THE UNTELEPORTED MAN
Lies, Inc. (The Unteleported Man) Book Summary and Study Guide. Philip K. Dick gather info, debate puzzles/motives 40%Feelings, relationships, character Books with storylines, themes & endings like Lies, Inc. (The Unteleported Man). "The Minority Report" is a science fiction short story by American writer Philip K. Dick, first Dick's personal Cold War anxieties, particularly questioning the relationship between . Instead, a man named Lamar Burgess creates Precrime. At the end of the film, Anderton confronts Burgess, who commits suicide and. The Unteleported Man & The Mind Monsters has 10 ratings and 6 reviews. Angus said: This one is tough because of the dual novel concept. Plus this version.
As their ancestors must have been, Matson mused. Back in the twentieth century when those ancestors, with the same affectless calm, fed bodies into ovens or living humans into ersatz shower baths which turned out to be Zyklon B hydrogen cyanide gas chambers.
And financed by reputable big Third Reich business, by Herr Krupp u. Just as von Einem is financed by Trails of Hoffman, with its vast central offices in Grosser Berlinstadt-the new capital of New Whole Germany, the city in fact from which our distinguished UN Secretary General emanates.
At his villa on his Brocard ellipse satellite Matson was safe. And, as a precaution, he conducted as much business as possible from this spot; below, in New York City, at Lies Incorporated's offices, he always felt naked. Felt, in fact, the nearby presence of the UN and Horst Bertold's legions of "Peace Workers," those armed, gray-faced men and women who, in the name of Pax Terrae, roamed the world, even into the pathetic moonies, the sad, failure-but-still-extant early "colony" satellites which had come before von Einem's breakthrough and the discovery by George Hoffman of Fomalhaut IX, now called Whale's Mouth and now the colony.
Too bad, Matson thought archly, that George Hoffman didn't discover more planets in more star systems habitable by us, the frail needs of living, sentient, mentating biochemical upright bipeds which we humans are. Hundreds and hundreds of planets, but- Instead, temperature which melted thermo-fuses. One could hardly say of such worlds-Venus had proved a typical example-that the "living was easy.
Housing, per dome, perhaps three hundred somatic souls. Rather a small number, considering that as of this year Terra's population stood at seven billion. They could, by law, criticize to their hearts' content, the character, habits, abilities and shaving customs of Herr Bertold Not so, however, to Lies Incorporated-an ironic sobriquet, in view of the absolutely verified nature of the data now before its owner.
It was harsh reading. The year of Horst Bertold's birth: Slightly before the Space Age had begun; like Matson Glazer-Holliday, Horst was a remnant of the old world when all that had been glimpsed in the sky were "flying saucers," a misnomer for a U. Air Force antimissile weapon which had, in the brief confrontation ofproved ineffectual. Horst had been born to middle-class Berlin-West Berlin, it had then been called, because, and this was difficult to remember, Germany had in those days been divided-parents: And then, inat the age of eighteen, young Horst himself had entered the spotlight needless to say, the statute of limitations had run out on his father, who had never been prosecuted by the West German legal apparatus for his crimes of the '40s, and had, in addition, evaded the commando squads from Israel who, byhad closed up shop, given up the task of tracking down the former mass murderers.
Horst, inhad been a leader in the Reinholt Jugend. Ernst Reinholt, from Hamburg, had headed a party which had striven to unify Germany once more; the deal would be that as a military and economic power she would be neutral between East and West. It had taken ten more years, but in the fracas of he had obtained from the U.
And, under Reinholt, Neues Einige Deutschland had played dirty pool from the start. But no one was really surprised; East and West were busy erecting tents where major popcens-population centers such as Chicago and Moscow-had existed, and hoping to god that the Sino-Cuban wing of the C.
It had been the secret protocol of Reinholt and his N. New Whole Germany would take out China.
So this was the unsavory basis on which the Reich had re-obtained unity. Its Waffen technicians had devised, as instructed, weapons which had, indealt a terminal punch to People's China. Matson, examining the folio, very rapidly scanned this part, because the Reich had come up with some show-stoppers, and even the abominable U. Sohnen had devised as an answer to China's thousands of millions who were spilling as far west as the Volga, and toward the U.
In any case the compact had been agreed on, and even Faust would have blanched at it; now the world had no People's China but a New Whole Germany to contend with. And what a quid pro quo that had proved to be. Because, correctly and legally, Neues Einige Deutschland had obtained control of the sole planet-wide and hence Sol system-wide governing structure, the UN. They held it now. And had faced squarely, as he had promised when campaigning for election-it had become, byan elective office-that he would deal with the colonization problem; he would find a Final Solution to the tormented condition that one Terra was as overpopulated throughout as Japan had been in and two both the alternate planets of the Sol system and the moonies and the domes et al.
Horst had found, via Dr. Whale's Mouth, and the Telpor mechanisms at Trails of Hoffman's retail outlets, were the answer. To all appearances it was duck soup, feathers, scut included.
The promise was made before teleportation to the Fomalhaut system was technologically possible-in fact, before the existence of Fomalhaut was even known to unmanned elderly relay-monitors.
And to the German mind that means one thing and one thing only. The cat and rat farm solution. It had been suggested, ironically, in imitation of Swift, by a fiction writer of the s, that the "Negro Question" in the U.
Satire, of course, like Swift's A Modest Proposal, that the problem of starvation among the Irish be solved by the eating of the children Swift himself lamenting, as a final irony, that he had no children of his own to offer to the market for consumption. But- This all pointed to the seriousness-not merely of the problem of overpopulation and insufficient food production-but to the insane, schizoid solutions seriously being considered.
The brief World War Three-never officially called that; called instead, a Pacifying Action, just as the Korean War had been a "Police Action"-had taken care of a few millions of people, but-not quite enough. As a solution it had worked to a partial extent; and was, in many influential quarters, viewed exactly as that: Not as a catastrophe but as a half-answer. And Horst Bertold had promised the balance of the answer. Whale's Mouth was it. If I hadn't read Swift and C.
Sepp von Einem and his many Telpor outlets, his curiously one-way teleporting machine. But no one had returned to report on't. And until they do-" Freya said perceptively, "Until they do, you're going to stay suspicious.
Of the whole Newcolonizedland settlement. Aud and vid signals are not good enough to convince you-because you know how easily they can be faked. Takes the Navel direct to Fomalhaut, that after eighteen years of weary deep-sleep which is not quite sleep, more a hyponagogic, restless tossing and turning at low temp, slowed-down metabolism, he will arrive at Whale's Mouth, and oddly it will not be beer and skittles. It will not be happy conapt dwellers, smiling children in autonomic schools, tame, exotic, native life forms.
But-" But just what would he find? If, as he suspected, the aud and vid tracks passing from Whale's Mouth to Terra via von Einem's Telpor mechanisms were covers-what really lay beneath? He simply could not guess, not when forty million people were involved. Are, god forbid, those forty million men, women and children dead? Is it a boneyard, with no one there, no one even to extract the gold from their teeth-because now we use stainless steel? He did not know, but-someone knew. Perhaps entire New Whole Germany, which, having cornered the lion's share of power in the UN, hence ruled throughout the nine planets of the Sol system; perhaps as a totality it, on a subrational, instinctive level, knew.
As, in the s, it had intuited the existence of the gas chambers beyond the cages of twittering birds and those high walls that kept out all sight and sound And the one hundred and thirty-five million inhabitants of Neues Einige Deutschland, to some degree; not verbally-you couldn't put an expert psych rep of Lies Incorporated in a small room with a Munich cobbler, run a few routine drug-injections, make the standard quasi-Psionic transcripts, EEGs of his para-psychological reactions, and learn, know, the literal, exact truth.
The whole matter was, damn it, still obscured. And this time it was not cages of twittering birds or shower baths but something else-something, however, equally effective. Trails of Hoffman published 3-D, multicolor, brilliantly artistic, exciting brochures displaying the ecstatic life beyond the Telpor nexus; the TV ran ceaseless, drive-you-mad ads all day and night, of the underpopulated veldt landscape of Whale's Mouth, the balmy climate via olfactory trackthe warm the-answer-is-yes two-moon-filled nights Matson decided carefully, "I am sending a veteran field rep across, via normal Telpor, posing as an unmarried businessman who hopes to open a watch repair retail shop at Whale's Mouth.
He will have grafted sub-derm a high-gain transmitter; it will-" "I know," Freya said patiently; this was evening and she obviously wished for a relaxation of the grim reality of their mutual business.
But that'll take weeks. The Lies Incorporated field rep would send back a letter, via Telpor, in the customary manner encoded. It was that simple.
If the letter arrived: If not- "You will wait," Freya said, "and wait. And no encoded letter will come. And then you will really begin to think that our client, Mr. And then what will you do?
Despite all the glossy, expensive literature available free. I knew it when he walked in the door; I knew it from your memo. I'm not going; that's that. But he had proved what he wished to prove: At this point in their thinking neither Freya nor he would risk the crossing via Telpor to Whale's Mouth, as thousands of guileless citizens of Terra, lugging their belongings and with innocent high hopes, did daily.
I hate, he thought, to turn anyone into the goat. We'll tell him we wish to set up a Lies Incorporated branch at Whale's Mouth under a cover name. Or TV fixit shop. Get his folio; see what talents he has. And yet it should have been done months ago. But it had taken bankrupt Rachmael ben Applebaum to goose them into acting, he realized. A man pursued by those monster creditor balloons that bellow all your personal defects and secrets.
A man willing to undergo a thirty-six year trip to prove that something is foul in the land of milk and protein on the far side of those Telpor gates through which, on receipt of five poscreds, any adult Terran can avail himself for the purpose of- God knew.
And his job was investigation; he was, he realized with spurting, burgeoning horror, possibly the only individual on Terra really in a position to push through and obtain an authentic glimpse of this.
Short of eighteen years of space flight If you are wise, Matson said to himself grimly, you never take one-way trips. Even to Boise, Idaho Be certain, when you start, that you can scramble back. However, this time it was no robot raptor-like creditor mechanism. This was a man. Dark, a Negro; small and shrewd-looking. Standing at Rachmael's door with I. He added, "I hold a Class-A inter-plan vehicle pilot-license. I'd like you to accompany me to your maintenance yard on Luna so there's no mistake; I know your employees there are armed; otherwise-" He followed Rachmael into the conapt living room-the sole room, in fact: And I did you a small side-favor, Mr.
I took out a creditor-construct waiting in the hall. Shortly the two men were on their way to the roof field, where Dosker had parked his-as Rachmael discovered-taxi-marked flapple. As they entered he noticed how ordinary it looked Speaking not to Rachmael but into his console mike.
Picked up by a field, and this one was moving Dosker's small flapple out of its trajectory; at once Dosker fired the huge Whetstone-Milton rockets, tried to reassert with their enormous strength homeo-course Rachmael, after an interval of strained, wordless silence, said to Dosker, "Where's it taking us?
Orbit around Earth, despite the push of the two W-M engines; Dosker now, reluctantly, cut them. Fuel for them had no doubt dropped to a dangerously low level: He recited a series of encoded instructions into the mike, listened, then cursed, said to Rachmael, "We're cut off aud and vid, all signal contact; I'm not getting through to Matson.
We just orbit Terra forever and die when we run out of oxygen? He, alone, had held out better; now he was disgusted, astonished and completely perplexed, and he watched without comprehension as Dosker inspected his bank of bug chasers at his chest. At the moment the Lies Incorporated pilot seemed interested only in whether or not monitors were picking them up-as well as controlling, externally, the trajectory of their ship.
Dosker said, "No monitors. Look, friend ben Applebaum. So by now they know something's happened. And then, jarringly, something nosed it; Rachmael fell; sliding along the floor to the far wall he saw Dosker tumble, too, and knew that this had been the locking of another ship or similar device against them-knew and then all at once realized that at least it hadn't detonated. At least it had not been a missile.
Because if it had- "They could," Dosker said, as he got unsteadily to his feet, "have taken us out permanently. He turned toward the tri-stage entrance hatch, used for null-atmosphere penetration.
The hatch, its circular seal-controls spun from impulses emanating outside, swung open. Three men, two of them riffraff with lasers, with the decayed eyes of those who had been bought, hamstrung, lost long ago, came first. And then a clear-faced elegant man who would never be bought because he was a great buyer in the market of men; he was a dealer, not produce for sale. Ahead of him his two employees swung a vacuum-cleaner-like mechanism; it searched, buzzing and nosing, probing until its operators were satisfied; they nodded to Theodoric, who then addressed Rachmael.
Shrugging, the large, white-haired man said, "All right. On your way to the Omphalos. But you don't need Applebaum here to tell you where she is; we can tell you. Ferry," Dosker said with sarcasm so great that his voice was almost forged into incomprehensibility. Theodoric said, "Now look, Dosker; you sit quietly and mind your own business. While I talk to Applebaum. I've never met him personally, but I knew his very-much-missed late father.
Dosker said, "If you shake with him, Rachmael, he'll deposit a virus contamination that'll produce liver toxicity within your system inside an hour. So Dosker had been right, Rachmael realized as he watched Theodoric carefully deposit the glove in the ship's incinerating disposal-chute. Then, speaking carefully to Rachmael he said, "I respect what you're trying to do. I'd have done the same.
The Minority Report
And you impressed Mat-son; that's why he's supplying you his only decent pilot. One after another, the cigarillos were cut open by Theodoric's men, inspected He watched without affect as the two decayed-eyed but very expert employees of THL crushed the dart under heel, rendering it useless. Ferry, I always expect you. We have an inventory of your assets. Accepting the sheet, Rachmael scanned it.
The inventory was accurate; these did constitute the slight totality of the remaining assets of Applebaum Enterprise. And-glaringly, as Ferry had said, the only item of any authentic value was the Omphalos herself, the great liner plus the repair and maintenance facilities on Luna which now, hive-like, surrounded and checked her as she waited futilely Here's what I propose, Applebaum. You can keep the Omphalos. I'll instruct my legal staff to withdraw the writ to the UN courts demanding that the Omphalos be placed under a state of attachment.
That the Omphalos never leave the Sol system. You can very readily develop a profitable operation transporting passengers and cargo between the nine planets and to Luna.
Despite the fact-" "Despite the fact," Rachmael said, "that the Omphalos was built as an inter-stellar carrier, not inter-plan. It's like using-" "It's that," Ferry said, "or lose the Omphalos to us. The written agreement won't mention any one particular star system, but it's not Prox and not Alpha. What's wrong at Whale's Mouth? This deal-it proves I'm right. Limit the Omphalos to the nine planets of the Sol system?
And yet-the corporation Applebaum Enterprise, as Ferry said, would continue; it would live on as a legal, economic entity. And Ferry would see that the UN turned a certain amount, an acceptable quantity, of commerce its way. Rachmael would wave goodbye to Lies Incorporated, to first this small dark superior space pilot, and then, by extension, to Freya Holm, to Matson Glazer-Holliday, cut in effect himself off from the sole power which had chosen to back him.
After all, the deep-sleep components won't arrive, but it won't matter, because you're not going into 'tween system space anyhow. You know in two days we'll have her-and once we do, there's no chance you'll ever get her back.
Lord, if he and Dosker had managed to get the Omphalos out tonight, lost her in space where THL couldn't find her Trails of Hoffman had stepped in too soon. All along, Theodoric Ferry had pre-thought them; it was not a moral issue: On the part of THL, we have those witnesses.
Turning, he walked leisurely toward the hatch. The two decayed-eyed employees followed, both men relaxed The dead man's throttle signaling device-or rather null-signaling device-had done its job; Lies Incorporated experts had arrived and at this moment were systematically dismantling the THL equipment. Philosophically, Theodoric Ferry stood with his hands in the pockets of his cloak, saying nothing, not even noticing the spasms of his two employees on the floor near him, as if, by deteriorating in response to the gas, they had somehow proved unworthy.
Dosker, studying Ferry, said, "He was given no atropine. There was, from Ferry, no answer. Theodoric Ferry's arm, at the shoulder-joint, came off.
Revealing trailing conduits and minned components, those of the shoulder still functioning, those of the arm, deprived of power, now inert. Seeing that Rachmael did not comprehend he said, "A simulacrum of Ferry that of course has no neurological system. So Ferry was never here. He's probably sitting in his demesne satellite orbiting Mars, viewing this through the sense-extensors of the sim.
Or is it on homeo? I 'm just curious. Would you, as an act of humanitarian kindness, administer atropine to my two THL employees? He walked over to Rachmael, then. That had been genuine. Dosker said, "Let's go to Luna, now. As your advisor I'm telling you-" He put his hand, gripped harshly, on Rachmael's wrist.
Those two will be all right, once the atropine is administered; they won't be killed and we'll release them in their THL vehicle-minus its field, of course.
You and I will go on to Luna, to the Omphalos, as if nothing happened. Or if you won't I'll use the map the sim gave me; I'm taking the Omphalos out into 'tween space where THL can't tail her, even if you don't want me to. An offer was made.
And-" He eyed Rachmael. But the man beside him was correct; this meant of course that he had to go on: Ferry had removed the block, had proved the need of the eighteen-year flight.
Will you do that? I'm waiting for you, Rachmael, for you to decide. It is-" He examined his wristwatch. Applebaum to table twenty-two," the maitre d' told her, and ignored, with stoic, glacial indifference, the outrage among those customers lined up wearily ahead of Rachmael. She is waiting at twenty-two," and, in the maitre d's voice, everything was conveyed: Rachmael followed Genet, with her light-emanating useful Swiss-made nipple-assist, through the darkness, the noise of people eating in jammed proximity, bolting their meals with the weight of guilt hunching them, getting done and aside so that those waiting could be served before the Fox's Lair, at two a.
Seating himself opposite her, Rachmael said, "You don't light up. And play the Blue Danube simultaneously. Before her rested a split of Buena Vista chablis, vintageone of the great, rare treats of the restaurant, and exceeding expensive; Rachmael wondered who would pick up the tab for this twelve-year-old California wine; lord knew he would have liked to, but-he reflexively touched his wallet.
Matson Glazer-Holliday owns this restaurant. There will be a tab for a mere six poscreds. For one peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich.
I'm just generally tense. Perhaps even to Matson. It could well be-necessary for security purposes-that only Al Dosker, at the multi-stage console of the ship's controls, knew where she had gone.
For Rachmael, however, it had been psychologically devastating to watch the Omphalos blast out into the limitless darkness: Ferry had been right-the Omphalos had been the sine qua non of Applebaum Enterprise; without her nothing remained.
But at least this way she might return; or more accurately, he eventually might be taken, by Lies Incorporated, by high-velocity flapple to her, allowed to see, board her, again, to begin his eighteen-year trip. And, the other way- "Don't dwell on Ferry's offer," Freya said softly.Dealing with a Married Man?webob.infoed Relationship Expert Dr. D Ivan Young on CBS Part 2
She nodded to the waitress, who placed a solidstem but chilled wine glass before Rachmael; he automatically, obediently, poured himself a trace of the Buena Vista white, tasted it; kept himself from taking more; he merely nodded in compliment to the wine, tried to make it appear that he was accustomed to such an outrageously, almost divinely penetrating bouquet and flavor.
It made absurd everything he had drunk his life long. Not, he thought, in view of what you have-or are supposed to have-in your purse.
Her large black leather mailpouch-style purse rested on the table beside her, within reach of his fingers. There are twelve components, all super-min, of course. Beneath the inner lid. On India paper, on the reverse of the label, is a wiring diagram.
I will rise to my feet in a moment and go to the powder room; after a few seconds-you must sit quietly, Rachmael, because it is about a seventy-thirty possibility that THL agents are monitoring us, either directly as patrons or by instrument-you must sit; then, when I don't return immediately, you fidget, you try to attract Genet's attention, to order some dinner for yourself or at least-and this is vital-obtain the menu.
You will place it on the table so that it covers my purse. There is a strip of titanium within the righthand overleaf of the menu. The container of scent has a titanium-tropic ambulation-circuit; it will within two seconds register the presence of the strip and will rotate itself out of my purse, which I've left open; it will travel across the underside of the menu.
The strip is at the bottom, where your right hand with complete naturalness will be resting as you hold what has been deliberately made up an awkward, stiff menu. When it touches the titanium strip the container will emit a weak charge, about ten volts; you will feel this galvanization and you will then, with your four fingers, take hold of the container, detach it from the titanium strip to which it has tropically adhered, drop it from the underside of the menu onto your lap.
And then, with your other hand, you will shift the container from your lap into your pocket. And then, as he sat there, he realized that he had to rise, too; had to act-the job of transferring the deep-sleep components obtained for him from the blackmarket was difficult and delicate, because Theodoric Ferry, ever since Lies Incorporated had taken out his satellite and its crew, its simulacrum of Ferry himself, had kept total surveillance over everything Rachmael had done; the ultimate in technological and personnel resources of Trails of Hoffman Limited had been brought into play, motivated now by Theodoric's personal animus.
What had been a remote and impersonal conflict had become once more, he reflected, that which it had always been for his father: A struggle which, at last, had brought his father's death and the disintegration of the organization. Thinking this, Rachmael began dutifully to fidget, then rose, began hunting for the girl with the light-emanating, gay music resounding, Swiss nipple.
The menu, the size of an old-fashioned antique disc record album, easily covered Freya's purse. He sat holding it open, reading the wine list, and especially the prices.
Detailed Review Summary of Lies, Inc. (The Unteleported Man) by Philip K. Dick
It cost a fortune even for a split of good wine, here. And for a fifth of a three-year-old generic white- All the retail establishments such as the Fox's Lair were exploiting Terra's overpopulation; people who had waited three hours to get in here to eat and drink would pay these prices-by then they had, psychologically, no choice.
A weak electric shock made his right hand quiver; the circular container of miniaturized deep-sleep components had already made physical contact with him and, with his fingers, he pried it, clam-like, loose from its grip, its tropism; he dropped it into his lap, felt its weight.
As directed, he then reached for it with his left hand, to transfer it to his cloak pocket People everywhere, those rising, those seating themselves, the robot busboys clearing, the waitresses with their lights and tunes everywhere Fallen to the floor? In disbelief he peered down, saw his shoes, the table legs, a discarded match folder.
No round gold-like container. They had gotten it. It was they who had sent the "busboy. Defeated, he sat vacantly staring. And then, at last, from the split of wine, he poured himself a second drink, lifted the glass as if in toast: It did not matter now whether he made contact with Dosker aboard her; lacking the components it was insanity to leave.
Freya returned, seated herself across from him, smiled "All okay? But it's not finished yet. He drank, his heart laboring, the delicate, expensive, delicious, and utterly superfluous wine-the wine of at least temporary utter defeat.
On the TV screen, Omar Jones, President of Newcolonizedland, highest official in residence at the great modular settlement at Whale's Mouth, said jovially, "Well, you folks back home, all bunched together there in those little boxes you live in-we greet you, wish you luck.
As if, Rachmael thought, it were a two-way transmission. But this was illusion. This was a video tape sent across in signal-form by way of von Einem's Telpor nexus at Schweinfort, New Whole Germany.
Not by a von Einem Telpor operating for five poscreds at one of Trails of Hoffman's retail outlets Although after the defeat at the Fox's Lair- They, the opposition had in effect severed him from his source of support from Lies Incorporated. He had sat across from their rep, pretty, dark-haired Freya Holm, drunk vintage wine with her, chatted, laughed. But when it came time to transfer vital components from Lies Incorporated across a five-inch space to him The vidphone in the miniscule bedroom-cubby of his conapt said Pwannnnnnk!
Indicating that someone desired to contact him. Shutting off the jolly face of President Omar Jones of Newcolonizedland, Whale's Mouth, he went to the vidphone, lifted the receiver. On its gray, undersized screen there formed the features of Matson Glazer-Holliday. However, my message to you is brief, and they're welcome to it. Contact the master circuit of your local public Xerox-spool library. The first unmanned data-receptors, recorders and transmitters which were traveled from the Sol system, years ago, to the Fomalhaut system; in fact, back in the twentieth century.
And glad to have-" He eyed Rachmael. Rachmael, bewildered, hung up the aud receiver. The records of the original unmanned monitors which had been dispatched to the Fomalhaut system years ago were public record; what could exist there that would be of value?
Nevertheless he dialed the local branch of the New New York Xerox-spool public library. Presently a robot runner appeared at his door with a variety of spools. Rachmael seated himself at his scanner, inserted the first spool, noting that it was marked A General Survey of the Fomalhaut Unmanned Inter-system Vehicle Reports, Shorter Version, by someone named G. For two hours he ran the spool. It showed that sun coming nearer and nearer, then the planets, one by one and disappointing, bitterly so, until now number nine bloomed into view; and all at once- No more barren rocks, unblunted mountains.
No airless, germless, hygienic void with methane as gas or crystallized at greater astronomical units from the sun.
The Unteleported Man & The Mind Monsters
Suddenly he saw a swaying and undulating, blue-green frieze, and this had caused Dr. This plum-ripe landscape had gotten Trails of Hoffman interested commercially-and had written mene, mene for Applebaum Enterprise. The last vid monitor-reading was fifteen years old. Since then direct contact via teleportation gear had made such ancient hardware obsolete. And hence the original unmanned monitors, in orbit around Fomalhaut- Had what?
Been abandoned, according to author Purdy. Their batteries turned off by remote instruct; they still, presumably, circled the sun within the orbit of Whale's Mouth. They were still there. Maybe the UN is teleporting the excess population into non-existence or aliens are kidnapping the would-be colonists. But operatives of the teleportation firm are on to his plan and out to stop him from ever leaving the Earth.
This is below average for Dick but still very readable and enjoyable. The flip-side book, "The Mind Monsters", is a forgettable pulp story about a survey ship pilot who crash lands on a planet with bug-eyed-monsters and characters who seems to belong in a Renaissance Faire. Dick and The Unteleported Man was no exception. Earth is overcrowded and people long for a fresh start. The answer is a new invention that teleports people to a far off planet with plenty of land and job opportunities for all.
The only problem, the teleporter only works one way and no one has heard from those that have made the trip. The protagonist is a ruined man with only one space ship left of a large fortune. He isn't convinced this teleporter is so I never seem to be let down by Phillip K. He isn't convinced this teleporter is so great and plans to make a 15 year trip in his ship to the planet and find out just what is going on.
This is a fun, short story that I recommend to anyone that is in the mood for some good sci-fi. To view it, click here. Featuring a being that for sure will hunt my literary dreams, if I ever dare to conceive him, the eye-eater. By any means has to be re-read; it's way too rich to fit in a single view.