Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?: Chapters 1–2

“I notice you’ve never had any hesitation as to spending the bounty money I bring home on whatever momentarily attracts your attention.”

She rose swiftly, loped to the console of her own mood organ, stood glaring at him, waiting.

He waited, canny enough not to commit himself until his wife had agreed to follow suit.

Her dark, pert face showed satisfaction, as if she had achieved something of worth.

“So I put it on my schedule for twice a month; I think that’s a reasonable amount of time to feel hopeless about everything, about staying here on Earth after everybody who’s smart has emigrated, don’t you think?”

“But a mood like that,” Rick said, “you’re apt to stay in it, not dial your way out. Despair like that, about total reality, is self-perpetuating.”

“A 481. Awareness of the manifold possibilities open to me in the future; new hope that—”
“I know 481,” he interrupted.

Her voice had become sharp with overtones of bleakness as her soul congealed and she ceased to move, as the instinctive, omnipresent film of great weight, of an almost absolute inertia, settled over her.

Her voice had become sharp with overtones of bleakness as her soul congealed and she ceased to move, as the instinctive, omnipresent film of great weight, of an almost absolute inertia, settled over her.

On his own console he dialed for a creative and fresh attitude toward his job, although this he hardly needed; such was his habitual, innate approach without recourse to Penfield artificial brain stimulation.

On his own console he dialed for a creative and fresh attitude toward his job, although this he hardly needed; such was his habitual, innate approach without recourse to Penfield artificial brain stimulation.

Whereon it, sophisticated piece of hardware that it was, chomped away in simulated contentment, bamboozling the other tenants of the building.

To say, “Is your sheep genuine?” would be a worse breach of manners than to inquire whether a citizen's teeth, hair, or internal organs would test out authentic.

The morning air, spilling over with radioactive motes, gray and sun-beclouding, belched about him, haunting his nose; he sniffed involuntarily the taint of death.

Well, that was too strong a description for it, he decided as he made his way to the particular plot of sod which he owned along with the unduly large apartment below.

The legacy of World War Terminus had diminished in potency; those who could not survive the dust had passed into oblivion years ago, and the dust, weaker now and confronting the strong survivors, only deranged minds and genetic properties.

He had reached his sheep now; it lay ruminating, its alert eyes fixed on him in case he had brought any rolled oats with him.

The alleged sheep contained an oat-tropic circuit; at the sight of such cereals it would scramble up convincingly and amble over.

He leaned across their common fence, gesticulating.

You have your sheep; hell, you can follow the Ascent in your individual life, and when you grasp the two handles of empathy, you approach honorably.

He indicated the reclining ersatz animal, which continued to ruminate attentively, still watching alertly for any indication of oats.

Mostly the former; it had been a costly war despite the valiant predictions of the Pentagon and its smug scientific vassal, the Rand Corporation—which had, in fact, existed not far from this spot.

Medieval plagues had manifested themselves in a similar way, in the form of many dead rats.

A meager colonization program had been underway before the war, but now that the sun had ceased to shine on Earth, the colonization entered an entirely new phase.

In connection with this a weapon of war, the Synthetic Freedom Fighter, had been modified; able to function on an alien world, the humanoid robot—strictly speaking, the organic android—had become the mobile donkey engine of the colonization program.

The TV set shouted, “—duplicates the halcyon days of the pre-Civil War Southern states! Either as body servants or tireless field hands, the custom-tailored humanoid robot-designed specifically for YOUR UNIQUE NEEDS, FOR YOU AND YOU ALONE—given to you on your arrival absolutely free, equipped fully, as specified by you before your departure from Earth; this loyal, trouble-free companion in the greatest, boldest adventure contrived by man in modern history will provide—” It continued on and on.

The TV set shouted, “—duplicates the halcyon days of the pre-Civil War Southern states! Either as body servants or tireless field hands, the custom-tailored humanoid robot-designed specifically for YOUR UNIQUE NEEDS, FOR YOU AND YOU ALONE—given to you on your arrival absolutely free, equipped fully, as specified by you before your departure from Earth; this loyal, trouble-free companion in the greatest, boldest adventure contrived by man in modern history will provide—” It continued on and on.

Worse still, he had failed to pass the minimum mental faculties test, which made him in popular parlance a chickenhead.

After all, if a chickenhead could fathom Latin he would cease to be a chickenhead.

It managed in fact to emerge from every object within his range of vision, as if it—the silence—meant to supplant all things tangible.

It managed in fact to emerge from every object within his range of vision, as if it—the silence—meant to supplant all things tangible.

Hence it assailed not only his ears but his eyes; as he stood by the inert TV set he experienced the silence as visible and, in its own way, alive.

He had often felt its austere approach before; when it came, it burst in without subtlety, evidently unable to wait.

He had often felt its austere approach before; when it came, it burst in without subtlety, evidently unable to wait.

Or was it peculiar to his peculiar biological identity, a freak generated by his inept sensory apparatus?

Or was it peculiar to his peculiar biological identity, a freak generated by his inept sensory apparatus?

And, after that, the uncared-for building itself would settle into shapelessness, buried under the ubiquity of the dust.

He reached for the doorknob that opened the way out into the unlit hall, then shrank back as he glimpsed the vacuity of the rest of the building.

The man, Wilbur Mercer, plodded ahead, and, as he clutched the handles, John Isidore gradually experienced a waning of the living room in which he stood; the dilapidated furniture and walls ebbed out and he ceased to experience them at all.

The man, Wilbur Mercer, plodded ahead, and, as he clutched the handles, John Isidore gradually experienced a waning of the living room in which he stood; the dilapidated furniture and walls ebbed out and he ceased to experience them at all.

The man, Wilbur Mercer, plodded ahead, and, as he clutched the handles, John Isidore gradually experienced a waning of the living room in which he stood; the dilapidated furniture and walls ebbed out and he ceased to experience them at all.

His own feet now scraped, sought purchase, among the familiar loose stones; he felt the same old painful, irregular roughness beneath his feet and once again smelled the acrid haze of the sky—not Earth’s sky but that of some place alien, distant, and yet, by means of the empathy box, instantly available.

The old antagonists, manifesting themselves at the periphery of his vision; it, or they, had followed him all the way up the hill and they would remain until at the top—

But at last the bones had regained flesh; the empty eyepits had filled up and the new eyes had seen, while meantime the restored beaks and mouths had cackled, barked, and caterwauled.

Not my TV; that’s off, and I can feel the floor resonance.