The Book Of Philip K Dick (1973)

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The Book of Philip K. Dick

Philip K. Dick

eVersion 1.0 / trc

TENTH PRINTING

DEDICATION

To Leslie Busby:

The little black-haired girl I love so much

Table of Contents

NANNY

THE TURNING WHEEL

THE DEFENDERS

ADJUSTMENT TEAM

PSI-MAN

THE COMMUTER

A PRESENT FOR PAT

BREAKFAST AT TWILIGHT

SHELL GAME

NANNY

"WHEN I look back," Mary Fields said, "I marvel that we ever could have grown up

without a Nanny to take care of us."

There was no doubt that Nanny had changed the whole life of the Fields's house

since she had come. From the time the children opened their eyes in the morning

to their last sleepy nod at night, Nanny was in there with them, watching them,

hovering about them, seeing that all their wants were taken care of.

Mr. Fields knew, when he went to the office, that his kids were safe, perfectly

safe. And Mary was relieved of a countless procession of chores and worries. She

did not have to wake the children up, dress them, see that they were washed, ate

their meals, or anything else. She did not even have to take them to school. And

after school, if they did not come right home, she did not have to pace back and

forth in anxiety, worried that something had happened to them.

Not that Nanny spoiled them, of course. When they demanded something absurd or

harmful (a whole storeful of candy, or a policeman's motorcycle) Nanny's will

was like iron. Like a good shepherd she knew when to refuse the flock its

wishes.

Both children loved her. Once, when Nanny had to be sent to the repair shop,

they cried and cried without stopping. Neither their mother nor their father

could console them. But at last Nanny was back again, and everything was all

right. And just in time! Mrs. Fields was exhausted.

"Lord," she said, throwing herself down. "What would we do without her?"

Mr. Fields looked up. "Without who?"

"Without Nanny."

"Heaven only knows," Mr. Fields said. After Nanny had aroused the children from

sleep—by emitting a soft, musical whirr a few feet from their heads—she made

certain that they were dressed and down at the breakfast table promptly, with

faces clean and dispositions unclouded. If they were cross Nanny allowed them

the pleasure of riding downstairs on her back.

Coveted pleasure! Almost like a roller coaster, with Bobby and Jean hanging on

for dear life and Nanny flowing down step by step in the funny rolling way she

had.

Nanny did not prepare breakfast, of course. That was all done by the kitchen.

But she remained to see that the children ate properly and then, when breakfast

was over, she supervised their preparations for school. And after they had got

their books together and were all brushed and neat, her most important job:

seeing that they were safe on the busy streets.

There were many hazards in the city, quite enough to keep Nanny watchful. The

swift rocket cruisers that swept along, carrying businessmen to work. The time a

bully had tried to hurt Bobby. One quick push from Nanny's starboard grapple and

away he went, howling for all he was worth. And the time a drunk started talking

to Jean, with heaven knows _what_ in mind. Nanny tipped him into the gutter with

one nudge of her powerful metal side.

Sometimes the children would linger in front of a store. Nanny would have to

prod them gently, urging them on. Or if (as sometimes happened) the children

were late to school, Nanny would put them on her back and fairly speed along the

sidewalk, her treads buzzing and flapping at a great rate.

After school Nanny was with them constantly, supervising their play, watching

over them, protecting them, and at last, when it began to get dark and late,

dragging them away from their games and turned in the direction of home.

Sure enough, just as dinner was being set on the table, there was Nanny, herding

Bobby and Jean in through the front door, clicking and whirring admonishingly at

them. Just in time for dinner! A quick run to the bathroom to wash their faces

and hands.

And at night—

Mrs. Fields was silent, frowning just a little. At night . . . "Tom?" she said.

Her husband looked up from his paper. "What?"

"I've been meaning to talk to you about something. It's very odd, something I

don't understand. Of course, I don't know anything about mechanical things. But

Tom, at night when we're all asleep and the house is quiet, Nanny—"

There was a sound.

"Mommy!" Jean and Bobby came scampering into the living room, their faces

flushed with pleasure. "Mommy, we raced Nanny all the way home, and we won!"

"We won," Bobby said. "We beat her."

"We ran a lot faster than she did," Jean said.

"Where is Nanny, children?" Mrs. Fields asked.

"She's coming. Hello, Daddy."

"Hello, kids," Tom Fields said. He cocked his head to one side, listening. From

the front porch came an odd scraping sound, an unusual whirr and scrape. He

smiled.

"That's Nanny," Bobby said.

And into the room came Nanny.

Mr. Fields watched her. She had always intrigued him. The only sound in the room

was her metal treads, scraping against the hardwood floor, a peculiar rhythmic

sound. Nanny came to a halt in front of him, stopping a few feet away. Two

unwinking photocell eyes appraised him, eyes on flexible wire stalks. The stalks

moved speculatively, weaving slightly. Then they withdrew.

Nanny was built in the shape of a sphere, a large metal sphere, flattened on the

bottom. Her surface had been sprayed with a dull green enamel, which had become

chipped and gouged through wear. There was not much visible in addition to the

eye stalks. The treads could not be seen. On each side of the hull was the

outline of a door. From these the magnetic grapples came, when they were needed.

The front of the hull came to a point, and there the metal was reinforced. The

extra plates welded both fore and aft made her look almost like a weapon of war.

A tank of some land. Or a ship, a rounded metal ship that had come up on land.

Or like an insect. A sowbug, as they are called.

"Come on!" Bobby shouted.

Abruptly Nanny moved, spinning slightly as her treads gripped the floor and

turned her around. One of her side doors opened. A long metal rod shot out.

Playfully, Nanny caught Bobby's arm with her grapple and drew him to her. She

perched him on her back. Bobby's legs straddled the metal hull. He kicked with

his heels excitedly, jumping up and down.

"Race you around the block!" Jean shouted. "Giddup!" Bobby cried. Nanny moved

away, out of the room with him. A great round bug of whirring metal and relays,

clicking photocells and tubes. Jean ran beside her. There was silence. The

parents were alone again. "Isn't she amazing?" Mrs. Fields said. "Of course,

robots are a common sight these days. Certainly more so than a few years ago.

You see them everywhere you go, behind counters in stores, driving buses,

digging ditches—"

"But Nanny is different," Tom Fields murmured.

"She's—she's not like a machine. She's like a person. A living person. But after

all, she's much more complex than any other kind. She has to be. They say she's

even more intricate than the kitchen."

"We certainly paid enough for her," Tom said.

"Yes," Mary Fields murmured. "She's very much like a living creature." There was

a strange note in her voice. "Very much so."

"She sure takes care of the kids," Tom said, returning to his newspaper.

"But I'm worried." Mary put her coffee cup down, frowning. They were eating

dinner. It was late. The two children had been sent up to bed. Mary touched her

mouth with her napkin. "Tom, I'm worried. I wish you'd listen to me."

Tom Fields blinked. "Worried? What about?"

"About her. About Nanny."

"Why?"

"I—I don't know."

"You mean we're going to have to repair her again? We just got through fixing

her. What is it this time? If those kids didn't get her to—"

"It's not that." "What, then?"

For a long time his wife did not answer. Abruptly she got up from the table and

walked across the room to the stairs. She peered up, staring into the darkness.

Tom watched her, puzzled.

"What's the matter?"

"I want to be sure she can't hear us."

"She? Nanny?"

Mary came toward him. "Tom, I woke up last night again. Because of the sounds. I

heard them again, the same sounds, the sounds I heard before. And you told me it

didn't mean anything!"

Tom gestured. "It doesn't. What does it mean?"

"I don't know. That's what worries me. But after we're all asleep she comes

downstairs. She leaves their room. She slips down the stairs as quietly as she

can, as soon as she's sure we're all asleep."

"But why?"

"I don't know! Last night I heard her going down, slithering down the stairs, as

quiet as a mouse. I heard her moving around down here. And then-"

"Then what?"

"Tom, then I heard her go out the back door. Out, outside the house. She went

into the back yard. That was all I heard for awhile."

Tom rubbed his jaw. "Go on."

"I listened. I sat up in bed. You were asleep, of course. Sound asleep. No use

trying to wake you. I got up and went to the window. I lifted the shade and

looked out. She was out there, out in the back yard."

"What was she doing?"

"I don't know." Mary Fields's face was lined with worry. "I don't know! What in

the world _would_ a Nanny be doing outside at night, in the back yard?"

It was dark. Terribly dark. But the infrared filter clicked into place, and the

darkness vanished. The metal shape moved forward, easing through the kitchen,

its treads half-retracted for greatest quiet. It came to the back door and

halted, listening.

There was no sound. The house was still. They were all asleep upstairs. Sound

asleep.

The Nanny pushed, and the back door opened. It moved out onto the porch, letting

the door close gently behind it. The night air was thin and cold. And full of

smells, all the strange, tingling smells of the night, when spring has begun to

change into summer, when the ground is still moist and the hot July sun has not

had a chance to kill all the little growing things.

The Nanny went down the steps, onto the cement path. Then it moved cautiously

onto the lawn, the wet blades of grass slapping its sides. After a time it

stopped, rising up on its back treads. Its front part jutted up into the air.

Its eye stalks stretched, rigid and taut, waving very slightly. Then it settled

back down and continued its motion forward.

It was just going around the peach tree, coming back toward the house, when the

noise came.

It stopped instantly, alert. Its side doors fell away and its grapples ran out

their full lengths, lithe and wary. On the other side of the board fence, beyond

the row of shasta daisies, something had stirred. The Nanny peered, clicking

filters rapidly. Only a few faint stars winked in the sky overhead. But it saw,

and that was enough.

On the other side of the fence a second Nanny was moving, making its way softly

through the flowers, coming toward the fence. It was trying to make as little

noise as possible. Both Nannies stopped, suddenly unmoving, regarding each

other—the green Nanny waiting in its own yard, the blue prowler that had been

coming toward the fence.

The blue prowler was a larger Nanny, built to manage two young boys. Its sides

were dented and warped from use, but its grapples were still strong and

powerful. In addition to the usual reinforced plates across its nose there was a

gouge of tough steel, a jutting jaw that was already sliding into position,

ready and able.

Mecho-Products, its manufacturer, had lavished attention on this jaw-

construction. It was their trademark, their unique feature. Their ads, their

brochures, stressed the massive frontal scoop mounted on all their models. And

there was an optional assist: a cutting edge, power-driven, that at extra cost

could easily be installed in their "Luxury-line" models.

This blue Nanny was so equipped.

Moving cautiously ahead, the blue Nanny reached the fence. It stopped and

carefully inspected the boards. They were thin and rotted, put up a long time

ago. It pushed its hard head against the wood. The fence gave, splintering and

ripping. At once the green Nanny rose on its back treads, its grapples leaping

out. A fierce joy filled it, a bursting excitement. The wild frenzy of battle.

The two closed, rolling silently on the ground, their grapples locked. Neither

made any noise, the blue Mecho-Products Nanny nor the smaller, lighter, pale-

green Service Industries, Inc., Nanny. On and on they fought, hugged tightly

together, the great jaw trying to push underneath, into the soft treads. And the

green Nanny trying to hook its metal point into the eyes that gleamed fitfully

against its side. The green Nanny had the disadvantage of being a medium-priced

model; it was outclassed and outweighed. But it fought grimly, furiously.

On and on they struggled, rolling in the wet soil. Without sound of any kind.

Performing the wrathful, ultimate task for which each had been designed.

"I can't imagine," Mary Fields murmured, shaking her head. "I just don't know."

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TheBookofPhilipK.DickPhilipK.DickeVersion1.0/trc©1952-1955TENTHPRINTINGDEDICATIONToLeslieBusby:Thelittleblack-hairedgirlIlovesomuchTableofContentsNANNYTHETURNINGWHEELTHEDEFENDERSADJUSTMENTTEAMPSI-MANTHECOMMUTERAPRESENTFORPATBREAKFASTATTWILIGHTSHELLGAMENANNY"WHENIlookback,"MaryFieldssaid,"Imarvelthat...

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The Book Of Philip K Dick (1973)

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