Dayworld Breakup

by Philip José Farmer

  On returning to her apartment, she had called up the tower directory and matched the address with that day’s occupant.

  “You won’t tell her I followed her, will you?”

  “No need,” Duncan said.

  The woman was Lin Cozumel Erlend, a detective-captain of the 2nd precinct of the 111th level.

  “Finding out that she was an organic scared me even more. Was she a bona-fide OMC? Or a gank infiltrator? I couldn’t report her to a superior because she was my superior. Even if I’d had somebody else to report to I couldn’t do it. I’d disobeyed orders.”

  “We’ll find out if she’s bona fide or a plant,” Duncan said. “I doubt she’s a fake. You and the Cloyds and who knows how many more would’ve been scooped up long ago if she wasn’t a genuine OMC.”

  He gestured at Snick. She walked up to Jaccoud with the can of TM in her right hand. Jaccoud shrank back and said, “I told you the truth. Is that really necessary?”

  “I think you did tell the truth,” he said. “But we have to check you out.”

  Snick, holding the can out at arm’s length, pressed the button on its top with a finger. The violet-colored spray struck Jaccoud in the face. A few seconds later, she was unconscious. The questioning took half an hour, but Duncan did not learn much more than she had told him. He was satisfied, however, that she was not a plant.

  Then it was the Cloyds’ turn. They revealed no more than they had told him, and they were also sincere members of OMC. Proving that was not necessary, Barry Cloyd had said. After all, they had been TMed several times by their contact and also by the other OMCs who lived in this apartment. Duncan had acknowledged that but insisted that they be questioned again.

  “People have been known to change their loyalties for one reason or another. Or you could have been exposed and then forced to act as an agent for the ganks. I don’t think so, but I have to make sure. I didn’t come this far by trusting anybody. Except my partner.”

  He was not surprised when Jaccoud and the Cloyds, after regaining consciousness, insisted that they TM him and Snick.

  “I’d let you do it under ordinary circumstances,” he said. “But you know who we are. You’ve seen us often enough on TV. I don’t want to waste time being questioned by you.”

  He asked them if they would be able to get fake IDs for him and Snick.

  “Along with wigs, makeup, a fake beard, and thumbprint slipovers in case we have to ID ourselves with those.”

  Barry Cloyd leaped up from the sofa. “You’re planning on going out into the streets again? You have a good place to hide here! Why take more chances?”

  “We’ll use this place,” Duncan said. “But I’m hiding from now on only when it’s absolutely necessary. Whenever we see a chance to attack, we’ll attack.”

  Barry Cloyd let himself down hard onto the sofa. “They’ll get you sooner or later, probably sooner! Which means they’ll get us, too!”

  Duncan did not tell him that he was immune to TM. The fewer who knew that, the better. Of course, if Snick were captured, she, not being immune, would spill everything.

  “This OMC is no longer a penny-ante organization,” he said. “It’s in the big time, and we’re going for broke. You’re all in it, like it or not.”

  “You’re not our superior!” Donna Cloyd said. The right-handed swastika on her forehead was even darker because of the paleness of her skin.

  “I’m taking over,” he said, and he placed his left hand on the butt of his progun. “Any argument?”

  Jaccoud and the Cloyds were silent.

  “I repeat, can you get us the IDs and the other stuff?”

  Harper Jaccoud nodded, and she said, “It’ll be chancy, especially just now. But it can be done. I can’t get it for you today. You’ll have to wait until next Tuesday.”

  Duncan did not want to sit in the apartment for an obweek. Taking Snick aside, he spoke softly to her.

  “Only one of us can go after Erlend. The other will have to stay here and keep an eye on these three. I don’t want them trying to warn Erlend.”

  “Why should they?” she said.

  “I don’t know why, but who knows what’s going on in their minds?”

  She said, “We could TM them again and ask them if they would warn her.”

  “Just asking them if they would notify her might plant a suggestion that they do so. TM sometimes has some tricky effects. Besides, I don’t want to push them too far and make them hostile.”

  “The Cloyds seem to admire you greatly. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have put your face on the Buddha in the display on the front of their apartment.”

  “But what about Jaccoud?”

  She frowned, then said, “O.K. You go to Erlend’s. I’ll stay. That’s what you want to do, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “Give me the TM.”

  11

  Duncan was alone in the elevator as it rose toward the 125th level. Though he looked serene, even happy—he was whistling a current tune, Come One, Come All—he was keenly conscious of the monitors he had passed and had yet to pass. These included the monitor in the elevator cage, installed for the safety of the passengers, of course.

  So far, the tychenons that he liked to think clustered about him had given him luck. His wig and colorful robe had helped him, as had his cotton-stuffed upper lip and his non-Duncanian gait.

  He had not called from the Cloyds’ apartment because her screen would automatically display the origin number of the call. Since he had no ID card he could use safely, he could not phone her from a public booth. If he had had one, he could not blank out the video portion to conceal his face without making her suspicious.

  The cage stopped. He stepped out into Blue Dolphin Hall, 125th level. This looked like all other corridors except for the difference in the displays on the apartment fronts. He walked down Blue Dolphin Hall, turned, strode down another hallway, turned, and soon was before the door of 1236 Piggutt Hall. The only observers in the corridor were the monitors at each end of it. He punched the doorbell, noting at the same time that the lock mechanism of the door had been replaced. A few seconds passed before a woman’s voice came from overhead. She had taken a little time to check him before replying.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Are you Captain Erlend?”

  “Yes. Who are you?”

  Her voice was tight.

  “OMC,” Duncan said. “PUPA. WABASSO.”

  The last was the current name of the organization which Duncan would always think of as OMC. Jaccoud had provided him with that.

  There was a long silence. Erlend must be shocked.

  “Anyone with you?” she said.

  “No one,” Duncan said, “as you see.”

  Another long silence. He said, “It’s not good for me to stand out here.”

  The door began sliding back. Someone was talking inside—a newshead. He stepped forward, waiting for it to give him enough room for his body to pass through. It stopped with just enough space for his shoulders. Erlend, a tall redhead in a house-robe, was standing in the middle of the living room. Her right arm dangled, a progun in her hand pointing at the floor. She was evidently not sure about him and was prepared for anything. Or so she thought.

  She said, “Door! Close!” as he passed through the doorway.

  As it began sliding shut, he brought his left hand from behind his back. She said, “Stop there. Put your hands…” The violet beam from his gun, which was set for medium stunning at close range, struck Erlend in the chest. She had swung her gun up toward him, but she fell backward, her knees buckling, and the beam from her gun struck an upper corner of the room. The gun fell, the beam ceasing when her finger quit pressing the trigger.

  He went to her crumpled form and felt her pulse. It was throbbing slowly and irregularly. Her skin was pale, and her eyes were open. After putting her weapon in the belt under his robe, he lifted Erlend and placed her on a sofa.

  The newshead, a handsome man with a very deep v
oice, probably computer-enhanced, was saying, “…authorized to announce that the Commonwealth has decided it’s in the best interests of the people to be informed of the latest discovery concerning the outlaw Jefferson Cervantes Caird, alias William St. George Duncan, alias many other IDs. The outlaw Caird has a unique talent in that he can lie while under the influence of TM! It’s not known at present whether this hitherto-unknown ability is a mutant talent or the effects of an anti-TM drug unknown to science!

  “One of the grave implications of this ability to lie under TM is that the outlaw Caird, a.k.a. Duncan, cannot be dealt with according to established legal procedures. At the moment, the World Court is studying this new development, and…”

  Duncan lowered the decibel level. He wondered why it had taken the government so long to disclose his singular ability. Then he turned to the business at hand.

  He waited half an hour until Erlend had regained consciousness, her pulse had become regular, and she had regained color. He gave her a drink of water. She was silent during this but started to protest when he took the can of TM from his shoulderbag. She fell to her side on the sofa as the spray struck her face and the inside of her mouth. He straightened her out on the sofa again and began his questioning.

  His interrogation had to be simple and easily understood. When under TM, the subject was as literal-minded—almost—as a computer. TM subjects never volunteered information. This had to be extracted step by step, and the questions sometimes had to be rephrased.

  He knew that she was the person she claimed to be. He had taken her ID card while she was unconscious the first time and had used it to call up her biodata. He got the story from her about her recruitment into the OMC and some of her activities since then. This took time. Then he asked her about her knowledge of Immerman-Ananda. She had no idea that Immerman was now Ananda, and, in fact, had never heard of Immerman. Nor did she know about the ASF, the age-slowing factor, until Duncan’s messages had appeared via the override on TV.

  He then said, “What is the name of your immediate superior in the organization known as OMC, PUPA, and WABASSO?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Have you ever seen your immediate supervisor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Describe the physical appearance of your immediate superiors.”

  As he had expected, the person had been robed, masked, and gloved, and had spoken through a voice distorter.

  Further inquiry revealed that Erlend had met the person six times. These conferences had been in six different places with no one else nearby.

  “Has your supervisor ever made contact with you through other means?”

  “Yes.”

  “What means were they?”

  “Wallscreen.”

  All screen communications displayed the name and ID number of the caller. But that could not be in this case.

  He asked Erlend if she had any theory about how her superior had evaded this regulation.

  “Yes.”

  “What is this theory?”

  Erlend’s face twisted as if she were wrapping the flesh inside it around a thought. Simple description came easy. Anything approaching abstractness did not. After about twenty seconds, she was able to grasp the elusiveness slipping around in her.

  It seemed to her that her superior did not transmit TV messages entirely through legal circuitry. The superior had inserted a catch-me-if-you-can circuit or matrix in the data bank base. The messages were routed from the transmitting point to her home. The data bank must have a hidden instruction not to register the message in the credit-debit files. And they would be erased after transmission. These were brief, coded, and consisted of the location and time for the meeting place.

  “When was the last time you received a message from your superior?” Duncan said. He gave her the date of today and the week and the present time in case she was confused about it.

  “Today, at seven in the evening,” she said.

  “What was the message?”

  “HC-1928. MP. TD. 10:30P. 4L. 1149E. FLOAT CL. 3D OP.”

  Replying to his questions, she said that she did not know what HC-1928 meant. Duncan thought that the code was probably used by the caller for his or her filing system. MP meant Meeting Place. TD stood for Today. 4L was the 4th level of this tower. 10:30P was the time for the meeting tonight. 1149 was the address number. E was East.

  Erlend had called up the tower directory to display all thoroughfares on the 4th level beginning with FLOAT. 1149 East Floating Cloud Avenue was a warehouse. 3D OP meant that Erlend was to enter the door marked 3 and that it would be locked.

  “How do you indicate that you have received the message?” Duncan said.

  “I say, ‘Functioning.’”

  His next queries were about the status of the search for him and Snick.

  As of when she had left the precinct station for home, she replied, the department believed that the criminals were still out in the wilderness. The hunt was very intensive; many organics from most of the western states had been transferred to that assignment. Each day would continue the hunt until the two were found.

  Were the monitors in L.A. set up to recognize Duncan and Snick?

  They were.

  Had sniffers also been attached to the monitors?

  No.

  “Why not?” Duncan said.

  There were not nearly enough available to be attached to every monitor. Besides, the work and time required to do this would be staggering. It would take seventy consecutive days to install them. However, all patrols were to be equipped with them.

  “When will all have them?”

  “In three obweeks.”

  That was a relief. A sniffer was as keen as a bloodhound’s nose. Set to recognize the body odor of an individual, it could detect one molecule of that person in a million other molecules. Even saturating himself with perfume would not fool it.

  He considered the enigma of Erlend’s superior. Was that person the same one who had met him in a gymnasium? At that time, Duncan had been using the ID, though not the persona, of Andrew Vishnu Beewolf. He had thought about how the masked person had arranged the meeting. He must have set up a momentary blanking out of the monitors in the street leading to the gymnasium. That would have to be done so that his entrance to the building would not be recorded. He could not walk through the street and into the gym in a mask. He must have changed into the concealing garb after going into the room where Duncan, as Beewolf, had later joined him or her. He—if it was a male—must also have had the monitors briefly turned off when Duncan had come into the building.

  That indicated that the OMC official had access to the monitor controls. He had used them illegally but must be able to control or oversee any investigation into the cause of the shutoff. If there was any investigation. The monitors, Duncan knew, were seldom checked unless they set off an alarm or someone was being shadowed via the monitors.

  Anyone able to shut the monitors down and conceal that from the organics must be an organic official. One who was high up in the hierarchy.

  Tonight, when that person met Erlend, he would have to arrange for a certain sequence of temporary shutoffs. That meant that Duncan, who intended to go in Erlend’s place, would also not be filmed. And the OMC official would not be able to observe anyone else on the street outside the warehouse.

  He had one more question. What did Erlend know about the attempt to kill him, Snick, and Padre Cabtab?

  She answered readily enough even though she indicted herself. She had been ordered by her superior to send two men disguised as ganks to murder the three. Though she had not asked her superior why these three OMC members should be killed, she had been told the reason. The organics were getting too hot on their trail. Their mouths must be shut forever before they were captured and told everything about the organization.

  When Erlend regained consciousness, she sat up blinking rapidly. After she had drunk the glass of water he handed her, she said, weakly, “Well?�
��

  Instead of replying, he removed his wig, the cotton stuffing under his upper lip, and the plastic inserts in his nostrils. She did not recognize him for several seconds. The she put one hand on a breast and said, “My God!”

  “I’d be mildly distressed if I had to kill you,” he said, “But I’d do it anyway. You did not hesitate to arrange for my death.”

  “I was under orders,” she said. “I’d have been killed if I’d disobeyed.”

  She paused, then said, “I suppose you’re going to kill me.”

  “Why should I do that? Unless you try something fancy. Then I will. Things are going to change, Erlend. This Mickey-

  Mouse outfit will become a raging lion. I’m its new chief regardless of what you or your superior say or do. If you two balk, you go out feet first. If your superior isn’t the head of OMC, then I go up the ladder until I find the guiding light.”

  “You’re crazy!”

  “If I have to be.”

  Despite her protests and threats, she was forced at gunpoint into the stoner room. After removing her ID card, he shut the cylinder door and dialed the power to ON. Her face was stopped halfway in a grimace as if she had seen the Gorgon.

  12

  His progun set at STUN, Duncan shot the masked person in the back of the head. The figure fell forward against the pile of boxes from behind which it had been watching for Erlend. Its hooded head bumped on the hard floor. Duncan came from behind the two rows of stacked boxes. He turned the limp body over on its back. After removing the mask, he saw the face of a dark-haired and dark-skinned man. The epicanthic folds over his eyes were larger than the norm; his nose was snub. He looked as if he were approximately thirty-five subyears old.