The Variable Man
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Philip K. Dick
Over a writing career that spanned three decades, PHILIP K. DICK (1928–1982) published 36 science fiction novels and 121 short stories in which he explored the essence of what makes man human and the dangers of centralized power. Toward the end of his life, his work turned to deeply personal, metaphysical questions concerning the nature of God. Eleven novels and short stories have been adapted to film, notably Blade Runner (based on Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?), Total Recall, Minority Report, and A Scanner Darkly, as well as television's The Man in the High Castle. The recipient of critical acclaim and numerous awards throughout his career, including the Hugo and John W. Campbell awards, Dick was inducted into the Science Fiction Hall of Fame in 2005, and between 2007 and 2009, the Library of America published a selection of his novels in three volumes. His work has been translated into more than twenty-five languages.
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Reviews for The Variable Man
5 ratings5 reviews
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Indeholder "The Variable Man", "Second Variety", "The Minority Report", "Autofac", "A World of Talent"."The Variable Man" handler om ???"Second Variety" handler om i næste krig udvikler amerikanerne robotfabrikker der laver krigsrobotter - de nyeste varianter ligner mennesker og er tæt på at udrydde alle mennesker der ikke har søgt tilflugt på månebasen - pigen Tasso hjælper soldaten Hendrick med at finde ud af hvordan variant nr II ser ud"The Minority Report" handler om ???"Autofac" handler om autonome fabrikker i krig med hinanden om resourcer efter en atomkrig"A World of Talent" handler om ???Glimrende noveller
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The title of this work is REALLY important. The short novel, "The Variable Man," which is the first of five in this collection, has its own entry on LT. I'm probably blind when it comes to most of PKD's works, especially the early ones, but he's a rara avis, even in a world (Science Fiction) that contains plenty.Read "Autofac." You may look at your fancy 3D Printer differently, in a few yars.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5This is one of Dick’s first works and shows only traces of his genius, but those traces stand out above the background of a copy of the old style sci-fi that he must have been reading. The Variable man himself could become really interesting given more emphasis. A throw-away idea at the end, a device that would allow every citizen to vote on political issues, is an anti-establishment theme that will become a signature of his later writing. His faster-than-light travel, ftl (was this the first use of the acronym?), is based on an interesting semi-paradoxical distortion of Einstein’s relativity theory. As an object’s speed increases, its length decreases and its mass increases, so simply keep the speed increasing until the object disappears as it goes faster than the speed of light. The missing concepts are interesting to contemplate.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5A very mixed bag of some of Dick's early shorts. I thought the titular story laughably poor. "Second Variety" is much better, a tense tale and probably the best story in the collection. "Minority Report" is a similarly tense story based around identity and motives but I felt the ending, although fully explained, a little weak. The remaining stories were neither here nor there - not as bad as "The Variable Man" or as decent as "Second Variety." A mixed bag of stories that, collectively, aren't anything more than average.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5One of my favourite Sci-Fi authors is Philip K Dick. Most of his books I have read have involved dystopian futures providing an undercurrent of paranoia and fear of the authorities. The Variable Man was one of his earlier (short) stories, published in Space Science Fiction in 1953. This was my first venture using an eReader by the way...The story tells of 'Terra' (otherwise know as Earth) which is, to all intents and purposes, being held hostage by the Centurian Empire - an Empire which refuses to let Terra expand and travel into the wider universe. As a consequence, war cannot be far away. Terra has developed a computer system which uses the law of probabilities and is able to calculate the odds of victory of war against Proxima Centauri and when the odds tip into it's favour, at last, it puts in emergency measures to commence war. However, the result of these 'measures' accidently bring Thomas Cole, a kind of 'handy man' from 1913, into their current day and lead to the probabilities of defeat increasing for Terra and unpredicable and variable calculations - hence the title 'The Variable Man'.OK, so I have tried, at best, to give a brief synopsis of the tale and, as far as short stories go, it was a good one. I would say it is pure 'hard' sci-fi (as one would expect for said publication) and very different to some of the books I have read by Dick. Naturally, as a short story, one has to get quite a bit in and fast. The Variable Man does so. That said, I feel it is nowhere near as good as later offerings but does show the beginnings of a wonderful author. A good, quick read but not the best introduction I feel to Philip K Dick's work. For that I would recommend his later works 'Flow My Tears, The Policeman Said' or 'Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?'
Book preview
The Variable Man - Philip K. Dick
He fixed things--clocks, refrigerators, vidsenders and destinies. But he had no business in the future, where the calculators could not handle him. He was Earth's only hope--and its sure failure!
Security Commissioner Reinhart rapidly climbed the front steps and entered the Council building. Council guards stepped quickly aside and he entered the familiar place of great whirring machines. His thin face rapt, eyes alight with emotion, Reinhart gazed intently up at the central SRB computer, studying its reading.
Straight gain for the last quarter,
observed Kaplan, the lab organizer. He grinned proudly, as if personally responsible. Not bad, Commissioner.
We're catching up to them,
Reinhart retorted. But too damn slowly. We must finally go over--and soon.
Kaplan was in a talkative mood. We design new offensive weapons, they counter with improved defenses. And nothing is actually made! Continual improvement, but neither we nor Centaurus can stop designing long enough to stabilize for production.
It will end,
Reinhart stated coldly, as soon as Terra turns out a weapon for which Centaurus can build no defense.
Every weapon has a defense. Design and discord. Immediate obsolescence. Nothing lasts long enough to--
"What we count on is the lag, Reinhart broke in, annoyed. His hard gray eyes bored into the lab organizer and Kaplan slunk back.
The time lag between our offensive design and their counter development. The lag varies. He waved impatiently toward the massed banks of SRB machines.
As you well know."
At this moment, 9:30 AM, May 7, 2136, the statistical ratio on the SRB machines stood at 21-17 on the Centauran side of the ledger. All facts considered, the odds favored a successful repulsion by Proxima Centaurus of a Terran military attack. The ratio was based on the total information known to the SRB machines, on a gestalt of the vast flow of data that poured in endlessly from all sectors of the Sol and Centaurus systems.
21-17 on the Centauran side. But a month ago it had been 24-18 in the enemy's favor. Things were improving, slowly but steadily. Centaurus, older and less virile than Terra, was unable to match Terra's rate of technocratic advance. Terra was pulling ahead.
If we went to war now,
Reinhart said thoughtfully, we would lose. We're not far enough along to risk an overt attack.
A harsh, ruthless glow twisted across his handsome features, distorting them into a stern mask. But the odds are moving in our favor. Our offensive designs are gradually gaining on their defenses.
Let's hope the war comes soon,
Kaplan agreed. We're all on edge. This damn waiting....
The war would come soon. Reinhart knew it intuitively. The air was full of tension, the elan. He left the SRB rooms and hurried down the corridor to his own elaborately guarded office in the Security wing. It wouldn't be long. He could practically feel the hot breath of destiny on his neck--for him a pleasant feeling. His thin lips set in a humorless smile, showing an even line of white teeth against his tanned skin. It made him feel good, all right. He'd been working at it a long time.
First contact, a hundred years earlier, had ignited instant conflict between Proxima Centauran outposts and exploring Terran raiders. Flash fights, sudden eruptions of fire and energy beams.
And then the long, dreary years of inaction between enemies where contact required years of travel, even at nearly the speed of light. The two systems were evenly matched. Screen against screen. Warship against power station. The Centauran Empire surrounded Terra, an iron ring that couldn't be broken, rusty and corroded as it was. Radical new weapons had to be conceived, if Terra was to break out.
Through the windows of his office, Reinhart could see endless buildings and streets, Terrans hurrying back and forth. Bright specks that were commute ships, little eggs that carried businessmen and white-collar workers around. The huge transport tubes that shot masses of workmen to factories and labor camps from their housing units. All these people, waiting to break out. Waiting for the day.
Reinhart snapped on his vidscreen, the confidential channel. Give me Military Designs,
he ordered sharply.
* * * * *
He sat tense, his wiry body taut, as the vidscreen warmed into life. Abruptly he was facing the hulking image of Peter Sherikov, director of the vast network of labs under the Ural Mountains.
Sherikov's great bearded features hardened as he recognized Reinhart. His bushy black eyebrows pulled up in a sullen line. What do you want? You know I'm busy. We have too much work to do, as it is. Without being bothered by--politicians.
I'm dropping over your way,
Reinhart answered lazily. He adjusted the cuff of his immaculate gray cloak. I want a full description of your work and whatever progress you've made.
You'll find a regular departmental report plate filed in the usual way, around your office someplace. If you'll refer to that you'll know exactly what we--
"I'm not interested in that. I want to see what you're doing. And I expect you to be prepared to describe your work fully. I'll be there shortly. Half an hour."
* * * * *
Reinhart cut the circuit. Sherikov's heavy features dwindled and faded. Reinhart relaxed, letting his breath out. Too bad he had to work with Sherikov. He had never liked the man. The big Polish scientist was an individualist, refusing to integrate himself with society. Independent, atomistic in outlook. He held concepts of the individual as an end, diametrically contrary to the accepted organic state Weltansicht.
But Sherikov was the leading research scientist, in charge of the Military Designs Department. And on Designs the whole future of Terra depended. Victory over Centaurus--or more waiting, bottled up in the Sol System, surrounded by a rotting, hostile Empire, now sinking into ruin and decay, yet still strong.
Reinhart got quickly to his feet and left the office. He hurried down the hall and out of the Council building.
A few minutes later he was heading across the mid-morning sky in his highspeed cruiser, toward the Asiatic land-mass, the vast Ural mountain range. Toward the Military Designs labs.
Sherikov met him at the entrance. Look here, Reinhart. Don't think you're going to order me around. I'm not going to--
Take it easy.
Reinhart fell into step beside the bigger man. They passed through the check and into the auxiliary labs. No immediate coercion will be exerted over you or your staff. You're free to continue your work as you see fit--for the present. Let's get this straight. My concern is to integrate your work with our total social needs. As long as your work is sufficiently productive--
Reinhart stopped in his tracks.
Pretty, isn't he?
Sherikov said ironically.
"What the hell is it?
Icarus, we call him. Remember the Greek myth? The legend of Icarus. Icarus flew.... This Icarus is going to fly, one of these days.
Sherikov shrugged. You can examine him, if you want. I suppose this is what you came here to see.
Reinhart advanced slowly. This is the weapon you've been working on?
How does he look?
Rising up in the center of the chamber was a squat metal cylinder, a great ugly cone of dark gray. Technicians circled around it, wiring up the exposed relay banks. Reinhart caught a glimpse of endless tubes and filaments, a maze of wires and terminals and parts criss-crossing each other, layer on layer.
What is it?
Reinhart perched on the edge of a workbench, leaning his big shoulders