METAMORPHOSIS
By Charles V. de Vet
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Magazine December 1960.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The man I searched for could be anybody at all.
If I didn't find him, there'd be nobody at all.
One more city. The pattern went on. One more city to search for a man Idid not know, whose face I would not recognize. I had no copy of eitherhis fingerprints or encephalograph, or any other clue to his identity.
Yet he had to be found.
At one time he had been my best friend. His name was Howard Zealleythen. He wouldn't be using the same name now.
And the "bug" in his brain would by this time have made him a stranger.
There was only one way the job could be done: I had to makecontact—even though I might not be aware of it at the time—reveal whoI was, and hope he'd come out after me.
I rented a room in a cheap hotel. But not so cheap that it wouldn'thave a grid connection with information service.
I wrote my name big on the register: MAX CALOF. There was always thechance that he would see it. He would remember the name.
The room was small, a standard "living-in" cubicle. Which was allright. I didn't intend to sleep here. I hadn't slept in nine yearsnow—a year before the chase began. I kicked off my saddle shoes andwalked on stockinged feet to the vid coin slot and dropped in a halfdollar.
The screen flickered once and the face of a beautiful, smiling womancame into focus. "May I help you, sir?" she asked in a pleasant, veryfriendly voice.
I realized that the woman was not actually speaking, as she appearedto be doing. She was merely a woman image, with her voice and facialexpressions synchronized in some way with the word impulses coming frominformation central.
I stretched out on the bed, folding the pillow under my head to have anunobstructed view of the screen. "Give me the names of the city's twohundred most prominent male citizens," I said.
There was no sign of surprise on the woman face, but I got the usualexpressive long pause from central. The request was unusual. Centralrelays always had trouble with the proper definition of "prominent."
"Any particular category?" the woman image finally asked.
"All categories," I answered.
Another pause. Even a mechanical brain would take a bit of time toassemble that information, but get it I would.
After a while the woman began. "Edward Anderson. Russell Baker. JosephDillon. Francis...." As her gently modulated voice went on, I closed myeyes, keeping my mind blank, letting each name pass without resistancethrough my consciousness. Sometimes a hunch came that way. There was noneed to make a written list. I had total recall.
I became aware that I had opened my shirt collar and that I wasperspiring. I hadn't noticed how hot the day was or that the room hadno air conditioning. I took a minute to concentrate. The perspirationdried and my body adjusted itself to the room's temperature andhumidity. When I was comfortable again, I returned my attention to thewoman's voice.
At the end of the reading, no name had stayed with me. I opened myeyes. "Eliminate all except those within the age range of twenty toforty," I said. Zea