The Cosmic Puppets by Philip K. Dick Page A

talk about it. “Not nothing. It was there. We made it emerge.”
    “Emerge?” The girl's black eyes sparkled. “You mean those old stores were nothing but distortions?”
    “Weren't really there.” Barton thumped the bench. “This is the real thing. The real town. The other was fake.”
    “What's that metal pike you're holding so tight?”
    “This?” Barton turned the tire iron around. “I brought this back. It's been a ball of string.”
    Mary studied him intently. “Is that why you came here? To bring things back?”
    It was a good question. Barton got unsteadily to his feet. “I'm going. I've had enough for tonight.”
    “Going where?” Christopher demanded.
    “To my room. Have to rest. Time to think.” He tottered dopily toward the sidewalk. “I'm exhausted. Rest and something to eat.”
    Mary became instantly alert. “You can't go near the boarding house.”
    Barton blinked. “Why the hell not?”
    “Peter's there.” She leaped up and hurried after him. “No, that's the wrong place. You want to be as far away from him as possible.”
    Barton scowled. “I'm not afraid of that punk kid. Not anymore.” He waved his tire iron menacingly.
    Mary put her hand firmly on Barton's arm.
    “No, it would be a big mistake to go back there. You have to go someplace else. Someplace and wait until I have this worked out. I have to understand this exactly.” She frowned, deep in thought. “You go up to Shady House. You'll be safe up there. My father will take you in. Go right to him; don't stop and talk to anyone else. Peter won't enter that area. It's past the line.”
    “The line? You mean—”
    “It's on His side. You'll be safe, until I can figure this out and decide what to do. There're factors I don't understand.” She turned Barton around and impatiently pushed him the other way. “Get going!”
    She watched until she was sure they were safely across the line, on their way up the slope to Shady House. Then she hurried back toward the center of town.
    She had to move fast. Time was running out. Peter was undoubtedly suspicious, looking for his golem and wondering why it wasn't back.
    She patted her pocket gently and, at the same time, felt the great mass of rough cloth billow against her. She still hadn't got used to being in two places at once; as soon as the golem had done its work she'd leave it as she had found it.
    Jefferson Street loomed ahead. She ran rapidly down it, black hair streaming behind her, breasts heaving. With one hand she held her pocket; it would be too bad to let her little self fall out and get destroyed.
    There was the boarding house. A few people were on the porch, enjoying the coolness and darkness. She turned up the driveway and scampered around back, across the field, toward the barn. There it was, the vast, ominous shape rising up against the night sky. She crouched in the shadows behind a shrub to get her breath and size up the situation.
    Peter was certainly inside. Up in his work chamber with his cages and jars and urns of moist clay. She glanced hopefully around; was there a night-flying moth she could send in? She saw none, and anyhow, they didn't have a chance.
    Carefully, with gentle fingers, she opened her pocket and got out her three-inch self. Sudden vision took the place of endless rough fabric. She closed her regular eyes and put herself as much as possible in the golem. Now she felt her own massive hand, her giant fingers touching her—too roughly, too.
    By moving her attention from one body to the other she was able to manipulate the golem-self onto the ground and several feet in the direction of the barn. Almost at once it was in the interference zone.
    She made her regular body sit down in the shadows, bend over in a heap, knees drawn up, head down, arms clasped around its ankles. That way she could concentrate all her attention on the golem.
    The golem passed through the interference zone unnoticed. It warily approached the barn. There was a little