The Science Fiction Anthology. Филип Дик

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СКАЧАТЬ was strange being integrated; Amos found he was aware on two levels simultaneously. While he responded normally to his external environment, a lightning inner vision saw everything in vastly greater detail. The blink of an eye, for instance, was an amazing project. Even as commands flashed out and before the muscles started to respond, extra blood was rushing into the area to nourish the working parts. Reports flowed back like battle assessments: these three muscles were on schedule; this was lagging; that was pulling too hard. An infinitesimal twinge of pain marked some minor accident, and correction began at once. A censor watched the whole operation and labeled each incoming report: trivial, do not record; trivial, do not record; trivial, do not record; worth watching, record in temporary banks; trivial, do not....

      He felt now that he could look forward to permanent health, and so far he didn’t seem to be losing his identity or becoming a moral monster (though certain previously buried urges—toward Alice Grant, for instance—were now rather embarrassingly uncovered). He was not, like Frank Barnes, inclined to slip out of the situation at once. He still felt the responsibility to make the decision.

      He carried the vial of powder and the lab records home with him, smuggled them past his wife’s garrulity (it didn’t bother him now) and hid them. He went out with her cheerfully to visit some people he didn’t like, and found himself amused at them instead of annoyed. In general, he felt buoyant, and they stayed quite late.

      When they did get home, an urgent message was waiting on the telephone recorder, and it jolted him. He grabbed up the hat and coat he’d just laid down.

      “What is it?” his wife demanded.

      “I’ve got to go down to the plant.” He hesitated; it was hard to say the words that were charged with personal significance. “The watchman found Frank Barnes dead in the laboratory.”

      “Who?”

      “Frank Barnes! My chief chemist!”

      “Oh.” She looked at him, obviously concerned only with what effect, if any, it might have on her own circumstances. “Why do you have to get mixed up in it?”

      “I’m the boss, damn it!” He left her standing there and ran for the garage.

      The police were already at the plant when he arrived. Fred’s body lay on the floor of his office, in a corner behind some file cabinets, face up.

      “What was it?” Amos asked the man from the coroner’s office, dreading the answer he expected.

      The answer wasn’t the one he expected. “Heart attack.”

      Amos wondered if they were mistaken. He looked around the office. Things weren’t disarrayed in any way; it looked as if Frank had simply lain down and died. “When did you find him?” he asked the watchman.

      “A little after one. The door was closed and the lights were out, but I heard the cat yowling in here, so I came in to let it out, and saw the body.”

      “Any family?” one of the city men asked.

      “No,” said Amos slowly, “he lived alone. I guess you might as well take him to the ... morgue. When can I call about the autopsy?”

      “Try after lunch.”

      Amos watched them carry Frank away. Then he put out the lights and closed up the laboratory. He told the watchman he’d be around for a while, and went to his office to think.

      As nearly as he knew, Frank had taken the drug less than twenty-four hours before he had. Death had come late at night, which meant Frank had been working overtime. Why? And why hadn’t he been able to save himself?

      “Not logical,” his unconscious stated firmly. “He should have felt it coming and made repairs.”

      “This whole thing’s a delusion,” said Amos dully, aloud.

      “No, it isn’t,” said a peculiar voice behind him.

      He whirled and saw the black tomcat grinning up at him. He gasped, wondering if he were completely insane, but in a flash understanding came. “Frank!”

      “Well, don’t act so surprised. I can tell that you took some yourself.”

      “Yes—but how—”

      “I thought it would be an easy life and I want to stay around here and watch things for a while. It ought to be fun.”

      “But how?”

      “I anesthetized the cat and grew a bridge into his skull. It took five hours to transfer the bulk of my personality. It’s odd, but it blended right in with his.”

      “But—your speech!”

      “I’ve made some changes. I’m omnivorous now, too, not just carnivorous—or will be in a few more hours. I can go into the hills and live on grass, or grow back into a man, or whatever I like.”

      Amos consulted his own inwardness again. “Is this possible? Can a human mind be compressed into a cat’s brain?”

      “Sure,” said Unconscious, “if you’re willing to junk all the excess.”

      He thought about it. “So you’re going to stay around and watch,” he said to the cat—no, Frank. “An intriguing idea. My family’s taken care of, and nobody’ll really miss me.”

      “Except Alice Grant,” said Frank cattily. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. The cat part of me has, I mean. And she looks back, too, when you aren’t watching.”

      “Well,” said Amos. “Hm. Maybe we can do something there too.”

      His own metamorphosis took a lot longer than five hours; he had a much bigger job of alterations to finish. It was nearly two months before he got back to the plant.

      He peered in through the window at Detrick, who’d inherited Amos’ old office. Detrick was chewing out a salesman. Amos knew what would be happening now; Derrick’s ambitious but unsound expansion would have gotten the division all tangled up. In fact, with his sharp new eyes, Amos could read part of a letter from Buffalo that lay on the desk. It was quite critical of Detrick’s margin of profit.

      The salesman Detrick had on the carpet was a good man, and Amos wondered if he was to blame for whatever it was about. Maybe Detrick was just preparing to throw him to the wolves. A man could hang on a long time like that, shifting the blame to his subordinates.

      The salesman was finally excused, and Detrick sat alone with all the frustration and selfish scheming plain on his face. No, Amos thought, I’m not going to turn this drug loose on the world for a while. Not while there are people like Detrick around.

      There were no other pigeons on the window ledge except himself and Alice; the rest had stopped coming when Amos disappeared and the feeding ended. For that matter, they tended to avoid him and Alice, possibly because of the abnormal size, especially around the head, and the other differences.

      He noticed that Alice was changing the color of her feet again. Just like a woman, he thought fondly.

      “Come on, Pigeon,” he said, “let’s go somewhere else. This tightwad Detrick СКАЧАТЬ