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"The Variable Man" is a science fiction novella by American writer Philip K. Dick, which he wrote and sold before he had an agent. It was first published in Space.
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Hoofs thundered steel against steel as they pounded through the doorway, scattering the astonished men in all directions.


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He was out in a wide hall. A building, like a hospital. Shouting and milling in excitement, like white ants. Something cut past him, a beam of dark violet. It seared off a corner of the cart, leaving the wood smoking. Cole felt fear. He kicked at the terrified horses. They reached a big door, crashing wildly against it. The door gave—and they were outside, bright sunlight blinking down on them. For a sickening second the cart tilted, almost turning over. Then the horses gained speed, racing across an open field, toward a distant line of green, Cole holding tightly to the reins.

Behind him the little white-faced men had come out and were standing in a group, gesturing frantically. He could hear their faint shrill shouts. But he had got away. He slowed the horses down and began to breathe again. The woods were artificial. Some kind of park. But the park was wild and overgrown.

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A dense jungle of twisted plants. Everything growing in confusion. The park was empty. No one was there. By the position of the sun he could tell it was either early morning or late afternoon. The smell of the flowers and grass, the dampness of the leaves, indicated morning. It had been late afternoon when the tornado had picked him up. And the sky had been overcast and cloudy. Cole considered. Clearly, he had been carried a long way. The hospital, the men with white faces, the odd lighting, the accented words he had caught—everything indicated he was no longer in Nebraska—maybe not even in the United States.

The Variable Man

Some of his tools had fallen out and gotten lost along the way. Cole collected everything that remained, sorting them, running his fingers over each tool with affection. Some of the little chisels and wood gouges were gone. The bit box had opened, and most of the smaller bits had been lost. He gathered up those that remained and replaced them tenderly in the box. He took a key-hole saw down, and with an oil rag wiped it carefully and replaced it.

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Above the cart the sun rose slowly in the sky. Cole peered up, his horny hand over his eyes. A big man, stoop-shouldered, his chin gray and stubbled. His clothes wrinkled and dirty. But his eyes were clear, a pale blue, and his hands were finely made. He could not stay in the park.

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They had seen him ride that way; they would be looking for him. Far above something shot rapidly across the sky. A tiny black dot moving with incredible haste. A second dot followed. The two dots were gone almost before he saw them. They were utterly silent. Cole frowned, perturbed. The dots made him uneasy. He would have to keep moving—and looking for food. His stomach was already beginning to rumble and groan.

There was plenty he could do: gardening, sharpening, grinding, repair work on machines and clocks, fixing all kinds of household things. Even painting and odd jobs and carpentry and chores. Thomas Cole urged the team into life, moving forward. Reinhart hurried, racing his cruiser at top speed, followed by a second ship, a military escort. The ground sped by below him, a blur of gray and green.

The remains of New York lay spread out, a twisted, blunted ruin overgrown with weeds and grass. The great atomic wars of the twentieth century had turned virtually the whole seaboard area into an endless waste of slag. Histo-research came into sight. Reinhart swooped down, bringing his cruiser to rest at the small supply field behind the main buildings. Reinhart shot him a cold glance. Are you the one who gave the order to bring the bubble back manually?

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Fredman met them inside. He greeted Reinhart calmly, showing no emotion. We were trying to get the station in order for the war. We wanted the bubble back as quickly as possible. Fredman shifted uncomfortably. I gave the order to have the automatic setting canceled and the bubble brought back manually. At the moment the signal reached it, the bubble was passing through the spring of As it broke loose, it tore off a piece of ground on which this person and his cart were located.

The person naturally was brought up to the present, inside the bubble. It was de-energized before anyone noticed what was inside. We tried to stop him but he drove the cart out into the hall, bowling us out of the way. The horses were in a panic.

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Painted in black letters on both sides. No one saw what it was. The horses carried him out of the building and onto the grounds.

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By the time we reached the exit the cart was half way to the park. Reinhart reflected. But we must be careful. Harper fell in beside him. Reinhart halted by his ship. He beckoned some Government guards over.