The Short Happy Life of the Brown Oxford and Other Classic Stories by Philip K. Dick Page A

Doric. “You’ll lead us back there, as a good captain should.”
    “Captain?” Doric grinned. “Then you’ve decided.”
    Nasha shrugged. “Fomar argues with me too much. I think, all in all, I really prefer you.”
    “Then let’s go,” Doric said. “Let’s go back home.”
    The ship roared up, flying over the ruins of the city. It turned in a huge arc and then shot off beyond the horizon, heading into outer space.
     
    Down below, in the center of the ruined city, a single half-broken detector vane moved slightly, catching the roar of the ship. The base of the great gun throbbed painfully, straining to turn. After a moment, a red warning light flashed on down inside its destroyed works.
    And a long way off, a hundred miles from the city, another warning light flashed on, far underground. Automatic relays flew into action. Gears turned, belts whined. On the ground above a section of metal slag slipped back. A ramp appeared.
    A moment later a small cart rushed to the surface.
    The cart turned toward the city. A second cart appeared behind it. It was loaded with wiring cables. Behind it a third cart came, loaded with telescopic tube sights. And behind came more carts, some with relays, some with firing controls, some with tools and parts, screws and bolts, pins and nuts. The final one contained atomic warheads.
    The carts lined up behind the first one, the lead cart. The lead cart started off, across the frozen ground, bumping calmly along, followed by the others. Moving toward the city.
    To the damaged gun.

The Skull
    “What is this opportunity?” Conger asked. “Go on. I’m interested.”
    The room was silent; all faces were fixed on Conger—still in the drab prison uniform. The Speaker leaned forward slowly.
    “Before you went to prison your trading business was paying well—all illegal—all very profitable. Now you have nothing, except the prospect of another six years in a cell.”
    Conger scowled.
    “There is a certain situation, very important to this Council, that requires your peculiar abilities. Also, it is a situation you might find interesting. You were a hunter, were you not? You’ve done a great deal of trapping, hiding in the bushes, waiting at night for the game? I imagine hunting must be a source of satisfaction to you, the chase, the stalking—”
    Conger sighed. His lips twisted. “All right,” he said. “Leave that out. Get to the point. Who do you want me to kill?”
    The Speaker smiled. “All in proper sequence,” he said softly.
     
    The car slid to a stop. It was night; there was no light anywhere along the street. Conger looked out. “Where are we? What is this place?”
    The hand of the guard pressed into his arm. “Come. Through that door.”
    Conger stepped down, onto the damp sidewalk. The guard came swiftly after him, and then the Speaker. Conger took a deep breath of the cold air. He studied the dim outline of the building rising up before them.
    “I know this place. I’ve seen it before.” He squinted, his eyes growing accustomed to the dark. Suddenly he became alert. “This is—”
    “Yes. The First Church.” The Speaker walked toward the steps. “We’re expected.”
    “Expected? Here?”
    “Yes.” The Speaker mounted the stairs.
    “You know we’re not allowed in their Churches, especially with guns!” He stopped. Two armed soldiers loomed up ahead, one on each side.
    “All right?” The Speaker looked up at them. They nodded. The door of the Church was open. Conger could see other soldiers inside, standing about, young soldiers with large eyes, gazing at the icons and holy images.
    “I see,” he said.
    “It was necessary,” the Speaker said. “As you know, we have been singularly unfortunate in the past in our relations with the First Church.”
    “This won’t help.”
    “But it’s worth it. You will see.”
     
    They passed through the hall and into the main chamber where the altar piece was, and the kneeling places. The Speaker scarcely