Philip K. Dick - The minority report

1

first thought Anderton had when he saw the young man was: Im getting bald. Bald and fat and old. But he didnt say it aloud. Instead, he pushed back his chair, got to his feet, and came resolutely around the side of his desk, his right hand rigidly extended. Smiling with forced amiability, he shook hands with the young man.

Witwer? he asked, managing to make this query sound gracious.

Thats right, the young man said. But the names Ed to you, of course. That is, if you share my dislike for needless formality. The look on his blond, overly-confident face showed that he considered the matter settled. It would be Ed and John: Everything would be agreeably cooperative right from the start.

Did you have much trouble finding the building? Anderton asked guardedly, ignoring the too-friendly overture. Good God, he had to hold on to something. Fear touched him and he began to sweat. Witwer was moving around the office as if he already owned itas if he were measuring it for size. Couldnt he wait a couple of daysa decent interval?

No trouble, Witwer answered blithely, his hands in his pockets. Eagerly, he examined the voluminous files that lined the wall. Im not coming into your agency blind, you understand. I have quite a few ideas of my own about the way Precrime is run.

Shakily, Anderton lit his pipe. How is it run? I should like to know.

Not badly, Witwer said. In fact, quite well.

Anderton regarded him steadily. Is that your private opinion? Or is it just cant?

Witwer met his gaze guilelessly. Private and public. The Senates pleased with your work. In fact, theyre enthusiastic. He added, As enthusiastic as very old men can be.

Anderton winced, but outwardly he remained impassive. It cost him an effort, though. He wondered what Witwer really thought. What was actually going on in that closecropped skull? The young mans eyes were blue, brightand disturbingly clever. Witwer was nobodys fool. And obviously he had a great deal of ambition.

As I understand it, Anderton said cautiously, youre going to be my assistant until I retire.

Thats my understanding, too, the other replied, without an instants hesitation.

Which may be this year, or next yearor ten years from now. The pipe in Andertons hand trembled. Im under no compulsion to retire. I founded Precrime and I can stay on here as long as I want. Its purely my decision.

Witwer nodded, his expression still guileless. Of course.

With an effort, Anderton cooled down a trifle. I merely wanted to get things straight.

From the start, Witwer agreed. Youre the boss. What you say goes. With every evidence of sincerity, he asked: Would you care to show me the organization? Id like to familiarize myself with the general routine as soon as possible.

As they walked along the busy, yellow-lit tiers of offices, Anderton said: Youre acquainted with the theory of precrime, of course. I presume we can take that for granted.

I have the information publicly available, Witwer replied. With the aid of your precog mutants, youve boldly and successfully abolished the postcrime punitive system of jails and fines. As we all realize, punishment was never much of a deterrent, and could scarcely have afforded comfort to a victim already dead.

They had come to the descent lift. As it carried them swiftly downward, Anderton said: Youve probably grasped the basic legalistic drawback to precrime methodology. Were taking in individuals who have broken no law.

But they surely will, Witwer affirmed with conviction.

Happily they dontbecause we get them first, before they can commit an act of violence. So the commission of the crime itself is absolute metaphysics. We claim theyre culpable. They, on the other hand, eternally claim theyre innocent. And, in a sense, they are innocent.

The lift let them out, and they again paced down a yellow corridor. In our society we have no major crimes, Anderton went on, but we do have a detention camp full of would-be criminals.

Doors opened and closed, and they were in the analytical wing. Ahead of them rose impressive banks of equipmentthe data-receptors, and the computing mechanisms that studied and restructured the incoming material. And beyond the machinery sat the three precogs, almost lost to view in the maze of wiring.

There they are, Anderton said dryly. What do you think of them?

In the gloomy half-darkness the three idiots sat babbling. Every incoherent utterance, every random syllable, was analyzed, compared, reassembled in the form of visual symbols, transcribed on conventional punchcards, and ejected into various coded slots. All day long the idiots babbled, imprisoned in their special high-backed chairs, held in one rigid position by metal bands, and bundles of wiring, clamps. Their physical needs were taken care of automatically. They had no spiritual needs. Vegetable-like, they muttered and dozed and existed. Their minds were dull, confused, lost in shadows.

But not the shadows of today. The three gibbering, fumbling creatures, with their enlarged heads and wasted bodies, were contemplating the future. The analytical machinery was recording prophecies, and as the three precog idiots talked, the machinery carefully listened.

For the first time Witwers face lost its breezy confidence. A sick, dismayed expression crept into his eyes, a mixture of shame and moral shock. Its notpleasant, he murmured. I didnt realize they were soHe groped in his mind for the right word, gesticulating. Sodeformed.

Deformed and retarded, Anderton instantly agreed. Especially the girl, there. Donna is forty-five years old. But she looks about ten. The talent absorbs everything; the esp-lobe shrivels the balance of the frontal area. But what do we care? We get their prophecies. They pass on what we need. They dont understand any of it, but we do.

Subdued, Witwer crossed the room to the machinery. From a slot he collected a stack of cards. Are these names that have come up? he asked.

Obviously. Frowning, Anderton took the stack from him. I havent had a chance to examine them, he explained, impatiently concealing his annoyance.

Fascinated, Witwer watched the machinery pop a fresh card into the now empty slot. It was followed by a second and a third. From the whirring disks came one card after another. The precogs must see quite far into the future, Witwer exclaimed.

They see a quite limited span, Anderton informed him. One week or two ahead at the very most. Much of their data is worthless to ussimply not relevant to our line. We pass it on to the appropriate agencies. And they in turn trade data with us. Every important bureau has its cellar of treasured