Dayworld

He muttered, "Castor should have been put in abeyance as soon as possible. Then we wouldn't be having this crisis."

The immer council must have been aware of what needed doing. But the legal procedure for stoning Castor as an incurable required that he be thoroughly questioned. He might not have revealed his immer identity to the authorities, especially if he had insisted that he was God. The immer council, however, could not take that chance. It had had to keep him alive as a possibly curable mental patient.

Tingle sighed again and, whistling softly the tune of "The Criminal Creed," Ko-Ko's song in Gilbert and Sullivan's The Mikado, started work on Project Snick. The strip displays were replaced by the codes needed to break into the Sunday organic files. These were provided by an immer data bank not to be used except in extreme emergencies. Which this was. Tingle, however, had to wield them carefully, since it was possible that a security system other than the one he knew was now being used by the Sunday data bankers.

Sunday's people were all stoned-except for Snick, of course-but when they awoke on their appointed day, they would know that someone had tried to ghost into the bank. If, that is, Tingle's requests for data tripped the alarm. If this happened, he would have to cover his own electronic tracks. He might even have to wipe out the immer data bank to keep the organics from tracing it to the source.

Within fifteen minutes, Tingle had gotten from six different sources all the available biographical data re Panthea Pao Snick. After two hours of trying every safe approach and every relevant circuit, he gave up trying to get her official orders for her mission. Either they were inaccessible or she had gotten them verbally.

At least, he knew all her weaknesses. That is, all that had been recorded. From his own experience, however, he knew that she could have withheld some of them from the government psychicists. He was just going to start his inquiries into Castor when all the operating strips flashed red and the data displays faded. Startled, he spoke into the strip co

"It's me," Paz's voice said.

The security system was set up to warn Tingle and to turn off the displays if anyone tried to talk to him through the strips or inserted a lock-tip into the door hole.

Tingle pressed a button. The door swung open. Though he knew that Paz would have warned him if he had a companion, he swung around on the chair to make sure. Paz strode in; the door swung shut.

Tingle opened his mouth to tell his chief that he had not taken as much time with Snick as he had expected. The paleness and grimness of Paz's face cut off his intention. He said, "What's the matter?"

"The news on the organic cha

Tingle had risen to greet Paz. Suddenly feeling woozy, he sat back down.

Paz said, "Hey, what's the matter?"

In that moment, Tingle had become a little less Tingle and a little more of Caird.

"Who's been killed?"

"Hell, I don't know!" Paz said loudly. "They were just bringing out the body. I thought since you live next door and Castor ... maybe he was found there and he got killed. Or he killed someone in the house by mistake."

Paz did not know that Caird lived next door to Tingle. It was not necessary that he have that information.

"I think ... " Tingle said.

Paz said, "Yes?" He looked expectantly at Tingle.

Tingle made a dismissing motion with his hand.

"Never mind. Turn the cha

Paz breathed in deeply several times. "Yes. I probably jumped the gun, got spooked. It's just a coincidence. But if Castor was cornered there and killed, that's all to the good."

The strip showed blue-uniformed organics on the sidewalk and in the street holding back the curious. Three news crews were shooting the scene. There were several patrol cars and an ambulance from the coroner's office parked near the curb. Two men were guiding a cart down the steps, its wheels moving up and down to adjust to the steps. On top of the cart, strapped down, was a green bodybag-filled.

The face of Cha

The strip went blank.

Chapter 12

"Organic cutoff," Paz said. "What're they suppressing?"

Whatever the reason, other cameras were still operating. Paz ordered two other cha

From what reporters said, someone had been murdered in the house. No details were known as yet. When the reporters got the story from the organics, they would broadcast it. Meanwhile ... two of the cameras shifted to the East Side and other reporters took over the on-the-spot news there. Cha

"It's a clampdown," Paz said. "It may be hours before we find out."

"Or never."

Tingle rose unsteadily, walked to a wall and activated a strip. He asked a few questions, listened, then turned to Paz.

"You heard?"

"Yes. Rotwa lives in the house ..

Tingle stopped. He had almnost told Paz that he knew Rotwa. Or, at least, had seen her face many times through her cylinder window in the basement of that house.

The corpse could be Castor's. Or it could be Ozma's. It could not be one of the two Wednesday occupants because the woman was still alive. If she had murdered her husband, she would have been hustled out long ago, stoned to prevent an escape attempt.

There was a code that Tingle could use to ghost into the organic records. This, however, was to be used only in red-emergency situations. Wasn't this one?

"We have to find out if the body was Castor's," he said.

Paz frowned, thought a minute, then said, "If he's dead, there's no hurry. We'll find out eventually."

"I doubt that it was Castor," Tingle said. He smiled weakly. "Can God be killed?"

Paz stared hard at him, then said, "You're a nice guy and a good man, Bob. But you are a

"Fecetious, right? Sorry."

"There's her husband, coming home," Paz said. He pointed at a strip. "At least, I think it's him."

Tingle recognized the man but could not tell Paz that he was right. Or should he? Wasn't it about time to reveal to Paz that he lived on Tuesday in that house? If he didn't, he could not tell Paz that he was in a painful mental squeeze because Ozma might have been killed by Castor. On the other hand, perhaps Paz should know about it. He could alert his superiors that Castor was on Tingle's trail and so was a danger to all immers.

He sca

There was a writhing, a moving thing that hurt in Tingle's chest. He knew that the little animal of pain gnawing in his breast was the grief that Caird felt. As Caird's agent, however, he could feel or would only allow himself to feel the lessened grief that he, Tingle, would experience at the murder of the wife of a client.