw his body shimmer

and begin to change into something unpleasant. Evidently

the cycle between the Bantu and the Jack was not quite

a closed one. There was a line through to Leif, or else

there was a splash of energy touching him. Whatever it

was, he had to turn his head for a moment to steady him¬

self. He found himself, however, unable to keep it twisted

away. Even if the glimpse were revolting, it was too

fascinating.

During that second of “hooking” into the cycle between

the two, Leif had undergone what Candleman was under¬

going. Now, when he did gaze again, he saw the shim¬

mer gone, replaced by the steady lines of the physical

man. The vision had gone. Nor was that surprising, for

154

A WOMAN A DAY

the fellow had concentrated all his force upon Candleman.

There was no more ‘splash’.

The Uzzite had dropped his automatic and stepped

back to the wall. There he spread out his arms on each

side as if groping for something solid in a dissolving

world. His legs straddled an invisible horse, and his always

bent-forward body was for the first time strained back¬

wards in an agony. The face was shedding the old skin

of control and was growing into knots of impossible

shapes.

Leif was shaking. He had peered through a crack into

hell. He was sure that if he had continued to be part of

the cycle, he, too would have suffered.

Candleman had stiffened all his members. Blood had

congested his skin and was driving into his protuberances

with terrible pressure. The buried repressions, urges, im¬

pulses, inhibitions and thoughts kept all his long life inside

the cell of himself were striving to leave at once. They

could not do it because there was not room enough, and

as fast as they did throng out, the Man In The Dark

caught them and magnified them and flung them back.

And Candleman, not knowing how to discharge them,

seldom having wept or laughed or sung or loved or even

given reasonable vent to hate, always having clenched his

fist around the valve, now poured out the accumulated

pressure and rottenness of a lifetime.

Eyes, ears, nose, mouth, sweat pores, every avenue of

exit in his body ran with poison boiling to get out.

Leif watched him until he could bear it no longer.

Rising, he picked up the fallen automatic, and he shot

Candleman through the head. Nor did he doubt that the

man would have thanked him for that.

A short time later, he’d taken the key from the corpse’s

only remaining pocket and unlocked Halla’s manacles.

She, in turn, freed him. Together, they helped each other

down the tunnel, wounded, yet knowing the ship waited

for them.

A solitary figure crouched behind them. He had re¬

fused to go with them. He was dying, and he clung to the

long damp labyrinth and the lack of light. He crouched

by the dead man and contemplated his work.

He would always be The Man In The Dark.

Chapter 25

They walked several miles more and met nothing but

two rats that scuttled into a hole. When they arrived at

the spot that had been indicated by Beatrice, they tapped

the signal upon a small red brick sticking from the wall.

Presently a section swung back far enough for them to

slip in sidewise. A tall, thin, brown-skinned man wearing

a turban greeted them with a gun and a demand for the

password. They gave it; he lowered his weapon. He was

Socha Yami, a Malay, native of Calcutta, and his job was

to pilot the spaceship beneath the waters of the Seine and

the Atlantic, ferrying men and materials.

As the craft was small, Leif and Halla were forced to

squat upon a rug on the floor, their backs against the

etemalloy wall. Bodies jammed against them, for twenty

Timbuktu men and a Primitive group from another colony

under Paris’s west end had also taken flight. Leif was

surprised to see the former, as he had not known co¬

operation was so close between the two nations. Dr.

Djouba, huddled near him, informed him that, though

the churches differed widely in beliefs, they had an agree¬

ment to use the same means of getting into the city. Aside

from that, they seldom mingled.

Leif and Halla were silent for a long while. The ten¬

sion of their slow trip, the many halts, the sickening odors

of human bodies packed closely in a poorly ventilated

space, and, above all, the terrible tiredness left in them

after the chase and battle, combined to make them ill-at-

ease, irritated, and, though it was contrary to their dis¬

position, sullen.

Halla put her head upon his shoulder and whispered,

“I’m beginning to think you’ve regretted what you’ve

done.”

He mastered the impulse to snap at her, but she was

too sensitive to miss the roughness beneath the pretended

gentleness.

“I thought the world was well lost for you,” he replied.

155

156

A WOMAN A DAY

The next instant, he knew he shouldn’t have said that,

for he felt tears soaking his chest. He hugged her to him

and said, “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.

What I meant was that I couldn’t have done anything

but what I did. Any other course would have made me

lose you, and I just couldn’t stand that. It’s funny, too,

for I never thought one woman could mean so much

to me.”

She sniffled and murmured, “Oh, I’m glad, Leif, glad

you said that. Yet, because of me, you’ve become an

exile and you’ll be called a traitor. What about your

parents, your friends?”

“Let me explain myself,” he said. “And then there’ll

be no more talk about this. It’ll be settled. From then on

I won’t have any regrets, sorrows, or self-pity coming

from either you or me. I hate all three of those sentiments.

They destroy you, eat you up. Have you got that through

your head?”

She didn’t raise her head from his breast to look at him,

but he felt it nod.

“Good. Now—my parents are dead, and my close

friends are none. I’ve been gone twelve years from March.

Twelve years sacrificed for my nation. No, not for my

country, for humanity. Because I don’t believe in bound¬

aries, and I hope that after this cold war is won, the lines

that mark off man from man will melt away. I doubt it,

though.

“During those years, the only countrymen I’ve known

well have been Zack Roe and Ava. The others have been

fleeting shadows, faces and voices and hands that I met

but once or twice. Ava was the only one I could call a

friend, and our relationship was peculiar. For one thing,

after our first year of living as supposed man and wife,

I fell into the habit of thinking of him as her. Occasionally

he did something that jarred me, and I would sharply

remind myself that he wasn’t a she . And I surmise that

during the last five years Ava began thinking of himself

as female, too. I imagine that it was for that very reason

he was so generally truculent with me. He had to assert

his masculinity or lose it. He’d been somewhat feminine

to begin with; that was why he could so well carry out

his disguise. But he was in danger of losing his true

identity, and I . . . well, I was always teasing him about

A WOMAN A DAY 157

his costume because I wanted to remind him of what he

really was.”

“Why’d he have to be a woman?”

“All because of the rigid morals of General Itskowitz

of the Cold War Corps. He thought it was necessary that

the hospital be controlled by both a man and a woman.

The woman would oversee the nurses and the sick females

and those bearing children. We could pick up a surprising

amount of information and contacts from these. The

logical candidate for the head nurse would be one of our

women spies, but the good General didn’t think so. It

seemed to him that two people living as close as we would

be doing would be bound to overlook the conventions and

begin acting like man and wife. That’d never do. And since

he couldn’t induce me to marry anybody, he sent Ava as

my spouse.

“When you think about it, you see how absurd his

attitude was. Is it any more immoral to command a man

to make love to a woman than it is to order him to kill

a man?”

Halla didn’t reply to that. She said, instead, “I’ll bet

Ava suffered.”

“He did. In the first place, he was a very devout man.

It hurt him to eat the food of the Jacks. In the second

place, he was married, and he did not get to see his wife

for all those years. Six more months, and he would have

gone home, for Timestop was due to arrive. When that

came, he was scheduled to leave the Haijac. His work

would have been done. He’d have been greatly rewarded

when he got back to March.

“Moreover, it irked him to see me making love to

various women. He was as virile as any man, but he had

to restrain himself because of his moral laws and also

because of the part he was playing. It made him even

madder that most of the lovemaking was done on the

orders of the CWC. I was to influence this man and that

man through his wife or sister or mistress. Most deplor¬

able. Yet, curiously enough, it was done at the command

of the aforesaid and rigidly narrow General Itskowitz.

As long as it was enemy women, fine. But not with one

of my own countrywomen. No, sir! I was surprised, I’ll

have to admit, when Ava said he’d stand off the Uzzites

in the tunnel and give us a chance to go ahead. It didn’t

158

A WOMAN A DAY

seem like him. You’d think he’d cling fiercely to the last

gasp. It was possible he’d get back to March and his wife

and child.”

Her voice was muffled because her mouth was next to

his shirt. She said, “I know he did it because of me.”

“You?”

“Yes. He was a man, as I sensed from the very first.

I could tell the difference in his emanations.”

She touched the two rudimentary antennae beneath her

mass of red hair.

“He was a man. He could not help falling in love with

me. Or, at least, feeling passion.”

He straightened, then forced himself to relax. “When

was this?”

“When you were with Jim Crew, operating on Anadi,

and we were waiting to go to Canada. It was then, you

know, that he told me my sister was dead. I didn’t tell you

why he disobeyed Roe’s orders not to inform me of that.

He did it for revenge, a desire to hurt me.

“You see, he tried to make love to me, and I wouldn’t

let him. He was, in his way, as crazed about me as

Candleman had been about my sister. He babbled that he

had suffered too long, that he couldn’t stand it, that I

was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, that he

couldn’t help himself, and that it wouldn’t hurt us. I don’t

think he knew what he was saying. It was not he that was

talking, it was his poor, frustrated body.

“I said I’d have nothing to do with him. And he turned

on me, and where he had been pleading, he raged, he

threatened. Finally, he told me my sister was dead. I cried.

To quiet me, he gave me a grief-runner drug and allowed

me to discharge my sorrow. But he hated me. Still, I know

that it was because of me he sacrificed himself. I think,

once he’d broken his own code, he could not go on living.

His act was one of atonement. Poor fellow!”

“Yes,” he said, stroking her hair, “and poor girl, too.

You seem to inspire passion in every man who sees you.

I’ll have to watch and guard you every minute.”

“You won’t have to watch me, Leif. I’m honest, and

I love you.”

“I’m not worried. I have you, and that’s enough. You’re

my wife—or will be—my country, my people. I don’t

want any more.”

A WOMAN A DAY

159

Halla kept her face buried against his chest and did not

say anything for a moment. He could tell she was too

happy to speak. Softly, because he knew they were quite

sensitive, he stroked the little bumps of her vestigial an¬

tennae. Finally, when he thought that perhaps she was

falling asleep, she said, “And the Haijac Union? What

about it?”

“I’ll explain. You see, Halla, we have known for a long

time that only the extreme efficacy of the weapons which

all nations have, with the exception of Bantuland, has kept

us from a hot war. So, all have resorted to a cold war with

the Haijac Union against the others. But the main cold

war has been between the Jacks and the Marchers and

Israelis. So far the Union has been half-successful in their

war against the Israeli Republics. Both have hoped their

CWC’s could aggravate natural weaknesses existing in the

other and so accelerate them that when the time came for

all-out battle, the other would go down quickly.

“The Israeli weakness is dissension between the con¬

servative and liberal states. The Jacks know that, and their

agents, I think, have been working to make even more

dissension. At this moment, the Republics are on the verge

of canceling the centuries-old constitution of confederation

and becoming totally independent states. In fact, Sephardia

and Khem have already done that.

“However, the anti-Haijacs have an advantage. We

know and admit our faults, but the Union refuses to

recognize it has any. That’s good. For us. Because we

utilized their blind suspicion and uncompromising adher¬

ence to the Sturch’s principles to make them conquer them¬

selves. You know I invented the technique: Jacques Cuze.

“Furthermore, their fanatical belief in their pseudo¬

scientific cosmology will bounce back and hit them in their

faces. You know that when they detect unrest in the people

they gandy-goose interest in Timestop, the Day of Reward.

After the public’s mind is taken off its troubles, the hier¬

archy eases the pressure and lets things go back to normal.

But that can be done only so long. Then the accumulated

disappointment of the mob will backfire. Provided, that is,

it is given weapons to use.

“That is what will happen. We CWC-ers did not allow

the last Timestop furor to die down. We kept provoking

incidents. We fed inciting literature, via the comics, to the

160

A WOMAN A DAY

people. We’ve whipped up such a frenzy that the Sturch

has had to go along. It’s a contagious fever that’s so strong

even some of the hierarchy are swallowing their own medi¬

cine. And soon you’ll see Timestop officially announced.

Many hierarchs will try to stop it, of course, but once it’s

done, they can’t halt it. Timestop will get nearer. The men

on the top level will get more frantic. Some will lose their

heads and arrest the lamechians who started the business.

But when they do that, they’ll discredit themselves. They’ll

be demonstrating that lamech-wearers aren’t perfect.

“There’ll be dissension and paralysis in the Allthing,

the governing council. The Sturch will split. Many sincere

men will follow the lead of our agents. Then, Timestop

arrives. A dozen men will appear, claiming to be Isaac

Sigmen sailing in from his last voyage on the stream of

time. These, of course, will be CWC agents. Some of

these men will die, martyrs to the cause. But they’ll be

commemorated as heroes in March.

“The Metatrons and Sandalphons of the various states

of the Union will disagree. Secession will result, and the

Union will break.

“But we hope to avoid war, because it might be dis¬

astrous, and because it might be the very thing to re-unite

the Jacks. If possible, we’ll remain at peace and allow

them to disintegrate under their own weaknesses. Moth

and rust will corrupt, for the Sturch has laid up no

treasures in heaven.

“It’s funny, but time will come to a stop for the Haijac;

it will go static. And anything that remains static, rots.

So, it may take a century, but the Sturch will die. We,

through various means, will feed our democratic ideals to

them. By then we, of course, may be much changed our¬

selves. I think the Primitives are going to influence us

very much. It may be we’ll find our own ideals are rather

inadequate, that we’ll profit from Africa and what it has

to offer.” U

There was a lull as Leif paused for breath. During that

moment, the Malay pilot, reassuring a passenger, said,

loudly and distinctly, “Miss, don’t worry. We get stuck

in the mud every once in a while but somehow we keep

going forward.”

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