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Philip K. Dick
Philip K. Dick was an American science fiction writer known for his exploration of altered states of consciousness, dystopian realities, and the nature of reality itself. Many of his works, such as "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?" (the basis for the film "Blade Runner"), delve into themes of identity, artificial intelligence, and authoritarianism. His prolific output has influenced not only literature but also film and television, establishing him as a pivotal figure in speculative fiction.
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Philip K. Dick
"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...
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Philip K. Dick
The Captain peered into the eyepiece of the telescope. He adjusted the focus quickly. "It was an atomic fission we saw, all right," he said presently. He sighed and pushed the eyepiece away. "Any of you who wants to look may do so. But it's not a pretty sight." "Let me look," Tance the archeologist said. He bent down to look, squinting. "Good Lord!" He leaped...
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Philip K. Dick
"Attention, Inner-Flight ship! Attention! You are ordered to land at the Control Station on Deimos for inspection. Attention! You are to land at once!" The metallic rasp of the speaker echoed through the corridors of the great ship. The passengers glanced at each other uneasily, murmuring and peering out the port windows at the small speck below, the dot of rock that was the Martian checkpoint,...
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Philip K. Dick
Taylor sat back in his chair reading the morning newspaper. The warm kitchen and the smell of coffee blended with the comfort of not having to go to work. This was his Rest Period, the first for a long time, and he was glad of it. He folded the second section back, sighing with contentment. "What is it?" Mary said, from the stove. "They pasted Moscow again last night." Taylor nodded his...
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Philip K. Dick
The slovenly wub might well have said: Many mentalk like philosophers and live like fools. They had almost finished with the loading. Outside stood the Optus, his arms folded, his face sunk in gloom. Captain Franco walked leisurely down the gangplank, grinning. "What's the matter?" he said. "You're getting paid for all this." The Optus said nothing. He turned away, collecting...
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Philip K. Dick
That night at the dinner table he brought it out and set it down beside her plate. Doris stared at it, her hand to her mouth. "My God, what is it?" She looked up at him, bright-eyed. "Well, open it." Doris tore the ribbon and paper from the square package with her sharp nails, her bosom rising and falling. Larry stood watching her as she lifted the lid. He lit a cigarette and leaned...
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Philip K. Dick
Kramer leaned back. “You can see the situation. How can we deal with a factor like this? The perfect variable.” “Perfect? Prediction should still be possible. A living thing still acts from necessity, the same as inanimate material. But the cause-effect chain is more subtle; there are more factors to be considered. The difference is quantitative, I think. The reaction of the living organism...
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Philip K. Dick
"Well, Corporal Westerburg," Doctor Henry Harris said gently, "just why do you think you're a plant?" As he spoke, Harris glanced down again at the card on his desk. It was from the Base Commander himself, made out in Cox's heavy scrawl: Doc, this is the lad I told you about. Talk to him and try to find out how he got this delusion. He's from the new Garrison, the new...
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Philip K. Dick
The Russian soldier made his way nervously up the ragged side of the hill, holding his gun ready. He glanced around him, licking his dry lips, his face set. From time to time he reached up a gloved hand and wiped perspiration from his neck, pushing down his coat collar. Eric turned to Corporal Leone. “Want him? Or can I have him?” He adjusted the view sight so the Russian’s features squarely...
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Philip K. Dick
Security Commissioner Reinhart rapidly climbed the front steps and entered the Council building. Council guards stepped quickly aside and he entered the familiar place of great whirring machines. His thin face rapt, eyes alight with emotion, Reinhart gazed intently up at the central SRB computer, studying its reading. “Straight gain for the last quarter,” observed Kaplan, the lab organizer. He...
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