The Skull by Philip K. Dick

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 ikons 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 glanced at the
altar as they passed by. He pushed open a small side door and beckoned
Conger through.
    "In here. We have to hurry. The faithful will be flocking in soon."
    Conger entered, blinking. They were in a small chamber, low-ceilinged,
with dark panels of old wood. There was a smell of ashes and smoldering
spices in the room. He sniffed. "What's that? The smell."
    "Cups on the wall. I don't know." The Speaker crossed impatiently to the
far side. "According to our information, it is hidden here by this—"
    Conger looked around the room. He saw books and papers, holy signs and
images. A strange low shiver went through him.
    "Does my job involve anyone of the Church? If it does—"
    The Speaker turned, astonished. "Can it be that you believe in the
Founder? Is it possible, a hunter, a killer—"
    "No. Of course not. All their business about resignation to death,
non-violence—"
    "What is it, then?"
    Conger shrugged. "I've been taught not to mix with such as these. They
have strange abilities. And you can't reason with them."
    The Speaker studied Conger thoughtfully. "You have the wrong idea. It is
no one here that we have in mind. We've found that killing them only
tends to increase their numbers."
    "Then why come here? Let's leave."
    "No. We came for something important. Something you will need to
identify your man. Without it you won't be able to find him." A trace
of a smile crossed the Speaker's face. "We don't want you to kill the
wrong person. It's too important."
    "I don't make mistakes." Conger's chest rose. "Listen, Speaker—"
    "This is an unusual situation," the Speaker said. "You see, the person
you are