Philip Dick - The Science Fiction Anthology

Miss Arnable was delighted with the opportunity for autobiographical composition. It required five extra sheets of paper to convey all the information that she wished to give—all about her poor, dear father who had been a missionary to China, and the kinship that she felt toward the mystic cults of the East, her belief that her cats were reincarnations of her loved ones (which, she stated, derived from a religion of the Persians; or was it the Egyptians?) and in her complete and absolute acceptance of everything that POSAT had stated in their booklet. And what would the dues be? She wished to join immediately. Fortunately, dear father had left her in a comfortable financial situation.

To Donald Alford, the booklet seemed to confirm his suspicion that POSAT was a racket of some sort. Why else would they be interested in his employment or financial position? It also served to increase his curiosity.

“What do you suppose they’re driving at?” he asked his wife Betty, handing her the booklet and questionnaire.

“I don’t really know what to say,” she answered, squinting a little as she usually did when puzzled. “I know one thing, though, and that’s that you won’t stop until you find out!”

“The scientific attitude,” he acknowledged with a grin.

“Why don’t you fill out this questionnaire incognito, though?” she suggested. “Pretend that we’re wealthy and see if they try to get our money. Do they have anything yet except your name and address?”

Don was shocked. “If I send this back to them, it will have to be with correct answers!”

“The scientific attitude again,” Betty sighed. “Don’t you ever let your imagination run away with the facts a bit? What are you going to give for your reasons for asking about POSAT?”

“Curiosity,” he replied, and, pulling his fountain pen from his vest pocket, he wrote exactly that, in small, neat script.

It was unfortunate for his curiosity that Don could not see the contents of the three envelopes that were mailed from the offices of POSAT the following week. For this time they differed.

Bill Evans was once again disappointed. The pamphlet that was enclosed gave what apparently meant to be final answers to life’s problems. They were couched in vaguely metaphysical terms and offered absolutely no help to him.

His disappointment was tempered, however, by the knowledge that he had unexpectedly found a job. Or, rather, it had fallen into his lap. When he had thought that every avenue of employment had been tried, a position had been offered him in a wholesale pharmacy in the older industrial part of the city. It was not a particularly attractive place to work, located as it was next to a large warehouse, but to him it was hope for the future.

It amused him to discover that the offices of POSAT were located on the other side of the same warehouse, at the end of a blind alley. Blind alley indeed! He felt vaguely ashamed for having placed any confidence in them.

Miss Arnable was thrilled to discover that her envelope contained not only several pamphlets, (she scanned the titles rapidly and found that one of them concerned the sacred cats of ancient Egypt), but that it contained also a small pin with the symbol of POSAT wrought in gold and black enamel. The covering letter said that she had been accepted as an active member of POSAT and that the dues were five dollars per month; please remit by return mail. She wrote a check immediately, and settled contentedly into a chair to peruse the article on sacred cats.

After a while she began to read aloud so that her own cats could enjoy it, too.

Don Alford would not have been surprised if his envelope had shown contents similar to the ones that the others received. The folded sheets of paper that he pulled forth, however, made him stiffen with sharp surprise.

“Come here a minute, Betty,” he called, spreading them out carefully on the dining room table. “What do you make of these?”

She came, dish cloth in hand, and thoughtfully examined them, one by one. “Multiple choice questions! It looks like a psychological test of some sort.”

“This isn’t the kind of thing I expected them to send me,” worried Don. “Look at the type of thing they ask. ‘If you had discovered a new and virulent poison that could be compounded from common household ingredients, would you (1) publish the information in a daily newspaper, (2) manufacture it secretly and sell it as rodent exterminator, (3) give the information to the armed forces for use as a secret weapon, or (4) withhold the information entirely as too dangerous to be passed on?’“

“Could they be a spy ring?” asked Betty. “Subversive agents? Anxious to find out your scientific secrets like that classified stuff that you’re so careful of when you bring it home from the lab?”

Don scanned the papers quickly. “There’s nothing here that looks like an attempt to get information. Besides, I’ve told them nothing about my work except that I do research in physics. They don’t even know what company I work for. If this is a psychological test, it measures attitudes, nothing else. Why should they want to know my attitudes?”

“Do you suppose that POSAT is really what it claims to be—a secret society—and that they actually screen their applicants?”

He smiled wryly. “Wouldn’t it be interesting if I didn’t make the grade after starting out to expose their racket?”

He pulled out his pen and sat down to the task of resolving the dilemmas before him.

His next communication from POSAT came to his business address and, paradoxically, was more personal than its forerunners.

Dear Doctor Alford:

We have examined with interest the information that you have sent to us. We are happy to inform you that, thus far, you have satisfied the requirements for membership in the Perpetual Order of Seekers After Truth. Before accepting new members into this ancient and honorable secret society, we find it desirable that they have a personal interview with the Grand Chairman of POSAT.

Accordingly, you are cordially invited to an audience with our Grand Chairman on Tuesday, July 10, at 2:30 P.M. Please let us know if this arrangement is acceptable to you. If not, we will attempt to make another appointment for you.

The time specified for the appointment was hardly a convenient one for Don. At 2:30 P.M. on most Tuesdays, he would be at work in the laboratory. And while his employers made no complaint if he took his research problems home with him and worried over them half the night, they were not equally enthusiastic when he used working hours for pursuing unrelated interests. Moreover, the headquarters of POSAT was in a town almost a hundred miles distant. Could he afford to take a whole day off for chasing will-o-wisps?

It hardly seemed worth the trouble. He wondered if Betty would be disappointed if he dropped the whole matter. Since the letter had been sent to the laboratory instead of his home, he couldn’t consult her about it without telephoning.

Since the letter had been sent to the laboratory instead of his home! But it was impossible!

He searched feverishly through his pile of daily mail for the envelope in which the letter had come. The address stared up at him, unmistakably and fearfully legible. The name of his company. The number of the room he worked in. In short, the address that he had never given them!

“Get hold of yourself,” he commanded his frightened mind. “There’s some perfectly logical, easy explanation for this. They looked it up in the directory of the Institute of Physics. Or in the alumni directory of the university. Or—or—”

But the more he thought about it, the more sinister it seemed. His laboratory address was available, but why should POSAT take the trouble of looking it up? Some prudent impulse had led him to withhold that particular bit of information, yet now, for some reason of their own, POSAT had unearthed the information.