Philip Dick - Sales Pitch

«Robots selling things. As soon as I set down the ship. Robots and visual-audio ads. They dig right into a man’s brain. They follow people around until they die.»

«I know.» Sally patted his hand sympathetically. «When I go shopping they follow me in clusters.

All talking at once. It’s really a panic—you can’t understand half they’re saying.»

«We’ve got to break out.» «Break out?» Sally faltered.

«What do you mean?»

«We’ve got to get away from them. They’re destroying us.»

MORRIS fumbled in his pocket and carefully got out a tiny fragment of metalfoil. He unrolled it with painstaking - care and

smoothed it out on the table.

«Look at this. It was circulated in the office, among the men; it got to me and I kept it.»

«What does it mean?» Sally's brow wrinkled as she made out the words. «Dear, I don’t think you got all of it. There must be more than this.»

«A new world» Morris said softly. «Where they haven’t got to, yet. It’s a long way off, out beyond the solar system. Out in the stars.»

«Proxima?»

«Twenty planets. Half of them habitable. Only a few thousand people out there. Families, workmen, scientists, some industrial survey teams. Land free for the asking.»

«But it’s so—» Sally made a face. «Dear, isn’t it sort of underdeveloped? They say it's like living back in the twentieth century. Flush toilets, bathtubs, radios instead of vidsenders, gasoline driven cars—»

'That’s right.» Morris rolled up the bit of crumpled metal, his face grim and dead-serious. Its a hundred years behind times. None of this.» He indicated the stove and the furnishings in the livingroom. «We’ll have to do without. We'll have to get used to a simpler life. The way our ancestors lived.» He tried to smile, but his face wouldn't cooperate. «You think you’d like it? No ads, no salesrobots, traffic moving at sixty miles an hour instead of sixty million. We could raise passage on one of the big trans-system liners. I could sell my commute rocket. . .»

There was a hesitant, doubtful silence.

«Ed,» Sally began. «I think we should think it over more. What about your job? What would you do out there?»

«I’d find something.»

«But what? Haven’t you got that part figured out?» A shrill tinge of annoyance crept into her voice. «It seems to me we should consider that part just a little before we throw away everything and just—take off.»

«If we don’t go,» Morris said slowly, trying to keep his voice steady, «they’ll get us. There isn't much time left. I don't know how much longer I can hold them off.»

«Really, Ed! You make it sound so melodramatic. If you feel that bad why don’t you take some time off and have a complete inhibition check? I was watching a vidpro- gram and I saw them going over a man whose psychosomatic system was much worse than yours. A much older man.»

She leaped to her feet. «Let's go out tonight and celebrate. Okay?» Her slim fingers fumbled at the zipper of her shorts. «I'll put on my new plastirobe, the one I’ve never had nerve enough to wear.»

Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she hurried into the bedroom. «You know the one I mean? When you’re up close it’s transluscent but as you get farther off it becomes more and more sheer until—»

I know the one,» Morris said wearily. «I've seen them advertised on the way home from work.» He got slowly to his feet and wandered into the livingroom. At the door of the bedroom he halted. «Sally—»

«Yes?»

Morris opened his mouth to speak. He was going to ask her again, talk to her about the metal- foil fragment he had carefully wadded up and carried home. He was going to talk to her about the frontier. About Proxima Centauri. Going away and never coming back. But he 'never had a chance.

The doorchimes sounded.

«Somebody’s at the door!» Sally cried excitedly. «Hurry up and see who it is!»

IN THE EVENING darkness the robot was a silent, unmoving figure. A cold wind blew around it and into the house. Morris shivered and moved back from the door. «What do you want?» he demanded. A strange fear licked at him. «What is it?»

The robot was larger than any he had seen. Tall and broad, with heavy metallic grippers and elongated eye-lenses. Its upper trunk was a square tank instead of the usual cone. It rested on four treads, not the customary two. It towered over Morris, almost seven feet high. Massive and solid.

«Good evening/' it said calmly. Its voice was whipped around by the night wind; it mixed with the dismal noises of evening, the echoes of traffic and the clang of distant street signals. A few vague shapes hurried through the gloom. The world was black and hostile.

«Evening,» Morris responded automatically. He found himself trembling. «What are you sell- «ng?

«I would like to show you a fasrad,» the robot said.

Morris’ mind was numb; it refused to respond. What was a fasrad? There was something dreamlike and nightmarish going on. He struggled to get his mind and body together. «A what?» he croaked.

«A fasrad.» The robot made no effort to explain. It regarded him without emotion, as if it was not its responsibility to explain anything. «It will take only a moment.»

«I—» Morris began. He moved back, out of the v/ind. And the robot, without change of expression, glided past him and into the house.

«Thank you,» it said. It halted in the middle of the livingroom. «Would you call your wife, please? I would like to show her the fasrad, also.»

«Sally,» Morris muttered helplessly. «Come here.»*

Sally swept breathlessly into the livingroom, her breasts quivering with excitement. «What is it? Oh!» She saw the robot and halted uncertainly. «Ed, did you order something? Are we buying something?»

«Good evening!' the robot said to her. «I am going to show you the fasrad. Please be seated. On the couch, if you will. Both together.»

Sally sat down expectantly, her cheeks flushed, eyes» bright with wonder and bewilderment. Numb- ly, Ed seated himself beside her. «Look,» he muttered thickly. «What the hell is a fasrad? What's going on? I don't want to buy anything!»

«What is your name?» the robot asked him.

«Morris.» He almost choked. «Ed Morris.»

The robot turned to Sally. «Mrs. Morris.» It bowed slightly. «I’m glad to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Morris. You are the first persons in your neighborhood to see the fasrad. This is the initial demonstration in this area.» Its cold eyes swept the room. «Mr. Morris, you are employed, I assume. Where are you employed?»

«He works on Ganymede,» Sally said dutifully, like a little girl in school. «For the Terran Metals Development Co.»

The robot digested this information. «A fasrad will be of value to you.» It eyed Sally. «What do you do?»

«I'm a tape-transcriber at Histo- Research.»

«A fasrad will be of no value in your professional work, but it will be helpful here in the home.» It picked up a table in its powerful steel grippers. «For example, sometimes an attractive piece of furniture is damaged by a clumsy guest.» The robot smashed the table to bits; fragments of wood and plastic rained down. «A fasrad is needed.»

MORRIS leaped helplessly to his feet. He was powerless to halt events; a numbing weight hung over him, as the robot tossed the fragments of table away and selected a heavy floor lamp.

«Oh, dear,» Sally gasped. «That’s my best lamp.»

«When a fasrad is possessed, there is nothing to fear.» The robot seized the lamp and twisted it grotesquely. It ripped the shade, smashed the bulbs, then threw away the remnants. «A situation of this kind can occur from some violent explosion, such as an H-bomb.»