The Zap Gun by Philip K. Dick Page A

encounter with marginal operators such as this man, Vincent Klug. Under the circumstances it was hard to know whom to feel more sorry for, Jack Lanferman who was big, powerful and expensive, as well as busy, with no idle time to spare, in that as a hedonist his time was convertible into physical pleasure and that was that. Or for Klug.
    For years Vincent Klug had hung around. God knew how he gained access to the subsurface portion of Lanferman Associates. Probably someone at a minor post had been moved to pity and opened the floodgate a bare inch, recognizing that if not let in, Klug would remain a careless pest, would never give up. But this act of rather self-serving compassion by one of Lanferman's tiny above-surface employees merely transferred the pest-problem one level down—literally. Or up, if you viewed it figuratively. Because now Klug was so positioned as to bother the boss.
    It was Klug's contention that the world needs toys.
    This was his answer to whatever riddle the serious members of society confronted themselves with: poverty, deranged sex-crimes, senility, altered genes from over-exposure to radiation... you name the problem and Klug opened his enormous sample-case and hauled out the solution. Lars had heard the toymaker expound this on several occasions: life itself was unendurable and hence had to be ameliorated. As a thing-in-itself it could not actually be lived. There had to be some way out. Mental, moral and physical hygiene demanded it.
    "Look at this," Klug said wheezingly to Jack Lanferman, who had halted indulgently, for the moment at least. Klug knelt down, deposited a miniature figure on the corridor floor. With blurred speed he added one after another more until a dozen figures stood ganged together, and then Klug presented the small assembly with a citadel.
    There was no doubt; the citadel was an armed fortress. Not archaic—not, for instance, a medieval castle—and yet not contemporary either. It was fanciful, and Lars was intrigued.
    "This particular game," Klug explained, "is called Capture. These here—" he indicated the dozen figures, which Lars now discovered were oddly uniformed soldiers—"they want to get in. And it—" Klug indicated the citadel—"it wants to keep them out. If any one of them, just one, manages to get inside, the game's over. The attackers have won. But if the Monitor—"
    "The what?" Jack Lanferman said.
    "This." Klug patted the citadel affectionately. "I spent six months wiring it. If this destroys all twelve attacking troops, then the defenders have won. Now."
    From his sample-case he produced another item. "This is the nexus through which the player operates either the attackers, if that's the side he's chosen, or the Monitor, if he's going to be the defenders."
    He held the objects toward Jack, who, however, declined. "Well," Klug said philosophically, "anyhow this is a sample computer that even a seven-year-old can program. Any number up to six can play. The players take turns—"
    "All right," Jack Lanferman said patiently. "You've built a prototype. Now what do you want me to do?"
    Rapidly Klug said, "I want it analyzed to see how much it would cost to autofac. In lots of five hundred. As a starter. And I'd like to see it run on your 'facs, because yours are the best in the world."
    "I know that," Lanferman said.
    "Will you do it?"
    Lanferman said, "You couldn't afford to pay me to cost-analyze this item. And if you could, you couldn't even begin to put up the retainer necessary if I were to have my 'facs run off even fifty, let alone five hundred. You know that, Klug."
    Swallowing, perspiring, Klug hesitated and then said, "My credit's no good, Jack?"
    "Your credit's good. Any credit is good. But you don't have any. You don't even know what the word means. Credit means—"
    "I know," Klug broke in. "It means the ability to pay later for what's bought now. But if I had five hundred of this number ready for the Fall market—"
    "Let me ask you something,"