The film Blade Runner was adapted from a Phillip K. Dick novel. |
THE GUN—A short story By PHILIP K. DICK--Nothing moved
or stirred. Everything was silent, dead. Only the gun showed signs of life ...
and the trespassers had wrecked that for all time. The return journey to pick
up the treasure would be a cinch ... they smiled.
The Captain peered into
the eyepiece of the telescope. He adjusted the focus quickly. "It was an atomic fission we saw, all
right," he said presently. He sighed and pushed the eyepiece away.
"Any of you who wants to look may do so. But it's not a pretty
sight."
"Let me
look," Tance the archeologist said. He bent down to look, squinting.
"Good Lord!" He leaped violently back, knocking against Dorle, the
Chief Navigator.
"Why did we come
all this way, then?" Dorle asked, looking around at the other men.
"There's no point even in landing. Let's go back at once."
"Perhaps he's
right," Fomar, the biologist murmured. "But I'd like to look for
myself, if I may." He pushed past Tance and peered into the sight. He saw a vast expanse, an endless surface of
gray, stretching to the edge of the planet. At first he thought it was water
but after a moment he realized that it was slag, pitted, fused slag, broken
only by hills of rock jutting up at intervals. Nothing moved or stirred.
Everything was silent, dead. "I
see," Fomar said, backing away from the eyepiece. "Well, I won't find
any legumes there." He tried to smile, but his lips stayed unmoved. He
stepped away and stood by himself, staring past the others.
"I wonder what the
atmospheric sample will show," Tance asked.
"I think I can
guess," the Captain answered. "Most of the atmosphere is poisoned.
But didn't we expect all this? I don't see why we're so surprised. A fission
visible as far away as our system must be a terrible thing." He strode off down the corridor, dignified
and expressionless. They watched him disappear into the control room.
As the Captain closed
the door behind him the young woman turned. "What did the telescope show?
Good or bad?"
"Bad. No life
could possibly exist. Atmosphere poisoned, water vaporized, all the land
fused."
"Could they have
gone underground?" she asked.
The Captain slid back
the port window so that the surface of the planet under them was visible. The
two of them stared down, silent and disturbed. Mile after mile of unbroken ruin
stretched out, blackened slag, pitted and scarred, and occasional heaps of
rock. Suddenly Nasha jumped. "Look!
Over there, at the edge. Do you see it?"
They stared. Something
rose up, not rock, not an accidental formation. It was round, a circle of dots,
white pellets on the dead skin of the planet. A city? Buildings of some
kind?
"Please turn the
ship," Nasha said excitedly. She pushed her dark hair from her face.
"Turn the ship and let's see what it is!"
The ship turned,
changing its course. As they came over the white dots the Captain lowered the
ship, dropping it down as much as he dared. "Piers," he said.
"Piers of some sort of stone. Perhaps poured artificial stone. The remains
of a city."
"Oh, dear,"
Nasha murmured. "How awful." She watched the ruins disappear behind
them. In a half-circle the white squares jutted from the slag, chipped and
cracked, like broken teeth.
"There's nothing
alive," the Captain said at last. "I think we'll go right back; I
know most of the crew want to. Get the Government Receiving Station on the
sender and tell them what we found, and that we--" [Explosion!]
*
* * *
* * *
He staggered.
The first atomic shell had struck the ship, spinning it around. The
Captain fell to the floor, crashing into the control table. Papers and
instruments rained down on him. As he started to his feet the second shell
struck. The ceiling cracked open, struts and girders twisted and bent. The ship
shuddered, falling suddenly down, then righting itself as automatic controls
took over.
The Captain lay on the
floor by the smashed control board. In the corner Nasha struggled to free
herself from the debris. Outside the men
were already sealing the gaping leaks in the side of the ship, through which
the precious air was rushing, dissipating into the void beyond.
"Help me!"
Dorle was shouting. "Fire over here, wiring ignited."
Two men came running.
Tance watched helplessly, his eyeglasses broken and bent. "So there is life here, after all,"
he said, half to himself. "But how could--"
"Give us a
hand," Fomar said, hurrying past. "Give us a hand, we've got to land
the ship!" It was night. A few
stars glinted above them, winking through the drifting silt that blew across
the surface of the planet.
Dorle peered out,
frowning. "What a place to be stuck in." He resumed his work,
hammering the bent metal hull of the ship back into place. He was wearing a
pressure suit; there were still many small leaks, and radioactive particles
from the atmosphere had already found their way into the ship.
Nasha and Fomar were
sitting at the table in the control room, pale and solemn, studying the
inventory lists.
"Low on
carbohydrates," Fomar said. "We can break down the stored fats if we
want to, but--" "I wonder if
we could find anything outside."
Nasha went to the
window. "How uninviting it looks." She paced back and forth, very
slender and small, her face dark with fatigue. "What do you suppose an exploring
party would find?"
Fomar shrugged.
"Not much. Maybe a few weeds growing in cracks here and there. Nothing we
could use. Anything that would adapt to this environment would be toxic,
lethal."
Nasha paused, rubbing
her cheek. There was a deep scratch there, still red and swollen. "Then
how do you explain--it? According to your theory the inhabitants must have died
in their skins, fried like yams. But who fired on us? Somebody detected us,
made a decision, aimed a gun."
"And gauged
distance," the Captain said feebly from the cot in the corner. He turned
toward them. "That's the part that worries me. The first shell put us out
of commission, the second almost destroyed us. They were well aimed, perfectly
aimed. We're not such an easy target."
"True." Fomar
nodded. "Well, perhaps we'll know the answer before we leave here. What a
strange situation! All our reasoning tells us that no life could exist; the
whole planet burned dry, the atmosphere itself gone, completely poisoned."
"The gun that
fired the projectiles survived," Nasha said. "Why not
people?" "It's not the same.
Metal doesn't need air to breathe. Metal doesn't get leukemia from radioactive
particles. Metal doesn't need food and water."
There was silence.
"A paradox,"
Nasha continued. "Anyhow, in the morning I think we should send out a
search party. And meanwhile we should keep on trying to get the ship in
condition for the trip back."
"It'll be days
before we can take off," Fomar said. "We should keep every man
working here. We can't afford to send out a party."
Nasha smiled a little.
"We'll send you in the first party. Maybe you can discover--what was it
you were so interested in?"
"Legumes. Edible
legumes."
"Maybe you can
find some of them,” she said, “Only--"
"Only what?"
Fomar asked.
"Only watch out.
They fired on us once without even knowing who we were or what we came for. Do
you suppose that they fought with each other? Perhaps they couldn't imagine
anyone being friendly, under any circumstances. What a strange evolutionary
trait, inter-species warfare. Fighting within the race!"
"We'll know in the
morning," Fomar said. "Let's get some sleep."
*
* * *
*
The sun came up chill and austere. The three
people, two men and a woman, stepped through the port, dropping down on the
hard ground below.
"What a day,"
Dorle said grumpily. "I said how glad I'd be to walk on firm ground again,
but--"
"Come on,"
Nasha said. "Up beside me. I want to say something to you. Will you excuse
us, Tance?"
Tance nodded gloomily.
Dorle caught up with Nasha. They walked together, their metal shoes crunching
the ground underfoot. Nasha glanced at him.
"Listen. The Captain is dying. No one knows except the two of us.
By the end of the day-period of this planet he'll be dead. The shock did
something to his heart. He was almost sixty, you know."
Dorle nodded.
"That's bad. I have a great deal of respect for him. You will be captain
in his place, of course. Since you're vice-captain now--"
"No. I prefer to
see someone else lead, perhaps you or Fomar. I've been thinking over the
situation and it seems to me that I should declare myself mated to one of you,
whichever of you wants to be captain. Then I could devolve the
responsibility."
"Well, I don't
want to be captain,” Dorle said, “Let Fomar do it."
Nasha studied him, tall
and blond, striding along beside her in his pressure suit. "I'm rather
partial to you," she said. "We might try it for a time, at least. But
do as you like. Look, we're coming to something."
They stopped walking,
letting Tance catch up. In front of them was some sort of a ruined building.
Dorle stared around thoughtfully.
"Do you see? This whole place is a natural bowl, a huge valley. See
how the rock formations rise up on all sides, protecting the floor. Maybe some
of the great blast was deflected here."
They wandered around
the ruins, picking up rocks and fragments. "I think this was a farm,"
Tance said, examining a piece of wood. "This was part of a tower windmill."
"Really?"
Nasha took the stick and turned it over. "Interesting. But let's go; we
don't have much time."
"Look," Dorle
said suddenly. "Off there, a long way off. Isn't that something?" He
pointed.
Nasha sucked in her
breath. "The white stones."
"What?"
Nasha looked up at
Dorle. "The white stones, the great broken teeth. We saw them, the Captain
and I, from the control room." She touched Dorle's arm gently.
"That's where they fired from. I didn't think we had landed so
close."
"What is it?" Tance said, coming up
to them. "I'm almost blind without my glasses. What do you see?"
"The city. Where
they fired from."
"Oh." All
three of them stood together.
"Well, let's
go," Tance said. "There's no telling what we'll find there."
Dorle frowned at him. "Wait. We don't know what we would be
getting into. They must have patrols. They probably have seen us already, for
that matter."
"They probably
have seen the ship itself," Tance said. "They probably know right now
where they can find it, where they can blow it up. So what difference does it
make whether we go closer or not?"
"That's
true," Nasha said. "If they really want to get us we haven't a
chance. We have no armaments at all; you know that."
"I have a hand
weapon." Dorle nodded. "Well, let's go on, then. I suppose you're
right, Tance."
"But let's stay
together," Tance said nervously. "Nasha, you're going too
fast."
Nasha looked back. She
laughed. "If we expect to get there by nightfall we must go
fast."
*
* * *
*
They reached the outskirts of the city at about
the middle of the afternoon. The sun, cold and yellow, hung above them in the
colorless sky. Dorle stopped at the top of a ridge overlooking the city. "Well, there it is. What's left of
it."
There was not much
left. The huge concrete piers which they had noticed were not piers at all, but
the ruined foundations of buildings. They had been baked by the searing heat,
baked and charred almost to the ground. Nothing else remained, only this
irregular circle of white squares, perhaps four miles in diameter.
Dorle spat in disgust.
"More wasted time. A dead skeleton of a city, that's all."
"But it was from
here that the firing came," Tance murmured. "Don't forget
that."
"And by someone
with a good eye and a great deal of experience," Nasha added. "Let's
go."
They walked into the
city between the ruined buildings. No one spoke. They walked in silence,
listening to the echo of their footsteps.
"It's macabre," Dorle muttered. "I've seen ruined cities
before but they died of old age, old age and fatigue. This was killed, seared
to death. This city didn't die--it was murdered."
"I wonder what the
city was called," Nasha said. She turned aside, going up the remains of a
stairway from one of the foundations. "Do you think we might find a
signpost? Some kind of plaque?" She
peered into the ruins.
"There's nothing
there," Dorle said impatiently. "Come on."
"Wait." Nasha
bent down, touching a concrete stone. "There's something inscribed on
this."
"What is it?"
Tance hurried up. He squatted in the dust, running his gloved fingers over the
surface of the stone. "Letters, all right." He took a writing stick
from the pocket of his pressure suit and copied the inscription on a bit of
paper. Dorle glanced over his shoulder. The inscription was: FRANKLIN
APARTMENTS
"That's this
city," Nasha said softly. "That was its name."
Tance put the paper in
his pocket and they went on.
After a time Dorle
said, "Nasha, you know, I think we're being watched. But don't look
around."
The woman stiffened.
"Oh? Why do you say that? Did you see something?"
"No. I can feel
it, though. Don't you?"
Nasha smiled a little.
"I feel nothing, but perhaps I'm more used to being stared at." She
turned her head slightly.
"Oh!" Dorle reached for his hand weapon.
"What is it? What
do you see?" Tance had stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth half
open.
"The gun,"
Nasha said. "It's the gun."
"Look at the size of it. The size of the thing."
Dorle unfastened his
hand weapon slowly. "That's it, all right." The gun was huge. Stark and immense it
pointed up at the sky, a mass of steel and glass, set in a huge slab of
concrete. Even as they watched the gun moved on its swivel base, whirring
underneath. A slim vane turned with the wind, a network of rods atop a high
pole. "It's alive," Nasha
whispered. "It's listening to us, watching us."
The gun moved again,
this time clockwise. It was mounted so that it could make a full circle. The
barrel lowered a trifle, then resumed its original position. "But who fires it?" Tance
said.
Dorle laughed. "No
one. No one fires it."
They stared at him.
"What do you mean?"
"It fires
itself." They couldn't believe him.
Nasha came close to
him, frowning, looking up at him. "I don't understand. What do you mean,
it fires itself?"
"Watch, I'll show
you. Don't move." Dorle picked up a rock from the ground. He hesitated a
moment and then tossed the rock high in the air. The rock passed in front of
the gun. Instantly the great barrel moved, the vanes contracted.
*
* * *
*
The rock fell to the
ground. The gun paused, then resumed its calm swivel, its slow circling.
"You see,"
Dorle said, "it noticed the rock, as soon as I threw it up in the air.
It's alert to anything that flies or moves above the ground level. Probably it
detected us as soon as we entered the gravitational field of the planet. It
probably had a bead on us from the start. We don't have a chance. It knows all
about the ship. It's just waiting for us to take off again."
"I understand
about the rock," Nasha said, nodding. "The gun noticed it, but not
us, since we're on the ground, not above. It's only designed to combat objects
in the sky. The ship is safe until it takes off again, then the end will
come."
"But what's this
gun for?" Tance put in. "There's no one alive here. Everyone is
dead."
"It's a
machine," Dorle said. "A machine that was made to do a job. And it's
doing the job. How it survived the blast I don't know. On it goes, waiting for
the enemy. Probably they came by air in some sort of projectiles."
"The enemy,"
Nasha said. "Their own race. It is hard to believe that they really bombed
themselves, fired at themselves. Well, it's over with. Except right here, where
we're standing. This one gun, still alert, ready to kill. It'll go on until it
wears out. And by that time we'll be dead," Nasha said bitterly.
"There must have
been hundreds of guns like this," Dorle murmured. "They must have
been used to the sight, guns, weapons, uniforms. Probably they accepted it as a
natural thing, part of their lives, like eating and sleeping. An institution,
like the church and the state. Men trained to fight, to lead armies, a regular
profession. Honored, respected."
Tance was walking
slowly toward the gun, peering nearsightedly up at it. "Quite complex,
isn't it? All those vanes and tubes. I suppose this is some sort of a
telescopic sight." His gloved hand touched the end of a long tube.
Instantly the gun
shifted, the barrel retracting. It swung--
"Don't move!"
Dorle cried. The barrel swung past them as they stood, rigid and still. For one
terrible moment it hesitated over their heads, clicking and whirring, settling
into position. Then the sounds died out and the gun became silent.
Tance smiled foolishly
inside his helmet. "I must have put my finger over the lens. I'll be more
careful." He made his way up onto the circular slab, stepping gingerly
behind the body of the gun. He disappeared from view.
"Where did he
go?" Nasha said irritably. "He'll get us all killed."
"Tance, come
back!" Dorle shouted. "What's the matter with you?"
"In a
minute." There was a long silence. At last the archeologist appeared.
"I think I've found something. Come up and I'll show you."
"What is
it?" "Dorle, you said the gun
was here to keep the enemy off. I think I know why they wanted to keep the
enemy off."
They were puzzled. "I think I've found what the gun is
supposed to guard. Come and give me a hand."
"All right,"
Dorle said abruptly. "Let's go." He seized Nasha's hand. "Come
on. Let's see what he's found. I thought something like this might happen when
I saw that the gun was--"
"Like what?"
Nasha pulled her hand away. "What are you talking about? You act as if you
knew what he's found."
"I do." Dorle
smiled down at her. "Do you remember the legend that all races have, the
myth of the buried treasure, and the dragon, the serpent that watches it,
guards it, keeping everyone away?"
She nodded.
"Well?" Dorle pointed up at the gun. "That," he said, "is the
dragon. Come on."
*
* * *
*
Between the three of them they managed to pull up
the steel cover and lay it to one side. Dorle was wet with perspiration when
they finished. "It isn't worth
it," he grunted. He stared into the dark yawning hole. "Or is
it?"
Nasha clicked on her
hand lamp, shining the beam down the stairs. The steps were thick with dust and
rubble. At the bottom was a steel door.
"Come on,"
Tance said excitedly. He started down the stairs.
They watched him reach
the door and pull hopefully on it without success.
"Give a
hand!"
"All right."
They came gingerly after him.
Dorle examined the
door. It was bolted shut, locked. There was an inscription on the door but he
could not read it.
"Now what?"
Nasha said.
Dorle took out his hand
weapon. "Stand back. I can't think of any other way." He pressed the
switch. The bottom of the door glowed red. Presently it began to crumble. Dorle
clicked the weapon off. "I think we can get through. Let's try."
The door came apart
easily. In a few minutes they had carried it away in pieces and stacked the
pieces on the first step. Then they went on, flashing the light ahead of
them. They were in a vault. Dust lay
everywhere, on everything, inches thick. Wood crates lined the walls, huge
boxes and crates, packages and containers.
Tance looked around
curiously, his eyes bright. "What
exactly are all these?" he murmured. "Something valuable, I would
think." He picked up a round drum and opened it. A spool fell to the
floor, unwinding a black ribbon. He examined it, holding it up to the
light. "Look at this!"
They came around him.
"Pictures,"
Nasha said. "Tiny pictures."
"Records of some
kind." Tance closed the spool up in the drum again. "Look, hundreds
of drums." He flashed the light around. "And those crates. Let's open
one."
Dorle was already
prying at the wood. The wood had turned brittle and dry. He managed to pull a
section away. It was a picture. A boy in
a blue garment, smiling pleasantly, staring ahead, young and handsome. He
seemed almost alive, ready to move toward them in the light of the hand lamp.
It was one of them, one of the ruined race, the race that had perished. For a long time they stared at the picture.
At last Dorle replaced
the board.
"All these other
crates," Nasha said. "More pictures. And these drums. What are in the
boxes?"
"This is their
treasure," Tance said, almost to himself. "Here are their pictures,
their records. Probably all their literature is here, their stories, their
myths, their ideas about the universe."
"And their
history," Nasha said. "We'll be able to trace their development and
find out what it was that made them become what they were."
Dorle was wandering
around the vault. "Odd," he murmured. "Even at the end, even
after they had begun to fight they still knew, someplace down inside them, that
their real treasure was this, their books and pictures, their myths. Even after
their big cities and buildings and industries were destroyed they probably
hoped to come back and find this. After everything else was gone."
"When we get back home we can agitate for
a mission to come here," Tance said. "All this can be loaded up and
taken back. We'll be leaving about--"
He stopped.
"Yes," Dorle
said dryly. "We'll be leaving about three day-periods from now. We'll fix
the ship, then take off. Soon we'll be home, that is, if nothing happens. Like
being shot down by that--"
"Oh, stop
it!" Nasha said impatiently. "Leave him alone. He's right: all this
must be taken back home, sooner or later. We'll have to solve the problem of
the gun. We have no choice."
Dorle nodded.
"What's your solution, then? As soon as we leave the ground we'll be shot
down." His face twisted bitterly. "They've guarded their treasure too
well. Instead of being preserved it will lie here until it rots. It serves them
right."
"How?"
"Don't you see?
This was the only way they knew, building a gun and setting it up to shoot
anything that came along. They were so certain that everything was hostile, the
enemy, coming to take their possessions away from them. Well, they can keep
them."
Nasha was deep in
thought, her mind far away. Suddenly she gasped. "Dorle," she said.
"What's the matter with us? We have no problem. The gun is no menace at
all."
The two men stared at
her.
"No menace?"
Dorle said. "It's already shot us down once. And as soon as we take off
again--"
"Don't you
see?" Nasha began to laugh. "The poor foolish gun, it's completely
harmless. Even I could deal with it alone."
"You?"
Her eyes were flashing.
"With a crowbar. With a hammer or a stick of wood. Let's go back to the
ship and load up. Of course we're at its mercy in the air: that's the way it
was made. It can fire into the sky, shoot down anything that flies. But that's
all! Against something on the ground it has no defenses. Isn't that
right?"
Dorle nodded slowly.
"The soft underbelly of the dragon. In the legend, the dragon's armor
doesn't cover its stomach." He began to laugh. "That's right. That's
perfectly right."
"Let's go,
then," Nasha said. "Let's get back to the ship. We have work to do
here."
*
* * *
*
It was early the next morning when they reached
the ship. During the night the Captain had died, and the crew had ignited his
body, according to custom. They had stood solemnly around it until the last
ember died. As they were going back to their work the woman and the two men appeared,
dirty and tired, still excited.
And presently, from the
ship, a line of people came, each carrying something in his hands. The line
marched across the gray slag, the eternal expanse of fused metal. When they
reached the weapon they all fell on the gun at once, with crowbars, hammers,
anything that was heavy and hard. The
telescopic sights shattered into bits. The wiring was pulled out, torn to
shreds. The delicate gears were smashed, dented. Finally the warheads themselves were carried
off and the firing pins removed.
The gun was smashed,
the great weapon destroyed.
The people went down
into the vault and examined the treasure. With its metal-armored guardian dead
there was no danger any longer. They studied the pictures, the films, the crates
of books, the jeweled crowns, the cups, the statues.
At last, as the sun was
dipping into the gray mists that drifted across the planet they came back up
the stairs again. For a moment they stood around the wrecked gun looking at the
unmoving outline of it.
Then they started back
to the ship.
There was still much
work to be done. The ship had been badly hurt, much had been damaged and lost.
The important thing was to repair it as quickly as possible, to get it into the
air. With all of them working together
it took just five more days to make it spaceworthy.
*
* * *
*
Nasha stood in the control room, watching the
planet fall away behind them. She folded her arms, sitting down on the edge of
the table.
"What are you
thinking?" Dorle said.
"I?
Nothing."
"Are you
sure?"
"I was thinking
that there must have been a time when this planet was quite different, when
there was life on it."
"I suppose there
was. It's unfortunate that no ships from our system came this far, but then we
had no reason to suspect intelligent life until we saw the fission glow in the
sky." "And then it was too
late," he said.
"Not quite too
late. After all, their possessions, their music, books, their pictures, all of
that will survive. We'll take them home and study them, and they'll change us.
We won't be the same afterwards. Their sculpturing, especially. Did you see the
one of the great winged creature, without a head or arms? Broken off, I
suppose. But those wings-- It looked very old. It will change us a great deal.
"When we come back
we won't find the gun waiting for us," Nasha said. "Next time it
won't be there to shoot us down. We can land and take the treasure, as you call
it." She smiled up at Dorle. "You'll lead us back there, as a good
captain should."
"Captain?"
Dorle grinned. "Then you've decided."
Nasha shrugged.
"Fomar argues with me too much. I think, all in all, I really prefer
you."
"Then let's
go," Dorle said. "Let's go back home." The ship roared up, flying over the ruins of
the city. It turned in a huge arc and then shot off beyond the horizon, heading
into outer space.
*
* * *
*
Down below, in the center of the ruined city, a
single half-broken detector vane moved slightly, catching the roar of the ship.
The base of the great gun throbbed painfully, straining to turn. After a moment
a red warning light flashed on down inside its destroyed works. And a long way off, a hundred miles from the
city, another warning light flashed on, far underground.
Automatic relays flew
into action.
Gears turned, belts
whined.
On the ground above a
section of metal slag slipped back.
A ramp appeared.
A moment later a small
cart rushed to the surface. The cart
turned toward the city. A second cart appeared behind it. It was loaded with
wiring cables. Behind it a third cart came, loaded with telescopic tube sights.
And behind came more carts, some with relays, some with firing controls, some
with tools and parts, screws and bolts, pins and nuts. The final one contained
atomic warheads. The carts lined up
behind the first one, the lead cart. The lead cart started off, across the
frozen ground, bumping calmly along, followed by the others. Moving toward the
city.
To the damaged gun.
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