Lies Inc. (1984) by Philip K. Dick

Author:Philip K. Dick
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-03-21T01:19:05+00:00

Chapter Eleven

People who are out of phase in time, Sepp von Einem thought caustically to himself, ought to be dead. Not preserved like bugs in amber. He glanced up from the encoded intel-repo and watched with distaste his mysteriously—and rather repellently—gifted proleptic co-worker, Gregory Gloch, in his clanking, whirring anti-prolepsis chamber; at the moment, the thin, tall, improperly hunched youth talked silently into the audio receptor of his sealed chamber, his mouth twisting as if composed of some obsolete plastic, not convincingly flesh-like. The mouth-motions, too, lacked authenticity; far too slow, von Einem observed, even for Gloch. The fool was slowing down. However, the memory spools of the chamber would still collect everything said by Gloch, at whatever rate. And the transmission subsequently would of course be at proper time…although, of course, the frequency would be abysmal, probably doubled. At the thought of the screeching which lay ahead, von Einem groaned.

His groan, received by the sensitive input audio system of the anti-prolepsis chamber, became processed: recorded at twenty inches of iron oxide audio tape a second it whipped in retrograde to rewind, then released itself at six inches a second to be carried to the earphones well fixed to Gloch’s bony head. Presently Gloch responded to his reception of his superior’s groan with characteristic eccentricity. His cheeks puffed out; his face turned red as he held his breath. And at the same time he grinned vacuously, his head lolling, turning himself into a parody of a brain-damaged defective—a double parody, because it was of course his own fantastic mentational processes which constituted the actual target of his lampoon. Disgusted, von Einem looked away, gritted his near-priceless custom-fashioned teeth, returned to his scrutiny of the intel-repo material which had newly been made available to him.

“I’m Bill Behren,” the tinny mechanical voice of the intel-repo transport announced cheerfully. “Operator of fly 33408. Now, as you may or may not remember fly 33408 is a real winner. I mean it really gets in there and tackles its job and really gathers up the stuff, the real hot stuff. I’ve personally been operator for, say, fifty flies…but in all this time, none has really performed true- blue like this little fella. I think he—or it, whatever they are these days—deserves a vote of thanks from us all involved in this highly delicate work we do. Right, Herr von Einem?” Operator of housefly 33408 Bill Behren paused hopefully.

“The vote of thanks,” von Einem said, “goes to you, Mr. Behren, for your compound eyes.”

“How about that,” operator Behren rambled on oozingly. “Well, I think we’re all inspired by—”

“The data,” von Einem said. “As to the activity at the UN Advance-weapons Archives. What specifically is meant by their code number variation three of that time-warping construct they’re so devoted to?” Queer for, he thought to himself; the UN wep-x personnel probably take turns going to bed with it.

“Well, sir,” operator Bill Behren of fly 33408 answered vigorously, “variation three appears to be a handy-dandy little portable pack unit in the ingenious shape of a tin of chocolate-flavored psychic energizers.

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