The Unteleported Man by Philip K. Dick

“Did that surprise you?”

“Of course not,” Bertold said swiftly. “Why should you deceive your own client? And at the risk—a risk which should not have been taken, as it so turned out—of revealing the location of your own vessel? Any­how—” Bertold’s voice sank to an introspective mur­mur. “We still were not satisfied. We therefore checked over our monitoring—”

“They’re being wiped out, over there,” Dosker said. “The two thousand field reps and Mat and Freya.” His voice was toneless; he told this because he knew they would get it by a ‘wash anyhow—they could get any­thing that was there, any memory, any motives, plans, projects; after all, his own organization, far smaller than the UN, could do so—had done so, over many years, and to many persons, by means of psychiatrists and their techniques.

Bertold said, “Trails of Hoffman Limited and Theo­doric Ferry entirely control Newcolonizedland. The UN has no staff at Whale’s Mouth. All we know is what we have received, as a courtesy, in aud and vid form. The info signals through the Telpors, over these years of col­onization; our original monitoring satellites have been inoperative ever since THL auspical jurisdiction began.”

There was silence and then Dosker said incredulously, “Then this is as much news to you as it is to—”

“We believed the fifteen years of aud and vid tapes; we saw no reason to check for ourselves. THL had vol­unteered to underwrite the colonization economically; they picked up the tab and we gave them the franchise because they owned the Telpor patent and equipment. Dr. von Einem’s patents are possessed exclusively by THL; he had the legal right to so arrange that. And this—” Bertold picked up the top document from his desk, showed it to Dosker; it was a typed transcript, in its entirety, of his own conversation by radio with Rachmael. “This,” Horst Bertold said, “is the result.”

Dosker said, “Tell me what it means.” Because, he thought, I don’t know. I saw the original messages when they arrived; I understand the literal meaning of the words. But that’s all.

The UN Secretary General said “Out of the forty million colonists Ferry has conscripted an army and provided it with modern, sophisticated weapons. There is no ‘non-humanoid race,’ no non-Terran culture to encounter. Had there been our unmanned monitors would have detected them; by now we’ve touched every star system in our galaxy.” He stared at Dosker. “It’s us,” he said. “The UN. That’s what Theodoric Ferry is proposing to engage. When enough colonists have gone across. Then the up-to-then ‘one-way’ aspect of the teleportation equipment will suddenly reveal that the so-called Theorem One was false.”

“Here?” Dosker said, then. “They’ll re-enter through their own Telpor outlets?”

“And take us on,” Bertold said. “But not now. At this point they’re not quite large enough.” To himself he said, “At least so we estimate; we studied samples of groups who had emigrated; he can’t have more than one million men actually under arms. But weapons—they may have u.s.h.: ultra sophisticated hardware; after all, they’ve got von Einem working for them.”

Dosker said, “Where is von Einem? At Whale’s Mouth?”

“We put a tail on him instantly.” Bertold’s fingers convulsed, crushed the document. “And proved already—ganz genug!—that we were correct. Von Einem has been all these years passing back and forth between Terra and Whale’s Mouth; he has always used—they have always—operated the Telpor instruments for two-way travel—so it’s verified, Dosker. Verified!” He stared at Dosker.

9

When Rachmael ben Applebaum made out the dim, shadowy shapes of the UN pursuit ships as they ap­proached to escort the Omphalos he knew that, whatever else was a cover, at least this much was true: the UN had traced him, had him and no doubt Dosker as well. So—he clicked on the microwave transmitter and raised, after an interval, the UN pursuit ships’ local commanding officer.

“I’ll believe you,” Rachmael said, “when I hear Al Dosker say it.” And when I look him over, he said to himself, for signs of a cephalic ‘wash. But—why would they say it if it wasn’t true? They had him; he and the Omphalos, detected, were now booty captured by the armed inter-system vessels of the great UN structure that spanned from planet to planet. Why make up a cover when there was no force to influence, no force able to provide any resistance?

God above, he thought. If it’s true, then we can rely on Horst Bertold. We let our prejudices blind us . . . von Einem is German and Horst Bertold is German. But that does not any more prove they are working together, are secret collaborators, than, say, any two Ubangis or any two Jews. Adolf Hitler was not even a German . . . so our own thinking, he realized, has betrayed us.

But—maybe now we can believe this. We can see. New Whole Germany has produced Dr. Sepp von Einem and Trails of Hoffman Limited . . . but it may also have produced something else when it created Horst Bertold.

We will see, Rachmael said to himself.

—Will wait until we are in New New York at UN Headquarters; face Horst Bertold and see the evidence of the assertion given by relayed macroradio signal.

The assertion that as of six a.m. New New York time this morning, UN troops had entered all retail outlets of Trails of Hoffman Limited, had seized the Telpor instruments—had, throughout Terra, arbitrarily and without warning of any kind, halted emigration to Whale’s Mouth.

Twelve hours later Rachmael was led by a worried, overworked female secretary into the UN Secretary General’s office.

“The fanatic,” Horst Bertold said, surveying him. “The idealist who sparked the hankering in Matson Glazer-Holliday that caused him to attempt his coup d’etat at Whale’s Mouth.” He turned to an aide. “Bring in the Telpor Apparat.”

Seconds later the familiar bipolar mechanism was noisily carted into the UN leader’s office, along with a thoroughly unnerved-looking technician; minus his goggles he looked frightened and—small.

To the Telpor technician, Horst Bertold said, “Does this operate to permit teleportation two ways? Or only one? Zwei oder ein ? Antworte.”

“Just outward, Mein Herr Sekretar General,” the technician quavered. “As Theorem One demonstrates, the recession of matter toward—”

Horst Bertold said to his aide, “Bring in our ‘wash psychiatrists. Have them start with their EEG mach­ines.”

At that, the Telpor technician said, in a voice that broke with dismayed intimidation, “Dasz brauchen Sie nicht.”

“He’s saying,” Bertold said to Rachmael, “that he will cooperate; we don’t need to employ our psychiatrists with him. So ask him.” He jerked his head fiercely toward the cowering THL employee, this man in his white smock who had assisted in the emigration of literally millions of innocent human beings. “Ask him whether the Telpors work both ways.”

The technician said, virtually inaudibly, “Beide. Both ways.”

“There never was any ‘Theorem One,’ ” Bertold snapped.

“Sie haben Recht,” the technician agreed, nodding.

“Bring in Dosker,” Bertold said to his overworked female secretary.

When Dosker appeared he said to Rachmael at once, “Freya is still alive over there.” He indicated the Telpor instrument. “We’ve been in contact through this. But—”He hesitated.

Horst Bertold said, “Matson Glazer-Holliday is dead. They murdered him immediately. But nearly half of Lies Incorporated’s field personnel remain alive at various installations at Newcolonizedland, and we’re beginning to supply them on a strategic basis. With wea­pons of types which they instantly need. And presently we will, at tactical spots, try commando teams; we can do a lot, I think, with our commando teams.”

“What can I do?” Rachmael said. He felt over­whelming impotence; it was going on—had been going on—without him. While he journeyed—pointlessly—through ‘tween, utterly empty, space.

This, the UN Secretary General seemed to read on his face. “You awakened Matson,” he pointed out. “Which caused Matson to attempt his aborted coup. And the relayed message from Freya Holm to Dosker and then to the Omphalos informed us of the reality hidden under Theodoric Ferry’s cover; a cover which we carry the moral stigma for accepting all these fifteen years. Everything based on the one fundamental hoax that teleportation could be achieved in only one direc­tion . . .” He grimaced. “However, Trails of Hoffman Limited made an error as great as their cover when they did not impede your two thousand Lies Incorporated veterans from crossing over.” To Dosker he said, “But even so, that would not have been enough. However, with our tactical support—”

“It wasn’t enough even at the start,” Dosker said, “since they took out Matson right away.” Half to him­self, half to Rachmael, he said, “We never had a chance. Probably Matson never knew; he probably didn’t even live that long. Anyhow, maybe you can retrieve Freya. Do you want to?”

Instantly Rachmael said, “Yes.” To Horst Bertold he said, “Can I get equipment out of you? Defensive screens, if not offensive hardware? And I’ll go alone.” They would not, in the confusion, notice him, perhaps. Whale’s Mouth had become a battlefield, and too many participants were involved; one lone man was a cypher, a mote; he would enter inconspicuously and if he found her at all it would be that way, as an entity too trifling to be considered by the vast warring entities. Within the context of the power struggle which had already trun­cated Lies Incorporated; one contender had been abol­ished at the start, and now only the two monoliths existed in the field to slug it out, THL on one hand, the UN as its wise old antagonist, its roots of victory deep in the last century. The UN, he reflected, had a headstart, that of fifty years.

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