The Complete Stories of Philip K. Dick. The Short Happy Life of the Brown Oxford and Other Stories by Philip K. Dick

“Green.”

“Green? All right. There’s some green porch paint in the garage. Do you want to start stirring it up?”

“Sure,” Toddy said. He headed towards the garage.

Elwood watched him go. “Toddy –”

The boy turned. “Yes?”

“Toddy, wait.” Elwood went slowly towards him. “I want to ask you some­thing.”

“What is it, Dad?”

“You — you don’t mind helping me, do you? You don’t mind working on the boat?”

Toddy looked up gravely into his father’s face. He said nothing. For a long time the two of them gazed at each other.

“Okay!” Elwood said suddenly. “You run along and get the paint started.”

Bob came swinging along the driveway with two of the kids from the junior high school. “Hi, Dad,” Bob called, grinning. “Say, how’s it coming?”

“Fine,” Elwood said.

“Look,” Bob said to his pals, pointing to the boat. “You see that? You know what that is?”

“What is it?” one of them said.

Bob opened the kitchen door. “That’s an atomic powered sub.” He grinned, and the two boys grinned. “It’s full of Uranium 235. Dad’s going all the way to Russia with it. When he gets through, there won’t be a thing left of Moscow.”

The boys went inside, the door slamming behind them.

Elwood stood looking up at the boat. In the next yard Mrs. Hunt stopped for a moment with taking down her washing, looking at him and the big square hull rising above him.

“Is it really atomic powered, Mr. Elwood?” she said.

“No.”

“What makes it run, then? I don’t see any sails. What kind of motor is in it? Steam?”

Elwood bit his lip. Strangely, he had never thought of that part. There was no motor in it, no motor at all. There were no sails, no boiler. He had put no engine into it, no turbines, no fuel. Nothing. It was a wood hull, an immense box, and that was all. He had never thought of what would make it go, never in all the time he and Toddy had worked on it.

Suddenly a torrent of despair descended over him. There was no engine, nothing. It was not a boat, it was only a great mass of wood and tar and nails. It would never go, never never leave the yard. Liz was right: he was like some animal going out into the yard at night, to fight and kill in the darkness, to struggle dimly, without sight or understanding, equally blind, equally pathetic.

What had he built it for? He did not know. Where was it going? He did not know that either. What would make it run? How would he get it out of the yard? What was it all for, to build without understanding, darkly, like a creature in the night?

Toddy had worked alongside him, the whole time. Why had he worked? Did he know? Did the boy know what the boat was for, why they were building? Toddy had never asked because he trusted his father to know.

But he did not know. He, the father, he did not know either, and soon it would be done, finished, ready. And then what? Soon Toddy would lay down his paint brush, cover the last can of paint, put away the nails, the scraps of wood, hang the saw and hammer up in the garage again. And then he would ask, ask the question he had never asked before but which must come finally.

And he could not answer him.

Elwood stood, staring up at it, the great hulk they had built, struggling to understand. Why had he worked? What was it all for? When would he know? Would he ever know? For an endless time he stood there, staring up.

It was not until the first great black drops of rain began to splash about him that he understood.

Meddler

They entered the great chamber. At the far end, technicians hovered around an immense illuminated board, following a complex pattern of lights that shifted rapidly, flashing through seemingly endless combinations. At long tables machines whirred — computers, human-operated and robot. Wall-charts covered every inch of vertical space. Hasten gazed around him in amazement.

Wood laughed. “Come over here and I’ll really show you something. You recognize this, don’t you?” He pointed to a hulking machine surrounded by silent men and women in white lab robes.

“I recognize it,” Hasten said slowly. “It’s something like our own Dip, but perhaps twenty times larger. What do you haul up? And when do you haul?” He fingered the surface-plate of the Dip, then squatted down, peering into the maw. The maw was locked shut; the Dip was in operation. “You know, if we had any idea this existed, Histo-Research would have –”

“You know now.” Wood bent down beside him. “Listen. Hasten, you’re the first man from outside the Department ever to get into this room. You saw the guards. No one gets in here unauthorized; the guards have orders to kill anyone trying to enter illegally.”

“To hide this? A machine? You’d shoot to –”

They stood, Wood facing him, his jaw hard. “Your Dip digs back into antiquity. Rome. Greece. Dust and old volumes.” Wood touched the big Dip beside them. “This Dip is different. We guard it with our lives, and anyone else’s lives; do you know why?”

Hasten stared at it.

“This Dip is set, not for antiquity, but — for the future.” Wood looked directly into Hasten’s face. “Do you understand? The future.”

“You’re dredging the future? But you can’t! It’s forbidden by law; you know that!” Hasten drew back. “If the Executive Council knew this they’d break this building apart. You know the dangers. Berkowsky himself demon­strated them in his original thesis.”

Hasten paced angrily. “I can’t understand you, using a future oriented Dip. When you pull material from the future you automatically introduce new factors into the present; the future is altered — you start a never-ending shift. The more you dip the more new factors are brought in. You create unstable conditions for centuries to come. That’s why the law was passed.”

Wood nodded. “I know.”

“And you still keep dipping?” Hasten gestured at the machine and the technicians. “Stop, for God’s sake! Stop before you introduce some lethal element that can’t be erased. Why do you keep –”

Wood sagged suddenly. “All right, Hasten, don’t lecture us. It’s too late; it’s already happened. A lethal factor was introduced in our first experiments. We thought we knew what we were doing. . .” He looked up. “And that’s why you were brought here. Sit down — you’re going to hear all about it.”

They faced each other across the desk. Wood folded his hands. “I’m going to put it straight on the line. You are considered an expert, the expert at Histo-Research. You know more about using a Time Dip than anyone alive; that’s why you’ve been shown our work, our illegal work.”

“And you’ve already got into trouble?”

“Plenty of trouble, and every attempt to meddle further makes it that much worse. Unless we do something, we’ll be the most culpable organization in history.”

“Please start at the beginning,” Hasten said.

“The Dip was authorized by the Political Science Council; they wanted to know the results of some of their decisions. At first we objected, giving Berkowsky’s theory; but the idea is hypnotic, you know. We gave in, and the Dip was built — secretly, of course.

“We made our first dredge about one year hence. To protect ourselves against Berkowsky’s factor we tried a subterfuge; we actually brought nothing back. This Dip is geared to pick up nothing. No object is scooped; it merely photographs from a high altitude. The film comes back to us and we make enlargements and try to gestalt the conditions.

“Results were all right, at first. No more wars, cities growing, much better looking. Blow-ups of street scenes show many people, well-content, appar­ently. Pace a little slower.

“Then we went ahead fifty years. Even better: cities on the decrease. People not so dependent on machines. More grass, parks. Same general con­ditions, peace, happiness, much leisure. Less frenetic waste, hurry.

“We went on, skipping ahead. Of course, with such an indirect viewing method we couldn’t be certain of anything, but it all looked fine. We relayed our information to the Council and they went ahead with their planning. And then it happened.”

“What, exactly?” Hasten said, leaning forward.

“We decided to revisit a period we had already photographed, about a hundred years hence. We sent out the Dip, got it back with a full reel. The men developed it and we watched the run.” Wood paused.

“And?”

“And it wasn’t the same. It was different. Everything was changed. War — war and destruction everywhere.” Wood shuddered. “We were appalled; we sent the Dip back at once to make absolutely certain.”

“And what did you find this time?”

Wood’s fists clenched. “Changed again, and for worse! Ruins, vast ruins. People poking around. Ruin and death everywhere. Slag. The end of war, the last phase.”