"Gosh," Ed muttered. "Well, I won't tell anybody." Cold sweat poured off him. "You can count on that. I'm as good as changed."
"You have already told someone," the Old Man said coldly.
"Me?" Ed blinked. "Who?"
"Your wife."
Ed trembled. The color drained from his face, leaving it a sickly white. "That's right. I did."
"Your wife knows." The Old Man's face twisted angrily. "A woman. Of all the things to tell — "
"I didn't know." Ed retreated, panic leaping through him. "But I know now. You can count on me. Consider me changed."
The ancient blue eyes bored keenly into him, peering far into his depths. "And you were going to call the police. You wanted to inform the authorities."
"But I didn't know who was doing the changing."
"Now you know. The natural process must be supplemented — adjusted here and there. Corrections must be made. We are fully licensed to make such corrections. Our adjustment teams perform vital work."
Ed plucked up a measure of courage. "This particular adjustment. Douglas. The office. What was it for? I'm sure it was some worthwhile purpose."
The Old Man waved his hand. Behind him in the shadows an immense map glowed into existence. Ed caught his breath. The edges of the map faded off in obscurity. He saw an infinite web of detailed sections, a network of squares and ruled lines. Each square was marked. Some glowed with a blue light. The lights altered constantly.
"The Sector Board," the Old Man said. He sighed wearily. "A staggering job. Sometimes we wonder how we can go on another period. But it must be done. For the good of all. For your good."
"The change. In our — our Sector."
"Your office deals in real estate. The old Douglas was a shrewd man, but rapidly becoming infirm. His physical health was waning. In a few days Douglas will be offered a chance to purchase a large unimproved forest area in western Canada. It will require most of his assets. The older, less virile Douglas would have hesitated. It is imperative he not hesitate. He must purchase the area and clear the land at once. Only a younger man — a younger Douglas — would undertake this.
"When the land is cleared, certain anthropological remains will be discovered. They have already been placed there. Douglas will lease his land to the Canadian Government for scientific study. The remains found there will cause international excitement in learned circles.
"A chain of events will be set in motion. Men from numerous countries will come to Canada to examine the remains. Soviet, Polish, and Czech scientists will make the journey.
"The chain of events will draw these scientists together for the first time in years. National research will be temporarily forgotten in the excitement of these nonnational discoveries. One of the leading Soviet scientists will make friends with a Belgian scientist. Before they depart they will agree to correspond — without the knowledge of their governments, of course.
"The circle will widen. Other scientists on both sides will be drawn in. A society will be founded. More and more educated men will transfer an increasing amount of time to this international society. Purely national research will suffer a slight but extremely critical eclipse. The war tension will somewhat wane.
"This alteration is vital. And it is dependent on the purchase and clearing of the section of wilderness in Canada. The old Douglas would not have dared take the risk. But the altered Douglas, and his altered, more youthful staff, will pursue this work with wholehearted enthusiasm. And from this, the vital chain of widening events will come about. The beneficiaries will be you. Our methods may seem strange and indirect. Even incomprehensible. But I assure you we know what we're doing."
"I know that now," Ed said.
"So you do. You know a great deal. Much too much. No element should possess such knowledge. I should perhaps call an adjustment team in here. ."
A picture formed in Ed's mind: swirling gray clouds, gray men and women. He shuddered. "Look," he croaked. "I'll do anything. Anything at all. Only don't de-energize me." Sweat ran down his face. "Okay?"
The Old Man pondered. "Perhaps some alternative could be found. There is another possibility."
"What?" Ed asked eagerly. "What is it?"
The Old Man spoke slowly, thoughtfully. "If I allow you to return, you will swear never to speak of the matter? Will you swear not to reveal to anyone the things you saw? The things you know?"
"Sure!" Ed gasped eagerly, blinding relief flooding over him. "I swear!"
"Your wife. She must know nothing more. She must think it was only a passing psychological fit — retreat from reality."
"She thinks that already."
"She must continue to."
Ed set his jaw firmly. "I'll see that she continues to think it was a mental aberration. She'll never know what really happened."
"You are certain you can keep the truth from her?"
"Sure," Ed said confidently. "I know I can."
"All right." The Old Man nodded slowly. "I will send you back. But you must tell no one." He swelled visibly. "Remember: you will eventually come back to me — everyone does, in the end — and your fate will not be enviable."
"I won't tell her," Ed said, sweating. "I promise. You have my word on that. I can handle Ruth. Don't give it a second thought."
Ed arrived home at sunset.
He blinked, dazed from the rapid descent. For a moment he stood on the pavement, regaining his balance and catching his breath. Then he walked quickly up the path.
He pushed the door open and entered the little green stucco house.
"Ed!" Ruth came flying, face distorted with tears. She threw her arms around him, hugging him tight. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Been?" Ed murmured. "At the office, of course."
Ruth pulled back abruptly. "No, you haven't."
Vague tendrils of alarm plucked at Ed. "Of course I have. Where else — ?"
"I called Douglas about three. He said you left. You walked out, practically as soon as I turned my back. Eddie — "
Ed patted her nervously. "Take it easy, honey." He began unbuttoning his coat. "Everything's okay. Understand? Things are perfectly all right."
Ruth sat down on the arm of the couch. She blew her nose, dabbing at her eyes. "If you knew how much I've worried." She put her handkerchief away and folded her arms. "I want to know where you were."
Uneasily, Ed hung his coat in the closet. He came over and kissed her. Her lips were ice cold. "I'll tell you all about it. But what do you say we have something to eat? I'm starved."
Ruth studied him intently. She got down from the arm of the couch. "I'll change and fix dinner."
She hurried into the bedroom and slipped off her shoes and nylons. Ed followed her. "I didn't mean to worry you," he said carefully. "After you left me today I realized you were right."
"Oh?" Ruth unfastened her blouse and skirt, arranging them over a hanger. "Right about what?"
"About me." He manufactured a grin and made it glow across his face. "About. . what happened."
Ruth hung her slip over the hanger. She studied her husband intently as she struggled into her tight-fitting jeans. "Go on."
The moment had come. It was now or never. Ed Fletcher braced himself and chose his words carefully. "I realized," he stated, "that the whole darn thing was in my mind. You were right, Ruth. Completely right. And I even realize what caused it."
Ruth rolled her cotton T-shirt down and tucked it in her jeans. "What was the cause?"
"Overwork."
"Overwork?"
"I need a vacation. I haven't had a vacation in years. My mind isn't on the job. I've been daydreaming." He said it firmly, but his heart was in his mouth. "I need to get away. To the mountains. Bass fishing. Or — " He searched his mind frantically. "Or — "
Ruth came toward him ominously. "Ed!" she said sharply. "Look at me!"
"What's the matter?" Panic shot through him. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Where were you this afte
rnoon?"
Ed's grin faded. "I told you. I went for a walk. Didn't I tell you? A walk. To think things over."
"Don't lie to me, Eddie Fletcher! I can tell when you're lying!" Fresh tears welled up in Ruth's eyes. Her breasts rose and fell excitedly under her cotton shirt. "Admit it! You didn't go for a walk!"
Ed stammered weakly. Sweat poured off him. He sagged helplessly against the door. "What do you mean?"
Ruth's black eyes flashed with anger. "Come on! I want to know where you were! Tell me! I have a right to know. What really happened?"
Ed retreated in terror, his resolve melting like wax. It was going all wrong. "Honest. I went out for a — "
"Tell me!" Ruth's sharp fingernails dug into his arm. "I want to know where you were — and who you were with!"
Ed opened his mouth. He tried to grin, but his face failed to respond. "I don't know what you mean."
"You know what I mean. Who were you with? Where did you go? Tell me! I'll find out sooner or later."
There was no way out. He was licked — and he knew it. He couldn't keep it from her. Desperately he stalled, praying for time. If he could only distract her, get her mind on something else. If she would only let up, even for a second. He could invent something — a better story. Time — he needed more time. "Ruth, you've got to — "
Suddenly there was a sound: the bark of a dog, echoing through the dark house.
Ruth let go, cocking her head alertly. "That was Dobbie. I think somebody's coming."
The doorbell rang.
"You stay here. I'll be right back." Ruth ran out of the room, to the front door. "Darn it." She pulled the front door open.
"Good evening!" The young man stepped quickly inside, loaded down with objects, grinning broadly at Ruth. "I'm from the Sweep-Rite Vacuum Cleaner Company."
Ruth scowled impatiently. "Really, we're about to sit down at the table."
"Oh, this will only take a moment." The young man set down the vacuum cleaner and its attachments with a metallic crash. Rapidly, he unrolled a long illustrated banner, showing the vacuum cleaner in action. "Now, if you'll just hold this while I plug in the cleaner — "
He bustled happily about, unplugging the TV set, plugging in the cleaner, pushing the chairs out of his way.
Til show you the drape scraper first." He attached a hose and nozzle to the big gleaming tank. "Now, if you'll just sit down I'll demonstrate each of these easy-to-use attachments." His happy voice rose over the roar of the cleaner. "You'll notice — "
Ed Fletcher sat down on the bed. He groped in his pocket until he found his cigarettes. Shakily he lit one and leaned back against the wall, weak with relief.
He gazed up, a look of gratitude on his face. "Thanks," he said softly. "I think we'll make it — after all. Thanks a lot."
© Philip K. Dick, The Adjustment Team, 1953.
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The Adjustment Team Page 3