'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. 

102 

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. 

130 

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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