Philip Dick - A Maze of Death

“Then what do we do?” Russell said.

“Maybe you can think of something,” Thugg said. “Maybe if we close our eyes and walk around in a little circle we’ll find ourselves standing next to it.”

“As we stand here,” Seth Morley said, shading his eyes and peering, “it gets closer.” He was positive. He could pick out all the spires, now, and the pall of smoke above it seemed to have lifted. Maybe it’s not a factory after all, he thought. If it will come just a little nearer maybe I can tell. He peered on and on; the others, presently, did the same.

Russell said reflectively, “It’s a phantasm. A projection of some kind. From a transmitter located probably within a square mile of us. A very efficient, modern vidtransmitter… but you can still see a slight waver.”

“What do you suggest, then?” Seth Morley asked him. “If you’re right then there’s no reason to try to get close to it, since it isn’t there.”

“It’s somewhere,” Russell corrected. “But not in that spot. What we’re seeing is a fake. But there is a real Building and it probably is not far off.”

“How can you know that?” Seth Morley said.

Russell said, “I’m familiar with Interplan West’s method of decoy-composition. This illusory transmission is in existence to fool those who know there is a Building. Who expect to find it. And when they see this they think they have. This is not for someone who does not know there is a Building somewhere out here.” He added, “This worked very well in the war between Interplan West and the warrior-cults of Rigel 10. Rigelian missiles zeroed in on illusory industrial complexes over and over again. You see, this kind of projection shows up on radar screens and computerized sweep-scanner probes. It has a kind of semi-material basis; strictly speaking it’s not a mirage.”

“Well, you would know,” Betty Jo Berm said. “You’re an economist; you’d be familiar with what happened to industrial complexes during a war.” But she did not sound convinced.

“Is that why it retreats?” Seth Morley asked him. “As we approach?”

“That is how I made out its composition,” Russell said.

Maggie Walsh said to him, “Tell us what to do.”

“Let’s see.” Russell sighed, pondered. The others waited. “The real Building could be almost anywhere. There’s no way to trace it back from the phantasm; if there were, the method would not have worked. I think—” He pointed. “I have a feeling that the plateau over there is illusory. A superimposition over something, resulting in a negative hallucination for anyone who sights in that direction.” He explained, “A negative hallucination—when you do not see something that’s actually there.”

“Okay,” Thugg said. “Let’s head for the plateau.”

“That means crossing the river,” Mary Morley said.

To Maggie Walsh, Frazer said, “Does Specktowsky say anything about walking on water? It would be useful, right now. That river looks damn deep to me, and we already decided we couldn’t take the chance of trying to cross it.”

“The river may not be there either,” Seth Morley said.

“It’s there,” Russell said. He walked toward it, stopped at its edge, bent down and lifted out a temporary handful of water.

“Seriously,” Betty Jo Berm said, “does Specktowsky say anything about walking on water?”

“It can be done,” Maggie Walsh said, “but only if the person or persons are in the presence of the Deity. The Deity would have to lead him—or them—across; otherwise they’d sink and drown.”

Ignatz Thugg said, “Maybe Mr. Russell is the Deity.” To Russell he said, “Are you a Manifestation of the Deity? Come here to help us? Are you, specifically, the Walker-on-Earth?”

“Afraid not,” Russell said in his reasonable, neutral voice.

“Lead us across the water,” Seth Morley said to him.

“I can’t,” Russell said. “I’m a man just like you.”

“Try,” Seth Morley said.

“It’s strange,” Russell said, “that you would think I’m the Walker-on-Earth. It’s happened before. Probably because of the nomadic existence I lead. I’m always showing up as a stranger, and if I do anything right—which is rare—then someone gets the bright idea that I’m the third Manifestation of the Deity.”

“Maybe you are,” Seth Morley said, scrutinizing him keenly; he tried to recall how the Walker had looked when he had revealed himself back at Tekel Upharsin. There was little resemblance. And yet—the odd intuition, to an extent, remained with him. It had come to him with no warning: one moment he had accepted Russell as an ordinary man and then all at once he had felt himself to be in the presence of the Deity. And it lingered; it did not completely go away.

“I’d know if I was,” Russell pointed out.

“Maybe you do know,” Maggie Walsh said. “Maybe Mr. Morley is right.” She, too, scrutinized Russell, who looked now a little embarrassed. “If you are,” she said, “we will know eventually.”

“Have you ever seen the Walker?” Russell asked her.

“No.”

“I am not he,” Russell said.

“Let’s just wade into the goddam water and see if we can make the other side,” Thugg said impatiently. “If it’s too deep then the hell with it; we’ll turn back. Here I go.” He strode toward the river and into it; his legs disappeared in the opaque blue-gray water. He continued on and, by degrees, the others followed after him.

They reached the far side with no trouble. All across, the river remained shallow. Feeling chagrined the six of them—and Russell—stood together, slapping water from their clothing. It had come up to their waists and no farther.

“Ignatz Thugg,” Frazer said. “Manifestation of the Deity. Equipped to ford rivers and battle typhoons. I never guessed.”

“Up yours,” Thugg said.

To Maggie Walsh, Russell said suddenly, “Pray.”

“For what?”

“For the veil of illusion to rise to expose the reality beneath.”

“May I do it silently?” she asked. Russell nodded. “Thank you,” she said, and turned her back to the group; she stood for a time, hands folded, her head bowed, and then she turned back. “I did as well as I could,” she informed them. She looked happier, now, Seth Morley noticed. Maybe, temporarily, she had forgotten about Susie Smart.

A tremendous pulsation throbbed nearby.

“I can hear it,” Seth Morley said, and felt fear. Enormous, instinctive fear.

A hundred yards away a gray wall rose up into the smoky haze of the midday sky. Pounding, vibrating, the wall creaked as if alive… while, above it, spires squirted wastes in the form of dark clouds. Further wastes, from enormous pipes, gurgled into the river. Gurgled and gurgled and never ceased.

They had found the Building.

“So now we can see it,” Seth Morley said. At last. It makes a noise, he thought, like a thousand cosmic babies dropping an endless number of giant pot lids onto a titanic concrete floor. What are they doing in there? he asked himself, and started toward the front face of the structure, to see what was inscribed over the entrance.

“Noisy, isn’t it?” Wade Frazer shouted.

“Yes,” he said, and was unable to hear his own voice over the stupendous racket of the Building.

He followed a paved road that led along the side of the structure; the others tagged after him, some of them holding their ears. Now he came out in front, shielded his eyes and peered up, focused on the raised surface above the closed sliding doors.

That much noise from a winery? he asked himself. It makes no sense.

A small door bore a sign reading: Customers’ entrance to wine and cheese tasting room. Holy smoke, he said to himself, the thought of cheese drifting through his mind and burnishing all the shiny parts of his conscious attention. I ought to go in, he said to himself. Apparently it’s free, although they like you to buy a couple of bottles before you leave. But you don’t have to.