Mike pulled away.
‘Where are you going?’ His father hurried after him. ‘Come back here!’ He grabbed for his son frantically, but in the gloom he stumbled and fell. Stars blinded him as his head smashed into the edge of the house; he pulled himself up painfully and groped for some support. When he could see again, the yard was empty. His son was gone. ‘Mike!’ he yelled. ‘Where are you?’
There was no answer. The night wind blew clouds of snow around him, a think bitter gust of chilled air. Wind and darkness, nothing else.
Bill O’Neill wearily examined the clock on the wall. It was nine thirty: he could finally close the doors and lock up the big dazzling store. Push the milling, murmuring throngs of people outside and on their way home.
‘Thank God,’ he breathed, as he held the door open for the last old lady, loaded down with packages and presents. He threw the code bolt in place and pulled down the shade. ‘What a mob. I never saw so many people.’
‘All done,’ Al Conners said, from the cash register. ‘I’ll count the money—you go around and check everything. Make sure we got all of them out.’
O’Neill pushed his blond hair back and loosened his tie. He lit a cigarette gratefully, then moved around the store, checking light switches, turning off the massive GEC displays and appliances. Finally he approached the huge bomb shelter that took up the center of the floor.
He climbed the ladder to the neck and stepped onto the lift. The lift dropped with a whoosh and a second later he stepped out in the cavelike interior of the shelter.
In one corner Mike Foster sat curled up in a tight heap, his knees drawn up against his chin, his skinny arms wrapped around his ankles. His face was pushed down; only his ragged brown hair showed. He didn’t move as the salesman approached him, astounded.
‘Jesus!’ O’Neill exclaimed. ‘It’s that kid.’
Mike said nothing. He hugged his legs tighter and buried his head as far down as possible.
‘What the hell are you doing down here?’ O’Neill demanded, surprised and angry. His outrage increased. ‘I thought your folks got one of these.’ Then he remembered. ‘That’s right. We had to repossess it.’
Al Conners appeared from the descent-lift. ‘What’s holding you up? Let’s get out of here and—’ He saw Mike and broke off. ‘What’s he doing down here? Get him out and let’s go.’
‘Come on, kid,’ O’Neill said gently. ‘Time to go home.’
Mike didn’t move.
The two men looked at each other. ‘I guess we’re going to have to drag him out,’ Conners said grimly. He took off his coat and tossed it over a decontamination fixture. ‘Come on. Let’s get it over with.’
It took both of them. The boy fought desperately, without sound, clawing and struggling and tearing at them with his fingernails, kicking them, slashing at them, biting them when they grabbed him. They half-dragged, half-carried him to the descent-lift and pushed him into it long enough to activate the mechanism. O’Neill rode up with him; Conners came immediately after. Grimly, efficiently, they bundled the boy to the front door, threw him out, and locked the bolts after him.
‘Wow,’ Conners gasped, sinking down against the counter. His sleeve was torn and his cheek was cut and gashed. His glasses hung from one ear; his hair was rumpled and he was exhausted. ‘Think we ought to call the cops? There’s something wrong with that kid.’
O’Neill stood by the door, panting for breath and gazing out into the darkness. He could see the boy sitting on the pavement. ‘He’s still out there,’ he muttered. People pushed by the boy on both sides. Finally one of them stopped and got him up. The boy struggled away, and then disappeared into the darkness. The larger figure picked up its packages, hesitated a moment, and then went on. O’Neill turned away. ‘What a hell of a thing.’ He wiped his face with his handkerchief. ‘He sure put up a fight.’
‘What was the matter with him? He never said anything, not a goddamn word.’
‘Christmas is a hell of a time to repossess something,’ O’Neill said. He reached shakily for his coat. ‘It’s too bad. I wish they could have kept it.’
Conners shrugged. ‘No tickie, no laundry.’
‘Why the hell can’t we give them a deal? Maybe—’ O’Neill struggled to get the word out. ‘Maybe sell the shelter wholesale, to people like that.’
Conners glared at him angrily. ‘Wholesale? And then everybody wants it wholesale. It wouldn’t be fair—and how long would we stay in business? How long would GEC last that way?’
‘I guess not very long,’ O’Neill admitted moodily.
‘Use your head.’ Conners laughed sharply. ‘What you need is a good stiff drink. Come on in the back closet—I’ve got a fifty of Haig and Haig in a drawer back there. A little something to warm you up, before you go home. That’s what you need.’
Mike Foster wandered aimlessly along the dark street, among the crowds of shoppers hurrying home. He saw nothing; people pushed against him but he was unaware of them. Lights, laughing people, the honking of car horns, the clang of signals. He was blank, his mind empty and dead. He walked automatically, without consciousness or feeling.
To his right a garish neon sign winked and glowed in the deepening night shadows. A huge sign, bright and colorful.
PEACE ON EARTH GOOD WILL TO MEN
PUBLIC SHELTER ADMISSION 50C
Introduction by Jessica Mecklenburg
Story & Script title: Human Is
Jessica Mecklenburg is a writer and producer, best known for her work on the hit Netflix series Stranger Things. Mecklenburg also worked as a supervising producer and writer for Resurrection and Being Mary Jane. She just wrapped season one of Gypsy for Universal Television and Netflix, on which she served as a Co-Executive Producer.
I’ve always responded to Philip K. Dick’s evocative prophecies and deep, sometimes disturbing psychological journeys. Resounding themes and metaphors reside in his spare language. But Jill Herrick’s plight in Human Is resonated with me profoundly. Her palpable longing to connect with her husband, Lester, on a more emotional level struck a chord I suspect many feel while reading it. This was the genius of Philip K. Dick: setting forth an existential truth against cruel, provocative and cutting edge circumstances.
In Human Is Earth is called Terra. It’s more militaristic than we’ve ever known because the elements we need to survive come with the ultimate price tag: our species or theirs. While our characters struggle with the ethical implications of intergalactic warfare, the true stakes of Human Is remain emotional and universal.
In looking to adapt Human Is for the Electric Dreams series, the challenge was in updating Jill and Lester’s world without altering the longing, disconnection, and ultimately beauty of our leads’ growing attachment following Lester’s return from Rexor IV. So much of Human Is feels relevant, if not crucial, to our understanding of today’s world. In fact, it’s astounding how essential Philip K. Dick’s work feels. While the time period of the original story is not specified, the story has a timeless quality. We chose to set our version in 2520. I reimagined Jill and Lester, calling them Vera and Silas, while retaining as much of the nuance and honest emotion of Philip K. Dick’s original story as possible.
Human Is explores the very real question, ‘What does it mean to be human?’ Without giving too much away, throughout production, we referred to Silas after his return from Rexor IV as ‘Silas Rex’. The irony is that in Latin, ‘Rex’ means ‘King’. Human Is is a quintessential Philip K. Dick story as it is paradoxically both a cautionary tale and deeply hopeful. Silas Rex represents the possible future of humanity. For as evolution, innovation and technology inevitably collide, a fundamental truth remains: to be human is to love.
Human Is
Jill Herrick’s blue eyes filled with tears. She gazed at her husband in unspeakable horror. ‘You’re—you’re hideous!’ she wailed.
Lester Herrick continued working, arranging heaps of notes and graphs in precise piles.
‘H
ideous,’ he stated, ‘is a value judgment. It contains no factual information.’ He sent a report tape on Centauran parasitic life whizzing through the desk scanner. ‘Merely an opinion. An expression of emotion, nothing more.’
Jill stumbled back to the kitchen. Listlessly, she waved her hand to trip the stove into activity. Conveyor belts in the wall hummed to life, hurrying the food from the underground storage lockers for the evening meal.
She turned to face her husband one last time. ‘Not even a little while?’ she begged. ‘Not even—’
‘Not even for a month. When he comes you can tell him. If you haven’t the courage, I’ll do it. I can’t have a child running around here. I have too much work to do. This report on Betelgeuse XI is due in ten days.’ Lester dropped a spool on Fomalhautan fossil implements into the scanner. ‘What’s the matter with your brother? Why can’t he take care of his own child?’
Jill dabbed at swollen eyes. ‘Don’t you understand? I want Gus here! I begged Frank to let him come. And now you—’
‘I’ll be glad when he’s old enough to be turned over to the Government.’ Lester’s thin face twisted in annoyance. ‘Damn it, Jill, isn’t dinner ready yet? It’s been ten minutes! What’s wrong with that stove?’
‘It’s almost ready.’ The stove showed a red signal light. The robant waiter had come out of the wall and was waiting expectantly to take the food.
Jill sat down and blew her small nose violently. In the living room, Lester worked on unperturbed. His work. His research. Day after day. Lester was getting ahead; there was no doubt of that. His lean body was bent like a coiled spring over the tape scanner, cold gray eyes taking in the information feverishly, analyzing, appraising, his conceptual faculties operating like well-greased machinery.
Jill’s lips trembled in misery and resentment. Gus—little Gus. How could she tell him? Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. Never to see the chubby little fellow again. He could never come back—because his childish laughter and play bothered Lester. Interfered with his research.
The stove clicked to green. The food slid out, into the arms of the robant. Soft chimes sounded to announce dinner.
‘I hear it,’ Lester grated. He snapped off the scanner and got to his feet. ‘I suppose he’ll come while we’re eating.’
‘I can vid Frank and ask—’
‘No. Might as well get it over with.’ Lester nodded impatiently to the robant. ‘All right. Put it down.’ His thin lips set in an angry line. ‘Damn it, don’t dawdle! I want to get back to my work!’
Jill bit back the tears.
Little Gus came trailing into the house as they were finishing dinner.
Jill gave a cry of joy. ‘Gussie!’ She ran to sweep him up in her arms. ‘I’m so glad to see you!’
‘Watch out for my tiger,’ Gus muttered. He dropped his little gray kitten onto the rug and it rushed off, under the couch. ‘He’s hiding.’
Lester’s eyes flickered as he studied the little boy and the tip of gray tail extending from under the couch.
‘Why do you call it a tiger? It’s nothing but an alley cat.’
Gus looked hurt. He scowled. ‘He’s a tiger. He’s got stripes.’
‘Tigers are yellow and a great deal bigger. You might as well learn to classify things by their correct names.’
‘Lester, please—’ Jill pleaded
‘Be quiet,’ her husband said crossly. ‘Gus is old enough to shed childish illusions and develop a realistic orientation. What’s wrong with the psych testers? Don’t they straighten this sort of nonsense out?’
Gus ran and snatched up his tiger. ‘You leave him alone!’
Lester contemplated the kitten. A strange, cold smile played about his lips. ‘Come down to the lab some time, Gus. We’ll show you lots of cats. We use them in our research. Cats, guinea pigs, rabbits—’
‘Lester!’ Jill gasped. ‘How can you!’
Lester laughed thinly. Abruptly he broke off and returned to his desk. ‘Now clear out of here. I have to finish these reports. And don’t forget to tell Gus.’
Gus got excited. ‘Tell me what?’ His cheeks flushed. His eyes sparkled. ‘What is it? Something for me? A secret?’
Jill’s heart was like lead. She put her hand heavily on the child’s shoulder. ‘Come on, Gus. We’ll go sit out in the garden and I’ll tell you. Bring—bring your tiger.’
A click. The emergency vidsender lit up. Instantly Lester was on his feet. ‘Be quiet!’ He ran to the sender, breathing rapidly. ‘Nobody speak!’
Jill and Gus paused at the door. A confidential message was sliding from the slot into the dish. Lester grabbed it up and broke the seal. He studied it intently.
‘What is it?’ Jill asked. ‘Anything bad?’
‘Bad?’ Lester’s face shone with a deep inner glow. ‘No, not bad at all.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Just time. Let’s see, I’ll need—’
‘What is it?’
‘I’m going on a trip. I’ll be gone two or three weeks. Rexor IV is into the charted area.’
‘Rexor IV? You’re going there?’ Jill clasped her hands eagerly. ‘Oh, I’ve always wanted to see an old system, old ruins and cities! Lester, can I come along? Can I go with you? We never took a vacation, and you always promised—’
Lester Herrick stared at his wife in amazement. ‘You?’ he said. ‘You go along?’ He laughed unpleasantly. ‘Now hurry and get my things together. I’ve been waiting for this a long time.’ He rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. ‘You can keep the boy here until I’m back. But no longer. Rexor IV! I can hardly wait!’
‘You have to make allowances,’ Frank said. ‘After all, he’s a scientist.’
‘I don’t care,’ Jill said. ‘I’m leaving him. As soon as he gets back from Rexor IV. I’ve made up my mind.’
Her brother was silent, deep in thought. He stretched his feet out, onto the lawn of the little garden. ‘Well, if you leave him you’ll be free to marry again. You’re still classed as sexually adequate, aren’t you?’
Jill nodded firmly. ‘You bet I am. I wouldn’t have any trouble. Maybe I can find somebody who likes children.’
‘You think a lot of children,’ Frank perceived. ‘Gus loves to go visit you. But he doesn’t like Lester. Les needles him.’
‘I know. This past week has been heaven, with him gone.’ Jill patted her soft blonde hair, blushing prettily. ‘I’ve had fun. Makes me feel alive again.’
‘When’ll he be back?’
‘Any day.’ Jill clenched her small fists. ‘We’ve been married five years and every year it’s worse. He’s so—so inhuman. Utterly cold and ruthless. Him and his work. Day and night.’
‘Les is ambitious. He wants to get to the top in his field.’ Frank lit a cigarette lazily. ‘A pusher. Well, maybe he’ll do it. What’s he in?’
‘Toxicology. He works out new poisons for the Military. He invented the copper sulphate skin-lime they used against Callisto.’
‘It’s a small field. Now take me.’ Frank leaned contentedly against the wall of the house. ‘There are thousands of Clearance lawyers. I could work for years and never create a ripple. I’m content just to be. I do my job. I enjoy it.’
‘I wish Lester felt that way.’
‘Maybe he’ll change.’
‘He’ll never change,’ Jill said bitterly. ‘I know that, now. That’s why I’ve made up my mind to leave him. He’ll always be the same.’
Lester Herrick came back from Rexor IV a different man. Beaming happily, he deposited his anti-gray suitcase in the arms of the waiting robant. ‘Thank you.’
Jill gasped speechlessly. ‘Les! What—’
Lester moved his hat, bowing a little. ‘Good day, my dear. You’re looking lovely. Your eyes are clear and blue. Sparkling like some virgin lake, fed by mountain streams.’ He sniffed. ‘Do I smell a delicious repast warming on the hearth?’
‘Oh, Lester.’ Jill blinked uncertainly, faint hope swelling in her bosom. ‘Lester, what’s happened
to you? You’re so—so different.’
‘Am I, my dear?’ Lester moved about the house, touching things and sighing. ‘What a dear little house. So sweet and friendly. You don’t know how wonderful it is to be here. Believe me.’
‘I’m afraid to believe it,’ Jill said.
‘Believe what?’
‘That you mean all this. That you’re not the way you were. The way you’ve always been.’
‘What way is that?’
‘Mean. Mean and cruel.’
‘I?’ Lester frowned, rubbing his lip. ‘Hmm. Interesting.’ He brightened. ‘Well, that’s all in the past. What’s for dinner? I’m faint with hunger.’
Jill eyed him uncertainly as she moved into the kitchen. ‘Anything you want, Lester. You know our stove covers the maximum select-list.’
‘Of course.’ Lester coughed rapidly. ‘Well, shall we try sirloin steak, medium, smothered in onions? With mushroom sauce. And white rolls. With hot coffee. Perhaps ice cream and apple pie for dessert.’
‘You never seemed to care much about food,’ Jill said thoughtfully.
‘Oh?’
‘You always said you hoped eventually they’d make intravenous intake universally applicable.’ She studied her husband intently. ‘Lester, what’s happened?’
‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ Lester carelessly took his pipe out and lit it rapidly, somewhat awkwardly. Bits of tobacco drifted to the rug. He bent nervously down and tried to pick them up again. ‘Please go about your tasks and don’t mind me. Perhaps I can help you prepare—that is, can I do anything to help?’
‘No,’ Jill said. ‘I can do it. You go ahead with your work, if you want.’
Electric Dreams Page 15
