Philip Dick - The Science Fiction Anthology

Then came the huts and the copra shed, their last line of defense, leading to the beach and the sea.

The expedition had been in complete control of this island for better than three months. Now they were pinned to a small and precarious beachhead.

Drake glanced at the lagoon behind him and remembered that there was still one line of retreat open. If the bug and his damned menagerie pressed too hard, they could still escape in the ketch. With luck.

Sorensen came over and sat down beside him. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Drake grinned sourly. “Planning our master strategy.”

“How does it look?”

“I think we can hold out,” Drake said. “We’ve got plenty of ammo. If necessary, we’ll interdict the cleared area with gasoline. We certainly aren’t going to let that bug push us off the island.” He thought for a moment. “But it’s going to be damned hard digging for treasure.”

Sorensen nodded. “I wonder what the bug wants.”

“Maybe we’ll find out from Eakins,” Drake said.

They had to wait half an hour. Then Eakins’ voice came, sharp and shrill over the walkie-talkie.

“Sorensen? Drake?”

“We’re here,” Drake said. “What did that damned bug do to you?”

“Nothing,” Eakins said. “You are talking to that bug now. My name is the Quedak.”

“My God,” Drake said to Sorensen, “that bug must have hypnotized him!”

“No. You are not speaking to a hypnotized Eakins. Nor are you speaking to a creature who is simply using Eakins as a mouthpiece. Nor are you speaking to the Eakins who was. You are speaking to many individuals who are one.”

“I don’t get that,” Drake said.

“It’s very simple,” Eakins’ voice replied. “I am the Quedak, the totality. But my totality is made up of separate parts, which are Eakins, several rats, a dog named Oro, a pig, an anteater, a cassowary—”

“Hold on,” Sorensen said. “Let me get this straight. This is not Eakins I’m speaking to. This is the—the Quedak?”

“That is correct.”

“And you control Eakins and the others? You speak through Eakins’ mouth?”

“Also correct. But that doesn’t mean that the personalities of the others are obliterated. Quite the contrary, the Quedak state is a federation in which the various member parts retain their idiosyncrasies, their individual needs and desires. They give their knowledge, their power, their special outlook to the Quedak whole. The Quedak is the coordinating and command center; but the individual parts supply the knowledge, the insights, the special skills. And together we form the Great Cooperation.”

“Cooperation?” Drake said. “But you did all this by force!”

“It was necessary in the beginning. Otherwise, how would other creatures have known about the Great Cooperation?”

“Would they stay if you released your control over them?” Drake asked.

“That is a meaningless question. We form a single indivisible entity now. Would your arm return to you if you cut it off?”

“It isn’t the same thing.”

“It is,” Eakins’ voice said. “We are a single organism. We are still growing. And we welcome you wholeheartedly into the Great Cooperation.”

“To hell with that,” Drake said.

“But you must join,” the Quedak told them. “It is the Quedak Mission to coordinate all sentient creatures into a single collective organism. Believe me, there is only the most trifling loss of the individuality you prize so highly. And you gain so much more! You learn the viewpoints and special knowledge of all other creatures. Within the Quedak framework you can fully realize your potentialities—”

“No!”

“I am sorry,” the Quedak said. “The Quedak Mission must be fulfilled. You will not join us willingly?”

“Never,” Drake said.

“Then we will join you ,” the Quedak said.

There was a click as he turned off the walkie-talkie.

From the fringe of the jungle, several rats appeared. They hesitated, just out of rifle range. A bird of paradise flew overhead, hovering over the cleared area like an observation plane. As the men watched, the rats began to run forward in long zigzags.

“Start firing,” Drake called out. “But go easy with the ammo.”

The men began to fire. But it was difficult to sight on the quick-moving rats against the grayish-brown clearing. And almost immediately, the rats were joined by a dozen hermit crabs. They had an uncanny knack for moving when no one was watching them, darting forward, then freezing against the neutral background.

They saw Eakins appear on the fringe of the jungle.

“Lousy traitor,” Cable said, raising his rifle.

Sorensen slapped the muzzle of the rifle aside. “Don’t do it.”

“But he’s helping that bug!”

“He can’t help it,” Sorensen said. “And he’s not armed. Leave him alone.”

Eakins watched for a few moments, then melted back into the jungle.

The attack by the rats and crabs swept across half of the cleared space. Then, as they came closer, the men were able to pick their targets with more accuracy. Nothing was able to get closer than twenty yards. And when Recetich shot down the bird of paradise, the attack began to falter.

“You know,” Drake said, “I think we’re going to be all right.”

“Could be,” said Sorensen. “I don’t understand what the Quedak is trying to accomplish. He knows we can’t be taken like this. I should think—”

“Hey!” one of the men called out. “Our boat!”

They turned and saw why the Quedak had ordered the attack. While it had occupied their attention, Drake’s dog had swum out to the ketch and gnawed through the anchor line. Unattended, the ketch was drifting before the wind, moving toward the reef. They saw it bump gently, then harder. In a moment it was heeled hard over, stuck in the coral.

There was a burst of static from the walkie-talkie. Sorensen held it up and heard the Quedak say, “The ketch isn’t seriously damaged. It’s simply immobilized.”

“The hell you say,” Drake growled. “For all you know, it’s got a hole punched right through it. How do you plan on getting off the island, Quedak? Or are you just going to stay here?”

“I will leave at the proper time,” the Quedak said. “I want to make sure that we all leave together.”

V

The wind died. Huge gray thunderheads piled up in the sky to the southeast, their tops lost in the upper atmosphere, their black anvil bottoms pressing the hot still air upon the island. The sun had lost its fiery glare. Cherry-red, it slid listlessly toward the flat sea.

High overhead, a single bird of paradise circled, just out of rifle range. It had gone up ten minutes after Recetich had shot the first one down.

Monty Byrnes stood on the edge of the cleared area, his rifle ready. He had drawn the first guard shift. The rest of the men were eating a hasty dinner inside the copra shed. Sorensen and Drake were outside, looking over the situation.

Drake said, “By nightfall we’ll have to pull everybody back into the shed. Can’t take a chance on being exposed to the Quedak in the dark.”

Sorensen nodded. He seemed to have aged ten years in a day’s time.

“In the morning,” Drake said, “we’ll be able to work something out We’ll.... What’s wrong, Bill?”

“Do you really think we have a chance?” Sorensen asked.

“Sure we do. We’ve got a damned good chance.”

“Be realistic,” Sorensen said. “The longer this goes on, the more animals the Quedak can throw against us. What can we do about it?”

“Hunt him out and kill him.”

“The damned thing is about the size of your thumb,” Sorensen said irritably. “How can we hunt him?”