Null-A Three Page 16

  “That was the small transistorized plate you showed me?” Gosseyn asked.

  “That’s it. Believe it or not, until you came along with your duplicate body, it had not thought of such a solution as a duplicate of itself.”

  “Well—” Gosseyn was thoughtful—“that still doesn’t entirely explain you’re not going to Venus.”

  “I became its special agent.” The eyes on the other side the restaurant table gazed at him earnestly. “You’ll have to admit that was a worthwhile status. As for the woman, after I became GS oriented I urged her to take the training. She did, and, after a while, I discovered that something inside her was beginning to adjust to her husband’s death; and that in fact a male acquaintance had suddenly noticed her, and had asked her to go out to dinner with him. Not too long after that, she stopped seeing me. But there was a change in her. She held herself differently, somehow.”

  Gosseyn had no additional question, or comment. What he had heard gave him a new view of the late, great Games Machine. As for the woman, and her association with an hotel clerk—there had always been a human problem to solve in that area.

  It had been observed that men normally preferred women who had a lot of outer appearance, and who, as a consequence, showed some kind of inner strength. Interesting that, perhaps, the inner strength was all that was needed.

  He stopped. Because . . . inside him . . . an odd, tugging sensation had started suddenly.

  He rose hastily to his feet. He said, “You take Enin back to the Institute.” By the time he finished those words, he had hastily taken out the Blayney billfold and tossed it on the table. “You pay for the dinner out of that.”

  He was thinking: this time it was not the earlier spinning feeling but—

  He wondered vaguely: . . . Tugging—to where?—

  CHAPTER

  21

  On a planet of a sun in the Milky Way, a man named Neggen stood gazing down at a machine—a small, cigarshaped spaceship.

  The spacecraft was below him in a natural hollow that was half garden and half smooth marble. It was a man-smoothed marble and a man-made garden, which provided a decorative setting for the little machine.

  The man was thinking with a dark regret: “All these years, these millenia, that ship has been down there—and we didn’t realize what it was.”

  And now, a message had come from a Gilbert Gosseyn on far Earth. It was a message authorized by the Galactic League, stating that many such craft would probably be findable, at least one each on tens of thousands of planets. The message had described exactly what he was looking at.

  The accompanying photograph showed the interior of the ship, with its four containers. Two of these were large enough to hold, each, one male adult human. The other two were slightly smaller, and each was designed to hold a woman.

  The details had been described in Gosseyn’s message, which concluded: “Advise at once if such a vessel has ever been found on your planet, and where it is now!”

  So he had sent the information requested . . . and now here was the man himself, who had himself been shown in an accompanying photograph; except that now he was walking up the marble steps toward Neggen.

  . . . What bothered Gosseyn Three a minute or so later, as he stood beside Neggen and gazed at the photographs, was a feeling of overwhelm. And even instant that now went by he had the strong conviction: he should have some purpose of his own.

  But what?

  Naturally, there was always an obvious goal in even situation: stay alive! However, that really led nowhere in terms of the specific situation he was in.

  What bothered him most was the precision of awareness the Troogs were displaying. Somehow, they had become aware of how mankind had originally, perhaps as long ago as a million years, come from that other galaxy.

  And they had used League authorization and his name in their attempt to locate one of these four-passenger spaceships. And, when a reply came, they had immediately had available a twenty-decimal method of their own to transport Gilbert Gosseyn Three to a location where neither he nor any other Gosseyn had ever been. Transport him at twenty-decimal speed from a restaurant near the Institute of General Semantics on Earth.

  And the fact that he had arrived fully dressed indicated that they had taken note of what he had done with business man Gorrold’s jacket with a precision that did not simply derive from Gosseyn’s own mind. Because he himself had not yet taken his extra-brain photographs of this new suit of clothes.

  When he had come up to the level of the man in the Roman toga-like garment, who stood at the top of the

  steps, Gosseyn had had the thought: “Maybe just noticing how skilful they are is the only purpose I need right now.”

  All the details might tell him something eventually.

  Neggen said—in English: “What do you hope to gain from discovering such machines as this?”

  As he heard the familiar language, Gosseyn was aware of a tiny purpose forming inside him. For later. Incredibly—again—these Troog must now know how they had learned English, because here they had utilized a method of transmitting it to someone else.

  All by itself, during a later confrontation, that would enable him to Find out how 178,000 Dzan had automatically spoken English, the language of the sleeping Gosseyn body in the space capsule they had found in space . . . after the Dzan and their ship were mysteriously transported at twenty-decimal speed from their own galaxy a million light-years away.

  . . . Should I leave? Should I return and pick up Erin?

  And head for the Dzan battleship, and to whatever protection it could give?

  “—What do you think, Alter? . . .”

  It was a spontaneous question, with no advance thought about it; simply, acceptance that perhaps he should have some advice. What startled him, then, was that there was no reply; and, worse, no sensation of that other Gosseyn mind . . . out there.

  It was not clear why the Troogs were taking the trouble to keep the two Gosseyns mentally disconnected in this situation. If it was another attempt to demonstrate their capability, that had already been established earlier; though—the thought came—not for such a long time.

  His rapid speculation was interrupted. Footsteps. He turned, with Neggen. And saw that a woman, also dressed in a toga-like outfit, was approaching from a long, squat building visible through heavy brush in that direction. In terms of earth age she seemed about forty, which was also the age appearance of the man.

  The woman stopped about ten feet away on the slightly higher level of steps at that point, and said something like:

  “. . . N’ya dru hara tai, Neggen?” Her voice sounded troubled, and had a question in it.

  The man’s voice widened. “Good God!” he said. “Rubri, what kind of gibberish is that?”

  The shock waves of the interchange had also reverberated through Gosseyn. It required several moments to come to terms with his instant feeling of being somehow responsible for what had been done to these people. Addressing Neggen, he asked, “Your wife?”

  The man nodded, but his face still had a critical look on it. “What’s the matter with her?”

  Gosseyn was recovering from his own dismay. He pointed at the photographs and the accompanying message. “Let’s take her to your computer,” he said. “If it could accept a message from me before—uh—I learned your language, then it can translate for your wife. In fact,” he added hastily, all these interstellar computer-communicators automatically translate about hundred thousand languages—I’m told.”

  “B-but—but—”

  “It’s a long story,” said Gosseyn, “and right now I don’t know how it will be rectified. But, quick! Before anything further happens.”

  The urgency in his voice came from a sudden feeling inside him—the tugging sensation was back.

  He was conscious of a vague thought of his own: somehow the Troogs had brought him here so that they could have a look at one of the small craft that had in the long, long ago brought two m
en and two women from their galaxy to this one.

  In that long ago hundreds of thousands of these tiny spaceships had crossed the colossal distances of intergalactic space. And evidently they had wanted to see one—

  . . . Into one of the smallnesses of the universe, into a restaurant, turned out to be the next place to which he was transmitted.

  But it was actually not until he came cautiously out from the small anteroom, in which he had arrived, that Gosseyn saw that he was, in fact, in a rather fancy earth-type restaurant.

  As his gaze, in a manner of speaking, absorbed the elegantly dressed maître-de, what diverted him was . . . he was remembering that he had taken Enin and Dan Lyttle to a restaurant. What could be the purpose of the Troogs in duplicating such a situation?

  The memory remained a small distraction in him during the next minute, as the maître-de came forward, and said in English, “This way, Mr. Gosseyn. They’re waiting for you.”

  “This way” led to the door one of those small private dining rooms. And it was not until he started across the threshold that he saw the approximately dozen people—first glance impression—who were inside, already seated around a long table.

  In that group, in that dimly lighted room, a head of red hair caught his eye; and so the first individual Gosseyn recognized was—shock!—Enro the Red, king of the planet Gorgzid and conqueror of the colossal empire that Gorgzid controlled. President Blayney sat beside Enro, and so he was second to be identified. Swiftly, after that, the faces, figuratively, leaped out at him: the Prescotts, Eldred and Patricia Crang, Leej, Breemeg, the Draydart—in uniform—and three more men who, since they faced away from him—Gosseyn took a little longer to identify. They were the three scientists, whom he had identified as Voices One, Two, and Three. They were the ones who had originally brought him out of the capsule.

  The fact that these were all persons who had been aboard the Dzan battleship was surely significant. They were all individuals with whom he had been in verbal contact aboard the great vessel, and in addition there was President Blayney of earth—

  Missing was Strala. Missing were Enin and Dan Lyttle and—a significant omission, indeed—Gosseyn Two.

  The flickering thought came: the aliens were not vet ready to deal with both Gosseyns at the same time—Gosseyn Three had the impression that the roomful of people had been engaged in a very minor and subdued conversation just prior to his arrival.

  . . . They must, surely, each and everyone, be startled by the implications of what had happened . what technical mastery it must have taken to bring them here; and yet, also, the fact that they were alive, and not murdered out of hand, had its own significance He had already noticed that at the far end of the table was an unoccupied chair, with a place setting on the table in front of it. He was not surprised that it was to this chair that the maître-de guided him.

  During the half minute required for him to walk over to the unoccupied space, there was verbal silence from those who were already seated.

  Gosseyn did not sit down. He waited for the maître-de to depart, meanwhile gazing at the assembled guests, and he saw that they were staring back at him expectantly, perhaps even hopefully.

  The implication seemed to be that they were anticipating that a purpose would now emerge for them. Somehow, everybody’s presence in this room would, with Gosseyn’s arrival, be explained. That must be the hope.

  Gosseyn felt a small sinking sensation. Because he still had no purpose, himself.

  His feeling: he needed more information. And, since he believed that, with the Troogs, time—for him—was short, he spoke . . . a question:

  “Anyone here have a significant thought to express in relation to the possibility that the aliens brought you people here?”

  It was Enro who put up his hand, and who said—in English: “I believe that they probably know that if they do damage to me, my fleet will destroy their single ship.” He added, “Right now, Admiral Paleol is in direct contact with me.”

  Gosseyn wondered if Enro had noticed that, on his arrival aboard the Dzan warship, he had needed his sister to translate the language of Gorgzid into English, but now he had not only understood Gosseyn’s question, but had answered him.

  So he smiled as he spoke the obvious question: “In the English language?” he asked.

  Pause. Then, with a grim smile, the super-leader commented, “There’s automatic translation in the interstellar communication lines; and the major Earth languages were added after my dear sister—” he paused and glanced at Patricia Crang—“came out here and, uh, found herself a husband.”

  The young woman raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. And Gosseyn was not about to make a comment on personal matters.

  But inside his head that aspect—Enro and his special situation—abruptly took on a special, no-delay meaning . . . “I should do something right now about what he can do, just in case—”

  It was a moment of interim decision. With his special ability, he made a precise extra-brain photograph of Enro, noting—as he did so—that a tiny object attached to, or somehow inside the big man’s clothing, had a special quality.

  “. . . He’s carrying a tiny distorter,” Gosseyn reported to his alter ego, “and that’s how he’s staying in touch with his fleet, and they with him.”

  “—I’m sure you’re right,” was the reply.

  At once, Gosseyn Three made a separate second-brain picture of that remarkable little device. It was a precaution for the future. Completed now. To be utilized at a key moment.

  Standing there, he continued his role as intermediary “You’ve given us a major reassurance that you, at least, will not be damaged.” He glanced around him “Anything else that will make us all feel safer?”

  Eldred Crang held up his hand. “Mine may not be reassuring, but I notice that you, also, seem to be assuming that the prime mover in this situation has been the Troogs.”

  Gosseyn nodded. “I believe the Troogs used the knowledge they gained of my extra-brain to bring you people here. So it would appear—” he used the GS qualification phrase—“that they have a plan.”

  He thereupon described what had happened to him when he had suddenly found himself back inside the capsule, except that this time it was aboard the alien ship.

  He concluded his account, “Maybe I should have stayed for that interrogation, but I opted out.”

  No one said anything. The faces at the table seemed more serious, but that was all.

  Except for Leej. Something about the way she held herself seemed significant.

  Gosseyn, who had a somewhat greater feeling of urgency, had been aware of Leej the predictor woman sitting off there to one side. In a small way, she had avoided looking directly at him. And so, for him, it was time to utilize her special ability.

  He glanced at her, and said, “Leej how much time do we have?”

  “Your question,” she said, “implies you yourself do not have anything more in mind besides what you did a minute ago.”

  So she had noticed; not surprising, but he hadn’t thought about her; had been too intent. “True,” he said now.

  Pause; then:

  “About four minutes,” said the woman, “and then there’s that blankness.”

  It could have been a special moment. But bare instants after the woman spoke, a rear door of the dining room opened, and three busboys came in with drinking water. They spent about a minute filling all the glasses. As they went out, the one who must have been head-boy turned and asked, “Do you want the waiters to come in?”

  “Later,” said Gosseyn.

  President Blayney spoke for the first time, firmly, “We’ll call you.”

  The boy went out; and Gosseyn stood there.

  It was a special moment. The fact that everyone at the table—including the two government leaders, Enro and Blayney, were looking at him, evoked in Gosseyn a visualization of what they were seeing:

  Himself, standing here! Physically strong, leaned-faced, and t
anned, a medium tall—just under six feet—determined man who felt calm and capable; and somehow that showed in everything he did: the way he held himself, every movement he made, reflected the power of the extra-brain and . . . General Semantics.

  Where the tan had come from, he could only speculate. But he deduced that a source of mild radiation inside the capsule had been part of the life support system tending to his needs.

  During those seconds of self-awareness, it seemed to him that there was no point in doing anything else but what he had already been doing. So he said, simply: “Any more comments?”

  Prescott who, with the appearance of being in his forties and, therefore, along with Blayney, was one of the two oldest persons in the room, indicated with his fingers, and said, “What do you think is the basic purpose of these creatures?”

  “I believe,” said Gosseyn, “they want to get back to their own galaxy; and I believe they’re studying me to see how I might have participated in helping to bring them here.”

  Prescott made a small gesture with his hand, indicating the other people at the table. “If they were technically skilful enough to bring us all here, why haven’t they been able to accomplish that basic goal?”

  Gosseyn explained about the damaged nerve ends in his head. “They’ll be studying me carefully in connection with that,” he said, “What I’m afraid of is that, when they’re ready to leave, they’ll kill everybody they can reach—that probably includes all of us—unless we can establish that Enro’s fleet will hit back before they can get away.”

  There was silence in that small, private dining room. And so, after a small pause, Gosseyn continued, “We probably need everyone’s reaction. So, I’m going to go around the table, and when I name you, or point at you, give your comment, or suggestion, for this situation.” There was one obvious person who had to be first on a list of direct requests; and Gosseyn after a small inward groan at the waste of time involved, named him: