Philip Kindred Dick

“ For the last hour the sky had been filled with jet-driven ships. Great flocks that raced excitedly across the sky toward distant hills. Along the highway cars hurtled, dragging guns and heavy military equipment. Men were marching in close rank, rows of gray-clad soldiers, guns and helmets and bacteria masks. Endless lines of figures, identical in their uniforms, stamped from the same matrix.
"There are a lot of them," Bors said, indicating the marching men.
"Yes." Silvia watched a couple of soldiers hurry by the window. Youths with worried expressions on their smooth faces. ”

“ Tolby raised himself up, a massive man, beer mug clutched, heavy face flushed dark red. "Every damn A-bomb in the whole world."
There was an uneasy silence.
"Yeah," the youth murmured. "You sure took care of those war people."
"Won't be any more of them," the great tub of a man said. "They're gone for good."
Tolby fingered his ironite staff. "Maybe so. And maybe not. There just might be a few of them left."
"What do you mean?" the tub of a man demanded.
Tolby raised his hard gray eyes. "It's time you people stopped kidding us. You know damn well what I mean. We've heard rumors. ”

“ Outside, beyond the hills, the regular world began. Parched fields. Blasted, poverty-stricken towns. Decayed roads. The remains of houses, tumbled-down farm buildings. Ruined cars and machinery. Dust-covered people creeping listlessly around in hand-made clothing, dull rags and tatters.
He had seen the outside. He knew what it was like. At the mountains the blank faces, the disease, the withered crops, the crude plows and ancient tools all ended here. Here, within the ring of hills, Bors had constructed an accurate and detailed reproduction of a society two centuries gone. ”

“ Tolby caught a glimpse of a rifle snout pushed past him—and the man with the tool belt. The man waved him on frantically. "Hurry!"
Tolby raced down a carpeted hall, between two great flickering yellow lamps. A crowd of officials and soldiers stumbled uncertainly after him, shouting and firing at random. He tore open a thick oak door and halted.
He was in a luxurious chamber. Drapes, rich wallpaper. Lamps. Bookcases. A glimpse of the finery of the past. The wealth of the old days. Thick carpets. Warm radiant heat. A vidscreen. At the far end, a huge mahogany desk. ”

“ He half-turned, his gun quickly up—
A stunning blow sent him sprawling. He crashed against the wall; his gun flew from his fingers. A shape bent over him, rifle gripped. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
Not a soldier. A stubble-chinned man in stained shirt and rumpled trousers. Eyes puffy and red. A belt of tools, hammer, pliers, screwdriver, a soldering iron, around his waist.
Tolby raised himself up painfully. "If you didn't have that rifle—"
Fowler backed warily away. "Who are you? This floor is forbidden to troops of the line. You know this—" Then he saw the ironite staff. ”

“ Don't the people revolt?" She struggled to a sitting position. "They must know what's happened everywhere else. How do you control them? They're going out now, in their uniforms. But—will they fight? Can you count on them?"
Bors answered slowly. "They trust me," he said. "I brought with me a vast amount of knowledge. Information and techniques lost to the rest of the world. Are jet-ships and vidscanners and power cables made anywhere else in the world? I retain all that knowledge. I have memory units, synapsis-coils. ”

“ We have jet-driven ships. Heavy artillery. Bombs. Bacteria pellets. What's the League? A lot of people with packs on their backs!"
"Yes," Bors said. "A lot of people with packs on their backs."
"How can they do anything? How can a bunch of anarchists organize? They have no structure, no control, no central power."
"They have the whole world. A billion people."
"Individuals! A club, not subject to law. Voluntary membership. We have disciplined organization. Every aspect of our economic life operates at maximum efficiency. We—you—have your thumb on everything. ”

“ Bors said, "to defend their homes and factories."
"All this equipment. You manufacture it, don't you?"
"That's right. Our industrial organization is perfect. We're totally productive. Our society here is operated rationally. Scientifically. We're fully prepared to meet this emergency."
Suddenly Silvia realized what the emergency was. "The League! One of us must have got away." She pulled herself up. "Which of them? Penn or my father?"
"I don't know," the robot murmured indifferently.
Horror and disgust choked Silvia. "My God," she said softly. "You have no understanding of us. ”

“ Tolby pushed them back. "Keep them."
"This way," the tall young man said, as they clattered down the sagging steps, into a sudden blinding curtain of heat and dust. "We have a car. Over this way. An old gasoline car. My dad fixed it so it burns oil."
"You should have taken the slips," Penn said to Tolby, as they got into the ancient, battered car. Flies buzzed around them. They could hardly breathe; the car was a furnace. Silvia fanned herself with a rolled-up paper. The black-haired girl unbuttoned her blouse.
"What do we need money for?" Tolby laughed good-naturedly. ”

“ The ancient rusting remains of a bomb shelter, two centuries old. Once, some dirty sheep.
"Sheep," Penn said. "They eat the grass too far down. It won't grow back."
"Now he's a farmer," Tolby said to his daughter.
"Daddy," Silvia snapped. "Stop being nasty."
"It's this heat. This damn heat." Tolby cursed again, loudly and futilely. "It's not worth it. For ten pinks I'd go back and tell them it was a lot of pig swill."
"Maybe it is, at that," Penn said mildly.
"All right, you go back," Tolby grunted. "You go back and tell them it's a lot of pig swill. They'll pin a medal on you. ”

“ Bors nodded slowly. "It's true the anarchist can't coordinate. The League can't organize. It's a paradox. Government by anarchists. Anti-government, actually. Instead of governing the world they tramp around to make sure no one else does." ”

“ At the desk a figure sat. Working on heaps of papers and reports, piled masses of material. The figure contrasted starkly with the lushness of the furnishings. It was a great pitted, corroded tank of metal. Bent and greenish, patched and repaired. An ancient machine.
"Is that you, Fowler?" the robot demanded.
Tolby advanced, his ironite staff gripped.
The robot turned angrily. "Who is it? Get Green and carry me down into the shelter. One of the roadblocks has reported a League agent already—" The robot broke off. Its cold, mechanical eye lens bored up at the man. ”

“ The little man with beard and glasses leaped up. "There's nobody here has anything to do with governments! We're all good people!"
"You better watch your step," one of the youths said softly to Tolby. "People around here don't like to be accused."
Tolby got unsteadily to his feet, his ironite staff gripped. Penn got up beside him and they stood together. "If any of you knows something," Tolby said, "you better tell it. ”

“ Things you know only as dim memories, vague legends."
"What happens when you die?"
"I won't die! I'm eternal!"
"You're wearing out. You have to be carried around. And your right arm. You can hardly move it!" Silvia's voice was harsh, ruthless. "Your whole tank is pitted and rusty."
The robot whirred; for a moment he seemed unable to speak. "My knowledge remains," he grated finally. "I'll always be able to communicate. Fowler has arranged a broadcast system. Even when I talk—" He broke off. "Even then. Everything is under control. ”

“ A thousand, ten thousand, metal-clad figures, armed and alert. Weighted down with guns and bombs and flame throwers and bacteria pellets.
There was only one hitch. No army opposed them. A mistake had been made. It took two sides to make a war, and only one had been resurrected.
A mile outside the concentration of buildings he pulled his motorcycle off the road and carefully hid it in a haystack. For a moment he considered leaving his ironite staff. Then he shrugged and grabbed it up, along with his pistol. He always carried his staff, it was the League symbol. ”

“ It gets cold at night. It's hot in the day, but when the sun sets it gets terribly cold."
"We'll be all right," Penn murmured. The vibration of the car made him a little sick.
"Yes," the girl said, her black eyes flashing. Her crimson lips twisted. She leaned toward Penn intently, her small face strangely alight. "Yes, we'll take good care of you."
At that moment the car left the road.
Silvia shrieked. Tolby threw himself down, head between his knees, doubled up in a ball. A sudden curtain of green burst around Penn. Then a sickening emptiness, as the car plunged down. ”

“ McLean said softly, "you and I can then get off this rat race. You and I and all the rest of us. And live like human beings."
"Rat race," Fowler murmured. "Rats in a maze. Doing tricks. Performing chores thought up by somebody else."
McLean caught Fowler's eye. "By somebody of another species."
Tolby struggled vaguely. Silence. A faint dripping close by. A beam pinned his body down. He was caught on all sides by the twisted wreck of the car. He was head down. The car was turned on its side. Off the road in a gully, wedged between two huge trees. Bent struts and smashed metal all around him. ”

“ Penn asked.
"Lot of people. More born all the time. Old folks die. Kids die. We had a fever last year. About a hundred kids died. Doctor said it came from the water hole. We shut the water hole down. Kids died anyhow. Doctor said it was the milk. Drove off half the cows. Not mine. I stood out there with my gun and I shot the first of them came to drive off my cow. Kids stopped dying as soon as fall came. I think it was the heat."
"Sure is hot," Tolby agreed. ”

“ Tolby said.
"We have guns, too. We kill and destroy. We have all the disadvantages and none of the advantages."
"We don't have war," Tolby answered quietly. "To defend this neat little organization there are ten thousand men up there in those hills. All waiting to fight. Waiting to drop their bombs and bacteria pellets, to keep this place running. But they won't. Pretty soon they'll give up and start to trickle back."
"This whole system will decay rapidly," Fowler said. "He was already losing his control. He couldn't keep the clock back much longer."
"Anyhow, it's done," Silvia murmured. ”

“ The bar itself was an incredibly ancient sheet of transparent plastic, stained and chipped and yellow with age. Its n-grav coat had faded from one end; bricks now propped it up. The drink mixer had long since fallen apart. Only wine and beer were served. No living man knew how to mix the simplest drink.
Tolby moved up to the bar. "Beer," he said. "Three beers." Penn and Silvia sank down at a table and removed their packs, as the bartender served Tolby three mugs of thick, dark beer. He showed his card and carried the mugs over to the table. ”

“ Bors said, "that it may be unwise to trust Green any longer."
"Why the hell do you say that?"
"Every ten days I'm inactivated. So your crew can see what repairs are needed." Bors twisted restlessly. "For twelve hours I'm completely helpless. Green takes care of me. Sees nothing happens. But—"
"But what?"
"It occurs to me perhaps there'd be more safety in a squad of troops. It's too much of a temptation for one man, alone."
Fowler scowled. "I don't see that. How about me? I have charge of inspecting you. I could switch a few leads around. Send a load through your synapsis-coils. ”

“ The robot. He's dead."
For a moment the three of them were silent. Outside, in the halls, men ran frantically back and forth. Word had already leaked out. Troops gathered in huddled knots outside the building. Lost men, wandering away from their posts. Uncertain. Aimless.
"It's over," Fowler said.
Tolby nodded. "I know."
"They'll get tired of crouching in their foxholes," Fowler said. "They'll come filtering back. As soon as the news reaches them, they'll desert and throw away their equipment."
"Good," Tolby grunted. "The sooner the better." He touched Fowler's rifle. "You, too, I hope." ”

“ All over the world."
"We've got a whole army. All the roads are mined. Heavy guns. Bombs. Pellets. Every one of us is a soldier. We're an armed camp!"
Bors was deep in thought. "You say one of them is here? One of the League agents?"
"A young woman."
Bors signalled the nearby maintenance crew. "Take me to her. I want to talk to her in the time remaining."
Silvia watched silently, as the uniformed men pushed and grunted their way into the room. They staggered over to the bed, pulled two chairs together, and carefully laid down their massive armload. ”

“ As you say, they're actually a voluntary club of totally unorganized individuals. Without law or central authority. They maintain no society—they can't govern. All they can do is interfere with anyone else who tries. ”

“ Back where they came from. She had been dragged to the jet-driven insect; a trail of blood led from the car up the side of the gully to the highway.
With a violent shudder Tolby pulled himself together. He climbed into the car and pried loose Penn's gun from his belt. Silvia's ironite staff rested on the seat; he took that, too. Then he started off down the road, walking without haste, carefully, slowly.
An ironic thought plucked at his mind. He had found what they were after. The men in uniform. They were organized, responsible to a central authority. In a newly-assembled jet. ”