I’ve travelled backward in time to interview Philip K. Dick. Instead of dying, he slipped into an alternate future and moved into a well-appointed retirement community. He’s got his own, secure bungalow and is generally left alone by the staff. He does not seem particularly happy to see me but that’s because (he admits) he doesn’t much care for visitation from anyone. He’s become obsessed with a Warcraft-esque MMORPG where he is playing a Jewish priest (“They have an attack advantage; they can’t be surprised…”) and has built a fortified town protected by three-story high Tiki-looking golems. The town is purposefully flooded, like a mash-up of Venice and every village from every movie about the South Pacific. He allows me to create a character allied with his and after helping to defend the village against an attack from zombie hordes, we slip out of the game world to talk. I have questions about his pocket-sized microwave handgun. He doesn’t much want to talk about it but reluctantly shares a few details. Mostly he just refers me to his giant filing cabinet (which he’s graciously unlocked for me) and bookshelves, both of which are full to overflowing. As we pour over one particular document, I notice that my handwriting is the same as his. I am a young Philip K. Dick from the future travelling back to interview an older version of myself. About the weapon that he (I?) invented which I know will kill me.