Solar Lottery by Philip K. Dick Read Free Book Online

Moore’s broad smile increased; there was no doubt in his mind. “It’ll take me awhile to adjust,” he finished lamely. “I need time.”
    “You think you can adjust?” Moore asked.
    “Yes!”
    “I don’t. You have approximately twenty-four hours. That’s about how long it takes to convene a Challenge Convention and pick the first candidate. There should be a lot to choose from.”
    Cartwright’s thin body jerked. “Why?”
    “Verrick has put up a million gold dollars to the one who gets you. The offer is good until won, until you’re dead.”
    Cartwright heard the words, but they didn’t register. He was vaguely aware that Wakeman had come into the lounge and was moving up to Moore. The two of them walked away talking in low tones. He hardly heard them.
    Like a frigid nightmare, the phrase “a million gold dollars” dripped and leaked into his brain. There’d be plenty of takers. With that much money an unk could buy a variety of classifications on the black market. The best minds in the system would gamble their lives for that, in a society that was a constant gamble, an unceasing lottery.
    Wakeman came over to him shaking his head. “What ahopped-up mind. There was a lot of wild stuff we couldn’t catch. Something about bodies and bombs and assassins and randomness. He’s gone, now. We sent him off.”
    “What he said is true,” Cartwright gasped. “He’s right; I have no place here. I don’t belong here.”
    “His strategy is to make you think that.”
    “But it’s true!”
    Wakeman nodded reluctantly. “I know. That’s why it’s such a good strategy. We have a good strategy, too, I think. When the time comes, you’ll know about it.” He suddenly grabbed Cartwright by the shoulder. “Better sit down. I’ll pour you a drink; Verrick left some genuine Scotch around here, a couple of full cases.”
    Cartwright shook his head mutely.
    “Suit yourself.” Wakeman got out his pocket handkerchief and mopped his forehead. His hands were shaking. “I think I’ll have one, if you don’t mind. After teeping that high-powered blur of pathological drive, I can use a drink, myself.”

FOUR
    Ted Benteley stood by the kitchen door inhaling warm smells of cooking food. The Davis house was pleasant and bright. Al Davis, minus his shoes, was sitting contentedly before the tv set in the living room, gazing earnestly at the ads. His pretty brown-haired wife Laura was preparing dinner.
    “If that’s protine,” Benteley said to her, “it’s the best job of adulteration I’ve smelled.”
    “We never have protine,” Laura answered briskly. “We tried it the first year we were married, but you can taste it no matter how they fix it up. It’s terribly costly to buy natural foods, of course, but it’s worth it. Protine is for the unks.”
    “If it wasn’t for protine,” Al said, overhearing her, “the unks would have starved to death back in the twentieth century. You’re always passing out typical layman-type misinformation. Allow me to give you the straight dope.”
    “Please do,” Laura said.
    “Protine isn’t a natural algae. It’s a mutant that started out in culture tanks in the Middle East and gradually crept onto a variety of fresh-water surfaces.”
    “I know that. When I go into the bathroom in the morning don’t I find the darn stuff growing all over the wash basin and the pipes and in the tub and in the—fixture?”
    “It also grows over the Great Lakes,” Al said scientifically.
    “Well, this isn’t protine,” Laura said to Ted. “This is a real beef roast, real spring potatoes and green peas and white rolls.”
    “You two are living better than when I last saw you,” Benteley said. “What happened?”
    A complex look crossed Laura’s dainty face. “Didn’t you hear? Al jumped a whole class. He beat the Government Quiz; he and I studied together every night after he got home from work.”
    “I never heard of anybody beating the Quizzes. Was it mentioned on