Our Friends From Frolix 8 by Philip K. Dick
‘Is that part of the ritual of taking alcohol?’ Nick asked.
Gram smiled. ‘We’ll drink to a girl that wrestled herself loose from four six-foot-tall MPs.’ He was silent a moment, not drinking. Nick, too, held his cup without lifting it. ‘To a better planet,’ Gram said, and drank the cupful down. ‘To a planet where we won’t need our friends from Frolix 8.’
‘I won’t drink to that,’ Nick said; he set his cup down.
‘Well, then just drink! Find out what Scotch tastes like! The finest of the whiskies!’ Gram stared at him in bewilderment and resentment… the latter grew until his face was dark red. ‘Don’t you realize what you’re being offered? You’ve lost your perspective on things.’ He pounded angrily on the walnut surface of his mighty wooden desk. ‘This whole thing has made you lose your values! We have to—’
‘The special squib is ready, Council Chairman,’ the intercom said. ‘On the roof field at port 5.’
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘What about voice contact? I can’t go until I get voice contact and establish that I’m not going to do them any harm. Switch off the laser beams. Both of them.’
‘Sir?’
He repeated his order. Hurriedly.
‘Yes sir,’ the intercom said. ‘And we’ll continue to try for voice contact. Meanwhile, we’ll hold your ship ready.’
Picking up the bottle, Gram poured himself more Scotch.
‘I can’t understand you, Appleton,’ he said to Nick. ‘You come here — what for, in God’s name? You’re injured but you refuse—’
‘Maybe that’s why I came here,’ Nick said. ‘“In God’s name.” As you put it.’ To stare you down, he thought, until you are ready to die. Because you and those like you must pass away; you must make room for what is coming. For what we are going to do. Our projects, instead of such semi-psychotic constructs as the Great Ear.
The Great Ear — what a superb device for a government to own, to help keep everyone in line. Too bad it’ll never be completed, he thought. We will see to that, although Provoni and his friend already have. But we will make it final.
‘We have video and audio contact, Council Chairman,’ the intercom said. ‘Line 5.’
Gram picked up the red v-fone, said, ‘Hello, Mr. Provoni.’
On the screen appeared Provoni’s rugged, bony face with its shadows, its furrows, its crags and pits… his eyes held in them the absolute emptiness which Nick had felt during the moment the probe passed through him… but the eyes held more: they gleamed animal-like, eyes of a breathing, willful, intense creature that strove and sought for what it wanted. An animal which had burst out of its cage. Strong eyes, set in a strong face, tired as it obviously was.
‘I think it would be a good thing for you to come up here,’ Gram said. ‘You’ve done vast harm; rather the irresponsible organism with you has done vast harm. Thousands of men and women, important in the government and industry and in the sciences—’
‘We should meet,’ Provoni interrupted hoarsely, ‘but it would be difficult for my friend to move himself so far.’
‘We shut off the laser beams as an act of good faith,’ Gram said, with tension, his eyes unblinking.
‘Yes, thank you for the laser beams.’ Provoni’s rock-like face split open to disclose a stubbled smile. ‘Without that energy source, he would have been unable to do his task. At least unable to right away. Over a few months — well, it would eventually have been accomplished; our work would have been done.’
‘Are you serious?’ Gram asked, ashen. ‘About the laser beams?’
‘Yes. He converted the energy of the laser system; it revitalized him.’
Gram turned away from the fone screen for a moment, evidently to get control of himself.
‘Are you all right, Council Chairman?’ Provoni asked.
Gram said, ‘Here you could shave, bathe, get a rubdown, a physical examination, rest for a time… and then we could confer.’
‘You will come here,’ Provoni said calmly.
After a pause Gram said, ‘All right. I’ll be there in forty minutes. Do you guarantee my safety and my freedom to leave?’
‘Your “safety”,’ Provoni echoed. He shook his head. ‘You still don’t comprehend the magnitude of what’s happened. Yes, I’ll be glad to guarantee your safety. You’ll leave in the state you arrived, at least as far as our actions are concerned. If you have a coronary seizure—’
‘All right,’ Gram said.
And so, in a matter of one minute, Willis Gram had capitulated his position entirely; it was he who went to Provoni, not the other way around… nor even to a neutral, middle point, divided equally between them. And it was a necessary, rational decision; he had no other choice.
‘But there will be no coronary seizure,’ Gram said. ‘I am ready to face anything necessary. Any condition that has to be met. Off.’ He hung up the fone. ‘Do you know what haunts me, Appleton? The fear that other Frolixans might come, that this might be only the first.’
‘No more are needed,’ Nick said.
‘But if they want to take over Earth—’
‘They don’t want to.’
‘They have. In a way. Already.’
‘But this is it. There won’t be any more damage done. Provoni has what he wants.’
‘Suppose they don’t care about Provoni and “what he wants”. Suppose—’
One of the black troopers said, ‘Sir, to reach Times Square in forty minutes — we should start now.’ He had braid on him: a pisser of high rank.
Grunting, Gram picked up a heavy woolex greatcoat and tugged it on over his shoulders. One of the troopers assisted him. ‘This man,’ Gram said, indicating Nick, ‘is to be taken to the infirmary and given medical treatment.’ He inclined his head, and two of the troopers approached Nick, menacingly, their eyes weak and yet intense.
‘Council Chairman,’ Nick said, ‘I have a favor to ask. Can I see Amos Ild for a time, before I go to the infirmary?’
‘Why?’ Gram asked, as he started toward the door with the two other black troopers.
‘I just want to talk to him. See him. Try to understand all this, all that’s happened to the New Men, by seeing him. Seeing him on the level he now—’
‘Cretin level,’ Gram said harshly. ‘You don’t want to come with me when I meet Provoni? You could express the wishes of—’ He gestured. ‘Barnes said you were representative.’
‘Provoni knows what I want — what everyone wants. What happens between you and him will be simple: you will resign your office and he will take on the office in your place. The Civil Service system will be radically revised; many positions will be elective, rather than appointive. Camps will be set up for the New Men where they will be happy; we have to think of them, their helplessness. That’s why I want to see Amos Ild.’
‘Then go do that.’ Gram nodded to the two troopers, one on each side of Nick. ‘You know where Ild is — take him there, and when he’s finished, then the infirmary.’
‘Thanks,’ Nick said.
Lingering, Gram asked, ‘Is she really dead?’
‘Yes,’ Nick said.
‘I’m sorry.’ Gram held out his hand, to shake. Nick declined it. ‘You were the one I wanted to see dead,’ Gram said. ‘Now — hell, now it doesn’t matter. Well, I’ve finally untangled my personal life from my public life; my personal life is over.’
‘As you said,’ Nick said icily, ‘“there’s a million little bitches like her crawling this world.”’
‘That’s right,’ Gram said stonily. ‘I did say that.’
He set off, then, with his two guards. The door slid shut after him.
‘Come along,’ one of the two remaining black pissers said.
‘I will come at the rate I feel like,’ he said; his arm hurt violently and he was beginning to feel sick at his stomach. Gram was right – he would have to go downstairs to the infirmary very soon.
But not until he saw, with his own eyes, Amos Ild. The highest intellect bor
‘In here.’ One of the guards indicated a door which was guarded by a PSS occifer wearing regulation green. ‘Step aside,’ the black pisser said.
‘I’m not authorized to—’
The black trooper lifted his gun. As if to hit him with it.
‘Whatever you say,’ the occifer in green said, and stepped aside.
Nicholas Appleton entered the room.
TWENTY-SEVEN
In the center of the room sat Amos Ild, his great head held in place by the collar of metal spokes. He had surrounded himself with a variety of objects: paperclips, pens, paperweights, rulers, erasers, sheets of paper, cartons, magazines, abstracts… he had torn pages out of the magazines, crumpled them up and tossed them away. Now, at this moment, he was drawing on a piece of paper.
Nick came over. Stick men, a huge circle in the sky which represented the sun.
‘Do the people like the sun?’ he asked Amos Ild.
Ild said, ‘It makes them warm.’
‘So they go out into it?’
‘Yes.’ Amos Ild drew on another sheet, now, tired of that one. He drew what appeared to be an animal.
‘A horse?’ Nick asked. ‘A dog? It’s got four legs; is it a bear? A cat?’
Amos Ild said, ‘It’s me.’
Pain constricted Nick Appleton’s heart.
‘I have a burrow,’ Ild said, drawing a flattened, irregular circle, low down, with a brown crayon. ‘It’s there.’ He placed his large finger over the flattened brown circle. ‘I go inside it when it rains. I keep warm.’
Nick said, ‘We’ll make you a burrow. Exactly like that.’
Smiling, Amos Ild crumpled up the drawing.
‘What are you going to be,’ Nick asked, ‘when you grow up?’
‘I am grown-up,’ Ild said.
‘What are you, then?’
Ild hesitated. Then he said, ‘I build things. Look.’ He got up from the floor, his head swaying ominously… God, Nick thought, it’ll snap his spine. Proudly, he showed Nick the network of paperweights and rulers which he had built.
‘Very nice,’ Nick said.
‘If you take one weight away,’ Ild said, ‘it collapses.’ A mischievous expression appeared on his face. ‘I’m going to take a piece away.’
‘But you don’t want it to fall down.’
Amos Ild, towering above Nick, dominating with his huge head and its elaborate support, said, ‘What are you?’
‘I’m a tire regroover,’ Nick said.
‘Is a tire what a squib has on it that goes around and around?’
‘Right,’ Nick said. ‘The squib lands on it. On them.’
‘Could I do that, sometime? Be a—’ Ild hesitated.
‘A tire regroover,’ Nick said with patience. He felt calm. ‘It’s a very bad job. I don’t think you’d enjoy it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because, you see, there are treads on the tires… and you dig them deeper so it looks like there’s more rubber than there is, but the person who buys it might have a flat tire because of that. And then they might have an accident, and be hurt, too.’
‘You’re hurt,’ Ild said.
‘My arm’s broken.’
‘Then you must hurt.’
‘Not exactly. It’s paralyzed. I’m still in shock, somewhat.’
The door opened and one of the black troopers looked in, his narrow eyes taking in the scene.
‘Could you bring me a morphine tablet from the dispensary?’ Nick asked him. ‘My arm—’ He indicated it.
‘Okay, fella,’ the trooper said, and departed.
‘It must really hurt bad,’ Amos Ild said.
‘Not so bad. Don’t worry about it, Mr. Ild.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Mr. Appleton. Nick Appleton. Call me Nick and I’ll call you Amos.’
‘No.’ Amos Ild said. ‘We don’t know each other that well. I’ll call you Mr. Appleton and you call me Mr. Ild. I’m thirty-four, you know. Next month I’ll be thirty-five.’
‘And you’ll get lots of presents,’ Nick said.
Ild said, ‘I just want one thing. I want—’ He became silent. ‘There’s an empty place in my mind; I wish it would go away. It didn’t used to be there.’
‘The Great Ear,’ Nick said. ‘Do you remember that? Building that?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Ild said. ‘I did that. It’s going to hear everyone’s thoughts and then’ – a pause – ‘we can put people into camps. Relocation camps.’
‘Is that nice to do?’ Nick asked.
‘I – don’t know.’ Ild put his hands to his temples and shut his eyes. ‘What are other people? Maybe there aren’t any others; maybe they’re make-believe. Like you – maybe I made you up. Maybe I can make you do anything I want.’
‘What would you want me to do?’ Nick asked.
‘Pick me up,’ Amos Ild said. ‘I like to be picked up and then there’s a game – you spin around, holding me by my hands. And cen – trifugal force —’ He stumbled over the word, gave up. ‘You make me fly out horizon—’ Again he stumbled. ‘Could you pick me up?’ he asked plaintively, looking down at Nick.
‘I can’t, Mr. Ild,’ Nick said. ‘Because of my broken arm.’
‘Thank you, anyway,’ Amos Ild said. He shuffled meditatively over to the window of the room, gazed out at the night sky. ‘Stars,’ he said. ‘People go there. Mr. Provoni went there.’
‘Yes,’ Nick said. ‘He certainly did.’
‘Is Mr. Provoni a nice man?’
Nick said, ‘He is a man who did what had to be done. No, he isn’t a nice man – he’s a mean man. But he wanted to help.’
‘Is that good, to help?’
‘Most people think so,’ Nick said.
‘Mr. Appleton,’ Amos Ild asked, ‘do you have a mother?’
‘No, not living.’
‘I don’t either. Do you have a wife?’
‘Not really. Not anymore.’
‘Mr. Appleton, do you have a girl friend?’
‘No,’ he said, harshly.
‘Did she die?’
‘Yes.’
‘Just a little while ago?’
‘Yes,’ he grated.
‘You must get a new one,’ Amos Ild said.
‘Really?’ he asked. ‘I don’t think so – I don’t think I ever want a girl friend again.’
‘You need one that’ll worry about you.’
‘This one worried about me. It killed her.’
‘How wonderful,’ Amos Ild said.
‘Why?’ Nick stared at him.
‘Think how much she loved you. Imagine anybody loving you that much. I wish someone loved me that much.’
‘Is that important?’ Nick asked. ‘Is that what it’s all about, instead of invasions by aliens, the destruction of ten million superlative brains, the transfer of political power – all power – by an elite group—’
‘I don’t understand those things,’ Amos Ild said. ‘I just know how it’s wonderful, someone loving you that much. And if someone loved you that much, you must be worth loving, so pretty soon someone else will love you that way, too, and you’ll love them the same way. Do you see?’
‘I think so,’ Nick said.
‘Nothing exceeds that, where if a man gives his life for a friend,’ Amos Ild said. ‘I wish I could do that.’ He pondered, seated, now, on a swivel chair. ‘Mr. Appleton,’ he asked, ‘are there other grown-ups like me?’
‘Like you in what way?’ he asked, stalling.
‘That can’t think. That have an empty place there.’ He placed his hand on his forehead.
‘Yes,’ Nick said.
‘Will one of them love me?’
‘Yes.’ Nick said.
The door opened; there stood the black trooper with a paper cup of water and a morphine tablet. ‘Five more minutes, fella,’ the trooper said, ‘and then you’re going to the infirmary.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, taking the pill at once.
‘There’ll be camps for them,’ Nick said. ‘Where they can relate on their own level. Instead of trying to be like us.’
The trooper grunted, shut the door after him.
‘Isn’t black the color of death?’ Ild asked.
‘It is, yes,’ Nick said.
‘Then are they death?’
‘Yes,’ Nick said. ‘But they won’t hurt you.’
‘I wasn’t afraid they’d hurt me; I was thinking that you already have a broken arm and maybe they did that.’
‘A girl did that,’ Nick said. ‘A short, snub-nosed little gutter rat. A girl I’d sell my life – make all this unhappen – for. But it’s too late.’
‘She’s your girl friend who died?’
He nodded.
Amos Ild took a black crayon and drew. Nick watched as stick figures emerged. A man, a woman. And a black, four-legged, sheep-headed animal. And a black sun, a black landscape with black houses and squibs.
‘All black?’ Nick asked. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know,’ Amos Ild said.
‘Is it good that they’re all black?’
After a pause, Amos Ild said, ‘Wait.’ He scribbled over the picture, then tore the paper into strips, wadded them up and threw them away. ‘I can’t think anymore,’ he complained peevishly.
‘But we’re not all black, are we?’ Nick asked. ‘Tell me that, and then you can stop thinking.’
‘I guess the girl is all black. And you’re partly black, like your arm and parts inside you, but I guess the rest isn’t.’
‘Thank you,’ Nick said, standing dizzily up. ‘I think I’d better be going to go see the doctor now,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you later.’
‘No you won’t,’ Amos Ild said.
‘I won’t? Why not?’
‘Because you found out what you wanted. You wanted me to draw the Earth and show you what color it is, if it’s black especially.’ Taking a piece of paper he drew a large circle – in green. ‘It’s alive,’ he said. And smiled at Nick.