Dayworld

Nokomis, halfway through her second cup of coffee, perked up. She began chattering away about her role in the new ballet, Proteus and Menelaus. It had not opened yet, and its troubles were many. composer is crazy. She thinks atonal music is something new. She won't listen when you tell her it was dead ten generations ago. Roger Shenachi is constipated, and every time he comes down from a grand jetй he farts something awful. I told Fred ..

"Fred?"

"Haven't you been listening? Pay attention. I just hate talking to myself, you know that. Fred Pandi is the big muckamuck; she wrote the story, composed the music, and did the choreography. I told her she should rewrite the whole thing around Roger, call it Gas or something like that, and while she was at it, she should throw out the music and write something that could at least be danced to ..

"I'm sure you're artist enough to overcome all that," Tingle said. "Anyway, since when does a ballerina, even one of your stature, have any say in-"

"Thank you, but you don't understand. I have a say in it, a big one, because I'm a committee member, as you know very well. At least, I'm supposed to be one, but the composer and the orchestra director are lovers, and they gang up on the rest of us."

"Two doesn't make a gang."

"What do you know about it, Bob?"

"Not much. What's this about a committee? Since when has a committee ever produced great art?"

"Oh, don't you ever listen? I told you all about it last yesterday. Or was it the day before? Never mind, I did tell you."

"Oh, sure, I remember," he said. "Whose idea was that?"

"Some bureaucrat's. I'm sure the other days don't have such problems. It's just ..

Chapter 9

Though it was not fair to let his mind wander, he could not help it. Gril, Rootenbeak, and Castor had risen from the depths like sunken ships filled with gas from decaying corpses. Never before, well, hardly ever before, had he found it hard to shut out the other days. Usually, when he was in Wednesday, he was almost completely Bob Tingle; Wednesday was sufficient unto itself. Now, the pattern and routine had been shattered. There were three daybreakers on the loose, and two could be very dangerous. Well, one could be. Rootenbeak might come across him and recognize him, but it was not likely that he would say anything to the authorities about Bob Tingle looking so much like Jeff Caird. Unless he did so anonymously via TV. Castor that maniac could have been lurking nearby in the shadows and seen him ru

"Bob!"

Tingle pulled himself from his mental morass.

"Sure, I agree with you. Committees stink. But look at it this way. If you were living in the old days, you wouldn't have a thing to say about the production. This way, you might get some things changed."

"Committees arejust like balloons, always up in the air, subject to the whims of the winds or of the windy, and they come down when they run out of gas. I'm telling you, the whole show's going to crash. Utterly crash! And I'll be ruined, utterly ruined!"

He sipped on the coffee and said, "Tell you what. I am an official at the World Data Bank ..

"I know that. What about it?"

"I'll find out if there's anything in the way of blackmail material that can be used against the committee members, especially against Pandi and Shenachi. You can use it, if I find any, that is, to get those two to knuckle under. Of course, I might have to dig up dirt about everyone on the committee."

She rose from the chair, came around the table, and kissed him. "Oh, Bob, do you think you could?"

"Sure. Only ... doesn't the ethics bother you? It'll be ..

"It's for art's sake!"

"Mostly for your sake, isn't it?"

"I'm not just thinking about me," she said. She went back to the chair and poured more coffee. "It's the whole production. I'm thinking organically. For everybody's good."

"I don't know that I can get enough leverage to pry the composer loose from her atonal music. Even if I could, that means a long delay, a new score written."

She shrugged and said, "Who cares? It's not like the old days. We're not dependent on money."

"Yes, and I think it'd be better if you were. However, let's not talk about that now. I'll see what I can do. Now ... aren't you lucky to have me? Where's your gratitude?"

She laughed, and she said, "You haven't done anything yet."

"I've built up some credit for good intentions."

"A contractor for the highway of hell. You don't need any excuse, you know. However, let's wait until tonight. I'm in a better mood after practice."

"Not lately," he said. "You've been coming home furious and disgusted."

"The better to work out anger and frustration then. You aren't really complaining, are you?"

He stood up. "I never complain about anything unreal. Someday, our moods will mesh, and this apartment will explode."

"I don't want to have to look for a new one," she said. She kissed him again. "What're you going to do?"

"I have a busy schedule today," he said, "but I'll work on the research for Project Blackmail somehow. To make sure that I have enough time, however, I should go to work early."

"Early?" she said, her eyes widening.

"Yes, I know. It'll be dangerous. You can work as hard as you wish and put in long hours, and nobody frowns on you. You're an artist. But I'm a bureaucrat. If I go in early and stay late, and my fellow workers find out, they might check up on me. I can't have them find out that I'm doing unauthorized work, opening cha

"Maybe it'll be better if I just go to work at the appointed time. I'll just slough off some of my regular work. My coworkers don't mind if I'm lazy or inefficient-that makes me a regular guy, one of the old gang-and my superior won't mind if I don't get too far behind. I'm allowed an unofficial margin for lagging, you know. Just so I don't make trouble for my superior by forcing him to call me in for a reprimand."

They finished breakfast, and Nokomis went to the bathroom. He hoped that she would not take the clothes from the hamper for washing. He did not expect her to do so, since she was quite willing to leave the washing to him. If he remembered correctly, she had done it last Wednesday and would expect him to take his turn today.

Fifteen minutes later, she came back onto the balcony. She was dressed in a white blouse and tight scarlet pants and was holding the strap of her shoulderbag.

"Oh, I thought you'd be in bed, getting ready, anyway."

He smiled and said, "No, I was pla

"Good. I'm going to the gym now."

He stood up, and they kissed briefly. "Have a good workout," he said.

"Oh, I will, I always do. I won't be able to meet you for lunch. The committee is meeting during lunch hour at a restaurant."

During her absence, Tingle had activated a strip on the side of the balcony and checked their schedule. He already knew that she could not lunch with him, and she knew that he knew. But she was not one hundred percent sure that his memory would not fail him. She trusted only herself.

"I'll see you at seven at The Googolplex," he said.

"I hope the salad is better than the last time."

"If it isn't, we'll look for a better place next time."

He sat on the balcony until he had seen her bicycle down Bleecker and north along the canal. As soon as she was out of sight, he rose and went to the bathroom. More than once, she had returned a few minutes after going out of the door, saying that she had forgotten something. She did not fool him; she was checking on him to make sure that he was not doing something he should not. There had been a time when he had wondered if she were an organic officer whose public role was that of a ballet dancer. His investigations through data bank cha