Philip Dick - Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

“Let’s vote,” Pris said. “As we did on the ship, when we had a disagreement.”

“Well,” Irmgard said, “I won’t say anything more. But if we turn this down I don’t think we’ll find any other human being who’ll take us in and help us. Mr. Isidore is—” She searched for the word.

“Special,” Pris said.

Solemnly, and with ceremony, the vote was taken.

“We stay here,” Irmgard said, with firmness. “In this apartment, in this building.”

Roy Baty said, “I vote we kill Mr. Isidore and hide somewhere else.” He and his wife—and John Isidore—now turned tautly toward Pris.

In a low voice Pris said, “I vote we make our stand here.” She added, more loudly, “I think J.R.’s value to us outweighs his danger, that of his knowing. Obviously we can’t live among humans without being discovered; that’s what killed Polokov and Garland and Luba and Anders. That’s what killed all of them.”

“Maybe they did just what we’re doing,” Roy Baty said. “Confided in, trusted, one given human being who they believed was different. As you said, special.”

“We don’t know that,” Irmgard said. “That’s only a conjecture. I think they, they—” She gestured. “Walked around. Sang from a stage like Luba. We trust—I’ll tell you what we trust that fouls us up, Roy; it’s our goddamn superior intelligence!” She glared at her husband, her small, high breasts rising and falling rapidly. “We’re so smart –Roy, you’re doing it right now; goddamn you, you’re doing it now! ”

Pris said, “I think Irm’s right.”

“So we hang our lives on a substandard, blighted—” Roy began, then gave up. “I’m tired,” he said simply. “It’s been a long trip, Isidore. But not very long here. Unfortunately.”

“I hope,” Isidore said happily, “I can help make your stay here on Earth pleasant.” He felt sure he could. It seemed to him a cinch, the culmination of his whole life—and of the new authority which he had manifested on the vidphone today at work.

As soon as he officially quit work that evening, Rick Deckard flew across town to animal row: the several blocks of big-time animal dealers with their huge glass windows and lurid signs. The new and horribly unique depression which had floored him earlier in the day had not left. This, his activity here with animals and animal dealers, seemed the only weak spot in the shroud of depression, a flaw by which he might be able to grab it and exorcise it. In the past, anyhow, the sight of animals, the scent of money deals with expensive stakes, had done much for him. Maybe it would accomplish as much now.

“Yes, sit,” a nattily dressed new animal salesman said to him chattily as he stood gaping with a sort of glazed, meek need at the displays. “See anything you like?”

Rick said, “I see a lot I like. It’s the cost that bothers me.”

“You tell us the deal you want to make,” the salesman said. “What you want to take home with you and how you want to pay for it. We’ll take the package to our sales manager and get his big okay.”

“I’ve got three thou cash.” The department, at the end of the day, had paid him his bounty. “How much,” he asked, “is that family of rabbits over there?”

“Sir, if you have a down payment of three thou, I can make you owner of something a lot better than a pair of rabbits. What about a goat?”

“I haven’t thought much about goats,” Rick said.

“May I ask if this represents a new price bracket for you?”

“Well, I don’t usually carry around three thou,” Rick conceded.

“I thought as much, sit, when you mentioned rabbits. The thing about rabbits, sit, is that everybody has one. I’d like to see you step up to the goat-class where I feel you belong. Frankly you look more like a goat man to me.”

“What are the advantages to goats?”

The animal salesman said, “The distinct advantage of a goat is that it can be taught to butt anyone who tries to steal it.”

“Not if they shoot it with a hypno-dart and descend by rope ladder from a hovering hovercar,” Rick said.

The salesman, undaunted, continued, “A goat is loyal. And it has a free, natural soul which no cage can chain up. And there is one exceptional additional feature about goats, one which you may not be aware of. Often times when you invest in an animal and take it home you find, some morning, that it’s eaten something radioactive and died. A goat isn’t bothered by contaminated quasi-foodstuffs; it can eat eclectically, even items that would fell a cow or a horse or most especially a cat. As a long term investment we feel that the goat—especially the female—offers unbeatable advantages to the serious animal-owner.”

“Is this goat a female?” He had noticed a big black goat standing squarely in the center of its cage; he moved that way and the salesman accompanied him. The goat, it seemed to Rick, was beautiful.

“Yes, this goat is a female. A black Nubian goat, very large, as you can see. This is a superb contender in this year’s market, sir. And we’re offering her at an attractive, unusually low, low price.”

Getting out his creased Sidney’s, Rick looked up the listing, on goats, black Nubian.

“Will this be a cash deal?” the salesman asked. “Or are you trading in a used animal?”

“All cash,” Rick said.

On a slip of paper the salesman scribbled a price and then briefly, almost furtively, showed it to Rick.

“—too much,” Rick said, He took the slip of paper and wrote down a more modest figure.

“We couldn’t let a goat go for that,” the salesman protested. He wrote another figure. “This goat is less than a year old; she has a very long life expectancy.” He showed the figure to Rick.

“It’s a deal,” Rick said.

He signed the time-payment contract, paid over his three thousand dollars—his entire bounty money—as down payment, and shortly found himself standing by his hovercar, rather dazed, as employees of the animal dealer loaded the crate of goat into the car. I own an animal now, he said to himself. A living animal, not electric. For the second time in my life.

The expense, the contractual indebtedness, appalled him; he found himself shaking. But I had to do it, he said to himself. The experience with Phil Resch—I have to get my confidence, my faith in myself and my abilities, back. Or I won’t keep my job.

His hands numb he guided the hovercar up into the sky and headed for his apartment and Iran. She’ll be angry, he said to himself. Because it’ll worry her, the responsibility. And since she’s home all day a lot of the maintenance will fall to her. Again he felt dismal.

When he had landed on the roof of his building he sat for a time, weaving together in his mind a story thick with verisimilitude. My job requires it, he thought, scraping bottom. Prestige. We couldn’t go on with the electric sheep any longer; it sapped my morale. Maybe I can tell her that, he decided.

Climbing from the car he maneuvered the goat cage from the back seat, with wheezing effort managed to set it down on the roof. The goat, which had slid about during the transfer, regarded him with bright-eyed perspicacity, but made no sound.

He descended to his floor, followed a familiar path down the hall to his own door.

“Hi,” Iran greeted him, busy in the kitchen with dinner. “Why so late tonight?”

“Come up to the roof,” he said. “I want to show you something.”

“ You bought an animal .” She removed her apron, smoothed back her hair reflexively, and followed him out of the apartment; they progressed down the hall with huge, eager strides. “You shouldn’t have gotten it without me,” Iran gasped. “I have a right to participate in the decision, the most important acquisition we’ll ever—”