The Philip K. Dick Megapack

by Dick, Philip K.

  Kramer removed his helmet, gasping. Two sailors held onto him and began to wrap him in blankets. Gross sipped a mug of coffee, shivering.

  “It’s gone,” Kramer murmured.

  “I’ll have an alarm sent out,” Gross said.

  “What’s happened to your ship?” a sailor asked curiously. “It sure took off in a hurry. Who’s on it?”

  “We’ll have to have it destroyed,” Gross went on, his face grim. “It’s got to be destroyed. There’s no telling what it—what he has in mind.” Gross sat down weakly on a metal bench. “What a close call for us. We were so damn trusting.”

  “What could he be planning,” Kramer said, half to himself. “It doesn’t make sense. I don’t get it.”

  * * * *

  As the ship sped back toward the moon base they sat around the table in the dining room, sipping hot coffee and thinking, not saying very much.

  “Look here,” Gross said at last. “What kind of man was Professor Thomas? What do you remember about him?”

  Kramer put his coffee mug down. “It was ten years ago. I don’t remember much. It’s vague.”

  He let his mind run back over the years. He and Dolores had been at Hunt College together, in physics and the life sciences. The College was small and set back away from the momentum of modern life. He had gone there because it was his home town, and his father had gone there before him.

  Professor Thomas had been at the College a long time, as long as anyone could remember. He was a strange old man, keeping to himself most of the time. There were many things that he disapproved of, but he seldom said what they were.

  “Do you recall anything that might help us?” Gross asked. “Anything that would give us a clue as to what he might have in mind?”

  Kramer nodded slowly. “I remember one thing….”

  One day he and the Professor had been sitting together in the school chapel, talking leisurely.

  “Well, you’ll be out of school, soon,” the Professor had said. “What are you going to do?”

  “Do? Work at one of the Government Research Projects, I suppose.”

  “And eventually? What’s your ultimate goal?”

  Kramer had smiled. “The question is unscientific. It presupposes such things as ultimate ends.”

  “Suppose instead along these lines, then: What if there were no war and no Government Research Projects? What would you do, then?”

  “I don’t know. But how can I imagine a hypothetical situation like that? There’s been war as long as I can remember. We’re geared for war. I don’t know what I’d do. I suppose I’d adjust, get used to it.”

  The Professor had stared at him. “Oh, you do think you’d get accustomed to it, eh? Well, I’m glad of that. And you think you could find something to do?”

  Gross listened intently. “What do you infer from this, Kramer?”

  “Not much. Except that he was against war.”

  “We’re all against war,” Gross pointed out.

  “True. But he was withdrawn, set apart. He lived very simply, cooking his own meals. His wife died many years ago. He was born in Europe, in Italy. He changed his name when he came to the United States. He used to read Dante and Milton. He even had a Bible.”

  “Very anachronistic, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, he lived quite a lot in the past. He found an old phonograph and records, and he listened to the old music. You saw his house, how old-fashioned it was.”

  “Did he have a file?” Winter asked Gross.

  “With Security? No, none at all. As far as we could tell he never engaged in political work, never joined anything or even seemed to have strong political convictions.”

  “No,” Kramer, agreed. “About all he ever did was walk through the hills. He liked nature.”

  “Nature can be of great use to a scientist,” Gross said. “There wouldn’t be any science without it.”

  “Kramer, what do you think his plan is, taking control of the ship and disappearing?” Winter said.

  “Maybe the transfer made him insane,” the Pilot said. “Maybe there’s no plan, nothing rational at all.”

  “But he had the ship rewired, and he had made sure that he would retain consciousness and memory before he even agreed to the operation. He must have had something planned from the start. But what?”

  “Perhaps he just wanted to stay alive longer,” Kramer said. “He was old and about to die. Or—”

  “Or what?”

  “Nothing.” Kramer stood up. “I think as soon as we get to the moon base I’ll make a vidcall to earth. I want to talk to somebody about this.”

  “Who’s that?” Gross asked.

  “Dolores. Maybe she remembers something.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Gross said.

  * * * *

  “Where are you calling from?” Dolores asked, when he succeeded in reaching her.

  “From the moon base.”

  “All kinds of rumors are running around. Why didn’t the ship come back? What happened?”

  “I’m afraid he ran off with it.”

  “He?”

  “The Old Man. Professor Thomas.” Kramer explained what had happened.

  Dolores listened intently. “How strange. And you think he planned it all in advance, from the start?”

  “I’m certain. He asked for the plans of construction and the theoretical diagrams at once.”

  “But why? What for?”

  “I don’t know. Look, Dolores. What do you remember about him? Is there anything that might give a clue to all this?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. That’s the trouble.”

  On the vidscreen Dolores knitted her brow. “I remember he raised chickens in his back yard, and once he had a goat.” She smiled. “Do you remember the day the goat got loose and wandered down the main street of town? Nobody could figure out where it came from.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No.” He watched her struggling, trying to remember. “He wanted to have a farm, sometime, I know.”

  “All right. Thanks.” Kramer touched the switch. “When I get back to Terra maybe I’ll stop and see you.”

  “Let me know how it works out.”

  He cut the line and the picture dimmed and faded. He walked slowly back to where Gross and some officers of the Military were sitting at a chart table, talking.

  “Any luck?” Gross said, looking up.

  “No. All she remembers is that he kept a goat.”

  “Come over and look at this detail chart.” Gross motioned him around to his side. “Watch!”

  Kramer saw the record tabs moving furiously, the little white dots racing back and forth.

  “What’s happening?” he asked.

  “A squadron outside the defense zone has finally managed to contact the ship. They’re maneuvering now, for position. Watch.”

  The white counters were forming a barrel formation around a black dot that was moving steadily across the board, away from the central position. As they watched, the white dots constricted around it.

  “They’re ready to open fire,” a technician at the board said. “Commander, what shall we tell them to do?”

  Gross hesitated. “I hate to be the one who makes the decision. When it comes right down to it—”

  “It’s not just a ship,” Kramer said. “It’s a man, a living person. A human being is up there, moving through space. I wish we knew what—”

  “But the order has to be given. We can’t take any chances. Suppose he went over to them, to the yuks.”

  Kramer’s jaw dropped. “My God, he wouldn’t do that.”

  “Are you sure? Do you know what he’ll do?”

 
“He wouldn’t do that.”

  Gross turned to the technician. “Tell them to go ahead.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but now the ship has gotten away. Look down at the board.”

  * * * *

  Gross stared down, Kramer over his shoulder. The black dot had slipped through the white dots and had moved off at an abrupt angle. The white dots were broken up, dispersing in confusion.

  “He’s an unusual strategist,” one of the officers said. He traced the line. “It’s an ancient maneuver, an old Prussian device, but it worked.”

  The white dots were turning back. “Too many yuk ships out that far,” Gross said. “Well, that’s what you get when you don’t act quickly.” He looked up coldly at Kramer. “We should have done it when we had him. Look at him go!” He jabbed a finger at the rapidly moving black dot. The dot came to the edge of the board and stopped. It had reached the limit of the chartered area. “See?”

  —Now what? Kramer thought, watching. So the Old Man had escaped the cruisers and gotten away. He was alert, all right; there was nothing wrong with his mind. Or with his ability to control his new body.

  Body—The ship was a new body for him. He had traded in the old dying body, withered and frail, for this hulking frame of metal and plastic, turbines and rocket jets. He was strong, now. Strong and big. The new body was more powerful than a thousand human bodies. But how long would it last him? The average life of a cruiser was only ten years. With careful handling he might get twenty out of it, before some essential part failed and there was no way to replace it.

  And then, what then? What would he do, when something failed and there was no one to fix it for him? That would be the end. Someplace, far out in the cold darkness of space, the ship would slow down, silent and lifeless, to exhaust its last heat into the eternal timelessness of outer space. Or perhaps it would crash on some barren asteroid, burst into a million fragments.

  It was only a question of time.

  “Your wife didn’t remember anything?” Gross said.

  “I told you. Only that he kept a goat, once.”

  “A hell of a lot of help that is.”

  Kramer shrugged. “It’s not my fault.”

  “I wonder if we’ll ever see him again.” Gross stared down at the indicator dot, still hanging at the edge of the board. “I wonder if he’ll ever move back this way.”

  “I wonder, too,” Kramer said.

  * * * *

  That night Kramer lay in bed, tossing from side to side, unable to sleep. The moon gravity, even artificially increased, was unfamiliar to him and it made him uncomfortable. A thousand thoughts wandered loose in his head as he lay, fully awake.

  What did it all mean? What was the Professor’s plan? Maybe they would never know. Maybe the ship was gone for good; the Old Man had left forever, shooting into outer space. They might never find out why he had done it, what purpose—if any—had been in his mind.

  Kramer sat up in bed. He turned on the light and lit a cigarette. His quarters were small, a metal-lined bunk room, part of the moon station base.

  The Old Man had wanted to talk to him. He had wanted to discuss things, hold a conversation, but in the hysteria and confusion all they had been able to think of was getting away. The ship was rushing off with them, carrying them into outer space. Kramer set his jaw. Could they be blamed for jumping? They had no idea where they were being taken, or why. They were helpless, caught in their own ship, and the pursuit ship standing by waiting to pick them up was their only chance. Another half hour and it would have been too late.

  But what had the Old Man wanted to say? What had he intended to tell him, in those first confusing moments when the ship around them had come alive, each metal strut and wire suddenly animate, the body of a living creature, a vast metal organism?

  It was weird, unnerving. He could not forget it, even now. He looked around the small room uneasily. What did it signify, the coming to life of metal and plastic? All at once they had found themselves inside a living creature, in its stomach, like Jonah inside the whale.

  It had been alive, and it had talked to them, talked calmly and rationally, as it rushed them off, faster and faster into outer space. The wall speaker and circuit had become the vocal cords and mouth, the wiring the spinal cord and nerves, the hatches and relays and circuit breakers the muscles.

  They had been helpless, completely helpless. The ship had, in a brief second, stolen their power away from them and left them defenseless, practically at its mercy. It was not right; it made him uneasy. All his life he had controlled machines, bent nature and the forces of nature to man and man’s needs. The human race had slowly evolved until it was in a position to operate things, run them as it saw fit. Now all at once it had been plunged back down the ladder again, prostrate before a Power against which they were children.

  Kramer got out of bed. He put on his bathrobe and began to search for a cigarette. While he was searching, the vidphone rang.

  He snapped the vidphone on.

  “Yes?”

  The face of the immediate monitor appeared. “A call from Terra, Mr. Kramer. An emergency call.”

  “Emergency call? For me? Put it through.” Kramer came awake, brushing his hair back out of his eyes. Alarm plucked at him.

  From the speaker a strange voice came. “Philip Kramer? Is this Kramer?”

  “Yes. Go on.”

  “This is General Hospital, New York City, Terra. Mr. Kramer, your wife is here. She has been critically injured in an accident. Your name was given to us to call. Is it possible for you to—”

  “How badly?” Kramer gripped the vidphone stand. “Is it serious?”

  “Yes, it’s serious, Mr. Kramer. Are you able to come here? The quicker you can come the better.”

  “Yes.” Kramer nodded. “I’ll come. Thanks.”

  * * * *

  The screen died as the connection was broken. Kramer waited a moment. Then he tapped the button. The screen relit again. “Yes, sir,” the monitor said.

  “Can I get a ship to Terra at once? It’s an emergency. My wife—”

  “There’s no ship leaving the moon for eight hours. You’ll have to wait until the next period.”

  “Isn’t there anything I can do?”

  “We can broadcast a general request to all ships passing through this area. Sometimes cruisers pass by here returning to Terra for repairs.”

  “Will you broadcast that for me? I’ll come down to the field.”

  “Yes sir. But there may be no ship in the area for awhile. It’s a gamble.” The screen died.

  Kramer dressed quickly. He put on his coat and hurried to the lift. A moment later he was running across the general receiving lobby, past the rows of vacant desks and conference tables. At the door the sentries stepped aside and he went outside, onto the great concrete steps.

  The face of the moon was in shadow. Below him the field stretched out in total darkness, a black void, endless, without form. He made his way carefully down the steps and along the ramp along the side of the field, to the control tower. A faint row of red lights showed him the way.

  Two soldiers challenged him at the foot of the tower, standing in the shadows, their guns ready.

  “Kramer?”

  “Yes.” A light was flashed in his face.

  “Your call has been sent out already.”

  “Any luck?” Kramer asked.

  “There’s a cruiser nearby that has made contact with us. It has an injured jet and is moving slowly back toward Terra, away from the line.”

  “Good.” Kramer nodded, a flood of relief rushing through him. He lit a cigarette and gave one to each of the soldiers. The soldiers lit up.

  “Sir,” one of them asked, “is it true about the experimental ship?”

  �
��What do you mean?”

  “It came to life and ran off?”

  “No, not exactly,” Kramer said. “It had a new type of control system instead of the Johnson units. It wasn’t properly tested.”

  “But sir, one of the cruisers that was there got up close to it, and a buddy of mine says this ship acted funny. He never saw anything like it. It was like when he was fishing once on Terra, in Washington State, fishing for bass. The fish were smart, going this way and that—”

  “Here’s your cruiser,” the other soldier said. “Look!”

  An enormous vague shape was setting slowly down onto the field. They could make nothing out but its row of tiny green blinkers. Kramer stared at the shape.

  “Better hurry, sir,” the soldiers said. “They don’t stick around here very long.”

  “Thanks.” Kramer loped across the field, toward the black shape that rose up above him, extended across the width of the field. The ramp was down from the side of the cruiser and he caught hold of it. The ramp rose, and a moment later Kramer was inside the hold of the ship. The hatch slid shut behind him.

  As he made his way up the stairs to the main deck the turbines roared up from the moon, out into space.

  Kramer opened the door to the main deck. He stopped suddenly, staring around him in surprise. There was nobody in sight. The ship was deserted.

  “Good God,” he said. Realization swept over him, numbing him. He sat down on a bench, his head swimming. “Good God.”

  The ship roared out into space leaving the moon and Terra farther behind each moment.

  And there was nothing he could do.

  * * * *

  “So it was you who put the call through,” he said at last. “It was you who called me on the vidphone, not any hospital on Terra. It was all part of the plan.” He looked up and around him. “And Dolores is really—”