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

you again before you go. Maybe if you feel well enough later on we could get together for one last talk. Maybe have dinner together sometime. Eh?”

      But Thomas Cole wasn’t listening. He was bent over the schematics, an intense frown on his weathered face. His long fingers moved restlessly over the schematics, tracing wiring and terminals. His lips moved as he calculated.

      Sherikov waited a moment. Then he stepped out into the hall and softly closed the door after him.

      He whistled merrily as he strode off down the corridor.

      Adjustment Team

       Table of Contents

       SOMETHING WENT WRONG...AND ED FLETCHER GOT MIXED UP IN THE BIGGEST THING IN HIS LIFE.

      It was bright morning. The sun shone down on the damp lawns and sidewalks, reflecting off the sparkling parked cars. The Clerk came walking hurriedly, leafing through his instructions, flipping pages and frowning. He stopped in front of the small green stucco house for a moment, and then turned up the walk, entering the back yard.

      The dog was asleep inside his shed, his back turned to the world. Only his thick tail showed.

      "For Heaven's sake," the Clerk exclaimed, hands on his hips. He tapped his mechanical pencil noisily against his clipboard. "Wake up, you in there."

      The dog stirred. He came slowly out of his shed, head first, blinking and yawning in the morning sunlight. "Oh, it's you. Already?" He yawned again.

      "Big doings." The Clerk ran his expert finger down the traffic-control sheet. "They're adjusting Sector T137 this morning. Starting at exactly nine o'clock." He glanced at his pocket watch. "Three hour alteration. Will finish by noon."

      "T137? That's not far from here."

      The Clerk's lips twisted in contempt. "Indeed. You're showing astonishing perspicacity, my black-haired friend. Maybe you can divine why I'm here."

      "We overlap with T137."

      "Exactly. Elements from this sector are involved. We must make sure they're properly placed when adjustment begins." The Clerk glanced toward the small green stucco house. "Your particular task concerns the man in there. He is employed by a business establishment lying within Sector T137. It's essential he be there before nine o'clock.

      The dog studied the house. The shades had been let up. The kitchen light was on. Beyond the lace curtains dim shapes could be seen, stirring around the table. A man and woman. They were drinking coffee.

      "There they are," the dog murmured. "The man, you say? He's not going to be harmed, is he?"

      "Of course not. But he must be at his office early. Usually he doesn't leave until after nine. Today he must leave at eight-thirty. He must be within Sector T137 before the process begins, or he won't be altered to coincide with the new adjustment."

      The dog sighed. "That means I have to summon."

      "Correct." The Clerk checked his instruction sheet. "You're to summon at precisely eight-fifteen. You've got that? Eight-fifteen. No later."

      "What will an eight-fifteen summons bring?"

      The Clerk flipped open his instruction book, examining the code columns. "It will bring A Friend with a Car. To drive him to work early." He closed the book and folded his arms, preparing to wait. "That way he'll get to his office almost an hour ahead of time. Which is vital."

      "Vital," the dog murmured. He lay down, half inside his shed. His eyes closed. "Vital."

      "Wake up! This must be done exactly on time. If you summon too soon or too late—"

      The dog nodded sleepily. "I know. I'll do it right. I always do it right."

      Ed Fletcher poured more cream in his coffee. He sighed, leaning back in his chair. Behind him the oven hissed softly, filling the kitchen with warm fumes. The yellow overhead light beamed down.

      "Another roll?" Ruth asked.

      "I'm full." Ed sipped his coffee. "You can have it."

      "Have to go." Ruth got to her feet, unfastening her robe. "Time to go to work."

      "Already?"

      "Sure. You lucky bum! Wish I could sit around." Ruth moved toward the bathroom, running her fingers through her long black hair. "When you work for the Government you start early."

      "But you get off early," Ed pointed out. He unfolded the Chronicle, examining the sporting green. "Well, have a good time today. Don't type any wrong words, any double-entendres."

      The bathroom door closed, as Ruth shed her robe and began dressing.

      Ed yawned and glanced up at the clock over the sink. Plenty of time. Not even eight. He sipped more coffee and then rubbed his stubbled chin. He would have to shave. He shrugged lazily. Ten minutes, maybe.

      Ruth came bustling out in her nylon slip, hurrying into the bedroom. "I'm late." She rushed rapidly around, getting into her blouse and skirt, her stockings, her little white shoes. Finally she bent over and kissed him. "Goodbye, honey. I'll do the shopping tonight."

      "Goodbye." Ed lowered his newspaper and put his arm around his wife's trim waist, hugging her affectionately. "You smell nice. Don't flirt with the boss."

      Ruth ran out the front door, clattering down the steps. He heard the click of her heels diminish down the sidewalk.

      She was gone. The house was silent. He was alone.

      Ed got to his feet, pushing his chair back. He wandered lazily into the bathroom and got his razor down. Eight-ten. He washed his face, rubbing it down with shaving cream, and began to shave. He shaved leisurely. He had plenty of time.

      The Clerk bent over his round pocket watch, licking his lips nervously. Sweat stood out on his forehead. The second hand ticked on. Eight-fourteen. Almost time.

      "Get ready!" the Clerk snapped. He tensed, his small body rigid. "Ten seconds to go!"

      "Time!" the Clerk cried.

      Nothing happened.

      The Clerk turned, eyes wide with horror. From the little shed a thick black tail showed. The dog had gone back to sleep.

      "TIME!" the Clerk shrieked. He kicked wildly at the furry rump. "In the name of God—"

      The dog stirred. He thumped around hastily, backing out of the shed. "My goodness." Embarrassed, he made his way quickly to the fence. Standing up on his hind paws, he opened his mouth wide. "Woof!" he summoned. He glanced apologetically at the Clerk. "I beg your pardon. I can't understand how—"

      The Clerk gazed fixedly down at his watch. Cold terror knotted his stomach. The hands showed eight-sixteen. "You failed," he grated. "You failed! You miserable flea-bitten rag-bag of a wornout old mutt! You failed!"

      The dog dropped and came anxiously back. "I failed, you say? You mean the summons time was—?"

      "You summoned too late." The Clerk put his watch away slowly, a glazed expression on his face. "You summoned too late. We won't get A Friend with a Car. There's no telling what will come instead. I'm afraid to see what eight-sixteen brings."

      "I hope he'll be in Sector T137 in time."

      "He won't," the Clerk wailed. "He won't be there. We've made a mistake. We've made things go wrong!"

      Ed was rinsing the shaving cream from his face when the muffled sound of the dog's bark echoed through the silent house.

      "Damn," Ed muttered. "Wake up the whole block." He dried his face, listening. Was somebody coming?

      A vibration. Then—

      The doorbell rang.

      Ed came out of the bathroom. Who could it be? Had Ruth forgotten something?