It did not mention by name any hypoalter on the D-shift.
Should one of them have done something that it was necessary
for Bill or other D-shift hyperalters to know about, it would
appear in news summaries called forth by their wristbands
but told in such fashion that the personality involved seemed
namelessly incidental, while names and pictures of hyperalters
and hypoalters on any of the other four shifts naturally were
freely used. The purpose was to keep Conrad Manz and all
the other hypoalters on the D-shift, one tenth of the total
population, non-existent as far as their hyperalters were con-
cerned. This convention made it necessary for photoprint
summaries to be on light-sensitive paper that blackened illegi-
bly before six hours were up, so that a man might never
stumble on news about his hypoalter.
Bill did not even glance at the news summary. He had
picked it up only for appearances. The summaries were es-
sential if you were going to start where you left off on your
last shift and have any knowledge of the five intervening
days. A man just didn't walk out of a shifting room without
one. It was failure to do little things like that that would start
them wondering about him.
Bill opened the door of the booth by applying his wristband
to the lock and stepped out into the street.
Late afternoon crowds pressed about him. Across the boul-
evard, a helicopter landing swarmed with clouds of rising
commuters. Bill had some trouble figuring out the part of the
city Conrad had left him in and walked two blocks before he
understood where he was. Then he got into an idle two-place
cab, started the motor with his wristband and hurried the
little three-wheeler recklessly through the traffic. Clara was
probably already waiting and he first had to go home and
get dressed.
The thought of Clara waiting for him in the park near her
home was a sharp reminder of his strange situation. He was
in a world that was literally not supposed to exist for him,
for it was the world of his own hypoalter, Conrad Manz.
Undoubtedly, there were people in the traffic up ahead
who knew both him and Conrad, people from the other shifts
who never mentioned the one to the other except in those
guarded, snickering little confidences they couldn't resist telling
and you couldn't resist listening to. After all, the most im-
portant person in the world was your alter. If he got sick,
injured or killed, so would you.
Thus, in moments of intimacy or joviality, an undercover
exchange went on. . . .
ners that left you with shame, and a fear that the other fel-
low would tell people you seemed to have a pathological
