The Greatest Science Fiction Works of Philip K. Dick. Филип Дик

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       Philip K. Dick

      The Greatest Science Fiction Works of Philip K. Dick

      Second Variety, The Variable Man, Adjustment Team, The Eyes Have It, The Unreconstructed M…

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      2018 OK Publishing

      ISBN 978-80-272-4366-2

      Table of Contents

       Second Variety

       The Variable Man

       Adjustment Team

       The Hanging Stranger

       The Eyes Have It

       The Skull

       Mr. Spaceship

       Beyond The Door

       Beyond Lies The Wub

       The Golden Man

       The Gun

       The Defenders

       Tony and the Beetles

       The Crystal Crypt

       Upon the Dull Earth

       Piper in the Woods

       Of Withered Apples

       The Unreconstructed M

       The Turning Wheel

       The Last of the Masters

       James P. Crow

       Prominent Author

       Small Town

       Survey Team

       Sales Pitch

       Breakfast at Twilight

       The Crawlers

       Exhibit Piece

       Meddler

       Souvenir

       Progeny

       Strange Eden

       Human Is

       Foster, You're Dead

      Second Variety

       Table of Contents

      The claws were bad enough in the first place—nasty, crawling little death-robots. But when they began to imitate their creators, it was time for the human race to make peace—if it could!

      The Russian soldier made his way nervously up the ragged side of the hill, holding his gun ready. He glanced around him, licking his dry lips, his face set. From time to time he reached up a gloved hand and wiped perspiration from his neck, pushing down his coat collar.

      Eric turned to Corporal Leone. “Want him? Or can I have him?” He adjusted the view sight so the Russian’s features squarely filled the glass, the lines cutting across his hard, somber features.

      Leone considered. The Russian was close, moving rapidly, almost running. “Don’t fire. Wait.” Leone tensed. “I don’t think we’re needed.”

      The Russian increased his pace, kicking ash and piles of debris out of his way. He reached the top of the hill and stopped, panting, staring around him. The sky was overcast, drifting clouds of gray particles. Bare trunks of trees jutted up occasionally; the ground was level and bare, rubble-strewn, with the ruins of buildings standing out here and there like yellowing skulls.

      The Russian was uneasy. He knew something was wrong. He started down the hill. Now he was only a few paces from the bunker. Eric was getting fidgety. He played with his pistol, glancing at Leone.

      “Don’t worry,” Leone said. “He won’t get here. They’ll take care of him.”

      “Are you sure? He’s got damn far.”

      “They hang around close to the bunker. He’s getting into the bad part. Get set!”

      The Russian began to hurry, sliding down the hill, his boots sinking into the heaps of gray ash, trying to keep his gun up. He stopped for a moment, lifting his fieldglasses to his face.

      “He’s looking right at us,” Eric said.

      * * * * *

      The Russian came on. They could see his eyes, like two blue stones. His mouth was open a little. He needed a shave; his chin was stubbled. On one bony cheek was a square of tape, showing blue at the edge. A fungoid spot. His coat was muddy and torn. One glove was missing. As he ran his belt counter bounced up and down against him.

      Leone touched Eric’s arm. “Here one comes.”

      Across the ground something small and metallic came, flashing in the dull