Philip Dick - Sales Pitch

The fasrad staggered to a standing position. Most of its trunk was gone, smashed and broken away. It tottered, then pitched forward on its face with a grinding crash. Slowly it inched its way toward him, then settled to a dismal halt a few feet off. Gears whirred creakily. Relays popped open and shut. Vague, aimless life animated its devastated hulk.

«Good e v e n i n g,» its shrill, metallic voice grated.

Morris screamed. He tried to move his body, but the ruined beams held him tight. He shrieked and shouted and tried to crawl away from it. He spat and wailed and wept.

«I would like to show you a fasrad,» the metallic voice continued. «Would you call your wife, please? I would like to show her a fasrad, too.»

«Get away!» Morris screamed. «Get away from me!»

«Good evening,» the fasrad continued, like a broken tape. «Good evening. Please be seated. I am happy to meet you. What is your name? Thank you. You are the first persons in your neighborhood to see the fasrad. Where are you employed?»

Its dead eyelenses gaped at him empty and vacant.

«Please be seated,» it said again. «This will take only a second. Only a second. This demonstration will take only a—»

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