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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30255 ***
+
+ _Conger agreed to kill a stranger he had
+ never seen. But he would make no mistakes
+ because he had the stranger's skull under
+ his arm._
+
+
+        THE
+       SKULL
+
+ By Philip K. Dick
+
+
+"What is this opportunity?" Conger asked. "Go on. I'm interested."
+
+The room was silent; all faces were fixed on Conger--still in the drab
+prison uniform. The Speaker leaned forward slowly.
+
+"Before you went to prison your trading business was paying well--all
+illegal--all very profitable. Now you have nothing, except the prospect
+of another six years in a cell."
+
+Conger scowled.
+
+"There is a certain situation, very important to this Council, that
+requires your peculiar abilities. Also, it is a situation you might find
+interesting. You were a hunter, were you not? You've done a great deal
+of trapping, hiding in the bushes, waiting at night for the game? I
+imagine hunting must be a source of satisfaction to you, the chase, the
+stalking--"
+
+Conger sighed. His lips twisted. "All right," he said. "Leave that out.
+Get to the point. Who do you want me to kill?"
+
+The Speaker smiled. "All in proper sequence," he said softly.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The car slid to a stop. It was night; there was no light anywhere along
+the street. Conger looked out. "Where are we? What is this place?"
+
+The hand of the guard pressed into his arm. "Come. Through that door."
+
+Conger stepped down, onto the damp sidewalk. The guard came swiftly
+after him, and then the Speaker. Conger took a deep breath of the cold
+air. He studied the dim outline of the building rising up before them.
+
+"I know this place. I've seen it before." He squinted, his eyes growing
+accustomed to the dark. Suddenly he became alert. "This is--"
+
+"Yes. The First Church." The Speaker walked toward the steps. "We're
+expected."
+
+"Expected? _Here?_"
+
+"Yes." The Speaker mounted the stairs. "You know we're not allowed in
+their Churches, especially with guns!" He stopped. Two armed soldiers
+loomed up ahead, one on each side.
+
+"All right?" The Speaker looked up at them. They nodded. The door of the
+Church was open. Conger could see other soldiers inside, standing about,
+young soldiers with large eyes, gazing at the ikons and holy images.
+
+"I see," he said.
+
+"It was necessary," the Speaker said. "As you know, we have been
+singularly unfortunate in the past in our relations with the First
+Church."
+
+"This won't help."
+
+"But it's worth it. You will see."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+They passed through the hall and into the main chamber where the altar
+piece was, and the kneeling places. The Speaker scarcely glanced at the
+altar as they passed by. He pushed open a small side door and beckoned
+Conger through.
+
+"In here. We have to hurry. The faithful will be flocking in soon."
+
+Conger entered, blinking. They were in a small chamber, low-ceilinged,
+with dark panels of old wood. There was a smell of ashes and smoldering
+spices in the room. He sniffed. "What's that? The smell."
+
+"Cups on the wall. I don't know." The Speaker crossed impatiently to the
+far side. "According to our information, it is hidden here by this--"
+
+Conger looked around the room. He saw books and papers, holy signs and
+images. A strange low shiver went through him.
+
+"Does my job involve anyone of the Church? If it does--"
+
+The Speaker turned, astonished. "Can it be that you believe in the
+Founder? Is it possible, a hunter, a killer--"
+
+"No. Of course not. All their business about resignation to death,
+non-violence--"
+
+"What is it, then?"
+
+Conger shrugged. "I've been taught not to mix with such as these. They
+have strange abilities. And you can't reason with them."
+
+The Speaker studied Conger thoughtfully. "You have the wrong idea. It is
+no one here that we have in mind. We've found that killing them only
+tends to increase their numbers."
+
+"Then why come here? Let's leave."
+
+"No. We came for something important. Something you will need to
+identify your man. Without it you won't be able to find him." A trace
+of a smile crossed the Speaker's face. "We don't want you to kill the
+wrong person. It's too important."
+
+"I don't make mistakes." Conger's chest rose. "Listen, Speaker--"
+
+"This is an unusual situation," the Speaker said. "You see, the person
+you are after--the person that we are sending you to find--is known only
+by certain objects here. They are the only traces, the only means of
+identification. Without them--"
+
+"What are they?"
+
+He came toward the Speaker. The Speaker moved to one side. "Look," he
+said. He drew a sliding wall away, showing a dark square hole. "In
+there."
+
+Conger squatted down, staring in. He frowned. "A skull! A skeleton!"
+
+"The man you are after has been dead for two centuries," the Speaker
+said. "This is all that remains of him. And this is all you have with
+which to find him."
+
+For a long time Conger said nothing. He stared down at the bones, dimly
+visible in the recess of the wall. How could a man dead centuries be
+killed? How could he be stalked, brought down?
+
+Conger was a hunter, a man who had lived as he pleased, where he
+pleased. He had kept himself alive by trading, bringing furs and pelts
+in from the Provinces on his own ship, riding at high speed, slipping
+through the customs line around Earth.
+
+He had hunted in the great mountains of the moon. He had stalked through
+empty Martian cities. He had explored--
+
+The Speaker said, "Soldier, take these objects and have them carried to
+the car. Don't lose any part of them."
+
+The soldier went into the cupboard, reaching gingerly, squatting on his
+heels.
+
+"It is my hope," the Speaker continued softly, to Conger, "that you will
+demonstrate your loyalty to us, now. There are always ways for citizens
+to restore themselves, to show their devotion to their society. For you
+I think this would be a very good chance. I seriously doubt that a
+better one will come. And for your efforts there will be quite a
+restitution, of course."
+
+The two men looked at each other; Conger, thin, unkempt, the Speaker
+immaculate in his uniform.
+
+"I understand you," Conger said. "I mean, I understand this part, about
+the chance. But how can a man who has been dead two centuries be--"
+
+"I'll explain later," the Speaker said. "Right now we have to hurry!"
+The soldier had gone out with the bones, wrapped in a blanket held
+carefully in his arms. The Speaker walked to the door. "Come. They've
+already discovered that we've broken in here, and they'll be coming at
+any moment."
+
+They hurried down the damp steps to the waiting car. A second later the
+driver lifted the car up into the air, above the house-tops.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Speaker settled back in the seat.
+
+"The First Church has an interesting past," he said. "I suppose you are
+familiar with it, but I'd like to speak of a few points that are of
+relevancy to us.
+
+"It was in the twentieth century that the Movement began--during one of
+the periodic wars. The Movement developed rapidly, feeding on the
+general sense of futility, the realization that each war was breeding
+greater war, with no end in sight. The Movement posed a simple answer to
+the problem: Without military preparations--weapons--there could be no
+war. And without machinery and complex scientific technocracy there
+could be no weapons.
+
+"The Movement preached that you couldn't stop war by planning for it.
+They preached that man was losing to his machinery and science, that it
+was getting away from him, pushing him into greater and greater wars.
+Down with society, they shouted. Down with factories and science! A few
+more wars and there wouldn't be much left of the world.
+
+"The Founder was an obscure person from a small town in the American
+Middle West. We don't even know his name. All we know is that one day he
+appeared, preaching a doctrine of non-violence, non-resistance; no
+fighting, no paying taxes for guns, no research except for medicine.
+Live out your life quietly, tending your garden, staying out of public
+affairs; mind your own business. Be obscure, unknown, poor. Give away
+most of your possessions, leave the city. At least that was what
+developed from what he told the people."
+
+The car dropped down and landed on a roof.
+
+"The Founder preached this doctrine, or the germ of it; there's no
+telling how much the faithful have added themselves. The local
+authorities picked him up at once, of course. Apparently they were
+convinced that he meant it; he was never released. He was put to death,
+and his body buried secretly. It seemed that the cult was finished."
+
+The Speaker smiled. "Unfortunately, some of his disciples reported
+seeing him after the date of his death. The rumor spread; he had
+conquered death, he was divine. It took hold, grew. And here we are
+today, with a First Church, obstructing all social progress, destroying
+society, sowing the seeds of anarchy--"
+
+"But the wars," Conger said. "About them?"
+
+"The wars? Well, there were no more wars. It must be acknowledged that
+the elimination of war was the direct result of non-violence practiced
+on a general scale. But we can take a more objective view of war today.
+What was so terrible about it? War had a profound selective value,
+perfectly in accord with the teachings of Darwin and Mendel and others.
+Without war the mass of useless, incompetent mankind, without training
+or intelligence, is permitted to grow and expand unchecked. War acted to
+reduce their numbers; like storms and earthquakes and droughts, it was
+nature's way of eliminating the unfit.
+
+"Without war the lower elements of mankind have increased all out of
+proportion. They threaten the educated few, those with scientific
+knowledge and training, the ones equipped to direct society. They have
+no regard for science or a scientific society, based on reason. And this
+Movement seeks to aid and abet them. Only when scientists are in full
+control can the--"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He looked at his watch and then kicked the car door open. "I'll tell you
+the rest as we walk."
+
+They crossed the dark roof. "Doubtless you now know whom those bones
+belonged to, who it is that we are after. He has been dead just two
+centuries, now, this ignorant man from the Middle West, this Founder.
+The tragedy is that the authorities of the time acted too slowly. They
+allowed him to speak, to get his message across. He was allowed to
+preach, to start his cult. And once such a thing is under way, there's
+no stopping it.
+
+"But what if he had died before he preached? What if none of his
+doctrines had ever been spoken? It took only a moment for him to utter
+them, that we know. They say he spoke just once, just one time. _Then_
+the authorities came, taking him away. He offered no resistance; the
+incident was small."
+
+The Speaker turned to Conger.
+
+"Small, but we're reaping the consequences of it today."
+
+They went inside the building. Inside, the soldiers had already laid out
+the skeleton on a table. The soldiers stood around it, their young faces
+intense.
+
+Conger went over to the table, pushing past them. He bent down, staring
+at the bones. "So these are his remains," he murmured. "The Founder. The
+Church has hidden them for two centuries."
+
+"Quite so," the Speaker said. "But now we have them. Come along down the
+hall."
+
+They went across the room to a door. The Speaker pushed it open.
+Technicians looked up. Conger saw machinery, whirring and turning;
+benches and retorts. In the center of the room was a gleaming crystal
+cage.
+
+The Speaker handed a Slem-gun to Conger. "The important thing to
+remember is that the skull must be saved and brought back--for
+comparison and proof. Aim low--at the chest."
+
+Conger weighed the gun in his hands. "It feels good," he said. "I know
+this gun--that is, I've seen them before, but I never used one."
+
+The Speaker nodded. "You will be instructed on the use of the gun and
+the operation of the cage. You will be given all data we have on the
+time and location. The exact spot was a place called Hudson's field.
+About 1960 in a small community outside Denver, Colorado. And don't
+forget--the only means of identification you will have will be the
+skull. There are visible characteristics of the front teeth, especially
+the left incisor--"
+
+Conger listened absently. He was watching two men in white carefully
+wrapping the skull in a plastic bag. They tied it and carried it into
+the crystal cage. "And if I should make a mistake?"
+
+"Pick the wrong man? Then find the right one. Don't come back until you
+succeed in reaching this Founder. And you can't wait for him to start
+speaking; that's what we must avoid! You must act in advance. Take
+chances; shoot as soon as you think you've found him. He'll be someone
+unusual, probably a stranger in the area. Apparently he wasn't known."
+
+Conger listened dimly.
+
+"Do you think you have it all now?" the Speaker asked.
+
+"Yes. I think so." Conger entered the crystal cage and sat down, placing
+his hands on the wheel.
+
+"Good luck," the Speaker said.
+
+"We'll be awaiting the outcome. There's some philosophical doubt as to
+whether one can alter the past. This should answer the question once and
+for all."
+
+Conger fingered the controls of the cage.
+
+"By the way," the Speaker said. "Don't try to use this cage for purposes
+not anticipated in your job. We have a constant trace on it. If we want
+it back, we can get it back. Good luck."
+
+Conger said nothing. The cage was sealed. He raised his finger and
+touched the wheel control. He turned the wheel carefully.
+
+He was still staring at the plastic bag when the room outside vanished.
+
+For a long time there was nothing at all. Nothing beyond the crystal
+mesh of the cage. Thoughts rushed through Conger's mind, helter-skelter.
+How would he know the man? How could he be certain, in advance? What had
+he looked like? What was his name? How had he acted, before he spoke?
+Would he be an ordinary person, or some strange outlandish crank?
+
+Conger picked up the Slem-gun and held it against his cheek. The metal
+of the gun was cool and smooth. He practiced moving the sight. It was a
+beautiful gun, the kind of gun he could fall in love with. If he had
+owned such a gun in the Martian desert--on the long nights when he had
+lain, cramped and numbed with cold, waiting for things that moved
+through the darkness--
+
+He put the gun down and adjusted the meter readings of the cage. The
+spiraling mist was beginning to condense and settle. All at once forms
+wavered and fluttered around him.
+
+Colors, sounds, movements filtered through the crystal wire. He clamped
+the controls off and stood up.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He was on a ridge overlooking a small town. It was high noon. The air
+was crisp and bright. A few automobiles moved along a road. Off in the
+distance were some level fields. Conger went to the door and stepped
+outside. He sniffed the air. Then he went back into the cage.
+
+He stood before the mirror over the shelf, examining his features. He
+had trimmed his beard--they had not got him to cut it off--and his hair
+was neat. He was dressed in the clothing of the middle-twentieth
+century, the odd collar and coat, the shoes of animal hide. In his
+pocket was money of the times. That was important. Nothing more was
+needed.
+
+Nothing, except his ability, his special cunning. But he had never used
+it in such a way before.
+
+He walked down the road toward the town.
+
+The first things he noticed were the newspapers on the stands. April 5,
+1961. He was not too far off. He looked around him. There was a filling
+station, a garage, some taverns, and a ten-cent store. Down the street
+was a grocery store and some public buildings.
+
+A few minutes later he mounted the stairs of the little public library
+and passed through the doors into the warm interior.
+
+The librarian looked up, smiling.
+
+"Good afternoon," she said.
+
+He smiled, not speaking because his words would not be correct; accented
+and strange, probably. He went over to a table and sat down by a heap of
+magazines. For a moment he glanced through them. Then he was on his feet
+again. He crossed the room to a wide rack against the wall. His heart
+began to beat heavily.
+
+Newspapers--weeks on end. He took a roll of them over to the table and
+began to scan them quickly. The print was odd, the letters strange. Some
+of the words were unfamiliar.
+
+He set the papers aside and searched farther. At last he found what he
+wanted. He carried the _Cherrywood Gazette_ to the table and opened it
+to the first page. He found what he wanted:
+
+    PRISONER HANGS SELF
+
+    An unidentified man, held by the county sheriff's office for
+    suspicion of criminal syndicalism, was found dead this morning, by--
+
+He finished the item. It was vague, uninforming. He needed more. He
+carried the _Gazette_ back to the racks and then, after a moment's
+hesitation, approached the librarian.
+
+"More?" he asked. "More papers. Old ones?"
+
+She frowned. "How old? Which papers?"
+
+"Months old. And--before."
+
+"Of the _Gazette_? This is all we have. What did you want? What are you
+looking for? Maybe I can help you."
+
+He was silent.
+
+"You might find older issues at the _Gazette_ office," the woman said,
+taking off her glasses. "Why don't you try there? But if you'd tell me,
+maybe I could help you--"
+
+He went out.
+
+The _Gazette_ office was down a side street; the sidewalk was broken and
+cracked. He went inside. A heater glowed in the corner of the small
+office. A heavy-set man stood up and came slowly over to the counter.
+
+"What did you want, mister?" he said.
+
+"Old papers. A month. Or more."
+
+"To buy? You want to buy them?"
+
+"Yes." He held out some of the money he had. The man stared.
+
+"Sure," he said. "Sure. Wait a minute." He went quickly out of the room.
+When he came back he was staggering under the weight of his armload, his
+face red. "Here are some," he grunted. "Took what I could find. Covers
+the whole year. And if you want more--"
+
+Conger carried the papers outside. He sat down by the road and began to
+go through them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+What he wanted was four months back, in December. It was a tiny item, so
+small that he almost missed it. His hands trembled as he scanned it,
+using the small dictionary for some of the archaic terms.
+
+    MAN ARRESTED FOR UNLICENSED DEMONSTRATION
+
+    An unidentified man who refused to give his name was picked up in
+    Cooper Creek by special agents of the sheriff's office, according to
+    Sheriff Duff. It was said the man was recently noticed in this area
+    and had been watched continually. It was--
+
+Cooper Creek. December, 1960. His heart pounded. That was all he needed
+to know. He stood up, shaking himself, stamping his feet on the cold
+ground. The sun had moved across the sky to the very edge of the hills.
+He smiled. Already he had discovered the exact time and place. Now he
+needed only to go back, perhaps to November, to Cooper Creek--
+
+He walked back through the main section of town, past the library, past
+the grocery store. It would not be hard; the hard part was over. He
+would go there; rent a room, prepare to wait until the man appeared.
+
+He turned the corner. A woman was coming out of a doorway, loaded down
+with packages. Conger stepped aside to let her pass. The woman glanced
+at him. Suddenly her face turned white. She stared, her mouth open.
+
+Conger hurried on. He looked back. What was wrong with her? The woman
+was still staring; she had dropped the packages to the ground. He
+increased his speed. He turned a second corner and went up a side
+street. When he looked back again the woman had come to the entrance of
+the street and was starting after him. A man joined her, and the two of
+them began to run toward him.
+
+He lost them and left the town, striding quickly, easily, up into the
+hills at the edge of town. When he reached the cage he stopped. What had
+happened? Was it something about his clothing? His dress?
+
+He pondered. Then, as the sun set, he stepped into the cage.
+
+Conger sat before the wheel. For a moment he waited, his hands resting
+lightly on the control. Then he turned the wheel, just a little,
+following the control readings carefully.
+
+The grayness settled down around him.
+
+But not for very long.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The man looked him over critically. "You better come inside," he said.
+"Out of the cold."
+
+"Thanks." Conger went gratefully through the open door, into the
+living-room. It was warm and close from the heat of the little kerosene
+heater in the corner. A woman, large and shapeless in her flowered
+dress, came from the kitchen. She and the man studied him critically.
+
+"It's a good room," the woman said. "I'm Mrs. Appleton. It's got heat.
+You need that this time of year."
+
+"Yes." He nodded, looking around.
+
+"You want to eat with us?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"You want to eat with us?" The man's brows knitted. "You're not a
+foreigner, are you, mister?"
+
+"No." He smiled. "I was born in this country. Quite far west, though."
+
+"California?"
+
+"No." He hesitated. "In Oregon."
+
+"What's it like up there?" Mrs. Appleton asked. "I hear there's a lot of
+trees and green. It's so barren here. I come from Chicago, myself."
+
+"That's the Middle West," the man said to her. "You ain't no foreigner."
+
+"Oregon isn't foreign, either," Conger said. "It's part of the United
+States."
+
+The man nodded absently. He was staring at Conger's clothing.
+
+"That's a funny suit you got on, mister," he said. "Where'd you get
+that?"
+
+Conger was lost. He shifted uneasily. "It's a good suit," he said.
+"Maybe I better go some other place, if you don't want me here."
+
+They both raised their hands protestingly. The woman smiled at him. "We
+just have to look out for those Reds. You know, the government is always
+warning us about them."
+
+"The Reds?" He was puzzled.
+
+"The government says they're all around. We're supposed to report
+anything strange or unusual, anybody doesn't act normal."
+
+"Like me?"
+
+They looked embarrassed. "Well, you don't look like a Red to me," the
+man said. "But we have to be careful. The _Tribune_ says--"
+
+Conger half listened. It was going to be easier than he had thought.
+Clearly, he would know as soon as the Founder appeared. These people, so
+suspicious of anything different, would be buzzing and gossiping and
+spreading the story. All he had to do was lie low and listen, down at
+the general store, perhaps. Or even here, in Mrs. Appleton's boarding
+house.
+
+"Can I see the room?" he said.
+
+"Certainly." Mrs. Appleton went to the stairs. "I'll be glad to show it
+to you."
+
+They went upstairs. It was colder upstairs, but not nearly as cold as
+outside. Nor as cold as nights on the Martian deserts. For that he was
+grateful.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He was walking slowly around the store, looking at the cans of
+vegetables, the frozen packages of fish and meats shining and clean in
+the open refrigerator counters.
+
+Ed Davies came toward him. "Can I help you?" he said. The man was a
+little oddly dressed, and with a beard! Ed couldn't help smiling.
+
+"Nothing," the man said in a funny voice. "Just looking."
+
+"Sure," Ed said. He walked back behind the counter. Mrs. Hacket was
+wheeling her cart up.
+
+"Who's he?" she whispered, her sharp face turned, her nose moving, as if
+it were sniffing. "I never seen him before."
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Looks funny to me. Why does he wear a beard? No one else wears a
+beard. Must be something the matter with him."
+
+"Maybe he likes to wear a beard. I had an uncle who--"
+
+"Wait." Mrs. Hacket stiffened. "Didn't that--what was his name? The
+Red--that old one. Didn't he have a beard? Marx. He had a beard."
+
+Ed laughed. "This ain't Karl Marx. I saw a photograph of him once."
+
+Mrs. Hacket was staring at him. "You did?"
+
+"Sure." He flushed a little. "What's the matter with that?"
+
+"I'd sure like to know more about him," Mrs. Hacket said. "I think we
+ought to know more, for our own good."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Hey, mister! Want a ride?"
+
+Conger turned quickly, dropping his hand to his belt. He relaxed. Two
+young kids in a car, a girl and a boy. He smiled at them. "A ride?
+Sure."
+
+Conger got into the car and closed the door. Bill Willet pushed the gas
+and the car roared down the highway.
+
+"I appreciate a ride," Conger said carefully. "I was taking a walk
+between towns, but it was farther than I thought."
+
+"Where are you from?" Lora Hunt asked. She was pretty, small and dark,
+in her yellow sweater and blue skirt.
+
+"From Cooper Creek."
+
+"Cooper Creek?" Bill said. He frowned. "That's funny. I don't remember
+seeing you before."
+
+"Why, do you come from there?"
+
+"I was born there. I know everybody there."
+
+"I just moved in. From Oregon."
+
+"From Oregon? I didn't know Oregon people had accents."
+
+"Do I have an accent?"
+
+"You use words funny."
+
+"How?"
+
+"I don't know. Doesn't he, Lora?"
+
+"You slur them," Lora said, smiling. "Talk some more. I'm interested in
+dialects." She glanced at him, white-teethed. Conger felt his heart
+constrict.
+
+"I have a speech impediment."
+
+"Oh." Her eyes widened. "I'm sorry."
+
+They looked at him curiously as the car purred along. Conger for his
+part was struggling to find some way of asking them questions without
+seeming curious. "I guess people from out of town don't come here much,"
+he said. "Strangers."
+
+"No." Bill shook his head. "Not very much."
+
+"I'll bet I'm the first outsider for a long time."
+
+"I guess so."
+
+Conger hesitated. "A friend of mine--someone I know, might be coming
+through here. Where do you suppose I might--" He stopped. "Would there
+be anyone certain to see him? Someone I could ask, make sure I don't
+miss him if he comes?"
+
+They were puzzled. "Just keep your eyes open. Cooper Creek isn't very
+big."
+
+"No. That's right."
+
+They drove in silence. Conger studied the outline of the girl. Probably
+she was the boy's mistress. Perhaps she was his trial wife. Or had they
+developed trial marriage back so far? He could not remember. But surely
+such an attractive girl would be someone's mistress by this time; she
+would be sixteen or so, by her looks. He might ask her sometime, if they
+ever met again.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The next day Conger went walking along the one main street of Cooper
+Creek. He passed the general store, the two filling stations, and then
+the post office. At the corner was the soda fountain.
+
+He stopped. Lora was sitting inside, talking to the clerk. She was
+laughing, rocking back and forth.
+
+Conger pushed the door open. Warm air rushed around him. Lora was
+drinking hot chocolate, with whipped cream. She looked up in surprise as
+he slid into the seat beside her.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said. "Am I intruding?"
+
+"No." She shook her head. Her eyes were large and dark. "Not at all."
+
+The clerk came over. "What do you want?"
+
+Conger looked at the chocolate. "Same as she has."
+
+Lora was watching Conger, her arms folded, elbows on the counter. She
+smiled at him. "By the way. You don't know my name. Lora Hunt."
+
+She was holding out her hand. He took it awkwardly, not knowing what to
+do with it. "Conger is my name," he murmured.
+
+"Conger? Is that your last or first name?"
+
+"Last or first?" He hesitated. "Last. Omar Conger."
+
+"Omar?" She laughed. "That's like the poet, Omar Khayyam."
+
+"I don't know of him. I know very little of poets. We restored very few
+works of art. Usually only the Church has been interested enough--" He
+broke off. She was staring. He flushed. "Where I come from," he
+finished.
+
+"The Church? Which church do you mean?"
+
+"The Church." He was confused. The chocolate came and he began to sip it
+gratefully. Lora was still watching him.
+
+"You're an unusual person," she said. "Bill didn't like you, but he
+never likes anything different. He's so--so prosaic. Don't you think
+that when a person gets older he should become--broadened in his
+outlook?"
+
+Conger nodded.
+
+"He says foreign people ought to stay where they belong, not come here.
+But you're not so foreign. He means orientals; you know."
+
+Conger nodded.
+
+The screen door opened behind them. Bill came into the room. He stared
+at them. "Well," he said.
+
+Conger turned. "Hello."
+
+"Well." Bill sat down. "Hello, Lora." He was looking at Conger. "I
+didn't expect to see you here."
+
+Conger tensed. He could feel the hostility of the boy. "Something wrong
+with that?"
+
+"No. Nothing wrong with it."
+
+There was silence. Suddenly Bill turned to Lora. "Come on. Let's go."
+
+"Go?" She was astonished. "Why?"
+
+"Just go!" He grabbed her hand. "Come on! The car's outside."
+
+"Why, Bill Willet," Lora said. "You're jealous!"
+
+"Who is this guy?" Bill said. "Do you know anything about him? Look at
+him, his beard--"
+
+She flared. "So what? Just because he doesn't drive a Packard and go to
+Cooper High!"
+
+Conger sized the boy up. He was big--big and strong. Probably he was
+part of some civil control organization.
+
+"Sorry," Conger said. "I'll go."
+
+"What's your business in town?" Bill asked. "What are you doing here?
+Why are you hanging around Lora?"
+
+Conger looked at the girl. He shrugged. "No reason. I'll see you later."
+
+He turned away. And froze. Bill had moved. Conger's fingers went to his
+belt. _Half pressure_, he whispered to himself. _No more. Half
+pressure._
+
+He squeezed. The room leaped around him. He himself was protected by the
+lining of his clothing, the plastic sheathing inside.
+
+"My God--" Lora put her hands up. Conger cursed. He hadn't meant any of
+it for her. But it would wear off. There was only a half-amp to it. It
+would tingle.
+
+Tingle, and paralyze.
+
+He walked out the door without looking back. He was almost to the corner
+when Bill came slowly out, holding onto the wall like a drunken man.
+Conger went on.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As Conger walked, restless, in the night, a form loomed in front of him.
+He stopped, holding his breath.
+
+"Who is it?" a man's voice came. Conger waited, tense.
+
+"Who is it?" the man said again. He clicked something in his hand. A
+light flashed. Conger moved.
+
+"It's me," he said.
+
+"Who is 'me'?"
+
+"Conger is my name. I'm staying at the Appleton's place. Who are you?"
+
+The man came slowly up to him. He was wearing a leather jacket. There
+was a gun at his waist.
+
+"I'm Sheriff Duff. I think you're the person I want to talk to. You were
+in Bloom's today, about three o'clock?"
+
+"Bloom's?"
+
+"The fountain. Where the kids hang out." Duff came up beside him,
+shining his light into Conger's face. Conger blinked.
+
+"Turn that thing away," he said.
+
+A pause. "All right." The light flickered to the ground. "You were
+there. Some trouble broke out between you and the Willet boy. Is that
+right? You had a beef over his girl--"
+
+"We had a discussion," Conger said carefully.
+
+"Then what happened?"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I'm just curious. They say you did something."
+
+"Did something? Did what?"
+
+"I don't know. That's what I'm wondering. They saw a flash, and
+something seemed to happen. They all blacked out. Couldn't move."
+
+"How are they now?"
+
+"All right."
+
+There was silence.
+
+"Well?" Duff said. "What was it? A bomb?"
+
+"A bomb?" Conger laughed. "No. My cigarette lighter caught fire. There
+was a leak, and the fluid ignited."
+
+"Why did they all pass out?"
+
+"Fumes."
+
+Silence. Conger shifted, waiting. His fingers moved slowly toward his
+belt. The Sheriff glanced down. He grunted.
+
+"If you say so," he said. "Anyhow, there wasn't any real harm done." He
+stepped back from Conger. "And that Willet is a trouble-maker."
+
+"Good night, then," Conger said. He started past the Sheriff.
+
+"One more thing, Mr. Conger. Before you go. You don't mind if I look at
+your identification, do you?"
+
+"No. Not at all." Conger reached into his pocket. He held his wallet
+out. The Sheriff took it and shined his flashlight on it. Conger
+watched, breathing shallowly. They had worked hard on the wallet,
+studying historic documents, relics of the times, all the papers they
+felt would be relevant.
+
+Duff handed it back. "Okay. Sorry to bother you." The light winked off.
+
+When Conger reached the house he found the Appletons sitting around the
+television set. They did not look up as he came in. He lingered at the
+door.
+
+"Can I ask you something?" he said. Mrs. Appleton turned slowly. "Can I
+ask you--what's the date?"
+
+"The date?" She studied him. "The first of December."
+
+"December first! Why, it was just November!"
+
+They were all looking at him. Suddenly he remembered. In the twentieth
+century they still used the old twelve-month system. November fed
+directly into December; there was no Quartember between.
+
+He gasped. Then it was tomorrow! The second of December! Tomorrow!
+
+"Thanks," he said. "Thanks."
+
+He went up the stairs. What a fool he was, forgetting. The Founder had
+been taken into captivity on the second of December, according to the
+newspaper records. Tomorrow, only twelve hours hence, the Founder would
+appear to speak to the people and then be dragged away.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The day was warm and bright. Conger's shoes crunched the melting crust
+of snow. On he went, through the trees heavy with white. He climbed a
+hill and strode down the other side, sliding as he went.
+
+He stopped to look around. Everything was silent. There was no one in
+sight. He brought a thin rod from his waist and turned the handle of it.
+For a moment nothing happened. Then there was a shimmering in the air.
+
+The crystal cage appeared and settled slowly down. Conger sighed. It was
+good to see it again. After all, it was his only way back.
+
+He walked up on the ridge. He looked around with some satisfaction, his
+hands on his hips. Hudson's field was spread out, all the way to the
+beginning of town. It was bare and flat, covered with a thin layer of
+snow.
+
+Here, the Founder would come. Here, he would speak to them. And here the
+authorities would take him.
+
+Only he would be dead before they came. He would be dead before he even
+spoke.
+
+Conger returned to the crystal globe. He pushed through the door and
+stepped inside. He took the Slem-gun from the shelf and screwed the bolt
+into place. It was ready to go, ready to fire. For a moment he
+considered. Should he have it with him?
+
+No. It might be hours before the Founder came, and suppose someone
+approached him in the meantime? When he saw the Founder coming toward
+the field, then he could go and get the gun.
+
+Conger looked toward the shelf. There was the neat plastic package. He
+took it down and unwrapped it.
+
+He held the skull in his hands, turning it over. In spite of himself, a
+cold feeling rushed through him. This was the man's skull, the skull of
+the Founder, who was still alive, who would come here, this day, who
+would stand on the field not fifty yards away.
+
+What if _he_ could see this, his own skull, yellow and eroded? Two
+centuries old. Would he still speak? Would he speak, if he could see it,
+the grinning, aged skull? What would there be for him to say, to tell
+the people? What message could he bring?
+
+What action would not be futile, when a man could look upon his own
+aged, yellowed skull? Better they should enjoy their temporary lives,
+while they still had them to enjoy.
+
+A man who could hold his own skull in his hands would believe in few
+causes, few movements. Rather, he would preach the opposite--
+
+A sound. Conger dropped the skull back on the shelf and took up the gun.
+Outside something was moving. He went quickly to the door, his heart
+beating. Was it _he_? Was it the Founder, wandering by himself in the
+cold, looking for a place to speak? Was he meditating over his words,
+choosing his sentences?
+
+What if he could see what Conger had held!
+
+He pushed the door open, the gun raised.
+
+Lora!
+
+He stared at her. She was dressed in a wool jacket and boots, her hands
+in her pockets. A cloud of steam came from her mouth and nostrils. Her
+breast was rising and falling.
+
+Silently, they looked at each other. At last Conger lowered the gun.
+
+"What is it?" he said. "What are you doing here?"
+
+She pointed. She did not seem able to speak. He frowned; what was wrong
+with her?
+
+"What is it?" he said. "What do you want?" He looked in the direction
+she had pointed. "I don't see anything."
+
+"They're coming."
+
+"They? Who? Who are coming?"
+
+"They are. The police. During the night the Sheriff had the state police
+send cars. All around, everywhere. Blocking the roads. There's about
+sixty of them coming. Some from town, some around behind." She stopped,
+gasping. "They said--they said--"
+
+"What?"
+
+"They said you were some kind of a Communist. They said--"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Conger went into the cage. He put the gun down on the shelf and came
+back out. He leaped down and went to the girl.
+
+"Thanks. You came here to tell me? You don't believe it?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Did you come alone?"
+
+"No. Joe brought me in his truck. From town."
+
+"Joe? Who's he?"
+
+"Joe French. The plumber. He's a friend of Dad's."
+
+"Let's go." They crossed the snow, up the ridge and onto the field. The
+little panel truck was parked half way across the field. A heavy short
+man was sitting behind the wheel, smoking his pipe. He sat up as he saw
+the two of them coming toward him.
+
+"Are you the one?" he said to Conger.
+
+"Yes. Thanks for warning me."
+
+The plumber shrugged. "I don't know anything about this. Lora says
+you're all right." He turned around. "It might interest you to know some
+more of them are coming. Not to warn you--just curious."
+
+"More of them?" Conger looked toward the town. Black shapes were picking
+their way across the snow.
+
+"People from the town. You can't keep this sort of thing quiet, not in a
+small town. We all listen to the police radio; they heard the same way
+Lora did. Someone tuned in, spread it around--"
+
+The shapes were getting closer. Conger could, make out a couple of them.
+Bill Willet was there, with some boys from the high school. The
+Appletons were along, hanging back in the rear.
+
+"Even Ed Davies," Conger murmured.
+
+The storekeeper was toiling onto the field, with three or four other men
+from the town.
+
+"All curious as hell," French said. "Well, I guess I'm going back to
+town. I don't want my truck shot full of holes. Come on, Lora."
+
+She was looking up at Conger, wide-eyed.
+
+"Come on," French said again. "Let's go. You sure as hell can't stay
+here, you know."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"There may be shooting. That's what they all came to see. You know that
+don't you, Conger?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You have a gun? Or don't you care?" French smiled a little. "They've
+picked up a lot of people in their time, you know. You won't be lonely."
+
+He cared, all right! He had to stay here, on the field. He couldn't
+afford to let them take him away. Any minute the Founder would appear,
+would step onto the field. Would he be one of the townsmen, standing
+silently at the foot of the field, waiting, watching?
+
+Or maybe he was Joe French. Or maybe one of the cops. Anyone of them
+might find himself moved to speak. And the few words spoken this day
+were going to be important for a long time.
+
+And Conger had to be there, ready when the first word was uttered!
+
+"I care," he said. "You go on back to town. Take the girl with you."
+
+Lora got stiffly in beside Joe French. The plumber started up the motor.
+"Look at them, standing there," he said. "Like vultures. Waiting to see
+someone get killed."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The truck drove away, Lora sitting stiff and silent, frightened now.
+Conger watched for a moment. Then he dashed back into the woods, between
+the trees, toward the ridge.
+
+He could get away, of course. Anytime he wanted to he could get away.
+All he had to do was to leap into the crystal cage and turn the handles.
+But he had a job, an important job. He had to be here, here at this
+place, at this time.
+
+He reached the cage and opened the door. He went inside and picked up
+the gun from the shelf. The Slem-gun would take care of them. He notched
+it up to full count. The chain reaction from it would flatten them all,
+the police, the curious, sadistic people--
+
+They wouldn't take him! Before they got him, all of them would be dead.
+_He_ would get away. He would escape. By the end of the day they would
+all be dead, if that was what they wanted, and he--
+
+He saw the skull.
+
+Suddenly he put the gun down. He picked up the skull. He turned the
+skull over. He looked at the teeth. Then he went to the mirror.
+
+He held the skull up, looking in the mirror. He pressed the skull
+against his cheek. Beside his own face the grinning skull leered back at
+him, beside _his_ skull, against his living flesh.
+
+He bared his teeth. And he knew.
+
+It was his own skull that he held. He was the one who would die. He was
+the Founder.
+
+After a time he put the skull down. For a few minutes he stood at the
+controls, playing with them idly. He could hear the sound of motors
+outside, the muffled noise of men. Should he go back to the present,
+where the Speaker waited? He could escape, of course--
+
+Escape?
+
+He turned toward the skull. There it was, his skull, yellow with age.
+Escape? Escape, when he had held it in his own hands?
+
+What did it matter if he put it off a month, a year, ten years, even
+fifty? Time was nothing. He had sipped chocolate with a girl born a
+hundred and fifty years before his time. Escape? For a little while,
+perhaps.
+
+But he could not _really_ escape, no more so than anyone else had ever
+escaped, or ever would.
+
+Only, he had held it in his hands, his own bones, his own death's-head.
+
+_They_ had not.
+
+He went out the door and across the field, empty handed. There were a
+lot of them standing around, gathered together, waiting. They expected a
+good fight; they knew he had something. They had heard about the
+incident at the fountain.
+
+And there were plenty of police--police with guns and tear gas, creeping
+across the hills and ridges, between the trees, closer and closer. It
+was an old story, in this century.
+
+One of the men tossed something at him. It fell in the snow by his
+feet, and he looked down. It was a rock. He smiled.
+
+"Come on!" one of them called. "Don't you have any bombs?"
+
+"Throw a bomb! You with the beard! Throw a bomb!"
+
+"Let 'em have it!"
+
+"Toss a few A Bombs!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+They began to laugh. He smiled. He put his hands to his hips. They
+suddenly turned silent, seeing that he was going to speak.
+
+"I'm sorry," he said simply. "I don't have any bombs. You're mistaken."
+
+There was a flurry of murmuring.
+
+"I have a gun," he went on. "A very good one. Made by science even more
+advanced than your own. But I'm not going to use that, either."
+
+They were puzzled.
+
+"Why not?" someone called. At the edge of the group an older woman was
+watching. He felt a sudden shock. He had seen her before. Where?
+
+He remembered. The day at the library. As he had turned the corner he
+had seen her. She had noticed him and been astounded. At the time, he
+did not understand why.
+
+Conger grinned. So he _would_ escape death, the man who right now was
+voluntarily accepting it. They were laughing, laughing at a man who had
+a gun but didn't use it. But by a strange twist of science he would
+appear again, a few months later, after his bones had been buried under
+the floor of a jail.
+
+And so, in a fashion, he would escape death. He would die, but then,
+after a period of months, he would live again, briefly, for an
+afternoon.
+
+An afternoon. Yet long enough for them to see him, to understand that he
+was still alive. To know that somehow he had returned to life.
+
+And then, finally, he would appear once more, after two hundred years
+had passed. Two centuries later.
+
+He would be born again, born, as a matter of fact, in a small trading
+village on Mars. He would grow up, learning to hunt and trade--
+
+A police car came on the edge of the field and stopped. The people
+retreated a little. Conger raised his hands.
+
+"I have an odd paradox for you," he said. "Those who take lives will
+lose their own. Those who kill, will die. But he who gives his own life
+away will live again!"
+
+They laughed, faintly, nervously. The police were coming out, walking
+toward him. He smiled. He had said everything he intended to say. It was
+a good little paradox he had coined. They would puzzle over it, remember
+it.
+
+Smiling, Conger awaited a death foreordained.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+    This etext was produced from _If Worlds of Science Fiction_
+    September 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
+    the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling
+    and typographical errors have been corrected without note.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Skull, by Philip K. Dick
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30255 ***
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+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Skull, by Philip K. Dick
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+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30255 ***</div>
+
+<div class="bk1"><p><big><i>Conger agreed to kill a stranger he had
+never seen. But he would make no mistakes
+because he had the stranger's skull under
+his arm.</i></big></p></div>
+
+<h1>THE<br />
+<span class="sp1">SKULL</span></h1>
+
+<h2><small>By Philip K. Dick</small></h2>
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">"What</span> is this opportunity?"
+Conger asked. "Go on. I'm
+interested."</p>
+
+<p>The room was silent; all faces
+were fixed on Conger&mdash;still in the
+drab prison uniform. The Speaker
+leaned forward slowly.</p>
+
+<p>"Before you went to prison your
+trading business was paying well&mdash;all
+illegal&mdash;all very profitable. Now
+you have nothing, except the prospect
+of another six years in a cell."</p>
+
+<p>Conger scowled.</p>
+
+<p>"There is a certain situation, very
+important to this Council, that requires
+your peculiar abilities. Also,
+it is a situation you might find interesting.
+You were a hunter, were you
+not? You've done a great deal of
+trapping, hiding in the bushes,
+waiting at night for the game? I
+imagine hunting must be a source
+of satisfaction to you, the chase, the
+stalking&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Conger sighed. His lips twisted.
+"All right," he said. "Leave that
+out. Get to the point. Who do you
+want me to kill?"</p>
+
+<p>The Speaker smiled. "All in
+proper sequence," he said softly.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The</span> car slid to a stop. It was
+night; there was no light anywhere
+along the street. Conger looked out.
+"Where are we? What is this
+place?"</p>
+
+<p>The hand of the guard pressed
+into his arm. "Come. Through that
+door."</p>
+
+<p>Conger stepped down, onto the
+damp sidewalk. The guard came
+swiftly after him, and then the
+Speaker. Conger took a deep breath
+of the cold air. He studied the dim
+outline of the building rising up
+before them.</p>
+
+<p>"I know this place. I've seen it
+before." He squinted, his eyes growing
+accustomed to the dark. Suddenly
+he became alert. "This is&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. The First Church." The
+Speaker walked toward the steps.
+"We're expected."</p>
+
+<p>"Expected? <i>Here?</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes." The Speaker mounted the
+stairs. "You know we're not allowed
+in their Churches, especially with
+guns!" He stopped. Two armed soldiers
+loomed up ahead, one on each
+side.</p>
+
+<p>"All right?" The Speaker looked
+up at them. They nodded. The door
+of the Church was open. Conger
+could see other soldiers inside,
+standing about, young soldiers with
+large eyes, gazing at the ikons and
+holy images.</p>
+
+<p>"I see," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"It was necessary," the Speaker
+said. "As you know, we have been
+singularly unfortunate in the past
+in our relations with the First
+Church."</p>
+
+<p>"This won't help."</p>
+
+<p>"But it's worth it. You will see."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">They</span> passed through the hall
+and into the main chamber
+where the altar piece was, and the
+kneeling places. The Speaker
+scarcely glanced at the altar as they
+passed by. He pushed open a small
+side door and beckoned Conger
+through.</p>
+
+<p>"In here. We have to hurry. The
+faithful will be flocking in soon."</p>
+
+<p>Conger entered, blinking. They
+were in a small chamber, low-ceilinged,
+with dark panels of old
+wood. There was a smell of ashes
+and smoldering spices in the room.
+He sniffed. "What's that? The
+smell."</p>
+
+<p>"Cups on the wall. I don't
+know." The Speaker crossed impatiently
+to the far side. "According
+to our information, it is hidden here
+by this&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Conger looked around the room.
+He saw books and papers, holy
+signs and images. A strange low
+shiver went through him.</p>
+
+<p>"Does my job involve anyone of
+the Church? If it does&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The Speaker turned, astonished.
+"Can it be that you believe in the
+Founder? Is it possible, a hunter, a
+killer&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Of course not. All their
+business about resignation to death,
+non-violence&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, then?"</p>
+
+<p>Conger shrugged. "I've been
+taught not to mix with such as
+these. They have strange abilities.
+And you can't reason with them."</p>
+
+<p>The Speaker studied Conger
+thoughtfully. "You have the wrong
+idea. It is no one here that we have
+in mind. We've found that killing
+them only tends to increase their
+numbers."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why come here? Let's
+leave."</p>
+
+<p>"No. We came for something
+important. Something you will need
+to identify your man. Without it
+you won't be able to find him."
+A trace of a smile crossed the
+Speaker's face. "We don't want you
+to kill the wrong person. It's too
+important."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't make mistakes." Conger's
+chest rose. "Listen, Speaker&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"This is an unusual situation,"
+the Speaker said. "You see, the person
+you are after&mdash;the person that
+we are sending you to find&mdash;is
+known only by certain objects here.
+They are the only traces, the only
+means of identification. Without
+them&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What are they?"</p>
+
+<p>He came toward the Speaker.
+The Speaker moved to one side.
+"Look," he said. He drew a sliding
+wall away, showing a dark square
+hole. "In there."</p>
+
+<p>Conger squatted down, staring
+in. He frowned. "A skull! A skeleton!"</p>
+
+<p>"The man you are after has been
+dead for two centuries," the Speaker
+said. "This is all that remains of
+him. And this is all you have with
+which to find him."</p>
+
+<p>For a long time Conger said nothing.
+He stared down at the bones,
+dimly visible in the recess of the
+wall. How could a man dead centuries
+be killed? How could he be
+stalked, brought down?</p>
+
+<p>Conger was a hunter, a man who
+had lived as he pleased, where he
+pleased. He had kept himself alive
+by trading, bringing furs and pelts
+in from the Provinces on his own
+ship, riding at high speed, slipping
+through the customs line around
+Earth.</p>
+
+<p>He had hunted in the great
+mountains of the moon. He had
+stalked through empty Martian
+cities. He had explored&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>The Speaker said, "Soldier, take
+these objects and have them carried
+to the car. Don't lose any part
+of them."</p>
+
+<p>The soldier went into the cupboard,
+reaching gingerly, squatting
+on his heels.</p>
+
+<p>"It is my hope," the Speaker continued
+softly, to Conger, "that you
+will demonstrate your loyalty to us,
+now. There are always ways for
+citizens to restore themselves, to
+show their devotion to their society.
+For you I think this would be a
+very good chance. I seriously doubt
+that a better one will come. And
+for your efforts there will be quite
+a restitution, of course."</p>
+
+<p>The two men looked at each
+other; Conger, thin, unkempt, the
+Speaker immaculate in his uniform.</p>
+
+<p>"I understand you," Conger said.
+"I mean, I understand this part,
+about the chance. But how can a
+man who has been dead two centuries
+be&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll explain later," the Speaker
+said. "Right now we have to hurry!"
+The soldier had gone out with the
+bones, wrapped in a blanket held
+carefully in his arms. The Speaker
+walked to the door. "Come. They've
+already discovered that we've
+broken in here, and they'll be coming
+at any moment."</p>
+
+<p>They hurried down the damp
+steps to the waiting car. A second
+later the driver lifted the car up
+into the air, above the house-tops.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The Speaker</span> settled back in
+the seat.</p>
+
+<p>"The First Church has an interesting
+past," he said. "I suppose
+you are familiar with it, but I'd
+like to speak of a few points that
+are of relevancy to us.</p>
+
+<p>"It was in the twentieth century
+that the Movement began&mdash;during
+one of the periodic wars. The
+Movement developed rapidly, feeding
+on the general sense of futility,
+the realization that each war was
+breeding greater war, with no end
+in sight. The Movement posed a
+simple answer to the problem:
+Without military preparations&mdash;weapons&mdash;there
+could be no war.
+And without machinery and complex
+scientific technocracy there
+could be no weapons.</p>
+
+<p>"The Movement preached that
+you couldn't stop war by planning
+for it. They preached that man was
+losing to his machinery and science,
+that it was getting away from him,
+pushing him into greater and
+greater wars. Down with society,
+they shouted. Down with factories
+and science! A few more wars and
+there wouldn't be much left of the
+world.</p>
+
+<p>"The Founder was an obscure
+person from a small town in the
+American Middle West. We don't
+even know his name. All we know
+is that one day he appeared, preaching
+a doctrine of non-violence, non-resistance;
+no fighting, no paying
+taxes for guns, no research except
+for medicine. Live out your life
+quietly, tending your garden, staying
+out of public affairs; mind your
+own business. Be obscure, unknown,
+poor. Give away most of your possessions,
+leave the city. At least that
+was what developed from what he
+told the people."</p>
+
+<p>The car dropped down and
+landed on a roof.</p>
+
+<p>"The Founder preached this doctrine,
+or the germ of it; there's no
+telling how much the faithful have
+added themselves. The local authorities
+picked him up at once, of
+course. Apparently they were convinced
+that he meant it; he was
+never released. He was put to
+death, and his body buried secretly.
+It seemed that the cult was finished."</p>
+
+<p>The Speaker smiled. "Unfortunately,
+some of his disciples reported
+seeing him after the date of
+his death. The rumor spread; he
+had conquered death, he was divine.
+It took hold, grew. And here
+we are today, with a First Church,
+obstructing all social progress, destroying
+society, sowing the seeds
+of anarchy&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But the wars," Conger said.
+"About them?"</p>
+
+<p>"The wars? Well, there were no
+more wars. It must be acknowledged
+that the elimination of war
+was the direct result of non-violence
+practiced on a general scale.
+But we can take a more objective
+view of war today. What was so
+terrible about it? War had a profound
+selective value, perfectly in
+accord with the teachings of Darwin
+and Mendel and others. Without
+war the mass of useless, incompetent
+mankind, without training
+or intelligence, is permitted to grow
+and expand unchecked. War acted
+to reduce their numbers; like storms
+and earthquakes and droughts, it
+was nature's way of eliminating the
+unfit.</p>
+
+<p>"Without war the lower elements
+of mankind have increased all out
+of proportion. They threaten the
+educated few, those with scientific
+knowledge and training, the ones
+equipped to direct society. They
+have no regard for science or a
+scientific society, based on reason.
+And this Movement seeks to aid
+and abet them. Only when scientists
+are in full control can the&mdash;"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">He</span> looked at his watch
+and then kicked the car door
+open. "I'll tell you the rest as we
+walk."</p>
+
+<p>They crossed the dark roof.
+"Doubtless you now know whom
+those bones belonged to, who it is
+that we are after. He has been dead
+just two centuries, now, this ignorant
+man from the Middle West, this
+Founder. The tragedy is that the
+authorities of the time acted too
+slowly. They allowed him to speak,
+to get his message across. He was
+allowed to preach, to start his cult.
+And once such a thing is under way,
+there's no stopping it.</p>
+
+<p>"But what if he had died before
+he preached? What if none of his
+doctrines had ever been spoken? It
+took only a moment for him to utter
+them, that we know. They say he
+spoke just once, just one time. <i>Then</i>
+the authorities came, taking him
+away. He offered no resistance; the
+incident was small."</p>
+
+<p>The Speaker turned to Conger.</p>
+
+<p>"Small, but we're reaping the
+consequences of it today."</p>
+
+<p>They went inside the building.
+Inside, the soldiers had already laid
+out the skeleton on a table. The
+soldiers stood around it, their young
+faces intense.</p>
+
+<p>Conger went over to the table,
+pushing past them. He bent down,
+staring at the bones. "So these are
+his remains," he murmured. "The
+Founder. The Church has hidden
+them for two centuries."</p>
+
+<p>"Quite so," the Speaker said.
+"But now we have them. Come
+along down the hall."</p>
+
+<p>They went across the room to a
+door. The Speaker pushed it open.
+Technicians looked up. Conger saw
+machinery, whirring and turning;
+benches and retorts. In the center
+of the room was a gleaming crystal
+cage.</p>
+
+<p>The Speaker handed a Slem-gun
+to Conger. "The important thing to
+remember is that the skull must be
+saved and brought back&mdash;for comparison
+and proof. Aim low&mdash;at the
+chest."</p>
+
+<p>Conger weighed the gun in his
+hands. "It feels good," he said. "I
+know this gun&mdash;that is, I've seen
+them before, but I never used one."</p>
+
+<p>The Speaker nodded. "You will
+be instructed on the use of the gun
+and the operation of the cage. You
+will be given all data we have on
+the time and location. The exact
+spot was a place called Hudson's
+field. About 1960 in a small community
+outside Denver, Colorado.
+And don't forget&mdash;the only means
+of identification you will have will
+be the skull. There are visible characteristics
+of the front teeth, especially
+the left incisor&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Conger listened absently. He was
+watching two men in white carefully
+wrapping the skull in a plastic
+bag. They tied it and carried it into
+the crystal cage. "And if I should
+make a mistake?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pick the wrong man? Then
+find the right one. Don't come back
+until you succeed in reaching this
+Founder. And you can't wait for
+him to start speaking; that's what
+we must avoid! You must act in
+advance. Take chances; shoot as
+soon as you think you've found him.
+He'll be someone unusual, probably
+a stranger in the area. Apparently
+he wasn't known."</p>
+
+<p>Conger listened dimly.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think you have it all
+now?" the Speaker asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I think so." Conger entered
+the crystal cage and sat down, placing
+his hands on the wheel.</p>
+
+<p>"Good luck," the Speaker said.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll be awaiting the outcome.
+There's some philosophical doubt
+as to whether one can alter the
+past. This should answer the question
+once and for all."</p>
+
+<p>Conger fingered the controls of
+the cage.</p>
+
+<p>"By the way," the Speaker said.
+"Don't try to use this cage for purposes
+not anticipated in your job.
+We have a constant trace on it. If
+we want it back, we can get it back.
+Good luck."</p>
+
+<p>Conger said nothing. The cage
+was sealed. He raised his finger and
+touched the wheel control. He
+turned the wheel carefully.</p>
+
+<p>He was still staring at the plastic
+bag when the room outside vanished.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time there was nothing
+at all. Nothing beyond the crystal
+mesh of the cage. Thoughts rushed
+through Conger's mind, helter-skelter.
+How would he know the
+man? How could he be certain, in
+advance? What had he looked like?
+What was his name? How had he
+acted, before he spoke? Would he
+be an ordinary person, or some
+strange outlandish crank?</p>
+
+<p>Conger picked up the Slem-gun
+and held it against his cheek. The
+metal of the gun was cool and
+smooth. He practiced moving the
+sight. It was a beautiful gun, the
+kind of gun he could fall in love
+with. If he had owned such a gun
+in the Martian desert&mdash;on the long
+nights when he had lain, cramped
+and numbed with cold, waiting for
+things that moved through the
+darkness&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>He put the gun down and adjusted
+the meter readings of the
+cage. The spiraling mist was beginning
+to condense and settle. All at
+once forms wavered and fluttered
+around him.</p>
+
+<p>Colors, sounds, movements filtered
+through the crystal wire. He
+clamped the controls off and stood
+up.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">He</span> was on a ridge overlooking
+a small town. It was high
+noon. The air was crisp and bright.
+A few automobiles moved along a
+road. Off in the distance were some
+level fields. Conger went to the door
+and stepped outside. He sniffed the
+air. Then he went back into the
+cage.</p>
+
+<p>He stood before the mirror over
+the shelf, examining his features.
+He had trimmed his beard&mdash;they
+had not got him to cut it off&mdash;and
+his hair was neat. He was dressed in
+the clothing of the middle-twentieth
+century, the odd collar and
+coat, the shoes of animal hide. In
+his pocket was money of the times.
+That was important. Nothing more
+was needed.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing, except his ability, his
+special cunning. But he had never
+used it in such a way before.</p>
+
+<p>He walked down the road toward
+the town.</p>
+
+<p>The first things he noticed were
+the newspapers on the stands.
+April 5, 1961. He was not too far
+off. He looked around him. There
+was a filling station, a garage, some
+taverns, and a ten-cent store. Down
+the street was a grocery store and
+some public buildings.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes later he mounted
+the stairs of the little public library
+and passed through the doors into
+the warm interior.</p>
+
+<p>The librarian looked up, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Good afternoon," she said.</p>
+
+<p>He smiled, not speaking because
+his words would not be correct; accented
+and strange, probably. He
+went over to a table and sat down
+by a heap of magazines. For a moment
+he glanced through them.
+Then he was on his feet again. He
+crossed the room to a wide rack
+against the wall. His heart began
+to beat heavily.</p>
+
+<p>Newspapers&mdash;weeks on end. He
+took a roll of them over to the table
+and began to scan them quickly.
+The print was odd, the letters
+strange. Some of the words were
+unfamiliar.</p>
+
+<p>He set the papers aside and
+searched farther. At last he found
+what he wanted. He carried the
+<i>Cherrywood Gazette</i> to the table
+and opened it to the first page. He
+found what he wanted:</p>
+
+<div class="bq"><p class="center">PRISONER HANGS SELF</p>
+
+<p>An unidentified man, held
+by the county sheriff's office for
+suspicion of criminal syndicalism,
+was found dead this
+morning, by&mdash;</p></div>
+
+<p>He finished the item. It was
+vague, uninforming. He needed
+more. He carried the <i>Gazette</i> back
+to the racks and then, after a moment's
+hesitation, approached the
+librarian.</p>
+
+<p>"More?" he asked. "More papers.
+Old ones?"</p>
+
+<p>She frowned. "How old? Which
+papers?"</p>
+
+<p>"Months old. And&mdash;before."</p>
+
+<p>"Of the <i>Gazette</i>? This is all we
+have. What did you want? What
+are you looking for? Maybe I can
+help you."</p>
+
+<p>He was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"You might find older issues at
+the <i>Gazette</i> office," the woman
+said, taking off her glasses. "Why
+don't you try there? But if you'd
+tell me, maybe I could help you&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He went out.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Gazette</i> office was down a
+side street; the sidewalk was broken
+and cracked. He went inside. A
+heater glowed in the corner of the
+small office. A heavy-set man stood
+up and came slowly over to the
+counter.</p>
+
+<p>"What did you want, mister?"
+he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Old papers. A month. Or
+more."</p>
+
+<p>"To buy? You want to buy
+them?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes." He held out some of the
+money he had. The man stared.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure," he said. "Sure. Wait a
+minute." He went quickly out of
+the room. When he came back he
+was staggering under the weight of
+his armload, his face red. "Here
+are some," he grunted. "Took what
+I could find. Covers the whole
+year. And if you want more&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Conger carried the papers outside.
+He sat down by the road and
+began to go through them.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">What</span> he wanted was four
+months back, in December.
+It was a tiny item, so small that he
+almost missed it. His hands trembled
+as he scanned it, using the
+small dictionary for some of the
+archaic terms.</p>
+
+<div class="bq"><p class="center">MAN ARRESTED FOR
+UNLICENSED
+DEMONSTRATION</p>
+
+<p>An unidentified man who
+refused to give his name was
+picked up in Cooper Creek by
+special agents of the sheriff's
+office, according to Sheriff
+Duff. It was said the man was
+recently noticed in this area
+and had been watched continually.
+It was&mdash;</p></div>
+
+<p>Cooper Creek. December, 1960.
+His heart pounded. That was all he
+needed to know. He stood up, shaking
+himself, stamping his feet on
+the cold ground. The sun had
+moved across the sky to the very
+edge of the hills. He smiled. Already
+he had discovered the exact
+time and place. Now he needed
+only to go back, perhaps to November,
+to Cooper Creek&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>He walked back through the
+main section of town, past the library,
+past the grocery store. It
+would not be hard; the hard part
+was over. He would go there; rent
+a room, prepare to wait until the
+man appeared.</p>
+
+<p>He turned the corner. A woman
+was coming out of a doorway,
+loaded down with packages. Conger
+stepped aside to let her pass.
+The woman glanced at him. Suddenly
+her face turned white. She
+stared, her mouth open.</p>
+
+<p>Conger hurried on. He looked
+back. What was wrong with her?
+The woman was still staring; she
+had dropped the packages to the
+ground. He increased his speed. He
+turned a second corner and went
+up a side street. When he looked
+back again the woman had come to
+the entrance of the street and was
+starting after him. A man joined
+her, and the two of them began to
+run toward him.</p>
+
+<p>He lost them and left the town,
+striding quickly, easily, up into the
+hills at the edge of town. When
+he reached the cage he stopped.
+What had happened? Was it something
+about his clothing? His dress?</p>
+
+<p>He pondered. Then, as the sun
+set, he stepped into the cage.</p>
+
+<p>Conger sat before the wheel. For
+a moment he waited, his hands
+resting lightly on the control. Then
+he turned the wheel, just a little,
+following the control readings carefully.</p>
+
+<p>The grayness settled down
+around him.</p>
+
+<p>But not for very long.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The</span> man looked him over critically.
+"You better come inside,"
+he said. "Out of the cold."</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks." Conger went gratefully
+through the open door, into the
+living-room. It was warm and close
+from the heat of the little kerosene
+heater in the corner. A woman,
+large and shapeless in her flowered
+dress, came from the kitchen. She
+and the man studied him critically.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a good room," the woman
+said. "I'm Mrs. Appleton. It's got
+heat. You need that this time of
+year."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes." He nodded, looking
+around.</p>
+
+<p>"You want to eat with us?"</p>
+
+<p>"What?"</p>
+
+<p>"You want to eat with us?" The
+man's brows knitted. "You're not a
+foreigner, are you, mister?"</p>
+
+<p>"No." He smiled. "I was born in
+this country. Quite far west,
+though."</p>
+
+<p>"California?"</p>
+
+<p>"No." He hesitated. "In Oregon."</p>
+
+<p>"What's it like up there?" Mrs.
+Appleton asked. "I hear there's a
+lot of trees and green. It's so barren
+here. I come from Chicago, myself."</p>
+
+<p>"That's the Middle West," the
+man said to her. "You ain't no foreigner."</p>
+
+<p>"Oregon isn't foreign, either,"
+Conger said. "It's part of the United
+States."</p>
+
+<p>The man nodded absently. He
+was staring at Conger's clothing.</p>
+
+<p>"That's a funny suit you got on,
+mister," he said. "Where'd you get
+that?"</p>
+
+<p>Conger was lost. He shifted uneasily.
+"It's a good suit," he said.
+"Maybe I better go some other
+place, if you don't want me here."</p>
+
+<p>They both raised their hands protestingly.
+The woman smiled at him.
+"We just have to look out for those
+Reds. You know, the government
+is always warning us about them."</p>
+
+<p>"The Reds?" He was puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>"The government says they're all
+around. We're supposed to report
+anything strange or unusual, anybody
+doesn't act normal."</p>
+
+<p>"Like me?"</p>
+
+<p>They looked embarrassed. "Well,
+you don't look like a Red to me,"
+the man said. "But we have to be
+careful. The <i>Tribune</i> says&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Conger half listened. It was going
+to be easier than he had thought.
+Clearly, he would know as soon as
+the Founder appeared. These people,
+so suspicious of anything different,
+would be buzzing and gossiping
+and spreading the story. All he had
+to do was lie low and listen, down
+at the general store, perhaps. Or
+even here, in Mrs. Appleton's
+boarding house.</p>
+
+<p>"Can I see the room?" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly." Mrs. Appleton went
+to the stairs. "I'll be glad to show
+it to you."</p>
+
+<p>They went upstairs. It was colder
+upstairs, but not nearly as cold as
+outside. Nor as cold as nights on
+the Martian deserts. For that he was
+grateful.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">He</span> was walking slowly around
+the store, looking at the cans of
+vegetables, the frozen packages of
+fish and meats shining and clean in
+the open refrigerator counters.</p>
+
+<p>Ed Davies came toward him.
+"Can I help you?" he said. The man
+was a little oddly dressed, and with
+a beard! Ed couldn't help smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," the man said in a
+funny voice. "Just looking."</p>
+
+<p>"Sure," Ed said. He walked back
+behind the counter. Mrs. Hacket
+was wheeling her cart up.</p>
+
+<p>"Who's he?" she whispered, her
+sharp face turned, her nose moving,
+as if it were sniffing. "I never seen
+him before."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know."</p>
+
+<p>"Looks funny to me. Why does
+he wear a beard? No one else wears
+a beard. Must be something the
+matter with him."</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe he likes to wear a beard.
+I had an uncle who&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Wait." Mrs. Hacket stiffened.
+"Didn't that&mdash;what was his name?
+The Red&mdash;that old one. Didn't he
+have a beard? Marx. He had a
+beard."</p>
+
+<p>Ed laughed. "This ain't Karl
+Marx. I saw a photograph of him
+once."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Hacket was staring at him.
+"You did?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sure." He flushed a little.
+"What's the matter with that?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd sure like to know more about
+him," Mrs. Hacket said. "I think
+we ought to know more, for our
+own good."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">"Hey</span>, mister! Want a
+ride?"</p>
+
+<p>Conger turned quickly, dropping
+his hand to his belt. He relaxed.
+Two young kids in a car, a girl and
+a boy. He smiled at them. "A ride?
+Sure."</p>
+
+<p>Conger got into the car and
+closed the door. Bill Willet pushed
+the gas and the car roared down
+the highway.</p>
+
+<p>"I appreciate a ride," Conger
+said carefully. "I was taking a walk
+between towns, but it was farther
+than I thought."</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you from?" Lora
+Hunt asked. She was pretty, small
+and dark, in her yellow sweater and
+blue skirt.</p>
+
+<p>"From Cooper Creek."</p>
+
+<p>"Cooper Creek?" Bill said. He
+frowned. "That's funny. I don't remember
+seeing you before."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, do you come from there?"</p>
+
+<p>"I was born there. I know everybody
+there."</p>
+
+<p>"I just moved in. From Oregon."</p>
+
+<p>"From Oregon? I didn't know
+Oregon people had accents."</p>
+
+<p>"Do I have an accent?"</p>
+
+<p>"You use words funny."</p>
+
+<p>"How?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. Doesn't he,
+Lora?"</p>
+
+<p>"You slur them," Lora said, smiling.
+"Talk some more. I'm interested
+in dialects." She glanced at
+him, white-teethed. Conger felt his
+heart constrict.</p>
+
+<p>"I have a speech impediment."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh." Her eyes widened. "I'm
+sorry."</p>
+
+<p>They looked at him curiously as
+the car purred along. Conger for his
+part was struggling to find some way
+of asking them questions without
+seeming curious. "I guess people
+from out of town don't come here
+much," he said. "Strangers."</p>
+
+<p>"No." Bill shook his head. "Not
+very much."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll bet I'm the first outsider for
+a long time."</p>
+
+<p>"I guess so."</p>
+
+<p>Conger hesitated. "A friend of
+mine&mdash;someone I know, might be
+coming through here. Where do
+you suppose I might&mdash;" He stopped.
+"Would there be anyone certain to
+see him? Someone I could ask,
+make sure I don't miss him if he
+comes?"</p>
+
+<p>They were puzzled. "Just keep
+your eyes open. Cooper Creek isn't
+very big."</p>
+
+<p>"No. That's right."</p>
+
+<p>They drove in silence. Conger
+studied the outline of the girl. Probably
+she was the boy's mistress. Perhaps
+she was his trial wife. Or had
+they developed trial marriage back
+so far? He could not remember.
+But surely such an attractive girl
+would be someone's mistress by
+this time; she would be sixteen or
+so, by her looks. He might ask her
+sometime, if they ever met again.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The</span> next day Conger went
+walking along the one main
+street of Cooper Creek. He passed
+the general store, the two filling stations,
+and then the post office. At
+the corner was the soda fountain.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped. Lora was sitting inside,
+talking to the clerk. She was
+laughing, rocking back and forth.</p>
+
+<p>Conger pushed the door open.
+Warm air rushed around him. Lora
+was drinking hot chocolate, with
+whipped cream. She looked up in
+surprise as he slid into the seat beside
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon," he said.
+"Am I intruding?"</p>
+
+<p>"No." She shook her head. Her
+eyes were large and dark. "Not at
+all."</p>
+
+<p>The clerk came over. "What do
+you want?"</p>
+
+<p>Conger looked at the chocolate.
+"Same as she has."</p>
+
+<p>Lora was watching Conger, her
+arms folded, elbows on the counter.
+She smiled at him. "By the way.
+You don't know my name. Lora
+Hunt."</p>
+
+<p>She was holding out her hand.
+He took it awkwardly, not knowing
+what to do with it. "Conger is my
+name," he murmured.</p>
+
+<p>"Conger? Is that your last or first
+name?"</p>
+
+<p>"Last or first?" He hesitated.
+"Last. Omar Conger."</p>
+
+<p>"Omar?" She laughed. "That's
+like the poet, Omar Khayyam."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know of him. I know
+very little of poets. We restored
+very few works of art. Usually only
+the Church has been interested
+enough&mdash;" He broke off. She was
+staring. He flushed. "Where I
+come from," he finished.</p>
+
+<p>"The Church? Which church do
+you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"The Church." He was confused.
+The chocolate came and he began
+to sip it gratefully. Lora was still
+watching him.</p>
+
+<p>"You're an unusual person," she
+said. "Bill didn't like you, but he
+never likes anything different. He's
+so&mdash;so prosaic. Don't you think
+that when a person gets older he
+should become&mdash;broadened in his
+outlook?"</p>
+
+<p>Conger nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"He says foreign people ought
+to stay where they belong, not come
+here. But you're not so foreign. He
+means orientals; you know."</p>
+
+<p>Conger nodded.</p>
+
+<p>The screen door opened behind
+them. Bill came into the room. He
+stared at them. "Well," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Conger turned. "Hello."</p>
+
+<p>"Well." Bill sat down. "Hello,
+Lora." He was looking at Conger.
+"I didn't expect to see you here."</p>
+
+<p>Conger tensed. He could feel the
+hostility of the boy. "Something
+wrong with that?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Nothing wrong with it."</p>
+
+<p>There was silence. Suddenly Bill
+turned to Lora. "Come on. Let's
+go."</p>
+
+<p>"Go?" She was astonished.
+"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Just go!" He grabbed her hand.
+"Come on! The car's outside."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Bill Willet," Lora said.
+"You're jealous!"</p>
+
+<p>"Who is this guy?" Bill said. "Do
+you know anything about him?
+Look at him, his beard&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She flared. "So what? Just because
+he doesn't drive a Packard
+and go to Cooper High!"</p>
+
+<p>Conger sized the boy up. He was
+big&mdash;big and strong. Probably he
+was part of some civil control organization.</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry," Conger said. "I'll go."</p>
+
+<p>"What's your business in town?"
+Bill asked. "What are you doing
+here? Why are you hanging around
+Lora?"</p>
+
+<p>Conger looked at the girl. He
+shrugged. "No reason. I'll see you
+later."</p>
+
+<p>He turned away. And froze. Bill
+had moved. Conger's fingers went
+to his belt. <i>Half pressure</i>, he whispered
+to himself. <i>No more. Half
+pressure.</i></p>
+
+<p>He squeezed. The room leaped
+around him. He himself was protected
+by the lining of his clothing,
+the plastic sheathing inside.</p>
+
+<p>"My God&mdash;" Lora put her hands
+up. Conger cursed. He hadn't
+meant any of it for her. But it would
+wear off. There was only a half-amp
+to it. It would tingle.</p>
+
+<p>Tingle, and paralyze.</p>
+
+<p>He walked out the door without
+looking back. He was almost to the
+corner when Bill came slowly out,
+holding onto the wall like a drunken
+man. Conger went on.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">As</span> Conger walked, restless, in
+the night, a form loomed in
+front of him. He stopped, holding
+his breath.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is it?" a man's voice came.
+Conger waited, tense.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is it?" the man said again.
+He clicked something in his hand.
+A light flashed. Conger moved.</p>
+
+<p>"It's me," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is 'me'?"</p>
+
+<p>"Conger is my name. I'm staying
+at the Appleton's place. Who are
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>The man came slowly up to him.
+He was wearing a leather jacket.
+There was a gun at his waist.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm Sheriff Duff. I think you're
+the person I want to talk to. You
+were in Bloom's today, about three
+o'clock?"</p>
+
+<p>"Bloom's?"</p>
+
+<p>"The fountain. Where the kids
+hang out." Duff came up beside
+him, shining his light into Conger's
+face. Conger blinked.</p>
+
+<p>"Turn that thing away," he said.</p>
+
+<p>A pause. "All right." The light
+flickered to the ground. "You were
+there. Some trouble broke out between
+you and the Willet boy. Is
+that right? You had a beef over his
+girl&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"We had a discussion," Conger
+said carefully.</p>
+
+<p>"Then what happened?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm just curious. They say you
+did something."</p>
+
+<p>"Did something? Did what?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. That's what I'm
+wondering. They saw a flash, and
+something seemed to happen. They
+all blacked out. Couldn't move."</p>
+
+<p>"How are they now?"</p>
+
+<p>"All right."</p>
+
+<p>There was silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" Duff said. "What was
+it? A bomb?"</p>
+
+<p>"A bomb?" Conger laughed.
+"No. My cigarette lighter caught
+fire. There was a leak, and the fluid
+ignited."</p>
+
+<p>"Why did they all pass out?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fumes."</p>
+
+<p>Silence. Conger shifted, waiting.
+His fingers moved slowly toward his
+belt. The Sheriff glanced down. He
+grunted.</p>
+
+<p>"If you say so," he said. "Anyhow,
+there wasn't any real harm
+done." He stepped back from Conger.
+"And that Willet is a trouble-maker."</p>
+
+<p>"Good night, then," Conger said.
+He started past the Sheriff.</p>
+
+<p>"One more thing, Mr. Conger.
+Before you go. You don't mind if I
+look at your identification, do you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Not at all." Conger reached
+into his pocket. He held his wallet
+out. The Sheriff took it and shined
+his flashlight on it. Conger watched,
+breathing shallowly. They had
+worked hard on the wallet, studying
+historic documents, relics of the
+times, all the papers they felt would
+be relevant.</p>
+
+<p>Duff handed it back. "Okay. Sorry
+to bother you." The light winked
+off.</p>
+
+<p>When Conger reached the house
+he found the Appletons sitting
+around the television set. They did
+not look up as he came in. He lingered
+at the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Can I ask you something?" he
+said. Mrs. Appleton turned slowly.
+"Can I ask you&mdash;what's the date?"</p>
+
+<p>"The date?" She studied him.
+"The first of December."</p>
+
+<p>"December first! Why, it was
+just November!"</p>
+
+<p>They were all looking at him.
+Suddenly he remembered. In the
+twentieth century they still used the
+old twelve-month system. November
+fed directly into December;
+there was no Quartember between.</p>
+
+<p>He gasped. Then it was tomorrow!
+The second of December!
+Tomorrow!</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks," he said. "Thanks."</p>
+
+<p>He went up the stairs. What a
+fool he was, forgetting. The Founder
+had been taken into captivity on
+the second of December, according
+to the newspaper records. Tomorrow,
+only twelve hours hence, the
+Founder would appear to speak to
+the people and then be dragged
+away.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The</span> day was warm and bright.
+Conger's shoes crunched the
+melting crust of snow. On he went,
+through the trees heavy with white.
+He climbed a hill and strode down
+the other side, sliding as he went.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped to look around. Everything
+was silent. There was no
+one in sight. He brought a thin rod
+from his waist and turned the handle
+of it. For a moment nothing
+happened. Then there was a shimmering
+in the air.</p>
+
+<p>The crystal cage appeared and
+settled slowly down. Conger sighed.
+It was good to see it again. After
+all, it was his only way back.</p>
+
+<p>He walked up on the ridge. He
+looked around with some satisfaction,
+his hands on his hips. Hudson's
+field was spread out, all the
+way to the beginning of town. It
+was bare and flat, covered with a
+thin layer of snow.</p>
+
+<p>Here, the Founder would come.
+Here, he would speak to them.
+And here the authorities would
+take him.</p>
+
+<p>Only he would be dead before
+they came. He would be dead before
+he even spoke.</p>
+
+<p>Conger returned to the crystal
+globe. He pushed through the door
+and stepped inside. He took the
+Slem-gun from the shelf and
+screwed the bolt into place. It was
+ready to go, ready to fire. For a moment
+he considered. Should he have
+it with him?</p>
+
+<p>No. It might be hours before the
+Founder came, and suppose someone
+approached him in the meantime?
+When he saw the Founder
+coming toward the field, then he
+could go and get the gun.</p>
+
+<p>Conger looked toward the shelf.
+There was the neat plastic package.
+He took it down and unwrapped it.</p>
+
+<p>He held the skull in his hands,
+turning it over. In spite of himself,
+a cold feeling rushed through him.
+This was the man's skull, the skull
+of the Founder, who was still alive,
+who would come here, this day, who
+would stand on the field not fifty
+yards away.</p>
+
+<p>What if <i>he</i> could see this, his
+own skull, yellow and eroded? Two
+centuries old. Would he still speak?
+Would he speak, if he could see it,
+the grinning, aged skull? What
+would there be for him to say, to
+tell the people? What message
+could he bring?</p>
+
+<p>What action would not be futile,
+when a man could look upon his
+own aged, yellowed skull? Better
+they should enjoy their temporary
+lives, while they still had them to
+enjoy.</p>
+
+<p>A man who could hold his own
+skull in his hands would believe in
+few causes, few movements. Rather,
+he would preach the opposite&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>A sound. Conger dropped the
+skull back on the shelf and took up
+the gun. Outside something was
+moving. He went quickly to the
+door, his heart beating. Was it <i>he</i>?
+Was it the Founder, wandering by
+himself in the cold, looking for a
+place to speak? Was he meditating
+over his words, choosing his sentences?</p>
+
+<p>What if he could see what Conger
+had held!</p>
+
+<p>He pushed the door open, the
+gun raised.</p>
+
+<p>Lora!</p>
+
+<p>He stared at her. She was dressed
+in a wool jacket and boots, her
+hands in her pockets. A cloud of
+steam came from her mouth and
+nostrils. Her breast was rising and
+falling.</p>
+
+<p>Silently, they looked at each
+other. At last Conger lowered the
+gun.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?" he said. "What are
+you doing here?"</p>
+
+<p>She pointed. She did not seem
+able to speak. He frowned; what
+was wrong with her?</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?" he said. "What do
+you want?" He looked in the direction
+she had pointed. "I don't see
+anything."</p>
+
+<p>"They're coming."</p>
+
+<p>"They? Who? Who are coming?"</p>
+
+<p>"They are. The police. During
+the night the Sheriff had the state
+police send cars. All around, everywhere.
+Blocking the roads. There's
+about sixty of them coming. Some
+from town, some around behind."
+She stopped, gasping. "They said&mdash;they
+said&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What?"</p>
+
+<p>"They said you were some kind
+of a Communist. They said&mdash;"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Conger</span> went into the cage.
+He put the gun down on the
+shelf and came back out. He leaped
+down and went to the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks. You came here to tell
+me? You don't believe it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you come alone?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Joe brought me in his truck.
+From town."</p>
+
+<p>"Joe? Who's he?"</p>
+
+<p>"Joe French. The plumber. He's
+a friend of Dad's."</p>
+
+<p>"Let's go." They crossed the
+snow, up the ridge and onto the
+field. The little panel truck was
+parked half way across the field. A
+heavy short man was sitting behind
+the wheel, smoking his pipe. He sat
+up as he saw the two of them coming
+toward him.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you the one?" he said to
+Conger.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Thanks for warning me."</p>
+
+<p>The plumber shrugged. "I don't
+know anything about this. Lora
+says you're all right." He turned
+around. "It might interest you to
+know some more of them are coming.
+Not to warn you&mdash;just
+curious."</p>
+
+<p>"More of them?" Conger looked
+toward the town. Black shapes were
+picking their way across the snow.</p>
+
+<p>"People from the town. You can't
+keep this sort of thing quiet, not in
+a small town. We all listen to the
+police radio; they heard the same
+way Lora did. Someone tuned in,
+spread it around&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The shapes were getting closer.
+Conger could, make out a couple of
+them. Bill Willet was there, with
+some boys from the high school.
+The Appletons were along, hanging
+back in the rear.</p>
+
+<p>"Even Ed Davies," Conger murmured.</p>
+
+<p>The storekeeper was toiling onto
+the field, with three or four other
+men from the town.</p>
+
+<p>"All curious as hell," French
+said. "Well, I guess I'm going back
+to town. I don't want my truck shot
+full of holes. Come on, Lora."</p>
+
+<p>She was looking up at Conger,
+wide-eyed.</p>
+
+<p>"Come on," French said again.
+"Let's go. You sure as hell can't
+stay here, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"There may be shooting. That's
+what they all came to see. You
+know that don't you, Conger?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"You have a gun? Or don't you
+care?" French smiled a little.
+"They've picked up a lot of people
+in their time, you know. You won't
+be lonely."</p>
+
+<p>He cared, all right! He had to
+stay here, on the field. He couldn't
+afford to let them take him away.
+Any minute the Founder would appear,
+would step onto the field.
+Would he be one of the townsmen,
+standing silently at the foot of the
+field, waiting, watching?</p>
+
+<p>Or maybe he was Joe French. Or
+maybe one of the cops. Anyone of
+them might find himself moved to
+speak. And the few words spoken
+this day were going to be important
+for a long time.</p>
+
+<p>And Conger had to be there,
+ready when the first word was
+uttered!</p>
+
+<p>"I care," he said. "You go on
+back to town. Take the girl with
+you."</p>
+
+<p>Lora got stiffly in beside Joe
+French. The plumber started up
+the motor. "Look at them, standing
+there," he said. "Like vultures.
+Waiting to see someone get
+killed."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The</span> truck drove away, Lora sitting
+stiff and silent, frightened
+now. Conger watched for a moment.
+Then he dashed back into the
+woods, between the trees, toward
+the ridge.</p>
+
+<p>He could get away, of course.
+Anytime he wanted to he could get
+away. All he had to do was to leap
+into the crystal cage and turn the
+handles. But he had a job, an important
+job. He had to be here,
+here at this place, at this time.</p>
+
+<p>He reached the cage and opened
+the door. He went inside and
+picked up the gun from the shelf.
+The Slem-gun would take care of
+them. He notched it up to full
+count. The chain reaction from it
+would flatten them all, the police,
+the curious, sadistic people&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>They wouldn't take him! Before
+they got him, all of them
+would be dead. <i>He</i> would get away.
+He would escape. By the end of the
+day they would all be dead, if that
+was what they wanted, and he&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>He saw the skull.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he put the gun down.
+He picked up the skull. He turned
+the skull over. He looked at the
+teeth. Then he went to the mirror.</p>
+
+<p>He held the skull up, looking in
+the mirror. He pressed the skull
+against his cheek. Beside his own
+face the grinning skull leered back
+at him, beside <i>his</i> skull, against his
+living flesh.</p>
+
+<p>He bared his teeth. And he knew.</p>
+
+<p>It was his own skull that he held.
+He was the one who would die. He
+was the Founder.</p>
+
+<p>After a time he put the skull
+down. For a few minutes he stood
+at the controls, playing with them
+idly. He could hear the sound of
+motors outside, the muffled noise of
+men. Should he go back to the present,
+where the Speaker waited? He
+could escape, of course&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Escape?</p>
+
+<p>He turned toward the skull.
+There it was, his skull, yellow with
+age. Escape? Escape, when he had
+held it in his own hands?</p>
+
+<p>What did it matter if he put it
+off a month, a year, ten years, even
+fifty? Time was nothing. He had
+sipped chocolate with a girl born a
+hundred and fifty years before his
+time. Escape? For a little while,
+perhaps.</p>
+
+<p>But he could not <i>really</i> escape,
+no more so than anyone else had
+ever escaped, or ever would.</p>
+
+<p>Only, he had held it in his hands,
+his own bones, his own death's-head.</p>
+
+<p><i>They</i> had not.</p>
+
+<p>He went out the door and across
+the field, empty handed. There
+were a lot of them standing around,
+gathered together, waiting. They
+expected a good fight; they knew
+he had something. They had heard
+about the incident at the fountain.</p>
+
+<p>And there were plenty of police&mdash;police
+with guns and tear gas, creeping
+across the hills and ridges, between
+the trees, closer and closer. It
+was an old story, in this century.</p>
+
+<p>One of the men tossed something
+at him. It fell in the snow by his
+feet, and he looked down. It was a
+rock. He smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"Come on!" one of them called.
+"Don't you have any bombs?"</p>
+
+<p>"Throw a bomb! You with the
+beard! Throw a bomb!"</p>
+
+<p>"Let 'em have it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Toss a few A Bombs!"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">They</span> began to laugh. He smiled.
+He put his hands to his hips.
+They suddenly turned silent, seeing
+that he was going to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry," he said simply. "I
+don't have any bombs. You're mistaken."</p>
+
+<p>There was a flurry of murmuring.</p>
+
+<p>"I have a gun," he went on. "A
+very good one. Made by science
+even more advanced than your
+own. But I'm not going to use that,
+either."</p>
+
+<p>They were puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?" someone called. At
+the edge of the group an older
+woman was watching. He felt a
+sudden shock. He had seen her before.
+Where?</p>
+
+<p>He remembered. The day at the
+library. As he had turned the corner
+he had seen her. She had noticed
+him and been astounded. At the
+time, he did not understand why.</p>
+
+<p>Conger grinned. So he <i>would</i>
+escape death, the man who right
+now was voluntarily accepting it.
+They were laughing, laughing at a
+man who had a gun but didn't use
+it. But by a strange twist of science
+he would appear again, a few
+months later, after his bones had
+been buried under the floor of a
+jail.</p>
+
+<p>And so, in a fashion, he would
+escape death. He would die, but
+then, after a period of months, he
+would live again, briefly, for an
+afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>An afternoon. Yet long enough
+for them to see him, to understand
+that he was still alive. To know that
+somehow he had returned to life.</p>
+
+<p>And then, finally, he would appear
+once more, after two hundred
+years had passed. Two centuries
+later.</p>
+
+<p>He would be born again, born, as
+a matter of fact, in a small trading
+village on Mars. He would grow up,
+learning to hunt and trade&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>A police car came on the edge of
+the field and stopped. The people
+retreated a little. Conger raised his
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>"I have an odd paradox for you,"
+he said. "Those who take lives will
+lose their own. Those who kill, will
+die. But he who gives his own life
+away will live again!"</p>
+
+<p>They laughed, faintly, nervously.
+The police were coming out, walking
+toward him. He smiled. He had
+said everything he intended to say.
+It was a good little paradox he had
+coined. They would puzzle over it,
+remember it.</p>
+
+<p class="pr1">Smiling, Conger awaited a death
+foreordained.</p>
+
+<p class="center">THE END</p>
+
+<div class="trn"><div class="figt"><a href="images/001-2.jpg"><img src="images/001-1.jpg" width="137" height="200" alt="" title="" /></a></div>
+
+<p><big><b>Transcriber's Note:</b></big></p>
+
+<p>This etext was produced from <i>If Worlds of Science Fiction</i> September 1952.
+Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
+copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and
+typographical errors have been corrected without note.</p></div>
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30255 ***</div>
+</body>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Skull, by Philip K. Dick
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Skull
+
+Author: Philip K. Dick
+
+Release Date: October 14, 2009 [EBook #30255]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SKULL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ _Conger agreed to kill a stranger he had
+ never seen. But he would make no mistakes
+ because he had the stranger's skull under
+ his arm._
+
+
+        THE
+       SKULL
+
+ By Philip K. Dick
+
+
+"What is this opportunity?" Conger asked. "Go on. I'm interested."
+
+The room was silent; all faces were fixed on Conger--still in the drab
+prison uniform. The Speaker leaned forward slowly.
+
+"Before you went to prison your trading business was paying well--all
+illegal--all very profitable. Now you have nothing, except the prospect
+of another six years in a cell."
+
+Conger scowled.
+
+"There is a certain situation, very important to this Council, that
+requires your peculiar abilities. Also, it is a situation you might find
+interesting. You were a hunter, were you not? You've done a great deal
+of trapping, hiding in the bushes, waiting at night for the game? I
+imagine hunting must be a source of satisfaction to you, the chase, the
+stalking--"
+
+Conger sighed. His lips twisted. "All right," he said. "Leave that out.
+Get to the point. Who do you want me to kill?"
+
+The Speaker smiled. "All in proper sequence," he said softly.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The car slid to a stop. It was night; there was no light anywhere along
+the street. Conger looked out. "Where are we? What is this place?"
+
+The hand of the guard pressed into his arm. "Come. Through that door."
+
+Conger stepped down, onto the damp sidewalk. The guard came swiftly
+after him, and then the Speaker. Conger took a deep breath of the cold
+air. He studied the dim outline of the building rising up before them.
+
+"I know this place. I've seen it before." He squinted, his eyes growing
+accustomed to the dark. Suddenly he became alert. "This is--"
+
+"Yes. The First Church." The Speaker walked toward the steps. "We're
+expected."
+
+"Expected? _Here?_"
+
+"Yes." The Speaker mounted the stairs. "You know we're not allowed in
+their Churches, especially with guns!" He stopped. Two armed soldiers
+loomed up ahead, one on each side.
+
+"All right?" The Speaker looked up at them. They nodded. The door of the
+Church was open. Conger could see other soldiers inside, standing about,
+young soldiers with large eyes, gazing at the ikons and holy images.
+
+"I see," he said.
+
+"It was necessary," the Speaker said. "As you know, we have been
+singularly unfortunate in the past in our relations with the First
+Church."
+
+"This won't help."
+
+"But it's worth it. You will see."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+They passed through the hall and into the main chamber where the altar
+piece was, and the kneeling places. The Speaker scarcely glanced at the
+altar as they passed by. He pushed open a small side door and beckoned
+Conger through.
+
+"In here. We have to hurry. The faithful will be flocking in soon."
+
+Conger entered, blinking. They were in a small chamber, low-ceilinged,
+with dark panels of old wood. There was a smell of ashes and smoldering
+spices in the room. He sniffed. "What's that? The smell."
+
+"Cups on the wall. I don't know." The Speaker crossed impatiently to the
+far side. "According to our information, it is hidden here by this--"
+
+Conger looked around the room. He saw books and papers, holy signs and
+images. A strange low shiver went through him.
+
+"Does my job involve anyone of the Church? If it does--"
+
+The Speaker turned, astonished. "Can it be that you believe in the
+Founder? Is it possible, a hunter, a killer--"
+
+"No. Of course not. All their business about resignation to death,
+non-violence--"
+
+"What is it, then?"
+
+Conger shrugged. "I've been taught not to mix with such as these. They
+have strange abilities. And you can't reason with them."
+
+The Speaker studied Conger thoughtfully. "You have the wrong idea. It is
+no one here that we have in mind. We've found that killing them only
+tends to increase their numbers."
+
+"Then why come here? Let's leave."
+
+"No. We came for something important. Something you will need to
+identify your man. Without it you won't be able to find him." A trace
+of a smile crossed the Speaker's face. "We don't want you to kill the
+wrong person. It's too important."
+
+"I don't make mistakes." Conger's chest rose. "Listen, Speaker--"
+
+"This is an unusual situation," the Speaker said. "You see, the person
+you are after--the person that we are sending you to find--is known only
+by certain objects here. They are the only traces, the only means of
+identification. Without them--"
+
+"What are they?"
+
+He came toward the Speaker. The Speaker moved to one side. "Look," he
+said. He drew a sliding wall away, showing a dark square hole. "In
+there."
+
+Conger squatted down, staring in. He frowned. "A skull! A skeleton!"
+
+"The man you are after has been dead for two centuries," the Speaker
+said. "This is all that remains of him. And this is all you have with
+which to find him."
+
+For a long time Conger said nothing. He stared down at the bones, dimly
+visible in the recess of the wall. How could a man dead centuries be
+killed? How could he be stalked, brought down?
+
+Conger was a hunter, a man who had lived as he pleased, where he
+pleased. He had kept himself alive by trading, bringing furs and pelts
+in from the Provinces on his own ship, riding at high speed, slipping
+through the customs line around Earth.
+
+He had hunted in the great mountains of the moon. He had stalked through
+empty Martian cities. He had explored--
+
+The Speaker said, "Soldier, take these objects and have them carried to
+the car. Don't lose any part of them."
+
+The soldier went into the cupboard, reaching gingerly, squatting on his
+heels.
+
+"It is my hope," the Speaker continued softly, to Conger, "that you will
+demonstrate your loyalty to us, now. There are always ways for citizens
+to restore themselves, to show their devotion to their society. For you
+I think this would be a very good chance. I seriously doubt that a
+better one will come. And for your efforts there will be quite a
+restitution, of course."
+
+The two men looked at each other; Conger, thin, unkempt, the Speaker
+immaculate in his uniform.
+
+"I understand you," Conger said. "I mean, I understand this part, about
+the chance. But how can a man who has been dead two centuries be--"
+
+"I'll explain later," the Speaker said. "Right now we have to hurry!"
+The soldier had gone out with the bones, wrapped in a blanket held
+carefully in his arms. The Speaker walked to the door. "Come. They've
+already discovered that we've broken in here, and they'll be coming at
+any moment."
+
+They hurried down the damp steps to the waiting car. A second later the
+driver lifted the car up into the air, above the house-tops.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Speaker settled back in the seat.
+
+"The First Church has an interesting past," he said. "I suppose you are
+familiar with it, but I'd like to speak of a few points that are of
+relevancy to us.
+
+"It was in the twentieth century that the Movement began--during one of
+the periodic wars. The Movement developed rapidly, feeding on the
+general sense of futility, the realization that each war was breeding
+greater war, with no end in sight. The Movement posed a simple answer to
+the problem: Without military preparations--weapons--there could be no
+war. And without machinery and complex scientific technocracy there
+could be no weapons.
+
+"The Movement preached that you couldn't stop war by planning for it.
+They preached that man was losing to his machinery and science, that it
+was getting away from him, pushing him into greater and greater wars.
+Down with society, they shouted. Down with factories and science! A few
+more wars and there wouldn't be much left of the world.
+
+"The Founder was an obscure person from a small town in the American
+Middle West. We don't even know his name. All we know is that one day he
+appeared, preaching a doctrine of non-violence, non-resistance; no
+fighting, no paying taxes for guns, no research except for medicine.
+Live out your life quietly, tending your garden, staying out of public
+affairs; mind your own business. Be obscure, unknown, poor. Give away
+most of your possessions, leave the city. At least that was what
+developed from what he told the people."
+
+The car dropped down and landed on a roof.
+
+"The Founder preached this doctrine, or the germ of it; there's no
+telling how much the faithful have added themselves. The local
+authorities picked him up at once, of course. Apparently they were
+convinced that he meant it; he was never released. He was put to death,
+and his body buried secretly. It seemed that the cult was finished."
+
+The Speaker smiled. "Unfortunately, some of his disciples reported
+seeing him after the date of his death. The rumor spread; he had
+conquered death, he was divine. It took hold, grew. And here we are
+today, with a First Church, obstructing all social progress, destroying
+society, sowing the seeds of anarchy--"
+
+"But the wars," Conger said. "About them?"
+
+"The wars? Well, there were no more wars. It must be acknowledged that
+the elimination of war was the direct result of non-violence practiced
+on a general scale. But we can take a more objective view of war today.
+What was so terrible about it? War had a profound selective value,
+perfectly in accord with the teachings of Darwin and Mendel and others.
+Without war the mass of useless, incompetent mankind, without training
+or intelligence, is permitted to grow and expand unchecked. War acted to
+reduce their numbers; like storms and earthquakes and droughts, it was
+nature's way of eliminating the unfit.
+
+"Without war the lower elements of mankind have increased all out of
+proportion. They threaten the educated few, those with scientific
+knowledge and training, the ones equipped to direct society. They have
+no regard for science or a scientific society, based on reason. And this
+Movement seeks to aid and abet them. Only when scientists are in full
+control can the--"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He looked at his watch and then kicked the car door open. "I'll tell you
+the rest as we walk."
+
+They crossed the dark roof. "Doubtless you now know whom those bones
+belonged to, who it is that we are after. He has been dead just two
+centuries, now, this ignorant man from the Middle West, this Founder.
+The tragedy is that the authorities of the time acted too slowly. They
+allowed him to speak, to get his message across. He was allowed to
+preach, to start his cult. And once such a thing is under way, there's
+no stopping it.
+
+"But what if he had died before he preached? What if none of his
+doctrines had ever been spoken? It took only a moment for him to utter
+them, that we know. They say he spoke just once, just one time. _Then_
+the authorities came, taking him away. He offered no resistance; the
+incident was small."
+
+The Speaker turned to Conger.
+
+"Small, but we're reaping the consequences of it today."
+
+They went inside the building. Inside, the soldiers had already laid out
+the skeleton on a table. The soldiers stood around it, their young faces
+intense.
+
+Conger went over to the table, pushing past them. He bent down, staring
+at the bones. "So these are his remains," he murmured. "The Founder. The
+Church has hidden them for two centuries."
+
+"Quite so," the Speaker said. "But now we have them. Come along down the
+hall."
+
+They went across the room to a door. The Speaker pushed it open.
+Technicians looked up. Conger saw machinery, whirring and turning;
+benches and retorts. In the center of the room was a gleaming crystal
+cage.
+
+The Speaker handed a Slem-gun to Conger. "The important thing to
+remember is that the skull must be saved and brought back--for
+comparison and proof. Aim low--at the chest."
+
+Conger weighed the gun in his hands. "It feels good," he said. "I know
+this gun--that is, I've seen them before, but I never used one."
+
+The Speaker nodded. "You will be instructed on the use of the gun and
+the operation of the cage. You will be given all data we have on the
+time and location. The exact spot was a place called Hudson's field.
+About 1960 in a small community outside Denver, Colorado. And don't
+forget--the only means of identification you will have will be the
+skull. There are visible characteristics of the front teeth, especially
+the left incisor--"
+
+Conger listened absently. He was watching two men in white carefully
+wrapping the skull in a plastic bag. They tied it and carried it into
+the crystal cage. "And if I should make a mistake?"
+
+"Pick the wrong man? Then find the right one. Don't come back until you
+succeed in reaching this Founder. And you can't wait for him to start
+speaking; that's what we must avoid! You must act in advance. Take
+chances; shoot as soon as you think you've found him. He'll be someone
+unusual, probably a stranger in the area. Apparently he wasn't known."
+
+Conger listened dimly.
+
+"Do you think you have it all now?" the Speaker asked.
+
+"Yes. I think so." Conger entered the crystal cage and sat down, placing
+his hands on the wheel.
+
+"Good luck," the Speaker said.
+
+"We'll be awaiting the outcome. There's some philosophical doubt as to
+whether one can alter the past. This should answer the question once and
+for all."
+
+Conger fingered the controls of the cage.
+
+"By the way," the Speaker said. "Don't try to use this cage for purposes
+not anticipated in your job. We have a constant trace on it. If we want
+it back, we can get it back. Good luck."
+
+Conger said nothing. The cage was sealed. He raised his finger and
+touched the wheel control. He turned the wheel carefully.
+
+He was still staring at the plastic bag when the room outside vanished.
+
+For a long time there was nothing at all. Nothing beyond the crystal
+mesh of the cage. Thoughts rushed through Conger's mind, helter-skelter.
+How would he know the man? How could he be certain, in advance? What had
+he looked like? What was his name? How had he acted, before he spoke?
+Would he be an ordinary person, or some strange outlandish crank?
+
+Conger picked up the Slem-gun and held it against his cheek. The metal
+of the gun was cool and smooth. He practiced moving the sight. It was a
+beautiful gun, the kind of gun he could fall in love with. If he had
+owned such a gun in the Martian desert--on the long nights when he had
+lain, cramped and numbed with cold, waiting for things that moved
+through the darkness--
+
+He put the gun down and adjusted the meter readings of the cage. The
+spiraling mist was beginning to condense and settle. All at once forms
+wavered and fluttered around him.
+
+Colors, sounds, movements filtered through the crystal wire. He clamped
+the controls off and stood up.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He was on a ridge overlooking a small town. It was high noon. The air
+was crisp and bright. A few automobiles moved along a road. Off in the
+distance were some level fields. Conger went to the door and stepped
+outside. He sniffed the air. Then he went back into the cage.
+
+He stood before the mirror over the shelf, examining his features. He
+had trimmed his beard--they had not got him to cut it off--and his hair
+was neat. He was dressed in the clothing of the middle-twentieth
+century, the odd collar and coat, the shoes of animal hide. In his
+pocket was money of the times. That was important. Nothing more was
+needed.
+
+Nothing, except his ability, his special cunning. But he had never used
+it in such a way before.
+
+He walked down the road toward the town.
+
+The first things he noticed were the newspapers on the stands. April 5,
+1961. He was not too far off. He looked around him. There was a filling
+station, a garage, some taverns, and a ten-cent store. Down the street
+was a grocery store and some public buildings.
+
+A few minutes later he mounted the stairs of the little public library
+and passed through the doors into the warm interior.
+
+The librarian looked up, smiling.
+
+"Good afternoon," she said.
+
+He smiled, not speaking because his words would not be correct; accented
+and strange, probably. He went over to a table and sat down by a heap of
+magazines. For a moment he glanced through them. Then he was on his feet
+again. He crossed the room to a wide rack against the wall. His heart
+began to beat heavily.
+
+Newspapers--weeks on end. He took a roll of them over to the table and
+began to scan them quickly. The print was odd, the letters strange. Some
+of the words were unfamiliar.
+
+He set the papers aside and searched farther. At last he found what he
+wanted. He carried the _Cherrywood Gazette_ to the table and opened it
+to the first page. He found what he wanted:
+
+    PRISONER HANGS SELF
+
+    An unidentified man, held by the county sheriff's office for
+    suspicion of criminal syndicalism, was found dead this morning, by--
+
+He finished the item. It was vague, uninforming. He needed more. He
+carried the _Gazette_ back to the racks and then, after a moment's
+hesitation, approached the librarian.
+
+"More?" he asked. "More papers. Old ones?"
+
+She frowned. "How old? Which papers?"
+
+"Months old. And--before."
+
+"Of the _Gazette_? This is all we have. What did you want? What are you
+looking for? Maybe I can help you."
+
+He was silent.
+
+"You might find older issues at the _Gazette_ office," the woman said,
+taking off her glasses. "Why don't you try there? But if you'd tell me,
+maybe I could help you--"
+
+He went out.
+
+The _Gazette_ office was down a side street; the sidewalk was broken and
+cracked. He went inside. A heater glowed in the corner of the small
+office. A heavy-set man stood up and came slowly over to the counter.
+
+"What did you want, mister?" he said.
+
+"Old papers. A month. Or more."
+
+"To buy? You want to buy them?"
+
+"Yes." He held out some of the money he had. The man stared.
+
+"Sure," he said. "Sure. Wait a minute." He went quickly out of the room.
+When he came back he was staggering under the weight of his armload, his
+face red. "Here are some," he grunted. "Took what I could find. Covers
+the whole year. And if you want more--"
+
+Conger carried the papers outside. He sat down by the road and began to
+go through them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+What he wanted was four months back, in December. It was a tiny item, so
+small that he almost missed it. His hands trembled as he scanned it,
+using the small dictionary for some of the archaic terms.
+
+    MAN ARRESTED FOR UNLICENSED DEMONSTRATION
+
+    An unidentified man who refused to give his name was picked up in
+    Cooper Creek by special agents of the sheriff's office, according to
+    Sheriff Duff. It was said the man was recently noticed in this area
+    and had been watched continually. It was--
+
+Cooper Creek. December, 1960. His heart pounded. That was all he needed
+to know. He stood up, shaking himself, stamping his feet on the cold
+ground. The sun had moved across the sky to the very edge of the hills.
+He smiled. Already he had discovered the exact time and place. Now he
+needed only to go back, perhaps to November, to Cooper Creek--
+
+He walked back through the main section of town, past the library, past
+the grocery store. It would not be hard; the hard part was over. He
+would go there; rent a room, prepare to wait until the man appeared.
+
+He turned the corner. A woman was coming out of a doorway, loaded down
+with packages. Conger stepped aside to let her pass. The woman glanced
+at him. Suddenly her face turned white. She stared, her mouth open.
+
+Conger hurried on. He looked back. What was wrong with her? The woman
+was still staring; she had dropped the packages to the ground. He
+increased his speed. He turned a second corner and went up a side
+street. When he looked back again the woman had come to the entrance of
+the street and was starting after him. A man joined her, and the two of
+them began to run toward him.
+
+He lost them and left the town, striding quickly, easily, up into the
+hills at the edge of town. When he reached the cage he stopped. What had
+happened? Was it something about his clothing? His dress?
+
+He pondered. Then, as the sun set, he stepped into the cage.
+
+Conger sat before the wheel. For a moment he waited, his hands resting
+lightly on the control. Then he turned the wheel, just a little,
+following the control readings carefully.
+
+The grayness settled down around him.
+
+But not for very long.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The man looked him over critically. "You better come inside," he said.
+"Out of the cold."
+
+"Thanks." Conger went gratefully through the open door, into the
+living-room. It was warm and close from the heat of the little kerosene
+heater in the corner. A woman, large and shapeless in her flowered
+dress, came from the kitchen. She and the man studied him critically.
+
+"It's a good room," the woman said. "I'm Mrs. Appleton. It's got heat.
+You need that this time of year."
+
+"Yes." He nodded, looking around.
+
+"You want to eat with us?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"You want to eat with us?" The man's brows knitted. "You're not a
+foreigner, are you, mister?"
+
+"No." He smiled. "I was born in this country. Quite far west, though."
+
+"California?"
+
+"No." He hesitated. "In Oregon."
+
+"What's it like up there?" Mrs. Appleton asked. "I hear there's a lot of
+trees and green. It's so barren here. I come from Chicago, myself."
+
+"That's the Middle West," the man said to her. "You ain't no foreigner."
+
+"Oregon isn't foreign, either," Conger said. "It's part of the United
+States."
+
+The man nodded absently. He was staring at Conger's clothing.
+
+"That's a funny suit you got on, mister," he said. "Where'd you get
+that?"
+
+Conger was lost. He shifted uneasily. "It's a good suit," he said.
+"Maybe I better go some other place, if you don't want me here."
+
+They both raised their hands protestingly. The woman smiled at him. "We
+just have to look out for those Reds. You know, the government is always
+warning us about them."
+
+"The Reds?" He was puzzled.
+
+"The government says they're all around. We're supposed to report
+anything strange or unusual, anybody doesn't act normal."
+
+"Like me?"
+
+They looked embarrassed. "Well, you don't look like a Red to me," the
+man said. "But we have to be careful. The _Tribune_ says--"
+
+Conger half listened. It was going to be easier than he had thought.
+Clearly, he would know as soon as the Founder appeared. These people, so
+suspicious of anything different, would be buzzing and gossiping and
+spreading the story. All he had to do was lie low and listen, down at
+the general store, perhaps. Or even here, in Mrs. Appleton's boarding
+house.
+
+"Can I see the room?" he said.
+
+"Certainly." Mrs. Appleton went to the stairs. "I'll be glad to show it
+to you."
+
+They went upstairs. It was colder upstairs, but not nearly as cold as
+outside. Nor as cold as nights on the Martian deserts. For that he was
+grateful.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He was walking slowly around the store, looking at the cans of
+vegetables, the frozen packages of fish and meats shining and clean in
+the open refrigerator counters.
+
+Ed Davies came toward him. "Can I help you?" he said. The man was a
+little oddly dressed, and with a beard! Ed couldn't help smiling.
+
+"Nothing," the man said in a funny voice. "Just looking."
+
+"Sure," Ed said. He walked back behind the counter. Mrs. Hacket was
+wheeling her cart up.
+
+"Who's he?" she whispered, her sharp face turned, her nose moving, as if
+it were sniffing. "I never seen him before."
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Looks funny to me. Why does he wear a beard? No one else wears a
+beard. Must be something the matter with him."
+
+"Maybe he likes to wear a beard. I had an uncle who--"
+
+"Wait." Mrs. Hacket stiffened. "Didn't that--what was his name? The
+Red--that old one. Didn't he have a beard? Marx. He had a beard."
+
+Ed laughed. "This ain't Karl Marx. I saw a photograph of him once."
+
+Mrs. Hacket was staring at him. "You did?"
+
+"Sure." He flushed a little. "What's the matter with that?"
+
+"I'd sure like to know more about him," Mrs. Hacket said. "I think we
+ought to know more, for our own good."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Hey, mister! Want a ride?"
+
+Conger turned quickly, dropping his hand to his belt. He relaxed. Two
+young kids in a car, a girl and a boy. He smiled at them. "A ride?
+Sure."
+
+Conger got into the car and closed the door. Bill Willet pushed the gas
+and the car roared down the highway.
+
+"I appreciate a ride," Conger said carefully. "I was taking a walk
+between towns, but it was farther than I thought."
+
+"Where are you from?" Lora Hunt asked. She was pretty, small and dark,
+in her yellow sweater and blue skirt.
+
+"From Cooper Creek."
+
+"Cooper Creek?" Bill said. He frowned. "That's funny. I don't remember
+seeing you before."
+
+"Why, do you come from there?"
+
+"I was born there. I know everybody there."
+
+"I just moved in. From Oregon."
+
+"From Oregon? I didn't know Oregon people had accents."
+
+"Do I have an accent?"
+
+"You use words funny."
+
+"How?"
+
+"I don't know. Doesn't he, Lora?"
+
+"You slur them," Lora said, smiling. "Talk some more. I'm interested in
+dialects." She glanced at him, white-teethed. Conger felt his heart
+constrict.
+
+"I have a speech impediment."
+
+"Oh." Her eyes widened. "I'm sorry."
+
+They looked at him curiously as the car purred along. Conger for his
+part was struggling to find some way of asking them questions without
+seeming curious. "I guess people from out of town don't come here much,"
+he said. "Strangers."
+
+"No." Bill shook his head. "Not very much."
+
+"I'll bet I'm the first outsider for a long time."
+
+"I guess so."
+
+Conger hesitated. "A friend of mine--someone I know, might be coming
+through here. Where do you suppose I might--" He stopped. "Would there
+be anyone certain to see him? Someone I could ask, make sure I don't
+miss him if he comes?"
+
+They were puzzled. "Just keep your eyes open. Cooper Creek isn't very
+big."
+
+"No. That's right."
+
+They drove in silence. Conger studied the outline of the girl. Probably
+she was the boy's mistress. Perhaps she was his trial wife. Or had they
+developed trial marriage back so far? He could not remember. But surely
+such an attractive girl would be someone's mistress by this time; she
+would be sixteen or so, by her looks. He might ask her sometime, if they
+ever met again.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The next day Conger went walking along the one main street of Cooper
+Creek. He passed the general store, the two filling stations, and then
+the post office. At the corner was the soda fountain.
+
+He stopped. Lora was sitting inside, talking to the clerk. She was
+laughing, rocking back and forth.
+
+Conger pushed the door open. Warm air rushed around him. Lora was
+drinking hot chocolate, with whipped cream. She looked up in surprise as
+he slid into the seat beside her.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said. "Am I intruding?"
+
+"No." She shook her head. Her eyes were large and dark. "Not at all."
+
+The clerk came over. "What do you want?"
+
+Conger looked at the chocolate. "Same as she has."
+
+Lora was watching Conger, her arms folded, elbows on the counter. She
+smiled at him. "By the way. You don't know my name. Lora Hunt."
+
+She was holding out her hand. He took it awkwardly, not knowing what to
+do with it. "Conger is my name," he murmured.
+
+"Conger? Is that your last or first name?"
+
+"Last or first?" He hesitated. "Last. Omar Conger."
+
+"Omar?" She laughed. "That's like the poet, Omar Khayyam."
+
+"I don't know of him. I know very little of poets. We restored very few
+works of art. Usually only the Church has been interested enough--" He
+broke off. She was staring. He flushed. "Where I come from," he
+finished.
+
+"The Church? Which church do you mean?"
+
+"The Church." He was confused. The chocolate came and he began to sip it
+gratefully. Lora was still watching him.
+
+"You're an unusual person," she said. "Bill didn't like you, but he
+never likes anything different. He's so--so prosaic. Don't you think
+that when a person gets older he should become--broadened in his
+outlook?"
+
+Conger nodded.
+
+"He says foreign people ought to stay where they belong, not come here.
+But you're not so foreign. He means orientals; you know."
+
+Conger nodded.
+
+The screen door opened behind them. Bill came into the room. He stared
+at them. "Well," he said.
+
+Conger turned. "Hello."
+
+"Well." Bill sat down. "Hello, Lora." He was looking at Conger. "I
+didn't expect to see you here."
+
+Conger tensed. He could feel the hostility of the boy. "Something wrong
+with that?"
+
+"No. Nothing wrong with it."
+
+There was silence. Suddenly Bill turned to Lora. "Come on. Let's go."
+
+"Go?" She was astonished. "Why?"
+
+"Just go!" He grabbed her hand. "Come on! The car's outside."
+
+"Why, Bill Willet," Lora said. "You're jealous!"
+
+"Who is this guy?" Bill said. "Do you know anything about him? Look at
+him, his beard--"
+
+She flared. "So what? Just because he doesn't drive a Packard and go to
+Cooper High!"
+
+Conger sized the boy up. He was big--big and strong. Probably he was
+part of some civil control organization.
+
+"Sorry," Conger said. "I'll go."
+
+"What's your business in town?" Bill asked. "What are you doing here?
+Why are you hanging around Lora?"
+
+Conger looked at the girl. He shrugged. "No reason. I'll see you later."
+
+He turned away. And froze. Bill had moved. Conger's fingers went to his
+belt. _Half pressure_, he whispered to himself. _No more. Half
+pressure._
+
+He squeezed. The room leaped around him. He himself was protected by the
+lining of his clothing, the plastic sheathing inside.
+
+"My God--" Lora put her hands up. Conger cursed. He hadn't meant any of
+it for her. But it would wear off. There was only a half-amp to it. It
+would tingle.
+
+Tingle, and paralyze.
+
+He walked out the door without looking back. He was almost to the corner
+when Bill came slowly out, holding onto the wall like a drunken man.
+Conger went on.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As Conger walked, restless, in the night, a form loomed in front of him.
+He stopped, holding his breath.
+
+"Who is it?" a man's voice came. Conger waited, tense.
+
+"Who is it?" the man said again. He clicked something in his hand. A
+light flashed. Conger moved.
+
+"It's me," he said.
+
+"Who is 'me'?"
+
+"Conger is my name. I'm staying at the Appleton's place. Who are you?"
+
+The man came slowly up to him. He was wearing a leather jacket. There
+was a gun at his waist.
+
+"I'm Sheriff Duff. I think you're the person I want to talk to. You were
+in Bloom's today, about three o'clock?"
+
+"Bloom's?"
+
+"The fountain. Where the kids hang out." Duff came up beside him,
+shining his light into Conger's face. Conger blinked.
+
+"Turn that thing away," he said.
+
+A pause. "All right." The light flickered to the ground. "You were
+there. Some trouble broke out between you and the Willet boy. Is that
+right? You had a beef over his girl--"
+
+"We had a discussion," Conger said carefully.
+
+"Then what happened?"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I'm just curious. They say you did something."
+
+"Did something? Did what?"
+
+"I don't know. That's what I'm wondering. They saw a flash, and
+something seemed to happen. They all blacked out. Couldn't move."
+
+"How are they now?"
+
+"All right."
+
+There was silence.
+
+"Well?" Duff said. "What was it? A bomb?"
+
+"A bomb?" Conger laughed. "No. My cigarette lighter caught fire. There
+was a leak, and the fluid ignited."
+
+"Why did they all pass out?"
+
+"Fumes."
+
+Silence. Conger shifted, waiting. His fingers moved slowly toward his
+belt. The Sheriff glanced down. He grunted.
+
+"If you say so," he said. "Anyhow, there wasn't any real harm done." He
+stepped back from Conger. "And that Willet is a trouble-maker."
+
+"Good night, then," Conger said. He started past the Sheriff.
+
+"One more thing, Mr. Conger. Before you go. You don't mind if I look at
+your identification, do you?"
+
+"No. Not at all." Conger reached into his pocket. He held his wallet
+out. The Sheriff took it and shined his flashlight on it. Conger
+watched, breathing shallowly. They had worked hard on the wallet,
+studying historic documents, relics of the times, all the papers they
+felt would be relevant.
+
+Duff handed it back. "Okay. Sorry to bother you." The light winked off.
+
+When Conger reached the house he found the Appletons sitting around the
+television set. They did not look up as he came in. He lingered at the
+door.
+
+"Can I ask you something?" he said. Mrs. Appleton turned slowly. "Can I
+ask you--what's the date?"
+
+"The date?" She studied him. "The first of December."
+
+"December first! Why, it was just November!"
+
+They were all looking at him. Suddenly he remembered. In the twentieth
+century they still used the old twelve-month system. November fed
+directly into December; there was no Quartember between.
+
+He gasped. Then it was tomorrow! The second of December! Tomorrow!
+
+"Thanks," he said. "Thanks."
+
+He went up the stairs. What a fool he was, forgetting. The Founder had
+been taken into captivity on the second of December, according to the
+newspaper records. Tomorrow, only twelve hours hence, the Founder would
+appear to speak to the people and then be dragged away.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The day was warm and bright. Conger's shoes crunched the melting crust
+of snow. On he went, through the trees heavy with white. He climbed a
+hill and strode down the other side, sliding as he went.
+
+He stopped to look around. Everything was silent. There was no one in
+sight. He brought a thin rod from his waist and turned the handle of it.
+For a moment nothing happened. Then there was a shimmering in the air.
+
+The crystal cage appeared and settled slowly down. Conger sighed. It was
+good to see it again. After all, it was his only way back.
+
+He walked up on the ridge. He looked around with some satisfaction, his
+hands on his hips. Hudson's field was spread out, all the way to the
+beginning of town. It was bare and flat, covered with a thin layer of
+snow.
+
+Here, the Founder would come. Here, he would speak to them. And here the
+authorities would take him.
+
+Only he would be dead before they came. He would be dead before he even
+spoke.
+
+Conger returned to the crystal globe. He pushed through the door and
+stepped inside. He took the Slem-gun from the shelf and screwed the bolt
+into place. It was ready to go, ready to fire. For a moment he
+considered. Should he have it with him?
+
+No. It might be hours before the Founder came, and suppose someone
+approached him in the meantime? When he saw the Founder coming toward
+the field, then he could go and get the gun.
+
+Conger looked toward the shelf. There was the neat plastic package. He
+took it down and unwrapped it.
+
+He held the skull in his hands, turning it over. In spite of himself, a
+cold feeling rushed through him. This was the man's skull, the skull of
+the Founder, who was still alive, who would come here, this day, who
+would stand on the field not fifty yards away.
+
+What if _he_ could see this, his own skull, yellow and eroded? Two
+centuries old. Would he still speak? Would he speak, if he could see it,
+the grinning, aged skull? What would there be for him to say, to tell
+the people? What message could he bring?
+
+What action would not be futile, when a man could look upon his own
+aged, yellowed skull? Better they should enjoy their temporary lives,
+while they still had them to enjoy.
+
+A man who could hold his own skull in his hands would believe in few
+causes, few movements. Rather, he would preach the opposite--
+
+A sound. Conger dropped the skull back on the shelf and took up the gun.
+Outside something was moving. He went quickly to the door, his heart
+beating. Was it _he_? Was it the Founder, wandering by himself in the
+cold, looking for a place to speak? Was he meditating over his words,
+choosing his sentences?
+
+What if he could see what Conger had held!
+
+He pushed the door open, the gun raised.
+
+Lora!
+
+He stared at her. She was dressed in a wool jacket and boots, her hands
+in her pockets. A cloud of steam came from her mouth and nostrils. Her
+breast was rising and falling.
+
+Silently, they looked at each other. At last Conger lowered the gun.
+
+"What is it?" he said. "What are you doing here?"
+
+She pointed. She did not seem able to speak. He frowned; what was wrong
+with her?
+
+"What is it?" he said. "What do you want?" He looked in the direction
+she had pointed. "I don't see anything."
+
+"They're coming."
+
+"They? Who? Who are coming?"
+
+"They are. The police. During the night the Sheriff had the state police
+send cars. All around, everywhere. Blocking the roads. There's about
+sixty of them coming. Some from town, some around behind." She stopped,
+gasping. "They said--they said--"
+
+"What?"
+
+"They said you were some kind of a Communist. They said--"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Conger went into the cage. He put the gun down on the shelf and came
+back out. He leaped down and went to the girl.
+
+"Thanks. You came here to tell me? You don't believe it?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Did you come alone?"
+
+"No. Joe brought me in his truck. From town."
+
+"Joe? Who's he?"
+
+"Joe French. The plumber. He's a friend of Dad's."
+
+"Let's go." They crossed the snow, up the ridge and onto the field. The
+little panel truck was parked half way across the field. A heavy short
+man was sitting behind the wheel, smoking his pipe. He sat up as he saw
+the two of them coming toward him.
+
+"Are you the one?" he said to Conger.
+
+"Yes. Thanks for warning me."
+
+The plumber shrugged. "I don't know anything about this. Lora says
+you're all right." He turned around. "It might interest you to know some
+more of them are coming. Not to warn you--just curious."
+
+"More of them?" Conger looked toward the town. Black shapes were picking
+their way across the snow.
+
+"People from the town. You can't keep this sort of thing quiet, not in a
+small town. We all listen to the police radio; they heard the same way
+Lora did. Someone tuned in, spread it around--"
+
+The shapes were getting closer. Conger could, make out a couple of them.
+Bill Willet was there, with some boys from the high school. The
+Appletons were along, hanging back in the rear.
+
+"Even Ed Davies," Conger murmured.
+
+The storekeeper was toiling onto the field, with three or four other men
+from the town.
+
+"All curious as hell," French said. "Well, I guess I'm going back to
+town. I don't want my truck shot full of holes. Come on, Lora."
+
+She was looking up at Conger, wide-eyed.
+
+"Come on," French said again. "Let's go. You sure as hell can't stay
+here, you know."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"There may be shooting. That's what they all came to see. You know that
+don't you, Conger?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You have a gun? Or don't you care?" French smiled a little. "They've
+picked up a lot of people in their time, you know. You won't be lonely."
+
+He cared, all right! He had to stay here, on the field. He couldn't
+afford to let them take him away. Any minute the Founder would appear,
+would step onto the field. Would he be one of the townsmen, standing
+silently at the foot of the field, waiting, watching?
+
+Or maybe he was Joe French. Or maybe one of the cops. Anyone of them
+might find himself moved to speak. And the few words spoken this day
+were going to be important for a long time.
+
+And Conger had to be there, ready when the first word was uttered!
+
+"I care," he said. "You go on back to town. Take the girl with you."
+
+Lora got stiffly in beside Joe French. The plumber started up the motor.
+"Look at them, standing there," he said. "Like vultures. Waiting to see
+someone get killed."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The truck drove away, Lora sitting stiff and silent, frightened now.
+Conger watched for a moment. Then he dashed back into the woods, between
+the trees, toward the ridge.
+
+He could get away, of course. Anytime he wanted to he could get away.
+All he had to do was to leap into the crystal cage and turn the handles.
+But he had a job, an important job. He had to be here, here at this
+place, at this time.
+
+He reached the cage and opened the door. He went inside and picked up
+the gun from the shelf. The Slem-gun would take care of them. He notched
+it up to full count. The chain reaction from it would flatten them all,
+the police, the curious, sadistic people--
+
+They wouldn't take him! Before they got him, all of them would be dead.
+_He_ would get away. He would escape. By the end of the day they would
+all be dead, if that was what they wanted, and he--
+
+He saw the skull.
+
+Suddenly he put the gun down. He picked up the skull. He turned the
+skull over. He looked at the teeth. Then he went to the mirror.
+
+He held the skull up, looking in the mirror. He pressed the skull
+against his cheek. Beside his own face the grinning skull leered back at
+him, beside _his_ skull, against his living flesh.
+
+He bared his teeth. And he knew.
+
+It was his own skull that he held. He was the one who would die. He was
+the Founder.
+
+After a time he put the skull down. For a few minutes he stood at the
+controls, playing with them idly. He could hear the sound of motors
+outside, the muffled noise of men. Should he go back to the present,
+where the Speaker waited? He could escape, of course--
+
+Escape?
+
+He turned toward the skull. There it was, his skull, yellow with age.
+Escape? Escape, when he had held it in his own hands?
+
+What did it matter if he put it off a month, a year, ten years, even
+fifty? Time was nothing. He had sipped chocolate with a girl born a
+hundred and fifty years before his time. Escape? For a little while,
+perhaps.
+
+But he could not _really_ escape, no more so than anyone else had ever
+escaped, or ever would.
+
+Only, he had held it in his hands, his own bones, his own death's-head.
+
+_They_ had not.
+
+He went out the door and across the field, empty handed. There were a
+lot of them standing around, gathered together, waiting. They expected a
+good fight; they knew he had something. They had heard about the
+incident at the fountain.
+
+And there were plenty of police--police with guns and tear gas, creeping
+across the hills and ridges, between the trees, closer and closer. It
+was an old story, in this century.
+
+One of the men tossed something at him. It fell in the snow by his
+feet, and he looked down. It was a rock. He smiled.
+
+"Come on!" one of them called. "Don't you have any bombs?"
+
+"Throw a bomb! You with the beard! Throw a bomb!"
+
+"Let 'em have it!"
+
+"Toss a few A Bombs!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+They began to laugh. He smiled. He put his hands to his hips. They
+suddenly turned silent, seeing that he was going to speak.
+
+"I'm sorry," he said simply. "I don't have any bombs. You're mistaken."
+
+There was a flurry of murmuring.
+
+"I have a gun," he went on. "A very good one. Made by science even more
+advanced than your own. But I'm not going to use that, either."
+
+They were puzzled.
+
+"Why not?" someone called. At the edge of the group an older woman was
+watching. He felt a sudden shock. He had seen her before. Where?
+
+He remembered. The day at the library. As he had turned the corner he
+had seen her. She had noticed him and been astounded. At the time, he
+did not understand why.
+
+Conger grinned. So he _would_ escape death, the man who right now was
+voluntarily accepting it. They were laughing, laughing at a man who had
+a gun but didn't use it. But by a strange twist of science he would
+appear again, a few months later, after his bones had been buried under
+the floor of a jail.
+
+And so, in a fashion, he would escape death. He would die, but then,
+after a period of months, he would live again, briefly, for an
+afternoon.
+
+An afternoon. Yet long enough for them to see him, to understand that he
+was still alive. To know that somehow he had returned to life.
+
+And then, finally, he would appear once more, after two hundred years
+had passed. Two centuries later.
+
+He would be born again, born, as a matter of fact, in a small trading
+village on Mars. He would grow up, learning to hunt and trade--
+
+A police car came on the edge of the field and stopped. The people
+retreated a little. Conger raised his hands.
+
+"I have an odd paradox for you," he said. "Those who take lives will
+lose their own. Those who kill, will die. But he who gives his own life
+away will live again!"
+
+They laughed, faintly, nervously. The police were coming out, walking
+toward him. He smiled. He had said everything he intended to say. It was
+a good little paradox he had coined. They would puzzle over it, remember
+it.
+
+Smiling, Conger awaited a death foreordained.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+    This etext was produced from _If Worlds of Science Fiction_
+    September 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
+    the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling
+    and typographical errors have been corrected without note.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Skull, by Philip K. Dick
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SKULL ***
+
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+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Skull, by Philip K. Dick
+    </title>
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Skull, by Philip K. Dick
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Skull
+
+Author: Philip K. Dick
+
+Release Date: October 14, 2009 [EBook #30255]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SKULL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
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+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="bk1"><p><big><i>Conger agreed to kill a stranger he had
+never seen. But he would make no mistakes
+because he had the stranger's skull under
+his arm.</i></big></p></div>
+
+<h1>THE<br />
+<span class="sp1">SKULL</span></h1>
+
+<h2><small>By Philip K. Dick</small></h2>
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">"What</span> is this opportunity?"
+Conger asked. "Go on. I'm
+interested."</p>
+
+<p>The room was silent; all faces
+were fixed on Conger&mdash;still in the
+drab prison uniform. The Speaker
+leaned forward slowly.</p>
+
+<p>"Before you went to prison your
+trading business was paying well&mdash;all
+illegal&mdash;all very profitable. Now
+you have nothing, except the prospect
+of another six years in a cell."</p>
+
+<p>Conger scowled.</p>
+
+<p>"There is a certain situation, very
+important to this Council, that requires
+your peculiar abilities. Also,
+it is a situation you might find interesting.
+You were a hunter, were you
+not? You've done a great deal of
+trapping, hiding in the bushes,
+waiting at night for the game? I
+imagine hunting must be a source
+of satisfaction to you, the chase, the
+stalking&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Conger sighed. His lips twisted.
+"All right," he said. "Leave that
+out. Get to the point. Who do you
+want me to kill?"</p>
+
+<p>The Speaker smiled. "All in
+proper sequence," he said softly.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The</span> car slid to a stop. It was
+night; there was no light anywhere
+along the street. Conger looked out.
+"Where are we? What is this
+place?"</p>
+
+<p>The hand of the guard pressed
+into his arm. "Come. Through that
+door."</p>
+
+<p>Conger stepped down, onto the
+damp sidewalk. The guard came
+swiftly after him, and then the
+Speaker. Conger took a deep breath
+of the cold air. He studied the dim
+outline of the building rising up
+before them.</p>
+
+<p>"I know this place. I've seen it
+before." He squinted, his eyes growing
+accustomed to the dark. Suddenly
+he became alert. "This is&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. The First Church." The
+Speaker walked toward the steps.
+"We're expected."</p>
+
+<p>"Expected? <i>Here?</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes." The Speaker mounted the
+stairs. "You know we're not allowed
+in their Churches, especially with
+guns!" He stopped. Two armed soldiers
+loomed up ahead, one on each
+side.</p>
+
+<p>"All right?" The Speaker looked
+up at them. They nodded. The door
+of the Church was open. Conger
+could see other soldiers inside,
+standing about, young soldiers with
+large eyes, gazing at the ikons and
+holy images.</p>
+
+<p>"I see," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"It was necessary," the Speaker
+said. "As you know, we have been
+singularly unfortunate in the past
+in our relations with the First
+Church."</p>
+
+<p>"This won't help."</p>
+
+<p>"But it's worth it. You will see."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">They</span> passed through the hall
+and into the main chamber
+where the altar piece was, and the
+kneeling places. The Speaker
+scarcely glanced at the altar as they
+passed by. He pushed open a small
+side door and beckoned Conger
+through.</p>
+
+<p>"In here. We have to hurry. The
+faithful will be flocking in soon."</p>
+
+<p>Conger entered, blinking. They
+were in a small chamber, low-ceilinged,
+with dark panels of old
+wood. There was a smell of ashes
+and smoldering spices in the room.
+He sniffed. "What's that? The
+smell."</p>
+
+<p>"Cups on the wall. I don't
+know." The Speaker crossed impatiently
+to the far side. "According
+to our information, it is hidden here
+by this&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Conger looked around the room.
+He saw books and papers, holy
+signs and images. A strange low
+shiver went through him.</p>
+
+<p>"Does my job involve anyone of
+the Church? If it does&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The Speaker turned, astonished.
+"Can it be that you believe in the
+Founder? Is it possible, a hunter, a
+killer&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Of course not. All their
+business about resignation to death,
+non-violence&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, then?"</p>
+
+<p>Conger shrugged. "I've been
+taught not to mix with such as
+these. They have strange abilities.
+And you can't reason with them."</p>
+
+<p>The Speaker studied Conger
+thoughtfully. "You have the wrong
+idea. It is no one here that we have
+in mind. We've found that killing
+them only tends to increase their
+numbers."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why come here? Let's
+leave."</p>
+
+<p>"No. We came for something
+important. Something you will need
+to identify your man. Without it
+you won't be able to find him."
+A trace of a smile crossed the
+Speaker's face. "We don't want you
+to kill the wrong person. It's too
+important."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't make mistakes." Conger's
+chest rose. "Listen, Speaker&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"This is an unusual situation,"
+the Speaker said. "You see, the person
+you are after&mdash;the person that
+we are sending you to find&mdash;is
+known only by certain objects here.
+They are the only traces, the only
+means of identification. Without
+them&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What are they?"</p>
+
+<p>He came toward the Speaker.
+The Speaker moved to one side.
+"Look," he said. He drew a sliding
+wall away, showing a dark square
+hole. "In there."</p>
+
+<p>Conger squatted down, staring
+in. He frowned. "A skull! A skeleton!"</p>
+
+<p>"The man you are after has been
+dead for two centuries," the Speaker
+said. "This is all that remains of
+him. And this is all you have with
+which to find him."</p>
+
+<p>For a long time Conger said nothing.
+He stared down at the bones,
+dimly visible in the recess of the
+wall. How could a man dead centuries
+be killed? How could he be
+stalked, brought down?</p>
+
+<p>Conger was a hunter, a man who
+had lived as he pleased, where he
+pleased. He had kept himself alive
+by trading, bringing furs and pelts
+in from the Provinces on his own
+ship, riding at high speed, slipping
+through the customs line around
+Earth.</p>
+
+<p>He had hunted in the great
+mountains of the moon. He had
+stalked through empty Martian
+cities. He had explored&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>The Speaker said, "Soldier, take
+these objects and have them carried
+to the car. Don't lose any part
+of them."</p>
+
+<p>The soldier went into the cupboard,
+reaching gingerly, squatting
+on his heels.</p>
+
+<p>"It is my hope," the Speaker continued
+softly, to Conger, "that you
+will demonstrate your loyalty to us,
+now. There are always ways for
+citizens to restore themselves, to
+show their devotion to their society.
+For you I think this would be a
+very good chance. I seriously doubt
+that a better one will come. And
+for your efforts there will be quite
+a restitution, of course."</p>
+
+<p>The two men looked at each
+other; Conger, thin, unkempt, the
+Speaker immaculate in his uniform.</p>
+
+<p>"I understand you," Conger said.
+"I mean, I understand this part,
+about the chance. But how can a
+man who has been dead two centuries
+be&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll explain later," the Speaker
+said. "Right now we have to hurry!"
+The soldier had gone out with the
+bones, wrapped in a blanket held
+carefully in his arms. The Speaker
+walked to the door. "Come. They've
+already discovered that we've
+broken in here, and they'll be coming
+at any moment."</p>
+
+<p>They hurried down the damp
+steps to the waiting car. A second
+later the driver lifted the car up
+into the air, above the house-tops.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The Speaker</span> settled back in
+the seat.</p>
+
+<p>"The First Church has an interesting
+past," he said. "I suppose
+you are familiar with it, but I'd
+like to speak of a few points that
+are of relevancy to us.</p>
+
+<p>"It was in the twentieth century
+that the Movement began&mdash;during
+one of the periodic wars. The
+Movement developed rapidly, feeding
+on the general sense of futility,
+the realization that each war was
+breeding greater war, with no end
+in sight. The Movement posed a
+simple answer to the problem:
+Without military preparations&mdash;weapons&mdash;there
+could be no war.
+And without machinery and complex
+scientific technocracy there
+could be no weapons.</p>
+
+<p>"The Movement preached that
+you couldn't stop war by planning
+for it. They preached that man was
+losing to his machinery and science,
+that it was getting away from him,
+pushing him into greater and
+greater wars. Down with society,
+they shouted. Down with factories
+and science! A few more wars and
+there wouldn't be much left of the
+world.</p>
+
+<p>"The Founder was an obscure
+person from a small town in the
+American Middle West. We don't
+even know his name. All we know
+is that one day he appeared, preaching
+a doctrine of non-violence, non-resistance;
+no fighting, no paying
+taxes for guns, no research except
+for medicine. Live out your life
+quietly, tending your garden, staying
+out of public affairs; mind your
+own business. Be obscure, unknown,
+poor. Give away most of your possessions,
+leave the city. At least that
+was what developed from what he
+told the people."</p>
+
+<p>The car dropped down and
+landed on a roof.</p>
+
+<p>"The Founder preached this doctrine,
+or the germ of it; there's no
+telling how much the faithful have
+added themselves. The local authorities
+picked him up at once, of
+course. Apparently they were convinced
+that he meant it; he was
+never released. He was put to
+death, and his body buried secretly.
+It seemed that the cult was finished."</p>
+
+<p>The Speaker smiled. "Unfortunately,
+some of his disciples reported
+seeing him after the date of
+his death. The rumor spread; he
+had conquered death, he was divine.
+It took hold, grew. And here
+we are today, with a First Church,
+obstructing all social progress, destroying
+society, sowing the seeds
+of anarchy&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But the wars," Conger said.
+"About them?"</p>
+
+<p>"The wars? Well, there were no
+more wars. It must be acknowledged
+that the elimination of war
+was the direct result of non-violence
+practiced on a general scale.
+But we can take a more objective
+view of war today. What was so
+terrible about it? War had a profound
+selective value, perfectly in
+accord with the teachings of Darwin
+and Mendel and others. Without
+war the mass of useless, incompetent
+mankind, without training
+or intelligence, is permitted to grow
+and expand unchecked. War acted
+to reduce their numbers; like storms
+and earthquakes and droughts, it
+was nature's way of eliminating the
+unfit.</p>
+
+<p>"Without war the lower elements
+of mankind have increased all out
+of proportion. They threaten the
+educated few, those with scientific
+knowledge and training, the ones
+equipped to direct society. They
+have no regard for science or a
+scientific society, based on reason.
+And this Movement seeks to aid
+and abet them. Only when scientists
+are in full control can the&mdash;"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">He</span> looked at his watch
+and then kicked the car door
+open. "I'll tell you the rest as we
+walk."</p>
+
+<p>They crossed the dark roof.
+"Doubtless you now know whom
+those bones belonged to, who it is
+that we are after. He has been dead
+just two centuries, now, this ignorant
+man from the Middle West, this
+Founder. The tragedy is that the
+authorities of the time acted too
+slowly. They allowed him to speak,
+to get his message across. He was
+allowed to preach, to start his cult.
+And once such a thing is under way,
+there's no stopping it.</p>
+
+<p>"But what if he had died before
+he preached? What if none of his
+doctrines had ever been spoken? It
+took only a moment for him to utter
+them, that we know. They say he
+spoke just once, just one time. <i>Then</i>
+the authorities came, taking him
+away. He offered no resistance; the
+incident was small."</p>
+
+<p>The Speaker turned to Conger.</p>
+
+<p>"Small, but we're reaping the
+consequences of it today."</p>
+
+<p>They went inside the building.
+Inside, the soldiers had already laid
+out the skeleton on a table. The
+soldiers stood around it, their young
+faces intense.</p>
+
+<p>Conger went over to the table,
+pushing past them. He bent down,
+staring at the bones. "So these are
+his remains," he murmured. "The
+Founder. The Church has hidden
+them for two centuries."</p>
+
+<p>"Quite so," the Speaker said.
+"But now we have them. Come
+along down the hall."</p>
+
+<p>They went across the room to a
+door. The Speaker pushed it open.
+Technicians looked up. Conger saw
+machinery, whirring and turning;
+benches and retorts. In the center
+of the room was a gleaming crystal
+cage.</p>
+
+<p>The Speaker handed a Slem-gun
+to Conger. "The important thing to
+remember is that the skull must be
+saved and brought back&mdash;for comparison
+and proof. Aim low&mdash;at the
+chest."</p>
+
+<p>Conger weighed the gun in his
+hands. "It feels good," he said. "I
+know this gun&mdash;that is, I've seen
+them before, but I never used one."</p>
+
+<p>The Speaker nodded. "You will
+be instructed on the use of the gun
+and the operation of the cage. You
+will be given all data we have on
+the time and location. The exact
+spot was a place called Hudson's
+field. About 1960 in a small community
+outside Denver, Colorado.
+And don't forget&mdash;the only means
+of identification you will have will
+be the skull. There are visible characteristics
+of the front teeth, especially
+the left incisor&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Conger listened absently. He was
+watching two men in white carefully
+wrapping the skull in a plastic
+bag. They tied it and carried it into
+the crystal cage. "And if I should
+make a mistake?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pick the wrong man? Then
+find the right one. Don't come back
+until you succeed in reaching this
+Founder. And you can't wait for
+him to start speaking; that's what
+we must avoid! You must act in
+advance. Take chances; shoot as
+soon as you think you've found him.
+He'll be someone unusual, probably
+a stranger in the area. Apparently
+he wasn't known."</p>
+
+<p>Conger listened dimly.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think you have it all
+now?" the Speaker asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I think so." Conger entered
+the crystal cage and sat down, placing
+his hands on the wheel.</p>
+
+<p>"Good luck," the Speaker said.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll be awaiting the outcome.
+There's some philosophical doubt
+as to whether one can alter the
+past. This should answer the question
+once and for all."</p>
+
+<p>Conger fingered the controls of
+the cage.</p>
+
+<p>"By the way," the Speaker said.
+"Don't try to use this cage for purposes
+not anticipated in your job.
+We have a constant trace on it. If
+we want it back, we can get it back.
+Good luck."</p>
+
+<p>Conger said nothing. The cage
+was sealed. He raised his finger and
+touched the wheel control. He
+turned the wheel carefully.</p>
+
+<p>He was still staring at the plastic
+bag when the room outside vanished.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time there was nothing
+at all. Nothing beyond the crystal
+mesh of the cage. Thoughts rushed
+through Conger's mind, helter-skelter.
+How would he know the
+man? How could he be certain, in
+advance? What had he looked like?
+What was his name? How had he
+acted, before he spoke? Would he
+be an ordinary person, or some
+strange outlandish crank?</p>
+
+<p>Conger picked up the Slem-gun
+and held it against his cheek. The
+metal of the gun was cool and
+smooth. He practiced moving the
+sight. It was a beautiful gun, the
+kind of gun he could fall in love
+with. If he had owned such a gun
+in the Martian desert&mdash;on the long
+nights when he had lain, cramped
+and numbed with cold, waiting for
+things that moved through the
+darkness&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>He put the gun down and adjusted
+the meter readings of the
+cage. The spiraling mist was beginning
+to condense and settle. All at
+once forms wavered and fluttered
+around him.</p>
+
+<p>Colors, sounds, movements filtered
+through the crystal wire. He
+clamped the controls off and stood
+up.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">He</span> was on a ridge overlooking
+a small town. It was high
+noon. The air was crisp and bright.
+A few automobiles moved along a
+road. Off in the distance were some
+level fields. Conger went to the door
+and stepped outside. He sniffed the
+air. Then he went back into the
+cage.</p>
+
+<p>He stood before the mirror over
+the shelf, examining his features.
+He had trimmed his beard&mdash;they
+had not got him to cut it off&mdash;and
+his hair was neat. He was dressed in
+the clothing of the middle-twentieth
+century, the odd collar and
+coat, the shoes of animal hide. In
+his pocket was money of the times.
+That was important. Nothing more
+was needed.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing, except his ability, his
+special cunning. But he had never
+used it in such a way before.</p>
+
+<p>He walked down the road toward
+the town.</p>
+
+<p>The first things he noticed were
+the newspapers on the stands.
+April 5, 1961. He was not too far
+off. He looked around him. There
+was a filling station, a garage, some
+taverns, and a ten-cent store. Down
+the street was a grocery store and
+some public buildings.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes later he mounted
+the stairs of the little public library
+and passed through the doors into
+the warm interior.</p>
+
+<p>The librarian looked up, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Good afternoon," she said.</p>
+
+<p>He smiled, not speaking because
+his words would not be correct; accented
+and strange, probably. He
+went over to a table and sat down
+by a heap of magazines. For a moment
+he glanced through them.
+Then he was on his feet again. He
+crossed the room to a wide rack
+against the wall. His heart began
+to beat heavily.</p>
+
+<p>Newspapers&mdash;weeks on end. He
+took a roll of them over to the table
+and began to scan them quickly.
+The print was odd, the letters
+strange. Some of the words were
+unfamiliar.</p>
+
+<p>He set the papers aside and
+searched farther. At last he found
+what he wanted. He carried the
+<i>Cherrywood Gazette</i> to the table
+and opened it to the first page. He
+found what he wanted:</p>
+
+<div class="bq"><p class="center">PRISONER HANGS SELF</p>
+
+<p>An unidentified man, held
+by the county sheriff's office for
+suspicion of criminal syndicalism,
+was found dead this
+morning, by&mdash;</p></div>
+
+<p>He finished the item. It was
+vague, uninforming. He needed
+more. He carried the <i>Gazette</i> back
+to the racks and then, after a moment's
+hesitation, approached the
+librarian.</p>
+
+<p>"More?" he asked. "More papers.
+Old ones?"</p>
+
+<p>She frowned. "How old? Which
+papers?"</p>
+
+<p>"Months old. And&mdash;before."</p>
+
+<p>"Of the <i>Gazette</i>? This is all we
+have. What did you want? What
+are you looking for? Maybe I can
+help you."</p>
+
+<p>He was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"You might find older issues at
+the <i>Gazette</i> office," the woman
+said, taking off her glasses. "Why
+don't you try there? But if you'd
+tell me, maybe I could help you&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He went out.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Gazette</i> office was down a
+side street; the sidewalk was broken
+and cracked. He went inside. A
+heater glowed in the corner of the
+small office. A heavy-set man stood
+up and came slowly over to the
+counter.</p>
+
+<p>"What did you want, mister?"
+he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Old papers. A month. Or
+more."</p>
+
+<p>"To buy? You want to buy
+them?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes." He held out some of the
+money he had. The man stared.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure," he said. "Sure. Wait a
+minute." He went quickly out of
+the room. When he came back he
+was staggering under the weight of
+his armload, his face red. "Here
+are some," he grunted. "Took what
+I could find. Covers the whole
+year. And if you want more&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Conger carried the papers outside.
+He sat down by the road and
+began to go through them.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">What</span> he wanted was four
+months back, in December.
+It was a tiny item, so small that he
+almost missed it. His hands trembled
+as he scanned it, using the
+small dictionary for some of the
+archaic terms.</p>
+
+<div class="bq"><p class="center">MAN ARRESTED FOR
+UNLICENSED
+DEMONSTRATION</p>
+
+<p>An unidentified man who
+refused to give his name was
+picked up in Cooper Creek by
+special agents of the sheriff's
+office, according to Sheriff
+Duff. It was said the man was
+recently noticed in this area
+and had been watched continually.
+It was&mdash;</p></div>
+
+<p>Cooper Creek. December, 1960.
+His heart pounded. That was all he
+needed to know. He stood up, shaking
+himself, stamping his feet on
+the cold ground. The sun had
+moved across the sky to the very
+edge of the hills. He smiled. Already
+he had discovered the exact
+time and place. Now he needed
+only to go back, perhaps to November,
+to Cooper Creek&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>He walked back through the
+main section of town, past the library,
+past the grocery store. It
+would not be hard; the hard part
+was over. He would go there; rent
+a room, prepare to wait until the
+man appeared.</p>
+
+<p>He turned the corner. A woman
+was coming out of a doorway,
+loaded down with packages. Conger
+stepped aside to let her pass.
+The woman glanced at him. Suddenly
+her face turned white. She
+stared, her mouth open.</p>
+
+<p>Conger hurried on. He looked
+back. What was wrong with her?
+The woman was still staring; she
+had dropped the packages to the
+ground. He increased his speed. He
+turned a second corner and went
+up a side street. When he looked
+back again the woman had come to
+the entrance of the street and was
+starting after him. A man joined
+her, and the two of them began to
+run toward him.</p>
+
+<p>He lost them and left the town,
+striding quickly, easily, up into the
+hills at the edge of town. When
+he reached the cage he stopped.
+What had happened? Was it something
+about his clothing? His dress?</p>
+
+<p>He pondered. Then, as the sun
+set, he stepped into the cage.</p>
+
+<p>Conger sat before the wheel. For
+a moment he waited, his hands
+resting lightly on the control. Then
+he turned the wheel, just a little,
+following the control readings carefully.</p>
+
+<p>The grayness settled down
+around him.</p>
+
+<p>But not for very long.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The</span> man looked him over critically.
+"You better come inside,"
+he said. "Out of the cold."</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks." Conger went gratefully
+through the open door, into the
+living-room. It was warm and close
+from the heat of the little kerosene
+heater in the corner. A woman,
+large and shapeless in her flowered
+dress, came from the kitchen. She
+and the man studied him critically.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a good room," the woman
+said. "I'm Mrs. Appleton. It's got
+heat. You need that this time of
+year."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes." He nodded, looking
+around.</p>
+
+<p>"You want to eat with us?"</p>
+
+<p>"What?"</p>
+
+<p>"You want to eat with us?" The
+man's brows knitted. "You're not a
+foreigner, are you, mister?"</p>
+
+<p>"No." He smiled. "I was born in
+this country. Quite far west,
+though."</p>
+
+<p>"California?"</p>
+
+<p>"No." He hesitated. "In Oregon."</p>
+
+<p>"What's it like up there?" Mrs.
+Appleton asked. "I hear there's a
+lot of trees and green. It's so barren
+here. I come from Chicago, myself."</p>
+
+<p>"That's the Middle West," the
+man said to her. "You ain't no foreigner."</p>
+
+<p>"Oregon isn't foreign, either,"
+Conger said. "It's part of the United
+States."</p>
+
+<p>The man nodded absently. He
+was staring at Conger's clothing.</p>
+
+<p>"That's a funny suit you got on,
+mister," he said. "Where'd you get
+that?"</p>
+
+<p>Conger was lost. He shifted uneasily.
+"It's a good suit," he said.
+"Maybe I better go some other
+place, if you don't want me here."</p>
+
+<p>They both raised their hands protestingly.
+The woman smiled at him.
+"We just have to look out for those
+Reds. You know, the government
+is always warning us about them."</p>
+
+<p>"The Reds?" He was puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>"The government says they're all
+around. We're supposed to report
+anything strange or unusual, anybody
+doesn't act normal."</p>
+
+<p>"Like me?"</p>
+
+<p>They looked embarrassed. "Well,
+you don't look like a Red to me,"
+the man said. "But we have to be
+careful. The <i>Tribune</i> says&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Conger half listened. It was going
+to be easier than he had thought.
+Clearly, he would know as soon as
+the Founder appeared. These people,
+so suspicious of anything different,
+would be buzzing and gossiping
+and spreading the story. All he had
+to do was lie low and listen, down
+at the general store, perhaps. Or
+even here, in Mrs. Appleton's
+boarding house.</p>
+
+<p>"Can I see the room?" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly." Mrs. Appleton went
+to the stairs. "I'll be glad to show
+it to you."</p>
+
+<p>They went upstairs. It was colder
+upstairs, but not nearly as cold as
+outside. Nor as cold as nights on
+the Martian deserts. For that he was
+grateful.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">He</span> was walking slowly around
+the store, looking at the cans of
+vegetables, the frozen packages of
+fish and meats shining and clean in
+the open refrigerator counters.</p>
+
+<p>Ed Davies came toward him.
+"Can I help you?" he said. The man
+was a little oddly dressed, and with
+a beard! Ed couldn't help smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," the man said in a
+funny voice. "Just looking."</p>
+
+<p>"Sure," Ed said. He walked back
+behind the counter. Mrs. Hacket
+was wheeling her cart up.</p>
+
+<p>"Who's he?" she whispered, her
+sharp face turned, her nose moving,
+as if it were sniffing. "I never seen
+him before."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know."</p>
+
+<p>"Looks funny to me. Why does
+he wear a beard? No one else wears
+a beard. Must be something the
+matter with him."</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe he likes to wear a beard.
+I had an uncle who&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Wait." Mrs. Hacket stiffened.
+"Didn't that&mdash;what was his name?
+The Red&mdash;that old one. Didn't he
+have a beard? Marx. He had a
+beard."</p>
+
+<p>Ed laughed. "This ain't Karl
+Marx. I saw a photograph of him
+once."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Hacket was staring at him.
+"You did?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sure." He flushed a little.
+"What's the matter with that?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd sure like to know more about
+him," Mrs. Hacket said. "I think
+we ought to know more, for our
+own good."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">"Hey</span>, mister! Want a
+ride?"</p>
+
+<p>Conger turned quickly, dropping
+his hand to his belt. He relaxed.
+Two young kids in a car, a girl and
+a boy. He smiled at them. "A ride?
+Sure."</p>
+
+<p>Conger got into the car and
+closed the door. Bill Willet pushed
+the gas and the car roared down
+the highway.</p>
+
+<p>"I appreciate a ride," Conger
+said carefully. "I was taking a walk
+between towns, but it was farther
+than I thought."</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you from?" Lora
+Hunt asked. She was pretty, small
+and dark, in her yellow sweater and
+blue skirt.</p>
+
+<p>"From Cooper Creek."</p>
+
+<p>"Cooper Creek?" Bill said. He
+frowned. "That's funny. I don't remember
+seeing you before."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, do you come from there?"</p>
+
+<p>"I was born there. I know everybody
+there."</p>
+
+<p>"I just moved in. From Oregon."</p>
+
+<p>"From Oregon? I didn't know
+Oregon people had accents."</p>
+
+<p>"Do I have an accent?"</p>
+
+<p>"You use words funny."</p>
+
+<p>"How?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. Doesn't he,
+Lora?"</p>
+
+<p>"You slur them," Lora said, smiling.
+"Talk some more. I'm interested
+in dialects." She glanced at
+him, white-teethed. Conger felt his
+heart constrict.</p>
+
+<p>"I have a speech impediment."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh." Her eyes widened. "I'm
+sorry."</p>
+
+<p>They looked at him curiously as
+the car purred along. Conger for his
+part was struggling to find some way
+of asking them questions without
+seeming curious. "I guess people
+from out of town don't come here
+much," he said. "Strangers."</p>
+
+<p>"No." Bill shook his head. "Not
+very much."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll bet I'm the first outsider for
+a long time."</p>
+
+<p>"I guess so."</p>
+
+<p>Conger hesitated. "A friend of
+mine&mdash;someone I know, might be
+coming through here. Where do
+you suppose I might&mdash;" He stopped.
+"Would there be anyone certain to
+see him? Someone I could ask,
+make sure I don't miss him if he
+comes?"</p>
+
+<p>They were puzzled. "Just keep
+your eyes open. Cooper Creek isn't
+very big."</p>
+
+<p>"No. That's right."</p>
+
+<p>They drove in silence. Conger
+studied the outline of the girl. Probably
+she was the boy's mistress. Perhaps
+she was his trial wife. Or had
+they developed trial marriage back
+so far? He could not remember.
+But surely such an attractive girl
+would be someone's mistress by
+this time; she would be sixteen or
+so, by her looks. He might ask her
+sometime, if they ever met again.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The</span> next day Conger went
+walking along the one main
+street of Cooper Creek. He passed
+the general store, the two filling stations,
+and then the post office. At
+the corner was the soda fountain.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped. Lora was sitting inside,
+talking to the clerk. She was
+laughing, rocking back and forth.</p>
+
+<p>Conger pushed the door open.
+Warm air rushed around him. Lora
+was drinking hot chocolate, with
+whipped cream. She looked up in
+surprise as he slid into the seat beside
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon," he said.
+"Am I intruding?"</p>
+
+<p>"No." She shook her head. Her
+eyes were large and dark. "Not at
+all."</p>
+
+<p>The clerk came over. "What do
+you want?"</p>
+
+<p>Conger looked at the chocolate.
+"Same as she has."</p>
+
+<p>Lora was watching Conger, her
+arms folded, elbows on the counter.
+She smiled at him. "By the way.
+You don't know my name. Lora
+Hunt."</p>
+
+<p>She was holding out her hand.
+He took it awkwardly, not knowing
+what to do with it. "Conger is my
+name," he murmured.</p>
+
+<p>"Conger? Is that your last or first
+name?"</p>
+
+<p>"Last or first?" He hesitated.
+"Last. Omar Conger."</p>
+
+<p>"Omar?" She laughed. "That's
+like the poet, Omar Khayyam."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know of him. I know
+very little of poets. We restored
+very few works of art. Usually only
+the Church has been interested
+enough&mdash;" He broke off. She was
+staring. He flushed. "Where I
+come from," he finished.</p>
+
+<p>"The Church? Which church do
+you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"The Church." He was confused.
+The chocolate came and he began
+to sip it gratefully. Lora was still
+watching him.</p>
+
+<p>"You're an unusual person," she
+said. "Bill didn't like you, but he
+never likes anything different. He's
+so&mdash;so prosaic. Don't you think
+that when a person gets older he
+should become&mdash;broadened in his
+outlook?"</p>
+
+<p>Conger nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"He says foreign people ought
+to stay where they belong, not come
+here. But you're not so foreign. He
+means orientals; you know."</p>
+
+<p>Conger nodded.</p>
+
+<p>The screen door opened behind
+them. Bill came into the room. He
+stared at them. "Well," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Conger turned. "Hello."</p>
+
+<p>"Well." Bill sat down. "Hello,
+Lora." He was looking at Conger.
+"I didn't expect to see you here."</p>
+
+<p>Conger tensed. He could feel the
+hostility of the boy. "Something
+wrong with that?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Nothing wrong with it."</p>
+
+<p>There was silence. Suddenly Bill
+turned to Lora. "Come on. Let's
+go."</p>
+
+<p>"Go?" She was astonished.
+"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Just go!" He grabbed her hand.
+"Come on! The car's outside."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Bill Willet," Lora said.
+"You're jealous!"</p>
+
+<p>"Who is this guy?" Bill said. "Do
+you know anything about him?
+Look at him, his beard&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She flared. "So what? Just because
+he doesn't drive a Packard
+and go to Cooper High!"</p>
+
+<p>Conger sized the boy up. He was
+big&mdash;big and strong. Probably he
+was part of some civil control organization.</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry," Conger said. "I'll go."</p>
+
+<p>"What's your business in town?"
+Bill asked. "What are you doing
+here? Why are you hanging around
+Lora?"</p>
+
+<p>Conger looked at the girl. He
+shrugged. "No reason. I'll see you
+later."</p>
+
+<p>He turned away. And froze. Bill
+had moved. Conger's fingers went
+to his belt. <i>Half pressure</i>, he whispered
+to himself. <i>No more. Half
+pressure.</i></p>
+
+<p>He squeezed. The room leaped
+around him. He himself was protected
+by the lining of his clothing,
+the plastic sheathing inside.</p>
+
+<p>"My God&mdash;" Lora put her hands
+up. Conger cursed. He hadn't
+meant any of it for her. But it would
+wear off. There was only a half-amp
+to it. It would tingle.</p>
+
+<p>Tingle, and paralyze.</p>
+
+<p>He walked out the door without
+looking back. He was almost to the
+corner when Bill came slowly out,
+holding onto the wall like a drunken
+man. Conger went on.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">As</span> Conger walked, restless, in
+the night, a form loomed in
+front of him. He stopped, holding
+his breath.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is it?" a man's voice came.
+Conger waited, tense.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is it?" the man said again.
+He clicked something in his hand.
+A light flashed. Conger moved.</p>
+
+<p>"It's me," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is 'me'?"</p>
+
+<p>"Conger is my name. I'm staying
+at the Appleton's place. Who are
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>The man came slowly up to him.
+He was wearing a leather jacket.
+There was a gun at his waist.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm Sheriff Duff. I think you're
+the person I want to talk to. You
+were in Bloom's today, about three
+o'clock?"</p>
+
+<p>"Bloom's?"</p>
+
+<p>"The fountain. Where the kids
+hang out." Duff came up beside
+him, shining his light into Conger's
+face. Conger blinked.</p>
+
+<p>"Turn that thing away," he said.</p>
+
+<p>A pause. "All right." The light
+flickered to the ground. "You were
+there. Some trouble broke out between
+you and the Willet boy. Is
+that right? You had a beef over his
+girl&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"We had a discussion," Conger
+said carefully.</p>
+
+<p>"Then what happened?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm just curious. They say you
+did something."</p>
+
+<p>"Did something? Did what?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. That's what I'm
+wondering. They saw a flash, and
+something seemed to happen. They
+all blacked out. Couldn't move."</p>
+
+<p>"How are they now?"</p>
+
+<p>"All right."</p>
+
+<p>There was silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" Duff said. "What was
+it? A bomb?"</p>
+
+<p>"A bomb?" Conger laughed.
+"No. My cigarette lighter caught
+fire. There was a leak, and the fluid
+ignited."</p>
+
+<p>"Why did they all pass out?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fumes."</p>
+
+<p>Silence. Conger shifted, waiting.
+His fingers moved slowly toward his
+belt. The Sheriff glanced down. He
+grunted.</p>
+
+<p>"If you say so," he said. "Anyhow,
+there wasn't any real harm
+done." He stepped back from Conger.
+"And that Willet is a trouble-maker."</p>
+
+<p>"Good night, then," Conger said.
+He started past the Sheriff.</p>
+
+<p>"One more thing, Mr. Conger.
+Before you go. You don't mind if I
+look at your identification, do you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Not at all." Conger reached
+into his pocket. He held his wallet
+out. The Sheriff took it and shined
+his flashlight on it. Conger watched,
+breathing shallowly. They had
+worked hard on the wallet, studying
+historic documents, relics of the
+times, all the papers they felt would
+be relevant.</p>
+
+<p>Duff handed it back. "Okay. Sorry
+to bother you." The light winked
+off.</p>
+
+<p>When Conger reached the house
+he found the Appletons sitting
+around the television set. They did
+not look up as he came in. He lingered
+at the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Can I ask you something?" he
+said. Mrs. Appleton turned slowly.
+"Can I ask you&mdash;what's the date?"</p>
+
+<p>"The date?" She studied him.
+"The first of December."</p>
+
+<p>"December first! Why, it was
+just November!"</p>
+
+<p>They were all looking at him.
+Suddenly he remembered. In the
+twentieth century they still used the
+old twelve-month system. November
+fed directly into December;
+there was no Quartember between.</p>
+
+<p>He gasped. Then it was tomorrow!
+The second of December!
+Tomorrow!</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks," he said. "Thanks."</p>
+
+<p>He went up the stairs. What a
+fool he was, forgetting. The Founder
+had been taken into captivity on
+the second of December, according
+to the newspaper records. Tomorrow,
+only twelve hours hence, the
+Founder would appear to speak to
+the people and then be dragged
+away.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The</span> day was warm and bright.
+Conger's shoes crunched the
+melting crust of snow. On he went,
+through the trees heavy with white.
+He climbed a hill and strode down
+the other side, sliding as he went.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped to look around. Everything
+was silent. There was no
+one in sight. He brought a thin rod
+from his waist and turned the handle
+of it. For a moment nothing
+happened. Then there was a shimmering
+in the air.</p>
+
+<p>The crystal cage appeared and
+settled slowly down. Conger sighed.
+It was good to see it again. After
+all, it was his only way back.</p>
+
+<p>He walked up on the ridge. He
+looked around with some satisfaction,
+his hands on his hips. Hudson's
+field was spread out, all the
+way to the beginning of town. It
+was bare and flat, covered with a
+thin layer of snow.</p>
+
+<p>Here, the Founder would come.
+Here, he would speak to them.
+And here the authorities would
+take him.</p>
+
+<p>Only he would be dead before
+they came. He would be dead before
+he even spoke.</p>
+
+<p>Conger returned to the crystal
+globe. He pushed through the door
+and stepped inside. He took the
+Slem-gun from the shelf and
+screwed the bolt into place. It was
+ready to go, ready to fire. For a moment
+he considered. Should he have
+it with him?</p>
+
+<p>No. It might be hours before the
+Founder came, and suppose someone
+approached him in the meantime?
+When he saw the Founder
+coming toward the field, then he
+could go and get the gun.</p>
+
+<p>Conger looked toward the shelf.
+There was the neat plastic package.
+He took it down and unwrapped it.</p>
+
+<p>He held the skull in his hands,
+turning it over. In spite of himself,
+a cold feeling rushed through him.
+This was the man's skull, the skull
+of the Founder, who was still alive,
+who would come here, this day, who
+would stand on the field not fifty
+yards away.</p>
+
+<p>What if <i>he</i> could see this, his
+own skull, yellow and eroded? Two
+centuries old. Would he still speak?
+Would he speak, if he could see it,
+the grinning, aged skull? What
+would there be for him to say, to
+tell the people? What message
+could he bring?</p>
+
+<p>What action would not be futile,
+when a man could look upon his
+own aged, yellowed skull? Better
+they should enjoy their temporary
+lives, while they still had them to
+enjoy.</p>
+
+<p>A man who could hold his own
+skull in his hands would believe in
+few causes, few movements. Rather,
+he would preach the opposite&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>A sound. Conger dropped the
+skull back on the shelf and took up
+the gun. Outside something was
+moving. He went quickly to the
+door, his heart beating. Was it <i>he</i>?
+Was it the Founder, wandering by
+himself in the cold, looking for a
+place to speak? Was he meditating
+over his words, choosing his sentences?</p>
+
+<p>What if he could see what Conger
+had held!</p>
+
+<p>He pushed the door open, the
+gun raised.</p>
+
+<p>Lora!</p>
+
+<p>He stared at her. She was dressed
+in a wool jacket and boots, her
+hands in her pockets. A cloud of
+steam came from her mouth and
+nostrils. Her breast was rising and
+falling.</p>
+
+<p>Silently, they looked at each
+other. At last Conger lowered the
+gun.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?" he said. "What are
+you doing here?"</p>
+
+<p>She pointed. She did not seem
+able to speak. He frowned; what
+was wrong with her?</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?" he said. "What do
+you want?" He looked in the direction
+she had pointed. "I don't see
+anything."</p>
+
+<p>"They're coming."</p>
+
+<p>"They? Who? Who are coming?"</p>
+
+<p>"They are. The police. During
+the night the Sheriff had the state
+police send cars. All around, everywhere.
+Blocking the roads. There's
+about sixty of them coming. Some
+from town, some around behind."
+She stopped, gasping. "They said&mdash;they
+said&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What?"</p>
+
+<p>"They said you were some kind
+of a Communist. They said&mdash;"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Conger</span> went into the cage.
+He put the gun down on the
+shelf and came back out. He leaped
+down and went to the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks. You came here to tell
+me? You don't believe it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you come alone?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Joe brought me in his truck.
+From town."</p>
+
+<p>"Joe? Who's he?"</p>
+
+<p>"Joe French. The plumber. He's
+a friend of Dad's."</p>
+
+<p>"Let's go." They crossed the
+snow, up the ridge and onto the
+field. The little panel truck was
+parked half way across the field. A
+heavy short man was sitting behind
+the wheel, smoking his pipe. He sat
+up as he saw the two of them coming
+toward him.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you the one?" he said to
+Conger.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Thanks for warning me."</p>
+
+<p>The plumber shrugged. "I don't
+know anything about this. Lora
+says you're all right." He turned
+around. "It might interest you to
+know some more of them are coming.
+Not to warn you&mdash;just
+curious."</p>
+
+<p>"More of them?" Conger looked
+toward the town. Black shapes were
+picking their way across the snow.</p>
+
+<p>"People from the town. You can't
+keep this sort of thing quiet, not in
+a small town. We all listen to the
+police radio; they heard the same
+way Lora did. Someone tuned in,
+spread it around&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The shapes were getting closer.
+Conger could, make out a couple of
+them. Bill Willet was there, with
+some boys from the high school.
+The Appletons were along, hanging
+back in the rear.</p>
+
+<p>"Even Ed Davies," Conger murmured.</p>
+
+<p>The storekeeper was toiling onto
+the field, with three or four other
+men from the town.</p>
+
+<p>"All curious as hell," French
+said. "Well, I guess I'm going back
+to town. I don't want my truck shot
+full of holes. Come on, Lora."</p>
+
+<p>She was looking up at Conger,
+wide-eyed.</p>
+
+<p>"Come on," French said again.
+"Let's go. You sure as hell can't
+stay here, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"There may be shooting. That's
+what they all came to see. You
+know that don't you, Conger?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"You have a gun? Or don't you
+care?" French smiled a little.
+"They've picked up a lot of people
+in their time, you know. You won't
+be lonely."</p>
+
+<p>He cared, all right! He had to
+stay here, on the field. He couldn't
+afford to let them take him away.
+Any minute the Founder would appear,
+would step onto the field.
+Would he be one of the townsmen,
+standing silently at the foot of the
+field, waiting, watching?</p>
+
+<p>Or maybe he was Joe French. Or
+maybe one of the cops. Anyone of
+them might find himself moved to
+speak. And the few words spoken
+this day were going to be important
+for a long time.</p>
+
+<p>And Conger had to be there,
+ready when the first word was
+uttered!</p>
+
+<p>"I care," he said. "You go on
+back to town. Take the girl with
+you."</p>
+
+<p>Lora got stiffly in beside Joe
+French. The plumber started up
+the motor. "Look at them, standing
+there," he said. "Like vultures.
+Waiting to see someone get
+killed."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The</span> truck drove away, Lora sitting
+stiff and silent, frightened
+now. Conger watched for a moment.
+Then he dashed back into the
+woods, between the trees, toward
+the ridge.</p>
+
+<p>He could get away, of course.
+Anytime he wanted to he could get
+away. All he had to do was to leap
+into the crystal cage and turn the
+handles. But he had a job, an important
+job. He had to be here,
+here at this place, at this time.</p>
+
+<p>He reached the cage and opened
+the door. He went inside and
+picked up the gun from the shelf.
+The Slem-gun would take care of
+them. He notched it up to full
+count. The chain reaction from it
+would flatten them all, the police,
+the curious, sadistic people&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>They wouldn't take him! Before
+they got him, all of them
+would be dead. <i>He</i> would get away.
+He would escape. By the end of the
+day they would all be dead, if that
+was what they wanted, and he&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>He saw the skull.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he put the gun down.
+He picked up the skull. He turned
+the skull over. He looked at the
+teeth. Then he went to the mirror.</p>
+
+<p>He held the skull up, looking in
+the mirror. He pressed the skull
+against his cheek. Beside his own
+face the grinning skull leered back
+at him, beside <i>his</i> skull, against his
+living flesh.</p>
+
+<p>He bared his teeth. And he knew.</p>
+
+<p>It was his own skull that he held.
+He was the one who would die. He
+was the Founder.</p>
+
+<p>After a time he put the skull
+down. For a few minutes he stood
+at the controls, playing with them
+idly. He could hear the sound of
+motors outside, the muffled noise of
+men. Should he go back to the present,
+where the Speaker waited? He
+could escape, of course&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Escape?</p>
+
+<p>He turned toward the skull.
+There it was, his skull, yellow with
+age. Escape? Escape, when he had
+held it in his own hands?</p>
+
+<p>What did it matter if he put it
+off a month, a year, ten years, even
+fifty? Time was nothing. He had
+sipped chocolate with a girl born a
+hundred and fifty years before his
+time. Escape? For a little while,
+perhaps.</p>
+
+<p>But he could not <i>really</i> escape,
+no more so than anyone else had
+ever escaped, or ever would.</p>
+
+<p>Only, he had held it in his hands,
+his own bones, his own death's-head.</p>
+
+<p><i>They</i> had not.</p>
+
+<p>He went out the door and across
+the field, empty handed. There
+were a lot of them standing around,
+gathered together, waiting. They
+expected a good fight; they knew
+he had something. They had heard
+about the incident at the fountain.</p>
+
+<p>And there were plenty of police&mdash;police
+with guns and tear gas, creeping
+across the hills and ridges, between
+the trees, closer and closer. It
+was an old story, in this century.</p>
+
+<p>One of the men tossed something
+at him. It fell in the snow by his
+feet, and he looked down. It was a
+rock. He smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"Come on!" one of them called.
+"Don't you have any bombs?"</p>
+
+<p>"Throw a bomb! You with the
+beard! Throw a bomb!"</p>
+
+<p>"Let 'em have it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Toss a few A Bombs!"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">They</span> began to laugh. He smiled.
+He put his hands to his hips.
+They suddenly turned silent, seeing
+that he was going to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry," he said simply. "I
+don't have any bombs. You're mistaken."</p>
+
+<p>There was a flurry of murmuring.</p>
+
+<p>"I have a gun," he went on. "A
+very good one. Made by science
+even more advanced than your
+own. But I'm not going to use that,
+either."</p>
+
+<p>They were puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?" someone called. At
+the edge of the group an older
+woman was watching. He felt a
+sudden shock. He had seen her before.
+Where?</p>
+
+<p>He remembered. The day at the
+library. As he had turned the corner
+he had seen her. She had noticed
+him and been astounded. At the
+time, he did not understand why.</p>
+
+<p>Conger grinned. So he <i>would</i>
+escape death, the man who right
+now was voluntarily accepting it.
+They were laughing, laughing at a
+man who had a gun but didn't use
+it. But by a strange twist of science
+he would appear again, a few
+months later, after his bones had
+been buried under the floor of a
+jail.</p>
+
+<p>And so, in a fashion, he would
+escape death. He would die, but
+then, after a period of months, he
+would live again, briefly, for an
+afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>An afternoon. Yet long enough
+for them to see him, to understand
+that he was still alive. To know that
+somehow he had returned to life.</p>
+
+<p>And then, finally, he would appear
+once more, after two hundred
+years had passed. Two centuries
+later.</p>
+
+<p>He would be born again, born, as
+a matter of fact, in a small trading
+village on Mars. He would grow up,
+learning to hunt and trade&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>A police car came on the edge of
+the field and stopped. The people
+retreated a little. Conger raised his
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>"I have an odd paradox for you,"
+he said. "Those who take lives will
+lose their own. Those who kill, will
+die. But he who gives his own life
+away will live again!"</p>
+
+<p>They laughed, faintly, nervously.
+The police were coming out, walking
+toward him. He smiled. He had
+said everything he intended to say.
+It was a good little paradox he had
+coined. They would puzzle over it,
+remember it.</p>
+
+<p class="pr1">Smiling, Conger awaited a death
+foreordained.</p>
+
+<p class="center">THE END</p>
+
+<div class="trn"><div class="figt"><a href="images/001-2.jpg"><img src="images/001-1.jpg" width="137" height="200" alt="" title="" /></a></div>
+
+<p><big><b>Transcriber's Note:</b></big></p>
+
+<p>This etext was produced from <i>If Worlds of Science Fiction</i> September 1952.
+Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
+copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and
+typographical errors have been corrected without note.</p></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Skull, by Philip K. Dick
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+</body>
+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Skull, by Philip K. Dick
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Skull
+
+Author: Philip K. Dick
+
+Release Date: October 14, 2009 [EBook #30255]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SKULL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ _Conger agreed to kill a stranger he had
+ never seen. But he would make no mistakes
+ because he had the stranger's skull under
+ his arm._
+
+
+        THE
+       SKULL
+
+ By Philip K. Dick
+
+
+"What is this opportunity?" Conger asked. "Go on. I'm interested."
+
+The room was silent; all faces were fixed on Conger--still in the drab
+prison uniform. The Speaker leaned forward slowly.
+
+"Before you went to prison your trading business was paying well--all
+illegal--all very profitable. Now you have nothing, except the prospect
+of another six years in a cell."
+
+Conger scowled.
+
+"There is a certain situation, very important to this Council, that
+requires your peculiar abilities. Also, it is a situation you might find
+interesting. You were a hunter, were you not? You've done a great deal
+of trapping, hiding in the bushes, waiting at night for the game? I
+imagine hunting must be a source of satisfaction to you, the chase, the
+stalking--"
+
+Conger sighed. His lips twisted. "All right," he said. "Leave that out.
+Get to the point. Who do you want me to kill?"
+
+The Speaker smiled. "All in proper sequence," he said softly.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The car slid to a stop. It was night; there was no light anywhere along
+the street. Conger looked out. "Where are we? What is this place?"
+
+The hand of the guard pressed into his arm. "Come. Through that door."
+
+Conger stepped down, onto the damp sidewalk. The guard came swiftly
+after him, and then the Speaker. Conger took a deep breath of the cold
+air. He studied the dim outline of the building rising up before them.
+
+"I know this place. I've seen it before." He squinted, his eyes growing
+accustomed to the dark. Suddenly he became alert. "This is--"
+
+"Yes. The First Church." The Speaker walked toward the steps. "We're
+expected."
+
+"Expected? _Here?_"
+
+"Yes." The Speaker mounted the stairs. "You know we're not allowed in
+their Churches, especially with guns!" He stopped. Two armed soldiers
+loomed up ahead, one on each side.
+
+"All right?" The Speaker looked up at them. They nodded. The door of the
+Church was open. Conger could see other soldiers inside, standing about,
+young soldiers with large eyes, gazing at the ikons and holy images.
+
+"I see," he said.
+
+"It was necessary," the Speaker said. "As you know, we have been
+singularly unfortunate in the past in our relations with the First
+Church."
+
+"This won't help."
+
+"But it's worth it. You will see."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+They passed through the hall and into the main chamber where the altar
+piece was, and the kneeling places. The Speaker scarcely glanced at the
+altar as they passed by. He pushed open a small side door and beckoned
+Conger through.
+
+"In here. We have to hurry. The faithful will be flocking in soon."
+
+Conger entered, blinking. They were in a small chamber, low-ceilinged,
+with dark panels of old wood. There was a smell of ashes and smoldering
+spices in the room. He sniffed. "What's that? The smell."
+
+"Cups on the wall. I don't know." The Speaker crossed impatiently to the
+far side. "According to our information, it is hidden here by this--"
+
+Conger looked around the room. He saw books and papers, holy signs and
+images. A strange low shiver went through him.
+
+"Does my job involve anyone of the Church? If it does--"
+
+The Speaker turned, astonished. "Can it be that you believe in the
+Founder? Is it possible, a hunter, a killer--"
+
+"No. Of course not. All their business about resignation to death,
+non-violence--"
+
+"What is it, then?"
+
+Conger shrugged. "I've been taught not to mix with such as these. They
+have strange abilities. And you can't reason with them."
+
+The Speaker studied Conger thoughtfully. "You have the wrong idea. It is
+no one here that we have in mind. We've found that killing them only
+tends to increase their numbers."
+
+"Then why come here? Let's leave."
+
+"No. We came for something important. Something you will need to
+identify your man. Without it you won't be able to find him." A trace
+of a smile crossed the Speaker's face. "We don't want you to kill the
+wrong person. It's too important."
+
+"I don't make mistakes." Conger's chest rose. "Listen, Speaker--"
+
+"This is an unusual situation," the Speaker said. "You see, the person
+you are after--the person that we are sending you to find--is known only
+by certain objects here. They are the only traces, the only means of
+identification. Without them--"
+
+"What are they?"
+
+He came toward the Speaker. The Speaker moved to one side. "Look," he
+said. He drew a sliding wall away, showing a dark square hole. "In
+there."
+
+Conger squatted down, staring in. He frowned. "A skull! A skeleton!"
+
+"The man you are after has been dead for two centuries," the Speaker
+said. "This is all that remains of him. And this is all you have with
+which to find him."
+
+For a long time Conger said nothing. He stared down at the bones, dimly
+visible in the recess of the wall. How could a man dead centuries be
+killed? How could he be stalked, brought down?
+
+Conger was a hunter, a man who had lived as he pleased, where he
+pleased. He had kept himself alive by trading, bringing furs and pelts
+in from the Provinces on his own ship, riding at high speed, slipping
+through the customs line around Earth.
+
+He had hunted in the great mountains of the moon. He had stalked through
+empty Martian cities. He had explored--
+
+The Speaker said, "Soldier, take these objects and have them carried to
+the car. Don't lose any part of them."
+
+The soldier went into the cupboard, reaching gingerly, squatting on his
+heels.
+
+"It is my hope," the Speaker continued softly, to Conger, "that you will
+demonstrate your loyalty to us, now. There are always ways for citizens
+to restore themselves, to show their devotion to their society. For you
+I think this would be a very good chance. I seriously doubt that a
+better one will come. And for your efforts there will be quite a
+restitution, of course."
+
+The two men looked at each other; Conger, thin, unkempt, the Speaker
+immaculate in his uniform.
+
+"I understand you," Conger said. "I mean, I understand this part, about
+the chance. But how can a man who has been dead two centuries be--"
+
+"I'll explain later," the Speaker said. "Right now we have to hurry!"
+The soldier had gone out with the bones, wrapped in a blanket held
+carefully in his arms. The Speaker walked to the door. "Come. They've
+already discovered that we've broken in here, and they'll be coming at
+any moment."
+
+They hurried down the damp steps to the waiting car. A second later the
+driver lifted the car up into the air, above the house-tops.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Speaker settled back in the seat.
+
+"The First Church has an interesting past," he said. "I suppose you are
+familiar with it, but I'd like to speak of a few points that are of
+relevancy to us.
+
+"It was in the twentieth century that the Movement began--during one of
+the periodic wars. The Movement developed rapidly, feeding on the
+general sense of futility, the realization that each war was breeding
+greater war, with no end in sight. The Movement posed a simple answer to
+the problem: Without military preparations--weapons--there could be no
+war. And without machinery and complex scientific technocracy there
+could be no weapons.
+
+"The Movement preached that you couldn't stop war by planning for it.
+They preached that man was losing to his machinery and science, that it
+was getting away from him, pushing him into greater and greater wars.
+Down with society, they shouted. Down with factories and science! A few
+more wars and there wouldn't be much left of the world.
+
+"The Founder was an obscure person from a small town in the American
+Middle West. We don't even know his name. All we know is that one day he
+appeared, preaching a doctrine of non-violence, non-resistance; no
+fighting, no paying taxes for guns, no research except for medicine.
+Live out your life quietly, tending your garden, staying out of public
+affairs; mind your own business. Be obscure, unknown, poor. Give away
+most of your possessions, leave the city. At least that was what
+developed from what he told the people."
+
+The car dropped down and landed on a roof.
+
+"The Founder preached this doctrine, or the germ of it; there's no
+telling how much the faithful have added themselves. The local
+authorities picked him up at once, of course. Apparently they were
+convinced that he meant it; he was never released. He was put to death,
+and his body buried secretly. It seemed that the cult was finished."
+
+The Speaker smiled. "Unfortunately, some of his disciples reported
+seeing him after the date of his death. The rumor spread; he had
+conquered death, he was divine. It took hold, grew. And here we are
+today, with a First Church, obstructing all social progress, destroying
+society, sowing the seeds of anarchy--"
+
+"But the wars," Conger said. "About them?"
+
+"The wars? Well, there were no more wars. It must be acknowledged that
+the elimination of war was the direct result of non-violence practiced
+on a general scale. But we can take a more objective view of war today.
+What was so terrible about it? War had a profound selective value,
+perfectly in accord with the teachings of Darwin and Mendel and others.
+Without war the mass of useless, incompetent mankind, without training
+or intelligence, is permitted to grow and expand unchecked. War acted to
+reduce their numbers; like storms and earthquakes and droughts, it was
+nature's way of eliminating the unfit.
+
+"Without war the lower elements of mankind have increased all out of
+proportion. They threaten the educated few, those with scientific
+knowledge and training, the ones equipped to direct society. They have
+no regard for science or a scientific society, based on reason. And this
+Movement seeks to aid and abet them. Only when scientists are in full
+control can the--"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He looked at his watch and then kicked the car door open. "I'll tell you
+the rest as we walk."
+
+They crossed the dark roof. "Doubtless you now know whom those bones
+belonged to, who it is that we are after. He has been dead just two
+centuries, now, this ignorant man from the Middle West, this Founder.
+The tragedy is that the authorities of the time acted too slowly. They
+allowed him to speak, to get his message across. He was allowed to
+preach, to start his cult. And once such a thing is under way, there's
+no stopping it.
+
+"But what if he had died before he preached? What if none of his
+doctrines had ever been spoken? It took only a moment for him to utter
+them, that we know. They say he spoke just once, just one time. _Then_
+the authorities came, taking him away. He offered no resistance; the
+incident was small."
+
+The Speaker turned to Conger.
+
+"Small, but we're reaping the consequences of it today."
+
+They went inside the building. Inside, the soldiers had already laid out
+the skeleton on a table. The soldiers stood around it, their young faces
+intense.
+
+Conger went over to the table, pushing past them. He bent down, staring
+at the bones. "So these are his remains," he murmured. "The Founder. The
+Church has hidden them for two centuries."
+
+"Quite so," the Speaker said. "But now we have them. Come along down the
+hall."
+
+They went across the room to a door. The Speaker pushed it open.
+Technicians looked up. Conger saw machinery, whirring and turning;
+benches and retorts. In the center of the room was a gleaming crystal
+cage.
+
+The Speaker handed a Slem-gun to Conger. "The important thing to
+remember is that the skull must be saved and brought back--for
+comparison and proof. Aim low--at the chest."
+
+Conger weighed the gun in his hands. "It feels good," he said. "I know
+this gun--that is, I've seen them before, but I never used one."
+
+The Speaker nodded. "You will be instructed on the use of the gun and
+the operation of the cage. You will be given all data we have on the
+time and location. The exact spot was a place called Hudson's field.
+About 1960 in a small community outside Denver, Colorado. And don't
+forget--the only means of identification you will have will be the
+skull. There are visible characteristics of the front teeth, especially
+the left incisor--"
+
+Conger listened absently. He was watching two men in white carefully
+wrapping the skull in a plastic bag. They tied it and carried it into
+the crystal cage. "And if I should make a mistake?"
+
+"Pick the wrong man? Then find the right one. Don't come back until you
+succeed in reaching this Founder. And you can't wait for him to start
+speaking; that's what we must avoid! You must act in advance. Take
+chances; shoot as soon as you think you've found him. He'll be someone
+unusual, probably a stranger in the area. Apparently he wasn't known."
+
+Conger listened dimly.
+
+"Do you think you have it all now?" the Speaker asked.
+
+"Yes. I think so." Conger entered the crystal cage and sat down, placing
+his hands on the wheel.
+
+"Good luck," the Speaker said.
+
+"We'll be awaiting the outcome. There's some philosophical doubt as to
+whether one can alter the past. This should answer the question once and
+for all."
+
+Conger fingered the controls of the cage.
+
+"By the way," the Speaker said. "Don't try to use this cage for purposes
+not anticipated in your job. We have a constant trace on it. If we want
+it back, we can get it back. Good luck."
+
+Conger said nothing. The cage was sealed. He raised his finger and
+touched the wheel control. He turned the wheel carefully.
+
+He was still staring at the plastic bag when the room outside vanished.
+
+For a long time there was nothing at all. Nothing beyond the crystal
+mesh of the cage. Thoughts rushed through Conger's mind, helter-skelter.
+How would he know the man? How could he be certain, in advance? What had
+he looked like? What was his name? How had he acted, before he spoke?
+Would he be an ordinary person, or some strange outlandish crank?
+
+Conger picked up the Slem-gun and held it against his cheek. The metal
+of the gun was cool and smooth. He practiced moving the sight. It was a
+beautiful gun, the kind of gun he could fall in love with. If he had
+owned such a gun in the Martian desert--on the long nights when he had
+lain, cramped and numbed with cold, waiting for things that moved
+through the darkness--
+
+He put the gun down and adjusted the meter readings of the cage. The
+spiraling mist was beginning to condense and settle. All at once forms
+wavered and fluttered around him.
+
+Colors, sounds, movements filtered through the crystal wire. He clamped
+the controls off and stood up.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He was on a ridge overlooking a small town. It was high noon. The air
+was crisp and bright. A few automobiles moved along a road. Off in the
+distance were some level fields. Conger went to the door and stepped
+outside. He sniffed the air. Then he went back into the cage.
+
+He stood before the mirror over the shelf, examining his features. He
+had trimmed his beard--they had not got him to cut it off--and his hair
+was neat. He was dressed in the clothing of the middle-twentieth
+century, the odd collar and coat, the shoes of animal hide. In his
+pocket was money of the times. That was important. Nothing more was
+needed.
+
+Nothing, except his ability, his special cunning. But he had never used
+it in such a way before.
+
+He walked down the road toward the town.
+
+The first things he noticed were the newspapers on the stands. April 5,
+1961. He was not too far off. He looked around him. There was a filling
+station, a garage, some taverns, and a ten-cent store. Down the street
+was a grocery store and some public buildings.
+
+A few minutes later he mounted the stairs of the little public library
+and passed through the doors into the warm interior.
+
+The librarian looked up, smiling.
+
+"Good afternoon," she said.
+
+He smiled, not speaking because his words would not be correct; accented
+and strange, probably. He went over to a table and sat down by a heap of
+magazines. For a moment he glanced through them. Then he was on his feet
+again. He crossed the room to a wide rack against the wall. His heart
+began to beat heavily.
+
+Newspapers--weeks on end. He took a roll of them over to the table and
+began to scan them quickly. The print was odd, the letters strange. Some
+of the words were unfamiliar.
+
+He set the papers aside and searched farther. At last he found what he
+wanted. He carried the _Cherrywood Gazette_ to the table and opened it
+to the first page. He found what he wanted:
+
+    PRISONER HANGS SELF
+
+    An unidentified man, held by the county sheriff's office for
+    suspicion of criminal syndicalism, was found dead this morning, by--
+
+He finished the item. It was vague, uninforming. He needed more. He
+carried the _Gazette_ back to the racks and then, after a moment's
+hesitation, approached the librarian.
+
+"More?" he asked. "More papers. Old ones?"
+
+She frowned. "How old? Which papers?"
+
+"Months old. And--before."
+
+"Of the _Gazette_? This is all we have. What did you want? What are you
+looking for? Maybe I can help you."
+
+He was silent.
+
+"You might find older issues at the _Gazette_ office," the woman said,
+taking off her glasses. "Why don't you try there? But if you'd tell me,
+maybe I could help you--"
+
+He went out.
+
+The _Gazette_ office was down a side street; the sidewalk was broken and
+cracked. He went inside. A heater glowed in the corner of the small
+office. A heavy-set man stood up and came slowly over to the counter.
+
+"What did you want, mister?" he said.
+
+"Old papers. A month. Or more."
+
+"To buy? You want to buy them?"
+
+"Yes." He held out some of the money he had. The man stared.
+
+"Sure," he said. "Sure. Wait a minute." He went quickly out of the room.
+When he came back he was staggering under the weight of his armload, his
+face red. "Here are some," he grunted. "Took what I could find. Covers
+the whole year. And if you want more--"
+
+Conger carried the papers outside. He sat down by the road and began to
+go through them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+What he wanted was four months back, in December. It was a tiny item, so
+small that he almost missed it. His hands trembled as he scanned it,
+using the small dictionary for some of the archaic terms.
+
+    MAN ARRESTED FOR UNLICENSED DEMONSTRATION
+
+    An unidentified man who refused to give his name was picked up in
+    Cooper Creek by special agents of the sheriff's office, according to
+    Sheriff Duff. It was said the man was recently noticed in this area
+    and had been watched continually. It was--
+
+Cooper Creek. December, 1960. His heart pounded. That was all he needed
+to know. He stood up, shaking himself, stamping his feet on the cold
+ground. The sun had moved across the sky to the very edge of the hills.
+He smiled. Already he had discovered the exact time and place. Now he
+needed only to go back, perhaps to November, to Cooper Creek--
+
+He walked back through the main section of town, past the library, past
+the grocery store. It would not be hard; the hard part was over. He
+would go there; rent a room, prepare to wait until the man appeared.
+
+He turned the corner. A woman was coming out of a doorway, loaded down
+with packages. Conger stepped aside to let her pass. The woman glanced
+at him. Suddenly her face turned white. She stared, her mouth open.
+
+Conger hurried on. He looked back. What was wrong with her? The woman
+was still staring; she had dropped the packages to the ground. He
+increased his speed. He turned a second corner and went up a side
+street. When he looked back again the woman had come to the entrance of
+the street and was starting after him. A man joined her, and the two of
+them began to run toward him.
+
+He lost them and left the town, striding quickly, easily, up into the
+hills at the edge of town. When he reached the cage he stopped. What had
+happened? Was it something about his clothing? His dress?
+
+He pondered. Then, as the sun set, he stepped into the cage.
+
+Conger sat before the wheel. For a moment he waited, his hands resting
+lightly on the control. Then he turned the wheel, just a little,
+following the control readings carefully.
+
+The grayness settled down around him.
+
+But not for very long.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The man looked him over critically. "You better come inside," he said.
+"Out of the cold."
+
+"Thanks." Conger went gratefully through the open door, into the
+living-room. It was warm and close from the heat of the little kerosene
+heater in the corner. A woman, large and shapeless in her flowered
+dress, came from the kitchen. She and the man studied him critically.
+
+"It's a good room," the woman said. "I'm Mrs. Appleton. It's got heat.
+You need that this time of year."
+
+"Yes." He nodded, looking around.
+
+"You want to eat with us?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"You want to eat with us?" The man's brows knitted. "You're not a
+foreigner, are you, mister?"
+
+"No." He smiled. "I was born in this country. Quite far west, though."
+
+"California?"
+
+"No." He hesitated. "In Oregon."
+
+"What's it like up there?" Mrs. Appleton asked. "I hear there's a lot of
+trees and green. It's so barren here. I come from Chicago, myself."
+
+"That's the Middle West," the man said to her. "You ain't no foreigner."
+
+"Oregon isn't foreign, either," Conger said. "It's part of the United
+States."
+
+The man nodded absently. He was staring at Conger's clothing.
+
+"That's a funny suit you got on, mister," he said. "Where'd you get
+that?"
+
+Conger was lost. He shifted uneasily. "It's a good suit," he said.
+"Maybe I better go some other place, if you don't want me here."
+
+They both raised their hands protestingly. The woman smiled at him. "We
+just have to look out for those Reds. You know, the government is always
+warning us about them."
+
+"The Reds?" He was puzzled.
+
+"The government says they're all around. We're supposed to report
+anything strange or unusual, anybody doesn't act normal."
+
+"Like me?"
+
+They looked embarrassed. "Well, you don't look like a Red to me," the
+man said. "But we have to be careful. The _Tribune_ says--"
+
+Conger half listened. It was going to be easier than he had thought.
+Clearly, he would know as soon as the Founder appeared. These people, so
+suspicious of anything different, would be buzzing and gossiping and
+spreading the story. All he had to do was lie low and listen, down at
+the general store, perhaps. Or even here, in Mrs. Appleton's boarding
+house.
+
+"Can I see the room?" he said.
+
+"Certainly." Mrs. Appleton went to the stairs. "I'll be glad to show it
+to you."
+
+They went upstairs. It was colder upstairs, but not nearly as cold as
+outside. Nor as cold as nights on the Martian deserts. For that he was
+grateful.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He was walking slowly around the store, looking at the cans of
+vegetables, the frozen packages of fish and meats shining and clean in
+the open refrigerator counters.
+
+Ed Davies came toward him. "Can I help you?" he said. The man was a
+little oddly dressed, and with a beard! Ed couldn't help smiling.
+
+"Nothing," the man said in a funny voice. "Just looking."
+
+"Sure," Ed said. He walked back behind the counter. Mrs. Hacket was
+wheeling her cart up.
+
+"Who's he?" she whispered, her sharp face turned, her nose moving, as if
+it were sniffing. "I never seen him before."
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Looks funny to me. Why does he wear a beard? No one else wears a
+beard. Must be something the matter with him."
+
+"Maybe he likes to wear a beard. I had an uncle who--"
+
+"Wait." Mrs. Hacket stiffened. "Didn't that--what was his name? The
+Red--that old one. Didn't he have a beard? Marx. He had a beard."
+
+Ed laughed. "This ain't Karl Marx. I saw a photograph of him once."
+
+Mrs. Hacket was staring at him. "You did?"
+
+"Sure." He flushed a little. "What's the matter with that?"
+
+"I'd sure like to know more about him," Mrs. Hacket said. "I think we
+ought to know more, for our own good."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Hey, mister! Want a ride?"
+
+Conger turned quickly, dropping his hand to his belt. He relaxed. Two
+young kids in a car, a girl and a boy. He smiled at them. "A ride?
+Sure."
+
+Conger got into the car and closed the door. Bill Willet pushed the gas
+and the car roared down the highway.
+
+"I appreciate a ride," Conger said carefully. "I was taking a walk
+between towns, but it was farther than I thought."
+
+"Where are you from?" Lora Hunt asked. She was pretty, small and dark,
+in her yellow sweater and blue skirt.
+
+"From Cooper Creek."
+
+"Cooper Creek?" Bill said. He frowned. "That's funny. I don't remember
+seeing you before."
+
+"Why, do you come from there?"
+
+"I was born there. I know everybody there."
+
+"I just moved in. From Oregon."
+
+"From Oregon? I didn't know Oregon people had accents."
+
+"Do I have an accent?"
+
+"You use words funny."
+
+"How?"
+
+"I don't know. Doesn't he, Lora?"
+
+"You slur them," Lora said, smiling. "Talk some more. I'm interested in
+dialects." She glanced at him, white-teethed. Conger felt his heart
+constrict.
+
+"I have a speech impediment."
+
+"Oh." Her eyes widened. "I'm sorry."
+
+They looked at him curiously as the car purred along. Conger for his
+part was struggling to find some way of asking them questions without
+seeming curious. "I guess people from out of town don't come here much,"
+he said. "Strangers."
+
+"No." Bill shook his head. "Not very much."
+
+"I'll bet I'm the first outsider for a long time."
+
+"I guess so."
+
+Conger hesitated. "A friend of mine--someone I know, might be coming
+through here. Where do you suppose I might--" He stopped. "Would there
+be anyone certain to see him? Someone I could ask, make sure I don't
+miss him if he comes?"
+
+They were puzzled. "Just keep your eyes open. Cooper Creek isn't very
+big."
+
+"No. That's right."
+
+They drove in silence. Conger studied the outline of the girl. Probably
+she was the boy's mistress. Perhaps she was his trial wife. Or had they
+developed trial marriage back so far? He could not remember. But surely
+such an attractive girl would be someone's mistress by this time; she
+would be sixteen or so, by her looks. He might ask her sometime, if they
+ever met again.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The next day Conger went walking along the one main street of Cooper
+Creek. He passed the general store, the two filling stations, and then
+the post office. At the corner was the soda fountain.
+
+He stopped. Lora was sitting inside, talking to the clerk. She was
+laughing, rocking back and forth.
+
+Conger pushed the door open. Warm air rushed around him. Lora was
+drinking hot chocolate, with whipped cream. She looked up in surprise as
+he slid into the seat beside her.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said. "Am I intruding?"
+
+"No." She shook her head. Her eyes were large and dark. "Not at all."
+
+The clerk came over. "What do you want?"
+
+Conger looked at the chocolate. "Same as she has."
+
+Lora was watching Conger, her arms folded, elbows on the counter. She
+smiled at him. "By the way. You don't know my name. Lora Hunt."
+
+She was holding out her hand. He took it awkwardly, not knowing what to
+do with it. "Conger is my name," he murmured.
+
+"Conger? Is that your last or first name?"
+
+"Last or first?" He hesitated. "Last. Omar Conger."
+
+"Omar?" She laughed. "That's like the poet, Omar Khayyam."
+
+"I don't know of him. I know very little of poets. We restored very few
+works of art. Usually only the Church has been interested enough--" He
+broke off. She was staring. He flushed. "Where I come from," he
+finished.
+
+"The Church? Which church do you mean?"
+
+"The Church." He was confused. The chocolate came and he began to sip it
+gratefully. Lora was still watching him.
+
+"You're an unusual person," she said. "Bill didn't like you, but he
+never likes anything different. He's so--so prosaic. Don't you think
+that when a person gets older he should become--broadened in his
+outlook?"
+
+Conger nodded.
+
+"He says foreign people ought to stay where they belong, not come here.
+But you're not so foreign. He means orientals; you know."
+
+Conger nodded.
+
+The screen door opened behind them. Bill came into the room. He stared
+at them. "Well," he said.
+
+Conger turned. "Hello."
+
+"Well." Bill sat down. "Hello, Lora." He was looking at Conger. "I
+didn't expect to see you here."
+
+Conger tensed. He could feel the hostility of the boy. "Something wrong
+with that?"
+
+"No. Nothing wrong with it."
+
+There was silence. Suddenly Bill turned to Lora. "Come on. Let's go."
+
+"Go?" She was astonished. "Why?"
+
+"Just go!" He grabbed her hand. "Come on! The car's outside."
+
+"Why, Bill Willet," Lora said. "You're jealous!"
+
+"Who is this guy?" Bill said. "Do you know anything about him? Look at
+him, his beard--"
+
+She flared. "So what? Just because he doesn't drive a Packard and go to
+Cooper High!"
+
+Conger sized the boy up. He was big--big and strong. Probably he was
+part of some civil control organization.
+
+"Sorry," Conger said. "I'll go."
+
+"What's your business in town?" Bill asked. "What are you doing here?
+Why are you hanging around Lora?"
+
+Conger looked at the girl. He shrugged. "No reason. I'll see you later."
+
+He turned away. And froze. Bill had moved. Conger's fingers went to his
+belt. _Half pressure_, he whispered to himself. _No more. Half
+pressure._
+
+He squeezed. The room leaped around him. He himself was protected by the
+lining of his clothing, the plastic sheathing inside.
+
+"My God--" Lora put her hands up. Conger cursed. He hadn't meant any of
+it for her. But it would wear off. There was only a half-amp to it. It
+would tingle.
+
+Tingle, and paralyze.
+
+He walked out the door without looking back. He was almost to the corner
+when Bill came slowly out, holding onto the wall like a drunken man.
+Conger went on.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As Conger walked, restless, in the night, a form loomed in front of him.
+He stopped, holding his breath.
+
+"Who is it?" a man's voice came. Conger waited, tense.
+
+"Who is it?" the man said again. He clicked something in his hand. A
+light flashed. Conger moved.
+
+"It's me," he said.
+
+"Who is 'me'?"
+
+"Conger is my name. I'm staying at the Appleton's place. Who are you?"
+
+The man came slowly up to him. He was wearing a leather jacket. There
+was a gun at his waist.
+
+"I'm Sheriff Duff. I think you're the person I want to talk to. You were
+in Bloom's today, about three o'clock?"
+
+"Bloom's?"
+
+"The fountain. Where the kids hang out." Duff came up beside him,
+shining his light into Conger's face. Conger blinked.
+
+"Turn that thing away," he said.
+
+A pause. "All right." The light flickered to the ground. "You were
+there. Some trouble broke out between you and the Willet boy. Is that
+right? You had a beef over his girl--"
+
+"We had a discussion," Conger said carefully.
+
+"Then what happened?"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I'm just curious. They say you did something."
+
+"Did something? Did what?"
+
+"I don't know. That's what I'm wondering. They saw a flash, and
+something seemed to happen. They all blacked out. Couldn't move."
+
+"How are they now?"
+
+"All right."
+
+There was silence.
+
+"Well?" Duff said. "What was it? A bomb?"
+
+"A bomb?" Conger laughed. "No. My cigarette lighter caught fire. There
+was a leak, and the fluid ignited."
+
+"Why did they all pass out?"
+
+"Fumes."
+
+Silence. Conger shifted, waiting. His fingers moved slowly toward his
+belt. The Sheriff glanced down. He grunted.
+
+"If you say so," he said. "Anyhow, there wasn't any real harm done." He
+stepped back from Conger. "And that Willet is a trouble-maker."
+
+"Good night, then," Conger said. He started past the Sheriff.
+
+"One more thing, Mr. Conger. Before you go. You don't mind if I look at
+your identification, do you?"
+
+"No. Not at all." Conger reached into his pocket. He held his wallet
+out. The Sheriff took it and shined his flashlight on it. Conger
+watched, breathing shallowly. They had worked hard on the wallet,
+studying historic documents, relics of the times, all the papers they
+felt would be relevant.
+
+Duff handed it back. "Okay. Sorry to bother you." The light winked off.
+
+When Conger reached the house he found the Appletons sitting around the
+television set. They did not look up as he came in. He lingered at the
+door.
+
+"Can I ask you something?" he said. Mrs. Appleton turned slowly. "Can I
+ask you--what's the date?"
+
+"The date?" She studied him. "The first of December."
+
+"December first! Why, it was just November!"
+
+They were all looking at him. Suddenly he remembered. In the twentieth
+century they still used the old twelve-month system. November fed
+directly into December; there was no Quartember between.
+
+He gasped. Then it was tomorrow! The second of December! Tomorrow!
+
+"Thanks," he said. "Thanks."
+
+He went up the stairs. What a fool he was, forgetting. The Founder had
+been taken into captivity on the second of December, according to the
+newspaper records. Tomorrow, only twelve hours hence, the Founder would
+appear to speak to the people and then be dragged away.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The day was warm and bright. Conger's shoes crunched the melting crust
+of snow. On he went, through the trees heavy with white. He climbed a
+hill and strode down the other side, sliding as he went.
+
+He stopped to look around. Everything was silent. There was no one in
+sight. He brought a thin rod from his waist and turned the handle of it.
+For a moment nothing happened. Then there was a shimmering in the air.
+
+The crystal cage appeared and settled slowly down. Conger sighed. It was
+good to see it again. After all, it was his only way back.
+
+He walked up on the ridge. He looked around with some satisfaction, his
+hands on his hips. Hudson's field was spread out, all the way to the
+beginning of town. It was bare and flat, covered with a thin layer of
+snow.
+
+Here, the Founder would come. Here, he would speak to them. And here the
+authorities would take him.
+
+Only he would be dead before they came. He would be dead before he even
+spoke.
+
+Conger returned to the crystal globe. He pushed through the door and
+stepped inside. He took the Slem-gun from the shelf and screwed the bolt
+into place. It was ready to go, ready to fire. For a moment he
+considered. Should he have it with him?
+
+No. It might be hours before the Founder came, and suppose someone
+approached him in the meantime? When he saw the Founder coming toward
+the field, then he could go and get the gun.
+
+Conger looked toward the shelf. There was the neat plastic package. He
+took it down and unwrapped it.
+
+He held the skull in his hands, turning it over. In spite of himself, a
+cold feeling rushed through him. This was the man's skull, the skull of
+the Founder, who was still alive, who would come here, this day, who
+would stand on the field not fifty yards away.
+
+What if _he_ could see this, his own skull, yellow and eroded? Two
+centuries old. Would he still speak? Would he speak, if he could see it,
+the grinning, aged skull? What would there be for him to say, to tell
+the people? What message could he bring?
+
+What action would not be futile, when a man could look upon his own
+aged, yellowed skull? Better they should enjoy their temporary lives,
+while they still had them to enjoy.
+
+A man who could hold his own skull in his hands would believe in few
+causes, few movements. Rather, he would preach the opposite--
+
+A sound. Conger dropped the skull back on the shelf and took up the gun.
+Outside something was moving. He went quickly to the door, his heart
+beating. Was it _he_? Was it the Founder, wandering by himself in the
+cold, looking for a place to speak? Was he meditating over his words,
+choosing his sentences?
+
+What if he could see what Conger had held!
+
+He pushed the door open, the gun raised.
+
+Lora!
+
+He stared at her. She was dressed in a wool jacket and boots, her hands
+in her pockets. A cloud of steam came from her mouth and nostrils. Her
+breast was rising and falling.
+
+Silently, they looked at each other. At last Conger lowered the gun.
+
+"What is it?" he said. "What are you doing here?"
+
+She pointed. She did not seem able to speak. He frowned; what was wrong
+with her?
+
+"What is it?" he said. "What do you want?" He looked in the direction
+she had pointed. "I don't see anything."
+
+"They're coming."
+
+"They? Who? Who are coming?"
+
+"They are. The police. During the night the Sheriff had the state police
+send cars. All around, everywhere. Blocking the roads. There's about
+sixty of them coming. Some from town, some around behind." She stopped,
+gasping. "They said--they said--"
+
+"What?"
+
+"They said you were some kind of a Communist. They said--"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Conger went into the cage. He put the gun down on the shelf and came
+back out. He leaped down and went to the girl.
+
+"Thanks. You came here to tell me? You don't believe it?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Did you come alone?"
+
+"No. Joe brought me in his truck. From town."
+
+"Joe? Who's he?"
+
+"Joe French. The plumber. He's a friend of Dad's."
+
+"Let's go." They crossed the snow, up the ridge and onto the field. The
+little panel truck was parked half way across the field. A heavy short
+man was sitting behind the wheel, smoking his pipe. He sat up as he saw
+the two of them coming toward him.
+
+"Are you the one?" he said to Conger.
+
+"Yes. Thanks for warning me."
+
+The plumber shrugged. "I don't know anything about this. Lora says
+you're all right." He turned around. "It might interest you to know some
+more of them are coming. Not to warn you--just curious."
+
+"More of them?" Conger looked toward the town. Black shapes were picking
+their way across the snow.
+
+"People from the town. You can't keep this sort of thing quiet, not in a
+small town. We all listen to the police radio; they heard the same way
+Lora did. Someone tuned in, spread it around--"
+
+The shapes were getting closer. Conger could, make out a couple of them.
+Bill Willet was there, with some boys from the high school. The
+Appletons were along, hanging back in the rear.
+
+"Even Ed Davies," Conger murmured.
+
+The storekeeper was toiling onto the field, with three or four other men
+from the town.
+
+"All curious as hell," French said. "Well, I guess I'm going back to
+town. I don't want my truck shot full of holes. Come on, Lora."
+
+She was looking up at Conger, wide-eyed.
+
+"Come on," French said again. "Let's go. You sure as hell can't stay
+here, you know."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"There may be shooting. That's what they all came to see. You know that
+don't you, Conger?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You have a gun? Or don't you care?" French smiled a little. "They've
+picked up a lot of people in their time, you know. You won't be lonely."
+
+He cared, all right! He had to stay here, on the field. He couldn't
+afford to let them take him away. Any minute the Founder would appear,
+would step onto the field. Would he be one of the townsmen, standing
+silently at the foot of the field, waiting, watching?
+
+Or maybe he was Joe French. Or maybe one of the cops. Anyone of them
+might find himself moved to speak. And the few words spoken this day
+were going to be important for a long time.
+
+And Conger had to be there, ready when the first word was uttered!
+
+"I care," he said. "You go on back to town. Take the girl with you."
+
+Lora got stiffly in beside Joe French. The plumber started up the motor.
+"Look at them, standing there," he said. "Like vultures. Waiting to see
+someone get killed."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The truck drove away, Lora sitting stiff and silent, frightened now.
+Conger watched for a moment. Then he dashed back into the woods, between
+the trees, toward the ridge.
+
+He could get away, of course. Anytime he wanted to he could get away.
+All he had to do was to leap into the crystal cage and turn the handles.
+But he had a job, an important job. He had to be here, here at this
+place, at this time.
+
+He reached the cage and opened the door. He went inside and picked up
+the gun from the shelf. The Slem-gun would take care of them. He notched
+it up to full count. The chain reaction from it would flatten them all,
+the police, the curious, sadistic people--
+
+They wouldn't take him! Before they got him, all of them would be dead.
+_He_ would get away. He would escape. By the end of the day they would
+all be dead, if that was what they wanted, and he--
+
+He saw the skull.
+
+Suddenly he put the gun down. He picked up the skull. He turned the
+skull over. He looked at the teeth. Then he went to the mirror.
+
+He held the skull up, looking in the mirror. He pressed the skull
+against his cheek. Beside his own face the grinning skull leered back at
+him, beside _his_ skull, against his living flesh.
+
+He bared his teeth. And he knew.
+
+It was his own skull that he held. He was the one who would die. He was
+the Founder.
+
+After a time he put the skull down. For a few minutes he stood at the
+controls, playing with them idly. He could hear the sound of motors
+outside, the muffled noise of men. Should he go back to the present,
+where the Speaker waited? He could escape, of course--
+
+Escape?
+
+He turned toward the skull. There it was, his skull, yellow with age.
+Escape? Escape, when he had held it in his own hands?
+
+What did it matter if he put it off a month, a year, ten years, even
+fifty? Time was nothing. He had sipped chocolate with a girl born a
+hundred and fifty years before his time. Escape? For a little while,
+perhaps.
+
+But he could not _really_ escape, no more so than anyone else had ever
+escaped, or ever would.
+
+Only, he had held it in his hands, his own bones, his own death's-head.
+
+_They_ had not.
+
+He went out the door and across the field, empty handed. There were a
+lot of them standing around, gathered together, waiting. They expected a
+good fight; they knew he had something. They had heard about the
+incident at the fountain.
+
+And there were plenty of police--police with guns and tear gas, creeping
+across the hills and ridges, between the trees, closer and closer. It
+was an old story, in this century.
+
+One of the men tossed something at him. It fell in the snow by his
+feet, and he looked down. It was a rock. He smiled.
+
+"Come on!" one of them called. "Don't you have any bombs?"
+
+"Throw a bomb! You with the beard! Throw a bomb!"
+
+"Let 'em have it!"
+
+"Toss a few A Bombs!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+They began to laugh. He smiled. He put his hands to his hips. They
+suddenly turned silent, seeing that he was going to speak.
+
+"I'm sorry," he said simply. "I don't have any bombs. You're mistaken."
+
+There was a flurry of murmuring.
+
+"I have a gun," he went on. "A very good one. Made by science even more
+advanced than your own. But I'm not going to use that, either."
+
+They were puzzled.
+
+"Why not?" someone called. At the edge of the group an older woman was
+watching. He felt a sudden shock. He had seen her before. Where?
+
+He remembered. The day at the library. As he had turned the corner he
+had seen her. She had noticed him and been astounded. At the time, he
+did not understand why.
+
+Conger grinned. So he _would_ escape death, the man who right now was
+voluntarily accepting it. They were laughing, laughing at a man who had
+a gun but didn't use it. But by a strange twist of science he would
+appear again, a few months later, after his bones had been buried under
+the floor of a jail.
+
+And so, in a fashion, he would escape death. He would die, but then,
+after a period of months, he would live again, briefly, for an
+afternoon.
+
+An afternoon. Yet long enough for them to see him, to understand that he
+was still alive. To know that somehow he had returned to life.
+
+And then, finally, he would appear once more, after two hundred years
+had passed. Two centuries later.
+
+He would be born again, born, as a matter of fact, in a small trading
+village on Mars. He would grow up, learning to hunt and trade--
+
+A police car came on the edge of the field and stopped. The people
+retreated a little. Conger raised his hands.
+
+"I have an odd paradox for you," he said. "Those who take lives will
+lose their own. Those who kill, will die. But he who gives his own life
+away will live again!"
+
+They laughed, faintly, nervously. The police were coming out, walking
+toward him. He smiled. He had said everything he intended to say. It was
+a good little paradox he had coined. They would puzzle over it, remember
+it.
+
+Smiling, Conger awaited a death foreordained.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+    This etext was produced from _If Worlds of Science Fiction_
+    September 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
+    the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling
+    and typographical errors have been corrected without note.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Skull, by Philip K. Dick
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SKULL ***
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