Philip Dick: Sales Pitch

«You’ll feel better after you’ve turned responsibility over to me,» it explained. It threw out some old soup Sally had been saving. «Danger of boltulism» it told him. «Your wife is sexually attractive, but not capable of a high order of intellectualization.»

Morris went to the closet and got his coat.

«Where are you going?» the fasrad asked.

«To the office.»

«At this time of night?»

Morris glanced briefly into the bedroom. Sally was sound asleep under the soothing radiant-lens. Her slim body was rosy pink and healthy, her face free of worry. He closed the front door and hurried down the steps into the darkness. Cold night wind slashed at him as he approached the parking lot. His little commute ship was parked with hundreds of others; a quarter sent the attendant robot obediently after it.

In ten minutes he was on his way to Ganymede.

THE FASRAD boarded his ship when he stopped at Mars to refuel.

«Apparently you don’t understand,» the fasrad said. «My instructions are to demonstrate myself until you’re satisfied. As yet, you’re not wholly convinced; further demonstration is necessary.» It passed an intricate web over the controls of the ship until all the dials and meters were in adjustment. «You should have more frequent servicing.»

It retired to the rear to examine the drive jets. Morris numbly signalled the attendant, and the ship was released from the fuel pumps. He gained speed and the small sandy planet fell behind. Ahead, Jupiter loomed.

«Your jets aren’t in good repair,» the fasrad said, emerging from the rear. «I don’t like that knock to the main brake drive. As soon as you land I’ll make extensive repair.»

«The Company doesn’t mind your doing favors for me?» Morris asked, with bitter sarcasm.

«The Company considers me your fasrad. An invoice will be mailed to you at the end of the month.» The robot whipped out a pen and a pad of forms. «I’ll explain the four easy-payment plans. Ten thousand gold units cash means a three per cent discount In addition, a number of household items may be traded in— items you won’t have further need for. If you wish to divide the purchase in four parts, the first is due at once, and the last in ninety days»

«I always pay cash» Morris muttered. He was carefully resetting the route positions on the control board.

«There’s no carrying charge for the ninety day plan. For the six month plan there’s a six percent per annum, charge which will amount to approximately—» It broke off. «We’ve changed course.’’

«That’s right.»

«We’ve left the official traffic lane.» The fasrad stuck its pen and pad away and hurried to the- control board. «What are you doing? There’s a two unit fine for this.»

Morris ignored it. He hung on grimly to the controls and kept his eyes on the viewscreen. The ship was gaining speed rapidly. Warning buoys sounded angrily as he shot past them and into the bleak darkness of space beyond. In a few seconds they had left all traffic behind. They were alone, shooting rapidly away from Jupiter, out into deep space.

The fasrad computed the trajectory. «We’re moving out of the solar system. Toward Centaur us.»

«You guessed it.»

«Hadn't you better call your wife?»

Morris grunted and notched the drive bar farther up. The ship bucked and pitched, then managed to right itself. The jets began to whine ominously. Indicators showed the main turbines were beginning to heat. He ignored them and threw on the emergency fuel supply.

«I’ll call Mrs. Morris,» the fasrad offered. «We’ll be beyond range in a short while.»

«Don’t bother.»

«'She’ll worry. The fasrad hurried to the back and examined the jets again. It popped back into the cabin buzzing with alarm. «Mr. Morris, this ship is not equipped for inter-system-travel. It’s a Class D four-shaft domestic model for home consumption only. It was never made to stand this velocity.»

«To get to Proxima,» Morris answered, «we need this velocity.»

HE FASRAD connected its power cables to the control board. «I can take some of the strain off the wiring system. But unless you rev her back to normal I can’t be responsible for the deterioration of the jets.»

«The hell with the jets.»

The fasrad was silent. It was listening intently to the growing whine under them. The whole ship shuddered violently. Bits of paint drifted down. The floor was ot from the grinding shafts. Morris' foot stayed on the throttle. The ship gained more velocity as Sol fell behind. They were out of the charted area. Sol receded rapidly.

«It's too late to vid your wife,» the fasrad §aid. «There are three emergency-rockets in the stern; if you want. I’ll fire them off in the hope of attracting a passing military transport.»

«Why?»

«They can take us in town and return us to the Sol system. There's a six hundred gold unit fine, but under the circumstances it seems to me the best policy.»

Morris turned his back to the fasrad and jammed down the throttle with all hi^ weight. The whine had grown to a violent roar. Instruments smashed and cracked. Fuses blew up and down the board. The lights dimmed, faded, then reluctantly came back.

«Mr. Morris,» the fasrad said, «you must prepare for death. The statistical probabilities of turbine explosion are seventy-thirty. I’ll do what I can, but the danger-point has already passed.»

Morris returned to the view- screen. For a time he igazed hungrily up at the growing dot that was the twin star Centaurus. «They look all right, don’t they? Prox is the important one. Twenty planets.» He examined the wildly fluttering instruments. «How are the jets holding up? I can’t tell from these; most of them are burned out/’

The fasrad hesitated. It started to speak, then changed its mind. «I’ll go back and examine them,» it said. It moved to the rear of the ship and disappeared down the short ramp into the thundering, vibrating engine chamber.

Morris leaned over and put out his cigarette. He waited a moment longer, then reached out and yanked the drives full up, the last possible notch on the board.

The explosion tore the ship in half. Sections of hull hurtled around him. He was lifted weightless and slammed into the control board. Metal and plastic rained down on him. Flashing incandescent points winked, faded, and finally died into silence, and there was nothing but cold' ash.

THE DULL swish-swish of emergency air-pumps brought consciousness back. He was pinned under the wreckage of the control board; one arm was broken and bent under him. He tried to move his legs but there was no sensation below his waist.

The splintered debris that had been his ship was still hurtling toward Centaurus. Hull-sealing equipment was feebly trying to patch the gaping holes. Automatic temperature and grav feeds were thumping spasmodically from self- contained batteries. In the view- screen the vast flaming bulk of the twin suns grew quietly, inexorably.

He was glad. In the silence of the ruined ship he lay buried beneath the debris, gratefully watching the growing bulk. It was a beautiful sight. He had wanted to see it for a long time. There it was, coming closer each moment. In a day or two the ship would plunge into the fiery mass and be consumed. But he could enjoy this interval; there was nothing to disturb his happiness.

He thought about Sally, sound asleep uader the radiant-lens. Would Sally have liked Proxima? Probably not. Probably she would have wanted to go back home as soon as possible. This was something he had to enjoy alone. This was' for him only. A vast peace descended over him. He could lie here without stirring, and the flaming magnificence would come nearer and nearer...

A sound. From the heaps of fused wreckage something was rising. A twisted, dented shape dimly visible in the flickering glare of the viewscreen. Morris managed to •turn his head.