Philip Dick - CANTATA-141

'What language do they speak ?'

'TD doesn't even pretend to know. They're in the process of hauling a number of linguistic decoders over from the linguistics department, so when they finally manage to nab one of the citizens over there, they'll be able to converse with him or her. That should happen any time. In fact it may already have occurred after I left TD and came here. I tell you, this is going to be the apologia pro sua vita of every sociologist, ethnologist, and anthropologist in the world. They're going to be migrating from here to there in droves. And I don't blame them. God knows what they'll find. Is it actually possible that a culture could develop a turbine-powered, airborne craft and not have, say, a written language ? Because, according to the scuttlebutt at TD, there were no letters, signs or figures anywhere on the craft, and they certainly scrutinized it thoroughly for that.'

Half to himself, Cravelli said, "I frankly don't care what they have and have not developed. As long as there's room on their planet for immigration. Mass immigration, in terms of millions of people.'

They each had a second beer, he and Earl Bohegian, and then Bohegian departed.

You're lucky, Jim Briskin, Cravelli thought as he shut the door after Bohegian. You took a chance when you made that speech, but evidently you're going to be able to swing it after all.

Unless you balk at sharing this alter-Earth with its natives ... or unless they happen to possess some mechanism by which they can halt us.

God, I'd like to go there, Cravelli realized. See this civilization with my own eyes. Before we smear it up, as we inevitably will. What an experience it would be! They may have developed into areas which we've never even imagined. Scientifically, philosophically, even technically, in terms of machinery and industrial techniques, sources of power, medicines - in fact in every area, from contraceptive devices to visions of God. From books and cathedrals, if any, to children's toys.

We'll probably initiate events, he reflected, by murdering a few of them, just to be on the safe side. Too bad this isn't in the hands of the government; it's damn bad luck that so far it's entirely the personal property of a private business corporation. Of course, when Jim is elected, all that will change. But Schwarz. He won't do anything; he'll just sit. And TD will be permitted to go ahead in any way it chooses.

To himself Sal Heim said: I've got to arrange a meeting between Leon Turpin, head of Terran

Development, and Jim Briskin. Jim had to be photographed over there in that new world - not just talking about it, but actually standing on it.

And the way to make the contact, Heim realized, is through Frank Woodbine, because Jim and

Frank are old-time friends. I'll get hold of Woodbine and fix it all up, and that will be that. We'll have Jim over there and maybe Frank with him, and what a boost to our campaign that'll be.

We've just got to have it, that's all.

'Get on the vidphone,' he instructed his wife Pat. 'Start them searching down Frank Woodbine; you know, the deep space explorer, the hero.'

'I know,' Pat said. She lifted the receiver and asked for information.

'A hero is a good thing to have around,' Sal said meditatively as he waited. 'It always was my hope to get Jim involved with Woodbine during this campaign. Now I think we've got the exact tie-in we want.' He felt pleased with himself; he had a good idea, and he knew it. All his professional instincts told him that he was onto something, a two-birds-with-one-stone item.

On TV he had seen the media's excursion across into tine other world. Along with the rest of the nation, he had witnessed scenes of blissful trees and grass and clear sky, and he had reacted vigorously. This was it, all right. As soon as he had viewed it for himself, he had realized how profound Jim's insight had been. A new epoch in human history had begun, and his candidate had called the shots right from the start. Now, if they could just get Jim over there along with

Woodbine, this one last essential act...

'I have him,' Pat said, breaking into his thoughts. 'Here.' She held the vidphone receiver toward him. 'He knows who you are. Because of Jim, he accepted the call.'

'Mr. Woodbine,' Sal said, seating himself at the vidphone. 'It's darn nice of you to take a minute or so off from your busy schedule to hear me out. Jim Briskin would like very much to visit this other world. "Can you arrange it with Turpin at TD ?' He explained, then, why it was vital, just in case Woodbine was ignorant of Jim's Chicago speech. But Woodbine was not ignorant of it; he understood immediately what the situation was.

'I think,' Woodbine said thoughtfully, 'that you'd better have Jim drop by my conapt. Tonight, if possible. I want to discuss with him the material we've uncovered on the far side. Before he goes across, he should know about it. I'm sure TD won't mind; they're going to release it to the media sometime tomorrow anyhow.'

'Fine,' Sal said, immensely pleased. 'I'll have him shoot right over to your place.' He thanked

Woodbine profusely and then rang off.

Now let's see if I can light the proper fire under Jim, he said to himself as he dialed. Get him to do this. What if he won't ?

'Maybe I can help,' Pat said, from behind him. 'I can usually persuade Jim when it's genuinely in his interest. and this certainly is, beyond a doubt.'

'I'm glad you see it this way,' Sal said, 'because I'm very anxious about this.' He wondered what material TD had uncovered in the new world; evidently, it was important. And the way

Woodbine had talked, he was obviously concerned.

Hmm, Sal thought. He felt a little worried. Just a little: the first stirrings.

Frank Woodbine answered the knock on his conapt door, and there on the threshold stood his tall and very dark friend Jim Briskin, looking gloomy as always.

'It's been a hell of a long time,' Woodbine said, ushering Jim in. 'Come over here; I want to show you right away what we've turned up on the other side.' He led Jim to the long table in the living room. 'Their compressor.' He pointed to the photograph. 'There are a hundred better ways to build a compressor than this. Why'd they choose the most cumbersome way possible ? You can't call a culture primitive if it's got such artifacts in it as piston engines and gas compressors. In fact, their ability to construct a power glider alone puts them out of that class automatically. And yet, something's obviously wrong. Tomorrow, of course, we'll know what it is, but I'd like to know tonight, before we establish contact with them.'

Picking up the photo of the compressor, Jim Briskin studied it. 'The homeopapes thought you'd found something like this, when you hauled that object back. According to the rumor, you've actually ...'

'Yes,' Woodbine said. "The rumor's correct. Here's a pic of it.' He showed Jim the photograph of the power glider. 'It's in TD's basement. They're smart, and yet they're dumb - the people on the other side, I mean. Come on along with me tomorrow; we're going to set down exactly here.' He laid out a sequence of shots taken by the QB satellite. 'Recognize the terrain ? It's the coast of

France. Over here ...' He pointed.'... Normandy. A town of theirs. You can't call it a city, because it's simply not that large. But it's the largest one the QB has been able to detect. So we're going there .To confront them in their own bailiwick. By doing so, we get a direct confrontation vis-avis their culture, the totality of what they've managed to develop. TD is supplying linguistics machines; we've got anthropologists, sociologists ...' He broke off. "Why are you looking at me like that, Jim ?'

Jim Briskin said, 'I thought it was a planet in another star system. Then the hints in the media were right, after all. But I'll come with you; I'm glad to. Thanks for letting me.'