{"id":23854,"date":"2025-09-04T09:26:53","date_gmt":"2025-09-04T13:26:53","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/?p=23854"},"modified":"2025-09-04T09:26:56","modified_gmt":"2025-09-04T13:26:56","slug":"philip-k-dick-the-pre-persons","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/short-stories\/philip-k-dick-the-pre-persons\/23854\/","title":{"rendered":"Philip K. Dick:\u00a0The Pre-Persons"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Synopsis<\/strong>: \u201cThe Pre-Persons\u201d<\/em> is a controversial short story by Philip K. Dick, published in October 1974 in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction<\/em>. Set in a dystopian future where abortion is legal up to the age of twelve, a boy flees when he sees the truck that collects unwanted children to take them to a state institution, where an algebra test determines whether or not they have a \u201csoul.\u201d Although his mother tries to calm him with legal arguments, the fear persists. In this tale, Dick presents a disturbing premise where the right to life and human dignity are subjected to bureaucratic and arbitrary criteria.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\n
\"Philip<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

The Pre-Persons<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

By Philip K. Dick
(Full story)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Past the grove of cypress trees Walter \u2014 he had been playing king of the mountain \u2014 saw the white truck, and he knew it for what it was. He thought, That\u2019s the abortion truck. Come to take some kid in for a postpartum down at the abortion place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And he thought, Maybe my folks called it. For me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He ran and hid among the blackberries, feeling the scratching of the thorns but thinking, It\u2019s better than having the air sucked out of your lungs. That\u2019s how they do it; they perform all the P.P.s on all the kids there at the same time. They have a big room for it. For the kids nobody wants.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Burrowing deeper into the blackberries, he listened to hear if the truck stopped; he heard its motor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI am invisible,\u201d he said to himself, a line he had learned at the fifth-grade play of Midsummer Night\u2019s Dream, <\/em>a line Oberon, whom he had played, had said. And after that no one could see him. Maybe that was true now. Maybe the magic saying worked in real life; so he said it again to himself, \u201cI am invisible.\u201d But he knew he was not. He could still see his arms and legs and shoes, and he knew they \u2014 everyone, the abortion truck man especially, and his mom and dad \u2014 they could see him too. If they looked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If it was him they were after this time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He wished he was a king; he wished he had magic dust all over him and a shining crown that glistened, and ruled fairyland and had Puck to confide to. To ask for advice from, even. Advice even if he himself was a king and bickered with Titania, his wife.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I guess, he thought, saying something doesn\u2019t make it true.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sun burned down on him and he squinted, but mostly he listened to the abortion truck motor; it kept making its sound, and his heart gathered hope as the sound went on and on. Some other kid, turned over to the abortion clinic, not him; someone up the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He made his difficult exit from the berry brambles shaking and in many places scratched and moved step by step in the direction of his house. And as he trudged he began to cry, mostly from the pain of the scratches but also from fear and relief.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, good Lord,\u201d his mother exclaimed, on seeing him. \u201cWhat in the name of God have you been doing?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He said stammeringly, \u201cI \u2014 saw \u2014 the abortion \u2014 truck.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd you thought it was for you?\u201d Mutely, he nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cListen, Walter,\u201d Cynthia Best said, kneeling down and taking hold of his trembling hands, \u201cI promise, your dad and I both promise, you\u2019ll never be sent to the County Facility. Anyhow you\u2019re too old. They only take children up to twelve.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut Jeff Vogel \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHis parents got him in just before the new law went into effect. They couldn\u2019t take him now, legally. They couldn\u2019t take you now. Look \u2014 you have a soul; the law says a twelve-year-old boy has a soul. So he can\u2019t go to the County Facility. See? You\u2019re safe. Whenever you see the abortion truck, it\u2019s for someone else, not you. Never for you. Is that clear? It\u2019s come for another younger child who doesn\u2019t have a soul yet, a pre-person.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Staring down, not meeting his mother\u2019s gaze, he said, \u201cI don\u2019t feel like I got a soul; I feel like I always did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a legal matter,\u201d his mother said briskly. \u201cStrictly according to age. And you\u2019re past the age. The Church of Watchers got Congress to pass the law \u2014 actually they, those church people wanted a lower age; they claimed the soul entered the body at three years old, but a compromise bill was put through. The important thing for you is that you are legally safe, however you feel inside; do you see?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d he said, nodding.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou knew that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He burst out with anger and grief, \u201cWhat do you think it\u2019s like, maybe waiting every day for someone to come and put you in a wire cage in a truck and \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour fear is irrational,\u201d his mother said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI saw them take Jeff Vogel that day. He was crying, and the man just opened the back of the truck and put him in and shut the back of the truck.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat was two years ago. You\u2019re weak.\u201d His mother glared at him. \u201cYour grandfather would whip you if he saw you now and heard you talk this way. Not your father. He\u2019d just grin and say something stupid. Two years later, and intellectually you know you\u2019re past the legal maximum age! How \u2014\u201d She struggled for the word. \u201cYou are being depraved<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd he never came back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPerhaps someone who wanted a child went inside the County Facility and found him and adopted him. Maybe he\u2019s got a better set of parents who really care for him. They keep them thirty days before they destroy them.\u201d She corrected herself. \u201cPut them to sleep, I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was not reassured. Because he knew \u201cput him to sleep\u201d or \u201cput them to sleep\u201d was a Mafia term. He drew away from his mother, no longer wanting her comfort. She had blown it, as far as he was concerned; she had shown something about herself or, anyhow, the source of what she believed and thought and perhaps did. What all of them did. I know I\u2019m no different, he thought, than two years ago when I was just a little kid; if I have a soul now like the law says, then I had a soul then, or else we have no souls \u2014 the only real thing is just a horrible metallic-painted truck with wire over its windows carrying off kids their parents no longer want, parents using an extension of the old abortion law that let them kill an unwanted child before it came out: because it had no \u201csoul\u201d or \u201cidentity,\u201d it could be sucked out by a vacuum system in less than two minutes. A doctor could do a hundred a day, and it was legal because the unborn child wasn\u2019t \u201chuman.\u201d He was a pre-person. Just like this truck now; they merely set the date forward as to when the soul entered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Congress had inaugurated a simple test to determine the approximate age at which the soul entered the body: the ability to formulate higher math like algebra. Up to then, it was only body, animal instincts and body, animal reflexes and responses to stimuli. Like Pavlov\u2019s dogs when they saw a little water seep in under the door of the Leningrad laboratory; they \u201cknew\u201d but were not human.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I guess I\u2019m human, Walter thought, and looked up into the gray, severe face of his mother, with her hard eyes and rational grimness. I guess I\u2019m like you, he thought. Hey, it\u2019s neat to be a human, he thought; then you don\u2019t have to be afraid of the truck coming.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou feel better,\u201d his mother observed. \u201cI\u2019ve lowered your threshold of anxiety.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not so freaked,\u201d Walter said. It was over; the truck had gone and not taken him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But it would be back in a few days. It cruised perpetually.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Anyhow he had a few days. And then the sight of it \u2014 if only I didn\u2019t know they suck the air out of the lungs of the kids they have there, he thought. Destroy them that way. Why? Cheaper, his dad had said. Saves the taxpayers money.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He thought then about taxpayers and what they would look like. Something that scowled at all children, he thought. That did not answer if the child asked them a question. A thin face, lined with watch-worry grooves, eyes always moving. Or maybe fat; one or the other. It was the thin one that scared him; it didn\u2019t enjoy life nor want life to be. It flashed the message, \u201cDie, go away, sicken, don\u2019t exist.\u201d And the abortion truck was proof \u2014 or the instrument \u2014 of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMom,\u201d he said, \u201chow do you shut a County Facility? You know, the abortion clinic where they take the babies and little kids.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou go and petition the county legislature,\u201d his mother said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know what I\u2019d do?\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019d wait until there were no kids in there, only county employees, and I\u2019d firebomb it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t talk like that!\u201d his mother said severely, and he saw on her face the stiff lines of the thin taxpayer. And it frightened him; his own mother frightened him. The cold and opaque eyes mirrored nothing, no soul inside, and he thought, It\u2019s you who don\u2019t have a soul, <\/em>you and your skinny messages not-to-be. Not us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then he ran outside to play again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


A bunch more kids had seen the truck; he and they stood around together, talking now and then, but mostly kicking at rocks and dirt, and occasionally stepping on a bad bug.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho\u2019d the truck come for?\u201d Walter said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFleischhacker. Earl Fleischhacker.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid they get him?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure, didn\u2019t you hear the yelling?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWas his folks home at the time?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNaw, they split earlier on some shuck about \u2018taking the car in to be greased.\u2019 \u201c<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey <\/em>called the truck?\u201d Walter said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure, it\u2019s the law; it\u2019s gotta be the parents. But they were too chickenshit to be there when the truck drove up. Shit, he really yelled; I guess you\u2019re too far away to hear, but he really yelled.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Walter said, \u201cYou know what we ought to do? Firebomb the truck and snuff the driver.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All the other kids looked at him contemptuously. \u201cThey put you in the mental hospital for life if you act out like that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSometimes for life,\u201d Pete Bride corrected. \u201cOther times they \u2018build up a new personality that is socially viable.\u2019 \u201c<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen what should we do?\u201d Walter said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re twelve; you\u2019re safe.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut suppose they change the law.\u201d Anyhow it did not assuage his anxiety to know that he was technically safe; the truck still came for others and still frightened him. He thought of the younger kids down at the Facility now, looking through the Cyclone fence hour by hour, day after day, waiting and marking the passage of time and hoping someone would come in and adopt them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou ever been down there?\u201d he said to Pete Bride. \u201cAt the County Facility? All those really little kids, like babies some of them, just maybe a year old. And they don\u2019t even know what\u2019s in store.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe babies get adopted,\u201d Zack Yablonski said. \u201cIt\u2019s the old ones that don\u2019t stand a chance. They\u2019re the ones that get you; like, they talk to people who come in and put on a good show, like they\u2019re desirable. But people know they wouldn\u2019t be there if they weren\u2019t \u2014 you know, undesirable.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet the air out of the tires,\u201d Walter said, his mind working.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf the truck? Hey, and you know if you drop a mothball in the gas tank, about a week later the motor wears out. We could do that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ben Blaire said, \u201cBut then they\u2019d be after us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\u2019re after us now,\u201d Walter said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI think we ought to firebomb the truck,\u201d Harry Gottlieb said, \u201cbut suppose there\u2019re kids in it. It\u2019ll burn them up. The truck picks up maybe \u2014 shit, I don\u2019t know. Five kids a day from different parts of the county.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know they even take dogs too?\u201d Walter said. \u201cAnd cats; you see the truck for that only about once a month. The pound truck it\u2019s called. Otherwise it\u2019s the same; they put them in a big chamber and suck the air out of their lungs and they die. They\u2019d do that even to animals! Little animals!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll believe that when I see it,\u201d Harry Gottlieb said, derision on his face, and disbelief. \u201cA truck that carries off dogs.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n


He knew it was true, though. Walter had seen the pound truck two different times. Cats, dogs, and mainly us, he thought glumly. I mean, if they\u2019d start with us, it\u2019s natural they\u2019d wind up taking people\u2019s pets, too; we\u2019re not that different. But what kind of a person would do that, even if it is the law? \u201cSome laws are made to be kept, and some to be broken,\u201d he remembered from a book he had read. We ought to firebomb the pound truck first, he thought; that\u2019s the worst, that truck.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Why is it, he wondered, that the more helpless a creature, the easier it was for some people to snuff it? Like a baby in the womb; the original abortions, \u201cpre-partums,\u201d or \u201cpre-persons\u201d they were called now. How could they defend themselves? Who would speak for them? All those lives, a hundred by each doctor a day\u2026 and all helpless and silent and then just dead. The fuckers, he thought. That\u2019s why they do it; they know they can do it; they get off on their macho power. And so a little thing that wanted to see the light of day is vacuumed out in less than two minutes. And the doctor goes on to the next chick.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There ought to be an organization, he thought, similar to the Mafia. Snuff the snuffers, or something. A contract man walks up to one of those doctors, pulls out a tube, and sucks the doctor into it, where he shrinks down like an unborn baby. An unborn baby doctor, with a stethoscope the size of a pinhead\u2026 he laughed, thinking of that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Children don\u2019t know. But children know everything, knew too much. The abortion truck, as it drove along, played a Good Humor Man\u2019s jingle:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jack and Jill<\/em>
Went up the hill<\/em>
To fetch a pail of water<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

A tape loop in the sound system of the truck, built especially by Ampex for GM, blared that out when it wasn\u2019t actively nearing a seize. Then the driver shut off the sound system and glided along until he found the proper house. However, once he had the unwanted child in the back of the truck, and was either starting back to the County Facility or beginning another pre-person pick-up, he turned back on<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jack and Jill<\/em>
Went up the hill<\/em>
To fetch a pail of water<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thinking of himself, Oscar Ferris, the driver of truck three, finished, \u201cJack fell down and broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after.\u201d What the hell\u2019s a crown? Ferris wondered. Probably a private part. He grinned. Probably Jack had been playing with it, or Jill, both of them together. Water, my ass, he thought. I know what they went off into the bushes for. Only, Jack fell down, and his thing broke right off. \u201cTough luck, Jill,\u201d he said aloud as he expertly drove the four-year-old truck along the winding curves of California Highway One.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kids are like that, Ferris thought. Dirty and playing with dirty things, like themselves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This was still wild and open country, and many stray children scratched about in the canyons and fields; he kept his eye open, and sure enough \u2014 off to his right scampered a small one, about six, trying to get out of sight. Ferris at once pressed the button that activated the siren of the truck. The boy froze, stood in fright, waited as the truck, still playing \u201cJack and Jill,\u201d coasted up beside him and came to a halt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShow me your D papers,\u201d Ferris said, without getting out of the truck; he leaned one arm out the window, showing his brown uniform and patch; his symbols of authority.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The boy had a scrawny look, like many strays, but, on the other hand, he wore glasses. Tow-headed, in jeans and T-shirt, he stared up in fright at Ferris, making no move to get out his identification.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou got a D card or not?\u201d Ferris said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cW-w-w-what\u2019s a \u2018D card\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In his official voice, Ferris explained to the boy his rights under the law. \u201cYour parent, either one, or legal guardian, fills out form 36-W, which is a formal statement of desirability. That they or him or her regard you as desirable. You don\u2019t have one? Legally, that makes you a stray, even if you have parents who want to keep you; they are subject to a fine of $500.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh,\u201d the boy said. \u201cWell, I lost it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen a copy would be on file. They microdot all those documents and records. I\u2019ll take you in \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTo the County Facility?\u201d Pipe-cleaner legs wobbled in fear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey have thirty days to claim you by filling out the 36-W form. If they haven\u2019t done it by then \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy mom and dad never agree. Right now I\u2019m staying with my dad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe didn\u2019t give you a D card to identify yourself with.\u201d Mounted transversely across the cab of the truck was a shotgun. There was always the possibility that trouble might break out when he picked up a stray. Reflexively, Ferris glanced up at it. It was there, all right, a pump shotgun. He had used it only five times in his law-enforcement career. It could blow a man into molecules. \u201cI have to take you in,\u201d he said, opening the truck door and bringing out his keys. \u201cThere\u2019s another kid back there; you can keep each other company.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d the boy said. \u201cI won\u2019t go.\u201d Blinking, he confronted Ferris, stubborn and rigid as stone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, you probably heard a lot of stories about the County Facility. It\u2019s only the warpies, the creepies, that get put to sleep; any nice normal-looking kid\u2019ll be adopted \u2014 we\u2019ll cut your hair and fix you up so you look professionally groomed. We want to find you a home. That\u2019s the whole idea. It\u2019s just a few, those who are \u2014 you know \u2014 ailing mentally or physically that no one wants. Some well-to-do individual will snap you up in a minute; you\u2019ll see. Then you won\u2019t be running around out here alone with no parents to guide you. You\u2019ll have new parents, and listen \u2014 they\u2019ll be paying heavy bread for you; hell, they\u2019ll register <\/em>you. Do you see? It\u2019s more a temporary lodging place where we\u2019re taking you right now, to make you available to prospective new parents.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut if nobody adopts me in a month \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHell, you could fall off a cliff here at Big Sur and kill yourself. Don\u2019t worry. The desk at the Facility will contact your blood parents, and most likely they\u2019ll come forth with the Desirability Form (15A) sometime today even. And meanwhile you\u2019ll get a nice ride and meet a lot of new kids. And how often \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d the boy said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis is to inform you,\u201d Ferris said, in a different tone, \u201cthat I am a County Official.\u201d He opened his truck door, jumped down, showed his gleaming metal badge to the boy. \u201cI am Peace Officer Ferris and I now order you to enter by the rear of the truck.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A tall man approached them, walking with wariness; he, like the boy, wore jeans and a T-shirt, but no glasses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou the boy\u2019s father?\u201d Ferris said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The man, hoarsely, said, \u201cAre you taking him to the pound?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe consider it a child protection shelter,\u201d Ferris said. \u201cThe use of the term \u2018pound\u2019 is a radical hippie slur, and distorts \u2014 deliberately \u2014 the overall picture of what we do.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gesturing toward the truck, the man said, \u201cYou\u2019ve got kids locked in there in those cages, have you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019d like to see your ID,\u201d Ferris said. \u201cAnd I\u2019d like to know if you\u2019ve ever been arrested before.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cArrested and found innocent? Or arrested and found guilty?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnswer my question, sir,\u201d Ferris said, showing his black flatpack that he used with adults to identify him as a County Peace Officer. \u201cWho are you? Come on, let\u2019s see your ID.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The man said, \u201cEd Gantro is my name and I have a record. When I was eighteen, I stole four crates of Coca-Cola from a parked truck.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou were apprehended at the scene?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d the man said. \u201cWhen I took the empties back to cash in on the refunds. That\u2019s when they seized me. I served six months.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHave you a Desirability Card for your boy here?\u201d Ferris asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe couldn\u2019t afford the $90 it cost.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, now it\u2019ll cost you five hundred. You should have gotten it in the first place. My suggestion is that you consult an attorney.\u201d Ferris moved toward the boy, declaring officially. \u201cI\u2019d like you to join the other juveniles in the rear section of the vehicle.\u201d To the man he said, \u201cTell him to do as instructed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The man hesitated and then said. \u201cTim, get in the goddamn truck. And we\u2019ll get a lawyer; we\u2019ll get the D card for you. It\u2019s futile to make trouble \u2014 technically you\u2019re a stray.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201d \u2018A stray,\u2019 \u201d the boy said, regarding his father.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ferris said, \u201cExactly right. You have thirty days, you know, to raise the \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo you also take cats?\u201d the boy said. \u201cAre there any cats in there? I really like cats; they\u2019re all right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI handle only P.P. cases,\u201d Ferris said. \u201cSuch as yourself.\u201d With a key he unlocked the back of the truck. \u201cTry not to relieve yourself while you\u2019re in the truck; it\u2019s hard as hell to get the odor and stains out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The boy did not seem to understand the word; he gazed from Ferris to his father in perplexity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust don\u2019t go to the bathroom while you\u2019re in the truck,\u201d his father explained. \u201cThey want to keep it sanitary, because that cuts down their maintenance costs.\u201d His voice was savage and grim.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWith stray dogs or cats,\u201d Ferris said, \u201cthey just shoot them on sight, or put out poison bait.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, yeah, I know that Warfarin,\u201d the boy\u2019s father said. \u201cThe animal eats it over a period of a week, and then he bleeds to death internally.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWith no pain,\u201d Ferris pointed out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIsn\u2019t that better than sucking the air from their lungs?\u201d Ed Gantro said. \u201cSuffocating them on a mass basis?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, with animals the county authorities \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI mean the children. Like Tim.\u201d His father stood beside him, and they both looked into the rear of the truck. Two dark shapes could be dimly discerned, crouching as far back as possible, in the starkest form of despair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFleischhacker!\u201d the boy Tim said. \u201cDidn\u2019t you have a D card?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBecause of energy and fuel shortages,\u201d Ferris was saying, \u201cpopulation must be radically cut. Or in ten years there\u2019ll be no food for anyone. This is one phase of \u2014 \u201c<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI had a D card,\u201d Earl Fleischhacker said, \u201cbut my folks took it away from me. They didn\u2019t want me any more; so they took it back, and then they called for the abortion truck.\u201d His voice croaked; obviously he had been secretly crying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd what\u2019s the difference between a five-month-old fetus and what we have here?\u201d Ferris was saying. \u201cIn both cases what you have is an unwanted child. They simply liberalized the laws.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tim\u2019s father, staring at him, said, \u201cDo you agree with these laws?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, it\u2019s really all up to Washington and what they decide will solve our needs in these days of crises,\u201d Ferris said. \u201cI only enforce their edicts. If this law changed \u2014 hell. I\u2019d be trucking empty milk cartons for recycling or something and be just as happy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust <\/em>as happy? You enjoy your work?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ferris said, mechanically. \u201cIt gives me the opportunity to move around a lot and to meet people.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tim\u2019s father Ed Gantro said, \u201cYou are insane. This postpartum abortion scheme and the abortion laws before it where the unborn child had no legal rights \u2014 it was removed like a tumor. Look what it\u2019s come to. If an unborn child can be killed without due process, why not a born one? What I see in common in both cases is their helplessness; the organism that is killed had no chance, no ability, to protect itself. You know what? I want you to take me in, too. In back of the truck with the three children.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut the President and Congress have declared that when you\u2019re past twelve you have a soul,\u201d Ferris said. \u201cI can\u2019t take you. It wouldn\u2019t be right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI have no soul,\u201d Tim\u2019s father said. \u201cI got to be twelve and nothing happened. Take me along, too. Unless you can find my soul.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJeez,\u201d Ferris said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cUnless you can show me my soul,\u201d Tim\u2019s father said, \u201cunless you can specifically locate it, then I insist you take me in as no different from these kids.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ferris said, \u201cI\u2019ll have to use the radio to get in touch with the County Facility, see what they say.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou do that,\u201d Tim\u2019s father said, and laboriously clambered up into the rear of the truck, helping Tim along with him. With the other two boys they waited while Peace Officer Ferris, with all his official identification as to who he was, talked on his radio.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


\u201cI have here a Caucasian male, approximately thirty, who insists that he be transported to the County Facility with his infant son,\u201d Ferris was saying into his mike. \u201cHe claims to have no soul, which he maintains puts him in the class of subtwelve-year-olds. I don\u2019t have with me or know any test to detect the presence of a soul, at least any I can give out here in the boondocks that\u2019ll later on satisfy a court. I mean, he probably can do algebra and higher math; he seems to possess an intelligent mind. But \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAffirmative as to bringing him in,\u201d his superior\u2019s voice on the two-way radio came back to him. \u201cWe\u2019ll deal with him here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re going to deal with you downtown,\u201d Ferris said to Tim\u2019s father, who, with the three smaller figures, was crouched down in the dark recesses of the rear of the truck. Ferris slammed the door, locked it \u2014 an extra precaution, since the boys were already netted by electronic bands \u2014 and then started up the truck.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jack and Jill<\/em>
Went up the hill<\/em>
To fetch a pail of water<\/em>
Jack fell down<\/em>
And broke his crown<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Somebody\u2019s sure going to get their crown broke, Ferris thought as he drove along the winding road, and it isn\u2019t going to be me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can\u2019t do algebra,\u201d he heard Tim\u2019s father saying to the three boys. \u201cSo I can\u2019t have a soul.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Fleischhacker boy said, snidely, \u201cI can, but I\u2019m only nine. So what good does it do me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what I\u2019m going to use as my plea at the Facility,\u201d Tim\u2019s father continued. \u201cEven long division was hard for me. I don\u2019t have a soul. I belong with you three little guys.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ferris, in a loud voice, called back, \u201cI don\u2019t want you soiling the truck, you understand? It costs us \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t tell me,\u201d Tim\u2019s father said, \u201cbecause I wouldn\u2019t understand. It would be too complex, the proration and accrual and fiscal terms like that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve got a weirdo back there, Ferris thought, and was glad he had the pump shotgun mounted within easy reach. \u201cYou know the world is running out of everything,\u201d Ferris called back to them, \u201cenergy and apple juice and fuel and bread; we\u2019ve got to keep the population down, and the embolisms from the Pill make it impossible \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNone of us knows those big words,\u201d Tim\u2019s father broke in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Angrily, and feeling baffled, Ferris said. \u201cZero population growth; that\u2019s the answer to the energy and food crisis. It\u2019s like \u2014 shit, it\u2019s like when they introduced the rabbit in Australia, and it had no natural enemies, and so it multiplied until, like people \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI do understand multiplication,\u201d Tim\u2019s father said. \u201cAnd adding and subtraction. But that\u2019s all.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Four crazy rabbits flopping across the road, Ferris thought. People pollute the natural environment, he thought. What must this part of the country have been like before man? Well, he thought, with the postpartum abortions taking place in every county in the U.S. of A. we may see that day; we may stand and look once again upon a virgin land.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We, he thought. I guess there won\u2019t be any we. I mean, he thought, giant sentient computers will sweep out the landscape with their slotted video receptors and find it pleasing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The thought cheered him up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


\u201cLet\u2019s have an abortion!\u201d Cynthia declared excitedly as she entered the house with an armload of synthogroceries. \u201cWouldn\u2019t that be neat? Doesn\u2019t that turn you on?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her husband Ian Best said dryly, \u201cBut first you have to get pregnant. So make an appointment with Dr. Guido \u2014 that should cost me only fifty or sixty dollars \u2014 and have your I.U.D. removed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI think it\u2019s slipping down anyhow. Maybe, if \u2014\u201d Her pert dark shag-haired head tossed in glee. \u201cIt probably hasn\u2019t worked properly since last year. So I could be pregnant now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian said caustically. \u201cYou could put an ad in the Free Press; <\/em>\u2018Man wanted to fish out I.U.D. with coathanger.\u2019 \u201c<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut you see,\u201d Cynthia said, following him as he made his way to the master closet to hang up his status-tie and class-coat, \u201cit\u2019s the in thing now, to have an abortion. Look, what do we have? A kid. We have Walter. Every time someone comes over to visit and sees him, I know they\u2019re wondering. \u2018Where did you screw up?\u2019 It\u2019s embarrassing.\u201d She added, \u201cAnd the kind of abortions they give now, for women in early stages \u2014 it only costs one hundred dollars\u2026 the price of ten gallons of gas! And you can talk about it with practically everybody who drops by for hours.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian turned to face her and said in a level voice. \u201cDo you get to keep the embryo? Bring it home in a bottle or sprayed with special luminous paint so it glows in the dark like a night light?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIn any color you want!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe embryo<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, the bottle. And the color of the fluid. It\u2019s in a preservative solution, so really it\u2019s a lifetime acquisition. It even has a written guarantee, I think.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian folded his arms to keep himself calm: alpha state condition. \u201cDo you know that there are people who would want to have a child? Even an ordinary dumb one? That go to the County Facility week after week looking for a little newborn baby? These ideas \u2014 there\u2019s been this world panic about overpopulation. Nine trillion humans stacked like kindling in every block of every city. Okay, if that were going on \u2014\u201d He gestured. \u201cBut what we have now is not enough <\/em>children. Or don\u2019t you watch TV or read the Times<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a drag,\u201d Cynthia said. \u201cFor instance, today Walter came into the house freaked out because the abortion truck cruised by. It\u2019s a drag taking care of him. You <\/em>have it easy; you\u2019re at work. But me<\/em> \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know what I\u2019d like to do to the Gestapo abortion wagon? Have two ex-drinking buddies of mine armed with BARs, one on each side of the road. And when the wagon passes by \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a ventilated air-conditioned truck, not a wagon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He glared at her and then went to the bar in the kitchen to fix himself a drink. Scotch will do, he decided. Scotch and milk, a good before-\u201cdinner\u201d drink.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As he mixed his drink, his son Walter came in. He had, on his face, an unnatural pallor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe \u2018bort truck went by today, didn\u2019t it?\u201d Ian said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI thought maybe \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo way. Even if your mother and I saw a lawyer and had a legal document drawn up, an un-D Form, you\u2019re too old. So relax.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know intellectually,\u201d Walter said, \u201cbut \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018 \u2018Do not seek to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee,\u2019 \u201d Ian quoted (inaccurately). \u201cListen, Walt, let me lay something on you.\u201d He took a big, long drink of Scotch and milk. \u201cThe name of all this is, kill me. <\/em>Kill them when they\u2019re the size of a fingernail, or a baseball, or later on, if you haven\u2019t done it already, suck the air out of the lungs of a ten-year-old boy and let him die. It\u2019s a certain kind of woman advocating this all. They used to call them \u2018castrating females.\u2019 Maybe that was once the right term, except that these women, these hard cold women, didn\u2019t just want to \u2014 well, they want to do in the whole boy <\/em>or man, make all of them dead, not just the part that makes him a man. Do you see?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Walter said, but in a dim sense, very frightening, he did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After another hit of his drink, Ian said, \u201cAnd we\u2019ve got one living right here, Walter. Here in our very house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat do we have living here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat the Swiss psychiatrists call a kindermorder<\/em>,\u201d Ian said, deliberately choosing a term he knew his boy wouldn\u2019t understand. \u201cYou know what,\u201d he said, \u201cyou and I could get onto an Amtrak coach and head north and just keep on going until we reached Vancouver, British Columbia, and we could take a ferry to Vancouver Island and never be seen by anybody down here again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut what about Mom?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI would send her a cashier\u2019s check,\u201d Ian said. \u201cEach month. And she would be quite happy with that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s cold up there, isn\u2019t it?\u201d Walter said. \u201cI mean, they have hardly any fuel and they wear \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAbout like San Francisco. Why? Are you afraid of wearing a lot of sweaters and sitting close to the fireplace? What did you see today that frightened you a hell of a lot more?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, yeah.\u201d He nodded somberly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe could live on a little island off Vancouver Island and raise our own food. You can plant stuff up there and it grows. And the truck won\u2019t come there; you\u2019ll never see it again. They have different laws. The women up there are different. There was this one girl I knew when I was up there for a while, a long time ago; she had long black hair and smoked Players cigarettes all the time and never ate anything or ever stopped talking. Down here we\u2019re seeing a civilization in which the desire by women to destroy their own \u2014\u201d Ian broke off; his wife had walked into the kitchen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf you drink any more of that stuff,\u201d she said to him, \u201cyou\u2019ll barf it up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d Ian said irritably. \u201cOkay!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd don\u2019t yell,\u201d Cynthia said. \u201cI thought for dinner tonight it\u2019d be nice if you took us out. Dal Key\u2019s said on TV they have steak for early comers.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wrinkling his nose, Walter said, \u201cThey have raw oysters.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBlue points,\u201d Cynthia said. \u201cIn the half shell, on ice. I love them. All right, Ian? Is it decided?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To his son Walter, Ian said. \u201cA raw blue point oyster looks like nothing more on earth than what the surgeon \u2014\u201d He became silent, then. Cynthia glared at him, and his son was puzzled. \u201cOkay,\u201d he said, \u201cbut I get to order steak.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMe too,\u201d Walter said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Finishing his drink, Ian said more quietly, \u201cWhen was the last time you fixed dinner here in the house? For the three of us?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI fixed you that pigs\u2019 ears and rice dish on Friday,\u201d Cynthia said. \u201cMost of which went to waste because it was something new and on the nonmandatory list. Remember, dear<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ignoring her, Ian said to his son, \u201cOf course, that type of woman will sometimes, even often, be found up there, too. She has existed throughout time and all cultures. But since Canada has no law permitting postpartum \u2014\u201d He broke off. \u201cIt\u2019s the carton of milk talking,\u201d he explained to Cynthia. \u201cThey adulterate it these days with sulfur. Pay no attention or sue somebody; the choice is yours.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cynthia, eyeing him, said, \u201cAre you running a fantasy number in your head again about splitting?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBoth of us,\u201d Walter broke in. \u201cDad\u2019s taking me with him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhere?\u201d Cynthia said, casually.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian said. \u201cWherever the Amtrak track leads us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re going to Vancouver Island in Canada,\u201d Walter said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, really?\u201d Cynthia said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After a pause Ian said, \u201cReally.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd what the shit am I supposed to do when you\u2019re gone? Peddle my ass down at the local bar? How\u2019ll I meet the payments on the various \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI will continually mail you checks,\u201d Ian said. \u201cBonded by giant banks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure. You bet. Yep. Right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou could come along,\u201d Ian said, \u201cand catch fish by leaping into English Bay and grinding them to death with your sharp teeth. You could rid British Columbia of its fish population overnight. All those ground-up fish, wondering vaguely what happened\u2026 swimming along one minute and then this \u2014 ogre, this fish-destroying monster with a single luminous eye in the center of its forehead, falls on them and grinds them into grit. There would soon be a legend. News like that spreads. At least among the last surviving fish.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, but Dad,\u201d Walter said, \u201csuppose there are no surviving fish.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen it will have been all in vain,\u201d Ian said, \u201cexcept for your mother\u2019s own personal pleasure at having bitten to death an entire species in British Columbia, where fishing is the largest industry anyhow, and so many other species depend on it for survival.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut then everyone in British Columbia will be out of work,\u201d Walter said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Ian said, \u201cthey will be cramming the dead fish into cans to sell to Americans. You see, Walter, in the olden days, before your mother multi-toothedly bit to death all the fish in British Columbia, the simple rustics stood with stick in hand, and when a fish swam past, they whacked the fish over the head. This will create <\/em>jobs, not eliminate them. Millions of cans of suitably marked \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know,\u201d Cynthia said quickly, \u201che believes what you tell him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian said, \u201cWhat I tell him is true.\u201d Although not, he realized, in a literal sense. To his wife he said, \u201cI\u2019ll take you out to dinner. Get our ration stamps, put on that blue knit blouse that shows off your boobs; that way you\u2019ll get a lot of attention and maybe they won\u2019t remember to collect the stamps.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s a \u2018boob\u2019?\u201d Walter asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSomething fast becoming obsolete,\u201d Ian said, \u201clike the Pontiac GTO. Except as an ornament to be admired and squeezed. Its function is dying away.\u201d As is our race, he thought, once we gave full rein to those who would destroy the unborn \u2014 in other words, the most helpless creatures alive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA boob,\u201d Cynthia said severely to her son, \u201cis a mammary gland that ladies possess which provides milk to their young.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGenerally there are two of them,\u201d Ian said. \u201cYour operational boob and then your backup boob, in case there is powerful failure in the operational one. I suggest the elimination of a step in all this pre-person abortion mania,\u201d he said. \u201cWe will send all the boobs in the world to the County Facilities. The milk, if any, will be sucked out of them, by mechanical means of course; they will become useless and empty, and then the young will die naturally, deprived of any and all sources of nourishment.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere\u2019s formula,\u201d Cynthia said, witheringly. \u201cSimilac and those. I\u2019m going to change so we can go out.\u201d She turned and strode toward their bedroom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know,\u201d Ian said after her, \u201cif there was any way you could get me classified as a pre-person, you\u2019d send me there. To the Facility with the greatest facility.\u201d And, he thought, I\u2019ll bet I wouldn\u2019t be the only husband in California who went. There\u2019d be plenty others. In the same bag as me, then as now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSounds like a plan,\u201d Cynthia\u2019s voice came to him dimly; she had heard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not just a hatred for the helpless,\u201d Ian Best said. \u201cMore is involved. Hatred of what? Of everything that grows?\u201d You blight them, he thought, before they grow big enough to have muscle and the tactics and skill for fight \u2014 big like I am in relation to you, with my fully developed musculature and weight. So much easier when the other person \u2014 I should say pre-person \u2014 is floating and dreaming in the amniotic fluid and knows nothing about how to nor the need to hit back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Where did the motherly virtues go to? he asked himself. When mothers especially <\/em>protected what was small and weak and defenseless?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Our competitive society, he decided. The survival of the strong. Not the fit, he thought; just those who hold the power. <\/em>And are not going to surrender it to the next generation: it is the powerful and evil old against the helpless and gentle new.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDad,\u201d Walter said, \u201care we really going to Vancouver Island in Canada and raise real food and not have anything to be afraid of any more?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Half to himself, Ian said, \u201cSoon as I have the money.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know what that means. It\u2019s a \u2018we\u2019ll see\u2019 number you say. We aren\u2019t going, are we?\u201d He watched his father\u2019s face intently. \u201cShe won\u2019t let us, like taking me out of school and like that; she always brings up that\u2026 right?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt lies ahead for us someday,\u201d Ian said doggedly. \u201cMaybe not this month but someday, sometime. I promise.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd there\u2019s no abortion trucks there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo. None. Canadian law is different.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMake it soon, Dad. Please.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His father fixed himself a second Scotch and milk and did not answer; his face was somber and unhappy, almost as if he was about to cry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


In the rear of the abortion truck three children and one adult huddled, jostled by the turning of the truck. They fell against the restraining wire that separated them, and Tim Gantro\u2019s father felt keen despair at being cut off mechanically from his own boy. A nightmare during day, he thought. Caged like animals; his noble gesture had brought only more suffering to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy\u2019d you say you don\u2019t know algebra?\u201d Tim asked, once. \u201cI know you know even calculus and trig-something; you went to Stanford University.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI want to show,\u201d he said, \u201cthat either they ought to kill all of us or none of us. But not divide along these bureaucratic arbitrary lines. \u2018When does the soul enter the body?\u2019 What kind of rational question is that in this day and age? It\u2019s Medieval.\u201d In fact, he thought, it\u2019s a pretext \u2014 a pretext to prey on the helpless. And he was not helpless. The abortion truck had picked up a fully grown man, with all his knowledge, all his cunning. How are they going to handle me? he asked himself. Obviously I have what all men have; if they have souls, then so do I. If not, then I don\u2019t, but on what real basis can they \u201cput me to sleep\u201d? I am not weak and small, not an ignorant child cowering defenselessly. I can argue the sophistries with the best of the county lawyers; with the D.A. himself, if necessary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If they snuff me, he thought, they will have to snuff everyone, including themselves. And that is not what this is all about. This is a con game by which the established, those who already hold all the key economic and political posts, keep the youngsters out of it \u2014 murder them if necessary. There is, he thought, in the land, a hatred by the old of the young, a hatred and a fear. So what will they do with me? I am in their age group, and I am caged up in the back of this abortion truck. I pose, he thought, a different kind of threat; I am one of them but on the other side, with stray dogs and cats and babies and infants. Let them figure it out; let a new St. Thomas Aquinas arise who can unravel this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAll I know,\u201d he said aloud, \u201cis dividing and multiplying and subtracting. I\u2019m even hazy on my fractions.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut you used to know that!\u201d Tim said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFunny how you forget it after you leave school,\u201d Ed Gantro said. \u201cYou kids are probably better at it than I am.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDad, they\u2019re going to snuff <\/em>you,\u201d his son Tim said, wildly. \u201cNobody\u2019ll adopt you. Not at your age. You\u2019re too old<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet\u2019s see,\u201d Ed Gantro said. \u201cThe binomial theorem. How does that go? I can\u2019t get it all together: something about a and b.\u201d And as it leaked out of his head, as had his immortal soul\u2026 he chuckled to himself. I cannot pass the soul test, he thought. At least not talking like that. I am a dog in the gutter, an animal in a ditch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The whole mistake of the pro-abortion people from the start, he said to himself, was the arbitrary <\/em>line they drew. An embryo is not entitled to American Constitutional rights and can be killed, legally, by a doctor. But a fetus was a \u201cperson,\u201d with rights, at least for a while; and then the pro-abortion crowd decided that even a seven-month fetus was not \u201chuman\u201d and could be killed, legally, by a licensed doctor. And, one day, a newborn baby \u2014 it is a vegetable; it can\u2019t focus its eyes, it understands nothing, nor talks\u2026 the pro-abortion lobby argued in court, and won, with their contention that a newborn baby was only a fetus expelled by accident or organic processes from the womb. But, even then, where was the line to be drawn finally? When the baby smiled its first smile? When it spoke its first word or reached for its initial time for a toy it enjoyed? The legal line was relentlessly pushed back and back. And now the most savage and arbitrary definition of all: when it could perform \u201chigher math.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That made the ancient Greeks, of Plato\u2019s time, nonhumans, since arithmetic was unknown to them, only geometry; and algebra was an Arab invention, much later in history. Arbitrary. <\/em>It was not a theological arbitrariness either; it was a mere legal one. The Church had long since \u2014 from the start, in fact \u2014 maintained that even the zygote, and the embryo that followed, was as sacred a life form as any that walked the earth. They had seen what would come of arbitrary definitions of \u201cNow the soul enters the body,\u201d or in modern terms, \u201cNow it is a person entitled to the full protection of the law like everyone else.\u201d What was so sad was the sight now of the small child playing bravely in his yard day by day, trying to hope, trying to pretend a security he did not have.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Well, he thought, we\u2019ll see what they do with me; I am thirty-five years old, with a Master\u2019s Degree from Stanford. Will they put me in a cage for thirty days, with a plastic food dish and a water source and a place \u2014 in plain sight \u2014 to relieve myself, and if no one adopts me will they consign me to automatic death along with the others?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I am risking a lot, he thought. But they picked up my son today, and the risk began then, when they had him, not when I stepped forward and became a victim myself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked about at the three frightened boys and tried to think of something to tell them \u2014 not just his own son but all three.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201d \u2018Look,\u2019 \u201d he said, quoting. \u201d \u2018I tell you a sacred secret. We shall not all sleep in death. We shall \u2014\u2019 \u201d But then he could not remember the rest. Bummer, he thought dismally. \u201d \u2018We shall wake up,\u2019 \u201d he said, doing the best he could. \u201d \u2018In a flash. In the twinkling of an eye.\u2019 \u201c<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCut the noise,\u201d the driver of the truck, from beyond his wire mesh, growled. \u201cI can\u2019t concentrate on this fucking road.\u201d He added, \u201cYou know, I can squirt gas back there where you are, and you\u2019ll pass out; it\u2019s for obstreperous pre-persons we pick up. So you want to knock it off, or have me punch the gas button?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe won\u2019t say anything,\u201d Tim said quickly, with a look of mute terrified appeal at his father. Urging him silently to conform.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His father said nothing. The glance of urgent pleading was too much for him, and he capitulated. Anyhow, he reasoned, what happened in the truck was not crucial. It was when they reached the County Facility \u2014 where there would be, at the first sign of trouble, newspaper and TV reporters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So they rode in silence, each with his own fears, his own schemes. Ed Gantro brooded to himself, perfecting in his head what he would do \u2014 what he had <\/em>to do. And not just for Tim but all the P.P. abortion candidates; he thought through the ramifications as the truck lurched and rattled on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


As soon as the truck parked in the restricted lot of the County Facility and its rear doors had been swung open, Sam B. Carpenter, who ran the whole goddamn operation, walked over, stared, said, \u201cYou\u2019ve got a grown man in there, Ferris. In fact, you comprehend what you\u2019ve got? A protester, that\u2019s what you\u2019ve latched onto.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut he insisted he doesn\u2019t know any math higher than adding,\u201d Ferris said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To Ed Gantro, Carpenter said, \u201cHand me your wallet. I want your actual name. Social Security number, police region stability ident \u2014 come on, I want to know who you really are.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe\u2019s just a rural type,\u201d Ferris said, as he watched Gantro pass over his lumpy wallet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd I want confirm prints offa his feet,\u201d Carpenter said. \u201cThe full set. Right away \u2014 priority A.\u201d He liked to talk that way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

An hour later he had the reports back from the jungle of interlocking security-data computers from the fake-pastoral restricted area in Virginia. \u201cThis individual graduated from Stanford College with a degree in math. And then got a master\u2019s in psychology, which he has, no doubt about it, been subjecting us to. We\u2019ve got to get him out of here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI did have a soul,\u201d Gantro said, \u201cbut I lost it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow?\u201d Carpenter demanded, seeing nothing about that on Gantro\u2019s official records.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAn embolism. The portion of my cerebral cortex, where my soul was, got destroyed when I accidentally inhaled the vapors of insect spray. That\u2019s why I\u2019ve been living out in the country eating roots and grubs, with my boy here, Tim.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll run an EEG on you,\u201d Carpenter said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d Gantro said. \u201cOne of those brain tests?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To Ferris, Carpenter said. \u201cThe law says the soul enters at twelve years. And you bring this individual male adult well over thirty. We could be charged with murder. We\u2019ve got to get rid of him. You drive him back to exactly where you found him and dump him off. If he won\u2019t voluntarily exit from the truck, gas the shit out of him and then throw him out. That\u2019s a national security order. Your job depends on it, also your status with the penal code of this state.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI belong here,\u201d Ed Gantro said. \u201cI\u2019m a dummy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd his kid,\u201d Carpenter said. \u201cHe\u2019s probably a mathematical mental mutant like you see on TV. They set you up; they\u2019ve probably already alerted the media. Take them all back and gas them and dump them wherever you found them or, barring that, anyhow out of sight.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re getting hysterical,\u201d Ferris said, with anger. \u201cRun the EEG and the brain scan on Gantro, and probably we\u2019ll have to release him, but these three juveniles \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAll genuises,\u201d Carpenter said. \u201cAll part of the setup, only you\u2019re too stupid to know. Kick them out of the truck and off our premises, and deny \u2014 you get this? \u2014 deny you ever picked any of the four of them up. Stick to that story.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOut of the vehicle,\u201d Ferris ordered, pressing the button that lifted the wire mesh gates.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The three boys scrambled out. But Ed Gantro remained.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe\u2019s not going to exit voluntarily,\u201d Carpenter said. \u201cOkay, Gantro, we\u2019ll physically expel you.\u201d He nodded to Ferris, and the two of them entered the back of the truck. A moment later they had deposited Ed Gantro on the pavement of the parking lot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow you\u2019re just a plain citizen,\u201d Carpenter said, with relief. \u201cYou can claim all you want, but you have no proof.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDad,\u201d Tim said, \u201chow are we going to get home?\u201d All three boys clustered around Ed Gantro.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou could call somebody from up there,\u201d the Fleischhacker boy said. \u201cI bet if Walter Best\u2019s dad has enough gas he\u2019d come and get us. He takes a lot of long drives; he has a special coupon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHim and his wife, Mrs. Best, quarrel a lot,\u201d Tim said. \u201cSo he likes to go driving at night alone; I mean, without her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ed Gantro said, \u201cI\u2019m staying here. I want to be locked up in a cage.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut we can go<\/em>,\u201d Tim protested. Urgently, he plucked at his dad\u2019s sleeve. \u201cThat\u2019s the whole point, isn\u2019t it? They let us go when they saw you. We did it!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ed Gantro said to Carpenter, \u201cI insist on being locked up with the other pre-persons you have in there.\u201d He pointed at the gaily imposing, esthetic solid-green-painted Facility Building.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To Mr. Sam B. Carpenter, Tim said, \u201cCall Mr. Best, out where we were, on the peninsula. It\u2019s a 669 prefix number. Tell him to come and get us, and he will. I promise. Please.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Fleischhacker boy added, \u201cThere\u2019s only one Mr. Best listed in the phone book with a 669 number. Please, mister.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Carpenter went indoors, to one of the Facility\u2019s many official phones, looked up the number. Ian Best. He punched the number.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou have reached a semiworking, semiloafing number,\u201d a man\u2019s voice, obviously that of someone half-drunk, responded. In the background Carpenter could hear the cutting tones of a furious woman, excoriating Ian Best.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMr. Best,\u201d Carpenter said, \u201cseveral persons whom you know are stranded down at Fourth and A Streets in Verde Gabriel, an Ed Gantro and his son, Tim, a boy identified as Ronald or Donald Fleischhacker, and another unidentified minor boy. The Gantro boy suggested you would not object to driving down here to pick them up and take them home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFourth and A Streets,\u201d Ian Best said. A pause. \u201cIs that the pound?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe County Facility,\u201d Carpenter said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou son of a bitch,\u201d Best said. \u201cSure I\u2019ll come get them; expect me in twenty minutes. You have Ed <\/em>Gantro there as a pre-person? Do you know he graduated from Stanford University?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe are aware of this,\u201d Carpenter said stonily. \u201cBut they are not being detained; they are merely \u2014 here. Not \u2014 I repeat not \u2014 in custody.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian Best, the drunken slur gone from his voice, said, \u201cThere\u2019ll be reporters from all the media there before I get there.\u201d Click. He had hung up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Walking back outside, Carpenter said to the boy Tim, \u201cWell, it seems you mickey-moused me into notifying a rabid anti-abortionist activist of your presence here. How neat, how really neat.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A few moments passed, and then a bright-red Mazda sped up to the entrance of the Facility. A tall man with a light beard got out, unwound camera and audio gear, walked leisurely over to Carpenter. \u201cI understand you may have a Stanford MA in math here at the Facility,\u201d he said in a neutral, casual voice. \u201cCould I interview him for a possible story?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Carpenter said, \u201cWe have booked no such person. You can inspect our records.\u201d But the reporter was already gazing at the three boys clustered around Ed Gantro.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In a loud voice the reporter called, \u201cMr. Gantro?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, sir,\u201d Ed Gantro replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Christ, Carpenter thought. We did lock him in one of our official vehicles and transport him here; it\u2019ll hit all the papers. Already a blue van with the markings of a TV station had rolled onto the lot. And, behind it, two more cars.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

ABORTION FACILITY SNUFFS
STANFORD GRAD<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was how it read in Carpenter\u2019s mind. Or<\/p>\n\n\n\n

COUNTY ABORTION FACILITY
FOILED IN ILLEGAL ATTEMPT TO\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And so forth. A spot on the 6:00 evening TV news. Gantro, and when he showed up, Ian Best who was probably an attorney, surrounded by tape recorders and mikes and video cameras.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We have mortally fucked up, he thought. Mortally fucked up. They at Sacramento will cut our appropriation; we\u2019ll be reduced to hunting down stray dogs and cats again, like before. Bummer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


When Ian Best arrived in his coal-burning Mercedes-Benz, he was still a little stoned. To Ed Gantro he said, \u201cYou mind if we take a scenic roundabout route back?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBy way of what?\u201d Ed Gantro said. He wearily wanted to leave now. The little flow of media people had interviewed him and gone. He had made his point, and now he felt drained, and he wanted to go home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian Best said, \u201cBy way of Vancouver Island, British Columbia.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With a smile, Ed Gantro said, \u201cThese kids should go right to bed. My kid and the other two. Hell, they haven\u2019t even had any dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll stop at a McDonald\u2019s stand,\u201d Ian Best said. \u201cAnd then we can take off for Canada, where the fish are, and lots of mountains that still have snow on them, even this time of year.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure,\u201d Gantro said, grinning. \u201cWe can go there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou want to?\u201d Ian Best scrutinized him. \u201cYou really want to?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll settle a few things, and then, sure, you and I can take off together.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSon of a bitch,\u201d Best breathed. \u201cYou mean it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes,\u201d he said. \u201cI do. Of course, I have to get my wife\u2019s agreement. You can\u2019t go to Canada unless your wife signs a document in writing where she won\u2019t follow you. You become what\u2019s called a \u2018landed Immigrant.\u2019 \u201c<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen I\u2019ve got to get Cynthia\u2019s written permission.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019ll give it to you. Just agree to send support money.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou think she will? She\u2019ll let me go?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d Gantro said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou actually think our wives will let us go,\u201d Ian Best said as he and Gantro herded the children into the Mercedes-Benz. \u201cI\u2019ll bet you\u2019re right; Cynthia\u2019d love to get rid of me. You know what she calls me, right in front of Walter? \u2018An aggressive coward,\u2019 and stuff like that. She has no respect for me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOur wives,\u201d Gantro said, \u201cwill let us go.\u201d But he knew better.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked back at the Facility manager, Mr. Sam B. Carpenter, and at the truck driver, Ferris, who, Carpenter had told the press and TV, was as of this date fired and was a new and inexperienced employee anyhow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he said. \u201cThey won\u2019t let us go. None of them will.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Clumsily, Ian Best fiddled with the complex mechanism that controlled the funky coal-burning engine. \u201cSure they\u2019ll let us go; look, they\u2019re just standing there. What can they do, after what you said on TV and what that one reporter wrote up for a feature story?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t mean them,\u201d Gantro said tonelessly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe could just run.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe are caught,\u201d Gantro said. \u201cCaught and can\u2019t get out. You ask Cynthia, though. It\u2019s worth a try.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll never see Vancouver Island and the great ocean-going ferries steaming in and out of the fog, will we?\u201d Ian Best said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure we will, eventually.\u201d But he knew it was a lie, an absolute lie, just like you know sometimes when you say something that for no rational reason you know is absolutely true.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They drove from the lot, out onto the public street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt feels good,\u201d Ian Best said, \u201cto be free\u2026 right?\u201d The three boys nodded, but Ed Gantro said nothing. Free, he thought. Free to go home. To be caught in a larger net, shoved into a greater truck than the metal mechanical one the County Facility uses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis is a great day,\u201d Ian Best said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes,\u201d Ed Gantro agreed. \u201cA great day in which a noble and effective blow has been struck for all helpless things, anything of which you could say, \u2018It is alive.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Regarding him intently in the narrow trickly light, Ian Best said, \u201cI don\u2019t want to go home; I want to take off for Canada now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe have <\/em>to go home,\u201d Ed Gantro reminded him. \u201cTemporarily, I mean. To wind things up. Legal matters, pick up what we need.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ian Best, as he drove, said, \u201cWe\u2019ll never get there, to British Columbia and Vancouver Island and Stanley Park and English Bay and where they grow food and keep horses and where they have the ocean-going ferries.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, we won\u2019t,\u201d Ed Gantro said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot now, not even later?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot ever,\u201d Ed Gantro said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what I was afraid of,\u201d Best said and his voice broke and his driving got funny. \u201cThat\u2019s what I thought from the beginning.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They drove in silence, then, with nothing to say to each other. There was nothing left to say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE END<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cThe Pre-Persons\u201d is a controversial short story by Philip K. Dick, published in October 1974 in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. Set in a dystopian future where abortion is legal up to the age of twelve, a boy flees when he sees the truck that collects unwanted children to take them to a state institution, where an algebra test determines whether or not they have a \u201csoul.\u201d Although his mother tries to calm him with legal arguments, the fear persists. In this tale, Dick presents a disturbing premise where the right to life and human dignity are subjected to bureaucratic and arbitrary criteria.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":23812,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_kad_blocks_custom_css":"","_kad_blocks_head_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_body_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_footer_custom_js":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[559],"tags":[577,552,570],"class_list":["post-23854","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-stories","tag-philip-k-dick-en","tag-science-fiction","tag-united-states","generate-columns","tablet-grid-50","mobile-grid-100","grid-parent","grid-33"],"acf":[],"taxonomy_info":{"category":[{"value":559,"label":"Short stories"}],"post_tag":[{"value":577,"label":"Philip K. Dick"},{"value":552,"label":"Science fiction"},{"value":570,"label":"United States"}]},"featured_image_src_large":["https:\/\/lecturia.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/Philip-K.-Dick-Las-prepersonas.webp",1024,1024,false],"author_info":{"display_name":"Juan Pablo Guevara","author_link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/author\/spartakku\/"},"comment_info":"","category_info":[{"term_id":559,"name":"Short stories","slug":"short-stories","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":559,"taxonomy":"category","description":"","parent":0,"count":419,"filter":"raw","cat_ID":559,"category_count":419,"category_description":"","cat_name":"Short stories","category_nicename":"short-stories","category_parent":0}],"tag_info":[{"term_id":577,"name":"Philip K. Dick","slug":"philip-k-dick-en","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":577,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":15,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":552,"name":"Science fiction","slug":"science-fiction","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":552,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":121,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":570,"name":"United States","slug":"united-states","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":570,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":294,"filter":"raw"}],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23854","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=23854"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23854\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/23812"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=23854"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=23854"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=23854"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}