Read Online Selected Stories of Philip K. Dick by Philip K. Dick - Free Book Online

vent? It implied an unusual chamber at the other end. He came to a metal grill and stopped.
    And gasped.
    He was looking into the great room, the room he had glimpsed beyond the steel door. Only now he was at the other end. There was the time scoop. And far down, beyond the scoop, was Rethrick, conferring at an active vid-screen. An alarm was sounding, whining shrilly, echoing everywhere. Technicians were running in all directions. Guards in uniform poured in and out of doors.
    The scoop. Jennings examined the grill. It was slotted in place. He moved it laterally and it fell into his hands. No one was watching. He slid cautiously out, into the room, the Boris gun ready. He was fairly hidden behind the scoop, and the technicians and guards were all the way down at the other end of the room, where he had first seen them.
    And there it was, all around him, the schematics, the mirror, papers, data, blueprints. He flicked his camera on. Against his chest the camera vibrated, film moving through it. He snatched up a handful of schematics. Perhaps he had used these very diagrams, a few weeks before!
    He stuffed his pockets with papers. The film came to an end. But he was finished. He squeezed back into the vent, pushing through the mouth and down the tube. The sewerlike corridor was still empty, but there was an insistent drumming sound, the noise of voices and footsteps. So many passages—They were looking for him in a maze of escape corridors.
    Jennings ran swiftly. He ran on and on, without regard to direction, trying to keep along the main corridor. On all sides passages flocked off, one after another, countless passages. He was dropping down, lower and lower. Running downhill.
    Suddenly he stopped, gasping. The sound behind him had died away for a moment. But there was a new sound, ahead. He went along slowly. The corridor twisted, turning to the right. He advanced slowly, the Boris gun ready.
    Two guards were standing a little way ahead, lounging and talking together. Beyond them was a heavy code door. And behind him the sound of voices were coming again, growing louder. They had found the same passage he had taken. They were on the way.
    Jennings stepped out, the Boris gun raised. “Put up your hands. Let go of your guns.”
    The guards gawked at him. Kids, boys with cropped blond hair and shiny uniforms. They moved back, pale and scared.
    “The guns. Let them fall.”
    The two rifles clattered down. Jennings smiled. Boys. Probably this was their first encounter with trouble. Their leather boots shone, brightly polished.
    “Open the door,” Jennings said. “I want through.”
    They stared at him. Behind, the noise grew.
    “Open it.” He became impatient. “Come on.” He waved the pistol. “Open it, damn it! Do you want me to—”
    “We—we can't.”
    “What?”
    “We can't. It's a code door. We don't have the key. Honest, mister. They don't let us have the key.” They were frightened. Jennings felt fear himself now. Behind him the drumming was louder. He was trapped, caught.
    Or was he?
    Suddenly he laughed. He walked quickly up to the door. “Faith,” he murmured, raising his hand. “That's something you should never lose.”
    “What—what's that?”
    “Faith in yourself. Self-confidence.”
    The door slid back as he held the code key against it. Blinding sunlight streamed in, making him blink. He held the gun steady. He was outside, at the gate. Three guards gaped in amazement at the gun. He was at the gate—and beyond lay the woods.
    “Get out of the way.” Jennings fired at the metal bars of the gate. The metal burst into flame, melting, a cloud of fire rising.
    “Stop him!” From behind, men came pouring, guards, out of the corridor.
    Jennings leaped through the smoking gate. The metal tore at him, searing him. He ran through the smoke, rolling and falling. He got to his feet and scurried on, into the trees.
    He was outside. He had not let him down. The key had worked, all right. He had tried