The Philip K. Dick Reader

by Philip K. Dick

  The old man was yanked to his feet and propelled to the table. Technicians and brass hats closed in around him and the dim-eyed stumbling figure was lost from sight.

  "He won't last long," Patterson said savagely. "If you don't let him rest his heart's going to give out."

  "We must have the information," Gannet retorted. He eyed Patterson. "Where's the other doctor? LeMarr, I think he's called."

  Patterson glanced briefly around. "I don't see him. He probably couldn't stand it."

  "LeMarr never came," Gannet said, without emotion. "I wonder if we should have somebody round him up." He indicated Evelyn Cutter, who had just arrived, white-faced, her black eyes wide, breathing quickly. "She suggests --"

  "It doesn't matter now," Evelyn said frigidly. She shot a quick, urgent glance at Patterson. "I want nothing to do with you and your war."

  Gannet shrugged. "I'll send out a routine net, in any case. Just to be on the safe side." He moved off, leaving Evelyn and Patterson standing alone together.

  "Listen to me," Evelyn said harshly, her lips hot and close to his ear. "Unger's number has come up."

  "When did they notify you?" Patterson demanded.

  "I was on my way here. I did what you said -- I fixed it up with a clerk at Military."

  "How long ago?"

  "Just now." Evelyn's face trembled. "Vachel, he's here"

  It was a moment before Patterson understood. "You mean they sent him over here? To the hospital?"

  "I told them to. I told them when he came to volunteer, when his number came to the top --"

  Patterson grabbed her and hurried her from the therapy house, outside into the bright sunlight. He pushed her onto an ascent ramp and crowded in after her. "Where are they holding him?"

  "In the public reception room. They told him it was a routine physical check. A minor test of some kind." Evelyn was terrified. "What are we going to do? Can we do something?"

  "Gannet thinks so."

  "Suppose we -- stopped him? Maybe we could turn him aside?" She shook her head, dazed. "What would happen? What would the future be like if we stopped him here? You could keep him out of the Service -- you're a doc­tor. A little red check on his health card." She began to laugh wildly. "I see them all the time. A little red check, and no more David Unger. Gannet never sees him, Gannet never knows Earth can't win and then Earth will win, and V-Stephens doesn't get locked up as a psychotic and that webfoot girl --"

  Patterson's open hand smashed across the woman's face. "Shut up and snap out of it! We don't have time for that!"

  Evelyn shuddered; he caught hold of her and held on tight to her until finally she raised her face. A red welt was rising slowly on her cheek. "I'm sorry," she managed to murmur. "Thanks. I'll be all right."

  The lift had reached the main floor. The door slid back and Patterson led her out into the hall. "You haven't seen him?"

  "No. When they told me the number had come up and he was on his way" -- Evelyn hurried breathlessly after Patterson -- "I came as quickly as I could. Maybe it's too late. Maybe he got tired of waiting and left. He's a fifteen year old boy. He wants to get into the fight. Maybe he's gone!"

  Patterson halted a robot attendant. "Are you busy?"

  "No sir," the robot answered.

  Patterson gave the robot David Unger's i.d. number. "Get this man from the main reception room. Send him out here and then close off this hall. Seal it at both ends so nobody can enter or leave."

  The robot clicked uncertainly. "Will there be further orders? This syn­drome doesn't complete a --"

  "I'll instruct you later. Make sure nobody comes out with him. I want to meet him here alone."

  The robot scanned the number and then disappeared into the reception room.

  Patterson gripped Evelyn's arm. "Scared?"

  "I'm terrified."

  "I'll handle it. You just stand there." He passed her his cigarettes. "Light one for both of us."

  "Three, maybe. One for Unger."

  Patterson grinned. "He's too young, remember? He's not old enough to smoke."

  The robot returned. With it was a blond boy, plump and blue-eyed, his face wrinkled with perplexity. "You wanted me, Doc?" He came uncertainly up to Patterson. "Is there something wrong with me? They told me to come here, but they didn't say what for." His anxiety increased with a tidal rush. "There's nothing to keep me out of the Service is there?"

  Patterson grabbed the boy's newly stamped i.d. card, glanced at it, and then passed it to Evelyn. She accepted it with paralyzed fingers, her eyes on the blond youth.

  He was not David Unger.

  "What's your name?" Patterson demanded.

  The boy stammered out his name shyly. "Bert Robinson. Doesn't it say there on my card?"

  Patterson turned to Evelyn. "It's the right number. But this isn't Unger. Something's happened."

  "Say, Doc," Robinson asked plaintively, "is there something going to keep me out of the Service or not? Give me the word."

  Patterson signaled the robot. "Open up the hall. It's all over with. You can go back to what you were doing."

  "I don't understand," Evelyn murmured. "It doesn't make sense."

  "You're all right," Patterson said to the youth. "You can report for induc­tion."

  The boy's face sagged with relief. "Thanks a lot, Doc." He edged toward the descent ramp. "I sure appreciate it. I'm dying to get a crack at those webfoots."

  "Now what?" Evelyn said tightly, when the youth's broad back had disap­peared. "Where do we go from here?"

  Patterson shook himself alive. "We'll get the Census Department to make their check. We've got to locate Unger."

  The transmission room was a humming blur of vid and aud reports. Pat­terson elbowed his way to an open circuit and placed the call.

  "That information will take a short time, sir," the girl at Census told him. "Will you wait, or shall we return your call?"

  Patterson grabbed up an h-loop and clipped it around his neck. "As soon as you have any information on Unger let me know. Break into this loop immediately."

  "Yes, sir," the girl said dutifully, and broke the circuit.

  Patterson headed out of the room and down the corridor. Evelyn hurried after him. "Where are we going?" she asked.

  "To the therapy house. I want to talk to the old man. I want to ask him some things."

  "Gannet's doing that," Evelyn gasped, as they descended to the ground level. "Why do you --"

  "I want to ask him about the present, not the future." They emerged in the blinding afternoon sunlight. "I want to ask him about things going on right now."

  Evelyn stopped him. "Can't you explain it to me?"

  "I have a theory," Patterson pushed urgently past her. "Come on, before it's too late."

  They entered the therapy house. Technicians and officers were standing around the huge map table, examining the counters and indicator lines. "Where's Unger?" Patterson demanded.

  "He's gone," one of the officers answered. "Gannet gave up for today."

  "Gone where?" Patterson began to swear savagely. "What happened?"

  "Gannet and West took him back to the main building. He was too worn out to continue. We almost had it. Gannet's ready to burst a blood vessel, but we'll have to wait."

  Patterson grabbed Evelyn Cutter. "I want you to set off a general emer­gency alarm. Have the building surrounded. And hurry!"

  Evelyn gaped at him. "But --"

  Patterson ignored her and raced out of the therapy house, toward the main hospital building. Ahead of him were three slowly moving figures. Lieutenant West and Gannet walked on each side of the old man, supporting him as he crept forward.

  "Get away!" Patterson shouted at them.

  Gannet turned. "What's going on?"

  "Get him away!" Patterson dived for the old man -- but it was too late.

  The burst of energy seared past him; an ignited circle of blinding white flame lapped everywhere. The hunched-over figure of the old man wavered, then charred.
The aluminum cane fused and ran down in a molten mass.

  What had been the old man began to smoke. The body cracked open and shriveled. Then very slowly, the dried, dehydrated fragment of ash crumpled in a weightless heap. Gradually the circle of energy faded out.

  Gannet kicked aimlessly at it, his heavy face numb with shock and disbe­lief. "He's dead. And we didn't get it."

  Lieutenant West stared at the still-smoking ash. His lips twisted into words. "We'll never find out. We can't change it. We can't win." Suddenly his fingers grabbed at his coat. He tore the insignia from it and hurled the square of cloth savagely away. "I'll be damned if I'm going to give up my life so you can corner the system. I'm not getting into that death trap. Count me out!"

  The wail of the general emergency alarm dinned from the hospital build­ing. Scampering figures raced toward Gannet, soldiers and hospital guards scurrying in confusion. Patterson paid no attention to them; his eyes were on the window directly above.

  Someone was standing there. A man, his hands deftly at work removing an object that flashed in the afternoon sun. The man was V-Stephens. He got the object of metal and plastic loose and disappeared with it, away from the win­dow.

  Evelyn hurried up beside Patterson. "What --" She saw the remains and screamed. "Oh, God. Who did it? Who?"

  "V-Stephens."

  "LeMarr must have let him out. I knew it would happen." Tears filled her eyes and her voice rose in shrill hysteria. "I told you he'd do it! I warned you!"

  Gannet appealed childishly to Patterson. "What are we going to do? He's been murdered." Rage suddenly swept away the big man's fear. "I'll kill every webfoot on the planet. I'll burn down their homes and string them up. I'll --" He broke off raggedly. "But it's too late, isn't it? There's nothing we can do. We've lost. We're beaten, and the war hasn't even begun."

  "That's right," Patterson said. "It's too late. Your chance is gone."

  "If we could have got him to talk --" Gannet snarled helplessly.

  "You couldn't. It wasn't possible."

  Gannet blinked. "Why not?" Some of his innate animal cunning filtered back. "Why do you say that?"

  Around Patterson's neck his h-loop buzzed loudly. "Doctor Patterson," the monitor's voice came, "there is a rush call for you from Census."

  "Put it through," Patterson said.

  The voice of the Census clerk came tinnily in his ears. "Doctor Patterson, I have the information you requested."

  "What is it?" Patterson demanded. But he already knew the answer.

  "We have cross-checked our results to be certain. There is no person such as you described. There is no individual at this time or in our past records named David L. Unger with the identifying characteristics you outlined. The brain, teeth, and fingerprints do not refer to anything extant in our files. Do you wish us to --"

  "No," Patterson said. "That answers my question. Let it go." He cut off the h-loop switch.

  Gannet was listening dully. "This is completely over my head, Patterson. Explain it to me."

  Patterson ignored him. He squatted down and poked at the ash that had been David Unger. After a moment he snapped the h-loop on again. "I want this taken upstairs to the analytical labs," he ordered quietly. "Get a team out here at once." He got slowly to his feet and added even more softly, "Then I'm going to find V-Stephens -- if I can."

  "He's undoubtedly on his way to Venus by now," Evelyn Cutter said bit­terly. "Well, that's that. There's nothing we can do about it."

  "We're going to have war," Gannet admitted. He came slowly back to reality. With a violent effort he focused on the people around him. He smoothed down his mane of white hair and adjusted his coat. A semblance of dignity was restored to his once-impressive frame. "We might as well meet it like men. There's no use trying to escape it."

  Patterson moved aside as a group of hospital robots approached the charred remains and began gingerly to collect them in a single heap. "Make a complete analysis," he said to the technician in charge of the work-detail. "Break down the basic cell-units, especially the neurological apparatus. Report what you find to me as soon as you possibly can."

  It took just about an hour.

  "Look for yourself," the lab technician said. "Here, take hold of some of the material. It doesn't even feel right."

  Patterson accepted a sample of dry, brittle organic matter. It might have been the smoked skin of some sea creature. It broke apart easily in his hands; as he put it down among the test equipment it crumbled into powdery frag­ments. "I see," he said slowly.

  "It's good, considering. But it's weak. Probably it wouldn't have stood up another couple of days. It was deteriorating rapidly; sun, air, everything was breaking it down. There was no innate repair-system involved. Our cells are constantly reprocessed, cleaned and maintained. This thing was set up and then pushed into motion. Obviously, somebody's a long way ahead of us in biosynthetics. This is a masterpiece."

  "Yes, it's a good job," Patterson admitted. He took another sample of what had been the body of David Unger and thoughtfully broke it into small dry pieces. "It fooled us completely."

  "You knew, didn't you?"

  "Not at first."

  "As you can see we're reconstructing the whole system, getting the ash back into one piece. Parts are missing, of course, but we can get the general outlines. I'd like to meet the manufacturers of this thing. This really worked. This was no machine."

  Patterson located the charred ash that had been reconstructed into the android's face. Withered, blackened paper-thin flesh. The dead eye gazed out lusterless and blind. Census had been right. There was never a David Unger. Such a person had never lived on Earth or anywhere else. What they had called "David Unger" was a man-made synthetic.

  "We were really taken in," Patterson admitted. "How many people know, besides the two of us?"

  "Nobody else." The lab technician indicated his squad of work-robots. "I'm the only human on this detail."

  "Can you keep it quiet?"

  "Sure. You're my boss, you know."

  "Thanks," Patterson said. "But if you want, this information would get you another boss any time."

  "Gannet?" The lab technician laughed. "I don't think I'd like to work for him."

  "He'd pay you pretty well."

  "True," said the lab technician. "But one of these days I'd be in the front lines. I like it better here in the hospital."

  Patterson started toward the door. "If anybody asks, tell them there wasn't enough left to analyze. Can you dispose of these remains?"

  "I'd hate to, but I guess I can." The technician eyed him curiously. "You have any idea who put this thing together? I'd like to shake hands with them."

  "I'm interested in only one thing right now," Patterson said obliquely. "V-Stephens has to be found."

  LeMarr blinked, as dull late-afternoon sunlight filtered into his brain. He pulled himself upright -- and banged his head sharply on the dashboard of the car. Pain swirled around him and for a time he sank back down into agonized darkness. Then slowly, gradually, he emerged. And peered around him.

  His car was parked in the rear of a small, dilapidated public lot. It was about five-thirty. Traffic swarmed noisily along the narrow street onto which the lot fed. LeMarr reached up and gingerly explored the side of his skull. There was a numb spot the size of a silver dollar, an area totally without sensation. The spot radiated a chill breath, the utter absence of heat, as if somehow he had bumped against a nexus of outer space.

  He was still trying to collect himself and recollect the events that had preceded his period of unconsciousness, when the swift-moving form of Doctor V-Stephens appeared.

  V-Stephens ran lithely between the parked surface cars, one hand in his coat pocket, eyes alert and wary. There was something strange about him, a difference that LeMarr in his befuddled state couldn't pin down. V-Stephens had almost reached the car before he realized what it was -- and at the same time was lashed by the full surge of memory. He sank down and lay against the do
or, as limp and inert as possible. In spite of himself he started slightly, as V-Stephens yanked the door open and slid behind the wheel.

  V-Stephens was no longer green.

  The Venusian slammed the door, jabbed the car key in the lock, and started up the motor. He lit a cigarette, examined his pair of heavy gloves, glanced briefly at LeMarr, and pulled out of the lot into the early-evening traffic. For a moment he drove with one gloved hand on the wheel, the other still inside his coat. Then, as he gained full speed, he slid his cold-beam out, gripped it briefly, and dropped it on the seat beside him.

  LeMarr pounced on it. From the corner of his eye, V-Stephens saw the limp body swing into life. He slammed on the emergency brake and forgot the wheel; the two of them struggled silently, furiously. The car shrieked to a halt and immediately became the center of an angry mass of honking car-horns. The two men fought with desperate intensity, neither of them breathing, locked almost immobile as momentarily all forces balanced. Then LeMarr yanked away, the cold-beam aimed at V-Stephens' colorless face.

  "What happened?" he croaked hoarsely. "I'm missing five hours. What did you do?"

  V-Stephens said nothing. He released the brake and began driving slowly with the swirl of traffic. Gray cigarette smoke dribbled from between his lips; his eyes were half-closed, filmed over and opaque.

  "You're an Earthman," LeMarr said, wonderingly. "You're not a webfoot after all."

  "I'm a Venusian," V-Stephens answered indifferently. He showed his webbed fingers, then replaced his heavy driving gloves.

  "But how --"

  "You think we can't pass over the color line when we want to?" V-Stephens shrugged. "Dyes, chemical hormones, a few minor surgical operations. A half hour in the men's room with a hypodermic and salve... This is no planet for a man with green skin."

  Across the street a hasty barricade had been erected. A group of sullen-faced men stood around with guns and crude hand-clubs, some of them Wearing gray Home Guard caps. They were flagging down cars one by one and searching them. A beefy-faced man waved V-Stephens to a halt. He strolled over and gestured for the window to be rolled down.