Free A Handful of Darkness by Philip K. Dick Page B

indicated the lines of helmeted men. Men sheathed in lead, in heavy protection suits, covered with layers of metal and wiring, counters, oxygen tanks, shields, food pellets, filtered water. The men worked, sweating in their heavy suits. “See them? What do they resemble?”
    A worker came up, gasping and panting. For a brief second he lifted his viewplate and took a hasty breath of air. He slammed his plate and nervously locked it in place. “Ready to go, sir. All loaded.”
    “Change of plan,” Norris said. “We’re going to wait until this man’s companions get here. Their camp is breaking up. Another day won’t make any difference.”
    “All right, sir.” The worker pushed off, climbing back down to the surface, a weird figure in his heavy lead-lined suit and bulging helmet and intricate gear.
    “We’re visitors,” Norris told him.
    Trent flinched violently. “What?”
    “Visitors on a strange planet. Look at us. Shielded suits and helmets, space suits—for exploring. We’re a rocket-ship stopping at an alien world on which we can’t survive. Stopping for a brief period to load up—and then take off again.”
    “Closed helmets,” Trent said, in a strange voice.
    “Closed helmets. Lead shields. Counters and special food and water. Look over there.”
    A small group of runners were standing together, gazing up In awe at the great gleaming ship. Off to the right, visible among the trees, was a runner village. Checker-board crops and animal pens and board houses.
    “The natives,” Norris said. “The inhabitants of the planet. They can breathe the air, drink the water, eat the plant-life. We can’t. This is their planet—not ours. They can live here, build up a society.”
    “I hope we can come back.”
    “Back?”
    “To visit—some time.”
    Norris smiled ruefully. “I hope so too. But we’ll have to get permission from the inhabitants—permission to land.” His eyes were bright with amusement—and, abruptly, pain. A sudden agony that gleamed out over everything else. “We’ll have to ask them if it’s all right. And they may say no. They may not want us.”

PROMINENT AUTHOR
    “My husband,” said Mary Ellis, “although he is a very prompt man, and hasn’t been late to work in twenty-five years, is actually still some place around the house.” She sipped at her faintly scented hormone and carbohydrate drink. “As a matter of fact, he won’t be leaving for another ten minutes.”
    “Incredible,” said Dorothy Lawrence, who had finished her drink, and now basked in the dermalmist spray that descended over her virtually unclad body from an automatic jet above the couch. “What they won’t think of next!”
    Mrs. Ellis beamed proudly, as if she personally were an employee of Terran Development. “Yes, it is incredible. According to somebody down at the office, the whole history of civilization can be explained in terms of transportation techniques. Of course, I don’t know anything about history. That’s for Government research people. But from what this man told Henry—”
    “Where’s my brief-case?” came a fussy voice from the bedroom. “Good Lord, Mary. I know I left it on the clothes-cleaner last night.”
    “You left it upstairs,” Mary replied, raising her voice slightly. “Look in the closet.”
    “Why would it be in the closet?” Sounds of angry stirring arounds. “You’d think a man’s own brief-case would be safe.” Henry Ellis stuck his head into the living-room briefly. “I found it. Hello, Mrs. Lawrence.”
    “Good morning,” Dorothy Lawrence replied. “Mary was explaining that you’re still here.”
    “Yes, I’m still here.” Ellis straightened his tie, as the mirror revolved slowly around him. “Anything you want me to pick up downtown, honey?”
    “No,” Mary replied. “Nothing I can think of. I’ll vid you at the office if I remember something.”
    “Is it true,” Mrs. Lawrence asked, “that as soon as you step into it you’re all