Philip Dick - The Science Fiction Anthology

“You bought your ulerin. Does it play any the worse because you paid for it? Does it mean any the less to you?”

“What you’re getting at,” he said cautiously, “is that that’s the way to make friends? By being a hypocrite?”

“Was it a sham with the Damorlanti?”

He had to stop for a moment before he could bring out an answer. “It started out as a sham—but I really got to like them afterward. Then it was real.”

“So then you weren’t a hypocrite, Clarey.” Her voice grew more resonant. “Open yourself to people, show them that you want to be friends. Basically, everybody’s shy and timid inside.”

“Like you?” he said, casting an ironical glance at her dress.

“That’s still the outside,” she smiled, making no move to adjust it. “Listen to me, Clarey, and don’t go off on sidetracks: The people of Earth are your own people. Your loyalties have always been with them.”

She had almost had him convinced, but this he couldn’t swallow. “If my loyalties had been with Earth, I would have sent back reports of the trouble. But I didn’t. I tried to stop it from happening. There just wasn’t anything I could do.”

“The deep-probe never lies, Clarey. You didn’t really try to stop it.” She paused, and then went on deliberately: “Because you could have stopped it, you know quite easily.”

“There was nothing I could have done,” he stated. “Nothing.”

“Remember the first time the staff ship came? Just before you left for Barshwat, the woman told you she suspected you were an Earthman. You were afraid for her. Do you remember that?”

He nodded. Yes, he remembered how terrified he had been then, how relieved afterward, thinking everything was going to be all right. Lucky he hadn’t realized the truth, or he wouldn’t have had those extra years of happiness.

Han went on remorselessly: “And you thought if only something would happen to you en route, she would be safe. We might guess why it had happened, but we couldn’t know for sure. We’d have had to start all over again.”

He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. She spaced each word carefully, sweetly. “You were quite right. Because you were the only man on Earth, Clarey, who had the particular physical requirements and the particular kind of mental instability that we needed for the job. You just said you weren’t unique, Clarey. You were too modest; you are. If you’d killed yourself then, your death would have served a purpose; you would have died a hero. Kill yourself now and you die a coward.”

“But at least I’d be dead. I wouldn’t have to live with a coward for the rest of my life.”

“You’re not a coward, Clarey,” she said. “You wouldn’t admit it, but you are and always have been a patriot. To you, Earth came first. It’s as simple as that.”

She had deep-probed his mind. She must know his true feelings. There was no gainsaying that. He could know only his surface thoughts; she knew what lay behind and beneath. And, he reminded himself, at the end the Damorlanti were actually turning on him.

“Try to think of the whole thing as a course in charm that you’ve passed with flying colors,” she said.

“It seems rather an expensive way of making me charming,” he couldn’t help saying, with the last struggle of something that was dying in him, something alien that perhaps should never have been there in the first place.

“Whole civilizations have been sacrificed for nothing at all. This one will not be sacrificed, only quarantined. But its contribution could be of cosmic magnitude.”

“Now what are you going to try to sell me?” he asked drearily. “Are you saying that the essence of the Damorlant civilization is going to live on in me, that I carry its heritage inside myself, and so I have a tremendous responsibility to the Damorlanti on my shoulders?”

She laughed. “You’re really getting sharp, Clarey. If you stayed in the service, you could be one of our best operatives. But you’re not going to stay in the service. Yours is a higher destiny. Here, catch!”

She tossed him something that glittered as it arched through the air.

It was a U-E identcube, made out in his name. He had only seen them at a distance, and now he was holding one warm and gleaming in his hand, with his name and his face in it. His face ... and yet not his face.

“That’s what you’re going to look like when the plastosurgeons get through,” she explained. “They’ll pigment your eyes and skin and hair, and they may be able to add a few inches to your height. Though I think you actually have grown a little. Something about the air, or, more likely, the food.”

“Embelsira thought I was handsome the way I was. Embelsira....” But Embelsira was light-years away. Embelsira was part of a fading dream—and he was awakening now to reality.

“Look at the cube. Look at your status symbol.”

He looked at it, and he kept on looking at it. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. He was hypnotized by the golden glitter of it, the golden meaning of it. “Musician,” he said aloud. “Musician....” A dream word, a magic word. He hadn’t thought of it for years, but this he didn’t have to reach back for. Once touched on, it surged over him, complete with its memories.

But she had made it meaningless, too. He managed to tear a laugh out of his throat. “Spano said I’d be able to buy the Musicians’ Guild when I had my million and a half. Apparently you’ve been able to bargain them down.”

“This cost nothing except the standard initiation fee,” she told him. “You came by it honestly—through your music, nothing else. And you have more than a million and a half credits, Clarey—nearly ten times that, with more pouring in’ every day.”

She touched a boss on the side of her chair and white light hazed around them. “I think we’re close enough to Earth to get some of the high-power tri-dis,” she said, “although we can’t expect perfect reception.”

Blurrily, a show formed—a variety show. At first it seemed the same sort of thing that he remembered dimly, more interesting now because it had almost the character of novelty. Then an ornate young man appeared and it took deeper significance. He was carrying a musical instrument—refined, machined, carefully pitched. He played music on the ulerin while a trio sang insipid Terrestrial words. “Love Is a Guiding Star” they called it, but that didn’t matter. It was one of the tunes Clarey had taped.

She touched another boss. The blur reformed to a symphony orchestra, playing as background music to a soloist with another ulerin. “That’s your First Ulerin Concerto,” she said. “There are three more.”

Another program was beginning, an account of the tribulations of an unfortunate Plutonian family. It faded in to the strains of ulerin music, to a tune of Clarey’s. If they could have endured it to the end, she told him, it would have faded out the same way. “Every time they play it,” she said, “somewhere on Earth a cash register rings for you. And this one’s a daily program.”

He watched transfixed and transfigured as program after program featured his music, his ulerin.

“Not just on Earth,” Han said, “but on all the civilized planets, even in a few of the more sophisticated primitive ones. You’re a famous man, Clarey. Earth is waiting for you, literally and figuratively. There’ll be ulerin orchestras to greet you at the field; we sent a relay ahead to let them know you were coming.”

But his mind was slowly alerting itself. “And where am I supposed to be coming from, then, since they’re never to hear about Damorlan?”

“They’ve been told that you retired to a lonely asteroid to work—to perfect your art and its instrument.”