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

by Philip K. Dick

  “Greetings, Commander Carmichel,” he murmured. He glanced curiously at Carmichel’s suit. “You are going on a trip, Commander?”

  “We may visit you. We’re about to take the captured Gany ship up. If everything goes right I hope to set her down at your field, sometime later today.”

  “We’ll have the field cleared and ready for you.”

  “Better have emergency equipment on hand. We’re still unsure of the controls.”

  “I wish you luck.” Vecchi’s eyes flickered. “I can see the interior of your ship. What drive is it?”

  “We don’t know yet. That’s the problem.”

  “I hope you will be able to land, Commander.”

  “Thanks. So do we.” Carmichel broke the connection. Groves and Siller were already dressed. They were helping Basset tighten the screw locks of his earphones.

  “We’re ready,” Groves said. He looked through the port. Outside a circle of officers watched silently.

  “Say good-bye,” Siller said to Basset. “This may be our last minute on Terra.”

  “Is there really much danger?”

  Groves sat down beside Carmichel at the control board. “Ready?” His voice came to Carmichel through his phones.

  “Ready.” Carmichel reached out his gloved hand, toward the switch marked mel. “Here we go. Hold on tight!”

  He grasped the switch firmly and pulled.

  They were falling through space.

  “Help!” Doctor Basset shouted. He slid across the up-ended floor, crashing against a table. Carmichel and Groves hung on grimly, trying to keep their places at the board.

  The globe was spinning and dropping, settling lower and lower through a heavy sheet of rain. Below them, visible through the port, was a vast rolling ocean, an endless expanse of blue water, as far as the eye could see. Siller stared down at it, on his hands and knees, sliding with the globe.

  “Commander, where—where should we be?”

  “Someplace off Mars. But this can’t be Mars!”

  Groves flipped the brake rocket switches, one after another. The globe shuddered as the rockets came on, bursting into life around them.

  “Easy does it,” Carmichel said, craning his neck to see through the port. “Ocean? What the hell—”

  The globe leveled off, shooting rapidly above the water, parallel to the surface. Siller got slowly to his feet, hanging onto the railing. He helped Basset up. “Okay, Doc?”

  “Thanks.” Basset wobbled. His glasses had come off inside his helmet. “Where are we? On Mars already?’

  “We’re there,” Groves said, “but it isn’t Mars.”

  “But I thought we were going to Mars.”

  “So did the rest of us.” Groves decreased the speed of the globe cautiously. “You can see this isn’t Mars.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll find out, though. Commander, watch the starboard jet. It’s overbalancing. Your switch.”

  Carmichel adjusted. “Where do you think we are? I don’t understand it. Are we still on Terra? Or Venus?”

  Groves flicked the vidscreen on. “I’ll soon find out if we’re on Terra.” He raised the all-wave control. The screen remained blank. Nothing formed.

  “We’re not on Terra.”

  “We’re not anywhere in the System.” Groves spun the dial. “No response.”

  “Try the frequency of the big Mars Sender.”

  Groves adjusted the dial. At the spot where the Mars Sender should have come in there was—nothing. The four men gaped foolishly at the screen. All their lives they had received the familiar sanguine faces of Martian announcers on that wave. Twenty-four hours a day. The most powerful sender in the System. Mars Sender reached all the nine planets, and even out into deep-space. And it was always on the air.

  “Lord,” Basset said. “We’re out of the System.”

  “We’re not in the System,” Groves said. “Notice the horizontal curve—This is a small planet we’re on. Maybe a moon. But it’s no planet or moon I’ve ever seen before. Not in the System, and not the Proxima area either.”

  Carmichel stood up. “The units must be big multiples, all right. We’re out of the System, perhaps all the way around the galaxy.” He peered out the port at the rolling water.

  “I don’t see any stars,” Basset said.

  “Later on we can get a star reading. When we’re on the other side, away from the sun.”

  “Ocean,” Siller murmured. “Miles of it. And a good temperature.” He removed his helmet cautiously. “Maybe we won’t need these after all.”

  “Better leave them on until we can make an atmosphere check,” Groves said. “Isn’t there a check tube on this bubble?”

  “I don’t see any,” Carmichel said.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter. If we—”

  “Sir!” Siller exclaimed. “Land.”

  They ran to the port. Land was rising into view, on the horizon of the planet. A long low strip of land, a coastline. They could see green; the land was fertile.

  “I’ll turn her a little right,” Groves said, sitting down at the board. He adjusted the controls. “How’s that?”

  “Heading right toward it,” Carmichel sat down beside him. “Well, at least we won’t drown. I wonder where we are. How will we know? What if the star map can’t be equated? We can take a spectroscopic analysis, try to find a known star—”

  “We’re almost there,” Basset said nervously. “You better slow us down, General. We’ll crash.”

  “I’m doing the best I can. Any mountains or peaks?”

  “No. It seems quite flat. Like a plain.”

  The globe dropped lower and lower, slowing down. Green scenery whipped past below them. Far off a row of meager hills came finally into view. The globe was barely skimming, now, as the two pilots fought to bring it to a stop.

  “Easy, easy,” Groves murmured. “Too fast.”

  All the brakes were firing. The globe was a bedlam of noise, knocked back and forth as the jets fired. Gradually it lost velocity, until it was almost hanging in the sky. Then it sank, like a toy balloon, settling slowly down to the green plain below.

  “Cut the rockets!”

  The pilots snapped their switches. Abruptly all sound ceased. They looked at each other.

  “Any moment…” Carmichel murmured.

  Plop!

  “We’re down,” Basset said. “We’re down.”

  They unscrewed the hatch cautiously, their helmets tightly in place. Siller held a Boris gun ready, as Groves and Carmichel swung the heavy rexenoid disc back. A blast of warm air rolled into the globe, swelling around them.

  “See anything?” Basset said.

  “Nothing. Level fields. Some kind of planet.” The General stepped down onto the ground. “Tiny plants! Thousands of them. I don’t know what kind.”

  The other men stepped out, their boots sinking into the moist soil. They looked around them.

  “Which way?” Siller said. “Toward those hills?”

  “Might as well. What a flat planet!” Carmichel strode off, leaving deep tracks behind him. The others followed.

  “Harmless looking place,” Basset said. He picked a handful of the little plants. “What are they? Some kind of weed.” He stuffed them into the pocket of his spacesuit.

  “Stop” Siller froze, rigid, his gun raised.

  “What is it?”

  “Something moved. Through that patch of shrubbery over there.”

  They waited. Everything was quiet around them. A faint breeze eddied through the surface of green. The sky overhead was a clear, warm blue, with a few faint clouds.

  “What did it look like?” Basset said.

  “Some insect. Wait.” Siller crossed to the patch of plants. He kicked at them. All at once a tiny creature rushed out, scuttling away. Siller fired. The bolt from the Boris gun ignited the ground, a roar of white fire. When the cloud dissipated there was nothing but a seared pit.

  “Sorr
y.” Siller lowered the gun shakily.

  “It’s all right. Better to shoot first, on a strange planet.” Groves and Carmichel went on ahead, up a low rise.

  “Wait for me,” Basset called. He fell behind the others. “I have something in my boot.”

  “You can catch up.” The three went on, leaving the Doctor alone. He sat down on the moist ground, grumbling. He began to unlace his boot slowly, carefully.

  Around him the air was warm. He sighed, relaxing. After a moment he removed his helmet and adjusted his glasses. Smells of plants and flowers were heavy in the air. He took a deep breath, letting it out again slowly. Then he put his helmet back on and finished lacing up his boot.

  A tiny man, not six inches high, appeared from a clump of weeds and shot an arrow at him.

  Basset stared down. The arrow, a minute splinter of wood, was sticking in the sleeve of his spacesuit. He opened and closed his mouth but no sounds came.

  A second arrow glanced off the transparent shield of his helmet. Then a third and a fourth. The tiny man had been joined by companions, one of them on a tiny horse.

  “Mother of Heaven!” Basset said.

  “What’s the matter?” General Groves’ voice came in his earphones. “Are you all right, Doctor?”

  “Sir, a tiny man just fired an arrow at me.”

  “Really?”

  “There’s—there’s a whole bunch of them, now.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “No!” Basset scrambled to his feet. A volley of arrows rose up, sticking into his suit, glancing off his helmet. The shrill voices of the tiny men came to his ears, an excited, penetrating sound. “General, please come back here!”

  Groves and Siller appeared at the top of the ridge. “Basset, you must be out of—”

  They stopped, transfixed. Siller raised the Boris gun, but Groves pushed the muzzle down. “Impossible.” He advanced, staring down at the ground. An arrow pinged against his helmet. “Little men. With bows and arrows.”

  Suddenly the little men turned and fled. They raced off, some on foot, some on horseback, back through the weeds and out the other side.

  “There they go,” Siller said. “Should we follow them? See where they live?”

  “It isn’t possible.” Groves shook his head. “No planet has yielded tiny human beings like this. So small!”

  Commander Carmichel strode down the ridge to them. “Did I really see it? You men saw it, too? Tiny figures, racing away?”

  Groves pulled an arrow from his suit. “We saw. And felt.” He held the arrow close to the plate of his helmet, examining it. “Look—the tip glitters. Metal tipped.”

  “Did you notice their costumes?” Basset said. “In a storybook I once read. Robin Hood. Little caps, boots.”

  “A story…” Groves rubbed his jaw, a strange look suddenly glinting in his eyes. “A book.”

  “What, sir?” Siller said.

  “Nothing.” Groves came suddenly to life, moving away. “Let’s follow them. I want to see their city.”

  He increased his pace, walking with great strides after the tiny men, who had not got very far off, yet.

  “Come on,” Siller said. “Before they get away.” He and Carmichel and Basset followed behind Groves, catching up with him. The four of them kept pace with the tiny men, who were hurrying away as fast as they could. After a time one of the tiny men stopped, throwing himself down on the ground. The others hesitated, looking back.

  “He’s tired out,” Siller said. “He can’t make it.”

  Shrill squeaks rose. He was being urged on.

  “Give him a hand,” Basset said. He bent down, picking the tiny figure up. He held him carefully between his gloved fingers, turning him around and around.

  “Ouch!” He set him down quickly.

  “What is it?” Groves came over.

  “He stung me.” Basset massaged his thumb.

  “Stung you?”

  “Stabbed, I mean. With his sword.”

  “You’ll be all right.” Groves went on, after the tiny figures.

  “Sir,” Siller said to Carmichel, “this certainly makes the Ganymede problem seem remote.”

  “It’s a long way off.”

  “I wonder what their city will be like,” Groves said.

  “I think I know,” Basset said.

  “You know? How?”

  Basset did not answer. He seemed to be deep in thought, watching the figures on the ground intently.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s not lose them.”

  They stood together, none of them speaking. Ahead, down a long slope, lay a miniature city. The tiny figures had fled into it, across a drawbridge. Now the bridge was rising, lifted by almost invisible threads. Even as they watched, the bridge snapped shut.

  “Well, Doc?” Siller said. “This what you expected?”

  Basset nodded. “Exactly.”

  The city was walled, built of gray stone. It was surrounded by a little moat. Countless spires rose up, a conglomeration of peaks and gables, tops of buildings. There was furious activity going on inside the city. A cacophony of shrill sounds from countless throats drifted across the moat to the four men, growing louder each moment. At the walls of the city figures appeared, soldiers in armor, peering across the moat at them.

  Suddenly the drawbridge quivered. It began to slide down, descending into position. There was a pause. Then—

  “Look!” Groves exclaimed. “Here they come.”

  Siller raised his gun. “My Lord! Look at them!”

  A horde of armed men on horseback clattered across the drawbridge, spilling out onto the ground beyond. They came straight toward the four spacesuited men, the sun sparkling against their shields and spears. There were hundreds of them, decked with streamers and banners and pennants of all colors and sizes. An impressive sight, on a small scale.

  “Get ready,” Carmichel said. “They mean business. Watch your legs.” He tightened the bolts of his helmet.

  The first wave of horsemen reached Groves, who was standing a little ahead of the others. A ring of warriors surrounded him, little glittering armored and plumed figures, hacking furiously at his ankles with miniature swords.

  “Cut it out!” Groves howled, leaping back. “Stop!”

  “They’re going to give us trouble,” Carmichel said.

  Siller began to giggle nervously, as arrows flew around him. “Shall I give it to them, sir? One blast from the Boris gun and—”

  “No! Don’t fire—that’s an order.” Groves moved back as a phalanx of horses rushed toward him, spears lowered. He swung his leg, spilling them over with his heavy boot. A frantic mass of men and horses struggled to right themselves.

  “Back,” Basset said. “Those damn archers.”

  Countless men on foot were rushing from the city with long bows and quivers strapped to their backs. A chaos of shrill sound filled the air.

  “He’s right,” Carmichel said. His leggings had been hacked clean through by determined knights who had dismounted and were swinging again and again, trying to chop him down. “If we’re not going to fire we better retreat. They’re tough.”

  Clouds of arrows rained down on them.

  “They know how to shoot,” Groves admitted. “These men are trained soldiers.”

  “Watch out,” Siller said “They’re trying to get between us. Pick us off one by one.” He moved toward Carmichel nervously. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Hear them?” Carmichel said. “They’re mad. They don’t like us.”

  The four men retreated, backing away. Gradually the tiny figures stopped following, pausing to reorganize their lines.

  “It’s lucky for us we have our suits on,” Groves said. “This isn’t funny anymore.”

  Siller bent down and pulled up a clump of weeds. He tossed the clump at the line of knights. They scattered.

  “Let’s go,” Basset said. “Let’s leave.”

  “Leave?”

  “Let’s get
out of here.” Basset was pale. “I can’t believe it. Must be some kind of hypnosis. Some kind of control of our minds. It can’t be real.”

  Siller caught his arm. “Are you all right? What’s the matter?”

  Basset’s face was contorted strangely. “I can’t accept it,” he muttered thickly. “Shakes the whole fabric of the universe. All basic beliefs.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  Groves put his hand on Basset’s shoulder. “Take it easy, Doctor.”

  “But General—”

  “I know what you’re thinking. But it can’t be. There must be some rational explanation. There has to be.”

  “A fairy tale,” Basset muttered. “A story.”

  “Coincidence. The story was a social satire, nothing more. A social satire, a work of fiction. It just seems like this place. The resemblance is only—”

  “What are you two talking about?” Carmichel said.

  “This place.” Bassett pulled away. “We’ve got to get out of here. We’re caught in a mind web of some sort.”

  “What’s he talking about?” Carmichel looked from Basset to Groves. “Do you know where we are?”

  “We can’t be there,” Basset said.

  ‘Where?”

  “He made it up. A fairy tale. A child’s tale.”

  “No, a social satire, to be exact,” Groves said.

  “What are they talking about, sir?” Siller said to Commander Carmichel. “Do you know?”

  Carmichel grunted. A slow light dawned in his face. “What?”

  “Do you know where we are, sir?”

  “Let’s get back to the globe,” Carmichel said.

  Groves paced nervously. He stopped by the port, looking out intently, peering into the distance.

  “More coming?” Basset said.

  “Lots more.”

  “What are they doing out there now?”

  “Still working on their tower.”

  The little people were erecting a tower, a scaffolding up the side of the globe. Hundreds of them were working together, knights, archers, even women and boys. Horses and oxen pulling tiny carts were drawing supplies from the city. A shrill hubbub penetrated the rexenoid hull of the globe, filtering to the four men inside.

  “Well?” Carmichel said. “What’ll we do? Go back?”