The Book of Philip K Dick (1973) Read Free

chunks—” He indicated the dented anterior hull-sections. “I’d guess it was one of Mecho’s new jaw-models.”
    Tom Fields’s blood stopped moving in his veins. “Then this isn’t new to you,” he said softly, his chest constricting. “This goes on all the time.”
    “Well, Mecho just put out that jaw-model. It’s not half bad … costs about twice what this model ran. Of course,” the serviceman added thoughtfully, “we have an equivalent. We can match their best, and for less money.”
    Keeping his voice as calm as possible, Tom said: “I want this one fixed. I’m not getting another.”
    “I’ll do what I can. But it won’t be the same as it was. The damage goes pretty deep. I’d advise you to trade it in—you can get damn near what you paid. With the new models coming out in a month or so, the salesmen are eager as hell to—”
    “Let me get this straight.” Shakily, Tom Fields lit up a cigarette. “You people really don’t want to fix these, do you? You want to sell brand-new ones, when these break down.” He eyed the repairman intently. “Break down, or are knocked down.”
    The repairman shrugged. “It seems like a waste of time to fix it up. It’s going to get finished off, anyhow, soon.” He kicked the misshapen green hull with his boot. “This model is around three years old. Mister, it’s obsolete.”
    “Fix it up,” Tom grated. He was beginning to see the whole picture; his self-control was about to snap. “I’m not getting a new one! I want this one fixed!”
    “Sure,” the serviceman said, resigned. He began making out a work-order sheet. “We’ll do our best. But don’t expect miracles.”
    While Tom Fields was jerkily signing his name to the sheet, two more damaged Nannies were brought into the repair building.
    “When can I get it back?” he demanded.
    “It’ll take a couple of days,” the mechanic said, nodding toward the rows of semi-repaired Nannies behind him. “As you can see,” he added leisurely, “we’re pretty well full-up.”
    “I’ll wait,” Tom said tautly. “Even if it takes a month.”
    “Let’s go to the park!” Jean cried.
    So they went to the park.
    It was a lovely day, with the sun shining down hotly and the grass and flowers blowing in the wind. The two children strolled along the gravel path, breathing the warm-scented air, taking deep breaths and holding the presence of roses and hydrangeas and orange blossoms inside them as long as possible. They passed through a swaying grove of dark, rich cedars. The ground was soft with mold underfoot, the velvet, moist fur of a living world beneath their feet. Beyond the cedars, where the sun returned and the blue sky flashed back into being, a great green lawn stretched out.
    Behind them Nanny came, trudging slowly, her treads clicking noisily. The dragging grapple had been repaired, and a new optic unit had been installed in place of the damaged one. But the smooth coordination of the old days was lacking; and the clean-cut lines of her hull had not been restored. Occasionally she halted, and the two children halted, too, waiting impatiently for her to catch up with them.
    “What’s the matter, Nanny?” Bobby asked her.
    “Something’s wrong with her,” Jean complained. “She’s been all funny since last Wednesday. Real slow and funny. And she was gone, for awhile.”
    “She was in the repair shop,” Bobby announced. “I guess she got sort of tired. She’s old, Daddy says. I heard him and Mommy talking.”
    A little sadly they continued on, with Nanny painfully following. Now they had come to benches placed here and there on the lawn, with people languidly dozing in the sun. On the grass lay a young man, a newspaper over his face, his coat rolled up under his head. They crossed carefully around him, so as not to step on him.
    “There’s the lake!” Jean shouted, her spirits returning.
    The great field of grass sloped gradually down, lower and lower. At the far end, the