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

the white-clad men were coming, dragging their equipment and shouting to each other, hurrying quickly after him.

      He reached the sidewalk. Behind him the office building wavered and sagged, sinking to one side, torrents of ash raining down in heaps. He raced toward the corner, the men just behind him. Gray clouds swirled around him. He groped his way across the street, hands outstretched. He gained the opposite curb—

      The sun winked on. Warm yellow sunlight streamed down on him. Cars honked. Traffic lights changed. On all sides men and women in bright spring clothes hurried and pushed: shoppers, a blue-clad cop, salesmen with briefcases. Stores, windows, signs ... noisy cars moving up and down the street ...

      And overhead was the bright sun and familiar blue sky.

      Ed halted, gasping for breath. He turned and looked back the way he had come. Across the street was the office building—as it had always been. Firm and distinct. Concrete and glass and steel.

      He stepped back a pace and collided with a hurrying citizen. "Hey," the man grunted. "Watch it."

      "Sorry." Ed shook his head, trying to clear it. From where he stood, the office building looked like always, big and solemn and substantial, rising up imposingly on the other side of the street.

      But a minute ago—

      Maybe he was out of his mind. He had seen the building crumbling into dust. Building—and people. They had fallen into gray clouds of dust. And the men in white—they had chased him. Men in white robes, shouting orders, wheeling complex equipment.

      He was out of his mind. There was no other explanation. Weakly, Ed turned and stumbled along the sidewalk, his mind reeling. He moved blindly, without purpose, lost in a haze of confusion and terror.

      The Clerk was brought into the top-level Administrative chambers and told to wait.

      He paced back and forth nervously, clasping and wringing his hands in an agony of apprehension. He took off his glasses and wiped them shakily.

      Lord. All the trouble and grief. And it wasn't his fault. But he would have to take the rap. It was his responsibility to get the Summoners routed out and their instructions followed. The miserable flea-infested Summoner had gone back to sleep—and he would have to answer for it.

      The doors opened. "All right," a voice murmured, preoccupied. It was a tired, care-worn voice. The Clerk trembled and entered slowly, sweat dripping down his neck into his celluloid collar.

      The Old Man glanced up, laying aside his book. He studied the Clerk calmly, his faded blue eyes mild—a deep, ancient mildness that made the Clerk tremble even more. He took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow.

      "I understand there was a mistake," the Old Man murmured. "In connection with Sector T137. Something to do with an element from an adjoining area."

      "That's right." The Clerk's voice was faint and husky. "Very unfortunate."

      "What exactly occurred?"

      "I started out this morning with my instruction sheets. The material relating to T137 had top priority, of course. I served notice on the Summoner in my area that an eight-fifteen summons was required."

      "Did the Summoner understand the urgency?"

      "Yes, sir." The Clerk hesitated. "But—"

      "But what?"

      The Clerk twisted miserably. "While my back was turned the Summoner crawled back in his shed and went to sleep. I was occupied, checking the exact time with my watch. I called the moment—but there was no response."

      "You called at eight-fifteen exactly?"

      "Yes, sir! Exactly eight-fifteen. But the Summoner was asleep. By the time I managed to arouse him it was eight-sixteen. He summoned, but instead of A Friend with a Car we got a—A Life Insurance Salesman." The Clerk's face screwed up with disgust. "The Salesman kept the element there until almost nine-thirty. Therefore he was late to work instead of early."

      For a moment the Old Man was silent. "Then the element was not within T137 when the adjustment began."

      "No. He arrived about ten o'clock."

      "During the middle of the adjustment." The Old Man got to his feet and paced slowly back and forth, face grim, hands behind his back. His long robe flowed out behind him. "A serious matter. During a Sector Adjustment all related elements from other Sectors must be included. Otherwise, their orientations remain out of phase. When this element entered T137 the adjustment had been in progress fifty minutes. The element encountered the Sector at its most de-energized stage. He wandered about until one of the adjustment teams met him."

      "Did they catch him?"

      "Unfortunately no. He fled, out of the Sector. Into a nearby fully energized area."

      "What—what then?"

      The Old Man stopped pacing, his lined face grim. He ran a heavy hand through his long white hair. "We do not know. We lost contact with him. We will reestablish contact soon, of course. But for the moment he is out of control."

      "What are you going to do?"

      "He must be contacted and contained. He must be brought up here. There's no other solution."

      "Up here!"

      "It is too late to de-energize him. By the time he is regained he will have told others. To wipe his mind clean would only complicate matters. Usual methods will not suffice. I must deal with this problem myself."

      "I hope he's located quickly," the Clerk said.

      "He will be. Every Watcher is alerted. Every Watcher and every Summoner." The Old Man's eyes twinkled. "Even the Clerks, although we hesitate to count on them."

      The Clerk flushed. "I'll be glad when this thing is over," he muttered.

      Ruth came tripping down the stairs and out of the building, into the hot noonday sun. She lit a cigarette and hurried along the walk, her small bosom rising and falling as she breathed in the spring air.

      "Ruth." Ed stepped up behind her.

      "Ed!" She spun, gasping in astonishment. "What are you doing away from—?"

      "Come on." Ed grabbed her arm, pulling her along. "Let's keep moving."

      "But what—?"

      "I'll tell you later." Ed's face was pale and grim. "Let's go where we can talk. In private."

      "I was going down to have lunch at Louie's. We can talk there." Ruth hurried along breathlessly. "What is it? What's happened? You look so strange. And why aren't you at work? Did you—did you get fired?"

      They crossed the street and entered a small restaurant. Men and women milled around, getting their lunch. Ed found a table in the back, secluded in a corner. "Here." He sat down abruptly. "This will do." She slid into the other chair.

      Ed ordered a cup of coffee. Ruth had salad and creamed tuna on toast, coffee and peach pie. Silently, Ed watched her as she ate, his face dark and moody.

      "Please tell me," Ruth begged.

      "You really want to know?"

      "Of course I want to know!" Ruth put her small hand anxiously on his. "I'm your wife."

      "Something happened today. This morning. I was late to work. A damn insurance man came by and held me up. I was half an hour late."

      Ruth caught her breath. "Douglas fired you."

      "No." Ed ripped a paper napkin slowly into bits. He stuffed the bits in the half-empty water glass. "I was worried as hell. I got off the bus and hurried down the street. I noticed it when I stepped up on the curb in front of the office."

      "Noticed what?"

      Ed told her. The whole works. Everything.

      When he had finished, Ruth sat back, her face white, hands trembling. "I see," she murmured. "No wonder you're upset." She drank a