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

His mind spun dizzily. They were all changed. All of them were different. They had all been remolded, recast. Subtly—but it was there.

      The wastebasket. It was smaller, not the same. The window shades—white, not ivory. The wall paper was not the same pattern. The lighting fixtures...

      Endless, subtle changes.

      Ed made his way back to the inner office. He lifted his hand and knocked on Douglas' door.

      "Come in."

      Ed pushed the door open. Nathan Douglas looked up impatiently. "Mr. Douglas—" Ed began. He came into the room unsteadily—and stopped.

      Douglas was not the same. Not at all. His whole office was changed: the rugs, the drapes. The desk was oak, not mahogany. And Douglas himself...

      Douglas was younger, thinner. His hair, brown. His skin not so red. His face smoother. No wrinkles. Chin reshaped. Eyes green, not black. He was a different man. But still Douglas—a different Douglas. A different version!

      "What is it?" Douglas demanded impatiently. "Oh, it's you, Fletcher. Where were you this morning?"

      Ed backed out. Fast.

      He slammed the door and hurried back through the inner office. Tom and Miss Evans glanced up, startled. Ed passed by them, grabbing the hall door open.

      "Hey!" Tom called. "What—?"

      Ed hurried down the hall. Terror leaped through him. He had to hurry. He had seen. There wasn't much time. He came to the elevator and stabbed the button.

      No time.

      He ran to the stairs and started down. He reached the second floor. His terror grew. It was a matter of seconds.

      Seconds!

      The public phone. Ed ran into the phone booth. He dragged the door shut after him. Wildly, he dropped a dime in the slot and dialed. He had to call the police. He held the receiver to his ear, his heart pounding.

      Warn them. Changes. Somebody tampering with reality. Altering it. He had been right. The white-clad men...their equipment...going through the building.

      "Hello!" Ed shouted hoarsely. There was no answer. No hum. Nothing.

      Ed peered frantically out the door.

      And he sagged, defeated. Slowly, he hung up the telephone receiver.

      He was no longer on the second floor. The phone booth was rising, leaving the second floor behind, carrying him up, faster and faster. It rose floor by floor, moving silently, swiftly.

      The phone booth passed through the ceiling of the building and out into the bright sunlight. It gained speed. The ground fell away below. Buildings and streets were getting smaller each moment. Tiny specks hurried along, far below, cars and people, dwindling rapidly.

      Clouds drifted between him and the earth. Ed shut his eyes, dizzy with fright. He held on desperately to the door handles of the phone booth.

      Faster and faster the phone booth climbed. The earth was rapidly being left behind, far below.

      Ed peered up wildly. Where? Where was he going? Where was it taking him?

      He stood gripping the door handles, waiting.

      The Clerk nodded curtly. "That's him, all right. The element in question."

      Ed Fletcher looked around him. He was in a huge chamber. The edges fell away into indistinct shadows. In front of him stood a man with notes and ledgers under his arm, peering at him through steel-rimmed glasses. He was a nervous little man, sharp-eyed, with celluloid collar, blue-serge suit, vest, watch chain. He wore black shiny shoes.

      And beyond him—

      An old man sat quietly, in an immense modern chair. He watched Fletcher calmly, his blue eyes mild and tired. A strange thrill shot through Fletcher. It was not fear. Rather it was a vibration, rattling his bones—a deep sense of awe, tinged with fascination.

      "Where—what is this place?" he asked faintly. He was still dazed from his quick ascent.

      "Don't ask questions!" the nervous little man snapped angrily, tapping his pencil against his ledgers. "You're here to answer, not ask."

      The Old Man moved a little. He raised his hand. "I will speak to the element alone," he murmured. His voice was low. It vibrated and rumbled through the chamber. Again the wave of fascinated awe swept Ed.

      "Alone?" The little fellow backed away, gathering his books and papers in his arms. "Of course." He glanced hostilely at Ed Fletcher. "I'm glad he's finally in custody. All the work and trouble just for—"

      He disappeared through a door. The door closed softly behind him. Ed and the Old Man were alone.

      "Please sit down," the Old Man said.

      Ed found a seat. He sat down awkwardly, nervously. He got out his cigarettes and then put them away again.

      "What's wrong?" the Old Man asked.

      "I'm just beginning to understand."

      "Understand what?"

      "That I'm dead."

      The Old Man smiled briefly. "Dead? No, you're not dead. You're...visiting. An unusual event, but necessitated by circumstances." He leaned toward Ed. "Mr. Fletcher, you have got yourself involved in something."

      "Yeah," Ed agreed. "I wish I knew what it was. Or how it happened."

      "It was not your fault. You're the victim of a clerical error. A mistake was made—not by you. But involving you."

      "What mistake?" Ed rubbed his forehead wearily. "I—I got in on something. I saw through. I saw something I wasn't supposed to see."

      The Old Man nodded. "That's right. You saw something you were not supposed to see—something few elements have been aware of, let alone witnessed."

      "Elements?"

      "An official term. Let it pass. A mistake was made, but we hope to rectify it. It is my hope that—"

      "Those people," Ed interrupted. "Heaps of dry ash. And gray. Like they were dead. Only it was everything: the stairs and walls and floor. No color or life."

      "That Sector had been temporarily de-energized. So the adjustment team could enter and effect changes."

      "Changes." Ed nodded. "That's right. When I went back later, everything was alive again. But not the same. It was all different."

      "The adjustment was complete by noon. The team finished its work and re-energized the Sector."

      "I see," Ed muttered.

      "You were supposed to have been in the Sector when the adjustment began. Because of an error you were not. You came into the Sector late—during the adjustment itself. You fled, and when you returned it was over. You saw, and you should not have seen. Instead of a witness you should have been part of the adjustment. Like the others, you should have undergone changes."

      Sweat came out on Ed Fletcher's head. He wiped it away. His stomach turned over. Weakly, he cleared his throat. "I get the picture." His voice was almost inaudible. A chilling premonition moved through him. "I was supposed to be changed like the others. But I guess something went wrong."

      "Something went wrong. An error occurred. And now a serious problem exists. You have seen these things. You know a great deal. And you are not coordinated with the new configuration."

      "Gosh," Ed muttered. "Well, I won't tell anybody." Cold sweat poured off him. "You can count on that. I'm as good as changed."

      "You have already told someone," the Old Man said coldly.

      "Me?" Ed blinked. "Who?"

      "Your wife."

      Ed trembled. The color drained from his face, leaving it sickly white. "That's right. I did."

      "Your wife knows."