Philip Dick - The Complete Stories of Philip K. Dick Vol. 5 - The Eye of the Sibyl and Other Classic Stories

"In my opinion," Bard Chai said, "he has become harmless. The swabble is nonexistent; this will not restore it." But within, Bard Chai felt doubt, if not concern. Perhaps Gantrix, his subordinate, correctly perceived the situation; he had done so in the past, on several critical occasions… which explained his current value to the Clearness Council.

"But if the Hobart Phase has been cancelled out for Eng," Gantrix said doggedly, "then the development of the swabble will start up again. After all, he possesses the original typed manuscript; his contact with the Anarch has taken place before the Eradicators of the syndicate induced the final stage of destruct."

That certainly was true; Bard Chai pondered and agreed. And yet despite this knowledge he had trouble taking Ludwig Eng seriously; the man did not look dangerous, bearded or otherwise. He turned to Gantrix, began to speak – then abruptly ceased.

"Your expression strikes me as unusual," Gantrix said, with palpable annoyance. "What's wrong?" He seemed uneasy, as the Bard's stare continued. Concern replaced displeasure.

"Your face," the Bard Chai said, keeping his composure with the greatest of effort.

"What about my face?" Gantrix's hand flew to his chin; he massaged briefly, then blinked. "My God."

" And you have not been near the Anarch. So that does not explain your condition." He wondered, then, about himself; had the reversal of the Hobart Phase extended to his own person as well? Swiftly he explored his own jaw-line and dewlap. And distinctly felt burgeoning bristle. Perplexing, he thought wildly to himself. What can account for this? The reversal of the Anarch's time-path might be only an effect of some prior cause involving them all. This put a new light on the Anarch's situation; perhaps it had not been voluntary.

"Can it be," Gantrix said reflectively, "that the disappearance of Eng's device could explain this? Except for mention in the typewritten manuscript there is no longer any reality connected with the swabble. Actually, we should have anticipated this, since the swabble is intimately associated with the Hobart Phase."

"I wonder," Bard Chai said, still rapidly pondering. But the swabble had not strictly speaking created the Hobart Phase; it served to direct it, so that certain regions of the planet could evade the Phase entirely – whereas others had become completely mired in it. Still, the disappearance of the swabble from contemporary society must diffuse the Hobart Phase equally over everyone; and an outgrowth of this might be a diminution to beneath the level of effectiveness for those – such as himself and Carl Gantrix – who had participated in the Phase fully.

"But now," Gantrix said thoughtfully, "the inventor of the swabble, and first user of it, has returned to normal time; hence the development of the swabble has again manifested itself. We can expect Eng to build his first working model of the device at any time, now."

The difficulty of Eng's situation had now become apparent to Bard Chai. As before, use of the man's mechanism would spread throughout the world. But – as soon as Eng built and placed in operation his pilot swabble, the Hobart Phase would resume; once more Eng's direction would reverse itself. The swabbles would then be abolished by the syndicate until, once again, all that remained was the original typewritten manuscript – at which point normal time would reestablish itself.

It appeared to Bard Chai that Eng had gotten himself trapped in a closed loop. He would oscillate within a distinct small interval: between possessing only a theoretical account of the swabble and in actuality constructing and operating a functioning model. And tagging along with him would go a good portion of Terra's population.

We are caught with him, Bard Chai realized gloomily. How do we escape? What is our solution?

"We must either force Eng back into complete obliteration of his manuscript, including the idea for the construct," Gantrix said, "or -"

"But that is impossible," Bard Chai broke in impatiently. "At this point the Hobart Phase weakens automatically, since no working swabbles exist to sustain it. How, in their absence, can Eng be forced backward in time a single step farther?"

It constituted a valid – and answerable – query; both men realized that, and neither spoke for a time. Gantrix morosely continued to rub his jaw, as if he could perceive the steady growth of beard-stubble. Bard Chai, on the other hand, had withdrawn into an intensive introverted state; he pondered and repondered the problem.

No answer came. At least not yet. But, given time -

"This is extremely difficult," the Bard said, with agitation. "Eng will probably throw together his first swabble at any moment. And once more we will be cycled in a retrograde direction." What worried him now was one terrible, swift insight. This would occur again and again, and each time the interval would be shortened further. Until, he ruminated, it becomes a stall within a single microsecond; no time-progression in either direction will be able to take place.

A morbid prospect indeed. But one redemptive factor existed. Eng undoubtedly would perceive the problem, too. And he would seek a way out. Logically, it could be solved by him in at least one way: he could voluntarily abstain from inventing the swabble. The Hobart Phase, then, would never assert itself, at least not effectively

But such a decision lay with Ludwig Eng alone. Would he cooperate, if the idea were presented to him?

Probably not. Eng had always been a violent and autistic man; no one could influence him. This, of course, had helped him become an original personality; without this Eng would not have amounted to anything as an inventor, and the swabble, with its enormous effect on contemporary society, would never have come into existence.

Which would have been a good thing, the Bard thought morosely. But until now we could not appreciate this.

He appreciated it now.

The solution which Gantrix had proposed, that of rebirthing Eng, did not appeal to him. But it looked more and more to his eyes as the only way out. And a way out had to be found.

With profound irritation the librarian Niehls Lehrer inspected the clock on his desk, then his appointment book. Eng had not shown up; two-thirty had arrived, and Lehrer sat alone in his office. Carl Gantrix had been correct.

While pondering the meaning of this he heard, dimly, the phone ringing. Probably Eng, he decided as he reached for the receiver. A long way off, phoning in to say that he can't make it. I'll have trouble with this; the syndicate won't like it. And I'll have to alert them; I have no choice.

Into the phone he said, "Goodbye."

"I love you, Niehls." A breathless feminine voice; this was not the call which he had anticipated. "Do you love me?"

"Yes, Charise," he said. "I love you, too. But dammit, don't call me during business hours; I thought you knew that."

Contritely, Charise McFadden said, "Sorry, Niehls. But I keep thinking about poor Lance. Did you do the research on him that you promised? I bet you didn't."

As a matter of fact he had; or more accurately he had instructed a minor employee of the library to do the task for him. Reaching into the top desk drawer he brought out Lance Arbuthnot's folio. "Here it is," he informed Charise. "I know all there is to know about this crank. All I care to know, more correctly." He leafed among the sheets of paper within the file. "There's not much here, actually. Arbuthnot hasn't done much. You understand I can only take time to go into this matter because a major library client has failed – so far – to keep his two-thirty appointment. If he does show up, I'll have to terminate this conversation."

"Did Arbuthnot know the Anarch Peak?"