The Science Fiction Anthology. Филип Дик

Kuhak’s invented a ground car that can run without tracks.”

      Clarey almost said “Guhak,” but caught himself in time. “Nonsense,” he scoffed. “The more I know of them, the more surprised I am they ever got as far as inventing the chains.”

      “But they did, no getting around that. This is what Earth’s afraid of, you know,” he reminded Clarey—unnecessarily. “This is why you were sent here. And, if the rumor’s true, it looks as if you weren’t needed at all. I got the bad news by myself.”

      “But why should it be that upsetting?” Clarey tried to laugh. “You look as if it were the end of the world.”

      The colonel gave him a long, level look. “I consider that remark in the worst of taste.”

      Clarey stopped laughing.

      “Remember,” the colonel reminded Clarey, again unnecessarily, “this is the way we ourselves got started.”

      “But the Damorlanti don’t have to move in the same direction. They may look human and even act human, but they don’t think human.”

      The colonel clasped his hands behind his head and sighed. “There have been articles against us in the paper, and whenever we go out in the street people—natives, I mean—make nasty remarks and sometimes even faces at us. And what have we done to them? Carefully minded our own business, avoided all cultural contacts except for trade purposes, paid them much more than the going price for their goods, and gave them one or two tips on health and sanitation. As a result, they’re beginning to hate us.”

      “But if you send a report, it’ll bring the staff ship in ahead of time. Maybe the whole thing’ll blow over. This way, you’re not giving it a chance to.”

      The colonel chewed his lip. “Well,” he finally said, “I might as well wait and see if the rumor’s verified before I report it.”

      Clarey went back to Katund. The months went by. The friendly atmosphere in the Furbush had vanished, and not as many people stopped and chatted when they came to the library. But there wasn’t any actual incident until the evening Clarey was walking home after late night at the library and a stone struck him between the shoulder-blades. “Dirty Earthman!” a voice called, and several pairs of feet scuttled off.

      He didn’t mention the incident to Embelsira, not wanting to worry her, but the next morning he went to the Village Dome and informed Malesor. “Very bad,” the headman muttered. “Very bad. Whoever did it will be punished.”

      “You won’t be able to catch them,” Clarey said, “and there’d be no point in punishment, anyway. Look at it like this, Mal. Suppose I had been an Earthman, don’t you see how dangerous this would be, not for me but for you? Can’t you imagine the inevitable results?”

      Malesor nodded. “The Earthmen’s catapults do go farther and faster, then?”

      “And maybe deeper,” Clarey agreed, pretending not to notice that it had been a question. “After the way Irik talked, I couldn’t help drifting over to the starfield when I was in Barshwat and watching an Earth ship come. You’ve no idea how incredibly powerful a thing it was. Anyone who has power in one direction is likely to have it in another.”

      “I wonder if the Earthmen always had power,” Malesor mused, “if they weren’t like us once. If, given time, we couldn’t be like them....”

      Clarey didn’t say anything.

      Malesor’s pale face turned gray. “You mean we might not be given time?”

      Clarey wiggled his ears. “Who can tell what’s in the mind of an Earthman?”

      Malesor looked directly at him. “Why do you tell me this?”

      “Because I’m one of you,” Clarey said stoutly.

      Malesor shook his head. “You’re not. You never can be. But thanks for the warning—stranger.”

      Never identify, the robocoach had said. You’ll never be able to become the character you’re trying to play. He was talking only of the stage, Clarey told himself angrily, as he left the Dome.

      Reports trickled in from the cities. Earthmen had been stoned twice in Zrig, more often than that in Barshwat. Clarey got an agitated letter from his aunt. “Watch out for yourself, Nephew,” she warned. “They may take it into their heads to attack all foreigners. Remember, come what may, you’ll always have a home with me.”

      Then everything broke open. A group of natives attacked Earth Headquarters in Barshwat. The Earthmen sprayed them with a gas which made the attackers lose consciousness without harming them; that is, it was intended to work that way. However, one of them hit his head on the wall when he fell, and he died the next day.

      The people of Vintnor were aroused. They milled angrily around Earth Headquarters carrying banners that said, “Go home, Earth murderers!” The headman of Barshwat called upon Colonel Blynn. The colonel courteously refused to withdraw his men from the planet. “I’m under orders, old chap,” he said, “but I’ll report your request back to Earth.”

      “It isn’t a request,” the headman said.

      Colonel Blynn smiled and said, “We’ll treat it as one, shall we?”

      Clarey knew what happened, because the headman gave a report of the conversation to the Barshwat Prime Bulletin. He also got a letter from his aunt describing the incident as vividly as if she had been there herself. The Barshwat Prime ran a series of increasingly intemperate editorials calling upon all the nations of Damorlan to unite against the Earthmen; it was spirit that counted, it said, rather than technology. Malesor wrote a letter asking how superior spiritual values could compete against presumably superior weapons. He read it aloud in the Purple Furbush before he sent it to the editor of the Barshwat Prime, which was lucky, because the Prime never printed it, although the Dordonec Bulletin ran a copy.

      However, the Barshwat Prime did print letters from editors in different countries. All of them pledged firm moral support. It also printed a letter from an anonymous correspondent in Katund which alleged that there was an Earth spy in that village, disguised as a Damorlant, and it was this spy who was personally responsible for the decline of musical taste on the whole planet. But the Bulletin seemed to consider this merely as an emanation from the lunatic fringe: “It would be as easy to disguise a hix as one of us as an Earthman. And, although we could certainly not minimize the importance of music in our culture, it is hardly likely that Earth would be attempting to achieve fell purposes through undermining that art. No, the decline in musical taste represents part of the general decline in public morality which has left us an easy prey.”

      Irik went back to Barshwat to help riot, but he left the Katundi convinced that Clarey was, if not actually an Earthman, at least a traitor. When he came into the Furbush, everybody got up and left. Nobody patronized the branch library any more. The constant readers went to the main library at Zrig, and, since the trip was expensive, their books were usually overdue and they had to pay substantial fines. Sometimes they never returned the books at all and messengers had to be sent from the city. Finally the chief librarian at Zrig issued a regulation that only those resident within the city limits could take books out; all others in the district had to read them on the premises. The Katundi blamed that on Clarey, too. One night they broke into his library and stole all the best-sellers.

      A couple of days later, he came home and found all the windows of his dome broken. Best-sellers are often disappointing, he thought. He found a note from Embelsira, saying, “I have gone home to Mother.”

      He knew she expected him to go after her, but he wrote her a note saying he was going to see his aunt who was terrified by all the riots, and put it in the mail, so she wouldn’t get it too soon. He packed his kit with his most important possessions and he took his ulerin under his arm.

      When he reached Barshwat, he had some difficulty getting through the crowd in front of Earth Headquarters. All the windows were boarded up and the garbage hadn’t been