Philip Dick - CANTATA-141

'Don't take it so hard, 'Woodbine said.

'But it's inhabited,' Jim said.

'Not entirely. My god, look on the bright side. This is a tremendous event, an encounter with another civilization entirely, what I've been searching for over three star-systems and a timeperiod of four decades. You're not going to begrudge us that, are you ?'

After a pause Jim said, 'You're right, of course. I'm just having trouble adjusting to this. Give me a little time.'

'Are you sorry now that you made that Chicago speech ?'

'No,' Jim said.

'I hope your attitude doesn't have to change. There's one more thing we found: no one at TD has so far been able to make out what it signifies. Look at this pic.' He placed the glossy print before

Jim. 'It was in the glider, poked down out of sight, obviously deliberately concealed. In a little leather bag.'

'Rocks ?' Jim said, scrutinizing the pic.

'Diamonds. Rough, not cut. Just as they come out of the ground. The inference is that these people prize precious stones but don't know how to cut or polish them. So, in this one respect at least, they're some four or five thousand years behind us. What would you say about a culture that can build a power glider, including piston engine and compressor, but hasn't learned to cut and polish gems ?'

Jim said, 'I - don't know."

'We're taking some cut stones with us tomorrow. Couple of diamonds, opals, a gold ring set with a nice fat ruby donated by the wife of one of TD's vice presidents. And we're also taking this.' He tossed a sheet of rolled-up paper before Jim. 'A schematic of a very simple, efficient turbine. And this.' He bounced another tube of paper onto the table. 'A schematic of a medium-size steam engine, circa 1880, used as a donkey engine in mine work. But, of course, our main effort will be directed toward finding a few of their technological experts, if there are any, over here. Turpin wants to show them around TD, for example. And after that, probably N'York City.'

'Has the government made an effort to get involved in this ?'

'Schwarz, I understand, has asked Turpin if a mixed bag of specialists from various bureaus can accompany us tomorrow. I don't know what the old man has decided; it's up to him. After all, TD

can shut down the nexus any time it so desires. Schwarz knows that.'

Jim said, 'Would you hazard any kind of estimate as to the level of their culture in terms of chronology relative to ours ?'

'Sure,' Frank Woodbine said. 'Somewhere between 3000 B.C. and A.D. 1920. Does that answer your question ?'

'So it can't be graded on a time-scale which compares it to us.'

'We'll know tomorrow,' Frank said. 'Or rather - and I fully expect this, Jim - we'll know that they're so damn different from us that they might as well live on a planet in some other star system, as you'd like them to be. A non-terrestrial race entirely.'

'With six legs and an exoskeleton,' Jim murmured.

'If not worse. Something that would make George Walt look perfectly ordinary. You know, that's what we ought to do: take George Walt over with us tomorrow. Tell the people on the other side that George Walt is our god, that we worship him and they'd better, too, or he'll make the bad atoms rain down on them and cause them to die of leukemia.'

'Probably,' Jim said, 'they've not reached the level of developing atomic power. Either for industry or warfare.'

'For all I know,' Frank said quietly, 'they've got an atomic tactical bomb made out of wood.'

'That's impossible. It's a joke. You're kidding.'

'I'm not kidding - I'm just terribly upset. Nobody in our world ever knew that you could build complex modem machinery out of wood, as these people have. If they can manage to do that, although God knows how long it took them to do it, they can do anything. At least, that's the way it strikes me. I'm going to set the jet-hopper down in Normandy tomorrow with my heart in my mouth, and I've been to more star-systems than any other human being; don't forget that. I've seen a lot of alien worlds.'

Somberly, Jim Briskin picked up the photo of the wooden engine and once more studied it.

'Of course,' Frank added, 'I keep saying to myself, "Look what we can learn." And look what they can learn from us.'

'Yes,' Jim agreed, 'we have to look on this as an opportunity,' His tone, however, was grave.

'You know, just as I know, that something is awfully wrong.'

Jim Briskin nodded.

In the middle of the night Don Stanley, administrative assistant to Leon Turpin, was awakened by the ringing of his vidphone.

Sitting up groggily, he managed to locate the receiver in the dark. 'Yes ?' he said, switching on the light. In the bed, his wife slept on.

On the vidscreen the physiognomy of a top-level TD researcher came into view. 'Mr. Stanley, we're calling you instead of Mr. Turpin. Somebody at policy has to know this.' The researcher's voice was jumpy with tension. 'The QB is down.'

'Down what ?' Stanley could not focus his faculties.

"They shot it down. God knows how. Just now, not ten minutes ago. We don't know whether we should try to put up another one to replace it or just wait.'

Stanley said, 'Maybe the QB merely malfunctioned. Maybe it's up there coasting around dead.'

'It's not up there at all; we've got a number of instruments capable of registering that. You know, bringing down an orbiting satellite requires a pretty exact science of weapons development; it's not easy to do.'

Still half-asleep, Don Stanley had a momentary hypnogogic vision of an enormous crossbow with a cord capable of being stretched back a mile. He shook the vision off and said, 'Maybe we shouldn't send Woodbine over there tomorrow. We don't want to lose him.'

'Whatever you and Mr. Turpin decide,' the researcher said. 'But sooner or later we have to make formal contact with them, don't we ? So why not right away ? It seems to me that, in view of their maneuver against the QB, we can't afford to wait. We've got to know what they possess.'

'We'll go ahead,' Stanley decided, 'but we'll see that Woodbine is accompanied by company police. And we'll keep in constant radio contact with him all the time he's there.'

' "Company police,"' the researcher said in disgust. 'What Woodbine needs is the United States

Army.'

'We don't want the government meddling into this,' Stanley said sharply. 'If TD can't handle this, we'll shut down the 'scuttler and abolish the nexus. Forget the entire matter.' He felt irritable.

This puts an entirely new light on everything, this about the QB, he realized. In no way - or at least in no important way - are these people lagging behind as. We're not going to be able to get away with trading them a basketful of glass beads in exchange for North America. He recalled the leather bag of uncut diamonds found in this glider. They may not be able to finish up stones, he though , but at least they know what's really valuable. There's a crucial difference between carrying around a bagful of rough diamonds and, say, a bagful of seashells.

'You've still got a team on the other side, don't you' Stanley said. 'You didn't pull them back over here.'

'They're there,' the researcher said, 'but they're just standing by, waiting for dawn and the party of university professors and the linguistics machines, all that stuff that's been promised.

'We don't want to get into a brawl with these people,,' Stanley said, 'even if they did get to our satellite. TD wants industrial techniques from them, wants their know-how hardwarewise. Let's not spoil that. Okay ?'

'Okay,' the researcher agreed, 'and lots of luck.'

Don Stanley hung up, sat for a time, then rose and walked to the kitchen of his conapt to fix himself something to eat.

Tomorrow's going to be quite a day, he said to himself. I wish I was going along, but, in view of this, I think I'll stay on this side. After all, I'm a desk man, not a leg man; let somebody else do it.