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."���Pausing, Rick started to say thanks.But then something of the despair that Iran had been talking about tapped him on the shoulder and he said, "I don't know; maybe it doesn't make any difference."���"But they'll look down on you.Not all of them, but some.You know how people are about not taking care of an ani�mal; they consider it immoral and anti-empathic.I mean, technically it's not a crime like it was right after W.W.T.but the feeling's still there."���"God," Rick said futilely, and gestured empty-handed."Iwant to have an animal; I keep trying to buy one.But on my salary, on what a city employee makes � " If, he thought, I could get lucky in my work again.As I did two years ago when I managed to bag four andys during one month.If I had known then, he thought, that Groucho was going to die.but that had been before the tetanus.Before the two-�inch piece of broken, hypodermic-like baling wire.���"You could buy a cat," Barbour offered."Cats are cheap; look in your Sidney's catalogue."���Rick said quietly, "I don't want a domestic pet.I want what I originally had, a large animal.A sheep or if I can get the money a cow or a steer or what you have; a horse." The bounty from retiring five andys would do it, he realized.A thousand dollars apiece, over and above my salary.Then somewhere I could find, from someone, what I want.Even if the listing in Sidney's Animal & Fowl is in italics.Five thousand dollars � but, he thought, the five andys first have to make their way to Earth from one of the colony planets; I can't control that, I can't make five of them come here, and even if I could there are other bounty hunters with other police agencies throughout the world.The andys would specifically have to take up residence in Northern California, and the senior bounty hunter in this area, Dave Holden, would have to die or retire.���"Buy a cricket," Barbour suggested wittily."Or a mouse.Hey, for twenty-five bucks you can buy a full-grown mouse."���Rick said, "Your horse could die, like Groucho died, without warning.When you get home from work this evening you could find her laid out on her back, her feet in the air, like a bug.Like what you said, a cricket." He strode off, car key in his hand.���"Sorry if I offended you," Barbour said nervously.���In silence Rick Deckard plucked open the door of his hovercar.He had nothing further to say to his neighbor; his mind was on his work, on the day ahead.TWO���In a giant, empty, decaying building which had once housed thousands, a single TV set hawked its wares to an uninhab�ited room.���This ownerless ruin had, before World War Terminus, been tended and maintained.Here had been the suburbs of San Francisco, a short ride by monorail rapid transit; the entire peninsula had chattered like a bird tree with life and opinions and complaints, and now the watchful owners had either died or migrated to a colony world.Mostly the former; it had been a costly war despite the valiant predictions of the Pen�tagon and its smug scientific vassel, the Rand Corporation��which had, in fact, existed not far from this spot.Like the apartment owners, the corporation had departed, evidently for good.No one missed it.���In addition, no one today remembered why the war had come about or who, if anyone, had won.The dust which had contaminated most of the planet's surface had originated in no country and no one, even the wartime enemy, had planned on it.First, strangely, the owls had died.At the time it had seemed almost funny, the fat, fluffy white birds lying here and there, in yards and on streets; coming out no earlier than twilight as they had while alive the owls escaped notice.Medieval plagues had manifested themselves in a similar way, in the form of many dead rats.This plague, however, had descended from above.���After the owls, of course, the other birds followed, but by then the mystery had been grasped and understood.A meager colonization program had been underway before the war but now that the sun had ceased to shine on Earth the coloniza�tion 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.Under U.N.law each emigrant automatically received possession of an android subtype of his choice, and, by 1990, the variety of subtypes passed all understanding, in the manner of Ameri�can automobiles of the ig6os.���That had been the ultimate incentive of emigration: the android servant as carrot, the radioactive fallout as stick.The U.N.had made it easy to emigrate, difficult if not impossible to stay.Loitering on Earth potentially meant finding oneself abruptly classed as biologically unacceptable, a menace to the pristine heredity of the race.Once pegged as special, a citizen, even if accepting sterilization, dropped out of history.He ceased, in effect, to be part of mankind.And yet persons here and there declined to migrate; that, even to those involved, constituted a perplexing irrationality.Logically, every regular should have emigrated already.Perhaps, deformed as it was, Earth remained familiar, to be clung to.Or possibly the non-emigrant imagined that the tent of dust would deplete it�self finally.In any case thousands of individuals remained, most of them constellated in urban areas where they could physically see one another, take heart at their mutual pres�ence.Those appeared to be the relatively sane ones.And, in dubious addition to them, occasional peculiar entities remained in the virtually abandoned suburbs.���John Isidore, being yammered at by the television set in his living room as he shaved in the bathroom, was one of these.���He simply had wandered to this spot in the early days fol�lowing the war.In those evil times no one had known, really, what they were doing [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]