The Collected Stories of Philip K. Dick 4: The Minority Report

by Philip K. Dick

  Larry grunted under his breath. He signaled to the waiter. "A dry martini, Max."

  "Okay, Mr. Brewster."

  A few minutes later Max returned and set a martini glass on the table. When he had gone, Larry leaned toward the blonde-haired girl. "Now, Miss Holmes—"

  "None for you?"

  "None for me." Larry watched her sip her drink. Her hands were small and dainty. She wasn't bad-looking, but he didn't like the self-satisfied calmness in her eyes. "What's this business about our time having come? Let me in on it."

  "It's very simple. I saw you sitting here and I knew you were the one. In spite of the messy table." She wrinkled her nose at the litter of bottles and match-folders. "Why don't you have them clear it off?"

  "Because I enjoy it. You knew I was the one? Which one?" Larry was getting interested. "Go on."

  "Larry, this is a very important moment in my life." Allison gazed around her. "Who would think I'd find you in a place like this? But that's the way it's always been for me. This is only one link of a great chain going back—well, as far back as I can remember."

  "What chain is that?"

  Allison laughed. "Poor Larry. You don't understand." She leaned toward him, her lovely eyes dancing. "You see, Larry, I know something no one else knows—no one else in this world. Something I learned when I was a little girl. Something—"

  "Wait a minute. What do you mean by 'this world'? You mean there are nicer worlds than this? Better worlds? Like in Plato? This world is only a—"

  "Certainly not!" Allison frowned. "This is the best world, Larry. The best of all possible worlds."

  "Oh. Herbert Spencer."

  "The best of all possible worlds—for me." She smiled at him, a cold, secret smile.

  "Why for you?"

  There was something almost predatory in the girl's finely-chiseled face as she answered. "Because," she said calmly, "this is my world."

  Larry raised an eyebrow. "Your world?" Then he grinned good-naturedly. "Sure it is, baby; it belongs to all of us." He waved expansively around at the room. "Your world, my world, the banjo player's world—"

  "No." Allison shook her head firmly. "No, Larry. My world; it belongs to me. Everything and everybody. All mine." She moved her chair around until she was close by him. He could smell her perfume, warm and sweet and tantalizing. "Don't you understand? This is mine. All these things—they're here for me; for my happiness."

  Larry edged away a little. "Oh? You know, as a philosophical tenet that's a bit hard to maintain. I'll admit Descartes said the world is known to us only through our senses, and our senses reflect our own—"

  Allison laid her small hand on his arm. "I don't mean that. You see, Larry, there are many worlds. All kinds of worlds. Millions and millions. As many worlds as there are people. Each person has his own world, Larry, his own private world. A world that exists for him, for his happiness." She lowered her gaze modestly. "This happens to be my world."

  Larry considered. "Very interesting, but what about other people? Me, for example."

  "You exist for my happiness, of course; that's what I'm talking about." The pressure of her small hand increased. "As soon as I saw you, I knew you were the one. I've been thinking about this for several days now. It's time he came along. The man for me. The man intended for me to marry—so my happiness can be complete."

  "Hey!" Larry exclaimed, drawing back.

  "What's wrong?"

  "What about me?" Larry demanded. "That's not fair! Doesn't my happiness count?"

  "Yes … but not here, not in this world." She gestured vaguely. "You have a world someplace else, a world of your own; in this world you're merely a part of my life. You're not completely real. I'm the only one in this world who's completely real. All the rest of you are here for me. You're just—just partly real."

  "I see." Larry sat back slowly, rubbing his jaw. "Then I sort of exist in a lot of different worlds. A little bit here, a little bit there, according to where I'm needed. Like now, for instance, in this world. I've been wandering around for twenty-five years, just so I could turn up when you needed me."

  "That's right." Allison's eyes danced merrily; "you have the idea." Suddenly she glanced at her wristwatch. "It's getting late. We better go."

  "Go?"

  Allison stood up quickly, picking up her tiny purse and pulling her coat around her. "I want to do so many things with you, Larry! So many places to see! So much to do!" She took hold of his arm. "Come on. Hurry up."

  Larry rose slowly. "Say, listen—"

  "We're going to have lots of fun." Allison steered him toward the door. "Let's see… What would be nice…"

  Larry halted angrily. "The check! I can't just walk out." He fumbled in his pocket. "I owe about—"

  "No check; not tonight. This is my special night." Allison spun toward Max, cleaning up the vacated table. "Isn't that right?"

  The old waiter looked up slowly. "What's that, Miss?"

  "No check tonight."

  Max shook his head. "No check tonight, Miss. The boss's birthday; drinks on the house."

  Larry gaped. "What?"

  "Come on." Allison tugged at him, pulling him through the heavy plush doors, out onto the cold, dark New York sidewalk. "Come on, Larry—we have so much to do!"

  Larry murmured, "I still don't know where that cab came from."

  The cab drove off, racing away down the street. Larry looked around. Where were they? The dark streets were silent and deserted.

  "First," Allison Holmes said, "I want a corsage. Larry, don't you think you should present your fiancée with a corsage? I want to go in looking nice."

  "A corsage? At this time of night?" Larry gestured at the dark, silent streets. "Are you kidding?"

  Allison pondered, then she crossed the street, abruptly; Larry followed after her. Allison came up to a closed-up flower shop, its sign off, door locked. She rapped with a coin on the plate glass window.

  "Have you gone crazy?" Larry cried. "There's nobody in there, this time of night!"

  In the back of the flower shop somebody stirred. An old man came slowly toward the window, removing his glasses and putting them in his pocket. He bent down and unlocked the door. "What is it, lady?"

  "I want a corsage, the best you have." Allison pushed into the shop, gazing around at the flowers in awe.

  "Forget it, buddy," Larry murmured; "don't pay any attention to her. She's—"

  "That's all right." The old man sighed. "I was going over my income tax; I can use a break. There should be some already made up. I'll open the refrigerator."

  Five minutes later they were out on the street again, Allison gazing ecstatically down at the great orchid pinned to her coat. "It's beautiful, Larry!" she whispered. She squeezed his arm, gazing up in his face. "Thanks a lot; now, let's go."

  "Where? Maybe you found an old guy sweating over his tax returns at one o'clock in the morning, but I defy you to find anything else in this god-forsaken graveyard."

  Allison looked around. "Let's see… Over this way. This big old house over here. I wouldn't be a bit surprised—" She tugged Larry down the sidewalk, her high heels clattering in the night silence.

  "All right," Larry murmured, grinning a little. "I'll go along with you; this ought to be interesting."

  No light showed in the great square house; all the shades were down. Allison hurried down the walk, feeling her way through the darkness, up onto the porch of the house.

  "Hey!" Larry exclaimed, suddenly alarmed. Allison had taken hold of the doorknob; she pushed the door open.

  A burst of light struck them, light and sound. The murmur of voices. Past a heavy curtain people moved, an immense room of people. Men and women in evening dress, bending over long tables and counters.

  "Oh, oh," Larry muttered. "Now you've got us into it; this is no place for us."

  Three tough-looking gorillas come strolling over, their hands in their pockets. "Okay, mister; let's go."

  Larry started out. "That's fine by
me. I'm an easy-going person."

  "Nonsense." Allison caught hold of his arm, her eyes glittering with excitement. "I always wanted to visit a gambling-place. Look at all the tables! What are they doing? What's that over there?"

  "For Lord's sake," Larry gasped desperately. "Let's get out of here. These people don't know us."

  "You bet we don't," one of the three hulking bruisers rasped. He nodded to his companions. "Here we go." They grabbed hold of Larry and propelled him toward the door.

  Allison blinked. "What are you doing to him? You stop that!" She concentrated, her lips moving. "Let me—let me talk to Connie."

  The three bruisers froze. They turned toward her slowly. "To who? Who did you say, lady?"

  Allison smiled up at them. "To Connie—I think. Isn't that what I said? Connie. Where is he?" She looked around. "Is that him over there?"

  A small dapper man at one of the tables turned resentfully at his name, his face twisting with annoyance.

  "Let it go, lady," one of the bruisers said quickly. "Don't bother Connie; he don't like to be bothered." He closed the door, pushing Larry and Allison past the curtain, into the big room. "You go and play. Enjoy yourselves; have a good time."

  Larry looked down at the girl beside him. He shook his head weakly. "I could sure use a drink—a stiff one."

  "All right," Allison said happily, her eyes fastened on the roulette table. "You go have your drink. I'm going to start playing!"

  After a couple of good stiff scotch-and-waters, Larry slid off the stool and wandered away from the bar, over toward the roulette table in the center of the room.

  A big crowd had collected around the table. Larry closed his eyes, steadying himself; he knew already. After he had gathered his strength he pushed his way through the people and up to the table.

  "What does this one mean?" Allison was asking the croupier, holding up a blue chip. In front of her was an immense stack of chips—all colors. Everyone was murmuring and talking and looking at her.

  Larry made his way over to her. "How are you getting along? Lost your dowry yet?"

  "Not yet. According to this man, I'm ahead."

  "He should know," Larry sighed wearily; "he's in the business."

  "Do you want to play, too?" Allison asked, accepting an armload of chips. "You can have these. I've got more."

  "I see that. But—no, thanks; it's out of my line. Come on." Larry led her away from the table. "I think the time has come for you and me to have a little chat. Over in the corner where it's quiet."

  "A chat?"

  "I got to thinking about it; this thing has gone far enough."

  Allison trailed after him. Larry strode over to the side of the room. In a huge fireplace, a roaring fire blazed. Larry threw himself down in a deep chair, pointing to the chair next to it. "Sit," Larry said.

  Allison sat down, crossing her legs and smoothing down her skirt. She leaned back, sighed. "Isn't this nice? The fire and everything? Just what I always imagined." She closed her eyes dreamily.

  Larry took his cigarettes out and lit up slowly, deep in thought. "Now look here, Miss Holmes—"

  "Allison. After all, we're going to be married."

  "Allison, then. Look here, Allison, this whole thing is absurd. While I was at the bar I got to thinking it over. It isn't right, this crazy theory of yours."

  "Why not?" Her voice was sleepy, far-off.

  Larry gestured angrily. "I'll tell you why not. You claim I'm only partly real. Isn't that right? You're the only one who's completely real."

  Allison nodded. "That's right."

  "But look! I don't know about all these other people—" Larry waved at them deprecatingly. "Maybe you're right about them. Maybe they are only phantoms. But not me! You can't say I'm just a phantom." He banged his fist against the arm of the chair. "See? You call that just partly real?"

  "The chair's only partly real, too."

  Larry groaned. "Damn it. I've been in this world twenty-five years, and I just met you a few hours ago. Am I supposed to believe I'm not really alive? Not really—not really me? That I'm only a sort of—a hunk of scenery in your world? Part of the fixtures?"

  "Larry, darling. You have your own world. We each have our own world. But this one happens to be mine, and you're in it for me." Allison opened her large blue eyes. "In your real world I may exist a little for you, too. All our worlds overlap, darling; don't you see? You exist for me in my world. Probably I exist for you in yours." She smiled. The Great Designer has to be economical—like all good artists. Many of the worlds are similar, almost the same. But each of them belongs to only one person."

  "And this one is yours." Larry let his breath out with a sigh. "Okay, baby. You have your mind made up; I'll play along with you—for a while, at least. I'll string along." He contemplated the girl leaning back in the deep chair next to him. "You know, you're not bad-looking, not bad at all."

  "Thank you."

  "Yeah, I'll bite. For a while, at least. Maybe we are meant for each other. But you've got to calm down a little; you try your luck too hard. If you're going to be around me, you better take it a little easier."

  "What do you mean, Larry?"

  "All this. This place. What if the cops come? Gambling. Running around." Larry gazed off into the distance. "No, this isn't right. This isn't the kind of life I've got pictured. You know what I see in my mind's eye?" Larry's face lit up with wistful pleasure. "I see a little house, baby. Out in the country. Way out. The farm country. Flat fields. Maybe Kansas. Colorado. A little cabin. With a well. And cows."

  Allison frowned. "Oh?"

  "And you know what else? Me, out in the back. Farming. Or—or feeding the chickens. Ever fed chickens?" Larry shook his head happily. "A lot of fun, baby. And squirrels. Ever walk in the park and feed squirrels? Gray squirrels, big long tails? Tails as long as the squirrels."

  Allison yawned. Abruptly she got to her feet, picking up her purse. "I think it's time we ran along."

  Larry got up slowly. "Yeah, I guess it is."

  "Tomorrow is going to be a busy day. I want to get started early." Allison made her way through the people, toward the door. "First of all, I think we should begin looking for—"

  Larry stopped her. "Your chips."

  "What?"

  "Your chips. Turn them in."

  "What for?"

  "For money—I think they call it now."

  "Oh, bother." Allison turned to a heavy-set man sitting at the black-jack table. "Here!" She dumped the chips in the man's lap. "You take them. All right, Larry. Let's go!"

  The cab pulled up in front of Larry's apartment. "Is this where you live?" Allison asked, gazing up at the building. "It's not very modern, is it?"

  "No." Larry pushed the door open. "And the plumbing isn't very good, either. But what the hell."

  "Larry?" Allison stopped him as he started to get out.

  "Yes?"

  "You won't forget about tomorrow, will you?"

  "Tomorrow?"

  "We have so much to do. I want you to be up bright and early, ready to go places. So we can get things done."

  "How about six o'clock in the evening? Is that early enough?" Larry yawned. It was late, and cold.

  "Oh, no. I'll be by for you at ten a.m."

  "Ten! But my job. I got to work!"

  "Not tomorrow. Tomorrow is our day."

  "How the hell am I going to live if I don't—"

  Allison reached up, putting her slender arms around him. "Don't worry; it'll be all right. Remember? This is my world." She pulled him down to her, kissing him on the mouth. Her lips were sweet and cool. She held onto him tightly, her eyes closed.

  Larry broke away. "All right, already." He straightened his tie, standing up on the pavement.

  "Tomorrow, then. And don't worry about your old job. Goodbye, Larry darling." Allison slammed the door. The cab drove off down the dark street. Larry gazed after it, still dazed. Finally he shrugged and turned toward the apartment house.

 
; Inside, on the table in the hall, was a letter for him. He scooped it up, opening it as he climbed the stairs. The letter was from his office, Bray Insurance Company. The annual vacation schedule for the staff, listing the two weeks doled out to each employee. He didn't even have to find his name to know when his began.

  "Don't worry ," Allison had said.

  Larry grinned ruefully, stuffing the letter in his coat pocket. He unlocked his apartment door. Ten o'clock did she say? Well, at least he would have a good night's sleep.

  The day was warm and bright. Larry Brewster sat out on the front steps of the apartment building, smoking and thinking while he waited for Allison.

  She was doing all right; no doubt about that. A hell of a lot of things seemed to fall like ripe plums into her lap. No wonder she thought it was her world… She was getting the breaks, all right. But some people were like that. Lucky. Walked into fortune every time; won on quiz shows; found money in the gutter; bet on the right horse. It happened.

  Her world? Larry grinned. Apparently Allison really believed it. Interesting. Well, he'd string along with her a little while longer, at least; she was a nice kid.

  A horn sounded, and Larry glanced up. A two-tone convertible was parked in front of him, the top down. Allison waved. "Hi! Come on!"

  Larry got up and came over. "Where did you get this?" He opened the door and slid in slowly.

  "This?" Allison started the car up. It zoomed out into traffic. "I forget; I think someone gave it to me."

  "You forget!" He stared at her. Then he relaxed against the soft seat. "Well? What's first on the list?"

  "We're going to look at our new house."

  "Whose new house?"

  "Ours. Yours and mine."

  Larry sank down into the seat. "What! But you—"

  Allison spun the car around a corner. "You'll love it; it's nice. How big is your apartment?"

  "Three rooms."

  Allison laughed merrily. "This is eleven rooms. Two stories. Half an acre. Or so they tell me."

  "Haven't you seen it?"

  "Not yet. My lawyer just called me this morning."

  "Your lawyer?"