The Book of Philip K Dick (1973) Read Online Free

pleasure. “Yes sir!” he cried, whipping out his order pad. “The Imperator Delux, with power-beam focus. Did you want the optional high-velocity grapple-lock and the remote-control feedback? At moderate cost, we can equip her with a visual report screen; you can follow the situation from the comfort of your own living room.”
    “The situation?” Tom said thickly.
    “As she goes into action.” The clerk began writing rapidly. “And I mean action—this model warms up and closes in on its adversary within fifteen seconds of the time its activated. You can’t find faster reaction in any single-unit models, ours or anybody else’s. Six months ago, they said fifteen second closing was a pipe dream. The clerk laughed excitedly. “But science strides on.”
    A strange cold numbness settled over Tom Fields. “Listen,” he said hoarsely. Grabbing the clerk by the lapel he yanked him closer. The order pad fluttered away; the clerk gulped with surprise and fright. “Listen to me,” Tom grated, “you’re building these things bigger all the time— aren’t you? Every year, new models, new weapons. You and all the other companies—building them with improved equipment to destroy each other.”
    “Oh,” the clerk squeaked indignantly, “Allied Domestic’s models are never destroyed. Banged up a little now and then, perhaps, but you show me one of our models that’s been put out of commission.” With dignity, he retrieved his order pad and smoothed down his coat. “No, sir,” he said emphatically, “our models survive. Why, I saw a seven-year-old Allied running around, an old Model 3-S. Dented a bit, perhaps, but plenty of fire left. I’d like to see one of those cheap Protecto-Corp. models try to tangle with that.”
    Controlling himself with an effort, Tom asked: “But why? What’s it all for? What’s the purpose in this—conmpetition between them?”
    The clerk hesitated. Uncertainly, he began again with his order pad. “Yes sir,” he said. “Competition; you put your finger right on it. Successful competition, to be exact. Allied Domestic doesn’t meet competition—it demolishes it.”
    It took a second for Tom Fields to react. Then understanding came. “I see,” he said. “In other words, every year these things are obsolete. No good, not large enough. Not powerful enough. And if they’re not replaced, if I don’t get a new one, a more advanced model—”
    “Your present Nanny was, ah, the loser?” The clerk smiled knowingly. “Your present model was, perhaps, slightly anachronistic? It failed to meet present-day standards of competition? It, ah, failed to come out at the end of the day?”
    “It never came home,” Tom said thickly.
    “Yes, it was demolished … I fully understand. Very common. You see, sir, you don’t have a choice. It’s nobody’s fault, sir. Don’t blame us; don’t blame Allied Domestic.”
    “But,” Tom said harshly, “when one is destroyed, that means you sell another one. That means a sale for you. Money in the cash register.”
    “True. But we all have to meet contemporary standards of excellence. We can’t let ourselves fall behind … as you saw, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so, you saw the unfortunate consequences of falling behind.”
    “Yes,” Tom agreed, in an almost inaudible voice. “They told me not to have her repaired. They said I should replace her.”
    The clerk’s confident, smugly-beaming face seemed to expand. Like a miniature sun, it glowed happily, exaltedly. “But now you’re all set up, sir. With this model you’re right up there in the front. Your worries are over, Mr… .” He halted expectantly. “Your name, sir? To whom shall I make out this purchase order?”
    Bobby and Jean watched with fascination as the delivery men lugged the enormous crate into the living room. Grunting and sweating, they set it down and straightened gratefully up.
    “All right,” Tom said crisply. “Thanks.”
    “Not at all, mister.”