The Philip K. Dick Megapack Read Free Page A

defeats of your job. Your whole life.”
    “Personally, I don’t give a damn about the newspaper.” Miller examined his wristwatch. “I’m going—it’s almost noon. Old man Davidson will be yelling his head off if I’m not at the office by—” He broke off. “There it is again.”
    “There what is?”
    “All this!” Miller gestured impatiently out the window. “This whole place. This damn world. This exhibition .”
    “I have a thought,” Doctor Grunberg said slowly. “I’ll put it to you for what it’s worth. Feel free to reject it if it doesn’t fit.” He raised his shrewd, professional eyes. “Ever see kids playing with rocketships?”
    “Lord,” Miller said wretchedly. “I’ve seen commercial rocket freighters hauling cargo between Earth and Jupiter, landing at La Guardia Spaceport.”
    Grunberg smiled slightly. “Follow me through on this. A question. Is it job tension?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “It would be nice,” Grunberg said blandly, “to live in the world of tomorrow. With robots and rocketships to do all the work. You could just sit back and take it easy. No worries, no cares. No frustrations.”
    “My position in the History Agency has plenty of cares and frustrations.” Miller rose abruptly. “Look, Grunberg. Either this is an exhibit on R level of the History Agency, or I’m a middle-class businessman with an escape fantasy. Right now I can’t decide which. One minute I think this is real, and the next minute—”
    “We can decide easily,” Grunberg said.
    “How?”
    “You were looking for the newspaper. Down the path, onto the lawn. Where did it happen? Was it on the path? On the porch? Try to remember.”
    “I don’t have to try. I was still on the sidewalk. I had just jumped over the rail past the safety screens.”
    “On the sidewalk. Then go back there. Find the exact place.”
    “Why?”
    “So you can prove to yourself there’s nothing on the other side.”
    Miller took a deep, slow breath. “Suppose there is?”
    “There can’t be. You said yourself: only one of the worlds can be real. This world is real—” Grunberg thumped his massive mahogany desk. “Ergo, you won’t find anything on the other side.”
    “Yes,” Miller said, after a moment’s silence. A peculiar expression cut across his face and stayed there. “You’ve found the mistake.”
    “What mistake?” Grunberg was puzzled. “What—”
    Miller moved toward the door of the office. “I’m beginning to get it. I’ve been putting up a false question. Trying to decide which world is real.” He grinned humorlessly back at Doctor Grunberg. “They’re both real, of course.”
    * * * *
    He grabbed a taxi and headed back to the house. No one was home. The boys were in school, and Marjorie had gone downtown to shop. He waited indoors until he was sure nobody was watching along the street, and then started down the path to the sidewalk.
    He found the spot without any trouble. There was a faint shimmer in the air, a weak place just at the edge of the parking strip. Through it he could see faint shapes.
    He was right. There is was—complete and real. As real as the sidewalk under him.
    A long metallic bar was cut off by the edges of the circle. He recognized it: the safety railing he had leaped over to enter the exhibit. Beyond it was the safety screen system. Turned off, of course. And beyond that, the rest of the level and the far walls of the History building.
    He took a cautious step into the weak haze. It shimmered around him, misty and oblique. The shapes beyond became clearer. A moving figure in a dark blue robe. Some curious person examining the exhibits. The figure moved on and was lost. He could see his own work desk, now. His tape scanner and heaps of study spools. Beside the desk was his briefcase, exactly where he had expected it.
    While he was considering stepping over the railing to get the briefcase, Fleming appeared.
    Some inner instinct made Miller step back through