The Collected Stories of Philip K Dick

by Philip K. Dick

  "Well," Curt said carefully, knowing what he was getting into, "there may be Terrans with more sense of justice than you and Reynolds." He turned toward her. "I can see what you're going to do and so can you. Maybe you're right, maybe we ought to get it over with. Ten years is a long time when there's no feeling. And it wasn't our idea in the first place."

  "No," Julie agreed. She crushed her cigarette out and shakily lit another. "If there had been another male Precog besides you, just one. That's something I can't forgive Reynolds for. It was his idea, you know. I never should have agreed. For the glory of the race! Onward and upward with the Psi banner! The mystical mating of the first real Precogs in history … and look what came of it!"

  "Shut up," Curt said. "He's not asleep and he can hear you."

  Julie's voice was bitter. 'Hear me, yes. Understand, no. We wanted to know what the second generation would be like—well, now we know. Precog plus Precog equals freak. Useless mutant. Monster—let's face it, the M on his card stands for monster."

  Curt's hands tightened on the wheel, "That's a word neither you nor anybody else is going to use."

  "Monster!" She leaned close to him, teeth white in the light from the dashboard, eyes glowing. "Maybe the Terrans are right—maybe we Precogs ought to be sterilized and put to death. Erased. I think…" She broke off abruptly, unwilling to finish.

  "Go ahead," Curt said. "You think perhaps when the revolt is successful and we're in control of the Colonies, we should go down the line selectively. With the Corps on top naturally."

  "Separate the wheat from the chaff," Julie said. "First the Colonies from Terra. Then us from them. And when he comes up, even if he is my son…"

  "What you're doing," Curt interrupted, "is passing judgment on people according to their use. Tim isn't useful, so there's no point in letting him live, right?" His blood pressure was on the way up, but he was past caring. "Breeding people like cattle. A human hasn't a right to live; that's a privilege we dole out according to our whim."

  Curt raced the car down the deserted highway. "You heard Fairchild prattle about freedom and equality. He believes it and so do I. And I believe Tim—or anybody else—has a right to exist whether we can make use of his talent or whether he even has a talent."

  "He has a right to live," Julie said, "but remember he's not one of us. He's an oddity. He doesn't have our ability, our—" she ground out the words triumphantly—"superior ability."

  Curt pulled the car over to the edge of the highway. He brought it to a halt and pushed open the door. Dismal, arid air billowed into the car.

  "You drive on home." He leaned over the back seat and prodded Tim into wakefulness. "Come on, kid. We're getting out."

  Julie reached over to get the wheel. "When will you be home? Or have you got it completely set up now? Better make sure. She might be the kind that has a few others on the string."

  Curt stepped from the car and the door slammed behind him. He took his son's hand and led him down the roadway to the black square of a ramp that rose darkly in the night gloom. As they started up the steps, he heard the car roar off down the highway through the darkness toward home.

  "Where are we?" Tim asked,

  "You know this place, I bring you here every week. This is the school where they train people like you and me—where we Psis get our education,"

  II

  Lights came on around them. Corridors branched off the main entrance ramp like metal vines.

  "You may stay here for a few days," Curt said to his son, "Can you stand not seeing your mother for a while?"

  Tim didn't answer. He had lapsed back into his usual silence as he followed along beside his father. Curt again wondered how the boy could be so withdrawn—as he obviously was—and yet be so terribly alert. The answer was written over each inch of the taut, young body. Tim was only withdrawn from contact with human beings. He maintained an almost compulsive tangency with the outside world—or, rather, an outside world. Whatever it was, it didn't include humans, although it was made up of real, external objects.

  As he had already previewed, his son suddenly broke away from him. Curt let the boy hurry down a side corridor. He watched as Tim stood tugging anxiously at a supply locker, trying to get it open.

  "Okay," Curt said resignedly. He followed after him and unlocked the locker with his pass key. "See? There's nothing in it."

  How completely the boy lacked precog could be seen by the flood of relief that swept his face, Curt's heart sank at the sight. The precious talent that both he and Julie possessed simply hadn't been passed on. Whatever the boy was, he was not a Precog.

  It was past two in the morning, but the interior departments of the School Building were alight with activity. Curt moodily greeted a couple of Corpsmen lounging around the bar, surrounded by beers and ashtrays.

  "Where's Sally?" he demanded. "I want to go in and see Big Noodle."

  One of the Telepaths lazily jerked a thumb. "She's around somewhere. Over that way, in the kids' quarters, probably asleep. It's late." He eyed Curt, whose thoughts were on Julie. "You ought to get rid of a wife like that. She's too old and thin, anyhow. What you'd really like is a plump young dish—"

  Curt lashed a blast of mental dislike and was satisfied to see the grinning young face go hard with antagonism. The other Telepath pulled himself upright and shouted after Curt. "When you're through with your wife, send her around to us,"

  "I'd say you're after a girl of about twenty," another Telepath said as he admitted Curt to the sleeping quarters of the children's wing. "Dark hair—correct me it I'm wrong—and dark eyes. You have a fully formed image. Maybe there's a specific girl. Let's see, she's short, fairly pretty and her name is—"

  Curt cursed at the situation that required them to turn their minds over to the Corps. Telepaths were interlaced throughout the Colonies and, in particular, throughout the School and the offices of the Colonial Government. He tightened his grip around Tim's hand and led him through the doorway.

  "This kid of yours," the Telepath said as Tim passed close to him, "sure probes queer. Mind if I go down a little?"

  "Keep out of his mind." Curt ordered sharply. He slammed the door shut after Tim, knowing it made no difference, but enjoying the feel of the heavy metal sliding in place. He pushed Tim down a narrow corridor and into a small room. Tim pulled away, intent on a side door; Curt savagely yanked him back. "There's nothing in there!" he reprimanded harshly. "That's only a bathroom."

  Tim continued to tug away. He was still tugging when Sally appeared, fastening a robe around her, face puffy with sleep. "Hello, Mr. Purcell," she greeted Curt. "Hello, Tim." Yawning, she turned on a floor lamp and tossed herself down on a chair. "What can I do for you this time of night?"

  She was thirteen, tall and gangling, with yellow cornsilk hair and freckled skin. She picked sleepily at her thumbnail and yawned again as the boy sat down across from her. To amuse him, she animated a pair of gloves lying on a sidetable. Tim laughed with delight as the gloves groped their way to the edge of the table, waved their fingers blindly and began a cautious descent to the floor.

  "Fine," Curt said. "You're getting good. I'd say you're not cutting any classes."

  Sally shrugged. "Mr. Purcell, the School can't teach me anything. You know I'm the most advanced Psi with the power of animation. They just let me work alone. In fact, I'm instructing a bunch of little kids, still Mutes, who might have something. I think a couple of them could work out, with practice. All they can give me is encouragement; you know, psychological stuff and lots of vitamins and fresh air. But they can't teach me anything."

  "They can teach you how important you are," Curt said. He had previewed this, of course. During the last half hour, he had selected a number of possible approaches, discarded one after another, finally ended with this. "I came over to see Big Noodle. That meant I had to wake you. Do you know why?"

  "Sure," Sally answered. "You're afraid of him. And since Big Noodle is afraid of me, you need me to come along."
She allowed the gloves to sag into immobility as she got to her feet. "Well, let's go."

  He had seen Big Noodle many times in his life, but he had never got used to the sight. Awed, in spite of his preview of this scene, Curt stood in the open space before the platform, gazing up, silent and impressed as always.

  "He's fat," Sally said practically. "If he doesn't get thinner, he won't live long."

  Big Noodle slumped like a gray, sickly pudding in the immense chair the Tech Department had built for him. His eyes were half-closed; his pulpy arms lay slack and inert at his sides. Wads of oozing dough hung in folds over the arms and sides of the chair. Big Noodle's egglike skull was fringed with damp, stringy hair, matted like decayed seaweed. His nails were lost in the sausage fingers. His teeth were rotting and black. His tiny plate-blue eyes flickered dully as he identified Curt and Sally, but the obese body did not stir.

  "He's resting," Sally explained. "He just ate."

  "Hello," Curt said.

  From the swollen mouth, between rolls of pink flesh lips, a grumbled response came.

  "He doesn't like to be bothered this late," Sally said yawning. "I don't blame him."

  She wandered around the room, amusing herself by animating light brackets along the wall. The brackets struggled to pull free from the hot-pour plastic in which they were set.

  "This seems so dumb, if you don't mind my saying so, Mr. Purcell. The Telepaths keep Terran infiltrators from coming in here, and all this business of yours is against them. That means you're helping Terra, doesn't it? If we didn't have the Corps to watch out for us—"

  "I keep out Terrans," Big Noodle mumbled. "I have my wall and I turn back everything."

  "You turn back projectiles," Sally said, "but you can't keep out infiltrators. A Terran infiltrator could come in here this minute and you wouldn't know. You're just a big stupid lump of lard."

  Her description was accurate. But the vast mound of fat was the nexus of the Colony's defense, the most talented of the Psis. Big Noodle was the core of the Separation movement … and the living symbol of its problem.

  Big Noodle had almost infinite parakinetic power and the mind of a moronic three-year-old. He was, specifically, an idiot savant. His legendary powers had absorbed his whole personality, withered and degenerated it, rather than expanded it. He could have swept the Colony aside years ago if his bodily lusts and fears had been accompanied by cunning. But Big Noodle was helpless and inert, totally dependent on the instructions of the Colonial Government, reduced to sullen passivity by his terror of Sally.

  "I ate a whole pig," Big Noodle struggled to a quasi-position, belched, wiped feebly at his chin, "Two pigs, in fact. Right here in this room, just a little while ago. I could get more if I wanted."

  The diet of the colonist consisted mainly of tank-grown artificial protein. Big Noodle was amusing himself at their expense.

  "The pig," Big Noodle continued grandly, "came from Terra. The night before, I had a flock of wild ducks. And before that, I brought over some kind of animal from Betelgeuse IV. It doesn't have any name; it just runs around and eats."

  "Like you," Sally said, "Only you don't run around."

  Big Noodle giggled. Pride momentarily overcame his fear of the girl. "Have some candy," he offered. A shower of chocolate rattled down like hail. Curt and Sally retreated as the floor of the chamber disappeared under the deluge. With the chocolate came fragments of machinery, cardboard boxes, sections of display counter, a jagged chunk of concrete floor. "Candy factory on Terra," Big Noodle explained happily. "I've got it pinpointed pretty good."

  Tim had awakened from his contemplation. He bent down and eagerly picked up a handful of chocolates.

  "Go ahead," Curt said to him. "You might as well take them"

  "I'm the only one that gets the candy," Big Noodle thundered, outraged. The chocolate vanished. "I sent it back," he explained peevishly. "It's mine."

  There was nothing malevolent in Big Noodle, only an infinite childish selfishness. Through his power, every object in the Universe had become his possession. There was nothing outside the reach of his bloated arms; he could reach for the Moon and get it. Fortunately, most things were outside his span of comprehension. He was uninterested.

  "Let's cut out these games," Curt said. "Can you say if any Telepaths are within probe range of us?"

  Big Noodle made a begrudging search. He had a consciousness of objects wherever they were. Through his talent, he was in contact with the physical contents of the Universe.

  "None near here," he declared after a time. "One about a hundred feet off… I'll move him back. I hate Teeps getting into my privacy."

  "Everybody hates Teeps," Sally said. "It's a nasty, dirty talent. Looking into other people's minds is like watching them when they're bathing or dressing or eating. It isn't natural."

  Curt grinned. "Is it any different from Precog? You wouldn't call that natural."

  "Precog has to do with events, not people," Sally said. "Knowing what's going to happen isn't any worse than knowing what's already happened."

  "It might even be better," Curt pointed out.

  "No," Sally said emphatically. "It's got us into this trouble. I have to watch what I think all the time because of you. Every time I see a Teep, I get goose bumps, and no matter how hard I try, I can't keep from thinking about her, just because I know I'm not supposed to."

  "My precog faculty has nothing to do with Pat," Curt said. "Precog doesn't introduce fatality. Locating Pat was an intricate job. It was a deliberate choice I made."

  "Aren't you sorry?" Sally demanded.

  "No."

  "If it wasn't for me," Big Noodle interrupted, "you never would have got across to Pat,"

  "I wish we hadn't," Sally said fervently, "If it wasn't for Pat, we wouldn't be mixed up in all this business." She shot a hostile glance at Curt. "And I don't think she's pretty."

  "What would you suggest?" Curt asked the child with more patience than he felt. He had previewed the futility of making a child and an idiot understand about Pat. "You know we can't pretend we never found her."

  "I know," Sally admitted, "And the Teeps have got something from our minds already. That's why there're so many of them hanging around here. It's a good thing we don't know where she is."

  "I know where she is," Big Noodle said. "I know exactly where."

  "No, you don't," Sally answered. "You just know how to get to her and that's not the same thing. You can't explain it; you just send us over there and back."

  "It's a planet," Big Noodle said angrily, "with funny plants and a lot of green things. And the air's thin. She lives in a camp. People go out and farm all day. There's only a few people there. A lot of dopey animals live there. It's cold."

  "Where is it?" Curt asked.

  Big Noodle sputtered. "It's…" His pulpy arms waved. "It's some place near…" He gave up, wheezed resentfully at Sally and then brought a tank of filthy water into being above the girl's head. As the water flowed toward her, the child made a few brief motions with her hands.

  Big Noodle shrieked in terror and the water vanished. He lay panting with fright, body quivering, as Sally mopped at a wet spot on her robe. She had animated the fingers of his left hand.

  "Better not do that again," Curt said to her. "His heart might give out."

  "The big slob." Sally rummaged around in a supply closet. "Well, if you've made up your mind, we might as well get it over with. Only let's not stay so long. You get to talking with Pat and then the two of you go off, and you don't come back for hours. At night, it's freezing and they don't have any heating plants." She pulled down a coat from the closet, "I'll take this with me."

  "We're not going," Curt told her. "This time is going to be different."

  Sally blinked. "Different? How?"

  Even Big Noodle was surprised. "I was just getting ready to move you across," he complained,

  "I know," Curt said firmly. "But this time I want you to bring Pat here. Bring her to this room, und
erstand? This is the time we've been talking about. The big moment's arrived."

  There was only one person with Curt as he entered Fairchild's office. Sally was now in bed, back at the school. Big Noodle never stirred from his chamber. Tim was still at the School, in the hands of Psi-class authorities, not Telepaths.

  Pat followed hesitantly, frightened and nervous as the men sitting around the office glanced up in annoyance.

  She was perhaps nineteen, slim and copper-skinned, with large dark eyes. She wore a canvas workshirt and jeans, heavy shoes caked with mud. Her tangle of black curls was tied back and knotted with a red bandana. Her rolled-up sleeves showed tanned, competent arms. At her leather belt she carried a knife, a field telephone and an emergency pack of rations and water.

  "This is the girl," Curt said. "Take a good look at her."

  "Where are you from?" Fairchild asked Pat. He pushed aside a heap of directives and memotapes to find his pipe.

  Pat hesitated. "I—" she began. She turned uncertainly to Curt. "You told me never to say, even to you."

  "It's okay," Cut said gently. "You can tell us now." He explained to Fairchild, "I can preview what she's going to say, but I never knew before. I didn't want to get it probed out of me by the Corps."

  "I was born on Proxima VI," Pat said in a low voice. "I grew up there. This is the first time I've left the planet."

  Fairchild's eyes widened. "That's a wild place. In fact, about our most primitive region."

  Around the office, his group of Norm and Psi consultants moved closer to watch. One wide-shouldered old man, face weathered as stone, eyes shrewd and alert, raised his hand. "Are we to understand that Big Noodle brought you here?"

  Pat nodded. "I didn't know. I mean it was unexpected." She tapped her belt. "I was working, clearing the brush … we've been trying to expand, develop more usable land."

  "What's your name?" Fairchild asked her.

  "Patricia Ann Connley."

  "What class?"

  The girl's sun-cracked lips moved. "Mute class."

  A stir moved through the officials. "You're a Mutant," the old man asked her, "without Psi powers? Exactly how do you differ from the Norm?"