The Divine Invasion
Philip K. Dick 86
pothermia. followed by a refusal to sing “Rock of Ages” in her next concert, as had been scheduled.
On the other hand, he reflected, cadmium would be better than mercury because it would be more difficult to detect. The S.L. secret police had used trace amounts of cadmium on unper- sons for some time, and to good effect.
“Then money won’t influence her,” Galina said.
“I wouldn’t dismiss it. It’s her ambition to own Greater Los Angeles.”
Galina said, ‘But if she’s destroyed, the colonists will grum- ble. They’re dependent on her.”
“Linda Fox is not a person. She is a class of persons, a type. She is a sound that electronic equipment, very sophisticated elec- tronic equipment, makes. There are more of her. There will al- ways be. She can be stamped out like tires.”
“Well, then don’t offer her very much money.” Galina laughed.
“I feel sorry for her,” Bulkowsky said. How must it feel, he asked himself, not to exist? That’s a contradiction. To feel is to exist. Then, he thought, probably she does not feel. Because it is a fact that she does not exist, not really. We ought to know. We were the first to imagine her.
Or rather-Big Noodle had first imagined the Fox. The Al. system had invented her, told her what to sing and how to sing it; Big Noodle set up her arrangements . . . even down to the mix- ing. And the package was a complete success.
Big Noodle had correctly analyzed the emotional needs of the colonists and had come up with a formula to meet those needs. The Al. system maintained an ongoing survey, deriving feed- back; when the needs changed, Linda Fox changed. It consti- tuted a closed loop. If, suddenly, all the colonists disappeared, Linda Fox would wink out of existence. Big Noodle would have canceled her, like paper run through a paper shredder.
“Procurator,” a robot serving assembly said, coasting up to Bulkowsky.
“What is it?” he said irritably; he did not like to be inter- rupted when he was conversing with his wife.
The robot serving assembly said, “Hawk.”
To Galina he said, “Big Noodle wants me. It’s urgent. You’ll excuse me. He walked away from her rapidly and into his com- plex of private offices where he would find the carefully protected terminal of the A.I. system.
The terminal indeed pulsed, waiting for him.
“Troop movements?” Bulkowsky said as he seated himself facing the screen of the terminal.
“No,” the artificial voice of Big Noodle came, with its char- acteristic ambiance. “A conspiracy to smuggle a monster baby through Immigration. Three colonists are involved. I monitored the fetus of the woman. Details to follow.” Big Noodle broke the circuit.
“Details when?” Bulkowsky said, but the Al. system did not hear him, having cut itself off. Damn, he thought. It shows me little courtesy. Too busy deconstructing the Ontological Proof of the Existence of God.
———————
Cardinal Fulton Statler Harms received the news from Big Noodle with his customary aplomb. “Thank you very much,” he said as the A.I. system signed off. Something alien, he said to himself. Some sport that God never intended should exist. This is the truly dreadful aspect of space migration: we do not get back what we send out. We get in return the unnatural.
Well, he thought, we shall have it killed; however I will be interested to see its brain-print. I wonder what this one is like. A snake within an egg, he thought. A fetus within a woman. The original story retold: a creature that is subtle.
The serpent was more crafty than any wild
creature that the LORD God had made.
Genesis chapter three, verse one. What happened before is not going to happen again. We will destroy it this time, the evil one. In whatever form it now has taken.
The Divine invasion
Philip K. Dick
He thought, I shall pray on it.
“Excuse me,” he said to his small audience of visiting priests who waited outside in the vast lounge. “I must retire to my chapel for a little while. A serious matter has come up.
Presently he knelt in silence and gloom, with burning candles off in the far corners, the chamber and himself hallowed.
“Father,” he prayed, “teach us to know thy ways and to emulate thee. Help us to protect ourselves and guard against the evil one. May we foresee and understand his wiles. For his wiles are great; his cunning also. Give us the strength-lend us thy holy power-to ferret him out wherever he is.”
He heard nothing in response. It did not surprise him. Pious people spoke to God, and crazy people imagined that God spoke back. His answers had to come from within himself, from his own heart. But, of course, the Spirit guided him. It was always thus.
Within him the Spirit, in the form of his own proclivities, ratified his original insight. “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live” included in its domain the smuggled mutation. “Witch” equaled “monster.” He therefore had scriptural support.
And anyhow he was God’s regent on Earth.
Just to be on the safe side he consulted his huge copy of the Bible, rereading Exodus twenty-two, verse seventeen.
Thou shalt not suffer a sorceress to live.
And then for good measure he read the next verse.
Whosoever lieth with a beast shall surely be put to death.
Then he read the notes.
Ancient witchcraft was steeped in crime, immorality and im- posture; and it debased the populace by hideous practices and superstitions. It is preceded by provisions against sexual license and followed by condemnation of unnatural vice and idolatry.
Well, that certainly applied here. Hideous practices and su- perstitions. Things spawned by intercourse with nonhumans on far off foreign planets. They shall not invade this sacred world, he said to himself. I’m sure my colleague the Procurator Maximus will agree.
Suddenly illumination washed over him. We’re being invaded! he realized. The thing we’ve been talking about for two centuries. The Holy Spirit is telling me; it has happened!
Accursed spawn of filth, he thought; rapidly he made his way to his master chamber where the direct-and highly shielded- line to the procurator could be found.
“Is this about the baby?” Bulkowsky said, when contact-in an instant-had been established. “I have retired for the night. It can wait until tomorrow.”
“There is an abomination out there,” Cardinal Harms said. “Exodus twenty-two, verse seventeen. ‘Thou-‘
“Big Noodle won’t let it reach Earth. It must have been inter- cepted at one of the outer rings of Immigration.”
“God does not wish monsters on this his primary world. You as a born-again Christian should realize that.”
“Certainly I do,” Bulkowsky said, with indignation.
“What shall I instruct Big Noodle to do?”
Bulkowsky said, “It’s what will Big Noodle instruct us to do, rather. Don’t you think?”
“We will have to pray our way through this crisis,” Harms said. “Join me now in a prayer. Bow your head.”
“My wife is calling me,” Bulkowsky said. “We can pray tomorrow. Good-night.” He hung up.
Oh God of Israel, Harms prayed, his head bowed. Protect us from procrastination and from the evil that has descended on it. Awaken the Procurator’ s soul to the urgency of this our hour of ordeal.
We are being spiritually tested, he prayed. I know that is the case. We must prove our worth by casting out this satanic pres
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ence. Make us worthy, Lord; lend us thy sword of might. Give us thy saddle of righteousness to mount the steed of… He could not finish the thought; it was too intense. Hasten to our aid, he finished, and raised his head. A sense of triumph filled him; as if, he thought, we have trapped something to be killed. We have hunted it down. And it will die. Praise be to God!
Chapter 8
The high-velocity axial flight made Rybys Rommey deathly ill. United Spaceways had arranged for five adjoining seats for her, so that she could lie outstretched; even so, she was barely able to speak. She lay on her side, a blanket up to her chin.
Somberly, as he gazed down at the woman, Elias Tate said, “The damn legal technicalities. If we hadn’t been held up-” He grimaced.
Within Rybys’s body the fetus, now six months along, had been silent for a vast amount of time. What if the fetus dies? Herb Asher asked himself. The death of God. .. but not under cir- cumstances anyone ever anticipated. And no one, except himself, Rybys and Elias Tate would ever know.
Can God die? he wondered. And with him my wife.
The marriage ceremony had been lucid and brief, a transac- tion by the deepspace authorities, with no religious or moral over- tones. Both he and Rybys had been required to undergo extensive physical examinations, and, of course, her pregnancy had been discovered.