{"id":4719,"date":"2025-11-06T01:42:31","date_gmt":"2025-11-06T01:42:31","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/?p=4719"},"modified":"2025-11-06T01:42:31","modified_gmt":"2025-11-06T01:42:31","slug":"the-skull-by-philip-k-dick","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/?p=4719","title":{"rendered":"The Skull by Philip K. Dick"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>The Skull by <a href=\"https:\/\/quizlit.org\/11-best-alternative-history-books\">Philip K. Dick<\/a> was first published in 1952. Later it was included in The Collected Stories of Philip K. Dick. It has since been republished several times, including in Beyond Lies the Wub in 1988<\/p>\n<p><em>This post may contain affiliate links that earn us a commission at no extra cost to you.<\/em><\/p>\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">The Skull by Philip K. Dick<\/h2>\n<div class=\"epyt-video-wrapper\">\n<div class=\"__youtube_prefs__ epyt-facade no-lazyload\"><button class=\"epyt-facade-play\"><\/button><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">The Skull by Philip K. Dick<\/h3>\n<p>\u201cWhat\u00a0is this opportunity?\u201d Conger asked. \u201cGo on. I\u2019m interested.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The room was silent; all faces were fixed on Conger\u2014still in the drab prison uniform. The Speaker leaned forward slowly.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBefore you went to prison your trading business was paying well\u2014all illegal\u2014all very profitable. Now you have nothing, except the prospect of another six years in a cell.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger scowled.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThere 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\u2019ve 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\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger sighed. His lips twisted. \u201cAll right,\u201d he said. \u201cLeave that out. Get to the point. Who do you want me to kill?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The Speaker smiled. \u201cAll in proper sequence,\u201d he said softly.<\/p>\n<p>The\u00a0car slid to a stop. It was night; there was no light anywhere along the street. Conger looked out. \u201cWhere are we? What is this place?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The hand of the guard pressed into his arm. \u201cCome. Through that door.\u201d<\/p>\n<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>\n<p>\u201cI know this place. I\u2019ve seen it before.\u201d He squinted, his eyes growing accustomed to the dark. Suddenly he became alert. \u201cThis is\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes. The First Church.\u201d The Speaker walked toward the steps. \u201cWe\u2019re expected.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cExpected?\u00a0<em>Here?<\/em>\u201c<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes.\u201d The Speaker mounted the stairs. \u201cYou know we\u2019re not allowed in their Churches, especially with guns!\u201d He stopped. Two armed soldiers loomed up ahead, one on each side.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAll right?\u201d 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>\n<p>\u201cI see,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt was necessary,\u201d the Speaker said. \u201cAs you know, we have been singularly unfortunate in the past in our relations with the First Church.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThis won\u2019t help.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBut it\u2019s worth it. You will see.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>They\u00a0passed 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>\n<p>\u201cIn here. We have to hurry. The faithful will be flocking in soon.\u201d<\/p>\n<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. \u201cWhat\u2019s that? The smell.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCups on the wall. I don\u2019t know.\u201d The Speaker crossed impatiently to the far side. \u201cAccording to our information, it is hidden here by this\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger looked around the room. He saw books and papers, holy signs and images. A strange low shiver went through him.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDoes my job involve anyone of the Church? If it does\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The Speaker turned, astonished. \u201cCan it be that you believe in the Founder? Is it possible, a hunter, a killer\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo. Of course not. All their business about resignation to death, non-violence\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat is it, then?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger shrugged. \u201cI\u2019ve been taught not to mix with such as these. They have strange abilities. And you can\u2019t reason with them.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The Speaker studied Conger thoughtfully. \u201cYou have the wrong idea. It is no one here that we have in mind. We\u2019ve found that killing them only tends to increase their numbers.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThen why come here? Let\u2019s leave.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo. We came for something important. Something you will need to identify your man. Without it you won\u2019t be able to find him.\u201d A trace of a smile crossed the Speaker\u2019s face. \u201cWe don\u2019t want you to kill the wrong person. It\u2019s too important.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t make mistakes.\u201d Conger\u2019s chest rose. \u201cListen, Speaker\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThis is an unusual situation,\u201d the Speaker said. \u201cYou see, the person you are after\u2014the person that we are sending you to find\u2014is known only by certain objects here. They are the only traces, the only means of identification. Without them\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat are they?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He came toward the Speaker. The Speaker moved to one side. \u201cLook,\u201d he said. He drew a sliding wall away, showing a dark square hole. \u201cIn there.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger squatted down, staring in. He frowned. \u201cA skull! A skeleton!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe man you are after has been dead for two centuries,\u201d the Speaker said. \u201cThis is all that remains of him. And this is all you have with which to find him.\u201d<\/p>\n<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>\n<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>\n<p>He had hunted in the great mountains of the moon. He had stalked through empty Martian cities. He had explored\u2014<\/p>\n<p>The Speaker said, \u201cSoldier, take these objects and have them carried to the car. Don\u2019t lose any part of them.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The soldier went into the cupboard, reaching gingerly, squatting on his heels.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt is my hope,\u201d the Speaker continued softly, to Conger, \u201cthat 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.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The two men looked at each other; Conger, thin, unkempt, the Speaker immaculate in his uniform.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI understand you,\u201d Conger said. \u201cI mean, I understand this part, about the chance. But how can a man who has been dead two centuries be\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019ll explain later,\u201d the Speaker said. \u201cRight now we have to hurry!\u201d The soldier had gone out with the bones, wrapped in a blanket held carefully in his arms. The Speaker walked to the door. \u201cCome. They\u2019ve already discovered that we\u2019ve broken in here, and they\u2019ll be coming at any moment.\u201d<\/p>\n<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>\n<p>The Speaker\u00a0settled back in the seat.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe First Church has an interesting past,\u201d he said. \u201cI suppose you are familiar with it, but I\u2019d like to speak of a few points that are of relevancy to us.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt was in the twentieth century that the Movement began\u2014during 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\u2014weapons\u2014there could be no war. And without machinery and complex scientific technocracy there could be no weapons.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe Movement preached that you couldn\u2019t 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\u2019t be much left of the world.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe Founder was an obscure person from a small town in the American Middle West. We don\u2019t 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.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The car dropped down and landed on a roof.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe Founder preached this doctrine, or the germ of it; there\u2019s 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.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The Speaker smiled. \u201cUnfortunately, 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\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBut the wars,\u201d Conger said. \u201cAbout them?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe 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\u2019s way of eliminating the unfit.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWithout 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\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He\u00a0looked at his watch and then kicked the car door open. \u201cI\u2019ll tell you the rest as we walk.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>They crossed the dark roof. \u201cDoubtless 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\u2019s no stopping it.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBut 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.\u00a0<em>Then<\/em>\u00a0the authorities came, taking him away. He offered no resistance; the incident was small.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The Speaker turned to Conger.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSmall, but we\u2019re reaping the consequences of it today.\u201d<\/p>\n<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>\n<p>Conger went over to the table, pushing past them. He bent down, staring at the bones. \u201cSo these are his remains,\u201d he murmured. \u201cThe Founder. The Church has hidden them for two centuries.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cQuite so,\u201d the Speaker said. \u201cBut now we have them. Come along down the hall.\u201d<\/p>\n<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>\n<p>The Speaker handed a Slem-gun to Conger. \u201cThe important thing to remember is that the skull must be saved and brought back\u2014for comparison and proof. Aim low\u2014at the chest.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger weighed the gun in his hands. \u201cIt feels good,\u201d he said. \u201cI know this gun\u2014that is, I\u2019ve seen them before, but I never used one.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The Speaker nodded. \u201cYou 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\u2019s field. About 1960 in a small community outside Denver, Colorado. And don\u2019t forget\u2014the only means of identification you will have will be the skull. There are visible characteristics of the front teeth, especially the left incisor\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<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. \u201cAnd if I should make a mistake?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cPick the wrong man? Then find the right one. Don\u2019t come back until you succeed in reaching this Founder. And you can\u2019t wait for him to start speaking; that\u2019s what we must avoid! You must act in advance. Take chances; shoot as soon as you think you\u2019ve found him. He\u2019ll be someone unusual, probably a stranger in the area. Apparently he wasn\u2019t known.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger listened dimly.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDo you think you have it all now?\u201d the Speaker asked.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes. I think so.\u201d Conger entered the crystal cage and sat down, placing his hands on the wheel.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood luck,\u201d the Speaker said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWe\u2019ll be awaiting the outcome. There\u2019s some philosophical doubt as to whether one can alter the past. This should answer the question once and for all.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger fingered the controls of the cage.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBy the way,\u201d the Speaker said. \u201cDon\u2019t 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.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger said nothing. The cage was sealed. He raised his finger and touched the wheel control. He turned the wheel carefully.<\/p>\n<p>He was still staring at the plastic bag when the room outside vanished.<\/p>\n<p>For a long time there was nothing at all. Nothing beyond the crystal mesh of the cage. Thoughts rushed through Conger\u2019s 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>\n<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\u2014on the long nights when he had lain, cramped and numbed with cold, waiting for things that moved through the darkness\u2014<\/p>\n<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>\n<p>Colors, sounds, movements filtered through the crystal wire. He clamped the controls off and stood up.<\/p>\n<p>He\u00a0was 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>\n<p>He stood before the mirror over the shelf, examining his features. He had trimmed his beard\u2014they had not got him to cut it off\u2014and 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>\n<p>Nothing, except his ability, his special cunning. But he had never used it in such a way before.<\/p>\n<p>He walked down the road toward the town.<\/p>\n<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>\n<p>A few minutes later he mounted the stairs of the little public library and passed through the doors into the warm interior.<\/p>\n<p>The librarian looked up, smiling.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood afternoon,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n<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>\n<p>Newspapers\u2014weeks 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>\n<p>He set the papers aside and searched farther. At last he found what he wanted. He carried the\u00a0<em>Cherrywood Gazette<\/em>\u00a0to the table and opened it to the first page. He found what he wanted:<\/p>\n<p>PRISONER HANGS SELF<\/p>\n<p>An unidentified man, held by the county sheriff\u2019s office for suspicion of criminal syndicalism, was found dead this morning, by\u2014<\/p>\n<p>He finished the item. It was vague, uninforming. He needed more. He carried the\u00a0<em>Gazette<\/em>\u00a0back to the racks and then, after a moment\u2019s hesitation, approached the librarian.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMore?\u201d he asked. \u201cMore papers. Old ones?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>She frowned. \u201cHow old? Which papers?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMonths old. And\u2014before.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOf the\u00a0<em>Gazette<\/em>? This is all we have. What did you want? What are you looking for? Maybe I can help you.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He was silent.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou might find older issues at the\u00a0<em>Gazette<\/em>\u00a0office,\u201d the woman said, taking off her glasses. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you try there? But if you\u2019d tell me, maybe I could help you\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He went out.<\/p>\n<p>The\u00a0<em>Gazette<\/em>\u00a0office 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>\n<p>\u201cWhat did you want, mister?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOld papers. A month. Or more.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cTo buy? You want to buy them?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes.\u201d He held out some of the money he had. The man stared.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSure,\u201d he said. \u201cSure. Wait a minute.\u201d He went quickly out of the room. When he came back he was staggering under the weight of his armload, his face red. \u201cHere are some,\u201d he grunted. \u201cTook what I could find. Covers the whole year. And if you want more\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger carried the papers outside. He sat down by the road and began to go through them.<\/p>\n<p>What\u00a0he 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>\n<p>MAN ARRESTED FOR UNLICENSED DEMONSTRATION<\/p>\n<p>An unidentified man who refused to give his name was picked up in Cooper Creek by special agents of the sheriff\u2019s office, according to Sheriff Duff. It was said the man was recently noticed in this area and had been watched continually. It was\u2014<\/p>\n<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\u2014<\/p>\n<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>\n<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>\n<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>\n<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>\n<p>He pondered. Then, as the sun set, he stepped into the cage.<\/p>\n<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>\n<p>The grayness settled down around him.<\/p>\n<p>But not for very long.<\/p>\n<p>The\u00a0man looked him over critically. \u201cYou better come inside,\u201d he said. \u201cOut of the cold.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThanks.\u201d 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>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s a good room,\u201d the woman said. \u201cI\u2019m Mrs. Appleton. It\u2019s got heat. You need that this time of year.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes.\u201d He nodded, looking around.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou want to eat with us?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou want to eat with us?\u201d The man\u2019s brows knitted. \u201cYou\u2019re not a foreigner, are you, mister?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo.\u201d He smiled. \u201cI was born in this country. Quite far west, though.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCalifornia?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo.\u201d He hesitated. \u201cIn Oregon.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat\u2019s it like up there?\u201d Mrs. Appleton asked. \u201cI hear there\u2019s a lot of trees and green. It\u2019s so barren here. I come from Chicago, myself.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s the Middle West,\u201d the man said to her. \u201cYou ain\u2019t no foreigner.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOregon isn\u2019t foreign, either,\u201d Conger said. \u201cIt\u2019s part of the United States.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The man nodded absently. He was staring at Conger\u2019s clothing.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s a funny suit you got on, mister,\u201d he said. \u201cWhere\u2019d you get that?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger was lost. He shifted uneasily. \u201cIt\u2019s a good suit,\u201d he said. \u201cMaybe I better go some other place, if you don\u2019t want me here.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>They both raised their hands protestingly. The woman smiled at him. \u201cWe just have to look out for those Reds. You know, the government is always warning us about them.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe Reds?\u201d He was puzzled.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe government says they\u2019re all around. We\u2019re supposed to report anything strange or unusual, anybody doesn\u2019t act normal.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLike me?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>They looked embarrassed. \u201cWell, you don\u2019t look like a Red to me,\u201d the man said. \u201cBut we have to be careful. The\u00a0<em>Tribune<\/em>\u00a0says\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<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\u2019s boarding house.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCan I see the room?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCertainly.\u201d Mrs. Appleton went to the stairs. \u201cI\u2019ll be glad to show it to you.\u201d<\/p>\n<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>\n<p>He\u00a0was 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>\n<p>Ed Davies came toward him. \u201cCan I help you?\u201d he said. The man was a little oddly dressed, and with a beard! Ed couldn\u2019t help smiling.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNothing,\u201d the man said in a funny voice. \u201cJust looking.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSure,\u201d Ed said. He walked back behind the counter. Mrs. Hacket was wheeling her cart up.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWho\u2019s he?\u201d she whispered, her sharp face turned, her nose moving, as if it were sniffing. \u201cI never seen him before.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLooks funny to me. Why does he wear a beard? No one else wears a beard. Must be something the matter with him.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMaybe he likes to wear a beard. I had an uncle who\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWait.\u201d Mrs. Hacket stiffened. \u201cDidn\u2019t that\u2014what was his name? The Red\u2014that old one. Didn\u2019t he have a beard? Marx. He had a beard.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Ed laughed. \u201cThis ain\u2019t Karl Marx. I saw a photograph of him once.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Mrs. Hacket was staring at him. \u201cYou did?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSure.\u201d He flushed a little. \u201cWhat\u2019s the matter with that?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019d sure like to know more about him,\u201d Mrs. Hacket said. \u201cI think we ought to know more, for our own good.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHey, mister! Want a ride?\u201d<\/p>\n<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. \u201cA ride? Sure.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger got into the car and closed the door. Bill Willet pushed the gas and the car roared down the highway.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI appreciate a ride,\u201d Conger said carefully. \u201cI was taking a walk between towns, but it was farther than I thought.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhere are you from?\u201d Lora Hunt asked. She was pretty, small and dark, in her yellow sweater and blue skirt.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cFrom Cooper Creek.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCooper Creek?\u201d Bill said. He frowned. \u201cThat\u2019s funny. I don\u2019t remember seeing you before.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhy, do you come from there?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI was born there. I know everybody there.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI just moved in. From Oregon.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cFrom Oregon? I didn\u2019t know Oregon people had accents.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDo I have an accent?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou use words funny.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHow?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t know. Doesn\u2019t he, Lora?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou slur them,\u201d Lora said, smiling. \u201cTalk some more. I\u2019m interested in dialects.\u201d She glanced at him, white-teethed. Conger felt his heart constrict.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI have a speech impediment.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh.\u201d Her eyes widened. \u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n<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. \u201cI guess people from out of town don\u2019t come here much,\u201d he said. \u201cStrangers.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo.\u201d Bill shook his head. \u201cNot very much.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019ll bet I\u2019m the first outsider for a long time.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI guess so.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger hesitated. \u201cA friend of mine\u2014someone I know, might be coming through here. Where do you suppose I might\u2014\u201d He stopped. \u201cWould there be anyone certain to see him? Someone I could ask, make sure I don\u2019t miss him if he comes?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>They were puzzled. \u201cJust keep your eyes open. Cooper Creek isn\u2019t very big.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo. That\u2019s right.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>They drove in silence. Conger studied the outline of the girl. Probably she was the boy\u2019s 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\u2019s mistress by this time; she would be sixteen or so, by her looks. He might ask her sometime, if they ever met again.<\/p>\n<p>The\u00a0next 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>\n<p>He stopped. Lora was sitting inside, talking to the clerk. She was laughing, rocking back and forth.<\/p>\n<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>\n<p>\u201cI beg your pardon,\u201d he said. \u201cAm I intruding?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo.\u201d She shook her head. Her eyes were large and dark. \u201cNot at all.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The clerk came over. \u201cWhat do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger looked at the chocolate. \u201cSame as she has.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Lora was watching Conger, her arms folded, elbows on the counter. She smiled at him. \u201cBy the way. You don\u2019t know my name. Lora Hunt.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>She was holding out her hand. He took it awkwardly, not knowing what to do with it. \u201cConger is my name,\u201d he murmured.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cConger? Is that your last or first name?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLast or first?\u201d He hesitated. \u201cLast. Omar Conger.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOmar?\u201d She laughed. \u201cThat\u2019s like the poet, Omar Khayyam.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t know of him. I know very little of poets. We restored very few works of art. Usually only the Church has been interested enough\u2014\u201d He broke off. She was staring. He flushed. \u201cWhere I come from,\u201d he finished.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe Church? Which church do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe Church.\u201d He was confused. The chocolate came and he began to sip it gratefully. Lora was still watching him.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019re an unusual person,\u201d she said. \u201cBill didn\u2019t like you, but he never likes anything different. He\u2019s so\u2014so prosaic. Don\u2019t you think that when a person gets older he should become\u2014broadened in his outlook?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger nodded.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHe says foreign people ought to stay where they belong, not come here. But you\u2019re not so foreign. He means orientals; you know.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger nodded.<\/p>\n<p>The screen door opened behind them. Bill came into the room. He stared at them. \u201cWell,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n<p>Conger turned. \u201cHello.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell.\u201d Bill sat down. \u201cHello, Lora.\u201d He was looking at Conger. \u201cI didn\u2019t expect to see you here.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger tensed. He could feel the hostility of the boy. \u201cSomething wrong with that?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo. Nothing wrong with it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>There was silence. Suddenly Bill turned to Lora. \u201cCome on. Let\u2019s go.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGo?\u201d She was astonished. \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cJust go!\u201d He grabbed her hand. \u201cCome on! The car\u2019s outside.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhy, Bill Willet,\u201d Lora said. \u201cYou\u2019re jealous!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWho is this guy?\u201d Bill said. \u201cDo you know anything about him? Look at him, his beard\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>She flared. \u201cSo what? Just because he doesn\u2019t drive a Packard and go to Cooper High!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger sized the boy up. He was big\u2014big and strong. Probably he was part of some civil control organization.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSorry,\u201d Conger said. \u201cI\u2019ll go.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat\u2019s your business in town?\u201d Bill asked. \u201cWhat are you doing here? Why are you hanging around Lora?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger looked at the girl. He shrugged. \u201cNo reason. I\u2019ll see you later.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He turned away. And froze. Bill had moved. Conger\u2019s fingers went to his belt.\u00a0<em>Half pressure<\/em>, he whispered to himself.\u00a0<em>No more. Half pressure.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>He squeezed. The room leaped around him. He himself was protected by the lining of his clothing, the plastic sheathing inside.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMy God\u2014\u201d Lora put her hands up. Conger cursed. He hadn\u2019t meant any of it for her. But it would wear off. There was only a half-amp to it. It would tingle.<\/p>\n<p>Tingle, and paralyze.<\/p>\n<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>\n<p>As\u00a0Conger walked, restless, in the night, a form loomed in front of him. He stopped, holding his breath.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWho is it?\u201d a man\u2019s voice came. Conger waited, tense.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWho is it?\u201d the man said again. He clicked something in his hand. A light flashed. Conger moved.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s me,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWho is \u2018me\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cConger is my name. I\u2019m staying at the Appleton\u2019s place. Who are you?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The man came slowly up to him. He was wearing a leather jacket. There was a gun at his waist.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m Sheriff Duff. I think you\u2019re the person I want to talk to. You were in Bloom\u2019s today, about three o\u2019clock?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBloom\u2019s?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe fountain. Where the kids hang out.\u201d Duff came up beside him, shining his light into Conger\u2019s face. Conger blinked.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cTurn that thing away,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n<p>A pause. \u201cAll right.\u201d The light flickered to the ground. \u201cYou were there. Some trouble broke out between you and the Willet boy. Is that right? You had a beef over his girl\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWe had a discussion,\u201d Conger said carefully.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThen what happened?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m just curious. They say you did something.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDid something? Did what?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t know. That\u2019s what I\u2019m wondering. They saw a flash, and something seemed to happen. They all blacked out. Couldn\u2019t move.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHow are they now?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAll right.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>There was silence.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell?\u201d Duff said. \u201cWhat was it? A bomb?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cA bomb?\u201d Conger laughed. \u201cNo. My cigarette lighter caught fire. There was a leak, and the fluid ignited.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhy did they all pass out?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cFumes.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Silence. Conger shifted, waiting. His fingers moved slowly toward his belt. The Sheriff glanced down. He grunted.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIf you say so,\u201d he said. \u201cAnyhow, there wasn\u2019t any real harm done.\u201d He stepped back from Conger. \u201cAnd that Willet is a trouble-maker.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood night, then,\u201d Conger said. He started past the Sheriff.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOne more thing, Mr. Conger. Before you go. You don\u2019t mind if I look at your identification, do you?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo. Not at all.\u201d 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>\n<p>Duff handed it back. \u201cOkay. Sorry to bother you.\u201d The light winked off.<\/p>\n<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>\n<p>\u201cCan I ask you something?\u201d he said. Mrs. Appleton turned slowly. \u201cCan I ask you\u2014what\u2019s the date?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe date?\u201d She studied him. \u201cThe first of December.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDecember first! Why, it was just November!\u201d<\/p>\n<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>\n<p>He gasped. Then it was tomorrow! The second of December! Tomorrow!<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThanks,\u201d he said. \u201cThanks.\u201d<\/p>\n<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>\n<p>The\u00a0day was warm and bright. Conger\u2019s 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>\n<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>\n<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>\n<p>He walked up on the ridge. He looked around with some satisfaction, his hands on his hips. Hudson\u2019s 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>\n<p>Here, the Founder would come. Here, he would speak to them. And here the authorities would take him.<\/p>\n<p>Only he would be dead before they came. He would be dead before he even spoke.<\/p>\n<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>\n<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>\n<p>Conger looked toward the shelf. There was the neat plastic package. He took it down and unwrapped it.<\/p>\n<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\u2019s 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>\n<p>What if\u00a0<em>he<\/em>\u00a0could 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>\n<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>\n<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\u2014<\/p>\n<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\u00a0<em>he<\/em>? 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>\n<p>What if he could see what Conger had held!<\/p>\n<p>He pushed the door open, the gun raised.<\/p>\n<p>Lora!<\/p>\n<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>\n<p>Silently, they looked at each other. At last Conger lowered the gun.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat is it?\u201d he said. \u201cWhat are you doing here?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>She pointed. She did not seem able to speak. He frowned; what was wrong with her?<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat is it?\u201d he said. \u201cWhat do you want?\u201d He looked in the direction she had pointed. \u201cI don\u2019t see anything.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThey\u2019re coming.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThey? Who? Who are coming?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThey are. The police. During the night the Sheriff had the state police send cars. All around, everywhere. Blocking the roads. There\u2019s about sixty of them coming. Some from town, some around behind.\u201d She stopped, gasping. \u201cThey said\u2014they said\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThey said you were some kind of a Communist. They said\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Conger\u00a0went into the cage. He put the gun down on the shelf and came back out. He leaped down and went to the girl.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThanks. You came here to tell me? You don\u2019t believe it?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDid you come alone?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo. Joe brought me in his truck. From town.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cJoe? Who\u2019s he?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cJoe French. The plumber. He\u2019s a friend of Dad\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLet\u2019s go.\u201d 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>\n<p>\u201cAre you the one?\u201d he said to Conger.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes. Thanks for warning me.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The plumber shrugged. \u201cI don\u2019t know anything about this. Lora says you\u2019re all right.\u201d He turned around. \u201cIt might interest you to know some more of them are coming. Not to warn you\u2014just curious.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMore of them?\u201d Conger looked toward the town. Black shapes were picking their way across the snow.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cPeople from the town. You can\u2019t 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\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<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>\n<p>\u201cEven Ed Davies,\u201d Conger murmured.<\/p>\n<p>The storekeeper was toiling onto the field, with three or four other men from the town.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAll curious as hell,\u201d French said. \u201cWell, I guess I\u2019m going back to town. I don\u2019t want my truck shot full of holes. Come on, Lora.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>She was looking up at Conger, wide-eyed.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCome on,\u201d French said again. \u201cLet\u2019s go. You sure as hell can\u2019t stay here, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThere may be shooting. That\u2019s what they all came to see. You know that don\u2019t you, Conger?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou have a gun? Or don\u2019t you care?\u201d French smiled a little. \u201cThey\u2019ve picked up a lot of people in their time, you know. You won\u2019t be lonely.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He cared, all right! He had to stay here, on the field. He couldn\u2019t 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>\n<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>\n<p>And Conger had to be there, ready when the first word was uttered!<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI care,\u201d he said. \u201cYou go on back to town. Take the girl with you.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Lora got stiffly in beside Joe French. The plumber started up the motor. \u201cLook at them, standing there,\u201d he said. \u201cLike vultures. Waiting to see someone get killed.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The\u00a0truck 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>\n<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>\n<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\u2014<\/p>\n<p>They wouldn\u2019t take him! Before they got him, all of them would be dead.\u00a0<em>He<\/em>\u00a0would get away. He would escape. By the end of the day they would all be dead, if that was what they wanted, and he\u2014<\/p>\n<p>He saw the skull.<\/p>\n<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>\n<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\u00a0<em>his<\/em>\u00a0skull, against his living flesh.<\/p>\n<p>He bared his teeth. And he knew.<\/p>\n<p>It was his own skull that he held. He was the one who would die. He was the Founder.<\/p>\n<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\u2014<\/p>\n<p>Escape?<\/p>\n<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>\n<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>\n<p>But he could not\u00a0<em>really<\/em>\u00a0escape, no more so than anyone else had ever escaped, or ever would.<\/p>\n<p>Only, he had held it in his hands, his own bones, his own death\u2019s-head.<\/p>\n<p><em>They<\/em>\u00a0had not.<\/p>\n<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>\n<p>And there were plenty of police\u2014police 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>\n<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>\n<p>\u201cCome on!\u201d one of them called. \u201cDon\u2019t you have any bombs?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThrow a bomb! You with the beard! Throw a bomb!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLet \u2019em have it!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cToss a few A Bombs!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>They\u00a0began to laugh. He smiled. He put his hands to his hips. They suddenly turned silent, seeing that he was going to speak.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d he said simply. \u201cI don\u2019t have any bombs. You\u2019re mistaken.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>There was a flurry of murmuring.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI have a gun,\u201d he went on. \u201cA very good one. Made by science even more advanced than your own. But I\u2019m not going to use that, either.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>They were puzzled.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhy not?\u201d 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>\n<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>\n<p>Conger grinned. So he\u00a0<em>would<\/em>\u00a0escape death, the man who right now was voluntarily accepting it. They were laughing, laughing at a man who had a gun but didn\u2019t 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>\n<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>\n<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>\n<p>And then, finally, he would appear once more, after two hundred years had passed. Two centuries later.<\/p>\n<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\u2014<\/p>\n<p>A police car came on the edge of the field and stopped. The people retreated a little. Conger raised his hands.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI have an odd paradox for you,\u201d he said. \u201cThose who take lives will lose their own. Those who kill, will die. But he who gives his own life away will live again!\u201d<\/p>\n<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>\n<p>Smiling, Conger awaited a death foreordained.<\/p>\n<p>THE END<\/p>\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">Best Philip K. Dick Books to Read<\/h2>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/3FT5kQ9\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/3QwfYB9\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/466laBK\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/3QrVMAu\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><br \/>\nClick on the image to buy a copy<\/p>\n<p>If you enjoyed The Skull by Philip K. Dick, check out <a href=\"https:\/\/quizlit.org\/the-crystal-crypt-by-philip-k-dick\">The Crystal Crypt by Philip K. Dick here<\/a><\/p>\n<p>Narrated by Phil Chenevert, courtesy of Librivox<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>The Skull by Philip K. Dick was first published in 1952. Later it was included in The Collected Stories of Philip K. Dick. It has since been republished several times, including in Beyond Lies the Wub in 1988 This post may contain affiliate links that earn us a commission at no extra cost to you. [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":0,"featured_media":4720,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4719","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-bookreviews"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4719"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4719"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4719\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/4720"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4719"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4719"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4719"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}