Ubik by Philip K. Dick

Wirt inquired.
    “Against.” Runciter crumpled up his map and dropped it to the metal, heated floor. “I’m not accustomed to being told—”
    “But you will not be staying here, Mr. Runciter,” Miss Wirt pointed out. “Aren’t you returning to Earth as soon as your employees begin to function?” She smiled her professional smile at him.
    Runciter said to Joe Chip, “You getting any readings as to the psi field?”
    “First,” Joe said, “I have to obtain a reading on the counter-field our inertials are generating.”
    “You should have done that on the trip,” Runciter said.
    “Are you attempting to take measurements?” Miss Wirt inquired alertly. “Mr. Howard expressly contraindicated that, as I explained.”
    “We’re taking a reading anyway,” Runciter said.
    “Mr. Howard—”
    “This isn’t Stanton Mick’s business,” Runciter told her.
    To her drab assistant, Miss Wirt said, “Would you ask Mr. Mick to come down here, please?” The assistant scooted off in the direction of the syndrome of elevators. “Mr. Mick will tell you himself,” Miss Wirt said to Runciter. “Meanwhile, please do nothing; I ask you kindly to wait until he arrives.”
    “I have a reading now,” Joe said to Runciter. “On our own field. It’s very high.” Probably because of Pat, he decided. “Much higher than I would have expected,” he said. Why are they so anxious for us not to take readings? he wondered. It’s not a time factor now; our inertials are here and operating.
    “Are there closets,” Tippy Jackson asked, “where we can put away our clothes? I’d like to unpack.”
    “Each bedroom,” Miss Wirt said, “has a large closet, coin-operated. And to start you all off—” She produced a large plastic bag. “Here is a complimentary supply of coins.” She handed the rolls of dimes, nickels and quarters to Jon Ild. “Would you distribute these equally? A gesture of goodwill by Mr. Mick.”
    Edie Dorn asked, “Is there a nurse or doctor in this settlement? Sometimes I develop psychosomatic skin rashes when I’m hard at work; a cortisone-base ointment usually helps me, but in the hurry I forgot to bring some along.”
    “The industrial, research installations adjoining these living quarters,” Miss Wirt said, “keep several doctors on standby, and in addition there is a small medical ward with beds for the ill.”
    “Coin-operated?” Sammy Mundo inquired.
    “All our medical care,” Miss Wirt said, “is free. But the burden of proof that he is genuinely ill rests on the shoulders of the alleged patient.” She added, “All medication-dispensing machines, however, are coin-operated. I might say, in regard to this, that you will find in the game room of this suite a tranquilizer-dispensing machine. And, if you wish, we can probably have one of the stimulant-dispensing machines moved in from the adjoining installations.”
    “What about hallucinogens?” Francesca Spanish inquired. “When I’m at work I function better if I can get an ergot-base psychedelic drug; it causes me to actually see who I’m up against, and I find that helps.”
    Miss Wirt said, “Our Mr. Mick disapproves of all the ergot-base hallucinogenic agents; he feels they’re liver-toxic. If you have brought any with you, you’re free to use them. But we will not dispense any, although I understand we have them.”
    “Since when,” Don Denny said to Francesca Spanish, “did you begin to need psychedelic drugs in order to hallucinate? Your whole life’s a waking hallucination.”
    Unfazed, Francesca said, “Two nights ago I received a particularly impressive visitation.”
    “I’m not surprised,” Don Denny said.
    “A throng of precogs and telepaths descended from a ladder spun of finest natural hemp to the balcony outside my window. They dissolved a passageway through the wall and manifested themselves around my bed, waking me up with their chatter. They quoted poetry and languid prose from oldtime books,