The Crack in Space by Philip K Dick

Author:Philip K Dick [Dick, Philip K]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Philip K Dick, Politics, Adult, Fantasy
ISBN: 9780547572994
Google: t0caRfqs03cC
Amazon: 0547572999
Barnesnoble: 0547572999
Goodreads: 22586
Publisher: Vintage
Published: 1966-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

TEN

Because the defective Jiffi-scuttler technically belonged to him, Darius Pethel could not effectively be denied permission to cross over, along with the group of top scientific and linguistic experts leaving in the morning. Wearing a carefully ironed and starched white shirt and new tie, he arrived at TD’s central administrative offices in Washington, D.C., at exactly eight a.m. He felt confident. TD employees had treated him with deference ever since he had turned the defective ‘scuttler over to them. After all, he could take it back… or, at least, so Pethel reasoned.

Two officials of the company, both of them tense, accompanied him to Mr Turpin’s office on the twentieth floor, depositing him there, and at once hurrying off. Now he was on his own.

The board chairman of TD did not awe Darius Pethel. ‘Morning, Mr Turpin,’ he said in greeting. ‘I hope I’m not late.’ He was not sure where the group was assembling. Probably down in the subsurface labs near the ‘scuttler.

‘Ump,’ the old man said, glancing at him sideways, the wrinkled neck twisting like a turkey’s. ‘Oh, yes. Pedal.’

‘Pethel.’

‘So you want to be in on things, do you?’ Leon Turpin studied him, smiling a thin, gleeful smile.

‘I want to keep in touch,’ Pethel said. He pointed out, ‘After all, it is my, property.’

‘Oh, yes, we’re very conscious of that, Pethel. You’re a highly important figure in all that’s going on. Being a businessman, you’ll no doubt be useful on this mission; you can establish trade relations with these people. In fact, we expect you to start selling them ‘scuttlers.’ Leon Turpin laughed. ‘All right, Mr Pethel. You go ahead downstairs to the labs and join the group; make yourself at home here at TD. Do whatever you feel like. I myself - I’m staying here. One trip across is enough for a man of my age; I’m sure you can appreciate that.’

Conscious that he had been made fun of, Darius Pethel left Mr Turpin’s office and took the elevator down. Smouldering, he said to himself, I can be important in this. The people on this alternative Earth or whatever it is can probably use an improved method of transportation even better than we can. After all, from what the TV newsman said, they seem to be backward, compared to us. There was something about a primitive ship or airplane. Something obsolete in our world several centuries ago.

The elevator let him off at the guarded lower floors of the building, and he made his way down the corridor, following the instructions painted on the walls, to the main lab proper.

When he opened the lab door he found himself facing a man whom he had seen many times on TV. It was the Republican-Liberal candidate for president, James Briskin, and Pethel halted in awe and surprise.

‘Let’s get a shot of you standing at the entrance hoop,’ a photographer was saying to Briskin. ‘Could you move over there, please?’

Obligingly, Briskin walked to the ‘scuttler.

This is the big time, Pethel realized. Our next president is here along with me.

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