“Those people,” Ed interrupted. “Heaps of dry ash. And gray. Like they were dead. Only it was everything: the stairs and walls and floor. No color or life.”
“That Sector had been temporarily de-energized. So the adjustment team could enter and effect changes.”
“Changes.” Ed nodded. “That’s right. When I went back later, everything was alive again. But not the same. It was all different.”
“The adjustment was complete by noon. The team finished its work and re-energized the Sector.”
“I see,” Ed muttered.
“You were supposed to have been in the Sector when the adjustment began. Because of an error you were not. You came into the Sector late—during the adjustment itself. You fled, and when you returned it was over. You saw, and you should not have seen. Instead of a witness you should have been part of the adjustment. Like the others, you should have undergone changes.”
Sweat came out on Ed Fletcher’s head. He wiped it away. His stomach turned over. Weakly, he cleared his throat. “I get the picture.” His voice was almost inaudible. A chilling premonition moved through him. “I was supposed to be changed like the others. But I guess something went wrong.”
“Something went wrong. An error occurred. And now a serious problem exists. You have seen these things. You know a great deal. And you are not coordinated with the new configuration.”
“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 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 non-national 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 posssess 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. “OK?”
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, bunding 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 OK. 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 my 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 afternoon?”
Ed’s grin faded. “I told you. I went for a walk. Didn’t I tell you? A walk. To think tilings 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! Ill 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.
“I’ll 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.”
PSI-MAN
HE was a lean man, middle-aged, with grease-stained hair and skin, a crumpled cigarette between his teeth, his left hand clamped around the wheel of his car. The car, an ex-commercial surface truck, rumbled noisily but smoothly as it ascended the outgoing ramp and approached the check-gate that terminated the commune area.
“Slow down,” his wife said. “There’s the guard sitting on that pile of crates.”
Ed Garby rode the brake; the car settled grimly into a long glide that ended directly in front of the guard. In the back seat of the car the twins fretted restlessly, already bothered by the gummy heat oozing through the top and windows of the car. Down his wife’s smooth neck great drops of perspiration slid. In her arms the baby twisted and struggled feebly.
“How’s she?” Ed muttered to his wife, indicating the wad of gray, sickly flesh that poked from the soiled blanket.
“Hot—like me.”
The guard came strolling over indifferently, sleeves rolled up, rifle slung over his shoulder. “What say, mac?” Resting his big hands in the open window, he gazed dully into the interior of the car, observing the man and wife, the children, the dilapidated upholstery. “Going outside awhile? Let’s see your pass.”
Ed got out the crumpled pass and handed it over. “I got a sick child.”
The guard examined the pass and returned it. “Better take her down to sixth level. You got a right to use the infirmary; you live in this dump like the rest of us.”
“No,” Ed said. “I’m taking no child of mine down to that butchery.”
The guard shook his head in disagreement. “They got good equipment, mac. High-powered stuff left over from the war. Take her down there and they’ll fix her up.” He waved toward the desolate expanse of dry trees and hills that lay beyond the check-gate. “What do you think you’ll find out there? You going to dump her somewhere? Toss her in a creek? Down a well? It’s none of my business, but I wouldn’t take a dog out there, let alone a sick child.”
Ed started up the motor. “I’m getting help out there. Take a child down to sixth and they make her a laboratory animal. They experiment, cut her up, throw her away and say they couldn’t save her. They got used to doing that in the war; they never stopped.”
“Suit yourself,” the guard said, moving away from the car. “Myself, I’d sooner trust military doctors with equipment than some crazy old quack living out in the ruins. Some savage heathen tie a bag of stinking dung around her neck, mumble nonsense and wave and dance around.” He shouted furiously after the car: “Damn fools—going back to barbarism, when you got doctors and X-rays and serums down on sixth! Why the hell do you want to go out in the ruins when you’ve got a civilization here?”
He wandered glumly back to his crates. And added, “What there is left of it.”
Arid land, as dry and parched as dead skin, lay on both sides of the rutted tracks that made up the road. A harsh rattle of noonday wind shook the gaunt trees jutting here and there from the cracked, baking soil. An occasional drab bird fluttered in the thick underbrush, heavy-set gray shapes that scratched peevishly in search of grubs.
Behind the car the white concrete walls of the commune faded and were lost in the distance. Ed Garby watched them go apprehensively; his hands convulsively jerked as a twist in the road cut off the radar towers posted on the hills overlooking the commune.
“Damn it,” he mutt
ered thickly, “maybe he was right; maybe we’re making a mistake.” Doubts shivered through his mind. The trip was dangerous; even heavily-armed scavenger parties were attacked by predatory animals and by the wild bands of quasi-humans living in the abandoned ruins littered across the planet All he had to protect himself and his family was his hand-operated cutting tool. He knew how to use it, of course; didn’t he grind it into a moving belt of reclaimed wreckage ten hours a day every day of the week? But if the motor of the car failed …
“Stop worrying,” Barbara said quietly. “I’ve been along here before, and there’s nothing ever gone wrong.”
He felt shame and guilt: his wife had crept outside the commune many times, along with other women and wives; and with some of the men, too. A good part of the proletariat left the commune, with and without passes … anything to break the monotony of work and educational lectures. But his fear returned. It wasn’t the physical menace that bothered him, or even unfamiliar separation from the vast submerged tank of steel and concrete in which he had been born and in which he had grown up, spent his life, worked and married. It was the realization that the guard had been right, that he was sinking into ignorance and superstition, that made his skin turn cold and clammy, in spite of the baking midsummer heat.
“Women always lead it,” he said aloud. “Men built machines, organized science, cities. Women have their potions and brews. I guess we’re seeing the end of reason. We’re seeing the last remnants of rational society.”
“What’s a city?” one of the twins asked.
“You’re seeing one now,” Ed answered. He pointed beyond the road. “Take a good look.”
The trees had ended. The baked surface of brown earth had faded to a dull metallic glint. An uneven plain stretched out, bleak and dismal, a pocked surface of jagged heaps and pits. Dark weeds grew here and there. An occasional wall remained standing; at one point a bathtub lay on its side like a dead, toothless mouth, deprived of face and head.
The region had been picked over countless times. Everything of value had been loaded up and trucked to the various communes in the area. Along the road were neat heaps of bones, collected but never utilized. Use had been found for cement rubble, iron scrap, wiring, plastic tubing, paper and cloth—but not for bones.
The Book of Philip K Dick (1973) Page 10