Philip Dick - The Science Fiction Anthology

Malesor nodded. “The Earthmen’s catapults do go farther and faster, then?”

“And maybe deeper,” Clarey agreed, pretending not to notice that it had been a question. “After the way Irik talked, I couldn’t help drifting over to the starfield when I was in Barshwat and watching an Earth ship come. You’ve no idea how incredibly powerful a thing it was. Anyone who has power in one direction is likely to have it in another.”

“I wonder if the Earthmen always had power,” Malesor mused, “if they weren’t like us once. If, given time, we couldn’t be like them....”

Clarey didn’t say anything.

Malesor’s pale face turned gray. “You mean we might not be given time?”

Clarey wiggled his ears. “Who can tell what’s in the mind of an Earthman?”

Malesor looked directly at him. “Why do you tell me this?”

“Because I’m one of you,” Clarey said stoutly.

Malesor shook his head. “You’re not. You never can be. But thanks for the warning—stranger.”

Never identify , the robocoach had said. You’ll never be able to become the character you’re trying to play. He was talking only of the stage, Clarey told himself angrily, as he left the Dome.

Reports trickled in from the cities. Earthmen had been stoned twice in Zrig, more often than that in Barshwat. Clarey got an agitated letter from his aunt. “Watch out for yourself, Nephew,” she warned. “They may take it into their heads to attack all foreigners. Remember, come what may, you’ll always have a home with me.”

Then everything broke open. A group of natives attacked Earth Headquarters in Barshwat. The Earthmen sprayed them with a gas which made the attackers lose consciousness without harming them; that is, it was intended to work that way. However, one of them hit his head on the wall when he fell, and he died the next day.

The people of Vintnor were aroused. They milled angrily around Earth Headquarters carrying banners that said, “Go home, Earth murderers!” The headman of Barshwat called upon Colonel Blynn. The colonel courteously refused to withdraw his men from the planet. “I’m under orders, old chap,” he said, “but I’ll report your request back to Earth.”

“It isn’t a request,” the headman said.

Colonel Blynn smiled and said, “We’ll treat it as one, shall we?”

Clarey knew what happened, because the headman gave a report of the conversation to the Barshwat Prime Bulletin. He also got a letter from his aunt describing the incident as vividly as if she had been there herself. The Barshwat Prime ran a series of increasingly intemperate editorials calling upon all the nations of Damorlan to unite against the Earthmen; it was spirit that counted, it said, rather than technology. Malesor wrote a letter asking how superior spiritual values could compete against presumably superior weapons. He read it aloud in the Purple Furbush before he sent it to the editor of the Barshwat Prime, which was lucky, because the Prime never printed it, although the Dordonec Bulletin ran a copy.

However, the Barshwat Prime did print letters from editors in different countries. All of them pledged firm moral support. It also printed a letter from an anonymous correspondent in Katund which alleged that there was an Earth spy in that village, disguised as a Damorlant, and it was this spy who was personally responsible for the decline of musical taste on the whole planet. But the Bulletin seemed to consider this merely as an emanation from the lunatic fringe: “It would be as easy to disguise a hix as one of us as an Earthman. And, although we could certainly not minimize the importance of music in our culture, it is hardly likely that Earth would be attempting to achieve fell purposes through undermining that art. No, the decline in musical taste represents part of the general decline in public morality which has left us an easy prey.”

Irik went back to Barshwat to help riot, but he left the Katundi convinced that Clarey was, if not actually an Earthman, at least a traitor. When he came into the Furbush, everybody got up and left. Nobody patronized the branch library any more. The constant readers went to the main library at Zrig, and, since the trip was expensive, their books were usually overdue and they had to pay substantial fines. Sometimes they never returned the books at all and messengers had to be sent from the city. Finally the chief librarian at Zrig issued a regulation that only those resident within the city limits could take books out; all others in the district had to read them on the premises. The Katundi blamed that on Clarey, too. One night they broke into his library and stole all the best-sellers.

A couple of days later, he came home and found all the windows of his dome broken. Best-sellers are often disappointing, he thought. He found a note from Embelsira, saying, “I have gone home to Mother.”

He knew she expected him to go after her, but he wrote her a note saying he was going to see his aunt who was terrified by all the riots, and put it in the mail, so she wouldn’t get it too soon. He packed his kit with his most important possessions and he took his ulerin under his arm.

When he reached Barshwat, he had some difficulty getting through the crowd in front of Earth Headquarters. All the windows were boarded up and the garbage hadn’t been collected for a considerable length of time. Just as he reached the door, a familiar voice called, “That’s the Earth spy!”

“Don’t be silly!” another voice said. “He’s obviously one of us!”

“But a traitor!” cried another voice. “Otherwise why go in there?” Stones splattered against the door, followed by impartial cries of “Spy!... Traitor!... Fool!” the last seemingly addressed to each other, rather than Clarey.

Blynn was haggard and anxious-looking “I’ve been wondering when you’d show up. Afraid maybe they’d got you—”

“I’m all right,” Clarey interrupted. “But what are we going to do?”

Blynn laughed without stopping for a full minute. “Do? I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to sit tight and wait for the staff ship.”

Two months later the staff ship came. Blynn radioed for the general and the secretary to come in a closed ground car.

“But why?” the general’s voice crackled plaintively over the com-unit. “I thought we didn’t want them to know about ground cars—”

“They know,” Blynn said crisply. “They’ve got one of their own now, maybe more. Crazy-looking thing, but it works. You’ll see it outside Headquarters when you get here. The letters on the side mean ‘Earthmen, Go!’ Form imperative impolite emphatic.”

Han Vollard strode into Headquarters, eyes ablaze. “Why didn’t you send a report before trouble started? How could you allow an emergency situation to happen?”

Neither Blynn nor Clarey said anything.

“Very distressing thing,” Spano declared. “Maybe it hit them so suddenly they didn’t know it was building.”

“You and Blynn get over to the ship right away for deep-probing,” Han Vollard ordered, as both began to speak at once. “It’s the only way I’ll be able to get a coherent report.”

After the results came through, her anger was cold, searing, unwomanly. “You knew a year ago that things were beginning to go wrong and you didn’t even mention it on the tapes! I could have both of you broken for this.”

“If only that were all there was to worry about,” Clarey sighed wistfully.

She whirled on him. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself!” The sudden loss of control in that dark amazon was more threatening than anything that had happened yet.

“I’m not feeling sorry for myself,” he said. “It’s the Damorlanti I feel sorry for.”