Selected Stories of Philip K. Dick

  This could be worth billions of dollars, he said to himself. A great joy filled him and then came the fear. He discovered that he was trembling. Will they ever be pissed, he said to himself. When they find out, I won't be pissing purple, they'll be pissing purple. The College itself will, when it discovers its error.

  And the error, he thought, is on its part, not mine. The College fucked up and that's too bad.

  In the dorm where his bunk was located, he found a laundry room maintained by a silent robot staff, and when no robot was watching he hid the three pages of schematics near the bottom of a huge pile of bedsheets. As high as the ceiling, this pile. They won't get down to the schematics this year. I have plenty of time to decide what to do.

  Looking at his watch, he saw that the afternoon had almost come to an end. At five o'clock he would be seated in the cafeteria, eating dinner with Mary.

  She met him a little after five o'clock; her face showed signs of fatigue.

  “How'd it go?” she asked him as they stood in line with their trays.

  “Fine,” Bibleman said.

  “Did you get to Zeno? I always like Zeno; he proved that motion is impossible. So I guess I'm still in my mother's womb. You look strange.” She eyed him.

  “Just sick of listening to how the earth rests on the back of a giant turtle.”

  “Or is suspended on a long string,” Mary said. Together they made their way among the other students to an empty table.“You're not eating much.”

  “Feeling like eating,” Bibleman said as he drank his cup of coffee, “is what got me here in the first place.”

  “You could flunk out.”

  “And go to jail.”

  Mary said,“The College is programmed to say that. Much of it is probably just threats. Talk loudly and carry a small stick, so to speak.”

  “I have it,” Bibleman said.

  “You have what?” She ceased eating and regarded him.

  He said, “The Panther Engine.”

  Gazing at him, the girl was silent.

  “The schematics,” he said.

  “Lower your goddam voice.”

  “They missed a citation in the memory storage. Now that I have them I don't know what to do. Just start walking, probably. And hope no one stops me.”

  “They don't know? The College didn't self-monitor?”

  “I have no reason to think it's aware of what it did.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Mary said softly. “On your first day. You had better do a lot of slow, careful thinking.”

  “I can destroy them,” he said.

  “Or sell them.”

  He said, “I looked them over. There's an analysis on the final page. The Panther—”

  “Just say it,” Mary said.

  “It can be used as a hydroelectric turbine and cut costs in half. I couldn't understand the technical language, but I did figure out that. Cheap power source. Very cheap.”

  “So everyone would benefit.”

  He nodded.

  “They really screwed up,” Mary said. “What was it Casals told us? ‘Even if someone fed data into the College about the—about it, the College would eject the data.'” She began eating slowly, meditatively. “And they're withholding it from the public. It must be industry pressure. Nice.”

  “What should I do?” Bibleman said.

  “I can't tell you that.”

  “What I was thinking is that I could take the schematics to one of the colony planets where the authorities have less control. I could find an independent firm and make a deal with them. The government wouldn't know how—”

  “They'd figure out where the schematics came from,” Mary said. “They'd trace it back to you.”

  “Then I better burn them.”

  Mary said, “You have a very difficult decision to make. On the one hand, you have classified information in your possession which you obtained illegally. On the other—”

  “I didn't obtain it illegally. The College screwed up.”

  Calmly, she continued, “You broke the law, military law, when you asked for a written transcript. You should have reported the breach of security as soon as you discovered it. They would have rewarded you. Major Casals would have said nice things to you.”

  “I'm scared,” Bibleman said, and he felt the fear moving around inside him, shifting about and growing; as he held his plastic coffee cup it shook, and some of the coffee spilled onto his uniform.

  Mary, with a paper napkin, dabbed at the coffee stain.

  “It won't come off,” she said.

  “Symbolism,” Bibleman said.“Lady Macbeth. I always wanted to have a dog named Spot so I could say, ‘Out, out, damned Spot.'”

  “I am not going to tell you what to do,” Mary said. “This is a decision that you will make alone. It isn't ethical for you even to discuss it with me; that could be considered conspiracy and put us both in prison.”

  “Prison,” he echoed.

  “You have it within your—Christ, I was going to say, ‘You have it within your power to provide a cheap power source to human civilization.'” She laughed and shook her head. “I guess this scares me, too. Do what you think is right. If you think it's right to publish the schematics—”

  “I never thought of that. Just publish them. Some magazine or newspaper. A slave printing construct could print it and distribute it all over the solar system in fifteen minutes.” All I have to do, he realized, is pay the fee and then feed in the three pages of schematics. As simple as that. And then spend the rest of my life in jail or anyhow in court. Maybe the adjudication would go in my favor. There are precedents in history where vital classified material—military classified material—was stolen and published, and not only was the person found innocent but we now realize that he was a hero; he served the welfare of the human race itself, and risked his life.

  Approaching their table, two armed military security guards closed in on Bob Bibleman; he stared at them, not believing what he saw but thinking, Believe it.

  “Student Bibleman?” one of them said.

  “It's on my uniform,” Bibleman said.

  “Hold out your hands, Student Bibleman.” The larger of the two security guards snapped handcuffs on him.

  Mary said nothing; she continued slowly eating.

  In Major Casals's office Bibleman waited, grasping the fact that he was being—as the technical term had it—“detained.” He felt glum. He wondered what they would do. He wondered if he had been set up. He wondered what he would do if he were charged. He wondered why it was taking so long. And then he wondered what it was all about really and he wondered whether he would understand the grand issues if he continued with his courses in COSMOLOGY COSMOGONY PRE-SOCRATICS.

  Entering the office, Major Casals said briskly,“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “Can these handcuffs be removed?” Bibleman said. They hurt his wrists; they had been clapped on to him as tightly as possible. His bone structure ached.

  “We couldn't find the schematics,” Casals said, seating himself behind his desk.

  “What schematics?”

  “For the Panther Engine.”

  “There aren't supposed to be any schematics for the Panther Engine. You told us that in orientation.”

  “Did you program your terminal for that deliberately? Or did it just happen to come up?”

  “My terminal programmed itself to talk about water,” Bibleman said. “The universe is composed of water.”

  “It automatically notified security when you asked for a written transcript. All written transcripts are monitored.”

  “Fuck you,” Bibleman said.

  Major Casals said, “I tell you what. We're only interested in getting the schematics back; we're not interested in putting you in the slam. Return them and you won't be tried.”

  “Return what?” Bibleman said, but he knew it was a waste of time. “Can I think it over?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I go? I feel like going to sleep. I
'm tired. I feel like having these cuffs off.”

  Removing the cuffs, Major Casals said, “We made an agreement, with all of you, an agreement between the College and the students, about classified material. You entered into that agreement.”

  “Freely?” Bibleman said.

  “Well, no. But the agreement was known to you. When you discovered the schematics for the Panther Engine encoded in the College's memory and available to anyone who happened for any reason, any reason whatsoever, to ask for a practical application of pre-Socratic—”

  “I was as surprised as hell,” Bibleman said. “I still am.”

  “Loyalty is an ethical principle. I'll tell you what; I'll waive the punishment factor and put it on the basis of loyalty to the College. A responsible person obeys laws and agreements entered into. Return the schematics and you can continue your courses here at the College. In fact, we'll give you permission to select what subjects you want; they won't be assigned to you. I think you're good college material. Think it over and report back to me tomorrow morning, between eight and nine, here in my office. Don't talk to anyone; don't try to discuss it. You'll be watched. Don't try to leave the grounds. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Bibleman said woodenly.

  He dreamed that night that he had died. In his dream vast spaces stretched out, and his father was coming toward him, very slowly, out of a dark glade and into the sunlight. His father seemed glad to see him, and Bibleman felt his father's love.

  When he awoke, the feeling of being loved by his father remained. As he put on his uniform, he thought about his father and how rarely, in actual life, he had gotten that love. It made him feel lonely, now, his father being dead and his mother as well. Killed in a nuclear-power accident, along with a whole lot of other people.

  They say someone important to you waits for you on the other side, he thought. Maybe by the time I die Major Casals will be dead and he will be waiting for me, to greet me gladly. Major Casals and my father combined as one.

  What am I going to do? he asked himself. They have waived the punitive aspects; it's reduced to essentials, a matter of loyalty. Am I a loyal person? Do I qualify?

  The hell with it, he said to himself. He looked at his watch. Eight-thirty. My father would be proud of me, he thought. For what I am going to do.

  Going into the laundry room, he scoped out the situation. No robots in sight. He dug down in the pile of bedsheets, found the pages of schematics, took them out, looked them over, and headed for the tube that would take him to Major Casals's office.

  “You have them,” Casals said as Bibleman entered. Bibleman handed the three sheets of paper over to him.

  “And you made no other copies?” Casals asked.

  “No.”

  “You give me your word of honor?”

  “Yes,” Bibleman said.

  “You are herewith expelled from the College,” Major Casals said. “What?” Bibleman said.

  Casals pressed a button on his desk. “Come in.”

  The door opened and Mary Lorne stood there. “I do not represent the College,” Major Casals said to Bibleman. “You were set up.”

  “I am the College,” Mary said.

  Major Casals said, “Sit down, Bibleman. She will explain it to you before you leave.”

  “I failed?” Bibleman said.

  “You failed me,” Mary said.“The purpose of the test was to teach you to stand on your own feet, even if it meant challenging authority. The covert message of institutions is: ‘Submit to that which you psychologically construe as an authority.' A good school trains the whole person; it isn't a matter of data and information; I was trying to make you morally and psychologically complete. But a person can't be commanded to disobey. You can't order someone to rebel. All I could do was give you a model, an example.”

  Bibleman thought, When she talked back to Casals at the initial orientation. He felt numb.

  “The Panther Engine is worthless,” Mary said, “as a technological arti-fact. This is a standard test we use on each student, no matter what study course he is assigned.”

  “They all got a readout on the Panther Engine?” Bibleman said with disbelief. He stared at the girl.

  “They will, one by one. Yours came very quickly. First you are told that it is classified; you are told the penalty for releasing classified information; then you are leaked the information. It is hoped that you will make it public or at least try to make it public.”

  Major Casals said, “You saw on the third page of the printout that the engine supplied an economical source of hydroelectric power. That was important. You knew that the public would benefit if the engine design was released.”

  “And legal penalties were waived,” Mary said.“So what you did was not done out of fear.”

  “Loyalty,” Bibleman said. “I did it out of loyalty.”

  “To what?” Mary said.

  He was silent; he could not think. “To a holoscreen?” Major Casals said. “To you,” Bibleman said.

  Major Casals said, “I am someone who insulted you and derided you. Someone who treated you like dirt. I told you that if I ordered you to piss purple, you—”

  “Okay,” Bibleman said. “Enough.”

  “Goodbye,” Mary said.

  “What?” Bibleman said, startled.

  “You're leaving. You're going back to your life and job, what you had before we picked you.”

  Bibleman said, “I'd like another chance.”

  “But,” Mary said,“you know how the test works now. So it can never be given to you again. You know what is really wanted from you by the College. I'm sorry.”

  “I'm sorry, too,” Major Casals said.

  Bibleman said nothing.

  Holding out her hand, Mary said, “Shake?”

  Blindly, Bibleman shook hands with her. Major Casals only stared at him blankly; he did not offer his hand. He seemed to be engrossed in some other topic, perhaps some other person. Another student was on his mind, perhaps. Bibleman could not tell.

  Three nights later, as he wandered aimlessly through the mixture of lights and darkness of the city, Bob Bibleman saw ahead of him a robot food vendor at its eternal post. A teenage boy was in the process of buying a taco and an apple turnover. Bob Bibleman lined up behind the boy and stood waiting, his hands in his pockets, no thoughts coming to him, only a dull feeling, a sense of emptiness. As if the inattention which he had seen on Casals's face had taken him over, he thought to himself. He felt like an object, an object among objects, like the robot vendor. Something which, as he well knew, did not look you directly in the eye.

  “What'll it be, sir?” the robot asked.

  Bibleman said, “Fries, a cheeseburger, and a strawberry shake. Are there any contests?”

  After a pause the robot said, “Not for you, Mr. Bibleman.”

  “Okay,” he said, and stood waiting.

  The food came, on its little throwaway plastic tray, in its little throw-away cartons.

  “I'm not paying,” Bibleman said, and walked away.

  The robot called after him, “Eleven hundred dollars. Mr. Bibleman. You're breaking the law!”

  He turned, got out his wallet.

  “Thank you, Mr. Bibleman,” the robot said. “I am very proud of you.”

  RAUTAVAARA'S CASE

  The three technicians of the floating globe monitored fluctuations in inter-stellar magnetic fields, and they did a good job up until the moment they died.

  Basalt fragments, traveling at enormous velocity in relation to their globe, ruptured their barrier and abolished their air supply. The two males were slow to react and did nothing. The young female technician from Finland, Agneta Rautavaara, managed to get her emergency helmet on in time, but the hoses tangled; she aspirated and died: a melancholy death, strangling on her own vomit. Herewith ended the survey task of EX208, their floating globe. In another month, the technicians would have been relieved and returned to Earth.

  We could not get there in time to sav
e the three Earth persons, but we did dispatch a robot to see if any of them could be regenerated from death. Earth persons do not like us, but in this case their survey globe was operating in our vicinity. There are rules governing such emergencies that are binding on all races in the galaxy. We had no desire to help Earth persons, but we obey the rules.

  The rules called for an attempt on our part to restore life to the three dead technicians, but we allowed a robot to take on the responsibility, and perhaps there we erred. Also, the rules required us to notify the closest Earthship of the calamity and we chose not to. I will not defend this omission nor analyze our reasoning at the time.

  The robot signaled that it had found no brain function in the two males and that their neural tissue had degenerated. Regarding Agneta Rautavaara, a slight brain wave could be detected. So in Rautavaara's case the robot would begin a restoration attempt. However, since it could not make a judgment decision on its own, it contacted us. We told it to make the attempt. The fault—the guilt, so to speak—therefore lies with us. Had we been on the scene, we would have known better. We accept the blame.

  An hour later the robot signaled that it had restored significant brain function in Rautavaara by supplying her brain with oxygen-rich blood from her dead body. The oxygen, but not the nutriments, came from the robot. We instructed it to begin synthesis of nutriments by processing Rautavaara's body, by using it as raw material. This is the point at which the Earth authorities later made their most profound objection. But we did not have any other source of nutriments. Since we ourselves are a plasma we could not offer our own bodies.

  The objection that we could have used the bodies of Rautavaara's dead companions was not phrased properly when we introduced it as evidence. Briefly, we felt that, based on the robot's reports, the other bodies were too contaminated by radioactivity and hence were toxic to Rautavaara; nutriments derived from that source would soon poison her brain. If you do not accept our logic, it does not matter to us; this was the situation as we construed it from our remote point. This is why I say our real error lay in sending a robot in rather than going ourselves. If you wish to indict us, indict us for that.