Philip Dick - CANTATA-141

Possibly a deal could be made with George Walt; he - or they - would be left alone if they would reveal the manufacture of their highly sophisticated and successful artificial components. It was, most likely, a West German firm; the cartels were most advanced in such experimentation. But it could of course be engineers under contract to the satellite alone, in permanent residence there.

In any case, four hundred lives represented a great number, worth any effort at saving. Worth any deal, he decided, with George Walt, which could be brought off.

'Let's get something warm to drink,' Pat said. 'I'm freezing.' She started toward the front door of

Republican-Liberal party headquarters, key in hand. 'We can fix some synthetic non- toxic coffee inside.'

As they stood around the coffee pot waiting for it to heat, Tito said, 'Why not let the satellite decline naturally ? As emigration begins it can serve a steadily dwindling market. You implied something along those lines in your Chicago speech anyhow.'

'I've been up there before,' Sal said, 'as you know. And it didn't kill me. Tito's been there before, too, and it didn't warp or kill him.'

'Okay, okay,' Jim said. 'If George Walt leaves me alone, I'll leave them alone. But if they keep after me, or if they won't make a deal regarding artif-org construction - then it'll be necessary to do something. In any case the welfare of those four hundred bibs comes first.'

'Coffee's ready.' Pat said, and began pouring.

Sipping, Sal Heim said, 'Tastes good.'

'Yes,' Jim Briskin agreed. In fact the cup of hot coffee, synthetic and non-toxic as it had to be

(only low-stratum dorm-housed Cols drank the genuine thing) was exactly what he needed. It made him feel a lot better.

Although the time was dreadfully late at night, Myra Sands had made up her mind to call Art and

Rachael Chaffy at their dorm. She had reached a decision regarding their case, and the moment had arrived to tell them.

When the vidphone connection had been made to their public hall booth, Mrs. Sands said, 'I'm sorry to bother you so late, Mr. Chaffy.'

"That's all right,' Art said, sleepily. Obviously, he and his wife had gone to bed. 'What is it ?'

'I think you should go ahead and have your baby,' Myra said.

'You do ? But...'

'If you had listened to Jim Briskin's Chicago speech, you would know why,' Myra said. 'There'll soon be a need for new families; everything has changed. My advice to you and your wife is to apply to Terran Development for permission to emigrate by means of their new system. You might as well be among the first. You deserve to be.'

Bewildered, Art Chaffy said, 'Emigrate ? You mean they finally found a place ? We don't have to stay here ?'

'Buy a homeopape,' Myra said patiently. 'Go out now and get it; find a vending machine, read about the speech. It'll be on the front page. And then start packing your things.' TD will have to accept you, she knew. Because of Jim Briskin's speech. They've been deprived of a choice.

'Gee, thanks, Mrs. Sands,' Art Chaffy mumbled, dazed. 'I'll tell Rachael right away; I'll wake her up. And - thanks for calling.'

'Good night, Mr. Chaffy,' Myra said. 'And good luck.' She hung up, then, satisfied.

Too bad, she thought, that there's no way I can celebrate. Unfortunately no one else is up this late. Because that's what this calls for: some kind of a party.

But at least she could go to bed tonight with a clear conscience.

For perhaps the first time in years.

For seventy years Leon Turpin had ruled the great industrial syndrome which comprised the enterprise Terran Development. A jerry , Turpin was now one hundred and two years old and still vigorous mentally, although physically frail. The problem for a man of his age lay in the area of the unforeseen accident; a broken hip would never mend and would put him permanently in bed.

However, no such accident had yet occurred to him, and, as was his custom, he arrived at the central administrative offices of TD, located in Washington, D.C., at eight in the morning. His chauffeur let him off at his own entrance, and from there he was raised by special lift to his floor of the building and his constellation of offices, through which he moved during the working day by three-wheeled electric cart.

Today the elderly chief of TD twitched with ill-concealed nervousness as his lift raised him to floor twenty. Last night he had heard someone, a political candidate of some sort, discussing what up to then Turpin had imagined to be his corporation's top secret. Now TD's hand was tipped. Anxiously, Leon Turpin tried to picture to himself the possible means by which the news had leaked out. Politics is the enemy of a sound economic entity, he mused. New laws, harsher tax rates, meddling ... and now this. When, as a matter of fact, he himself had not even had an opportunity to inspect this new development.

Today he would visit the scene of the technological breakthrough. Possibly, if it was safe, he would pass over to the other side.

Turpin liked to see these things with his own eyes. Otherwise he could not quite grasp what was happening.

As he stepped cautiously from the lift, he made out the sight of his administrative assistant, Don

Stanley, coming toward him. 'Can we go over ?' he asked Don Stanley. 'Is it safe ? I want to see it.' He felt eager desire rising up inside him.

Stanley, a portly man, bald with heavy-rimmed glasses, said, 'Before we do that, Mr. Turpin, I'd like to show you the stellar shots they took over there.' He took hold of Leon Turpin's arm, supporting him. 'Let's sit down, sir, and discuss this.'

Disappointed, Turpin said, 'I don't want to see any charts; I want to go there.' However, he seated himself with Stanley beside him opening a large manila envelope.

The stellar charts show,' Stanley said, 'that our initial appraisal of the situation was incorrect.'

'It's Earth,' Leon Turpin said. He felt keenly discouraged.

'Yes,' Stanley said.

'Past or future ?'

Stanley, rubbing his lower lip, said, 'Neither. If you’d look at the star chart, which...'

'Just tell me,' Turpin said. He could not decipher the star chart; his eyes were not that good any more.

'Suppose we go over there now,' Stanley said, 'and I'll do my best to show you. It's perfectly safe; our engineers have shored up the nexus, expanded and reinforced it, and we're experimenting with the idea of a broader power supply.'

'You're really sure we'll get back ?' Turpin asked querulously. 'I understand there's a girl over there who killed somebody.'

Don Stanley said, 'We've caught her. A group of company police went across; she didn't try to fight it out with them, fortunately. She's in N'York now. Hold by the New York state police.' He assisted Turpin in rising to his feet. 'Now, as to the stellar chart: I feel like a Babylonian when I

start talking about "celestial bodies" and their positions, but ...' He glanced at Turpin, 'There's nothing to distinguish it from a sky-shot taken on this side of the tube.'

What that signified, Leon Turpin could not tell. However, he said, 'I see,' and nodded soberly.

Eventually, he knew, his vice presidents; and executive staff, including Stanley, would explain it to him.

'I'll tell you who we've got to conduct you across,' Don Stanley said. To be entirely on the safe side we've hired Frank Woodbine.'

Impressed, Leon Turpin said, 'Good idea. He's that famous deep-space explorer, isn't he ? The one who's been to Alpha Centaurus and Proxima and ...' He could not recall the third star-system which Woodbine had visited; his memory was just not what it once had been. 'He's an expert,'

Turpin finished lamely, 'in visiting other planets.'

'You'll be in good hands,' Stanley agreed. 'And I think you'll like Woodbine. He's competent, integrated, although you never know what he's going to say. Woodbine sees the world in his own creative way.'