Dayworld by Philip José Farmer Page A

trousers strained to hold in a ball-shaped torso and mighty buttocks. Above three chins, sagging dewlaps, was a round head with a massive overhanging forehead. When he bowed and held his hands in a prayerful attitude, he gave the impression of laboring to lift his many rings. There were two on each finger, each ring bearing a massive diamond or emerald. The gold was fake, and the jewels were artificial, and Paz looked unreal to Tingle. That was probably because fat ... and misshapen people were so rare.
    Tingle, after bowing, his hands held up before him and pressed together, said, “Good morning, chief.”
    “Good morning, Bob.”
    Paz lowered himself slowly and gently like a balloon losing hot air through a small leak. He told Tingle to take a chair, and he said, “For others it’s a good morning. For you and me ...”
    “Twinkledigits,” as he was called behind his back, waved his walrus-flipper hand. His face contorted as if he had eaten too many beans.
    “I got the news about your troubles ... our troubles through our line.”
    Tingle shifted uneasily and looked around the room. He would feel very stupid if he asked Paz if the room had been debugged and a scrambler was operating. Of course, it had been and was. Also, three news strips were on, the volume annoyingly loud.
    Tingle moved the chair until his stomach cut into the edge of the desk, and he leaned forward.
    “You heard from Tony?” he said.
    “No. Someone else.”
    “Rootenbeak and Gril are not my concerns, not today. But Castor ... I suppose your informant told you how dangerous he is to us?”
    His jowls flapping like sheets in a wind, Paz nodded.
    “A certain high organic is looking for Castor. But he’s handicapped because he can’t do anything official as yet. If he had gotten official word from Tuesday that Castor was a daybreaker, he could act swiftly. But he’d have to kill Castor to prevent his arrest. We can’t have him talking to the authorities.”
    Though Tingle was not supposed to know the name of the man Paz referred to, he did. His data bank researches, unauthorized by both today’s government and the immer council, had revealed it.
    “We must find Castor,” Paz said.
    “I’ll work like a beaver on it,” Tingle said.
    “What’re you smiling about?” 
    “Nothing. Just a pun.”
    “Pun? What pun? This is no time for levity, Bob.”
    “The American beaver belongs to the genus Castor canadensis,” Tingle murmured.
    “What?”
    “Never mind,” Tingle said, speaking loudly. “Chief, I’ll have to set up fake time on my work-hours report. But my immediate supervisor, Galore Piecework, is too zealous. She almost always checks on my report.”
    Paz frowned and said, “Galore Piecework?”
    “Gloria Peatsworth. We underlings call her Galore Piecework.”
    Paz did not smile.
    “I told you, Bob. Levity ...”
    “... is a grave matter. I know, chief. Please forgive me.”
    Paz heave-sighed, and he said, “I’ll take care of Peatsworth. But ...”
    After a few seconds, Tingle said, “You’ve got even worse news?”
    “You’re very perceptive, Bob.”
    Paz sighed deeply again, and he said, “My informant told me that there’s a Sunday organic here. A Detective-Major Panthea Pao Snick. She has a temporal visa, Bob. A temporal!”
    “And it concerns us, of course. Otherwise, you’d not have mentioned her.”
    “I’m afraid so,” Paz said. “From what my informant said—he wasn’t able to get any details that would enlighten me—Snick’s mission is so secret that only the commissioner-general knows what it’s about. And maybe he doesn’t know all. The commissioner’s given orders that Snick’s to get full cooperation. It sounds ominous. We have to find out what she’s up to.”
    “She may not be here because of us.”
    Paz sighed again.
    “I wish I could think so. Unfortunately, she’s already asked about you. In fact, she wants to talk to you.”
    It would be impossible to be all-Tingle today.