Read Online Clans of the Alphane Moon by Philip K. Dick - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Philip K. Dick
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“One item more; in exchange for my silence… I would like a favor.”
So there had been a catch to it. He was not surprised; after all, Lord Running Clam was a business-creature.
The slime mold said, “I insist, Mr. Rittersdorf, that you take the job which Mr. Hentman is offering at this very moment.”
“What about my job with the CIA?” Chuck demanded.
“You need not give that up; you can hold both jobs.” The slime mold’s thoughts were confident. “By um, moonlighting it.”
“‘Moonlighting.’ Where did you get hold of that term?”
“I am an expert on Terran society,” the slime mold informed him. “As I envision it, you will hold the job with CIA by day, the job with Bunny Hentman by night. To accomplish this you will need drugs, thalamic stimulants of the hexo-amphetamine class, which are illegal on Terra. However I will provide them; I have contacts off this planet and can procure the drugs easily. You will need no sleep at all, once your brain metabolism has been stimulated by—”
“A sixteen-hour workday! I’d be better off letting you go to the police.”
“No,” the slime mold disagreed. “Because here is the upshot; you will refrain from the murder, knowing that your intentions are clear to the authorities in advance. So you will not eradicate this evil woman; you will abandon your scheme and permit her to live.”
Chuck said, “How do you know Mary’s an ‘evil woman’?” In fact, he thought, what do you know about Terran women at all?
“From your thoughts I have learned the host of minor sadisms which Mrs. Rittersdorf has practiced on you over the years; it is no doubt diabolical, by any culture’s standard. Because of it you are ill and can’t perceive reality correctly; for example, observe how you resist the exceedingly desirable job which Mr. Hentman is offering you.”
There was a knock on the conapt door; the door opened and Bunny Hentman looked in, glowering. “I have to go. What’s your answer, Rittersdorf? Yes or no? And if you join me you’re not to bring any of these gelatinous non-Terran organisms with you; you come alone.”
The slime mold thought-radiated, “Mr. Rittersdorf will accept your kind job-offer, Mr. Hentman.”
“What are you,” Bunny Hentman demanded, “his agent?”
“I am Mr. Rittersdorf’s colleague,” the slime mold declared.
“Okay,” Hentman said, handing the contract to Chuck. “This calls for an eight-week assignment on your part, one full-hour script a week, and a once-a-week participation in conference with the other writers. Your salary is two thousand TERPLAN skins a week; okay?”
It was more than okay; it was twice what he had expected. Accepting the contract copies he signed, as the slime mold looked on.
“I’ll witness your signature,” Joan Trieste said; she too had come into the apt and was standing nearby. She signed as witness on the three copies, which were then returned to Bunny Hentman; he stuffed them back into his coat pocket, then remembered that one went to Chuck—bringing it out he handed it back.
“Cheers,” the slime mold said. “This calls for a celebration.”
“None for me,” Bunny Hentman said. “I got to go. So long, Rittersdorf. I’ll be in touch with you; get a vidphone installed in this rotten, nothing type pad you’re living in. Or move to a better apt.” The door of Lord Running Clam’s conapt closed after him.
“The three of us,” the slime mold said, “can celebrate. I know of a bar willing to serve non-Ts. It is on me; the check, I mean.”
“Fine,” Chuck said. He did not want to be alone anyhow, and if he stayed in his conapt it was simply one further opportunity for Mary to find him.
When they opened the door they found, to their collectivesurprise, a familiar chubby-faced young man waiting in the hall. It was Dan Mageboom.
“Sorry,” Chuck apologized. “I forgot about you.”
“We go to celebrate,” the slime mold explained to Mageboom as it oozed
So there had been a catch to it. He was not surprised; after all, Lord Running Clam was a business-creature.
The slime mold said, “I insist, Mr. Rittersdorf, that you take the job which Mr. Hentman is offering at this very moment.”
“What about my job with the CIA?” Chuck demanded.
“You need not give that up; you can hold both jobs.” The slime mold’s thoughts were confident. “By um, moonlighting it.”
“‘Moonlighting.’ Where did you get hold of that term?”
“I am an expert on Terran society,” the slime mold informed him. “As I envision it, you will hold the job with CIA by day, the job with Bunny Hentman by night. To accomplish this you will need drugs, thalamic stimulants of the hexo-amphetamine class, which are illegal on Terra. However I will provide them; I have contacts off this planet and can procure the drugs easily. You will need no sleep at all, once your brain metabolism has been stimulated by—”
“A sixteen-hour workday! I’d be better off letting you go to the police.”
“No,” the slime mold disagreed. “Because here is the upshot; you will refrain from the murder, knowing that your intentions are clear to the authorities in advance. So you will not eradicate this evil woman; you will abandon your scheme and permit her to live.”
Chuck said, “How do you know Mary’s an ‘evil woman’?” In fact, he thought, what do you know about Terran women at all?
“From your thoughts I have learned the host of minor sadisms which Mrs. Rittersdorf has practiced on you over the years; it is no doubt diabolical, by any culture’s standard. Because of it you are ill and can’t perceive reality correctly; for example, observe how you resist the exceedingly desirable job which Mr. Hentman is offering you.”
There was a knock on the conapt door; the door opened and Bunny Hentman looked in, glowering. “I have to go. What’s your answer, Rittersdorf? Yes or no? And if you join me you’re not to bring any of these gelatinous non-Terran organisms with you; you come alone.”
The slime mold thought-radiated, “Mr. Rittersdorf will accept your kind job-offer, Mr. Hentman.”
“What are you,” Bunny Hentman demanded, “his agent?”
“I am Mr. Rittersdorf’s colleague,” the slime mold declared.
“Okay,” Hentman said, handing the contract to Chuck. “This calls for an eight-week assignment on your part, one full-hour script a week, and a once-a-week participation in conference with the other writers. Your salary is two thousand TERPLAN skins a week; okay?”
It was more than okay; it was twice what he had expected. Accepting the contract copies he signed, as the slime mold looked on.
“I’ll witness your signature,” Joan Trieste said; she too had come into the apt and was standing nearby. She signed as witness on the three copies, which were then returned to Bunny Hentman; he stuffed them back into his coat pocket, then remembered that one went to Chuck—bringing it out he handed it back.
“Cheers,” the slime mold said. “This calls for a celebration.”
“None for me,” Bunny Hentman said. “I got to go. So long, Rittersdorf. I’ll be in touch with you; get a vidphone installed in this rotten, nothing type pad you’re living in. Or move to a better apt.” The door of Lord Running Clam’s conapt closed after him.
“The three of us,” the slime mold said, “can celebrate. I know of a bar willing to serve non-Ts. It is on me; the check, I mean.”
“Fine,” Chuck said. He did not want to be alone anyhow, and if he stayed in his conapt it was simply one further opportunity for Mary to find him.
When they opened the door they found, to their collectivesurprise, a familiar chubby-faced young man waiting in the hall. It was Dan Mageboom.
“Sorry,” Chuck apologized. “I forgot about you.”
“We go to celebrate,” the slime mold explained to Mageboom as it oozed
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