TONY and the BEETLES
by Philip K. Dick
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Orbit volume 1number 2, 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence thatthe U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
A TEN-YEAR-OLD BOY GROWS UP FAST WHEN HISTORY CATCHES UPWITH THE HUMAN RACE.
Reddish-yellow sunlight filtered through the thick quartz windows intothe sleep-compartment. Tony Rossi yawned, stirred a little, then openedhis black eyes and sat up quickly. With one motion he tossed the coversback and slid to the warm metal floor. He clicked off his alarm clockand hurried to the closet.
It looked like a nice day. The landscape outside was motionless,undisturbed by winds or dust-shift. The boy's heart pounded excitedly.He pulled his trousers on, zipped up the reinforced mesh, struggled intohis heavy canvas shirt, and then sat down on the edge of the cot to tugon his boots. He closed the seams around their tops and then did thesame with his gloves. Next he adjusted the pressure on his pump unit andstrapped it between his shoulder blades. He grabbed his helmet from thedresser, and he was ready for the day.
In the dining-compartment his mother and father had finished breakfast.Their voices drifted to him as he clattered down the ramp. A disturbedmurmur; he paused to listen. What were they talking about? Had he donesomething wrong, again?
And then he caught it. Behind their voices was another voice. Static andcrackling pops. The all-system audio signal from Rigel IV. They had itturned up full blast; the dull thunder of the monitor's voice boomedloudly. The war. Always the war. He sighed, and stepped out into thedining-compartment.
"Morning," his father muttered.
"Good morning, dear," his mother said absently. She sat with her headturned to one side, wrinkles of concentration webbing her forehead. Herthin lips were drawn together in a tight line of concern. His father hadpushed his dirty dishes back and was smoking, elbows on the table, darkhairy arms bare and muscular. He was scowling, intent on the jumbledroar from the speaker above the sink.
"How's it going?" Tony asked. He slid into his chair and reachedautomatically for the ersatz grapefruit. "Any news from Orion?"
Neither of them answered. They didn't hear him. He began to eat hisgrapefruit. Outside, beyond the little metal and plastic housing unit,sounds of activity grew. Shouts and muffled crashes, as rural merchantsand their trucks rumbled along the highway toward Karnet. The reddishdaylight swelled; Betelgeuse was rising quietly and majestically.
"Nice day," Tony said. "No flux wind. I think I'll go down to then-quarter awhile. We're building a neat spaceport, a model, of course,but we've been able to get enough materials to lay out strips for—"
With a savage snarl his father reached out and struck the audio roarimmediately died. "I knew it!" He got up and moved angrily away from thetable. "I told them it would happen. They shouldn't have moved so soon.Should have built up Class A supply bases, first."
"Isn't our main fleet moving in from Bellatrix?" Tony's mother flutteredanxiously. "According to last night's summary the worst that can happenis Orion IX and X will be dumped."
Joseph Rossi laughed harshly. "The hell with last night's summary. Theyknow as well as I do what's happening."
"What's happening?" Tony echoed, as he pushed aside his grapefruit andbegan to ladle out dry cerea