Side 3. The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch, by Philip K. Dick. Continuing on page 80, stiffly the child said, There is no one named Zoe. No one but you. Your father is Palmer Eldritch, right?
With great reluctance, the child nodded. Is this a special place for you, he asked, to which you come often? This is my place.
The girl said, no one comes here without my permission. Why did you let me come here then? He knew that she did not like him, had not from the very start. Because, the child said, we think perhaps you can stop the proxers from whatever it is they're doing. That again, he said, simply not believing her.
Your father, my father, the child said, is trying to save us. He didn't want to bring back Chewzie. They made him.
Chew Z is the agent by which we're going to be delivered over to them, you see? How? Because they control these areas.
Like this, where you go when you're given Chew Z. You don't see him under any sort of alien control. Look what you're telling me. But I will be, the girl said, nodding soberly.
Soon. Just like my father is now. He was given it on prox. He's been taking it for years. It's too late for him, and he knows it.
Prove all this to me, Leo said. In fact, prove any of it, even one part. Give me something actual to go on. The suitcase, which he still held, now said, What Monica says is true, Mr. Boulareau. How do you know?
He demanded, annoyed with it. Because, the suitcase replied, I'm under Proc's influence, too. That's why I... You did nothing.
Leo said. He set the suitcase down. Damn that choosy, he said to both of them, the suitcase and the girl.
It's made everything confused. I don't know what the hell's going on. You're not Zoe, you don't even know who she is. And you, you're not Dr. Smile, and you didn't call Barney, and he wasn't talking to Ronnie Fugate. It's all just a drug-induced hallucination.
It's my own fears about Palmer Eldridge being read back to me. trash about him being under Proc's influence, and you too. Whoever heard of a suitcase being dominated by minds from an alien star system? Highly indignant, he walked away from them.
I know what's going on, he realized. This is Palmer's way of gaining domination over my mind. This is a form of what they used to call brainwashing. He's got me running scared. Carefully measuring his steps, he continued on without looking back.
It was a near-fatal mistake. Something, he caught sight of it out of the corner of his eye, launched itself at his legs. He leaped aside and it passed him, circling back at once as it reoriented itself and picked him up again as its prey.
The rats can't see you, the girl called, but the glocks can. You better run. Without clearly seeing it, he had seen enough.
He ran, and what he had seen he could not blame on Chew-Z. Because it was not an illusion, not a device of Palmer Eldridge's to terrorize him. The gluck, whatever it was, did not originate on terror nor from a terran mind. Behind him, leaving the suitcase, the girl ran too.
What about me? Dr. Smile called anxiously. No one came back for him.
On the vid screen, the image of Felix Blau said, I've processed the material you gave me, Mr. Meyerson. It adds up to a convincing case that your employer, Mr. Bolero, who is also a client of mine, is at present on a small artificial satellite orbiting Earth, legally titled Sigma-14b. I have consulted the records of ownership and it appears to belong to a rocket fuel manufacturer in St. George, Utah.
He inspected the papers before him. Robard Leithane's sales. Leithane is their trade name for their brand of... OK. Barney Meyerson said.
I'll contact them. How in God's name had Leo Bolero gotten there? There is one further item of possible interest.
Robard Lithane sales incorporated the same day four years ago as Chewsy Manufacturers of Boston. It seems more than a coincidence to me. What about getting Leo off the satellite?
You could file a writ of mandamus with the courts demanding... Too much time, Barney said. He had a deep, ill sense of personal responsibility for what had happened. happened. Evidently, Palmer Eldridge had set up the news conference with the tape reporters as a pretext by which to lure Leo to the lunar domain, and he, precog Barney Myerson, the man who could perceive the future, had been taken in, had expertly done his part to get Leo there.
Felix Blau said, I can supply you with about a hundred men from various offices of my organization. And you ought to be able to raise 50 more from PP Layouts. You could try to invest the satellite and find him dead. True, Blau appeared to pout.
Well, you could go to Hepburn Gilbert and plead for UN assistance, or try to contact, and this sticks in the craw even worse, contact Palmer or whatever is taking Palmer's place and deal directly with it. See if you can buy Leo back. Barney cut the circuit.
He had once dialed for an out-plan line, saying, Get me Mr. Palmer Eldridge on Luna. It's an emergency. I'd like you to hurry it up, miss.
As he waited for the call to be put through, Ronnie Fugate said from the far end of the office, Apparently we're not going to have time to sell out to Eldridge. It does look that way. How smoothly it had all been handled. Eldridge had let his adversary do the work, and us...
too, he realized, Ronnie and I. He'll probably get us the same way. In fact, Eldridge could indeed be waiting for our flight to the satellite. That would explain his supplying Leo with Dr. Smile. I wonder, Ronnie said, fooling with the clasp of her blouse, if we want to work for a man that clever.
If it is a man, it looks more and more to me as if it's not actually Palmer who came back, but one of them. I think we're going to have to accept that. The next thing we can look forward to is Chewsy flooding the market with UN sanction. Her tone was bitter. And Leo, who at least is one of us and who just wants to make a few skins, will be dead or driven out.
She stared straight ahead in fury. Patriotism, Barney said. Self-preservation. I don't want to find myself some morning...
Chewing away on the stuff, doing whatever you do when you chew it instead of candy. Going, not to perky pat land, that's for sure. The vidphone operator said, I have a Miss Zoe Eldridge on the line, sir.
Will you speak to her? Okay, Barney said, resigned. A smartly dressed woman, sharp-eyed, with heavy hair pulled back in a bun, gazed at him in miniature. Yes, this is Meyerson at PP Layouts.
What do we have to do to get Leo Bolero back? He waited. No response.
You do know what I'm talking about, don't you? He said. Presently, she said, Mr. Bolero arrived here at the domain and was taken sick.
He's resting in our infirmary. When he's better, may I dispatch an official company physician to examine him? Of course.
Zoe Eldridge did not bat an eye. Why didn't you notify us? It- just now occurred. My father was about to call.
It seems to be nothing more than a reaction to the change of gravity. Actually, it's very common with older persons who arrive here. We haven't tried to approximate Earth gravity as Mr. Bolero has at his satellite, Winnie-the-Pooh Acres, so you see it's really quite simple.
She smiled slightly. You'll have him back sometime later today at the very latest. Did you suspect something else?
I suspect, Barney said, that Leo is not on Luna any longer, that he's on an Earth satellite called Sigma-14b, which belongs to a St. George firm that you own. Isn't that the case? And what we'll find in your infirmary at the Domain will not be Leo Bolero. Ronnie stared at him.
You're welcome to see for yourself, Zoe said stonely. It is Leo Bolero, at least as far as we know. It's what arrived here with the homeopape reporters. I'll come to the domain, Barney said. And he knew he was making a mistake.
His precog ability told him that. And at the far end of the office, Ronnie Fugate hopped to her feet and stood rigid. Her ability had picked it up, too.
Shutting off the vidphone, he turned to her and said, PP Layout's employee commits suicide. Correct? Or some such wording.
The papes tomorrow morning. The exact wording, Ronnie began. I don't care to hear the exact wording, but it would be by exposure.
he knew, man's body found on pedestrian ramp at noon, dead from excessive solar radiation, downtown New York somewhere, at whatever spot the Eldritch organization had dropped him off, would drop him off. He could have done without his precog faculty in this, since he did not intend to act on its foresight. What disturbed him the most was the pic on the tape page, a close-up view of his sun-shriveled body. At the office door, he stopped and simply stood. You can't go, Ronnie said.
No, not after previewing the pic. Leo, he realized, will have to take care of himself. Returning to his desk, he reseated himself.
The only problem, Ronnie said, is that if he does get back, he's going to be hard to explain the situation to, that you didn't do anything. I know. But that was not the only problem. In fact, that was barely an issue at all, because Leo would probably not be getting back. Six.
The gluck had him by the ankle, and it was trying to drink him. It had penetrated his flesh with tiny tubes like cilia. Leo Bolero cried out, and then abruptly, there stood Palmer Eldridge.
You were wrong, Eldridge said. I did not find God in the proc system, but I found something better. With a stick, he poked at the gluck.
It reluctantly withdrew its cilia and contracted into itself until at last it was no longer clinging to Leo. It dropped to the ground and traveled away as Eldritch continued to prod it. God, Eldritch said, promises eternal life.
I can do better. I can deliver it. Deliver it how? Trembling and weak with relief, Leo dropped to the grassy soil, seated himself, and gasped for breath.
Through the lichen which we're marketing under the name Choose E, Eldridge said. It bears very little resemblance to your own product, Leo. Candy is obsolete, because what does it do? Provides a few moments of escape, nothing but fantasy.
Who wants it? Who needs that? when they can get the genuine thing from me.
He added, we're there now. So I assumed, and if you imagine people are going to pay out skins for an experience like this, Leo gestured at the gluck, which still lurked nearby, keeping an eye on both himself and Eldritch, you're not just out of your body, you're out of your mind too. This is a special situation, to prove to you that this is authentic.
Nothing excels physical pain and terror in that respect. The Glucks showed you with absolute clarity that this is not a fantasy. They could actually have killed you, and if you died here, that would be it.
Not like Kandy, is it? Eldritch was probably enjoying the situation. When I discovered the lichen in the proc system, I couldn't believe it.
I've lived a hundred years, Leo, already. using it in the prox system under the direction of their medical people. I've taken it orally, intravenously, in suppository form.
I've burned it and inhaled the fumes, made it into a water-soluble solution and boiled it, sniffed the vapors. I've experienced it every way possible, and it hasn't hurt me. The effect on proxers is minor, nothing like what it does to us. To them it's less of a stimulant than their very best... grade tobacco.
Want to hear more? Not particularly. Eldritch seated himself nearby, rested his artificial arm on his bent knees, and idly swung his stick from side to side, scrutinizing the gluck which had still not departed. When we returned to our former bodies, you noticed the use of the word former, a term you wouldn't apply with candy, and for good reason.
You'll find that no time has passed. We could stay here fifty years, and it'd be the same. We'd emerge back at the domain on Luna and find everything unchanged, and anyone watching us would see no lapse of consciousness, as you have with Candi.
No trance, no stupor. Oh, maybe a flicker of the eyelids. A split second, I'm willing to concede that.
What determines our length of time here? Leo asked. Our attitude, not the quantity taken.
We can return whenever we want to. So the amount of the drug need not be... That's not true, because I've wanted out of here for some time now. But, Eldritch said, you didn't construct this establishment here. I did, and it's mine.
I created the Glucks, this landscape, he gestured with his stick. Every damn thing you see, including your body. My body? Leo examined himself.
It was his regular, familiar body, known to him intimately. It was his, not Eldritch's. I willed you to emerge here exactly as you are in our universe, Eldritch said.
You see, that's the point that appealed to Hepburn Gilbert, who of course is a Buddhist. You can reincarnate in any form you wish, or that's wished for you, as in this situation. So that's why the UN bit, Leo said.
It explained a great deal. With choosy, one can pass from life to life. Be a bug, a physics teacher, a hawk, a protozoan, a slime mold, a streetwalker in Paris in 1904, a... even, Leo said, a gluck. Which one of us is the gluck there?
I told you, I made it out of a portion of myself. You could shape something. Go ahead, project a fraction of your essence.
It'll take material form on its own. What you supply is the Logos. Remember that? I remember, Leo said. He concentrated, and presently there formed, not far off, an unwieldy mass of wires and bars and grid-like extensions.
What the hell is that? Eldritch demanded. A glut trap.
Eldritch put his head back and laughed. Very good. But please don't build a Palmer Eldritch trap. I still have things I want to say.
He and Leo watched the gluck suspiciously approach the trap, sniffing. It entered and the trap banged shut. The gluck was caught and now the trap dispatched it.
One quick sizzle, a small plume of smoke, and the gluck had vanished. In the air before Leo, a small section shimmered. Out of it emerged a black book, which he accepted, thumbed through, then, satisfied, put down on his lap. What's that?
Eldritch asked. A King James Bible. I thought it might help protect me. Not here, Eldritch said.
This is my domain. He gestured at the Bible, and it vanished. You could have your own, though, and fill it with Bibles.
As can everyone, as soon as our operations are underway. We're going to have layouts, of course, but that comes later with our Terran activities. And anyhow, that's a formality.
A ritual to ease the transition. Candy and choosy will be marketed on the same basis, in open competition. We'll claim nothing for choosy that you don't claim for your product. We don't want to scare people away. Religion has become a touchy subject.
It will only be after a few tries. That they realize the two different aspects, the lack of a time-lapse and the other, perhaps the more vital. That it isn't fantasy. That they enter a genuine new universe. Many persons feel that about Candi, Leo pointed out.
They hold it as an article of faith that they're actually on Earth. Fanatics, Eldred said with disgust. Obviously it's illusion because there is no Perky Pat and no Walt Essex.
And anyhow, the structure of their fantasy environment is limited to the artifacts actually installed in their layout. They can't operate the automatic dishwasher in the kitchen unless a min of one was installed in advance. And a person who doesn't participate can watch and see that the two dolls don't go anywhere. No one is in them. It can be demonstrated, but you're going to have to...
trouble convincing those people, Leo said. They'll stay loyal to Can D. There's no real dissatisfaction with Perky Pat. Why should they give up? I'll tell you, Eldridge said.
Because however wonderful being Perky Pat and Walt is for a while, eventually they're forced to return to their hovels. Do you know how that feels, Leo? Try it sometime.
Wake up in a hovel on Ganymede after you've been freed for twenty, thirty minutes. It's an experience you'll never forget. Hmm.
And there's something else. And you know what it is, too. When the little period of escape is over and the colonist returns, he's not fit to be To resume a normal daily life, he's demoralized.
But if instead of can-dee he's chewed, he broke off. Leo was not listening. He was involved in constructing another artifact in the air before him.
A short flight of stairs appeared, leading into a luminous hoop. The far end of the flight of stairs could not be seen. Where does that go? Eldritch demanded, an irritated expression on his face. New York City, Leo said.
It'll take me back to P.P. Layouts. He rose and walked to the flight of stairs. I have a feeling, Eldritch, that something's wrong. Some aspect of this choosy product.
And we won't discover what it is until too late. He began climbing the stairs, and then he remembered the girl, Monica. He wondered if she was all right here in Palmer Eldritch's world.
What about the child? He stopped his climb. Below him, but seemingly far off, he could make out Eldritch, still seated with his stick on the grass. The Glucks didn't get her, did they? Eldritch said, I was a little girl.
That's what I'm trying to explain to you. That's why I say it means genuine reincarnation, triumph over death. Blinking, Leo said, then the reason she was familiar, he ceased and looked again. On the grass, Eldritch was gone.
The child, Monica, with her suitcase full of Dr. Smile, sat there instead. So it was evident now. He was telling. She. They were telling.
The truth. Slowly, Leo walked back down the stairs and out onto the grass once more. The child, Monica, said, I'm glad you're not leaving, Mr. Bolero.
It's nice to have someone... smart and evolved like you to talk to. She patted the suitcase resting on the grass beside her.
I went back and got him. He was terrified of the glucks. I see you found something that would handle them. She nodded toward his gluck trap, which now empty, awaited another victim. Very ingenious of you.
I hadn't thought of it. I just got the hell out of there. A diencephalic panic reaction. To her, Leo said hesitantly, You're Palmer, are you? I mean, down underneath, actually?
Take the medieval doctrine of substance versus accidents, the child said pleasantly. My accidents are those of this child, but my substance, as with the wine and the wafer in transubstantiation, Okay, Leo said. You're Aldrich, I believe you, but I still don't like this place. Those glucks, don't blame them on Chew-Z, the child said. Blame them on me.
They're a product of my mind, not of the Lycan. Does every new universe constructed have to be nice? I like Lux in mine. They appeal to something in me.
Suppose I want to construct my own universe, Leo said. Maybe there's something evil in me, too, some aspect of my personality I don't know about. That would cause me to produce a thing even more ugly than what you've brought into being.
At least... with the perky pat layouts, one was limited to what one had provided in advance, as Eldritch himself had pointed out. And there was a certain safety in this. Whatever it was could be abolished, the child said indifferently. If you found you didn't like it, and if you did like it, she shrugged, keep it then.
Why not? Who's hurt? You're alone in your... Instantly she broke off, clapping her hand to her mouth. Alone, Leo said.
You mean each person goes to a different subjective world? It's not like the layouts, then. Because everyone in the group who takes Can-D goes to the layout, the men to Walt the women into Perky Pat. But that means you're not here.
Or, he thought, I'm not here. But in that case, the child watched him intently, trying to gauge his reaction. We haven't taken Chu-Z, Leo said quietly. This is all a hypnagogic, absolutely artificially induced pseudo-environment. We're not anywhere except where we started from.
We're still at your domain on Luna. Chu-Z doesn't create any new universe and you know it. There's no bona fide reincarnation with it. This is all just one big snow job.
The child was silent, but she had not taken her eyes from him. Her eyes burned cold and bright, unwinking. Leo said, come on, Palmer.
What does 2Z really do? I told you. The child's voice was harsh. This is not even as real as perky pat, as the use of our own drug.
And even that is open to the question as regards the validity of the experience, its authenticity versus it as purely hypnagogic or hallucinatory. So obviously there won't be any discussion about this. It's patently the latter. No, the child said, and you better believe me because if you don't, you won't get out of this world alive. You can't die in a hallucination, Leo said, any more than you can be born again.
I'm going back to PP Layouts. Once more, he started toward the stairs. Go ahead and climb, the child said from behind him.
See if I care. Wait and see where it gets you. Leo climbed the stairs and passed through the luminous hoop.
Blinding, ferociously hot sunlight descended on him. He scuttled from the open street to a nearby doorway for shelter. A jet cab from the towering high buildings swooped down, spying him. A ride, sir?
Better get indoors, it's almost noon. Gasping, almost unable to breathe, Leo said, Yes, thanks. Take me to P.P.
Layouts. He unsteadily got into the cab and fell back at once against the seat, panting in the coolness. provided by its antithermal shield. The cab took off. Presently it was descending at the enclosed field of his company's central building.
As soon as he reached his outer office, he said to Miss Gleason, Get hold of Meyerson. Find out why he didn't do anything to rescue me. Rescue you? Miss Gleason said in consternation. What was the matter, Mr. Bolero?
She followed him to the inner office. Where were you, and in what way? Just get Meyerson!
He seated himself at his familiar desk, relieved to be back here. The hell with Palmer Eldridge, he said to himself, and reached into the desk drawer for his favorite English briar pipe and half-pound can of sale tobacco, a Dutch Cavendish mix. He was busy lighting his pipe when the door opened, and Barney Meyerson appeared, looking sheepish and worn.
Well, Leo said. He puffed energetically on his pipe. Barney said, I... He turned to Miss Fugate, who had come in after him. Gesturing, he turned again to Leo and said, Anyhow, you're back.
Of course I'm back. I'd built myself a stairway to here. Aren't you going to answer as to why you didn't do anything?
I guess not. But as you say, you weren't needed. I've now got an idea of what this new choosy substance is like. It's definitely inferior to candy. I have no qualms in saying that emphatically.
You can tell without doubt that it's merely a hallucinogenic experience you're undergoing. Now, let's get down to business. Eldridge has sold Choosy to the UN by claiming that it induces genuine reincarnation, which ratifies the religious convictions of more than half the governing members of the General Assembly, plus that Indian skunk Hepburn Gilbert himself. It's a fraud because Choosy doesn't do that.
But the worst aspect of Choosy is the solipsistic quality. With candy, you undergo a valid interpersonal experience, in that the others in your hovel are... He paused irritably. What is it, Miss Fugate? What are you staring at?
Ronnie Fugate murmured. I'm sorry, Mr. Bolero, but there's a creature under your desk. Bending, Leo peered under the desk. A thing had squeezed itself between the base of the desk and the floor.
Its eyes regarded him greenly, unwinking. Get out of there! Leo said.
To Barney he said, get a yardstick or a broom, something to prod it with. Barney left the office. Damn it, Miss Fugate, Leo said, smoking rapidly on his pipe.
I hate to think what that is under there and what it signifies, because it might signify that Eldridge, within the little girl Monica, had been right when she said, see if I care, wait and see where it gets you. The thing from beneath the desk... scuttled out and made for the door.
It squeezed under the door and was gone. It was even worse than the Glucks. He got one good look at it. Leo said, well, that's that.
I'm sorry, Miss Fugate, but you might as well return to your office. There's no point in our discussing what actions to take toward the imminent appearance of Choozie on the market, because I'm not talking to anyone. I'm sitting here babbling away to myself. He felt depressed. Eldridge had him, and also the validity, or at least the seeming validity, of his life.
of the choosy experience had been demonstrated. He himself had confused it with the real. Only the maligned bug created by Palmer Eldridge deliberately had given it away. Otherwise, he realized, I might have gone on forever. Spent a century, as Eldridge said, in this Erzat's universe.
Jeez, he thought, I'm licked. Miss Fugate, he said. Please don't just stand there. Go back to your office.
He got up, went to the water cooler, and poured himself a paper cup of mineral water. Drinking unreal water for an unreal body, he said to himself, in front of an unreal employee. Miss Fugate, he said, are you really Mr. Meyerson's mistress? Yes, Mr. Bolero, Miss Fugate said, nodding, as I told you. And you won't be mine, he shook his head.
Because I'm too old and too evolved. You know, or rather you don't know, that I have at least a limited power in this universe. I could make over my body, make myself young. Or, he thought, make you old. How would you like that, he wondered.
He drank the water and tossed the cup in the waste chute. Not looking at Miss Fugate, he said to himself, You're my age, Miss Fugate. In fact, older.
Let's see. You're about 92 now. In this world, anyhow, you've aged here. Time has rolled forward for you because you turned me down, and I don't like being turned down.
In fact, he said to himself, you're over one hundred years old, withered, juiceless, without teeth and eyes, a thing. Behind him he heard a dry rasping sound, an intake of breath, and a wavering, shrill voice like the cry of a frightened bird. Oh, Mr. Bolero! I've changed my mind, Leo thought.
You're the way you were. I take it back, okay? He turned and saw Ronnie Fugate, or at least something, standing there where she had last stood.
A spider web, gray fungoid strands wrapped one around another to form a brittle column that swayed. He saw the head, sunken at the cheeks, with eyes like dead spots of soft, inert white slime that leaked out gummy, slow-moving tears. Eyes that tried to appeal but could not, because they could not make out where he was. You're back the way you were, Leo said harshly and shut his own eyes. Tell me when it's over.
Footsteps. A man's. Barney re-entering the office. Jesus, Barney said and halted.
Eyes shut, Leo said. Isn't she back the way she was yet? She? Where's Ronnie?
What's this? Leo opened his eyes. It was not Ronnie Fugate who stood there, not even an ancient manifestation of her. It was a puddle, but not of water.
The puddle was alive, and in it bits of sharp, jagged gray splinters swam. The thick, oozing material of the puddle flowed gradually outward, then shuddered and retracted into itself. In the center, the fragments of hard gray matter swam together and cohered into a roughly shaped puddle.
ball with tangled, matted strands of hair floating at its crown. Vague eye sockets, empty, formed. It was becoming a skull, but of some life formation to come. His unconscious desire for her to experience evolution in its horrific aspect had conjured this monstrosity into being. The jaw clacked, opening and shutting as if jerked by wicked, deeply embedded wires.
Drifting here and there in the fluid of the puddle, it croaked, But you see, Mr. Bolero, she didn't live that long. You forgot that. It was remotely, but absolutely, the voice not of Ronnie Fugate, but Monica, as if drumming at the far distant end of a waxed string.
You made her past one hundred, but she only is going to live to be seventy, so she's been dead thirty years, except you made her alive. That was what you intended. And even worse, the toothless jaw waggled and the uninhabited pockets for eyes gaped.
She evolved, not while alive, but there in the ground. The skull ceased piping, then by stages disintegrated. Its parts once more floated away and the semblance of organization again dissipated.
After a time, Barney said, Get us out of here, Leo. Leo said, Hey Palmer! His voice was uncontrolled, baby-like with fear. Hey, you know what? I give up.
I really do. The carpet of the office beneath his feet rotted, became mushy, and then sprouted, grew alive into green fibers. He saw that it was becoming grass, and then the walls and the ceiling caved in, collapsed into fine dust. The particles rained noiselessly down like ashes, and the blue, cool sky appeared untouched above.
Seated on the grass with the stick in her lap and the suitcase containing Dr. Smile beside her, Monica said, Did you want Mr. Meyerson to remain? I didn't think so. I let him go with the rest that you made, okay? She smiled up at Leo. Okay, he agreed chokingly.
Looking around him, he saw now only the plain of green. Even the dust which had composed PP Layouts, the building, and its core of people had vanished, except for the rest of the people. for a dim layer that remained on his hands, on his coat. He brushed it off reflexively.
Monica said, From dust thou art come, O man, to dust shalt. Okay, he said loudly. I get it.
You don't have to hammer me over the noggin with it. So it was a real, so what? I mean, you made a goddamn point, Eldritch.
You can do anything here you want, and I'm nothing. I'm just a phantom. He felt hatred toward Palmer Eldritch, and he thought.
If I ever get out of here, if I can escape from you, you bastard. Now, now, the girl said, her eyes dancing. You are not going to use language like that. You really aren't, because I won't let you.
I won't even say what I'll do if you continue. But you know me, Mr. Bolero, right? Leo said, right.
He walked off a few steps, got out his handkerchief, and mopped the perspiration from his upper lip and neck, the hollow beneath his Adam's apple where it was... so hard in the mornings to shave. God, he thought, help me, will you?
And if you do, if you can reach into this world, I'll do anything, whatever you want. I'm not afraid now. I'm sick. This is going to kill my body, even if it's just an ectoplasmic phantom-type body. Hunched over, he was sick.
He vomited onto the grass. For a long time, it... Seemed a long time. That kept up, and then he was better.
He was able to turn and walk slowly back toward the seated child with her suitcase. Terms, the child said flatly. We're going to work out an exact business relationship between my company and yours. We need your superb network of ad satellites and your transportation system of late-model interplan ships and your God-knows-how-extensive plantations on Venus.
We want everything, Bolero. We're going to grow the lichen where you now grow candy, ship it in the same ships, reach the colonists with the same well-trained, experienced pushers you use, advertise through pros like Alan and Charlotte Fane. Candy and choosy won't be competing because they'll just be the one product. Choosy, you're about to announce your retirement.
Understand me, Leo? Sure, Leo said. I hear. Will you do it?
Okay, Leo said, and pounced on the child. His hands closed about her windpipe. He squeezed.
She stared into his face, rigidly, her mouth pursed, saying nothing, not even trying to struggle, to claw him or get away. He continued squeezing, for a time so long that it seemed as if his hands had grown fast to her, become fixed in place forever, like gnarled roots of some ancient, diseased, but still living plant. When he let go, she was dead.
Her body settled forward, then twisted and fell to one side, to come to rest supine on the grass. No blood, no sign even of a struggle, except that her throat was a dark, mottled, blackish red. He stood up thinking, well, did I do it?
If he, she or it, whatever it is, dies here, does that take care of it? But the simulated world remained. He had expected it to dwindle away as her, Eldritch's, life dwindled away. Puzzled, he stood without moving an inch, smelling the air, listening to a far-off wind. Nothing had changed, except that the girl had died.
Why? What ailed the basis on which he had acted? Incredibly, it was wrong.
Bending, he snapped on Dr. Smile. Explain it to me. He said, obligingly, Dr. S. Smile tinnily declared, He is dead here, Mr. Boulareau, but at the domain on Luna.
Okay, Leo said roughly. Well, tell me how to get out of this place. How do I get back to Luna, too?
He gestured. You know what I mean. Actuality.
At this moment, Dr. Smile explained, Palmer Eldridge, although considerably upset and angered, is intravenously providing you with a substance which... counters the injectable choosy previously administered. You will return shortly, it added.
That is, shortly, even instantly, in terms of the time flow in that world. As to this, it chuckled, it could seem longer. How longer?
Oh, years, Dr. Smiles said, but quite possibly less. Days? Months? Time sense is subjective. So let's see how it feels to you.
Do you not agree? Seating himself wearily by the body of the child, Leo sighed, put his head down, chin against his chest, and prepared to wait. I'll keep you company, Dr. Smile said, if I can. But I'm afraid without Mr. Eldritch's animating presence, its voice Leo realized had become feeble as well as slowed down.
Nothing can sustain this world, it intoned weakly. But Mr. Eldritch, so I am afraid. Its voice faded out entirely.
There was only silence. Even the distant wind had ceased. How long? Leo asked himself. And then he wondered if he could, as before, make something.
Gesturing in the manner of an inspired symphony conductor, his hands rising, he tried to create before him in the air a jet cab. At last, A meager outline appeared. Insubstantial, it remained without color, almost transparent.
He rose, walked closer to it, and tried with all his strength once more. For a moment it seemed to gain color and reality, and then suddenly it became fixed. Like a hard, discarded chitinous shell, it sagged and burst.
Its sections, only two-dimensional at best, blue and fluttered, tearing into ragged pieces. He turned his back on it and walked away in disgust. What a mess, he said to himself dismally.
He continued without purpose to walk, until he came all at once to something in the grass, something dead. He saw it lying there, and warily he approached it. This, he thought, the final indication of what I've done.
He kicked the dead gluck with the toe of his shoe. His toe passed entirely through it, and he drew back, repelled. Going on, hands deep in his pockets, he shut his eyes and once more prayed, but this time vaguely. It was only a wish, inchoate, and then it became clear. I'm going to get him in the real world, he said to himself, not just here as I've done, but as the papes are going to report.
Not for myself, not to save pee-pee layouts in the can-dee trade. But for, he knew what he meant, everyone in the system. Because Palmer Eldridge is an invader, and this is how we'll all wind up.
Here, like this, on a plane of dead things that have become nothing more than random fragments. This is the reincarnation that he promised Hepburn Gilbert. For a time he wandered on, and then, by degrees, he made his way back to the suitcase which had been Dr. Smile.
Something bent over the suitcase. A human or quasi-human figure. Seeing him, it at once straightened. Its bald head glistened as it gaped at him, taken by surprise.
And then it leaped and rushed off. Proxer! It seemed to him as he watched it go that this put everything in perspective. Palmer Eldridge had peopled his landscape with things such as this. He was still highly involved with them, even now that he had returned to his home system.
This, which had appeared just as he had before, was the only now, gave an insight into the man's mind at the deepest level. And Palmer Eldridge himself might not have known that he had so populated his hallucinatory establishment. The Proxer might have been just as much a surprise to him. Unless, of course, this was the Prox system. Perhaps it would be a good idea to follow the Proxer.
He set off in that direction and trudged for what seemed to be hours. He saw nothing, only the grass underfoot, the level horizon. And then at last, a shape formed ahead. He made for it, and found himself all at once in the middle of the forest. confronting a parked ship.
Halting, he regarded it in amazement. For one thing, it was not a Terran ship, and yet it was not a Prox ship either. Simply, it was not from either system. Nor were the two creatures lounging nearby it Proxers or Terrans.
He had never seen such life forms before. Tall, slender, with reed-like limbs and grotesque egg-shaped heads, which even at this distance seemed oddly delicate. A highly evolved race, he decided, and yet related to Terrans.
The resemblance was closer than to the Proxers. He walked toward them, hand raised in greeting. One of the two creatures turned toward him, saw him, gaped, and nudged its companion. Both stared, and then the first one said, My God, Alec, it's one of the old forms. You know, the near men.
Yeah, the other creature agreed. Wait, Leo Bolero said. You're speaking the language of Terra, 21st century English, so you must have seen a Terran before.
Terran, the one named Alex said. We're Terrans. What the hell are you?
A freak that died out centuries ago, that's what. Well, maybe not centuries, but anyhow, a long time ago. An enclave of them must still exist on this moon, the first said.
To Leo, he said, how many Dawn men are there besides you? Come on, fella, we won't treat you bad. Any women?
Can you reproduce? To his companion, he said, it just seems like centuries. I mean, you've got to remember, we've been evolving in terms of a hundred thousand years at a crack.
If it wasn't for Dankmal, these Don men would still be... Dankmal, Leo said. Then this was the end result of Dankmal's e-therapy. This was only a little ahead in time, perhaps merely decades.
Like them, he felt a gulf of a million years, and yet it was in fact an illusion. He himself, when he finished with his therapy, might resemble these, except that the tightness hide was gone, and that had been one of the prime aspects of the evolving types. I go to his clinic, he said to the two of them, once a week, at Munich.
I'm evolving, it's working on me. He came up close to them and studied them intently. Where's the hide, he asked, to shield you from the sun? Ah, that phony hot period's over, the one named Alex said with a gesture of derision.
That was those proxers working with the renegade, you know. Or maybe you don't. Palmer Eldritch, Leo said. Yeah, Alex said, nodding.
But we got him. Right here on this moon, in fact. Now it's a shrine, not to us, but to the proxers. They sneak in here to worship.
Seen any? We're supposed to arrest any we find. This is Sol System territory, belongs to the UN. What planet's this a moon of?
Leo asked. The two evolved Terrans both grinned. Terra, Alex said. It's artificial.
Called Sigma-14b, built years ago. Didn't it exist in your time? It must have. It's a real old one.
I think so. Leo said. Then you can get me to Earth.
Sure. Both of the evolved Terrans nodded in agreement. As a matter of fact, we're taking off in half an hour. We'll take you along, you and the rest of your tribe. Just tell us the location.
I'm the only one, Leo said testily, and we would hardly be a tribe anyhow. We're not out of prehistoric times. He wondered how he had gotten here to this future epic. Or was this an illusion too constructed by the master hallucinator Palmer Eldritch? Why should he assume this was any more real than the child Monica, or the Glucks, or the synthetic PP layouts which he had visited, visited and seen collapse?
This was Palmer Eldritch imagining the future. These were meanderings of his brilliant creative mind as he waited at his domain on Luna for the effects of the intravenous injection of Chu-Z to wear off. Nothing more. In fact, even as he stood here, he could see, faintly, the horizon line through the parked ship.
The ship was slightly transparent, not quite substantial enough, and the two evolved Terrans, they wavered in a mild but pervasive distortion which reminded him of the days when he had had astigmatic vision before he had received by surgical transplant totally healthy eyes the two of them had not exactly locked in place He reached his hand out to the first Terran. I'd like to shake hands with you, he said. Alex, the Terran, extended his hand, too, with a smile.
Leo's hand passed through Alex and emerged on the far side. Hey, Alex said, frowning. He at once, piston-like, withdrew his hand. What's going on? To his companion, he said, this guy isn't real.
We should have suspected it. He's a... What did they used to call them?
From chewing that diabolical drug that Eldritch picked up in the proc system? A chooser, that's what. He's a phantasm, he glared at Leo.
I am? Leo said feebly, and then realized that Alec was right. His actual body was on Luna.
He was not really here. But what did that make the two evolved Terrans? Perhaps they were not constructs of Eldritch's busy mind.
Perhaps they alone were genuinely here. Meanwhile, the one named Alec was now staring at him. You know, Alec said to his companion, this chooser looks familiar to me.
I've seen a pic in the papes of him, I'm sure of it. To Leo he said, what's your name, chooser? His stare became harsher, more intense. I'm Leo Bolero, Leo said. Both the evolved Terrans jumped with shock.
Hey, Alec exclaimed. No wonder I thought I recognized him. He's the guy who killed Palmer Eldritch. To Leo he said, you're a hero, fella.
I bet you don't know that because you're just a mere chooser, right? And you've come back here to haunt this place because this is historically the He didn't come back, his companion broke in. He's from the past.
He can still come back, Alex said. This is a second coming for him, after his own time. He's returned, okay, can I say that?
To Leo he said, you've returned to this spot because of its association with Palmer Eldritch's death. He turned and started on a run toward the parked ship. I'm going to tell the papes, he called.
Maybe they can get a pic of you, the ghost of... Sigma-14B. He gestured excitedly.
Now the tourists really will want to visit here. But look out. Maybe Eldritch's ghost, his chooser, will show up here too, to pay you back. At that thought, he did not look too pleased.
Leo said, Eldritch already has. Alec halted, then came slowly back. He has?
He looked around nervously. Where is he? You're here? He's dead, Leo said. I killed him, strangled him.
He felt no emotion about it, just weariness. How could one become elated over the killing of any living person, especially a child? They've got to reenact it through eternity, Alex said, impressed and wide-eyed.
He shook his great egg-like head. Leo said, I wasn't reenacting anything. This was the first time. Then he thought, and not the real one.
That's still to come. You mean, Alex said slowly, it... I've still got to do it, Leo grated.
But one of my pre-fash consultants tells me it won't be long. Probably. It was not inevitable, and he could never forget that fact.
And Eldritch knew it, too. This would go a long way in explaining Eldritch's efforts here and now. He was staving off, or so he hoped, his own death. Come on. Alex said to Leo, and take a look at the marker commemorating the event.
He and his companion led the way. Leo reluctantly followed. The proxers, Alex said over his shoulder, always seek to, you know, desiccate this.
Desiccate, his companion corrected. Yeah, Alex said, nodding. Anyhow, here it is. He stopped.
Ahead of them jutted an imitation, but impressive... granite pillar. On it, a brass plaque had been bolted securely at eye level.
Leo, against his better judgment, read the plaque. In memoriam, 2016 A.D. Near this spot, the enemy of the Sol system, Palmer Eldritch, was slain in fair combat with the champion of our nine planets, Leo Bolero of Terra. Hoopla! Leo ejaculated, impressed.
Despite himself, he read it again and again. I wonder, he said, half to himself, if Palmer's seen this. If he's a chooser, Alex said, he probably has. The original form of choosy produced what the manufacturer, Eldritch himself, called time overtones. That's you right now.
You occupy a locus years after you're dead. I guess you're dead by now, anyhow. To his companion he said, Leo Bolero's dead by now, isn't he?
Oh, hell sure, his companion said, by several decades. In fact, I think I read. Alec began, then ceased, looking past Leo.
He nudged his companion. Leo turned to see what it was. A scraggly, narrow, ungainly white dog was approaching.
Yours? Alec asked. No, Leo said. It looks like a chooser dog, Alec said. See?
You can look through it a little. The three of them watched the dog as it marched up to them, then passed them to the monument itself. Picking up a pebble, Alec chucked it at the dog. The pebble passed through the dog and landed in the grass beyond. It was a chooser dog.
As the three of them watched, the dog halted at the monument, seemed to gaze up at the plaque for a brief interval, and then it... Defecation! Alec shouted.
his face turning bright red with rage. He ran toward the dog, waving his arms and trying to kick it, then reaching for the laser pistol at his belt but missing its handle in his excitement. Desecration, his companion corrected. Leo said, it's Palmer Eldritch.
Eldritch was showing his contempt for the monument, his lack of fear toward the future. There would never be such a monument. The dog leisurely strolled off. the two evolved Terrans cursing futilely at it as it departed.
You're sure that's not your dog, Alec demanded suspiciously. As far as I can make out, you're the only chooser around, he eyed Leo. Leo started to answer, to explain to them what had happened. It was important that they understand. And then, without Harbinger of any kind, the two evolved Terrans disappeared.
The grassy plain, the monument, The departing dog, the entire panorama evaporated, as if the method by which it had been projected, stabilized, and maintained had clicked to the off position. He saw only an empty white expanse, a focused glare, as if there were now no 3D slide in the projector at all, the light, he thought, that underlies the play of phenomena, which we call reality. And then he was sitting in the barren room in Palmer Eldridge's domain on Luna.
facing the table with its electronic gadget. The gadget, or contraption, or whatever it was, said, Yes, I've seen the monument. About 45% of the futures have it.
Slightly less than equal chances obtained, so I'm not terribly concerned. Have a cigar. Once again, the machine extended a lighted cigar to Leo. Now, Leo said, I'm going to let you go.
The gadget said, for a short time, for about 24 hours. You can return to your little office at your minuscule company on Terra. While you're there, I want you to ponder the situation.
Now you've seen Chu-Z in force. You comprehend the fact that your antediluvian product, Can-D, can't even remotely compare to it. And furthermore... Oh, Leo said, Can-D is far superior. Well, you think it over, the electronic contraption said with confidence.
All right, Leo said. He stood stiffly. Had he actually been on the artificial Earth satellite Sigma-14b? It was a job for Felix Blau. Experts could trace it down.
No use worrying about that now. The immediate problem was serious enough. He still had not gotten out from under Palmer Eldridge's control. He could escape only when and if Eldritch decided to release him.
That was an undisguised piece of factual reality, hard as it was to face. I'd like to point out, the gadget said, that I've shown mercy to you, Leo. I could have put an, well, let's say, a period to the sentence that constitutes your rather short life, and at any time.
Because of this, I expect, I insist. that you consider very seriously doing the same. As I said, I'll think it over, Leo answered.
He felt irritable, as if he had drunk too many cups of coffee, and he wanted to leave as soon as possible. He opened the door of the room and made his way out into the corridor. As he started to shut the door after him, the electronic gadget said, If you don't decide to join me, Leo, I'm not going to wait. I'm going to kill you. I must, to save my own self.
Do you understand? I understand, Leo said, and shut the door after him. And I have to too, he thought. Must kill you. Or couldn't we both put it in a less direct way?
Something like they say about animals. Put you to sleep. And I have to do it not just to save myself, but everyone in the system. And that's my staff on which I'm leaning. For example, those two evolved Terran soldiers I ran into at the monument.
For them... So they'll have something to guard. Slowly he walked up the corridor.
At the far end stood the group of paper reporters. They had not left yet, had not even obtained their interview. Almost no time had passed.
So on that point Palmer was right. Joining the reporters, Leo relaxed and felt considerably better. Maybe he would get away now. Maybe Palmer Eldridge was actually going to let him go. He would live to smell, see, drink in the world once more.
But underneath he knew better. Eldritch would never let him go. One of them would have to be destroyed first.
He hoped it would not be himself. But he had a terrible intuition, despite the monument, that it could well be. Seven.
The door to Barney Myerson's inner office, flung open, revealed Leo Bolero. Hunched with weariness, travel-stained. You didn't try to help me. After an interval, Barney answered, That's correct. There was no use trying to explain why.
Not because Leo would fail to understand or believe, but because of the reason itself. It was simply not adequate. Leo said, You are fired, Meyerson. Okay.
And he thought, Anyhow, I'm alive. And if I'd gone after Leo, I wouldn't be now. He began with numbed fingers, gathering up his personal articles from his desk, dropping them into an empty sample case. Where's Miss Fugate?
Leo demanded. She'll be taking your place. He came close to Barney and scrutinized him. Why didn't you come and get me?
Name me the goddamn reason, Barney. I looked ahead. It would have cost me too much.
My life. But you didn't have to come personally. This is a big company.
You could have arranged for a party from here and stayed behind, right? It was true, and he hadn't even considered it. So, Leo said, you must have wanted something fatal to happen to me.
No other interpretation is possible. Maybe it was unconscious, yes? I guess so, Barney admitted, because certainly he hadn't been aware of it.
Anyhow, Leo was right. Why else would he not have taken the responsibility? Seen to it that an armed party, as Felix Blau had suggested, emerged from PP Layouts and headed for Luna. It was so obvious now, so simple to see.
I've had a terrible experience, Leo said, in Palmer Eldridge's domain. He's a damned magician, Barney. He did all kinds of things with me, things you and I never dreamed of.
Turned himself, for instance, into a little girl. Showed me the future, only maybe that was unintentional. Made a complete universe up anyhow, including a horrible animal called a Gluck, along with an illusional New York City with you and Ronnie.
What a mess, he shook his head blearily. Where you gonna go? There's only one place I can go. Where is that?
Leo eyed him apprehensively. Only one other person would have use for my pre-fash talent. Then you're my enemy.
I am already, as far as you're concerned. And he was willing to accept Leo's judgment as fair, Leo's interpretation of his failure to act. I'll get you too then, Leo said, along with that nutty magician, that so-called Palmer Eldritch.
Why so-called? Barney glanced up quickly and ceased his packing. Because I'm even more convinced he's not human.
I never did lay eyes on him, except during the period under the effect of Chu-Z. Otherwise, he addressed me through an electronic extension. Interesting.
Barney said. Yes, isn't it? And you're so corrupt, you'd go ahead and apply to his outfit for a job, even though he may be a wig-headed proxer or something worse.
Some damn thing that got into his ship while it was coming or going out in deep space ate him and took his place. If you had seen the Glocks, then for Christ's sakes, Barney said, don't make me do this. Keep me on here. I can't. Not after what you failed to do, loyalty-wise.
Leo glanced away, swallowing rapidly. I wish I wasn't so sore in this cold, reasonable way at you, but... He clenched his fists, futilely. It was hideous. He virtually did it.
Broke me. And then I ran into those two evolved Terrans, and that helped. Up until Eldritch appeared in the form of a dog that peed on the monument. He grimaced starkly. I have to admit, he demonstrated his attitude graphically.
There was no mistaking his contempt. He added half to himself his belief that he's going to win, that he has nothing to fear, even after seeing the plaque. Wish me luck, Barney said.
He held out his hand. They briefly ritualistically shook, and then Barney walked from his office, past his secretary's desk, out into the central corridor. He felt hollow, stuffed with some unoccupied, tasteless waste material like straw, nothing more.
As he stood waiting for the elevator, Ronnie Fugate hurried up, breathless, her clear face animated with concern. Barney, he fired you? He nodded. Oh dear, she said.
Now what? Now, he said, over to the other side, for better or worse. But how can you and I go on living together with me working here for Leo and you? I don't have the foggiest notion, Barney said.
The elevator had arrived, self-regulated. He stepped into it. I'll see you, he said, and touched the button. The doors shut, cutting off his view of Ronnie. I'll see you in what the Neo-Christians call hell, he thought to himself.
Probably not before. Not unless this already is, and it may be, hell right now. At street level he emerged from PP layouts and stood under the anti-thermal protective shield, searching for signs of a cab. As the cab halted and he started toward it, a voice called to him urgently from the entrance of the building. Barney, wait!
You're out of your mind, he said to her. Go back on in. Don't abandon your budding bright career along with what was left of mine. Ronnie said, we were about to work together, remember? To, as I put it, betray Leo.
Why can't we go on cooperating now? It's all changed by my sick and depraved unwillingness or inability or whatever you care to call it to go to Luna and help Leo. He felt differently about himself now and no longer viewed himself in the same ultra-sympathetic light. God, you don't want to stay with me, he said to the girl.
Someday you'd be in difficulty and need my help, and I'd do to you exactly what I did to Leo. I'd let you sink without moving my right arm. But your own life was it.
It always is, he pointed out. When you do anything. That's the name of the comedy we're stuck in.
It didn't excuse him, at least not in his own eyes. He entered the cab, automatically gave his CONAPT address, and lay back against the seat as the cab rose into the fire-drenched midday sky. Far below, under the antithermal curtain, Ronnie Fugate stood shielding her eyes, watching him go, no doubt hoping he would change his mind and turn back.
However, he did not. It takes a certain amount of courage, he thought, to face yourself and say with candor, I'm rotten. I've done evil and I will again.
It was no accident. It emanated from the true, authentic me. Presently, the cab began to descend. He reached into his pocket for his wallet, and then discovered with shock that this was not his CONAPT building.
In panic, he tried to figure out where he was. Then it came to him. This was CONAPT 492. He had given Emily's address to the cab.
Whisk back to the past, where things made sense. He thought, when I had my career, knew what I wanted from the future, knew even in my heart what I was willing to abandon, turn again, sacrifice, and what... before, but now.
Now he had sacrificed his career in order, as it seemed at the time, to save his life. The logic he had at that former time sacrificed Emily to save his life. It was as simple as that. Nothing could be clearer. It was not an idealistic goal, not the old Puritan, Calvin-style high-duty-to-vocation.
It was nothing more than the instinct that inhabited and compelled every flatworm that crept. Christ, he thought, I've done this. I've put myself ahead, first of Emily and now of Leo.
What kind of human am I? And as I was honest enough to tell her, next it would be Ronnie, inevitably. Maybe Emily can help me, he said to himself.
Maybe that's why I'm here. She was always smart about things like this. She saw through the self-justifying delusions that I erected to obscure the reality inside.
And of course, that just made me more eager to get rid of her. In fact, that alone was reason enough. given a person like me, but maybe I'm better able to endure it now.
A few moments later, he was at Emily's door, ringing the bell. If she thinks I should join Palmer Eldridge's staff, I will, he said to himself, and if not, then not. But she and her husband are working for Eldridge.
How can they, with morality, tell me not to? So it was decided in advance, and maybe I knew that, too. The door opened. Wearing a blue smock stained with both wet and dried clay, Emily stared at him large-eyed, astonished.
Hi, he said. Leo fired me. He waited, but she said nothing. Can I come in? he asked.
Yes. She led him into the apt. In the center of the living room, her familiar potter's wheel took up, as always, enormous space. I was potting. It's nice to see you, Barney.
If you want a cup of coffee, you'll have to... I came here to ask your advice, he said. But now I've decided it's unnecessary. He wandered to the window, set his bulging sample case down, and gazed out.
Do you mind if I go on working? I had a good idea, or at least it seemed good at the time. She rubbed her forehead, then massaged her eyes. Now I don't know, and I feel so tired.
I wonder if it has to do with e-therapy. Evolution therapy? You're taking that? He spun at once to scrutinize her. Had she changed physically?
It seemed to him, but this was perhaps because he had not seen her for so long, that her features had coarsened. Age, he thought. But how's it working?
He asked. Well, I've just had one session. But you know, my mind feels so muddy.
I can't seem to think properly. All my ideas get scrambled up together. I think you had better knock off on that therapy. Even if it is the rage.
Even if it is what everybody who is anybody does. Maybe so. But they seem so satisfied, Richard and Dr. Dankmau. She hung her head.
An old, familiar response. They'd know, wouldn't they? Nobody knows. It's uncharted.
Knock it off. And you always let people walk all over you, he made his tone commanding. He had used that tone with her countless times during their years together, and generally it had worked.
Not always. And this time, he saw, was one of them. She got that stubborn look in her eyes, the refusal to be normally passive. I think it's up to me, she said with dignity.
And I intend to continue, shrugging. he roamed about the conapt. He had no power over her, nor did he care.
But was that true? Did he really not care? An image appeared in his mind of Emily devolving, and at the same time trying to work on her pots, trying to be creative.
It was funny and dreadful. Listen, he said roughly, if that guy actually loves you. But I told you, Emily said. It's my decision. She returned to her wheel.
A great tall pot was being thrown, and he walked over to get a good look at it. A nice one, he decided, and yet familiar. Hadn't she done such a pot already? He said nothing, however. He merely studied it.
What do you suppose you're going to do? Emily asked. Who could you work for?
She seemed sympathetic. And it made him remember how, recently, he had blocked the sale of her pot. to pee-pee layouts. Easily she could have held a great animosity toward him, but it was typical of her not to. And of course, she knew that it was he who had turned Nat down.
He said, My future may be decided. I got a draft notice. Good grief. You on Mars? I can't picture it.
I can chew candy, he said. Only... Instead of having a Perky Pat layout, he thought, maybe I'll have an Emily layout, and spend time in fantasy back with you, back to the life I deliberately, moronically turned my back on, the only really good period of my life when I was genuinely happy.
But of course, I didn't know it, because I had nothing to compare it to, as I have now. Is there any chance, he said, that you'd like to come? She stared at him, and he stared back, both of them dumbfounded by what he had proposed.
I mean it, he said. When did you decide that? It doesn't matter when I decided it, he said. All that matters is that that's how I feel.
It also matters how I feel, Emily said quietly. She then resumed potting. And I'm perfectly happy married to Richard.
We get along just swell. Her face was placid. Beyond doubt, she meant every word of it.
He was damned, doomed, consigned to the void which he had hollowed out for himself, and he deserved it. They both knew that without either saying it. I guess I'll go, he said.
Emily didn't protest that either. She merely nodded. I hope in the name of God, he said, that you're not devolving.
I think you are, personally. I can see it. In your face, for instance. Look in the mirror. With that, he departed.
The door shut after him. Instantly, he regretted what he had said. And yet it might be a good thing.
It might help her, he thought, because I could see it. And I don't want that. Nobody does.
Not even that jackass of a husband of hers that she prefers over me, for reasons I'll never know, except perhaps... That marriage to him has the aspect of destiny. She's fated to live with Richard Matt.
Fated never to be my wife again. You can't reverse the flow of time. You can when you chew candy, he thought.
Or the new product, Chewzy. All the colonists do. It's not available on Earth, but it is on Mars or Venus or Ganymede. Any of the frontier colonies. If everything else fails, there's that.
And perhaps it already had failed, because, in the last analysis, he could not go to Palmer Eldridge, not after what the man had done or tried to do to Leo. He realized this as he stood outdoors waiting for a cab. Beyond him the midday street shimmered, and he thought, maybe I'll step out there.
Would anyone find me before I died? Probably not. It would be as good a way as any, so... There goes my last hope of employment. It would amuse Leo that I'd balk here.
He'd be surprised and probably pleased. Just for the hell of it, he decided, I'll call Eldridge, ask him, see if he would give me a job. He found a vidphone booth and put through a call to Eldridge's domain on Luna. This is Barney Meyerson, he explained, previously top pre-fash consultant to Leo Bolero.
As a matter of fact, I was second in command at PP Layouts. Eldritch's personnel manager frowned and said, Well, what do you want? I'd like to see about a job with you.
We're not hiring any pre-fash consultants, sorry. Would you ask Mr. Eldritch, please? Mr. Eldritch has already expressed himself on the matter.
Barney hung up. He left the vidphone booth. He was not really surprised.
If they had said, come to Luna for an interview, would I have gone? Yes, he realized. I'd have gone, but at some point I'd have pulled out, once I had firmly established that they'd give me the job. Returning to the vidphone booth, he called his UN Selective Service Board. This is Mr. Barney Meyerson.
He gave them his official code ident number. I received my notice the other day. I'd like to waive the formalities and go right in.
I'm anxious to emigrate. The physical can't be bypassed, the UN bureaucrat informed him. Nor can the mental. But if you choose, you may come by any time, right now if you wish, and take both. Okay, he said.
I will. And since you are volunteering, Mr. Myerson, you get to pick. Any planet or moon is fine with me, he said.
He rang off, left the booth, found a cab, and gave it the address of the Selective Service Board near his Conapt building. As the cab hummed above downtown New York, another cab rose and zipped ahead of it. wig-wagging its side fins in a rocking motion.
They are trying to contact us, the autonomic circuit of his own cab informed him. Do you wish to respond? No, Barney said. Speed up. And then he changed his mind.
Can you ask them who they are? By radio, perhaps. The cab was silent a moment, and then it stated, They claim to have a message for you from Palmer Eldridge. He wants to tell you that he will accept you as an employee, and for you not to... Let's have that again, Barney said.
Mr. Palmer Eldridge, whom they represent, will employ you as you recently requested, although they have a general rule. Let me talk to them, Barney said. A mic was presented to him.
Who is this? Barney said into it. An unfamiliar man's voice said, This is Eichholz from Choosy Manufacturers of Boston.
May we land and discuss the matter of your employment with our firm? I'm on my way to the draft board to give myself up. There's nothing in writing, is there?
You haven't signed? No. Good.
Then it's not too late. Barney said, But on Mars, I can chew candy. Why do you want to do that, for God's sake?
Then I can be back with Emily. Who's Emily? My previous wife, who I kicked out because she became pregnant. Now I realize it was the only happy time of my life. In fact, I love her more now than I ever did.
It's grown instead of faded. Look, I colt said, we can supply you with all the choosy you want and it's superior. You can live forever in an eternal, unchanging, perfect now with your ex-wife. So there's no problem. But maybe I don't want to work for Palmer Eldridge.
You applied. I've got doubts, Barney said. Grave ones. I tell you, don't call me, I'll call you.
If I don't go into the service. He handed the mic back to the cab. Here, thanks. It's patriotic to go into the service, the cab said. Mind your own business, Barney said.
I think you're doing the right thing, the cab said anyhow. If only I had gone to Sigma-14B to save Leo, he said. Or was it Luna? Wherever he was, I can't even remember now. It all seems like a disfigured dream.
Anyhow, if I had, I'd still be working for him and everything would be all right. We all make mistakes, the cab said piously. But some of us, Barney said, make fatal ones.
First about our loved ones, our wife and children, and then about our employer, he said to himself. The cab hummed on. And then, he said to himself, We make one last one, about our whole life, summing it all up. Whether to take a job with Eldritch, or go into the service.
And whichever we choose, we can know this. It was the wrong alternative. An hour later, he had taken his physical.
He had passed, and thereupon the mental was administered by something not unlike Dr. Smile. He passed that, too. In a daze he took the oath, I swear to look upon Earth as the mother and leader, etc.
And then, with a folio of greetings-type information, was ejected to go back to his conapt and pack. He had twenty-four hours before his ship left for... wherever they were sending him. They had not as yet uttered this. The notification of destination he conjectured probably began, Meany, meany, techo.
At least it should. considering the possible choices to which it was limited. I'm in, he said to himself, with every sort of reaction, gladness, relief, terror, and then the melancholy that came with an overwhelming sense of defeat.
Anyhow, he thought, as he rode back to his con app, this beat stepping out into the midday sun, becoming, as they say, a mad dog or an Englishman. Or did it? Anyhow, this was slower. It took longer to die this way, possibly fifty years, and that appealed to him more. But why, he did not know.
However, he reflected, I can always decide to speed it up. On the colony world, there are undoubtedly as many opportunities for that as there are here, perhaps even more. While he was packing his possessions, ensconced for the last time in his beloved worked-for conapt, the vidphone rang.
Mr. Byerson, a girl, some minor official of some sub-front office department of the UN's colonizing apparatus, smiling. Meyerson. Yes, what I called for, you see, is to tell you your destination, and lucky you, Mr. Meyerson, it will be the fertile area of Mars known as Feinberg Crescent.
I know you'll enjoy it there. Well, so goodbye, sir, and good luck. She kept right on smiling, even up until he had cut off the image.
It was the smile of someone who was not going. Good luck to you, too, he said. Feinberg Crescent. He had heard of it. Relatively, it actually was fertile.
Anyhow, the colonists there had gardens. It was not, like some areas, a waste of frozen methane crystals and gas descending in violent ceaseless storms year in, year out. Believe it or not, he could go up to the surface from time to time, step out of his hovel.
End of side three. To continue, Turn the cassette over.