Martian Time-Slip

by Philip K. Dick

Anyhow, if they’d destroyed them years ago we wouldn’t have such places as B-G, because in my mind there’s a direct link between the monsters born in the ’60s and all the freaks supposedly born due to radiation ever since; I mean, it’s all due to substandard genes, isn’t it? Now, I think that’s where the Nazis were right. They saw the need of weeding out the inferior genetic strains as long ago as 1930; they saw—” “My son,” Steiner began, and then stopped. He realized what he had said. The portly man stared at him. “My son is there,” Steiner at last went on, “means as much to me as your son does to you. I know that someday he will emerge into the world once more.” “Let me buy you a drink, Norbert,” the portly man said, “to show you how sorry I am; I mean, about the way I talked.” Steiner said, “If they close B-G it will be a calamity too great for us to bear, we who have children in there. I can’t face it.” “I see what you mean,” the portly man said. “I understand your feeling.” “You are superior to me if you understand how I feel,” Steiner said, “because I can make no sense out of it.” He set down his empty beer glass and stepped off the stool. “I don’t want another drink,” he said. “Excuse me; I have to leave.” He picked up his heavy suitcases.