Gather Yourselves Together
by Philip K. Dick
Copyright Page
Gather Yourselves Together
Copyright © 1994 by the Estate of Philip K. Dick
except the Afterword © 1994 by Dwight Brown
All Rights Reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
Published by WCS Books, Box 968, Herndon, VA 22070
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 94-60500
ISBN 1-878914-05-7
Jacket & interior design by James “Kibo” Parry Keyboarding & proofreading by Dwight Brown
WCS Books would like to acknowledge and thank many people for their help, support, and cooperation: Paul Williams, Russ Galen, Steve Brown, Gregory Lee, Dave Hyde, Paul Di Filippo, Don D’Ammassa, E. Jay O’Connell, and the Estate of Philip K. Dick.
Distributed by:
eyeBALL Books
c/o Science Fiction Eye
Box 18539
Asheville, NC 28814
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition
Gather Yourselves Together
One
It was early summer, and the day was almost over. It had been warm during the afternoon, but now the sun had set and the evening cold was beginning to come in. Carl Fitter walked down the front stairs of the men’s dormitory, carrying a heavy suitcase and a small package tied with brown cord.
He paused at the foot of the stairs, stairs of rough wood, painted with grey porch paint that had chipped and peeled with age. They had been painted long before Carl had come to work for the Company. He looked back up. The door at the top was sliding shut slowly. As he watched, it closed tight with a bang. He put his suitcase down and made certain that his wallet was buttoned into his pocket in such a way that it could not possibly fall out.
“That’s the last time I’ll ever be going down those stairs,” he murmured. “The last time. It’ll be good to see the United States again, after so long.”
The shades behind the windows had been pulled down. The curtains were gone. Boxed up somewhere. He was not the last person to leave the building; there was still the final locking up to do. But that would be done by the workmen, who would see to it that the windows and doors were tightly boarded, protecting the building until the new owners arrived.
“How miserable it looks. Not that it was ever such an inspiring sight.”
He picked up his suitcase and continued down the walk. Clouds covered the setting sun, and only its last rays could be seen. The air, as it often does that time of evening, seemed full of little things; a layer of particles coming into existence for the night. He reached the road and stopped.
In front of him men and women were assembled around two Company cars. There was a large pile of luggage and boxes, and a workman was stacking them in the back of the two cars. Carl made out Ed Forester standing with a piece of paper in his hand. He walked over to him.
Forester raised his head. “Carl! What’s the matter? I don’t see your name down here.”
“What?” Carl looked over his shoulder at the list. He could not make out any of the names in the evening gloom.
“This is a list of the people going with me. But I can’t find your name here. You see it? Most people spot their own names right away.”
“I don’t see it.”
“What did they tell you at the office?”
Carl looked vaguely around at the people standing about, and at the people already inside the two cars.
“I said, what did they tell you at the office?”
Carl shook his head slowly. He set down his things and carried the list over under one of the car headlights. He studied the list silently. His name was really not on it. He turned it over, but there was nothing on the back, only the Company letterhead. He gave the list back.
“Is this the last group?” he asked.
“Yes, except for the truckload of workmen. The truck will be leaving tomorrow or the next day.” Forester paused. “Of course, it’s possible—”
“What’s possible?”
Forester rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “Carl, maybe you’re one of those who’s supposed to stay behind, until they get here. Why don’t you go over to the office and see if you can find the main traffic sheet?”
“But I thought the people had been notified who—”
“Oh, well.” Forester shrugged. “Don’t you know the Company by this time?”
“But I don’t want to stay here! I’ve already written home. My stuff is all packed. I’m all ready to go.”
“It’s only for a week or so. Go on over to the office and see. I’ll hold the cars up for a few minutes. Hurry back if you’re supposed to leave with us. Otherwise, wave to me from the porch.”
Carl began to gather up his things again. “I can’t understand it. I’m all packed. There certainly must be some mistake about this.”
“It’s six o’clock, Mister Forester,” the workman called. “We’re all loaded up.”
“Good.” Forester looked at his watch.
“Am I supposed to get in now?” one of the women asked.
“Get in. We have to catch up with the main group at the other side of the mountains. So we have to leave right on time.”
“Goodbye, Forester.” Carl put out his hand. “I’ll run over to the office and see what the story is.”
“We won’t drive off until you come back, or we see you wave. Good luck.”
Carl hurried off along the gravel path, into the gloom, toward the office building.
Forester watched him go up the stairs and through the door. After a few minutes he began to get impatient. The cars were loaded and the people were beginning to become uncomfortable and restless.
“Get your motors started,” he said to the first driver. “We’ll be taking off in a second.”
He got inside the other car and slid behind the driver’s seat. He turned to the people in the back seat.
“Did any of you notice somebody wave from the office?” They all shook their heads. “Damn him. I wish he’d do something. We can’t sit here forever.”
“Wait!” a woman said. “There’s someone on the porch now. It’s hard to see.”
Forester peered out. Was Carl coming? Or was he waving? “He’s waving.” Forester spread himself out behind the wheel, making himself comfortable.
The other car started up and came abreast. It passed down along the road, its headlights blazing. Forester blinked and pushed his foot down on the starter.
“Poor kid,” he murmured. The car moved under him. “It’s going to be a long week.”
He caught up with the other car.
Standing on the office porch, Carl watched the two cars drive slowly down the road away from the buildings, through the metal gates and out onto the main highway. It was very quiet, except for the sound of workmen somewhere, a long way off, nailing and pounding in the darkness.
Two
“It doesn’t matter a bit to me,” Barbara Mahler said. “I’m just a Company minion. I might as well stay here another week.”
“It might even be over a week. It might be two weeks. We don’t know when they’re coming.”
“So it’s two weeks. Three, even. I’ve been here two years. I don’t even remember what the United States looks like.”
Verne could not tell if she were being sarcastic. The girl was standing at the window looking out at the machinery beyond. In the darkening fog of early evening the machinery looked like columns and pillars of ancient buildings that had been ruined by some natural catastrophe, so that nothing remained but these massive and useless supports. They were sprawled hither and yon, some one way, some another. Meaningless, sightless constructions from which everything valuable had already been removed and packed up in crates, stored away somewhere.