Philip Dick - Upon the Dull Earth

“They say it can’t be done.” Her voice trembled. “They say they destroyed the clay part—it was incinerated. There’s nothing for me to go back to.”

Rick took a deep breath. “Make them find some other way. It’s up to them. Don’t they have the power? They took you over too soon—they must send you back. It’s their responsibility.”

The white shapes shifted uneasily. The conflict rose sharply; they couldn’t agree. Rick warily moved back a few paces.

“They say it’s dangerous.” Silvia’s voice came from no particular spot. “They say it was attempted once.” She tried to control her voice. “The nexus between this world and yours is unstable. There are vast amounts of free- floating energy. The power we—on this side—have isn’t really our own. It's a universal energy, tapped and controlled.”

“Why can’t they . . .”

“This is a higher continuum. There's a natural process of energy from lower to higher regions. But the reverse process is risky. The blood—it’s a sort of guide to follow—a bright marker.”

“Like moths around a light bulb,” Rick said bitterly.

“If they send me back and something went wrong—” She broke off and then continued, “If they make a mistake, I might be lost between die two regions. I might be absorbed by the free energy. It seems to be partly alive. It’s not understood. Remember Prometheus and the fire . . .”

“I see,” Rick said, as calmly as he could.

“Darling, if they try to send me back, I’ll have to find some shape to enter. You see, I don’t exactly have a shape any more. There’s no real material form on this side. What you see, the wings and the whiteness, are not really there. If I succeeded to make the trip back to your side . . .”

“You’d have to mold something,” Rick said.

“I’d have to take something there—something of clay. I’d have to enter it and reshape it. As He did a long time ago, when the original form was put on your world.”

“If they did it once, they can do it again.”

“The One who did that is gone. He passed on upward.” There was unhappy irony in her voice. “There are regions beyond this. The ladder doesn’t stop here. Nobody knows where it ends, it just seems to keep on going up and up. World after world.”

“Who decides about you?” Rick demanded.

“It’s up to me,” Silvia said “They say, if I want to take the chance, they’ll try it.”

“What do you think you’ll do?” he asked.

“I’m afraid. What if something goes wrong? You haven’t seen it, the region between. The possibilities there are incredible—they terrify me. He was the only one with enough courage. Everyone else has been afraid.”

“It was their fault. They have to take responsibility.”

“They know that.” Silvia hesitated miserably. “Rick, darling, please tell me what to do.”

“Come back!”

Silence. Then her voice, thin and pathetic. “All right, Rick. If you think that’s the right thing.”

“It is,” he said firmly. He forced his mind not to think, not to picture or imagine anything. He had to have her back. “Tell them to get started now. Tell them—”

A deafening crack of heat burst in front of him. He was lifted up and tossed into a flaming sea of pure energy. They were leaving and the scalding lake of sheer power bellowed and thundered around him. For a split-second, he thought he glimpsed Silvia, her hands reaching imploringly toward him.

Then the fire cooled and he lay blinded in dripping, night-moistened darkness. Alone in the silence.

Walter Everett was helping him up. “You damn fool!” he was saying, again and again. “You shouldn’t have brought them back. They’ve got enough from us.”

Then he was in the big, warm living room. Mrs. Everett stood silently in front of him, her face hard and expressionless. The two daughters hovered anxiously around him, fluttering and curious, eyes wide with morbid fascination.

“I’ll be all right,” Rick muttered. His clothing was charred and blackened. He rubbed black ash from his face. Bits of dried grass stuck to his hair—they had seared a circle around him as they’d ascended. He lay back against the couch and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Betty Lou Everett was forcing a glass of water into his hand.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“You should never have gone out there,” Walter Everett repeated. “Why? Why’d you do it? You know what happened to her. You want the same thing to happen to you?”

“I want her back,” Rick said quietly.

“Are you mad? You can’t get her back. She’s gone.” His lips twitched convulsively. “You saw her.”

Betty Lou was gazing at Rick intently. “What happened out there?” she demanded. “They came again, didn’t they?”

Rick got heavily to his feet and left the living room. In the kitchen he emptied the water in the sink and poured himself a drink. While he was leaning warily against the sink. Betty Lou appeared in the doorway.

“What do you want?” Rick demanded.

The girl’s thin face was flushed an unhealthy red. “I know something happened out there. You were feeding them, weren’t you?” She advanced toward him. “You’re trying to get her back?”

“That’s right” Rick said.

Betty Lou giggled nervously. “But you can’t. She’s dead—her body's been cremated—I saw it.” Her face worked excitedly. “Daddy always said that something bad would happen to her, and it did.” She leaned close to Rick. “She was a witch! She got what she deserved!”

“She’s coming back,” Rick said.

“ No! ” Panic stirred the girl’s drab features. “She can't come back. She’s dead—like she always said—worm into butterfly—she’s a butterfly!”

“Go inside,” Rick said.

“You can’t order me around,” Betty Lou answered. Her voice rose hysterically. “This is my house. We don’t want you around here any more. Daddy’s going to tell you. He doesn’t want you and I don't want you and my mother and sister . . .”

The change came without warning. Like a film gone dead, Betty Lou froze, her mouth half open, one arm raised, her words dead on her tongue. She was suspended, an instantly lifeless thing raised slightly off the floor, as if caught between two slides of glass. A vacant insect, without speech or sound, inert and hollow. Not dead, but abruptly thinned back to primordial inanimacy.

Into the captured shell filtered new potency and being. It settled over her, a rainbow of life that poured into place eagerly—like hot fluid—into every part of her. The girl stumbled and moaned; her body jerked violently and pitched against the wall. A china teacup tumbled from an overhead shelf and smashed on the floor. The girl retreated numbly, one hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with pain and shock.

“Oh!” she gasped. “I cut myself.” She shook her head and gazed up mutely at him, appealing to him. “On a nail or something.”

“ Silvia! ” He caught hold of her and dragged her to her feet, away from the wall. It was her arm he gripped, warm and full and mature. Stunned gray eyes, brown hair, quivering breasts — she was now as she had been those last moments in the basement.

“Let’s see it,” he said. He tore her hand from her mouth and shakily examined her finger. There was no cut, only a thin white line rapidly dimming. “It’s all right, honey. You’re all right. There’s nothing wrong with you!”

“Rick, I was over there .” Her voice was husky and faint. “They came and dragged me across with them.” She shuddered violently. “Rick, am I actually back ?”

He crushed her tight. “Completely back.”