Unteleported Man by Philip K Dick

Unteleported Man by Philip K Dick

Author:Philip K Dick [Dick, Philip K]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Classics
ISBN: 9780425062524
Google: WiWaOAAACAAJ
Amazon: 042506252X
Barnesnoble: 042506252X
Goodreads: 226469
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 1955-05-05T04:00:00+00:00


10

In a pleasant living room he sat, and across from him a stout man with good-intentioned features gnawed on a toothpick, eyed him with a compound of tolerant amusement and sympathy, then turned to grunt at a thin-faced middle-aged dapper man wearing gold-rimmed glasses who also watched Rachmael, but with a severe, virtually reproving frown.

“Finally coming back for a couple breaths of real air,” the stout man observed, nodding toward Rachmael.

“There’s no such thing as real air,” a woman seated across from the two of them said; dark-skinned, tall, with acutely penetrating chitin-black eyes, she scrutinized Rachmael and he imagined for an instant that he was seeing Freya. “All air is real; it’s either that or no air at all. Unless you think there’s something called false air.”

The stout man chuckled, nudged his companion. “Listen to that; you hear that? I guess everything you see is real, then; there’s no fake nothing.” To Rachmael he said, “Everything including dying and being in — ”

“Can’t you discuss all those sorts of things later?” a blond curly-haired youth at the far end of the room said irritably. “This is a most particularly important summation he’s making, and after all, he is our elected president; we owe him our undivided attention, every one of us.” His gaze traveled around the tastefully furnished room, taking all of the people in, including Rachmael. Eleven persons in addition to himself, he realized; eleven and me, but what is me? Am I what? His mind, clouded, dwelt in some strange overcast gloom, an obscuring mist that impeded his ability to think or to understand; he could see the people, the room also. But he could not identify this place, these people, and he wondered if the breach with that which had been familiar was so complete as to include himself; had his own physical identity, his customary self, been eradicated too, and some new gathering of matter set in its place? He examined his hands, then. Just hands; he could learn nothing from them, only that he did have hands and that he could see them — he could see everything, with no difficulty. Colors did not rise out of the walls, drapes, prints, the dresses of the seated, casual women; nothing distorted and magnified floated as a median world between this clearly tangible environment and his own lifelong established percept-system.

Beside him suddenly an attractive tall girl bent and said close to his ear, “What about a cup of syn-cof? You should drink something hot. I’ll fix it for you.” She added, “Actually it’s imitation syn-cof, but I know you know we don’t have the genuine product here, except in April.”

An authoritative-looking middle-aged man, bony, hard-eyed with an intensity that implied a ceaseless judging of everyone and everything, said, “This is worse than ‘real air.’ Now we’re talking about genuine synthetic coffee. I wonder what a syn-cof plant would look like growing in a field. Yes, that’s the crop Whale’s Mouth ought to invest in; we’d be rich in a week.



Download



Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.