The Short Happy Life of the Brown Oxford and Other Classic Stories

by Philip K. Dick

  The Captain raised an eyebrow. “Naked?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I see.” Obviously he didn’t.

  “When will you get here?”

  “In about two hours, I’d say.”

  “It’s now 13:00 by our schedule. You’ll be here by 15:00?”

  “At approximately that time,” the Captain agreed.

  “We’ll be waiting for you. Don’t let any of your men out. Open one lock for us. We’ll board without any equipment. Just ourselves, nothing else. As soon as we’re aboard, remove the ship at once.”

  Stella Morrison leaned toward the screen. “Captain, would it be possible—for your men to—?”

  “We’ll land by robot control,” he assured her. “None of my men will be on deck. No one will see you.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “Not at all.” Captain Davis saluted. “We’ll see you in about two hours then, Commander.”

  “Let’s get everyone out onto the field,” Commander Morrison said. “They should remove their clothes here, I think, so there won’t be any objects on the field to come in contact with the ship.”

  Hall looked at her face. “Isn’t it worth it to save our lives?”

  Lieutenant Friendly bit his lips. “I won’t do it. I’ll stay here.”

  “You have to come.”

  “But, Major—”

  Hall looked at his watch. “It’s 14:50. The ship will be here any minute. Get your clothes off and get out on the landing field.”

  “Can’t I take anything at all?”

  “Nothing. Not even your blaster… They’ll give us clothes inside the ship. Come on! Your life depends on this. Everyone else is doing it.”

  Friendly tugged at his shirt reluctantly. “Well, I guess I’m acting silly.”

  The vidscreen clicked. A robot voice announced shrilly: “Everyone out of the buildings at once! Everyone out of the buildings and on the field without delay! Everyone out of the buildings at once! Everyone—”

  “So soon?” Hall ran to the window and lifted the metal blind. “I didn’t hear it land.”

  Parked in the center of the landing field was a long gray cruiser, its hull pitted and dented from meteoric strikes. It lay motionless. There was no sign of life about it.

  A crowd of naked people was already moving hesitantly across the field toward it, blinking in the bright sunlight.

  “It’s here!” Hall started tearing off his shirt. “Let’s go!”

  “Wait for me!”

  “Then hurry.” Hall finished undressing. Both men hurried out into the corridor. Unclothed guards raced past them. They padded down the corridors through the long unit building, to the door. They ran downstairs, out onto the field. Warm sunlight beat down on them from the sky overhead. From all the unit buildings, naked men and women were pouring silently toward the ship.

  “What a sight!” an officer said. “We’ll never be able to live it down.”

  “But you’ll live, at least,” another said.

  “Lawrence!”

  Hall half turned.

  “Please don’t look around. Keep on going. I’ll walk behind you.”

  “How does it feel, Stella?” Hall asked.

  “Unusual.”

  “Is it worth it?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Do you think anyone will believe us?”

  “I doubt it,” she said. “I’m beginning to wonder myself.”

  “Anyhow, we’ll get back alive.”

  “I guess so.”

  Hall looked up at the ramp being lowered from the ship in front of them. The first people were already beginning to scamper up the metal incline, into the ship, through the circular lock.

  “Lawrence—”

  There was a peculiar tremor in the Commander’s voice. “Lawrence, I’m—”

  “You’re what?”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Scared!” He stopped. “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” she quavered.

  People pushed against them from all sides. “Forget it. Carry-over from your early childhood.” He put his foot on the bottom of the ramp. “Up we go.”

  “I want to go back!” There was panic in her voice. “I—”

  Hall laughed. “It’s too late now, Stella.” He mounted the ramp, holding on to the rail. Around him, on all sides, men and women were pushing forward, carrying them up. They came to the lock. “Here we are.”

  The man ahead of him disappeared.

  Hall went inside after him, into the dark interior of the ship, into the silent blackness before him. The Commander followed.

  At exactly 15:00 Captain Daniel Davis landed his ship in the center of the field. Relays slid the entrance lock open with a bang. Davis and the other

  officers of the ship sat waiting in the control cabin, around the big control table.

  “Well,” Captain Davis said, after a while. “Where are they?”

  The officers became uneasy. “Maybe something’s wrong.”

  “Maybe the whole damn thing’s a joke?”

  They waited and waited.

  But no one came.

  Prize Ship

  General Thomas Groves gazed glumly up at the battle maps on the wall. The thin black line, the iron ring around Ganymede, was still there. He waited a moment, vaguely hoping, but the line did not go away. At last he turned and made his way out of the chart wing, past the rows of desks.

  At the door Major Siller stopped him. “What’s wrong, sir? No change in the war?”

  “No change.”

  “What’ll we do?”

  “Come to terms. Their terms. We can’t let it drag on another month. Everybody knows that. They know that.”

  “Licked by a little outfit like Ganymede.”

  “If only we had more time. But we don’t. The ships must be out in deep-space again, right away. If we have to capitulate to get them out, then let’s do it. Ganymede!” He spat. “If we could only break them. But by that time—”

  “By that time the colonies won’t exist.”

  “We have to get our cradles back in our own hands,” Groves said grimly. “Even if it takes capitulation to do it.”

  “No other way will do?”

  “You find another way.” Groves pushed past Siller, out into corridor. “And if you find it, let me know.”

  The war had been going on for two Terran months, with no sign of a break. The System Senate’s difficult position came from the fact that Ganymede was the jump-off point between the System and its precarious network of colonies at Proxima Centauri. All ships leaving the System for deep-space were launched from the immense space cradles on Ganymede. There were no other cradles. Ganymede had been agreed on as the jump-off point, and the cradles had been constructed there.

  The Ganymedeans became rich, hauling freight and supplies in their tubby little ships. Over a period of time more and more Gany ships took to the sky, freighters and cruisers and patrol ships.

  One day this odd fleet landed among the space cradles, killed and imprisoned the Terran and Martian guards, and proclaimed that Ganymede and the cradles were their property. If the Senate wanted to use the cradles they paid, and paid plenty. Twenty per cent of all freighted goods turned over to the Gany Emperor, left on the moon. And full Senate representation.

  If the Senate fleet tried to take back the cradles by force the cradles would be destroyed. The Ganymedeans had already mined them with H-bombs. The Gany fleet surrounded the moon, a little ring of hard steel. If the Senate fleet tried to break through, seize the moon, it would be the end of the cradles. What could the System do?

  And at Proxima, the colonies were starving.

  “You’re certain we can’t launch ships into deep-space from regular fields,” a Martian Senator asked.

  “Only Class-One ships have any chance to reach the colonies,” Commander James Carmichel said wearily. “A Class-One ship is ten times the size of a regular intra-system ship. A Clas
s-One ship needs a cradle miles deep. Miles wide. You can’t launch a ship that size from a meadow.”

  There was silence. The great Senate chambers were full, crowded to capacity with representatives from all the nine planets.

  “The Proxima colonies won’t last another twenty days,” Doctor Basset testified. “That means we must get a ship on the way sometime next week. Otherwise, when we do get there we won’t find anyone alive.”

  “When will the new Luna cradles be ready?”

  “A month,” Carmichel answered.

  “No sooner?”

  “No.”

  “Then apparently we’ll have to accept Ganymede’s terms.” The Senate Leader snorted with disgust. “Nine planets and one wretched little moon! How dare they want equal voice with the System members!”

  “We could break their ring,” Carmichel said, “but they’ll destroy the cradles without hesitation if we do.”

  “If only we could get supplies to the colonies without using space cradles,” a Plutonian Senator said.

  “That would mean without using Class-One ships.”

  “And nothing else will reach Proxima?”

  “Nothing that we know of.”

  A Saturnian Senator arose. “Commander, what kind of ships does Ganymede use? They’re different from your own?”

  “Yes. But no one knows anything about them.”

  “How are they launched?”

  Carmichel shrugged. “The usual way. From fields.”

  “Do you think—”

  “I don’t think they’re deep-space ships. We’re beginning to grasp at straws. There simply is no ship large enough to cross deep-space that doesn’t require a space cradle. That’s the fact we must accept.”

  The Senate Leader stirred. “A motion is already before the Senate that we accept the proposal of the Ganymedeans and conclude the war. Shall we take the vote, or are there any more questions?”

  No one blinked his light.

  “Then we’ll begin. Mercury. What is the vote of the First Planet?”

  “Mercury votes to accept the enemy’s terms.”

  “Venus. What does Venus vote?”

  “Venus votes—”

  “Wait!” Commander Carmichel stood up suddenly. The Senate Leader raised his hand.

  “What is it? The Senate is voting.”

  Carmichel gazed down intently at a foil strip that had been shot to him across the chamber, from the chart wing. “I don’t know how important this is, but I think perhaps the Senate should know about it before it votes.”

  “What is it?”

  “I have a message from the first line. A Martian raider has surprised and captured a Gany Research Station, on an asteroid between Mars and Jupiter. A large quantity of Gany equipment has been taken intact.” Carmichel looked around the hall. “Including a Gany ship, a new ship, undergoing tests at the Station. The Gany staff was destroyed, but the prize ship is undamaged. The raider is bringing it here so it can be examined by our experts.”

  A murmur broke through the chamber.

  “I put forth a motion that we withhold our decision until the Ganymedean ship has been examined,” a Uranian Senator shouted. “Something might come of this!”

  “The Ganymedeans have put a lot of energy into designing ships,” Carmichel murmured to the Senate Leader. “Their ships are strange. Quite different from ours. Maybe…”

  “What is the vote on this motion?” the Senate Leader asked. “Shall we wait until this ship can be examined?”

  “Let’s wait!” voices cried. “Wait! Let’s see.”

  Carmichel rubbed his paw thoughtfully. “It’s worth a try. But if nothing comes of this we’ll have to go ahead and capitulate.” He folded up the foil strip. “Anyhow, it’s worth looking into. A Gany ship. I wonder…”

  Doctor Earl Basset’s face was red with exitement. “Let me by.” He pushed through the row of uniformed officers. “Please let me by.” Two shiny Lieutenants stepped out of his way and he saw, for the first time, the great globe of steel and rexenoid that was the captured Ganymedean ship.

  “Look at it,” Major Siller whispered. “Nothing at all like our own ships. What makes it run?”

  “No drive jets,” Commander Carmichel said. “Only landing jets to set her down. What makes her go?”

  The Ganymedean globe rested quietly in the center of the Terran Experimental laboratory, rising up from the circle of men like a great bubble. It was a beautiful ship, glimmering with an even metallic fire, shimmering and radiating a cold light.

  “It gives you a strange feeling,” General Groves said. Suddenly he caught his breath. “You don’t suppose this—this could be a gravity drive ship? The Ganys were supposed to be experimenting with gravity.”

  “What’s that?” Basset said.

  “A gravity drive ship would reach its destination without time lapse. The velocity of gravity is infinite. Can’t be measured. If this globe is—”

  “Nonsense,” Carmichel said. “Einstein showed gravity isn’t a force but a warpage, a space warpage.”

  “But couldn’t a ship be built using—”

  “Gentlemen!” The Senate Leader came quickly into the laboratory, surrounded by his guards. “Is this the ship? This globe?” The officers pulled back and the Senate Leader went gingerly up to the great gleaming side. He touched it.

  “It’s undamaged,” Siller said. “They’re translating the control markings so we can use it.”

  “So this is the Ganymedean ship. Will it help us?”

  “We don’t know yet,” Carmichel said.

  “Here come the think-men,” Groves said. The hatch of the globe had opened, and two men in white lab uniforms were stepping carefully down, carrying a semantibox.

  “What are the results?” the Senate Leader asked.

  “We’ve made the translations. A Terran crew could operate the ship now. All the controls are marked.”

  “We should make a study of the engines before we try the ship out,” Doctor Basset said. “What do we know about it? We don’t know what makes it run, or what fuel it uses.”

  “How long will such a study take?” the Leader asked.

  “Several days, at least,” Carmichel said.

  “That long?”

  “There’s no telling what we’ll run into. We may find a radically new type of drive and fuel. It might even take several weeks to finish the analysis.”

  The Senate Leader pondered.

  “Sir,” Carmichel said, “I think we should go ahead and have a test run. We can easily raise a volunteer crew.”

  “A trial run could begin at once,” Groves said. “But we might have to wait weeks for the drive analysis.”

  “You believe a complete crew would volunteer?”

  Carmichel rubbed his hands together. “Don’t worry about that. Four men would do it. Three, outside of me.”

  “Two,” General Groves said. “Count me in.”

  “How about me, sir?” Major Siller asked hopefully.

  Doctor Basset pushed up nervously. “Is it all right for a civilian to volunteer? I’m curious as hell about this.”

  The Senate Leader smiled. “Why not? If you can be of use, go along. So the crew is already here.”

  The four men grinned at each other.

  “Well?” Groves said. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get her started!”

  The linguist traced a meter reading with his finger. “You can see the Gany markings. Next to each we’ve put the Terran equivalent. There’s one hitch, though. We know the Gany word for, say, five. Zahf. So where we find zahf wemark a five for you. See this dial? Where the arrow’s at nesi? At zero. See how it’s marked?”

  100 = liw

  50 = ka

  5 = zahf

  0 = nesi

  5 = zahf

  50 = ka

  100 = liw

  Carmichel nodded. “So?”

  “This is the problem. We don’t know what the units refer to. Five, but five what? Fifty, b
ut fifty what? Presumably velocity. Or is it distance? Since no study has been made of the workings of this ship—”

  “You can’t interpret?”

  “How?” The linguist tapped a switch. “Obviously, this throws the drive on. Mel—start. You close the switch and it indicates io—stop. But how you guide the ship is a different matter. We can’t tell you what the meter is for.”

  Groves touched a wheel. “Doesn’t this guide her?”

  “It governs the brake rockets, the landing jets. As for the central drive we don’t know what it is or how you control it, once you’re started. Semantics won’t help you. Only experience. We can translate numbers only into numbers.”

  Groves and Carmichel looked at each other.

  “Well?” Groves said. “We may find ourselves lost in space. Or falling into the sun. I saw a ship spiral into the sun, once. Faster and faster, down and down—”

  “We’re a long way from the sun. And we’ll point her out, toward Pluto. We’ll get control eventually. You don’t want to unvolunteer, do you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “How about the rest of you?” Carmichel said, to Basset and Siller. “You’re still coming along?”

  “Certainly.” Basset was stepping cautiously into his spacesuit. “We’re coming.”

  “Make sure you seal your helmet completely.” Carmichel helped him fasten his leggings. “Your shoes, next.”

  “Commander,” Groves said, “they’re finishing on the vidscreen. I wanted it installed so we could establish contact. We might need some help getting back.”

  “Good idea.” Carmichel went over, examining the leads from the screen. “Self-contained power unit?”

  “For safety’s sake. Independent from the ship.”

  Carmichel sat down before the vidscreen, clicking it on. The local monitor appeared. “Get me the Garrison Station on Mars. Commander Vecchi.”

  The call locked through. Carmichel began to lace his boots and leggings while he waited. He was lowering his helmet into place when the screen I glowed into life. Vecchi’s dark features formed, lean-jawed above his scarlet uniform.