Free Solar Lottery by Philip K. Dick Page B

Certainly not a human being.”
    The remaining people had begun to collect around. Eleanor tugged furiously at his arm. “Ted, for Christ’s sake! Verrick’s coming!”
    “Let go.” Benteley yanked loose. “That’s my sleeve.” He brushed his sleeve with numb fingers. “That’s about all I have left; leave me that much.” He focused on the vacant face of Keith Pellig. There was a constant roaring in his brain; his nose and throat stung. “Pellig, how’s it feel to murder a man you never saw? A man who never did anything to you? A harmless crackpot, accidentally in the way of a lot of big people. A temporary bottle-neck—”
    “What do you mean?” Moore interrupted in a dangerous mumble of confused resentment. “You mean to imply there’s something wrong with Pellig?” He snickered grotesquely. “My pal Pellig.”
    Verrick appeared from the side room, pushing people out of his way. “Moore, take him out of here. I told you to go upstairs.” He waved the group of people brusquely toward the double doors. “The party’s over. Get going. You’ll be contacted when you’re needed.”
    The people began separating and moving reluctantly toward the exits. Robots found coats and wraps for them. In small groups they lingered here and there, talking together, watching Verrick and Pellig curiously.
    Verrick took hold of Pellig. “Get out of here. Go on upstairs. Christ, it’s late.” He started for the wide staircase, hunched over, his shaggy head turned to one side. “Well, in spite of everything, we’ve accomplished a lot today. I’m going to bed.”
    Balancing himself carefully, Benteley said clearly after him,“Look here, Verrick. I have an idea. Why don’t you murder Cartwright yourself? Eliminate the middle-man. It’s more scientific.”
    Verrick snorted with unexpected laughter and kept on going, without slowing or looking back. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said over his shoulder. “Go home and get some sleep.”
    “I’m not going home,” Benteley said stubbornly. “I came here to learn what the strategy is, and I’m staying until I learn it.”
    At the first step Verrick halted and turned. There was a queer look on his massive hard-ridged features. “What’s that?”
    “You heard me,” Benteley said. He closed his eyes and stood with his feet apart, balancing himself as the room tilted and shifted. When he looked again, Verrick had gone up the stairs and Eleanor Stevens was pulling frantically at his arm.
    “You damn fool!” she shrilled. “What’s the matter?”
    “He’s a creep,” Moore said unsteadily. He moved Pellig toward the stairs. “Better get him out of here, Eleanor. He’ll start chewing up the carpet pretty soon.”
    Benteley was baffled. He opened his mouth numbly but no sound came. “He’s gone,” he managed to say finally. “They’re all gone. Verrick and Moore and that thing of wax.”
    Eleanor led him out into a side room and closed the door after them. The room was small and in half-shadow, its edges merged in hazy darkness. She shakily lit a cigarette and stood puffing furiously, smoke streaming from her dilated nostrils. “Benteley, you’re a lunatic.”
    “I’m drunk. This Callistan beetle-juice. Is it true a thousand slaves are sweating and dying in a methane atmosphere so Verrick can have his whiskey?”
    “Sit down.” She pushed him down in a chair and paced in a jerky little circle directly in front of him, taut as a marionette on a wire. “Everything’s going to pieces. Moore is so damnproud of Pellig he can’t stop showing him off. Verrick can’t adjust to being quacked; he thinks he still has his teeps to hold him together. Oh, God.” She spun on her heel and buried her face bitterly in her hands.
    Benteley gazed up at her without comprehension until she had hold of herself again and was dabbing miserably at her swollen eyes. “Can I do something?” he asked hopefully.
    Eleanor found a decanter of cold water on a low table