Selected Stories of Philip K. Dick Page 7

  Jennings became instantly alert. “Then the papers go to the Police.”

  Rethrick said nothing, but a peculiar expression moved across his face, an expression that gave Jennings a sudden chill.

  “Kelly,” Jennings said. “Do you have the papers with you?”

  Kelly stirred, standing up. She put out her cigarette, her face pale.“No.”

  “Where are they? Where did you put them?”

  “Sorry,” Kelly said softly. “I'm not going to tell you.”

  He stared at her. “What?”

  “I'm sorry,” Kelly said again. Her voice was small and faint. “They're safe. The SP won't ever get them. But neither will you. When it's convenient, I'll turn them back to my father.”

  “Your father!”

  “Kelly is my daughter,” Rethrick said. “That was one thing you didn't count on, Jennings. He didn't count on it, either. No one knew that but the two of us. I wanted to keep all positions of trust in the family. I see now that it was a good idea. But it had to be kept secret. If the SP had guessed they would have picked her up at once. Her life wouldn't have been safe.”

  Jennings let his breath out slowly. “I see.”

  “It seemed like a good idea to go along with you,” Kelly said. “Other-wise you'd have done it alone, anyhow. And you would have had the papers on you. As you said, if the SP caught you with the papers it would be the end of us. So I went along with you. As soon as you gave me the papers I put them in a good safe place.” She smiled a little. “No one will find them but me. I'm sorry.”

  “Jennings, you can come in with us,” Rethrick said. “You can work for us forever, if you want. You can have anything you want. Anything except—”

  “Except that no one runs the Company but you.”

  “That's right. Jennings, the Company is old. Older than I am. I didn't bring it into existence. It was—you might say, willed to me. I took the burden on. The job of managing it, making it grow, moving it toward the day. The day of revolution, as you put it.

  “My grandfather founded the Company, back in the twentieth century. The Company has always been in the family. And it will always be. Someday, when Kelly marries, there'll be an heir to carry it on after me. So that's taken care of. The Company was founded up in Maine, in a small New England town. My grandfather was a little old New Englander, frugal, honest, passionately independent. He had a little repair business of some sort, a little tool and fix-it place. And plenty of knack.

  “When he saw government and big business closing in on everyone, he went underground. Rethrick Construction disappeared from the map. It took government quite a while to organize Maine, longer than most places. When the rest of the world had been divided up between international cartels and world-states, there was New England, still alive. Still free. And my grandfather and Rethrick Construction.

  “He brought in a few men, mechanics, doctors, lawyers, little once-a-week newspapermen from the Middle West. The Company grew. Weapons appeared, weapons and knowledge. The time scoop and mirror! The Plant was built, secretly, at great cost, over a long period of time. The Plant is big. Big and deep. It goes down many more levels than you saw. He saw them, your alter ego. There's a lot of power there. Power, and men who've disappeared, purged all over the world, in fact. We got them first, the best of them.

  “Someday, Jennings, we're going to break out. You see, conditions like this can't go on. People can't live this way, tossed back and forth by political and economic powers. Masses of people shoved this way and that according to the needs of this government or that cartel. There's going to be resistance, someday. A strong, desperate resistance. Not by big people, powerful people, but by little people. Bus drivers. Grocers. Vidscreen operators. Waiters. And that's where the Company comes in.

  “We're going to provide them with the help they'll need, the tools, weapons, the knowledge. We're going to ‘sell' them our services. They'll be able to hire us. And they'll need someone they can hire. They'll have a lot lined up against them. A lot of wealth and power.”

  There was silence.

  “Do you see?” Kelly said. “That's why you mustn't interfere. It's Dad's Company. It's always been that way. That's the way Maine people are. It's part of the family. The Company belongs to the family. It's ours.”

  “Come in with us,” Rethrick said. “As a mechanic. I'm sorry, but that's our limited outlook showing through. Maybe it's narrow, but we've always done things this way.”

  Jennings said nothing. He walked slowly across the office, his hands in his pockets. After a time he raised the blind and stared out at the street, far below.

  Down below, like a tiny black bug, a Security cruiser moved along, drifting silently with the traffic that flowed up and down the street. It joined a second cruiser, already parked. Four SP men were standing by it in their green uniforms, and even as he watched some more could be seen coming from across the street. He let the blind down.

  “It's a hard decision to make,” he said.

  “If you go out there they'll get you,” Rethrick said. “They're out there all the time. You haven't got a chance.”

  “Please—” Kelly said, looking up at him.

  Suddenly Jennings smiled. “So you won't tell me where the papers are. Where you put them.”

  Kelly shook her head.

  “Wait.” Jennings reached into his pocket. He brought out a small piece of paper. He unfolded it slowly, scanning it.“By any chance did you deposit it with the Dunne National Bank, about three o'clock yesterday afternoon? For safekeeping in their storage vaults?”

  Kelly gasped. She grabbed her handbag, unsnapping it. Jennings put the slip of paper, the parcel receipt, back in his pocket. “So he saw even that,” he murmured. “The last of the trinkets. I wondered what it was for.”

  Kelly groped frantically in her purse, her face wild. She brought out a slip of paper, waving it.

  “You're wrong! Here it is! It's still here.” She relaxed a little. “I don't know what you have, but this is—”

  In the air above them something moved. A dark space formed, a circle. The space stirred. Kelly and Rethrick stared up, frozen.

  From the dark circle a claw appeared, a metal claw, joined to a shimmering rod. The claw dropped, swinging in a wide arc. The claw swept the paper from Kelly's fingers. It hesitated for a second. Then it drew itself up again, disappearing with the paper, into the circle of black. Then, silently, the claw and the rod and the circle blinked out. There was nothing. Nothing at all.

  “Where—where did it go?” Kelly whispered. “The paper. What was that?”

  Jennings patted his pocket. “It's safe. It's safe, right here. I wondered when he would show up. I was beginning to worry.”

  Rethrick and his daughter stood, shocked into silence.

  “Don't look so unhappy,” Jennings said. He folded his arms. “The paper's safe—and the Company's safe. When the time comes it'll be there, strong and very glad to help out the revolution. We'll see to that, all of us, you, me, and your daughter.”

  He glanced at Kelly, his eyes twinkling. “All three of us. And maybe by that time there'll be even more members to the family!”

  SECOND VARIETY

  The Russian soldier made his way nervously up the rugged side of the hill, holding his gun ready. He glanced around him, licking his dry lips, his face set. From time to time he reached up a gloved hand and wiped perspiration from his neck, pushing down his coat collar.

  Eric turned to Corporal Leone. “Want him? Or can I have him?” He adjusted the view sight so the Russian's features squarely filled the glass, the lines cutting across his hard, somber features.

  Leone considered. The Russian was close, moving rapidly, almost running. “Don't fire. Wait.” Leone tensed. “I don't think we're needed.”

  The Russian increased his pace, kicking ash and piles of debris out of his way. He reached the top of the hill and stopped, panting, staring around him. The sky was overcast, with drifting clouds of gray parti
cles. Bare trunks of trees jutted up occasionally; the ground was level and bare, rubble-strewn, with the ruins of buildings standing here and there like yellowing skulls.

  The Russian was uneasy. He knew something was wrong. He started down the hill. Now he was only a few paces from the bunker. Eric was getting fidgety. He played with his pistol, glancing at Leone.

  “Don't worry,” Leone said. “He won't get here. They'll take care of him.”

  “Are you sure? He's got damn far.”

  “They hang around close to the bunker. He's getting into the bad part. Get set!”

  The Russian began to hurry, sliding down the hill, his boots sinking into the heaps of gray ash, trying to keep his gun up. He stopped for a moment, lifting his field glasses to his face.

  “He's looking right at us,” Eric said.

  The Russian came on. They could see his eyes, like two blue stones. His mouth was open a little. He needed a shave; his chin was stubbled. On one bony cheek was a square of tape, showing blue at the edge. A fungoid spot. His coat was muddy and torn. One glove was missing. As he ran, his belt counter bounced up and down against him.

  Leone touched Eric's arm. “Here one comes.”

  Across the ground something small and metallic came, flashing in the dull sunlight of midday. A metal sphere. It raced up the hill after the Russian, its treads flying. It was small, one of the baby ones. Its claws were out, two razor projections spinning in a blur of white steel. The Russian heard it. He turned instantly, firing. The sphere dissolved into particles. But already a second had emerged and was following the first. The Russian fired again.

  A third sphere leaped up the Russian's leg, clicking and whirring. It jumped to the shoulder. The spinning blades disappeared into the Russian's throat.

  Eric relaxed. “Well, that's that. God, those damn things give me the creeps. Sometimes I think we were better off before them.”

  “If we hadn't invented them, they would have.” Leone lit a cigarette shakily.“I wonder why a Russian would come all this way alone. I didn't see anyone covering him.”

  Lieutenant Scott came slipping up the tunnel, into the bunker. “What happened? Something entered the screen.”

  “An Ivan.”

  “Just one?”

  Eric brought the viewscreen around. Scott peered into it. Now there were numerous metal spheres crawling over the prostrate body, dull metal globes clicking and whirring, sawing up the Russian into small parts to be carried away.

  “What a lot of claws,” Scott murmured.

  “They came like flies. Not much game for them anymore.”

  Scott pushed the sight away, disgusted.“Like flies. I wonder why he was out there. They know we have claws all around.”

  A larger robot had joined the smaller spheres. A long blunt tube with projecting eyepieces, it was directing operations. There was not much left of the soldier. What remained was brought down the hillside by the host of claws.

  “Sir,” Leone said. “If it's all right, I'd like to go out there and take a look at him.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe he came with something.”

  Scott considered. He shrugged. “All right. But be careful.”

  “I have my tab.” Leone patted the metal band at his wrist. “I'll be out of bounds.”

  He picked up his rifle and stepped carefully up to the mouth of the bunker, making his way between blocks of concrete and steel prongs, twisted and bent. The air was cold at the top. He crossed over the ground toward the remains of the soldier, striding across the soft ash. A wind blew around him, swirling gray particles up in his face. He squinted and pushed on.

  The claws retreated as he came close, some of them stiffening into immobility. He touched his tab. The Ivan would have given something for that! Short hard radiation emitted from the tab neutralized the claws, put them out of commission. Even the big robot with its two waving eyestalks retreated respectfully as he approached.

  He bent down over the remains of the soldier. The gloved hand was closed tightly. There was something in it. Leone pried the fingers apart. A sealed container, aluminum. Still shiny.

  He put it in his pocket and made his way back to the bunker. Behind him the claws came back to life, moving into operation again. The procession resumed, metal spheres moving through the gray ash with their loads. He could hear their treads scrabbling against the ground. He shuddered.

  Scott watched intently as he brought the shiny tube out of his pocket. “He had that?”

  “In his hand.” Leone unscrewed the top. “Maybe you should look at it, sir.”

  Scott took it. He emptied the contents out in the palm of his hand. A small piece of silk paper, carefully folded. He sat down by the light and unfolded it.

  “What's it say?” Eric said. Several officers came up the tunnel. Major Hendricks appeared.

  “Major,” Scott said. “Look at this.”

  Hendricks read the slip. “This just come?”

  “A single runner. Just now.”

  “Where is he?” Hendricks asked sharply.

  “The claws got him.”

  Major Hendricks grunted. “Here.” He passed it to his companions. “I think this is what we've been waiting for. They certainly took their time about it.”

  “So they want to talk terms,” Scott said. “Are we going along with them?”

  “That's not for us to decide.” Hendricks sat down. “Where's the communications officer? I want the Moon Base.”

  Leone pondered as the communications officer raised the outside antenna cautiously, scanning the sky above the bunker for any sign of a watching Russian ship.

  “Sir,” Scott said to Hendricks. “It's sure strange they suddenly came around. We've been using the claws for almost a year. Now all of a sudden they start to fold.”

  “Maybe claws have been getting down in their bunkers.”

  “One of the big ones, the kind with stalks, got into an Ivan bunker last week,” Eric said. “It got a whole platoon of them before they got their lid shut.”

  “How do you know?”

  “A buddy told me. The thing came back with—with remains.”

  “Moon Base, sir,” the communications officer said.

  On the screen the face of the lunar monitor appeared. His crisp uniform contrasted to the uniforms in the bunker. And he was clean-shaven. “Moon Base.”

  “This is forward command L-Whistle. On Terra. Let me have General Thompson.”

  The monitor faded. Presently General Thompson's heavy features came into focus. “What is it, Major?”

  “Our claws got a single Russian runner with a message. We don't know whether to act on it—there have been tricks like this in the past.”

  “What's the message?”

  “The Russians want us to send a single officer on policy level over to their lines. For a conference. They don't state the nature of the conference.

  They say that matters of—” He consulted the slip: “—matters of grave urgency make it advisable that discussion be opened between a representative of the UN forces and themselves.”

  He held the message up to the screen for the General to scan. Thompson's eyes moved.

  “What should we do?” Hendricks said.

  “Send out a man.”

  “You don't think it's a trap?”

  “It might be. But the location they give for their forward command is correct. It's worth a try, at any rate.”

  “I'll send an officer out. And report the results to you as soon as he returns.”

  “All right, Major.” Thompson broke the connection. The screen died. Up above, the antenna came slowly down.

  Hendricks rolled up the paper, deep in thought.

  “I'll go,” Leone said.

  “They want somebody at policy level.” Hendricks rubbed his jaw. “Policy level. I haven't been outside in months. Maybe I could use a little air.”

  “Don't you think it's risky?”

  Hendricks lifted the view sight and gazed
into it. The remains of the Russian were gone. Only a single claw was in sight. It was folding itself back, disappearing into the ash, like a crab. Like some hideous metal crab … “That's the only thing that bothers me.” Hendricks rubbed his wrist. “I know I'm safe as long as I have this on me. But there's something about them. I hate the damn things. I wish we'd never invented them. There's something wrong with them. Relentless little—”

  “If we hadn't invented them, the Ivans would have.”

  Hendricks pushed the sight back. “Anyhow, it seems to be winning the war. I guess that's good.”

  “Sounds like you're getting the same jitters as the Ivans.”

  Hendricks examined his wristwatch. “I guess I had better get started, if I want to be there before dark.”

  He took a deep breath and then stepped out onto the gray rubbled ground. After a minute he lit a cigarette and stood gazing around him. The landscape was dead. Nothing stirred. He could see for miles, endless ash and slag, ruins of buildings. A few trees without leaves or branches, only the trunks. Above him the eternal rolling clouds of gray, drifting between Terra and the sun.

  Major Hendricks went on. Off to the right something scuttled, something round and metallic. A claw, going lickety-split after something. Probably after a small animal, a rat. They got rats, too. As a sort of sideline.

  He came to the top of the little hill and lifted his field glasses. The Russian lines were a few miles ahead of him. They had a forward command post there. The runner had come from it.

  A squat robot with undulating arms passed by him, its arms weaving inquiringly. The robot went on its way, disappearing under some debris. Hendricks watched it go. He had never seen that type before. There were getting to be more and more types he had never seen, new varieties and sizes coming up from the underground factories.

  Hendricks put out his cigarette and hurried on. It was interesting, the use of artificial forms of warfare. How had they got started? Necessity. The Soviet Union had gained great initial success, usual with the side that got the war going. Most of North America had been blasted off the map. Retaliation was quick in coming, of course. The sky was full of circling diskbombers long before the war began; they had been up there for years. The disks began sailing down all over Russia within hours after Washington got it.