The Collected Stories of Philip K Dick

by Philip K. Dick

  "Sorry." Siller lowered the gun shakily.

  "It's all right. Better to shoot first, on a strange planet." Groves and Carmichel went on ahead, up a low rise.

  "Wait for me," Basset called. He fell behind the others. "I have something in my boot."

  "You can catch up." The three went on, leaving the Doctor alone. He sat down on the moist ground, grumbling. He began to unlace his boot slowly, carefully.

  Around him the air was warm. He sighed, relaxing. After a moment he removed his helmet and adjusted his glasses. Smells of plants and flowers were heavy in the air. He took a deep breath, letting it out again slowly. Then he put his helmet back on and finished lacing up his boot.

  A tiny man, not six inches high, appeared from a clump of weeds and shot an arrow at him.

  Basset stared down. The arrow, a minute splinter of wood, was sticking in the sleeve of his spacesuit. He opened and closed his mouth but no sounds came.

  A second arrow glanced off the transparent shield of his helmet. Then a third and a fourth. The tiny man had been joined by companions, one of them on a tiny horse.

  "Mother of Heaven!" Basset said.

  "What's the matter?" General Groves' voice came in his earphones. "Are you all right, Doctor?"

  "Sir, a tiny man just fired an arrow at me."

  "Really?"

  "There's—there's a whole bunch of them, now."

  "Are you out of your mind?"

  "No!" Basset scrambled to his feet. A volley of arrows rose up, sticking into his suit, glancing off his helmet. The shrill voices of the tiny men came to his ears, an excited, penetrating sound. "General, please come back here!"

  Groves and Siller appeared at the top of the ridge. "Basset, you must be out of—"

  They stopped, transfixed. Siller raised the Boris gun, but Groves pushed the muzzle down. "Impossible." He advanced, staring down at the ground. An arrow pinged against his helmet. "Little men. With bows and arrows."

  Suddenly the little men turned and fled. They raced off, some on foot, some on horseback, back through the weeds and out the other side.

  "There they go," Siller said. "Should we follow them? See where they live?"

  "It isn't possible." Groves shook his head. "No planet has yielded tiny human beings like this. So small!"

  Commander Carmichel strode down the ridge to them. "Did I really see it? You men saw it, too? Tiny figures, racing away?"

  Groves pulled an arrow from his suit. "We saw. And felt." He held the arrow close to the plate of his helmet, examining it. "Look—the tip glitters. Metal tipped."

  "Did you notice their costumes?" Basset said. "In a storybook I once read. Robin Hood. Little caps, boots."

  "A story…" Groves rubbed his jaw, a strange look suddenly glinting in his eyes. "A book."

  "What, sir?" Siller said.

  "Nothing." Groves came suddenly to life, moving away. "Let's follow them. I want to see their city."

  He increased his pace, walking with great strides after the tiny men, who had not got very far off, yet.

  "Come on," Siller said. "Before they get away." He and Carmichel and Basset followed behind Groves, catching up with him. The four of them kept pace with the tiny men, who were hurrying away as fast as they could. After a time one of the tiny men stopped, throwing himself down on the ground. The others hesitated, looking back.

  "He's tired out," Siller said. "He can't make it."

  Shrill squeaks rose. He was being urged on.

  "Give him a hand," Basset said. He bent down, picking the tiny figure up. He held him carefully between his gloved fingers, turning him around and around.

  "Ouch!" He set him down quickly.

  "What is it?" Groves came over.

  "He stung me." Basset massaged his thumb.

  "Stung you?"

  "Stabbed, I mean. With his sword."

  "You'll be all right." Groves went on, after the tiny figures.

  "Sir," Siller said to Carmichel, "this certainly makes the Ganymede problem seem remote."

  "It's a long way off."

  "I wonder what their city will be like," Groves said.

  "I think I know," Basset said.

  "You know? How?"

  Basset did not answer. He seemed to be deep in thought, watching the figures on the ground intently.

  "Come on," he said. "Let's not lose them."

  They stood together, none of them speaking. Ahead, down a long slope, lay a miniature city. The tiny figures had fled into it, across a drawbridge. Now the bridge was rising, lifted by almost invisible threads. Even as they watched, the bridge snapped shut.

  "Well, Doc?" Siller said. "This what you expected?"

  Basset nodded. "Exactly."

  The city was walled, built of gray stone. It was surrounded by a little moat. Countless spires rose up, a conglomeration of peaks and gables, tops of buildings. There was furious activity going on inside the city. A cacophony of shrill sounds from countless throats drifted across the moat to the four men, growing louder each moment. At the walls of the city figures appeared, soldiers in armor, peering across the moat at them.

  Suddenly the drawbridge quivered. It began to slide down, descending into position. There was a pause. Then—

  "Look!" Groves exclaimed. "Here they come."

  Siller raised his gun. "My Lord! Look at them!"

  A horde of armed men on horseback clattered across the drawbridge, spilling out onto the ground beyond. They came straight toward the four spacesuited men, the sun sparkling against their shields and spears. There were hundreds of them, decked with streamers and banners and pennants of all colors and sizes. An impressive sight, on a small scale.

  "Get ready," Carmichel said. "They mean business. Watch your legs." He tightened the bolts of his helmet.

  The first wave of horsemen reached Groves, who was standing a little ahead of the others. A ring of warriors surrounded him, little glittering armored and plumed figures, hacking furiously at his ankles with miniature swords.

  "Cut it out!" Groves howled, leaping back. "Stop!"

  "They're going to give us trouble," Carmichel said.

  Siller began to giggle nervously, as arrows flew around him. "Shall I give it to them, sir? One blast from the Boris gun and—"

  "No! Don't fire—that's an order." Groves moved back as a phalanx of horses rushed toward him, spears lowered. He swung his leg, spilling them over with his heavy boot. A frantic mass of men and horses struggled to right themselves.

  "Back," Basset said. "Those damn archers."

  Countless men on foot were rushing from the city with long bows and quivers strapped to their backs. A chaos of shrill sound filled the air.

  "He's right," Carmichel said. His leggings had been hacked clean through by determined knights who had dismounted and were swinging again and again, trying to chop him down. "If we're not going to fire we better retreat. They're tough."

  Clouds of arrows rained down on them.

  "They know how to shoot," Groves admitted. "These men are trained soldiers."

  "Watch out," Siller said "They're trying to get between us. Pick us off one by one." He moved toward Carmichel nervously. "Let's get out of here."

  "Hear them?" Carmichel said. "They're mad. They don't like us."

  The four men retreated, backing away. Gradually the tiny figures stopped following, pausing to reorganize their lines.

  "It's lucky for us we have our suits on," Groves said. "This isn't funny anymore."

  Siller bent down and pulled up a clump of weeds. He tossed the clump at the line of knights. They scattered.

  "Let's go," Basset said. "Let's leave."

  "Leave?"

  "Let's get out of here." Basset was pale. "I can't believe it. Must be some kind of hypnosis. Some kind of control of our minds. It can't be real."

  Siller caught his arm. "Are you all right? What's the matter?"

  Basset's face was contorted strangely. "I can't accept it," he muttered thickly. "Shakes the whole fabric
of the universe. All basic beliefs."

  "Why? What do you mean?"

  Groves put his hand on Basset's shoulder. "Take it easy, Doctor."

  "But General—"

  "I know what you're thinking. But it can't be. There must be some rational explanation. There has to be."

  "A fairy tale," Basset muttered. "A story."

  "Coincidence. The story was a social satire, nothing more. A social satire, a work of fiction. It just seems like this place. The resemblance is only—"

  "What are you two talking about?" Carmichel said.

  "This place." Bassett pulled away. "We've got to get out of here. We're caught in a mind web of some sort."

  "What's he talking about?" Carmichel looked from Basset to Groves. "Do you know where we are?"

  "We can't be there," Basset said.

  'Where?"

  "He made it up. A fairy tale. A child's tale."

  "No, a social satire, to be exact," Groves said.

  "What are they talking about, sir?" Siller said to Commander Carmichel. "Do you know?"

  Carmichel grunted. A slow light dawned in his face. "What?"

  "Do you know where we are, sir?"

  "Let's get back to the globe," Carmichel said.

  Groves paced nervously. He stopped by the port, looking out intently, peering into the distance.

  "More coming?" Basset said.

  "Lots more."

  "What are they doing out there now?"

  "Still working on their tower."

  The little people were erecting a tower, a scaffolding up the side of the globe. Hundreds of them were working together, knights, archers, even women and boys. Horses and oxen pulling tiny carts were drawing supplies from the city. A shrill hubbub penetrated the rexenoid hull of the globe, filtering to the four men inside.

  "Well?" Carmichel said. "What'll we do? Go back?"

  "I've had enough," Groves said. "All I want now is to go back to Terra."

  "Where are we?" Siller demanded, for the tenth time. "Doc, you know. Tell me, damn it! All three of you know. Why won't you say?"

  "Because we want to keep our sanity," Basset said, his teeth clenched. "That's why."

  "I'd sure like to know," Siller murmured. "If we went over in the corner would you tell me?"

  Basset shook his head. "Don't bother me, Major."

  "It just can't be," Groves said. "How could it be?"

  "And if we leave, we'll never know. We'll never be sure. It'll haunt us all our lives. Were we really—here? Does this place really exist? And is this place really—"

  "There was a second place," Carmichel said abruptly.

  "A second place?"

  "In the story. A place where the people were big."

  Basset nodded. "Yes. It was called—What?"

  "Brobdingnag."

  "Brobdingnag. Maybe it exists, too."

  "Then you really think this is—"

  "Doesn't it fit his description?" Basset waved toward the port. "Isn't that what he described? Everything small, tiny soldiers, little walled cities, oxen, horses, knights, kings, pennants. Drawbridge. Moat. And their damn towers. Always building towers—and shooting arrows."

  "Doc," Siller said. "Whose description?"

  No answer.

  "Could—could you whisper it to me?"

  "I don't see how it can be," Carmichel said flatly. "I remember the book, of course. I read it when I was a child, as we all did. Later on I realized it was a satire of the manners of the times. But good Lord, it's either one or the other! Not a real place!"

  "Maybe he had a sixth sense. Maybe he really was there. Here. In a vision. Maybe he had a vision. They say that he was supposed to have been psychotic, toward the end."

  "Brobdingnag. The other place." Carmichel pondered. "If this exists, maybe that exists. It might tell us… We might know, for sure. Some sort of verification."

  "Yes, our theory. Hypothesis. We predict that it should exist, too. Its existence would be a kind of proof."

  "The L theory, which predicts the existence of B."

  "We've got to be sure," Basset said. "If we go back without being sure, we'll always wonder. When we're fighting the Ganymedeans we'll stop suddenly and wonder—was I really there? Does it really exist? All these years we thought it was just a story. But now—"

  Groves walked over to the control board and sat down. He studied the dials intently. Carmichel sat down beside him.

  "See this," Groves said, touching the big central meter with his finger. "The reading is up to liw, 100. Remember where it was when we started?"

  "Of course. At nesi. At zero. Why?"

  "Nesi is neutral position. Our starting position, back on Terra. We've gone the limit one way. Carmichel, Basset is right. We've got to find out. We can't go back to Terra without knowing if this really is… You know."

  "You want to throw it back all the way? Not stop at zero? Go on to the other end? To the other liw?"

  Groves nodded.

  "All right." The Commander let his breath out slowly. "I agree with you. I want to know, too. I have to know."

  "Doctor Basset." Groves brought the Doctor over to the board. "We're not going back to Terra, not yet. The two of us want to go on."

  "On?" Basset's face twitched. "You mean on beyond? To the other side?"

  They nodded. There was silence. Outside the globe the pounding and ringing had ceased. The tower had almost reached the level of the port.

  "We must know," Groves said.

  "I'm for it," Basset said.

  "Good," Carmichel said.

  "I wish one of you would tell me what it is you're talking about," Siller said plaintively. "Can't you tell me?"

  "Then here goes." Groves took hold of the switch. He held it for a moment, sitting silently. "Are we ready?"

  "Ready," Basset said.

  Groves threw the switch, all the way down.

  Shapes, enormous and confused.

  The globe floundered, trying to right itself. Again they were falling, sliding about. The globe was lost in a sea of vague misty forms, immense dim figures that moved on all sides of them, beyond the port.

  Basset stared out, his jaws slack. "What—"

  Faster and faster the globe fell. Everything was diffused, unformed. Shapes like shadows drifted and flowed outside, shapes so huge that their outlines were lost.

  "Sir!" Siller muttered. "Commander! Hurry! Look!"

  Carmichel made his way to the port.

  They were in a world of giants. A towering figure walked past them, a torso so large that they could see only a portion of it. There were other shapes, but so vast and dim they could not be identified. All around the globe was a roaring, a deep undercurrent of sound like the waves of a monstrous ocean. An echoing sound, a booming that tossed and bounced the globe around and around.

  Groves looked up at Basset and Carmichel.

  "Then it's true," Basset said.

  "This confirms it."

  "I can't believe it," Carmichel said. "But this is the proof we asked for. Here it is—out there."

  Outside the globe something was coming closer, coming ponderously toward them. Siller gave a sudden shout, moving back from the port. He grabbed up the Boris gun, his face ashen.

  "Groves!" Basset cried. "Throw it to neutral! Quick! We've got to get away."

  Carmichel pushed Siller's gun down. He grinned fixedly at him. "Sorry. This time it's too small."

  A hand was reached toward them, a hand so large that it blotted out the light. Fingers, skin with gaping pores, nails, great tufts of hair. The globe shuddered as the hand closed around them from all sides.

  "General! Quick!"

  Then it was gone. The pressure ceased, winking out. Beyond the port was—nothing. The dials were in motion again, the pointer rising up toward nesi. Toward neutral. Toward Terra.

  Basset breathed a sigh of relief. He removed his helmet and mopped his forehead.

  "We got away," Groves said. "Just in time."

  "A
hand," Siller said. "Reaching for us. A big hand. Where were we? Tell me!"

  Carmichel sat down beside Groves. They looked silently at each other.

  Carmichel grunted. "We mustn't tell anyone. No one. They wouldn't believe us, and anyhow, it would be very damaging if they did. A society can't learn something like this. Too much would totter."

  "He must have seen it in a vision. Then he wrote it up as a children's story. He knew he could never put it down as fact."

  "Something like that. So it really exists. Both exist. And perhaps others. Wonderland, Oz, Pellucidar, Erewhon, all the fantasies, dreams—"

  Groves put his hand on the Commander's arm. "Take it easy. We'll simply tell them the ship didn't work. As far as they're concerned we didn't go anywhere. Right?"

  "Right." Already, the vidscreen was sputtering, coming to life. An image was forming. "Right. We won't say anything. Just the four of us will know." He glanced at Siller. "Just the three of us, I mean."

  On the vidscreen the image of the Senate Leader was fully formed. "Commander Carmichel! Are you safe? Were you able to land? Mars sent us no report. Is your crew all right?"

  Basset peered out the port. "We're hanging about a mile up from the city. Terra City. Dropping slowly down. The sky is full of ships. We don't need help, do we?"

  "No," Carmichel said. He began to fire the brake rocket slowly, easing the ship down.

  "Someday, when the war is over," Basset said, "I want to ask the Ganymedeans about this. I'd like to find out the whole story."

  "Maybe you'll get your chance," Groves said, suddenly sobered. "That's right. Ganymede! Our chance to win the war certainly fizzled."

  "The Senate Leader is going to be disappointed," Carmichel said grimly. "You may get your wish very soon, Doctor. The war will probably be over shortly, now that we're back—empty handed."

  The slender yellow Ganymedean moved slowly into the room, his robes slithering across the floor after him. He stopped, bowing.

  Commander Carmichel nodded stiffly.

  "I was told to come here," the Ganymedean lisped softly. "They tell me that some of our property is in this laboratory."