Collected Stories 2 - Second Variety and Other Classic Stories

by Philip K. Dick

  "Come on." Grace pulled him toward the kitchen. "Some news. Maybe it'll make you feel better. Come along, Donnie. This will interest you, too."

  Ed and Donnie entered the kitchen. It was full of people. Bob McIntyre and his wife Pat. John Hollister and his wife Joan and their two daughters. Pete Klein and Rose Klein. Neighbors, Nat Johnson and Tim Davis and Barbara Stanley. An eager murmur buzzed through the room. Everybody was grouped around the table, excited and nervous. Sandwiches and beer bottles were piled up in heaps. The men and women were laughing and grinning happily, eyes bright with agitation.

  "What's up?" Ed grumbled. "Why the party?"

  Bob McIntyre clapped him on the shoulder. "How you doing, Ed? We've got news." He rattled a public news tape. "Get ready. Brace yourself."

  "Read it to him," Pete Klein said excitedly.

  "Go on! Read it!" They all grouped around McIntyre. "Let's hear it again!"

  McIntyre's face was alive with emotion. "Well, Ed. This is it. He made it. He's there."

  "Who? Who made what?"

  "Crow. Jim Crow. He made Class One." The tape spool trembled in Mclntyre's hand. "He's been named to the Supreme Council. Understand? He's in. A human being. A member of the supreme governing body of the planet."

  "Gosh," Donnie said, awed.

  "Now what?" Ed asked. "What's he going to do?"

  McIntyre grinned shakily. "We'll know, soon. He's got something. We know. We can feel it. And we should start seeing it in action - any time, now."

  Crow strode briskly into the Council Chamber, his portfolio under his arm. He wore a slick new suit. His hair was combed. His shoes were shined. "Good day," he said politely.

  The five robots regarded him with mixed feelings. They were old, over a century old. The powerful N Type that had dominated the social scene since its construction. And an incredibly ancient D Type, almost three centuries old. As Crow advanced toward his seat the five robots stepped away, leaving a wide path for him.

  "You," one of the N Types said. "You are the new Council member?"

  "That's right." Crow took his seat. "Care to examine my credentials?"

  "Please."

  Crow passed over the card plate given him by the Lists Committee. The five robots studied it intently. Finally they passed it back.

  "It appears to be in order," the D admitted reluctantly.

  "Of course." Crow unzipped his portfolio. "I wish to begin work at once. There's quite a lot of material to cover. I have some reports and tapes you'll find worth your while."

  The robots took their places slowly, eyes still on Jim Crow. "This is incredible," the D said. "Are you serious? Can you really expect to sit with us?"

  "Of course," Crow snapped. "Let's forgo this and get down to business."

  One of the N Types leaned toward him, massive and contemptuous, its patina-encrusted hull glinting dully. "Mr Crow," it said icily. "You must understand this is utterly impossible. In spite of the legal ruling and your technical right to sit on this -"

  Crow smiled calmly back. "I suggest you check my Listing scoring. You'll discover I've made no errors in all twenty Lists. A perfect score. To my knowledge, none of you has achieved a perfect score. Therefore, according to the Governmental ruling contained in the official Lists Committee decree, I'm your superior."

  The word fell like a bomb shell. The five robots slumped down in their seats, stricken. Their eye lenses flickered uneasily. A worried hum rose in pitch, filling the chamber.

  "Let's see," an N murmured, extending his gripper. Crow tossed his List sheets over and the five robots each scanned them rapidly.

  "It's true," the D stated. "Incredible. No robot has ever achieved a perfect score. This human outranks us, according to our own laws."

  "Now," Crow said. "Let's get down to business." He spread out his tapes and reports. "I won't waste any time. I have a proposal to make. An important proposal bearing on the most critical problem of this society."

  "What problem is that?" an X asked apprehensively.

  Crow was tense. "The problem of humans. Humans occupying an inferior position in a robot world. Menials in an alien culture. Servants of robots."

  Silence.

  The five robots sat frozen. It had happened. The thing they had feared. Crow sat back in his chair, lighting a cigarette. The robots watched each motion, his hands, the cigarette, the smoke, the match as he ground it out underfoot. The moment had come.

  "What do you propose?" the D asked at last, with metallic dignity. "What is this proposal of yours?"

  "I propose you robots evacuate Earth at once. Pack up and leave. Emigrate to the colonies. Ganymede, Mars, Venus. Leave Earth to us humans."

  The robots got instantly up. "Incredible! We built this world. This is our world! Earth belongs to us. It has always belonged to us."

  "Has it?" Crow said grimly.

  An uneasy chill moved through the robots. They hesitated, strangely alarmed. "Of course," the D murmured.

  Crow reached toward his heap of tapes and reports. The robots watched his movement with fear. "What is that?" an N demanded nervously. "What do you have there?"

  Tapes," Crow said.

  "What kind of tapes?"

  "History tapes." Crow signaled and a gray-clad human servant hurried into the chamber with a tape scanner. "Thanks," Crow said. The human started out. "Wait. You might like to stay and watch this, my friend."

  The servant's eyes bulged. He found a place in the back and stood trembling and watching.

  "Highly irregular," the D protested. "What are you doing? What is this?"

  "Watch." Crow snapped on the scanner, feeding the first tape into it. In the air in the center of the Council table, a three-dimensional image formed. "Keep your eyes on this. You'll remember this moment for a long time."

  The image hardened. They were looking into the Time Window. A scene from the Total War was in motion. Men, human technicians, working frantically in an undersurface lab. Assembling something. Assembling -

  The human servant squawked wildly. "An A! It's a Type A robot! They're making it!"

  The five Council robots buzzed in consternation. "Get that servant out of here!" the D ordered.

  The scene changed. It showed the first robots, the original Type A, rising to the surface to fight the war. Other early robots appeared, snaking through the ruins and ash, approaching warily. The robots clashed. Bursts of white light. Gleaming clouds of particles.

  "Robots were originally designed as soldiers," Crow explained. "Then more advanced types were produced to act as technicians and lab workers and machinists."

  The scene showed an undersurface factory. Rows of robots worked presses and stampers. The robots worked rapidly, efficiently - supervised by human foremen.

  "These tapes are fake!" an N cried angrily. "Do you expect us to believe this?"

  A new scene formed. Robots, more advanced, types more complex and elaborate. Taking over more and more economic and industrial functions as humans were destroyed by the War.

  "At first robots were simple," Crow explained. "They served simple needs. Then, as the War progressed, more advanced types were created. Finally, humans were making Types D and E. Equal to humans - and in conceptual faculties, superior to humans."

  "This is insane!" an N stated. "Robots evolved. The early types were simple because they were original stages, primitive forms that gave rise to more complex forms. The law of evolution fully explains this process."

  A new scene formed. The last stages of the War. Robots fighting men. Robots eventually winning. The complete chaos of the latter years. Endless wastes of rolling ash and radioactive particles. Miles of ruin.

  "All cultural records were destroyed," Crow said. "Robots emerged masters without knowing how or why, or in what manner they came into being. But now you see the facts. Robots were created as human tools. During the War they got out of hand."

  He snapped off the tape scanner. The image faded. The five robots sat in stunned silence.

&nb
sp; Crow folded his arms. "Well? What do you say?" He jerked his thumb at the human servant crouching in the rear of the chamber, dazed and astonished. "Now you know and now he knows. What do you imagine he's thinking? I can tell you. He's thinking -"

  "How did you get these tapes?" the D demanded. "They can't be genuine. They must be fakes."

  "Why weren't they found by our archeologists?" an N shouted shrilly.

  "I took them personally," Crow said.

  "You took them? What do you mean?"

  "Through a Time Window." Crow tossed a thick package onto the table. "Here are the schematics. You can build a Time Window yourself if you want."

  "A time machine." The D snatched up the package and leafed through the contents. "You saw into the past." Dawning realization showed on its ancient face. "Then -"

  "He saw ahead!" an N searched wildly. "Into the future! That explains his perfect Lists. He scanned them in advance."

  Crow rattled his papers impatiently. "You've heard my proposal. You've seen the tapes. If you vote down the proposal I'll release the tapes publicly. And the schematics. Every human in the world will know the true story of his origin, and yours."

  "So?" an N said nervously. "We can handle humans. If there's an uprising we'll put it down."

  "Will you?" Crow got suddenly to his feet, his face hard. "Consider. Civil war raging over the whole planet. Men on one side, centuries of pent-up hatred. On the other side robots suddenly deprived of their myth. Knowing they were originally mechanical tools. Are you sure you'll come out on top this time? Are you positive?"

  The robots were silent.

  "If you'll evacuate Earth I'll suppress the tapes. The two races can go on, each with its own culture and society. Humans here on Earth. Robots on the colonies. Neither one master. Neither one slave."

  The five robots hesitated, angry and resentful. "But we worked centuries to build up this planet! It won't make sense. Our leaving. What'll we say? What'll we give as our reason?"

  Crow smiled harshly. "You can say Earth isn't adequate for the great original master race."

  There was silence. The four Type N robots looked at each other nervously, drawing together in a whispered huddle. The massive D sat silent, its archaic brass eye lens fixed intently on Crow, a baffled, defeated expression on its face.

  Calmly, Jim Crow waited.

  "Can I shake your hand?" L-87t asked timidly. "I'll be going soon. I'm in one of the first loads."

  Crow stuck out his hand briefly and L-87t shook, a little embarrassed.

  "I hope it works out," L-87t ventured. "Vid us from time to time. Keep us posted."

  Outside the Council Buildings the blaring voices of the street speakers were beginning to disturb the late afternoon gloom. All up and down the city the speakers roared out their message, the Council Directive.

  Men, scurrying home from work, paused to listen. In the uniform houses in the human quarter men and women glanced up, pausing in their routine of living, curious and attentive. Everywhere, in all cities of Earth, robots and human beings ceased their activities and looked up as the Government speakers roared into life.

  "This is to announce that the Supreme Council has decreed the rich colony planets Venus, Mars, and Ganymede, are to be set aside exclusively for the use of robots. No humans will be permitted outside of Earth. In order to take advantage of the superior resources and living conditions of these colonies, all robots now on Earth are to be transferred to the colony of their choice.

  "The Supreme Council has decided that Earth is no fit place for robots. Its wasted and still partly-devastated condition renders it unworthy of the robot race. All robots are to be conveyed to their new homes in the colonies as quickly as adequate transportation can be arranged.

  "In no case can humans enter the colony areas. The colonies are exclusively for the use of robots. The human population will be permitted to remain on Earth.

  "This is to announce that the Supreme Council had decreed that the rich colony planets of Venus -"

  Crow moved away from the window, satisfied.

  He returned to his desk and continued assembling papers and reports in neat piles, glancing at them briefly as he classified them and laid them aside.

  "I hope you humans will get along all right," L-87t repeated. Crow continued checking the heaps of top-level reports, marking them with his writing stick. Working rapidly, with absorbed attention, deep in his work. He scarcely noticed the robot lingering at the door. "Can you give me some idea of the government you'll set up?"

  Crow glanced up impatiently. "What?"

  "Your form of government. How will your society be ruled, now that you've maneuvered us off Earth? What sort of government will take the place of our Supreme Council and Congress?"

  Crow didn't answer. He had already returned to his work. There was a strange granite cast to his face, a peculiar hardness L-87t had never seen.

  "Who'll run things?" L-87t asked. "Who'll be the Government now that we're gone? You said yourself humans show no ability to manage a complex modern society. Can you find a human capable of keeping the wheels turning? Is there a human being capable of leading mankind?"

  Crow smiled thinly. And continued working.

  Planet for Transients

  The late afternoon sun shone down blinding and hot, a great shimmering orb in the sky. Trent halted a moment to get his breath. Inside his lead-lined helmet his face dripped with sweat, drop after drop of sticky moisture that steamed his viewplate and clogged his throat.

  He slid his emergency pack over to the other side and hitched up his gun-belt. From his oxygen tank he pulled a couple of exhausted tubes and tossed them away in the brush. The tubes rolled and disappeared, lost in the endless heaps of red-green leaves and vines.

  Trent checked his counter, found the reading low enough, slid back his helmet for a precious moment.

  Fresh air rushed into his nose and mouth. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs. The air smelled good - thick and moist and rich with the odor of growing plants. He exhaled and took another breath.

  To his right a towering column of orange shrubbery rose, wrapped around a sagging concrete pillar. Spread out over the rolling countryside was a vast expanse of grass and trees. In the distance a mass of growth looked like a wall, a jungle of creepers and insects and flowers and underbrush that would have to be blasted as he advanced slowly.

  Two immense butterflies danced past him. Great fragile shapes, multicolored, racing erratically around him and then away. Life everywhere - bugs and plants and rustling small animals in the shrubbery, a buzzing jungle of life in every direction. Trent sighed and snapped his helmet back in place. Two breathfuls was all he dared.

  He increased the flow of his oxygen tank and then raised his transmitter to his lips. He clicked it briefly on. "Trent. Checking with the Mine Monitor. Hear me?"

  A moment of static and silence. Then, a faint, ghostly voice. "Come in, Trent. Where the hell are you?"

  "Still going North. Ruins ahead. I may have to bypass. Looks thick."

  "Ruins?"

  "New York, probably. I'll check with the map."

  The voice was eager. "Anything yet?"

  "Nothing. Not so far, at least. I'll circle and report in about an hour." Trent examined his wristwatch. "It's half-past three. I'll raise you before evening."

  The voice hesitated. "Good luck. I hope you find something. How's your oxygen holding out?"

  "All right."

  "Food?"

  "Plenty left. I may find some edible plants."

  "Don't take any chances!"

  "I won't." Trent clicked off the transmitter and returned it to his belt. "I won't," he repeated. He gathered up his blast gun and hoisted his pack and started forward, his heavy lead-lined boots sinking deep into the lush foliage and compost underfoot.

  It was just past four o'clock when he saw them. They stepped out of the jungle around him. Two of them, young males - tall and thin and horny blue-gray like ashes. One raised h
is hand in greeting. Six or seven fingers - extra joints. "Afternoon," he piped.

  Trent stopped instantly. His heart thudded. "Good afternoon."

  The two youths came slowly around him. One had an ax - a foliage ax. The other carried only his pants and the remains of a canvas shirt. They were nearly eight feet tall. No flesh - bones and hard angles and large, curious eyes, heavily lidded. There were internal changes, radically different metabolism and cell structure, ability to utilize hot salts, altered digestive system. They were both looking at Trent with interest - growing interest.

  "Say," said one. "You're a human being."

  "That's right," Trent said.

  "My name's Jackson." The youth extended his thin blue horny hand and Trent shook it awkwardly. The hand was fragile under his lead-lined glove. Its owner added, "My friend here is Earl Potter."

  Trent shook hands with Potter. "Greetings," Potter said. His rough lips twitched. "Can we have a look at your rig?"

  "My rig?" Trent countered.

  "Your gun and equipment. What's that on your belt? And that tank?"

  "Transmitter - oxygen." Trent showed them the transmitter. "Battery operated. Hundred-mile range."

  "You're from a camp?" Jackson asked quickly.

  "Yes. Down in Pennsylvania."

  "How many?"

  Trent shrugged. "Couple of dozen."

  The blue-skinned giants were fascinated. "How have you survived? Penn was hard hit, wasn't it? The pools must be deep around there."

  "Mines," Trent explained. "Our ancestors moved down deep in the coal mines when the War began. So the records have it. We're fairly well set up. Grow our own food in tanks. A few machines, pumps and compressors and electrical generators. Some hand lathes. Looms."

  He didn't mention that generators now had to be cranked by hand, that only about half of the tanks were still operative. After three hundred years metal and plastic weren't much good - in spite of endless patching and repairing. Everything was wearing out, breaking down.

  "Say," Potter said. "This sure makes a fool of Dave Hunter."

  "Dave Hunter?"

  "Dave says there aren't any true humans left," Jackson explained. He poked at Trent's helmet curiously. "Why don't you come back with us? We've got a settlement near here - only an hour or so away on the tractor - our hunting tractor. Earl and I were out hunting flap-rabbits."