Collected Stories 2 - Second Variety and Other Classic Stories

by Philip K. Dick

  The young man opened his briefcase on the couch, laying out heaps of pamphlets and illustrated folders. "I'd like to show you some of these figures, if I may. It's of great importance to you and your family to -"

  Ed found himself sitting down, going over the pamphlets. He purchased a ten-thousand-dollar policy on his own life and then eased the young man out. He looked at the clock. Practically nine-thirty!

  "Damn." He'd be late to work. He finished fastening his tie, grabbed his coat, turned off the oven and the lights, dumped the dishes in the sink, and ran out on the porch.

  As he hurried toward the bus stop he was cursing inwardly. Life insurance salesmen. Why did the jerk have to come just as he was getting ready to leave?

  Ed groaned. No telling what the consequences would be, getting to the office late. He wouldn't get there until almost ten. He set himself in anticipation. A sixth sense told him he was in for it. Something bad. It was the wrong day to be late.

  If only the salesman hadn't come.

  Ed hopped off the bus a block from his office. He began walking rapidly. The huge clock in front of Stein's Jewelry Store told him it was almost ten.

  His heart sank. Old Douglas would give him hell for sure. He could see it now. Douglas puffing and blowing, red-faced, waving his thick finger at him; Miss Evans, smiling behind her typewriter; Jackie, the office boy, grinning and snickering; Earl Hendricks; Joe and Tom; Mary, dark-eyed, full bosom and long lashes. All of them, kidding him the whole rest of the day.

  He came to the corner and stopped for the light. On the other side of the street rose a big white concrete building, the towering column of steel and cement, girders and glass windows - the office building. Ed flinched. Maybe he could say the elevator got stuck. Somewhere between the second and third floor.

  The street light changed. Nobody else was crossing. Ed crossed alone. He hopped up on the curb on the far side -

  And stopped, rigid.

  The sun had winked off. One moment it was beaming down. Then it was gone. Ed looked up sharply. Gray clouds swirled above him. Huge, formless clouds. Nothing more. An ominous, thick haze that made everything waver and dim. Uneasy chills plucked at him. What was it?

  He advanced cautiously, feeling his way through the mist. Everything was silent. No sounds - not even the traffic sounds. Ed peered frantically around, trying to see through the rolling haze. No people. No cars. No sun. Nothing.

  The office building loomed up ahead, ghostly. It was an indistinct gray. He put out his hand uncertainly -

  A section of the building fell away. It rained down, a torrent of particles. Like sand. Ed gaped foolishly. A cascade of gray debris, spilling around his feet. And where he had touched the building, a jagged cavity yawned - an ugly pit marring the concrete.

  Dazed, he made his way to the front steps. He mounted them. The steps gave way underfoot. His feet sank down. He was wading through shifting sand, weak, rotted stuff that broke under his weight.

  He got into the lobby. The lobby was dim and obscure. The overhead lights flickered feebly in the gloom. An unearthly pall hung over everything.

  He spied the cigar stand. The seller leaned silently, resting on the counter, toothpick between his teeth, his face vacant. And gray. He was gray all over.

  "Hey," Ed croaked. "What's going on?"

  The seller did not answer. Ed reached out toward him. His hand touched the seller's gray arm - and passed right through.

  "Good God," Ed said.

  The seller's arm came loose. It fell to the lobby floor, disintegrating into fragments. Bits of gray fiber. Like dust. Ed's senses reeled.

  "Help!" he shouted, finding his voice.

  No answer. He peered around. A few shapes stood here and there: a man reading a newspaper, two women waiting at the elevator.

  Ed made his way over to the man. He reached out and touched him.

  The man slowly collapsed. He settled into a heap, a loose pile of gray ash. Dust. Particles. The two women dissolved when he touched them. Silently. They made no sound as they broke apart.

  Ed found the stairs. He grabbed hold of the banister and climbed. The stairs collapsed under him. He hurried faster. Behind him lay a broken path - his footprints clearly visible in the concrete. Clouds of ash blew around him as he reached the second floor.

  He gazed down the silent corridor. He saw more clouds of ash. He heard no sound. There was just darkness - rolling darkness.

  He climbed unsteadily to the third floor. Once, his shoe broke completely through the stair. For a sickening second he hung, poised over a yawning hole that looked down into a bottomless nothing.

  Then he climbed on, and emerged in front of his own office:

  DOUGLAS AND BLAKE, REAL ESTATE.

  The hall was dim, gloomy with clouds of ash. The overhead lights flickered fitfully. He reached for the door handle. The handle came off in his hand. He dropped it and dug his fingernails into the door. The plate glass crashed past him, breaking into bits. He tore the door open and stepped over it, into the office.

  Miss Evans sat at her typewriter, fingers resting quietly on the keys. She did not move. She was gray, her hair, her skin, her clothing. She was without color. Ed touched her. His fingers went through her shoulder, into dry flakiness.

  He drew back, sickened. Miss Evans did not stir.

  He moved on. He pushed against a desk. The desk collapsed into rotting dust. Earl Hendricks stood by the water cooler, a cup in his hand. He was a gray statue, unmoving. Nothing stirred. No sound. No life. The whole office was gray dust - without life or motion.

  Ed found himself out in the corridor again. He shook his head, dazed. What did it mean? Was he going out of his mind? Was he -?

  A sound.

  Ed turned, peering into the gray mist. A creature was coming, hurrying rapidly. A man - a man in a white robe. Behind him others came. Men in white, with equipment. They were lugging complex machinery.

  "Hey -" Ed gasped weakly.

  The men stopped. Their mouths opened. Their eyes popped.

  "Look!"

  "Something's gone wrong!"

  "One still charged."

  "Get the de-energizer."

  "We can't proceed until -"

  The men came toward Ed, moving around him. One lugged a long hose with some sort of nozzle. A portable cart came wheeling up. Instructions were rapidly shouted.

  Ed broke out of his paralysis. Fear swept over him. Panic. Something hideous was happening. He had to get out. Warn people. Get away.

  He turned and ran, back down the stairs. The stairs collapsed under him. He fell half a flight, rolling in heaps of dry ash. He got to his feet and hurried on, down to the ground floor.

  The lobby was lost in the clouds of gray ash. He pushed blindly through, toward the door. Behind him, the white-clad men were coming, dragging their equipment and shouting to each other, hurrying quickly after him.

  He reached the sidewalk. Behind him the office building wavered and sagged, sinking to one side, torrents of ash raining down in heaps. He raced toward the corner, the men just behind him. Gray cloud swirled around him. He groped his way across the street, hands outstretched. He gained the opposite curb -

  The sun winked on. Warm yellow sunlight streamed down on him. Cars honked. Traffic lights changed. On all sides men and women in bright spring clothes hurried and pushed: shoppers, a blue-clad cop, salesmen with briefcases. Stores, windows, signs... noisy cars moving up and down the street...

  And oyerhead was the bright sun and familiar blue sky.

  Ed halted, gasping for breath. He turned and looked back the way he had come. Across the street was the office building - as it had always been. Firm and distinct. Concrete and glass and steel.

  He stepped back a pace and collided with a hurrying citizen. "Hey," the man grunted. "Watch it."

  "Sorry." Ed shook his head, trying to clear it. From where he stood, the office building looked like always, big and solemn and substantial, rising up imposingly on the other side
of the street.

  But a minute ago -

  Maybe he was out of his mind. He had seen the building crumbling into dust. Building - and people. They had fallen into gray clouds of dust. And the men in white - they had chased him. Men in white robes, shouting orders, wheeling complex equipment.

  He was out of his mind. There was no other explanation. Weakly, Ed turned and stumbled along the sidewalk, his mind reeling. He moved blindly, without purpose, lost in a haze of confusion and terror.

  The Clerk was brought into the top-level Administrative chambers and told to wait.

  He paced back and forth nervously, clasping and wringing his hands in an agony of apprehension. He took off his glasses and wiped them shakily.

  Lord. All the trouble and grief. And it wasn't his fault. But he would have to take the rap. It was his responsibility to get the Summoners routed out and their instructions followed. The miserable flea-infested Summoner had gone back to sleep - and he would have to answer for it.

  The doors opened. "All right," a voice murmured, preoccupied. It was a tired, care-worn voice. The Clerk trembled and entered slowly, sweat dripping down his neck and into his celluloid collar.

  The Old Man glanced up, laying aside his book. He studied the Clerk calmly, his faded blue eyes mild - a deep, ancient mildness that made the Clerk tremble even more. He took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow.

  "I understand there was a mistake," the Old Man murmured. "In connection with Sector T137. Something to do with an element from an adjoining area."

  "That's right." The Clerk's voice was faint and husky. "Very unfortunate."

  "What exactly occurred?"

  "I started out this morning with my instruction sheets. The material relating to T137 had top priority, of course. I served notice on the Summoner in my area that an eight-fifteen summons was required."

  "Did the Summoner understand the urgency?"

  "Yes, sir." The Clerk hesitated. "But -"

  "But what?"

  The Clerk twisted miserably. "While my back was turned the Summoner crawled back in his shed and went to sleep. I was occupied, checking the exact time with my watch. I called the moment - but there was no response."

  "You called at eight-fifteen exactly?"

  "Yes, sir! Exactly eight-fifteen. But the Summoner was asleep. By the time I managed to arouse him it was eight-sixteen. He summoned, but instead of A Friend with a Car we got - A Life Insurance Salesman." The Clerk's face screwed up with disgust. "The Salesman kept the element there until almost nine-thirty. Therefore he was late to work instead of early."

  For a moment the Old Man was silent. "Then the element was not within T137 when the adjustment began."

  "No. He arrived about ten o'clock."

  "During the middle of the adjustment." The Old Man got to his feet and paced slowly back and forth, face grim, hands behind his back. His long robe flowed out behind him. "A serious matter. During a Sector Adjustment all related elements from other Sectors must be included. Otherwise, their orientations remain out of phase. When this element entered T137 the adjustment had been in progress fifty minutes. The element encountered the Sector at its most de-energized stage. He wandered about until one of the adjustment teams met him."

  "Did they catch him?"

  "Unfortunately, no. He fled, out of the Sector. Into a nearby fully energized area."

  "What - what then?"

  The Old Man stopped pacing, his lined face grim. He ran a heavy hand through his long white hair. "We do not know. We lost contact with him. We will reestablish contact soon, of course. But for the moment he is out of control."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "He must be contacted and contained. He must be brought up here. There's no other solution."

  "Up here!"

  "It is too late to de-energize him. By the time he is regained he will have told others. To wipe his mind clean would only complicate matters. Usual methods will not suffice. I must deal with this problem myself."

  "I hope he's located quickly," the Clerk said.

  "He will be. Every Watcher is alerted. Every Watcher and every Summoner." The Old Man's eyes twinkled. "Even the Clerks, although we hesitate to count on them."

  The Clerk flushed. "I'll be glad when this thing is over," he muttered.

  Ruth came tripping down the stairs and out of the building, into the hot noonday sun. She lit a cigarette and hurried along the walk, her small bosom rising and falling as she breathed in the spring air.

  "Ruth." Ed stepped up behind her.

  "Ed!" She spun, gasping in astonishment. "What are you doing away from -?"

  "Come on." Ed grabbed her arm, pulling her along. "Let's keep moving."

  "But what -?"

  "I'll tell you later." Ed's face was pale and grim. "Let's go where we can talk. In private."

  "I was going down to have lunch at Louie's. We can talk there." Ruth hurried along breathlessly. "What is it? What's happened? You look so strange. And why aren't you at work? Did you - did you get fired?"

  They crossed the street and entered a small restaurant. Men and women milled around, getting their lunch. Ed found a table in the back, secluded in a corner. "Here." He sat down abruptly. "This will do." She slid into the other chair.

  Ed ordered a cup of coffee. Ruth had salad and creamed tuna on toast, coffee and peach pie. Silently, Ed watched her as she ate, his face dark and moody.

  "Please tell me," Ruth begged him.

  "You really want to know?"

  "Of course I want to know!" Ruth put her small hand anxiously on his. "I'm your wife."

  "Something happened today. This morning. I was late to work. A damn insurance man came by and held me up. I was half an hour late."

  Ruth caught her breath. "Douglas fired you."

  "No." Ed ripped a paper napkin slowly into bits. He stuffed the bits in the half-empty water glass. "I was worried as hell. I got off the bus and hurried down the street. I noticed it when I stepped up on the curb in front of the office."

  "Noticed what?"

  Ed told her. The whole works. Everything.

  When he had finished, Ruth sat back, her face white, hands trembling. "I see," she murmured. "No wonder you're upset." She drank a little cold coffee, the cup rattling against the saucer. "What a terrible thing."

  Ed leaned intently toward his wife. "Ruth. Do you think I'm going crazy?"

  Ruth's red lips twisted. "I don't know what to say. It's so strange..."

  "Yeah. Strange is hardly the word for it. I poked my hands right through them. Like they were clay. Old dry clay. Dust. Dust figures." Ed lit a cigarette from Ruth's pack. "When I got out I looked back and there it was. The office building. Like always."

  "You were afraid Mr Douglas would bawl you out, weren't you?"

  "Sure. I was afraid - and guilty." Ed's eyes flickered. "I know what you're thinking. I was late and I couldn't face him. So I had some sort of protective psychotic fit. Retreat from reality." He stubbed the cigarette out savagely. "Ruth, I've been wandering around town since. Two and a half hours. Sure, I'm afraid. I'm afraid like hell to go back."

  "Of Douglas?"

  "No! The men in white." Ed shuddered. "God. Chasing me. With their damn hoses and - and equipment."

  Ruth was silent. Finally she looked up at her husband, her dark eyes bright. "You have to go back, Ed."

  "Back? Why?"

  "To prove something."

  "Prove what?"

  "Prove it's all right." Ruth's hand pressed against his. "You have to, Ed. You have to go back and face it. To show yourself there's nothing to be afraid of."

  "The hell with it! After what I saw? Listen, Ruth. I saw the fabric of reality split open. I saw - behind. Underneath. I saw what was really there. And I don't want to go back. I don't want to see dust people again. Ever."

  Ruth's eyes were fixed intently on him. "I'll go back with you," she said.

  "For God's sake."

  "For your sake. For your sanity. So you'l
l know." Ruth got abruptly to her feet, pulling her coat around her. "Come on, Ed. I'll go with you. We'll go up there together. To the office of Douglas and Blake, Real Estate. I'll even go in with you to see Mr Douglas."

  Ed got up slowly, staring hard at his wife. "You think I blacked out. Cold feet. Couldn't face the boss." His voice was low and strained. "Don't you?"

  Ruth was already threading her way toward the cashier. "Come on. You'll see. It'll all be there. Just like it was."

  "Okay," Ed said. He followed her slowly. "We'll go back there - and see which of us is right."

  They crossed the street together, Ruth holding on tight to Ed's arm. Ahead of them was the building, the towering structure of concrete and metal and glass.

  "There it is," Ruth said. "See?"

  There it was, all right. The big building rose up, firm and solid, glittering in the early afternoon sun, its windows sparkling brightly.

  Ed and Ruth stepped up onto the curb. Ed tensed himself, his body rigid. He winced as his foot touched the pavement -

  But nothing happened: the street noises continued; cars, people hurrying past; a kid selling papers. There were sounds, smells, the noise of a city in the middle of the day. And overhead was the sun and the bright blue sky.

  "See?" Ruth said. "I was right."

  They walked up the front steps, into the lobby. Behind the cigar stand the seller stood, arms folded, listening to the ball game. "Hi, Mr Fletcher," he called to Ed. His face lit up good-naturedly. "Who's the dame? Your wife know about this?"

  Ed laughed unsteadily. They passed on toward the elevator. Four or five businessmen stood waiting. They were middle-aged men, well dressed, waiting impatiently in a bunch. "Hey, Fletcher," one said. "Where you been all day? Douglas is yelling his head off."

  "Hello, Earl," Ed muttered. He gripped Ruth's arm. "Been a little sick."

  The elevator came. They got in. The elevator rose. "Hi, Ed," the elevator operator said. "Who's the good-looking gal? Why don't you introduce her around?"

  Ed grinned mechanically. "My wife."

  The elevator let them off at the third floor. Ed and Ruth got out, heading toward the glass door of Douglas and Blake, Real Estate.