Philip Dick - Vulcan's Hammer

For an hour or two he sat in the kitchen of his home, warming himself and smoking cigarettes. At last he saw the black night sky begin to turn gray.

Returning to the vidscreen he called Larson. The man, disheveled by sleep, peered at him grumpily until he recog­nized his superior; then at once he became businesslike and polite. "Yes, sir," he said.

"I'm going to need you for a special run of questions to Vulcan 3," Jason Dill said. "We're going to have to pre­pare them with utmost care. And there will be difficult work regarding the data-feeding." He intended to go on, but Larson interrupted him.

"You'll be pleased to know that we have a line on the person who sent the unsigned letter accusing Director Barris," Larson said. "We followed up the lead about the talented murdered man. We worked on the assumption that Arthur Pitt was meant, and we discovered that Pitt's wife lives in North Africa-in fact, she's in Cairo on shop­ping trips several times a week. There's such a high degree of probability that she wrote the letter that we're prepar­ing an order to the police in that region to have her picked up. That's Blucher's region, and we'd better put it through his men so there won't be any hard feelings. I just want to get a clearance from you, so I won't have to assume the responsibility. You understand, sir. She may not have done it."

"Pick her up," Dill said, only half listening to the younger man's torrent of words.

"Right, sir," Larson said briskly. "And we'll let you know what we can get from her. It'll be interesting to see what her motive is for accusing Barris-assuming of course that it was she. My theory is that she may well be working for some other Director who-"

Dill broke the connection. And went wearily back to bed

Toward the end of the week, Director William Barris received his DQ form back. Scrawled across the bottom was the notation: "Improperly filled out. Please correct and refile."

Furiously, Barris threw the form down on his desk and leaped to his feet. He snapped on the vidsender. "Give me Unity Control at Geneva."

That Geneva monitor formed. "Yes, sir?"

Barris held up the DQ form. "Who returned this? Whose writing is this? The feed-team leader?"

"No, sir." The monitor made a brief check. "It was Managing Director Dill who handled your form, sir."

Dill! Barris felt himself stiffen with indignation. "I want to talk to Dill at once."

"Mr. Dill is in conference. He can't be disturbed."

Barris killed the screen with a savage swipe. For a mo­ment he stood thinking. There was no doubt of it; Jason Dill was stalling. I can't go on like this any further, Barris thought. I'll never get any answers out of Geneva this way. What is Dill up to, for God's sake?

Why is Dill refusing to co-operate with his own Direc­tors?

Over a year, and no statement from Vulcan 3 on the Healers. Or had there been, and Dill hadn't released it?

With a surge of disbelief, he thought, Can Dill be keep­ing back information from the computer? Not letting it know what's going on?

Can it be that Vulcan 3 does not know about the Healers at all?

That simply did not seem credible. What ceaseless mass effort that would take on Dill's part; billions of data were fed to Vulcan 3 in one week alone; surely it would be next to impossible to keep all mention of the Movement from the great machine. And if any datum got in at all, the com­puter would react; it would note the datum, compare it with all other data, record the incongruity.

And, Barris thought, if Dill is concealing the existence of the Movement from Vulcan 3, what would be his motive? What would he gain by deliberately depriving himself- and Unity in general-of the computer's appraisal of the situation?

But that has been the situation for fifteen months, Barris realized. Nothing has been handed down to us from Vulcan 3, and either the machine has said nothing, or, if it has, Dill hasn't released it. So for all intents and purposes, the computer has not spoken.

What a basic flaw in the Unity structure, he thought bitterly. Only the one man is in a position to deal with the computer, so that one man can cut us off completely; he can sever the world from Vulcan 3. Like some high priest who stands between man and god, Barris mused. It's ob­viously wrong. But what can we do? What can I do? I may be supreme authority in this region, but Dill is still my superior; he can remove me any time he wants. True it would be a complex and difficult procedure to remove a Director against his will, but it has been done several times. And if I go and accuse him of-

Of what?

He's doing something, Barris realized, but there's no way I can make out what it is. Not only do I have no facts, but I can't even see my way clearly enough to phrase an accusation. After all, I did fill out the DQ form improperly; that's a fact. And if Dill wants to say that Vulcan 3 simply has said nothing about the Healers, no one can contradict him because no one else has access to the machine. We have to take his word.

Barris thought, But I've had enough of taking his word. Fifteen months is long enough; the time has come to take action. Even if it means my forced resignation.

Which it probably will mean, and right away.

A job, Barris decided, isn't that important. You have to be able to trust the organization you're a part of; you have to believe in your superiors. If you think they're up to something, you have to get up from your chair and do something, even if it's nothing more than to confront them face-to-face and demand an explanation.

Reaching out his hand, he relit the vidscreen. "Give me the field. And hurry it up."

After a moment the field-tower monitor appeared. "Yes, sir?"

"This is Barris. Have a first-class ship ready at once. I'm taking off right away."

"Where to, sir?"

"To Geneva," Barris set his jaw grimly. "I have an ap­pointment with Managing Director Dill." He added under his breath, "Whether Dill likes it or not."

As the ship carried him at high velocity toward Geneva, Barris considered his plans carefully.

What they'll say, he decided, is that I'm using this as a pretext to embarrass Jason Dill. That I'm not sincere; that in fact I'm using the silence of Vulcan 3 as a device to make a bid for Jason Dill's job. My coming to Geneva will just go to prove how ruthlessly ambitious I am. And I won't be able to disprove the change; I have no way by which I can prove that my motives are pure.

This time the chronic doubt did not assail him; he knew that he was acting for the good of the organization. I know my own mind this time, he realized. In this case I can trust myself.

I'll just have to stand firm, he told himself. If I keep denying that I'm trying to undercut Dill for personal ad­vantage-

But he knew better. All the denials in the world won't help me, he thought, once they loose the gods. They can get a couple of those police psychologists up from Atlanta, and once those boys have gone over me I'll agree with my accusers; I'll be convinced that I'm cynically exploiting Dill's problems and undermining the organization. They'll even have me convinced that I'm a traitor and ought to be sentenced to forced labor on Luna.

At the thought of the Atlanta psychologists, he felt cold perspiration stand out on his throat and forehead.

Only once had he been up against them, and that was the third year of his employment with Unity. Some unbal­anced clerk in his department-at that time he had man­aged a small rural branch of Unity-had been caught steal­ing Unity property and reselling it on the black market. Unity of course had a monopoly on advanced technological equipment, and certain items were excessively valuable. It was a constant temptation, and this particular clerk had been in charge of inventories; the temptation had been coupled with opportunity, and the two together had been too much. The secret police had caught up with the man almost at once, had arrested him and gained the usual confession. To get himself in good, or what he imagined to be in good, the man had implicated several others in the branch office, including William Barris. And so a war­rant had been served on him, and he had been hauled down in the middle of the night for an "interview."