Philip Dick: A Maze of Death

“I think we had better say it,” Wade Frazer said. “We should face it openly, decide if it’s true, and then decide whether we want to go on and fight them.”

“Say it,” Babble said, stammering from overintensity.

Wade Frazer said, “We’re criminally insane. And at one time, probably for a long time, maybe years, we were kept inside what we call ‘the Building.’” He paused. “The Building, then, would be both a prison and a mental hospital. A prison for the—”

“What about our settlement?” Babble said.

“An experiment,” Frazer said. “But not by the military. By the prison and hospital authorities. To see if we could function on the outside… on a planet supposedly far away from Terra. And we failed. We began to kill one another.” He pointed at the tranquilizing gun. “That’s what killed Tallchief; that’s what started it all off. You did it, Babble. You killed Tallchief. Did you also kill Susie Smart?”

“I did not,” Babble said thinly.

“But you did kill Talichief.”

“Why?” Ignatz Thugg asked him.

Babble said, “I—guessed what we were. I thought Tallchief was what Russell turned out to be.”

“Who killed Susie Smart?” Seth Morley asked Frazer.

“I don’t know. I have no clue to that. Maybe Babble. Maybe you, Morley. Did you do it?” Frazer eyed Seth Morley. “No, I guess you didn’t. Well, maybe Ignatz did it. But my point is made; any one of us could have done it. We all have the inclination. That’s what got us into the Building.”

Mary said, “I killed Susie.”

“Why?” Seth Morley said. He could not believe it.

“Because of what she was doing with you.” His wife’s voice was ultra calm. “And she tried to kill me; she had that replica of the Building trained. I did it in self-defense; she engineered it all.”

“Christ,” Seth Morley said.

“Did you love her that much?” Mary demanded. “That you can’t understand why I would do it?”

Seth Morley said, “I barely knew her.”

“You knew her well enough to—”

“Okay,” Ignatz Thugg broke in. “It doesn’t matter, now. Frazer made his point; we all might have done it, and in every case one of us did.” His face twitched spasmodically. “I think you’re wrong. I just don’t believe it. We can’t be criminally insane.”

“The killings,” Wade Frazer said. “I’ve known for a long time that everyone here was potentially homicidal. There’s a great deal of autism, of schizophrenic lack of adequate affect.” He indicated Mary Morley scathingly. “Look how she tells about murdering Susie Smart. As if it’s nothing at all.” He pointed at Dr. Babble. “And his account of Tallchief’s death—Babble killed a man he didn’t even know… just in case—in case!—he might be some kind of authority figure. Any kind of authority figure.”

After an interval Dr. Babble said, “What I can’t fathom is, Who killed Mrs. Rockingham? That fine, dignified, educated woman … she never did any harm.”

“Maybe nobody did kill her,” Seth Morley said. “She was infirm; maybe they came for her, the way they came for me. To remove her so she’d survive. That’s the reason they gave me for coming after me and taking me away; they said Babble’s work on my shoulder was defective and I would soon die.”

“Do you believe that?” Ignatz Thugg asked.

Truthfully, Seth Morley said, “I don’t know. It might have been. After all, they could have shot me here, the way they did Belsnor.” He thought, Is Belsnor the only one they killed? And we did the rest? It supported Frazer’s theory… and they might not have intended to kill Belsnor; they were in a hurry and evidently they thought their ergguns were set on stun.

And they were probably afraid of us.

“I think,” Mary said, “that they interfered with us as little as possible. After all, this was an experiment; they wanted to see how it would come out. And then they did see how it was coming out, so they sent Russell here… and they killed Belsnor. But maybe they saw nothing wrong with killing Belsnor; he had killed Tony. Even we understand the—” She searched for the word.

“Unbalance,” Frazer said.

“Yes, the unbalanced quality in that. He could have gotten the sword some other way.” Lightly, she put her hand on her husband’s injured shoulder. Very lightly, but with feeling. “That’s why they wanted to save Seth. He hadn’t killed anyone; he was innocent. And you—” She snarled at Ignatz Thugg, snarled with hatred. “You would have slipped in and murdered him as he lay here hurt.”

Ignatz Thugg made a noncommittal gesture. Of dismissal. “And Mrs. Rockingham,” Mary finished. “She hadn’t killed anybody either. So they saved her, too. In the breakdown of an experiment of this type it would be natural for them to try to save as—”

“All you’ve said,” Frazer interrupted, “tends to indicate that I’m right.” He smiled disdainfully, as if he were personally unconcerned. As if he were not involved.

“There has to be something else at work,” Seth Morley said. “They wouldn’t have let the killings go on as long as they did. They must not have known. At least until they sent Russell. But I guess by then they knew.”

“They may not be monitoring us properly,” Babble said. “If they relied on those little artificial insects that scurry around carrying miniature TV cameras—”

“I’m sure they have more,” Seth Morley said. To his wife he said, “Go through Russell’s pockets; see what you can find. Labels in his clothing, what kind of watch or quasiwatch he’s wearing, bits of paper stuck away here and there.”

“Yes,” she said, and, gingerly, began to remove Russell’s spick-and-span jacket.

“His wallet,” Babble said, as Mary lifted it out. “Let me see what’s in it.” He took it from her, opened it. “Indentification. Ned W. Russell, residing at the dome-colony on Sirius 3. Twenty-nine years old. Hair: brown. Eyes: brown. Height: five eleven-and-a-half. Authorized to pilot class B and C vessels.” He looked deeper into the wallet. “Married. Here’s a 3-D photo of a young woman, undoubtedly his wife.” He rummaged further. “And this, pictures of a baby.”

No one said anything for a time.

“Anyhow,” Babble said presently, “there’s nothing of value on him. Nothing that tells us anything.” He rolled up Russell’s left sleeve. “His watch: Omega self-winding. A good watch.” He rolled up the brown canvas sleeve a little farther. “A tattoo,” he said. “On the inside of his lower arm. How strange; it’s the same thing I have tattooed on my arm, and in the same place.” He traced the tattoo on Russell’s arm with his finger. “‘Persus 9,’” he murmured. He unfastened his cuff and rolled back his own left sleeve. There, sure enough, was the same tattoo on his arm and in exactly the same place.

Seth Morley said, “I have one on my instep.” Strange, he thought. And I haven’t thought about that tattoo in years.

“How did you get yours?” Dr. Babble asked him. “I don’t remember getting mine; it’s been too long. And I don’t remember what it means… if I ever did know. It looks like some kind of identifying military service mark. A location. A military outpost at Persus 9.”

Seth looked around at the rest of the group. All of them had acutely uncomfortable—and anxious—expressions on their faces.

“All of you have the mark on you, too,” Babble said to them, after a long, long time had passed.

“Does any one of you remember when you got this mark?” Seth Morley said. “Or why? Or what it means?”

“I’ve had mine since I was a baby,” Wade Frazer said.

“You were never a baby,” Seth Morley said to him.