Collected Stories 2 - Second Variety and Other Classic Stories

by Philip K. Dick

  "Where were you this afternoon?"

  Ed's grin faded. "I told you. I went for a walk. Didn't I tell you? A walk. To think things over."

  "Don't lie to me, Eddie Fletcher! I can tell when you're lying!" Fresh tears welled up in Ruth's eyes. Her breasts rose and fell excitedly under her cotton shirt. "Admit it! You didn't go for a walk!"

  Ed stammered weakly. Sweat poured off him. He sagged helplessly against the door. "What do you mean?"

  Ruth's black eyes flashed with anger. "Come on! I want to know where you were! Tell me! I have a right to know. What really happened?"

  Ed retreated in terror, his resolve melting like wax. It was going all wrong. "Honest. I went out for a -"

  "Tell me!" Ruth's sharp fingernails dug into his arm. "I want to know where you were - and who you were with!"

  Ed opened his mouth. He tried to grin, but his face failed to respond. "I don't know what you mean."

  "You know what I mean. Who were you with? Where did you go? Tell me! I'll find out sooner or later."

  There was no way out. He was licked - and he knew it. He couldn't keep it from her. Desperately he stalled, praying for time. If he could only distract her, get her mind on something else. If she would only let up, even for a second. He could invent something - a better story. Time - he needed more time. "Ruth, you've got to -"

  Suddenly there was a sound: the bark of a dog, echoing through the dark house.

  Ruth let go, cocking her head alertly. "That was Dobbie. I think somebody's coming."

  The doorbell rang.

  "You stay here. I'll be right back." Ruth ran out of the room, to the front door. "Darn it." She pulled the front door open.

  "Good evening!" The young man stepped quickly inside, loaded down with objects, grinning broadly at Ruth. "I'm from the Sweep-Rite Vacuum Cleaner Company."

  Ruth scowled impatiently. "Really, we're about to sit down at the table."

  "Oh, this will only take a moment." The young man set down the vacuum cleaner and its attachments with a metallic crash. Rapidly, he unrolled a long illustrated banner, showing the vacuum cleaner in action. "Now, if you'll just hold this while I plug in the cleaner -"

  He bustled happily about, unplugging the TV set, plugging in the cleaner, pushing the chairs out of his way.

  Til show you the drape scraper first." He attached a hose and nozzle to the big gleaming tank. "Now, if you'll just sit down I'll demonstrate each of these easy-to-use attachments." His happy voice rose over the roar of the cleaner. "You'll notice -"

  Ed Fletcher sat down on the bed. He groped in his pocket until he found his cigarettes. Shakily he lit one and leaned back against the wall, weak with relief.

  He gazed up, a look of gratitude on his face. "Thanks," he said softly. "I think we'll make it - after all. Thanks a lot."

  The Impossible Planet

  "She just stands there," Norton said nervously. "Captain, you'll have to talk to her."

  "What does she want?"

  "She wants a ticket. She's stone deaf. She just stands there staring and she won't go away. It gives me the creeps."

  Captain Andrews got slowly to his feet. "Okay. I'll talk to her. Send her in."

  "Thanks." To the corridor Norton said, "The Captain will talk to you. Come ahead."

  There was motion outside the control room. A flash of metal. Captain Andrews pushed his desk scanner back and stood waiting.

  "In here." Norton backed into the control room. "This way. Right in here."

  Behind Norton came a withered little old woman. Beside her moved a gleaming robant, a towering robot servant, supporting her with its arm. The robant and the tiny old woman entered the control room slowly.

  "Here's her papers." Norton slid a folio onto the chart desk, his voice awed. "She's three hundred and fifty years old. One of the oldest sustained. From Riga II."

  Andrews leafed slowly through the folio. In front of the desk the little woman stood silently, staring straight ahead. Her faded eyes were pale blue. Like ancient china.

  "Irma Vincent Gordon," Andrews murmured. He glanced up. "Is that right?"

  The old woman did not answer.

  "She is totally deaf, sir," the robant said.

  Andrews grunted and returned to the folio. Irma Gordon was one of the original settlers of the Riga system. Origin unknown. Probably born out in space in one of the old sub-C ships. A strange feeling drifted through him. The little old creature. The centuries she had seen! The changes.

  "She wants to travel?" he asked the robant.

  "Yes, sir. She has come from her home to purchase a ticket."

  "Can she stand space travel?"

  "She came from Riga, here to Fomalhaut IX."

  "Where does she want to go?"

  "To Earth, sir," the robant said.

  "Earth!" Andrews' jaw dropped. He swore nervously. "What do you mean?"

  "She wishes to travel to Earth, sir."

  "You see?" Norton muttered. "Completely crazy."

  Gripping his desk tightly, Andrews addressed the old woman. "Madam, we can't sell you a ticket to Earth."

  "She can't hear you, sir," the robant said.

  Andrews found a piece of paper. He wrote in big letters:

  CAN'T SELL YOU A TICKET TO EARTH

  He held it up. The old woman's eyes moved as she studied the words. Her lips twitched. "Why not?" she said at last. Her voice was faint and dry. Like rustling weeds.

  Andrews scratched an answer.

  NO SUCH PLACE

  He added grimly:

  MYTH - LEGEND - NEVER EXISTED

  The old woman's faded eyes left the words. She gazed directly at Andrews, her face expressionless. Andrews became uneasy. Beside him, Norton sweated nervously.

  "Jeez," Norton muttered. "Get her out of here. She'll put the hex on us."

  Andrews addressed the robant. "Can't you make her understand? There is no such place as Earth. It's been proved a thousand times. No such primordial planet existed. All scientists agree human life arose simultaneously throughout the -"

  "It is her wish to travel to Earth," the robant said patiently. "She is three hundred and fifty years old and they have ceased giving her sustenation treatments. She wishes to visit Earth before she dies."

  "But it's a myth!" Andrews exploded. He opened and closed his mouth, but no words came.

  "How much?" the old woman said. "How much?"

  "I can't do it!" Andrews shouted. "There isn't -"

  "We have a kilo positives," the robant said.

  Andrews became suddenly quiet. "A thousand positives." He blanched in amazement. His jaws clamped shut, the color draining from his face.

  "How much?" the old woman repeated. "How much?"

  "Will that be sufficient?" the robant asked.

  For a moment Andrews swallowed silently. Abruptly he found his voice. "Sure," he said. "Why not?"

  "Captain!" Norton protested. "Have you gone nuts? You know there's no such place as Earth! How the hell can we -"

  "Sure, we'll take her." Andrews buttoned his tunic slowly, hands shaking. "We'll take her anywhere she wants to go. Tell her that. For a thousand positives we'll be glad to take her to Earth. Okay?"

  "Of course," the robant said. "She has saved many decades for this. She will give you the kilo positives at once. She has them with her."

  "Look," Norton said. "You can get twenty years for this. They'll take your articles and your card and they'll -"

  "Shut up." Andrews spun the dial of the intersystem vid-sender. Under them the jets throbbed and roared. The lumbering transport had reached deep space. "I want the main information library at Centaurus II," he said into the speaker.

  "Even for a thousand positives you can't do it. Nobody can do it. They tried to find Earth for generations. Directorate ships tracked down every moth-eaten planet in the whole -"

  The vidsender clicked. "Centaurus II."

  "Information library."

  Norton caught Andrews' arm. "Please, Captain. Even for
two kilo positives -"

  "I want the following information," Andrews said into the vidspeaker. "All facts that are known concerning the planet Earth. Legendary birthplace of the human race."

  "No facts are known," the detached voice of the library monitor came. "The subject is classified as metaparticular."

  "What unverified but widely circulated reports have survived?"

  "Most legends concerning Earth were lost during the Centauran-Rigan conflict of 4-B33a. What survived is fragmentary. Earth is variously described as a large ringed planet with three moons, as a small, dense planet with a single moon, as the first planet of a ten-planet system located around a dwarf white -"

  "What's the most prevalent legend?"

  "The Morrison Report of 5-C2 1r analyzed the total ethnic and subliminal accounts of the legendary Earth. The final summation noted that Earth is generally considered to be a small third planet of a nine-planet system, with a single moon. Other than that, no agreement of legends could be constructed."

  "I see. A third planet of a nine-planet system. With a single moon." Andrews broke the circuit and the screen faded.

  "So?" Norton said.

  Andrews got quickly to his feet. "She probably knows every legend about it." He pointed down - at the passenger quarters below. "I want to get the accounts straight."

  "Why? What are you going to do?"

  Andrews flipped open the master star chart. He ran his fingers down the index and released the scanner. In a moment it turned up a card.

  He grabbed the chart and fed it into the robant pilot. "The Emphor System," he murmured thoughtfully.

  "Emphor? We're going there?"

  "According to the chart, there are ninety systems that show a third planet of nine with a single moon. Of the ninety, Emphor is the closest. We're heading there now."

  "I don't get it," Norton protested. "Emphor is a routine trading system. Emphor III isn't even a Class D check point."

  Captain Andrews grinned tightly, "Emphor III has a single moon, and it's the third of nine planets. That's all we want.

  "Does anybody know any more about Earth?" He glanced downwards. "Does she know any more about Earth?"

  "I see," Norton said slowly. "I'm beginning to get the picture."

  Emphor III turned silently below them. A dull red globe, suspended among sickly clouds, its baked and corroded surface lapped by the congealed remains of ancient seas. Cracked, eroded cliffs jutted starkly up. The flat plains had been dug and stripped bare. Great gouged pits pocked the surface, endless gaping sores.

  Norton's face twisted in revulsion. "Look at it. Is anything alive down there?"

  Captain Andrews frowned. "I didn't realize it was so gutted." He crossed abruptly to the robant pilot. "There's supposed to be an auto-grapple some place down there. I'll try to pick it up."

  "A grapple? You mean that waste is inhabited?"

  "A few Emphorites. Degenerate trading colony of some sort." Andrews consulted the card. "Commercial ships come here occasionally. Contact with this region has been vague since the Centauran-Rigan War."

  The passage rang with a sudden sound. The gleaming robant and Mrs Gordon emerged through the doorway into the control room. The old woman's face was alive with excitement. "Captain! Is that - is that Earth down there?"

  Andrews nodded. "Yes."

  The robant led Mrs Gordon over to the big viewscreen. The old woman's face twitched, ripples of emotion stirring her withered features. "I can hardly believe that's really Earth. It seems impossible."

  Norton glanced sharply at Captain Andrews.

  "It's Earth," Andrews stated, not meeting Norton's glance. "The moon should be around soon."

  The old woman did not speak. She had turned her back.

  Andrews contacted the auto-grapple and hooked the robant pilot on. The transport shuddered and then began to drop, as the beam from Emphor caught it and took over.

  "We're landing," Andrews said to the old woman, touching her on the shoulder.

  "She can't hear you, sir," the robant said.

  Andrews grunted. "Well, she can see."

  Below them the pitted, ruined surface of Emphor III was rising rapidly. The ship entered the cloud belt and emerged, coasting over a barren plain that stretched as far as the eye could see.

  "What happened down there?" Norton said to Andrews. "The war?"

  "War. Mining. And it's old. The pits are probably bomb craters. Some of the long trenches may be scoop gouges. Looks like they really exhausted this place."

  A crooked row of broken mountain peaks shot past under them. They were nearing the remains of an ocean. Dark, unhealthy water lapped below, a vast sea, crusted with salt and waste, its edges disappearing into banks of piled debris.

  "Why is it that way?" Mrs Gordon said suddenly. Doubt crossed her features. "Why?"

  "What do you mean?" Andrews said.

  "I don't understand." She stared uncertainly down at the surface below. "It isn't supposed to be this way. Earth is green. Green and alive. Blue water and..." Her voice trailed off uneasily. "Why?"

  Andrews grabbed some paper and wrote:

  COMMERCIAL OPERATIONS EXHAUSTED SURFACE

  Mrs Gordon studied his words, her lips twitching. A spasm moved through her, shaking the thin, dried-out body. "Exhausted..." Her voice rose in shrill dismay. "It's not supposed to be this way! I don't want it this way!"

  The robant took her arm. "She had better rest. I'll return her to her quarters. Please notify us when the landing has been made."

  "Sure." Andrews nodded awkwardly as the robant led the old woman from the viewscreen. She clung to the guide rail, face distorted with fear and bewilderment.

  "Something's wrong!" she wailed. "Why is it this way? Why..."

  The robant led her from the control room. The closing of the hydraulic safety doors cut off her thin cry abruptly.

  Andrews relaxed, his body sagging. "God." He lit a cigarette shakily. "What a racket she makes."

  "We're almost down," Norton said frigidly.

  Cold wind lashed at them as they stepped out cautiously. The air smelled bad - sour and acrid. Like rotten eggs. The wind brought salt and sand blowing up against their faces.

  A few miles off the thick sea lay. They could hear it swishing faintly, gummily. A few birds passed silently overhead, great wings flapping soundlessly.

  "Depressing damn place," Andrews muttered.

  "Yeah. I wonder what the old lady's thinking."

  Down the descent ramp came the glittering robant, helping the little old woman. She moved hesitantly, unsteady, gripping the robant's metal arm. The cold wind whipped around her frail body. For a moment she tottered - and then came on, leaving the ramp and gaining the uneven ground.

  Norton shook his head. "She looks bad. This air. And the wind."

  "I know." Andrews moved back toward Mrs Gordon and the robant. "How is she?" he asked.

  "She is not well, sir," the robant answered.

  "Captain," the old woman whispered.

  "What is it?"

  "You must tell me the truth. Is this - is this really Earth?"

  She watched his lips closely. "You swear it is? You swear?" Her voice rose in shrill terror.

  "It's Earth!" Andrews snapped irritably. "I told you before. Of course it's Earth."

  "It doesn't look like Earth." Mrs Gordon clung to his answer, panic-stricken. "It doesn't look like Earth, Captain. Is it really Earth?"

  "Yes!"

  Her gaze wandered toward the ocean. A strange look flickered across her tired face, igniting her faded eyes with sudden hunger. "Is that water? I want to see."

  Andrews turned to Norton. "Get the launch out. Drive her where she wants."

  Norton pulled back angrily. "Me?"

  "That's an order."

  "Okay." Norton returned reluctantly to the ship. Andrews lit a cigarette moodily and waited. Presently the launch slid out of the ship, coasting across the ash toward them.

  "You can show her anything
she wants," Andrews said to the robant. "Norton will drive you."

  "Thank you, sir," the robant said. "She will be grateful. She has wanted all her life to stand on Earth. She remembers her grandfather telling her about it. She believes that he came from Earth, a long time ago. She is very old. She is the last living member of her family."

  "But Earth is just a -" Andrews caught him. "I mean -"

  "Yes, sir. But she is very old. And she has waited many years." The robant turned to the old woman and led her gently toward the launch. Andrews stared after them sullenly, rubbing his jaw and frowning.

  "Okay," Norton's voice came from the launch. He slid the hatch open and the robant led the old woman carefully inside. The hatch closed after them.

  A moment later the launch shot away across the salt flat, toward the ugly, lapping ocean.

  Norton and Captain Andrews paced restlessly along the shore. The sky was darkening. Sheets of salt blew against them. The mud flats stank in the gathering gloom of night. Dimly, off in the distance, a line of hills faded into the silence and vapors.

  "Go on," Andrews said. "What then?"

  "That's all. She got out of the launch. She and the robant. I stayed inside. They stood looking across the ocean. After a while the old woman sent the robant back to the launch."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know. She wanted to be alone, I suppose. She stood for a time by herself. On the shore. Looking over the water. The wind rising. All at once she just sort of settled down. She sank down in a heap, into the salt ash."

  "Then what?"

  "While I was pulling myself together, the robant leaped out and ran to her. It picked her up. It stood for a second and then it started for the water. I leaped out of the launch, yelling. It stepped into the water and disappeared. Sank down in the mud and filth. Vanished." Norton shuddered. "With her body."

  Andrews tossed his cigarette savagely away. The cigarette rolled off, glowing behind them. "Anything more?"

  "Nothing. It all happened in a second. She was standing there, looking over the water. Suddenly she quivered - like a dead branch. Then she just sort of dwindled away. And the robant was out of the launch and into the water with her before I could figure out what was happening."