By Philip K. Dick
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Extra info for A Maze of Death (SF Masterworks 63)
The origin of the Form Destroyer is unclear; it is, for instance, not possible to declare whether (one) he was a separate entity from God from the start, uncreated by God but also selfcreating, as is God, or (two) whether the Form Destroyer is an aspect of God, there being nothing – " He ceased reading, sat sipping scotch and rubbing his forehead semi-wearily. He was forty-two years old and had read The Book many times. His life, although long, had not added up to much, at least until now. He had held a variety of jobs, doing a modicum of service to his employers, but never ever really excelling.
And almost inaudible. "But why? " He did not understand; the censure which he had been waiting for had not arrived. The Walker said, "Once years ago you had a tomcat whom you loved. He was greedy and mendacious and yet you loved him. One day he died from bone fragments lodged in his stomach, the result of filching the remains of a dead Martian root-buzzard from a garbage pail. You were sad, but you still loved him. His essence, his appetite – all that made him up had driven him to his death. You would have paid a great deal to have him alive again, but you would have wanted him as he was, greedy and pushy, himself as you loved him, unchanged.
Which, he realized, is what they've all been doing. Because after all, what else is there to do? At least until we receive our instructions from the satellite. I hope Morley gets here soon, he said to himself. So we can get started. A bug crawled up onto his right shoe, paused there, and then extended a miniature television camera. The lens of the camera swung so that it pointed directly at his face. "Hi," he said to the bug. Retracting its camera, the bug crawled off, evidently satisfied. I wonder who or what it's probing for?
A Maze of Death (SF Masterworks 63) by Philip K. Dick