Collected Stories 1 - The Short Happy Life of the Brown Oxford and Other Classic Stories

by Philip K. Dick

  A deep fear, instilled in him for eight years, throbbed in his mind. Radiation, certain death, a world blasted and lethal--

  Up and up the car went. Taylor gripped the sides and closed his eyes. Each moment they were closer, the first living creatures to go above above the first stage, up the Tube past the lead and rock, up to the surface. The phobic horror shook him in waves. It was death; they all knew that. Hadn't they seen it in the films a thousand times? The cities, the sleet coming down, the rolling clouds--

  "It won't be much longer," Franks said. "We're almost there. The surface tower is not expecting us. I gave orders that no signal was to be sent."

  The car shot up, rushing furiously. Taylor's head spun; he hung on, his eyes shut. Up and up...

  The car stopped. He opened his eyes.

  They were in a vast room, fluorescent-lit, a cavern filled with equipment and machinery, endless mounds of material piled in row after row. Among the stacks, leadies were working silently, pushing trucks and handcarts.

  "Leadies," Moss said. His face was pale. "Then we're really on the surface."

  The leadies were going back and forth with equipment moving the vast stores of guns and spare parts, ammunition and supplies that had been brought to the surface. And this was the receiving station for only one Tube; there were many others, scattered throughout the continent.

  Taylor looked nervously around him. They were really there, above ground, on the surface. This was where the war was.

  "Come on," Franks said. "A B-class guard is coming our way."

  They stepped out of the car. A leady was approaching them rapidly. It coasted up in front of them and stopped scanning them with its hand-weapon raised.

  "This is Security," Franks said. "Have an A-class sent to me at once."

  The leady hesitated. Other B-class guards were coming, scooting across the floor, alert and alarmed. Moss peered around.

  "Obey!" Franks said in a loud, commanding voice. "You've been ordered!"

  The leady moved uncertainly away from them. At the end of the building, a door slid back. Two Class-A leadies appeared, coming slowly toward them. Each had a green stripe across its front.

  "From the Surface Council," Franks whispered tensely. "This is above ground, all right. Get set."

  The two leadies approached warily. Without speaking, they stopped close by the men, looking them up and down.

  "I'm Franks of Security. We came from undersurface in order to--"

  "This is incredible," one leady interrupted him coldly. "You know you can't live up here. The whole surface is lethal to you. You can't possibly remain on the surface."

  "These suits will protect us," Franks said. "In any case, it's not your responsibility. What I want is an immediate Council meeting so I can acquaint myself with conditions, with the situation here. Can that be arranged?"

  "You human beings can't survive up here. And the new Soviet attack is directed at this area. It is in considerable danger."

  "We know that. Please assemble the Council." Franks looked around him at the vast room, lit by recessed lamps in the ceiling. An uncertain quality came into his voice. "Is it night or day right now?"

  "Night," one of the A-class leadies said, after a pause. "Dawn is coming in about two hours."

  Franks nodded. "We'll remain at least two hours, then. As a concession to our sentimentality, would you please show us some place where we can observe the sun as it comes up? We would appreciate it."

  A stir went through the leadies.

  "It is an unpleasant sight," one of the leadies said. "You've seen the photographs; you know what you'll witness. Clouds of drifting particles blot out the light, slag heaps are everywhere, the whole land is destroyed. For you it will be a staggering sight, much worse than pictures and film can convey."

  "However it may be, we'll stay long enough to see it. Will you give the order to the Council?"

  "Come this way." Reluctantly, the two leadies coasted toward the wall of the warehouse. The three men trudged after them, their heavy shoes ringing against the concrete. At the wall, the two leadies paused.

  "This is the entrance to the Council Chamber. There are windows in the Chamber Room, but it is still dark outside, of course. You'll see nothing right now, but in two hours--"

  "Open the door," Franks said.

  The door slid back. They went slowly inside. The room was small, a neat room with a round table in the center, chairs ringing it. The three of them sat down silently, and the two leadies followed after them, taking their places.

  "The other Council Members are on their way. They have already been notified and are coming as quickly as they can. Again I urge you to go back down." The leady surveyed the three human beings. "There is no way you can meet the conditions up here. Even we survive with some trouble, ourselves. How can you expect to do it?" The leader approached Franks.

  "This astonishes and perplexes us," it said. "Of course we must do what you tell us, but allow me to point out that if you remain here--"

  "We know," Franks said impatiently. "However, we intend to remain, at least until sunrise."

  "If you insist."

  There was silence. The leadies seemed to be conferring with each other, although the three men heard no sound.

  "For your own good," the leader said at last, "you must go back down. We have discussed this, and it seems to us that you are doing the wrong thing for your own good."

  "We are human beings," Franks said sharply. "Don't you understand? We're men, not machines."

  "That is precisely why you must go back. This room is radioactive; all surface areas are. We calculate that your suits will not protect you for over fifty more minutes. Therefore--"

  The leadies moved abruptly toward the men, wheeling in a circle, forming a solid row. The men stood up, Taylor reaching awkwardly for his weapon, his fingers numb and stupid. The men stood facing the silent metal figures.

  "We must insist," the leader said, its voice without emotion. "We must take you back to the Tube and send you down on the next car. I am sorry, but it is necessary."

  "What'll we do?" Moss said nervously to Franks. He touched his gun. "Shall we blast them?"

  Franks shook his head. "All right," he said to the leader. "We'll go back."

  He moved toward the door, motioning Taylor and Moss to follow him. They looked at him in surprise, but they came with him. The leadies followed them out into the great warehouse. Slowly they moved toward the Tube entrance, none of them speaking.

  At the lip, Franks turned. "We are going back because we have no choice. There are three of us and about a dozen of you. However, if--"

  "Here comes the car," Taylor said.

  There was a grating sound from the Tube. D-class leadies moved toward the edge to receive it.

  "I am sorry," the leader said, "but it is for your protection. We are watching over you, literally. You must stay below and let us conduct the war. In a sense, it has come to be our war. We must fight it as we see fit."

  The car rose to the surface.

  Twelve soldiers, armed with Bender pistols, stepped from it and surrounded the three men.

  Moss breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, this does change things. It came off just right."

  The leader moved back, away from the soldiers. It studied them intently, glancing from one to the next, apparently trying to make up its mind. At last it made a sign to the other leadies. They coasted aside and a corridor was opened up toward the warehouse.

  "Even now," the leader said, "we could send you back by force. But it is evident that this is not really an observation party at all. These soldiers show that you have much more in mind; this was all carefully prepared."

  "Very carefully," Franks said.

  They closed in.

  "How much more, we can only guess. I must admit that we were taken unprepared. We failed utterly to meet the situation. Now force would be absurd, because neither side can afford to injure the other; we, because of the restrictions placed on us
regarding human life, you because the war demands--"

  The soldiers fired, quick and in fright. Moss dropped to one knee, firing up. The leader dissolved in a cloud of particles. On all sides D- and B-class leadies were rushing up, some with weapons, some with metal slats. The room was in confusion. Off in the distance a siren was screaming. Franks and Taylor were cut off from the others, separated from the soldiers by a wall of metal bodies.

  "They can't fire back," Franks said calmly. "This is another bluff. They've tried to bluff us all the way." He fired into the face of a leady. The leady dissolved. "They can only try to frighten us. Remember that."

  They went on firing and leady after leady vanished. The room reeked with the smell of burning metal, the stink of fused plastic and steel. Taylor had been knocked down. He was struggling to find his gun, reaching wildly among metal legs, groping frantically to find it. His fingers strained, a handle swam in front of him. Suddenly something came down on his arm, a metal foot. He cried out.

  Then it was over. The leadies were moving away, gathering together off to one side. Only four of the Surface Council remained. The others were radioactive particles in the air. D-class leadies were already restoring order, gathering up partly destroyed metal figures and bits and removing them.

  Franks breathed a shuddering sigh.

  "All right," he said. "You can take us back to the windows. It won't be long now."

  The leadies separated, and the human group, Moss and Franks.and Taylor and the soldiers, walked slowly across the room, toward the door. They entered the Council Chamber. Already a faint touch of gray mitigated the blackness of the windows.

  "Take us outside," Franks said impatiently. "We'll see it directly, not in here."

  A door slid open. A chill blast of cold morning air rushed in, chilling them even through their lead suits. The men glanced at each other uneasily.

  "Come on," Franks said. "Outside."

  He walked out through the door, the others following him.

  They were on a hill, overlooking the vast bowl of a valley. Dimly, against the graying sky, the outline of mountains were forming, becoming tangible.

  "It'll be bright enough to see in a few minutes," Moss said. He shuddered as a chilling wind caught him and moved around him. "It's worth it, really worth it, to see this again after eight years. Even if it's the last thing we see--"

  "Watch," Franks snapped.

  They obeyed, silent and subdued. The sky was clearing, brightening each moment. Some place far off, echoing across the valley, a rooster crowed.

  "A chicken!" Taylor murmured. "Did you hear?"

  Behind them, the leadies had come out and were standing silently, watching, too. The gray sky turned to white and the hills appeared more clearly. Light spread across the valley floor, moving toward them.

  "God in heaven!" Franks exclaimed.

  Trees, trees and forests. A valley of plants and trees, with a few roads winding among them. Farmhouses. A windmill. A barn, far down below them.

  "Look!" Moss whispered.

  Color came into the sky. The sun was approaching. Birds began to sing. Not far from where they stood, the leaves of a tree danced in the wind.

  Franks turned to the row of leadies behind them.

  "Eight years. We were tricked. There was no war. As soon as we left the surface--"

  "Yes," an A-class leady admitted. "As soon as you left, the war ceased. You're right, it was a hoax. You worked hard undersurface, sending up guns and weapons, and we destroyed them as fast as they came up."

  "But why?" Taylor asked, dazed. He stared down at the vast valley below, "Why?"

  "You created us," the leady said, "to pursue the war for you, while you human beings went below the ground in order to survive. But before we could continue the war, it was necessary to analyze it to determine what its purpose was. We did this, and we found that it had no purpose, except, perhaps, in terms of human needs. Even this was questionable.

  "We investigated further. We found that human cultures pass through phases, each culture in its own time. As the culture ages and begins to lose its objectives, conflict arises within it between those who wish to cast it off and set up a new culture-pattern, and those who wish to retain the old with as little change as possible.

  "At this point, a great danger appears. The conflict within threatens to engulf the society in self-war, group against group. The vital traditions may be lost--not merely altered or reformed, but completely destroyed in this period of chaos and anarchy. We have found many such examples in the history of mankind.

  "It is necessary for this hatred within the culture to be directed outward, toward an external group, so that the culture itself may survive its crisis. War is the result. War, to a logical mind, is absurd. But in terms of human needs, it plays a vital role. And it will continue to until Man has grown up enough so that no hatred lies within him."

  Taylor was listening intently. "Do you think this time will come?"

  "Of course. It has almost arrived now. This is the last war. Man is almost united into one final culture--a world culture. At this point he stands continent against continent, one half of the world against the other half. Only a single step remains, the jump to a unified culture. Man has climbed slowly upward, tending always toward unification of his culture. It will not be long--

  "But it has not come yet, and so the war had to go on, to satisfy the last violent surge of hatred that Man felt. Eight years have passed since the war began. In these eight years, we have observed and noted important changes going on in the minds of men. Fatigue and disinterest, we have seen, are gradually taking the place of hatred and fear. The hatred is being exhausted gradually, over a period of time. But for the present, the hoax must go on, at least for a while longer. You are not ready to learn the truth. You would want to continue the war."

  "But how did you manage it?" Moss asked. "All the photographs, the samples, the damaged equipment--"

  "Come over here." The leady directed them toward along, low building. "Work goes on constantly, whole staffs laboring to maintain a coherent and convincing picture of a global war."

  They entered the building. Leadies were working everywhere, poring over tables and desks.

  "Examine this project here," the A-class leady said. Two leadies were carefully photographing something, an elaborate model on a table top. "It is a good example."

  The men grouped around, trying to see. It was a model of a ruined city.

  Taylor studied it in silence for a long time. At last he looked up.

  "It's San Francisco," he said in a low voice. "This is a model of San Francisco, destroyed. I saw this on the vidscreen, piped down to us. The bridges were hit--"

  "Yes, notice the bridges." The leady traced the ruined span with his metal finger, a tiny spider-web, almost invisible.

  "You have no doubt seen photographs of this many times, and of the other tables in this building.

  "San Francisco itself is completely intact. We restored it soon after you left, rebuilding the parts that had been damaged at the start of the war. The work of manufacturing news goes on all the time in this particular building. We are very careful to see that each part fits in with all the other parts. Much time and effort are devoted to it."

  Franks touched one of the tiny model buildings, lying half in ruins. "So this is what you spend your time doing--making model cities and then blasting them."

  "No, we do much more. We are caretakers, watching over the whole world. The owners have left for a time, and we must see that the cities are kept clean, that decay is prevented, that everything is kept oiled and in running condition. The gardens, the streets, the water mains, everything must be maintained as it was eight years ago, so that when the owners return, they will not be displeased. We want to be sure that they will be completely satisfied."

  Franks tapped Moss on the arm.

  "Come over here," he said in a low voice. "I want to talk to you."

  He led Moss and Taylor out of the bui
lding, away from the leadies, outside on the hillside. The soldiers followed them. The sun was up and the sky was turning blue. The air smelled sweet and good, the smell of growing things.

  Taylor removed his helmet and took a deep breath.

  "I haven't smelled that smell for a long tune," he said.

  "Listen," Franks said, his voice low and hard. "We must get back down at once. There's a lot to get started on. All this can be turned to our advantage."

  "What do you mean?" Moss asked.

  "It's a certainty that the Soviets have been tricked, too, the same as us. But we have found out. That gives us an edge over them."

  "I see." Moss nodded. "We know, but they don't. Their Surface Council has sold out, the same as ours. It works against them the same way. But if we could--"

  "With a hundred top-level men, we could take over again, restore things as they should be! It would be easy!"

  Moss touched him on the arm. An A-class leady was coming from the building toward them.

  "We've seen enough," Franks said, raising his voice. "All this is very serious. It must be reported below and a study made to determine our policy."

  The leady said nothing.

  Franks waved to the soldiers. "Let's go." He started toward the warehouse.

  Most of the soldiers had removed their helmets. Some of them had taken their lead suits off, too, and were relaxing comfortably in their cotton uniforms. They stared around them, down the hillside at the trees and bushes, the vast expanse of green, the mountains and the sky.

  "Look at the sun," one of them murmured.

  "It sure is bright as hell," another said.

  "We're going back down," Franks said. "Fall in by twos and follow us."

  Reluctantly, the soldiers regrouped. The leadies watched without emotion as the men marched slowly back toward the warehouse. Franks and Moss and Taylor led them across the ground, glancing alertly at the leadies as they walked.

  They entered the warehouse. D-class leadies were loading material and weapons on surface carts. Cranes and derricks were working busily everywhere. The work was done with efficiency, but without hurry or excitement.

  The men stopped, watching. Leadies operating the little carts moved past them, signaling silently to each other. Guns and parts were being hoisted by magnetic cranes and lowered gently onto waiting carts. "Come on," Franks said.