Eye In The Sky by Philip K. Dick

Author:Philip K. Dick [Dick, Philip K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: High Tech, Philip K Dick, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Dystopias
Publisher: Vintage Books
Published: 1957-07-08T07:00:00+00:00

Not an encouraging thought. Whatever thing, object, or event had at any time in her fifty-odd years stirred the smooth surface of her vapid enjoyment was gently eased out of existence. He could guess a few. Garbage men who rattled cans. Door-to-door salesmen. Bills and tax forms of all lands. Crying babies (perhaps all babies). Drunks. Filth. Poverty. Suffering in general.

It was a wonder anything was left.

“What's the matter?” Silky asked sympathetically. “Don't you feel well?”

“It's the smog,” he told her. “It always makes me a little ill.”

“What,” Silky inquired, “is smog? What a funny word.”

For a long time there was no conversation; Hamilton simply sat and tried vainly to hang onto his reason.

“Would you like to stop somewhere along the way?” Silky asked sympathetically. “For a glass of lemonade?”

“Will you shut up!” Hamilton shouted.

Blinking, Silky shot him a mute glance of fear.

“Sorry.” Slumped over, Hamilton fumbled for a labored apology. “New job—tough going.”

“I can imagine.”

“You can?” He couldn't keep the icy cynicism out of his voice. “By the way—you were going to tell me. What's your racket, these days?”

“Same thing.”

“And what the heck is that?”

“I'm still working at the Safe Harbor.”

A measure of confidence returned to Hamilton. Some things, at least, endured. There was still a Safe Harbor. Some small segment of reality carried over for him to hang his assurance on. “Let's go there,” he said greedily. “A couple of beers, before we go home.”

When they reached Belmont, Silky parked across the street from the bar. Critically, Hamilton sat inspecting it. At a distance, the bar wasn't particularly changed. A trifle cleaner, perhaps. More spick and span. The nautical element was intensified; the allusions to alcohol seemed to have subtly diminished. In fact, he had trouble reading the Golden Glow sign. The bright red letters seemed to fuse together into a nondescript blur. If he didn't already know what the sign read...

“Jack,” Silky said, in a soft, troubled voice, “I wish you could tell me what it is.”

“What what is?”

“I—can't say.” She smiled hesitantly up at him. “I feel so sort of odd. I seem to have a lot of mixed-up memories running around loose in my head; nothing I can put my finger on, just a bunch of vague impressions.”

“About what?”

“About you and me.”

“Oh.” He nodded. “That. And McFeyffe?”

“Charley, too. And Billy Laws. It seems like it happened a long time ago. But it couldn't, could it? Didn't I just meet you?” She pressed her slender fingers achingly to her temples; idly, he noticed that she wore no nail polish. “It's so darn confusing.”

“I wish I could help you.” And he meant it. “But I've been a little perplexed the last few days, myself.”

“Is everything all right? I feel as if I'm just about to step through the pavement. You know...as if, when I put my foot down, it'll sink on through.” She laughed nervously. “It must be time to find myself another analyst.”

“Another? You mean you've got one now?”

“Of course.” She turned anxiously toward him. “That's what I mean.

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