THE GUN

By 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 violently back,
knocking against Dorle, the Chief Navigator.

"Why did we come all this way, then?"
Dorle asked, looking around at the other
men. "There's no point even in landing.
Let's go back at once."

"Perhaps he's right," the biologist murmured.
"But I'd like to look for myself, if I
may." He pushed past Tance and peered
into the sight.

He saw a vast expanse, an endless surface
of gray, stretching to the edge of the planet.
At first he thought it was water but after a
moment he realized that it was slag, pitted,
fused slag, broken only by hills of rock jutting
up at intervals. Nothing moved or
stirred. Everything was silent, dead.

"I see," Fomar said, backing away from
the eyepiece. "Well, I won't find any legumes
there." He tried to smile, but his lips
stayed unmoved. He stepped away and stood
by himself, staring past the others.

"I wonder what the atmospheric sample
will show," Tance said.

"I think I can guess," the Captain answered.
"Most of the atmosphere is poisoned.
But didn't we expect all this? I don't
see why we're so surprised. A fission visible
as far away as our system must be a terrible
thing."

He strode off down the corridor, dignified
and expressionless. They watched him disappear
into the control room.

As the Captain closed the door the young
woman turned. "What did the telescope
show? Good or bad?"

"Bad. No life could possibly exist. Atmosphere
poisoned, water vaporized, all the
land fused."

"Could they have gone underground?"

The Captain slid back the port window so
that the surface of the planet under them
was visible. The two of them stared down,
silent and disturbed. Mile after mile of unbroken
ruin stretched out, blackened slag,
pitted and scarred, and occasional heaps of
rock.

Suddenly Nasha jumped. "Look! Over
there, at the edge. Do you see it?"

They stared. Something rose up, not
rock, not an accidental formation. It was
round, a circle of dots, white pellets on the
dead skin of the planet. A city? Buildings
of some kind?

"Please turn the ship," Nasha said excitedly.
She pushed her dark hair from her
face. "Turn the ship and let's see what it
is!"

The ship turned, changing its course. As
they came over the white dots the Captain
lowered the ship, dropping it down as much
as he dared. "Piers," he said. "Piers of some
sort of stone. Perhaps poured artificial stone.
The remains of a city."

"Oh, dear," Nasha murmured. "How awful."
She watched the ruins disappear behind
them. In a half-circle the white squares
jutted from the slag, chipped and cracked,
like broken teeth.

"There's nothing alive," the Captain said
at last. "I think we'll go right back; I know
most of the crew want to. Get the Government
Receiving Station on the sender and
tell them what we found, and that we—"

He staggered.

The first atomic shell had struck
the ship, spinning it around. The Captain
fell to the floor, crashing into the control
table. Papers and instruments rained down
on him. As he started to his feet the second
shell struck. The ceiling cracked open, struts
and girders twisted and bent. The ship shuddered,
falling suddenly down, then righting
itself as automatic controls took over.

The Captain lay on the floor by the
smashed control board. In the corner Nasha
struggled to free herself from the debris.

Outside the men were already sealing the
gaping leaks in the side of the ship, through
which the precious air was rushing, dissipating
into the void beyond. "Help me!"
Dorle was shouting. "Fire over here, wiring
ignited." Two men came running. Tance
watched helplessly, his eyeglasses broken
and bent.

"So there is life here, after all," he said,
half to himself. "But how could—"

"Give us a hand," Fomar said, hurrying
past. "Give us a hand, we've got to land the
ship!"

It was night. A few stars glinted above
them, winking through the drifting silt that
blew across the surface of the planet.

Dorle peered out, frowning. "What a
place to be stuck in." He resumed his work,
hammering the bent metal hull of the ship
back into place. He was wearing a pressure
suit; there were still many small leaks, and
radioactive particles from the atmosphere
had already found their way into the ship.

Nasha and Fomar were sitting at the
table in the control room, pale and solemn,
studying the inventory lists.

"Low on carbohydrates," Fomar said.
"We can break down the stored fats if we
want to, but—"

"I wonder if we could find anything outside."
Nasha went to the window. "How
uninviting it looks." She paced back and
forth, very slender and small, her face dark
with fatigue. "What do you suppose an exploring
party would find?"

Fomar shrugged. "Not much. Maybe a
few weeds growing in cracks here and there.
Nothing we could use. Anything that would
adapt to this environment would be toxic,
lethal."

Nasha paused, rubbing her cheek. There
was a deep scratch there, still red and swollen.
"Then how do you explain—it? According
to your theory the inhabitants must have
died in their skins, fried like yams. But who
fired on us? Somebody detected us, made a
decision, aimed a gun."

"And gauged distance," the Captain said
feebly from the cot in the corner. He turned
toward them. "That's the part that worries
me. The first shell put us out of commission,
the second almost destroyed us. They were
well aimed, perfectly aimed. We're not
such an easy target."

"True." Fomar nodded. "Well, perhaps
we'll know the answer before we leave here.
What a strange situation! All our reasoning
tells us that no life could exist; the whole
planet burned dry, the atmosphere itself
gone, completely poisoned."

"The gun that fired the projectiles survived,"
Nasha said. "Why not people?"

"It's not the same. Metal doesn't need air
to breathe. Metal doesn't get leukemia from
radioactive particles. Metal doesn't need
food and water."

There was silence.

"A paradox," Nasha said. "Anyhow, in
the morning I think we should send out a
search party. And meanwhile we should
keep on trying to get the ship in condition
for the trip back."

"It'll be days before we can take off,"
Fomar said. "We should keep every man
working here. We can't afford to send out a
party."

Nasha smiled a little. "We'll send you
in the first party. Maybe you can discover—what
was it you were so interested in?"

"Legumes. Edible legumes."

"Maybe you can find some of them.
Only—"

"Only what?"

"Only watch out. They fired on us once
without even knowing who we were or what
we came for. Do you suppose that they
fought with each other? Perhaps they
couldn't imagine anyone being friendly,
under any circumstances. What a strange
evolutionary trait, inter-species warfare.
Fighting within the race!"

"We'll know in the morning," Fomar
said. "Let's get some sleep."

The sun came up chill and austere. The
three people, two men and a woman,
stepped through the port, dropping down
on the hard ground below.

"What a day," Dorle said grumpily. "I
said how glad I'd be to walk on firm ground
again, but—"

"Come on," Nasha said. "Up beside me.
I want to say something to you. Will you excuse
us, Tance?"

Tance nodded gloomily. Dorle caught up
with Nasha. They walked together, their
metal shoes crunching the ground underfoot.
Nasha glanced at him.

"Listen. The Captain is dying. No one
knows except the two of us. By the end of
the day-period of this planet he'll be dead.
The shock did something to his heart. He
was almost sixty, you know."

Dorle nodded. "That's bad. I have a great
deal of respect for him. You will be captain
in his place, of course. Since you're vice-captain
now—"

"No. I prefer to see someone else lead,
perhaps you or Fomar. I've been thinking
over the situation and it seems to me that I
should declare myself mated to one of you,
whichever of you wants to be captain. Then
I could devolve the responsibility."

"Well, I don't want to be captain. Let
Fomar do it."

Nasha studied him, tall and blond, striding
along beside her in his pressure suit.
"I'm rather partial to you," she said. "We
might try it for a time, at least. But do as
you like. Look, we're coming to something."

They stopped walking, letting Tance
catch up. In front of them was some sort of
a ruined building. Dorle stared around
thoughtfully.

"Do you see? This whole place is a natural
bowl, a huge valley. See how the rock
formations rise up on all sides, protecting
the floor. Maybe some of the great blast
was deflected here."

They wandered around the ruins, picking
up rocks and fragments. "I think this was
a farm," Tance said, examining a piece of
wood. "This was part of a tower windmill."

"Really?" Nasha took the stick and
turned it over. "Interesting. But let's go; we
don't have much time."

"Look," Dorle said suddenly. "Off there,
a long way off. Isn't that something?" He
pointed.

Nasha sucked in her breath. "The white
stones."

"What?"

Nasha looked up at Dorle. "The white
stones, the great broken teeth. We saw them,
the Captain and I, from the control room."
She touched Dorle's arm gently. "That's
where they fired from. I didn't think we had
landed so close."

"What is it?" Tance said, coming up to
them. "I'm almost blind without my glasses.
What do you see?"

"The city. Where they fired from."

"Oh." All three of them stood together.
"Well, let's go," Tance said. "There's no
telling what we'll find there." Dorle
frowned at him.

"Wait. We don't know what we would be
getting into. They must have patrols. They
probably have seen us already, for that matter."

"They probably have seen the ship itself,"
Tance said. "They probably know right now
where they can find it, where they can blow
it up. So what difference does it make
whether we go closer or not?"

"That's true," Nasha said. "If they really
want to get us we haven't a chance. We
have no armaments at all; you know that."

"I have a hand weapon." Dorle nodded.
"Well, let's go on, then. I suppose you're
right, Tance."

"But let's stay together," Tance said nervously.
"Nasha, you're going too fast."

Nasha looked back. She laughed. "If we
expect to get there by nightfall we must go
fast."

They reached the outskirts of the city at
about the middle of the afternoon. The
sun, cold and yellow, hung above them in
the colorless sky. Dorle stopped at the top
of a ridge overlooking the city.

"Well, there it is. What's left of it."

There was not much left. The huge concrete
piers which they had noticed were not
piers at all, but the ruined foundations of
buildings. They had been baked by the
searing heat, baked and charred almost to
the ground. Nothing else remained, only
this irregular circle of white squares, perhaps
four miles in diameter.

Dorle spat in disgust. "More wasted time.
A dead skeleton of a city, that's all."

"But it was from here that the firing
came," Tance murmured. "Don't forget
that."

"And by someone with a good eye and a
great deal of experience," Nasha added.
"Let's go."

They walked into the city between the
ruined buildings. No one spoke. They
walked in silence, listening to the echo of
their footsteps.

"It's macabre," Dorle muttered. "I've
seen ruined cities before but they died of
old age, old age and fatigue. This was
killed, seared to death. This city didn't die—it
was murdered."

"I wonder what the city was called,"
Nasha said. She turned aside, going up the
remains of a stairway from one of the foundations.
"Do you think we might find a
signpost? Some kind of plaque?"

She peered into the ruins.

"There's nothing there," Dorle said impatiently.
"Come on."

"Wait." Nasha bent down, touching a
concrete stone. "There's something inscribed
on this."

"What is it?" Tance hurried up. He
squatted in the dust, running his gloved
fingers over the surface of the stone. "Letters,
all right." He took a writing stick from
the pocket of his pressure suit and copied
the inscription on a bit of paper. Dorle
glanced over his shoulder. The inscription
was:

"That's this city," Nasha said softly.
"That was its name."

Tance put the paper in his pocket and
they went on. After a time Dorle said,
"Nasha, you know, I think we're being
watched. But don't look around."

The woman stiffened. "Oh? Why do you
say that? Did you see something?"

"No. I can feel it, though. Don't you?"

Nasha smiled a little. "I feel nothing, but
perhaps I'm more used to being stared at."
She turned her head slightly. "Oh!"

Dorle reached for his hand weapon.
"What is it? What do you see?" Tance had
stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth half
open.

"The gun," Nasha said. "It's the gun."

"Look at the size of it. The size of the
thing." Dorle unfastened his hand weapon
slowly. "That's it, all right."

The gun was huge. Stark and immense it
pointed up at the sky, a mass of steel and
glass, set in a huge slab of concrete. Even as
they watched the gun moved on its swivel
base, whirring underneath. A slim vane
turned with the wind, a network of rods
atop a high pole.

"It's alive," Nasha whispered. "It's listening
to us, watching us."

The gun moved again, this time clockwise.
It was mounted so that it could make
a full circle. The barrel lowered a trifle,
then resumed its original position.

"But who fires it?" Tance said.

Dorle laughed. "No one. No one fires it."

They stared at him. "What do you
mean?"

"It fires itself."

They couldn't believe him. Nasha came
close to him, frowning, looking up at him.
"I don't understand. What do you mean,
it fires itself?"

"Watch, I'll show you. Don't move."
Dorle picked up a rock from the ground.
He hesitated a moment and then tossed the
rock high in the air. The rock passed in
front of the gun. Instantly the great barrel
moved, the vanes contracted.

The rock fell to the ground. The gun
paused, then resumed its calm swivel, its
slow circling.

"You see," Dorle said, "it noticed the
rock, as soon as I threw it up in the air. It's
alert to anything that flies or moves above
the ground level. Probably it detected us as
soon as we entered the gravitational field of
the planet. It probably had a bead on us
from the start. We don't have a chance. It
knows all about the ship. It's just waiting
for us to take off again."

"I understand about the rock," Nasha
said, nodding. "The gun noticed it, but not
us, since we're on the ground, not above.
It's only designed to combat objects in the
sky. The ship is safe until it takes off again,
then the end will come."

"But what's this gun for?" Tance put in.
"There's no one alive here. Everyone is
dead."

"It's a machine," Dorle said. "A machine
that was made to do a job. And it's doing
the job. How it survived the blast I don't
know. On it goes, waiting for the enemy.
Probably they came by air in some sort of
projectiles."

"The enemy," Nasha said. "Their own
race. It is hard to believe that they really
bombed themselves, fired at themselves."

"Well, it's over with. Except right here,
where we're standing. This one gun, still
alert, ready to kill. It'll go on until it wears
out."

"And by that time we'll be dead," Nasha
said bitterly.

"There must have been hundreds of
guns like this," Dorle murmured. "They
must have been used to the sight, guns,
weapons, uniforms. Probably they accepted
it as a natural thing, part of their lives, like
eating and sleeping. An institution, like the
church and the state. Men trained to fight,
to lead armies, a regular profession. Honored,
respected."

Tance was walking slowly toward the
gun, peering nearsightedly up at it. "Quite
complex, isn't it? All those vanes and tubes.
I suppose this is some sort of a telescopic
sight." His gloved hand touched the end of
a long tube.

Instantly the gun shifted, the barrel retracting.
It swung—

"Don't move!" Dorle cried. The barrel
swung past them as they stood, rigid and
still. For one terrible moment it hesitated
over their heads, clicking and whirring, settling
into position. Then the sounds died out
and the gun became silent.

Tance smiled foolishly inside his helmet.
"I must have put my finger over the lens.
I'll be more careful." He made his way up
onto the circular slab, stepping gingerly behind
the body of the gun. He disappeared
from view.

"Where did he go?" Nasha said irritably.
"He'll get us all killed."

"Tance, come back!" Dorle shouted.
"What's the matter with you?"

"In a minute." There was a long silence.
At last the archeologist appeared. "I think
I've found something. Come up and I'll
show you."

"What is it?"

"Dorle, you said the gun was here to
keep the enemy off. I think I know why
they wanted to keep the enemy off."

They were puzzled.

"I think I've found what the gun is supposed
to guard. Come and give me a hand."

"All right," Dorle said abruptly. "Let's
go." He seized Nasha's hand. "Come on.
Let's see what he's found. I thought something
like this might happen when I saw
that the gun was—"

"Like what?" Nasha pulled her hand
away. "What are you talking about? You
act as if you knew what he's found."

"I do." Dorle smiled down at her. "Do
you remember the legend that all races have,
the myth of the buried treasure, and the
dragon, the serpent that watches it, guards
it, keeping everyone away?"

She nodded. "Well?"

Dorle pointed up at the gun.

"That," he said, "is the dragon. Come
on."

Between the three of them they managed
to pull up the steel cover and lay
it to one side. Dorle was wet with perspiration
when they finished.

"It isn't worth it," he grunted. He stared
into the dark yawning hole. "Or is it?"

Nasha clicked on her hand lamp, shining
the beam down the stairs. The steps
were thick with dust and rubble. At the bottom
was a steel door.

"Come on," Tance said excitedly. He
started down the stairs. They watched him
reach the door and pull hopefully on it
without success. "Give a hand!"

"All right." They came gingerly after
him. Dorle examined the door. It was bolted
shut, locked. There was an inscription on the
door but he could not read it.

"Now what?" Nasha said.

Dorle took out his hand weapon. "Stand
back. I can't think of any other way." He
pressed the switch. The bottom of the door
glowed red. Presently it began to crumble.
Dorle clicked the weapon off. "I think we
can get through. Let's try."

The door came apart easily. In a few minutes
they had carried it away in pieces and
stacked the pieces on the first step. Then
they went on, flashing the light ahead of
them.

They were in a vault. Dust lay everywhere,
on everything, inches thick. Wood
crates lined the walls, huge boxes and crates,
packages and containers. Tance looked
around curiously, his eyes bright.

"What exactly are all these?" he murmured.
"Something valuable, I would
think." He picked up a round drum and
opened it. A spool fell to the floor, unwinding
a black ribbon. He examined it, holding
it up to the light.

"Look at this!"

They came around him. "Pictures,"
Nasha said. "Tiny pictures."

"Records of some kind." Tance closed the
spool up in the drum again. "Look, hundreds
of drums." He flashed the light
around. "And those crates. Let's open one."

Dorle was already prying at the wood.
The wood had turned brittle and dry. He
managed to pull a section away.

It was a picture. A boy in a blue garment,
smiling pleasantly, staring ahead, young and
handsome. He seemed almost alive, ready to
move toward them in the light of the hand
lamp. It was one of them, one of the ruined
race, the race that had perished.

For a long time they stared at the picture.
At last Dorle replaced the board.

"All these other crates," Nasha said.
"More pictures. And these drums. What
are in the boxes?"

"This is their treasure," Tance said, almost
to himself. "Here are their pictures,
their records. Probably all their literature is
here, their stories, their myths, their ideas
about the universe."

"And their history," Nasha said. "We'll
be able to trace their development and find
out what it was that made them become
what they were."

Dorle was wandering around the vault.
"Odd," he murmured. "Even at the end,
even after they had begun to fight they still
knew, someplace down inside them, that
their real treasure was this, their books and
pictures, their myths. Even after their big
cities and buildings and industries were destroyed
they probably hoped to come back
and find this. After everything else was
gone."

"When we get back home we can agitate
for a mission to come here," Tance said.
"All this can be loaded up and taken back.
We'll be leaving about—"

He stopped.

"Yes," Dorle said dryly. "We'll be leaving
about three day-periods from now.
We'll fix the ship, then take off. Soon we'll
be home, that is, if nothing happens. Like
being shot down by that—"

"Oh, stop it!" Nasha said impatiently.
"Leave him alone. He's right: all this must
be taken back home, sooner or later. We'll
have to solve the problem of the gun. We
have no choice."

Dorle nodded. "What's your solution,
then? As soon as we leave the ground we'll
be shot down." His face twisted bitterly.
"They've guarded their treasure too well.
Instead of being preserved it will lie here
until it rots. It serves them right."

"How?"

"Don't you see? This was the only way
they knew, building a gun and setting it up
to shoot anything that came along. They
were so certain that everything was hostile,
the enemy, coming to take their possessions
away from them. Well, they can keep
them."

Nasha was deep in thought, her mind
far away. Suddenly she gasped. "Dorle,"
she said. "What's the matter with us? We
have no problem. The gun is no menace at
all."

The two men stared at her.

"No menace?" Dorle said. "It's already
shot us down once. And as soon as we take
off again—"

"Don't you see?" Nasha began to laugh.
"The poor foolish gun, it's completely harmless.
Even I could deal with it alone."

"You?"

Her eyes were flashing. "With a crowbar.
With a hammer or a stick of wood. Let's go
back to the ship and load up. Of course
we're at its mercy in the air: that's the way it
was made. It can fire into the sky, shoot
down anything that flies. But that's all!
Against something on the ground it has no
defenses. Isn't that right?"

Dorle nodded slowly. "The soft underbelly
of the dragon. In the legend, the
dragon's armor doesn't cover its stomach."
He began to laugh. "That's right. That's
perfectly right."

"Let's go, then," Nasha said. "Let's get
back to the ship. We have work to do here."

It was early the next morning when
they reached the ship. During the night
the Captain had died, and the crew had
ignited his body, according to custom. They
had stood solemnly around it until the last
ember died. As they were going back to
their work the woman and the two men appeared,
dirty and tired, still excited.

And presently, from the ship, a line of
people came, each carrying something in his
hands. The line marched across the gray
slag, the eternal expanse of fused metal.
When they reached the weapon they all fell
on the gun at once, with crowbars, hammers,
anything that was heavy and hard.

The telescopic sights shattered into bits.
The wiring was pulled out, torn to shreds.
The delicate gears were smashed, dented.

Finally the warheads themselves were
carried off and the firing pins removed.

The gun was smashed, the great weapon
destroyed. The people went down into the
vault and examined the treasure. With its
metal-armored guardian dead there was no
danger any longer. They studied the pictures,
the films, the crates of books, the
jeweled crowns, the cups, the statues.

At last, as the sun was dipping into the
gray mists that drifted across the planet they
came back up the stairs again. For a moment
they stood around the wrecked gun looking
at the unmoving outline of it.

Then they started back to the ship. There
was still much work to be done. The ship
had been badly hurt, much had been damaged
and lost. The important thing was to
repair it as quickly as possible, to get it into
the air.

With all of them working together it took
just five more days to make it spaceworthy.

Nasha stood in the control room,
watching the planet fall away behind
them. She folded her arms, sitting down on
the edge of the table.

"What are you thinking?" Dorle said.

"I? Nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"I was thinking that there must have been
a time when this planet was quite different,
when there was life on it."

"I suppose there was. It's unfortunate
that no ships from our system came this far,
but then we had no reason to suspect intelligent
life until we saw the fission glow in
the sky."

"And then it was too late."

"Not quite too late. After all, their possessions,
their music, books, their pictures,
all of that will survive. We'll take them
home and study them, and they'll change us.
We won't be the same afterwards. Their
sculpturing, especially. Did you see the one
of the great winged creature, without a head
or arms? Broken off, I suppose. But those
wings— It looked very old. It will change
us a great deal."

"When we come back we won't find the
gun waiting for us," Nasha said. "Next
time it won't be there to shoot us down. We
can land and take the treasure, as you call
it." She smiled up at Dorle. "You'll lead us
back there, as a good captain should."

"Captain?" Dorle grinned. "Then you've
decided."

Nasha shrugged. "Fomar argues with me
too much. I think, all in all, I really prefer
you."

"Then let's go," Dorle said. "Let's go
back home."

The ship roared up, flying over the ruins
of the city. It turned in a huge arc and then
shot off beyond the horizon, heading into
outer space.

Down below, in the center of the ruined
city, a single half-broken detector vane
moved slightly, catching the roar of the ship.
The base of the great gun throbbed painfully,
straining to turn. After a moment a
red warning light flashed on down inside
its destroyed works.

And a long way off, a hundred miles
from the city, another warning light flashed
on, far underground. Automatic relays flew
into action. Gears turned, belts whined. On
the ground above a section of metal slag
slipped back. A ramp appeared.

A moment later a small cart rushed to the
surface.

The cart turned toward the city. A second
cart appeared behind it. It was loaded with
wiring cables. Behind it a third cart came,
loaded with telescopic tube sights. And behind
came more carts, some with relays,
some with firing controls, some with tools
and parts, screws and bolts, pins and nuts.
The final one contained atomic warheads.

The carts lined up behind the first one,
the lead cart. The lead cart started off, across
the frozen ground, bumping calmly along,
followed by the others. Moving toward the
city.

To the damaged gun.

Transcriber's Note:

This etext was produced from Planet Stories September 1952.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and
typographical errors have been corrected without note.